Chapter 68 - Both Asking the Same Question
Ida didn't show any special reaction as she looked around the first-floor shop.
It seemed to be her nature—her expression was as calm as her composed voice. In a way, she almost looked lifeless.
"So, managing the shop is my job?"
"If I just needed someone to sell, I'd have hired any clerk. I need a trustworthy woman who can maintain secrecy about what goes on here. If you're not confident, say so."
"I understand. When does the shop open?"
"Next Thursday."
Ida pursed her lips, seeming to think it over, then accepted the job.
"To be honest, I thought I'd end up working in the basement bar. But I think this will be good too. I'll do my best, Boss."
Since it was more like finalizing things than an actual interview, it wrapped up quickly. But right before we parted, Ida asked about Hazel.
"That girl—does she work with you, Boss?" "She's just here for a bit because of the construction. Why?"
"No reason. I was just curious."
"Do you two know each other?"
"If she's the girl I think she is, then yes, I know her."
There seemed to be some history between them, but Ida didn't share any more details.
"Then I'll come back the day before we open, Boss."
Before leaving the shop, Ida put on a wide-brimmed hat and wrapped a scarf around her face, covering it halfway.
After she disappeared, Patrick sidled up and spoke to me quietly.
"So, do you like her?"
"She gets points for her looks and the way she talks. But she seems a bit lifeless."
Patrick shared my thoughts.
"A lot of guys tried to make a move on her at first. But whenever they actually got close, it's like all the air went out of the room. Kind of a buzzkill, you know."
"As long as she does her job well, that's all that matters to me."
"Oh, there's something I haven't told you."
Though it was a little late, Patrick finally told me about Ida's past.
"She used to be a dance hall girl and a prostitute."
"What? Why are you telling me that now?"
"In gangs, that's pretty normal. Is that a problem?"
Well, past history doesn't really matter.
As long as she sells well and does the work she's given, that's enough.
Most female employees at dance halls danced and chatted with customers, creating a lively atmosphere.
Some, however, served exclusively as partners to VIP guests, squeezing as much money as they could out of them—and Ida had played that role as an elite prostitute.
But that wasn't the only interesting thing about her past.
"Back then, Ida was incredibly popular among the Gopher Gang members. Everyone liked her."
Other gangs wanted her, too.
Eventually, a member of the rival Jewish Eastman Gang, a bar boss named Chick Tricker, went so far as to kidnap Ida.
"That bastard took Ida and passed her around to their group. Turning someone they all liked into that, you can imagine what the Gopher Gang did. They were furious and sent a warning: Give her back."
But Ida's response was unexpected.
Despite being kidnapped, she declared she wouldn't go back to the Gopher Gang.
"So, finally, the Gopher Gang lost patience and sent four gunmen to the bar."
There were six kidnappers in the bar, but apparently, they all got intimidated by the gunmen.
Patrick, getting excited as if he were one of the gunmen himself, raised his voice.
"The gunmen boldly ordered four beers. Across from them at the round table, the six kidnappers saw this and completely froze. They didn't even think of trying to kick them out. That's when Ida put on this incredible expression and said to the gunmen—"
'You all look so confident. If you came here for something, then do it.'
"After Ida said that, the gunmen calmly chugged their beers. Then, standing up slowly, they said, 'Alright, let's get started.' Then they each pulled out two pistols and started shooting up the bar."
Five of the guys at the table were shot. One of them—Ida's new lover—dove under her billowing skirt, begging for his life.
"Ida looked at that bastard with utter contempt, grabbed him by the hair, and dragged him to the center of the bar floor. The gunmen sneered, and—bang!—sent four bullets into him."
Without a second thought, Ida left with the Gopher Gang's gunmen. This all happened about seven years ago.
Putting it all together, Patrick's take was that Ida's personality was complicated—so hard to read you couldn't define her in a single word. And one more thing.
"Are you curious about the relationship between Ida and the gunsmith's granddaughter?"
"They recognized each other instantly down in the basement."
"Well, that makes sense. They were probably both in the Lady Gophers gang back in the day."
