Chapter 15 - Introducing a Complete Maniac
Tenement House rooftop.
Rather than Leo, whose face looked sour, my attention was drawn to the boy standing next to him.
A newsboy cap pulled low over his head.
A few strands of blond hair fluttered out from beneath the baker boy hat, and on his angular face, fixed on me, was a smirk.
Unlike Leo, who tended to just sit and gather information, this one scoured the streets like a hyena chasing leads.
The real information network of the Lower East Side.
"Marcus Heinrich."
"...It's Henry. Henry."
Leo burst out laughing as he cut in.
"He changed his last name not too long ago because he was getting hassled. Smart move—otherwise, he'd have been beaten to death by now."
"I heard there's a shortage of hands on the cotton farms in Alabama. Want me to buy you a train ticket?"
Marcus snapped back without missing a beat.
He insulted both Leo's Black mother, who picked cotton as a slave, and Leo himself all at once.
That should have stung, but Leo wasn't about to let it slide.
"Be sure to buy that ticket I'll even pitch in double the fare. So when are you heading off to turn Europe into a bloodbath?"
"Are you insane?"
"Oh, you're shaking. Should I just shout out loud that there's a German here?"
At least right now, Marcus wasn't a match for Leo.
As a German immigrant, Marcus had to stay as invisible as possible—it was World War I, after all.
Anyway, I couldn't stand to watch their childish bickering any longer.
"Seriously, what are you two idiots doing, arguing like a bunch of little boys?"
I pulled two Bowie Knives from behind my waist and held them out.
Leo and Marcus stared at the knives, then at my face, alarmed.
"Uh…Why are you holding those?"
"How should I know when, or if, someone will attack me?"
I glared at Marcus.
His eyes flickered nervously.
Marcus had always had a hint of white supremacy and used to treat both Ciaran and Leo like garbage.
Leo, at least, was pale-skinned enough that Marcus would talk to him, but he used to ignore me, the Asian guy, like I was a stray dog passing by.
But today, he'd come looking for me himself.
"You must be here because you have useful information, right?"
"…You're like a completely different person. With the whole Gary situation, too—what the hell happened to you?"
"Do I owe you an explanation? If you're here, just tell me what you want."
Marcus narrowed his eyes.
Leo's reaction was different from before as well.
They looked at me, as if seeing me in a new light.
After smacking his lips, Marcus finally spoke.
"I found out who the loan sharks are and where the sewing machines are being kept. But until I get paid…"
I made a show of pulling out two one-dollar bills from my pocket and waved them in front of him.
The moment Marcus saw them, his eyes lit up.
Looking bewildered, Leo asked,
"You already got the money from your backer?"
"Something like that. Go on."
Marcus, eager to show off, continued confidently.
"The loan sharks are ex-members of the Hudson Dusters gang. The sewing machines are in a warehouse a bit away from Pier 17, at the South Street harbor."
The Hudson Dusters?
I keep getting tangled up with those guys.
Or maybe this is actually a good thing.
"Is this information solid?"
"Of course. There are people guarding the warehouse, and I saw the sewing machines myself."
"If you could get a look, their security must be pretty weak."
"You'll see for yourself. I'll take my payment then."
Marcus was only seventeen, but he knew how to do business.
We got moving right away.
Following South Street, we headed to a somewhat isolated warehouse near the East River's Pier 17 harbor.
Because of the European Great War, many warehouses were being used as military storage for war supplies.
Those places had tight security, but the three-story red brick warehouse Marcus led us to couldn't have been more poorly guarded.
The wide entrance to the warehouse was closed, and two men were sitting out front—not really guarding it, more like getting drunk together.
"I'll go check it out."
There was no need to use the main entrance; going around back, there were plenty of chances to look inside.
The large window framed with iron bars had been painted over, but the paint was peeling off in spots.
I peered inside through the gaps.
Just as Marcus said, the sewing machines taken from my mother's basement workshop were lined up in rows.
I didn't stop there—I checked out the building a bit more.
What caught my eye was a metal fire escape attached to the outer wall.
The rusty, rattling stairs led up to the second floor, where it looked possible to get in through a broken window.
