Chapter 153

Mr. Qiaoni had heard of the Red High Heels business and even had some understanding of it.

The girls they sent out were still alive and kicking, but every time they were brought back, they weren't necessarily intact—missing arms or legs, or even corpses.

You can never figure out what kind of hobbies those big shots, who look so glamorous on the surface, actually have!

There was a girl who once served a big shot and disappeared overnight because she spoke carelessly—her companions worried she had been abused, but she said she had entered a house, put on special clothes, and went to whip and harm an adult federal male, and was rewarded for it.

The big shots knew of the existence of Red High Heels and even tacitly allowed it to exist; obviously, it wasn't that they couldn't close it, but that they weren't willing to, because it also had its value.

There are many big capitalists or politicians in the federal upper class who like to hunt.

But do they really hunt often because they love hunting?

No, they don't like the process of competition between hunter and prey; they do it purely for the sake of killing.

There was once a governor in the Federation who liked to act as a butcher when he had nothing to do, on a farm.

Some people saw this behavior of his as a manifestation of loyalty to the great landlord class, and others said that even though he had become governor, he hadn't forgotten the traditions of a farm owner, and that personally slaughtering pigs, cattle, and sheep was a kind of inheritance.

This earned him many votes and political contributions from local farm owners and the landlord class.

The public and the media believed these words, thinking he was really just maintaining some farm owner traditions and trying to get more votes.

Until a sudden disappearance case broke out and all the clues pointed to him, people realized that besides slaughtering pigs, cattle, and sheep, he had other similar hobbies.

Of course, the person who exposed this matter might not have been doing it for justice; the word "justice" has never existed in the federal upper class—only "interests."

Human desire is like this; some can be controlled, but some, in the process of constant accumulation, will gradually become uncontrollable.

Rather than letting it get out of control and causing huge destruction—mainly self-destruction—spending some money to release pressure through some "non-illegal" ways became a good choice for them.

From a judicial perspective, those illegal immigrants are transparent people; they don't exist.

After they disappear, no one will call the police, no one will look for the media everywhere for their disappearance, and no one will think about doing anything for a group of people without status.

So this became a safe method; having released their desires and pressure, they could better serve society.

It was seen by Liam, and even Haile, as a ladder to the upper class—a shortcut.

This indeed allowed contact with many big shots, church pastors, decent people of the Bay District upper class, celebrities, and political dignitaries.

They have desires and demands, so they will definitely contact Red High Heels, because this is currently one of the few places in New Jincheng that can satisfy their special hobbies.

Having the contact information and connections of these people is indeed full of temptation for underclass people with ambition.

Mr. Qiaoni's eyes flickered, and Lanse reiterated his position, "I don't do this."

"Whoever likes to do it can do it, but I don't do this."

"Mr. Qiaoni, I also advise you not to touch it."

"You think that because of this kind of thing, you have a more private connection and a closer relationship with those big shots, but to them, you are the only eyewitness who holds evidence of their crimes."

"When they need you, they will naturally think you are a reliable person."

"But when they don't need you, they will start to worry about whether you will expose their affairs or trade them away."

"People who do this kind of thing don't have a good end, no matter who they are."

"I believe that when the news of Liam's death suddenly spread in society, his clients were probably even happier than I was!"

Mr. Qiaoni looked at Lanse, listening to what he said, and finally realized that he had been a bit impatient, "You are very right; I shouldn't think about these things."

Lanse nodded, "Your value is not here, Mr. Qiaoni."

He didn't continue to discuss this matter; after all, it was a disgraceful thing, "I will report it truthfully to the Mayor."

The serious topic ended, and there was a little less seriousness and a little more softness on Mr. Qiaoni's face, "That person has been under a lot of pressure lately; Lanse, what do you think I should do next?"

He admired Lanse more and more and wanted to hear Lanse's opinion.

Lanse gave him a suggestion, "Continue to play to your strengths, Mr. Qiaoni."

"The richer you are, the more they can't do without you; this is where your value lies."

"When you have no money, that is when you lose your value."

"If you want to gain more respect, become richer!"

Mr. Qiaoni left soon after; sitting in the car and looking at the bustling office, he had an increasingly strange feeling at this moment.

It was as if... he was observing the whole process of a volcanic eruption; perhaps now it was just puffing out some smoke, without even a tiny spark being sprayed out, but the rhythm of the earth it generated hidden beneath the ground could already be clearly grasped by people.

When he heard from the Mayor that Lanse could provide twenty thousand votes, his first thought was that it was impossible.

Even if there were over a hundred thousand Imperial people in the Imperial District, there were fundamentally not many among them who had votes and the right to vote.

But now he understood that those twenty thousand votes didn't all come from the Imperial District.

