Timeline: June 21, 1951
12:57 PM - Michael Wilson's Room
Michael Wilson stood in his room, meticulously packing a few essential items into a small, unassuming bag. The bag, however, was anything but ordinary. A spatial bag, capable of holding far more than its appearance suggested, was now filled with supplies for his friends, Mark and Loe. Michael's mind was abuzz with thoughts of their impending mission in Chicago, a city still steeped in the remnants of the Prohibition Era, at least in this alternate universe.
With a satisfied smile, Michael zipped up the bag. "Done..." he said to himself, feeling good about getting everything ready for Mark and Loe. But as he looked at the bag, his smile faded. He realized something important—Mark and Loe didn't have a safe place to stay in Chicago. The city was still dangerous, with old Prohibition-era tensions that making things even worse. So Finding a secure place to stay wouldn't be easy.
Michael frowned, pacing the room. "Tsk, what should I do?" he mused aloud, frustration creeping into his voice. He knew they couldn't just waltz into Chicago without a plan, especially considering the volatility of the city in this timeline.
Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind—Chris Hilton. Chris was not only a friend but also a scion of one of the wealthiest and most influential families in the world. If anyone could pull some strings and secure a safe haven in Chicago, it was Chris. Without another moment's hesitation, Michael reached for his Mcall device, a sleek, futuristic piece of technology that allowed for instant communication across vast distances.
He quickly dialed Chris's number, hoping his friend would be able to assist.
........
Meanwhile - Italy
Chris Hilton was in the middle of an important luncheon in Italy, surrounded by some of the world's most influential people. The grand dining hall, located in one of Italy's finest estates, reflected both old-world charm and modern luxury. The room was elegantly decorated, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and fine Italian marble flooring beneath their feet. The long dining table was covered with exquisite dishes, each prepared by renowned Italian chefs, adding to the atmosphere of sophistication and power.
Chris, alongside his father Conrad Hilton, was deep in conversation with their distinguished business partner. Sir Edmund Hawthorne Cavendish from the United Kingdom, an influential figure in the fine wine and spirits industry, was discussing the latest trends in bespoke whiskey. Next to him, Katharina Sophie von Bismarck from France, a leading name in the high-end perfume industry, shared her insights on the latest fragrance trends.
Further down the table, Marco Vittorio D'Angelo from Italy, an architect of global renown, was speaking passionately about his latest architectural designs, while Lito Albarado from the Philippines discussed his gourmet Filipino restaurants and premium food products. Yoon Min Lee from Korea, Rajesh Nanda Gupta from India, and Wang Xiu Ying from China were all engaged in their own conversations about their respective industries, from traditional Korean cuisine to high-end jewelry and luxury teas.
Lastly, Lenore Van Ryn, a representative from Chicago, was attentively listening to the discussions while also mentally formulating her own strategies.
In the midst of this, Chris's Mcall device began to buzz. He glanced at the sleek device, a bit surprised by the interruption. With an apologetic smile, he addressed the table. "Excuse me, sirs and madams, it looks like there's a call I need to take.." he said, his voice polite but firm.
Conrad Hilton nodded to his son, signaling that it was fine for him to step away. The others at the table continued their conversations, barely noticing as Chris excused himself from the group.
Chris quickly left the dining hall and found a quiet corner near a large window overlooking the estate's expansive gardens. He answered the call, his voice calm and composed. "Michael, what's up?"
Michael's voice came through with a sense of urgency. "Chris, I need a favor. Mark and Loe are heading to Chicago for a week, and they need a safe place to stay. Do you have any connections that could help?"
Chris considered the request for a moment, glancing out at the sprawling gardens below. Chicago was a tough place, especially in this world. But if anyone could arrange something, it was him.
"Why?" Chris asked, his tone tinged with curiosity.
Michael's response was quick and casual, though a bit strained. "Just vacation.." he said, trying to mask the true nature of the situation. Michael knew he couldn't burden Chris with the full truth, especially while Chris was in the midst of his training to become the next heir to the Hilton industry. Michael didn't want to add more pressure on his friend than was necessary.
Chris raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced but willing to help. "Vacation, huh... I don't know Chicago that well, but I'll try."
"Thanks, Chris. I knew I could count on you." Michael replied, his voice reflecting his genuine relief. He appreciated Chris's willingness to assist despite the vague details.
"No problem. I'll let you know once everything's arranged." Chris assured him before ending the call.
As Chris returned to the luncheon, he found himself deep in thought. The Hilton family's influence and resources were vast, and he intended to leverage every bit of it to ensure Mark and Loe would be safe during their stay in Chicago. He would need to act quickly, tapping into his network of contacts to secure a suitable and secure location for them.
As Chris resumed his conversation with his father and the other distinguished guests, the grand dining room buzzed with the quiet hum of sophisticated conversation. The room was elegantly decorated with rich mahogany paneling, ornate chandeliers casting a warm glow, and plush velvet curtains framing tall windows that offered a view of the meticulously manicured gardens outside.
Chris shifted in his chair, his thoughts clearly distracted by the task of finding accommodations for Mark and Loe. His father, Conrad Hilton, observed his son's preoccupation with a hint of concern etched on his face.
Conrad leaned forward slightly, his voice laced with curiosity. "What's wrong, son?"
Chris hesitated, his gaze drifting to the opulent table set with fine china and silverware. "Um, father..."
Conrad's patience was evident as he pressed, "What?"
Chris took a deep breath and replied, "Do you know of any places in Chicago where my friends could stay?"
Conrad's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Friends? Why do they need to go to Chicago?"
Chris, trying to maintain a composed demeanor, answered, "Um, they just want a vacation." He glanced around the room, ensuring his tone was casual and nonchalant.
Conrad appeared thoughtful, his eyes scanning the room briefly as he considered his son's request. "Hmm."
