Chapter 341: Contradictions and the Second Notebook

Question:

What does it take to be a security guard at the docks?

A stable temperament?

A gentle and courteous attitude?

The resolve to help people solve their troubles in a timely manner?

Or fists capable of solving trouble?

The answer is actually only one — whoever is the trouble, they solve that person!

Most of the workers at the docks are from the bottom of society; they haven't received much higher education, and they certainly don't read books during their breaks to cultivate their sentiments.

The vast majority of the time, they only curse; when they can't out-talk someone, they charge in chest-first, then shove, and eventually it escalates into a physical altercation.

You can't make these people learn to solve problems politely, gently, and peacefully.

It's like handing them a third-grade math test — they can't even get a perfect score!

For them, that's just too hard!

So don't expect the dock security guards to speak softly to others; the moment the security guard stepped into the office, he gave Johnny a warning.

Johnny had a bit of a notorious reputation at the docks — a typical small-time bully, and plenty of people had been bullied by him.

But as long as he didn't affect the company's interests, the security guards turned a blind eye — except when he showed up here and got rough with someone in the office.

"Don't make things hard for me, Johnny. You know who I am."

"Put him down, then get out and go sweep your floor, or I'll use your face to sweep the entire dock clean!"

Johnny glanced at the security guard, used his managerial grip to toss the manager he had by the collar aside, and the latter crashed into a chair with a loud clatter.

The manager instinctively straightened his somewhat disheveled tie, and his voice turned shrill: "Teach him a lesson!"

The security guard felt his authority had been challenged. He rolled his neck, and before he could say anything to set up what he was about to do, Johnny punched him in the stomach.

The instant of intense pain, along with a wave of nausea, nearly made the security guard throw up!

Bent over, sticking his rear out, he felt his stomach — or something else — spasm, leaving him completely unable to stand up straight.

Johnny grabbed a thick book sitting on the corner of the desk, swung it upward with force, and slammed it into the security guard's jaw, sending him toppling backward!

"Motherfucker!"

"Come suck my big cock!"

Since he was going to make a scene, Johnny went all out!

After taking down the security guard in a less-than-honorable way, he went back to the office manager who was shrieking like a woman. Ignoring whatever the manager said, he swung his fist and smashed it into the man's face!

Until he felt a lot of people punching him from behind, and someone even had him in a chokehold around the neck.

The suffocation and pain forced him to let go of the manager, but it looked like the manager had already been beaten unconscious…

The entire office descended into chaos, a group of security guards surrounding Johnny and beating him up.

In this day and age, daring to lay hands on a manager — that is an unforgivable sin!

Ten-some minutes later, Johnny was thrown out, and this drew some attention.

Quite a few workers saw Johnny being tossed out with a bruised and battered face — a pitiful sight indeed.

Some were gloating, but others felt the management office had gone too far.

So many people beating up one person, and a dock worker at that — this stirred up the emotions of some of the workers.

Someone contacted Warren, who immediately arranged for Johnny to be sent to the hospital, and then gave Lans a call.

"Johnny has been sent to the hospital. He looks seriously hurt."

Chairman Scott had already left early; he spent some money to get his connections transferred out first.

Warren told him the truth — Lans planned to use the conflict between the dock workers, the management company, and the capitalists to stir up a major strike!

That sentence scared Scott so badly he nearly fell off his chair!

A major dock workers' strike means that everyone will ultimately have to make concessions to the dock workers, because they cannot accept, nor can they afford, a prolonged shutdown of Jingang Docks!

It sounds like another good thing — the working class has once again proven that as long as everyone unites, they can defeat the capitalists. This is a great victory for the working class!

But in reality, once the storm over this matter passes, someone is bound to be punished for it.

He wasn't sure about others, but the president of the dock workers' union would definitely be the first!

Why wasn't such an important public sentiment situation detected and reported immediately? Why wasn't it stopped in time before the strike began? Why did a strike tactic that belonged to the union end up being formed spontaneously by a group of workers?

The union had long regarded the "strike" as its own private tool to force capitalists and politicians to compromise.

The more important something is, the less readily it should be deployed. Currently, the federal industrial unions are all trying their best to mediate the conflicts between laborers and capitalists, to prevent the situation from escalating.

It looks like they're doing it for the good of the working class, but in reality, they're doing it so that "strikes" don't become commonplace.

A president who failed to organize everything clearly has to be punished!

He personally dug into his own pocket to speed up the transfer of his connections. Although nominally he was still the president of the Jingang City Dock Workers' Union, in reality his connections had already been transferred out, and Warren was now the primary person in charge here.

Lans was very pleased after hearing this. "Keep paying attention to these matters. I'll have my people coordinate a bit. We still need some time right now."

