Chapter 52: The Definition of Happiness

Enio's breathing was somewhat rapid; the constant rolling of cash on the gambling table made his throat itch and his tongue dry.

He had never seen so much money in his life!

His father was an Imperial citizen who longed to be a cut above the rest and tried to imitate the Federals; he would only tell his children to obey Federal law, rather than encouraging him to strive for happiness.

So, in the past twenty years, Enio's life had not been wonderful; it had been filled with poverty and hardship.

But the moment so much money appeared before him, he understood poverty, understood suffering, and understood the essence of all misfortune in that instant—it was money!

Yes, having more money meant happiness, and having less meant suffering; this was the truth, irrefutable.

If his father had money, he wouldn't be venting his emotions through domestic violence at home all day, and his mother wouldn't have left them.

If his father had money, he wouldn't be hanging around with these poor kids, racking his brains over how to scrape together a little more money for tomorrow; he would be driving the latest convertible in the Bay Area, chatting about ideals with those pretty girls.

Money makes people happy, and it also makes them suffer.

With so much money, it would surely make him very happy, right?

You only need to put five dollars on the table, then gamble a little luck, and the five dollars would become ten.

He looked at Mo Lisi, and Mo Lisi looked back at him, shaking his head slightly, "Think about my father."

Mo Lisi's father was a degenerate gambler; he had been one back in the Empire.

Their family's ability to come to the Federation also stemmed from a "big gamble"—his father bet that they would become happy after arriving in the Federation, though of course, it was also to escape debt collectors.

He sold their only house and brought his family to the Federation.

Life in the Federation was not wonderful; he had no job and couldn't find a suitable one. The only way he could earn money for his family was by pimping out his wife.

At first, it was seven or eight dollars a time, later five dollars, and now, one only needed three dollars to have a go.

At least one-third of the men on this street had been to Mo Lisi's home, experiencing that little path he took when he first arrived in this world.

At first, he hated it too, but now, he was numb.

His father always felt he could win back what he had lost at the gambling table, but the result was only losing more.

Enio knew that pitiful and hateful man; the hand clutching the banknotes wasn't as tense anymore. Mo Lisi let go, watching Enio put the money back into his pocket.

"We are here to make money, not to lose it. I've been here for several years and have never seen anyone truly win; everyone is losing money!"

As he spoke, a degenerate gambler sitting at the gambling table, spurred on by the loud shouts of those around him, asked the dealer for another card—twelve, a very contradictory total.

A deck of fifty-two playing cards only has sixteen "tens"; anything above 10 counts as ten.

There were fourteen cards on the table, and five tens were already visible. In other words, among the remaining thirty-eight cards, only eleven were tens; the probability of hitting a ten was only twenty-eight percent.

Of course, degenerate gamblers don't calculate these things. If he could, he likely wouldn't be sitting at a gambling table right now, but in the office of some company.

But he knew tens were limited. Based on the order of dealing, he had a high probability of getting a non-ten, so he asked for the card.

The dealer flipped a ten to him, "Busted, brother." Although, amidst the gambler's incredulous gaze, the dealer swept away the cards and chips in front of him.

Someone in the crowd behind him suddenly slapped him on the head, "Fuck your mother, you idiot."

He stood up abruptly and turned to look at the innocent faces behind him. He spread his hands, equally innocent, "You were the ones who told me to keep hitting!"

Someone in the crowd shouted, "They told you to go eat shit."

The gambler cursed twice, rummaged through his pockets, couldn't pull out any more money, and had no choice but to step aside.

Several people even cordially greeted each other's families while fighting for that spot.

Mo Lisi tilted his head, and Enio, knowing what he meant, followed him immediately.

"Lost it all?", he asked.

The person who had just lost money and been slapped rolled his eyes, "What, you want to give me money?"

Enio nodded, "I can lend it to you."

For a degenerate gambler, if someone is willing to give them money—whether it's selling their ass, pimping out their wife, or usury—they are willing to accept it.

Because at this very moment, they believe like never before that they can win back what they just lost from the gambling table, and win a big sum on top of it.

"Are you from the casino?"

"I haven't seen you before."

Enio gave the other party a cigarette, a small pack of roll-ups. The gambler whistled, "So, how much interest are you planning to charge?"

He thought Enio was from the casino; casinos not only organize gambling but also lend money at high interest.

