The Bald Man
"For instance, something like a commission."
As Al Capone’s final words drifted across the beach, the bosses strolling along the sand stopped in unison.
That included Charles 'Lucky' Luciano, a key lieutenant of the Joe Masseria family—one of the two major powers currently splitting New York between them.
His gaze was fixed on the boss of the Chicago Outfit, Al Capone, who wore a triumphant expression.
'No way. Scarface actually said something like that? The same ignorant brute who starts shooting the moment things don't go his way?'
Until recently, Al Capone had been causing countless incidents all over Chicago. It was a fact that the New York mafia, including Luciano and Joe Masseria, felt inwardly displeased because his actions were tarnishing the image of organized crime.
That was why, until the moment Al started talking about gambling in Nevada, Luciano had dismissed his words as half-bluff or pure nonsense.
But the last word that left his lips—'commission'—was different.
'The very concept I was drafting... why is it coming out of Scarface's mouth?'
The possibility of wiretapping or a mole was slim. The distance between Chicago and New York was over ten hours by train, and even if Al Capone was a king in the backwater of Chicago, he wasn't capable of extending his reach into New York, the heart of the underworld.
'Then, what on earth...'
Luciano’s eyes met those of Meyer Lansky, his childhood friend and most trusted brain. Lansky shook his head and whispered low.
"Charlie, it’s that way."
Following Meyer’s nod toward a certain direction, Luciano looked. There, the young Asian man who had arrived with Al Capone stood on the sand with a serious expression, as if he were preparing for the most important task in the world.
'Was he the one they called Scarface’s son-in-law? He doesn't look that much younger than us.'
But age didn't matter. What mattered was that the person his friend had pointed out was that very Asian man.
"...Are you sure?"
"If not, there’s no reason for Mr. Capone to bring an Asian man, of all people, all the way here, right?"
Lansky’s follow-up turned his suspicion into certainty. But the identity of that Asian man wasn't what mattered right now. He had to step to the forefront before the initiative was snatched away by a country bumpkin from Chicago.
'Scarface’s Asian son-in-law... I’ll have to remember that.'
Luciano’s eyes, watching the man in the fedora and coat, shone sharply.
At this very moment, I was facing a crisis of a lifetime.
Of course, the beach I was standing on was a minefield composed of gang bosses from all across the United States, so it was only natural to be careful with my behavior. But the problem was that I had stepped on a literal mine.
"Hmm..."
This was a sandy beach, and I was barefoot. The problem was that, unlike the name suggested, this beach wasn't made of just sand. That was the reason one of the many seashell fragments scattered across the beach—much like Lego pieces strewn across a living room floor—was currently stabbing into the sole of my foot. Or perhaps it was a shard of a whiskey bottle, broken by some lunatic who had thrown it while drunk.
"Haha. Mr. Capone, you’re telling many interesting stories today."
However, I couldn't scream from the pain throbbing in my head, nor could I even move; I had to stay silent and listen to Nucky Johnson. I didn't want to cause a scene here and end up "tasting" the local specialty bullets of every region with my own body.
"Nevada... I don't know what Mr. Capone saw in that dusty desert, but the investment value doesn't look... very good. Besides, this isn't D.C., so I don't know what this talk of a 'commission' is about."
"A new era requires new methods. Isn't that why we came all the way here to discuss it?"
Well done, my father-in-law!
In truth, it wasn't easy to drag the organizations from each region into the Las Vegas business. I was the only one who knew that a storm called the Great Depression would cover the U.S. and the world in a few months, and that legalizing gambling in Nevada was the way to survive that storm. So, what my father-in-law was saying here was a kind of insurance, a way to say later, "I told you, but you guys said no."
Of course, the chances of other topics passing were quite high.
"Mr. Capone, your... concept of a commission is very interesting. In fact, I was having similar thoughts. Though I didn't expect Mr. Capone to bring it up first."
The concept of this commission itself was originally Charles Luciano’s. Now, it had become my father-in-law’s. Luciano, that’s just how it is. If you feel wronged, you should have lived 100 years longer and reincarnated, too.
By the way, when is this going to end?
The meeting on the beach didn't end until just before lunch. Fortunately, after my father-in-law brought up the agenda, the meeting continued while we moved, allowing me to escape the pain caused by the seashells.
"Then, let’s wrap up today’s agenda at the plenary session tomorrow. See you all at the dinner banquet."
With Nucky’s words back at the starting point, the key figures of the organizations gathered there scattered in all directions. They would likely make plans to secure their own interests based on the conversations held on the beach today. Of course, the same went for us.
"Lee, what did you think?"
