Chapter 64 - The Law of Attraction
If you go around stealing things indiscriminately, you're just an outlaw or a thug.
At the very least, you need to do some research before you take something.
– Starting with the building owner, let's gather as much information as we can about everything.
I gave orders to Cory, the other members, Leo, and Marcus.
It took exactly three days to collect every piece of information about Bunny Underwear.
According to Cory, even some idle Marginals members from Hell's Kitchen got involved, but I keep mixing up their names and who's who.
Anyway, here are some of the key findings.
The refreshingly named Bunny Underwear was run by Herman Kalman, a former Labor Slugger.
"He used to stand with the clothing manufacturers, stopping strikes and protests. He even worked with Johnny Spanish."
Ah, Johnny Spanish.
Even in death, it seems I keep running into people connected to him.
I heard he left a major mark among the Labor Sluggers—no wonder his network was so wide.
Regardless, aside from having worked with Johnny, Kalman, the owner of Bunny Underwear, had quite a colorful career.
He was a Jew who had once belonged to the Five Points Gang and currently had close ties with the gang of the same name now controlling Orchard Street.
But the most crucial piece of information came from Marcus.
"Bunny Underwear didn't originally belong to him—it seems he took it over a few years back while working as a Labor Slugger."
The targets of the Sluggers weren't just workers. Manufacturers that got in the way of price fixing or refused to cooperate also found themselves under attack.
They'd usually smash up the business or threaten the boss, and even now, you still saw things like that happening in various places.
"What about the building?"
"It's his own. He bought it last year, but the transaction itself didn't seem entirely clean. The previous owner sold it off for nearly nothing."
And that's not all.
Apparently, he paid for the fabric and supplies however he pleased, earning a lot of resentment.
If that isn't the definition of a crooked Lower East Side boss, I don't know what is.
In my previous life, I'd once heard of something called the "law of attraction."
The basic idea is that positive thoughts attract positive outcomes, and negative thoughts bring about negative results—ultimately shaping a person's destiny.
It's the same with criminals.
I believe criminals attract one another like magnets.
Look at Herman Kalman, the boss of Bunny Underwear.
Anyone I set my sights on turns out to be rotten to the core.
He was someone I could take from without a second thought.
***
76 Forsyth Tenement House basement.
The Free Your Body clothing factory office.
Bras were strewn all over the large conference table. These were the counterfeit products that Mother and the staff had tracked down all weekend, spreading like poisonous mushrooms.
"The unit price is lower than ours, so our clients are really upset. I'm worried the department stores will start talking about it soon."
Just a few days ago, they'd only been selling on Orchard Street, but now they were brazenly expanding their sales territory. The more they spread, the more anxious Mother and the staff became.
"Ciaran, what happened with sending the certified warning letter from the patent attorney's office?"
He tore up the letter right in front of me, Mother.
That kind of thing won't work on someone like him anyway.
We need a different, more physical approach.
But that was something only I had to handle. To Mother and the staff, I explained things by the book.
"We'll send another certified warning. If it doesn't work, we'll take legal action. And if that fails, we'll at least hire a defense attorney to handle the case."
"That's right. We have to use every means at our disposal to stop them. What's the point of paying for a patent otherwise?"
The appearance of knockoffs is inevitable. But to delay it as much as possible, you have to respond aggressively at the outset. That's the only way to keep other companies from getting any ideas.
I left the conference room and went to the patent attorney's office, asking them to draft another certified warning.
"Give them a two-week deadline, and write that we'll take legal action if they don't recall the products."
"Writing it isn't the hard part. Turns out the president of 'Bunny Underwear' has a lot of problems. Apparently, all the underwear they make is plagiarized from other designs. Even if you send them a certified warning letter, they won't even bat an eye.
Who doesn't know that?
"But what else can we do? It's not like we can just kill them. Good, law-abiding citizens like me have no choice but to rely on the law."
Patent attorney Wellman, who had looked displeased, nodded at my words.
"I'll make sure the warning letter goes out by mail today, so let's just wait and see."
"I'm counting on you."