Hazel was a gangster?
"She looks about my age—so when exactly are you talking about?"
"The gunsmith old man started having his granddaughter work with him about two years ago, so up until then, she must've been with the gang."
Patrick didn't even know Hazel's name.
Apparently, he'd only heard from Tanner that she was in the Lady Gophers gang.
Bang!
While they were talking, a loud crash came from behind the shop.
Construction had officially begun to connect the first floor to the basement through the secret passage.
During the construction period, a makeshift lodging was set up on the third floor for the gunsmith and Hazel's convenience.
It was a bit far from Hell's Kitchen, and there were worries about being seen coming and going.
That's why—
Oliver and the others, not wanting to go home, ended up settling on the second floor.
"No drinking here. If you get drunk and cause a scene and draw any attention, you're as good as dead."
"Come on, Boss, don't worry. We only drink at the bar."
"And don't go poking around the third floor. The only thing you're allowed to do here is sleep."
"Yes, sir!"
He issued a firm warning, then headed up to the third floor.
Until recently, two small businesses had occupied the floor, so the
Gunsmith and Hazel each used an empty office as their temporary quarters.
He knocked on the Gunsmith's door first.
"Is there anything you're uncomfortable with?"
"Of course there is. But it's bearable, so don't worry too much."
The Gunsmith didn't seem to care about leaving his workshop in Hell's Kitchen empty for long, either.
"I've been cooped up in there for too long, anyway. It's good to get some fresh air like this for a change. Just make sure you've set aside enough money—this kind of construction isn't something you skimp on."
"Please don't go overboard with the bill. We're still not exactly flush with cash."
"Still not?"
The Gunsmith chuckled, putting a cigarette to his lips.
"To be honest, I didn't expect you to absorb the Marginals. Same for Patrick. Neither of you got your hands bloody—yet you managed to take over a whole gang."
"It was thanks to Tanner looking out for us."
"He gave up a gang he'd built from scratch in his youth—it can't have been easy to just hand it over to someone else. That's probably why Tanner took such an active role—for you."
"You're full of compliments today."
The Gunsmith coughed as he drew on his cigarette, stubbornly smoking even as it clearly bothered him.
When I opened the window, the Gunsmith waved his hand dismissively.
"Don't mind me—go see Hazel. She's a woman, so she'll probably need some things."
"Understood. Get some rest, then."
I knocked on the door directly across the hall.
The door opened, and a pair of eyes peeked out at me.
"Do you need anything?"
"Yes."
Hazel opened the door wide, inviting me in.
Since she was alone, she didn't bother covering her face with a cloth.
Looking at the bed by the window and the trunk bag full of clothes beside it, I asked,
"What else do you need?"
"Drinking water, emergency food, hangers."
"I'll get those for you tomorrow. Get some rest."
As I was about to close the door, Hazel called out again.
"The woman I saw earlier today—do you work with her?"
"You both ask the same questions."
"Really? Did Ida say anything about me?"
"She just said she knew you, that's all."
Hazel hesitated for a moment, then asked with a strange look on her face,
"Ida's pretty, isn't she?"
"She's quite beautiful."
"And compared to me?"
"What exactly do you want to hear?"
Hazel stared at me, putting on a serious expression as she continued,
"Don't get the wrong idea—this isn't jealousy or anything like that. I just want you to listen. If you get involved with Ida in any way besides work, it's only going to make your life harder."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Either way is fine with her. She has a habit of taking out her anger on others. To put it simply, she's a woman whose heart is dead inside."
"If you're going to judge her, maybe you should start by telling me what happened between the two of you."
Hazel pressed her lips with her finger, then shook her head.
"Not yet. I'm not ready to tell you everything. Yeah. Not yet."
What is she talking about.
I closed the door and left the building.
Before I knew it, the season had turned to autumn, and the night air had grown cold. I headed not toward home, but in the direction of the newly relocated factory.
It was a dim building, hiding in the shadows where the streetlights didn't reach.
Mother's company on Orchard Street came into view.
