The One Who Establishes a New Order
"It's only natural for a gang to operate in secret. But the Union takes it too far. Keep making enemies like this and the whole thing will collapse in an instant."
Raymond had already decided the Union's future for himself.
"Anyway, I know why you want information on the Union's boss. You were planning to resell it. You offered me a thousand dollars—how desperate must you be?"
A thousand dollars? That was bounty-level money.
In fact, Uncle Ted had mentioned that the NYPD was struggling with the Union gang as well.
We even considered putting out a wanted poster or offering a reward for information. But that only works with a solid suspect.
Without clear evidence of a crime, pure speculation got them nowhere. In the end the discussion had gone nowhere.
"Alright, enough of that. Back to the business magazine idea. So your plan is to use my Pinkerton connections to gather information?"
Raymond had steered the conversation back on his own.
"More precisely, using the Pinkerton connection to plant 'internal whistleblowers' or 'anonymous sources.'"
That way we would get our hands on corporate corruption and scandals from the inside.
"And then?"
"Sell it to competitors, or take the profit ourselves. Extortion, blackmail—hell, even violence if it comes to that."
Raymond snorted and looked at me like I was an idiot.
"Can't tell fantasy from reality yet, huh? You're still young. If the world were that easy, why would pickpockets end up shot dead?"
"Is that from personal experience?"
Raymond sneered and continued.
"Extortion and blackmail only work when you're on equal footing with them."
"Was that hard after you left Pinkerton?"
"You keep getting on my nerves."
"Let's be honest. I know you were making backroom deals with labor sluggers."
Raymond's face hardened. The smile vanished as he glared at me threateningly.
"You've been digging into me."
"If you're going to pitch a business deal, you need to know who you're dealing with."
"With that time, why didn't you dig up Archie Rosselli's info yourself?"
"There were circumstances."
"Circumstances, huh. Honestly, from the start I didn't like your tone, your expression, your eyes. Walking around like that, I bet you've taken a few beatings for being a cocky Oriental. Am I right?"
Raymond smirked mockingly.
When people get truly riled up, they show their true colors. I wondered what he would do if I provoked him further.
"Pretty thin-skinned. Can you even fight?"
Raymond clenched and unclenched his fists, then suddenly shot up from his seat.
"Let me show you what a soldier learns in the army!"
Whoosh.
He swung a heavy punch.
I lightly deflected his attack with the back of my hand and seized his wrist, twisting it.
His elbow slammed against the table, forcing him to look up at me from a bizarre angle. His pupils shook wildly.
"What did you learn in the army?"
"…L-let go first and we'll talk. My arm's a little weak."
I released my grip. Grimacing as he rubbed his arm, Raymond suddenly chuckled.
"Just as I expected. I was testing your skills with that provocation."
"…"
"If I'd really meant to hit you with my fist, you wouldn't have blocked it so easily. Now then, shall we get back to business? Honestly, it was a brilliant idea."
Should I just send him packing? I smacked my lips and sat back down. Raymond quickly pressed on.
"But this is a business that costs serious money. You have to hire reliable guys as reporters, and pour cash in until the circulation climbs."
"You think I'd start without considering that? I have a solid source of funding."
Raymond's eyes lit up.
"Now I'm interested. If I'm the editor-in-chief, I can handle information gathering, disruption—skirting the line between legal and illegal with finesse."
"Editor-in-chief?"
"…Deputy editor."
"Fine. We start tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?!"
Until recently, half of the second floor of the Twin Buildings had been my office and secret space, with the rest as quarters for the members.
With new lodgings secured nearby, half of the second floor was now vacant.
"Since you're already here, I'll introduce you to the editor-in-chief."
We were in the office at the back of the lingerie shop. I opened the door, went out, and brought back the editor-in-chief to introduce her.
"Ida O'Connell. Looking forward to working with you."
Ida beamed and offered her hand. A flustered Raymond wiped his palm on his clothes before shaking it.
Editor-in-chief of a magazine? I was ready to do whatever the boss ordered, but I'm sorry—my education's pretty short. I've never even set foot in a school.
Education doesn't matter. The core of this business is accessing high-level information. Ida will kill it in high society.
High society?
Editor-in-chief is just a title. The deputy will do all the actual work.
I would make Ida a shining presence in high society. It was a desire I had harbored for some time whenever I looked at her.
If you want, we can change your name and forge your credentials. A recommendation letter from a Tammany Hall politician is no problem either.
The first name's fine. Just change the last name.
Ida had been called Ida Goose, Ida Berger. She had never been attached to her surname.
In fact, she had wanted to discard it.
After I stopped her from taking Graves after me, she settled on O'Connell, her maternal family name. It was also a stepping stone for the not-too-distant future.
If we did not fall into ruin as a crime family, the Graves and O'Connell families would enter America's upper class.
He who drives out the power that long cast its shadow over the LES and establishes a new order.
Upon that seat shall spread a sea of grudges whose blood never dries.
The path of one who topples power is forever lined with the hidden blades of vengeance.
This was an editorial published in The Forward a few days after Itsuki Joe, boss of the Five Points Gang, was killed.
As a Yiddish newspaper for Jewish immigrants, the editorial also carried a religious flavor.
Fourteenth Street, Brooklyn.
Inside the conference room of Uliano & Yale Funeral Home.
"Rosselli didn't commit suicide—he was murdered. That pharmacy problem the cops are talking about? That wasn't even a concern for him!"
