America 1982-Chapter 236 - 80: Time to Start Work_4
Jason nodded wordlessly. "Strictly speaking... yes."
"How is this tragic? Shouldn’t we be popping champagne to celebrate? Miss, bring me a glass of champagne. My dad will soon see me on TV! The first great person from the Hebers family to be on television! The whole world is going to feel the visual stimulations from this badass!"
Seeing Dennis excitedly urging the woman beside him to pour champagne to celebrate, Jason couldn’t help but twitch the corners of his mouth and asked Pam,
"Are you sure he’s from Warwick, USA, and not Warwick, France? I’ve only heard that the French would disregard their reputation for the sake of *women."
"I don’t care which country Warwick belongs to, I’m just curious if someone with severe myopia can also be an actor?" Pam stared at Jason and asked.
This rhetorical question left Jason completely speechless. "Now I understand that Tommy’s shamelessness isn’t innate but rather a regional characteristic."
At that moment, a huge roaring sound erupted outside. With the doors opening, a fiery red Ferrari sports car drove in. The door opened, and Stephen Binns climbed out of the driver’s seat. Seeing Dennis and Pam, Stephen excitedly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his CSLS tattoo on his wrist,
"Look who’s here! It’s CS gang’s wild boar and the blind man! Long time no see! Finally, decided to come to California to visit poor Stephen in prison?"
Dennis and Pam also greeted Stephen with a hug, "Long time no see, Mr. Wealthy!"
"Where’s Tommy?" After hugging, Dennis saw that the passenger seat was empty and asked, "Didn’t he say he’d come back with you?"
"He went to audition for a driver. Don’t worry, without him, we can still have a blast. Send these chicks away, my driver is coming in a van, and we’ll head to the airport, then fly to Los Angeles. I’ve booked a nightclub in Los Angeles to welcome you guys – about one hundred and twenty chicks in total. Enough to make Tommy stay here stamping his feet in regret."
Hearing what Stephen said, Jason immediately tossed his glass aside and stood up, "Folks, I have a question. Can I apply to join your CS gang, or haven’t you considered kicking scum like Tommy out of the group and inviting more outstanding men? One hundred and twenty chicks, Shit, it would take you ten days to get through all of them if each of you took on four a night..."
He looked at the gorgeous women he had called over and then at Stephen, "I’m willing to pay for my own plane ticket and offer you this kind of intense physical help for free."
...
Scar and Rivet Bar, just the name of the bar has a punk flavor, and the interior decoration style is exactly the same. The place was filled with large pieces of metal plates, exaggerated screws, rivets, pipes of various thicknesses and lengths, rust-streaked valves, and, combined with the smoke exhaled by the patrons, one felt like they had stepped back into the steam age upon entering.
This was a silicone valley bikini bar, a preferred relaxation spot for many programmers. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺
Indeed, the bartenders here all wore various minimally clothed bikinis, moving around the hall. Of course, if you wanted her to turn a blind eye to your wandering hands, you needed to buy enough drinks, or else wait to be sent flying out the door by security, greeted with a curse for the whole family.
At that time, Tommy was fidgeting with his large beer mug, moving it from the left side to the right and then back from the right to the left, sizing up the two men sitting across from him, then he turned his face to Sophia,
"My dear Sophia, are you sure you’ve understood my requirements? One at $15 an hour, and one at $50 an hour, how should I interpret this? You got half of it and completed half of it? This guy who looks like a huge bear, clearly genuine at $50 an hour—no flaws except the price is too high, but..."
"Tommy, the older one is the one with the $50 hourly rate; the big one is $15 an hour," Sophia reminded Tommy.
At that moment, across from them sat two white men, one young and one weathered, one with dense hair and one with a shiny bald head, one tall and muscular, at least six-three, while the other seemed just a tad shorter than Sophia at five-seven.
"You, $15 an hour?" Tommy, upon hearing Sophia’s words, couldn’t help but ask the young strongman with folded arms, "Fifteen bucks? I only have to pay you one hundred and twenty for eight hours?"
"Yes, sir."
"What’s your name?"
"George Wright, sir."
"Great, congratulations, Mr. Wright, you’ve got yourself the job." Tommy shook hands with him then turned to the older man, whose head was bald but sported wild stubble on his chin,
"And you, old man, your hourly wage is more than three times his?"
"Brink’s Security does price it like that, indeed they do." The old man chuckled and nodded.
Brink’s Security Company was the one Pinkerton’s firm had recommended to Tommy. An old guard security company established in 1859, it had grown over a century from initially providing personnel security to serving banks, mining companies, retailers, governments, mints, jewelers, and even the military with security and transportation services.
Like many others, Tommy shared a common bemusement—why would the military need security? This question had puzzled American taxpayers for decades without an answer.
