Prelude

In the dimly lit back room of a dilapidated home, somewhere in Queens where even the rats would not dwell or stray, a young man with nothing but a pocket full of dreams shivered in the corner. The story of our hero begins. In the beating heart of America, where burgeoning Empire of Sin grew, fueled by insatiable demand for money, liquor and drugs. This is not a story life story, this is a story of life, where everyone is trying to carve out a slice of the American Dream, trough cunning and unrelenting determination. The nationwide ban on the production, import, transport and sales of alcoholic beverages was a nightmare for some and a unprecedented opportunity for others, for those who are willing to bend the law a bit for their own gain. The very same laws that were made to curb the issues related to alcohol, gave birth to nothing else but a black market, where money was flowing in greater amount that the green dollar that paid for it. Our hero, our anti-hero, or simply a person trying to survive saw this as a chance to escape all the hardships of life and make a name for themselves, or at least to get rich and have a comfortable life.

To enter the world, that on it's own is an easy task, but no one wants just to be involved or just exist in that world, everyone always wants more, for themselves, for their families. Every step taken was was taken to improve the situation. Every connection and business opportunity is a chance for a small town New York hustler to increase the wealth, to have things that were never there to begin with. To have a comfortable life, warm bed and a meal, while millions are suffering. Nothing personal, just business. Small time hustles are where we all start and this is where I started as well, running the numbers, loan sharking, doing some task for the family was the way to grow, a stepping stone into the industry and into the comfortable life.

But, everything comes with a price, as the involvement deepened, so did the moral compromises, what our hero was now, is just a small street hustler or a small smuggler, just petty crimes that no one cared about, as long as they got paid, even small amount, it would be used to expand the crime family.  Violence was still not part of the lifestyle, except slapping some clerks or threating the old guy for some extra cash, shop owner. Lines between right and wrong would blurry our quickly and survival instincts would take over and this was used to rationalize everything. "I am only doing what I have to survive" was the mantra, that way, everything was justified. Burying the guild deep within was something that became second nature. Saying that it was all necessary to maintain order and respect worked just fine. 

Despite the brutality, dedication to a better life remained the focal point, the guiding star. While the criminal career did start to take off, personal life deteriorated, it was harder to have friends, even to support your parents, brothers and sisters became hard, a moral toll, as not everyone would approve of such thing. Mother used to pray for my soul, as she feared the end, until the also stopped praying for me, there was no redemption anymore. Relationship were fleeting, filled with mistrust, danger, secrecy... The wealth was growing, so did the power, but we found ourselves more and more alone. We could not look into the mirror again...

Neutron just mumbled something out into his chest "I did all of this to escape the monsters, but I became one in the process. I gained much, but I have lost myself" as he looked into the mirror, staring at the shattered reflection, face hardened, scarred, unrecognizable from a hopeful young man who dreamed of a better life...

Too Be Continued...

The First Job

You always remember your first everything, yes, what was meant is "The First Job", first time you do a run with your pals and make some proper green, enough to take the lads out for a luxurious dinner and some proper drinking. The first job happens like any other money making scheme, in the city that never sleeps, the city that always finds a way to have booze flowing. The time of The Prohibition was the time when jazz and excitement was flowing down the streets, just as booze was flowing underneath it. A man with a dream starts his own smuggling runs.

The initial operations were small, a preparation for the job that would come. While crawling around the NYC and learning the streets, our beloved (or not so much) hero learned the ins and the outs of the city, layout, movements, he knew all the places that needed extra drinks here and there, few police officers that were willing to turn head, some famous people here and there looking for another drop of that sweet alcohol. Like any first job, it starts in a cramped and moldy backroom, where no one would even enter, unless they had to. Rough front and even rougher back is where deals were made. The first job ever would come from the homeland, Italy, where booze was smuggled for our hero in few very small crates of olive oil, somewhere in between, there would be a bottle or two, sometimes more, sometimes less, damn it, sometimes none.

Original Italian wine was quality, the margin was good, heck they were enough to afford stuff and pay people off. And that came only from few crates. Some money given to the fishermen to help them smuggle it in along the coastline, crates brought in the middle of the night. Business has just started but it seems that it is going to boom rather quickly. 

