Chapter 114: Profiteering and Reflection

Alberto thought for a moment, took out twenty dollars, and placed it on the counter. The woman inside took the money, then pulled out a tray containing four rows of coins and set it on the counter.

Her gaze landed on Lanse's face; he was her type.

Her hands gripped the edges of her bodice, as if she could lift it up at any moment. "Want to take a look?"

Lanse looked away. "Thanks, but no."

The woman whistled, gave him a quick flash, and covered it back up. "I'll show you anyway!"

Alberto chuckled, carrying the money tray and draping an arm around Lanse's shoulder as they continued forward. "Don't mind her. As long as you don't sleep with her, you won't be in any danger."

"But if you do sleep with her, your trouble begins!"

He didn't say what kind of trouble, and Lanse didn't ask. They walked through the corridor together, and in front of a closed door, the atmosphere and sounds unique to a bar spilled out from the gap.

The moment it was pushed open, the fluorescent lights casting ambiguous glows and the thumping music instantly pumped a surge of power into everyone's veins.

The area was huge, at least two thousand square feet, with over a dozen stages and three bars, and it was almost completely packed!

The girls were dancing energetically on the stages with artistic flair. Occasionally, a spotlight would sweep over, illuminating their glistening, healthy skin, stirring a primal impulse from deep within.

The alternating light and shadow were like a battlefield between desire and reason. High-rollers at the edge of the stages kept tossing coins onto them; some even held handfuls of one-dollar bills and threw them!

The quality of the girls was excellent, not in the same league as those cheap bars. In terms of appearance, physique, skin, and dance technique, they were completely superior!

Alberto and Lanse arrived at the bar. Fudisi was already behind it, helping out. Someone saw Alberto approach, hugged him, and then vacated two spots.

"Two whiskies, Gold Label Napo whisky!" He looked at Lanse, who rolled his eyes at him.

The bartender didn't know the story behind it and quickly poured two glasses. Alberto took out five dollars and handed it over.

"Two-fifty?"

"What else?" Alberto picked up the drink and took a sip. There were three ice cubes in the glass, quickly reducing the harshness of the intake.

Actually, even without ice, the Gold Label's taste wasn't that hard to accept; it was just that people in the Federation were used to adding ice.

Lanse picked up his glass and took a small sip, looking at the drink in his hand.

He sold it to Mr. Pasleto for eleven dollars a bottle, and now it was being sold here for two dollars and fifty cents a cup. How much was the net profit?

A 750ml bottle of Gold Label whisky could yield about eleven cups with a little left over. Counting it as eleven cups, that was twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents.

The net profit was about seventeen dollars—a 150% net profit margin!

He raised an eyebrow, feeling for the first time the massive windfall that Prohibition brought to the gray market!

"How many bottles of this can you sell in a night?" Lanse was a bit curious.

The bartender looked at Alberto, who nodded slightly. The bartender leaned in and whispered in a voice only Lanse and Alberto could hear, "It varies. About fifty or sixty bottles. Since it's a new opening, I'm not entirely sure."

"But even if the popularity drops a bit later on, we can still sell thirty or forty bottles a day."

Four or five hundred cups. This was the Bay Area; there was no shortage of rich people.

As long as this bar maintained its appeal, two-fifty a drink was practically nothing to them!

By this calculation, just on the single item of Gold Label Napo whisky, the daily net profit here was over a thousand dollars.

Even later on, there would be five or six hundred in daily net profit—that was over ten thousand a month!

If you added the dazzling array of other drinks, plus the beer that cost ten or fifteen cents outside but fifty cents a cup here, they could probably make thousands or tens of thousands in a single night!

This was the first time he had an intuitive impression of just how lucrative an underground bar could be.

"Regretting it?" Alberto watched Lanse's thoughtful expression. "Honestly, I was shocked by the profits here too."

"You know, I stare at hundreds of thousands in capital every day, terrified of making a single mistake. I've even started losing hair recently. And how much money has that actually made me?"

"But look at this..." He turned and gestured to the whole room, his gaze shifting from the faces of the crazed crowd back to Lanse. "They spend several dollars here every day, sometimes ten, sometimes dozens!"

"It's insane!"

Lanse sighed; it was indeed insane!

Alberto leaned in closer. "Opening a bar is more profitable than any other business right now."

Lanse was thoughtful. "But we can't reach that level. Mr. Pasleto has social connections in the Bay Area, and people are willing to spend money at his place. If we opened a bar like this in the Imperial District or the Port District, how many people do you think could afford a two-fifty drink?"

