American variety show: The Godfather, the Peace Ambassador, what the heck?

Chapter 179 Let's clean it up together

end of June.

A black car drove into Little Italy.

Sitting in the back seat of the car, Slavie suddenly shivered and got goosebumps all over. "This damn weather, how come New York is colder than Boston?"

The subordinate in the passenger seat rubbed his arms. "I was fine until we got to Little Italy, then I felt a little uneasy."

This didn't seem to be the dry cold of the North, but more like the damp cold of the South. It was like a magical attack; the cold wind felt like tiny knives burrowing into your collar and rubbing against your skin, sending chills down your spine.

Looking at the bustling and joyful scene on the street, Slavi thought to himself, "It looks lively and harmonious here, but why do I feel a little uncomfortable?"
Upon arriving at the SSR Club and entering the lobby, Slavie felt much warmer, but the palpitation still lingered, though it was masked by a calmer state of mind.

The club was bustling with guests, and Slavi looked around, saying, "There are more guests here than in our club."

The subordinate grinned lewdly: "Who knows, the girls here might be even prettier?"

Slavi glanced at him sideways. Couldn't he see there were many female customers here? Or were there many male prostitutes? The customers were probably attracted by other reasons.

Having been in the pimping business for so many years, Slavi was extremely experienced. He could tell at a glance whether there were any special services or not. He could tell from just one look whether the women there had a worldly air about them.

The group went to the front desk and found the concierge, William.

"I'm looking for Luca the pigeon."

He's waiting for you at the bar.

William called a waiter and led Slavie and the others to a bar.

The bar has many customers during the day. It's not a nightclub, but many people have a habit of drinking from morning till night.

When Slavi met Luca, the latter was sitting at a corner table reading a newspaper. Slavi glanced at it briefly and saw that it was still a financial report from Boston.

Are you really interested in business over there?

Next to Luca sat Abram, who was drinking. When he saw Slavi and the others, he stood up and greeted them with a forced smile.

Slavy cursed Abram, that bastard who had taken a share of his port business, to death in his heart. If it weren't for Mr. Pushkin's agreement, he would have really wanted to kill this bearded man.

Luca looked up, and a panel flashed before his eyes.

A low-ranking D card.

The two shook hands, exchanged greetings, and then got straight to the point.

“I know how your petrol tax business works.”

Slavi leaned back on the sofa, tilting his body slightly. "Abram sent a lot of brothers back to Russia. Those brothers who took the blame for you are still on the IRS's investigation list. If it weren't for Mr. Pushkin stopping the IRS for you in Russia, do you think your business would have been able to proceed so smoothly?"

I don't believe you for a second. Luka believes Pushkin has strong connections in Russian politics, but not enough to affect the IRS in the United States. In addition, the CIA has a strong influence abroad. As for the extent of the investigation, Luka doesn't know for the time being.

But the IRS and CIA haven't traced it back to Luca yet, so Luca wants to make as much money as possible before the gasoline tax scam is exposed—this business is related to federal tax policy, and once the tax policies of various states are updated, this business will be difficult to sustain.

At that point, I'll have to run a proper gas station business, and I can still make some money.

This will likely happen within the next few years. In any case, the Federation will eventually fill in this loophole and fix the bug.

"Thank you, Mr. Pushkin, for taking care of those brothers who fled."

Luca brushed it off with a casual remark, then continued, "Let's talk about this collaboration. Your influence in New England is not as great as that of the Patriaca family. I could have easily let you off the hook and cooperated with the Patriaca family, but I still chose you and Mr. Pushkin Slavie because of my past oil business dealings with Mr. Pushkin. I prefer to do business with acquaintances."

"You sold Abram's portion of the oil?" Slavie brought up the matter. "If you hadn't opened the port of New York, Abram wouldn't have gotten Mr. Pushkin's oil. And now we're talking about New England, where they don't need your port."

Moreover, I have brothers, I own oil refineries, and I have more oil than Abrams. Even gasoline wholesalers like Mobil need to import gasoline from me.

We can cooperate, but this time I want the lion's share.

Slavi grinned and said, "This is also Mr. Pushkin's condition. We have more resources than you, and we have invested more, so we should take the lion's share."

“But you don’t have the relevant experience, and you Russians can’t get wholesale licenses.”

"Is this business difficult? I've told you I know your tricks all too well. You can't fool me. We Russians discovered your tax fraud a long time ago. We're even defrauding health insurance."

Slavie shrugged: "Wholesale licenses aren't something only your family can get."

