Chapter 60 - Why Is There Smoke Everywhere
As always, before pulling off a job, you need to set up a safety net.
With the Neapolitan gang weakened, the Sicilian side is quietly taking over businesses bit by bit. If the Neapolitan casino gets attacked, the Sicilians will be the prime suspects, but that alone isn't enough.
Crackle—fzzzzzt.
"What the hell!"
"Fire!"
Smoke began to rise inside the semi-basement casino.
In an instant, the glass window was filled with thick smoke, which quickly billowed outside.
The smoke grenade works perfectly.
Now that I've confirmed that, I need to get the hell out of here.
Blending in with the crowd pouring out of the casino, I rushed down the alley.
Then, from within the throng of onlookers, I watched as smoke poured out of the building like crazy.
"Wow, looks like there's a big fire in there."
"What the heck is going on all of a sudden?"
A huge crowd gathered in no time.
It was about five minutes after the smoke started that the police and firefighters finally showed up.
"Step aside!"
"Hose coming through! Everybody move!"
By now, the smoke grenade's effect would have faded, leaving only some lingering smoke in the basement.
I followed the fire hose alongside the cheerful neighborhood kids.
A little while later. It was revealed that there wasn't actually a fire. They found the smoke grenade at the scene, and the casino staff tried to explain to the police that something had just dropped out of the window.
"Which crazy bastard would just toss a military smoke grenade like this?"
"How are we supposed to know?"
"That's it if you don't know? Search the place anyway. There might be more."
The police ended up conducting a sudden raid. Normally, they would have cleaned up any traces quickly, but with all the smoke, that was impossible.
Their illegal casino was exposed.
"These bastards were running a casino here!"
"Confiscate the evidence and arrest the person in charge first!"
I'm sure some of those cops had been bribed too. But everything had happened so fast. The casino manager and an employee who couldn't escape were arrested, and the gambling equipment was seized.
I hadn't expected things to go this far… Who would have thought taking out a casino could be this easy?
I tilted my head and spotted Marcello.
Maybe because he'd suddenly become unemployed, he was sitting there in shock, clutching at his hair.
Better get out of here before I get caught.
A smoke grenade—something used in war zones.
I saw firsthand what happens when one goes off in a densely populated city center.
Next time, I'll have to try making a flashbang.
***
"Big Brother, ta-da."
As soon as I walked in the door, Roa held out some poop to me.
When I recoiled in horror, Roa told me to look closer, saying it was my hand.
"Aunt Mary told us to make a family member's hand out of clay. Roa could only think of Big Brother's hand, so I made this awesome piece."
"But what's it holding between the fingers?"
"Oh, that's meat for Roa. You're giving me meat."
I thought it was poop holding more poop.
"... You did a good job."
"Big Brother, give me your hand. Can you tell whose is whose?"
"No. I have no idea."
"Okay, then I'll make a foot tomorrow. Give me your foot. It might be a little hard, but snap."
Roa pretended to take a picture, saying she needed to remember what my foot looked like.
Looks like we'll have another poop-shaped thing tomorrow.
Click.
Just then, Mother came home from work.
She had a big smile on her face—whatever happened, it must've been a good day, because she looked happy rather than tired.
"Ciaran, do you know who came by this afternoon? The manager from Gimbels Department Store! Last time, he practically cursed us out, but today he was sweet as honey. You should have seen it."
Mother couldn't stop laughing as she spoke. The fact that Gimbels had humbled themselves and come back could only mean the brassiere launch was a real success.
Sales were actually trending upward.
Besides Macy's, we were supplying our products to seven different boutiques.
"The response to launching all the different sizes this week must've been great. The Gimbels manager couldn't stop talking about it."
"That's wonderful."
"If we keep releasing new products by just changing the materials and designs like you suggested, I think it'll be a huge hit."
The brassieres seem set for success as is.
I want to start making men's underwear too, but we don't have enough employees, and our factory is too small.
I thought about the Allen Street building I bought, but having the Union headquarters and the casino all in one place is risky.
