Want to Hear the Details?
"You wouldn't know. Three years ago he made a notorious name for himself as a labor slugger."
Anyone who knew anything knew just how vicious he was.
But taking my age into account, the metal manufacturer was about to launch into a long explanation of just how dangerous Dopey Benny Payne was.
"I've met him before. There's no need to explain at length."
"I-is that so..."
"If it's Dopey, ignoring patent rights is exactly the kind of thing he'd do. Anyway, I'll handle it myself, so you don't need to worry about it, sir."
At my answer, the owner looked rather awkward. The reason he'd come looking for me wasn't solely because of Dopey.
"To be honest, the factory's been in a bad way lately."
The cause was the war in Europe.
The big corporations were sweeping up government contracts and enjoying the wartime boom. Meanwhile, iron had been classified as a military material, production was restricted, and unit costs had risen—only the small businesses were dying off.
This was something I'd known ever since Mother and I had gone around looking for a brassiere manufacturing plant.
Back then we'd visited several companies, and most had refused, saying the unit price and quantities were too low.
The only one that had agreed to a contract was Aybeck & Company. In other words, it was only possible because it was a family-run small business. And then—
"The losses are piling up like a snowball. I've been trying to keep the capital flowing somehow, but I can't hold out any longer."
So he was about to file for bankruptcy, and he would no longer be able to produce the hooks—that was what the owner was saying.
"I even thought about pretending to lose and just handing everything over to Dopey and being done with it. But with the shop closing anyway, and with the promise I made to you, I didn't want to abandon my conscience, so I came to find you like this."
The traces of anguish were plain on the owner's face.
Facing bankruptcy and being threatened by the vicious Dopey on top of it—he must have been at his wit's end.
"How much hook inventory is left?"
"Enough to make about five thousand brassiere sets."
"So exactly when do you plan to close the factory?"
"I figure I'll finish producing and delivering only the orders I've already taken, and that'll be the end of it."
"Looks like money's the problem for both of us, sir."
Finding a new hook manufacturer was a hassle, and verifying quality was another.
If I could find a path of mutual benefit here...
"How much debt does the company have?"
"......I'd rather not say that......"
"Who knows? Maybe I'll solve it for you."
The owner's pupils trembled, and he finally opened his mouth with difficulty.
"Seven thousand dollars."
And here I'd thought it would be tens of thousands. Well, if a small business had been carrying that much, it would have gone bankrupt long ago.
If the owner who owed seven thousand dollars filed for bankruptcy, that debt would immediately become personal liability.
At that point he'd have to dispose of the factory, but with the number of businesses going bankrupt because of the war rising, selling it wouldn't be easy either.
In the end, the owner's personal assets would be seized, and his family would end up out on the street—the worst possible outcome.
"Then let's do this. I'll acquire the company."
The owner blinked, then shook his head.
"If it's for the hooks, you'll have a hard time avoiding losses yourself. Besides, you don't have the experience, do you?"
"I'll acquire the entire stake, and you can manage it for me."
Salary a bit higher than a regular skilled worker—one hundred fifty dollars a month.
"On top of that, I'll give you five percent of the profits as an incentive."
"You haven't understood me properly. Just snapping up the company isn't going to make it work. I'm telling you, it's hard to even turn a profit with hooks."
I rummaged through the papers in the desk drawer. I pulled out one of the blueprints and held it out to the owner.
"What...... is this?"
A patented product I'd been sitting on.
The potato peeler—the Y peeler.
I'd been thinking of making it a year from now, once the war ended and iron prices dropped. But maybe now was the right time.
"Let's make that and sell it."
Whenever I had time, I'd poured money into patent applications.
Not only the brassiere hooks and the Y peeler, but can openers, improved measuring spoons for exact quantities, double-bottomed pots, height-adjustable dish racks, and more.
Just the patents I'd come up with while cooking in the kitchen with Mother numbered in the dozens.
So I also changed the company name of Aybeck & Company to Life Steel, intending to turn it into a kitchenware specialist.
While the owner returned to the factory to prepare the acquisition contract, I called in the fence, Rosenthal.
"There are steel products on the black market too, right?"
"Those get bought up the moment they appear—hard even to catch a glimpse. Only the occasional item from some idiot who prices them too high and can't sell them."
Because of the war, steel prices were at their peak. That made them easy to liquidate, so they often became targets for robbers.
The method: because steel was heavy, the crimes were organized—stealing iron from wagons, trucks, or railways, or colluding with workers inside the steel mills to siphon it off.
"What's the price?"
"Twenty to thirty percent of the market price. Because of the crackdowns they have to dump it fast, and the buyers take on risk too."
"At that rate, buy up the iron as soon as it hits the black market."
"Got it, Boss."
While I was talking things over with Rosenthal, Ida knocked on the door.
"Boss, some guy who says he's your uncle-in-law is here."
The tobacco salesman Derek had come to visit the shop.
I happened to be discussing related goods with Rosenthal—the timing was perfect.
"You said there's tobacco in the warehouse, right?"
"Lucky Strike, Camel, Chesterfield, and a few kinds of cigars."
"Then come down to the first floor with me."
When we went downstairs, Derek was looking around the shop. When he saw me he broke into a bright smile.
"I'd only seen it from the outside coming and going, but the interior's pretty impressive...... Wait, Rosenthal?"
"Derek?"
At the unexpected encounter, both of them looked dumbfounded. Then their gazes both fixed on me.
"Derek was your uncle-in-law?"
"What's Rosenthal doing here? Are you running sales now too?"
In the office at the back of the shop.
The three of us sat at the table with our heads together.
Derek had been buying tobacco from various fences, and one of them was Rosenthal.
