The blond man was curious. Lately, both of them had been equally troubled, but today, the dark-haired man seed as if he had stumbled upon a fortune. He took another sip of his drink, aware that the police were so overwheld now that they no longer bothered with people drinking in public.
"What good news? Did Hoover resign?"
The dark-haired man shook his head, grinning with a look of disdain. "Who cares who's in the White House? I'm saying we've found a job."
"A job? What kind?" The blond man's interest was piqued. All he wanted now was to earn money to support his family.
"Co on, let's toast. I'll tell you after another drink." The dark-haired man teased him, mischievously extending his hand for a toast.
The blond man sighed and shook his head, clinking their bottles together once more.
"Ahhh..." The dark-haired man sighed contentedly. "It was 1 AM last night when the Midnight Express finally arrived. Luckily, my wife was asleep, or she would've killed if she found out I bought more booze."
"Get to the point. If we go ho today without good news and reeking of alcohol, we might as well pick our graves next to each other."
The blond man rolled his eyes. His friend was right—they were in dire straits, and buying alcohol now was a waste of money.
"Well, I don't want my tombstone to read, 'Tom Barnes, died because he bought two bottles of booze.' That'd make the last drunk ever."
The dark-haired man joked, even though they were hiding in the corner of a dock warehouse surrounded by discarded stock certificates being blown away by the wind.
"Talk about the job. Whether it says 'died from drinking' or 'died from wife poisoning,' it doesn't make much difference."
The blond man shook his head; the joke wasn't funny. Nobody was smiling on the streets these days.
"Oh, right, back to business. So, after picking up the booze and paying for it, the delivery guy didn't leave right away. He asked , 'Do you like Skywalker's liquor?' I said, 'Yeah, it's all I've been drinking these past few years.' Then he asked, 'Want to work for our boss?'"
The blond man frowned and interrupted his friend, "Wait, is he asking if you want to work for the mob?"
"What mob? How could a distillery be a mob?" Tom, the dark-haired man, shook his head, his mouth twisted in disdain as he looked at the blond man. "They don't steal or rob; they do honest business. If you ask , this Prohibition won't last much longer. When it's over, the distillery will be a legit business again."
The blond man thought about it and realized his friend was right. They had lived in New York all their lives and had seen plenty of mobs. But apart from violating Prohibition, the distillery hadn't been involved in anything else.
Prohibition was enshrined in the Constitution, alongside cris like treason, dictatorship, and cris against humanity. Having alcohol sales listed among these offenses felt like dark humor.
Hunger gnawed at him, leaving little room for moral debates. He had eaten only a thin slice of bread all day, and his friend was likely in the sa boat.
So, even if it ant working for the distillery's gray-area business, as long as he didn't have to do anything against his conscience, it would be fine.
"Okay, go on. What's the job? Delivery? That's a night shift job, and those guys are pretty elusive. Are you sure it's okay?"
Tom recalled, "No, it's for a group recruitnt drive. He even gave an address. They're hiring for all sorts of jobs. As long as you've got hands and feet and you're willing to work hard, you can find sothing. The pay's not great, but it'll keep a family fed in tis like these."
"Where's the address? Let see."
The blond man held out his hand, believing this wasn't a joke. If it was real, there was no ti for drinking—they should head over imdiately.
Tom pulled out a card, just an ordinary business card. "What's the rush? I've already checked the ti. Look, the hiring doesn't start until tonight."
"What?"
The blond man looked at the card. Sure enough, the interview location was in one of the large warehouses near the docks, a place he was familiar with from his ti as a dock supervisor. But the interview started at midnight—wasn't that a bit too strange?
Real mobs had initiation dinners in family restaurants, where they introduced new recruits to the family mbers.
But midnight? Isn't that a bit late for dinner?
The blond man was already so hungry that food was all he could think about.
"It's only 7 PM, and the sun hasn't even set. We're probably going to be the first ones in line."
Tom smiled confidently, tucked the card into the blond man's chest pocket, adjusted his coat, and patted him reassuringly.
"Alright, then let's stick together and work hard for a better life." The blond man threw his arm around Tom's shoulders, happily ruffling his friend's hair.
"Of course. Now you can enjoy your drink, right?" Tom teased, but nodded without hesitation.
In fact, the midnight interviews weren't just Su Ming's odd preference; it was because Midnight Express employees had always worked night shifts. Su Ming couldn't possibly organize a large-scale recruitnt event with just him and Gin, so additional help was needed.
The most reliable workers he had were those at the distillery and Midnight Express. If they held interviews during the day, it would an these workers would have to work over 20 hours straight.
So, it made more sense to hold the recruitnt at night, letting the current employees organize it. Afterward, they could still deliver goods before dawn. Su Ming wasn't a complete tyrant.
As for what the new recruits would do, those with relevant skills, like welders, machinists, and blacksmiths, would be sent to the tank, airplane, and shipbuilding divisions.
Those without those skills but with factory experience would go to the arms company to ramp up production. Even though the guns hadn't been finalized yet, they could start preparing ammunition.
For those who couldn't read or write and barely knew how to spell their nas but had brute strength, they'd help with unloading cargo at the shipping company or work on the farms and ranches.
If they had nothing at all, Su Ming wouldn't turn them away. He'd give them a small stipend each month and send them to sit on street corners, serving as the company's eyes and ears. After all, there were always people plotting against him, and more information was always better.
Of course, different positions had different benefits, depending on the person's abilities.
As usual, Su Ming left the nightti recruitnt to Gin. Su Ming himself dressed in a high-end tailored coat, quietly observing from the luxury car parked by the road.
As the midnight bells of the famous Riverside Church rang out, people began trickling through Grant's Tomb Park. This was the largest recruitnt in New York's history, taking place in the cold, dark night. People moved in groups, their faces filled with hope as they headed toward the forr New York harbor. It was the best news they had heard since the stock market crash.
It's not that no one thought of preying on these night walkers—after all, street lighting was scarce in those days—but once they learned these people were heading to the distillery's recruitnt, they quickly abandoned any such ideas.
If it were just an ordinary person, they might risk a robbery. But causing trouble for the distillery ant they'd be found at the bottom of the river, tied to a concrete block, before morning.
Whether it was the bottom of the Hudson River or the ocean outside the harbor depended on how well they confessed.
Gin had beco more ruthless over the years, having gone from inexperienced to heartless in managing the business. Su Ming had given him plenty of guidance—ensuring he kept his n from harassing civilians, while using whatever ans necessary to deal with other gangs and thugs.
With the way things were now, while there were still a few other gangs in New York hanging on, for the most part, the city's underworld was now under Su Ming's control.
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