I'll need to look for a new factory soon.
Just like other apparel manufacturers, renting a place instead of buying a whole building should be enough.
After dinner, Liam read a book while Roa and I played a drawing game.
"Big Brother, it's like your hand is broken. What are these weird lines?"
"If you keep saying that, I'm not doing this."
"Sorry, sorry. But if you always hear only nice things, you'll never improve. If Jake hadn't cursed at you, Roa wouldn't have gotten any better, either."
"He curses at you?"
"Yeah. Sometimes. Of course, Roa does it even more often."
"What did you say…?"
"Moron. Dummy. Moron. Roa's actually been to Coney Island, you know. Stuff like that?"
"..."
After putting the last eye on the carousel horse, Roa fell asleep as if she had collapsed from exhaustion.
Liam was reading a book in bed, and Mother drifted off reviewing the ledger at the dining table.
Meanwhile, my body clock was flipped, making me feel sharper as the night deepened.
I laid Roa in her bed and gently woke Mother, who was half-asleep, to guide her from her chair to her bedroom.
Now I finally had time to myself.
Quietly, I opened the box, took out my weapons and ammunition, and set them on the table.
I loaded four magazines, including the spares, and attached a suppressor to the muzzle.
I prepped two pistols and packed them in my bag.
The time was 10:30.
I sat at the table and jotted notes in my notebook.
Even though the casino incident was looming, my mind was filled with thoughts about the Marginals.
If I fully absorbed the gang Tanner built and raised, I'd have over a hundred members at once.
Could I really control them?
There's a need to filter some out.
The ones who only follow because they have to—I have to weed them out.
The most effective way is to set rules and cut out anyone who doesn't follow them.
I scribbled out the details on paper.
***
The casino on Forsyth Street.
"Smoke filled the whole casino, and then the police and firefighters stormed in."
"They probably couldn't even clear it out because of the smoke."
"Yeah, it was a mess. I heard the manager got hauled off by the cops."
Every customer who came in told the same story. That's how much last night's smoke incident was buzzing among the gamblers.
"So, what caused all that smoke anyway?"
"I heard it's something they use in wartime, but I don't really know for sure."
"It was a smoke grenade, you idiots. I heard the Sicilian guys denied everything, but it's hardly the first time they've stolen military supplies. It probably came from their stash."
The staff here, and even the Neapolitan gangsters, seemed to think the same thing.
In reality, when it came to stealing military goods, Naples got into that game before the Sicilians ever did.
Back in the early days, while the Sicilians were making a killing off counterfeit bills, the Neapolitans were raiding New York harbor warehouses to stack up their cash.
There were a lot of Italian immigrants working the waterfront. If you just won over a couple of the corrupt administrators, you could swipe military supplies, food, cigarettes, whiskey, and even precious metals straight from the harbor.
So, there was nothing strange about how smoke grenades ended up in the hands of the Sicilians…
But what were they actually trying to do with it?
And why did they set off the smoke grenade like idiots and end up getting arrested? That was the real mystery.
Pacifico, the owner of the casino, holed himself up in his office all evening, letting out hollow laughs over and over.
"Did they all take something? Why would they set off a smoke grenade in there?"
Watching the smoke from his own cigar swirling up, Pacifico suddenly slapped his knee like he'd figured something out.
"Wait, was cigarette smoke not enough for them!? Did they want to really choke on the stuff? What a bunch of bird-brained idiots!"
As Pacifico shook with laughter, one of his men sitting on the sofa tilted his head in confusion.
"More than that, I'm wondering why those guys even had a smoke grenade. It's not like they had any use for it."
"Ugh, headache. Probably couldn't sell it, so they just ended up carrying it around. Whatever—if the Sicilian casino went down, that's good enough for us."
It's not like gamblers cared about Naples or Sicily, and sure enough, business picked up after what happened that evening.
"Whatever happens, you gotta run first when things blow up. If you just stand around staring at the smoke, you'll get caught by the cops."
