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Chapter 155: Ch.154 Prohibition Era

"My name is Slade Wilson. Could you hurry it up? I\'m in a rush to get home."

Su Ming spoke as he slipped the officer a five-dollar tip. His flawless Upper East Side New York accent made it clear that he was an American.

Sure enough, the chubby customs officer smiled, subtly pocketed the tip, and gave a cursory glance at Su Ming\'s birth certificate. He didn\'t bother inspecting his belongings.

"Welcome home, sir," the officer said, indicating that Su Ming could pass. Then he waved his baton toward the next person in line and shouted, "Next! Step up, this way."

Passing through the bustling crowd, navigating the old, historically rich dock, and hearing the calls of seagulls, Su Ming stepped into the city with a smile.

Skyscrapers, vintage cars, old-fashioned trench coats, and soft felt hats—these were the sights around him.

Police officers twirled batons, children hawked newspapers, and across from the dock, an Italian deli owner shooed flies away from roasted chicken with a rag.

Noisy, lively—this was New York in the 1920s. Watching the people in their vintage attire walk down the street, Su Ming felt like he had stepped into a black-and-white movie.

He still had over $9,000 on him. If it was just for living expenses, that would last him a long time, but if he wanted to start a weapons company and realize his long-term plans, it was far from enough.

A small workshop wouldn\'t suffice for defense contracts.

This money was merely seed capital. Su Ming planned to amass a fortune quickly through a series of calculated moves.

First on the list: brewing alcohol.

Sitting in the taxi, Su Ming could hear the jazz music coming from the street, but there was no scent of alcohol. A life without alcohol seemed incomplete.

The Prohibition Era was also the era when American organized crime rose to prominence.

The intent behind Prohibition wasn\'t entirely wrong. After all, encouraging people to focus on productive lives and not spend their days drunk was a good idea.

But alcohol is addictive.

Many people couldn\'t live without it. With the government banning its sale and making both buying and selling illegal, what were they supposed to do?

As Karl Marx said, "With enough profit, capital becomes reckless. If there\'s a 50% profit, it\'ll take risks; for 100% profit, it\'ll violate all human laws; and for 300% profit, there is no crime it won\'t commit, even at the risk of the gallows."

Brewing and selling alcohol were once legitimate businesses run by respectable factories and merchants. But now, with one government decree, they had to go underground, playing cat and mouse with the police.

But the criminal organizations, already dealing in underground activities, were better organized and more secretive, allowing them to dominate the market. They formed a seamless underground industry from production to distribution, making huge profits through family-run operations.

These were criminals by nature, and if caught, bootlegging would be the least of their crimes. The charges for murder, arson, and other such activities would be enough to send them to the electric chair.

This was truly a lucrative business. At that time, a few sacks of corn cost just over a dollar, but after distilling and fermenting it into bootleg whiskey, it could easily sell for over $50 a barrel.

Earning 50 times the profit in about seven days without needing to run around, just having a basement, a few pots, and barrels was enough.

As for the taste? Poor quality? In this era, consumers didn\'t care. Before 1933, you would never have to worry about finding a market for your product.

If horse urine tasted a bit like beer, you could sell it too.

Of course, gangsters often used subpar techniques, and in their rush to sell, the fermentation process was often incomplete, resulting in bootleg alcohol with dangerously high levels of methanol. Many of the blind individuals in this era lost their sight from drinking bootleg alcohol.

Su Ming now planned to enter this business. He had enough capital, and distilling alcohol was already established in this era, with equipment readily available from defunct factories.

He just needed to buy the raw materials, select a hidden location to start production, and secure a bar to sell the alcohol.

Wouldn\'t a world-class super-soldier be able to secure a bar and a factory?

Bootlegging was an underground business, so everything followed the rules of the underground world. In this world, power was the language of authority.

Su Ming was only in it for the money, not territory, so as long as he and the gangs coexisted peacefully, there wouldn\'t be any problems.

But if someone wanted to cause trouble because he was encroaching on their liquor business, Su Ming wouldn\'t mind taking out a few more gangs, giving the people of New York a little peace.

