America 1929: John F. Kennedy, the Great Writer

After a long silence, Vito sighed.

"He's an official at the city hall, but I don't know his name. I've only met him once."

"When?" Samuel asked.

Vito replied resignedly, "The end of October, I don't remember exactly."

How did he find you?

"He came straight here, just like you did today, pushing the door open and walking in. But he's not here to look for a job; he's here to see me."

"What did he say?"

"He said he needed a few people to teach an editor a lesson. No one should die, just let that editor know that there are some things he shouldn't interfere with."

"How much money did he give you?"

"Five hundred dollars, one hundred for the three workers, and the rest is mine."

"cash?"

"Yes, cash. He took it out of his briefcase; it was all new bills."

Samuel nodded, took a small notebook out of his pocket, and began to take notes.

"Describe what he looks like," he said.

Vito hesitated for a moment, then began to describe.

"In his forties, maybe forty-five or forty-six. Of medium build, neither fat nor thin. Wearing a very well-tailored dark gray suit of excellent quality. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, and his hair was neatly combed, though he was a bit balding."

"What does he look like?"

"A very... very ordinary face. Nothing particularly special about him. But his eyes were cold, and he kept staring at you while he spoke, which made you very uncomfortable."

"What else did he say?"

He said this matter had to be handled cleanly, leaving no trace. He said that if problems arose, he wouldn't know me, and I wouldn't know him.

Did he mention his identity?

"No, he didn't say anything. But I could tell he was a powerful person. That fake politeness he showed, and that kind of demeanor, couldn't be faked."

Samuel finished taking notes, closed the notebook, and said:

"Very good, Mr. Vito, you've been very cooperative. I'll remember that."

Samuel turned to Arthur and asked, "Mr. Kennedy, have you gotten the answer you wanted?"

Arthur nodded. He already knew the answer in his heart.

That description perfectly matches that of Mayor Walker's chief political advisor, Charles DeLa.

In his forties, of medium build, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, slightly balding, and feigning politeness—all these characteristics matched Dila's.

Moreover, the timing fits in. The city hall must have been furious after he published those articles at the end of October. Dilla, as Walker's chief advisor, was likely the one responsible for handling this matter.

Arthur nodded, and Samuel, seeing this, said:

"Let's go then, this isn't the place to talk."

The three men left the employment agency. Arthur looked around, but the three workers were gone.

Seeing Arthur's eyes searching around, Samuel immediately said that he had sent people to arrest him and that he would handle the matter according to procedure, so he could rest assured.

So the three of them slowly walked out of the alley. Then Samuel stopped and asked Arthur what he planned to do next, whether he wanted to sue the person who ordered the attack.

Arthur thought for a moment, then asked Samuel, "Mr. Samuel, what do you think I should do?"

Samuel shook his head and said, "I don't think you should act rashly."

Why?

"Because you don't have enough evidence. Vito's testimony isn't enough. He has a criminal record, so his testimony won't carry much weight in court."

"Furthermore, if you expose this now, Walker will immediately distance himself from Dilla, claiming it was Dilla's personal behavior and had nothing to do with the city hall. We need more evidence to prove that this is systemic corruption, not just a problem with individual officials."

Arthur understood that Samuel did not intend to act immediately; he was waiting for an opportunity, which aligned with his own thinking—no rush.

Arthur nodded, indicating that he understood and would not act rashly.

"Very well, then I won't bother you any longer. I have other things to take care of."

Then Samuel turned to leave, but after taking a few steps, he stopped.

"By the way, Mr. Kennedy, how are your play rehearsals going?" he asked.

"Not bad, we've found a new rehearsal space."

"Where?"

Patrick said, "The basement at the dock, I provided it."

Samuel looked at Patrick, nodded, and said:

"Mr. O'Reilly, you're a good man. Mr. Kennedy needs friends. What he's doing now is going to upset a lot of people."

He looked at Arthur and reminded him:

"You need to be careful. City Hall won't let this go. This attack failed, they'll find other ways. And if your act succeeds, it will only infuriate them more. So you need to protect yourself."

"I'll be careful," Arthur said.

"Just being careful isn't enough; you need real protection. I suggest you hire a few bodyguards."

Patrick said, "I can get my nephews to protect him."

Samuel looked at Patrick and smiled:

"That's a good idea. Mr. O'Reilly, are your nephews reliable?"

"Of course, they're all good lads, and quite skilled," Patrick said.

"Very well, I trust the judgment of an old Irishman in these matters."

Samuel then looked at Arthur and said solemnly:

"Mr. Kennedy, as I said when we met before, the next few weeks will be crucial. Your theatrical debut will be a turning point. If it's successful, it will be good for our careers."

"I understand," Arthur said.

"Very good." Samuel said, then turned and left, leaning on his cane, walking towards the end of the street and eventually disappearing into the crowd.

Arthur and Patrick stood on the street, watching his back.

"This guy is amazing," Patrick said.

"Yes, he's playing a very big game. And we're all just pawns." Arthur nodded.

Patrick patted Arthur on the shoulder and said seriously, "Arthur, I don't want anything to happen to you, otherwise I won't be able to face your mother when we get back to Scranton."

Scranton is where Arthur's parents lived; a quarter of the population is of Irish descent, and it later produced the famous Sleeping King...

Arthur was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Don't worry, Uncle Patrick, our priority now is to continue rehearsals. The premiere date can't be delayed any longer."

The two walked back.

On the way, Patrick said, "I'll have Sean and the others come find you tomorrow."

"Sean?"

"My eldest son, and my two nephews, Connor and Liam. All three of them are good lads, good at fighting and running, and reliable in crucial moments."

"Will this cause you trouble?" Arthur asked.

Patrick laughed heartily, patted Arthur on the shoulder, and said loudly:

"Don't say that. We Irish often say that for every meter of road there is a two-meter hedge. You speak up for us, so it's only right that we protect you. Besides, we're relatives."

Arthur looked at Patrick and felt a warm feeling well up inside him.