A strike is no simple matter — without someone to take the lead, it's definitely not going to happen. Warren hadn't had any chance to advance further in the past few years, or even seven or eight years. So cooperating well with Lans was the best path he could see right now.

"I'll keep a close eye on it."

Lans was very satisfied with Warren's attitude. Regardless of whether he could actually get the job done, at least his attitude was very pleasant.

"Once this matter is over, I guarantee you'll become the object of everyone's envy. Of course, whether to let them know is entirely up to you!"

The news of Johnny being beaten soon began to spread around the docks — all sorts of things were being said.

Although the vast majority of people didn't particularly like Johnny, in this matter Johnny represented the interests of the working class — he was their fellow worker.

And the dock management office was the capitalists' tool for enslaving the workers; they were naturally opposed.

The news spread fast. In less than two hours, there were already many mutated rumors—

"Johnny wanted to get justice. You know, he was supposed to earn thirty-eight dollars, but now he only gets twenty-seven or twenty-eight — almost half his wages gone in one go."

"If it were me, I definitely wouldn't agree either, so he went to find the manager, but the manager didn't say a word and had the security guards beat him up and throw him out!"

"They have never respected us; in their eyes, there's no difference between us and a wrench or a screwdriver!"

"A wrench still has things it can't do or doesn't want to do, but we have to listen to them in everything!"

As the rumors began to spread, the matter of Johnny started to ferment, and the whole thing turned into an emotional trash can. People were no longer just sharing 'what happened to Johnny,' but also began sharing 'what happened to themselves.'

They would talk about the unfair treatment they had received from the management company, the most common being things like having wages docked for being late, leaving early, or not being found during roll call.

The strict rules and regulations that had been carefully observed, at this moment when people were full of grievances, turned into the capitalists making things difficult for the toiling masses.

The emotions on the dock were stirred up bit by bit by themselves.

Being angry — you can't think about it too deeply.

Because the more you think about it, the angrier you'll get. Now the people on the dock clearly showed this tendency. The unfair treatment they had suffered in the past but had mostly forgotten was now being brought out again, making them even more furious!

When the entire dock becomes a powder keg, that's when the union steps in.

And for now, we still need to wait a little longer.

The upheaval on the dock also made the city look even more chaotic. Just at this moment, the mayor decided to deliver a public speech on Thursday afternoon, addressing some of the recent problems the city had encountered.

Some people thought this was a good thing, that City Hall had finally noticed the city was sliding toward a dangerous edge.

But others felt there was no point in the mayor only noticing these things now, and for some locals, the source of the chaos was the mayor himself.

If he wanted to end the chaos, the best way was to give up resistance and abide by the city's rules — but that obviously wasn't very likely.

He was constantly challenging the old order and trying to create his own order; this irreconcilable contradiction was the true source of the city's chaos!

From the fact that those police officers were already in a semi-strike state, one could see that the mayor was facing a very bad situation.

Under the influence of information asymmetry, the common people at the bottom felt he no longer had a chance to turn things around, but those who truly understood the current movements of the city's upper echelons knew the real situation was the opposite.

Everyone was waiting, waiting for Wednesday to arrive.

Before Wednesday arrived, the renovation of Red High Heels had officially begun. According to the design, they would first demolish a large amount of the existing decoration, then rearrange the layout of the building.

This place would become a film company in the future, so it didn't need so many cramped cubicles, nor did it need such a large dance floor.

So before actually renovating according to the blueprints, they had to tear down everything that had been there before.

A young man who had only recently arrived from the Empire was working bare-chested, swinging a twenty-pound sledgehammer to smash those things.

This was very hard work, but Lans's side was very humane — everyone could earn one dollar a day, and could also enjoy free lunch and dinner.

The food wasn't very good — it was all whole wheat bread loaded with coarse fiber, very filling.

The first time he ate this kind of bread, he almost choked so badly he questioned his whole life; nearly every bite was so hard to swallow.

Even when washed down with water, it would stick tightly to the esophagus, slowly inching its way down.

Later, when he watched others eat it bit by bit, he mastered the correct way to eat it. He suspected there were things like wood chips inside this bread.

Besides unlimited bread, each person could also eat a whole roasted chicken every day — a whole one.

This was also the reason many people were willing to work here. For them, eating meat, even chicken, was a luxury!

Being able to eat their fill made them work with extra vigor. Just as he swung the sledgehammer at the wall again, suddenly he felt the force on the hammer head instantly drain away!

And the wall was also knocked a hole open by him.

He forcefully pulled the hammer head out; in the past few days he had encountered this situation quite a few times.

Sometimes, in order to create some aesthetic appeal in the design, the previous renovation had used a lot of gypsum board — this might just be a piece of gypsum board or something like that.

