Chapter 56: Going to San Francisco Valley

Hearing those words, Martin's mind drifted back to his tumultuous past, the days of drug dealers in Clayton, and the grim scenes of violence.

Who would willingly remain at the bottom, serving as a stepping stone for others? Who would allow themselves to be drained of vitality like a mined resource? Who would endure relentless whipping, stuck in a cycle of futility?

Martin downed his wine in one gulp and declared, "Anyone who tries to control me, I'll cast them into the depths of hell. Anyone who obstructs my path, I'll push them off the cliff. Whoever stands above me, I'll throw them into a pit of fire. Louise, no matter how bad things get, can they be worse than what I've experienced?"

A hint of a smile touched his lips as he continued, "What have I got to lose? If I fail, the worst that can happen is I become a stripper or end up in the San Francisco Valley making movies. I refuse to remain poor and at the bottom of life!"

Louise understood the implications immediately. "So that's it," she said, smiling. "Troubles and you make quite the pair."

"Please, go on," Martin urged, refilling their glasses. While he had seen plenty of news and rumours in his previous life, he had only observed them from a distance, far from Louise's hands-on experience as a producer.

Louise explained, "If you want real development, leave Atlanta and head to Los Angeles. Georgia's incentives may attract more Hollywood crews, but cities like Toronto, Australia, and Morocco implemented similar incentives years ago and have yet to become star-studded hubs. In a typical Hollywood production, the principal cast and crew have already been chosen in Los Angeles before they start shooting."

She pointed at Martin and said, "Your Southern accent won't be an issue for minor roles with fewer lines, but for more substantial roles, a Hollywood accent is a must. Of course, for a role like that of a Southern vampire zombie stripper, your Southern accent is perfect."

"Hollywood accent?" Martin raised an eyebrow and quickly caught on, "A standard accent used in Hollywood movies, is that it?"

Louise nodded and advised, "You'll need daily self-correction and find professional instructors. I haven't come across any professional training institutions in Atlanta. Learning both the Hollywood accent and British accent will boost your competitiveness."

Martin took her advice to heart, saying, "I'll visit the Savannah Art Institute's Atlanta branch tomorrow."

Louise emphasized, "The crucial thing is, to seize opportunities without hesitation, regardless of the means or ethics. Winning is paramount. If you succeed, people call it inspirational; if you fail, no one will remember your integrity."

Martin suddenly quipped, "Can I use some of those means on you?"

"What?" Louise, the self-proclaimed drunkard and pervert, looked intrigued.

Martin raised his glass, adding to the ambience, "My genius brain has concocted a few more cocktail ideas."

Louise gritted her teeth, "You're incorrigible! You should wallow in the muck for life! Just wait; I'll bite off your muddler and turn it into a shaker!"

Martin couldn't help but jest, "A shaker that brews your spirits?"

"You're truly shameless," Louise retorted, "but you do have potential. Now, give me that new recipe."

Hobbies seemed more enticing than work, and Louise didn't hold back, making a straightforward deal, "This year... I'm swamped with work this year. I also have a film production in Morocco." She calculated, "If you head to Los Angeles around the New Year, I'll recommend you to an agency. Your acting skills are top-notch. I've watched every scene you've done, and you've more than impressed me. As a token of my satisfaction, I'll offer you a fitting reward. You can give me a hand as well."

Martin circled back to his original query, "What about the zombie stripper? Let's set aside the funds and discuss it."

Louise noticed Martin grabbing a pen and paper, jotting down the wine's name and quantity. She spoke knowingly, "In a theatre film, the lead actor's role is of utmost importance. Remember this, my friend: when choosing the crew and characters at the start, it's better to be the big fish in a small pond than to be a small fish in the sea."

She accepted the paper with Martin's notes, kissed it fervently, folded it, and tucked it away safely. "Most of Hollywood's film investments come from backers," she continued. "For instance, my company never produces films independently. Such productions involve various relationships and interests that must be carefully balanced. Even as an executive producer, I can't recommend an actor for a crucial role if they lack the talent and qualifications. Producers and production companies must pass the test, considering the stakes often reach tens of millions or even hundreds of millions of dollars. You'll have to think about it."

Martin sighed, acknowledging, "I'll need to secure the lead actor for this million-dollar project first."

Louise's face brightened as a happy thought crossed her mind, and she chuckled joyfully. "When I recommend you, I'll make sure I'm not modest about it."

"Can you assist with securing the funds if Kelly agrees?" Martin inquired vaguely, mentioning Kelly's previous mention of money laundering.

Louise dismissed the concern with indifference. "Money laundering is commonplace in the film and television industry," she remarked. "Those major Hollywood projects often involve money laundering. The key is to maintain accurate records, keep a low profile, and, most importantly, ensure you pay your taxes in full. We can navigate this together."

The two clinked their glasses once more, and Louise continued, "Most Hollywood movies operate at a loss, but massive amounts of money flow in from around the world. Are investors foolish? Think about it; without a constant influx of cash, the film and television industry wouldn't be as thriving as it is today."

Martin believed it wholeheartedly, convinced that Hollywood was indeed more glamorous than he had ever imagined.

Louise beamed even wider. "You can find a dependable and controllable source of funds for Gray Company, and Kelly will be amenable to your requests." Martin grasped the key point: stability and control.

Without further ado, he clinked glasses with Louise, remarking, "You're quite something."

Louise revelled in her pride. "Well, I am from Hollywood." She locked eyes with Martin. "Cocktails are nice, but I'd also like some penicillin."

...

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Clayton Street bustled with activity. Crowds formed lines outside the Hulk Mansion and the Bar next door.

Most male patrons would begin their night with a drink at the Bar, and after ten o'clock, they'd head across the street to socialize.

Inside the bar, Boyette supervised his crew, overseeing the movement of drinks. Suddenly, his phone rang.

Pointing at Diego, he then turned towards the warehouse and inquired, "What's happening with that fool, Adam Smith?"

On the other end, just two words were uttered, "Hurry up."

Upon hearing the click of the phone hanging up, Boyette instinctively checked his crotch, retrieved his firearm, and without notifying his men, slipped into the warehouse. He accessed a hidden door, sealing it behind him, and picked up a prepared flashlight and gun. With caution, he crouched and advanced into the dark.

Before he could make significant progress, he found another door and entered the sewer, quickly navigating its tunnels.

Emerging from his predetermined exit, Boyette swiftly entered a nearby apartment building. He unlocked a room, changed his attire, and surveyed the scene.

Peering out of the window towards Clayton Street, Boyette watched as more than ten cars marked with DEA logos descended upon the area, surrounding the Black Bar. Heavily armed agents stormed into the establishment.

"Unbelievable!" Boyette couldn't help but curse. "Atlanta is teeming with goods; why target me? Just because I'm affiliated with a South City gang?" He defiantly extended his middle finger towards the intruders. "You racist bastards!"

After his outburst, Boyette decided not to linger any longer. He opened a drawer, retrieved a set of car keys, and hastily made his escape from the vicinity.

As he drove away, Boyette's racing thoughts centred around Adam Smith. The news of Adam's arrest had initially seemed inconsequential to him. He had merely sent someone to inquire. In a city like Atlanta, there were hundreds of companies involved in similar activities.

Yet now, with the DEA knocking on his doorstep, Boyette couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.