The Mystery of Florida
After parting ways with old man Rockefeller, I showed the two coins he’d given me to my father-in-law, who was resting in the clubhouse after finishing his round.
Naturally, his reaction wasn't exactly enthusiastic.
"What is this? Just two measly dimes? The rumors about that old man being a miser were true after all!"
"Still, he said I should show these to whoever he introduced me to, so they can't be entirely useless."
"He could have at least made it a gold coin. Being that stingy with two silver dimes... doesn't he feel ashamed of the name 'Oil King'?"
It was only after I added a bit of explanation that my father-in-law nodded and grudgingly acknowledged it, though he didn't seem to understand Rockefeller's love for the ten-cent coin.
Well, as long as I could safely get the coins back to Chicago, that was all that mattered.
Four days had passed since we left that chaotic golf course.
Jingle bells, jingle bells...
With only two days left until Christmas, the people at the villa were busy with preparations. A massive Christmas tree, made from a fir tree of unknown origin, was hung with all sorts of ornaments, and the butlers and servants hired for the villa were busy moving food and drinks to the tune of carols played by a jazz band brought in for the party.
Though, I was sitting with my family under a palm tree, a few steps away from that bustling scene.
"Our Jay, have you grown this much already?"
"Abubu."
What?
"Jay, you just said 'Dada,' right? Rita, did you hear that?"
But in the face of our child's supposed genius, Rita shook her head.
"That's just babbling, honey. Jay is only two months old."
Tsk, attacking me with facts so cowardly.
In that case, I'll fight back with agitation and fabrication!
"No, it was definitely 'Dada.' Our child is a genius, so that's nothing! Right, Jay?"
"...Honey, do you know that you look the most pathetic you've ever looked in the last year?"
I let Rita's sharp, factual attack slide in one ear and out the other, watching Jay suck on his fingers with a satisfied grin, when it happened.
"Oh, Sonny has come outside?"
"Sonny?"
At Rita's delighted words, I turned my gaze toward the villa.
There stood a boy, holding a tin toy soldier in one hand and a toy pistol in the other, looking around with an excited expression.
He was Rita's half-brother—his full name was Albert Francis Capone, but everyone called him Sonny—a kid who had just turned eleven.
If I had to count the family ties, he was my brother-in-law. He was wearing what looked like my father-in-law's fedora and running forward with the pistol in his hand.
Is this some kind of cowboy game?
"How dare you touch our territory! Take this, you justice-seeking Moran!"
...Moran? He means the Public Enemy No. 1 currently in prison, right?
So it wasn't a Western, it was a gang game.
No, is it early education, not a game?
Faced with my father-in-law's unexpected gifted education method, I stood there, stunned, staring blankly at Sonny.
But wait, that's pretty well-made for a toy gun from this era. The color, the shape, and even the metallic luster made it look so real...
BANG!
That was when a thunderous sound erupted from the toy gun in Sonny's hand.
At the same time.
THWACK!
A round hole appeared in the forehead of the large Santa doll hanging on the Christmas tree.
And then, amidst a brief silence.
"W-w-waaaaaah!"
As Sonny, knocked backward by the recoil of the pistol, burst into tears, the silence quickly turned into chaos.
"Eek!"
"What's going on?"
"Gunshots!"
Ladies in dresses, seemingly invited to the party, screamed and ran out, and the organization members guarding the mansion immediately rushed to the front yard, clutching their own pistols or Tommy guns.
"Waaaaah!"
"It's okay, Jay. It's okay..."
Are you kidding me, was that a real gun? Just how far does my father-in-law intend to take this early education?
While Rita soothed Jay, who was crying at the sound of the gunshot, I slowly approached Sonny.
"M-Master Capone?"
"Isn't that the Boss's?"
"Why is that there?"
"Waaaaah!"
"First, just do something about the gun!"
"M-Master Capone, please, stop crying..."
"Waaaaah!"
The organization members, finally realizing that there was nothing more dangerous than a pistol in the hands of a wailing child, tried to soothe Sonny, but the sight of a group of Chicago Outfit gangsters with their menacing faces only added a booster to Sonny's crying.
I had to resolve this quickly.
"Everyone, stand back."
"Consigliere?"
"And put your guns away. Are you planning to fight a kid with those?"
As the members hurriedly hid their guns and backed away at my words, I slowly approached Sonny.
"Sonny, are you okay?"
"Hic, hic."
"It's alright. Nobody got hurt."
Although Santa took a headshot, he's Santa, so he'll be fine.
"Sonny, try relaxing your right hand. Everything will be fine."
"Hic... okay..."
Perhaps a bit more calmed down than before, Sonny followed my words, tears streaming down his face, and slowly lowered the gun to the grass.
Click!
I immediately walked up to Sonny, picked up the pistol, and only after engaging the safety did I let out a sigh of relief.
"Phew. Yeah, good job, Sonny."
At least nobody got hurt. This should be enough to smooth things over...
