Chapter 928: Gift Box and Aid

Sometimes, the simplest way to make a person obey is not to intimidate him or beat him up.

If you intimidate him, he may not be afraid.

If you beat him up, you might provoke his rebellious heart.

So the best way is to, in front of his face, "get rid of" another person.

The image of Ronnie lying in a pool of blood quickly spread by word of mouth. In the afternoon, the factory had returned to peace. People were sitting at their workstations, rolling cigars with all their might.

Even if they couldn't roll that many, it didn't matter. Anyway, at the end of the month, their wages would be settled according to how much they had done, and those whose production capacity couldn't keep up would be fired.

"They're all a bunch of cheap bones!"

The manager stood in the corner, bowing and scraping, as he reported the work in the factory to Lance. Lance glanced at him sideways. "But these cheap bones have made you very passive these past few days."

Seeing the manager's expression had already changed, Lance withdrew his gaze. His gaze fell on the packaging box in front of him.

A cigar packaging box.

It looked like a very exquisite box. In the center of the box were two lions with a reddish-copper texture, a stamped relief craftsmanship, transported from the Federation.

The box was about a foot long, half a foot wide. The workmanship was very exquisite, and it didn't look like a low-grade product.

He opened the cigar box, revealing six aluminum tubes inside.

On the aluminum tubes was printed a black double-lion logo, and below it was printed a serial number that others couldn't understand.

Lance knew very well how to make some commodities look more high-end, so he had created a "three-number-in-one."

The number on the packaging box, the number on the card inside the box, and the number on the cigar tube, all connected, could be verified for authenticity through the calculation method in the manual.

In fact, the vast majority of people wouldn't do this. Who the fuck, when smoking a cigar, would even check if it was real?

Sometimes, for some brands of cigars, the fake ones are actually better to smoke than the real ones!

He took one out and poured out the cigar. The shape also looked pretty good.

"Is the wrapper made by a separate worker?" He observed it carefully for a while and asked.

The manager quickly nodded. "Yes, as you said last time, all the cigar fillers and binders are one step, and the final rolling of the wrapper is one step."

Lance nodded. This could also be considered an assembly line process.

The cigar filler and binder, relatively speaking, do not require such skilled techniques, because the semi-finished product composed of the cigar filler and binder still has a shaping process.

Even if it's not done particularly well, it will be shaped very nicely during the shaping process.

Rolling the wrapper is particularly important.

It's not that there are no machines that can complete this work, there are, but what the machines make is never as good as what is made by hand. This may also be one of the reasons why this industry has always insisted on being handmade most of the time.

Lance cut off the cap, lit it, took a puff, felt it for a while, and then slowly exhaled.

This tobacco was all bought from other tobacco merchants. It was after the aging process was over, and then it had been processed with some adjustments.

In order to reflect its relationship with Golden Lion Distillery, Lance had had the expert in charge of blending, to make it have a slight aftertaste of Golden Lion whiskey when smoked.

It would be slowly released. When you smoked to the middle, the taste of the whiskey would become richer.

But this was only the lowest-grade Copper Lion cigar. Judging from its current quality, it was passable. Lance felt it was not bad.

He nodded, took another puff, and felt it again for a while. "Bring our whiskey."

The manager quickly brought a bottle of Golden Lion Whiskey. Now these Golden Lion-grade whiskeys had been aged for two years. Logically, the flavor was actually still somewhat lacking.

But who asked Lance to add some technology in it, to help it to quickly stabilize its style and complex taste.

From the drinking point of view alone, it was actually not very different from those three-year, five-year whiskeys.

The "fire" from just being out of the pot had completely faded, leaving only the mellowness.

While smoking a cigar, and trying to drink whiskey, the multiple tastes were constantly blending, changing in the mouth, constantly bringing some new experiences!

Especially after drinking or smoking and exhaling, the taste remaining on the oral mucosa was both complex and positive.

Hiram also tried it. "It feels pretty good."

Lance nodded in affirmation of his statement. "How much do you think a box of six cigars like this should sell for?"

Hiram shook his head. He didn't know much about this. "Ten dollars?" He said a price he thought was appropriate.

The manager at the side couldn't help but be a little speechless. Ten dollars?

The cost of these six cigars, if converted into Federal Sols, is at most twenty cents each!

This is still thinking on the high side. In fact, all of them together, at most, is only one dollar.

Plus the cost of the box and transportation, as well as storage costs, personnel wages, and the like, it won't exceed 1.5.

Lance nodded. "This price is very suitable, 9.9."

He closed the box. These cigars would not only be sold individually, but also in a gift box.

Two bottles of whiskey plus a box of cigars, to sell for 79 is definitely a piece of cake.

"Continue to produce like this. Before April, first gather 100,000 boxes."

In two months, 100,000 boxes. On average, 50,000 boxes need to be produced each month.

That is 300,000 cigars. Calculated at a minimum of 2,500 per person per month, it would require 120 workers.

But this was just an ideal figure. The workers in the factory now were not skilled workers. Most of the workers actually couldn't reach this number, which was also the reason why some of the workers had started to make trouble.

