Public Enemy Number One
Clatter!
"Damn it all......."
Bugs Moran, the boss of the North Side Gang, had a face twisted in pure rage as he hurled an empty whiskey bottle against the wall.
This wasn't the first time; the wall was already blooming with multiple whiskey stains, like flowers of frustration.
"...Damn it. I don't even have any bottles left to throw."
Moran, who had fumbled his attempt to grab another bottle, stared at the empty desk and spat out a string of curses.
The problem was that it wasn't just the whiskey on his desk that had run dry.
"Adam, so what exactly did Harry say?"
"He said your sincerity has been lacking compared to before. He mentioned that if things continue this way, he can't keep looking the other way for you......."
"That son of a bitch. He was panting like a dog when I was throwing stacks of cash at him."
Grind.
Hearing Hayer's report, Moran trembled with a mix of fury and humiliation. But he didn't have a single card left in his hand to turn this situation around. To be precise, he didn't have the money to buy any cards.
"So, when can we get the brewery running again?"
"Industrial barley is still in short supply. It’s not just us; most other breweries have suspended operations because there’s no malt syrup available......."
"That’s exactly what your job is to solve, Adam."
Even though Hayer was his old friend, Moran, facing the collapse of his organization, couldn't see anything else.
"If this keeps up, you and I are both finished. We don't even have the money to pay the boys' salaries right now. Do you think the guys below us are just going to sit still? You have to find a way, no matter what."
This was a situation that had been predicted the moment the North Side Gang's main business—the beer brewery—had ground to a halt. If it had been a peaceful time, it might have been different, but they were currently in the middle of an all-out war with their long-time nemesis, Capone, that had been dragging on for weeks. They were literally throwing money into the trash.
If this continued for a few more weeks—no, even just one more week—the organization's coffers would undoubtedly be empty. And if that happened, the organization was finished.
"...It’s not that there isn't a way, though it does come with some problems."
That was when Hayer finally spoke up.
"I don't care! If we can just get that damn beer out of the vats, I don't care what it takes!"
"It’s... using food-grade barley."
Hayer continued, facing the shouting Moran.
"Food-grade barley?"
"It’s not as good as the barley used for beer, but if we collect enough of it, we should be able to produce malt syrup."
"What? Then why didn't you do that sooner?"
"There is a risk. If this causes any issues with the citizens' food supply, public sentiment could turn against us."
The only things protecting a criminal gang from the iron fist of the law were bribes and public support. They had already lost one of those, and if they lost the other, the North Side Gang would have to face the fury of the federal government completely defenseless.
However.
"We’re about to starve ourselves, so what does it matter if others go hungry?"
To Moran, already cornered, that was the only path for him and his organization to survive.
"Buy up that food-grade barley or whatever it is right now and send it to the malt makers. If they say they can't do it, pay them a premium. You got it?"
"Ah, understood."
"We have to make and sell beer somehow. If we don't, you, me, and the whole organization are finished."
In the face of Moran’s burning gaze, Hayer couldn't say another word.
"Extra! Extra! The North Side Gang is buying up all the barley to starve Chicago! If you want the details, it’s only one cent! Whoops!"
A newspaper boy, who had tripped while running and shouting, spilled the copies of the Chicago Herald-Examiner he was holding all over the ground. He had fallen so hard that one copy flew quite a distance, landing right at my feet.
Soon, the headline at the top of the front page caught my eye.
"Crazy bastards. They actually did it when told to."
With an absurd expression, I picked up the fallen newspaper and handed it to the boy, who was tearfully gathering his scattered papers.
"Here you go."
"Thanks, Chinese mister."
The kid must have poor eyesight.
"I’m Korean."
"Yeah, I know you're Chinese, but I'm a bit busy right now, so..."
His hearing must be bad, too. Chicago’s smog must be toxic. I’ll have to tell Rita to be careful.
"Mr. Lee, should I take him away? Just say the word......."
"No, let's just keep doing what we're doing. People are lining up right now."
I waved my hand at the murderous gaze of the gang member who looked like he wanted to tie the boy up and slice him to pieces right then and there. It would be too pitiful to die just because of bad eyes and ears.
Soon, as I turned my body toward the tent, the text written on the roof and the sign caught my eye.
Free Soup, Coffee, and Donuts for Hungry Citizens
So... I was currently doing volunteer work.
"Here, take some bread and coffee from the side as well."
"Oh, thank you. I haven't had a single meal since yesterday......."
"Don't thank me, thank Mr. Capone. Next person!"
After sending off the man who expressed his gratitude while holding his soup bowl, I ladled a full serving of delicious potato soup into the next person's cup. This repetitive labor—no, this volunteer service—ended about an hour later.
"It seems the price of groceries has really gone up; a few days ago, the line seemed to be half this long."
"I read in the newspaper that as barley prices rose, the cost of feed went up. Thanks to that, the price of meat and eggs rose, and since citizens are buying wheat instead of barley, the price of wheat is rising too."