"SONNY!!!!!!"
...or not?
Watching my father-in-law charging toward his crying son-in-law like an angry bull, I sighed to myself.
***
Making the afternoon's commotion disappear was quite a troublesome task.
"I apologize. Coal suddenly exploded while we were preparing the barbecue in the yard."
"It wasn't a gunshot?"
"Haha. A gunshot? Such a terrible thing to say. You must have been startled because of us, so please, take this as a small token..."
Since the people invited to the party had a relationship with my father-in-law, I could roughly keep them quiet, but I had to deal with the neighbors of Palm Island and even the police who had been dispatched.
And.
"It seems Sonny entered the study on his own and took the pistol. I told him so many times not to go in there without permission. Phew. Lee, I'm truly grateful to you."
Only after hearing my father-in-law's answer, delivered through cigar smoke, did I realize that this whole situation had nothing to do with Sonny's early education.
"I thought it was the Boss's intention."
"No way! I'm going to make sure Sonny never even gets a glimpse of this business. I'm going to raise him to be someone who can live in this country more proudly than anyone else."
I knew well my father-in-law's desire to bring Sonny into the light. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it, and in the first place, Mrs. Capone—my mother-in-law—was a devout believer who would shudder at the mere mention of the word 'crime.'
It's not for nothing that Sonny attends an expensive, prestigious private school.
"But... I suppose he is a boy after all. Did he want a gun that badly?"
"Isn't it natural for a son to admire his father?"
Of course, unlike my father-in-law, I'm going to beat Jay's bottom until it's on fire the moment he touches a gun.
"I'd like to buy him one, but then an accident like today's would happen again."
"He did look a bit sullen."
"Lee, do you have any good ideas?"
"Well..."
If I said, "I could snap a branch off the Christmas tree to make a rod of love and swing it a few times..." would a bullet of love come flying at me?
If so, I should give him a gun but teach him how to use it safely, but is that easy...
"Boss."
"Yes?"
"Why don't you just give Sonny a gun?"
"And what if he causes an accident like today?"
"Not a gun that kills people, but a different kind of gun."
"...A different gun?"
I continued speaking to my father-in-law, who was looking at me with a puzzled expression.
"Wouldn't a competition rifle, like the ones used in shooting clubs, work?"
"Hmm."
"If it's there, he'll be shooting at targets, not people, and if he learns safety rules and shooting techniques from a coach, it'll be safer than carrying one around in the yard."
"A shooting club..."
It was a simple idea: since it's not strange for boys his age to play with guns, why not channel that into a good direction? But the idea seemed to sound pretty good, and as soon as I finished speaking, my father-in-law crossed his arms and fell into thought.
"...There is a decent shooting club in Palm Beach, but the problem is that those Old Money bastards are a bit of a pain..."
"Boss?"
"Then I'd have to find someone who can solve that..."
I waited, watching my father-in-law mutter to himself for a long time.
How much time had passed?
"Lee."
"Yes, Boss."
"I need you to go to Palm Beach and meet someone. That friend of mine is probably there since it's winter."
"Understood."
It seemed he had a connection who could get Sonny into the shooting club. And, as it happened, that person was someone I knew well.
"It's a man named Kennedy, someone I've sold bootleg liquor to before. He probably won't like it if I ask to see him directly, so you'll have to go."
"...You mean Kennedy?"
Rockefeller at the golf course, Kennedy at the beach. Just how far does the mystery of Florida go?
***
Of course, the Kennedy my father-in-law mentioned wasn't the famous President John F. Kennedy. To be precise, he meant Joseph P. Kennedy, the president's father. Of course, that doesn't mean the father was any less capable than the son.
I don't know if he shorted the market like I did or if he sold at the top before getting caught, but he was a successful investor and one of Hollywood's big hands, rumored to have made a fortune during this recent crash.
However.
"Come in."
The expression of Joseph P. Kennedy, the handsome middle-aged man I met at the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, wasn't very good. Although he was smiling and welcoming me, his eyes were sharp, as if asking, 'What is there to eat that you've come all the way here?'
"Did you say Mr. Lee? You're younger than I thought. I almost didn't recognize you."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kennedy. You are as handsome as the rumors say."
With those words, I flashed a bright smile at the red-haired handsome man who was scanning me as if grading a cut of beef.
That was when it happened.
CLATTER!
At the sound from behind the sofa, I turned my gaze.
There, a boy who looked to be about Sonny's age had fallen in front of the door. He must have been trying to eavesdrop.
"Jack, I told you not to come in."
"...I'm sorry, Father..."
Jack?
"I see that's your son."
"My second son. He's still young and lacks in many ways. Please forgive the rudeness."
The second son of the Kennedy family, and about Sonny's age...
"No, it's fine for him to come in."
The picture doesn't look too bad, does it?
"After all, it's a story that your son wouldn't mind hearing either."
Looking at John F. Kennedy, who had tears welling up in his eyes, I wore a deep smile.