Pet King
chapter-505

Chapter 505: Confronting the Devil Inside

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

"It really is a big city!"

It was really an eye-opener for Roger, who had rarely visited the city, when he saw the smooth asphalt pavements, the beautiful cars that drove on the road, the magnificent villas, and most importantly, the ladies dressed in fine attire.

He was wearing a dirty suit, which was his deceased father's that he had found from his suitcase. The suit seemed a little tight on him, but it could effectively hide his guns that he hid in his underarm pockets, so as not to scare off the distinguished people in the city. The ladies in town were so pretty that Roger's eyes couldn't move fast enough to look at all of them.

"I'm warning you, don't even think of running away. You're my jackpot, and whether I ride pretty ladies depends on your performance," Roger warned Famous.

He stood in front of the movie company, moved his crumpled bow tie to the front, and said to the concierge in his most polite tone, "Hello, I'm Roger! Roger Leslie from the Leslie Farm. I have an appointment with Mr. Charles."

The concierge looked at him coldly, and despite Roger's self-righteousness, he couldn't hide the tasteless tone of a redneck.

"Go on up. Mr. Charles is in Room 301, and don't let your dog sh*t in the corridor, or I will make you eat it until there is nothing left! In this building, a dog is valued way more than you are!" the concierge said with no facial expression.

Roger cleared his throat and took Famous upstairs. On the way, he kept looking at the female stenographers who passed by him, and he struggled to hold back the urge to grab their butts. He didn't understand how modern society could tolerate beautiful girls working in the same office with men. How about the men working with the pretty girls? They must not be real men if they could resist their urges.

He stood in front of Room 301, knocked heavily on the door three times.

"Come in," said a sweet female voice.

As if being driven by the voice, Roger opened the door and saw a gorgeous, blonde lady sitting behind a desk. She smiled and said to him, "You're Mr. Leslie, right? Mr. Charles is waiting for you inside."

As it turned out, Room 301 was a suite, and the lady working at the outer area of the suite was the full-time secretary of Mr. Charles. She wore a standard suit with the hemline of her dress six inches from her feet and a pair of stockings that came down to her shins, revealing her smooth legs that made Roger almost forget himself. Before Roger came in, she was reading an issue of The New Yorker magazine that was turned to the page of a fashion column written by "Lipstick"—about how to seek sensual pleasure at night.

Roger took off his hat like a gentleman and flirted with the lady cheekily. "Beautiful, just call me Roger. I have an idea. Are you available tonight? Can I take you out to dinner?"

The secretary kept her polite smile but declined him, "I'm sorry, Mr. Leslie. I have an appointment tonight."

What a bummer! Roger grumbled to himself and pushed open the door to the inner room.

The decor of this office was very luxurious, and the room was as spacious as a palace. The cashmere rug from Turkey perfectly absorbed the sound of footsteps, the corners of the stylish office desks were covered by brass, and the large paintings of the company's founders were hanging on the walls.

Charles was talking to another man in a polite tone, which was completely different from the tone that he used to talk to Roger yesterday.

"Good day, Mr. Charles," Roger said respectfully. "I'm here."

Charles turned around and looked at Famous. He ignored Roger and said to the other man, "Mr. Duncan, look at this dog, don't you think it highly resembles your dog?"

At this time, both Famous and Roger noticed that there was another dog in the office. That dog was sitting on a high-back chair with a table covered in white cloth in front of it. A man dressed like a chef took a plate of grilled steak from a dining-cart and placed it on the table.

"Enjoy, sir," the chef said respectfully to the dog. He then lowered his head and pushed his dining-cart out of the room.

In addition to the steak, there was a glass of red wine on the table. A fragrant rose was placed in a porcelain vase from China, and a set of silverware—made by the manufacturer Robbe Berking—was neatly placed on both sides of the plate.

The German Shepherd that seemed like a dog, but behaved like a human, glanced at Roger and Famous arrogantly, then buried its face into the dinner plate. It turned a blind eye to the silver-plated cutlery and gnawed on the steak directly with its mouth.

Famous stared blankly at this dog who was enjoying the extravagant life, while Roger was coveting the wine.

Charles glared at Roger warningly. "Our star likes to drink a few glasses occasionally. You've seen nothing, do you understand?"