Luka's heart sank slightly. This was the most troublesome situation imaginable. These Russians knew the inside story all too well, and they controlled a large amount of oil smuggling, giving them a greater advantage in terms of resources than Luka himself. Pushkin had many businesses on both the East and West coasts, a vast operation, but their manpower and territory were limited. They were upstream suppliers, selling oil, weapons, and even Eastern European women; they didn't need to delve into the lower-level markets and use a large workforce to accumulate resources.

Like Yuri, he himself doesn't have many people, but he is one of the world's top arms dealers—he doesn't need to go to the battlefield to fight, he just needs to collect and deliver goods.

Luca, however, has a large grassroots base, especially among truck drivers and gas stations.

The largest groups, with the most manpower, are undoubtedly the cartels in Mexico and South America, controlling everything from planting to street sales. The Triads are another example, with tens of thousands of members worldwide.

The Russian mafia does indeed enjoy engaging in upstream crimes, and they are the most adept at dealing with cryptocurrency, laundering money in and out with great enthusiasm, surpassing all other gangs.

When Luca mentioned delivery drivers and gas stations, Slavie didn't seem to care much. "You control the drivers' union in New Jersey, but you don't have jurisdiction over Pigeon in New England. First of all, you need to understand that this is my territory. If you want to come and do business, I welcome you with applause, but you have to learn to cooperate with me, understand? Now I need your assistance, not for you to take the lead."

Luca calmly picked up his glass and let the other party take the lead. This would greatly reduce the involvement of his oil refinery and truck drivers, and ultimately they would earn much less money.

What bothered him more was the feeling of being out of control—gasoline tax was a particularly risky business, and he only dared to expand it on a large scale after he had everything under control and had secured every link in the chain.

And what kind of jerk is Slavoj?
This guy goes around pimping and beating up underage prostitutes; who knows when he'll run into a petitioner and get killed.

Luca should be thinking about squeezing every last bit of value out of this guy before he dies.

It looks like this partnership is about to fall apart.

Are we going to give up business in such a large area of ​​New England?
Luca thought about it and realized that cooperating with the Patriaca family would be a more suitable option, but that would also lead to more serious conflicts with them.

After a few drinks, Luca first stalled Slavi and took him into the casino, while he quickly arranged to meet with Patriaca's people.

Inside the casino, Slavi, holding the 10,000 chips Luca had generously gifted him, sat down at a card table and complained to his brothers, "That guy Abram, he left such a big business to watch the pigeons feast while he just followed behind and drank the soup. Ha, what a coward. I would have started my own business a long time ago."

The subordinate chimed in with a complaint: "Abram wasn't as brave as his brother to begin with. Maybe he thinks it's easier to follow Pigeon and not have to worry about so much."

"That's why he can't make big money; the pigeons take the lion's share." Slavie shook his head. "Just feed the pigeons some breadcrumbs. Pigeons aren't vultures; they don't expect to find meat anywhere."

"So, should we still cooperate with the pigeons?"

"Ah"

Slavi scoffed.

The group came in laughing and joking, but after sitting for several hours, they left empty-handed, looking dejected.

I lost everything.

What a terrible casino! How can the dealers be so powerful?

The cooperation has not yet been agreed upon, but there has been no complete break with Slavia. Luca is temporarily focusing his attention on the Patriaca family, waiting for a peace meeting with them.

However, two days later, Fat Tony delivered another unexpected message.

"Pigeon, they initially agreed to talk to you, but I don't know what got into them, they rejected my request again last night."

Tony said helplessly on the phone, "They made a very serious statement that they don't want you to interfere in their family's territory, and that everyone should keep to themselves."

Luca's worst fears came true.

The Patriaca family, which preferred to keep everything to themselves, ultimately rejected the Lucchese family's offer of cooperation.

“I understand.” Luca’s voice was unreadable as he instructed, “I will find another way to handle the business in New England. If all else fails, we can put it aside for now and develop businesses in Miami, New Orleans, and the West Coast.”

Other places are relatively even further away.

New Orleans is in the southern United States, to the southwest lies the state of Mexico, and continuing south crosses into Mexico. That's a godforsaken place, mostly desert, and it's also the territory of Mexican gangs.
Miami, on the other hand, is located in Florida in the southeastern corner of the United States. The scenery there is indeed beautiful, with sunshine, beaches, and bikinis, but it is incredibly chaotic. A large number of Cuban refugees gather there, and drugs are rampant, making it the prototype of a "sin city."

Then there's the West Coast; California seems pretty good in all aspects.

Luca has always had a lot of options, but Boston is just a damn close to New York, how can he not win it?
Three days later, a message from Abram completely solidified Luca's decision.

Abram: "Pigeon, the Slavie and Patriaca families have joined forces to do a gasoline tax business in New England."

Luca smiled knowingly, "Very good."

That's perfect, we can clean them all up at once.

(End of this chapter)