Referenced This and That

The Union gang's first client.

The day after meeting me, Maurice Rothenberg walked into the NYPD of his own accord. He had put the words he himself had spoken into action.

Sitting at my office desk and reading the newspaper article, I turned Maurice's words over in my mind.

"I hid the materials at the gambling den."

The dead "Queen of Prostitutes," Rosie Hertz, and the Neapolitan gambling den owner Pacifico.

I had used the secret ledgers I took from the two of them as reference material for which police and public officials to bribe, and how much was appropriate.

I hadn't gotten my hands on them yet, but I suspected Maurice's secret materials would be about that level.

Harry Cohen and Maurice Rothenberg had regarded those materials as powerful weapons, but the results had been disastrous.

Cohen was assassinated, and Maurice had been unfairly framed as a suspect.

"When are you planning to pick up the materials?"

Leo asked from the sofa where he was reading the newspaper.

"Anthony will bring them."

"But Maurice was going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the police station anyway, so why entrust his safety to us?"

Maurice had ultimately laid out his reason for making contact with the Union like this.

"My only path to survival is to join the Union. That's why I came looking for you."

"Do you know anything about us? What makes you think you can just walk in?"

"I judged from the fact that the underground gambling den at Pumpkin Dance Hall didn't attend the meeting. I figured Rothstein and Yale's influence doesn't reach the Union gang."

From Maurice's position, he had avoided a certain danger and chosen the Union, which might prove even more dangerous. A gamble worthy of a gambling den owner.

Moreover, to improve his odds, Maurice had offered another gift besides the secret materials.

"I have a gambling den I operate in the Tenderloin. A place even the Association doesn't know has any connection to me."

Maurice said he would give it to the Union.

His reason was clear.

Even if he walked free as not guilty, once he became a target of the Association, Maurice would no longer have the capacity to run a gambling den. Spending at least half a year in detention was also a burden, he claimed.

"I've had a few troubles with the man I left in charge of management. Honestly, without me, it's obvious how that bastard will handle the place."

The worst case was the manager secretly selling the gambling den out from under him.

Rather than take a knife in the back from his own confidant, Maurice chose to hand the gambling den over to the Union.

Secret materials, the gambling den, and a commission fee of five hundred dollars.

It looked as if he were simply throwing everything out, but Maurice had demands of his own.

"Find me an excellent lawyer. If it's the Union gang, you must know plenty of lawyers."

"...... Of course."

"You answered like that? Do you even know any lawyers?"

Leo asked with an incredulous look.

Tsk. I hadn't had a choice either.

"I had to answer that way so I wouldn't look like some small-time punk."

"So you just lie without a plan?"

"It's not a lie. I already sent one."

"Who?"

NYPD station, attorney meeting room.

The man facing Maurice pulled a notebook from his briefcase.

This man in his early thirties was a lawyer named William Fallon, the one who had handled Larry's bankruptcy filing and bank loan lawsuit through Uncle Ted's introduction.

The only lawyer Kieran knew raised his pen and opened his mouth.

"Well then, shall we begin. I've roughly got the details through the articles. Setting that aside, let's hear the reason you're claiming innocence first."

Maurice began from the conflict with the Association surrounding the dead Harry Cohen. That they had framed him under an unfair accusation as well.

But when it came down to it, Maurice was reluctant to mention the Association during the trial process.

"There are many people tangled up with the Association. Police, prosecutors—maybe even judges. It could actually work against us in court."

"If what my client says is true, we could actually negotiate using that."

"Negotiate with whom?"

"With the people connected to the Association. They won't want the very existence of a gambling den Association being talked about. And if the witness who suddenly appeared was put up to it by them, there's room for negotiation there too. A negotiation to neutralize the witness's testimony. Not bad, right?"

Rather than blindly claiming innocence, trying negotiation first seemed like a decent strategy. Maurice was thoroughly pleased with the lawyer's response.

As expected of the Union.

How many lawyers like this did the powerful rulers of the LES keep on hand?

Going to the Union the moment the incident happened had been the right call no matter how many times he thought it over.

At the same time.

The Tenderloin, the heart of New York's entertainment district.

In broad daylight, roughly twenty dark-clad men stormed the second floor of a building.

"Who the hell are you bastards?!"

The man at the front, Anthony, unfolded a single sheet of paper. It was the gambling den sale contract ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠signed by Maurice Rothenberg.

"You've seen it. Clear the way."

"Bullshit! That's an illegal contract!"

"Looking for a legal contract inside an illegal gambling den, are we?"

"Fuck! Stop these bastards!"

"You think you're capable of that?"

Thud!

When Anthony slammed his fist into the man, the gambling den employees urgently crowded forward and tried to draw weapons. At that moment—

Click. Click.

The men behind Anthony drew their guns. The members who had trained under Kieran and Anthony for several months aimed their muzzles at the gambling den employees without a flicker of change in expression.

Under the gloomy lights, along the long corridor to the office, they achieved a bloodless entry.

They even forced the resisting gambling den manager to his knees and subdued him.

"When we've kindly gone so far as to show you the contract, you should know to crawl. You were planning to swallow this place whole, weren't you?"

"Fuck, where the hell did you bastards come from?"