After returning to the Mayor's side, he immediately went to see the Mayor; he was no longer young, but facing the Mayor who was younger than him, one couldn't see any of the respect he should have received at his age.

Of course, he himself had no need for respect.

"I have already met with Lanse; Lanse agreed to the two proposals, but he suggested that he would not do the Red High Heels business.", from the moment he entered the door until now, he had been standing by the door.

Although the decoration in the room wasn't luxurious, it was definitely not shabby.

There was a simple sofa, and there were three chairs opposite the Mayor's desk, but the Mayor had no intention of letting Mr. Qiaoni sit down, and he himself didn't take the initiative to go over.

During this time, he felt that in the Federation, the strictness of hierarchy was even more terrifying than in the Empire!

Those nobles would sometimes put their arms around your shoulders and crack a few jokes with you, but here...

The Mayor put down the pen in his hand, "I am not familiar with Red High Heels, and I don't intend to understand it; all I need is the stability of the Imperial District, and the votes he can control in his hands."

The Mayor frowned slightly and pondered for a while, "Sometimes you should learn from him!", this sounded like a comment, and it could also be a remark with some other implication, but Mr. Qiaoni didn't seem to hear it.

"Alright, I still have a lot of work to do; go do your things, don't always stand here; if others see it, they will think I don't respect the elderly."

Mr. Qiaoni bowed slightly, "I'm getting old; the doctor suggested I move around more; sitting for too long is bad for my waist."

The corners of the Mayor's mouth curled up slightly; people all love power—this is the charm of power.

Even if you point at a pile of shit and say that eating this will be beneficial, there will still be people scrambling to stuff it into their mouths!

He raised his hand to make a "get out" gesture; Mr. Qiaoni left the office directly, and Mr. Mayor began to busy himself with his work again.

As the nominal and actual ruler of this city, how could he not know about Red High Heels?

It's just that his future is destined for the Presidential Palace or Capitol Hill, so he tries not to touch these things if he can avoid it.

But he hoped that there would be someone of his own who could accept it; perhaps it's not useful now, but one day, it might be.

The next morning, on the pier, a large group of people stood together around Aierwen.

During this time, most of the people here had heard what had happened; news on the pier traveled very fast, but no one thought about wanting to help Lanse do anything.

It wasn't that they were ungrateful, but for most of the blue-collar workers, they were just ordinary illegal immigrants; perhaps if Lanse fell, their work problems and survival problems would be more severe.

But none of this meant they couldn't survive here; Lanse just gave them a job, allowing them to barely fill their stomachs and have a little hope.

It didn't mean they had to go fight a "famous" gang for a dozen dollars a month.

Now the fighting seemed to be over, and the Kalami Gang had become a thing of the past; when Aierwen came to the pier, these blue-collar workers immediately gathered around.

They asked all sorts of questions about what had happened during this time, such as why the war started, whether there were any losses in the battle, and some follow-up questions.

Aierwen came today to recruit some people; Lanse said during the meeting last night that the meaning from above was that the Imperial District needed to stabilize as soon as possible.

Since the big mountain that was the Kalami Gang had been moved away, a new mountain had to be put in its place.

This mountain wasn't entirely designated by the big shots above; this was also a "test"—they had to solve the problems of the street-level neighborhood families and small gangs as soon as possible, which could potentially cause the public security rate to drop.

Twenty or so people managing an administrative district was obviously too exaggerated; they needed some peripheral members.

"... it will definitely be a bit more dangerous in the gang than on the pier; we lost seven people this time..."

When Aierwen said these things, it was very obvious that the people who were still enthusiastic just now began to think, and even shrink back.

Death is always a terrifying thing; seven people died at once, which made them have to consider whether it was worth it.

Of course, some were willing to join; Aierwen didn't agree immediately, "I'm just telling you now; we need about one hundred to two hundred people, thirty-five dollars per person per month."

"In addition, we will guarantee your food and housing; if you are injured due to some conflicts, we will also provide you with treatment."

"Actually, these conditions are quite good, and Lanse told me that after our situation improves, your income will gradually increase."

"Ordinary members will get about forty-five to sixty dollars a month, and core combat members can get about eighty dollars."

"We will be very tired recently because we intend to take over the territory of the Kalami Gang in the Imperial District, and some people will definitely compete with us, so there will definitely be some battles."

"But you don't have to worry too much; it's unlikely that large-scale gunfights will occur, and if there really is a gunfight, we will be there too."

Aierwen said a lot; some people were afraid of injury and death and backed off.

Others felt that being on the pier was not the end of it; as long as they couldn't solve the identity problem for a day, they couldn't get their full wages for a day.

It would be better to join the gang and give it a try.

People always have to do something for themselves!

Aierwen let people spread the news; they wouldn't take everyone who wanted to join—they only needed the elite!

