Chapter 91
Boardwalk Empire (4)
“The Devil’s Temptation” must be driven out.
They lure the growing seeds of the United States into corruption and debauchery, wasting their lives.
To permanently expel this evil from the United States, the law and coercive power must be mobilized, and furthermore, all citizens must firmly arm their minds.
There are even impure elements who prattle on about freedom and try to defend it, but those bastards are in league with the Devil. They should be beaten together with it.
Do you know what this “Devil’s Temptation” refers to?
The answer is alcohol, which was driven out of the United States under the 18th Amendment.
But look at that logic.
Strangely enough, you could replace the subject with “German spies” or “communists,” and it would sound exactly the same!
Even though it was never logic that would normally work in America, it passed thanks to the extraordinary circumstances of wartime under the Wilson administration.
It was precisely that same logic that Americans later grew sick of and rejected as they pushed Wilson out. Naturally, Prohibition fell from being “a product of reason that saved Americans from the Devil’s grasp” to “a piece of trash made by lousy politicians who wanted to trample on citizens’ freedoms.”
But in politics, repealing an existing law is even harder than passing a new one—especially if it’s part of the Constitution.
No one wanted to admit Prohibition had failed and be held responsible.
So they chose to ignore reality.
“Following Prohibition is very easy.”
“The scale of smuggling is exaggerated and has only a minimal effect on American society.”
“There’s only one kind of people who oppose Prohibition—those Reds who can’t live without vodka.”
“Rest assured. Even if thugs import illegal liquor, upright American citizens would never buy it, would they? Ha ha.”
No one could tell voters, “We need to increase enforcement units to uphold Prohibition,” or “We need to invest more budget into enforcement.” The moment you say that, you’re finished.
Amid that deliberate blindness and indifference—
“Welcome to Chicago. There’s plenty of work these days.”
“Thank you. What can I help with?”
“Some vermin are eyeing our territory. Shut their mouths tight, and I’ll reward you generously.”
Alphonse Gabriel “Al” Capone found himself a new job in Chicago.
***
“Membership in the veterans’ association is exploding.”
At Haji’s casual remark, I tilted my head.
“Really? That’s a good thing.”
“Not really. They’ve probably already run out of money.”
“No, if there are more people, they can collect dues.”
“That dues money barely keeps them fed as it is.”
The 93rd Division Veterans’ Association doesn’t officially exist.
Think about it. A Black unit sticking together like one body even after discharge?
—Citizens! Black people are always waiting for a chance to assault white women and establish a Black nation on this land!
Amazingly, that’s a real claim.
Setting everything else aside, that’s literally the plot of the famous KKK propaganda film The Birth of a Nation. Evil Black people oppress noble Southerners and plot conspiracies to establish a Black state, only to be righteously punished by the KKK—a heartwarming story, apparently. And just to top it off, the villain is a mixed-race character, because “Black people are stupid.”
Anyway, in this situation, founding a 93rd Division veterans’ association outright? That wouldn’t lead to lynching—it’d lead to a holocaust.
So instead, we had to establish a general World War veterans’ association and operate the 93rd Division group under it, categorized by region or original unit.
Anyway, while I had been busy with other matters, it seemed the association had fallen into a pretty sorry state.
Instead of going home after work that day, I headed to the association office.
“Hello, what brings you here—General Kim?!”
“That’s right.”
“Please wait a moment! I’ll gather everyone right away!”
It was my first time seeing the staff member, but he recognized me. Even if the shelf life of a war hero has expired, my reputation hasn’t gone anywhere. Heh heh.
“If they couldn’t recognize you in full uniform, they’d be idiots.”
“Don’t hit me with facts like that. I’m human too!”
He always has to ruin the mood like this. He’s evolved into the kind of guy who can’t digest his food unless I look miserable.
I raised him with care to be a proper and upright officer—how did he turn out like this?
It reminds me of those Tamagotchi-like Digimon games I played as a kid.
When a cute character evolved into something obviously evil, it left a deep scar on my young heart. No matter how hard you try to raise it, some things are just doomed from the start. Figures—this guy was the type to mess up the U.S. military government in the original timeline too. Rotten from the root—
“General? You can go in now.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you.”
“Were you thinking something bad again?”
“No. I was just having doubts about this country’s education system.”
“…What?”
“You wanted to be a teacher, didn’t you? The U.S. education system has serious problems.”
Before Haji could protest, I quickly stepped into the spacious conference room.
“General Kim! It’s been a long time!”
“Haha. I heard things have been difficult, so I came.”
“Difficult? Thanks to your continued support, we are always deeply grateful.”