"This bastard still hasn't come to his senses."

Anthony pulled a blackjack from his waist.

"Bite down hard."

Thud!

Blood splattered across the face, and Anthony stomped on the manager collapsed on the floor. The gambling den employees watched the scene holding their breath.

Stopping the beating, Anthony wiped the bloodied blackjack on the manager's body and glared at the employees.

"From now on, any bastards who talk back to me will get dragged off somewhere else—not here."

"......"

"But if you follow our words well, your treatment will be better than before. I promise."

Anthony gave a look to one man.

It was Lenny Goldstein, who had come along.

"Start the work. Tell me if you need anything."

"Yes, sir!"

Anthony sat in the office handling the show of force, while Lenny began investigating the gambling den's actual state with the members.

Number of dealers and employees. The deeper he dug into the fund status, the higher the corners of Lenny's mouth climbed.

Just looking at the revenue, you could tell why the Tenderloin was New York's premier pleasure city.

The scale of the gambling den itself was similar to the underground one on Allen Street, but the revenue was a full ten times different. And they had simply sat there and swallowed it whole.

The Boss sure has good luck.

And working with a Boss like that, he himself was lucky too.

Lenny kept pulling down the corners of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his mouth that kept trying to soar, and scanned through the ledgers.

Twin buildings, second-floor office.

The Tenderloin gambling den obtained out of nowhere held great significance in many ways.

"Our enemies have increased, but conversely, those who need the Union's help will increase as well."

"And they'll become the resources for our growth engine?"

"Exactly that."

At my words, Leo wore a deep smile.

Maurice deserved to be called a golden goblin.

In that sense, the first pilot case of creating a contact window and putting it into operation had been highly successful.

Those in crisis, gather to the sturdy place that is the Union.

If a message like that spread under the radar, people like Maurice would seek out the Union.

Among them, the key was to filter out spies and those with impure intentions, and pick the gems from the stones.

In any case, escaping LES and advancing into a new district—and that district being the street of pleasure, the Tenderloin—was a new challenge and the start of change.

When a gang's scale grows, a systematic organization chart becomes necessary for efficient control.

Here I had referenced the mafia ranks and position system in many parts. Positions like Capo dei Capi, Consigliere, Capo, and Soldier were good examples.

However, the ultimate organization I desired was not limited to crime alone.

Gang + corporation + military. A kind of futuristic crime cartel and hybrid organization was the form I pursued.

So the organization chart I made was as follows.

"Whoa...... what is all this?"

Looking at the organization chart, Leo couldn't close his mouth.

A natural reaction. It was a complex, finely subdivided organization chart that you would never see in any existing gang.

"Organization reorganizations happen from time to time. This isn't the end. If something's needed, we keep filling it in."

"You're going to expand it even more from here?"

"Of course. Anyway, making it like this is good because you can grasp it at a glance."

What kind of people we needed.

The more we filled those empty seats, the more powerful the organization would become.

"Kie... no, Boss. How the hell did you come up with an organization chart like this?"

"I referenced this and that."

I asked Leo, who was clicking his tongue in amazement.

"What do you want to become? In the distant future, I mean."

"If I say I want to be the Boss, you'll shoot me, right?"

"That's not what I'm asking."

Leo, who had been snickering, soon straightened his face and answered.

"Consigliere. Of course, I'll have to equip myself with the qualifications that match it."

"I truly hope it turns out that way."

"So, what's my rank right now?"

"Carrier."

As a lower organization member—an errand boy.

Leo looked at me with an expression like he'd chewed shit.

"Don't worry. Everything except me is vacant. We're building it from now. Salaries will differ according to rank too."

"Guess I have to work harder. Anything you need me to do, Boss?"

Looking at Leo rubbing his palms together, things to make him do came flooding up.

"Take these patent documents to the patent attorney's office. Tell Cale to organize the unit status and get it to me within this week. Ah, and I need a blackboard in the office. A big one. A mere piece of paper can't contain my grand ambitions."

"...... Yeah. It's enormous."

I dumped the work on Leo and left for the day.

On the way home, walking down Essex Street, a pharmacy suddenly caught my eye.

It was the pharmacy run by George Walcott, the pharmacist who lived on the third floor of the townhouse I lived in.

What was interesting was that under the signboard, there was a small notation reading Essex Store.

I could guess that there were other "Walcott Drugs" elsewhere as well.

In the late nineteenth century, after the concept of chain stores appeared, chainization had been spreading into more and more fields. For pharmacies, Walgreens in Chicago and Rexall in Boston were the representative cases.

Not future mega-franchises, but regional-based chain forms were gradually increasing in trend.

I wondered if Mr. Walcott might be inside.

I was about to peer through the window when I ended up seeing something I shouldn't have.

Ding-a-ling.

As the pharmacy door opened, three men came out.

"Fuck, that bastard with plenty of money is always whining like he's dying."

"Did you see his hands shaking when he handed over the money? We asked for too much......"

My eyes met with one of them.

"What are you looking at, bastard. Aren't you gonna lower your eyes?"

The guy with a scowl strongly shoved my shoulder as he passed by.

Essex Street.

Which unit collects protection money around here again?