Lanse, in the distance, saw this and turned around, threw the cigarette butt on the ground, crushed it with the tip of his polished leather shoe, and then went up to the office of the Longshoremen's Union.

He was here to find Woen (one of the vice presidents of the Longshoremen's Union); he didn't want the rumors on the street during this time to cause unnecessary trouble and cause his plan to control the Port District to fall through.

Woen had already arrived; although he didn't look like the working class, he had a rigorous schedule plan for the working class, which might be one of the few aspects where he was close to the working class.

Lanse knocked on the door; Woen was looking at some documents; he was a bit surprised when he saw Lanse, then immediately stood up, walked around the desk to greet him, and shook hands with Lanse, "I didn't know you were coming."

The two entered the room; it was almost the New Year, and the temperature was already a bit low.

Lanse took off his trench coat and hung it on the coat rack along with his hat, "A lot has happened during this time; I'm not sure what I'm doing most of the time."

"Did I delay your work?"

Woen took the initiative to have two cups of hot coffee sent over, "No, just some matters of the General Union.", the General Union he mentioned referred to the Federal Longshoremen's General Union.

Lanse sighed softly, "You must have heard some things related to me."

Woen nodded, "I found it hard to believe at first."

No one could imagine that the young man who cooperated with him had suddenly overturned a long-established gang and was stepping onto the stage of the era.

Moreover, Lanse and the Lanse family also began to appear in front of people, which made Woen a bit at a loss.

Cooperation between the Longshoremen's Union and a gang, or rather, a family?

He didn't know.

Lanse took out a check for one thousand dollars from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table.

He looked into Woen's eyes, "I'm going to Xiang Yalan in a few days to inspect some factories, and I really can't spare the time this month, so I'll just give you the donations for two months together."

Woen subconsciously glanced at the check; it was for one thousand dollars.

The price he and Lanse had discussed before wasn't this.

Perhaps seeing Woen's confusion, he explained, "The extra two hundred dollars is for you to buy some small gifts or something, to bring more smiles to everyone; after all, the club will start operating after the New Year, and I still have to rely on you all for support."

This sounded like a joke, but it was also a probe; if Woen said "this matter is not easy to handle," it meant that his renting of the club had run into trouble.

If he didn't say it, it meant there was no accident.

Thoughts raced through Woen's mind; the three hundred dollars in the small account before were still lying in the safe, and now there was another thousand dollars.

He suddenly felt his scalp heating up and itching, and he couldn't help but scratch it, "Lanse..."

"Are there difficulties?", Lanse asked.

Woen took a deep breath, "They rumored that you are..."

"A gang?"

Lanse stated directly, "Do you think we are?"

Woen shook his head, "I don't think you are...", just as he was speaking, the secretary knocked on the door and brought in two cups of coffee.

After both said thank you, the secretary very thoughtfully closed the door when she left; the moment the door was about to close, her gaze lingered on the check on the table.

"Woen, we never blackmail or extort anyone; we can say that the money we earn might not be legal, but it is definitely acceptable in terms of conscience."

"If they hadn't forced us and wanted to kill us, so many things wouldn't have happened; we were just resisting under pressure."

"No one wants to enter this line of work, but the world doesn't allow us to do anything else."

"I can guarantee that the pier is still yours, and no one will interfere with your work."

"And, if you feel that our cooperation is no longer appropriate, you can call a stop at any time; I actually just hope that our people can have a better working environment and atmosphere on the pier, that's all!"

"All my efforts are to hope to improve their situation; I have no other thoughts or meanings."

He leaned forward slightly, "Give me a chance, and give yourself a chance."

Woen looked at Lanse for a while, then looked at the check, and finally, he was persuaded by himself, "Alright..."

"What about Kaosite?"

Woen put the check away, "I will go and persuade President Kaosite."

Lanse thought for a moment and took out another check; it already had a number on it—two hundred dollars.

He handed the check to Woen, and seeing the confusion on Woen's face, he smiled, "My gratitude!"

"Don't refuse; aren't we friends?"

Having accepted the first check for one thousand dollars, the second check for two hundred dollars didn't seem so hard to accept.

He finally put it into his pocket, "You always make people feel embarrassed, Lanse."

Although he said that, from the smile on his face, it was clear that he liked this gift.

The New Year was coming soon; he could buy his wife a beautiful set of clothes and give his children some pocket money; they were at the age of dating, and they always complained that they didn't have enough money.

Woen could also buy himself the designer razor he had always wanted, or buy a pair of new leather shoes?

He had many choices, based on the fact that he had more freely disposable wealth.

Only when you reach his class, or rather, when you have figured things out, will you understand what "family income" and "freely disposable wealth" mean.

Sometimes your monthly income doesn't represent the money you can freely dispose of!

Mr. Lanse, he is truly generous!