America: Starting with Daily Intelligence
Chapter 464 - 233: Trade_3

Chapter 464: Chapter 233: Trade_3

Old Jack took a sip from the glass, frowned, and spat out, "Buddy, this is some terrible booze! WTF, what’s this taste? It’s like horse piss! Are you sure this is meant for human consumption?"

He slammed the glass down, clearly dissatisfied.

There was a twitch at the corner of Bolo’s mouth, and his hand holding the glass stiffened.

A henchman nearby couldn’t take it and cursed in Spanish, reaching for the pistol at his waist.

Old Jack grinned, unbuttoned his collar to reveal a loop of clay explosives wrapped around his chest, and placed his hand inside his bag to pull out a Remington shotgun and a detonator.

With a couple of clicks, bullets were chambered. His eyes turned cold, "What do you think you’re doing?"

Everyone present was shocked.

Holy shit! This guy!

Who wraps themselves in clay explosives when they go out?

A human bomb? You might as well put a white cloth around your head.

No wonder these three are so bold!

Bolo instantly lost his composure, stopped the impulsive henchman, and turned to scold: "What the hell are you doing? A $400,000 deal and this is how you treat our guests? Go call the restaurant manager here now!"

Upon hearing the orders, the henchman immediately went out to summon someone. The restaurant manager hurried over.

Feeling utterly confused, isn’t this what you asked for?

As he entered the door, Bolo began to curse at him in Spanish.

What exactly was said, the General Sect Leader didn’t know; he couldn’t understand, but it sure didn’t look like anything nice.

The manager, now getting an earful, turned pale, his voice quivering as he quickly apologized.

"Go get my two bottles of $9,000 Hennessy Paradis Imperial," Bolo said painfully, his heart bleeding.

Allen Zhang understood this sentence in English.

Is that it?

I thought it was some expensive drink. Just an $8,000 wine? Do you think our General Sect Leader hasn’t had wine costing over ten thousand dollars?

A handout for a beggar? Although, I certainly am one.

But still, a man who deals in hundreds of thousands of dollars, how can he be so miserly?

Can’t afford to host guests properly, or just don’t see the need, planning to run a deception?

Indeed. From the moment he stepped into the restaurant, the General Sect Leader had been observing the situation, noting that the place had average decor, an ordinary location, and the surrounding streets weren’t bustling with people, not really valuable.

His henchman’s holstered guns were just crappy pieces costing less than $200 to import, guns with filed-off serial numbers sold for $500 in the market; who knows how many hands they’ve passed through, likely to jam after a few magazines.

Unnumbered rifles and sniper rifles; probably hard for them to stock up without channels, no demand despite the availability.

For local street thugs, maybe having a few dozen men, each armed with a handgun, and firepower, is quite impressive.

But for the General Sect Leader dealing in arms, it’s laughable! Pathetically laughable!

You can’t even spare AKs or submachine guns for your men, what are you even doing here?

In this game, you need connections, a background, AKs, drones, RPGs, military helicopters!

Thought you were a big shot, turns out just a country bumpkin, a small fry.

Allen dropped the act, lounged on the sofa, surrounded by arm candy, legs crossed, while the Latino beauties sat beside him, warmly entertaining him, making moves on him.

"Sir, your muscles are really firm," two hot-bodied women said with yearning eyes.

"Wanna see? There’ll be plenty of chances for you to look," Allen smiled. He dropped his hand, gave a firm squeeze, and they gasped, overwhelmed.

Soon, the manager came with the drinks. Bolo hurriedly entertained, opened the bottle, poured some drinks, and said cheerily, "This should satisfy you, right?"

Old Jack tasted it, nodded slightly in reluctant approval, expressionless, "It’s passable."

Inside, he was full of disdain for this small-time South American fence jumper. Serving cheap drinks to guests, that’s all you aspire to!

I really want to blow your head off.

"Let’s talk business."

Old Jack didn’t want to waste time with these bumpkins, finished his drink, placed his bag on the table, unzipped it, and revealed silver bricks wrapped in plastic film inside.

"This batch of imports is of good quality, how much do you plan to spend on it?"

"$350,000. How about that?" Bolo asked tentatively after verifying the quality was pure.

Allen suddenly burst into laughter.