America: Starting with Daily Intelligence-Chapter 402 - 212: Black and Red are Both Red_2

Having arrived at the VIP guest room, the private booth of the villa, neon lights twinkled and the decoration style resembled that of a KTV, complete with electronic keyboards and drum sets among other instruments.

Finding a spot to place their gear, Sieg put on airs like that of a professional team, donning sunglasses, standing in a corner with his arms folded in front of him, not uttering a single word.

Allen Zhang sat down on the sofa, while Rip took out a bottle of Black Spade A from the liquor cabinet, cracked it open, and poured a few glasses for everyone. Judging by the external packaging, it wasn’t the kind of adulterated cheap booze you’d find in a low-end bar. Although it wasn’t the premium Black Spade A, the empty bottle alone was worth 200 US Dollars.

"Buddy, let’s give a warm welcome to your arrival. Let’s down this drink first and then talk business on how to screw over those Black Devils!"

Rip cranked up the DJ electronic beats, and the lackeys next to him started howling like ghosts and wolves.

"Champagne doesn’t count as booze; won’t affect your work," Tommy added on the side.

"..." Allen Zhang picked up his glass speechlessly, "okay."

After a light drink, the taste was so-so, but just like that, hundreds of dollars were gone. Who in the world buys this stuff?

"I can tell, you’re really rich, buddy." After a glass of Black Spade A, Allen Zhang noticed that the other guy had pulled out a few cigars and started handing them around, sitting on the sofa puffing smoke rings, while he called over a few blonde, blue-eyed white girls for massage services.

Allen Zhang flatly refused. Don’t mess around or talk lovey-dovey stuff with the General Sect Leader during work!

Honestly, he’d never seen doing business like this. What happened to privacy? Aren’t you afraid of someone secretly filming and leaking it?

"I sure am rich; if my independent record company plan had worked, I would’ve been a multimillionaire by now. But those bastard Black Devils caused me losses of millions of US Dollars! Not only did I pay a breach of contract fee, but also an additional two million out of pocket! If those music copies can’t be recovered, the production of subsequent records is ruined too! Losses would amount to at least five million US Dollars!" As soon as Rip began talking about this, it seemed he was close to going mad with rage, forcibly restraining himself from smashing anything.

He was cursing those Black people for their lack of moral principle.

"Is the underground DJ record market really that big?" Allen Zhang wasn’t quite clear on this. The last batch of goods he helped Tommy recover was worth only fifty thousand US Dollars. Illicit stuff couldn’t go mainstream, filled with explicit violence and sensuality, it surely couldn’t count for platinum sales—I didn’t expect it could still sell for so much money.

"Rip has a large fan base, and a lot of traffic. Many youngsters on the West Coast love his records. Even if he sang crap, people would buy it! Otherwise, why would those Black people target him when he decided to start an independent company? They are clearly worried that he’s stealing business and encroaching on the market."

Tommy explained, "Do you know how hard he works? Have you ever seen Los Angeles at four in the morning? Do you know what it feels like to practice rap to the point of losing your voice?"

"I haven’t seen it. I also don’t know who would pay for that, but I imagine it must be some not-so-smart folks!" Allen Zhang said, speechless, realizing the West Coast has its own bunch of popular yet questionable influencers.

"You’re right on the money! We’re making bank off of idiots because only the money of fools and the poor is easy to make. Cater to what they like and their money is as good as ours. Why do you think the rich are rich? It’s because they are too canny, tight-fisted; it’s hard to make money off them," Rip admitted openly.

"I’ve seen Los Angeles at four in the morning because I hadn’t gone to sleep. Losing my voice from shouting is because I smoked too much," Rip laughed out loud.

"Let’s move on to talking about how to destroy or recover those music copies," Allen Zhang didn’t want to digress too much on this matter.

"That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss, pal. You know the streets too. Ever heard of the Motorcycle Gang in the outskirts?" Rip got a bit more serious. "They’re the ones who stole my goods! I hear they’re quite powerful out there, often involved in human trafficking and smuggling cars, even assassination jobs. Even the gangs in the city don’t dare to provoke them easily! Many well-known West Coast Black DJs also have dealings with them, often paying them off."

"I’ve only heard of the Black people’s Limp Gang and Bloods, with their base in Zone 13, their influence is fairly significant. Then there’s the Motorcycle Gang at Titan Game Hall in Zone 5, but the others don’t seem very well-known. I’ve heard that the famous West Coast Black rapper Snoop Dogg is also with the Limp Gang? And Dr. Dre?"

Dr. Dre, he’s someone Allen Zhang is more familiar with, even if he’s not well-versed in the West Coast rap scene. After all, he has taken similar underworld gigs online. A crowdfunding for newbies that raised a million, no less!

Allen Zhang didn’t take it too seriously – that Black was doing business in the city area, how many AKs could his family possibly own? Considering the General Sect Leader’s current arms reserve, with RPGs even laid out in the store, he surely didn’t take those guys seriously.

If they had the guts, they should go practice in the suburbs, little Black kids.

Woods, Rocky Beach, wilderness plains, rural towns, farms and ranches—the map is yours for the choosing!

The General Sect Leader is fully equipped with battle runes for a 100% win rate in field battles!!

No need for the General Sect Leader to make a move personally; just remotely control a squad of suicide drones. If it doesn’t bomb you into falling head over heels, turning various shades of bruised blue and purple, scattered in pieces, so much so that not even your cremated remains can be found—even if you’re dark in color!

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