287 Chapter 9, Sleepless

The door opened.

Da da da. Accompanied by the crisp and steady sound of high heels stomping on the ground, a blonde woman slowly came out of the darkness.

When she came out from behind the little maid, everyone in the dressing room fell silent, men and women turned their heads away one after another, but their eyes were firmly attracted to the woman, like a paper clip meeting a magnet.

Among them, the bunny girl who served the Coke suddenly lost her legs without warning, and collapsed on the sofa. The glass container containing the Coke rolled around Hoffa's legs, and the ice cubes spilled all over the floor. Fortunately, there was not much in it. Cola.

If it was a normal day, if something like this happened, the bunny girl would have jumped up in fright and apologized quickly. But this time, she slumped limply on the sofa, her eyes half-closed, as if she was about to fall asleep.

Hoffa didn't care about his subordinate's gaffe. After seeing the person who came in, he was slightly taken aback. He pulled down his red glasses and took a closer look. He felt a strange sense of familiarity, but this familiarity had nothing to do with his appearance.

But he was very sure that he had never seen this strange woman in front of him before. If he had, with her appearance and figure, he would not be impressed.

"Who are you?"

he asked, frowning, his body tensed. Put away the idle posture.

After what happened to Sylby, he felt a great hostility towards the kind of women who came to him on their own initiative.

The blond woman didn't answer. She walked into the room with her bag and looked around. Several men had to hold on to the furniture around them to barely stand still.

"Can you buy me a drink?"

The woman smiled and said to Hoffa familiarly: "I have been looking for you for a long time, and I am a little thirsty after leaving."

Hoffa's eyes swept across the room, and a casual smile appeared on his face: "Then you really found the right person."

As he spoke, he shook the flamboyant black feathers on his shoulders, stood up, came to the wine cabinet in the dressing room, and took out a few crystal clear wine glasses from it: "I just converted this theater into a dance hall these days , all drinks are free, since you are the first customer to visit today."

As he spoke, he smiled and opened the vodka marked 96% Polish rectification, poured it into the glass with a bang, and handed the glass to the blonde woman.

"Drink whatever you want."

"Thanks."

The woman took the wine glass, didn't drink it, just held it.

Hoffa stood in front of the blond woman, looking into her pale green eyes. Although the muscles on her face kept smiling, her eyes were empty and indifferent, without any emotion.

A sense of familiarity flooded my mind again.

"Can we have a word alone?" the woman asked while holding a wine glass.

"Ah!?" Hoffa pointed to his ear, pretending not to hear.

"I said, can you have a drink with me alone?"

"Hmph." Hoffa turned around, leaned back on the sofa, and put his legs on the coffee table again: "It's not good to have too many people, it's so lively when there are many people, why do you have to talk alone."

The blond woman persuaded Hoffa not to move, and began to ask other people in the room kindly: "Excuse me, can I have a few words with your boss alone?"

The men and women caught by her eyes were like puppets on a string, staggering towards the door.

"stop."

Hoffa said slowly.

His mental force field covered the entire dressing room like a thunderbolt, and the maids and secretaries who were staggering to leave woke up with a jolt.

Including the bunny girl who fell on the sofa, she realized that the glass container she was responsible for had rolled down by the boy's legs.

"I'm sorry."

She hurriedly started to pack the containers, but unexpectedly, Hoffa involuntarily pressed the two maids who served her tea and water to the sofa, hugged one in each hand, and forced them to stay beside her and not move.

He tilted his head unscrupulously and looked at the woman who came in: "Where did you come from? Did you invite these people, and you can leave as soon as you let them?"

"No." The woman shook her head calmly.

"Then report your name, and talk here if you have something to say." He sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, and embraced the two red-faced maids: "I'll give you three minutes. For the sake of dressing so seriously."

"That's unnecessary, you will come to me on your own initiative one day."

The woman said with a smile, and walked out without hesitation.

Hoffa was taken aback, guessing something: "Wait a minute."

The blond woman stood still.

"Do I allow you to go?" He squinted his eyes and asked with a smile, "Do you think this is a public toilet?"

The blond woman looked back at him with a somewhat helpless expression, but her eyes remained unchanged. In fact, since she entered the door until now, there had never been a wave in her eyes.

"No." She shook her head.

"Drink the wine," Hoffa said in an imperative tone.

The blond woman nodded, and under the watchful eyes of a dozen people, she raised her head and drank the glass of 96-degree ultra-high-concentration wine without blinking her brows, as if she was an emotionless robot.

"well."

