Of course, the person sent to pick them up was Meyeranski's underling. In these times, it was rare to see someone as well-dressed as Frederick.
"Although the boss has some influence in Chicago, I feel like you should change into something more plain," the underling advised.
Frederick's attire was easy to recognize, but it was clear that it didn't match the current situation in Chicago. The two hadn't realized that they had avoided a robbery simply because of the large thug in front of them. But once the underling pointed it out, they understood.
Knowing the mafia boss Meyeranski was indeed a fact, and it was true that people in Chicago tended to give Meyeranski some leeway. However, Frederick couldn't exactly walk around with a sign on his forehead saying, "I know Meyeranski!" He might have been targeted by some opportunistic thief.
Robbery was one thing—just a little lost money. But recently, some of the more reckless black street thugs had been mugging people for as little as ten or twenty dollars, hitting their victims hard enough to kill. Such incidents were far too common, and law enforcement couldn't really keep up.
"Thanks!" Frederick responded once he realized the situation. He immediately took off his watch and tie clip.
The two entered the elevator, and as soon as they did, the elevator operator quickly left, giving the three men space. The hotel, it seemed, was entirely under Meyeranski's control. The staff here were all connected to the mafia.
It didn't take long before they arrived at a suite to meet Meyeranski. Upon meeting him, Nair immediately thought he looked like the stereotypical Jewish businessman. Although his clothing and hair didn't give it away, the gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose immediately created a sharp, business-savvy image.
After a brief conversation, Meyeranski learned that the idea for ginger beer came from Nair, which piqued his interest. However, Meyeranski's focus remained on his collaboration with Frederick. He complimented Nair a little but didn't dwell on it, as he was more focused on working with Frederick.
Their discussion was straightforward: the massive restructuring of the Five Lakes Area mafia. The fall of the old powers meant the rise of new ones. Meyeranski also needed to look after his business while his associate, Charlie Luciano, was in jail. Many industries lacked enough manpower to expand, so Meyeranski saw Frederick as a valuable ally. Frederick would invest in the hotel business, while Meyeranski would provide protection. This would help Frederick capture market share while ensuring Meyeranski earned protection fees once the business flourished.
When both sides had a genuine willingness to cooperate, talks moved quickly. There was no need for long, drawn-out negotiations. Meyeranski had no time to waste, and the deal was made.
Once the main terms were set, the details could be worked out later. The deal was good for both sides. Meyeranski invited them to dine downstairs to celebrate the successful agreement.
A thug guarding the elevator opened the doors immediately as Meyeranski approached, seemingly without hesitation. Maybe the elevator had been idle on this floor, but no one cared—it was all about business.
Nair, who was hungry by now, didn't mind. Frederick was there to make a fortune, but for Nair, food was more important. Chicago, with its renowned chefs, promised a meal far better than what he'd have had in the countryside. It was a chance to broaden his horizons and experience a fine meal in a European-American style.
The restaurant staff had already prepared everything. As soon as they entered, the waiters helped them out of their coats and served them chilled lemon water. Nair knew that this was made with concentrated lemon essence, originally used to supplement vitamin C for sailors but later turned into a component for industrial cleaners. But here, it was simply lemon water—not that he minded. After all, people did drink antifreeze in desperate situations.
Thirsty and feeling the heat, Nair found the drink refreshing and quickly drank it down, feeling a sense of revival. The restaurant was bustling at dinner time, though in this economy, there weren't too many people who could afford to dine out. Many patrons nodded at Meyeranski as they passed, familiar with him. Luckily, the dinner conversation remained casual, with no talk of business.
Meyeranski seemed eager to impress and had ordered a sumptuous meal. After all, everyone knew that Al Capone was on his way down, and with Charlie Luciano in prison, Meyeranski was now one of the top figures in Chicago's underworld.
As the three were eating, a customer across the room appeared to be done with his meal and signaled for the bill. He snapped his fingers, which was audible to Nair, who was munching on asparagus and glanced over.
Nair noticed a leather belt at the man's side. It could have been for holding suspenders or, more likely, to carry a handgun—perhaps to conceal a weapon.
But in a mafia-run hotel, it wasn't unusual for someone to be carrying a gun. The thug who had escorted Nair and Frederick had a gun in his pocket, and it wasn't even hidden very well. It was likely that Nair and Frederick were the only ones without weapons in the entire place.
Nair just focused on his meal, thinking little of it. The customer finished paying and stood up, intending to leave. A normal person would head toward the exit, but this man—who hadn't greeted Meyeranski—seemed to be staring at him. And Nair noticed that the man's hand was near his weapon.
"Danger!" Nair instinctively shouted, pulling Frederick under the table.
Meyeranski, ever quick on his feet, jumped up in a flash. Several gunshots rang out, striking the spot where he had just been sitting.