Chapter 7: Even the Mafia Wants to Run a Newspaper

The cramped office of The Sun was nearly bursting at the seams with the flood of newspaper distributors surging in. These men were among the first to keenly sense the business opportunity brought about by the “Chicago Impact.”

Chicago, being one of the largest transportation hubs in the United States, made it easy for local newspapers to spread far and wide along the extensive rail networks. Meanwhile, metropolitan newspapers found eager audiences in the less developed out-of-state regions and remote rural towns.

In an era without the internet, people like Annie Olson learned everything about Chicago through out-of-town newspapers. Newspapers lacking the means to establish distribution channels statewide or nationwide were more than happy to let these distributors help expand their reach.

The distributors cared little for truth or ethical boundaries. All they saw was the bustling newsstands in Chicago, countless outstretched arms and waving coins, all clamoring for a vivid and lively copy of The Sun.

As one southern businessman, wearing a broad-brimmed hat and boots dusted with red earth, put it, “Those old bachelors in town, after reading this paper, probably won’t even bother going to the tavern—they’ll just squat outside my door waiting for the next issue!”

His words drew unanimous agreement.

A merchant from Indianapolis chuckled, “The innkeepers there have been wanting a paper like this to tuck under the pillows in every guestroom as a special amenity; or, well, as a little something extra.”

Even a captain of a cargo ship on the Great Lakes personally came over to place a bulk order of The Sun—so his sailors would have some “mental diversion” during long, tedious voyages.

This invading out-of-state army, speaking a colorful mix of accents, crowded around Richard’s desk, forming a buzzing wave of eager voices:

“I want five thousand copies! I’ll take them right now!”

“Damn it, save me two thousand! The next train out, I’ll pack them up!”

“Hey buddy, prioritize my order! I’ve got cash on hand!”

Richard’s face was nearly split by a grin.

Just after handling the local newsboys’ and retailers’ additional orders, he was now faced with a new wave of out-of-state orders.

Fortunately, he had heeded Logan’s advice and printed enough copies for the first run; otherwise, he’d be weeping with a smile right now.

“Gentlemen,” Richard finally spoke, his voice hoarse but full of vigor as he reassured them, “please be patient. Our initial print run is sufficient to satisfy each and every one of you.”

Still, after this wave, they would certainly need to print more.

Because Logan’s telegraph machine had gone completely haywire.

The clicking sounds came down like a torrential rain, paper strips pouring out like waterfalls, nearly burying a disheartened Logan alive.

These were telegraph orders coming nonstop from distributors who couldn’t come to the office in person, using the contact information printed in the paper. The clattering had been relentless since noon.

Logan looked pale and exhausted just from tallying the telegraphs.

By nightfall, all the out-of-state merchants had dispersed. With the rhythmic clatter of train wheels, every train leaving Chicago was packed tight with bundles of brand-new copies of The Sun.

Richard’s throat was hoarse to the point of near silence, yet he remained spirited.

This was unprecedented glory for the newspaper!

And this was only the very first issue of the new Sun!

“So it really takes young blood to drive change, huh? Hey, where’s Logan?”

Richard, who had been buzzing with excitement all day, suddenly realized that Logan had vanished without a trace.

...

“Hiring—must urgently find more staff.”

Logan felt as if he had escaped from hell.

Damn it, this was nothing like the life he’d imagined as a newspaper owner!

What was the ideal life of a newspaper owner?

On ordinary days, just taking photos of girls alone; when in a bad mood, ranting against heaven and earth in the paper; once satisfied, just barking orders at the workers to clean up the mess...

But this boss’s life was more exhausting than a dog’s—what was the point?

Logan only regretted not foreseeing the manpower shortage that would follow the paper’s sudden success.

He wasn’t too surprised the paper caught fire.

They always said to trust the wisdom of the next generation—

Hollywood’s “The Blair Witch Project” packaged a film as a real event and used viral marketing to rake in cash.

Of course, such viral marketing wasn’t feasible in this era, but all he needed was to get the first issue off the ground. And people back then were pretty naïve (easily fooled).

Simply packaging the novel’s opening as a “missing person notice” was enough of a gimmick.

“So Hollywood really is a treasure trove of material!”

