"They've brought in new people…"
In fact, there was no need to say it—Charles "Lucky" Luciano and Meyer Lansky had already noticed the sudden appearance of a group of East Asians entering the auction venue. These two had far sharper senses than Nail; after all, they were the type who could dodge bullets in real life.
Mario, who had been sitting silently all along, got up on his own to find out about the newcomers, while Nail watched as the group, under the guidance of the venue staff, were seated toward the back.
Just by looking at their faces, it was hard to determine whether they were Japanese or Chinese. The problem was, there were over 500,000 Japanese-Americans in the U.S. at the time, and Chinese-Americans numbered in the hundreds of thousands or even a million. And those were just the ones with legal status or residency—many more lived as undocumented "ghosts."
As minority groups, they inevitably needed organized protection. Unity and mutual support were necessary to survive in America. At the time, white supremacist groups were rampant—not only anti-Chinese, but anti-Japanese as well. Of course, they also discriminated against Black people. With white Americans making up over 92% of the population, any extremist views that excluded minorities were easily echoed by the majority.
That said, whether Chinese or Japanese, the organizations these groups formed weren't necessarily true criminal gangs—not like the widely known Italian, Irish, or German mafias.
So why would someone show up now to compete with these gangs for a piece of the lucrative casino business?
Nail couldn't figure it out. He could only wait for Mario to return with more information. The other gangs also noticed the appearance of these unfamiliar faces, but at this point, they had bigger things to worry about.
Some gangs, short on funds, were forming alliances on the spot, pooling together $2–3 million in cash to grab the license first and settle the profits later. Others ran out to make phone calls, scrambling for money. Since full payment wasn't required immediately, they had a grace period to get the funds together.
One guy, who might have had some ties to Meyer Lansky, even approached him directly. Borrowing money in this world was common—it was just a matter of interest rates. Sometimes favors between underworld brothers meant shifting some funds around—no big deal.
"How powerful are the Chinese and Japanese groups?" Nail asked Luciano quietly.
Luciano, though not an expert in everything, knew the landscape of emerging social organizations across the U.S. like the back of his hand.
"They're very tight-knit and only accept their own people. But they don't usually interfere with our business—mostly they just try to protect themselves. Any small conflicts are usually tolerated. Plus, they don't have much influence around the Great Lakes or East Coast—they're mainly concentrated on the West Coast," Luciano replied simply.
"Then why are they here now?" Nail was puzzled.
"When there's a corpse, vultures always come swooping in," Luciano said—apparently, he knew a bit of biology too.
"Hmm…"
"Even a baboon that normally doesn't eat meat will make an exception when it sees a carcass."
"Hahahahaha… What a vivid analogy," Nail couldn't help but laugh. Luciano's metaphor was plain and effective.
Perhaps Chinese and Japanese groups didn't usually engage in large-scale criminal business, but that didn't mean they didn't want to. Or that they weren't capable of it. People may seem tame on the outside, but deep down, they still retain animal instincts. Who knew when they might suddenly emerge?
"Boss, I got the info. They're Japanese," Mario returned to report.
"Any background?" Luciano didn't seem too surprised, just curious—like Nail.
"They're from Los Angeles, never heard much about them before."
A group that suddenly appeared out of nowhere? Odd. If they were a new Japanese gang, how could they quickly come up with a $300,000 deposit and bribe a Nevada official to get a guarantee?
"Let's not worry about them for now. We'll see what happens."
If the Japanese didn't get the license, they'd stay confined to their West Coast bubble and wouldn't affect the Italian mob. Luciano wasn't eager to create a new enemy for no reason—better to pretend they didn't exist. But if they did get the license, then it would be worth seeing what they were really made of.
For now—wait and see.
After a twenty-minute break, the auctioneer called everyone back. Lansky had just loaned someone $300,000—it wasn't clear what kind of relationship would warrant that kind of favor.
"Alright, gentlemen. What we have now is the final commercial gambling license in this state. A rare opportunity! Starting bid: one million!" the auctioneer announced with a tone full of provocation.
The price quickly rose to $1.5 million. Within five minutes, it skyrocketed to $2 million. At that point, the bid was already scorching hot. Most gangs, hurt by the economic crisis, couldn't muster that kind of cash—especially since a large gang needed money to support hundreds or even thousands of members.
"The Japanese are getting ready to move," Nail said, noticing the group was done whispering.
"Let's watch."
"Three million!"
They raised their paddle. The Japanese made their move—setting the bid at a whopping $3 million. That was nearly ten times what Luciano had paid for the first license. Many in the room audibly gasped.
"What now?" Lansky turned to Luciano.
"Add one more."
"Three million and one dollar!"
All eyes turned. The mobsters' expressions changed—but within seconds, applause and whistles rang out. Even if they didn't always respect the Italian mob, seeing the license go to an Italian was still better than losing it to the Japanese.
The Japanese clearly hadn't expected someone to keep bidding at such a high price. They huddled together again. The auctioneer, sensing this would be a showdown between these two sides, intentionally slowed down to give them time.
"Three-point-two million!" the Japanese bid again.
"Three-point-two million and one dollar!"
"Three-point-five million!"
"Three-point-five million and one dollar!"
The Japanese gave up—they couldn't keep up anymore. Luciano stood up, greeted by cheers and admiration from every major mob boss in the country.
"SOLD!" The gavel came down.