novelhk Page 91
Page 91
"Fifteen days,"
Franky finally relented, "You can handle the police station!"
After leaving Franky's office, Victor went straight to the martial arts gym.
This wasn't his usual training ground, but rather the headquarters of the most powerful martial arts group in Chicago's Chinatown.
The guards at the gate recognized him but did not stop him.
Inside the martial arts school, a dozen students are practicing routines.
In the back hall, the curator, Old Man Li, was making tea.
The man was over seventy years old, but his eyes were as sharp as a young man's.
“Victor,”
Old Li said in Cantonese, "I heard your fast food business is booming."
Viktor bowed respectfully and replied, “Thank you. I’m here today to hire more students for the martial arts school—we need fifty employees for the twenty-five new vehicles.”
Old Li's teacup paused in mid-air: "Young man, taking too big a step can easily lead to a fall. Fifty jobs mean the livelihood of fifty families. Can you guarantee long-term stability?"
Viktor was prepared: "As long as I'm still a professional boxer."
Old Li slowly sipped his tea, and after a long while, he finally spoke: "Your father was just like that back then, daring to think and act. It's a pity..."
The old man shook his head. "Alright, I'll give you someone. But remember, in Chicago, money is as important as fists, but respect is more important."
As Viktor left the martial arts gym, his cell phone rang.
It was his boxing coach, Frankie.
"Victor! You're half an hour late! The boxing ring won't wait for you!"
Viktor then remembered today's training.
Over the past month, his business expansion and boxing training have progressed at an accelerated pace, much like two parallel lines.
In business, he learned street smarts; in boxing training, Frankie is giving him a new lease on life.
"Coming right away,"
When Victor arrived at the boxing gym, Frankie was standing at the door with his arms crossed.
"The business tycoon has finally deigned to come?"
Frankie remarked sarcastically.
Viktor didn't argue and immediately started warming up.
He has gained eight pounds in the past month, all of which is solid muscle.
Frankie's training plan was brutal but effective—running in the morning, technical training in the afternoon, and sparring in the evening.
Today is Anti-Japanese War Day.
Victor's opponent was a veteran from Foucault's Gym, a Latino boxer with twenty amateur fights under his belt.
The bell rang, and Viktor immediately got into the zone.
He simply stood firmly, his jabs were fast and accurate, his head was quick and agile, and his long arms protected his head and waist.
In the third round, Victor knocked down his opponent with a beautiful left hook.
After training, Frankie handed Victor a towel: "You didn't do a good job of mastering power; you need to strengthen your hexagonal ball training!"
Viktor wiped his sweat, recalling the instinctive defensiveness he displayed when he was bullied, and how those self-defense skills he was forced to learn had now become his advantage.
“I have a good coach,”
He said modestly.
Frankie snorted: "I've found you an opponent. July 11th. We'll tell you about his style in the meantime."
That evening, Victor convened a meeting with the core team.
Besides Jimmy, there's DeShawn, who's in charge of operations in the Black community, Mary, the accountant, and Sister Lin, the newly joined head of the central kitchen—a candidate recommended by Zhao Quanshi.
"Twenty new vehicles will arrive before June 15th,"
Victor drew a map on the whiteboard. “We need to take over these areas. DeSean, add five more cars to the South District; Jimmy, the Latin Community in the West District is yours; Lin, the central kitchen needs to be expanded, prepare for three shifts.”
Mary interjected, "Can the cash flow hold up? Wages, raw materials, vehicle maintenance..."
Viktor tapped the whiteboard: "This is what we need to discuss. Starting next month, all frontline employees' commissions will be increased to 2.5%. Administrative staff salaries will remain unchanged."
DeShawn frowned: "What do you mean?"
"The more you sell, the more you earn. That's the idea."
Victor smiled. “It’s an incentive. A 3% commission means that the best-selling teams can earn an extra $20-30 per week. They’ll motivate themselves.”
DeSean nodded: "They'll like it."
Victor continued, "Mary, your salary will double to $100 a week, but I'm requesting that the weekly accounting be changed to every two days, because I don't have enough cash flow!"
Mary thought for a moment: "$125 a week, and I can work for you four days a week."
Victor nodded.
After the meeting, only Jimmy remained.
He looked at Viktor's calloused hands and the fresh scar on his brow: "Are you sure you want to do so much at once? Business, boxing, and... those enemies you can't see."
