The Architect of the Syndicate
The invitation from Don Maranzano, the self-proclaimed victor of the Castellammarese War, arrived at the Lexington Hotel the week after the news of Don Masseria’s assassination broke.
“Maranzano, that bastard. What kind of nonsense is he spewing?”
“Boss?”
“Lee, you take a look at this too.”
With those words, my father-in-law handed me the letter, which he had crumpled into a pathetic ball in his grip.
The contents of the letter were roughly as follows:
"Dear brother, following the recent unfortunate events, an unprecedented meeting is scheduled to re-establish the order between us. The location is..."
After skimming the contents, I understood why my father-in-law was so enraged.
“It seems Don Maranzano intends to become the sole boss of all bosses.”
Re-establishing order.
In other words, it was an arrogant declaration that he would stand above every gang, whether in the Midwest or the East.
It was so blatant that it would be hard not to notice.
“That prick thinks he can climb over my head? Let’s see if he can do that in front of a Tommy gun!”
It was only natural for my father-in-law, who couldn't stand the thought of anyone being above him, to be furious.
“I don’t think there’s any need for you to go, Boss.”
Of course, for me, who already knew the fate awaiting Maranzano, the letter was meaningless.
“Don Maranzano won’t last long anyway. Even if you don’t lift a finger, the boys in New York will take care of it.”
I had already finished those discussions with Luciano in Atlantic City and New York.
Just as it happened in history, Don Maranzano would soon disappear into the annals of time along with his throne.
The real work would begin afterward, through the establishment of the Commission and the Syndicate.
“True, Luciano did say something like that in Atlantic City. Then I’ll just tell Maranzano I’m too busy. If he’s in his right mind, he won’t come all the way to Chicago.”
Watching my father-in-law nod as he recalled last year’s meeting, I continued.
“In that case, I’ll proceed with the matter I mentioned earlier.”
“Hmm, do you think they’ll actually accept it? I don’t think they’ll be particularly fond of the idea.”
It wouldn’t be an easy task.
Unlike New York, the Chicago Outfit, which wasn’t purely Sicilian, was bound to have an invisible penalty.
But.
“I’ll make them accept it.”
Making the impossible possible—isn’t that what I’m here for?
A few days later, I met with Nitti, who was struggling in distant New York, and then boarded a train returning to Chicago via Washington D.C.
Of course, I hadn’t spent nearly 20 hours stuck on a train just to meet one golden boy.
“Long time no see, Consigliere.”
“It’s been a while for me too, Mr. Lansky. Let’s have a drink first.”
I ushered Meyer Lansky, who somehow looked a bit more hollow-headed than usual, into the seat across from me and handed him a glass of whiskey.
Thanks to renting out an entire first-class carriage, the only people inside were my men and Mr. Lansky’s.
It cost a fair bit of money, but it was the right place to avoid the eyes of Maranzano, who was currently busy bluffing about being the boss of all bosses.
“I’ll drink when we arrive. I think I need to keep a clear head for now.”
“A pity. It’s a fine spirit.”
Well, more for me then.
I took a sip of the whiskey I’d already poured and continued.
“How is New York?”
“The war ended with Don Maranzano’s victory, so we’re in the cleanup phase. At this rate, Don Maranzano will ascend to the position of boss of all gangs. The peace we’ve all been longing for has finally arrived.”
“Is that so? It looks a bit different from the peace we discussed.”
“It will be realized soon enough. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Then, let’s talk about what comes after.”
Even if things had changed from the original history, Luciano’s power was too great for Maranzano to truly hold New York.
The methods might differ, but the future where Luciano wrests control of New York from Maranzano wouldn’t change.
So, what I wanted to talk about now was the aftermath.
The composition of the Commission that would run the Syndicate.
“How many seats are there?”
“I’m thinking one for each of the five New York families, and one each for Buffalo and Chicago.”
“New York seems to be taking too much.”
“In exchange, all motions will only pass with a unanimous vote. It’s a method to prevent any further wars, after all.”
“To prevent war, huh…”
Is it time to step in?
“If that’s the case, you’ll need a way to mediate when a fight breaks out.”
“Mediation will be handled by Mr. Torrio, who will take the chair. Mr. Torrio is more than capable of fulfilling that role.”
Well, I suppose so.
In terms of experience and age, he was the senior-most figure among all the gangs; there was no one better suited for the role of mediator.
But.
“Is that all?”
Ending it there wouldn’t satisfy me.
“…It seems you have something else in mind.”
“If the goal is to prevent war between us, we need enforcement. If a situation arises where a mediation is overturned, it will just lead to another war, won’t it?”
“Enforcement.”
