How About We Run for a Bit?
A unit of the Five Points Gang.
Meyer, once a mere underling, intended to add slugger work as a line on his gang résumé so he could climb a little higher.
He still hadn't given up on recruiting me. If anything, the rumor that I had beaten Gary only made him more aggressive.
"If you're in a gang, you need slugger work too. Now that you've quit shining shoes, starting with that isn't a bad idea."
Fine for him, maybe, but Benjamin Siegel was only ten. A little young to be working as a slugger.
Aware of my gaze, Benjamin snorted.
"I'm just tagging along."
Ah. So he was going to make an impression.
Look at this sprout growing up over here.
Anyway, the culprit always returns to the scene of the crime.
It felt a little early, but Meyer would give me an alibi. It was also a chance to watch how the sluggers moved after Johnny's death.
"Then let's go."
I changed direction and headed for the clothing warehouse less than ten meters away—the scene of the crime I had committed.
"What's that smell?"
The moment we stepped into the warehouse, Meyer wrinkled his nose. The reek of blood hit us from the first floor.
Benjamin, at the age when curiosity ran hottest, dashed up the stairs first.
He stopped almost at once, staring hard at the fabric draped over the steps. The cloth was heavy with red blood.
Benjamin bravely lifted it. Sticky blood coated the stairs and the fabric in thick smears.
"Holy shit, what the hell is this!?"
Meyer and the kids recoiled in shock.
Meanwhile Benjamin calmly climbed to the third floor and checked first whether Johnny was there.
As expected, he was no ordinary kid.
"Nobody in the office, Meyer! Looks like we need to search the whole building."
The kids scattered up and down the stairs and began combing the place. I followed Meyer into the second-floor warehouse where the fabric was piled.
"Damn, what the hell happened here."
The more people crowded a scene, the harder it became to cover anything up or rearrange the facts.
For instance, if Meyer found the contract on Johnny's body, he might start hatching plans of his own.
So when Meyer lifted the fabric covering the corpse, I cleared my throat and shouted.
"There's a dead bodyyy!"
"Whoa—you startled me. Keep it down a little."
As Meyer shot me a look that said not to make a scene, the kids came rushing over.
"It's a murder! Hurry and tell people!"
Benjamin and the kids stared at me with eyes that said, Who the hell is this guy giving orders?
Then, instead of being shocked by the corpse, they started rifling through his pockets.
What kind of lives had these brats been living?
"What the—his wallet's empty. If it was Johnny, he should've been carrying a good chunk of cash."
Meyer and Benjamin were already calculating the money Johnny would have paid the sluggers, plus the advance he had taken from the employers. Scary kids.
"What's this?"
Meyer finally pulled a paper from inside Johnny's coat. The sewing-machine contract.
Good thing I had come.
"Better not touch that kind of thing."
Why? Every pair of eyes locked on me.
"Cash is one thing, but if you're caught holding something clumsy like that, you could get framed for the killing."
"Tch. Who's gonna think we killed him?"
"Cops looking to pad their records will pin it on anyone. Especially since you're Jewish."
"Ah…"
The police force was solidly Irish; they were more than capable of it. Always had been.
Hearing me, Meyer came to his senses and hastily stuffed the paper back into Johnny's coat.
I pushed them to call people right away.
"We need to report it as soon as possible. The longer we stall, the more suspicion falls on us."
"You're right."
We all went outside.
Then we shouted into the street.
"Murder!"
People swarmed the clothing warehouse in an instant. Meyer slipped to the side of the building with a bitter smile.
"Damn. I came looking for some work and this is what I get."
"The money man is dead, so the job's over."
"Yeah. I heard about twenty guys were supposed to gather tomorrow morning, but with Johnny dead…"
Twenty of them?
Good thing I took him out today.
Anyway, sticking around was getting uncomfortable.
I was carrying a club and a knife—how was I supposed to explain that?
"Meyer, seeing that body earlier turned my stomach. I'm heading out first."
If he tried to stop me, I would have to hit him.
Of course that never happened.
Meyer had a conscience.
"I was about to say the same thing. You only came because of me, so you get out of here."
It applied to the other kids too.
"I dragged everyone here, so you can all leave. When the cops come, Benjamin and I will talk. That'll keep the suspicion off us as well."
Wise Meyer was earning goodwill from his friends while putting ten-year-old Benjamin out front and already planning the aftermath.
