svetikya Page 90
Page 90
The tall, thin man grinned, revealing a conspicuous gap in his jawline: "Special channel, 10,000 kilometers. You know what I mean."
After leaving the dealership, Victor lit a cigarette: "Stolen car?"
Ethan shrugged: "They were 'borrowed' from Indiana. The owners all got insurance compensation, so they just had them repaired somewhere else, and then they 'convinced' the police department. As long as they don't leave Chicago, no one will pursue the matter."
Viktor exhaled a smoke ring and didn't ask any further questions.
To survive in Chicago, sometimes you have to close one eye.
With the converted RV in place, Victor began recruiting.
He chose four Chinese martial arts gyms—places that are not only martial arts training venues, but also social centers and information hubs for new immigrants.
"One day off per week, working hours are seven hours a day, including three meals a day, and the weekly salary is forty US dollars."
Victor stood in the lobby of the Hung Mun Boxing Gym and addressed more than twenty young faces, saying, "Food is included, and accommodation is one US dollar per person per day. In addition, 2% of the daily profits will be your commission."
A muscular young man raised his hand: "What if the police or thugs cause trouble?"
Victor scoffed, "That's none of your business."
Ultimately, fifteen gym students or their relatives joined SHW.
Old Wang was promoted to head of the central kitchen and started working at a closed restaurant, where he was responsible for training three new people to prepare ingredients.
Wang Xiaomei became the leader of the first team, responsible for the most profitable route through the downtown construction sites.
Just as the team's expansion plan was in full swing, Victor received a call from Jimmy.
"They let me out!"
On the other end of the landline, Nick's voice trembled with excitement, "That judge actually believed my nonsense about being mentally challenged!"
Victor laughed, not telling him that the judge's wife had received three thousand dollars and the victim had received ten thousand dollars.
"That's because Jimmy's psychologist's report was so good. Let's celebrate at the laundromat tonight."
That evening, Nick John—the 'mentally challenged' young man who killed someone over a bicycle—sat awkwardly in the SHW company office, a bottle of whiskey in front of him.
He was stronger than Victor remembered, his black curly hair cut into a prison-standard buzz cut, and his brown eyes gleamed with unease.
"What's next?"
Victor poured him half a glass of wine.
Nick downed his drink in one gulp: "I don't know. The parole officer found me a job as a supermarket stocker, three dollars an hour."
"Work with me."
Viktor looked him straight in the eye. "We need people like you."
"Someone like me?"
Nick gave a wry smile. "A murderer?"
"You are not indiscriminately killing innocent people."
Victor corrected him, “You can’t just wander the streets. I hope you have a good start, make money, get married, and have children.”
Nick twirled the empty glass: "I have money."
"You can't use your money!"
Ambitious glint gleamed in Viktor's eyes. "With a physique like yours, why don't you come with me to practice boxing? There's work here too!"
Nick was silent for a few minutes, then held out his hand: "Give me a week to think about it. I need to call Carl first."
A week later, when SHW’s five food trucks set off simultaneously for the first time, Nick appeared in the laundry’s backyard, carrying a worn-out military backpack.
"Karl agreed."
He mimicked the rigid tone of a West Point cadet: "And after he heard that you rescued me, he asked me to convey his gratitude, saying that he would thank you in person later."
Viktor laughed and hugged his old friend: "Welcome to SHW!"
The next morning, five modified RVs painted with orange flame patterns drove to five different corners of Chicago.
Victor stood on the roof of the laundromat, watching the last car disappear around the corner.
The setting sun dyed the entire West End blood red, and the wind tousled his hair.
Jimmy climbed up and handed him a cup of coffee: "What are you thinking about?"
Viktor took the cup but did not answer immediately.
The faint sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance, but it quickly disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the city.
"I'm thinking..."
He concluded by saying, "When will Frankie ask for an increase in his 'community relations' share?"
Jimmy frowned: "The contract is very clear—"
"In Chicago, a contract is less effective than a gun."
Viktor interrupted him, giving him a cold smile. "But don't worry, I'm prepared. If he doesn't have anyone to support him when it really starts, he'll be out!"
Chapter 72 Business is more than just business
In May, Chicago is filled with heat and the aroma of fried food.
Victor stood in front of a catering van in a Black neighborhood, sweat dripping down his temples, but his smile was brighter than the sunshine on the Chicago River.
