America 1982-Chapter 34: Don’t Be Dominated by Money

On the third day, Tommy Hawk received a call from Tony, who was in Yarmouth, Canada. As Tommy had speculated, there was a well-established cigarette sales network there. However, Tony was feeling discontent; he was far from happy about it.

Following Tommy’s instructions, Tony had first arrived in Portland, which is across the Gulf of Maine from Yarmouth, Canada. Shortly after revealing to the Italian guide, who was paid for his services, that his family was from Missouri, local Italians in Portland who owned grocery stores took the initiative to socialize with him the next day and started talking about the very common cigarette trade between America and Canada.

It was quite simple. Missouri is a big tobacco-producing state in America and has the lowest tobacco tax in the entire country. By saying that his family lived in Missouri, to these Italians, it implied that his family was possibly involved in a business related to cigarettes, either growing tobacco or processing it.

If it was true, then both sides could collaborate to sell cigarettes to Canada.

This kind of cigarette business was so commonplace that even the Canadian government had become immune to it. After all, the United States government could endure its own strong indignation year after year, shamelessly ignoring the acts of the American tobacco company’s processing ships coming to the international waters near Canada to produce cigarettes for several months, how could they expect these Americans under such a powerful government to respect Canadian law.

Take Marlboro cigarettes for example; nearly thirty percent consumed by Canadian smokers today are not purchased through the official channels recognized by the Canadian government.

That is to say, Canada approves the import of five million boxes of Marlboros per year, but statistics reveal that six and a half million boxes are sold domestically, making it evident where the extra one and a half million untaxed boxes come from.

Canadian smokers also prefer to buy these dubious imported cigarettes, not because they are unpatriotic, but because the cash in their pockets doesn’t allow them the luxury of patriotism.

The tobacco tax in Canada is too high. New Yorkers spend less than four US dollars for a pack of Marlboro, which is already enough to make smokers curse the mayor, while a pack of Marlboro sold through official channels in Canada costs the equivalent of five US dollars.

If they think American goods are too expensive, they can only buy Canadian brands like Belmont, which taste as bad as shit.

To prevent Canadian smokers from supporting local products, the American tobacco companies have even devised a scheme that made the Canadian government swear. A Canadian medical organization, having received who knows how much in public relations fees, released a report from an unknown source with a widespread announcement to the Canadian people, saying that after comparison, it was found that regular smoking of Belmont cigarettes could cause irreversible severe damage to the heart.

The entire report barely stopped short of openly suggesting, "Cherish your life, please buy American brand cigarettes."

Tony was initially pleased that the Italians in Portland treated him as a visitor from Missouri, because he thought they were prepared to negotiate business with him based on the legal selling price of Marlboros in Missouri.

Because of this, Tony, who was not good at math, had specifically focused on calculating the profits. The normal selling price for a pack of Marlboros in Missouri is 2.6 US dollars, but they get them from the factory for only 40 cents. This meant if the deal went through, he would make nearly two dollars per pack, nearly twenty dollars per carton, and nearly a thousand dollars per box. Two hundred boxes would thus net him one hundred and eighty thousand dollars.

However, he soon realized that the idiots were not the Italians, but himself. The local Italians had long been accustomed to this business and knew the factory prices for tobacco; they simply recognized that Tony had a stable supply. They didn’t plan to buy as much as possible, like morons rushing into a supermarket on Black Friday after hearing the price of two dollars and forty cents per box.

Especially after hearing that Tony was only willing to trade near the open waters of Yarmouth and even refused to enter territorial waters, the other party directly quoted a price that almost made Tony lose control and want to explode on the spot: a super low price of two hundred and seventy-five US dollars per case.

"Tommy, a pack of Marlboros sells for five US dollars in Canada, but they only pay us fifty-five cents per pack," Tony said unwillingly over the phone after hearing Tommy agree to cooperate at this price, "All the profits are being made by those crooks."

"Tony, you can’t possibly go to Canada and sell them pack by pack. The smugglers need profits too. Since we’ve decided to trade in the safest and most secure way, we need to be mentally prepared to let those who take the risks earn more of the profit," Tommy Hawk spoke calmly: "With this price, I don’t find it strange at all."

"I’ve asked if we could deliver to the cities they designate..." Tony began. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Before Tony could finish, Tommy decisively cut him off: "No, just in international waters, not even a kilometer further."

"And then to watch them make hundreds of thousands or even more with our goods?" Tony’s breathing was a bit heavy on the other side of the phone: "Tommy, as long as..."

Tommy Hawk cut off Tony’s words once again, slowly speaking with a relaxed tone: "Tony, take a deep breath, calm down, and think about it. Just taking a fishing boat out for a spin and we make fifteen thousand bucks. After deducting bank interest and expenses, we get to keep fourteen thousand. And before this, you were earning eighty a week, and I made three dollars an hour from my grueling part-time job. We are making in a day and a night what many people can’t make in a year, which is already a lot. Never be too greedy; you should control money, not let money control you. Don’t lose your sanity over those numbers."

"You’re right, it’s already a lot, don’t be greedy," Tommy reassured himself a few times with deep breaths, then asked with some uncertainty.

Tommy said, "Think about what you once reminded me. Don’t do anything stupid. We need to come back with the money, and then bring Bessie back home. We don’t want to end up in a Canadian jail for doing something stupid. Think about Ashley, think about her."

"OK, you’re right, brother." Tony’s mood settled down a bit: "Damn, hearing those numbers, it was like I couldn’t control myself. God, you’re right, OK. Note down the other fishing boat’s radio station and the walkie-talkie channel; I’ll be waiting for you on the fishing boat. When do you plan to set out?"

Tommy Hawk glanced at the clock on the wall, with the hour hand pointing to eleven in the morning: "We’ll set out at three in the afternoon. We should reach the Gulf of Maine at about two or three in the morning. You can go get a good sleep now, and you’ll take over the wheel on the way back."

"Let those bastards make more money. I want to... Shit! I forgot about something else, see you then, Tommy!" Tony suddenly remembered something and hastily hung up the phone.

After replacing the telephone receiver and stowing away the contact notes he just made, Tommy Hawk stood up, picking up the suitcase he had prepared earlier, filled with clothes to keep warm at night and tools. Before he could move, the bedroom door opened, and there was Melanie holding a life jacket in her left hand and dragging a large rolling suitcase with her right.

"First, you should know that Tony and I have been steering fishing boats out to sea since we were fourteen, more skilled than driving, right?" Tommy glanced at the life jacket in her hand: "Secondly, in the waters we’ll be sailing, there are more fishing boats near the shore than there are fish. You’d probably get killed by the countless lifebuoys thrown from passing boats within thirty seconds of falling in. You look pretty pathetic right now."

Melanie opened the apartment door, stepping out ahead and said without turning back: "That’s sarcasm, Tommy. With all your smarts, can’t you see this is a retort to you not trusting me last time?"