Chapter 62 - Everyone Has a Plan That Sounds Good

Chapter 62 - Everyone Has a Plan That Sounds Good

There are several ways to replace the leader—or boss—of a gang.

First, the outgoing boss appoints a successor.

This is the most common and peaceful method.

However, if the appointed person goes against the wishes of the members, conflict can erupt.

That leads straight to bloodshed.

Second, election by a meeting of the core members.

Since this involves a consensus process, succession is usually smooth.

However, if outside forces interfere or the agreement doesn't go well, bloodshed can still occur.

Third, when the existing boss dies or is assassinated.

A powerful figure naturally fills the power vacuum and becomes the boss.

This often happens during brutal gang wars.

Fourth, a fight or match.

This is extremely rare.

It's the kind of method you'd expect from the early, lawless days of America.

Since the boss's strength and leadership are put to a public test, very few are willing to volunteer for it.

In that case, it'd be better to just take out the boss.

But they accepted that rare, almost unheard-of fourth method.

It's one thing for me, but why did they agree to such a primitive "duel"?

There are two reasonable explanations I can think of.

First, if they got rid of Tanner Smith, they may have figured that even after taking his position by force, they wouldn't be able to fully absorb the Marginals.

Second, sheer and absolute confidence.

The belief that there's no way they could lose.

Looking at Oliver and Kale, who agreed to the fight, this seems the most likely reason.

And Tanner, knowing both my tendencies and theirs, suggested this ridiculous showdown.

***

"One hundred and one, one hundred and two... one hundred... thrrree..."

"Big Brother, keep going! You still have a ways to go."

"You... can't even count, remember?"

"Roa counts ten ten times, and now I'm on my fourth finger. So what number is that?"

"One hundred and fooouurr!"

"Yep, that should be right."

I'm at home doing push-ups to prepare for the showdown.

I'm not sure about Kale, but I've seen Oliver before—he's like a more muscular version of Leo.

Just exercising like this puts me a little at ease.

"How can you do a hundred push-ups, Older Brother? Are you even human?"

"Little Brother, shhh. Big Brother needs to concentrate."

"Why aren't you counting mine?"

"Is there anything to count?"

"... I'm starting over. Count them for sure this time."

Just as I'm sweating and about to collapse from exhaustion, Roa says she wants to try, too, and gets down on the floor.

"You have to lift your body and support your weight with your arms."

"Lift me up."

"Okay, I lifted you, now try to hold it."

"Roa... hold... me..."

"Just don't do it."

"Hold... me..."

Roa lasts less than two seconds before flopping to the floor with a thud.

Then she just leaves her face buried in the floor and doesn't get up

"Did you, by any chance, poop?"

"Yeah. I told you to hold me."

"...Go take off your clothes and wash up."

"Well, since I already did it, I might as well go one more time."

I had to pick Roa up and take off her clothes by force.

As I washed her bottom at the sink, my arms started to tremble.

"Big Brother, is this hard for you?"

"What do you think? Of course it's hard."

"But Roa's light."

"You ate meat, remember?"

"I just pooped, though?"

She had a point. While I was cleaning Roa's bottom, Mother came back from visiting the neighbor.

"My daughter, what happened? You'll be seven in a few months, you know."

"Roa's going to have to change by then."

It wasn't me but Roa who shook her head and answered.

Mother clicked her tongue and showed me something she'd brought with her.

It was a brassiere, but it looked a bit different from the ones our company made.

"It seems like someone's copying our product. Mrs. Monica stopped by a stall on Orchard Street, and they were selling this there."

I set Roa down and examined the brassiere closely. It was a little crude, but even the hook parts were almost identical.

We've only applied for the patent—we haven't actually obtained it yet.

Even if we had the patent, you can't really stop copycats.

Still, if you just let it slide, people will think it's normal, so you have to take action.

"We need to find out where this is coming from."

"Yes, that's why I'm planning to visit the stall tomorrow."

Mother looked seriously worried—a knockoff was openly being sold while we were still in the process of moving the factory.

Instead of Mother, I went myself and sought out the stall selling the counterfeit product.

This particular stall on Orchard Street was the one that had kept putting off paying for their last batch.

As soon as he saw me, the Jewish boss with a thick beard waved his hand, telling me to get lost.

"Where did you get this supplied from?"

"How should I know? I just buy up whatever the peddlers bring around and sell it."

"Do those peddlers come by often?"

"And why should I tell you that?"

We weren't getting anywhere.

I resisted the urge to overturn the cart and moved on to other stalls.

As I expected, there were a couple more places selling the same brassiere.

"I have no idea. And no reason to tell you, either."

"There are dozens of peddlers coming through. I just look at the goods and buy—I don't even remember their faces."

No one was willing to cooperate.

The options were to sit here and wait until one of the peddlers showed up, or to track down the company supplying the hooks and press them for answers...

"What are you lurking around here for?"

"Get lost while we're asking nicely."

A group that ran a protection racket on the street blocked my way.

I wanted to smash their faces in, but today, I had more important things to do.

I quietly turned away, taking in my surroundings.

Orchard Street, famous for clothing retail, was lined with dozens of stores and street vendors.

There were plenty of clothing manufacturers, too.

Just a rough estimate said their weekly take from protection money alone had to be in the hundreds of dollars.

Not just this street, but the entire area was prime real estate—pure gold.

Hester Street ran a long line east to west, and intersecting it north to south were Forsyth, Eldridge, Allen, and Orchard, which was where I lived.

In other words, Allen Street—future headquarters of the Union Gang—was only a block away from Orchard Street.

Once we really get started, let's just swallow up this entire district.

Today's showdown will make that possible.

Let's go—time to take over the Marginals.