The queue snaked to the street corner, filled entirely with Black faces. They pointed at the campervans bearing the Snowy Wind City logo, their laughter and calls of ordering filling the air.
"Two pork knuckle sets, extra chili sauce!"
"Hey buddy, another beef burger (and steamed bun)!"
Victor watched as his employee—a young Chinese man named Lassoon—skillfully scooped things out of the insulated container while simultaneously collecting money and giving change with his other hand.
Last week, LaSean was a street thug, but now he's wearing a red uniform with the SHW logo and looks like a proper office worker.
"Boss, we're out of onion rings again."
"Rashonen shouted, turning his head as the fried chicken sizzled in the oil."
Victor nodded and took out his car phone: "Central kitchen, this is South District Vehicle 3. We urgently need to replenish onion rings and cola syrup. Send a support vehicle over immediately."
Mary, the accountant and sister-in-law of the South District Sheriff, replied over the walkie-talkie with a hint of impatience: "Got it, Victor. By the way, the IRS quarterly reports are due tomorrow."
Jimmy knows how to find people, and the people he finds are pretty good.
Viktor grinned. This was his system—frontline employees received a base salary plus commission, and they were highly motivated.
While placing people with connections in law enforcement departments in administrative positions is inefficient, it saves a lot of trouble.
Last week, a small, reckless gang tried to collect protection money. All Rashon did was shout, and in return for a beating, his bodyguard pulled out Miss Flame, and the gang immediately slunk away.
"Victor!"
As I returned to my office from the training hall, a familiar voice came from inside.
Jimmy's shirt was soaked with sweat, and he waved a stack of documents in his hand.
"You need to take a look at this! The data for May is out!"
Victor pulled Jimmy aside and poured him a glass of ice water.
Jimmy excitedly flipped through the documents: "After deducting all costs, we made a net profit of $20,400! And that's for just five cars!"
Viktor's fingers traced the numbers on the paper, his heart pounding.
$20,000 is equivalent to a middle-class American's annual income.
"The four hundred dollars were split between that sister-in-law and her mistress."
Victor warned Jimmy, "I know you're thirsty, but be careful, those two are no pushovers."
Jimmy laughed: "Don't worry, it's all just for fun."
Victor's gaze swept across the street to the dilapidated apartment buildings and idle young people, and a bolder plan began to take shape in his mind.
"We need to expand,"
Victor said in a deep but firm voice, "Not five, not ten, but twenty new cars, to be parked in Logan Square, Andersonville, Hyde Park, Roscoe Village in the North Center... and two near the University of Chicago!"
Jimmy's eyes widened: "Invest all the profits? What if—"
"There's no 'what if',"
Victor interrupted him, “Frankie’s RVs are only half the price of those on the market. Our model has proven successful. Before the end of June, I want Snow Honey Wind City’s profits to be where they should be.”
Victor, however, had already assigned a new task: "Jimmy, the trademarks and patents for Snowy Wind City need to be finalized. Should we hire someone from the University of Chicago for this?"
Jimmy nodded: "The Chicago Police Chief's son does this kind of work; we can outsource it to him."
Viktor pondered: "The company buys out the recipes for all the dishes that Lao Wang makes. While others get a 2% cut, we'll increase his to 3%, make him hand over the recipes, and then apply for patents for them."
"no problem."
·······
That afternoon, Victor arrived at Frankie's used car dealership.
My cousin was lying on the sofa in the office, taking a nap with his face covered by a newspaper.
Victor flipped the newspaper without any politeness, and Franky's small eyes squinted in the dim light.
"Twenty catering vans,"
Victor got straight to the point: "Deliver the goods within two weeks."
Franky sat up, his face twitching. "Victor, do you think this is ordering food at McDonald's? Twenty trucks means I have to source them from three states and refit them—"
"Fifteen days,"
Victor remained unmoved. "Deliver four vehicles within three days, and complete the rest on schedule. Cash payment, but the price will be reduced by another 10%."
Franky stared at the timid Asian boy who had been so hesitant just a few months ago, and suddenly smiled: "Okay!"
Victor leaned over, placing his hands on Franky's greasy desk: "Then tell them that Victor isn't here to ask for permission. My men will protect my business as much as they protect these five cars."
Frankie's smile vanished.
He was well aware of Viktor's appeal; his Golden Gloves title hadn't brought much influence, and while Ubelman had suppressed it, he knew the power of his influence in the community—he knew how much influence those martial arts school relatives wielded.