The rise in barley prices started about a week ago. Compared to before, the barley price had nearly doubled, and the resulting hike in grocery prices was enough to make life difficult for citizens who were already struggling in the recession.
Thanks to my father-in-law, who had set up several of these free soup kitchens in Chicago after hearing my advice, there were almost no people actually starving. However, this issue had already become a primary target for Chicago politicians, including Senator Glenn.
Of course, the North Side Gang, the culprits behind this problem, were as well.
"It’s a total mess."
"Those North Side bastards, no matter how desperate for money they are, they’ve done something they shouldn't have."
Actually, since I’m half responsible for creating this, I feel a bit guilty, but strictly speaking, I didn't hold a knife to their throats, so isn't it just their own undoing? Although SCC, which had bought up industrial barley, almost ended up as a target, we were able to get past it without difficulty thanks to the justification that it was purchased as a raw material for chemical products and the shield provided by our senator.
Up to this point, things were flowing roughly as expected.
"Tell the family to take any leftover bread or soup if they need it. Make sure Mr. Rizzo gets some, too."
"...Are you sure that’s alright?"
"It’s for the sake of the family, so the boss won't say anything. I heard he has a child, so tell him to take plenty."
My father-in-law would have taken care of them well enough, but with prices rising like this, it would still be a burden. Since I’m the only Asian, I already feel like an outsider in the organization, so it’s good to score some points by taking care of them like this.
"...Thank you."
At my words, Rizzo, the gang member who acted as my driver, bowed his head and headed toward the tent. Soon, left alone, I watched the gang members happily gathering bread and donuts.
Thanks to opening the soup kitchen a bit earlier than in the original history, my father-in-law’s image among Chicago citizens had improved significantly over the past few days. If this continues until the upcoming Great Depression, that image will only solidify, and the federal government's offensive, which has to gauge public reaction, will have no choice but to hesitate.
Since Bugs Moran and the North Side bastards were acting as sturdy tanks and drawing aggro for us, no one would probably pay us any mind for a while.
Even in martial arts novels, when the righteous factions are busy dealing with the Heavenly Demon and the Demonic Cult holed up in the Ten Thousand Mountain Range, if the Blood Demon and the Blood Cult appear and start massacring commoners while shouting "Blood Tax! Blood Tax!", the righteous factions always deal with them first, don't they?
So, Bugs Moran, you must stay healthy, happy, and live a long life without getting caught, okay? Because we’re going to be busy laundering our image in the meantime.
Herbert Hoover.
A month after becoming the 31st President of the United States, his expression was not good. The reason was none other than the middle-aged man in a suit standing in front of his office desk.
"So... Senator, are you saying that Chicago's food problem is quite serious?"
"It’s beyond serious."
At Hoover's question, Otis F. Glenn, one of the only two federal senators from Illinois, shook his head and pointed his finger at a chart on the desk.
"It’s only been about a week since the problem started, but Chicago's grocery prices have jumped nearly twofold. Even then, it’s often sold out due to the atmosphere of hoarding. This is a situation bordering on wartime."
"...Then, you have to know the cause to solve it. Simply releasing the food stockpiled by the federal government is not the solution."
"The cause is on the next page of the materials I gave you."
At Glenn's reply, pointing again to the stack of documents, Hoover turned a page.
"...The North Side Gang?"
"They are a large gang that claims the northern part of Chicago as their territory. They are also in the middle of a conflict with the famous Al Capone."
"That’s strange. If a gang were to cause such trouble in Chicago, I would have naturally assumed it was Mr. Capone’s side."
"Mr. Capone is actually setting up free soup kitchens and distributing bread to the citizens. Thanks to that, he is being viewed by Chicago citizens as a sort of... Robin Hood."
"It seems he’s trying to use the citizens as a shield, the cunning bastard. Regardless, he’s nothing but a criminal."
When Hoover frowned at the mention of Al Capone’s name, Glenn continued.
"But for now, we must deal with the North Side Gang and their leader, Bugs Moran. If we don't, the citizens might start a riot."
"Don't you have police in Chicago?"
"It’s a fact known to all of Chicago—no, all of Illinois—that the Chicago police are rotten to the core. Therefore, active support at the federal level is necessary."
"Hmm......."
At Glenn’s impassioned speech, Hoover flipped through the materials on the desk one by one. There were sensational newspaper clippings, various charts showing Chicago’s food situation, and even investigation materials regarding the North Side Gang under the senator’s name.
After slowly reading the stack of documents to the end, Hoover nodded.
"I was in need of something to save face early in my administration anyway, so this works out well."
"Then......."
"I will discuss this matter with the Attorney General."
"Thank you, Mr. President."
Glenn shook hands with Hoover with a satisfied expression and left the room. His next destination was the Department of War, located right next to the White House.
A few days later.
To deal with Bugs Moran and the North Side Gang, who had become public enemies overnight, the Bureau of Investigation—the predecessor to the FBI—spread its net wide across Chicago.