What I Want
It was only after we had finished another round of sirloin and tenderloin that I headed to the lounge of the Ritz-Carlton with Meyer Lansky.
"Mr. Lee... you seem to have a fondness for beef."
"In Joseon, we hold beef in high regard. If I were to leave such precious meat behind, my ancestors in heaven would surely be displeased."
"Joseon? I don't believe I've heard of that country."
"It exists—though, perhaps not in the way you might think, at least not anymore."
"My, my. We Jews are much the same. We’ve been a people wandering without a country for nearly two thousand years."
"Hearing that, I feel a strange sense of kinship. Haha."
As I exchanged stories about our respective (former) homelands with the bald man, I cast a casual glance around the room. Seeing no one in the signature mafia uniform of fedoras and trench coats, it seemed most of the crowd had flocked to Nucky Johnson’s "I’ll Show You Something!" show, featuring jazz bands and strippers.
Thanks to that, I didn't have to worry about drawing attention for chatting with Lansky, the strategist currently making waves in New York.
"That aside, Mr. Lee."
It was then that Lansky leaned in, the reflection of the lights gleaming off his forehead and the intensity in his eyes locking onto me.
Ugh, blinding.
"Yes?"
"The business Mr. Capone mentioned this morning—it was quite impressive."
"The Boss is always a man of immense ambition. I suspect the plan he laid out is merely a part of that larger vision."
I feigned ignorance, taking a sip of whiskey to wash down my words.
Lansky didn't miss a beat.
"Mr. Lee, you aren't very good at lying."
"I’m not sure what you mean."
"That idea—it came from your head, didn't it?"
"Haha, I wonder what makes you think that."
"If it hadn't, Mr. Capone would have no reason to be strolling along the beach with you instead of looking for work."
It was a simple enough deduction that others hadn't come to me not because they were oblivious, but because they failed to grasp the value of the Las Vegas development project I had conceived and my father-in-law had announced. Everyone, that is, except for the man in front of me: Meyer Lansky.
"By now, Charlie is likely speaking with Mr. Capone."
"Is that so?"
"In the meantime, I thought it might be mutually beneficial for us to discuss... more practical matters."
"Hmm..."
If that were true, he was clearly intent on getting a slice of the pie. Otherwise, there would be no reason for Luciano—a name even a Chicago native like me recognized—to go out of his way to meet our boss.
For me, this wasn't a bad development. If an organization that controlled half of New York, the greatest city in the United States, showed interest, the progress of the business would undoubtedly accelerate. Especially considering the massive bribes they had likely scattered throughout nearby Washington D.C.
"Well, I didn't come up with it myself, but... I have heard bits and pieces from the Boss."
"Ah, then this will be a quick conversation!"
To be precise, this meeting was about gauging each other's utility. They wanted the value and stake of the massive Las Vegas project. I needed the influence they held—or might hold—over D.C., New York, and the East Coast.
"Before that, how about we talk about the Commission?"
But that wasn't the only thing I needed to secure here.
"The Commission... Charlie is probably discussing that with Mr. Capone already. He was thinking along similar lines. Let's start with the business..."
"No, this comes first."
"Yes?"
I continued, addressing the confused, bald-to-be man.
"New York will likely see a major war soon. I don't think the two families in New York will sit idly by after seeing our boss take control of all of Chicago."
It had happened that way in history, and it wouldn't be much different this time. And I knew who the final victor of that war would be. I also knew that the winner would create a puppet called the 'Commission' to become the king of the American underworld.
"I suspect Mr. Luciano will be that victor..."
"Haha, what are you saying? Don Masseria is still in fine health. Charlie is certainly capable, but..."
"Then, if a war breaks out, we’ll bet on that side—so give us a dividend if you win."
"Excuse me? A dividend...?"
"The Chicago Outfit wants the West in exchange."
What I wanted was half the territory of the king-to-be.
The meetings, which continued for two days after my encounter with Mr. Baldy, concluded without any significant breakthroughs. While essential matters like joint purchasing of bootleg liquor and price-fixing were quickly agreed upon, the bosses of the other organizations—save for Luciano—avoided giving a definitive answer to the two proposals my father-in-law had thrown out on the beach: 'Nevada Development' and 'Formation of the Commission.'
There was, however, some mediation by my mentor, Johnny Torrio, toward the end of the meeting.
The next meeting would likely be after a bloodbath in New York, so there was no need to worry about it for now. If there was anything to keep an eye on, it was Lansky, who would soon bring an answer to my proposal.
'Does Mr. Capone... also agree with this concept?'
By now, he was probably racking his brain, trying to figure out the meaning of the smile I’d given him instead of an answer. I hope he doesn't lose any more hair over it.
With that thought, I entered the Springfield villa I had visited before, accompanied by my lawyer, Ahern. Senator Glenn, who had been waiting on the sofa, waved at me.
"Ah. Come in, Mr. Bulletproof."
"*Ahem.*"
I cleared my throat at the nickname that made my skin crawl every time I heard it.
"It’s been a while, Senator."
