Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 98 The Rostan Gang (Seeking monthly tickets and recommendations)
After finding out the location of Logan's bed, Larry, holding flowers, slowly walked into the ward.

The wards at this time were not the small rooms for three or four people like in later generations, but rather large open rooms like classrooms.

The large ward, less than 80 square meters in size, contained a full forty metal-framed beds. Some of the sheets had congealed dark brown bloodstains and yellowish, turbid sore marks on them.

A bucket of bandages lay in the corner, awaiting washing. The chilly winter wind howled in through the tall ventilation window, but it couldn't dispel the stench of blood and the cloying sweet smell of gangrene in the ward.

Larry, holding the flowers, cautiously examined each bed: a worker with a sunken skull was tightly bound to the bed, his work clothes still stained with fish scales from the dock area, and whenever he groaned in pain, pink cerebrospinal fluid seeped from the gauze in the sunken area...

For those with skull fractures, doctors would use a dense spiderweb of wire to cover the entire skull wound, then fasten a leather headband to tighten it. This primitive and brutal fixation technique looked no different from torture.

Larry swallowed again, fearing that Logan might look similar.

But he soon saw Logan, who was lying on his back on one of the two empty beds, with thick bandages wrapped around his head, looking up at the sky, and one leg idly dangling from his other leg.

“Logan! I’ve come to see you!” Larry walked up and greeted him quietly.

Logan heard Larry's voice and turned his head slightly to the left, but the turn pulled on the wound on his forehead, so to Larry's eyes, Logan still looked like a snarling, ferocious man.

"Stay there and don't move! Be careful of your wound," Larry quickly reassured him, gently placing the bouquet of carnations on Logan's bedside table.

Once the pain from Logan's wound subsided, a smile appeared on his face.
"Just got back from Hartford?"

Larry sat on the edge of the bed, frowning as he looked at Logan before nodding and saying, "I just got back. I heard from the police that you were injured, so I rushed over to see you. How are you feeling? Are you feeling better?"

Logan chuckled nonchalantly and said, "That damn idiot tried to ambush me. Actually, I noticed something was wrong with him a while ago. I dodged his first blow, but I was too slow on the second one and he grazed me... It's nothing serious."

Larry leaned out to examine Logan's wound, frowned, and asked,

Do you know who did it?

Logan's face turned serious. After thinking for a few seconds, he lowered his voice and said, "I think it might be someone from the Metropolitan Casino..."

Larry raised an eyebrow. "Metropolitan Casino? Did you place your bet there?"

Logan looked regretful and sighed softly.
“Oh, just the Saturday before last. Didn’t you tell me to only place my order for Carnegie in the last half hour? I was frantically placing orders at several betting shops, each with a maximum of $100 and some $50, but by midnight when the market closed, I still had $200 left to place. It was too late to rush to the next betting shop then. I just happened to see a Metropolitan betting shop on the side of the road, so I bought 200 shares of Carnegie there…”

Larry frowned. This wasn't much different from what he had expected, except that Logan had gotten himself into trouble with the Metropolitan Gaming House.

Logan started talking, and continued, "I also remembered what Marco said, but at the time I thought it was just a betting shop, what's the big deal..."

After saying that, Logan frowned and said with a suspicious look,
"I closed my position last Tuesday because the profit was quite substantial. When it came time to cash out, I hesitated for a long time at various betting companies. But strangely, it was at the Metropolitan Bank that they were very friendly and paid me all the money. You know what? That's a whopping $7280! Their politeness seemed unusual to me..."

Larry, also filled with doubt, asked, "But how can you be so sure they're from Metropolis?"

Logan's face turned serious as he continued,
"Because I know a bit about tracking and counter-tracking techniques, I made ample preparations when I went to the previous betting companies. Although the people at those companies were very reluctant to pay me the money, they didn't notice anything amiss when I actually left with the money. But only the Metropolitan Betting Company..."

Logan pondered for a few seconds, as if recalling the scene, and continued, "As soon as I came out of there, I felt someone was following me. I glanced back when I turned the corner and saw a person in a black coat. After realizing I was being followed, I dodged left and right, circling around the commercial district several times before I was sure I had shaken off the pursuer."

Then I rushed to First National Bank in Boston, opened an account for both of us, and deposited all the money. I thought that would be the end of it…”

Larry frowned repeatedly as he listened to Logan's words, and then said thoughtfully,
"Is it possible that this isn't someone from Metropolis, but rather some other bad guys from the gambling den who have their eyes on you?"

“That’s possible, but Larry, do you know who owns the Metropolitan?” Logan asked.

Larry sensed a deeper meaning in Logan's words and quickly asked, "Who is it?"

“Monk Rosstein!” Logan said solemnly.

Larry was a little confused; he'd never heard of the name before. He quickly asked, "So...?"

Logan gave Larry another look that said, "I knew you didn't know, and I was just wasting my breath asking you," and patiently explained.
"That's a typical minority name, isn't it? The real power in Metropolis is the Rothschild gang. Hmm, you know there are three main types of gangs on the East Coast of the United States, right?"

“…I don’t know, all I know are that there are Irish and Italians,” Larry answered honestly.

Logan wiped his face with his hand, calmed himself down for a while, and then patiently answered.

“Currently, American gangs are mostly composed of immigrants. In addition to the Celtic gangs, which are mainly Irish, and Italian family gangs, the third type of gangs are those from Eastern Europe, such as the Rostan gangs.”

They don't control ports and entertainment venues like the Irish, nor do they operate like Italian mafia gangs with families at their core.

They all deal with money to varying degrees; some control horse racing and run betting operations, some collect debts, some launder money, and others act as money brokers for banks or lend money at exorbitant interest rates.

Larry nodded, and seeing that Logan still seemed to have something to say, he remained silent and listened.

Logan pointed to his head and continued with a sigh, "The most important thing is the difference in how violence is used. The Irish and Italians are both keen on fighting, but only the Rostan gang, they love assassinations."

After listening, Larry looked up and thought for a long time before turning to look at Logan, nodding and saying, "I'll go to the Metropolitan Casino later to see how things are going."

Logan was startled and almost sat up. A sharp pain shot through his forehead wound, but he gritted his teeth and lay back down on the pillow, urgently instructing him...

"Don't go!! You can't afford to mess with the Rostan Gang."

Larry shook his head and said calmly, "I'm just going to find out what's going on, not to provoke them."

Logan stared into Larry's eyes, and seeing that he didn't seem to be lying, he continued.
“I didn’t tell anyone about this in Metropolis, not even my father. He’s furious and he’s planning to get back at the people who attacked me, but I don’t want to do that. It’s too difficult to fight a gang head-on. Besides, I’m fine, aren’t I? I just had some minor injuries.”

Larry remained expressionless, patted Logan's arm reassuringly, and said, "Take good care of yourself and get discharged soon. I'll try to come see you again in the next day or two."

Logan smiled and looked at Larry, saying, "You know what? I bought 100 shares of Carnegie myself, and with your commission, I now have $3860 in my bank account! I'm fucking rich! Now I just want to recover from my injuries as soon as possible so I can go out and splurge!"

(End of this chapter)