He Introduced a Complete Lunatic
The tenement rooftop.
My eyes drifted past Leo’s sour expression and settled on the boy standing beside him.
A newsboy cap pulled low. A few strands of blond hair fluttered out from under the side of the flat cap, and the angular face staring back at me held a faint sneer.
Unlike Leo, who sat still and gathered information, this one was a hyena who pounded the pavement himself to chase down leads.
The real information broker of the Lower East Side.
“Marcus Heinrich.”
“…It’s Henry. Henry.”
Leo snickered and cut in.
“Kid changed his last name not long ago ‘cause he was getting hounded. Smart move, too—if he hadn’t, he’d already be beaten to death.”
“Heard Alabama cotton plantations are short on hands. Want me to buy you a train ticket?”
Marcus shot back without missing a beat, lumping Leo in with the slaves who used to pick cotton—meaning his Black mother.
It should have landed hard, but Leo was no pushover.
“Make sure you get that ticket. I’ll even chip in for your boat fare. When you heading over to turn Europe into a bloodbath?”
“You insane?”
“Look at you shaking. How about I yell that there’s a German here?”
At least for now, Marcus was no match for Leo.
As a German immigrant while the Great War raged, Marcus had to keep his presence as invisible as air.
Anyway, I couldn’t stand watching the childish spat any longer.
“What the hell are you boys fighting about with words?”
I drew two Bowie knives from behind my waistband and held them out. Leo and Marcus both went pale, eyes flicking between the blades and my face.
“Whoa… why are you holding those?”
“You never know when, where, or who might jump me.”
I fixed my stare on Marcus.
His pupils jittered.
A little white supremacy had always seeped through him; he used to look down on both Kieran and Leo. He would at least talk to Leo because the kid’s skin was pale enough to pass for white, but an Asian? He’d ignore me the way you’d ignore a stray dog on the street.
And yet today he had come looking for me himself.
“You must have useful information if you came all this way.”
“…Your whole vibe’s changed. The Gary thing too—what the hell happened to you?”
“Do I owe you an explanation? You came, so state your business first.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed.
Leo’s reaction was different from before as well. He watched me now as if seeing me anew.
Marcus clicked his tongue and finally spoke.
“I found out who the loan sharks are and where the sewing machines are. But until I get paid…”
I made a show of pulling two one-dollar bills from my pocket and waving them. Light flared in Marcus’s eyes the moment he saw them.
Leo asked, looking incredulous.
“You already got paid by the backer?”
“Something like that. Keep going.”
Marcus continued, confident, as if showing off his skills.
“The loan sharks are former members of the Hudson Dusters. The sewing machines are in a warehouse a little ways from Pier 17 on South Street Harbor.”
Hudson Dusters?
Kept running into those bastards.
Or maybe that was a good thing.
“Solid intel?”
“Of course. There are guys guarding the warehouse, and I saw the sewing machines myself.”
“If even you could check it, must be pretty lax.”
“You’ll see when we get there. I’ll take the money then.”
Only seventeen, but Marcus understood business.
We moved at once.
Following South Street, we found a somewhat isolated warehouse near Pier 17 on the East River.
Because of the European war, plenty of warehouses had been turned into military depots for war matériel. Those places were heavily guarded—but the three-story red-brick warehouse Marcus led us to was laughably poorly secured.
The wide entrance was shut, with two men out front. “Guarding” was generous; they were just sitting there knocking back booze.
“I’ll go check and come back.”
No need to use the entrance. Circling around back offered plenty of gaps into the interior.
The large iron-grilled windows had been painted over, but the paint was peeling in places.
I peered through one of those gaps.
Just as Marcus had said, the sewing machines taken from my mother’s basement workshop stood in neat rows.
I didn’t stop there. I surveyed the building more carefully.
What caught my eye was the iron fire-escape staircase bolted to the outer wall.
Climb the rusted, rattling steps to the second floor and I could slip inside through a broken window.
After checking the warehouse interior and the surroundings, I rejoined the others.
Leo pouted and asked,
“What took you so long? The machines?”
“Confirmed.”
“So it was legit.”
Leo gave a bitter smile. I paid the promised two dollars. Marcus grinned with satisfaction and even threw in some free service.
“First deal, so here’s a freebie. While I was casing the place I heard some guys have their eyes on those sewing machines.”
“Which gang?”
“Same Hudson Dusters. Their membership’s a mess right now—no real control. Internal splits have been going on for a while.”
When a gang declines, all sorts of problems surface. That was why gangs that had ruled Manhattan nights for twenty years—the Gophers, Eastmans, Whyos—never reclaimed their glory days and simply vanished.
The Hudson Dusters were struggling with control after an influx of guys just out of prison after years, or ones who had quit and only recently rejoined.
Even belonging to the same gang didn’t mean they moved as one body. They usually operated like cells, coming together only when needed.
Some worked as company-hired sluggers; others just stuck to street extortion, threats, and robberies. Plenty of Hudson Dusters members had no idea what the others were up to.
“Same with the loan sharks. Only after the boss died and they suddenly became suspects did people think, ‘Oh, those guys were into that too?’ But then—”
Word had come from inside.
