Does Your Chest Tighten on Sunday Evenings?
There are people I will inevitably meet along the path to the future I have planned.
Among them are Meyer Lansky, Bugsy Siegel, J. Edgar Hoover—and Al Capone as well.
Put another way, every time I cross paths with them, it proves I am heading in the right direction.
The problem is the butterfly effect: even my smallest actions can ripple out and rewrite the future that was supposed to arrive. If the future changes so thoroughly that my knowledge becomes useless, nothing could be more uncertain.
The gains from killing Al Capone were smaller than the value of keeping him alive and holding on to a future I could still predict. Besides, this was not the moment to kill anyone.
“Johnny, the cops are coming!”
“If you heard that, get the hell away from Al right now!”
The man called Johnny shouted at me. The staff looked ready to jump in at any second.
I released the arm locked around the throat and slowly rose to my feet.
“He attacked, so I defended myself. That was all. No other meaning to it. When he wakes up, tell him that.”
“……Get lost.”
Johnny snarled, glaring at me.
The moment I looked him full in the face, the name surfaced.
Johnny Torrio.
In the mafia lineage charts I had read in my previous life, his name was marked as important.
The mentor who would shape Al Capone’s future.
A man with business sense every bit as sharp as Meyer Lansky’s. Johnny Torrio—the future mafia giant—was staring at me, or rather at my scarf, as if he meant to tear it to shreds.
“Don’t take it so hard. Replay what just happened and the anger will fade.”
It was late, yet outside the bar the night still thronged with souls who refused to sleep.
The White Hand Gang was nowhere in sight.
Maybe the mention of police had scared them off. They had acted as if they meant to save me, and then vanished.
I turned my head and looked up at the bar’s sign.
Come to think of it, the owner of the Harvard Inn was no ordinary man either.
Frankie Yale.
Why he named a bar after Harvard instead of Yale remained a mystery, but he had been involved in any number of major affairs.
In my previous life, Frankie Yale had appeared early in the mafia genealogies as a somewhat unusual figure.
Like Johnny Torrio, Yale—an Italian immigrant—had broken from the old gangs and become a new breed of gangster who put business first.
Where traditional revenue streams had been union rackets, opium, robbery, and protection, Frankie Yale expanded the criminal organization into an actual enterprise: bars, clubs, distribution.
Yet he never rose higher than gangster; he never became true mafia. The reason was—
“Hey, Irish friend.”
The White Hand boys I thought had fled now ringed me in.
“You can fight, huh?”
“That was impressive just now.”
Two of them grinned as they spoke.
These idiots had already forgotten that they started the whole mess over a woman. Of course I had no intention of making an issue of it either.
“Like I said earlier—I just couldn’t stand watching another Irishman get stomped by Italians.”
“Kid’s picking only the lines that sound good. And just so you don’t get the wrong idea—if we’d really gone all out, there wouldn’t have been a single pillar left standing in that bar.”
“I know, I know.”
I nodded vaguely. One of them pointed at my scarf.
“Why cover your face? You wanted or something?”
“If I were, I wouldn’t be wandering a resort like I had nothing better to do.”
Use the head if you have one.
Another crossed his arms and asked,
“So what’s your name?”
My goal was not these small fry; it was the leadership of the White Hand Gang. More precisely, I needed Boss Dini Meehan himself to learn I existed.
The best way—
“Nox.”
“Every Tom, Dick, and Harry calling himself No—wait. You’re not that Nox, are you?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, just leave it at that.”
Nox, the IRA secret agent who had cleaned Italian thugs off the docks. Nox, who had just saved an Irishman from Italians. Even a dull mind might smell a connection if it had any instinct at all.
“I’m going.”
I walked away trailing as much mystique as I could manage.
The ones left behind, suddenly full of thoughts, did not follow. Then I remembered something important.
I had already fed them information about myself.
“If you want to see me again……”
The Brass Lantern Pub
By the time I arrived past midnight, Tanner was dozing on the sofa.
“Why are you back so soon?”
“Staying any longer would have been more dangerous.”
I explained the situation. When he heard the last part, he slapped his knee and burst out laughing.
“So you announced yourself as Nox and told them to come find you here if they wanted another meeting?”
The Marginals shared Hell’s Kitchen on Manhattan’s West Side with the Hudson Dusters, the Pearl Buttons, and others.
The White Hand Gang split Brooklyn with the Italians.
Tanner knew better than anyone that the two outfits were not in the same league by size.
“Honestly, even I find the White Hand boss a handful. My plan was to step back and let you deal with him directly—but this way the connection forms naturally.”
