Chapter 54: Chapter 54: A Small Problem

A ham, tomato, and egg sandwich is undoubtedly better than plain bread.

That afternoon, a group of young men strolled down the street, holding freshly made ham and egg sandwiches from the bakery. Their faces radiated happiness.

They were poor, and for the poor, even when they could afford ham and egg sandwiches, they wouldn’t usually buy them. Spending fifteen cents on something that wouldn’t fill them up made less sense than spending five cents on something more substantial. Life wasn’t romantic—especially when you were poor.

If someone told you that poverty could be romantic, you should consider what they covet about you. Is it the boundless possibilities your path represents, or the vulnerability they could exploit?

Life’s challenges weren’t just about surviving hardship but also protecting your thoughts and principles.

For these twenty-something-year-olds, who considered one-dollar-per-pound beef a luxury, tasting ham for the first time was a revelation. Even the thin slices in their sandwiches filled them with new hope for the future.

“This is amazing,” Ennio exclaimed, his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. “I’ve never had anything like this. It’s even better than I imagined!”

He stared at his sandwich. “I can’t describe this flavor—there’s a smoky taste and another unique aroma that keeps filling my mouth.”

Breathing out, he sniffed the air. “My breath smells like ham now!” The combination of his usual bad breath mixed with the ham nearly made him gag.

Unlike Ennio’s boisterous enthusiasm, Morris ate quietly. Even though his mother could earn decent money, he’d never tasted a ham sandwich before either. The flavor gave him an unsettling sense of unreality, stirring a desire deep within him.

With more money, he thought, he and his family could feel this kind of happiness every day.

The others chimed in with similar sentiments. Although the breakfast had cost over a dollar, they didn’t feel it was extravagant. After all, they now earned ten or more dollars daily—about two dollars per person. Spending fifteen cents on a delicious treat didn’t seem unreasonable.

After finishing their sandwiches, the group stood at the alley’s entrance. Ennio pulled out a cigarette, handing one to each of his friends. Leaning against the wall, they smoked together, their exhales forming clouds in the air.

They arrived at the alley destined to be their “path of wealth.” Ennio knocked on the wooden door. A clinking sound signaled the metal peephole sliding open, and a pair of eyes appeared behind it.

“We’re here for some fun. We came by yesterday; you should remember us,” Ennio said casually, glancing at his companions.

The peephole snapped shut, and the door creaked open. This time, the guard was someone unfamiliar. He looked stern and scanned the group impolitely before sluggishly stepping aside to let them in.

Ennio lingered for a moment, sizing the man up before leading his friends inside. The bouncer didn’t close the door immediately; he stepped outside to survey the area before returning to lock the door behind them.   𝖗ÀＮő𝐁È𝘴

As they descended the stairs, they noticed an unusual silence. Yesterday, the noise from below had been audible halfway down the staircase, but now only their footsteps echoed.

Reaching the casino, they found it eerily empty. The once-crowded room was deserted. A few bouncers lounged near the tables, and the dealers were tidying up the games.

In the center of the room, a man sat on a couch, leaning forward and fiddling with a pistol.

Ennio sensed something was wrong and tried to back away, but the bouncer had already blocked the staircase. They were trapped.

The casino owner looked them over. He recognized Morris, a familiar face at the casino. The others seemed vaguely familiar, perhaps seen somewhere before.

Leaning back into the couch, he stated, “Yesterday, you offered loans to my customers in my casino.”

His tone was cold and assertive, brooking no argument. “You broke the rules. You crossed the line.”

The bouncers stood, some wielding bats, others holding knives. The young men froze in fear, trembling.

Ennio’s body shook slightly. His most violent act before this had been schoolyard brawls, which seemed trivial compared to facing these lawless men.

“I… didn’t know there were rules. This is my first time doing this,” Ennio stammered, trying to explain.

The casino owner pulled a half-smoked cigar from his pocket, relit it, and gestured with his chin. “Teach these kids a lesson.”  n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

---

That afternoon, Lance had just returned from the Commercial Services Bureau. He had successfully registered a labor agency under the name "Wanli Labor Agency," specializing in hiring workers and leasing labor. Of course, the paperwork didn’t state these purposes explicitly.

Jingang City had many such agencies, some already well-established. The largest share of the market had long been claimed, but Lance wasn’t too late. He had his resources.

As he arrived at his office, he noticed Morris sitting outside, with Mello trying to comfort him.

“What happened?” Lance asked, approaching them. Both stood immediately, revealing Morris’s bruised and swollen face. He looked like he’d been severely beaten.

“Who did this to you?”

“The casino owner,” Morris growled through gritted teeth. “He said we shouldn’t have done business in his casino. He beat us up, took all our money, and kept the others. He told me to find you and said if you don’t handle this, they’ll kill Ennio and the others!”

His body trembled as he spoke, whether from fear or anger.

Lance’s expression darkened. Doing business in someone else’s casino was indeed crossing a line. But beating them, taking their money, and threatening their lives seemed excessive—probably just an intimidation tactic.

Handing his paperwork to Mello, Lance said, “I’ll go take a look.”

“Will it be dangerous?” Mello asked, concerned.

“Don’t worry,” Lance replied, shaking his head.

He ushered Morris into the car and drove off. Along the way, he had Morris recount everything in detail, from their activities to what had happened when they were caught.

“…My father always loses money gambling, and every time I go, I see people borrowing money after losing everything. That’s why I thought we could make something out of it.”

“…They didn’t let us explain and asked us which company we worked for. We didn’t tell them,” Morris said, sneaking a glance at Lance. “Ennio didn’t say anything at first, but when they broke his arm, he couldn’t hold back anymore.”

Lance’s face remained impassive as he drove. He wasn’t upset about Ennio “betraying” him. Their relationship was merely transactional; Ennio wasn’t obligated to protect him.

If anything, Lance thought Ennio was foolish for enduring torture before talking. The information would’ve come out eventually—why suffer first? Still, perhaps it reflected a kind of youthful stubbornness, a sense of loyalty.

---

Arriving at the Lesu Group’s offices, Lance told Morris, “Wait in the car. I’ll be back soon.”

Inside, the receptionist barely glanced at him, greeting him with a half-hearted wave before returning to her crossword puzzle.

Lance found Fordis in the break room playing pinball. Spotting Lance, Fordis quickly set down the game and greeted him with a warm embrace.

“I didn’t expect you. What’s up?”

“Your guys handled the last job a bit roughly, but it turned out fine,” Lance said curtly before cutting to the chase. “I need a gun.”

Fordis’s expression turned serious. “No problem. Need help?”

Lance shook his head. “Just a minor issue. Some friends got detained at an underground casino. I’ll handle it myself.”

Fordis looked surprised. “If it’s not a Kodak-sanctioned casino, you could report it to them. They’ll pay you and deal with the problem.”

“How long would that take?”

“Two or three days. They run more like a government agency than a gang—slow as hell.”

“I can’t wait that long. I’ll get them out first and decide what to do after. Also, I need a knife.”

Fordis led Lance upstairs to a workshop where a burly man was working at a lathe. At Fordis’s request, the man handed Lance a snub-nosed revolver.

“It’s a Magray Police Defender. No serial number. I re-rifled the barrel, so it’s clean. If you get caught, don’t drag us into it,” the man warned.

After testing the gun at the range and paying $150, Lance left with the revolver, a box of bullets, and a sharp knife provided by Fordis.

When Morris saw the gun, his fear vanished, replaced by awe. To him, a gun represented absolute power.