***

On the west side of the Hudson River, at Pier 51 in Hell's Kitchen.

A group had gathered in the empty lot behind the dockside. There weren't any official ranks in the gang, but these guys were all recognized as leaders within the crew.

Not all of the Marginals had come; only a carefully chosen number were here, to avoid drawing attention from the police or rival gangs.

Still, there were about twenty gathered. Among them were a few men who stood out because of their size and presence. Warming up before the match were Oliver and Kale. And today, a man named Brian had suddenly joined the challenge.

As Brian stretched his back and got ready, Oliver shook his head.

"You can still back out, Brian. Don't do something you'll regret—just admit defeat now."

"Fuck off, you bastard."

"Jeez. Maybe you'll finally come to your senses after I knock you out."

As Oliver and Brian traded barbs, Kale jumped in too.

"It's not all about size when it comes to a fight. That's exactly why a walking Statue of Liberty is just a joke."

"That's a shit analogy, Kale. Watching you feels like a monkey trying to crash a talent show, you know that?"

"Then let me show you how a monkey cooks up a dumb bear."

Their pointless bickering only amped up the tension.

And then, when Tanner and Patrick appeared, a heavy hush fell over the crowd.

Some were die-hard followers of Tanner, while others wanted him gone—their eyes all a tangle of complex emotions.

In that tense silence, everyone's minds flashed back over the Marginals' past like a movie reel.

Stealing, fighting, robbing— Their memories were stained with crime, but what mattered was that in all those moments, they were together.

And standing at the center of it all had always been Tanner Smith.

Someone felt a lump in their throat, another clenched his fists, eager for a new beginning.

And at that moment, Nox appeared—his face hidden with a scarf—the one who sparked the Marginals Gang's fracture.

Very few had ever seen him in person; for most, he was just a rumor.

Hardly anyone really knew who he was.

So the reaction was pretty much the same—

'So that's him.'

Of course, none of the looks being thrown his way were friendly.

The internal split had started ever since Tanner brought in those new Marginals recruits.

After a long silence, Tanner finally spoke.

"Whoever becomes Boss, I'll give my full support. If anyone can't accept the result, then it's up to the new Boss to decide what to do. That's all I have to say."

For Tanner, who'd cut his teeth stirring up the labor union, it was a surprisingly short speech. Patrick followed up by explaining the rules.

"Your opponent is chosen in order of when you joined. Oliver, you pick first."

Confident as ever, Oliver stepped to the center and, as expected, chose Nox.

"You. Get out here."

With the group encircling them, the two faced off.

Nox wasn't exactly short, but Oliver was at least fifteen centimeters taller.

Plus, next to Oliver's solid, muscular build, Nox looked even scrawnier.

"The rule is simple—bare fists until someone's knocked out or surrenders. If you're not confident, you can back out now," Patrick said.

In response, Oliver jerked his chin toward Nox, taunting him to surrender.

Nox just dug a finger in his ear and jerked his own chin back.

"I'm going to shove that damn scarf right down your throat."

At those words, Nox picked at his ear again.

Oliver's face flushed bright red with anger, and veins bulged along his neck and forehead as he tensed up.

Then he lowered his stance.

"You little bastard!"

He charged at Nox, reaching out with his hands as big as pot lids to grab hold of him.

But Nox quickly darted back to widen the distance, sidestepped, and kicked at Oliver's leg.

Oliver sneered, acting as if it didn't faze him.

However, after taking a few more hits, his expression turned rigid.

The tactic of dodging back after every attack and relentlessly going after his legs started to really get on his nerves.

Just as Oliver, now absolutely furious, swung his right arm wide, Nox suddenly closed the distance.

He gripped Oliver's arm and collar.

The next instant, Oliver's body was lifted and slammed down onto the floor.

Thud.

Nox pinned Oliver's neck with his knee and twisted his arm at the same time.

"Gah—ack—!"

Staring at Patrick, Oliver slapped the ground repeatedly with his palm.

He was signaling his surrender.

"T-that's enough."

Patrick hurried over and pulled Nox away.

Oliver, wracked with pain in his neck and arm, couldn't get up—he just groaned.

...

At first, everyone thought Nox would resort to cheap tricks and just run away, but no one saw that counterattack coming.

Now that was a real twist.

Everyone stared at Oliver as if their souls had left their bodies.

A few of his closest friends rushed over to lift him up and help support him.

"Next up..."

It was supposed to be Kale versus Brian.

But then Tanner stepped in.

"Nox still looks perfectly fine—why not just keep going right away?"

"That's fine by me."

It was unclear who Tanner was really looking out for, but Nox agreed readily.

After all, there's no way Kale and Brian would be unscathed if they fought each other first.

It might not have been the most sportsmanlike solution, but Kale and Brian accepted it, too.

The important thing now was who Nox would choose as his next opponent.

"Kale."

Kale, his expression grim, stepped forward—still not over the shock of what happened to Oliver.

The contrast in their physiques was striking, too.

Unlike Oliver, this time Kale was about 15 centimeters shorter.

But Kale, who was hardened by countless street fights, didn't show a hint of intimidation.

In fact, if Nox relied more on technique than sheer strength, Kale actually stood a better chance against him than Oliver.

'I'm faster than he is.'

He also had the edge when it came to quick tricks. He could see his life changing with victory here and now—he was sure he could make the Marginals Gang even stronger than Tanner ever had.

That burning passion and ambition were clear in Kale's piercing gaze fixed on Nox.

'Just one shot.'

Draw out his opponent's move with an attack, anticipate his reaction, and decide the match then and there.

Kale made his move, quickly closing the distance and launching a punch at Nox.

In that instant—

The sole of a shoe filled Kale's vision.

"!"