East Harlem, New York City. A slum, a ghetto, or a charming and quaint part of town just in need of a little renovation? That would depend on who you asked. But one thing was certain. In 1920s America, it was the same as it was in Bruno’s past life.
Teeming with greaseballs and dirtbags. Men who would rather steal from others through brute force and intimidation than work an honest day’s wage. And these days were no different.
Sure, there were still more honest men and women than crooks — but not enough to keep the streets clean.
And it’s not like this kind of behavior was exclusive to the Italians. Hell, The Irish, the Jews and all the other recent immigrant groups had some kind of criminal racket going on. But the Italians? Well, they were the first to turn it into something on the scale of an empire.
And in 1922, that was the trajectory that was happening. Bootlegging was big business. Alcohol was the lifeblood of civilization. It had been brewed since before properly paved streets were a thing. And was the way many a man coped with the stresses of life.
To ban it, to strip it away outright? Well… That was a difficult thing to process, especially in a society that had chosen to do so seemingly overnight to many who were caught unprepared for the sudden changes in society.
In Chicago, a war was already being waged between the Italian South Side Gang and the Irish North Side Gang. But New York? New York was notoriously bloody, and they had not even begun getting into the thick of it yet.
Either way, President Hughes, who was now halfway through his second term was at an impasse. He had promised security, prosperity, and independence for the Americans. But the headlines made the violence appear so much worse than it was.
The odds were, if you were not a part of that lifestyle, you weren’t going to get shot, stabbed, or disappeared.
But the public, unaccustomed to any crime being this publicized, and this bloody now that a new generation of weapons was hitting the American streets. Well, they had a way of overreacting to sensationalism.
After all, they had been lied to by the papers already, stating that alcohol was to blame for a number of issues facing American society, like domestic violence, child abandonment, among others.
But the reality was, this was such a small fraction of the population, that if you were to speak to someone in 2025 about these statistics, they’d almost call it utopian compared to what was normal in the century to come.
Even so, headlines blamed alcohol, and moral busybodies rushed to the polls to outlaw it…And in doing so, creating yet another problem that they were now panicking over.
Hughes needed a solution, but he had few options. Police were taking bribes, and so were judges and district attorneys. Nobody could be counted upon to bring these lawless gangs to justice.
And in his hour of need he finally broke. He tried to dial Bruno’s number multiple times, but never quite got through. The first time this happened he stormed off, and tried his best to come up with a solution on his own, which ended up failing horrifically.
Then there was the second time, and now finally, on his third try, President Hughes was huffing and puffing as the dial tone continued. But this time, there was an audible click followed by a familiar voice.
“Mr. Hughes… Well, this was a call I was not expecting. What can I do for you?”
There were no words to describe the fury that the President of the United States was forced to stifle in that moment. Bruno finally accepted his call after months of trying to get ahold of him and had the gall to act as if this was the first time he was remotely aware of it?
However, Hughes had dealt with Bruno long enough to understand that lashing out at the man and trying to screw him over was not a way to get what he wanted. Thus, he calmed himself.
“I… I’m afraid I need your help. I don’t know who else to turn to at this point. But I fear if something isn’t done about this problem soon. My party will lose the next election…”
There was silence for a while, until finally Bruno’s voice, calm and all knowing came across the other line like a prophet who had already seen the future well in advance.
“Yes, I suppose it is around that time… The gangs you are having trouble dealing with, don’t worry about them, I’ll take care of it….”
And then there was nothing but a click. Bruno had once more hung up on the President of the United States, as if his call was a matter of inconvenience that he was waiting for the first opportunity to drop.
But that didn’t make Hughes furious. Because Bruno had already known what he was dealing with, and said one phrase. That he would take care of it…
And when Hughes remembered how Bruno had a habit of “taking care” of issues. He sank back in his chair, all the breath in his lungs escaping his body in that moment, as he wondered whether or not he had just opened pandora’s box.
“What have I just unleashed?”
Meanwhile, Bruno was in his home office, in Tyrol, gazing at an image of him and his family they had taken years ago, while in Transylvania together. He smiled and then put the photo down. Dialing another number, one he had not called in quite a while.
“Yes… I wish to speak with Kommandant Röhm… Yes… I have a job for him and his outfit… A matter that needs to be handled delicately and discretely. He will know who I am by the nature of the task. Yes, that is correct. Good then, I will await his call…”
After hanging up the phone, Bruno sat at his desk, his fingers crossed in contemplation. He would sit like this for well over an hour, motionless until finally standing up and exiting his office without saying a word. Only he knew what he was thinking, and what he was planning to do.
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