After leaving the patent attorney's office, I visited a few real estate agencies.
It was a hassle, but I was doing it to avoid suspicion—to establish at least the bare minimum of an alibi.
With the real estate agents, I looked around for places suitable to run a clothing factory.
While I spent the next few days doing that, Cory and the other members weren't just sitting around, either.
They kept Bunny Underwear under constant surveillance, day and night.
And by the time they'd figured out when the place was at its loosest and most vulnerable, the Marginals' one-week deadline had come to an end.
Who stayed, and who had left?
Tanner's right-hand man, Patrick, personally came to the Tenement House where I lived. When I glanced over the list he handed me, I couldn't help but frown.
"What is this supposed to be"
Out of a total of 167 people, only 13 left.
But the reason listed is that they were drafted for military service.
"Wait, why did barely anyone leave?"
"That just shows how much they're expecting from you, Boss. Isn't that a good thing?"
"Of course. I'm pleased."
My plan to make an example out of someone right from the start had fallen through.
Why was there hardly any fallout?
At the very least, I thought that punk Oliver would've pushed back.
Do I have some sort of irresistible charm I don't even know about? That's the only way I can interpret it.
"So, can we count on them?"
"Looking at the mood, yeah. Oliver, Kale, and Brian are actually hyping you up even more. To be honest, if you overheard them, it'd almost be embarrassing."
That's just because they're ashamed they got knocked out in front of everyone.
Or… maybe they really mean it.
These punks are seriously messing with my head.
Whatever the case, I have no choice but to trust them and move forward.
Besides, I've already lined up some work for us.
"We've got a job to pull."
I explained the Bunny Underwear situation to Patrick in detail.
"Since this is related to Mother's factory, I was thinking of keeping the crew small. What do you think?"
"Why ask? If you, Boss, want to do it, that's all that matters. The others will follow."
"If things escalate, we might end up clashing with the Orchard Street gang."
"If that scares you, you shouldn't be in this business."
Exactly.
That's what it means to be a gang.
Patrick didn't show a hint of hesitation about getting involved in crime.
In fact, his eyes lit up with excitement, and he even made a suggestion.
"While we're at it, let's rope Oliver, Kale, and Brian into this too. The more people who are in on it, the tighter the bond becomes."
Now I see why Patrick was Tanner's right-hand man.
He was thinking exactly what I was.
We discussed the details of the plan and set a date.
***
Bunny Underwear on Orchard Street.
Someone walks into the third-floor office, casually swinging an envelope.
"That bastard sent another certified letter."
Herman Kalman, who had been filing his nails at his desk, snorted.
Looking at the envelope with a contemptuous expression, he tossed out a single remark.
"Tear it up."
Riiip.
Without hesitation, the man tore the envelope to pieces.
The patent attorney's painstakingly written certified letter was shredded and tossed straight into the trash.
"By the way, I saw this morning that there's a factory in the Garment District on strike."
"It happens all the time. Just make sure you keep our workers in line."
"They all know they're screwed if they strike. If anyone acts up, I'll rough up a few of them, that's all."
"You have to come down hard. When you just talk to them like an idiot, they start thinking striking is some kind of right and throw a fit."
You have to constantly remind the workers that they don't have those kinds of rights.
Lock them in while they're working, don't let them chat or even open their mouths, and if the work slows down, purposely delay their pay.
A boss who knows how to use force has plenty of ways to keep workers in line.
As the sun was setting, Herman Kalman, the boss, grabbed his coat and got up from his desk.
"I'm heading out early. Keep them working until 8 p.m., and make sure the order that's due the day after tomorrow is finished."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and if the Orchard Street gang shows up, give them thirty dollars and send them on their way."
"Again? They're just going to complain it's not enough."
"For punks who don't do anything, that's plenty."
Herman Kalman had once been part of the Five Points Gang.
So there was no way he'd be concerned about a small-time crew like the Orchard Street unit.
"Pay them enough for protection, and if they grumble, just throw them a little more. That's business."
With a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, Kalman left the office.
Only then did the men on the sofa finally light up their cigarettes.
"Looks like I won't get home until ten again tonight."
