Chapter 20: Ghetto! Wakan Street!

After leaving the teacher's apartment, I walked toward Wakan Street, often referred to as a slum.

The area was notorious for thieves and robbers, with dirty water pooling on the ground, potholes everywhere, and a sour smell permeating the air. Most people would avoid living here. Only those who had hit rock bottom and couldn't survive elsewhere found themselves in this part of town. They either banded together for safety or silently endured the filthy and foul environment.

Every day, bodies could be found in the stinky ditches, and it was clear that gang members were responsible. The police force in the Brooklyn precinct struggled to maintain order in the main areas, and these outskirts were even more neglected. As long as there wasn't a rebellion, they would clear things up the following day.

As soon as I stepped onto Wakan Street, I felt several unfriendly eyes upon me, scrutinizing me as if I were a lamb among wolves. The sensation was distinctly uncomfortable.

Suddenly, a skinny guy approached with his head down. He bumped into me, trying to reach into my pocket to steal my wallet while hiding his hand behind his back!

Bang! "Ah!!!" A gunshot rang out, followed by a scream that seemed to shock all the malicious eyes around us.

I lifted my pistol, still smoking from the shot, blew on it with a flourish, and tucked it back into my waistband with great bravado.

I looked down at the pickpocket, who was now screaming and clutching his leg. I despised his cowardly attempt at theft. If you had the guts to rob a bank, then you were a hero in my book. But sneaking around to pickpocket was just despicable.

When dealing with punks like him, I believed in using a direct approach. There was no need for words—just pull the gun and shoot. The truth of Wakan Street was simple: the one with the bigger fist was the boss!

It seemed the onlookers realized I was not someone to mess with; no one offered sympathy for the thief writhing on the ground. Those who didn't understand the law of the jungle should head to the almshouse for their brown bread!

The Old Sailor's Bar, a new establishment, had previously been a biker hangout. Just the day before, it had been seized by a group led by a man named Marlos, changing ownership overnight. Such conflicts were common in Wakan; it was no surprise that new gangs formed daily. Some had dozens of members, while others claimed to be gangs with just two.

The most dominant group was the Balastar gang, which controlled 70% of the street, while the rest were fragmented, small-time gangs that were often tossed some leftover scraps to keep them quiet. Mosai, the leader of the Balastar gang, was smart enough to maintain his power.

As I entered the bar, I saw gang members sitting around at tables. The place wasn't large, with only five or six tables scattered about. The air was thick with an unbearable mix of smoke, sweat, and other unpleasant odors—a stench potent enough to poison rodents.

A few patrons were still smoking casually! I had to admire humanity's resilience; we truly were at the top of the food chain!

"Yo, young master, you're here! Please, take a seat!" Liao De, a black man, greeted me with discernment, causing the hostile glares in the bar to dissipate instantly. With those kinds of eyes, who dared to come in and spend?

On the second floor, there was a small cubicle that had once served as a sleeping area but had been converted into a private space. Marlos was there, puffing on a cigarette and studying a somewhat worn map, muttering to himself.

Upon noticing my arrival, he quickly extinguished his cigarette, rubbed his hands together, and forced a smile. If he hadn't shown his teeth, I might not have known he was trying to smile. "Master Mark, good evening! Welcome! It's wonderful to see you!"

I felt no discomfort, indifferent to the odors surrounding me as long as I wasn't killing anyone. "What's the next move?" I asked.

"I'm planning to confront some people. First, I want to clear out all the areas on the edges of Wakan Street, dismantle the other gangs, and control all the territory except that of the Balastar Gang! What do you think, Master Mark?" he boldly stated his plan, looking at me with eager anticipation.

"It's not a bad idea. If you want to take over these sites, you'll need plenty of bullets and guns. But no need to rush. Focus on taking over the remaining sites first, build your strength, and when I come back, I'll help the Balastar Gang. Just don't worry about it for now."

I examined the map, feeling no immediate need to fret. I had plans to head to Massachusetts soon, where MIT was located, and Brooklyn was not my main concern.

"But if we don't take their territory, how can we survive? The best strip clubs and bars are on their side!" Marlos protested, not understanding my strategy.

"Idiot! Do you think we need to rely on that to do business? Take control of these sites first, then find some people who can cook. Whether they're locals or foreigners, if you can get some specialty food, you can serve it on the spot. Yes! You can sell it in our area or other streets—are you worried you won't make money?"

I pointed to the section close to the bustling commercial area.

"Is that really possible? Master Mark, I'm a bit slow on this. You need to explain it better. I can handle the fighting and killing, but business is something else entirely!"

Marlos scratched his bald head in distress, clearly out of his depth. Education wasn't his strong suit, and his knowledge was limited.

It was obvious he wouldn't grasp the concept easily. After all, the U.S. didn't have this kind of business model yet!

I felt a bit helpless. How had I ended up with such a naive little brother? It was easy to forget he was a homeless guy; expecting him to be a doctor or some kind of genius was wishful thinking.

I imagined being the protagonist in a novel, strong enough to shake the ground, with Magneto bowing to me while Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor called me their leader. But was that even realistic? It was time to snap back to reality.

Shaking my head to clear those messy thoughts, I resolved to teach my little brother some basic concepts. "Listen up, idiot. This is called street vending. As long as the food is good and priced low, people will come to buy! This is what we call small profits but quick turnover. The more you sell, the more you earn. What sells best? Food! With your people watching over it, are you worried about trouble?"

"As long as you conduct business peacefully, those gangs won't bother you. Can an elephant compete with a rabbit? Obviously not! And you can't have drugs here! It's best not to get involved in prostitution either. Just keep things peaceful. If you run a small business, don't expect to make a fortune overnight. A food truck can make $100 a day—that's $3,000 a month. What if you have ten or twenty? This business model is low-cost and has a quick return on investment. Got it?"

I felt my mouth getting dry and grabbed a beer from the table, drinking it directly.

"Hey, Master Mark! After hearing you, it sounds like we really can make money! But what exactly are we doing? Young master, you seem to have it all figured out. Just give me specifics; I'm not the brightest, but I'll do my best! Liao De, go get a cold beer for the young master! Young master, please continue; we need you to lead us!"

Marlos rubbed his hands together excitedly; it all sounded promising.

Annoyed yet determined, I continued imparting my knowledge. "It's simple: find a skilled cook! The best food in the world comes from those who've worked in fine restaurants or street vendors alike. Just remember, treat them well—ask for their rates, don't shortchange or bully them. It's hard for people to leave their hometowns and cross oceans to come here.

It's great to have French chefs; they're born cooks!"

Taking a sip of my drink, I added, "After we establish ourselves in the beginning, don't provoke anyone. If other gangs dare to challenge you, fight back fiercely. If they try to take your turf, defend it with all your might. They won't give up their territory easily.

Focus on the snack business first—create the impression that there's no competition, and develop steadily. Wait until you have enough personnel and weapons before trying to grab more territory! Understand? There's a saying in ** that goes, 'stockpile resources widely and become a king slowly!' Learn it well!"