What Can You Do, Since You've Come This Far
After talking with Goldie and Mr. Ahern, I headed straight for the top floor of the Lexington Hotel, where my father-in-law was staying.
First of all, the money Nitti had spent needed to be legally accounted for. The easiest way to do that was to use Al Capone’s name, as his income records from the previous tax filing were already impeccably doctored.
Besides, my father-in-law, being Goldie’s best friend, wouldn't have any reason to refuse this plan.
"Hmm, so you want to send Frank to New York?"
"I would go myself if I could, but it’s difficult for me to leave Chicago because of my business. I’ve already finished talking with Mr. Nitti, and I’m here to seek the Boss’s permission."
"Then I suppose I won't have to lift a finger."
"...Boss?"
I felt like I’d just heard something ominous.
"Just talking to myself. Is that all you have to say, Lee?"
Haha, I must have misheard him.
"That’s not all. I also wanted to speak with you regarding Mr. Nitti’s problem."
"Problem? Ah, you mean those federal bastards?"
"Yes, Boss."
I explained in detail the situation Nitti was currently facing and what would happen to him if he were found guilty.
"Is it your opinion that Frank is going to prison?"
"Since the pretext to indict you, Boss, has vanished, they are highly likely to use another key figure in the organization as an example. Especially if the one they’ve caught is the organization’s No. 2."
"It was the same last time, but I honestly don't understand how someone goes to prison over mere taxes."
"Taxes are just a pretext. What they are ultimately aiming for is the collapse of the organization. If it’s those guys, they’ll make the impossible possible."
I had been working overtime for weeks alongside the job search to plug the holes, but I never imagined our Goldie had dug a foxhole of his own.
Listening to the story, it seemed he had tried to cover it up with expense reports and the like, but it was impossible to account for the $170,000 he had squandered in clubs and bars over three years.
I mean, who would believe you spent $170,000 at a club as a business expense?
I heard he spent nearly $100 a day. If he had sent that money to Shanghai, Korea would have achieved independence long ago and marched all the way to the Manchurian plains.
"So, what are you going to do?"
"I think we need to borrow your name, Boss."
Right now, aside from me, the person with the most "clean" money in the organization on the books is our Al Capone.
To be precise, that only applies if we look at the income between 1925 and 1927, when Goldie was caught for tax evasion.
Therefore, my father-in-law’s name was essential to plug the hole Nitti had made.
"And......."
Of course, it wasn't just his name I needed to borrow.
"Boss, if you don't mind... could I borrow that watch?"
"This?"
At my question, my father-in-law held up a silver pocket watch encrusted with diamonds.
Was that the one he said was a custom Patek Philippe with 90 new diamonds set into it? I was so sick of it because he’d pull it out to brag in front of me whenever he was bored, but this was the moment I needed it.
"Yes, Boss. And... I think I’ll need that ring, too."
"...Surely you aren't planning to sell these to pay a bribe?"
"Of course not."
I shook my head at my father-in-law, who was showing off the shining diamond ring on his finger.
It’s not like they’d take a bribe anyway, and even if they did, it would be easier to just pay the taxes with that money and go to prison for a bit. But what I needed right now wasn't a bribe; it was a pretext to erase Nitti’s income.
"It won't leave the organization's hands, anyway."
After all, money is meant to circulate, isn't it?
After talking with Mr. Ahern, I found there were two ways to spend money in the current United States that didn't count as income: one was a gift, the other was a loan.
If that was the case, it meant I could somehow fill the empty $170,000 by mixing the two and muddling the details.
As for gifts, since the gift tax was abolished last year, I could easily account for tens of thousands of dollars by saying my father-in-law gave me some of his expensive items as gifts, which I then pawned at a place under our organization’s influence.
But loans were a different story. While the money going out would still come from my father-in-law’s pockets—which were undeniably full of clean money—I couldn't exactly say our Goldie borrowed $100,000 to throw money around at a club.
So, to create a reason for that, I headed to a club in a corner of Chicago with Goldie.
"Why are we at a club? Are you going to lecture me on wasting money?"
"How could I be bothered to do something like that?"
Ba-ba-bam!
I shook my head at Nitti’s words and continued, watching the men and women dancing to the band’s exciting jazz music from a corner table.
"Rather, I called you here because I need Mr. Nitti’s role."
"Role?"
"We’re going to make a contract. Even if we fudge the dates, it’s easier to get our stories straight if the parties involved are present at the signing."
"What on earth are you talking about......."
"Shh."
I put my index finger to my lips and looked at the black boy playing the trumpet in a corner of the band.
Ba-ba-bam!
Unlike his young face, which looked like he was barely twenty, his performance on the trumpet sounded quite decent, even to my tone-deaf ears.
I pointed at the boy on stage while holding a cigar in my mouth.
"The other party is that kid."