Talk of the ownerless sewing machines left floating after the sudden death of the boss.
“Sell those and you’re looking at two thousand dollars minimum.”
Enough money to revive even a dying Hudson Dusters gang!
“Guys who rob passersby and stick knives in people—if they don’t go after that, they might as well quit the life. Especially with a war against the Marginals coming up.”
Marcus’s analytical skill matched his information network. Even Leo nodded in reluctant admiration.
“Hate to admit it, but Marcus, you’re the kind of talent the German government wants. Bet you’ll get orders for a bomb plot soon. Give me a heads-up so I can stay clear.”
“Yeah, shut up.”
Far from angry, Marcus suddenly held out fifty cents to Leo.
Leo’s mouth, always ready with a comeback, fell open.
“I’m not the type to eat alone. You introduced the client, so you should get a cut too, right?”
“……First time I actually like you. Marcus Henry, you were a real stand-up guy all along?”
Marcus, who used to look down on everyone out of pure self-regard, had changed.
I read that change as a German cornered on the edge of a cliff rewriting his survival strategy.
Leo asked me,
“So what now? Tell the backer the location and let him handle the deal?”
“He’ll figure that out himself. And I need to go meet someone real quick.”
“Who?”
The Hudson Dusters’ internal fracture—and the appearance of one particular man—had made me tweak the original plan a little.
“Since we’re at the docks, I should see Tanner.”
Leo looked baffled. Marcus looked intrigued.
“Don’t know what it is, but you’re cooking up something seriously dangerous, aren’t you?”
Sharp as ever, Marcus.
“When you get back, spread a rumor. Can you do that?”
“What rumor?”
“That tomorrow night the Hudson Dusters are hitting a warehouse. They’ll know among themselves which warehouse.”
“Kieran, what the hell are you trying to do?”
“No problem. There are spots the Hudson Dusters members frequent. A rumor like that will spread fast.”
I handed a dollar to Leo, who was full of worry, and two dollars to Marcus, whose eyes sparkled like a kid about to go on an adventure—payment for the rumor.
It was also for secrecy and to keep their mouths shut.
After splitting from them I headed for the southern Manhattan docks where the East River and Hudson River met.
Piers lined with freighters and passenger ships.
Thanks to the war boom, American-made weapons and manufactured goods were being loaded nonstop onto the ships on the backs and handcarts of laborers.
“If you’re looking for Boss Tanner, he’ll be at Pier Five.”
Finding anyone in the chaotic docks was no easy job. Luckily he was well-known enough that asking around got me there.
What I found was a strike scene.
Hundreds of workers stood holding picket signs reading “Wage Increase,” “Shorter Hours,” and the like.
Across from them stood the labor sluggers hired by the company.
Maybe I should just leave…
On the union side, a man with a thick rope wrapped around his waist had climbed onto a crate and was mid-speech. The rope was essential for longshoremen bracing themselves when hoisting heavy cargo.
“The company squeezes us until we’re dried out and only fattens its own belly! Are you going to hand the same exploited life down to your children?! If you give up the strike just because living’s hard, nothing changes!”
“That’s right!”
“We were hungry yesterday, we’re hungry now, and we’ll be hungry tomorrow—how long are we just gonna sit and take this fucked-up reality?!”
Even without interest, the speech drove into my ears.
The workers’ voices grew louder; the atmosphere heated up. The more it did, the more the faces of the cops trying to contain the protest soured.
And of course the side I was standing on happened to be the company-hired labor sluggers.
If I asked for Tanner Smith here, I’d get a collective lynching.
I was about to quietly shift positions when one of them spat and shouted at the workers.
“You oughta be grateful you’ve got work at all! Who the hell puts food on your table? Either knock it off and get back to work, or get the hell out of here. Pick one—just one!”
The man on the platform stopped mid-sentence and fixed his gaze this way. Thumb hooked in the rope around his waist, he looked us over like a king surveying subjects.
“Well if it isn’t Naki. You tucked tail and ran when I fought your old boss Oney Madden—now you’ve grown a pair? Or did some miracle doctor sew a set of balls back on you? Live up to the name while you’re at it, Naked.”
The speaker twisted “Naki” into “Naked,” mocking him outright.
Laughter exploded across the yard—strictly from the striking workers’ side.
He’d poked the bear and come out worse, but the man called Naki was no ordinary thug either.
The counterattack began.
“Doc said those were yours. Fell off in prison and he stuck ’em on me. Ugly as hell, but they work fine when it counts.”
Now the sluggers guffawed.
The speaker stayed cool and kept returning fire.
“Doc must’ve tinkered with your brain too. Forgot who I am, Naked?”
“Big talk from a guy who just stirs shit.”
“That mouth of yours might get you floating in the East River soon.”
“Do it if you can—stop flapping your jaws!”
The childish wordplay was about to tip into violence.
Or had they been aiming for that all along?
Each side was goading the other, hoping someone else would throw the first punch.
“Both sides, enough!”
A cop finally stepped in, unable to watch any longer.
Union men and sluggers stirred; the air was one spark away from a clash.
