The Commission of the Sands
Even after Al Capone, his former subordinate and protégé, and his young Oriental son-in-law had departed, Johnny Torrio remained seated at the bar, lost in thought.
What occupied his mind was a presence far more intense than the boisterous laughter of Capone that had filled the lounge just moments before.
'Jun Lee...'
Torrio swirled his half-empty glass of brandy, the young Oriental man's name echoing in his thoughts.
He watched the amber liquid slosh against the crystal, then brought it to his lips. As he let a sip of the fragrant, potent spirit slide down his throat, he mused.
'Those Irish bastards... they were never easy marks.'
The North Side Gang hadn't just possessed power equal to the Chicago Outfit he once led; they were the very ones who had ambushed him, inflicted grievous injuries, and forced his retirement from the industry.
Though years had passed since then, it was unlikely their influence had dwindled significantly in the interim.
'And to think, they did it not by their own hand, but by borrowing the reach of the Feds.'
To manipulate the very people the underworld feared most to strike at an enemy—that was a strategy his protégé Al, whose nature leaned closer to fists—no, to guns—than to words, would never have chosen.
'That means the Oriental kid moved all the pieces. And he did it only months after establishing ties with the organization.'
On top of that, he was just the son of a laundry owner, yet he was suddenly handling the organization's new business ventures? And legitimate, large-scale ones at that.
'He’s essentially a "Yellow Lansky." To think Al has such a brain at his side... I must say, the boy is truly lucky.'
A smile touched Torrio's lips as he recalled the past, when Al had handled the organization's major affairs alongside him. Regardless, the Chicago Outfit was the organization he had once commanded, and its boss, Al Capone, was his student, so this was not a bad development.
'Though... it would have been better if the timing had been a bit faster, or slower.'
Having moved his residence to the East Coast after his retirement, he already knew something of the agenda Luciano, representing the New York Mafia, would bring to the table.
'If it’s the friend I know, and Lansky, they certainly won't tolerate a figure who could threaten them. Because the boy’s ambition isn't limited to New York.'
The era was changing. It was a time when one's standing in the underworld was determined not by who could shoot better, but by who could count the numbers better.
A clever Oriental man appearing in such an age would inevitably become the greatest eyesore to other organizations, which were composed primarily of white men.
'I truly hope he survives for a long time. If only for Al's sake.'
With his thoughts concluded, Torrio downed the remainder of his brandy and raised his glass toward the empty air.
"Good Luck."
Wishing fortune upon his organization, his protégé, and that protégé's son-in-law.
Trapped between my father-in-law and his mentor, having spent hours pouring brandy and whiskey into my stomach, I collapsed the moment I returned and slept as if dead until the next morning.
"Lee, being Oriental, I suppose you can't hold your liquor as well as I thought?"
"No, sir, I am fine... *hic*."
"'Fine,' he says. You’d better go get a cup of coffee and sober up."
The next day, sitting in the back seat of the limousine on our way to the hotel, I couldn't refute the words of my father-in-law, who was looking at me with a pathetic expression.
This is why having a body that's too honest is a problem.
"Let's do that, Mr. Lee. You don't look well. Boss, why don't you have a cup of coffee and chat briefly? Tomorrow is the real meeting, after all."
At the suggestion of the following job seeker, my father-in-law nodded.
"If Lee can pull himself together, that is. After all, what we have to offer at this meeting is what's inside this kid's head, isn't it? Tsk, a man getting knocked out by a glass or two of brandy."
Father-in-law, wouldn't the conversation be different if the unit was a full glass of straight liquor?
But since it was true that I had been knocked out, I couldn't offer a single rebuttal and headed toward the Ritz-Carlton, the hotel where the meetings would take place starting tomorrow.
Upon arriving at the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton, we were guided by a manager through a crowd of people who, as expected, were all dressed in identical fedoras and coats. After dropping off our luggage, we sat in the café, drank coffee, and shared a brief conversation.
