Chapter 65: The Frustrated Kirk and the Drunken Bastard

[Chapter 65: The Frustrated Kirk and the Drunken Bastard]

Nobody paid attention to the crazy Charlie. Because when Kirk heard those words, his face darkened and turned as red as a boiled lobster. His already prominent eyes exaggerated to cartoonish proportions, his eyeballs almost popping out.

"Son of a bitch, he threatened the Daddy! I'm going to kill him! Daddy, did he just threaten you?" Kirk's right-hand man suddenly stood up, angry and confused, looking to the boss for clear instructions.

Mord, Charlie's right-hand man, was much smarter. He held the other man down, stared Kirk straight in the eye, and said while rolling up his sleeves, "Want to fight? Come on then."

"You asshole, get lost."

As the men cursed and struggled, Kirk glanced up at Ophir, who appeared calm and resigned. Kirk frowned, waved his hand to calm his men, and fell into thought.

That little bastard's message was clear.

He made it obvious that if they didn't cooperate, they would be in trouble. Helping Jada to track Charlie's whereabouts, persuading Tupac to cause trouble during Independence Day's release -- all of these things had been done by him and were fully known.

Had this happened a few months ago, Kirk would have laughed it off recklessly, or maybe even rough him up.

But now...

Kirk bitterly cursed inside with envy and jealousy.

What a shameless piece of shit. Is God playing a joke on us? I always thought white people's beliefs were bizarre.

A few months ago, this guy was a fool who spent his days fighting in the streets.

Now he was a Hollywood mogul. He walked away unscathed from Tupac's shooting incident.

He even supposedly had connections with Chief Roy from the LA Police Department.

Damn it, I shouldn't have come today.

Kirk had a complicated internal struggle and finally sighed deeply, taking a large gulp of his drink. "Officer Ophir, aren't you going to say something about your friend's behavior just now?"

"Sorry, that's not my business. I'm here to drink with him."

Kirk rolled his eyes at the snakes and rats gathering around. Rubbing his large belly, he said in a low voice, "If I cooperate with the Godfather, how can I guarantee he'll be able to buy Death Row Records?"

Mord smiled broadly, nudging Ophir with his shoulder.

Ophir's casual expression immediately disappeared. He looked surprised. "Sounds like you've got some trouble. Charles said you'd bring up this issue."

Blood rushed to Kirk's head, a mix of shame and fear, but he forced himself to stay calm. "And the answer?"

"Charles said the owner of Death Row Records, Suge, might go after Wallace. He hopes you, as an informant, can provide intel."

"Anything else?"

"That's all he said, but I think..." Ophir pondered. "Charles now has some connections with Fox executives, Harvey from Miramax, and my boss. They've got plenty of clout. With Charles's ability now, getting the rest done shouldn't be hard."

Kirk fell into deep thought.

He kept mulling over "acting as an informant, providing intel."

A guy like Suge would definitely seek revenge against Wallace. Otherwise, with Tupac dead and Wallace alive, Suge could never launch new rap artists again.

Those gangsta rappers, beyond hustling their music, were no different from gangs competing.

They wanted revenge, but how could they leave evidence?

An informant, intel?

Suddenly, Kirk's eyes lit up, and he cursed a few more times. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his teeth and stomped his foot. "I need time to gather funds. Also, I want him, both in personal and film company capacity, to sign a guarantee agreement witnessed by Morgan Law Firm!"

Morgan was a well-known business litigation law firm in California. Their fees were high, but they provided strong legal protection and binding for both cooperating parties.

"I have no objections. You talk to Charles -- I don't think he'll refuse," Ophir shrugged.

"Mord, go get your boss here."

After making his decision, Kirk relaxed, though still looking annoyed, and gazed toward the small stage at the bar.

Charlie was there, bothering a female singer. It was unclear what they were saying, but the singer's eyes seemed red.

Mord scratched his head. "I don't think now is a good time to disturb the boss, Kirk."

Kirk huffed angrily, nostrils flaring like a bull, snapping, "Hey, you two. Is the Godfather losing his mind here?" He pointed to his head. "We were discussing business, and now he's bothering a singer."

Suddenly getting excited, Kirk pointed at a distance. "Look, he must be having an episode. What's he doing? Trying to sing?"

Everyone's expressions were strange, their brains struggling to keep up with the abnormal Charlie.

Mord tried to defend the boss, "Don't say that, he's hitting on her!"

Kirk snorted. "A moment ago, we were discussing deals worth tens of millions. I don't think that singer is more beautiful than an angel."

Ophir seriously considered, "Charles is different now. I always feel he is detached from the world, and that he's very lonely inside."

No one agreed with him.

...

Compared to Charlie, the woman on stage, dressed in a pale blue romper dress, thin and cold-looking, holding a guitar much larger than herself, standing in the spotlight, seemed more lonely.

Her eyes were red. She lifted her head, pursed her lips, struggling to hold back tears. Her deep sapphire blue eyes stared fixedly at Charlie.

"Sir, this is not a strip club. I'm not a call girl! This is just a part-time job! I'll call the cops -- I swear."

Her last words trembled noticeably.

Squinting, Charlie smiled sleazily, swaying slightly in his drunken, towering frame. His domineering face was terrifying rather than approachable.

He wasn't scared by her threat. Instead, he shook his head and laughed, looking like a hateful drunk.

"I mean no harm, ma'am. I just hate hearing sad, gloomy songs in a bar that's supposed to be full of joy. You seem to be in some trouble?"

"None of your business!" The woman felt wronged but tried not to show it.

"Of course, it's none of my business. I was curious to hear some harsh stories -- it always makes some people happy to feel schadenfreude."

"You shameless bastard!" the woman cried, her voice thick with tears.

"Ha ha ha ha, thank you!" Charlie laughed uproariously.

Suddenly stepping closer, scaring her back, he smiled, "No one in this world truly cares about you. Everyone must be their own savior! I'm in a great mood today. Beautiful ladies get special treatment from me. I'm going to sing a happy song for you!"

The woman was dumbfounded.

Is this guy crazy or schizophrenic?

Is he trying to hit on me, or wanting to beat me up?

*****

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