The lights were off on the second and third floors—everyone must have left for the day.
The clothing shop on the first floor was still open, since we couldn't just kick them out. With so many other projects happening at once, there wasn't time to deal with a store that was still doing normal business.
Just as I glanced around and was about to turn away—
Crash!
Suddenly, there was a sound of something breaking and a scream from inside the shop.
I pulled my scarf up high and quickly hid in the alley beside the store.
From inside, I could hear crying mixed with shouting—the gist of it was this:
"We can't pay because business is bad!"
"That's not my problem!" Wham!
Right after I heard something being thrown—
Creak.
Three men came out of the first-floor clothing shop.
One of them was stuffing money into a bag—it was the same punks who had come to Mother's company during the day.
The moment I saw them, a jolt shot through my whole body, adrenaline surging.
Looks like they're out collecting protection money late at night, but there's no way I'll just let them go.
Since there were only three, I didn't need to think for long.
I pulled my baton from my waist and gripped it in my hand.
As they swaggered through the alley, I grabbed one of them.
I smashed him over the head, knocking him to the ground; as the next one reeled in shock, I kicked him hard, and the one who tried to pull a knife—I grabbed his arm and his collar simultaneously and lifted him off his feet.
Thud.
The guy rolling on the ground—I finished him off with a kick to the face, then smashed the ones still standing, aiming the baton straight at their vital spots.
Wham! Crack! Wham! Wham!
In an instant, the three vermin were writhing at the entrance to the alley.
I quickly grabbed the collection bag, along with the knives and cash they had, stripping them of everything.
After pocketing the hefty haul, I nonchalantly made my way to the other end of the alley.
As I wove through the maze-like backstreets, I ran into another gang of thugs
"What's your problem, punk..."
When it comes to CQC (close-quarters combat) in tight or confined spaces, I have more than enough techniques to handle myself.
Just mixing and matching the four styles—Filipino Arnis, Russian Systema, Israeli Krav Maga, and Republic of Korea's Special Martial Arts—in the right situations, there's hardly ever a chance I'd lose a fight in close quarters.
Of course, everything changes the moment a gun comes out. One of them drew a gun. Before he could aim it, I reached out, twisted the barrel away, then wrenched his wrist, snapping his joint.
With a scream, he dropped the gun, and I kicked his knee, collapsing his balance.
I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and pinned him to the ground with my knee while I picked up the dropped firearm.
If I were to shoot here, that'd become a murder case.
No need to draw the Police's attention to this street.
Besides, it was a pointless risk for the future.
I quickly rifled through the pockets and took the weapons of the ones sprawled on the ground, then left the scene without a second thought.
After making it out safely, I let out a small sigh.
Honestly, the moment I saw the gun, my hair stood on end and a chill ran down my spine. No matter how much close-quarters combat I know, how could I possibly stop a bullet with bare hands?
Truth be told, running into punks and gangs after turning into that alley wasn't just coincidence—it was bound to happen.
It was currently 9 PM. Most crimes happen between sunset and midnight.
Especially dangerous is the time between 8 and 11 PM.
The streetlights aren't enough, so the streets are dark, and it's when workers get off work and people carrying cash are walking about.
This is the time when salons and bars are the most crowded, and, at the same time, when police patrols are scarce, so it's only natural that alleyways are teeming with gangs and thugs plotting crimes.
That's how dangerous the Lower East Side is.
Anyway, I came away with some loot—a Smith & Wesson revolver, a Bowie knife, and ninety-five dollars in cash.
After that, I walked along the main street and headed back toward my mother's company.
The guys who took my protection money had disappeared somewhere, and the lights were still on in the first-floor clothing store.
The lady boss was sitting in front of her store, staring blankly at passersby, her face etched with utter despair, as if she'd lost the will to live.
Protests by construction workers, suicides, buildings and factories changing owners—
With one incident after another piling on lately, business must have taken a nosedive.
On top of that, having lost money to protection rackets—her feelings were more than understandable.
And it's not like there was only one gang.