The first step was to choose a location for a distillery, a place to store equipment and brew alcohol. Ideally, it would be near the Hudson River, making it easy to load the barrels onto a small boat at night and deliver them to the bar without anyone noticing.

Of course, this was how ordinary gangs operated. Su Ming had a better idea—the complex underground spaces of New York City.

New York was established in 1664 and had undergone several expansions and renovations since then. The sewers, naturally, changed with the buildings above them.

For example, the area where Fifth Avenue intersects 64th Street used to be a bustling residential neighborhood. But after 1856, the government reclaimed a large area, flattened it, and turned it into what is now Central Park.

However, the underground systems were neither updated nor did they require the expenditure, so they were simply abandoned and left idle.

New York\'s sewer system includes a flood control system, not only sturdy but also spacious in many areas, large enough to allow ten trucks to pass side by side.

Su Ming once saw in Die Hard with a Vengeance that the villains used abandoned underground tunnels to rob the Federal Reserve, driving away with 100 tons of gold in trucks.

Of course, that didn\'t happen in the Marvel Universe, but the tactics were worth borrowing. Su Ming just needed to find a sufficiently spacious and hidden place.

So he first found a hotel, stashed away his gear, and then took another taxi to the New York State Public Library, where he could look up records of all the changes to the city\'s underground pipelines since it was built.

Walking through the bustling streets, smiling as he declined a flower from a street vendor child, Su Ming stepped into the high-arched entrance of the library.

This was probably the cheapest information fee Deathstroke had ever paid—just one dollar for a library card that gave him access to these pipeline records.

He posed as a student researching tunnel history, so the library staff didn\'t suspect anything. They had seen students researching dung beetles, and just the other day, someone had come in looking for cannibalism recipes—probably for a new professor\'s course.

Besides, these records were public, and no one ever looked at them.

Passing through rows of bookshelves, following the guide, Su Ming walked through the ink-scented halls of the library. The bright light and solemn atmosphere made him instinctively walk quieter.

"This is it, this cabinet has everything you need," the librarian said, pointing to a tall bookcase.

It contained not only historical records but also the original blueprints, details on construction costs, and information about the people involved—everything related to the underground.

Su Ming nodded in thanks and pulled out a large roll of blueprints.

"Cough."

Su Ming asked for a small duster and cleaned the roll. It seemed no one had touched it in decades, as it was covered in thick dust, almost like an archaeological artifact.

He also inquired about the locations of the maps of above-ground buildings, water supply pipes, power lines, sewage systems, and other maps he needed to check.

Especially the subway routes—New York City built its subway in 1904, and some of the early experimental tunnels were abandoned.

One by one, he pulled out maps from the shelves, laying them out on the table. The bespectacled library staff in the distance were only responsible for ensuring that he didn\'t damage the books and materials—they didn\'t care what he was researching.

All the complex pipeline data was stored in Su Ming\'s brain, and his mind, as powerful as a supercomputer, immediately reorganized hundreds of thousands of lines and segments.

He needed to find a place with electricity or gas, a large underground space, and a discreet building above.

"There are so many places like that. No wonder New York has so many vigilantes later on—it\'s too easy to find a safe house here."

With just a quick glance, Su Ming identified hundreds of suitable locations, prompting him to sigh.

If it were after the Cold War, when Americans were obsessed with digging bomb shelters, the combination of these underground tunnels and abandoned bomb shelters would make it easy to establish an underground kingdom.

Putting these thoughts aside, Su Ming carefully put the maps back in order, returned them to their places, and thanked the librarian.

The staff didn\'t know why he only needed five minutes of material, but that was fine—he could get off work early.

Su Ming\'s goal was to inspect all these underground locations within three days.

Time was short, and the task was heavy—he had to start immediately.

He\'d grown bored to the point of madness during that month on the ship, and working toward a plan made him feel more at ease.

Leaving the library, he didn\'t take a cab. Instead, he found a secluded alley, lifted a manhole cover, and jumped down.

In urban legends, New York\'s sewers are said to house crocodiles bigger than whales, but to Su Ming, turning one into a nice crocodile leather belt would be a fine collectible.