America 1982-Chapter 287 - 13: Art is Priceless

Martin White sat in the backseat of a luxury car parked in the TV station’s underground garage, constantly watching his surroundings, while holding the anti-wolf stun baton Page had given to him when he got out of the car, hoping the baton could provide him a boost in his sense of security.

"Those white guys running the safety equipment company must have water in their brains to come up with such a retarded product! Even if you drain the battery, this damn thing couldn’t kill a mouse, and they actually promote it as providing safety for women? If a perv went up to a woman and she pulled this out, he’d probably compliment her for being kinky..."

After complaining about the lack of lethality in the stun baton, Martin could not help but curse that bastard Tommy Hawk in his heart! 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

He said he was going to be an actor, who the hell would’ve thought it would be this kind of acting? Moving between various black communities like a touring performance, with the help of Page and others, proselytizing to the local unsophisticated blacks that he was a big black figure about to start a black TV station.

In his mind, actors performed in front of cameras, not at gunpoint...

While he was nervous, a middle-aged black man wearing a black and blue jacket, a blue shirt, stone-washed jeans, and Nike sneakers approached the car from a distance, checked the license plate number to make sure there was no mistake, and then opened the driver’s side door before sitting down.

Although Martin felt like his heart was about to jump out of his mouth, he kept his face tense, staring down the black man who got into the car with seriousness and ferocity.

"Mr. Martin Hart?" The middle-class looking black man, first pushed up the glasses perched on his nose, then looked at Martin Hart through the rearview mirror before greeting him:

"I am the anti-gang honor counselor of Compton’s Martin Luther King High School, the young employment advisor at Compton Community College, Stanley Jack."

"You’re Big Jack?" Martin tried to make his voice sound more composed and authoritative.

"No, I am the second son of the Jack Family, my older brother Bernard is known as Big Jack." The black man claiming to be Stanley started the car and responded, "It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Hart, we only heard of your extensive connections on the East Coast after your white employees mentioned you to us."

"My white employees?" Martin first looked slightly bewildered, then his face showed displeasure: "They talked to you about me? Who has such a big mouth, Page? Once I’m done here, I’m going to pull all the teeth out of that old man’s head."

What a joke? He’s widely connected on the East Coast? He had been on this earth for over twenty years and never had anything to do with being distinguished. The height of his life experience was becoming a barber, that’s it.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t like people talking about you." Jack, holding the steering wheel, apologized sincerely as he drove Martin towards Compton.

Martin, maintaining the air of a black boss, said, "It’s alright, I’m always tolerant with people I meet for the first time; I wouldn’t want to leave an unpleasant impression with electric shock gloves."

"Oh, electric shock gloves, I know about them, the Soviet stuff shipped from Cuba, right? They sell for a lot in Los Angeles; if it’s genuinely Soviet-made, not Cuban, it’s over four hundred bucks. Nobody in Compton can afford such an expensive toy. I heard in Miami, people bet with those gloves, betting on who can last longer under the shock."

"What sort of entertainment do the blacks have here?"

"Dog fighting or boxing, the blacks here don’t have as many choices as those on the East Coast. There are over seven hundred black gangs on the East Coast, and California only has just over four hundred seventy, but the largest are just two factions, you either join the Bloods Alliance or the Crips Alliance."

"I’ve heard of these two names in Miami. So, which side do you belong to?"

"We don’t join either of the two alliances; we’re more like the African Star community aid organization. We don’t look for trouble if no one bothers us," Stanley said with a gentle smile, "We are the moderates in the black community."

"You do seem very moderate."

"Of course, I’m in the community banking business, work in education, I teach without discrimination, and I’ve never given up on charity work, providing employment or funding support to the youth, no matter if they are from Crips or Blood Gang."

Martin listened as the other spouted on with the enthusiasm of a tour guide about the conditions of the black community in Los Angeles, the panic that had filled his heart before was gone completely. In the midst of their casual conversation, he had learned that the driver, Stanley, just like himself, graduated from a community college and believed that to stand firm in society, one must master a survival skill.

This made Martin feel a lot more friendly toward Stanley Jack.

Stanley, driving the luxury car, turned into the African Star neighborhood in Compton and then stopped outside a very ordinary residence.

After getting out, he personally opened the door to the back seat, and Martin stepped out, straightening the buttons of his Armani suit, keeping a stern face.

"Want to try my mother’s cooking and see how you like it? Mr. Hart, I’ve passed the videotape to my brothers to play at the neighborhood bar for the brothers to watch. Don’t worry, everyone will take it seriously. Once they’re done watching, you can go and speak a few words to them. No need to spend too much time, after all, with too many people, the smell inside will be very unpleasant."