America 1982-Chapter 469 - 85: Lesson 2
After dinner, since they needed to teach Jeff a few simple things to note, Tommy, Martin, and Page took him to Zack’s house to prevent disturbing Jeff’s family’s normal rest.
Jeff sat on the living room sofa, enjoying the old movie that Tommy had specifically found for him, while Martin stood behind the couch, shaving off Jeff’s messy brown hair and giving him the most familiar round buzz cut of an American soldier.
Once the hair was taken care of, Martin sat next to Jeff, watching Stallone together and occasionally reminding Jeff to learn Stallone’s mannerisms and speaking tone from the movie because it would enhance his masculine appeal.
After an indeterminate amount of time, Martin was awakened by the snoring next to him. He wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, yawned, and saw that Jeff, who was supposed to continue watching and learning, was deep in a beautiful dream in the seat next to him, with his stout arm embracing him at some point!
"holy shit! This bastard probably lacks masculinity because he’s a faggot!" Martin pushed away the other’s arm and quickly stood up, then cursed unhappily.
Seeing that Jeff had no signs of waking up, but instead continued to adjust his position and fall deep asleep, Martin got up and walked to the fridge, took out a can of ice-cold beer, and returned in front of the couch. He shook the can vigorously and then pulled the tab, spraying Jeff’s face with the chilly beer:
"Cool! So this is the exhilarating feeling white people had torturing us ’n*****s’ back in the day! Get up and keep all your eyes glued to Stallone on the TV! Imitate his tone! His actions! Look at yourself, Jeff, even the hairs on Stallone’s dick look tougher than you! I swear—if by dawn I can’t make you look like a tough guy carved out of American granite, I’m going to be schooled by an electric shock baton harder than granite! And I promise, I’ll slaughter you before I get schooled!"
Jeff instantly woke up from the stimulation of the ice-cold beer, waved his arms frantically, and jumped up from the couch, wiping the beer off his face. Seeing Martin staring at him with a fierce look, Jeff showed a pitiful expression: "Martin... I can’t learn from that guy in the movie, I’m just an ave..."
"Shhh~~ Shut up!" Martin continued to spray Jeff’s face with the beer, his face covered with ferocity and despair: "Show me a fierce expression! Now, or I’ll show you what horror is."
Jeff wiped away the beer, still with that innocent look: "I..." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
"Mr. Page! F*ck! Show him what happens when he doesn’t listen!" Martin roared furiously in the living room.
Page, holding a beer, sauntered in from the dining room, and with his other hand, he pulled out the largest electric shock baton from his waist, flipping the switch on. The electric arc crackled as he walked towards them and spoke indifferently: "As you wish, Martin."
Jeff, seeing the sparking electric shock baton, swallowed nervously, while Martin revealed a cruel smirk: "You’re dead meat, Jeff, just you wa... Aghh!"
Martin spasmed and fell to the ground, lying prone with his limbs still trembling, and the beer he was holding dropped and spilled everywhere. It looked as if he had wet himself from an electric shock, and foam had even formed at the corners of his mouth.
Page, holding the electric shock baton, presented the end flickering with blue and white arcs under the pale-faced Jeff’s nose: "This is what happens when you don’t listen. Now, either you go back to learning how to become Stallone, or I’ll send you to God so you can directly discuss with Him the shape of the Earth."
Jeff quickly resumed his place in front of the sofa, like a well-behaved elementary school student, with his hands on his knees, eyes intently fixed on the TV screen, constantly repeating Stallone’s lines from the movie, and trying to mimic the tough look on his face.
Zack, the homeowner who had been woken up and was wearing kangaroo pajamas, sleepily came down from the second-floor bedroom wanting to find out why the living room was so noisy, and then he stood at the top of the stairs witnessing the brutal scene that had just unfolded.
He stood dumbfounded on the stairs for a full two minutes before he swiftly scrambled back up:
"Thank God, last year when I registered to run, I didn’t run into Martin and his friends. I’ll leave the great task of promoting the flat Earth theory to Jeff!"
Martin lay on the ground for a good while before he groaned loudly and got up, looking at Page, who seemed unfazed, and roared, "Shit! Couldn’t you have zapped him?"
"White people don’t hit white people, just like they say on TV: Girl Help Girl." Page put away the stun gun and said to Martin, "Besides, he’s a man running for Congress. I’m afraid he might come after me if he gets elected."
"So you’re not afraid of me coming after you?" Martin asked angrily.
Page took a sip of beer, ignoring Martin’s anger, sat down beside Jeff, and showed him the stun gun, "So, should I be afraid of you coming after me?"
"If it weren’t for your keen eye in discovering me, allowing me to become the CEO of BT, I would’ve had Martin’s Fruit gang brothers send you to meet God a long time ago, Page," Martin muttered resentfully, convincing himself that it wasn’t because he couldn’t beat the old cop but because he still felt a trace of gratitude toward him.
After Page’s turn, Martin went to the dining room to look for a few pieces of cold pizza to quell his hunger, then he was surprised to discover that his boss Tommy was still up, surrounded by piles of newspapers nearly as tall as a person on the desk, hunched over writing something behind the stacks, seemingly undisturbed by the commotion in the living room.
"Boss, let’s keep feeding the pigeons. I promise that from drugging them to collecting the dirty clothes stained with bird droppings, I’ll take care of everything. You just continue to chat up pretty Cuban girls in the square! I’m fed up with politics, at least feeding pigeons doesn’t lead to getting stunned in the waist by Page’s largest stun gun. I’m not even married yet, I don’t want my future wife questioning my ability in bed, or wondering why there’s a constant scent of electrically grilled beef kidneys on me," Martin said, pulling up another dining chair not far from Tommy, biting into a pizza with dissatisfaction:
"We don’t even make as much as we do with the pigeons. Jeff doesn’t have the fundraising ability of those politicians. The paper says that the Republican woman named Letty got two hundred thousand in donations on the first day of her campaign registration. We only got a bit over four hundred, not even close to the minimum thousand for starting a political action committee. Those veterans are all poor souls abandoned by America; how could they possibly donate to Jeff, this fool? You still plan to have me accompany him to trick even poorer black people in Little Haiti and Liberty City. It sounds like there’s no chance of winning."
Tommy finished the last sentence he was writing, then put the pen aside, exercised his wrist, and looked up at Martin: "That’s the reason America has countless billionaires but only one President of the United States. The path to politics has always been tougher than that of business, but the advantage is, once you gain power, the wealth follows closely behind, ensuing quickly."
"Did Stanford University ever teach you how fools like Jeff, before they acquire power, can first amass wealth to compete with rich and politically established politicians?" Martin asked Tommy.
Tommy nodded and smiled at Martin, "Of course, deception, lies, and backroom deals. I could give you a second lesson."
"I still prefer feeding pigeons," Martin said weakly, slumping over the dining table.
He really felt that helping Jeff run for office was less profitable than feeding pigeons back in Little Havana, South Miami, and it wasn’t nearly as exhausting.
"Do you really think I’m helping Jeff just to make money?" Tommy sighed and asked Martin.
