Daily life of an American TV drama agent

Uncle Fried Chicken said a very philosophical saying: "Whether you spend it or not is not the same as having it. As long as you have money, it is a kind of peace of mind."

Ron felt that Director Zhao in "In the Name of the People" would definitely give him a thumbs up when he heard this. It simply expressed his feelings. If they knew each other, they would probably have a lot to talk about, but Ron was not the one today. Come and discuss the reasons for drug trafficking with him.

"Okay, put these things aside, I'm not here to have a heart-to-heart talk with you. Anyway, everyone I've met has their reasons. I think they can all have a good chat on "The Voice". It's definitely possible. Ratings went through the roof.”

Ron took out a tax registration form from his pocket and slapped it on the table: "How about we talk about how much tax you have missed in your laundry business?"

Ron's other hand placed under the table moved slightly, and there was a crisp click. The gun of the large-caliber Smithway revolver quietly opened under the table, and the muzzle was pointed at Uncle Fried Chicken.

"Now, I can send you to see God with just a little movement of my fingers. I suggest you fill in a number that satisfies me on the form. My bonus this year and department funding will all depend on it."

Ron didn't hide his greed at all. Uncle Fried Chicken frowned slightly. He hated it when someone spoke to him so forcefully. Even if he had received instructions from the big man behind him and planned to bleed, he didn't want to be under such coercion. It was humiliating to hand over the money.

"What if I say no? Don't forget, there are my snipers outside. I want to take a bet on whether your bomb is real." Uncle Fried Chicken said the most ferocious threat in the kindest tone. From outside, Looking at the expressions of the two people, one might even think that they are two good friends chatting.

"Hahaha~ Congratulations on guessing it right!" Ron took out the thing from his clothes. It turned out to be an MP3 player and several large batteries tied together with tape. It looked like a bomb. Uncle Fried Chicken couldn't help but A moment of irritation.

Was he tricked by this thing just now?

Ron's hand on the table made a gun-holding gesture and pointed at Uncle Fried Chicken's head: "But, who told you that I came alone? Your intelligence source seems to be out of date, my dear friend."

Ron slowly raised his pistol-shaped hand until it was level with Uncle Fried Chicken's head. A small red dot appeared on Uncle Fried Chicken's temple, and Uncle Fried Chicken's kind smile finally appeared on Uncle Furui's face. A hint of panic.

This direction... is his own sniper! When was he killed? !

Finally caught up~

Ron also secretly wiped the sweat in his heart. Fortunately, Hank moved quickly, otherwise this beep would have been almost impossible to fake.

It turned out that Ron had called Hank before going out to discuss today's plan: Ron pretended to be alone and went to the fried chicken shop to meet Uncle Fried Chicken to attract all the attention.

Hank went back to the base first to get a silenced pistol and was responsible for cleaning up the bodyguards and thugs brought by Uncle Fried Chicken. Ron had not thought of snipers.

He never imagined that Uncle Fried Chicken could be so cautious, and he just happened to choose a window seat. Of course, it was not ruled out that the other party deliberately induced him to choose to sit here.

Fortunately, Ron was well prepared and used the "human bomb" trick to shock Uncle Fried Chicken first, and then took the opportunity to secretly send the sniper's coordinates to Hank via text message.

With mental arithmetic and unintentional calculations, coupled with Hank's good skills, he quickly eliminated the sniper and aimed his gun at him. The rhythm was just in line with Ron's estimated time, so Ron was so pretentious just now. scene.

"Okay, how many do you want?" Uncle Fried Chicken has always been more of a shrewd businessman than a drug dealer and desperado, so he decisively chose to compromise.

If a sum

Ron narrowed his eyes: "Let me do the math. According to your little genius, he can produce nearly 800 kilograms for you at a time, and the price of these goods outside is 35 US dollars per gram. Tsk, tsk, just one time." It has a net income of 28 million US dollars, which is really amazing."

Ron's tone was extremely sarcastic. If he could, Uncle Fried Chicken would like to pull the safety of the grenade, put it into the big mouth that was constantly opening and closing in front of him, and blow his whole head into pieces.

But unfortunately, the initiative is now in the hands of the other party. There is a large-caliber revolver pointed at him under the table, and there is a sniper rifle pointed at his head outside. After his fried chicken uncle became famous, he has never been so embarrassed. Pass.

"Let me think about it, based on the 14% tax rate for recreational marijuana that is now legal in Los Angeles, your product is obviously much better than that. Even if it is twice the tax rate, it is not an exaggeration, right?"

Ron smiled mischievously and continued before Uncle Fried Chicken spoke: "Also, including the local 10.5% luxury tax."

"Wait! Why is there such a thing as a luxury tax?" Uncle Fried Chicken was stunned.

"Of course you have to pay luxury tax because it is a luxury product~"

Ron said matter-of-factly: "With a price of 35 US dollars per gram, it should be considered a luxury product like caviar, right? Of course, if you have any objections, I welcome you to complain to the FBI~"

Complain to the FBI? What is the difference between surrendering and surrendering? What should I say? Hey, there is an IRS tax officer here who is randomly collecting taxes from me. The powder I sell is obviously super genuine, but he wants to charge me a high tax as a luxury product!

Believe it or not, the FBI agents would smile and catch themselves, then use Uncle Fried Chicken’s money to hold a party for a whole month, and write a thank-you letter to Ron?

"Okay, I'll give it to you. Is there anything else?" Uncle Fried Chicken's hand holding the pen was already shaking a little, out of pure anger.

He had never seen such a shameless person.

"Of course, your business is considered food no matter how you look at it, right? After all, they are all used for food. In this case, it will also be considered a food tax. And although there are no quarantine procedures, the tax must be paid. Forget it, and...add it all together and calculate your tax rate of 70%."

Ron counted his fingers and gave Uncle Fried Chicken the same calculations. Finally, he patted the table and said, "I'm very generous."