"If you hate it so much, why don't you go start your own business?"
"You're right. Maybe I should just take over a company while I'm at it. If I copy Kalman's methods, I bet it'd work."
Kalman was ruthless and cunning when it came to taking what belonged to others, as nasty and petty as the process was.
First, he'd scout out an easy target, then steal goods from that business.
Then, pretending to be some sort of detective, he would return the stolen goods and, using a clever mix of kindness and intimidation, get himself hired as an employee.
By the time Kalman showed his true colors, he was acting like the owner, draining the boss dry with threats and violence.
At this point, he'd take the exhausted owner's family hostage, and one by one, he'd force them to hand over ownership.
That was exactly how Kalman had taken over Bunny Underwear and the building.
"I really ought to think about it seriously."
"How many years have you been just thinking about it? That's why we're stuck in this mess."
"Kalman's decisiveness is definitely something to learn from."
Not until around ten at night did overtime finally end and the factory lights were turned off.
The workers hurried home, while four guards closed the windows and secured all the doors.
That was when—
Thud thud thud thud thud.
A dozen assailants, their faces covered with black scarves, rushed in through the stairwell.
"Wh-what the he—!"
Crack.
The assailants answered with batons and steel pipes, taking down the guards in seconds.
Rather than kill them, they rolled the guards up in bolts of fabric, tied them up tight with rope, and dumped them in a corner of the warehouse.
In front of the metal door of the factory workshop on the second floor. One of the assailants—noticeably taller than the rest—pointed at the tightly locked door.
Two others set to work, one with a bolt cutter, the other with a crowbar, snapping the lock, and then the assailants surged into the second-floor workshop.
They began gathering the sewing machines and fabric into one spot, making it easier to load them up.
Meanwhile, more people kept streaming into the building.
The same operation was underway on the third floor, but one assailant in particular was fixated on the office safe.
Left to right, right to left, click-click.
Clack.
The safe opened. Without even bothering to check what was inside, the assailant swept everything into a bag.
Meanwhile, the guards, trussed up in fabric rolls, had their mouths gagged and could only take in the situation with their ears. Judging from what they could make out, this was the situation:
At least fifty people had entered the factory.
They were silent, like a bunch of mutes.
The intruders were cleaning the place out...
"Damn!"
As one of the guards squirmed, a steel pipe immediately slammed into his body.
"Stai zitto, bastardo (Shut up, you bastard)."
That was the only Italian they heard.
A clue, a clue.
The guards burned this clue into their memories, tuned out of resistance, and simply kept their ears open.
Despite the late hour, there were still quite a few pedestrians on Orchard Street.
It was all because of the streetlights.
If only those weren't there, things would have gone much more smoothly.
Anyway, Oliver and the other members who first entered took down the guards. After that, to avoid drawing suspicion, small groups slipped quietly into the building at intervals.
Their job was to organize the factory's goods so they'd be easy to haul out later.
They took it slow, working at a leisurely pace until the streets were empty and the area had quieted down in the early morning hours.
Meanwhile, I and a few other members kept watch in the alleys surrounding the building. We were on alert for any police or rival gangs who might show up.
Finally, around 3 a.m., a carriage pulled up in front of the building.
Because it was night, the horses' hooves were covered with cloth or rubber to muffle the sound.
That was a trick usually used by thieves or on noisy streets to avoid complaints, and here I was, putting it to use myself.
Once one carriage was loaded up, another would pull up in front of the building.
Altogether, we used fifteen carriages. Just renting them cost fifty dollars.
Right as everything was going smoothly, I spotted two police officers patrolling the street in the distance.
"Fuck you!"
Two of our members hurled some choice words and even threw rocks, provoking the cops and naturally drawing their attention away from us.
This—this is what gang teamwork looks like.
A total of sixty people were involved.
We made two trips with the carriages and took everything from the factory—sewing machines, fabric, and finished products.
Except for the fabric we used to tie up the guards.
The members congratulated themselves, proud of what they'd pulled off, but this was only the beginning.
We'd cleaned out the inside, now it was time to strip the outside clean too.