Chapter 57: Chapter 57 Into the Sacred Valley at Worst

Hearing these words, Martin thought of the endless "Gone with the Wind," the traders wandering near Clayton, and the bodies falling in front of shotgun barrels.

Who would willingly lay at the bottom to be a stepping stone for others?

Who would allow themselves to be drained of all essence like ore? Sёarᴄh the Novёlƒire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Who would work like a donkey, lashed and toiling yet only going in circles?

Martin downed his drink in one gulp, "Those who drag me down, I will kick into hell; those who block my way, I will push off the cliff; those who press from above, I will throw into the fire pit. Louise, could the future be any worse than my past?"

"What do I have to lose? If I fail, the worst I could do is come back as a dancer, or head to Sacred Valley to shoot films! I don't want to be a poor ghost all my life, stuck at the very bottom!"

A smile with a gap in his teeth appeared on the left corner of his mouth, "Do you know? Adam Smith, the likeliest candidate for the lead role in 'Zombie Stripper,' was taken away by the DEA."

Louise immediately understood, "So that's what happened." She laughed, "Scumbags and mud pits are a perfect match."

"Please, go on," Martin poured them both another drink, no matter how many news reports and rumors he had seen in his previous life, they were all just watching from across the river, nowhere near as real as the firsthand experiences of Louise, the producer.

Louise said, "If you want to really make it, leave Atlanta, go to Los Angeles. Georgia's incentives will attract more and more Hollywood crews, but Toronto, Australia, and Morocco have done similar things years ago, yet they couldn't become star-making locations. Typically, for a standard Hollywood production, the main cast and crew are decided upon before they leave Los Angeles."

Pointing at Martin's mouth, she said, "The accent, your Southern accent won't be a problem for marginal roles with little dialogue, but for roles with more lines, it won't work—you don't have the Hollywood accent. Of course, for Zombie Dancer, it doesn't matter, as the character is designed to be a Southern vampire."

"Hollywood accent?" Martin was briefly puzzled, but quickly grasped the concept, "The common accent in Hollywood movies, right?"

Louise advised, "Correct it in your daily speech, and seek a professional coach. I have yet to discover a professional training institution in Atlanta that provides training in Hollywood and British accents, which would enhance your core competitiveness."

Martin took those precious professional opinions to heart, "I'll make a trip to the Savannah College of Art and Design Atlanta Campus tomorrow."

Then Louise added more advice, "And one more thing, don't hesitate when you see an opportunity. Don't worry about whether the means are contemptible or if you're being shameless—the most important thing is to win. If you win, everything in the past will be called inspirational; if you lose, no one will care about your righteousness."

Suddenly, Martin asked, "May I try some tricks on you?"

"What?" Louise, the drunk and lecher, unconsciously let her gaze drift downwards.

Martin raised his drink to enhance the atmosphere, "My genius brain has just come up with several cocktail ideas."

Louise, grinding her teeth, said, "You truly are a bastard! You deserve to wallow in the mud forever! Just wait, I'll bite off your mortar and make it into a cocktail shaker!"

Martin's face could not be thicker, "A self-producing cocktail shaker?"

"Shameless, without a trace of decency, you indeed have the potential to rise to the top. Give me a new recipe now." Hobbies drew more interest than work, and without any pretense, Louise made a straightforward deal, "This year… I'm swamped with work this year, plus there's a film I'm supervising that will take me to Morocco."

She calculated the timing, "So, head to Los Angeles around the New Year; I will recommend you to an agency. Your acting is not a problem—I have seen every scene you've shot. As you've managed to greatly satisfy me, I'll give you a bit of help where I can."

Martin went back to the beginning, "What about Zombie Dancer? Leaving aside the capital."

Louise saw Martin taking out a piece of paper and writing down the cocktail names and measurements, then said, "The lead role in a box-office movie is a very important qualification. Remember this, you bastard, when picking crews and roles in the early stages, it's better to be the head of a group of chickens than the tail of a phoenix."

She took the piece of paper Martin had finished writing on, kissed it earnestly, folded it carefully, and put it away, "A majority of Hollywood movie investments come from syndications, like my company, which never shoots films independently."

"In such productions, there are various relationships and interests to be balanced. Even if I'm the executive producer, I can't recommend an actor who lacks the ability and qualifications for important roles. The barrier between producers and production companies can't be passed; multimillion or even billion-dollar stakes are involved, think about it yourself."

Martin sighed, "Firstly, I need to secure the male lead role in that million-dollar project."

Louise, thinking of something amusing, laughed uncontrollably, "When I recommend you, I surely can't use Ma Zhen's clips, right?"

"I can help find the funds, will Kelly accept?" Martin mumbled, "She mentioned laundering money last time."

Louise didn't care at all, "Money laundering is the norm in the film and television industry; those Hollywood mix-and-match projects all launder money. Just keep the books well, stay low-key, the key is to pay the full amount of taxes, everyone washes together."

She drank another with Martin, "Most Hollywood movies are money-losers, but massive funds pour in from all around the world, do you think the investors are fools? Put it this way, without the endless stream of dirty money, there wouldn't be the prosperity of the film and television industry today."

Martin believed it because he had seen it before, and Hollywood surely played the game even more elaborately than that.

Louise smiled even more happily, "You can find a stable and controllable source of funds for Gray Company, Kelly will agree to all your demands."

Martin grasped the essence, stability and controllability.

He didn't say more, clinked glasses with Louise, "You're about the same."

Louise took pride in this, "I'm from Hollywood." She looked Martin straight in the eye, "Cocktails aren't enough, I also need Penicillin."

......

Under the setting sun, West Strip was bustling with people.

Long lines formed in front of House of Beast and Black Bar.

Most male customers would first go to Black Bar for a drink, then after ten o'clock, they'd head across the street to hook up with someone.

The bar hadn't opened yet; Boyette was supervising his men moving liquor when he suddenly received a phone call.

He signaled to Diego and then turned to a nearby warehouse, asking, "What the hell is up with that idiot Adam Smith?"

The other side only said two words, "Get out."

Hearing the phone hang up, Boyette touched his trousers, pulled out a gun, didn't even notify his men, and slipped into the warehouse. He opened a secret door, went in, closed it behind him, picked up the flashlight prepared to one side, and started crawling forward, bent over.

He didn't crawl far before opening another door, entering the sewer, and running wildly along the sewer channel.

Exiting through the pre-arranged location, he quickly entered the apartment building next door, went into a room, and changed clothes.

Boyette approached the window, looked out at West Strip, and saw more than ten vehicles with DEA emblems rushing from various directions, surrounding Black Bar front and back. Heavily armed agents quickly stormed the bar.

"These maniacs!" Boyette swore uncontrollably, "There's so much stuff in Atlanta, why target me? Because I'm from the Black Gang in South City?"

He flipped off in that direction, "You bunch of racist assholes!"

Swearing aside, Boyette didn't dare to linger, he opened a drawer to take out a set of car keys, and hurried away from the area.

Getting into the car, his few brain cells desperately revolved, it all seemed connected to Adam Smith somehow.

Adam Smith got caught, Boyette got the message but didn't take it seriously, just asked around.

In the whole of Atlanta, those involved aren't just a thousand, but at least eight hundred.

And now the DEA was knocking on the door.

Boyette recalled the ins and outs of the last time he saw Adam Smith.

Trying to figure out what went wrong.