Chapter 92 - This Is Business
Back at the office, Dopy slumped into his chair.
With a glass of whiskey in hand, he replayed the conversation from the rooftop.
"My friend was directly involved, so I know exactly what happened. He got into a scuffle with Kid Dropper, and during the struggle, the trigger was accidentally pulled. That's how he got shot and killed."
"I heard. That was way too easy a death. That bastard didn't deserve to go like that."
"I feel the same. But did you know this?"
What Ciaran said next sent chills down my spine.
"Kid Dropper actually died strangled in bed. They dressed his corpse and threw it out the window."
"...Who on earth told you that?"
"The man who killed Johnny."
Ciaran's eyes as he said that are still vivid in my mind. Even someone as weathered as Dopy felt a shiver run down his spine from that eerie look in Ciaran's eyes.
Even now, the glass of whiskey in his hand was shaking.
His hand just wouldn't steady.
Irritated, he tossed back the contents of the glass.
As the whiskey burned its way down his throat, a chill spread through his entire body.
If Ciaran was right, then both Johnny and Kid Dropper had been killed by the same person.
And in both of their deaths, Ciaran was involved—whether as a witness or as a friend of the suspect.
"Anyone know where the Free Your Body brassiere factory is?"
Dopy asked this of his men, who were busy playing cards. Without taking their eyes off their cards, they replied,
"Heard it's on Orchard Street."
"That's where Herman Kalman's factory is."
"Yeah. I think I remember someone saying it was taken over right after that bastard died."
With a hardened expression, Dopy pictured where Ciaran was now.
LES, in the building owned by Rosie Hertz, Queen of Prostitutes.
In the basement, the late Jacob Reich of the Eastman Gang used to run a salon and a brothel.
And now, Rosie had been murdered, and Jacob—the main suspect—had disappeared without a trace.
Johnny, Kid Dropper, Herman Kalman, Rosie, Missing Jacob.
Everything happened around Ciaran.
'Am I really supposed to believe this is all just a coincidence?'
Suddenly chilled, Dopy rubbed his neck and grimaced. After a long moment of deliberation, he pushed himself up out of his chair.
"I'm calling it a day. You guys wrap things up."
Leaving the office, Dopy headed to the Chelsea Dockside, where Tanner Smith was waiting.
***
You can't do everything alone—and you can't just eliminate everyone you dislike.
If you look over the hundred-year history of the Five Families of the American Mafia, it's a constant cycle of loyalty and betrayal, feuds and alliances. Fierce battles waged not only to survive, but to maintain power and expand influence.
If someone's useful, you have to be willing to make deals—even with potential enemies.
Dopy came looking for me a week after we first met.
January 3, 1918, Thursday.
Second floor office, Allen Street Twin Buildings.
Dopy arrived carrying a bag.
It was a backpack, made exactly according to the blueprint I'd given him.
He'd brought back a sample in just a week—no doubt he'd driven his workers hard.
"Everyone seems really interested in this bag. You sure you want to hand it over to me?"
"As long as you're transparent with the accounting."
"I don't pull crooked deals like that. Like you said, I'll give you 20% of the sales profit."
I examined the bag carefully.
On the outside, it matched the blueprint, but the overall quality left something to be desired.
"Send the employee in charge over to me. There's a lot that needs fixing."
"I'll do that. By the way, I was surprised to see Ida at the lingerie store."
"Do you know her well?"
"It would be stranger not to. She's been such a hot topic that gangs nearly went to war over her."
Dopy cleared his throat and changed the subject.
"Business is business. I met Tanner recently, and he said the new boss of the Marginals is a pretty young guy."
"I see."
Dopy gave a strange look and lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smile.
"Anyway, I've decided to accept your proposal."
I'd already heard the rough outline from Tanner—he had told me they'd agreed to team up.
Some might dismiss Dopy as washed up now that his prime is over, but he still has considerable influence.
Soon, the alliance between Tanner and Dopy will sweep through the labor strike market like a hurricane.
The issue is, Dopy doesn't have many followers.
There's bound to be another slugger war over who controls and dominates labor slugging.
