America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz-Chapter 962 - 884 Chaos Is Also a Kind of Order
Chapter 962: Chapter 884: Chaos Is Also a Kind of Order
Chapter 962 -884: Chaos Is Also a Kind of Order
South of California, San Diego.
In the parking lot of Bay Hotel, Martin, Lorraine, Leonardo, and Nicholson climbed into a somewhat old armored business vehicle.
The bodyguards following them got into another dirty off-road vehicle.
On the business vehicle, Martin’s two longtime bodyguards were checking their firearms. The bodyguard in the front passenger seat said to Martin, “Boss, your gun is under the seat.”
Martin pulled out a black bag, opened it, took out a handgun, and slipped it into the holster under his armpit.
Another civilian version of the AR short-barreled rifle was placed at his feet.
Lorraine, who grew up in favorable circumstances, asked, “Is it necessary to bring guns?”
“Very necessary,” Nicholson replied as he wiped his sunglasses, “The place we’re going to next is one of the more chaotic neighborhoods in California, filled with black people…”
Leonardo corrected him, “African American!”
Martin also reminded, “It slips out naturally, but you can slip up in public.”
Nicholson nodded, “It’s an area where African American and Mexican communities converge, rife with drugs, decay, and crime.”
Lorraine asked, “Can’t we pick a slightly safer neighborhood?”
Martin chuckled, “Don’t buy into your father’s exaggerations; it’s not the most dangerous place in San Diego, just a normal African American and Mexican community.”
San Diego, sitting right next to Mexico’s Tijuana, is the first transshipment point for drugs entering California.
The bodyguard in the front passenger seat contacted the vehicle behind them, and the two vehicles left the underground parking lot one after the other, heading towards the southeastern part of San Diego according to the planned route.
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About an hour later, as the vehicles approached the target community, there were noticeably more black people on the streets.
Anywhere this group of people gathered in large numbers was often chaotic.
Martin reminded Lorraine, “Pay attention to the filming material.”
Lorraine had already gotten her camera ready and was shooting footage of the people on the sidewalk.
Martin also took out a DV to record material.
Although he grew up in the lower-class neighborhoods of Atlanta, Martin had been away from this kind of life for nearly ten years.
In those ten years, the living conditions for America’s lower-class are said to have gotten even more difficult.
In the open community, the roads were pockmarked and uneven, with cracks spreading like spider webs, and graffiti covered the walls of detached houses on both sides. The wooden houses appeared exceptionally dilapidated, and people on the streets were predominantly black.
These people were not numb, but instead full of life.
Just as the vehicle rolled over a pothole, gunshots suddenly rang out, like droplets of water dropped into hot oil, causing chaos all around.
The crackling sounds continued incessantly.
Martin told the driver to stop.
In the alley ahead, a group of older black men rushed out, seemingly two gangs, with a dozen or so chasing four or five in front, each armed with a gun.
Two of the pursuers even carried assault rifles of a certain model.
The gunmen were amateurish, each firing wildly like high-spirited shooters; despite the shots fired, no one seemed to fall.
An old pickup truck burst out of another corner, and the gunman on top rained a barrage of bullets on the chasing crowd.
This time, finally, some people fell.
The agonized screams of the black men couldn’t be drowned out by the gunfire.
“Oh God!” Lorraine turned pale, having seen such scenes on TV and movies; witnessing them first-hand was far more shocking, “This is literally hell!”
Leonardo said, “These kinds of group shootings are rare, we just happened to encounter one.”
Nicholson completely agreed, “The main roads here are usually quite safe during the day.”
Martin didn’t say anything but just recorded everything that was happening.
What he focused on was the chaos!
Joker symbolized chaos, and this wouldn’t change in the upcoming film.
The gunshots stopped, and soon everything returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.
Even after a long wait in the car, Martin and the others never heard the sound of police sirens.
Lorraine said, “Has the police given up on this area?”
Martin, having lived in similar communities, said, “Guess we’ll have to wait a while for the police to come, at least until they’re sure the gunfire has truly stopped over here.”
Nicholson said, “It’s normal, the people here hardly pay taxes, yet they have various welfare expenditures. With only outlay and no income, who would want to protect them?”
The car started up and moved forward.
Lorraine, filming through the car window, captured scenes of life in the community and said, “Everyone here seems sick.”
“They are indeed sick,” Martin adjusted his DV slightly, “The sickness they have, even doctors, let alone God, couldn’t cure.”
Leonardo looked surprised, “I haven’t heard about a widespread outbreak of AIDS in San Diego.”
Nicholson said, “It’s not AIDS, it’s poverty disease.”
Lorraine, rarely in contact with these issues, felt deeply today, “For the poor, this country is hell.”
Nicholson patted his daughter on the shoulder and said, “Not just America, in any part of the world, the poor live in hell.”
The conversation reminded Leonardo, and he looked at Martin, “You came here for the Joker role, is the Joker climbing out of hell?”
“There’s that aspect,” Martin said simply, “The Joker was born in a place even more chaotic than this community, originally a weak character, frequently bullied, just an ordinary person. But a series of events made him taste the benefits of chaos, and his ambition and madness spread rapidly.”
Saying this, Martin pointed outside, “These chaotic places will become his territory, worshippers of the Joker.”