Because there was a high probability that they would lose this job, and they did not want to lose this job.

Now there were five or six hundred people in the factory. With their production capacity, it was actually a little bit of a stretch.

"Mr. Lance, 300,000 a month might be a bit of a stretch for the current factory."

The manager had braced himself and had taken a small step forward. "The workers are not skilled, and we also have to consider some of the defective products and the situation of rework."

Some of the cigar fillers and binders were not made up to standard, and would fall apart after being pressed in the mold. These clearly could not be taken to the final rolling of the wrapper, and would definitely need to be redone.

This situation was actually relatively common in the factory. Not everyone was a skilled worker. Many of them had just completed their training.

The manager didn't know what the consequences would be if he couldn't complete it, but he knew that the consequences would definitely not be borne by the workers, but by him, this manager.

Lance shook his head slightly. His heart had sunk, but soon it had risen again. "If there are not enough people, then go and hire more. You can tell the workers that 2,500 is just a figure of speech, not a hard target. Let them work at ease."

"As long as they work hard, and are always improving, even if they don't meet the conditions, they can stay. Anyway, we are paying them according to the piece-rate system."

Lance glanced at the already extinguished cigar. Just in the time of talking, it had already gone out.

In fact, at this time, if he had taken a few more puffs, it could have been re-lit, but he had no interest in this cheap cigar.

Then he began to talk about the factory management. "You said just now that the workers are all cheap bones..."

The manager's already bent waist had bent even more, and his face was full of a textbook-like fawning expression.

"Since you know they are all cheap bones, you have to show an attitude of dealing with cheap bones."

"I am not very familiar with the people of Rapa, but I don't like lazy workers."

"The value of a worker lies in their work. If they are not willing to work, or are always slacking off, then they have no value."

"Our factory does not support people with no value."

"When it's time to use the whip, use the whip. When it's time to use the stick, use the stick..." he paused for a moment as he spoke, "if a situation of someone being beaten to death occurs on your side, how much compensation do you have to pay?"

Some beads of sweat had already appeared on the manager's face. "Twenty or thirty thousand Paras... which is 300 to 400 Federal Sols, Mr. Lance."

"So little?" Lance was a little surprised, but soon he felt that it was actually very reasonable, because this was Rapa, a place where human life was worthless.

Before, one of the five major families of Golden Port City, the Cassia family, had found a gunman from Yalan. They would sell their lives for the Cassia family for just three or five hundred.

Then these ordinary people, who had no "special skills," their lives were clearly even more worthless.

"Then hit them hard. Don't be afraid of beating them to death. If they are beaten to death, we will pay the compensation."

"You don't need to have any psychological burden. Morality can't fill your stomach, but this job can."

His hand was lightly touching the armrest, up and down. "I hope that the next time I come here, it will be because you can bring me some good news, not to tell me that you have run into similar trouble again, you understand?"

The manager's waist bent even more. "Yes, yes, I understand, Mr. Lance."

Lance was very satisfied. This was why there were always some federal people who liked to go to poor places.

Those federal people were just in the middle and lower classes of society in the Federation, and the difference between them and the good-for-nothings was that they didn't need to be sent to a recycling station.

But when they went to those poor and backward places, they could become the upper class.

In Rapa, a person who can earn ten dollars a month is already a high-income group in people's mouths. Most people only have an income of four or five Federal Sols a month.

Then for a person from the Federation, even if it's just a low-level one, once they arrive here, they are a proper big rich man.

Like those in Golden Port City who had entrusted their work cards to Lance, they didn't have to do anything, and now they could have an income of more than fifty a month.

If they were to come to a place like Rapa, then life would be too flavorful!

No matter how old they are, how strong they smell, how ugly they look, there are eighteen-year-old beautiful girls who will fall in love with everything about them!

Lance stood up as he spoke. "Alright, that's it. If there are any problems you can't solve, just tell Roger."

"On the police station's side, you go and handle it yourself. Tell Roger how much money you need..."

The group of people had followed Lance out of the office. The manager had followed closely behind them, until he had seen them get into the car.

He had finally gotten through this ordeal, which had made the manager let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Then the carefulness, the fawning, the grievance on his face had, in an instant, disappeared, and had been replaced by an aura of non-angry prestige.

His back, which had been bent to the point of being deformed, had, at this moment, straightened.

He turned around, stomped his foot. His shiny leather shoes were reflecting a faint luster in the sunlight. With an expression of only a superior's dignity, he had returned to the factory, to this small world that belonged to him at this very moment.

Sitting in the car, Hiram had moved his shoulders. "I thought you were going to kill a few people."

The corner of Lance's mouth had risen slightly. "There will always be some who will run into it, but this matter is temporarily not for me to do, but for these Rapa people who have come over to us. This is their mission, and also their value."

The convoy was slowly driving on the empty highway.

In the entire Rapa, only the ruling class and the privileged class had cars. Ordinary people, including the middle class, the vast majority of them could not afford a car.