"Yes, I see nothing. Rest assured, sir." Roger swallowed his saliva. He knew that Charles was asking him not to reveal the wine drinking issue to anyone. Even as a country bumpkin, Roger knew that the Prohibition Decree enacted by Congress had put hundreds of thousands of people in prison. He knew that this dog was very famous, but he couldn't expect that a senior director would take the risk of breaking the law to satisfy its appetite.

The concierge told Roger that people in this building were valued less than dogs. He initially thought it was a joke, but as it turned out, the concierge was telling the truth. So, if Famous indeed sh*t in the corridor, Roger could really be forced to eat it.

The man named Duncan looked handsome. He held a lit pipe and leisurely paced before Famous, scrutinizing it with contempt. He then said, "Is this the dog named 13? Well, Mr. Charles, you're right. This dog indeed f**king looks like mine, but that's all. How can it compare to my dog?"

Charles quipped, "I hope not, or else Jack's legs will hurt again."

The two of them tacitly smiled at each other.

Roger was quite perplexed. He didn't know that they were referring to the incident when the bad-tempered dog on that table bit Jack Warner. Despite being bitten, the boss still honored the dog as his ancestor because it had rescued the company from the brink of bankruptcy.

It wasn't until this moment that Duncan inadvertently looked at Roger and casually asked, "You're 13's owner?"

"Yes, sir. My name is Roger, Roger Leslie, and I'm glad to be at your service." Roger bowed slightly.

Duncan poked his finger at Roger's chest and said, "I don't give a f**k about your name. You stand here only because of your dog. The only thing you and your dog have to do is to stop my dog from taking some dangerous shots. You also better keep your mouth shut about this. If I hear any rumors that those scenes aren't performed by my dog, you can wait for the summons from the court!"

Roger retreated from Duncan's poke. He was furious. As a quick gunman, no one dared to offend him in the countryside, so he had never been humiliated like this. Since he was making money, he had to control his anger.

Charles handed over a piece of paper, patted Roger on his shoulder and casually said, "Sign this."

"This... what is it?" Roger was basically semiliterate. This piece of paper was full of many words he couldn't recognize, so it was strenuous for him to read the paper.

"Confidentiality agreement," Charles said, "like Mr. Duncan said, we're all civilized people. We must use legal documents to make sure that you won't say something that should not be said. If you have concerns, you can hire a lawyer to help you decide."

Roger certainly couldn't afford a lawyer. He hesitated on whether he should sign the document. Obviously, he'd have to get out here if he didn't sign the document, after all, Charles only wanted 13.

Charles smiled and said, "Mr. Leslie, right? 13 is an excellent dog, but it's at best a stunt dog. You'd better not deem it or you as indispensable. You should know that I collected a few dogs from other places yesterday. Currently, our star has 18 stunt doubles, so we don't care if your dog joins us or not. If you don't want to sign the document, return the checks and get out with your dog!"

Roger's face was pale. He had cashed in the checks he received yesterday to pay back his gambling debt, and he spent the rest of the money on two prostitutes in the countryside. Today, he was once again penniless. How was he going to pay back the checks?

"Well, sir, I'll sign it. To be honest, this hostility between us is uncalled for. I've always been a tight-lipped guy. I won't say a word about this matter even there's a gun to my head" he muttered and scribbled his name on the confidentiality agreement.

As they talked, Famous kept staring at the German Shepherd enjoying the delicious steak on the table. It kept eating even though it was full, and its belly was round. It stuck out its tongue from time to time and drank the wine.

This German Shepherd looked very similar to Famous, from its fur color to body size. If they stood together, they'd almost be indistinguishable from each other.

Famous's heart was full of sadness. It had been vaguely aware of something, but it refused to remember.

Everything was a lie! Everything!

Famous used to think that it was a famous German Shepherd, but actually, it was not.

Let me go. Let me leave this world. Enough is enough!

This world was so lonely without Galaxy or Old Time Tea. Famous had no friends that could listen to the affliction in its heart.

Famous's heart was torn apart. It didn't want to know about its identity anymore. All it wanted was to return to the VIP theater in Binhai Golden Cinema and watch the second half of the movie with everybody. After that, Famous would return to the pet shop to sleep and forget everything. After it woke up, it'd quietly lie down in a corner to watch the adorable Galaxy, the sleepy Fina, the lovestruck Snowy Lionet, the bitchy Richard, as well as the tea-tasting Old Time Tea.

The most important thing was that Famous wanted to hear Zhang Zian say those words again—"Famous, today you're the star."

Even for only one day, Famous wanted to be a star.