Just as thirty Marginals members support Tanner, Dopy needs to build up his own crew as well.
"Want me to send some guys to back you up?"
"I can barely eat with all the paranoia already—let me handle it myself."
At the same time, Dopy decided to get involved in liquor distribution as well.
However, this wasn't urgent; we agreed to set specific targets before discussing any more details.
Not long after Dopy left, Kale appeared at the office with three crew members, each carrying collection bags. They placed the bags on the table, flipped them upside down, and bills spilled out in heaps.
"This is what we collected from the Allen Street Unit."
Kale then opened a smaller bag, which was also stuffed with cash. This was the protection money paid up by the Jewish Gang Unit that had come under our wing.
At first, we'd only collected in the tens, but now the amount had grown to around a hundred units. As our territory expanded, the units had also pulled in more protection fees.
The initial protection rackets only covered Allen and Orchard Streets. But now, we'd pushed north past Canal Street, into Forsyth, Eldridge, Allen, and Orchard as well.
Oliver, Kale, and Brian had played key roles in this expansion.
While sorting the money, Kale—the guy who managed the units—brought up something interesting.
"Weinberg says he wants to help us expand into other territories."
The more our territory grows, the more protection money we pull in, and the stronger our units become.
And when you gain power, ambition is sure to follow.
Abraham Weinberg, the boss of the Allen Street Unit, was making his ambitions plain for all to see.
"How many guys do they have now?"
"They say it's thirty, but from what I can tell, it's probably more like fifty."
"And how many of them are actually useful?"
"There are about three who've caught my eye."
I nodded, then handed over six ten-dollar bills.
"Quietly take care of just those guys. Make them our informants, and when the time's right, bring them into our family."
"Okay, I know what you mean."
"And when we move to expand into Ludlow and Essex Street, bring Weinberg in too. Let's see what he's got."
After Kale and his men left, I sat alone, sorting the stacks of money on the table.
This week, we'd collected over fifteen hundred dollars in protection fees from just four streets. Money was also coming in from lingerie shop, dance hall, and casino.
I bundled the bills and went into the secret room to open the safe.
There was about fifty thousand dollars in cash.
It was a big sum, but I wasn't even close to satisfied.
I needed more.
***
Evening fell.
I took a quick look around the casino and headed upstairs just as customers started trickling into the dance hall.
While I was chatting with Patrick in the corner office, one of our members burst in, looking urgent.
"There are two police officers at the entrance."
"Is it Michael and Officer George?"
The member nodded in response to my question.
It was the new year, after all; I figured they needed a little oiling. I took forty dollars out of the safe in the dance hall office and handed it to Patrick.
"Don't let them come in. Split it into two envelopes and slip it to them."
"Seeing this, maybe I should've just become a cop myself."
"It's not too late, you know. Work your way up to NYPD brass and help me out."
"I think I'll just help you now."
Patrick grinned as he tucked the cash into a couple of envelopes.
As soon as he stepped out of the office, I headed upstairs to the first floor through the secret passage.
Ida was explaining brassieres to a customer, while I watched the two cops through the window.
A moment later, Patrick approached the officers with a bright smile, greeting them and striking up a conversation. The bribe was discreetly handed over in an alley out of sight.
As I pressed close to the window to observe, I heard Ida's voice behind me.
"You look just like a mannequin standing there like that."
"Does that mean my back looks that perfect?"
Ida didn't answer.
When I turned my head, I found her shaking her head and chatting with a customer.
Just as I was about to quietly step away from the window and move inside—
Ding.
The store door opened and two men walked in. It was Michael and Officer George.
I instinctively greeted them with a bright smile.
"Welcome, officers."
"How's business these days?"
"Thanks to you, I'm enjoying every day."
"That's good to hear."
"By the way, Ciaran, my wife absolutely loved the underwear she bought here last time," Officer George jumped right in.
"I want to get on my wife's good side too—do you have any recommendations?"
"Of course."
I replied and glanced at Ida.
As luck would have it, she had just finished ringing up her customer and was walking over to us, wearing an elegant smile.