At this moment, Lenore Van Ryn, who had been quietly observing the exchange while seated at the far end of the table, leaned in with a heightened interest. Her sharp eyes glinted with curiosity as she interjected, "Did you say Chicago, Sir Conrad?"
Conrad turned his attention to Lenore, acknowledging her presence with a nod. "Yes, Ma'am Lenore. Now that I think about it, you are from Chicago. Do you have any recommendations for a place to stay?"
Lenore's gaze shifted between Conrad and Chris, her interest clearly piqued. "Yes, I do, but why is that?"
Chris, trying to maintain his cover, cleared his throat. "My friends want to visit Chicago. They decided to vacation there."
Lenore's expression turned serious. "That's odd. Chicago is filled with vile people, gangsters, and mobs. Are you sure they want to go there?"
Chris, striving to keep his explanation plausible, replied, "Um, well, actually, it's their curiosity about Chicago's history. You know, Chicago is famous for its Prohibition era. My friends are quite nerdy, and they want to learn about historical places, even if it's a bit dangerous. That's why they're asking me for a safe place to stay."
Lenore, with a knowing smile, responded smoothly, "That's quite bold of your friends to ask a Hilton heir for such assistance."
Chris, his expression warm and sincere, replied, "They're not just friends; they're my closest friends."
Conrad, observing the affection in his son's voice, sighed and turned to Lenore. "Do you have any recommendations, Ma'am Lenore?"
Lenore, with an air of confidence, replied, "Of course, Sir Conrad. As a representative of my boss in Chicago and a local myself, I have access to numerous accommodations in the city."
Conrad, his expression softening with a mix of reflection and resolve, said, "Then please assist my son."
Chris, touched by his father's support, began to protest, "Father—"
Conrad, his voice firm yet caring, cut him off. "After everything that happened in the 1947s, I want to make things right. Helping you and your friends is a way for me to make up for the past."
Lenore, her smile brightening, agreed readily, "You can count on me, Sir Conrad."
As she spoke, her mind was already calculating the potential benefits and advantages of this situation. She saw an opportunity to leverage the arrangement for her own gain and began to formulate her strategy.
Chris, mentally rolling his eyes, thought, "Michael, you owe me one, you idiot."
With the arrangements seemingly settled, Chris turned his attention back to the lively discussions at the table, though his mind remained partially preoccupied with ensuring the best possible accommodations for Mark and Loe.
........
The bar was dimly lit and filled with cigarette smoke. The floorboards creaked with every step, and the air smelled of stale beer and old leather. The walls were covered in old posters and photos. The patrons, a mix of shady characters and small-time hustlers, were mostly hidden in the shadows, their faces barely visible in the low light.
Alphonse Capone, a formidable figure in his early sixties, pushed open the heavy wooden door with a deliberate force. His presence commanded attention, and his tailored suit and polished shoes marked him as a man of considerable influence. He scanned the room with sharp eyes before settling on his target.
There, hunched over a table in the back corner, was Logan, known as the infamous Claw Man. Logan, a rugged figure, with a grizzled beard and a the face of a middle age man, he sat with a glass of bourbon in hand. His reputation preceded him; he was a man who had seen it all and was not easily impressed.
Alphonse walked slowly and deliberately, his face set in a confident smile. As he reached Logan's table, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a smooth flick of his wrist. The match's brief glow highlighted the deep lines on his face, giving him a somewhat menacing appearance.
Alphonse's voice was low and steady, cutting through the bar's ambiance. "Logan, is it?"
Logan looked up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied Alphonse. He took a slow sip from his glass before responding, his voice gravelly, "What, bub?"
Alphonse leaned in slightly, his tone both casual and authoritative. "It looks like the rumors are true. You're older than everyone here, including me."
Logan's gaze hardened, his expression showing a mix of irritation and curiosity. "What are you trying to say?"
Alphonse exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes glinting with a calculating light. "I need you to sell some liquor."
Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Are you trying to say that I'd be your bootlegger?"
[Bootlegger: a person who makes, distributes, or sells goods illegally.]
Alphonse nodded slowly, a hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry. I'll pay you a large sum of money."
Logan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wooden table. "How much?"
Alphonse's grin widened as he took another drag of his cigarette. "Three hundred thousand dollars."
Logan's eyes glinted with shrewd calculation. "Make it five hundred thousand, and we have a deal."
Alphonse's grin turned into a full-fledged smile, revealing his satisfaction with the negotiation. "Then five hundred it is."
Alphonse smoothly extended his hand to Logan, offering a handshake. The gesture seemed formal, but there was a noticeable tension in the air. Logan studied Alphonse's hand for a moment, his face showing both doubt and reluctant agreement. After a brief pause, Logan accepted the handshake, gripping Alphonse's hand firmly and with confidence.
Logan watched Alphonse carefully, noting the man's sly demeanor and the glint of cunning in his eyes. To Logan, this old man was like a fox—shrewd and elusive. The liquor deal might have hidden implications, but for Logan, the promise of a substantial sum of money was too tempting to ignore. Money was a necessity, and in a world where survival often came at a high price, Logan was willing to take his chances.
As the handshake concluded, both men understood each other clearly. Logan's eyes showed a blend of interest and cautious, while Alphonse's expression revealed his contentment with the deal. The noisy bar around them seemed to fade away, and their business deal became the main focus of the moment.
For now, Logan was known in the underworld as the infamous Claw Man —an intriguing figure with a mysterious past and an uncertain future. The famous claws and the legend name Wolverine that would define him later were still long years away. In 1951, he was just a tough guy navigating a world shaped by the end of Prohibition and the constant temptation of power and money. His rough appearance and strong presence showed that he had faced and survived numerous challenges in life.
To be continue