Chapter 99 - Lights Out
Hotel Livingston.
It's the perfect hotel for an assassination, located right across from Hotel Delancey, where Itsuki Joe is staying.
The question is whether there's a vacant room on a floor similar to his and whether we can get away safely after the job is done.
If Itsuki Joe is assassinated, it's obvious the NYPD and the press will be all over us like hawks.
Maybe I shouldn't rush—maybe I should be meticulous and plan this carefully. After all, Itsuki Joe has a pattern of moving from place to place. In other words, he might stay at Hotel Delancey again.
But Anthony is a problem.
He's tracking down Itsuki Joe's subordinate, the Enforcer.
But what if Anthony kills the target first?
The moment Itsuki Joe learns his subordinate has been assassinated, he'll change his routine and hide even more carefully.
And then this war will never end.
We have to finish him off before he leaves the hotel. Let's use every means necessary to minimize the risk.
My mind raced faster than ever, determined to finish planning while there was still time.
***
8 p.m., Bowery Street.
A man clutching his coat against the chilly wind slipped into a small basement salon.
It was Anthony, the assassin
He sat at the bar table, took off his hat, and ordered a glass of whiskey. While his eyes fixated on the array of bottles displayed in the cabinet, he tuned his ears to catch the conversation at a table in the corner.
Four men sat at that table, speaking in voices so low and discreet that you couldn't make out a word unless you really focused.
"Hogan's probably been taken out already. It doesn't make sense for six people to just vanish at once."
"If that's true, it means those guys are at that place… Could it be Pumpkin's main base?"
"Who knows. What we do know is those Paddy bastards are getting way too cocky right now."
Let's piece this puzzle together.
Anthony began to use his head.
It's likely this Hogan was the one who went missing after attacking Pumpkin.
"That place" refers to Pumpkin, and "Paddy" means Irish, so it must refer to the Union.
So, it seems they've figured out that the Union is an Irish gang.
Just as he sharpened his focus for the next part of the conversation, the bartender interrupted with an annoying question.
"Where are you from?"
"Why, do people from here have LES stamped on their foreheads or something?"
"It's just—you looked new, so I was curious. Most of the people who come here are regulars. And most of the regulars are gang members."
Anthony suddenly wondered if this bar might be run by the Five Points Gang. E
ven the bartender, who flashed a sly grin while refilling his whiskey glass, looked downright villainous.
"Came in from Chicago," Anthony replied bluntly.
"Well, that's a nice place to come from. Not as much chaos as Manhattan, right?"
"Same there as here."
Anthony made no effort to hide his dislike, cutting his words short.
The quick-witted waiter just smiled softly and didn't press any further.
By the time Anthony turned his attention back to the conversation at the table in the back, the topic had already shifted.
"I heard Ioele showed up in LES. Does that mean he's having a meeting with the boss?"
"How long's it been since he started going by Yale, and you're still calling him Ioele? Anyway, him being here can't be unrelated to all this. We're supposed to be part of the same gang—how could we just pretend we don't know each other?"
"I don't know, I see it differently. Yale's got his mind on other things right now, so I doubt he cares about what's happening here. And the boss has no reason to go begging those Italian guys for help, anyway."
"Agreed. Honestly, it's hard to even consider Yale part of our gang anymore. He's already drifted pretty far from the Five Points Gang."
After the founding boss, Paul Kelly, retired, the Five Points split into several factions.
Of these, two major groups emerged: the Jewish members rallied around Itsuki Joe, while the Italians and some Jews gravitated toward Frankie Yale (Francesco Ioele).
Each group was based in a different area.
Itsuki Joe operated out of the traditional LES, while Yale ran various businesses—smuggling, extortion, brothels, bars—in South Brooklyn.
In reality, Yale had already branched off from the Five Points and was following his own independent path.
Of course, all Anthony really knew was that the men at the table belonged to the Five Points Gang, and that one of them was the enforcer he was targeting.
He was straining to catch every word of the conversation when a woman who worked at the salon quietly approached him.
Perching herself on the edge of a chair, she asked,
"Mind if I sit for a bit?"
When Anthony frowned, the woman gently took his arm.
"Don't make such a scary face."
"I'm not much in the mood to talk."
"Then would you listen to me?"
With a captivating smile, she slid even closer to Anthony. As he tried to subtly pull away, she spoke in a breathy, half-whispered tone.
"There's something different about you. I can't help but feel drawn in just by looking at you. Maybe it's that you're Irish. You don't see many of your kind in this bar."
When Anthony gave a small scoff, the woman leaned in even closer and asked,
"You're a gangster too, aren't you?"
Suddenly, the bar went quiet and all eyes turned to Anthony. As he glanced around, everyone stared at him with suspicious, guarded looks.
'Goddamn, what a crazy woman—why the hell would she say something like that?'
No matter how hard he tried to hide it, his natural charm must have shown through.
As Anthony quietly slipped his hand inside his coat, others in the bar began to reach for their coats as well, watching him carefully.
'Screw it, I don't care anymore.'
At last, Anthony pulled out a silver object and brought it to his lips—
Wang wang wah wah~
"A lone wolf just can't resist a beautiful woman."
"Oh my."
With one hand, he pulled the woman to her feet by the waist; with the other, he began to play the harmonica.
Only then did the others let their hands fall away from inside their coats.