"...That brat?"
"You’d better watch your tongue. That kid is going to save you."
While Nitti’s expression soured at my answer, the band’s performance, including the boy’s, continued for quite a long time.
"...It’s worth listening to, I suppose, but I don't think that kid is going to grow up to be like Louis Armstrong."
"We’ll see."
When I first came up with this plan, the first person I thought of was the trumpet legend Louis Armstrong, but he was already too famous and had risen too high for money or the organization’s power to touch him.
If that’s the case, shouldn't I use a chicken instead of a pheasant?
And so, Nitti and I waited for the band’s performance to end while enjoying cigars and whiskey.
How much time had passed?
"Mr. Lee?"
A man who looked like the club manager brought the boy who had been playing the trumpet over to me. Unlike on stage, where he was lost in the performance, his head was held stiffly, suggesting he was already being treated with some importance.
"I’ve brought him as you asked."
"What is it? I have to perform again soon, so please make it quick."
I smiled at our black brother—no, our black younger brother—who was still wearing an arrogant expression as if he didn't quite grasp the situation.
"Kid."
"Don't call me kid, call me Eldridge."
"Do you happen to know who owns this club?"
"Who doesn't know that? Obviously, it’s Chicago’s most famous Al Ca...pone......."
Finally, he’s bowing his head a little.
Perhaps he realized our identity only after my father-in-law’s name came up, because the color was slowly draining from the face of our black younger brother, who was stuttering.
"Don't worry, kid. I don't have any grudges against you."
If I say one more word, he’s going to drop his trumpet.
Watching the trembling kid, I took out the contract I had prepared in advance and slid it between the ashtrays.
"This gentleman here is preparing a music business, and I heard rumors that you play quite well. So, I’d like to do business with you."
"Bu...business?"
"How should I put it... it’s a kind of cultural support project to discover the second Louis Armstrong and provide opportunities."
"Louis Armstrong......."
Maybe because he’s a star in the same industry, I could see the light in the boy’s eyes change in real-time just by mentioning the name. Goldie glared at me from the side with a look that asked what kind of nonsense I was spouting, but I ignored him and continued.
"Kid, Chicago is quite big, but don't you want to play in a bigger pond?"
"A bigger pond?"
"New York, like Louis Armstrong. Maybe you could compete with him, or even play together? Though you’d have to work pretty hard."
Kids this age are bound to swell up if you just blow a little wind into them. Especially if they’re a somewhat innocent boy from 1929 who hasn't been jaded by the internet and social media.
Well, he is a kid who will actually be able to take the spot right after Louis Armstrong once he grows up a bit more.
"Louis Armstrong and... New York......."
"On top of that, I’m planning to give you $10,000 as an advance. Of course, you’ll have to pay this back with future performance income, but with your talent, you’ll have more than enough to pay it back."
With those words, I opened the briefcase I had filled with money and showed him the stacks of bills inside.
It was quite a lot of money, but in times like these, you have to offer an amount so large that they can't even think of anything else.
"......."
Gulp.
As expected, it all comes down to money in the end.
I held out a fountain pen to the boy, who was already swallowing hard while letting his imagination run wild.
"Here, just sign your name here and you’ll have $10,000. How about it? Oh, and we’ll have to get our stories straight on a few things, too."
I didn't need to tell him that the signing date on the contract was January 1929.
"I’ll do it."
The boy, who snatched the fountain pen from my hand, didn't even look at the contract and immediately wrote his name where I pointed.
[Roy Eldridge]
"Now, don't just stand there, hurry up and welcome him."
As soon as I confirmed that our black younger brother had signed, I whispered to Nitti and slid the briefcase full of dollars over to him.
"...Welcome. Let’s get along well from now on."
"Yes, Boss!"
Unlike his words, his expression looked like he was ready to grab someone and throw them into the Chicago River, but fortunately, the eyes of the boy who would become a future star were fixed entirely on the heavy briefcase in his hands.
In this moment, the $170,000 Nitti had thrown away at the club for three years transformed into a loss incurred from attempting to start a new entertainment business that had failed.
He was no longer just a man who drank and played at clubs, but a passionate businessman who had even pawned gifts he’d received from a close friend to attempt a business venture.
And, as it happens, he had succeeded in making a comeback after a few years by receiving an investment from Lee Jun, the owner of the new company, SCC.
The story wasn't half bad.
But there was still work left for Nitti to do.
"...What are we going to do now?"
I shrugged my shoulders and answered Nitti, who was asking me with the same expression while leaving Eldridge behind, who was overjoyed with the money bag.
"You can take that kid with you when you go to New York."
"What?"
"I spent $10,000 because of one contract, so shouldn't I get a return on it?"
Goldie, what can you do? You’ve come this far.
If you say you’re not doing the business now, the IRS guys will just come swarming back, won't they?