“If their boss shows up here, just treat me like a regular customer. Then casually float the idea that an outsider is running a bar with Italian backing, and that maybe it’s time for Irishmen to help each other out.”
“Okay. Done. Let’s go with that! You set the board nicely.”
Tanner looked satisfied.
“Then since I finished today’s job successfully, how much is the pay?”
“Pay? What are you talking about? Expanding the bar isn’t just for my sake—it’s for our vision.”
“Ohhh, so we’ll share the profits from that bar too?”
“That’s a no. You’re not even putting up capital. I’ll just give you cash.”
Tanner pouted and held out a single dollar.
“That’s decent for two hours’ work.”
“I was supposed to take Roa to the amusement park tomorrow. Guess I can’t. Better just go home.”
“You came with family?”
I nodded with a tragic expression.
“We’re so broke we barely found a room. Figured we’d catch fish for breakfast on the beach. My little sister says she wants lobster—no idea if there are any. Fighting in a bar at night, risking my life on the shore tomorrow……”
“All right, all right, enough. And lobster isn’t expensive, you idiot.”
That was how I walked out with ten dollars and returned to the lodging.
The better I knew Tanner, the more certain I became he was rich. I needed to squeeze as much as possible out of him.
I unlocked the door. Mother sat on the small sofa, nodding off.
At the faint noise she opened her eyes.
“Just getting in?”
“Yes. Just now.”
She came close and looked me over from head to toe, studying my sleeves carefully for blood. Finding nothing unusual, she finally smiled and patted my shoulder.
“You must be tired. Go to sleep.”
She gently shifted Roa’s sprawled legs on the bed and lay down herself.
“Roa wants one more carousel ride…… mmmph.”
“Mother? Check if Roa’s actually awake.”
It looked suspiciously like a wish dressed up as sleep-talking. Nothing else explained it.
“Surely not……”
Mother half-doubted it herself, lifted her head, and stared hard at Roa. Then she decided the girl was truly asleep and tucked the blanket around her.
“You shouldn’t suspect your little sister.”
So only I was the villain.
I shoved Liam aside and stretched out.
“There’s a problem with Roa. The director who promised her a part suddenly swapped the actress. The guy’s always been shady—something’s off.”
“And Roa?”
“She says she’s fine, but…… she’s been locked in her room for three days.”
“Dig into the director. If there’s dirt, bring him in.”
“Understood.”
A dark private room.
“What did you just say?”
“Th-the part didn’t suit her…… it was an unavoidable choice for the film’s success. P-please, show mercy……”
“You took money to replace her and now you’re blaming my sister? Roa has been method-acting since she was little—there’s no role she can’t handle! You just insulted our family, director.”
Bang!
When I woke from a dream that had thrown every scrap of plausibility out the window, hard sunlight was already cutting through the curtains.
Roa was already up and dressed. The moment our eyes met she scampered over and yanked the blanket off me.
“Hurry up! Roa wants to play and play forever. If we go today, when do we come back? Let’s gooo.”
Coney Island, day two.
Lobster appeared on the hotel breakfast menu.
Just as Tanner had said, lobster was cheap and common. In some regions it was regarded as “cheap protein” for laborers and sold canned. Being able to eat lobster until you were full was one of the few genuine advantages of this era.
I needed to stop looking like a stick as soon as possible.
“We did Luna Park yesterday, so today let’s hit Steeplechase Park. The admission ticket includes the rides.”
“Roa. Can I ride the carousel ten times?”
“Sure.”
“Eleven? Twel—”
“Hey, just eat.”
Following Liam’s suggestion, we headed for Steeplechase. We walked along the sand and only dipped our feet in the sea. The place was packed, and swimming and washing afterward would have been a hassle. Roa, holding Mother’s hand and treading sand, peered up at me and tilted her head.
“Big Brother. You’re not covering with the scarf today?”
Yeah. Covering it today would be more dangerous.
Who knew when Al Capone might come looking.
I asked Roa,
“Is covering better than bare face?”
“No. Roa likes it much better now. You look more confident!”
So until now I had looked like a less-than-confident older brother. Something to think about.
We lined up for Steeplechase Park tickets. Day-trippers kept attaching themselves behind us, lengthening the queue. Last night I hadn’t paid attention, but now whites, Blacks, Hispanics, and the occasional East Asian all stood out.
Just a short distance away, discrimination was rampant; this kind of racial melting pot only appeared at resorts. Not every resort, of course—some places banned anyone who wasn’t white from even approaching the water.
