When I returned to the Four Deuces, the air in the office had grown even heavier and damper than before.
Charles Ponzi was already in the middle of the office, kneeling like a sacrificial offering.
He looked utterly wretched.
It was hard to believe this was the same Charles Ponzi who once dominated Boston’s high society, flaunting himself in the finest suits and with diamond pins.
The suit that had been so neatly pressed now looked like a crumpled rag, and his shirt collar was stained with a yellowish blotch of unknown origin.
A few days’ worth of unshaved beard had grown scruffily, and in that short time, fear and despair had drained him so much that even patches of gray had appeared in his stubble.
And on his face were clear traces of violence.
His left eye was swollen and bluish, and his lips were split, dried blood caked over the wound.
Anyone could tell he’d been subjected to a rough “persuasion.”
“M-Mr. Leon.”
Ponzi spotted Lee Jun-hyuk and called out to him in a trembling voice.
His lips quivered uncontrollably.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Ponzi.”
Lee Jun-hyuk spoke in a voice as cold as ice.
“My money—what happened to the hundred thousand dollars?”
As soon as the words left his lips, Ponzi collapsed completely to the floor. The thud echoed through the office.
“I-I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! But I promise, I’ll pay you back! There’s money in my Swiss Bank account, I swear!”
He was almost sobbing as he begged.
Instead of answering, Lee Jun-hyuk looked at Al Capone, who was sitting behind the desk.
“Mr. Capone has already taken care of everything.”
At those words, Ponzi’s face turned even paler.
He was whiter than paper, not a hint of blood left in his complexion.
“T-then what about me…? What’s going to happen to me…”
“That’s up to Mr. Capone to decide.”
At Capone’s nod, Big Joe roughly grabbed Ponzi by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
“I have a good friend at the Chicago branch of the FBI. I’ll be handing him over. By tomorrow morning, I expect the headline ‘Infamous Conman Charles Ponzi Arrested in Chicago’ to be on the front page.”
“Ah, since Mr. Bancroft is in jail too, I hope you two enjoy reminiscing.”
Ponzi was dragged out like a piece of baggage, offering no resistance. The door closed, and thus ended the era of a colossal fraud in utter futility.
“Well then, shall we begin the real business discussion we couldn’t finish earlier?”
“Ah. Yes.”
“Trying to renegotiate the terms? Is six percent not enough?”
Capone, as if nothing had happened, pulled out a fresh bottle of Irish whiskey.
“The Chicago market is much more complicated than New York. There are five Italian organizations like ours, all split into territories and fighting tooth and nail.”
He spread out a map of Chicago.
The territories were marked out in different colors, like a map of Sengoku-era Japan.
“To be honest, it’s much easier for you to just leave everything to our Outfit rather than deal with each group separately.”
Capone lit a cigar as he spoke.
“If you try to make contracts, deliver goods, and get paid separately with every group, it’ll take twice the time and double the risks. If we broker everything in the middle, you only need to deal with us, and it all gets handled in one go, right?”
“That’s true.”
Lee Jun-hyuk considered for a moment.
Capone was exactly right.
It was the most efficient way to secure the market without getting tangled in Chicago’s complicated gang politics.
But then, why insist on this?
“Can we proceed with the terms we agreed on earlier, over the shoes?”
“Of course.”
Capone smiled in satisfaction.
“Exclusive distribution rights for Chicago and all of Illinois, and as we said, a six percent commission per case. Clean and simple, yes? We only handle distribution, and you focus on production.”
“I agree. Let’s do it that way.”
“Ah, just wanted to confirm.”
Honestly, this was the best option.
It allowed him to secure the Chicago market without being swept up in its convoluted gang politics.
“Good. Tomorrow I’ll give you a personal tour of our distribution network. If you visit our speak-easies, restaurants, and shops, you’ll see just how large-scale our operation is.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“And…”
Capone lowered his voice.
“Boss Johnny Torrio wants to meet you personally.”
A chill ran down Lee Jun-hyuk’s spine. Johnny Torrio. The true emperor of Chicago’s underworld.
“Me, sir?”
“That’s right. But don’t even think about refusing. When the Boss says he wants to meet someone himself, it carries a lot of weight.”
“I understand. I’ll be there.”
It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.
To do business in Chicago, Johnny Torrio’s approval was absolutely necessary. Of course, he was the fading sun while others were rising, but for now, Torrio’s word still ruled the era.
By the time they stepped outside, the sun was already tilting toward the west.
The sunset in Chicago was unusually red.
It was as if blood from the Stockyard had stained the sky.
“I’ll drive you to the hotel.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Capone took the wheel himself.
Outside the window, vast factory complexes stretched out.
The Union Stock Yard—Chicago’s slaughterhouse.
“They say thirty thousand cattle and fifty thousand pigs are slaughtered here every day. Chicago is what keeps America fed.”
“I see.”
Before he knew it, they arrived at the Palmer House Hotel.
“I’ll come to pick you up again tomorrow at ten sharp.”
“Thank you.”
“And, if you get bored tonight…”
Capone handed over a business card with only a phone number written on it.
“Call this number. Whether it’s booze, women, whatever you want, we’ll take care of it.”
When Lee Jun-hyuk returned to his hotel room, the phone was ringing.
It was Catherine.
“Jun-hyuk? Are you safe?”
Her voice carried relief.