"Just look at the safe. I saw with my own eyes that there were hundreds of thousands of dollars in there the day before. And now it's all gone!"
Even Rosselli's family did not know where the money had gone.
So where the hell had the cash from the safe disappeared to?
"There's more than one strange thing. Rosselli, who could hold his liquor so well, blacked out? And that fire escape door—he'd never opened it even once."
Rosselli's bodyguards vented their fury.
They had been comrades and friends from the gang days, not just subordinates.
They could not accept Rosselli's hollow death—that it was a suicide jump riddled with questions.
"Have you all said your piece?"
A man in a crisp suit with neatly parted hair asked.
The owner of Uliano & Yale Funeral Home, and the head of the Sicilian Union.
Frankie Yale scanned the room and continued.
"If Rosselli was murdered, go find out exactly who did it. You don't think I'm a cop, do you? If you want revenge, the least you can do is tell me precisely who the target is."
Rosselli's colleagues looked gloomy. Yale was not wrong.
"By the way, a lot has changed in just a few months. I took my eyes off the LES because of personal matters, and it's turned into a complete mess."
More precisely, the death of Five Points boss Itsuki Joe had been the signal flare for change.
Right then, as Yale became the head of New York's Sicilian Union, he had to pour everything into resolving internal issues.
It was the conflict and division that arose when a man from Longobucco in inland Italy became the head of the Sicilians.
Fortunately the Bronx, Brooklyn, New Jersey, and so on were gradually mending the rifts.
The problem is Manhattan.
The areas densely populated by Italian immigrants were largely Little Italy and the LES.
They collected protection money, prostitution, kidnapping, and opium-smuggling revenues from those districts, but recently a serious problem had arisen in the LES.
The sudden rise of that damn Union gang, whose name seemed to copy the Unione Siciliana itself.
Because of them, the influence of Italian gangs was shrinking rapidly. And the timing just happened to be right after Yale became head of the Sicilian Union.
There's a baseless rumor going around that you don't even have info on the Union gang. Don't disappoint us.
If you can't retake the LES, Yale, even your position won't be safe.
Those who had supported him and his internal enemies were questioning Frankie Yale's qualifications.
At this rate, pressure would come from all sides.
All of it because of the Union gang.
After Rosselli's colleagues left, Yale summoned his close aides.
"Whether the Union's headquarters is somewhere or who the hell their boss is—from now on, focus on retaking the LES."
Centered on Bowery Street, the left side was Little Italy, the right the LES district.
Fortunately the Union's influence did not reach Little Italy.
"Seize control starting from Bowery Street. At the same time, root out those inside the LES who sided with the Union, and eliminate them if necessary."
"Most of them have gone over to the Union, so the numbers will be considerable."
"Don't give me excuses like that. Shoot them dead, stab them with knives—show them properly what fear is and what the price is for turning us into enemies. If you're going to bring me some half-assed report, you'd better come ready to die."
After sending his men out, Yale picked up the whiskey. Gazing at the amber-colored glass, he recalled his teenage years.
His first crime had targeted a drunk. As he trembled and rifled through the pockets, the man suddenly woke up.
In a panic he smashed the man's head with a rock, and for fear he might wake again he struck the blood-gushing head several more times.
As he slipped out of the alley with two dollars and twenty-five cents in his pocket, he met a man.
Johnny Torrio, who had the trust of Five Points Gang boss Paul Kelly.
Through him Yale joined the gang and learned a great deal.
Torrio ran legitimate businesses while also dealing in bookmaking, usury, kidnapping, prostitution, and opium smuggling. He had an outstanding business sense that broke free from traditional gangs, a sharp and brilliant mind.
Currently Johnny Torrio had become underboss of the Chicago South Side Gang. Yale had taken him as a mentor and learned everything from him.
His current position proved it.
However, there was a difference between Torrio and Yale.
Compared to Torrio, who was fixated on Italians, Frankie Yale was more flexible.
As long as they had value, he actively embraced Neapolitans and Jews as well.
This time would be the same.
I'll use every resource available to thoroughly smash the Union gang.
Starting today, the retaking of the LES begins.
PS 42, Benjamin Altman School.
Students with backpacks began emerging one by one from the school. Friends heading the same way gathered in twos and threes, chatting as they toddled along.
"We ate meat at my house yesterday."
"Whoa! Whose birthday was it?"
"No, we eat it sometimes even normally. My mom makes a ton of money."
"Yeah. I'm jealous. Roa, don't you eat a lot of meat too? Your mom's a company president."
Roa thought for a moment, then shook her head.
"Roa's mom doesn't have money. I've never seen her buy meat. At our house, big brother is rich. Yeah. For sure. He even bought me Teddy the bear."
"Wow, your big brother must polish a lot of shoes."
"Yeah. Whether he polishes shoes or what. Roa doesn't really know. Anyway, big brother is rich."
"What about little brother?"
"Is he rich? It's hard to tell between him and Roa."
Just as Roa made a deflating sound with her cheeks—
Bang!
A gunshot rang out so loud it deafened the ears.
While the children stood dumbfounded, Roa flattened herself on the ground in a flash and yanked on a friend's pants.
"Do what Roa does, hurry! Big brother said this raises your survival rate by over fifty percent."
The friend who followed suit asked,
"What's a survival rate? Percent?"
"…Is that important right now? Seriously."
Bang!
Bang!
The intersection of Orchard and Broome Streets.
In a midday shootout, two units collecting protection money were hit by gunfire.