"Twenty crates of cigarettes?"
In a small bar tucked away in Little Italy, right next to Chinatown, a man named Anastasia sized up the newcomer across from him.A thick Cuban cigar hung from his lips as he squinted through the smoke, asking again:
"Are you sure about the number?"
"Twenty crates. Maybe more," Pierre answered without hesitation.
Fresh from selling his watches at Corville's shop — and now carrying a small fortune in dollars — he spoke plainly.
"Mr. Anastasia, if our cooperation goes well, I may need even more next time. Provided, of course, you can guarantee the supply."
"Supply isn't a problem."Anastasia gave a broad grin, exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke."In New York, we're the only ones who can deliver that kind of volume. Luckies, Camels, you name it."
Still, he couldn't quite hide his skepticism.
"But you're really sure you want that much?"
Because he knew the usual pattern — sailors might smuggle in a few dozen cartons, maybe fifty or sixty at most, sometimes a few sacks of coffee beans. But twenty crates? That was serious quantity.
"Mr. Anastasia, I'm certain," Pierre said calmly.
Anastasia tapped the ash from his cigar and leaned forward.
"In that case, you should know — each crate must come with a hundred pounds of coffee beans. That's the rule. If you can't accept that, we'll have to part ways."
Coffee beans.
Pierre's mind immediately began calculating.
A month ago, the government had lifted restrictions on coffee imports.And the Gambino family — who had just brought in an entire shipload of Colombian beans from Cuba — had taken a massive loss.
Now, every crate of cigarettes sold came bundled with coffee — whether you wanted it or not.
Coffee was scarce in London.Another hidden treasure. Another opportunity.
Pierre, ever the businessman, wouldn't turn down a chance for profit.He agreed without hesitation.
"Of course. But the price — we'll need to renegotiate."
Then he smiled faintly and added:
"It's well known that your shipments come from Cuba. There's no rationing there. And with bulk purchases, the price should be much lower than in the U.S. If we're looking at long-term cooperation, I hope you'll give me a reasonable price."
Anastasia laughed, slapping the table.
"Alright then — for the sake of future business. I'll charge you market price. The same price you'd pay at an ordinary store."
No markup.
Pierre's heart lifted.
He agreed on the spot.
"Believe me, Mr. Anastasia," he said, businesslike,"this deal is just the beginning. We'll have a long, profitable partnership."
"God willing, may it be so!"Anastasia grinned, and the two men shook hands tightly.
Meanwhile, sitting nearby, Zhu Yihai watched all this unfold. He frowned slightly, hesitated as if to speak… but said nothing. The deal was already made.
Once the handover details were arranged, Pierre and Zhu left Little Italy. Walking down the street, Pierre noticed his guide's uneasy expression.
"You look like you've been chewing on something since we left the bar," he said. "Speak freely."
Zhu hesitated, then said:
"Mr. Pierre… actually, you probably could've gotten a better deal. The price they gave you — they're still making nearly double."
Pierre listened as Zhu explained:
Most of the cigarettes smuggled into the U.S. weren't directly American anymore.Rather, they came via Cuba or Mexico — where American brands dominated the market.
When the war started, America strictly rationed domestic tobacco — but didn't cut exports to Latin America.
Why?
Partly to maintain the tobacco companies' profits.Partly to keep political goodwill with Latin American countries.
Thus, even while Americans at home were rationed, the flow of Luckies and Camels to Cuba and Mexico continued.
Naturally, gangsters saw the opportunity.Just like during Prohibition, they ran small boats loaded with contraband — now it wasn't just whiskey, but cigarettes too.
"...Because there's no cigarette tax in Cuba or Mexico," Zhu finished explaining,"the smuggled goods cost about half what they would here. Selling them at U.S. retail prices gives them at least double the profit."
Zhu looked cautious.
"Just thought you should know. Maybe you can push for better terms next time."
Was it a loss?
Pierre didn't think so.
According to the system's "reward and penalty" rules, a truly bad business deal would have cost him experience points.And the system hadn't penalized him.
Besides, he smiled inwardly —he hadn't lost a thing.
"Noted," Pierre replied.
"And if Cuban cigarettes are so cheap, why does Chinatown still buy from Little Italy?"
Zhu hesitated, then answered:
"Because we can't get them ourselves. Smuggling isn't just about owning a boat. You have to pay off customs officials, police, dockworkers — whole networks. Here, we can bribe a few cops, but beyond that, we don't have the reach."
In short: no influence.
That's why, during Prohibition, it had been the Irish, Germans, and Italians running the real traffic.
"Exactly,"Pierre said.
"They earn double because they built the channel. They control the river."
He studied Zhu for a moment.
The man had pointed out a margin without prompting.Could be useful later — strictly for business.
Checking his watch, Pierre said:
"Time's getting on. Let's grab something to eat."