Coney Island’s crowds were a furnace of many ethnicities, mostly Manhattan laborers, so discrimination was milder here.
At Steeplechase Park we burned ourselves out.
Watching Roa, the phrase felt exact.
Even her tireless stamina finally hit a limit.
The suggestion to go home came at six in the evening.
“Roa…… thinks this is as far as she goes.”
Even her eyes had gone moist. Her steps suddenly grew heavy.
“Big Brother…… take care of Roa.”
And with that heroic farewell she fell asleep on my back.
By the time we boarded the steamer home she had recovered enough to run around the deck. A middle-aged man found her so adorable he gave her candy and patted her head.
“She talks to strangers so easily. What if someone snatches her?”
“Hyung, you’re overreacting. Who’s going to kidnap Roa on a boat this crowded?”
“You don’t know the world yet.”
Liam watched Mother and Roa chatting with the middle-aged man from beside me.
“School going all right?”
“Eh, same as always.”
“Does your chest tighten on Sunday evenings?”
“……”
“You haven’t been working out much lately. Somebody beat you up?”
Liam’s eyes went wide with shock.
“How did you know?”
“Obvious. You finally start training, then get your ass kicked—who’d want to keep going?”
“……Tch. Suddenly I’m pissed.”
“Was he bigger than you?”
Liam hesitated, then bit down hard and nodded, face full of resentment.
“Show me how he did it.”
“What?”
“Do exactly what he did when he fought you.”
Liam stood awkwardly, then asked again if he was really allowed.
“I’m your brother. Whatever attack you throw, I can stop it.”
“You mean that?”
Liam charged straight at me. The other guy must have come in wrestling-style with both arms.
“In a case like this, you reverse the dumb bastard’s own strength.”
I stepped into Liam’s rush, seized his collar, then—
“Drop his center with your shoulder. At the same time use the force of his charge.”
Whoooosh.
I lifted Liam’s body and drove him into the deck.
Thud!
“That was the first impact, but it’s not enough.”
Just as I had done to Al Capone the night before, I pressed my forearm across Liam’s throat.
“Push harder here and it’s a gurgle—straight up to heaven. Don’t ever do that.”
I released him. Liam coughed and asked,
“Wh-what was that just now? Shit, I floated.”
“Shoulder throw skill. Master this first and you’ll be able to branch into all sorts of applications.”
“Hyung, explain it properly again.”
Considering a fifteen-year-old’s pride, I could imagine how long he had been quietly suffering without a word.
He must have hated going to school.
The real problem was Liam’s personality. Once he latched onto something he became fanatically obsessive.
Just when I thought he was escaping gym-rat hell, he was already diving into fighting technique.
“If I catch you practicing throws on Roa, you’re dead.”
“Hyung, I’m not that far gone.”
When we left the steamer, Roa even waved goodbye to the middle-aged man.
“Bye, Mr. Trump!”
“You take care too, little lady.”
On the streetcar home, Roa’s mouth never stopped.
“He gave Roa candy and bread too. He said he was going to Wall Street—so that’s why he’s rich!”
“Yeah. Sounds like a real fat cat.”
“The mister said, ‘I used to live on the Lower East Side myself,’ and that was way before Roa was born.”
Roa recited the entire conversation at stenographer level. Then she fell asleep again and rode my back.
“Hyung, want me to carry her?”
“I warned you. Get caught practicing throws on Roa and I’ll show you a bigger hell.”
“I said I’m not……”
“Look at him trailing off. Mother? I think Liam’s gone crazy.”
“Calling your brother crazy—Kieran, use nicer words.”
We reached home at ten at night.
The overnight Coney Island trip had been both fun and exhausting.
As expected—leave home and you suffer like a dog.
I laid Roa on the bed and turned away.
“Bronx Zoo…… mmmph, mmmph.”
She already had the next destination locked in.
I clapped my hands over my ears and escaped the room.
A new week began.
A few days after we returned from Coney Island, every young man whose name sat on the draft rolls had his attention fixed on one place.
America’s entry into the war.
In Washington, D.C., government officials and reporters gathered while the draft lottery decided who would go to the battlefield.
To keep the Selective Service Act lottery fair, numbers were drawn completely at random.
Inside a great glass jar—the capsule of fate—rested numbers for a full ten million men.
The first number drawn was 258.
That symbolic first draw was only the beginning; hundreds of thousands more names followed.
The results appeared in the local papers the very next day.
That was around the time Gavin and Corey of the Marginals came looking for me.