The Beginning of an Empire

The year is 1929 - the middle of the most corrupt era in the history of the 50 States of America. The Great Depression they called it; 10 years on from the previous war and another 10 to the next. Organised crime was still in its infancy. Almost like a 12-year-old slowly going on 13.  

But you know what wasn’t young? The light that never dimmed. The eternal star that glistened in the depth of the Universe. Baseball. The aphrodisiac of the decade, calling all men and women from across the broad land together to witness some of the most exquisite flair. And here we find him, soon to be a great of his time, to represent America as its foremost talent. Here he is, sitting solemnly alone on a dilapidated Los Angeles trolley bus. Ironic huh? And if it weren’t for the mysterious elderly agile man in a black suit, slowly limping his way toward the conductor, he would have gone on to have the usual unprosperous life.

“Ciao amico, my name is Alessandro Carlo, but please, call me Carlos,” the man offers his hand toward the confused young baller. The baller politely shakes his hand getting a closer look at the strange individual. In his other hand the man is holding a brass walking stick accentuating the dark colour of his suit. The scent of brewed rum suddenly fills the air.

“And you’re that Sam kid I’ve heard so much about?” Carlos takes a seat across from the baller. The bus slowly begins to rattle off toward its next stop.

“Yes. Do I know you?” the baller leans back in his seat still quite confused yet fascinated by this sudden interaction. Carlos reveals a posh luxury brass lighter with a skull engraved on the side along with two white neatly rolled joints from his back pocket.

“Ah I shall call you Sammy. See we are already becoming friends you and me. I understand you must be quite confused but all in time eh? You smoke amico?” Carlos offers his joint toward Sam.

“I’ll pass,” Sam mutters disdainfully as he glances enviably around the bus at the other quiet passengers. After lighting his, Carlos puts away his lighter and the other joint as he follows Sam’s eyes around the bus.

“Heh heh, your call my friend. But I should let you know…” Carlos leans in closer ensuring that the other passengers do not hear him speak. The stench of his joint fills Sam’s nostrils and throat as he desperately holds back a cough.

“This right here is one of Chicago’s home grown. Marijuana. You know what I’m saying all-star,” Carlos nudges Sam in the ribs as he giggles to himself once more. Taking another hit from his joint he looks around as more passengers enter the bus filling the remaining seats.

“So, I’ve heard you’ve been moving around packs over the last month, Diego, even Vegas. Making some cash eh? I tell ya now this is ‘the’ business,” Carlos adjusts his suit and rubs his hands together preparing for what to say next.

“Listen amico, what you’re dealing with. It can’t go on. Not with your talent, I hear you can run. Fast,” Carlos starts to look serious; eyes fixed on Sam and leaning in.

“I used to be just like you amico, when I was young in the dealings. However, that was my downfall. Ever since I took a ball to the knee, couldn’t run. I was always caught. What I’m saying is that if you can run fast then all you need to do is make the hit,” Carlos mutters the last word falling into a deep cough as he wipes his mouth with a clean pale handkerchief. Intrigued by the ongoing conversation Sam takes a second to take it all in. Where was this going? Sam decides to cut straight to the chase.

“Carlos, right? What is it you need of me?” Sam declares as his expression turns serious also. Carlos bursts out laughing before collapsing into a profound choking cough.

“How can you help me? Hah, quite the opposite amico. You see, with your age and talent the possibilities are endless, and I’m here to ensure you pick the appropriate one. A small-time fish like yourself knows never to play with the sharks, but you see now amico that’s where I come in,” Carlos peers out the window as he goes on.

“I am the former agent for the new found ‘Aifam’ team. We are currently in search of young players like yourself, and the pay is large, top dollar,” Carlos shuffles to the end of his seat, talking louder and louder. It was clear he wanted something of Sam, but time was ticking. His destination approached.

“My boys are playing their first game tonight, and we need another man, a runner. Look I don’t wanna scare ya kid with such short notice but if you’re eager to get involved we can pay handsome. That’s right kid, I’m offering you a job, permanent. That way you can get comfortable with the family,” Carlos slaps Sam over the shoulder as he gets up from his seat and grabs the rusty rail above his head. The rickety bus eventually comes to its stop.

“Downtown LA,” the conductor announces over the grainy intercom.

“Your life will change Sammy. Now, or never,” the last word echoes through Sam’s head as Carlos slowly limps his way off the bus stumbling toward a sleek black 1920’s Ford barely visible down an alleyway across from the stop. As the bus starts to move off, Sam dashes out through the closing door jumping onto the street. Carlos smiles at him as four neatly dressed men ascend from the Ford all reaching for something in their jackets. Carlos approaches Sam from out of the alleyway. A long dark alleyway that leads to their imminent fate: The National Californian Bank of Los Angeles. The men are holding small Smith and Wesson handguns, including Carlos. He stretches his out to give to Sam.

“Welcome, Sam Giancana.”

I beg your pardon sir but the past year of 1929 there was only 48 states

True i never considered that