Chapter 88 The Real Truffaut

"This bike, let me handle it. You just hop on. It's not that I look down on you, Carter, but you're too young and don't have enough strength to handle these Mustangs!"

With a chuckle, Truffaut swung onto the bike, then patted the seat behind him, indicating for Carter to join. As for helmets, forget about it; there was no such thing as riding a motorcycle without a helmet and facing a $20 fine.

"Alright, but you better ride slowly. I don't want to meet an early demise!"

Glancing at the heavyweight Harley and then at his own skinny arms, Carter reluctantly climbed onto the back seat. Holding onto Truffaut's waist, he nervously reminded him.

It's strange. When Carter drives, although he doesn't like speeding, he never drives slowly. He almost always hovers around the edge of speeding, but once it comes to riding a motorcycle...

Sorry, only 20 miles per hour can make Carter feel safe. The adrenaline-pumping riders he saw in short videos in his past life, Carter also had the idea of buying a motorcycle to be a knight, but thinking about the motorcycle, if something happens and he gets thrown out, he quickly dismissed the idea.

"Haha, trust my riding skills!"

Carter's reminder had the opposite effect. With Truffaut's hearty laughter, the Harley roared to life. Then, like a catapult, the motorcycle surged forward suddenly. Once on the main road, it swayed gracefully from side to side.

There were no accidents, but sitting on the back seat swaying like a piece of seaweed in the wind, Carter's face turned pale with fear. More than once, he felt like he was about to meet his end, but Truffaut managed to maneuver the motorcycle out of danger each time.

After a bumpy ride to an auto repair shop on the outskirts of the city, Carter got off the bike with weak legs. Looking around the repair shop,

Two lifts stood in the workshop, and in front was a fairly large open space. The space on both sides was filled with motorcycles, all heavy ones, and there were not many cars.

In addition, there were more than a dozen burly men dressed similarly to Truffaut, gathered around a paint barrel burning brightly with a bonfire. They were grilling meat, and when they saw Truffaut and Carter arrive, they all turned their heads in unison, staring at them strangely.

"What are you all staring at? Didn't you see we have guests? Danny, make room for Carter. Mobat, go to the kitchen and get some food."

After parking the motorcycle, Truffaut swaggered towards the group, patting Carter on the back as he passed, then casually slung his arm around Carter's shoulder and continued towards the crowd.

"Alright, I'll go."

One of the burly men acknowledged and went to the kitchen to get some food. The others didn't rush to speak but silently moved aside to make room for Truffaut and Carter to sit, their eyes still fixed on the two.

"Here, Carter. Here's some booze, and here's some smokes. Help yourself. And, by the way, I, Danny, and that guy over there, Will, we're all your seniors, all graduated from Elmonde. You're a guest here, so don't be shy."

"Thanks, but I can't handle much alcohol."

Looking down at the bottle of beer Truffaut handed him and confirming it was just cold beer, Carter breathed a sigh of relief. He never had a good tolerance for alcohol, let alone the original owner, who almost never touched it.

If he were to be served some strong liquor, Carter wouldn't be able to handle it. Just as he was about to refuse, Mobat returned, squatting in front of Carter and placing a plate filled with food on a small stool in front of him.

"These things, young people nowadays probably eat less, but with grilled meat and beer, they're the best!"

Raising his beer bottle, Truffaut downed half of it in one gulp, his face reddening even more. After a satisfied belch, he gestured to Carter to try it, and Mobat, who was invited by Truffaut, stood up again, cutting a piece of roasted pig leg from the half-paint barrel roasting a suckling pig, picked up the meat with the tip of the knife, and walked to Carter.

"Thanks, I don't eat much of this stuff normally, but I've had it before, so I won't be uncomfortable. Jenny at home sometimes makes it for us. Is this arepa?"

The arepa in Carter's mouth is a type of corn cake. Corn cake is an absolute staple in Central and South America. People often grind corn into cornmeal, then bake it into cakes. They're eaten with cheese, beans, onions, peppers, and other miscellaneous toppings. In more well-off places, they have grilled meat, and you can also wrap the grilled meat in it.

This thing, and the Mexican chicken roll in his past life, are similar. But the Mexican chicken roll Carter ate in his past life, the cake was no longer corn cake. And the corn cake, this thing is quite interesting.

Both are corn cakes, but they're called completely different things in different countries. For example, arepa in Carter's mouth is a common name for corn cakes. The size and types of arepa are not fixed, but the characteristic is that the skin is thicker! The corn cake, the farther south you go, the thicker the skin, and the farther north, the thinner it gets.

By the time you get to Mexico, this thing is called "gorditas," and the thickness has turned from a cake to almost the thickness of a dumpling skin. This thing, eating it occasionally, Carter feels pretty good. But the arepa that Jenny made is often with a bit of cheese, then paired with a braised beef stew. The way of wrapping grilled meat, Carter has never tried before.

"Haha, that's right, it's arepa. I learned how to make it from a Colombian guy, and I think it's fantastic with meat. The key is it's cheap and filling!"

Truffaut laughed heartily, giving Carter a thumbs-up. Apparently, he was somewhat surprised that Carter knew about this and that he didn't reject it like other young people in America nowadays, feeling a little closer in his heart.

"Look at my repair shop, eighteen big bellies, all relying on me to support them. Without this stuff, I really can't afford to support them. Here, drink up!"

"Alright, cheers!"

Looking around, Carter tilted his head and drank two big mouthfuls of beer, then cut a piece of grilled meat and stuffed it into his mouth before swallowing. Then, he spoke thoughtfully,

"Mr. Truffaut, you should be aware of my purpose in coming here, right?"

Coming early for the appointment, warmly inviting him, and then casually complaining. Carter suddenly realized that Truffaut's situation might not be as good as he imagined. He definitely wasn't as tough as Carlos described.

His industry is just this one repair shop, and his employees, or direct subordinates, are only seventeen people. The people who fought with O'Neal seemed to be his group, but in fact, they were just helpers. They were just people who usually played together. It's completely different from the black men directly led by O'Neal.

In other words, those people don't pay tribute to Truffaut, and they don't bring in any income. So, his income is actually very limited. What's worse is that if they come to help and get injured, Truffaut will definitely have to pay for medical expenses. If he doesn't pay, he won't be able to continue mixing in the future.

With limited income, and bleeding heavily a few times, he is actually weaker than O'Neal?!! His previous tough talk was just to try to recover the losses as much as possible and not reveal his weakness?!

So, when he heard that he might bring compensation and bring money-making opportunities to them, he became so concerned. He waited patiently for the whole afternoon without complaint, even though he had to lower his status.

Carter didn't think these guys were good-natured. Try standing them up and see what happens? Still want them to wait obediently for you? And the immediate act of pulling connections.

From Mary, to Elmonde.

If you consider Truffaut's situation of almost running out of oil, then everything that was unreasonable before becomes reasonable!