The bright daylight brought warmth and a sense of security.
Martin jogged at a steady pace around the Clayton neighborhood. After recovering from his leg injury, he had begun a disciplined regimen to strengthen his body. A poor man, if he wanted to make something of himself, needed to be in good shape.
A rolling door opened, and Scott Carter emerged from the grocery store, a bottle in hand, a piece of seaweed hanging from his lips. He spat out the stub of seaweed and shouted at Martin, "Idiot, aren’t you tired? Learn to enjoy life!"
Martin didn’t bother responding, raising a single finger in reply.
Why exercise? For the enjoyment to come, of course.
After a quick rinse, Martin headed next door to the Carter household to scrounge up breakfast.
Lily and Hall were packing their bags, getting ready for school.
Elena brought over a fried egg sandwich, and Martin, while eating, asked Harris, who was flipping through a book, "Not going to school?"
Harris replied, "I’m preparing for college applications. Studying at home is more efficient than going to public school."
"Good luck." Martin finished his breakfast and pulled the tips he’d earned last night from his pocket, tossing them to Elena. "For the food."
Elena looked at him, surprised. "Idiot, are you crazy? Did some thug bash your head in?"
Martin drank his milk, not looking up. "I got a new job, working as a bartender at the Beast’s Den."
Lily suddenly chimed in, "Why not as a dancer? I’m saving up..."
Two loud thuds, and Elena’s iron fists silenced both Lily and Hall, who clutched their noses and fell quiet.
Finishing his milk, Martin turned to Elena. "I’m thinking of buying a used car. Want to come with me?"
Elena slipped a purity ring onto her left ring finger. "I’m helping out at the Methodist church this morning. The Wesleyan Society has teamed up with the Atlanta Methodists to promote a new conservative initiative. The free lunches they offer are quite lavish."
It was the first time Martin had heard the name. "Wesleyan Society?"
Elena gave a brief explanation, "A conservative group, sharing roots with the Methodists, both equally uptight and old-fashioned!"
Martin nodded in understanding. "So, that’s why you’ve got the ring on?"
Elena shrugged. "Whoever offers the most free food, I follow."
Lily was about to interject again, but Martin was ready. "If you don’t want to end up with a face like a pig, keep your mouth shut."
Elena asked, "Since you’ve got a new job, should we throw a party to celebrate?"
"When I get some free time, invite your friends. We’ll have it in my backyard." Martin gestured towards his rented house. "Lately, I’ve had the feeling that James isn’t resting easy down below. If we dance on his grave with enough people, seeing us happy might finally let him rest in peace."
Elena nodded. "I’ll invite Monica and the others."
Martin called Bruce and met him on the south side of the neighborhood. They had planned the day before to go car shopping together.
Vincent Lee’s family was involved in many businesses, one of which was a used car dealership. Bruce, being one of Vincent’s trusted men, earned a commission for any business he brought in.
Among the cars recommended by the salesman and Bruce, Martin chose a Ford. At $4,500, it had to be bought on installment.
Anything cheaper, he feared, might break down on the road.
He paid the $900 down payment, completed the paperwork, and then they headed to the gun shop.
With no criminal record, Martin could legally purchase a firearm.
The shop had a second-hand Glock 17 for sale, about 80% new, from a warehouse clearance.
Bruce carefully inspected the gun and advised Martin to buy it.
The pistol came with two magazines, a holster, gun oil for maintenance, and 100 rounds of ammunition, totaling $380.
Georgia’s firearm laws were lax, and obtaining a handgun permit was quick. According to the shop owner, the state government was even considering a bill to allow concealed carry without a permit.
Inside the shop’s attached shooting range, Martin handed Bruce two $5 bills.
Bruce took them with a grin. "Until you head to work tonight, I’m all yours."
Martin reminded him, "Buddy, we’re civilized men. Let’s not say things that could be misunderstood."
Bruce removed the magazine and asked, "Ever used a gun before?"
Martin shrugged, "Just prop guns and toy guns."
Bruce started with the basics, showing Martin how to handle the safety and load the bullets. He also reminded him, "Don’t forget those posters you promised."
"Don’t worry, don’t worry," Martin said as he loaded bullets into the empty magazine.
Having pocketed his fee, Bruce taught with genuine dedication, and Martin learned just as seriously.
It wasn’t just a survival skill—it could also help him land roles in the future.
When Bruce demonstrated, his movements were swift and his aim accurate, hitting every target ten meters away.
Martin put on his earplugs and fired several magazines. At least now, he had a sense of how to shoot a handgun.
As for marksmanship, he wasn’t there yet.
"In gratitude for helping me earn money, here’s some advice." Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down. "When you run into black punks from the South, like last night, don’t hesitate to show your gun when necessary. It’s what keeps us civilized."
It was the events of last night that had finally convinced Martin to buy a gun and a car. He immediately agreed, "I’ll follow your lead and become a civilized man."
Bruce continued, "When cops pull you over, if you haven’t done anything major, always do what they say. Don’t even think about reaching for your gun—you, a greenhorn, will get unloaded on."
Martin, having seen countless videos on the subject, replied, "I won’t give them the chance."
Bruce gave one last piece of advice. "You’re a rookie, and you won’t scare anyone. If the other guy has a gun, find a way to get out of there fast."
Martin laughed. "I’ll definitely be running for my life, screaming for you to come back and handle it."
Bruce sighed. "It’s a civilized age now. When I first left the army, I was dumb enough to think I could go head-to-head with other gangs, AR in hand. Back then, I didn’t realize my life was my own."
Martin asked, "You were in the military?"
"Back in the '90s. Stationed in the UK," Bruce replied. "Discharged under force."
Martin, curious, asked, "Why? If it’s private, just ignore me."
Bruce chuckled. "A Brit lost a bet to me but refused to pay up. You know how the Brits pride themselves on being civilized gentlemen? I used a civilized man’s way to collect my debt."
Martin couldn’t help but praise him. "Mind if I say something? You did a brilliant job!"
Bruce asked, "You think it was civilized too?"
Martin bumped fists with him. "Next time you get a chance, bring me along!"
Bruce was a valuable asset. Building a good relationship with him would only be beneficial.
Over the next two days, Martin practiced shooting for an hour each day, scanned newspaper job ads, and continued to search for opportunities, while working nights at the club.
Each night, he pocketed around $20 in tips. If the club had more patrons, that figure would easily double.
But at the Beast’s Den, the number of customers rarely exceeded 50 at any given time.
On Wednesday afternoon, Martin received notice from the Marietta Theatre Company, instructing him to be at the Midtown Arts Theatre on Thursday for an audition with the production team.
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