Thinking of Hollywood’s gift, Logan was reminded of another figure warped by Hollywood plots and felt it was time for a second encounter.

Yes, he meant Al Capone.

...

Indeed, “Han Solo” had stood Al Capone up for ten days.

It wasn’t entirely favoritism—well, maybe a little—but more importantly, “Han Solo” could easily track Donald but found it hard to locate Al Capone.

He was like a trickster, not truly a deity. In fact, he didn’t even know which way the Chicago Mafia’s headquarters doors opened until recently, when he finally found out where Al Capone would appear.

That place was a newly opened underground bar, sadly with few patrons this time.

Shortly after “Han Solo” arrived, the Capone brothers burst out, both surprised and delighted.

This was no coincidence.

After Donald had stabilized the Irish gang’s influence, he began plotting to sever the Italians’ encroaching hands.

He didn’t directly seize the Italians’ speakeasy on his turf, but used his geographical advantage to cut off their liquor supply routes.

Without liquor, what was a speakeasy?

Logan had learned from Donald that Al Capone had come over to negotiate.

The meeting was again in the familiar wine cellar. Without much ado, “Han Solo” waved his hand, and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of Canadian whiskey materialized out of thin air.

Al Capone and Ralph Capone breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing this again.

Do you know how those ten days felt for them?

They couldn’t, like Donald, openly declare themselves “chosen ones”—Al Capone was only the second-in-command of the Chicago Mafia.

Declaring that would be courting death.

Their mounting excitement turned to mounting pressure when “Han Solo” did not show up.

If it weren’t for the presence of the two brothers, Al Capone would have thought he was hallucinating.

Now, utterly certain it was no hallucination, his heart steadied.

Moreover, the honored one had left instructions for conducting business.

“Han Solo” asked calmly, “Do you know about today’s issue of The Sun?”

“Cough...” Al Capone nodded awkwardly.

Of course he knew. Early this morning, his men had delivered the paper, and it had made them... quite robust.

“Han Solo” pointed to the whiskey crate, voice steady and unflinching: “Take this quantity as a baseline. Prepare a warehouse large enough. When you want multiples of this baseline later, just put an ad in the paper under the name ‘Hogwarts,’ requesting the purchase of several Philosopher’s Stones. The Dark Force will respond.”

Al Capone’s heart skipped a beat. Tentatively, he asked, “...Philosopher’s Stones? Is that for real?”

“Han Solo” shot him a meaningful glance, offering no explanation.

Seeing this, Ralph Capone summoned his courage to ask another question: “Why place ads in The Sun? Why not other newspapers?”

The obvious answer was: so I can see them immediately.

But he could never allow any association between his alias and his true identity.

“Han Solo” thought quickly and gave a whimsical answer:

“I see it—the primal desires vibrating at the newsstand!”

—A group of sleazy men awkwardly hiding their stiffened groins;

“I see it—the primal sparks shining in the eyes scanning the paper!”

—Lecherous glances practically glued to the pinup on page three;

“I see it—the primal soul trembling in the accelerated heartbeat upon glimpsing the forbidden!”

—God only knows what filthy fantasies were running through their minds.

“Han Solo” looked deep into their eyes, uttering each word deliberately, “They converge. I see the Dark Force!”

Al Capone’s expression darkened slightly in the dim light.

Ralph Capone looked puzzled and asked instinctively, “What’s the use of gathering the Dark Force?”

“To gather the Dark Force is to earn the qualification to trade with the Sith!”

“Han Solo” left them with that final sentence before drifting away.

Al Capone said nothing.

Ralph Capone pondered for a moment before suddenly exclaiming, “Doesn’t that mean the Irish gang can also buy liquor from the honored one?”

They had come to negotiate with the Irish gang, so they couldn’t be kept in the dark. They knew something about the Irish gang leader Donald O’Connor’s connections.

During the day, they had mocked him: “The O’Connor family is just trash, can’t get anywhere; all they do with a newspaper is some lewd nonsense.”

Who would have thought that could also gather the Dark Force?!

Well, it made sense—wasn’t the scandal sheet the best at satisfying people’s desires?

“Bang!” Capone slammed his hand down hard on the table, the force making a bottle of whiskey jump slightly.

“I’ve decided—our Mafia will start a newspaper too!”

“Ah!?”

...