From there, the crates were moved to an old truck that our hero had to borrow, that old thing was so banged up and loud that everyone there was lucky that the Police did not hear it from a mile away, that thing was just roaring. Discreetly, as much as they could the crates were loaded up on the truck and quickly they were moved to the edges of the district, where there was another task, to move all this stuff via underground network, which was just the polite name for sewers. From there, into the cellars beneath the crappy old house or whatever that pile was. Operation was swift and efficient, testament to meticulous planning and execution, all those harsh lessons learned on the street.

As dawn broke over the city, in a dimly lit cellar, surrounded by crates of olive oil and the liquid fortune inside, there was a sense of better days coming. In silence, our hero looked over the crates and the plunder, proud, to an extent, but also realizing that his moral compass was long gone.

The city above them buzzed with life, oblivious to the secrets hidden below. In the shadows of Prohibition our hero just managed to smuggle in his first batch, is there more to come? Who will be the buyer? Will others intervene as no one wants a new player in the smuggling market???

To Be Continued...

Understanding The Power

Understanding where the true power lies is crucial to every person. Knowing who you can bribe, knowing who you can rob, and knowing what you are allowed to do is a very important skill that people around the world should have, especially if you are doing something illegal like our beloved hero. Some toes are not to be stepped on, some rules are not meant to be broken, some people have to be paid off, and sooner or later, when you are in this world, you will learn that lesson and pray that you learn it as quickly as possible. For our hero lesson, which came quickly after the first successful job, what was not understood from the start was that smuggling alcohol into New York was only possible because people above would allow it and because they wanted their share, and this was not an issue; everybody knew very well that those above had to be paid. But when you are young and inexperienced, and when you are a hot head, it is really easy to make mistakes. You see, while smuggling alcohol into New York City, one thing was forgotten: to bribe none other than our beloved boys in the Blue New York Police Department. Why would I pay those pigs? That is something that often goes through the mind of a person. You're always trying to keep all the money that you earned because you earned it; it was your planning and hard work, not them. Unfortunately, a very harsh lesson was to be inflicted upon our beloved hero. A few days after the successful operation and some money spent on luxury goods and lifestyle, there was a knock on the door, and it was none other than the police. With a few swift knocks and a warrant, they entered the old, dusty place that was almost falling apart, and while retaining our little smuggler and his conspirators, they went straight for the basement, where the majority of the alcohol was still being kept, obviously the one that was not yet sold, and there were orders coming from various restaurants and from some other very powerful people; businessmen, politicians, constables... The police knew the situation and what does it entail, which means that he was in a really bad position considering that heads would roll if some very powerful men and women were not satisfied with the delivery date. The police officer simply looked around and smashed a few barrels, letting the alcohol spill all over the floor. Returning and looking straight into the eyes of our smuggler, he even politely explained that there are some other big boys in the city that have to be paid, and the message was very clear: they wanted their money, their share, a donation to the force. After elaborating on the situation and some occasional threat in between, the police left the place shattered and smashed, and even worse, with a big debt that was to be paid to the police department and then to the rest of the mafia underworld. Now not only that the harsh lesson was thought, but they also had to go back straight to work; people were expecting orders; people hate delays; and money had to be made to pay off the boys in blue. You could say it was luck or even fate that kept this young man from dying, because only by some sheer amount of stupid luck would you not be killed at a spot, either by the police or disgruntled mafia members. It is a harsh lesson, a painful one, and a very dangerous lesson. But one thing was already obvious: the debt had to be paid, either in cash or in blood.

To Be Continued

Money Makes World Go Round

Our young hero was a person who would learn quickly whenever facing obstacles. He was already rising through the ranks in the underworld of New York. He started making a name for himself in alcohol smuggling operations in the city, a very daring enterprise considering police were already involved, but today was a different type of challenge. It was not something related to crime or something that he knew; this time he had to overcome a different challenge by visiting the police station to settle his account with the law.