They came from all over, making trouble and threats, extorting money by any means.
How could anyone possibly escape from a mire like this?
Even when I walked into the store, the lady boss just sat there in a daze.
"I'd like to buy some clothes for a six-year-old girl and a fifteen-year-old boy."
"Oh... Yes, for clothes."
The lady boss slowly looked up at me.
Then she suddenly stood up and managed a smile.
"So it was you—I see now, you're the son of the new factory boss. But really, you could've come by during the day. Why are you out alone so late at such a dangerous hour?"
"I just happened to be passing by."
"I see. By the way, for a six-year-old, how tall is the child?"
"She's not particularly tall."
I gave her the sizes.
"While we're at it, please pick out three outfits each."
"Th-three outfits each?"
The lady boss carefully selected a total of six sets of clothes.
I only bought outfits for Roa and Liam, since Mother probably wouldn't like it if I bought something unnecessary.
"How much is it altogether?"
"Just give me six dollars."
"You don't have to give me a discount."
Having done some market research on clothing while running the underwear business, I knew that at any other store, this would have cost at least eight to twelve dollars.
"It's because I hope you'll look out for me in the future. Really, just six dollars is fine."
"I can't do that."
After all, it was all money I'd taken back from the gangs anyway.
I handed her twelve dollars.
The lady boss recoiled in surprise and tried not to take it, but I just put the money on top of the pile of clothes.
"Oh, and my mother said we won't be collecting rent this month."
"R-really!?"
"Yes. We have to help each other out in tough times."
The lady boss clasped her hands over her chest, murmured quietly in Yiddish, and shed tears.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then."
It was 10 p.m. by the time I returned to the Tenement House.
Roa cracked the door open and glanced over the paper envelope in my hand.
Just as I smiled and started to say something, she raced over.
"Big Brother, don't say a word. I really want to have a good dream tonight!"
"It'll be even better if you know what's inside, though?"
"Reaaally?"
"Close your eyes."
Roa blinked her big eyes, hesitating as she looked back and forth between me and the envelope.
After a moment's thought, she finally closed her eyes.
"Roa is super nervous, but I'm trusting you, okay?"
Roa shut her eyes as if savoring a moment of happiness.
And while she did, I slipped the gun and knife, which were wrapped in clothes, out of sight.
The real reason I bought clothes so late at night was to hide the weapons.
After I hid the weapons and said, "Ta-da!" showing the clothes, Roa grinned from ear to ear.
"Wow! It really was a surprise! And it's clothes! And not just one!?"
"Liam, come try them on too."
Hop.
Looks like this kid hasn't gone to sleep yet.
Liam jumped down from the bed and hurried over, and so did Mother.
"I wonder where you hid mine? Is it this one?"
"…That one's for Roa. I didn't buy one for you because I don't really know your style."
"What's there to know about style? I wear whatever's clothes. So you didn't buy one—not that you couldn't buy one."
I secretly slipped ten dollars to Mother, who was pouting her lips.
"Son, you worked hard today. You must be tired, so go to bed soon."
She doesn't even ask where the money comes from anymore. The way Mother stuck out her lips looked just like Roa's grin.
***
A few days later. Around eighty Marginals members gathered on the second floor of the Allen Twin Buildings, where construction was still underway.
Whether we open a dance hall or a casino, the first step is to clear out any obstacles before opening.
"Starting today, we'll form crews to sweep clean Allen and Orchard Streets—both of them. And during this, I don't want to hear about anyone running their mouth about who we are."
Before committing crimes, everyone runs around bragging about being from Five Points or the Marginals.
But when it comes to the actual scene of the crime, they're careful not to leave anything that could get them caught.
That's the gang's own rule.
So, when it comes to simple acts of violence, even if the police catch someone, it just looks like a personal incident or maybe a fight in a small group—at most.
In fact, there are so many gangs operating in these four streets that it's almost impossible to pin it on anyone specific.
So from now on, if I want to take over both streets of the Lower East Side, I'm about to start a straightforward, no-frills fight.
"If you're scared, you're dead."