"I can only imagine how beautiful the wives of our fine officers must be— If you just let me know the size, I can recommend a few options for you."
"Uh, well. The size is…"
Suddenly, the officers had much less to say in front of Ida.
Watching them, I couldn't help but feel pleased, wondering what kind of service item I should offer them.
At that moment, I noticed a man outside the window radiating a gloomy aura.
With his collar pulled up against the cold, he was walking toward the store.
His face was familiar, and he stared straight at me.
It was Anthony—the guy I'd met at my maternal grandparents' tenement house.
He'd said he would stop by before leaving for Chicago, and today must have been the day.
Ding.
Anthony opened the door and entered the store.
At the sight of the police, he suddenly froze.
Ding.
As if rewinding a scene, he quickly backed out and stepped outside again.
Then, he vanished in a flash.
What was that about?
The officers were too busy chatting with Ida to even notice.
Seriously, what did he do that he'd want to avoid the police like that?
Even while the officer picked out underwear and paid at the register, Anthony never returned.
"I tossed in a few pairs of socks as a little extra."
"Oh, you really don't have to do that every time."
Hearing this, the officers gave me a satisfied look and patted me on the shoulder.
"Ciaran, if everyone in LES worked as hard and lived as honestly as you, this neighborhood would be paradise."
"Exactly. Just look at what other people your age are getting up to out there."
"By the way, the kids from the Dance Hall downstairs—they're not giving you any trouble, are they?"
"Not at all. We all look out for each other in this building."
"That's the way it should be. Anyway, thanks."
The two officers left the store. Only then did Ida ask me,
"That guy who came in earlier and backed out—who was he?"
"I'm not sure. If he comes back looking for me, let me know."
"Alright, Boss."
I headed up to the second floor and slipped into the secret room. Seeing Michael and George reminded me that now was the time to start spreading some bribes around.
I pulled out the thick notebooks I kept in the drawer
These were ledgers I'd taken from the safes of the late Rosie Hertz and Pacifico, the Italian casino owner.
I copied out the names from the ledgers onto a sheet of paper and then took $5,000 from the safe.
Time to spread some New Year's cheer—and grease a few palms.
I packed the money into a bag and headed down to the basement Dance Hall.
Patrick was already waiting for me in the office.
"What did the officers say?"
"Oh, you know. The usual—if you have any problems, just let them know," I said, handing over the envelope right away.
"And then they spent the money on underwear, didn't they?"
"They did?"
Patrick chuckled dryly. I handed him the list I had just put together along with the bag. Patrick's job was to deliver the bribes in my stead.
Patrick scanned the names on the list, then looked at me with a puzzled expression.
"I get the ones from Tammany Hall, but how did you come up with the NYPD list?"
"Well, there were senior folks who paid bribes before me—and died. I used their old ledgers as a reference."
Rosie Hertz's ledger was especially interesting—it dated back to when she was at the height of running her brothel.
That was six years ago, and the cops who took her bribes back then now held high-ranking posts in the NYPD.
So Rosie's ledger was both a bribe list and concrete evidence of their corruption.
"Let them know that the amounts may be small now, but as the business grows, so will the rewards. And this is a present for you, Patrick."
I handed him a separate envelope containing three hundred dollars.
"Why the sudden generosity? You're scaring me."
Patrick, in his early thirties, was more neatly dressed than the other members, but everything else about his appearance and demeanor still gave off the feel of a street gang member.
"The attire of the bribe-giver is important, too. This is business. If you look like a Wall Street financier, the recipient will feel a lot better about taking the money."
"Thanks to you, Boss, looks like I'll finally clean up my act for the first time in my life."
"You'll have to get used to it from now on."
After wrapping up my brief conversation with Patrick, I stepped out of the office to check on the Dance Hall as well.
With my scarf pulled up, I saw the dance floor crowded with couples moving in sync to the band.
Among them, one man stood out—his movements were stiff, but he danced with real passion.
It was Anthony, dancing with a Dance Hall Girl who was a junior to Ida.
What is this guy doing?
He ran off to avoid the police, and now here he is dancing.