His expression was quite bright; it seemed his approval rating had soared after the sweep of the North Side Gang. The leader, Bugs Moran, was still at large, but as long as the BOI blocked all exits from Chicago, it was only a matter of time before he was caught, which would further boost his and the Hoover administration's ratings.
Honestly, I was starting to hope they’d catch him soon so those Bureau of Investigation guys would go home.
"Seeing as you called us all the way here, you must have some good news."
"Hmm, it is good news. There is someone in the War Department interested in your products."
"That is truly excellent news."
Keh, as expected of a Senator. I smiled and nodded at Glenn's words, which somehow made his muscles look three times larger.
"The Undersecretary, the Air Corps Commander, and the Chief of Ordnance have said they want to see more detailed information and a live demonstration of the actual product. As soon as possible, if you can manage it. Is that feasible?"
"We are already in the pilot production phase, so if the schedule is set, we will prepare accordingly."
It was still in the testing stage, but the amount of acrylic produced while I was away in the East was not insignificant. It would be more than enough to cover at least a vehicle or a fighter plane or two.
"Then, the Ordnance Department will send over the detailed schedule. Be ready."
"Thank you."
"And this concludes our deal. Do you understand?"
"Of course."
I nodded lightly at the Senator, who was drawing a clear line. Being a man elected on an image of reform and integrity, being associated with a gang was indeed a significant risk.
Regardless, we had both gotten what we wanted, so this was a good enough result.
"Still, it’s a shame. We happen to have something new in development at our company."
Not that I had any intention of letting him off the hook.
"Hmm, are you asking me to be your salesman?"
"Of course not. I just... thought this technology might be of great help to the nation, the state of Illinois, and you, Senator. I may be a second-generation immigrant, but I pride myself on having patriotism for the United States that is second to none."
"Patriotism, you say."
"What could be more rewarding than working for the country? Though, a little compensation in the process wouldn't hurt. I want the money, and you, Senator, want the support of the state and its people."
I could feel Ahern looking at me from the side as if to say, 'What kind of crazy talk is this?', but I ignored his gaze and grinned at the Senator.
"...Then let's hear it. Let's see just how impressive this technology is."
As I invoked patriotism, Glenn began to lower his guard and listen. I continued my explanation.
"So... what we are developing is a type of synthetic fiber."
"Synthetic fiber?"
"Yes, something like Artificial Silk. Though it is a bit different."
I was playing my second card.
A week later.
I led the SCC employees—who were actually mobsters in disguise—to a military shooting range on the outskirts of Washington D.C. Of course, I hadn't come empty-handed.
"Hmm, is this that P... what was it called?"
"To be precise, it is bulletproof glass where the material has been replaced with our new material, PMMA, instead of glass. Other than that, it is no different from the existing bulletproof glass over there."
I had increased the strength through some processing, but there was no need to explain that to the Undersecretary of the War Department.
"Certainly, it is more transparent than what is labeled as existing bulletproof glass in the catalog. It has less of a yellowish tint, too."
"I wonder if such a lightweight material can really stop a bullet... hmm."
The Air Corps Commander and the Chief of Ordnance who spoke next tilted their heads, clearly skeptical, but they would change their minds once they saw it.
"Then, we will begin the demonstration."
With those words, two soldiers waiting at the firing line picked up long, wooden bolt-action rifles. The Springfield M1903 rifle, the main infantry weapon of this era.
"The first demonstration will be conducted with the M1903, the main rifle of the U.S. Army."
"Springfield?"
"Wait, are you saying you brought glass that can stop rifle rounds?"
"That’s ridiculous..."
"It’s a waste of time, I’m sure."
Click!
Ignoring the clicking tongues of the skeptics behind me, I watched the soldier load the ammunition. Soon.
"Firing line one, commence firing."
Bang!
At the instruction of the officer controlling the range, the first soldier's rifle spat out a 7.62mm bullet with a flash of fire.
Crash!
Naturally, the existing bulletproof glass, which couldn't even properly stop a .45 caliber pistol round, couldn't withstand the force of the rifle bullet and shattered into pieces.
"Yes, that’s normal."
"Should we keep watching? It feels like a waste of time."
The skeptics from the War Department nodded as they watched. But.
"Firing line two, commence firing."
Bang!
The result was different when the second soldier pulled the trigger.
Crack!
The spot where it collided head-on with the rifle bullet turned white with cracks, but unlike before, it didn't completely shatter.
Of course, that wasn't all that was surprising.
"The bullet..."
"It was stopped?"
The bullet had pierced the glass, but it had failed to penetrate completely.
"H-hey, you."
I turned at the voice of someone grabbing my shoulder. It was Major General James E. Fechet, the Air Corps Commander. He spoke in a voice trembling like an aspen leaf.
"When can you supply this?"
"Commander, we haven't even proceeded with the contract yet..."
Undersecretary F. Trubee Davison, who was watching from behind, tried to stop the Major General, but the Major General's eyes were already glazed over.
"Can't you see this? This is a revolution! We need to put this damn bulletproof glass into every single aircraft in our Air Corps right now!"
As expected, they only believe it when they see it.