There are always fools who can't wait to win back their stake. At this time, they don't care at all if you tell them the interest is annual, monthly, or daily.

He felt that if he had hit just now, the dealer would definitely have busted, because the others' totals weren't small either.

Give him one more chance, and he would definitely win it back.

"Do you have a permanent resident card?"

The gambler lit his cigarette, took a breath, and asked somewhat nonchalantly, "You guys care about that now?"

Enio nodded, "It's easier if you have a work permit."

He didn't commit to anything.

The gambler shook his head, "Of course. How much can you lend?"

"Anything under a hundred is fine."

The gambler was stunned for a moment. The casino side actually doesn't like to lend too much because they only operate the casino; small-amount usury is just a side business, and it's usually only twenty or thirty.

People gambling here are all from around this street; everyone knows each other, knows the roots and the bottom line. They know how much can be lent, and they aren't afraid the other party will run, but they won't lend much.

He had never heard that the casino could lend a hundred dollars now. He had borrowed once before, and they only lent him twenty, with one dollar of interest per day. He paid it back quickly.

"What about the interest?"

"No more than thirty."

"A week?"

Enio was also surprised, "A month!"

The gambler, who had originally intended to leave after finishing the cigarette, suddenly became interested, "If I can't pay it back..."

"Your work permit will have to be handed over to us for a period of time."

For the underclass, they know better than the middle class or even the upper class what a work permit means in the Federation, and they know better how big a market this thing has among illegal immigrants.

He hesitated for a moment, "How do you give it to me? Do I need to sign a contract?"

Enio explained it simply, then greeted Mo Lisi and left with the gambler.

The big man at the door didn't say anything when he saw the two leave together, because he could tell Enio was also an Imperial citizen, and the police station wouldn't use such young Imperial citizens, even if they couldn't recruit officers.

Enio made a phone call, and soon Lans arrived with the contract. He glanced at the gambler, "Has he already told you?"

The gambler had a fawning smile, "That's right, work permit as collateral, then write a check for you guys."

He took out the contract, which only stated that the gambler owed him a hundred dollars, to be repaid at thirty-eight per month for half a year. If he couldn't pay it back, his work permit would be taken away for at least nine months, up to a year.

Because Lans wanted to open a labor service company, the usage period of the work permit in the contract was increased from six months to nine months.

Looking at this contract, the gambler had some hesitation. The interest was indeed high, but thirty-eight dollars a month wasn't something he couldn't pay back.

His own main job paid thirty-five dollars and fifty cents a month, and he also had a part-time job he rented out, which brought in an extra seventeen dollars a month.

Adding it up, that was fifty-two dollars and fifty cents, which already exceeded the income of an average Federal citizen. Paying thirty-eight, he still had fifteen dollars left; although life would be a bit bitter, he could get by.

And... with this hundred dollars, he was confident he could win two hundred back!

Soon, he signed his name on the contract according to Lans's requirements, copied the disclaimer, and handed over everything that needed to be delivered.

Lans took twenty five-dollar banknotes from his pocket and handed them over. The gambler walked toward the casino while cursing; he was going to kill all sides and win back what he had lost.

Watching the gambler walk away, he took six dollars and fifty cents from his pocket—a five-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill, and two twenty-five-cent coins—and handed them to Enio, "Your commission."

Another six dollars and fifty cents; Enio's heartbeat began to accelerate slightly. He said sincerely, "Thank you!"

Lans patted his arm, "Mutual benefit. Your business here is good; I'll consider whether to open another company nearby. It will be easier to handle things then."

"If that's true, that would be great!", Enio tucked the money properly into his pocket, "I'll go back first. I might need you to make a few more trips these next few days."

"It's not a trouble at all. I even hope you can trouble me more; only then can we both make money." He took two packs of cigarettes from the car and gave them to Enio, "Call me if anything happens; I'll basically be at the company these next few days."

Clutching the two packs of cigarettes and the six dollars and fifty cents he had just received, Enio felt he was one step closer to happiness.

Watching Enio leave, Lans drove back to the company. Only two or three people were resting in the company; the others had all gone out to find business.

Business around here was relatively easier to do; you just had to bring people over. Business further away was really not easy to do. It looked like the matter of making others learn to drive had to be put on the schedule.

He couldn't always be the one running around, or he could rent some small houses in other places, as long as there were two rooms, but that required arranging people. ===== CHAPTER 53 =====