“I believe we need an organization that doesn’t belong to any one family, but follows only the decisions of the Commission. An organization that forces the Commission’s mediation to be accepted.”
This was modeled after Murder Inc., the assassination squad the Commission actually created in history.
Though the purpose was quite different, of course.
“You’re quite radical.”
“I just don’t trust people.”
It’s hard enough to trust ordinary people; how could trust possibly exist among a group of criminals like gangs?
And what fills that void of trust is the fear that you could be wiped out by the other side at any moment.
Well, the real point was something else, though.
“And the Chicago Outfit will handle the basic operations, including providing the funds for that organization.”
“…Are you saying you want to put Mr. Capone in Maranzano’s seat?”
As I brought up the main point, Lansky’s expression stiffened.
He looked like he might pull a pistol at any second.
“Of course not. Though the Boss doesn’t like having anyone above his head.”
“Then, what is your intention…”
“Do you remember the promise made in Atlantic City?”
Half of America.
That was the price the Chicago Outfit was to receive in exchange for supporting Luciano.
The balding man wasn’t stupid, so he must remember, right?
“What Chicago wants is just a safety device to maintain that promise. It’s like an insurance policy to protect ourselves from the five families of New York.”
“But it’s too much. For that much, a single seat on the Commission would be…”
“As I said before, I will leave the command entirely to the Commission. It would be best to pick members from the Commission’s families as well. Chicago will merely handle the trivial matters like accounting and logistics.”
But those trivial matters are the driving force that keeps an organization alive and breathing.
The Commission’s will might move the organization, but the Chicago Outfit would decide its life and death.
Lansky, who handled the organization’s money, would know this fact well.
“…….”
“If this proposal isn’t accepted, further support will be difficult.”
The reason Luciano, who had been kidnapped and left in critical condition, was able to reorganize his forces much faster than in history was largely due to the people and funds provided by our organization, including Nitti.
If we pulled out now, it would be the same as breaking your pickaxe just as you reached the diamond mine.
“…I’ll talk to Charlie about it. I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though.”
“I’ll keep my hopes up.”
It’s too late to turn back now.
1930 was already moving past spring toward summer. Luciano, with the final step toward the Commission and the Syndicate before him, ultimately couldn’t refuse my proposal.
The specifics would need to be ironed out later, but I could consider the biggest goal achieved.
If he tried to wipe his mouth clean after eliminating Maranzano, I’d just have to use a different method then.
“Anyway… the pharmaceutical plant will be finished soon.”
I’d still need to hire and train people, so it would take a few more months to actually run the equipment and produce sulfadiazine, but having the factory completed meant the biggest problem was solved.
Even with the FDIA around, it wasn’t an era that demanded the rigorous clinical trial results of my past life, so selling it once it was produced wouldn’t be too difficult.
It would be enough to serve as a cash cow until we could produce penicillin.
Then, I should slowly start looking into penicillin purification…
Ring-ring!
That was when the phone on my desk rang.
“What is it?”
As I picked up the receiver, I heard my secretary’s voice.
"Sir, there’s a call from someone named Jason. Shall I put him through?"
Jason.
There was only one person who would call me by that name.
“Put him through.”
“Understood.”
A moment after the secretary’s reply.
"Little brother, it’s been a while."
Familiar Korean flowed through the receiver’s speaker.
Lee Min-seok.
This brother, whom I’d sent to establish a base in San Francisco, was calling for the first time in a while.
“It’s been a while, Brother. How is it over there?”
“The weather is great, though I think the sun will be stinging soon.”
Normally, I would have avoided talking on the phone due to wiretapping, but talking with this brother was an exception.
After all, what operator in this American land would understand Korean?
This would be more effective than any cipher.
“How’s the business?”
“Business is moving along step by step. I’ve benefited a lot from the people you sent. I think I might be able to join hands with one of the Tongs in Chinatown soon.”
“Really?”
A Tong is a term for Chinese gangs operating primarily in Chinatown.
Originally, they were secret societies formed to protect Chinese people facing discrimination in America, but secret societies eventually need black money, and as they tried to earn and protect that money, they transformed into gangs.
Being able to secure the cooperation of one of them meant that we could plant our roots deeper into California, including San Francisco.
I thought he was half-bluffing, but to think he’d actually made a connection with a Tong.
But.
"But, I think I’m going to need your help, little brother."
“Help, you say?”
I tilted my head at my brother’s following words.
Soon, I understood the reason.
"The boss of the Tong here says he wants to meet the real power, not me, his representative. He says he can’t work together on anything until then..."
“Then, Brother, tell him this.”
San Francisco, huh.
“Tell him I’ll go myself.”
"...Are you sure?"
“I was thinking it was about time I paid a visit anyway.”
Why not take this opportunity to see the West?