Victor looked out the window at the Chicago night sky: "Jimmy, either go all out or don't play at all."
In the first week of June, four new cars were delivered as scheduled.
Victor personally oversaw the modifications, ensuring that each vehicle was equipped with the most efficient equipment and the most prominent Snowy Wind City logo.
Meanwhile, his boxing training entered a new phase—Frankie began designing tactics against tournament opponents.
Business and boxing, seemingly unrelated paths, have formed a wonderful complement in Viktor's case.
Boxing training gave him the courage to face business risks;
His business decisions honed his judgment of the battle situation.
Whenever he is knocked down in the boxing ring, he is reminded of his destitution after his business failed.
Whenever negotiations reach a stalemate, he waits with the patience of a boxer for the best opportunity to strike.
On the sixth night, Victor received a call from Frankie.
Frankie's voice was unusually serious: "We need to talk, now."
In Frankie's office, Victor saw an unexpected visitor—a middle-aged Asian man in a sharp suit, wearing an expensive jade ring on his finger.
"Victor."
The man stood up, revealing an exquisite snake tattoo on his outstretched wrist. "I've heard so much about you. I'm Mr. Huang, representing Sri."
Franky wrung his hands nervously beside him: "Mr. Huang has some doubts about your recruitment methods at the martial arts school."
Mr. Huang's smile didn't reach his eyes: "It's good that young people are energetic, but Chicago's food market is very fragile. Suddenly adding twenty food trucks will affect the livelihoods of many people."
Victor looked him straight in the eye: "Like Sri's underground casinos and brothels? I've heard those places also 'offer catering services'."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Frankie turned pale, and Mr. Huang's smile finally vanished.
"You are very smart,"
Mr. Huang said softly, "But smart people often die young. Giving you people in a martial arts school doesn't mean it will protect you."
Viktor stood up and looked down at Mr. Huang: "I need money to support my boxing career. I am of Chinese descent, and even if I excel, I don't get fair treatment. No promotion company or agency is willing to sign me. Right now, only a few foreign trade companies are contacting me. I need them to support my training and find opponents."
"we know."
After Mr. Huang left satisfied, Franky gulped down a glass of whiskey: "Are you crazy! Sri controls half of Chicago's underworld!"
Victor straightened his cuffs: "The martial arts school won't support me now because Sri is still alive. They want someone who can protect their interests on the stage, not someone like me who's greedy! Franky, Sri can be anyone!"
Chapter 73 Before the Tournament
Viktor stood at his office window, watching the dust whipped up by the wind shimmer under the streetlights.
The office was well-air-conditioned, but he could still feel the sweltering heat seeping in through the cracks in the windows—like the oppressive atmosphere of the city that could never be completely dispelled.
“Victor, here are the financial statements for this week.”
Fiona pushed open the door and entered, holding a stack of documents in her hand.
She was wearing a dark gray business suit, her hair neatly tied back, a stark contrast to the disheveled woman who had appeared at his office door a month ago.
Viktor took the document and quickly scanned the numbers.
The net profit of $23,000 represents a 7 percent increase from the previous week.
His lips curled up slightly, but he quickly regained his composure.
The minor successes were no longer something to be overly excited about for him; they were just one step in the plan.
"Well done."
He gave a brief assessment and placed the file on the mahogany desk. He'd bought it last month for two hundred dollars, but that was a drop in the ocean for SHW now.
"Zhao just called to remind me not to forget the party tonight."
Fiona reminded him, a hint of barely perceptible tension in her voice.
She never really felt comfortable dealing with the people at those boxing gyms, always feeling that they looked down on her and were vulgar, arrogant, and domineering.
Victor nodded and glanced at his watch—an ordinary watch, a gift Max had given Victor after receiving his salary and commission.
"Tell Lao Zhao that I will be there on time."
He turned to look out the window and watched a catering van with the SHW logo slowly drive down the street.
The bright red sign stood out against the snow, much like his growing influence in the city.
At the end of March, Viktor returned with the championship but no one paid any attention. Even now, Lowell is trying to get sponsors for Viktor but not many people have come up with any ideas – who would believe that a yellow-skinned monkey could achieve such results?
Now, he owns fifty mobile food trucks, employs nearly 130 people, and sells food for two dollars a serving. He also makes tens of thousands of packaging boxes every day, along with tens of thousands of cartoon images of Victor the Tiger.