The Mafia Empire
Chapter 6: Chapter 6 Graf

Working at the "dock" was no easy task. Every day, massive amounts of goods had to be loaded or unloaded, and the work often started before dawn and continued late into the night.

The pay for this job was low, and the workload incredibly intense, making it difficult to replace enough workers. That's why the contract included a clause stating that leaving before six months would result in a fifty-dollar penalty. As for why the contract term was six months instead of a year or more, there was a reason.

Initially, the high-intensity labor would only leave workers feeling tired, but over time, it would take a serious toll on their bodies.

With a lack of proper nutrition, no comfortable rest environment, and the noise of passing steam locomotives at night, these workers gradually developed various health issues, like bone deformities, commonly referred to as "occupational diseases." From the capitalists' perspective, these sick workers were no longer capable of handling heavy manual labor.

Keeping them on, providing food and shelter, was considered a loss. Their only option was to be kicked out.

However, the situation wasn't that simple due to the existence of labor unions. To the capitalists, labor unions were something disgusting, making them feel sick to their stomachs. They hated the unions but couldn't get rid of them, forced to tolerate their presence. Under the protections of both imperial and religious law, they had to navigate through various regulations.

For instance, occupational diseases were classified as work injuries. The station either had to pay a large sum to send the workers off or continue supporting them until they turned forty-five.

By the god above, even paying workers an extra five cents felt like cutting off a piece of flesh for the capitalists. That's why the station's contracts were signed for six-month periods. After the contract expired, workers who wanted to renew it would need to undergo a health check. If they were confirmed to be healthy and free from deformities, they could sign again.

Those who developed health issues, however, were simply kicked out. Once the contract was fulfilled, the station had no further responsibility for any illnesses or injuries the workers might have developed.

By that time, the union would have no grounds to challenge the station.

Julian, of course, had no idea about any of this. In Mr. Kreen's eyes, Julian was just a naive country boy who would be discarded after six months, left to fend for himself. Education? That school was run by Kreen's daughter. Why not introduce the workers to a bit of education, help them gain some knowledge and manners?

The next morning, Julian arrived at the station. It was early, and the chill of late summer turning into autumn hung in the air. Rubbing his arms for warmth, he stood at the platform lit by oil lamps, where several workers were already gathering, preparing for the arrival of the first steam locomotive.

"New here?" A man in his thirties, built like a bear, wearing only a vest, had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He pulled out another one and offered it to Julian.

Back in the countryside, Julian and his brothers would sometimes steal cigarettes from Mr. Kesma, each taking a puff for fun. It wasn't about enjoying the smoke but more about the thrill. Now, faced with this stranger's offer, Julian hesitated briefly but accepted it, saying, "Thanks for the cigarette. I'm Julian."

After lighting Julian's cigarette, the man flicked the match to the ground and stamped it out with a few heavy steps. He took a deep drag, exhaled, and said, "Smoking's banned at the station. They say in some places, smoking at the station has caused fires that burned up the cargo."

He extended his hand with a grin, "My name's Graf. Glad to work with you."

Julian shook his hand, immediately feeling a sense of connection. There's something about simple exchanges and small gestures that can quickly close the gap between strangers.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," Julian said politely, taking a puff of the cigarette but quickly starting to cough.

Graf laughed heartily. "Don't call me 'sir.' That's for high society folks. Just call me Graf. So, how's the cigarette?" He waved it in front of Julian.

After a long coughing fit, Julian finally managed to catch his breath. He didn't dare take another puff. "What's in this thing?"

Graf grinned, clearly pleased. "Oh, aside from a little tobacco, there's straw, dried vine gourd, some orange peel, and a pinch of chili powder ground fine as flour."

"Come on, Graf, no one can handle that!" one of the workers nearby called out with a laugh.

Graf shrugged, unconcerned. He put the cigarette back in his mouth and glanced at them sideways. "This guy can handle it!" He nudged Julian with his elbow.

In reality, most workers smoked cigarettes like these, adding all kinds of ingredients to stretch the tobacco. They didn't make enough money to afford real cigarettes, which were considered a luxury. The workers would collect cigarette butts left around the station, empty the remaining tobacco, and save it.

Rolling pure tobacco might only get them two or three cigarettes from a day's worth of butts, but adding some filler allowed them to stretch it to a pack.

Just as the wealthy indulged in their extravagances, those at the bottom of society had their own survival tactics. After many experiments, most workers settled on dried vine gourd and orange peel as the best fillers. As for Graf's addition of straw and chili powder, that was just his personal quirk.

Seeing the earnest look in Graf's eyes and his hopeful expression, Julian forced himself to take another puff. "Not bad! Really good!" he said, coughing again, which made Graf burst into laughter.

Julian could tell that Graf wasn't mocking him. He was genuinely enjoying the moment.

Just then, the distant whistle of a steam locomotive sounded, and the workers started gathering their tools, preparing to unload the cargo.

When the locomotive arrived, Julian realized that a "standard load" didn't refer to a single package, sack, or box but to an enormous amount of goods. From what he remembered in his dreams, it was about four cubic meters. It made sense. If a single trip earned two cents, the station would be overrun with workers if the loads were any smaller.

Graf handed Julian a pair of ropes tied at both ends, helping him loop them through his arms and over his shoulders, forming an X on his back. "If you just rely on brute strength, you'll wear yourself out after five or six trips. Use these ropes to secure the corners of the box, so you can use your whole body's strength. It's easier on you and won't hurt your body.

We've got plenty of work ahead, brother!"