America 1982-Chapter 448 - 72: Will They Embrace the American Dream?

"Of course~" Tommy took the cigar from her chest and gave it a little pinch, feeling its firmness.

The girl laughed happily, began to unwrap it for Tommy, and even lit it for him: "Thank you for your patronage, five US dollars."

"Martin, give this beautiful lady five US dollars. This cigar tastes absolutely fantastic, with a rich creamy flavor." Tommy, biting the cigar, urged Martin, who had just come over with two suitcases.

Martin was startled: "How much? Five US dollars?"

Seeing that Tommy wasn’t joking, he came over and examined the cigar in Tommy’s mouth closely: "This thing can’t possibly have a milky flavor, boss. This Miami local stuff, if you like it, I can get you a box for two US dollars. It’s all junk...OK, ten US dollars."

The girl took out another cigar and placed it at her chest, confidently looking at Martin. Martin instantly shut up, took out ten US dollars to give to her, and also took the cigar from her chest, sniffing it while quietly reminding Tommy: "Boss, I want to say, those people are still filming us. Maybe you should start working towards the American Dream, even if it’s just for show. Maybe the other teams are figuring out how to make money, and here we are, just off the plane, only interested in nibbling cigars with a creamy flavor and flirting with Cuban chicks."

Tommy ignored Martin’s reminder, found an empty bench to sit and rest, biting his cigar and surveying the Little Havana central square that was as crowded as New York’s Times Square. First he observed the people in the square, then he started to check out the shops around the streets, until he had a good sense of his surroundings. Then he got up, bought a sun hat, took a few laps around the nearby streets as if he was just casually sightseeing in the bustling center of Little Havana. He even visited a few hotels and convenience stores, as well as a laundromat, to gather information before returning to the bench to continue resting, each buying a cup of refreshing juice to drink. While drinking, Tommy asked Martin beside him:

"Do you know what I relied on to make my first money?"

"Mr. Page and Miss Sophia said that you earned your tuition fees through a summer camp." Martin relayed to Tommy what he had heard from Page and Sophia.

"No, that was after I had money, the experience of using money to make more money. The first time I made money on my own was by selling drugs."

Martin was taken aback for a moment, then turned to look at the camera crew that was filming not far away, then back at the unreserved Tommy: "Boss, are you sure that becoming wealthy by selling drugs is an appropriate message for the American Dream? Your friend Stephen is counting on this show for the Emmys, not for picking out a room in San Quentin Prison."

The production team also had some headaches, but they didn’t intervene. The team leader, Nick, just reminded the cameraman: "Mark this segment well, and see if we need to mute it later."

"Of course, if you insist on doing the drug business, boss, I think we’d better head to my old neighborhood, Little Haiti. I’ve got some connections there; we can get quick hits, highs, and all that, though our starting capital might only get us a few pills," Martin whispered, adding another friendly piece of advice for Tommy.

Tommy looked at Martin: "You think I want to sell cocaine?"

"Then what kind of drugs? Quick hits, highs - those are really popular in Miami." Martin looked at Tommy, puzzled: "Miami is an international metropolis, and old-school stuff like heroin is no longer popular with the youth here."

"Legitimate pharmaceuticals, Martin. I’m not a drug dealer. We’re here to showcase the American Dream, to convince people that if they work as hard as us, they can also make their lives better." Tommy kept his gaze on the crowd in the distance: "I just want you to buy a few boxes of Senekot, while I get ready for the business."

"The name Senekot really has some malice towards black folks," Martin complained upon hearing the name, then asked curiously: "Are you constipated, boss? Or... have you acquired a new taste? Fallen for a Cuban man?"

Senekot is a powerful American laxative used to facilitate rapid bowel movements in patients, with very fast-acting effects. It has become a must-have for many gay Americans when dating.

"I’ve got my eye on everyone here," Tommy told Martin.

Martin looked around the square, dumbfounded by the thousands of people, "So, are we shooting a documentary on the poor man’s American dream, or the gay man’s American dream? Are you sure that a few boxes of laxatives are enough to clean out their anuses? And, do I need to buy you a few more boxes of Trojan and lube?"

The production team, upon hearing their conversation, had already given up hope; they weren’t considering how many times they’d have to mute Tommy and Martin’s conversation, but rather whether there was any chance this footage would ever be aired.

"Didn’t you want to learn from me how to make money? First off, money doesn’t fall from the sky. You need to create opportunities, chances to move the cash from other people’s pockets into ours," Tommy said, biting on a straw, his expression serene.

Martin racked his brains for a moment before hesitantly speaking up, "Are we going to take over every public toilet nearby, feed them laxatives, and then extort them to pay up before they can relieve themselves?"

"That would be illegal, Martin," Tommy reminded him.

Martin breathed a sigh of relief, then asked anxiously, "I’m glad you remember that’s illegal, boss. I’m not ready to go back to the police station as soon as I get back to Miami. Can you tell me what on earth you bought that stuff for? I keep worrying you’re planning to give me a ’surprise’ while I’m asleep."

"You buy the Senecot, grind it into powder, then go to the square’s management office to buy a dozen bags of breadcrumbs, mix them in, and feed it to those pigeons. Then these thousands of pigeons will be freely flying around this busy central square," Tommy said, looking at the flock of pigeons in flight.

Martin, still dumbstruck, glanced at Tommy and then at the production team, who appeared utterly perplexed. He whispered, "Abusing animals is illegal too, boss."

"These pigeons are seriously overweight. We’re just trying to help them lose weight, get it? People are committing slow murder on these poor birds with chronic obesity. We’re saving them. The law says we can’t abuse birds, but it doesn’t say we can’t treat them. We’re curing them, saving them," Tommy replied, his eyes returning from the birds, his face a picture of righteousness:

"Remember, we’re animal welfare volunteers."

Martin stood with his mouth agape for a long while before he had a sudden realization, "And then, we’d get the job of cleaning the square, right? It’s a good idea, no doubt, boss. We’d at least get a short-term job lasting at least three days."

"You’re feeding pigeons laxatives just to have the pleasure of wiping their asses?" Tommy tapped his forehead lightly:

"No~ Martin, it’s 3:24 PM now. If you follow the plan and administer the medication to the pigeons, they should begin reacting by five or six o’clock, just around sunset. Tourists whose clothes have been fouled by bird droppings will decide to return to the hotel to take a shower and change clothes, whether they’re going to a restaurant or a night spot. Meanwhile, I will be talking with a laundry service about a partnership and printing business cards during the time you buy the medication and feed the birds."

"We’ll hand out business cards with our name and phone number to tourists here who are at constant risk of pigeon droppings, informing them that our laundry service offers to pick up clothes. I’ve asked around, and among nearby hotels, only one offers laundry service, which means guests at other hotels would need our service. By then, we should make more than just the extra tips from customers for pickup; we’ll also negotiate a bulk discount with the laundry service due to the volume, earning a margin," Tommy explained.

"We might not make a fortune, but you and these poor pigeons should help me make enough for at least a three-star hotel room for the night," Tommy said.

Martin was speechless, his occasional blinking the only sign that he was still alive.

The cameraman turned to Nick, the team leader next to him, "Boss, are we really going to continue filming this so-called aristocrat Tommy Hawk? Do you think the audience could accept this kind of American dream, where to achieve it you need to ruthlessly feed pigeons strong laxatives and douse your fellow citizens in bird shit?"