No Way...
"So you're accepting the job...?"
I knew the value of Saint Pierre and Miquelon better than anyone. But this wasn't something to decide on the strength of a single request form and a short conversation.
"Come back in a week."
"I scraped together every last cent I had for the bail and got out! And the first thing I did was seek contact with a large-scale gang. Why do you think that is?
NYPD had arrested Armand a month after Russo's murder, which meant he'd only been free for about four months. Bail was the only way that was possible.
Anger started to bleed into Armand's voice.
"To be honest, I already know you're with the Union."
Armand stared straight at me.
"What, you thought I'd nod along?"
"Doesn't matter if you deny it. The only gang that can operate like this in LES—no, the only one that can pull off this kind of work—is yours. And it was the Union that sniped Russo!"
His eyes filled with venom. He ground his teeth and pressed on.
"If you people hadn't taken Russo out, I never would have ended up like this! I would have done business with him like always, taken the money, and lived a normal life with my family! My friend never would have died!"
Armand spoke without restraint, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. He couldn't even sort out the targets of his hatred and rage.
Then, as if he suddenly came to his senses, he started sniveling like a madman.
"Leonard was my right-hand man. He isn't even from Saint Pierre and Miquelon. And yet that bastard took everything from me."
"You're from the island?"
"Yes. I lived there until four years ago. It's a beautiful place. The people are simple and honest."
His expression turned distant, tears welling up as he spoke about the island.
Barely ten years earlier, roughly six thousand people had lived there. The islanders' main livelihood was fishing; they made their living hauling fish aboard their boats.
"But when the Great War broke out in Europe, everything changed overnight. The French government started conscripting troops even from its overseas colonies."
From then on, nearly half the island's population forced a migration to Canada and the United States. The population that remained shrank to a mere three thousand—less than a single street block in LES.
On top of that, some four hundred able-bodied men were dragged off to the front, paralyzing the fishing industry. French government support dried up as well. The women, children, and elderly left behind had no way to survive.
"So they turned to smuggling."
Legal or illegal—what mattered to the islanders was putting food on the table that day.
"In all the years of smuggling, there had never been a single violent incident. That's how completely the islanders supported it. The problem is..."
Leonard, once Armand's right hand, was different. Violent, rough, and not even a native of Saint Pierre and Miquelon. And the decisive point: he had murdered Armand's partner.
"There are five of us smugglers on the island, myself included. Liquor makes up eighty percent of the trade; the rest is tobacco and weapons."
"Do you all operate independently?"
"We divide the territories. One man handles Canada. I take Manhattan. My partners deal in Boston, Jersey City and Atlantic City, and Norfolk."
The smugglers of Saint Pierre and Miquelon operated as a kind of network—and Armand sat at its center.
"I brought every last one of them in. And recently, the friend who handled Boston was killed. Who do you think did it? Leonard. He eliminated him as an example, to keep the others in line."
When he said his friend was dead, I had assumed he meant Russo. It turned out to be a fellow smuggler. Armand had more than enough reason to want Leonard gone.
A brief silence settled. I sank into thought on my own.
Creating a contact route with the Union wasn't simply about the fee. Accepting a hit contract for a mere five hundred dollars? Pure inefficiency.
Through Maurice Rothenberg I had secured a Tenderloin gambling den and intelligence on the gambling houses across Manhattan. Through George Walcott I had been able to plan out a pharmacy chain and even a disinfectant plant. Every one of those connections had been forged through request forms.
And today I would add Armand. The profit I stood to gain from him was certain. Not only Saint Pierre and Miquelon, but the Canadian smuggling routes as well—I could seize them all.
"I'll take the job. On one condition: from now on, you deal your contraband with us."
Having already made an enemy of the Italians, Armand had no real choice. In fact, that had been his intention from the moment he sought contact with the Union.
He accepted the terms without hesitation.
"If Leonard is eliminated, I'll make an excellent business partner. But... any chance of protection for myself?"
Since making bail, he claimed, he had been living under the constant threat of assassination by Italian gangs. Whether they were actually hunting him or not, the fear kept him from sleeping properly.
"Okay. Bodyguard service is free of charge."
"Thank yo— What are you doing?"
I bound Armand's hands and covered his eyes, then quietly instructed the members waiting at the entrance.
"Don't let the location leak. Dump him in a third-floor room of the twin building."
The room between Ida's and Hazel's.
Second-floor office of the twin building on Allen Street.
I had summoned Joseph Lanza from the Fulton Fish Market—to verify Armand's story.
"How's the market these days?"
"The Romano brothers keep absorbing more of the union members."
Russo and Cardone were gone, but their families still ran stalls in the market. The Italian gangs used them to control a portion of the fellow-countrymen merchants and laborers, keeping the smuggling business alive.
Of course, ever since the Romano brothers had allied with the Irish union, the Russo and Cardone factions had been steadily shrinking.
"By the way, what are the Romano brothers smuggling?"
"Mainly liquor and tobacco."
You couldn't get rich selling fish. Some of them had gone deep into smuggling chasing bigger profits. The Romano brothers were no exception. Their main sources, however, were Cuba and the Bahamas. Saint Pierre and Miquelon had been monopolized by the Cardone and Russo families.
"So, did you dig up any information?"
"Armand already knew the Romano brothers well."
Lanza's report matched what Armand had said.
"Reputation?"