After exchanging pleasantries and small talk, we finally got to the main topic.
“A considerable number of veterans have successfully settled into society, and many of them have joined our association to reminisce and help their comrades.”
“That’s very good to hear.”
“Yes. They share their experiences from Europe with friends nearby and spend meaningful time together.”
That can’t be all—otherwise I wouldn’t have heard there was a “problem.”
“However, it pains us that many are not so fortunate.”
“For example?”
“Those who struggle day by day just to survive, barely able to pay even the membership fee. Those who are too ashamed to say they can’t afford it and quietly leave the association. Those who are injured and unable to work at all. In truth, much of our dues and support funds go toward helping them… but it’s not enough.”
“…I see.”
It’s a difficult problem.
I’m not some tycoon—there’s a limit to how much I can contribute.
Maybe I should hold a charity event or something to grow the fund.
If I nag Chairman Ford for some donations, who knows what might happen. It’d be even better if job placements were included.
Since I couldn’t give a definite answer on the spot, all I could say was that I would try my best and ask them to wait.
But what I heard at the end lingered the most.
“Some comrades, when pushed to the very brink, make the wrong choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“They turn to crime. These are people already accustomed to seeing blood. The same hands that held rifles against the Jerries now turn against innocent citizens—”
“That’s enough. I understand.”
The age of Prohibition.
The keyword is obvious.
The mafia.
Just imagining our comrades riding around Chicago at night in black cars, rattling off Chicago typewriters, made my head spin. At least I could take comfort in knowing our good men of the 93rd Division would never do such things.
“And there’s one more thing… you may find it unpleasant.”
“There’s more?”
“Well… it’s about your grease gun, General.”
“Please. Please, no.”
“It’s being used for crime…”
I had expected as much.
No need for much shooting practice—just pull the trigger and it sprays bullets.
And overwhelmingly cheap.
It’s the perfect weapon for thugs.
But my expectations were only half right.
Hearing the news that came from San Francisco, I couldn’t help but grab the back of my neck.
[To my brother.
I assume you’ve already heard that street thugs are favoring the grease gun you made…]
(omitted)
But that thing… wasn’t something we made, was it?]
A fake?!
A knockoff?!
Those damn bastards—how much does one cost that they’re buying fakes? Pay for the real thing, you idiots!
***
[Ubok Washington D.C. Branch]
It finally opened.
In the heart of America, Washington, D.C., this bizarre hybrid funeral hall opened its doors.
—Since my father passed away in Hanseong and I cannot even go see him, this unfilial son must observe three years of mourning in the capital of the United States.
Don’t ask me what kind of logic that is. I don’t really know either.
Anyway, that’s how it turned out.
Amazingly, the chief mourner happened to be my father’s neighbor’s fifth cousin twice removed or something like that, meaning we were practically inseparable relations. Naturally, with such a deep connection, I too had to attend the funeral. Of course.
And so, at this funeral hall filled with “Oriental secrets,” prominent figures from the political world gathered to mourn the passing of a great figure among minorities and to deepen their understanding of the Asia-Pacific culture—one of the most important markets of the United States.
In other words, Ubok was packed.
“Hahaha!”
“Alright, let’s mix up a proper Kaiser bomb shot!”
“Drink up, drink up! The alcohol is flowing!”
“Come on, another round!”
They’re really having fun.
Humans really do pick up bad habits quickly. Dignified politicians or not—after demonstrating a few drinking tricks, they soaked it up like sponges and started enjoying themselves.
“Come here, my son-in-law.”
“I don’t think this is a place I should be joining…”
“What are you talking about? You become someone by joining places like this.”
Well… I’m still a soldier…
Then again, even Woodrow Wilson—who’s essentially the current leading Republican presidential candidate here—was someone who freely made political remarks while still serving as an active officer. Just showing up and making connections at a funeral is nothing.
“Oh, General Kim! To meet a hero who fought so bravely for the United States—this is truly an honor!”
“My son-in-law is a hero in war, but twice the hero at the poker table.”
“That’s something I look forward to hearing. I’m Warren G. Harding. A pleasure!”
“The pleasure is mine.”
Harding.
What a handsome man. Even if he were born in the 21st century, he could’ve made a living off that face alone.
“Politics is ultimately about understanding people. I’ve met many distinguished guests over the years, and I dare say I’ve developed a decent eye for judging character.”
“As expected of someone who has long devoted himself to public service.”
“Haha! You flatter me too much. It’s actually simple—just see how well someone treats this King of Hearts, Emperor Charlemagne!”
Shuffle—!
His card-shuffling skills were on par with a professional gambler.
So this is… a presidential candidate and future president?
