America Tycoon: The Wolf of Showbiz

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Before 9 AM, the radiant sunshine had already spread across Santa Monica Pier. As the temperature soared, a mobile vendor selling fizzy soft drinks arrived, with bottles and cans of Coca-Cola displayed in a glass freezer, attracting nearby wandering tourists and clowns.

One after another, throngs of journalists armed with cameras and camcorders began to show up in the old pier area.

Since the media had already published that Martin was shooting a Cartier men's watch advertisement here, many entertainment reporters and paparazzi rushed over.

The pier was usually a tourist area and had some visitors on ordinary days; today, with the arrival of both an advertising crew and a large group of fans, a significant number of mobile vendors were drawn to the scene.

The director of the advertising crew, Harkins, put down his viewfinder and said, "Good weather, conducive to filming."

The only trouble was the reporters and paparazzi, who were a bit too numerous; Martin's pulling power was too strong. He instructed his assistant, "Take some people and go talk to the media, tell them I'll give them plenty of time for photos, cooperate with us."

The assistant immediately called over a few people.

Cartier's executive, Blanco, entered Martin's makeup trailer for a brief chat and quickly left again.

Because Nicholson and Leonardo had arrived.

Martin, dressed in casual attire, asked, "What are you doing here?"

Nicholson revealed a sly grin and said, "We heard Cartier is going to give you some men's watches to gift your friends and family, so we came to score some freebies."

Leonardo added, "Neither Jack nor I have wristwatch sponsorships, so we want to snag some free watches."

In actuality, Cartier had already communicated with Thomas, and Martin readily agreed, "No problem, two each, one for each wrist, no less!"

Pointing at Martin, Leonardo said, "You're trying to make us look ridiculous, aren't you?"

Martin burst into laughter, "This way you'll be balanced, maybe you'll even run 100 meters in 20 seconds."

Leonardo felt like hitting him.

...

Up in the parking lot above the pier, a bearded man and another had just finished disguising themselves as clowns.

The two changed into red cultural shirts, dressing up as members of the Cola Cult.

Inside a Ford van capable of opening the rear doors parked nearby, Victor and the driver retrieved AR semi-automatics disguised as tennis bags, carefully examined the magazines and other parts, and placed them by the door. They then each took out a handgun and checked them one by one.

The bearded man grumbled, "I could handle this by myself, no need for all this fuss."

But Victor was serious, "No backtalk, just follow orders."

The bearded man clenched his fist, released it, then clenched it again, feeling full of power.

Martin Davis, the movie star, was formidable on the silver screen, and the media pumped him up too, but what Hollywood stars were best at was acting—how strong could their real combat ability be?

The bearded man had seen the Burbank Middle School video; the so-called Cola War God, in his view, was no different from English football hooligans.

Bullying middle schoolers was one thing, but facing a gang professional like him? Ha...

Victor patted the likewise tall and sturdy blonde's head, saying, "One last time, you and Bearded are responsible for the assault, remember to injure, not kill—Boss wants him alive."

Bearded, who always followed Victor's instructions, assured, "Rest easy, leave it to us."

Victor then told the driver, "Open the back doors, you're in charge of backup."

The driver nodded, "I'm on remote alert."

Victor tucked his handgun into his underarm holster and said, "Martin's always followed by a manager named Bruce, who is actually his bodyguard. Bruce was also involved in the Burbank Middle School incident. When you go after Martin, I'll take care of him."

The other three signalled their understanding.

Victor dialed his phone, "Boss, we're ready."

Elsewhere, Boris, carrying a travel bag, stood by the pier's railing and said, "The crew is putting up barriers. Start."

Victor hung up and ordered, "Let's move!"

The driver started the van, and it sped off.

The bearded man, caught up in the excitement, shouted, "Ura! Ura..."

The vehicle turned onto the road leading to the pier area; on one side was the tourist area of the pier, while on the other was a hillside similar to a mountain road.

The driver slowed down, with Victor watching intently towards the far-off trailer, then he saw four individuals descending from the trailer—three young, one old.

The one in the lead was their target, Martin Davis.

Victor commanded, "Go."

The driver lightly pressed the accelerator, and the Ford cargo van, like any other vehicle delivering goods, passed besides several mobile vendors on the side of the road and approached unhurriedly.

The van gradually neared the yellow isolation tape put up by the film crew, with fans and reporters kept dozens of meters away in the tourist area.

The driver stopped the van, and Victor opened the door, "Here we go."

Bearded and Blonde opened the back door, stepping out from the rear.

A crew member quickly noticed and came over, shouting, "You can't park here; move along."

Smiling, Victor approached him, "We're Martin's fans, finally got the chance to meet him. We just want an autograph—we'll leave right away."

"No parking here," the crew member said, seeing the two men dressed as clowns, mistaking them for overzealous fans of Martin.

There were quite a few people dressed like this near the pier today.

Seeing Martin walking not too far away, ready to head towards the tourist area to sign autographs and pose for media photos, Bearded quickened his pace, saying, "We'll go once we get the autograph."