"Bet the police were confused, too. Went in for the smoke, and next thing they knew, they just did a full raid."
"The guys who took bribes must've been really flustered. Anyway, have a drink. Here's to the dumb Sicilian fools."
"Cheers."
While Pacifico and his henchman laughed and chatted, the night crept closer to midnight.
Craps Table.
For Lenny Goldstein, the dealer, as the appointed hour drew near, his mind actually grew calmer.
Lenny checked his wristwatch, then glanced down underneath the table.
Switching out dice or cards always happened below the table. That's why there was a space for the dealer's legs, with everything shielded from view by a tablecloth or wooden panel.
Here, to save money, they just used a tablecloth to cover the legs. Dealers usually kept a bag and whatever tools they needed to rig the game under there, but tonight, Lenny had hidden something special.
Midnight struck, and right then, a round ended. Lenny used his stick to collect the dice and the bets. As he lowered the stick under the table again, he discreetly pulled a thread taped to the underside and palmed it.
"I'm going to go wash my face for a moment."
It was seven meters from the table to the staff room door. He could reach it without anyone getting in the way. The loose thread dragged along the floor, and as he neared the door, it gradually grew taut.
Beneath the table, the thread tied to a small ring pulled tight, yanking on the smoke grenade.
The smoke grenade rolled out from beneath the tablecloth and got caught just where they had planned—between the legs of a table and a chair.
As Lenny reached the staff room door, he felt the tension of the thread on his finger. He swallowed hard, and as he opened the door—
Ping.
The taut string suddenly went slack. At the same moment, there was a hissing noise, and smoke began billowing up from Lenny's former spot.
"What the—what's going on!"
"Fire!"
Leaving the staff room door wide open, Lenny dashed for the opposite exit instead.
In an instant, smoke filled the room and customers and dealers alike scrambled and stumbled out in a chaotic mass.
"Cough, cough. This isn't a fire—it's a smoke bomb, a smoke bomb!"
"Get everything out of here before the cops show up!"
"How are we supposed to clear anything when we can't see a damn thing! Where's the exit, for god's sake!"
The casino had turned into utter chaos. Pacifico and his right-hand man, who had been in the office, tried to rush into the casino as soon as they heard the commotion. But as the smoke exploded outward, they couldn't even find the door.
"Damn it! Just run for it! Everybody out!"
There was no time to grab any money. Pacifico's mind kept circling back to the Sicilian Manager who'd been arrested by the police.
Panting, he covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and darted out the back door.
As the smoke lingering on his lapel slowly faded in the fresh air outside, a gun barrel appeared right in front of him—a strangely oversized one.
Pffft.
Pacifico's forehead snapped back and he collapsed to the ground. The rest who came tumbling out after him met the same fate.
Pffft, pffft.
By the time I had taken out every last person who'd rushed outside, Lenny appeared.
He widened his eyes at the bodies, then quickly counted them and let a crooked smile slip across his face.
For a moment, there was a glimmer of madness in his eyes.
"Do you think you can really go through with this?" I asked.
Lenny gave a solemn nod.
Then, with trembling hands, he frisked Pacifico's body and took his gun.
"Wait for me on the rooftop."
Before I even finished speaking, Lenny had already hurled himself into the smoke-filled corridor. It was an impressive display of courage.
I climbed up the metal stairs on the side of the neighboring building that I'd scoped out in advance, then crossed over to the roof of a lower building. From there, I took another set of metal stairs back down.
Manhattan is a jungle in its own unique way.
When I exited from the completely opposite side, I saw a few people running toward the source of the smoke.
It was then, as I slipped into a shadowy alley, that someone called out to me.
"Damn, where'd this punk suddenly pop out from?"
"Hey, Scarf. Who the hell are you?"
Three dark figures moved in—a flash, and instead of pulling guns, they drew knives from their belts and closed the distance in an instant.
"What else? I'm the Sicilian Grim Reaper," I said in Italian.
Thud, thud.
The knives stabbed and slashed.