Chapter 61 - Smoke and Corpses

Chapter 61 - Smoke and Corpses

[Smoke and Corpses, a Massacre at an Illegal Casino]

"We should probably clean up the smoke grenades."

"Looks like we're thinking the same thing."

Early morning.

The gunsmith was sipping coffee, while Hazel munched on bread as they scanned the newspaper article.

"What do you think his dream is?"

"His dream? Honestly, I'm more curious about yours. What do you actually want to be?"

Gunsmith fixed his gaze on Hazel, coffee cup in hand.

The lower half of his lips was scarred and melted from burns.

It was a sight Hazel was well used to.

She just shrugged and rattled off her own dreams.

"Hoarding ammo and firing without holding back. Firing a Maxim MG-08. Setting off a smoke grenade..."

"That's enough. Just finish your bread."

"And going to Coney Island!"

"Whoa."

Gunsmith clicked his tongue and took a sip of coffee.

"I just want to go to Coney Island."

"When you're grown up, I'm not putting you on the Carousel. Your neck will snap."

"Oh, come on. I'm lighter than I look."

Hazel stuck out her lower lip in protest, then clicked her tongue again as she read the newspaper article.

"Still, he must have some pretty deep grudges against Italians."

[Police, located a short distance from the scene, obtained statements from three Jewish men that may serve as clues in this case.

The victims, who were stabbed during a fight with the suspected perpetrator, fortunately survived the attack.

They reported that they tried to apprehend the suspect since they immediately sensed he was the culprit, but failed, and due to the darkness, they couldn't make out his appearance.

However, the fact that the suspect declared himself the 'Sicilian Grim Reaper' in Italian has greatly aided the police investigation.]

"The casino was run by Italians, and for some reason he even made sure to call himself the 'Sicilian Grim Reaper' in Italian."

"It's ridiculous, but what's more surprising is that it actually worked. He made fools out of the police."

"He's used sniping, smoke grenades… I mean, the methods he's used are just endless. At this rate, who knows—maybe he'll dress up as a woman next."

"His skin's just as fair as mine, so I could really doll him up."

Hazel giggled innocently. The gunsmith let out a sigh as he watched her.

"The more you look at him, the more dangerous he seems. Don't get yourself too involved. He might seem gentle on the outside, but inside, he's all cunning and full of tricks."

His mind is packed with devilish knowledge, and his hands are steeped in brutality.

"I like to think I've been around a while, but I've never seen anyone like him before."

Guys like that either end up with everything or lose it all. They live life on the edge, like a gambler's last throw.

"You know what happens if you fall for a bad man, right? Do I really need to spell it out? Hazel, the only thing that'll ever help you from him is what you learn from him."

"Easier said than done—just picking out the blueprints I want'll be tough."

"That's true. You might bargain for one thing and wind up giving up two."

Hazel gave the gunsmith a faint smile.

Even as he criticized, he couldn't help but be deeply curious about Ciaran's work in the basement.

A workshop where time seemed frozen. Since Ciaran showed up, it actually felt like time had started moving again. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing—she still wasn't sure.

In just one day, two casinos near Hester Street disappeared.

The common thread was that both were run by Italians.

"Smoke grenade?"

Then Tanner's pupils widened as he read the article about fourteen bullet-riddled bodies found at one of the casinos.

Who would have the guts to pull something like this off downtown?

Suddenly, Ciaran's face flashed through his mind like a spark.

"If this is real, he's completely insane."

The hangover that had been bothering him all morning seemed to vanish in an instant.

"A guy who doesn't even gamble just took down two casinos. What's going on?"

As Tanner ran his palm down his face, someone knocked on the door. It was Patrick, who'd been with the Marginals Gang since the beginning.

"You're up early today."

"I didn't have much of a choice."

Tanner slammed the newspaper down and gulped water, as if to quench a sudden thirst.

"I told the boys last night: if you want to be the boss of the Marginals, prove you've got what it takes."

"How'd they react?"

"They said they don't care about the rules or the method. Oliver and Kale, especially, are overflowing with confidence."

Tanner, wearing a wry smile, tapped his glass with a finger.

"If they'd just stuck to boxing, they might have at least had a fighting chance. It's a pity."

"I don't know. Oliver and Kale aren't pushovers either. Honestly, even if we'd faced them back in our prime, we probably wouldn't have won."

Oliver, a huge guy well over 190 centimeters tall.