You could tell just by looking at the kids' faces how they saw him.
I left the scene before the police arrived.
It was past eight in the evening when I got home.
"Big Brother! Want me to tell you what Roa did this afternoon?"
Apparently someone claiming to be police had knocked on the door and she hadn't opened it. Listening made my spine crawl and the hair on my arms stand up.
"But why were you home at that hour?"
"Mm… Roa had her reasons too."
What reasons? Mother explained with a bitter look in her place.
In short, an auntie named Rosetta had been watching the children, but she had scolded Roa, saying the ugly atmosphere in the tenement was Mother's fault.
"The kids? Or the auntie?"
"Both…"
So Roa had said she was going home for a little while at lunch and then stayed here the rest of the day.
Aunt Rosetta never even came looking for her.
"It wasn't just me they singled out. The whole place is condemning every woman who joined the protest."
Lately the tenement had been noisy because of the basement workshop, that much was certain.
On top of that a brawl had broken out right in front of the building this morning, so I understood the residents' complaints.
I looked at Roa sitting on the floor, munching a potato.
She must have been alone in the house all day.
What had she thought when Johnny's men knocked on the door?
We needed to leave this place soon.
Somewhere bigger and more comfortable.
"But Kieran. I think you have something to tell me."
From the moment the protest began until it ended, Mother had neither spoken to me nor looked my way.
She must have had a mountain of questions.
Liam was the same; before I knew it he was standing beside me, staring only at my mouth.
"Anything happen to you today?"
"Yeah. Everyone was looking for you and me."
"And?"
"Leo told me to stick close, so I kept dodging them. Marcus joined us in the afternoon too."
"Good job."
"But Kieran."
Mother chewed her lip and went on.
"I think we should end the protest."
The sluggers' brawl had thrown the entire tenement into fear. On top of that she had heard they tried to take the family hostage.
"The protest isn't more important than family, is it?"
"That's true. But you should keep the protest going. Nothing like that will happen again."
Wondering what I had done this time, Mother stared hard at my mouth, half expectant, half worried.
"He's dead. That guy."
"…… Who?"
"Johnny Spanish, or whatever his name was."
Mother seemed to understand everything at once and rekindled her will to protest. She had clearly adapted.
Meanwhile, as I changed clothes, Liam silently trailed after me.
"What is it, kid. Spit it out."
"That this morning. How come you fight so well? Since when? Leo and Marcus don't know either. What the hell is it?"
I stopped putting on my shirt and flexed my biceps hard. My skinny frame made the muscle pop out pitifully, like an egg.
"…… So what?"
"What do you do every day, hyung?"
"Don't tell me it has something to do with that weird exercise you do at home every day?"
"I told you doing that changes a lot of things."
I should never have said that.
From that day on Liam became obsessed with exercise like a madman. And the questions never stopped.
"Show me the form again."
"Watch and copy it. Do I have to teach you one by one?"
"I can't get that form right, that's why."
"Then keep at it until you can, brat."
"You have to tell me how to do it!"
"You wanna die?"
Smack!
Mother's backhand smash landed, and I got an earful about speaking nicely to my little brother.
"Stop bothering Big Brother and copy Roa!"
As expected, only Roa was on my side.
The next morning.
As soon as I woke I prowled outside the tenement house with a knife, ready to deal with any clueless bastards who hadn't yet heard Johnny was dead.
But the street was clean.
Even while the protesters gathered in front of the building, not a single ant showed itself.
Because I wasn't wearing a scarf, everyone simply took me for the son seeing his mother off.
They paid me no mind at all.
"Looks like… they're not coming today?"
Mother and her colleagues looked relieved, yet a little disappointed. Deep down they had hoped the sluggers who protected them would appear.
Sorry, but I had only paid Tanner for one day's wages.
Not because the money was a waste. The very existence of sluggers clashed with the ILGWU's position and hurt public sympathy for the protesters.
Besides, having eliminated Johnny on the first day, I judged the employers would not respond that quickly.
"Alright then—full force again today!"
"Let's go!"
Just as the protesters were about to march with their pickets, something completely unexpected happened.
"Oh my, you're here again today?"
Suddenly Patrick appeared, leading a group.
Their numbers were down by half from yesterday—five men.
But why had they come?
The protesters marched down the street with their pickets.
I covered my face with a scarf and walked alongside Patrick, separate from them.