Rapa itself had no heavy industrial foundation. It couldn't produce cars itself, and all of them were imported from the Federation.

After layers of price increases, to want to buy a car, you still needed a quota.

And this quota was one of the means that the ruling class used to strengthen their rule. Every year, there might be a dozen or so, twenty or thirty, quotas that could be freely traded.

To own a car was no longer just a matter of increasing one's personal assets, but a symbol of social class!

Either you have made an outstanding contribution to the ruling group, or you are one of the ruling group's "own people."

It was said that some people, in order to be able to snatch a quota to buy a car, would offer up anything!

Whether it was their own ass, or their wife, or something else.

The pedestrians on the side of the road had also looked at this super-long convoy of Lance's with a look of awe. Although they felt that these square cars were strange, not at all like the luxurious cars of the ministers, or the president's pure-gold-shelled one, in the end, a car was a car.

"In a few days, there is still something we will do together."

Lance gave him a cigarette. "I have bought a silver mine and an iron mine on Horseback Mountain. At that time, when we are receiving them, we will definitely encounter some obstacles."

Hiram took the cigarette and sniffed it. "It just so happens that my hands are also itching..."

On the other side, Andy had already gotten the weapons, guns and ammunition, and various supplies that had been sent from his home country.

What had made him feel a little incredible was that Pedro had actually taken the initiative to bring his men, and had appeared in a place not far from Zhuolan. He was personally here to receive the goods.

When he saw him, Andy's expression was very tight. He felt a wave of discomfort, a physiological discomfort.

Especially the faint smile on Pedro's face, which had made him feel that he was being laughed at by a local dog from a poor and backward place!

He still remembered the conversation where Pedro had asked him for these things, and he had refused. Now he must be laughing at him in his heart!

Andy's face did not show any emotional fluctuation, but in his heart, he was richly and constantly writing a script that belonged to him.

He wanted to retaliate, but he had to think of a suitable way, a way that would not expose himself.

"Go and check the goods," Andy said with a blank face.

On Pedro's side, there were demobilized soldiers. They had walked to the side of the weapon boxes and had lifted the lids of the boxes that contained the rifles.

Inside were all the 1010 bolt-action rifles that had already been phased out. They were brand new, and the smell of the gun oil had made the faces of the demobilized soldiers show an intoxicated expression.

When they were in service, they had not even used such a good weapon. Now that they had joined an anti-government force, on the contrary, their equipment had been upgraded!

The 1010 bolt-action rifle was also one of the main export products of the Federation. Although its sales in the world were not very large, in Rapa, there were quite a few, so they were very familiar and had begun to inspect these firearms.

After messing around for a while, the few of them had said that these weapons were very good, and that there was no problem. Then they had checked the other things, and after confirming that the supplies were not missing, a sincere smile had appeared on Pedro's face.

"Thank you!" He walked over, wanting to shake hands with Andy, but Andy had just looked at him, and had not extended his hand.

Andy's reaction had made Pedro a little surprised, but he, on the contrary, wanted to laugh even more, and had also laughed out loud. "Help me to thank Mr. Lance."

Andy's expression had finally, a little, been unable to hold on. "Mr. Lance asked me to pass on a message to you. Don't forget your agreement. He has already shown his sincerity. Now it's up to you."

Pedro glanced at the boxes and ammunition that were filled with weapons. "Let Mr. Lance rest assured. Soon he will hear about our deeds."

As he spoke, he had had his men load these things onto the horse-drawn carriages. In this process, he had looked at those square cars and had asked, "If I want these cars, what do I have to pay?"

Andy looked back at these clearly military-style cars. These were all armored vehicles. He shook his head slightly. "You have to ask Mr. Lance about this. The price you have to pay is at least more than now."

He had read that report. Lance had mentioned that he could provide these anti-government forces with arms, to arm them, to increase the intensity, the severity of their confrontation with the government, and in this way, to aggravate the conflict and hatred between the two sides.

But Lance had also mentioned to, as much as possible, to provide them with less of the weapons or equipment that could change the situation of a battle, such as artillery. As much as possible, not to support.

Even if they did, the number of shells would be counted, and a special person would be arranged to keep an eye on their use of the shells.

To avoid, one day, a shell landing on one's own head.

An armored car, even if it could be given, would definitely require a greater price.

Pedro pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose. One of the lenses was already broken, which looked a little comical.

He nodded to Andy, and then returned to the side of the horse-drawn carriage. With the others, he had loaded these things onto the carriage, and then had left.

What he had wanted was actually not the armored car, but a layer of "skin" of the federal people.

This layer of skin could, in many times, allow him to avoid some trouble. For example, the police would search his horse-drawn carriage, but the police would definitely not dare to search any car, any!

The horse-drawn carriage had, without any mishap, returned to their temporary camp. When the fifty guns and all kinds of equipment had been taken out, everyone had gathered around.

"10 bolt-action?" The eyes of the other demobilized soldiers who had not followed had begun to shine. "This is good stuff!"

They were stroking the rifles, just as they had stroked their wives' tender skin when they had gotten married, with greed, with care, and also with love!