"Besides, we can't find a place this big, and we have no way to make the local precinct turn a blind eye to our activities."

"This matter still needs consideration, but it is profitable, that's for sure."

Only seeing the thief eat meat without seeing the thief get beaten—that was shortsightedness.

Just like right here, right now, many people might only notice how much profit this bar brought Mr. Pasleto every day.

Yet they ignored how much he had to pay to maintain those social connections!

Some people, even if they had money and wanted to give it to those in power, wouldn't be accepted. After all, once you reach a certain level, those people don't just take any money.

Many bars now are opened in basements—narrow, cramped, poor ventilation, and dangerous.

How many rich people would go to such places to get drunk and be entertained?

With few options, this place's popularity was inevitable.

It's like those terrible snacks at the corner of the alley—obviously bad, and the people eating them know it, but the business is still great.

Many people don't understand that these businesses simply fill a void and leave no other options.

When someone else starts making the same type of snack and it tastes slightly better, that snack stall will lose its business. The same goes for bars.

Lanse believed that as more bars with deep backgrounds started operating in the Bay Area, the customer flow here would inevitably be diverted, and business wouldn't be as good as it was now.

How much would be left by then was an unknown—maybe good, maybe bad.

After thinking for a while, Alberto felt that what Lanse said made a lot of sense. The two stopped talking about opening a bar and began to focus on the entertainment.

From Lanse's perspective, there was clearly a lot of room for improvement in the bar. For example, there were too few girls here.

Of course, this was normal. After all... late nights were very dangerous for girls, especially in a place like a bar.

Most girls would return home before seven o'clock and not come out.

Even streetwalkers didn't dare to stay out late; they would leave by eight or so at the latest, otherwise, they didn't know how many beatings they'd take for nothing at night.

So there were too few women here. Either they were brought by male companions, or they were hanging around the stage. This actually wasn't conducive to bar consumption.

You have to create a sense of encounter for the guests, turning their consumption concept from "I'll just order one for myself" to "I'll order two to drink with the lady." Whether they think with their brains or their dicks, this could double the turnover!

However, he wouldn't say this. The cheaper something is, the more worthless it becomes in people's hearts.

Only things that are hard to get, things obtained through effort, will they treasure like jewels.

The second floor of the bar was full of small, independent rooms, about four or five square meters in size, with a single sofa, a round table like a stage, and a door.

When the small red light at the door was on, it meant someone was inside.

This was a place for bosses who didn't want to squeeze in with others downstairs to have fun. Jason, who was currently competing in a breath-holding contest at the bottom of Angel Lake, had tried it.

Lanse saw that the lights at the doors of the single rooms on the second floor were almost all on. Occasionally someone would come out, but someone else would quickly go in, and the light would turn on again.

After observing for a while, Alberto dragged Lanse to act as a shill. They found the stage with the most people surrounding it and started tossing coins.

If anyone tried to divert the dancer's attention, Alberto would toss money onto the stage, which caused some people who had drunk too much to start competing with him!

The impulse to be the "top donor" was far more intoxicating than the alcohol. If you added the assistance of alcohol, Lanse only watched for a short while before seeing several high-rollers start tossing bills.

They would crumple the bills into a small ball and throw them at the dancer, but only bills could be used this way.

Someone had once tried to do this with coins and was beaten up by the bar's security.

After successfully stirring up some people's tempers, he quietly left. He really wasn't a good person!

The bar's atmosphere was excellent. Lanse had also drunk two glasses, at least four ounces, which was over 120ml.

Perhaps because of the ice, he didn't even feel the alcohol taking effect while drinking.

It wasn't until about forty or fifty minutes later that he started to feel slightly tipsy...

The morning sun shone through the window into the room. Lanse stretched on the bed, then turned over, wanting to sleep a little longer.

He had returned after eleven o'clock at night. Even then, there were still people in the bar. Alberto had stayed at the bar to rest and told Lanse to stay too, but Lanse refused.

It wasn't that his relationship with Alberto was bad; he just didn't want to get too familiar with his friends, as that would label him as "one of Mr. Pasleto's people."

He didn't want to be anyone's person. He was himself; he wanted to make himself a banner, not someone else's subordinate.

His memory after returning home was just Yisen helping him upstairs, and then he couldn't remember anything else.

He suddenly opened his eyes, saw that he was only wearing a pair of briefs, and couldn't help but sit up and rub his head.

Hope it wasn't Yisen who undressed him... ===== CHAPTER 115 =====