“Of course. Everything will be finished and I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“That’s such a relief. I’ve heard Chicago is a very dangerous place…”
“Don’t worry. Just a very successful business meeting, that’s all.”
There was a brief silence.
He could hear Catherine’s gentle breathing on the other end.
“I miss you.”
The words were small, but they struck his heart more powerfully than anything else.
“I miss you too.”
“When you come back… I’ll finally tell you that story.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
He hung up and looked out the window.
Chicago’s night was deepening, and somewhere, more gunshots rang out.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
And in the distance, a siren wailed.
Chicago was truly a different city from New York.
Tomorrow, he would meet Johnny Torrio.
“But I must not get too deeply involved with that man. I need to keep a proper distance, maintain only a business relationship. That’s the only law for surviving in this city.”
June 12th, Saturday morning
At exactly ten, Capone appeared in the hotel lobby.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Thanks to you.”
“Today, I’ll give you a proper tour of Chicago.”
Two black Cadillacs were waiting for them.
“First, I’ll show you the heart of the South Side.”
The car set off.
Capone pointed out various places, most of which were tied to his organization.
“That restaurant is ours, that hotel is ours, that pool hall too… You could say our Outfit controls half the South Side. La Choy products could go into every one of these places. You’ll sell at least five thousand cans a month here without breaking a sweat.”
“That’s more than enough.”
The car stopped in front of an upscale building. The sign read “Chicago Athletic Club.”
“We’ll have lunch here, then go to meet the Boss.”
The club’s restaurant was on the third floor.
Through the window, downtown Chicago spread out below.
“Mr. Lee, there are a few things to keep in mind when you meet Boss Johnny Torrio.”
Capone lowered his voice.
“Never lie to the Boss. He hates lies more than anything. And don’t promise too much. He hates broken promises just as much.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Why does the Boss want to meet me?”
Lee Jun-hyuk asked.
“Curiosity. An Asian starting a business in New York, wrangling with heavyweights like Escobar in Cuba—he’s dying to know who you really are. And the Ponzi affair was impressive too. The way you tied up Bancroft and destroyed him, the Boss called it a stroke of genius.”
“I was just lucky.”
“Humble, I see. But don’t act too humble in front of the Boss. It’ll make you look weak.”
After lunch, they got back in the car, this time heading north to a wealthy residential neighborhood.
“The Boss lives there.”
Capone pointed out a house.
It was a three-story fortress, iron gates firmly shut.
When the car stopped, the guard came over.
After confirming Capone’s identity, he opened the gate.
Passing through the garden, they arrived at the entrance, where a white-haired Italian butler greeted them.
“The Boss is waiting for you in the study.”
After a long corridor, they reached the heavy study door.
Capone knocked politely.
“Boss, it’s Al. I’ve brought Mr. Lee.”
“Come in.”
A low but resonant voice came from within.
The door opened.
The study was spacious.
Bookshelves lined the walls up to the ceiling, filled with thousands of books. By the window stood a massive desk, and behind it sat a man.
Johnny Torrio.
He was smaller and thinner than Lee Jun-hyuk had imagined, but his gaze was as sharp as a hawk’s. One look, and it felt like he could pierce your heart.
“Mr. Lee, nice to meet you.”
Torrio stood up and extended his hand.
His hand was small and cold.
It felt strangely like touching a snake’s skin.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Torrio.”
“Please, sit.”
Torrio gestured.
Capone sat beside him, his usual arrogance nowhere to be seen, his face tense.
“I’ve heard you pulled off something big in Cuba.”
Torrio lit a Cuban cigar as he spoke.
“It was just luck.”
“Luck? You took down Escobar, turned Judge Mendoza, and made an alliance with the Chinese Community—all luck?”
Lee Jun-hyuk felt a chill down his spine at Torrio’s depth of information.
“And the Ponzi affair was impressive. Thanks for dealing with trash like Bancroft—he looked down on us Italians like we were bugs.”
“I only did what was necessary.”
“‘Necessary’… That’s a good word.”
Torrio pulled out a report on La Choy Foods from his desk drawer.
“If you want to succeed in Chicago, you need to maintain a good relationship with us.”
Torrio stared straight at Lee Jun-hyuk.
Avoiding that gaze would mean losing everything.
“Of course. I’ve already signed an exclusive distribution contract with Mr. Capone.”
“I heard. Six percent for exclusive rights.”
He really was being kept up to date.
“It’s a fair deal. I’m glad Al didn’t get greedy.”
Capone bowed his head slightly.
“But there’s one more thing I ask.”
“What is it?”
“From time to time, we hold parties and events for our organization. Provide La Choy products for free on those occasions.”
A sort of tribute.
“Once a month, about a hundred cans will do.”
A hundred cans a month—a loss of about fifteen dollars.
A very cheap price to guarantee safety in Chicago.
“I’ll do that.”
“Wise.”
Torrio looked pleased.
“Mr. Lee, Chicago is a land of opportunity, but also a dangerous place. Soon, there’ll be a big war between us and the Irish.”
“So…”
“When that happens, you must remain strictly neutral. Don’t sell weapons to either side, don’t take sides with anyone.”
“That’s my plan.”
“Good. Then you’ll be able to survive in this city for a long time.”
Torrio sat back down.
“One last thing. If anyone discriminates against or threatens you just because you’re Asian, tell Al right away. We’ll protect your family.”
An unexpected offer—a promise of protection.
“Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. We protect our business partners. That’s the law of Chicago.”