His nickname is "Big O"—and his fists are as big as pot lids; trying to block them is pointless.

Kale, on the other hand, may be smaller, but he's never lost a street fight.

He's all grit and relentless, with a cruel edge to his punches—that's why they call him "the Jackal."

"Whoever wins, as long as they accept the outcome, it's fine. And if they don't like it, they can leave."

"If Nox takes over, a lot of guys will bail."

Tanner nodded along with Patrick's words.

"It's better for them to leave than to stay and stir up trouble. I've stepped down, but Nox won't let things slide."

"That's what worries me. If Nox runs the gang, the Marginals we built won't exist anymore—it'll just become a whole new gang."

"Patrick, honestly, even if Oliver or Kale takes the lead, it won't last long either."

They both have plenty of passion and drive, but they're stuck in the ways of the past.

"Protection money, pickpocketing, robbery, murder, labor slugger work. Slip up once, and you end up in prison—then when you get out, it all starts over again. Who could survive doing just that?"

That's also why Tanner sponsors the kids from Ireland and tries to build a healthy community.

"Do you know what my biggest problem is?"

"······."

"I know what's right in my head, but I don't have the ability to make it happen. I can tell the kids which paths are bad, but I can't show them what the right path looks like."

It's the same with the Marginals.

We know things have to change, but we don't know how.

We don't know where to lead the members or which direction to go.

"So you're convinced Nox knows how?"

"I wouldn't go that far. Who can be sure about anything in this world? But I do have more hope in him than I do just sitting by and watching the Marginals fade away like dust."

"If watching from the sidelines is all that's left for the Boss and me, doesn't that feel pointless?"

Tanner looked Patrick in the eyes, his voice more forceful.

"If that's what worries you, then you and I need to think about how we can actually help. Who would bother with a couple of useless, washed-up relics? It's the same with Oliver and Kale. Actually, they might be even worse. Just look at how they tried to kill me this time."

Tanner had already survived a couple of attempts on his life.

These were clear assassination attempts aimed at getting rid of an indecisive boss and taking control of the gang.

That sort of thing happens all the time—not just in the Marginals, but in other gangs as well.

That's why the leadership of the Gopher Gang has changed hands several times, and why Monk Eastman of the Eastmans couldn't return to his gang after getting out of prison.

They were all pushed out in power struggles.

And the fiercer the struggle, the more blood gets spilled.

In that sense, the old-fashioned method of a duel was actually the best way for a peaceful transfer of power.

"If we're going to do this, dragging it out will just give the kids more time to scheme. Let's set a time and place, Patrick."

***

76 Forsyth Street, Tenement House. As I looked over the spoils I'd spread out on the table, I couldn't help but smirk.

"The more I see, the crazier it seems."

I was talking about Lenny Goldstein. He'd actually run back into the smoke-filled basement casino.

Reckless but brave, Lenny went inside Pacifico's office and waited for the smoke to clear.

Then, he went right ahead and cracked open the safe. On his way out, he grabbed the cash the guests hadn't managed to collect from the tables, as well as the money the dealers had stashed underneath.

He also recovered the smoke grenade.

He stuffed everything into a bag and handed it to me as I waited on the rooftop.

"Wow, you're as crazy as I am."

"I thought the police would show up, but they didn't."

It was already midnight, and, on top of that, the Smoke Grenade Incident from a few hours earlier probably made the police and firefighters respond slowly. Thanks to that, Lenny had some extra time to clean out the casino.

"So you want to split this money?"

Lenny had brought about $200.

He offered me half without hesitation.

"I owed you. But that doesn't mean I won't take that dealer job you mentioned. I saw you in action—you're no joke. As long as the pay's good, I'd actually like to work with you."

For the first time, some life sparkled in Lenny's usually weary eyes.

I didn't turn down the money.

I had definitely earned it.

"I'll give you the rest of the stuff too. I don't need any of it."

What Lenny gave me was Pacifico's Ledger, the record book of the casino, and a bundle of counterfeit bills wrapped in yellowed paper.

The ledger listed the names of police officers, government officials, and Tammany Hall politicians who had received bribes.

The counterfeit bills were made from the same paper stock and had the same serial numbers as those taken from Rosie Hertz's Safe.

They'd been printed using the same plates.

"With this much, you could probably buy a building."

There was $5,000 in crisp counterfeit bills.

I sealed the ledger and the money inside a wooden box.

I left the house and went to the scene of the incident.