After checking not just the inside of the warehouse but also the surrounding area, I regrouped with the others. Leo pouted and asked,
"What took you so long? The sewing machines?"
"I saw them."
"So it was real, huh."
Leo gave a wry smile, and I handed Marcus the promised two dollars.
Grinning with satisfaction, Marcus decided to throw in a bonus.
"Since this is our first deal, here's some free info. While I was scoping out the place, I overheard something—turns out, there's someone else eyeing those sewing machines."
"Which gang?"
"The same Hudson Dusters gang. Their members are in total disarray right now—no one's really in charge. Internal rifts have been brewing for a while."
Whenever a gang declines, all sorts of problems inevitably surface.
That's why gangs like the Gophers, Eastmans, and Whyos, who ruled Manhattan's nights for the past twenty years, eventually faded away without ever regaining their former glory.
The Hudson Dusters were also struggling to maintain control, as more members were either returning after years in prison or rejoining the gang after a period away.
And even within a single gang, they didn't operate as a unified force.
Usually, they worked separately in small, covert groups and only came together when necessary.
Some members acted as sluggers for companies, while others just roamed the streets threatening, extorting, and robbing people.
Even within the Hudson Dusters, it was common not to know what other members were up to.
"Loan sharks are the same way. When the boss died and everyone started casting suspicion, most people probably thought, 'Wait, they did those kinds of things too?' But—"
Then word started to spread from the inside.
Suddenly, talk began circulating about the sewing machines left ownerless after the boss's unexpected death.
"If they manage to sell those, it's at least $2,000."
That's enough money to resurrect even the dying Hudson Dusters gang!
"If the kind of guys who'll mug random passersby and stab people for cash aren't interested in that, then they may as well quit the gang. Especially with a big fight against the Marginals looming."
Marcus was just as sharp at analysis as he was at gathering intel.
Leo nodded in admiration.
"I hate to admit it, but…"
"Marcus, you're just the type Germany's government would love. I bet you'll get orders for a bombing soon. Just be sure to let me know ahead of time so I can get out of the way."
"Yeah, shut up."
Instead of getting angry, Marcus suddenly handed 50 cents to Leo.
Leo's mouth, which had been running nonstop, dropped open in shock.
"I'm not the kind of guy who keeps everything to himself. If you bring in a customer, you deserve a cut too, right?"
"…For the first time, I actually like you. Marcus Henry, you really are a cool guy, aren't you?"
Marcus, who used to look down on everyone with that smug attitude of his, had changed.
I took it as a sign that, pushed to the brink, this German was switching up his survival strategy.
Leo turned to me and asked,
"So, what's the next move? If you tell the big boss where the stash is, will they just handle the deal on their own?"
"Well, I'm sure they'll take care of that themselves. As for me, there's someone I need to see for a bit."
"Who?"
There was internal conflict within the Hudson Dusters.
And with a certain individual appearing, I made a slight adjustment to the original plan.
"Since I'm already at the harbor, I should meet with Tanner."
Leo looked confused, while Marcus wore an intrigued expression.
"I don't know what you're up to, but it sounds like you're planning something seriously dangerous."
As expected, Marcus was quick to pick up on things.
"When you get back, start spreading a rumor."
"Can you do that?"
"What kind of rumor?"
"That tomorrow night, the Hudson Dusters are going to hit a warehouse."
"Only they'll know exactly which warehouse."
"Ciaran, what are you planning to do?"
"Don't worry. There's a place the Hudson Duster members frequent. A rumor like that will spread in no time."
I handed Leo one dollar to calm his worries.
As for Marcus, with eyes sparkling like a kid before an adventure, I gave him two dollars for spreading the rumor— Partly as payment for his silence, too.
After parting ways with my companions, I headed to the Southern Manhattan Harbor, where the East River and the Hudson River meet.
The docks were lined with rows of cargo ships and passenger vessels.
Thanks to the wartime boom, weapons and manufactured goods made in America were continuously being loaded onto ships by workers carrying them on their backs or pushing them on carts.
"If you're looking for Boss Tanner, he'll be at Pier 5."