And so, how much time had passed?
"Well then, let's go get some dinner. It's time."
With those words, my party and I followed my father-in-law toward the hotel's grand banquet hall.
There, a dinner event was scheduled—what could be called the opening ceremony or the eve of the full-scale meetings starting tomorrow.
"You've arrived, Mr. Capone! You're right on time."
"Of course, the protagonist always arrives last. I trust you won't disappoint me like yesterday."
At the greeting of Enoch "Nucky" Johnson, the King of Atlantic City and the host of this meeting, my father-in-law snorted as if it were only natural and picked a fight.
"Haha, don't worry. This dinner will be very satisfactory even for the ruler of Chicago. But, who is this?"
However, Nucky, as if he had expected it, laughed it off and pointed at me.
"My son-in-law. He's a pretty sharp kid, so I'm letting him handle a business."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson. My name is Jun Lee."
"An Oriental son-in-law... interesting. I'll hear more about this friend later; for now, please go in and enjoy the dinner."
As I greeted him lightly, Nucky looked at me with curious eyes and let my father-in-law and us inside.
Soon, we were moving toward the seat marked with the name Capone when it happened.
"Mr. Capone."
At the quiet call that cut through the noisy banquet hall, my father-in-law and I turned our gazes toward the direction of the sound.
There, a man with a blank expression and a bald man, both wearing clothes and accessories that looked particularly expensive even among gangsters who considered showing off money a matter of pride, were smiling at us.
"Since you're such a famous figure, I could recognize your face even though we're meeting for the first time."
"Who are you?"
As my father-in-law frowned at the man who had suddenly called out to him, the man with the blank expression introduced himself.
"Ah, my introduction was late. I am Charles Luciano. I'm from New York."
"Luciano? Ah, so you're that Luciano? The one they say is doing best in New York these days."
As soon as he heard the opponent's introduction, my father-in-law seemed to have guessed his identity. It was the same for me.
Luciano.
I didn't know the genealogy of American gangs in detail, but even I, who had only vaguely watched *The Godfather* on cable TV, had heard the name Luciano.
In other words, I knew at least that he was a famous Mafia boss who, like the protagonist of *The Godfather*, had gathered the New York Mafia and major American gangs into one and ruled them.
He didn't look like such a big shot, as if this wasn't the time for that yet, but once I recalled that fact, the young man in front of me looked a bit different.
"Haha, hardly. I'm just running a small business. The most powerful person in New York is our boss."
Waving off my father-in-law's question, he turned his head toward me.
"And this is..."
This is almost a textbook pattern.
If racial discrimination comes out now, it'll be a perfect cliché.
"This friend is..."
Just as my father-in-law was about to introduce me to Luciano, who was looking at me with an expression similar to, 'Why is a yellow-skin who should be out West here?'
"Welcome, everyone! I sincerely thank you all for coming from all over the United States to attend this gathering, and I will introduce myself briefly first!"
Nucky's greeting, standing on the podium in the banquet hall, began to ring out through the speakers.
"The event has started. I'll make the introductions later."
"Haha, I'll be waiting."
With those words, the man who came with Luciano returned to his seat, and we also sat in our designated seats and peacefully enjoyed the dinner.
"Damn it, what kind of meeting are they planning to have with soundproofing like this! Are they playing games with me?"
Clatter!
Though there was a minor incident where my father-in-law, checking the soundproofing of the room after the dinner ended, couldn't hold back his anger and threw the frames hanging on the wall.
Although there was a slight commotion in the middle of the night, the sun rose safely the next day.
Since today was the day for the full-scale meeting starting in the morning, I, who would be attending as my father-in-law's advisor, had to pay quite a bit of attention to my attire.
If I went in looking sloppy and heard something like, "The Chicago guys must be broke," my body might end up being made of lead instead of water.
However.
"Today's meeting place is here."
At the words of Nucky Johnson, the host of this meeting and the King of Atlantic City, I couldn't help but doubt my eyes.
