Saul, I mentioned a long time ago that dealing with well-dressed people is not your forte. Sean chuckled, giving Saul's shoulder a hearty pat. "You're still 'Slick Jimmy' at heart; you're better suited for handling criminals."
"You are you, and your brother is your brother," Sean continued. "No one should live for others; you have to live for yourself."
Hearing the nickname 'Slick Jimmy' again, Saul's expression turned conflicted. He longed to emulate his brother—a polished, successful lawyer in the upper echelons of society. But the reality was stark: he had interacted with more gangs than Sean that night and had even convinced some bars that typically didn't sell certain types of alcohol to feature them as their main menu. As a lawyer…
This realization distressed Saul. He found himself surprisingly at ease when dealing with outright villains.
"Look at yourself! You have nothing to worry about, but your outlook is quite troubling," Sean said, spreading his hands as he regarded Saul. "What defines success in any profession—lawyer or otherwise?"
"Fame and fortune!" Saul replied, slightly taken aback.
"Does everyone become a lawyer to uphold fairness and justice?" Sean scoffed. "Let's be honest; they're in it for the money and recognition. When you can offer other lawyers better opportunities to earn, you'll naturally build connections and secure favorable plea bargains with prosecutors. Accumulate enough fame and fortune, and you're considered a successful lawyer—like former New York Governor Dewey."
"Dewey framed Charlie Luciano, gained notoriety, and even aspired to be president. That's a model of success."
"Okay, take your time to ponder these thoughts," Sean said, tapping the table to shift the topic. "Last night, we took down 14 out of 24 gangs. Let's keep the momentum going tomorrow night and resume trading the day after."
September 4, 4 p.m., just outside Newark
"Dart, we meet again." Sean smiled as he embraced the bald, heavyset man adorned with a large gold chain. He gestured to the van parked nearby. "The goods are all here. You're the first—300 bottles?"
Dart tilted his head to examine the open box truck, filled to the brim with cases of wine. He scratched his head, unable to assess the value but certain it was substantial.
"300 bottles, Richard, hand over the cash and pick up the goods." Dart nodded, exhaling deeply.
Richard stepped forward, opening a bag that revealed neatly bundled cash. Each bundle contained $20 bills, and one larger bundle held $1,000 in $50s.
Without a money counter, Sean took it upon himself to count the cash, relishing the feeling of money in his hands. After verifying five of the 15 rolls, he smiled and tossed them to Jonas behind him.
As Dart's men began loading the bottles into their vehicle, he suddenly asked, "Just the two of you?"
"Yeah, what's the issue?" Sean replied with a grin.
Dart shrugged. "Nothing, I just think you're quite bold."
"Haha! If you're in this business, how can you be timid?"
After the goods were loaded, Sean handed Dart a business card. "Call me when you're sold out. Next time, I can arrange direct delivery for you."
Dart glanced at the card, noting just a phone number. He nodded silently before departing with his crew.
As Dart left, another gang member arrived. Sean had intentionally scheduled all trading partners for this day to create a buzz around his operation.
Sean aimed to establish a monopoly in Newark's high-end smuggled wine market. As he had told Saul, fame and fortune were the ultimate goals, and he was determined to build his reputation.
Gang members began arriving in droves. Seeing other gangs engaging in trade alleviated any lingering concerns, akin to the way a busy store draws in customers—a classic case of herd mentality.
These gang members, like anyone, were human. However, they were often less educated, making them easier to deceive and more trusting of others.
Consequently, many gangs decided to increase their orders upon witnessing the dwindling stock in the vans.
Faced with this situation, Sean remained steadfast in his principles. "Reputation is crucial, especially for us. I can't alter the agreed-upon volume, even if you offer a higher price. We can discuss increasing quantities for future transactions, but advance notice is necessary."
Jonas, responsible for handling the money, scoffed at the notion. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost believe it."
Despite not securing the goods, the gang members were satisfied; no one wanted to trade with someone lacking credibility.
As more gangs arrived...
"Brother, I heard that Red Karami and others are sending people out of the city."
"Huh? What are they doing?" Alec asked, frowning.
"It seems they went to buy wine last time. They're heading there again."
"Really?"
"Yes!"
Alec scratched his head. "They all went—is the wine that good? Are they making money?"
"Damn, no way! I want in too!"
"Gather the people, we're going as well!" Alec suddenly stood up and shouted.
This scene played out similarly among the three gangs that hadn't reached an agreement two days ago.
By the time Alec arrived with his crew, he saw the last box of wine being loaded into a car by other gangs, which then drove off. Staring at the empty van, Alec's face twisted in displeasure.
The other gangs had gained the upper hand, and Alec felt he had missed out significantly.
"Hey, I don't care what your name is or where your wine comes from. I need 300—no, 500 bottles!" Alec demanded, approaching with six or seven men.
"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait until next week. It takes time for the goods to arrive from the United States," Sean replied with a shrug.
"FK!" Alec cursed, puffing on his cigar. His irritated gaze swept over Sean's face and landed on Jonas.
Jonas had a bulging bag beside him, evidently filled with something. Alec's eyes lit up as he surmised it was full of money.
The greed in Alec's eyes was blatant and unrestrained.