Chapter 109 – Harlem Paradise
In order to survive better, people of various races and ethnicities formed tight-knit communities in New York, similar to Chinatown, organizing themselves by nation, ethnicity, or cultural background into distinct neighborhoods. These communities governed themselves in segmented zones.
However, these areas were notoriously difficult to manage. The police often had limited authority and rarely intervened, and with widespread discrimination and abuse from law enforcement, minorities developed a strong sense of unity and resistance.
As a result, public order was poor in many of these neighborhoods. Most residents were impoverished, and poverty bred crime. Many gangs emerged from this environment.
One of the most infamous of these neighborhoods is Hell's Kitchen—an inner-city slum in Manhattan. Originally a haven for Irish immigrant laborers, its overcrowded and chaotic conditions, severe ethnic conflict, and high crime rate birthed numerous gangs and underworld figures. Its reputation was infamous—though far from positive.
Harlem was another such place—arguably even worse than Hell's Kitchen.
While Hell's Kitchen was close to Midtown Manhattan and the commercial district—forcing gangs to keep a lower profile due to police presence and government image—Harlem was practically a no-go zone. It housed a large population of Latinos and African Americans, and unlike Hell's Kitchen, Harlem was more remote and less economically strategic.
Most Latinos there came from Mexico—a country known for its high crime rate and reputation as a haven for criminals. Every year, countless people tried to cross into the "peaceful" United States.
As for the African Americans, they were often stereotyped as rough, strong, violent, and ignorant—labels born of deep-rooted prejudice and deliberate stigmatization. Still, these impressions persisted, and many people simply didn't like them, which speaks volumes.
With both communities concentrated in one area, the result was predictably chaotic.
"Gang wars, smuggling, arms dealing, drug trafficking, and sex work"—these were the norms. Full-blown shootouts erupted frequently, turning the streets into miniature battlefields. Deaths in broad daylight were common. Some family-run gangs had roots going back a hundred years.
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Lately, Frank had been going wherever he pleased, with his driver silently following instructions without question.
But when Frank said he wanted to go to Harlem, the driver hesitated for the first time.
"That place is dangerous. Maybe pick another spot?" the driver suggested cautiously.
"Relax, it's broad daylight. I used to live on the South Side of Chicago—seen way worse. Just want to take a stroll and experience the real New York. I'll be fine," Frank replied casually.
Unable to dissuade him, the driver took Frank to Harlem.
As soon as they entered the neighborhood, Harlem's "cultural specialties" became immediately apparent: graffiti-covered walls, streets filled with African Americans, and an overwhelming hip-hop vibe.
"Stop here," Frank said.
They parked in front of Harlem's most famous nightclub—Harlem Paradise. It wasn't your typical low-end dive bar; it was a rare upscale venue in Harlem. Surprisingly, there wasn't a single white person in sight.
When Frank stepped inside, it was like pouring a drop of milk into a pot of chocolate. Everyone turned to look at him.
"Nice place. I'll have a beer," Frank said, ignoring the stares as he approached the bar.
"Sir, this isn't really a place for you," the bartender warned while handing him a beer.
"What do you mean? This is a business, isn't it? Don't businesses welcome customers?" Frank replied, casually sipping the beer while subtly scanning the room.
Soon, he spotted the people he was looking for—the ones he had "accidentally" bumped into earlier that morning. He let out a breath of relief.
He had bumped into over a dozen people earlier, and though most hadn't shown up, even one was enough. It had all been a calculated gamble.
"You're right. A guest is a guest," came a magnetic voice from behind.
Frank turned and saw a well-dressed Black man in a tailored suit approaching with a calm, confident smile. He carried an unmistakable gentlemanly charm—something rarely seen, especially on someone from Harlem.
"And you are?" Frank asked.
"Pardon me, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Cornell Stokes, owner of Harlem Paradise," the man said, extending a hand.
"Frank. Frank Gallagher," he replied, shaking the man's hand.
"It's a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Gallagher. I hope you enjoy your time at Harlem Paradise." With a polite nod, Cornell walked away.
"Who is that guy?" Frank asked the driver.
"That's the local crime boss—goes by the nickname Cottonmouth," the driver replied.
"Cottonmouth, huh…" Frank murmured. He was definitely a man you wouldn't forget easily.
"Mr. Gallagher, there's really nothing special here. You've seen it now. Maybe we should go?" the driver whispered.
"No rush, it's still early," Frank said, glancing at the driver while tapping the table three times.
"I'm going to the restroom," he added, getting up. The driver followed him.
In the restroom, Frank ran into a group of Black men, and a confrontation quickly escalated.
"Hey! You don't belong here!" one of them shouted.
Tensions flared, and shoving turned into shouting. Before the driver could react, Frank was punched to the floor.
"Stop!" the driver tried to intervene, but he was quickly overwhelmed.
From the second-floor office, Cottonmouth noticed the commotion.
"What's going on down there?" he asked, frowning.
A manager rushed out and called the bouncers. Harlem Paradise had plenty of experience dealing with troublemakers. Running a high-end club in Harlem required it.
"Mr. Gallagher?" the driver looked around but couldn't find Frank.
Meanwhile, Frank had been quietly escorted by a skinny Black man through the club's back kitchen and out into an alley behind Harlem Paradise.
"You got what I asked for?" Frank said.
"Where's the payment?" the man replied.
"Here. This is half. You'll get the rest when I'm safe," Frank said, tossing him two gemstone ring