The blond man was somewhat curious. Actually, these days both of them had been looking equally worried, but today the guy with black hair seemed like he'd found money.
He took another sip of his drink. The cops were all going crazy now, and no one bothered about people drinking anymore.
"What's the good news, has Hoover resigned?"
The black-haired man shook his head, baring his teeth in a contemptuous expression: "Who cares who's living in the White House, I'm saying we can find a job now."
"What kind of job?" The blond man perked up; all he wanted now was a job to make money and support his family.
"Come on, cheers, have another sip and then we'll talk." The black-haired man teased him, mischievously reaching out to clink glasses.
The blond guy shook his head helplessly, and they clinked their bottles again.
"Glug, glug, glug... ah..." The black-haired man sighed contentedly: "Last night at 1 AM, the Midnight Express just arrived. My wife luckily fell asleep; otherwise, if she found out I bought more booze, she'd definitely kill me."
"Get to the point. If we go home today without good news and smelling of alcohol, our graves will be neighbors too."
The blond man rolled his eyes upward. His friend was absolutely right; things were tight at home, and buying booze was really a waste of money now.
"Uh, I don't want my tombstone to read 'Tom Barnes, died for buying two bottles of booze', that would make me the biggest loser of all."
The black-haired man cracked a joke. At the moment, they were hiding in a corner of the dock's warehouse, with stock certificates someone discarded swirling in the wind out of sight.
"Let's talk about the job. Whether the epitaph says 'died of drinking' or 'killed by wife' hardly matters."
The blond man shook his head; the joke wasn't funny at all. No one had a smile on their face in the entire street.
"Oh right, back to the point. Anyway, after picking up the booze and paying, the delivery guy didn't leave right away. He asked me: 'Do you like Skywalker's booze?', and I said, 'Yeah, for years I've only had Skywalker's,' then he asked: 'Want to work for our boss?'"
The blond man frowned, cutting his friend off: "Wait, did he ask if you want to work for the mob?"
"What mob? How can a distillery be a mob?" The man claiming to be Tom shook his head and sneered at the blond guy: "They don't steal or rob, just do legitimate business. I'm telling you, this Prohibition won't last for years, and then the distillery will be a legal business again, right?"
After hearing that, the blond guy thought, well, indeed. Having grown up in New York, they've seen plenty of gangs, yet besides violating the Prohibition, they've never heard of the distillery doing anything else.
The Prohibition is written in the Constitution, with crimes like treason, dictatorship, and crimes against humanity alongside it. Putting selling alcohol among these crimes is more like a dark joke.
The hunger in his belly didn't let him think much further. Today he only had a thin slice of bread, probably the same for his friend.
So, as long as I don't do anything against my conscience, working for the distillery's shadowy business should be fine, right?
"Yeah, go ahead. So, is it delivery work you're talking about? They run night shifts, mysterious and all. Is that okay?"
Tom reminisced: "No, he mentioned the group is hiring and even gave me an address. He said they have all kinds of jobs, as long as you can work diligently, you can find something that suits you. The pay isn't high, but it's enough to feed a family these days."
"Where's the address? Let me see."
The blond man reached out, confident this wasn't a joke. If it were true, why bother drinking? They should try it right away.
Tom took out a card, just an ordinary business card size: "Why rush? I've checked the timing; you see, the recruiting starts at night."
"Walter?"
The blond man received and checked it over, only to find the interview spot was in a sizable warehouse near the dock. As a former dock scheduler himself, he knew the nearby buildings well.
But the interview starting time was midnight, a bit eerie, right?
The genuine mobs would have some kind of initiation dinner, usually a meal in the family restaurant to introduce the members over dinner.
But a midnight meal? Isn't that a bit late?
Needless to say, the blond man was starving and only had thoughts of eating.
"It's only 7 PM now; the sun hasn't set yet. We are probably the earliest ones in line."
Tom confidently smiled, sticking the card into the blond man's front pocket, fixing his jacket, and patting him, signaling him to relax.
"Great, from now on, let's stick together, work well, and have good days ahead." The blond man put his arm around Tom's neck, happily tousling the hair at the back of his head.
"Of course, can you finally drink in peace now?" Tom teasingly glanced at his friend, yet nodded without hesitation.
............
The midnight interview wasn't Su Ming's twisted hobby, but because the Midnight Express employees had worked night shifts for years. Su Ming couldn't possibly rely solely on himself and Gin to organize large-scale recruitment events; inevitably, he needed extra manpower.
The most reliable people he had were the distillery and Midnight Express workers. If he recruited during the day, wouldn't that mean his current workers had to work over 20 hours straight?
So, simply having all workers organize recruitment tonight would save future time zone adjustments. By the end of recruiting, it should still be dark, and delivering then would be fine. After all, Su Ming wasn't a Devil.
As for the recruits, those with relevant skills like welders, fitters, and blacksmiths would be sent to tanks, planes, and shipbuilding departments.
Without relevant skills but factory experience, they'd go to the munitions company to boost production; though guns weren't finalized yet, they could start preparing bullets.
Those illiterate, who couldn't even spell their names, but were physically strong, would help at the overseas shipping company unloading goods or working on farms and ranches.
If lacking everything, Su Ming wouldn't turn them away either, providing some subsistence each month, asking them to find a corner on the streets to act as the group's eyes and ears. There's always someone scheming against me; more intelligence is never bad.
Of course, positions came with different compensations, depending on one's abilities.
Su Ming, as usual, left the evening recruitment to Gin, while he sat quietly in a luxury car by the roadside, dressed in a high-end suit coat, observing.
As the famous Riverfront Church's midnight bell tolled, people gradually passed through General Grant Park. This largest recruitment event in New York's history unfolded on the chilly night. People gathered in groups, faces full of hope, heading towards the former New York Port. It was the best news they'd heard since the stock market crash.
It's not like no one tried to target these night walkers. Given the scarcity of streetlights of the time, but upon learning these folks were attending the distillery's recruitment, they abandoned their original intentions.
If Ordinary folks would just rob, but in case someone stirred trouble while working for the distillery, they'd likely find themselves bound in cement at the riverbed before dawn.
Whether it's the bottom of the Hudson or offshore, it depended on their confession.
Over the years, Gin, from unfamiliar beginnings to being ruthless and vicious, received much mentorship from Su Ming. As long as he kept his men from bothering civilians, anything goes with other gangs and punks-- the harsher, the better.
Now the world turned into this, even though some other New York gangs struggled on, basically the city's underground order was ultimately dictated by Su Ming.