Am I mistaking this person for someone else?
In an instant, the table was laid out with dazzling black and red patterns, cigars, ashtrays, drinks, and chips neatly arranged.
“Before we begin, let us drink in honor of the deceased.”
“May God guide him, and may the light of heaven be with him!”
“Amen!”
“Amen!!”
One shot.
Even though I made it, this stuff really messes with your head.
It feels like I’ve unleashed some forbidden Zerg upon America—but the profits are too good to give up.
The liquor market has already been reduced to ashes by Prohibition. If I take a bite, who’s going to complain? If you’ve got a problem, come to Ubok Washington D.C. branch and file your complaint. My B.F. grease gun will explain things nicely. Any problem, human?
As we continued playing, Harding flashed a charming smile and spoke to me.
“I heard you’ve spoken quite a bit about me to Congressman Curtis here.”
“Is that so? I don’t really understand politics. I only shared thoughts that any ordinary American citizen might have.”
“That’s exactly what matters! Listening to the voice of the people! Congressman, you are truly fortunate. I envy you for having such a reliable son-in-law.”
“Reliable, my foot. I was always worried he’d die any day.”
“Puhahahaha!!”
No, wait—aren’t you Congressman Curtis right now? Please step aside, Mr. Charles. This isn’t your moment.
After repeatedly praising each other—
“Damn luck. I fold. So, is there anything you need my help with?”
“Help, you say… I’m not one to refuse goodwill, but for now, I’d like to move forward on my own two hands and feet. That’s the frontier spirit, isn’t it?”
“Ahh, what a beautiful way to put it. Makes me want to recruit you into my campaign.”
“After handling countless American citizens as soldiers, the only thing I’ve gotten good at is lines like that.”
“Perhaps… with the wartime rank period ending soon, would you be interested in a field-grade position?”
He hit the mark.
As of June 30, I’ll be a first lieutenant.
And probably promoted to captain the very next day.
Borrow Harding’s power to become a major? Meaningless. If I wanted that, I’d have already asked Congressman Curtis or Chairman Ford.
“There’s an old saying in the East—‘It is unfortunate to pass the state exam at a young age.’”
“The state exam?”
“It means attaining high office at a young age.”
“And that’s unfortunate? Interesting.”
“I believe Congressman Harding will understand if he reflects on it briefly.”
He drained his glass and toyed with his cards, thinking.
“To rise too young… one becomes arrogant, or invites others’ jealousy…”
“Exactly.”
“Haha. Everyone here would understand that. So that’s why you don’t seek higher rank.”
“The military is conservative. Now that it’s no longer wartime, I believe I should show respect for its rules and discipline.”
“Hmm.”
“And that’s also what the American people want from their next presidential candidate.”
Harding’s eyes changed, but I continued, pouring another drink down my throat.
“To restore everything distorted under the pretext of wartime back to its proper order. That’s what’s being asked of me—and what the citizens expect from this country.”
“Whew… are you sure you won’t join my campaign? Secretary of War—how about it? I’ll personally warm that seat for you!”
“Ahem. I can’t give up my son-in-law. I have a son too, you know.”
“No! No! Congressman, that’s not what I meant!”
Meeting Harding in person, he was undeniably charismatic and witty. Truly, those who are destined to succeed, succeed.
“Thank you for your wise words. I’ll be sure to use them in the primaries. Is there really nothing you want? Politicians hate being indebted—it’s like a noose around their neck. Makes it hard to even enjoy poker!”
“In that case, I’d like to propose something that benefits both of us—and the entire United States.”
“I’m listening.”
“We need a way to help discharged soldiers.”
“Ah, of course. We’ve been considering that as well. Our campaign is already preparing a pledge to build veterans’ hospitals—”
“No. I’m not talking about hospitals. Something that can be connected to that.”
I awkwardly held a cigar.
I’d been warned repeatedly not to smoke cigarettes at gatherings like this, so I switched to cigars—but I still can’t get used to it.
“I propose establishing a public-interest enterprise that prioritizes hiring veterans.”
“A business? A company?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you have a specific industry in mind? I imagine there’d be significant opposition.”
“Yes. An industry that can gain public support, settle into the market, requires a moderate level of public authority, and—despite everyone wishing it existed—does not currently exist.”
I rolled the smoke in my mouth and exhaled.
Damn, this is harsh. No wonder Patton turned out the way he did.
“Have you heard of A Dog of Flanders?”
At my absurd question, Harding blinked in confusion, momentarily speechless.
I guarantee you—hundreds of thousands of Nellos would vote for you.
Too bad Patrasche doesn’t have voting rights.