Hollywood Road

By the time Murphy got home, the sky in the east was already tinged with the first light of dawn, but he felt no sleepiness. He went to his workspace, turned on his laptop, and took out the police scanner from his car. He began to review the user manual stored on his computer, as well as the Los Angeles Police Department's police codes.

The memories left by the previous Murphy told him that if he wanted to make money as a freelance journalist, this tool was indispensable.

Whenever an incident occurred, this police scanner could capture every public communication from the Los Angeles police.

For instance, if someone had called 911 about last night's car accident, the police dispatch center would contact the nearest officers through the scanner, directing them to the scene as quickly as possible.

With this police scanner, Murphy could receive similar alerts, pick out the ones he wanted, and rush over to film them.

However, the police often used codes that would be incomprehensible to the uninitiated.

Fortunately, the previous Murphy had meticulously documented the types and meanings of these police codes on the laptop.

For example, a 148 event signified resisting arrest, a 187 event meant a homicide, and a 211 event indicated armed robbery.

After reviewing the police codes and studying the scanner's usage, Murphy finally succumbed to his heavy eyelids and went to sleep in another room.

He slept until the mid-afternoon. After grabbing some fast food to solve his meal issue, Murphy returned to his shabby apartment, sat in front of his laptop, and continued refining the screenplay he had been working on for a long time.

Even though he knew the chances of a newbie's script being sold were slim, Murphy did not give up hope.

Over the next half month, Murphy quit his job at the auto repair shop. His life split into two parts: after dinner, he would take his camcorder and police scanner, drive around West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Santa Monica, looking for any valuable news leads. If the scanner picked up useful information, he would rush to the scene to film it. Murphy's familiarity with the entire Los Angeles area, inherited from the previous Murphy, proved extremely useful.

On the other hand, upon returning to his rundown apartment in the early morning, Murphy would sleep for a while. After waking up in the afternoon, he would refine his screenplay or look through job advertisements, not missing any opportunity to truly break into Hollywood.

Perhaps it was a change in luck, or perhaps working independently suited him better. Over the past ten days, Murphy's work and life went much smoother than before. He managed to shoot nearly twenty videos of car accidents, fires, and fights, most of which he successfully sold to Fox Los Angeles Channel 6.

He even got extremely lucky and filmed Madonna and British director Guy Ritchie on a date in West Hollywood. Kara introduced him to Fox's entertainment channel, and he earned three thousand dollars from that.

With a relatively stable income source, Murphy's first move was to pay off his debts, returning the car, borrowed phone, and money to Ross. He then bought himself replacements from the second-hand market, including a used Ford car, which he specially modified with a camera mount on the passenger seat for filming while driving.

Additionally, he printed multiple copies of his organized screenplays and mailed them to the six major Hollywood studios, as well as dozens of other film companies and studios. Predictably, he received no responses so far.

Moreover, Murphy attended several auditions for film crews, but none were ideal. His past issues with a British director and his criminal record made these crews hesitant to hire him.

A month after being released from prison, Murphy successfully resolved his basic survival issues, but entering Hollywood remained a distant dream.

In the dry and hot August of Los Angeles, even with the sun setting over the ocean, the temperature was still stiflingly high. Murphy parked his car on the coastal road in Santa Monica. The sea breeze blowing in through the open windows brought a rare bit of coolness.

Checking the time, Murphy picked up his phone and dialed a number again.

"Hello..."

Unlike the busy signal ten minutes ago, a formal voice answered, "This is the 20th Century Fox Script Department."

"Sorry to bother you, I'm a screenwriter." Murphy tried to keep it brief. "My name is Murphy Stanton. I submitted a screenplay to your company and wanted to inquire about the review results."

"Thank you for your support of 20th Century Fox."

The voice on the other end was polite and calm. "Sir, we will contact you after reviewing your script."

Murphy wanted to say more, but the other party, still polite and courteous, said a few more words and then hung up.

"Same old story!"

Murphy tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, feeling somewhat frustrated. "Why do all the film companies say the same thing?"

The person didn't even ask for the name of the screenplay he submitted!

Today, feeling a bit anxious from waiting, Murphy had called several film companies, all giving similar responses, with the people who answered being polite but procedural.

Watching the sun sink closer to the ocean, Murphy sighed deeply, realizing that submitting scripts was highly unreliable. The chances of a new writer's script being picked up were as slim as winning millions in the lottery.

Without connections, money, fame, or any other leverage, even someone with Murphy's unique experiences found it epically difficult to shine in Hollywood.

A newcomer's script causing a frenzy among people and companies—what a joke!

At this point, Murphy basically gave up on the idea of quick success through screenwriting. The notion of advancing step by step became increasingly firm.

The sun finally sank into the sea. After grabbing a simple dinner outside, Murphy returned to his car and turned on the police scanner. As usual, he filtered through the police signals for useful information, but tonight luck was not on his side. It wasn't until night had fully fallen that he picked up anything valuable.

Starting the car, Murphy drove toward the Santa Monica Valley. While crime rates were indeed high in the city center, affluent areas like Santa Monica and West Hollywood had much better police attention and forces compared to Latino or Black neighborhoods.

Murphy had come to realize through experience that crime rates improved in wealthy areas but worsened in slums. Unless there were large-scale gang wars or serial killings, news from those areas didn't hold much value. The public's preference for seeing elites or rich people in trouble was the same in North America as anywhere else.

The improved security in wealthy areas made such news increasingly rare, highlighting the value of Murphy's work. After all, rarity fetched high prices.

Since selling his first video, Murphy spent most of his working hours circling affluent areas near the coast and valleys. Even when incidents occurred in the city center, he seldom rushed over.

The Ford sped along Seventh Street in Santa Monica heading east. Murphy kept his eyes on the road, ears attuned to every sound from the police scanner. Perhaps his recent streak of good luck had run out, as he completed a full circle around Santa Monica without finding any worthwhile news.

The night deepened. Despite being in bustling Santa Monica, the street traffic only seemed to increase. Murphy even checked out the streets lined with bars and clubs, hoping to get lucky and catch some Hollywood stars causing trouble.

Though many Hollywood stars resided in Santa Monica, such good fortune wasn't a daily occurrence. After a fruitless round, Murphy left for the Santa Monica Valley to try his luck.

The Santa Monica Valley was home to wealthy residents. Someone like Murphy couldn't even dream of buying property here in the short term.

Murphy drove slowly through the valley, the area unusually quiet. While ordinary people might appreciate the tranquility, he didn't.

"Something, anything, even a break-in would do."

Gripping the steering wheel, Murphy kept muttering to himself, hoping for some accident or violent incident in this quiet residential area, so he could film something valuable and at least cover his gas money for the night.

After buying the second-hand Ford and modifying it with a camera mount, plus hiring a lawyer, Murphy didn't have much money left. In his financial situation, earning a quick buck was crucial to avoid running out of resources.

Things weren't going as he wished. Just as he was about to exit the Santa Monica Valley, the police scanner picked up an urgent female voice.

"All units in Santa Monica, there is a 211 at 17 Beal Road! Repeat, this is a 211..."

Hearing this, Murphy didn't think twice. He immediately hit the brakes, made a U-turn, and sped back the way he came.

Beal Road wasn't far from the main road he was driving on, only three intersections away.

The Ford raced like a black streak, and Murphy, behind the wheel, was not only alert but visibly excited.

A 211 meant armed robbery, and if he remembered correctly, the Beal Road area housed very wealthy individuals.

News of an armed robbery involving extremely wealthy people could sell for a fortune.