Seeing that she finished drinking, Hoffa immediately pushed away the two maids, clapped his hands, stood up, stretched his waist, swayed his hands in his pockets, walked up to the blonde woman, and circled around her After walking around, he teased, "Do you have any talents?"

"I can do anything." The blond woman stood still and said calmly, "I can do whatever you want."

"Really?" The black flamingo narrowed his eyes, and the golden eyes behind the red sunglasses shone with unpredictable light.

The blond woman nodded seriously.

"Can you play bass?" Hoffa asked.

"I can."

said the blond woman.

"Yo, it's interesting." He looked at his expensive watch: "It's almost time for the performance, you accompany me out to perform, and then we will consider getting along alone, haha."

When he asked a question, the male secretary in the dressing room lowered his head and the corners of his mouth twitched. It was time for the boss to get nervous again every night. And the maids who served him also turned their heads away in embarrassment, covering their faces with their hands. They couldn't bear to look directly at the tone and actions of the young upstart boss.

However, unexpectedly, the strange blond woman looked at him with a smile and nodded, showing no sign of anger.

"Great, great."

The black flamingo clapped his hands: "I hope you don't let me down."

As soon as the words fell, the door of the theater downstairs opened. The doorman unlocked the gate.

Countless men and women poured into the theater from the street, they cheered and ran wildly, like a group of zombies smelling blood, the curtain around the dressing room was pulled open abruptly.

Concrete steps go down layer by layer, forming a stage in the center of the theater, with a dense circle of projection equipment above the stage. Numerous spotlights shine and change on the ceiling, and colorful spotlights shine in from the high ceiling. The smoke of roller skating rises from the upper steps and floats in the air, enveloping the faces of those crazy and crazy people, like a dream.

Hoffa strode out of the dressing room and came to the balcony of the box on the third floor. He opened his arms, and the black feathers fluttered on his shoulders.

He laughed loudly, a microphone flew into his hand from nowhere, and he held up the microphone: "All food and drinks are free today, let's have a carnival!!!"

Accompanied by his voice, countless small metal speakers protruded from all directions of the theater, and banknotes with the Queen's portrait printed on them sprayed out of the speakers one after another, which were British pounds one after another.

It rained money from the sky.

"ah!!"

"Father!"

"Good man!"

"God man!"

"Jesus is alive again!"

"Praise the Queen!"

"Praise the gods!!"

Countless tramps and men and women cheered frantically, hoarse with excitement. They raised their hands high and danced to the money floating in the sky.

The frenetic scene made Hoffa laugh out loud, and he jumped directly from the third floor onto the newly built stage. Under the dance floor, there were countless jumping men and women with their hands raised. They held coins and looked eagerly at the flamboyant black flamingo in the center of the stage.

"Come out, babies!!"

Flamingo held up the microphone and laughed.

Five or six rock musicians in outrageous costumes, mohawks, topless and various tattoos came out from all directions of the stage. Some were carrying drums, some were carrying guitars, and some were carrying electronic pianos.

Hoffa's six relatives walked up to the bald bass player and whispered in his ear: "I don't like your bald head, you are fired."

Then he took his bass and threw it to the third floor.

Bess flew over in a spin, as if trying to smash people's heads.

But the blond woman on the third floor still maintained a smile that has never changed for thousands of years. She took the high-speed flying bass with one hand, and then walked down the stairs slowly, passing through the crowd gracefully. No one can touch her. But wherever she walked, fanatical crowds detoured one after another.

The bassist, who had worked with him a few times, was stunned, and so was the rest of the band. But when the blond woman walked onto the stage, their eyes became dazed as if they had taken hallucinogens.

"Prove yourself," Hoffa said, holding the microphone.

"Okay." The blond woman nodded.

On the stage, I saw the blond woman whose dress didn't match the atmosphere at all calmly held down the strings and shook her head slightly.

next second.

With a slight movement of her fingers, she unexpectedly played a smooth solo.

In the beginning, those money grabbers off the stage didn't care about shit music at all, they just robbed money like crazy. But as the solo gradually deepened, they were attracted by the bass solo music, looked up at the woman, and forgot to grab the money for a while.

Hoffa's eyes widened. He just wanted to vent, but he didn't expect this guy to have the level of a world-class bass player.

I saw the slender fingers flying up and down, and the beating notes flew out like flowing water. Like a breeze, like a drizzle, it brings everyone to the psychedelic rock world.

The crowd couldn't take their eyes off anymore, they raised their arms and began to sway to the music.

