Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven

Jackson and Gus walked out of the bar together, turned onto 125th Street, and walked toward Seventh Avenue.The colored lights of the neon lights in the bars and shops cast strange metallic shades on the people of all skin colors who shuffled wearily down the mud-streets. .Men hurried by in the cold wind, some in new plaid coats, some in oilskins, some in gabardine, others wrapped in blanket-like coats.Women writhed by, wearing tracksuits trimmed with fur that couldn't be identified as horses, bears, buffaloes, cows, dogs, cats, or bats.Others, in coats of cashmere, Milton, ermine, or muskrat, drove by in brand new limousines, with the air of successful people.

A nun emerged from the crowd, muttering, "To God, to the poor." Jackson was about to take the money, but Gus stopped him. "Hide your money, Jackson. I've got change," Gus said, putting a half dollar in the nun's box. "'You have discovered spiritual power,'" the nun murmured softly, "'He has an ear that lets him hear what the mind is saying.'" "Amen." Jackson whispered, crossing himself. They went into Pullham's Café near the Seventh Avenue intersection.The bartenders here wore starched white jackets, and the dark brown waitresses who shuttled between the ordinary tables and booths wore yellow and green uniforms.On the high band stage, a small jazz band with three members is playing fiery rhythms for the customers.

The customers here are a bunch of clever Harlem hustlers, crazy cats who survive on wit and dexterity, with shiny straight hair and sleek, elegant attire.The women here are party queens, cabaret actresses, or black models, decked out in glitter and swirling with carefully drawn, round, dark eyes.Their nails are bright crimson, their lips are fresh purple, and they can show pearly teeth when they smile, showing the fiery and passion that money can buy. Gus scrambles to the edge of the bar and pulls Jackson closer to him. "Hey man, I like this kind of place," he said, "I like the culture, the food, the wine, the rich men, the beautiful women, and the cosmopolitan vibe. The only trouble is, it costs money to come here, Jackson, money."

"Oh, I have money," Jackson said, beckoning the bartender over. "What would you like to drink?" In the end, both ordered Scotch. Gus said: "You don't have enough money, Jackson. You don't have enough money to live this life every day. What I want is real wealth. Your little money, if you don't spend it sparingly, will last half a year." Bottom line. I want more money than I can spend." "I see what you mean! . . . " said Jackson, "if my woman buys a fur coat and I buy some new clothes and a car—a Buick or something—we'll go bankrupt " He said with a wry smile, waving his big hands hesitantly, "But where can I make money that I can't spend?"

"Jackson, you strike me as a very honest man." "I try to be that kind of person, but honesty doesn't always pay off." "Yes, Jackson. You should know how to get paid." "I wish I knew," Jackson said with a wry smile. "Jackson, I have a great idea that will get you a good return. A deal that will make you real money, the kind we were just talking about, real money." Gus said enthusiastically, "But, The first thing I want to make sure is that you can't tell anyone about this." "Oh, I won't tell others. If there is any good way to make me really rich, I will die without revealing a word to others."

"Come on, Jackson, let's find a quiet corner and have a good talk!..." After Gus finished speaking, he suddenly grabbed Jackson's arm and pulled him to the edge of the table in the corner, "I'll invite you Have dinner, and when the girl finishes ordering for us, I'll show you something." The waitress came and stood by their table, keeping an eye in the other direction. "Are you waiting for us to order, or are you waiting for us to leave?" Gus asked, tilting his head and smiling. The waitress gave him a contemptuous look, and said blankly: "What do you want to eat, we will do it."

Gus looked the waitress over from head to toe, and said, "Give us some steaks, girl, don't make them as hard as you do, especially with the lips off." "Two steaks," said the waitress angrily, and left quickly. "Come closer," Gus said to Jackson. From the inside pocket of his coat, he took a bundle of stock certificates, inlaid with gold seals and Latin inscriptions, and spread them out by the table so that Jackson could better see them. "Look at these, Jackson. These are shares of a Mexican gold mine that will make me rich." Jackson opened his eyes as wide as possible.

"You said there was a gold mine?" "A real pure gold mine, Jackson. It's literally the richest gold mine on our half planet. A black person found it, and another black person set up a company to mine it, and they just sold the stock For people of color like you and me. It's a secret company, you can't let it out." The waitress brought the steak, and Jackson had no appetite.He had just had dinner, but Gus thought Jackson was too excited. "Don't get too excited to eat, Jackson. You can't enjoy the big bucks if you're starving." "You're right. Let me think about it. I do want to invest the money in stocks, Mr. Parsons."

"Just call me Gus, Jackson," Gus said excitedly. "You don't have to please me. I have no right to sell you shares. You have to see Mr. Morgan. He is the financier who formed this company. Only he He has the right to sell shares. All I can do is recommend you to him. If they think that you are not suitable for owning shares in the company, he will not even sell you half of the shares. You try it, he only hopes Respectable man with a stake in the company." "Would you recommend me, Gus?..." Jackson asked with a smile, "If you have any doubts about me as a person, I can ask my boss to write a letter of recommendation."

"That's not necessary, Jackson. I can see that you're an honest, upright citizen, and I'm confident in my ability to read people. In our business—ah, real estate—you have to be respectful of human nature. Good judgment, or he won't be in business long. How much do you want to invest, Jackson?" "All the money..." Jackson gestured, "Ten thousand dollars." "In this case, I will take you to see Mr. Morgan now. They will work all night to take care of the business here, and they can rush to Philadelphia tomorrow, so that some good citizens there will also have the opportunity to buy this stock. They I want to give respectable people across the country a chance to share in the profits from the gold mines."