"Why'd we come? Because Boss Tanner said to, that's why."
He had even paid the daily wage.
"You know Johnny's dead, right?"
"I know. Don't I smell like booze? I had a celebratory drink first thing this morning."
Patrick knew Johnny was dead and did not seem to think I was involved.
"We'll only follow as far as the ILGWU join-up. The rest is on you."
"What is?"
"Those guys."
The four who had come along.
He told me to lead them.
"That's Boss Tanner's order too. Well, they agreed as well."
Apparently I had moved the four men's hearts yesterday. Tanner wanted to confirm it?
No—digging deeper, I read it as a clear signal after Johnny's death. Something like, let's plot the future together.
The proof was that Tanner's order had been delivered suddenly this morning.
"That's why Gavin couldn't come. He's bandaged up and crashed at home."
Five of them.
The number whose hearts I had moved.
It sounded corny, but in this business, if you beat someone you suddenly gained dozens of followers overnight.
There were that many men who believed power was directly tied to their future.
That was exactly why I had wanted even a small reputation through Gary.
Gangs forming, dissolving, splitting and merging—all of it followed the logic of power.
But sustaining a gang took more than power alone.
The most important thing was money. Always.
You had to give them the conviction that they could eat well and live well together.
"By the way, Rookie. You can't hide behind a scarf forever. It's about time you need a name."
Neither Tanner nor Patrick used their real names.
Some men used three or four.
Plenty of people lived hiding not only their faces but themselves.
But this advice at this particular moment?
He seemed to know I was involved in Johnny's death.
"Anyway, this is as far as I go."
The moment we reached Union Square, Patrick left the four with me and turned back.
The protesters joined the ILGWU as they had the day before and continued the picket line.
Yesterday the square had been packed like a pack of dogs because of the launch ceremony; today it was relatively quiet.
The sluggers strolled the park as if they had nothing to do with the protesters and admired the USS Recruit rising proudly above the grass.
"Looking at that makes my blood boil."
"Maybe I should just enlist while I'm at it."
A sailor on deck seized the chance and sweet-talked the group.
"A wise choice! Come on in! Join the Navy and you can become American heroes who annihilate the enemy! First take a look around the ship! Come aboard!"
The sailor was desperate to drag in even one more man. There were suckers who signed enlistment papers on the spot, and the sluggers were no exception.
"Stop! Where do you think you're going?"
"I've been thinking it over carefully. They take care of food, clothing, shelter and even give you a salary—why hesitate?"
"I heard you learn shooting and combat training if you go. I'll come back a human weapon."
"Not a weapon—you'll all die as meat shields. Come on now, this way."
Just because Tanner had entrusted them to me did not make me their leader. They still called me Rookie.
Anyway, if they wanted to become human weapons, I would make them.
I would raise them into warriors without blood or tears.
"How about we run a bit with me first?"
"Where to?"
"Park jog? No—a stroll."
"Hey hey, with that body of yours you'll collapse if you run. We big brothers can't take responsibility."
On one side the protest continued; on the other we began physical training by running in the park.
That afternoon, perhaps because word of Johnny's death had spread, the atmosphere at the ILGWU turned strange.
They radically changed the direction of the protest.
"We're thinking of protesting in the Garment District tomorrow. What do you think?"
"Excellent!"
The Garment District in Midtown Manhattan.
The heart of American fashion.
And the place where the clothing manufacturers gathered.
"Let's go raise a strong protest and demand answers! Why the slugger they hired was carrying a sewing-machine contract!"
As expected of the ILGWU.
True to the organization that had led massive strike protests, they drove straight into the core of the matter.
The next day.
The protest aimed itself at the manufacturers in the Garment District. The bosses, already flustered by Johnny's sudden death, were truly in hell.
But then a force arrived that would drive them even further into a corner.
The Women's Trade Union League.
The WTUL, composed of upper-class women, joined the protest in force.
Some called them the "Mink Brigade."
A sarcastic label for wealthy women who draped themselves in expensive mink and held pickets with lofty airs.
Even to my eyes, the sight of rich ladies wrapped in costly clothes holding pickets felt jarringly out of place.
And with a hawk's eye I spotted a dragon who had polymorphed into a human and was simply enjoying herself.
Anne Tracy Morgan.
J.P. Morgan's youngest daughter shook hands with Mother.
Found her—the brassiere investor.
With her appearance, the sewing-machine incident entered a new phase.