Before I even entered the alley leading to the Forsyth Street casino, I ran into a familiar face. It was Salvatore.

"I heard you quit the job?"

"You sure have fast sources."

"That's the power of my network. But tell me, did Boss Rostein have anything else to say when you quit?"

"Just that we'd keep up relations, I guess?"

"Looks like he never expected much from you."

Salvatore chuckled, then pointed to the alley where the incident had occurred.

"There's nothing to see there now. If you go, you'll only get an earful from the cops guarding the place."

As he finished, Salvatore gave me a cold, unpleasant look.

"Italian men just died here. I don't like the idea of that becoming a spectacle, you know?"

"I didn't exactly come to gawk, but if it had been an Irishman who died, I would've taken a look all the same."

"But you're not Irish, are you?"

"Then let's just say I'm from Joseon."

Salvatore snorted, then patted my shoulder and asked,

"You live around here, right?"

"Why?"

"If that casino opens back up, there'll be job openings. You interested?"

Running a casino again at the very place where fourteen people were killed?

Does this guy have any sense at all?

"I'll think about it."

"Always thinking. Keep that up, you'll starve to death. When everyone else is feasting on meat, how long are you going to live on just potatoes?"

"If you're so worried, why don't you buy me some meat?"

Salvatore clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Anyway, see you around. Don't go wandering alone and end up getting jumped again."

Is he worried about me, or just being sarcastic? I have no idea what Salvatore is thinking. Not that I'm particularly curious, anyway.

Still, judging by how his entourage grows every time I see him, he seems to be climbing the ladder steadily. Before I knew it, Salvatore had become the leader of a group of ten.

But running a casino, huh? No way I'm going to let Salvatore outdo me in this business. If things get dicey, I can always toss a few smoke grenades.

I turned my steps toward Allen Street. The first-floor shops in both buildings had already been relocated, leaving the spaces empty. Only about three units on the second and third floors were still holding out.

"Better get the rest out soon."

[M. Cohen & Sons Repairs]

It's an old renovation and repair company here on the Lower East Side.

They're not a big operation, but being family-run and trustworthy, I'd already been talking with them about taking care of repairs.

"Good timing. I've been passing by and saw that there are only about three tenants left—once they move out, we'll be all set to start construction."

"Let's just begin tomorrow."

The boss's eyes widened in surprise.

"Tomorrow? Well, I suppose if we start with the basement, the noise won't be too bad."

"Don't worry about the noise and just work comfortably. You can knock everything down if you need to."

"Ah, got it."

"But you're here alone today?"

The boss answered with a bitter expression.

"My son enlisted in the army. He's an infantryman, but there's a chance he might be reassigned to the engineers."

Most recruits are chosen for the infantry, and those with certain skills are then classified as medics, engineers, artillerymen, drivers, cooks, or communications specialists.

I offered some comfort to the boss, whose face was lined with worry for his son.

"This war won't last long. He'll come back safe."

"Thank you. I really hope so."

For several days, I went back and forth between the construction site and Mother's company.

After landing a deal with Gimbels Department Store, the factory got even busier—so busy we were short on hands.

At a meeting that day, the topic of relocating the factory came up for the first time.

"We have to expand the production line and hire more people. With our current sales, don't you think we could handle the higher rent?"

"I think that's better than delaying deliveries to our clients."

Mother agreed with the staff's suggestion.

"Let's take this opportunity to look for a bigger place. We can add more sewing machines too."

Of the $3,000 we received from Anne Morgan as an investment, half still remained.

The best part was that, at some point, we'd crossed into the black and the money was gradually increasing.

It was time to make a bold investment.

"I'll start looking for buildings to rent, then."

"If possible, try for something with at least two floors. Isn't it about time we left the basement?"

"Working in the sunlight would feel so good."

Mother felt the same way. Escaping the dreary, gloomy sweatshop had always been her dream.

"Ciaran, could you look into it for us?"

Before I knew it, searching for properties and checking out interior design companies had become my main job.

I was getting so caught up in these new tasks that I almost forgot my real role. That's when Cory showed up.

"The date and place are set."

***

Two days later, 5 p.m.

The location: the empty lot behind Pier 51 in Hell's Kitchen, by the dockside.

Only some members of the Marginals gang were present to select Tanner Smith's successor. Instead of a bloody power struggle, they chose a peaceful method.

The rules were simple: either get knocked out or surrender.

Straightforward and clear.