"I understand." Jackson nodded. When they left the Plum Café, the nun who had just been begging for money slowly approached them again and gave them a saintly smile. "Give it to God, give it to the poor. Pave your way to heaven with coins of mercy. Think of the less fortunate." Gus produced another half dollar and said softly, "I have it, Jackson." "Sister Gabriel bless you, my brother," murmured Goldie, who was pretending to be a nun, "'The prophet, in the name of the Lord, sent his angel to tell his servants of the things that are about to come. .Hold on, we're coming soon. Remember the prophecy.'” Gus turned away impatiently. Goldie gave Jackson a wink, and said a few words silently: "Do you know what I mean, fool?" "Amen!..." Jackson replied. "Sometimes I think people who are as humble as ants are just as suspicious," Gus said as he led Jackson to his car. "Have you ever thought they might be scammers?" "My God, how can you insult the nun of mercy like this?" Jackson immediately protested.He didn't want Gus to start suspicious of Goldie before setting the trap. "They're the holiest people in Harlem," he added. Gus smiled apologetically. "In the industry I work in—real estate—people try to be as careful as possible when dealing with suspicious people. So I developed a suspicious personality when I first entered the industry. I don't believe Anything until I can prove it's real. Same with this gold mine, I've proven it exists before I invest in it. But I can see you're a religious man, Jackson." "I'm a member of the First Baptist Church," said Jackson triumphantly. ①The First Baptist Church is a church in New York City, USA. It is located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, at the intersection of Broadway and Seventy-ninth Street. It was built in 1891.This is a conservative, independent, evangelical church. "Jackson, I would know if you didn't tell me. When I saw you just now, I could see that you are a religious person, so I am sure that you are an honest person." Gus nodded and said, A lavender Cadillac stopped, "This is my car." "Real estate must be very profitable." After Jackson finished speaking, he got into the co-pilot's seat next to Gus. "You can't always judge people by their Cadillac, Jackson," Gus said, starting the car and shifting the transmission clutch. "If you want a Cadillac, just make an installment payment first, and when you get the car, do your best." Just steer clear of people demanding what you owe.” Jackson laughed, then glanced in the rearview mirror.He noticed a small black car just rounding the corner, slowly following them.Then a taxi suddenly drove to the side of the road where Goldie was begging for money. "I'm going to buy myself one of these cars with my first payback from gold mining stocks," Jackson said triumphantly. "Eggs aren't chickens until they hatch, Jackson. Mr. Morgan hasn't sold you shares yet," Gus said, laughing. They had just rounded the corner of St. Nicholas Avenue to head north when Gus pulled over suddenly.Jackson noticed the black car behind him, slowed down and turned the corner, and then continued to drive forward.In fact, there was another taxi not far behind, but Gus didn't notice it.He pulled a black hood from the glove compartment. "I'm sorry, Jackson, but I have to blindfold you," Gus said with a smile. "Put this on your head. You know, in the office of Mr. Morgan and the miners he's working with, there's a hundred $10,000 gold mine, they have to be careful everywhere." Jackson hesitated and protested, "No, Mr. Parsons. There's no need for this. You see, I have money on me..." Gus smiled: "Call me Gus, Jackson. Just say what you want to say, don't hesitate." "It's not that I don't trust you, Gus, it's just..." "I understand, Jackson. You have just met me, and you don't know much about me as an alien." Gus said, pulling out a pistol from his body, and threw it to Jackson, "here, take mine Pistols, I hope this makes you feel more at ease." "Oh, it's not that I don't feel safe with you, Gus..." Jackson said.He took the pistol from Gus and slipped it into the right pocket of his overcoat.Continued: "It's just..." "Stop talking, Jackson." Gus said, while putting the hood on Jackson's head, "I know how an honest man like you feels in this situation, but, really There is no way." The moment he was hooded, Jackson felt a sudden sense of fear.He gripped the barrel of the gun with his hands to reassure himself, and silently prayed that Goldie's plan would work. He heard the engine grunt and felt the car start to move.The cars kept turning and Jackson was trying to figure out where the cars were going, but they were turning so many times that he was completely confused. After half an hour, the car slowly slowed down and stopped.At this time, Jackson had no idea where he was now. "Okay, Jackson, we're here safe and sound," Gus said. "No accidents. You'll have to wear the hood for a while, though, until I get you into the office and see Mr. Morgan. You can now put the Give me back the pistol, you don't need it." Jackson felt that the face covered by the turban was already dripping with sweat. There was silence, not the sound of cars.If Gus lost the detective and Goldie who were following them, he'd be in trouble. He grabbed his pistol with his right hand and ripped off the hood with his left.The sweat dripping into his eyes instantly blurred his vision. He just saw Gus's hand on the steering wheel and suddenly lifted it up. When he opened his eyes again, his fist was already close to the tip of his nose.He quickly lowered his head and slammed into Gus like a strong bull, trying to overwhelm Gus with his body, and pulled out his pistol as hard as he could. Gus put the tip of his right elbow against Jackson's windpipe, and his left hand gripped his wrist tightly, preventing Jackson from drawing his gun.The dripping sweat turned into a blood-red balloon as big as a watermelon before Jackson's eyes.