When he pulled the hammer head out of the breach, he also knocked open the entire brick surface, and some things inside fell out.

Several brown paper bags — his heart suddenly started pounding.

He had heard many rumors about the Federation, such as how if you smash open a wall there's a secret room inside, filled with gold coins and cash.

Or how an unremarkable painting turns out to be an antique that can sell for an astonishing price!

Was it his turn this time?

He hurriedly picked up the brown paper bags and opened one of them. To his disappointment, what was inside were all some notebooks.

He casually picked up one and turned to the first page.

"April 17th,... Mr. called, he specifically requested... go over and accompany him, he offered a price of one thousand dollars for this."

"We sent the person over in the morning, and picked her back up just after four in the afternoon — he's simply a madman!"

"The Miss had been tormented by him until she lost control of her bladder and bowels, the whole car was covered in shit, what a nightmare!"

"... (he guessed it was a doctor) said she wouldn't be able to work normally in the future. She was a pretty customer with some regular clients, abandoning her really makes one feel dissatisfied and angry."

"But fortunately,... Mr. gave another five thousand dollars in compensation, hope he won't be so violent next time!"

"April 19th,... Mr. ran into some troubles, and it happened we had a girl who had always been uncooperative with us, I decided to send her over."

"Sometimes they actually don't understand at all — everything they find unbearable is actually for their own good."

"They can't understand me, always thinking I'm harming them — how ridiculous."

"I can recall the vivid hatred in her eyes every time I tamed her; I hope this time, she can still hate this world so much!"

The following passage was clearly written at a different time period, and the handwriting had also changed somewhat.

"She's dead, piece by piece. The person responsible for cleaning up the scene came back and told me he almost threw up."

"He's a lunatic, he chopped her into pieces here and there, just hearing about it makes me nauseous!"

"These people are fucking perverts, is every rich person like this?"

"April..."

After flipping through several pages in a row, the young man's chest was heaving violently. He roughly understood what this was.

He wasn't a fool, of course he knew these should be the diaries of the former operators of this place.

What was recorded inside were diaries of his persecution of the Misses here — evidence of crimes — but he didn't know who to hand them to.

He held these things and thought for a long time, then found the person in charge of supervising their work. "I want to see the boss, I have something important to report to him."

The person in charge of construction looked him up and down. Under Lans's outstanding "leading by example," the Lans family had not yet become corrupt and degenerate.

"Stay here, don't leave. I'm going to make a phone call right now."

Before long, Erwin drove over. "Who's looking for me?"

The young man raised a hand. By then a few people had already gathered to watch, so Erwin had someone disperse them, then walked with the young man to a corner.

He handed a notebook straight to Erwin. Erwin opened it and barely glanced at it before his expression turned extremely grave!

"Besides you, who else has seen these things?"

The young man shook his head. "No one. Only me."

Erwin called over the man in charge of supervising the workers. "Give me a list of everyone here. Until I call you, none of them are allowed to leave."

The supervisor could feel how serious this was. He hurriedly nodded. "I know what to do, Erwin."

Erwin clapped him on the shoulder, then looked at the young man. "What's your name?"

"Philip."

"Philip, come with me to see Lans…"

Ten minutes or so later, Lans glanced at Erwin and at Philip standing by the door, then opened the notebook in his hand.

He then flipped through a few pages. Inside, the education of Red Heels and the Bay Area was recorded in rough outline.

There was no record of Red Heels' ordinary business inside, nor any record of value — businesses of a few dollars, ten-odd dollars, or at most a few dozen dollars weren't worth recording.

Only those businesses with the Bay Area were worth them writing down.

These notebooks were clearly not from the same batch. He picked up some that looked more worn. "These should be the ones Buck recorded (Buck was Red Heels' manager during the Camila gang era; he's already committed suicide)."

He then picked up two other notebooks that were clearly newer. "These should be the ones Sam recorded (Sam was someone the mayor brought in; he also committed suicide)."

Sam was clearly more cunning than Buck, and far more experienced at handling these matters.

Buck hadn't left any valuable "evidence" in his notebooks, but in Sam's notebook there were altogether around forty-odd bills and checks.

These bills had all been carefully sandwiched between two sheets of paper — he should have been doing it to preserve the fingerprints on them. Lans didn't know whether that actually worked.

There were also around a dozen or so checks, and these checks were clearly far more useful.

On them were not only dates, but also amounts, and the personal signatures of the people who had written the checks — and they matched up with the service fees recorded in the diary!

If fingerprints could also be lifted from these checks, then this would be ironclad, valuable evidence!

Lans looked at Philip. "These things are very important to me. You've done a great deed."

"I'm a very fair person. What you've done has value to me, and I'll reward you."

"Now, tell me — what do you want?"

"Money, status, or anything else — name it!"