Chapter 111: Ventured Roads
"Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Stevenson?" George asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "I’ll admit, I don’t fully understand the automobile industry just yet. Motor vehicles have always seemed more like noisy novelties than real freight haulers."
"Of course, Mr. Callahan," Ricky replied smoothly. He unbuckled his shoulder bag, pulled out a thick leather folder, and spread a series of detailed graphite blueprints across the low mahogany coffee table between them.
George leaned forward, adjusting his reading glasses as he looked over the technical lines, gear ratios, and chassis diagrams. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the exact schematics, but he listened quietly as Ricky pointed to different sections of the drawing.
"My automobile company will focus on heavy commercial utility trucks first," Ricky explained. "Unlike anything currently rolling out of Detroit, every core component here was designed from the ground up to solve the exact reasons modern trucks fail under heavy cargo loads."
Ricky tapped a long, straight assembly running down the center of the frame. "First, no drive chains. Almost every commercial truck on the market right now uses exposed chains that stretch out, snap under load, and throw grease everywhere. My design uses a fully enclosed propeller shaft paired with universal joints, feeding directly into a heavy-duty worm-drive rear axle."
George squinted at the drawing. "Worm-drive?"
"It’s an enclosed gear setup," Ricky said. "It handles massive torque without grinding itself to dust from road grit and dirt. Beyond that, I’ve designed a fully enclosed wooden driver’s cab with working roll-down glass windows. Right now, drivers operate in open cabs exposed to the elements. An enclosed cab keeps men dry and warm through a New York winter, which means deliveries don’t stop when the weather turns foul."
George nodded slowly, taking a small sip of whiskey as Ricky continued.
"Inside the engine, most commercial makers still rely on crude splash lubrication," Ricky pointed to the cylinder block. "When a truck carrying three tons goes up an incline, the bearings starve and throw a rod. My engine features a full pressure lubrication system—a force-feed oil pump that keeps every bearing constantly oiled under load. I’m also specifying modern heat-treated steel for the gears, axles, and leaf springs to prevent metal fatigue, along with oversized mechanical drum brakes on all four wheels connected by heavy steel rods."
Ricky pointed to the front of the frame. "Add an enlarged radiator cooling jacket, forced water circulation, and a balanced crankshaft to cut down on frame vibration, and you have a machine that can haul heavy freight every day without breaking down every twenty miles."
George leaned back in his armchair, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a dry chuckle.
"Well, Mr. Stevenson... I certainly appreciate your enthusiasm," George said, smiling faintly. "Though I’ll be honest with you. My logistics company out north hasn’t touched motor trucks because the bloody things break down constantly and cost a fortune to repair. I’d need an engineer or a master mechanic sitting right beside me to understand half of these diagrams."
"I completely understand, Mr. Callahan," Ricky said with a calm nod. "Blueprints don’t haul freight. Actions do. I’ll be back to show you a working prototype. Realistically speaking, commissioning local foundries and machine shops to cast and cut each custom part will take me roughly three to five months."
"Then we can revisit the matter when there’s an engine purring right in front of us," George said, his eyes twinkling with interest. "I assume you came to me hoping I might help finance the acquisition of a manufacturing facility and the tooling equipment?"
"Partially, yes," Ricky admitted freely. "Honestly, my current trade income will give me enough capital to set up an initial assembly shed and handle the critical machining. In time, I intend to buy out a foundry and machine shop outright. But doing this completely on my own will take longer than it needs to. I don’t have a vast network of industrial connections like you do, Mr. Callahan."
George laughed softly, shaking his head. "You’re far too modest, son. At the rate you’re expanding, you’ll have a massive network of your own in what—five months? You’re becoming a very visible figure in New York’s commercial landscape. What you really need right now is an ally to back you up against the old-money predators who love to swallow fast-rising newcomers whole. And for that? Consider me in. But as for the automobile enterprise itself, I’ll reserve final judgment until I see the vehicle with my own eyes."
Ricky let out a light laugh, leaning back. "I really can’t hide my intentions from you, can I?"
"Why do you think I have a grey head of hair and a grey mustache, Mr. Stevenson?" George chuckled, gesturing to his face. "I’m old and my knees ache when it rains, but I have decades of experience in legal trade and the underbelly. Speaking of which... things down in Greenwich are looking rather tight right now."
Ricky’s relaxed expression sharpened slightly. "Yeah. They are."
"Is that going to be a concern for your operations?" George asked, his voice dropping a octave. "You know I can step in and lend a hand with those local crews if you need a heavy hand applied."
Ricky smiled smoothly, shaking his head. "No, Mr. Callahan. You don’t need to concern yourself with Greenwich. I have the situation completely under control."
George looked at him for a long moment, not entirely convinced, but impressed by the young man’s composure. "Well... just make sure you watch your back. Petty gang conflicts have a nasty habit of dragging local politics into the mud, and when city inspectors and police captains start taking sides, it’s usually the men at the bottom who end up taking the bullets."
"I’ll take your advice to heart, Mr. Callahan," Ricky said respectfully.
"Good," George said, setting his empty glass down. "Now, onto another pressing matter. As I mentioned earlier, I need to establish a firm foothold here in New York, but more importantly, I need my granddaughters to start learning the business side of things hands-on. Marek is a bright boy, but he can’t handle a full expansion all by himself."
Ricky paused, thinking the logistics through for a moment before speaking up. "You could establish a official New York branch of your Midwestern logistics company right here, Mr. Callahan, and put your granddaughters in charge of managing it. That branch could work in direct partnership with Marek’s company and mine."
George’s eyebrows shot up. "Go on."
"You lease an office building down near Marek’s import shop and purchase a fresh fleet of heavy delivery wagons," Ricky outlined. "As for physical manpower—dock loaders, drivers, and warehouse hands—you don’t need to worry about recruitment. I have contacts in the neighborhood who can supply all the reliable labor you need. The only thing you’ll need to hire on your own are educated office clerks and bookkeepers, since most of the guys my contact knows can’t read or write."
George stared at him for a second, then broke into a wide, booming grin, slapping his hand against the armrest. "That is a bloody fantastic idea! Not only does it give the girls real operational experience, but it keeps them working side-by-side with Marek every single day. Just like the boy said, you really are a genius. Our companies will lock together like teeth on a gear."
George stood up and extended a broad, calloused hand across the table. "I’m genuinely glad to be doing business with you, Mr. Stevenson. You’re a heaven-sent partner."
Ricky stood up, taking the old man’s hand and shaking it firmly with a warm smile. "The feeling is entirely mutual, Mr. Callahan."