This was exactly why gangs were needed.
When a strike heated up, collision became inevitable, and what you needed then was muscle.
With the police intervening, the charged atmosphere cooled. The speaker smacked his lips, looking disappointed, and stepped down from the crate.
Around thirty years old.
Charisma, and the easy confidence of a man who welcomed a brawl.
From the description, the speaker had to be Tanner Smith.
I pushed through the crowd toward him.
When Tanner spotted me his head cocked to one side.
“What the hell are you?”
“Came on Gary’s introduction.”
“Who’s that?”
Tsk.
I described ugly Gary’s looks.
Only then did he get it; he crooked a finger.
“Follow me.”
Tanner spun the free end of the rope still wrapped around his waist and led me behind a warehouse.
A few workers were smoking in front of a stack of crates. They grinned and greeted Tanner while sneaking glances at me.
Tanner had his own little space hemmed in by crates. Only once we reached it did he stick a cigarette in his mouth, light it, and look me up and down.
“Heard you can fight, but you’re all height and no meat. Look scrawny as hell.”
A skinny frame.
Maybe I needed to put on some oil so people would stop looking down on me.
But you need money to eat meat in the first place.
Vicious cycle.
When I didn’t answer, Tanner snorted.
“Quiet type, huh. Anyway, you heard the pitch?”
“Protect Irish kids from the other immigrant packs—that’s how I understood it.”
“That’s the whole of it. You’ll get a sense of belonging too.”
Pretending to care about a half-in, half-out kid like me.
Whether he meant it or not, I asked Tanner’s real purpose point-blank.
“You planning to gather the kids and build a gang?”
“Cocky mouth on you. What, you wanna be a gangster?”
“I want to build a gang.”
Tanner burst out laughing in disbelief.
Then his eyes turned cold and sharp.
“You think any idiot can run a gang? You ever kill a man? Hell, you ever even held a gun?”
“……”
“Wake the fuck up, kid. Being a gangster ain’t the glamorous shit you’re imagining.”
A bitter note clung to the end of his words.
Tanner was trying to change kids like me who still romanticized the life.
Then, with a distant look, he mentioned a dream.
“Before long I’m gonna open a club and run it. Kids’ll stay peaceful and safe inside. Then they won’t spout garbage about gangs like you.”
“Running a club would take a fair bit of money.”
“Not your business to worry about.”
Just as the rumors said, Tanner was nothing like a typical gang boss. He was lost in a fantasy that had nothing to do with crime.
That was probably why people respected him and looked up to him.
“If you’re gonna keep spouting that crap about organizing a gang, turn around quiet and go home.”
“Hear my vision out first.”
“Vision?”
“A vision for money, power, and influence that no one can touch.”
Tanner untied the rope from his waist.
Then he began wrapping it around his hand.
“Talk’s cheap enough to snatch the moon out of the sky. Why don’t you quit shining shoes and go sell dope on Doyer Street instead? Mouthing off in front of me without a scrap of fear—you’d be a natural.”
Tanner rolled his shoulders, loosening up.
Looked ready to throw a punch.
“…We’ll talk vision later. How about a deal with me instead?”
“A deal? You completely lost your—”
“I’m going to hit the Hudson Dusters.”
Boom.
The former boss who founded the Irish-born Marginals gang.
A man with ties to the Democratic political machine Tammany Hall, called Boss by the dockworkers, and possessed of a wide network.
If I wanted to shape the future, Tanner Smith was currently the best card available.
The problem had been how a nobody like me could join hands with him.
Luckily the warehouse holding the sewing machines had handed me a chance to kill two birds with one stone.
Today’s meeting didn’t need a long conversation.
Just enough to stamp my existence into his mind with a “Watch this—I’m doing it.”
The “deal” was only a pretext for the next meeting; it had no real content, and Tanner’s reaction didn’t matter.
“You’re talking pure nonsense.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. If you don’t come looking for me then, we’ll call the deal off.”
“So what you’re saying is you’ll pull the job before we even make a deal?”
“It’s a small job.”
“Man, the Hudson Dusters have fallen so far they’re getting treated like punks by a Chinese shoe-shine boy. Sure as hell their time’s up. But that Gary kid? He’s out.”
Tanner glared at me like he wanted to eat me alive.
“He introduced a complete lunatic.”
By the time I got home it was late afternoon.
No one was around, luckily, so I gathered my tools first.
Two knives, two guns.
Everything else I needed went into a bag.
I packed the boiled potatoes for dinner as well.
I left a short note on the table and was about to head out when I ran into Mother just coming in.
Her face was stunned; her eyes locked on the bag in my hand, boring into it.
I lifted the heavy bag so she could see it clearly.
“I already left a note on the table saying I was going on a business trip.”
“…Business trip? What business trip?”
“Something came up. I might be back by morning, or it might take longer.”
“What are you getting into this time—”
I cut her off.
“I’m going to put things back the way they were. Trust me and wait.”
“Kieran?!”
“I’ll be back.”
I left the house with her cry behind me.
The little snowball I had started rolling.
Time to make it bigger tonight.