Welcome to Chicago

The process of getting the negatives back went smoothly. The three of them practically half-dragged the old man to his office, where he handed over all the photos and negatives from the boss's desk drawer. Eric even searched through the drawer in case anything had been missed.

"Whoa, that was intense," Delay said excitedly on the way back to the hotel.

Song Ya didn't respond. Instead, he began to calm down and feel a little regretful.

He'd been walking the edge of the law just now—no, to some extent, he'd already broken it. In the lobby, all the old man had to do was call security, and Song Ya would have been in trouble for sure. In the office, if the old man had called the police, they could practically have been caught in the act.

Fortunately, it seemed his fierce demeanor had thoroughly cowed the old man. He hadn't dared do anything.

But Song Ya knew that since the old man had been able to get into SBK and talk to him before the audition results were even out, he must have had considerable influence behind him. The Italian surname "Antonio" on the office door's nameplate especially brought to mind the ruthless Italian Mafia. In this day and age, the Mafia had already fallen on hard times in Chicago, but in New York it still retained some of its old notoriety.

Apart from getting together with Mira, his trip to New York could hardly be called a success. During this time, he'd offended quite a few people at SBK, earned himself a reputation among New York's Black community for not helping his own people, and gone against his usual cautious approach. Money had flowed through his fingers like water. Just on Mira alone, he'd spent five thousand, plus eight hundred, plus various other expenses—six or seven thousand dollars in all... Meanwhile, Aunt Susie and the rest of his family were still living in the projects and relying on welfare.

"What a city of desire, where you can lose yourself."

He stepped outside the hotel and looked up at the skyscrapers soaring into the clouds, unable to help sighing.

When the door opened, Mira rushed into his arms, her eyes red. "What am I going to do?" she sobbed.

"It's all right. Everything's all right now," Song Ya said, gently rubbing her back to comfort her.

Mrs. Jovovich was on the phone inside the room. "We'll have to wait a long time for the song's earnings. Even if the record comes out in the second half of the year, SBK won't settle the accounts until next year. As for the movie... Columbia will only pay fifteen or twenty percent of the fee when she joins the production. The rest..." She kept wiping away her tears with a handkerchief.

Song Ya looked around the lovely hotel suite, feeling rather unimpressed.

"APLUS, what are we going to do?" Mrs. Jovovich set down the phone and looked at her daughter, who was clinging tightly to Song Ya. Her face had grown even paler.

"It's all right, Mrs. Jovovich. It's taken care of."

"Taken care of?" Joy shone in Mrs. Jovovich's eyes.

"Yeah, I got all the negatives back." Song Ya took a white envelope of negatives from inside his jacket and handed it to her.

"Really!" Mrs. Jovovich examined them carefully. "How... how did you manage it?"

Song Ya shrugged. "I paid them off. In New York, what else besides money can solve problems?"

"How much?" Mrs. Jovovich pressed.

"One hundred thousand dollars." Song Ya looked completely unconcerned.

Mira shrieked in his arms. "You shouldn't have given that nasty old man so much money!"

"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Jovovich covered her mouth in astonishment. "Thank you so much, APLUS."

"Forget it. Let's not talk about that." Song Ya explained to them both about going to Chicago for rehearsals. "For now, SBK will cover your accommodation in Chicago and some other expenses. Since Mira's a minor and a member of the Screen Actors Guild, SBK will also cover the additional costs involved."

"Yeah! Honey, let's get out of here and go to Chicago!" With her mother watching, Mira took the initiative and kissed him.

Daniel was quick to act. He thoughtfully sent over a huge tour bus the band used for promotional trips, and they loaded the people and equipment into it and headed straight to Joe Music.

"This is it?" Mira hopped out of the bus, full of excitement. She looked around and was instantly disappointed.

"This is it." Song Ya knocked on the metal door. Carl opened it, just as before. "Come on in. I'll introduce you to everyone..."

Joe Music was still the same, except that a photo of Old Joe with Congressman Underwood had been added to the picture wall by the stairs. On the second-floor reception desk, the promotional posters for Little Lowry and Al had long since been taken down, replaced by a solo poster of Lowry.

"You all know South Side of Chicago isn't safe. The area around the hotel is safe enough, but don't go wandering around Joe Music, especially over there..." Song Ya pointed to the underground nightclub across the street. "You white folks absolutely do not want to go in there for fun."

"I get it, I get it! Al Capone! Rat-a-tat-tat..." Delay mimed a Chicago Typewriter firing.

Song Ya smiled. Al Capone had been finished for ages. His downfall had brought about a major decline in Chicago's Mafia, and this was the first major city in the country where Black people controlled the rules of the underworld.

He couldn't be bothered explaining all that to Delay and the others. He opened the recording studio door and had them unload the equipment from the bus, then took Mira into Old Joe's office and locked the door. Mira's mother had stayed at the hotel to pack. It was a rare opportunity.

He called Pablo's cell phone. "Hi, Pablo, it's APLUS. Is Tony next to you?" he asked.

The call was passed to Tony.

"Uh... Tony, I wanted to ask, how should I pay... I mean, my partner?"

After finishing the call with Tony, he told Mira to get dressed and go join the rehearsal, then took Eric's car to the bank before heading back to his home in the projects.

Standing outside the dilapidated house, it was hard to imagine that not long ago he'd been throwing his weight around in New York, with a crowd of singers and agents carefully trying to figure out what he liked and maneuvering against one another for a chance at his favor.

"Hey, Al, you get the car fixed?" He spotted Al crawling out from under the car, covered in grease.

"I fixed it ages ago, but it broke down again not long after. I can only keep fixing it," Al replied.

Aunt Susie and the others weren't home. They'd probably gone to church. Song Ya went into his room, where the little TV was showing a report from local Chicago media about the Thrift Shop's huge success.

Al hurriedly switched off the TV.

"Al, be my partner. I'm short-handed right now." Song Ya searched around the room for a while and found a few rubber bands for bundling small items.

Al said nothing.

"Don't keep moping around like this. You hate Old Joe and the others, but you don't hate me, do you?" Song Ya urged him. "Or do you want to throw away another chance?"

"Fine." Al held out for only a little while before agreeing. "Thanks, APLUS."

"Don't mention it."

With Al on board, Song Ya pulled five hundred dollars from inside his jacket, bundled it with a rubber band, went out to find Eric, and tossed it to him. "Your share."

"Thanks, APLUS." Eric didn't even count it. He grinned and stuffed the roll of bills into his pants pocket.

That was another benefit of having a sidekick—no, a partner. They came cheap. After working such long hours alongside Song Ya for so long, Eric could have earned far more than this as a sound engineer in New York. In fact, that was a widespread problem. Ordinary gang members in Chicago earned well below the government's minimum wage, and even the small-time bosses made less than ordinary white-collar workers at big companies. These days, many gang members still lived with their mothers as adults—not because they were especially devoted sons, but because they genuinely couldn't afford to move out...

He brought Al along and returned to Joe Music.

"Hey... Al." Carl, who was usually so taciturn, greeted Al first.

Al flipped him off.

Carl actually smiled for once.

Night fell. Delay and the others finished rehearsing and walked out of Joe Music. From now on, Al would drive the Ford pickup and shuttle them to and from the hotel.

"Bang!"

A muffled gunshot suddenly rang out from the underground nightclub across the street, followed by screams from the men and women inside. A sea of dark figures surged out, and chaos broke loose.

Delay and the others stared, dumbstruck.

"Welcome to Chicago," Song Ya said with a smile.