Considering that he was about to be seen in public by government officials, can you figure out that it would be very smart to dress sharply, and behind his cold case, what's the start of a reminder of the authority he was about to meet? The inside of the gray building, a police station, was swarming with activity. Officers and detective detectives were moving all over the place, and the smell of tobacco and coffee filled the whole building. Some of the offices recognized our hero from the streets. A slight nod from those who knew him, while others would turn their gaze. It was a grim reminder that some of those officers or detectives could put you in prison for life while others were willing to cooperate and make some cash on the side as long as you kept your mouth shut and paid for it. Just give them their share, and they won't bother you. That was pretty much the mantra.

One of the sergeants came his way, immediately recognizing him. It was the same officer that arrested our hero and his crew that very night, when they did everything right but forgot to pay the lawman. Seargent nodded towards one of the rooms, which was very obvious to follow. Where was business about to be conducted? After a few seconds of silence, the sargent turned around and went towards the room at the far end. Our hero followed. Both of them enter the gloomy room with no windows, just one single entry-point iron door that they just went through. There was no one around, and it was imagined just like that: no one can get in, no one can get out—a perfect spot for conducting business. You could do "transactions" under the table and no one would be able to see it; heck, no one would even bat an eye. The room was used for just that purpose: bribery.

Both of them knew from the very start what was about to happen. After a minute or so in the room that seemed like an eternity, Sargent spoke first, explaining how this transaction will happen and how it will be handled in the future. Explaining in very simple terms that the next time there is some kind of illegal business being conducted, such as a smuggling operation, there will be much higher consequences from the start if the rules of business are not respected. Our hero nodded, understanding very well what and how. He slowly reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out a small envelope, placed it on his lap, and slowly lowered it into the sergeant's hands. The police officer did not even look down, nor did he count the money, because he knew very well that if he was treated out of his share, he would be able to arrest and demolish the whole building on the spot without giving an explanation to the commanding officer or to the judge. Both nodded, approving of the transaction, after which our hero just stood up and hastily left the building; he was not going to hang out in that gray, gloomy building.

Drinking much?

Some time passed for our hero, where he was is not know, the business did not stall nor did it get reduced, the sweet mead was flowing and it was still illegal. The city did change in the months of his absence, but the heartbeat of it all remained the same, opportunity and danger with every beat. His old customers were still around, the demand did not wane, on the contrary, it only grew. What is more addictive to a human than the forbidden nectar?

While coming back from the shadows, our hero started reconnecting with his old and loyal customers, owners of bars and underground clubs, managers, small time hustlers. Meeting after meeting the business ties only strengthened. meeting in the secluded alleys, far away from people and the prying eyes of the Police.

First order of business was to secure new sources of alcohol supply, considering that one of the first loads almost got taken for real. The absence was not that long, but the landscape already shifted, smuggling routes shifted and there was need to adapt. Where could one go, besides up north, trough the great forests and lakes, into even colder place, some would call that place, Canada. Distilleries everywhere, especially close to the borders, producing finest whiskey and run that money can but and considering the big amount that was going over the border, price was just as good, fresh deals. The reason why the price was so cheap, to purchase, is because up there in Canada, they could produce gallons, unbothered and only place to sell was down south and it was anyways on the buyer to figure out a way to smuggle it over the border. Heavily paroled, penalties severe, borders – guarded. Yet, it was lucrative enough that many would risk their lives and their freedom to get some of that sweet, green Benjamins.

With his supply chain reestablished, our hero had another idea, he turned his attention to production. It was much harder to set up the same deal in US, but with constant flow from the north, money was good, just good enough to try and set up your own shop, from basement distilleries to abandoned warehouses, secluded farmhouses at the edge of the city and the know world. People were paid well, to ensure silence and secrecy. These operations were meticulously planned, each location chosen for its discretion and ability to produce undisturbed.

As the first shipments of alcohol began to flow into the city. Efforts to expand have intensified, he approached new venues, upscale hotels, and exclusive clubs that had emerged during his absence. These businesses that catered to the needs of the wealthy and influential, and securing their business was crucial. Generous terms, guaranteeing a steady supply of premium liquor that would keep their elite clientele satisfied.