From legendary short seller to god of American capital

Chapter 98 Rostan Gang

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 cover the entire skull wound with a dense spiderweb of lead wire, then tighten it with a leather headband. 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 you were injured, so I rushed over to see you. How 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. "The 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, up to $100 each, and some were even $50. But when the market closed at midnight, 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. I spent a long time at various betting companies trying to cash it out. But strangely, it was at the Metropolitan Bank that they were incredibly friendly and paid me everything. 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 was well-prepared when I went to the previous betting companies. Although the people at those betting companies were very reluctant to pay me the money, they didn't notice anything amiss when I actually took the money and left. But only the Metropolitan Betting Company..."

Larry pondered for a few seconds, as if recalling the scene, and continued...

"As soon as I came out of there, I felt like someone was following me. I glanced back as I turned the corner and saw a person wearing a black coat. After realizing I was being followed, I dodged left and right, circling around the commercial area several times before I was sure I had shaken off the follower."

Then I rushed to First National Bank in Boston, opened an account for both you and me, 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,

"Isn't 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 ...

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, right?"

"...I don't know, all I know 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 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 family-run smuggling operations.

They all deal with money to varying degrees; some control horse racing and operate betting businesses, 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 are as keen on fighting as the Italians, 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 go."

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 planning to get revenge on the people who attacked me, but I didn't want to. Fighting a gang head-on is too difficult. Besides, I'm fine, aren't I? I just suffered 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!"