"According to the Romano brothers, Armand is one of the more honest smugglers."
His unit price was a little cheaper than the others, which was why the Romano brothers had tried to deal with him—only to be politely refused on the grounds that he already had an exclusive contract with Russo.
The main factor determining a smuggler's unit price was how closely he worked with the customs officers at a given port. The officers set the bribe per case of liquor in exchange for looking the other way, and the amount of that bribe determined the price. The reason whiskey had become worth its weight in gold during Prohibition was partly the skyrocketing cost of those bribes.
"What about Leonard? Did you find out when he makes his runs?"
"Ever since Russo got sniped at the pier, both sides have been on high alert. Leonard never leaves the ship, and the timing of his arrivals is kept completely secret."
"Same method won't work, then."
Leo, sitting on the sofa, cut in. As he said, we needed another approach.
"Anyway, Lanza. Tell the Romano brothers soon that you'll be introducing them to a new smuggler."
"Armand?"
"No good comes from spreading it around. Just drop a hint."
"Understood!"
Once Lanza left, Leo turned to me.
"How do you take out a guy who never leaves the ship?"
According to Armand, Leonard didn't even have a fixed residence. Which meant if he never set foot ashore—
"We take him when he boards."
"Whoa, never thought of that. Wait—you're not seriously going to the island yourself?"
"It's just an island stuck to Canada. How long could it take?"
Third floor of the twin building. The room next to Hazel's.
"Just getting there takes over a week."
"!"
Armand added the details. Manhattan to Saint Pierre and Miquelon was roughly eight hundred sixty nautical miles. Round trip, a minimum of two weeks.
The work would run fine without me. The real problem was home. How could I leave the house empty when anything might happen to my family? Especially with the Spanish flu forcing my siblings to stay cooped up all day.
While I was turning it over seriously, Armand snapped his fingers and spoke up.
"Come to think of it, taking Leonard out on the island itself might actually be the best option. But when are you going to untie these ropes and take off the blindfold?"
Armand was mistaking the mask covering his eyes for a simple blindfold. The member standing watch over him was shaking with suppressed laughter.
I decided to play dumb to the end and asked Armand instead.
"If you had a ship, could you guide us to the island?"
"I am a captain, you know. Give me a vessel and I can get us there no problem."
"I'll arrange the men and the ship."
As I started to close the door, Armand thrust his bound hands out in a panic.
"Hey, you can't just leave me like this! You're not planning to keep me this way until then, are you?"
Click.
I shut the door. Armand launched into a stream of French that definitely sounded like cursing. I snorted and was digging a finger in my ear when—
"Who'd you lock up in the room next to mine?"
Hazel poked her face in and asked. I stepped half a pace back and scratched my cheek.
"Someone."
"Sounds French. You should've gagged him at least. What if he starts yelling?"
Leave it to Hazel to think of that.
"He won't have the guts to scream."
He had asked for personal protection himself. I was simply giving him the best protection I could.
"Anyway, Hazel. You finished with work?"
"Work? What work? Have you seen me doing any work lately?"
Ever since the move from the basement workshop in Hell's Kitchen, customers had stopped coming. No surprise—no one even knew there was a gunsmith under the twin building. And Hazel herself hadn't exactly gone out of her way to advertise it. Aside from me and the members who used the shooting range, the income was practically nothing.
In short, she was living large off the late Gunsmith's legacy—a freeloading idle swan, not a freeloading idle man.
At this rate the Gunsmith really would rise from his grave. Wait. Hazel, a swan?
"What's with that look? Looking down on me for not working?"
"No. Just thought of something. Hazel, want a job?"
"So you are looking down on me. Fine, what is it?"
After watching her at the range dozens of times, I had never seen a woman shoot as well as Hazel. She was better than Ida, who called herself her teacher. Perfect for house-sitting.
Hazel nearly foamed at the mouth when she heard me out.
"Wow. Unbelievable. So you're telling me to play housekeeper? For two whole weeks?"
"Bodyguard. Bodyguard duty."
"Oh, please. If I'm staying at your place, you think I can just sit around? I'll end up doing laundry and cooking."
"Why would you? Who's going to make you?"
"It'd be awkward not to. I'd have to do something."
Maybe it was too much to ask. I couldn't trust a bunch of black-hearted men. Better to leave it to Ida, who never asked questions.
"Well, if you don't want it, fine. I'll ask Ida—"
Hazel grabbed my arm.
"I never said I didn't want it. I said it was unbelievable. So? Should I pack right now?"
While Hazel gathered her things, I tried to reach River Grey, who had his boat docked at Pier 35 on the East River. Leo went in person to coordinate the schedule, and we settled on departure the following afternoon.
Leo wanted to come along, but he had to handle the smaller affairs in my place. I would take three members instead.
That evening at seven, I opened the front door—and Roa came rolling straight across the living room floor.
"Big brother's hooome... Huh!?"
Having rolled all the way to my feet, Roa blinked her big eyes up at Hazel.
"Hi."
"It wasn't Roa who rolled—it was Teddy. He's so strong."
She stood up as if being pulled by the teddy bear's arm. Pure pantomime.
Having heard Hazel's voice, Liam—who had been exercising in his room—stuck only his face out and went wide-eyed.
"No way..."
What exactly was impossible, I couldn't say. Liam's eyes were full of disbelief and pure shock.