A crew member tried to stop him, but Bearded suddenly charged forward, shoving the crew member aside as he ran towards the front.

Blonde followed him from behind, but his pace was slower, lagging a few meters behind.

Victor hurried after them, one hand always ready to reach inside his clothes.

Martin was adjusting his smile, ready to face the fans and media cameras.

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Many reporters had already turned their cameras and video cameras to this side, capturing the scene in advance.

At that moment, the commotion on the other side caught Martin's attention. When he turned to look, he saw two clowns running toward them, one after the other, followed by a middle-aged Caucasian man. Behind him, crew members struggled to get up from the ground.

This set off his alarm bells; crazy fans can often be quite terrifying.

The bearded clown in front yelled, "Martin, wait, can you sign this for us?"

Martin's footsteps halted subconsciously.

Behind him, Bruce quickly took two steps ahead, surpassing Nicholson and Leonardo.

As usual, he had his hand on the gun at his waist, just in case.

The two were only about twenty meters apart when the bearded clown approached Martin. The pen and poster in his hand fell to the ground, revealing a short-blade dagger hidden between them.

They needed him alive. The bearded clown's plan was to first disable Martin and then take control of him

Martin spotted the dagger at a glance and shouted, "Old Cloth!"

As he called out, the bearded clown's dagger already thrust towards him.

The bearded clown was confident that the stab, though not fatal, would incapacitate Martin.

But in the next moment, the man's right hand was seized, clamped as if in an iron hoop, unable to advance an inch.

Before the bearded clown could make his next move, Martin had already deployed the technique he'd been perfecting over the past year.

His right foot kicked out like a flash, hitting the bearded clown between the legs before he could even attempt to block it, accompanied by a sound similar to an egg cracking.

The bearded clown let out an earth-shattering scream, and the dagger in his hand dropped with a clang onto the stone path.

The pain was something only men could truly understand!

With tears and snot streaming down, the bearded clown staggered, about to collapse on the ground.

But Martin's second strike was already on its way!

His right fist struck out fiercely, hitting the bearded clown right in the throat!

The scream was cut short as breathing became an immense struggle.

Martin's left fist then landed with a thud on the bearded clown's eyes and the bridge of his nose.

His once prominent nose broke with a crack, and from one eye, a fluid like crystal spilled out.

In just a few breaths, Martin had executed the three strikes he'd practiced the most and knew the best.

A groin kick, a throat lock, and a strike to the eye!

As the bearded clown fell sideways to the ground, Martin's foot pushed hard off the pavement, charging toward the blond man who had just pulled out handcuffs to join the bearded clown's assault.

The two men collided, tumbling to the ground together.

With his life at stake, Martin bit down on the blond man's neck without hesitation, reached for his eyes, and thrust his knee upward vigorously.

In a life-or-death struggle, aesthetics didn't matter.

Martin, reacting more quickly and stronger than the blond man, took the upper hand in their fight.

Almost simultaneously, Victor's hand moved swiftly to draw his gun from inside his jacket.

But Bruce was faster, firing first.

Bang! Bang—

Gunshots rang out consecutively, echoing far away. Victor instinctively looked down to see blood bursting from his chest and abdomen, his body losing all strength, collapsing to the ground with a thud.

Nicholson and Leonardo were stunned, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Martin's fans, thinking this was part of a shoot, held their breath, careful not to disturb Martin.

The media initially thought the same and instinctively didn't react.

However, many of them were seasoned paparazzi and entertainment journalists. Years of professional habit and muscle memory kept them operating their cameras and video cameras, faithfully recording everything unfolding before their lenses.

After firing, Bruce didn't pause for a second; his gun immediately turned toward the car the trio had come from.

The Ford van's rear door swung open, and the driver, noticing the situation had changed, quickly reached for the AR rifle propped up nearby. Barely raising the gun, not even having time to aim, he heard gunshots again.

Bang! Bang—

The driver felt utterly drained of strength, his body swaying before slumping against the side of the van.

Meanwhile, the blond man let out a scream laced with profanity.

One of his eyes was gouged by Martin's relentless fingers, his abdomen repeatedly struck, causing excruciating pain that nearly made him forget who he was!

Martin heard Old Cloth firing his gun and the profanities spilling from the blond man's mouth.

Without the slightest hesitation, he broke free from the blond man's grip, grabbing his long hair and lifting his head.

The blond man, though severely wounded, growled in broken English, "You're dead meat!"

Martin pressed the man's head down, smashing it hard against the ground.

With a dull thud, the blond man's head burst with blood.

Martin yelled out, "Old Cloth, it's the Russians!"

He couldn't understand the swearing but could tell it was in Russian!

Bruce shouted back, "Find cover first!"

Martin picked up the handgun dropped by the other man, not forgetting his old friends, "Leo, Jack, hide! Quick!"

Realizing the likely target was himself, he added, "Run back, run back quickly, get away from me!"