At Christmas, given the setting, I'd kept myself hidden, but there was no need for that anymore.
For the sake of the family business, I revealed myself a little.
"You're working with Rosenthal?"
"When am I going to get rich running a lingerie shop? I've got to do anything that makes money."
"Wow, that's a real surprise. I never would have imagined."
"You said you wanted to supply the dance hall, right?"
"You—does the boss know too?"
Even if we were family, I still didn't fully know Uncle Derek. That meant there was risk in opening up too much all at once.
Catching my look, Rosenthal stepped in.
"I know. Supplying won't be a problem. And don't you need tobacco?"
"You've got product?"
"Tomorrow's possible."
"Okay. Man, coming to see my nephew was worth it. I just came to grab a meal."
I asked Derek, whose mouth was stretched ear to ear.
"You said you have friends who work liquor sales too?"
"Yeah. I've got a few buddies I know. Through them, everything connects. Why?"
Currently liquor didn't go straight from the brewery to the consumer; it was supplied through middlemen.
In other words, it went brewery–wholesaler–retailer–end consumer, and when Prohibition was enacted, it was the mafia who seized control of this distribution structure.
"I'm interested in liquor distribution. Could you introduce me to your friends?"
"Of course. Actually, because of the dance hall supply deal, I should be able to meet them soon."
After finishing the meal, I parted ways with Derek.
Instead of going to the office, I headed for Lafayette Street.
DOPEY'S SHIRTWAIST FACTORY
The third-floor office was thick with cigarette smoke, and dark, vicious-looking men were camped out. Today as well, Dopey Benny was sitting at his desk drinking whiskey.
"What brings you? I don't figure you've got any news that'll make me happy anymore."
Johnny and Kid Dropper, the ones Dopey despised and hated, were already dead.
Beyond that, he didn't seem to care.
I cut to the main point. What I'd been curious about was how much Dopey knew about the brassiere he was trying to copy.
"Are you interested in Free Your Body products?"
Dopey Benny snorted with a whiskey glass in hand.
"Why, you interested too?"
This bastard doesn't know. That it's a product made by Mother's company.
As I explained the situation while watching Dopey's reaction, he really did seem not to know.
"What, that product was something you made? You've got talent. Anyway, so what?"
He looked at me with a sour expression.
I wanted nothing more than to eliminate him, but Dopey had his uses.
Raiding and destroying a small factory: one hundred fifty dollars.
A large factory: six hundred dollars.
Shooting someone in the arm or leg, or cutting off part of an ear: depending on the degree of damage, sixty to one hundred dollars.
Throwing a person down an elevator shaft, or breaking an arm or a thumb: two hundred dollars, and so on.
The one who had turned labor slugger work into a business while sticking to a price policy was none other than Benjamin "Dopey Benny" Payne.
I needed Dopey's violent nature and methods. I needed to coax him carefully.
"I heard the factory's closing soon, so I figured I'd grab whatever inventory is left. What do you think?"
"You're asking me right now?"
Dopey knocked back the whiskey and set the glass down roughly.
"Let's just split the sales half and half. How great would it be if we helped each other out? And anyway, once enough time passes, everyone copies it. You don't know this market?"
"You're not wrong. Which is why you have to suck every last drop of the sweet stuff until then."
"I get it, so let's suck together a little."
If I refused here, the relationship would be severed.
But if I just left him to it, the knockoffs Dopey made would almost certainly be garbage quality. They could even create a backlash among consumers wearing brassieres for the first time.
Better to throw him a different product.
I handed over a blueprint I'd prepared in advance.
"What's this?"
"Does selling brassieres make money? Let's make bags with me and sell those."
"Bags? This?"
This was a time when backpacks weren't yet common. Students carried square document-style bags with thin straps that hurt their shoulders.
Mother's factory couldn't handle bags right now. Better to leave it to Dopey and swallow him up later, wasn't it?
"This bag will definitely sell."
"Hmm."
Dopey tilted his head with a look that said he didn't get it.
"I designed the brassiere and patented it too. Don't you trust me?"
"So you're saying drop that and make this instead? What's the profit split?"
"Let's do twenty percent."
Dopey stared hard at the blueprint, then stuck his face out the door and shouted.
A female employee came running at once, and Dopey handed her the blueprint.
"Look into whether we can make this."
"Got it."
Once the employee left, I lowered my voice and spoke to Dopey.
"Let's talk for a minute."
Whether they heard me or not, his underlings scowled. Dopey ignored them and dragged me up to the roof.
"What is it?"
"Interested in doing another business with me?"
"What kind?"
"Labor slugger work, liquor distribution."
The reason Dopey had washed his hands of slugger activity was that his influence had weakened, but his notoriety was still intact. In particular, he still had no small influence over Jewish workers.
If Tanner coordinated the Irish workers and Dopey led the Jewish ones, two axes would be formed.
And as for liquor distribution, Italian gangs had already swallowed up several places.
The method of forcibly extracting protection money and smashing any business that didn't listen was more or less the same as what labor sluggers did.
"So you're saying we should do that together?"
"In just two years, the scale of what you can get your hands on will be completely different."
After thinking for a moment, Dopey snorted and shook his head.
"Let's just pretend I didn't hear that."
As we were coming down from the roof, Dopey glanced at me and tossed out a line.
"Tanner's been full of hot air lately—so it was because of you."
"When you share a vision, that's what happens. A man ought to have that much ambition."
"Well, fine. If you'd brought me good news about how that Kid Dropper bastard died, I might've given it some serious thought. Too bad."
I stopped walking and fixed my eyes on Dopey.
"Want to hear the details?"