At my father-in-law’s question while he was slicing a thick piece of steak at the dinner banquet, I put down the fork I was about to pick up and replied.
"Just as I thought."
"The other bosses didn't seem very pleased. Except for that Luciano fellow."
"Actually, that might be better. It might take a bit longer, but our share will increase as a result."
"Hmm, do you think that plan will definitely succeed?"
"If my predictions are correct, the business I mentioned is highly likely to proceed on its own even if we don't do anything. We’re just marking our territory before the others catch on. The request I made to you today, Boss, is part of that."
"Hmm... I see. I’ll leave the parts related to that business to you. You may use the organization’s strength if it’s at a reasonable level."
"Thank you, Boss."
Perhaps because his trust had increased after we crushed the North Side guys, Al Capone nodded readily at my boring, pedantic explanation. Maybe he only thought of Las Vegas as a sort of bonus. Since my father-in-law had effectively taken control of all of Chicago, his biggest goal, he might not want to worry about a desert so far away.
The important thing was that, thanks to that, I had gained a bit more autonomy.
"Boss, wouldn't that be too dangerous?"
The problem was that someone started picking a fight in this situation.
"No matter what, Mr. Lee hasn't even been in the organization for a year yet."
Frank Nitti. The second-in-command of the Chicago Outfit, the man who would have become the new boss two years later when my father-in-law went to prison. And, likely, the biggest obstacle I would face.
"Even if he is the Boss’s son-in-law, I don't think his loyalty is proven enough to entrust him with a business so far from Chicago. Even if we proceed with the business, I think we should attach another lieutenant from the organization..."
"Nitti."
However, my father-in-law snorted and cut Nitti off.
"This kid has already gifted half of Chicago to the organization. By burying those Moran and North Side guys under the sewers."
Ooh, that’s brutal. If I had received that look, I might have even wet myself.
"Do you think you need more proof than this?"
"...No, Boss. I will follow your will."
At my father-in-law’s words, which hit the nail on the head, Nitti couldn't argue anymore and bowed his head. Hmm, I need to be careful. I had put it off until now because I was busy trying to survive, but it seemed I needed to start making moves within the organization. Even if my father-in-law wasn't going to prison immediately, it would be troublesome if something happened and he had to retire. Especially if the person who would make things difficult for me was the organization's second-in-command.
"Ugh, did I drink too much? My head is throbbing. I’m going to get up first, so you guys have fun and head in when you’re ready."
With those words, my father-in-law and his bodyguard, Frank Rio, rose from their seats. Seeing red spots like a rash on the back of my father-in-law’s neck, it looked like a cold or a skin condition. Should I introduce him to a skilled doctor? I heard there’s someone in Chinatown who makes good herbal medicine; I should buy some as a gift.
It was just then, as I watched the backs of the two men moving away.
"Lee."
That was when Nitti, who was rising from his seat, called me.
"You’d better be careful. Being the most visible means you’re the easiest to hit."
Wow, now he’s threatening me openly?
"Then... I’ll be going too, Mr. Lee. See you tomorrow."
As Nitti left the seat, the others also rose one by one and headed out of the banquet hall. Man, he could have at least finished the meat before leaving. Leaving beef—especially a large, well-grilled piece of beef—was something I, who had lived most of my second life as a second-generation immigrant in a corner of a Chicago laundry, could not abide. So, I brought a piece of the porterhouse steak from the large platter in the center of the table to my own plate.
It was then.
"Mr. Lee?"
Who dares interrupt my sacred beef time? I put down the fork and knife I was using to slice the sirloin and turned my head. There, I saw the familiar face I had encountered on the beach earlier.
So.
"Baldy?"
"Pardon?"
Ah, almost made a mistake. Thank goodness it was Korean, not English.
"Ah, no. I mean, Mr......."
"Lansky. Meyer Lansky."
"Ah, yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lansky. But what brings you......."
I had a rough guess as to why he called me, but I asked the baldy—no, the man with the half-receding hairline—with an expression of knowing nothing. Soon, he answered with a smile.
"I wanted to talk about what Mr. Capone said this morning. Would that be alright?"
"Talk about...?"
"My boss and I don't think it was just Mr. Capone’s own idea. Since you are Mr. Capone’s son-in-law, I thought I might be able to hear more detailed information."
As expected, there was no reason for him to seek out an Asian man, who was roughly a third-class—no, fifth-class—citizen in America, other than that.
"Let’s do that."
At the expected answer, I smiled, nodded, and continued.
"But before that, I’m going to finish my meal."
"Pardon?"
"I’m a bit hungry."
Beef is a matter of grave importance, after all.