After a minute of solo, the band singers behind her moved like puppets. The drummer was beating, the electronic piano was flowing, and a soft but powerful ensemble sounded on the scene.

As the music hit his ears, Hoffa covered his head, feeling as if he had been hit by a giant hammer. The crowd waving their arms in front of him became blurred, and the pound sterling floating in the air turned into bloody red dots.

The atmosphere was extremely psychedelic for a moment, he turned his head suddenly, and looked at the blonde woman, who was smiling and looking at him, his eyes were deep and ruthless like a whirlpool.

Under the gaze of those eyes, Hoffa's mental shell was peeled off and shattered layer by layer, reaching the bottom of consciousness. He instinctively held the microphone by his mouth and hummed in a low voice:

"Our bodies separate, and we become one again."

"We go to the top, we go to the abyss."

"We are so young, we are so old."

"You know my burning heart is so cold!"

"We don't need persuasion, we don't need help."

"We don't need money, we don't need alcohol."

"We don't need doctors and we don't need women."

He shook his head and sang softly.

"ignite."

"ignite."

"ignite."

The blond woman's finger stopped, and the rhythm stopped suddenly.

A second later, the tempo picked up.

Hoffa clenched the microphone, bent down, and sang hoarsely.

"Burning heart, so cold!"

He straightened up, pinched the microphone, and looked at the sky. The singing from the soul brought young people from all the streets of Soho, London, to this place. The people who had already gathered in the theater raised their arms in shock, and the sudden burst of emotion made them tremble all over, waved their arms, and let out wild cries , that was music they had never heard.

"Burning heart, so cold!"

The spotlight was on the black flamingo, and his expression became more ferocious, like the cry of an ancient wizard after hunting. The blond woman in the distance was expressionless, but her fingers were so fast that she almost broke the strings, as if she was not playing the strings, but the steel bars. The music poured out like a torrent of wind and rain, and the violent force almost tore the space apart.

Countless people gathered together shaking their heads, crowding the theater of thousands of square meters, like a large-scale cult scene.

"ah!!!!!!"

With a long roar, Hoffa threw away the microphone, went straight to the drummer, grabbed his back collar and threw him out. Afterwards, he sat in front of the drum kit and started beating regardless.

In the tsunami-like screams, his arms were as fast as phantoms, and his feet were stepping on the beat. Those rough and simple skills seemed to be self-taught. With the help of the bassist's violent playing, he shook his head, Like a madman.

I don't know how long the fight lasted until the tiger's mouth was bleeding, until there was no sound at the scene, until the whole body was sweating profusely, the gray hair combed back was wet and messy with sweat, the red sunglasses shattered on the drum, the Patek Philippe was shattered into pieces, and black feathers fell all over the ground.

The hour-long performance is over.

Everyone at the scene was in a trance. They rolled their eyelids, opened their mouths, and lost their souls. After the music stopped, they still shook their arms in the air, like seaweed floating in the sea.

Except for him and the blond woman, the other musicians in the makeshift band fell to the ground, foaming at the mouth from exhaustion.

Hoffa lowered his head, his arms drooping, like a shaved rooster sitting in front of the almost smashed drum kit, sweat dripping from his chin and nose to the ground, the sound was audible.

The restless soul gradually cooled down.

The quiet stage made him unbearable, it was the loneliness among thousands of people, the loneliness of being at a loss, as if he could see the empty room, the man who fell behind the dining table, the splattered blood as soon as he closed his eyes— —He was so awake at night.

"What do you want?" He lowered his head, his hoarse voice was unrecognizable.

"I know why you need to ask more." The blond woman with Bess in her arms said with a smile.

"You don't have to say anything nonsense to tell me to go back." Hoffa murmured with his head down, "I'm living a happy life now, and I won't go back to fifty years ago."

"You haven't slept in a month, and you haven't even left a crowd. If you're enjoying your life, what are you afraid of?"

Hoffa bowed his head and remained silent.

The blond woman put Bess on the ground, picked up her bag, took out a box of barbitals from the bag, poured the white solid in the box into her hand, and then handed her palm to Hoffa: "If reality It's a nightmare for you, so you should take a good rest."

"A nightmare reality?"

Hoffa slowly raised his head, looked at the alluring woman's face in front of him, looked at the unconscious revelers around him, and fully understood its true identity.

He took the pill and swallowed it up.

Soon, due to the effect of the medicine, his vision became dull.

"Sleep, sleep."

The woman stood behind him, pressing his temples, rubbing them calmly and indifferently: "Go to sleep, go to sleep."