It's never easy to find someone in a crowded port, but since he was a well-known figure, I managed to get directions and make my way there.
The place I arrived at was a strike site.
Hundreds of workers stood holding picket signs that read, 'Wage Increase' and 'Shorter Hours.'
On the other side, labor sluggers hired by the company waited in standoff.
Should I just turn back...?
On the union's side, a burly man with a thick rope tied around his waist was standing atop a box, giving a speech.
That rope was an essential piece of equipment for dockworkers, used to brace themselves when lifting heavy cargo.
"The company is squeezing us dry until there's nothing left, all to fill their own pockets! Are we going to pass this life of exploitation down to our children too?! If we give up the strike just because it's tough to get by, nothing is ever going to change!"
"That's right!"
"We were hungry yesterday, we're hungry now, and we'll be hungry tomorrow—how much longer are we going to put up with this shitty reality?!"
Even though I wasn't really interested, the speech still pierced my ears.
The workers' voices grew louder, and the atmosphere grew more intense.
Meanwhile, the faces of the police officers trying to contain the protest looked more and more sour.
Unfortunately, I happened to be standing with the company-hired labor sluggers.
If I asked about Tanner Smith here, I'd probably get jumped by all of them.
I was about to quietly slip away when one guy spit on the ground and shouted at the workers.
"You should be grateful you even have a job—who do you think puts food on your table? Either get back to work and quit whining, or get out of here. Pick one, just one!"
At that moment, the man standing on the platform stopped speaking and stared straight over here.
With his thumb hooked into the rope around his waist, he glowered at us.
"Well, look who it is—Nakey, huh? When your boss Oweny Madden and I were going at it, you turned tail and ran, and now all of a sudden you've grown some guts? Or did a doctor stitch a pair on for you? Why not live up to your nickname now, Nakey-d?"
The speaker twisted the name 'Nakey' into 'Naked', mocking him in front of everyone.
A round of laughter swept through the crowd, though only from the striking workers' side.
His provocation fell flat, but that guy Nakey wasn't someone to take it lying down.
He fired right back.
"The doc said what he gave me was actually yours. You dropped it in prison, and now it's sewn onto me. "It might look grotesque, but hey, it works just fine when I need it."
This time, laughter erupted from the side of the Sluggers.
The speaker didn't get riled up and threw back another comeback.
"Maybe the doctor worked on your brain, too. Or did you forget who I am, Naked?"
"All you do is stir up trouble—don't act like you're so important."
"With a mouth like that, you might end up floating down the East River before long."
"Go ahead and try it, if you can—stop flapping your gums and do something!"
The childish wordplay was about to turn into violence.
Or maybe that was their plan all along?
Both sides seemed eager for the other to make the first move, hoping to spark a fight.
"That's enough, all of you!"
A police officer couldn't take it anymore and stepped in.
Tension churned between the labor union and the Sluggers, with both sides looking ready to clash at any moment.
This is exactly why gangs are needed.
When a strike escalates, violence becomes inevitable, and that's when you need muscle.
With the police intervention, the heated atmosphere cooled down a bit.
The speaker clicked his tongue in frustration and stepped down from the platform, looking disappointed.
He appeared to be around thirty years old.
Charismatic, with the calm of someone who almost welcomes a violent outbreak.
Judging by his appearance, the speaker could only be Tanner Smith.
I pushed through the crowd and approached him.
When Tanner spotted me, he cocked his head to the side.
"And who are you?"
"I came here on Gary's recommendation."
"And who's that supposed to be?"
Tsk.
I described Gary's ugly face and features.
Only then did Tanner seem to understand, giving a lazy flick of his finger.
"Come with me."
Tanner led me behind the warehouse, swinging the loose end of a rope tied around his waist.
In front of a stack of boxes, a few laborers were smoking.
They greeted Tanner with grins and gave me sideways glances.
Tanner had carved out his own little corner, boxed in by crates.
Once we arrived, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and gave me a once-over.
"So you're supposed to be some kind of fighter? You're tall, but you look like you could blow away in the wind."
I was skinny as a rail.
Maybe if I greased myself up a bit, I wouldn't get dismissed so easily.
