Chapter 37: Nobody's Safe

After finishing work in the evening, Bruce continued to hitchhike with Martin.

He contemplated Martin's words and asked, "Hart and the folks from the Striper Boy Group believe you can generate more income, so they're willing to join you in protesting against the Methodist Church." Martin was well aware of this, responding, "Don't worry, I'll keep them calling me daddy."

Bruce inquired, "What about rewards for informants? I suspect we're both on their blacklist."

Martin had a solution, "That's easy; you can have Monica make the calls, and Hart and the others can ask their wives or friends to make the calls." As the car approached the Baka community, Martin continued, "The boss agreed to provide subsidies based on hourly wages."

He paused for a moment and added, "I'll visit the Free Club on Monday to see if we can secure sponsorship. Old Bu, this plan might not work, so keep it to yourself for now."

The Ford came to a stop at an intersection, and Bruce exited the car, saying, "Don't worry, I'm not as foolish as you."

As the door closed, Martin accelerated away, leaving Bruce to sulk with his cigarette.

Bruce muttered in frustration, "I hope Old Black robs you on your way back!"

Martin extended his left arm out of the car window, flipping him off.

As Martin's car approached the intersection leading to the Clayton community, two white men stood under the dimly lit streetlights. They held white plastic bags and gestured toward Martin.

Martin had encountered vendors selling seaweed and flour before, so he didn't slow down and continued driving.

However, just a few dozen meters ahead, a screeching of brakes echoed from behind.

Instinctively, Martin glanced in the rearview mirror. A pickup truck was speeding toward the intersection. The two white men spun around and attempted to flee. After taking a few steps, flames erupted from the open passenger and rear doors of the pickup truck.

Boom—

Under the trolls, all beings are equal.

The two white men jumped directly into the street.

Martin's car raced away, reaching the backyard. His hand instinctively brushed against the concealed gun beneath his clothes, offering a semblance of safety.

Martin's eyes widened in disbelief as he beheld the grim scene unfolding before him. His expletive-laden outburst couldn't contain his shock. "What the hell!" he muttered, his voice tinged with curses he'd kept buried within: "Fuck!"

While dealers were ubiquitous around the Clayton community, it wasn't the most chaotic of neighborhoods. The black and Latino neighborhoods were relatively more stable.

Martin had never personally witnessed a shooting until now.

After splashing water on his face to regain his composure, he closed all doors and windows, waiting for the turmoil to subside, then retired to sleep.

In the early hours of the morning, Martin was jolted awake by nearby gunfire.

Gripping his pistol and cell phone, he took cover behind a masonry wall by the door.

Car and motorcycle engines roared, and sporadic gunfire pierced the night.

He dialed Elena's number and, as she picked up, urged her, "Close all doors and windows and stay put!"

Elena replied with characteristic bluntness, "I know, idiot. Don't venture out either! Your pathetic pistol won't be of much use. Use your head!"

Martin hung up and dialed 911, knowing that many in the community were likely doing the same.

But there was no immediate police response.

In impoverished communities, human rights often seemed non-existent.

Only when the gunfire ceased and the roar of engines faded did the distant wailing of police sirens finally reach their ears.

At daybreak, Martin and Elena cautiously ventured to the scene of the incident.

In a house less than 150 meters from Carter's residence, the wooden walls resembled a hornet's nest, riddled with bullet holes, and dried blood stained the dirt floor, turning it a dark black.

Police had cordoned off the area.

Martin inquired of Mr. Wood, who had arrived earlier: "What happened?"

Wood, having gathered information, explained, "Word has it that a gang from the south, made up of black and Latino members, tried to loot goods from markets here. A shootout ensued with Jackson's crew. Four people lost their lives. Our already troubled community is bound to get even worse." A middle-aged man nearby interjected, "I'm thinking of buying a gun, are you coming?"

Elena chimed in, "I'm coming too! If anyone dares to invade my home, I'll blow their heads off!"

Afterwards, Martin drove to pick up Bruce and Monica, and they visited a gun store together.

Bruce brought up a somber note, "Last night, a trafficker was killed in the Clyton community."

Martin responded gravely, "We could've ended up the same way if we'd gone that direction."

The atmosphere in the car was heavy. All four of them came from working-class backgrounds and had limited education. Bruce, the former soldier, was comparatively better off.

As they pulled up at the gun store, Martin addressed the group, "Listen, folks, I'm about to say something unpleasant, so bear with me. In the future, let's avoid getting tangled up in these troubles. No one's going to reach out to help poor folks like us."

Bruce seemed to grasp the meaning behind Martin's words, asking, "So, you've been working part-time."

Martin stepped out of the car and admitted, "I'm just a part-time worker earning hourly wages. I don't know much else."

Elena and Monica, however, were bewildered. "What are these two idiots talking about?"

Exiting the car, they entered the gun store to select firearms.

Though Martin had a pistol, the previous night's incident had reignited his fear of being underarmed. He contemplated purchasing a long gun.

Elena, too, opted for a long gun. Georgia law allowed for the purchase of long guns without restrictions or licenses.

Following Bruce's expert guidance, they picked shotguns tailored to their preferences.

Bruce acquired an AR rifle.

In neighborhoods where safety deteriorated to a certain level, sometimes resorting to arms became the only option.

After a morning of firearms practice, Martin instructed Elena, "Keep the guns locked away, and don't let Hall get his hands on them. I'm worried he might accidentally discharge one." Elena scoffed, "He's not as dumb as you."

That night, another round of gunshots rang out in the north of the Clayton community.

The gang feuds persisted.

After his evening shift, Martin decided to sleep in the living room of Carter's house, shotgun at the ready.

During breakfast the next morning, Hall grumbled, "We should take the initiative and blow those bastards' heads off."

Lily retorted cynically, "Your own head would be the first to go."

Despite her usually cheerful disposition, Elena gazed at her younger siblings, her expression laden with concern.

Harris, feeling an unexplainable pressure, declared, "I... I'll find a way to make money and get us out of this place, to a safer community."

Martin saw no other alternative. In their current predicament, the community offered little hope. He inquired, "How do you plan to make money?"

Elena chimed in, "I'm thinking of sticking to buying lottery tickets!"

Martin was taken aback by Elena's decision but relented, "Alright, go for it."

Elena, however, continued, "I've also memorized all the cocktail recipes you taught me and have been practicing."

After breakfast, Martin jotted down a few more cocktail recipes for Elena and Lily.

Before dropping Elena off at the Methodist Church, Martin asked, "Is the Methodist Church planning a large-scale training session soon?"

Elena confirmed, "Yes, targeting gullible believers and their naive children. They'll conduct it at the Methodist Training Center, where you picked me up last time." She then inquired with suspicion, "Are you planning to cause trouble again?"

Martin pondered briefly before responding, "When you have the chance, attend the training and keep an eye on Milton. That's all I want you to do."

Elena nodded, adding, "I know him. He reeks of guilt. I'll keep a close watch. No complications."

Martin sighed, "Just attend the training safely, observe Milton, and avoid any unnecessary involvement."

Elena couldn't help but retort, "My IQ is leagues ahead of yours!"

Martin glanced at her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly. "Alright, alright, I concede, it's leagues ahead."

Pulling up in front of the lottery shop, Elena hopped out of the car to buy tickets and queried, "Is anyone free around noon?"

Martin shook his head, "Probably not. I'm planning to consult with a patent lawyer today and then attend the Woman Association meeting."

Elena seemed taken aback, "A patent lawyer? Did you tell Lily about her crafts?"

Martin replied, "I gave her a heads up."

With that, Elena entered the lottery shop while Martin continued with his day.