It was only natural.
"The beach? Are you saying we should have a meeting on the beach right now?"
The place he introduced as the meeting venue was none other than a beach prepared on private property near the hotel.
"We didn't come all this way, spending hours, just to hear you brag about your sand."
"What is this supposed to be..."
I was bewildered right away, so how would the bosses of organizations who considered themselves powerful in their respective regions feel?
We should have been grateful that they didn't pull out their guns right away.
But at Nucky's next words, the bosses, including my father-in-law, shut their mouths.
"It's not easy to eavesdrop on the sand. For us, and for others. Wouldn't it be quite troublesome if the stories we share from now on were to spread elsewhere?"
It wasn't a wrong statement.
It was called a beach, but this private beach was so vast that you couldn't even see the end of it properly. On top of that, one side was the sea and the other was sand, so there was nowhere to hide, and if you just lowered your voice appropriately, there was almost no fear of wiretapping.
If you had to share secret stories that others couldn't hear, there would be no place more suitable than this.
"I trust you now understand why I chose this place as the meeting venue. Then, let's walk slowly and share our stories. Each organization should bring only one or two advisors, and the rest of the bodyguards should wait here. It would be better to take off your shoes as well, as your expensive shoes might get damaged for no reason."
And so, the bosses of the organizations that were something in the East and Midwest, and their companions, had to take off their shoes and walk on the sandy beach barefoot, out of the blue.
Naturally, that included me.
"First of all, I think you all guess the reason why we gathered here."
While the bosses and their advisors stepped on the gritty sand containing seashells and moved forward, Nucky, who was walking ahead, continued.
"Until now, we've had to see blood to occupy each other's territories, but is there any need to do so in the future? Blood in business is just a loss. So, I invited you all to talk about leading business through conversation instead of blood from now on."
The stories that followed were, to summarize roughly, about living well by helping each other instead of fighting among ourselves.
Stopping violence in New York and Chicago, collusion on bidding prices for bootlegging, and business plans in preparation for the repeal of Prohibition were just concrete ways to realize that story.
"As I said earlier, Chicago will put down its guns now."
It was then that my father-in-law, Al Capone, opened his mouth with an arrogant expression.
"Instead, I intend to propose a new business opportunity to you all."
At the mention of a new business, the gazes of the bosses, including Luciano, turned toward my father-in-law.
My father-in-law's words continued.
"Out west, in Nevada, a huge dam will soon be built. Then, countless people will flock there to build that dam. A new city might even be born. And, I don't know if you know, but Nevada has been famous for gambling for a long time."
The story my father-in-law is telling now was our organization's next business plan that I had talked about last week.
"If we put a little effort into that side, we can move the ink-stained guys in Nevada and legalize gambling. Anyway, that's the only way for guys who only have deserts to make money."
Las Vegas, the city of pleasure that would originally be planned and built after the Great Depression.
Making that city the organization's second base after Chicago, and seizing the West, which was practically left alone, based on that base alone, would make the size of the organization grow enormously.
"We are going to attract gamblers from all over the country, no, the whole world, to that city. And we provide those gamblers with food, drink, and entertainment. Can't you imagine the amount of money they will scatter while they're out of their minds?"
The problem was that, no matter how much money you had, building such a city in the middle of a desert wasn't easy with just the organization's money. A hotel or two, a casino or two, might be fine, but building a whole city would require tens of millions of dollars.
"So, I'm proposing that if any of you are interested in this business, we should do it together. And."
Of course, this wasn't just a matter of money.
"To do such a huge business together, we'll have to establish new rules or order among ourselves, and to do that, as Mr. Johnson said earlier, we'll need a place to gather and talk."
Moving the center of the underworld, called gangs or the Mafia, from New York to the West. If that were possible, the influence of the Chicago Outfit could spread throughout the United States.
And to put it simply, what I thought of to achieve this was:
"For example, something like a Commission."
It was precisely to put the *Murim Alliance* into our own hands.