But you need money for meat, and that's a luxury I can't afford.
It's a vicious cycle.
When I didn't answer, Tanner let out a small laugh.
"Not much of a talker, huh? Anyway, you've heard what you need to do, right?"
"I understand it as protecting the Irish kids from the other immigrant gangs."
"That's all there is to it. You'll end up feeling like you belong too."
He acted like he cared about someone stuck in the middle like me.
Whether he meant it or not, I decided to be blunt about what Tanner was really after.
"Are you planning to gather the kids and form a gang?"
"You sure have a mouth on you. What, do you want to be in a gang so bad?"
"I want to make a gang."
Tanner burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
But then his glare turned cold and threatening.
"You think anyone can just make a gang? Have you ever killed someone? Actually, have you even held a gun before?"
"······."
"Kid, get real. Gangs aren't as glamorous as you think they are."
There was a hint of bitterness in his words.
Tanner tried to change kids like me, who had illusions about gangs.
Then, with a distant look, he spoke about his dream.
"Soon, I'm planning to open and run a club. Inside, the kids will be safe and at peace. Then talk about gangs or whatever—people won't be saying that kind of crap anymore."
"You'd need quite a bit of money to open a club."
"That's none of your concern."
Just like the rumors said, Tanner was definitely different from typical gang bosses.
He was lost in ideals, not crime.
That must be why people admired and revered him.
"If you're going to run your mouth about organizing a gang, then just go home quietly."
"Why don't you at least hear my vision first."
"Vision?"
"A vision for money, power, and influence that no one can touch."
Tanner untied the rope around his waist.
Then he started wrapping it loosely around his hand.
"Talk is cheap—you could reach the moon if words were enough. Why not quit shining shoes and sell drugs on Doyer Street instead? Seeing you flapping your gums so boldly in front of me, I'd say you'd be good at it."
Tanner rolled his shoulders, loosening up his body.
He looked ready to throw a punch.
"...Let's talk about the vision later. How about making a deal with me instead?"
"A deal? Are you completely out of your mind…?"
"I'm thinking of taking down the Hudson Dusters."
Dramatic pause.
A former boss who founded the Irish-born Marginals Gang.
Someone connected to the Democratic Party machine, Tammany Hall, and called "boss" by the harbor workers, with an extensive network of contacts.
Right now, Tanner Smith is the best option if I want to plan for the future.
The problem is, I have nothing—so how could I possibly partner with someone like him?
But just in time, a chance at a double win presented itself through the warehouse where the sewing machines are stored.
We don't need a long talk today.
I just need to make an impression—something like, "Watch what I'm about to do."
This so-called deal is really just an excuse for our next meeting, so the details didn't matter, nor did Tanner's immediate reaction.
"You're spouting nonsense."
"You'll find out soon enough. If you don't come looking for me then, I'll take it as no deal."
"So what you're saying is, you're going to stir things up before we even make a deal?"
"It's just a small job."
"Unbelievable, the Hudson Dusters have really hit rock bottom if they're letting some shoeshine Asian kid treat them like punks. Guess it really is their time to fall. But that guy Gary—he's hopeless."
Tanner stared at me as if he wanted to eat me alive.
"He really just introduced me to a complete lunatic."
By the time I got home, it was late afternoon.
Luckily, the place was empty, so I grabbed my tools.
Two knives, two guns.
Everything else I might need, I stuffed into my bag.
I even packed some boiled potatoes for dinner.
Just as I was leaving a short note on the kitchen table and about to head out, I ran right into my mother as she walked through the door.
She looked shocked, staring straight at my bag with wide eyes.
I held up the heavy bag as if to make a point.
"I was just about to leave a note, saying I had some work out of the house."
"...Business trip? What kind of business trip?"
"Something's come up. I might be back as early as tomorrow morning, or it could take a bit longer."
"You're not getting into trouble again, are you—"
I cut her off.
"I'm planning to set things right again. Just trust me and wait."
"Ciaran?!"
"I'll be back soon."
I left the house, my mother's cry echoing behind me.
The little snowball I set rolling—
Today, I'm going to make it even bigger.