What a grand gathering—lords of the underworld from all across America, from the Three Mountains to the Five Lakes, were now converged in Carson City, Nevada.If the FBI really had the will, they could just storm in and wipe out this entire crowd. The United States would then enjoy at least six months, maybe even a year, without gang-related trouble. Hahaha…
Charles "Lucky" Luciano was the convener of the first National Mob Conference and had now become a key figure pushing for the legalization of gambling. These mob bosses understood his power in the gambling industry. In just these two short days, over a dozen of them had come by to pay him a visit, all concerning one thing: casino licenses.But that was an internal matter of mob interest distribution—something Nair neither could nor wanted to get involved in. Some emerged from those meetings red-faced, others came out beaming with satisfaction. It was a mixed bag.
The heavy mob presence had put Carson City police on high alert. But these guys were here to make money, not to stir up trouble. Every gang member had been warned in advance—no troublemaking before the license auction. They were to stay put in their hotels and avoid unnecessary movement.
Some more astute members had already begun forging ties with Nevada state police and tax officers. The mob needed more than just muscle—it needed public relations. What good is money if you don't know who to hand it to, and you end up getting busted over it?
Al Capone and Lucky Luciano were the textbook examples—one sentenced to 25,000 years for tax evasion, the other just nine months for running prostitution. Both were major Italian mob figures, but their fates couldn't have been more different.Can you honestly say Lucky Luciano committed fewer crimes than Al Capone?Didn't think so…
The auction, closely watched by major U.S. media, kicked off as scheduled. Even Nevada's 37°C (98.6°F) summer heat couldn't dampen the buzz inside the venue. Mob bosses poured in, each accompanied by a Native American subordinate they'd managed to recruit.
A $300,000 deposit and sponsorship from a Nevada state official—those were the two major thresholds to entry. Any gang lacking the funds or influence was eliminated right off the bat.
Now, only twenty-two mobs remained. Nair followed Meyer Lansky into the auction hall. Mario, who had previously gone to Las Vegas to purchase land, had returned—with a 20-year-old Native American in tow. Most likely, this young man would be the puppet that Luciano would eventually push into the public spotlight.
This Native youth had been recruited with an offer of $50 a month, plus housing for his mother, grandmother, younger brother, and sister. He probably still thought he'd been hired as a bodyguard for Luciano—what a deception of a naive soul.
Nair didn't concern himself with the ethics of it. As long as the young man kept his head down, he'd live a life of material comfort and his family would be well cared for. For Native Americans, still struggling to integrate into mainstream American society, this was arguably the best outcome.
Besides, with tens of millions starving across the country, who could complain about a full belly and safe home for the whole family? In 1202 CE, there were still 700–800 million people worldwide living in worse conditions.
Mob bosses on either side greeted Luciano and Lansky. On the other side of the hall sat Senator Heller and several members of the Gambling Commission—stern-faced and expressionless. They represented the official side and had to appear scrupulously impartial.
Once everyone had arrived, Nevada's Governor Gene finally made his appearance, and the auction officially began!
Unlike conventional auctions, this one had no preview and no product introduction—none was needed. Everyone knew exactly what they were after.
The auctioneer, standing at the podium, nodded to the row of officials before him, then got to work. He wasn't exactly dazzling with words, but he brought energy and ease to the event, lightening the mood. The stern gangsters began to relax—cigars came out, drinks were poured.
"All right, we'll begin the bidding for the first license. Starting price: $350,000!"
With a small wooden gavel in hand, the auctioneer announced a price that was actually quite modest. All eyes turned to Luciano. As expected, the first license was his. No one dared compete—his reputation and contributions settled that.
Luciano raised his hand, and the auctioneer understood. The mob world might seem rough on the outside, but its members were cunning, too. This first round was a symbolic concession. After a bit of showmanship, the gavel fell.
Just $350,000 for the first ever Las Vegas casino license!
From there, Luciano faded into the background. Nair had little interest in the internal infighting for the remaining licenses. He simply watched as the gangsters rolled up their sleeves and battled it out.
The second license started at $450,000 and was won by another Italian mob boss for $650,000. The prices kept rising: third, fourth, fifth licenses—all climbing. By the time the fifth was auctioned, it had reached a staggering $1.4 million.
The sixth license would be the last one allowed under Nevada law. Just as the auctioneer was about to begin, Governor Gene signaled for a pause and announced a break.
No one found this strange—it was a tactic. Holding the final license in reserve while previous rounds had helped gauge each gang's financial limit. Now they had a chance to go out, gather more funds—dirty money included.
In America, once you pay taxes on money, it becomes semi-clean. It's no longer purely illicit—now it's in a gray zone. How you use it determines whether it remains "black" or becomes "white." Pay it to the government, it's clean. Use it for crime, it's still dirty.
Your call.
Those who already secured a license were calm and confident. One even raised a silver flask from afar to toast Luciano.
Then, amid the noisy crowd, a young man burst in—clearly out of place. Not long after, four or five middle-aged men, also distinct in appearance, followed him into the room.
They had East Asian features—perhaps Chinese-American, maybe Japanese-American.