They smirked, approving of the pair's dance, clapping along in time with the music.
Those seated at the back tables watched Anthony and the woman dance in silence for a moment, then tossed back their whiskeys.
A moment later, the piano player joined in, and the whole salon turned into a miniature dance hall.
With an ecstatic look on her face, the woman let herself be swept up in Anthony's movements and danced along.
Then, at some point, the people at the tables began to stand up one by one.
Anthony's harmonica performance rushed toward a hasty finale, ending as the targets walked out.
Once they were gone, Anthony stopped playing and quickly downed the whiskey waiting on the bar table.
"You're leaving already?"
"A lone wolf has to be home before midnight."
"My, how mysterious…"
Even after that cheesy line, the woman's eyes remained dreamy, as if lost in a fantasy.
Anthony pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then pulled his hat down low.
"Well then, see you around, lady."
Anthony slipped out of the bar and followed the four men. Over the past few days, he'd learned the routine: the Enforcer he was after always moved alone to a lodging in Bowery.
Tonight proved no different.
Anthony tailed the lone target.
When they reached a secluded spot—
"Just here to collect my tip."
Puff, puff.
Muzzle flashes lit up, and the target dropped to the ground.
After a final shot to make sure the job was done, Anthony slipped away from the scene.
The body was the second victim among the Five Points' Enforcers.
At the same time, Delancey Street, Hotel Livingston, Room 203.
After bouncing around the room all evening, Roa fell asleep clutching her Teddy Bear, and Liam also dozed off while reading.
"Suddenly, a water leak at home—what are the odds."
"I know. If they finish the repairs today and tomorrow, we should be able to go back home the day after."
My mother and I sat at the table, chatting.
Of course, the water leak was just an excuse. I had simply spilled some water in the living room and let it drip down from the balcony—just to give my family a reason to move into the hotel.
"By the way, it's your maternal grandfather's birthday next week. Do you have time to go? If you're too busy, you really don't have to."
"What are you talking about, Mother? If there's a family event, of course I have to be there."
"I'm grateful you say that. These days, thanks to you, it feels like I'm living in a dream. Even the Company's sales are going up."
"Things will only get better from here."
My mother smiled warmly and turned her gaze to Liam, asleep. Then, all of a sudden, she handed me a sheet of paper.
"This is Liam's Report Card."
At the top, it says "Report Card" in bold letters, and below are his scores for each subject.
Every grade is over 90, and his overall ranking in his class is 5th out of 457 students.
"He's not first place?"
"Oh, come on! Do you know how hard it is to be 5th in the entire grade? Remember, he didn't go to school for two years."
"I suppose that's true. But he's two years behind, isn't he? Still, if he's competing with kids two years younger than him, this much is to be expected…"
I could feel my mother's sharp glare. I quickly shut my mouth.
"Did you, by any chance, say that to Liam too?"
"I swear I didn't, Mother."
"I'll take your word for it. Anyway, maybe Liam's aware of it too—he said he'll go to Night School to catch up."
In American public schools, Elementary School lasts eight years and High School lasts four years. Junior School isn't really common in this era.
Children start school at age six, but compulsory education only runs from ages eight to fourteen. Because of that, children from poorer families usually begin school at age eight Unless you had plans to go to university, most people didn't attend high school.
Liam and I started school when we were six years old. Up until our father passed away, our family situation was fairly manageable.
In any case, if Liam had been able to attend school continuously, he'd be in 11th Grade by now. But since he spent two years shining shoes, he was held back. That's why Liam is currently in 9th Grade.
But it seems Liam couldn't let that go, so he's set himself a tough goal. He plans to attend Night School and take summer classes to finish 12 Semesters by next year, and enter university at 18 Years Old.
"He must really enjoy studying. Do you think he gets it from Father?" Mother pointed at herself with her finger.
When I nodded half-heartedly, she pouted her lips.
I shifted my gaze to Roa, who was sleeping hugging her teddy bear.
"We should send Roa to school this year too, right?"
"Yes, I was planning to enroll her starting the spring semester. Things have improved now, after all."
In America, school starts in the fall semester, and that's typically when new students enroll. However, Mother was thinking of enrolling Roa for the spring semester—which meant she'd be starting school next week.
"She'll have to be apart from that big bear if she goes to school."
"She asked me to make her a Teddy Bear Bag, but I have no idea how I'm supposed to do that."
"Oh?"
Suddenly, a bunch of ideas ran through my head. I pictured the accessories and stuffed animals that kids a hundred years from now would dangle all over their bags, and all the different clips and hooks used to attach them.
As soon as this is over, I need to sketch out some designs and file for a patent.
Before I knew it, it was past ten at night. I quietly got up from my seat.
"I'll be back in a bit."
"At this hour?"
"I have someone I need to meet."
I took the stairs up to the fourth floor and knocked on the door of Room 403.
After a moment, the door opened and a woman greeted me calmly. It was Hazel from Hell's Kitchen.
"Come in," she said.
"I feel like I'm asking a lot here. Are you sure it's okay?"
"If things go wrong, well, you'll just have to take responsibility—forever."
"..."
A curtain hung over the window along one side of the room. By the window was a canvas set on a foldable tripod easel, with a sketch of the scene outside.
But the drawing skills were impressive.
"I just whipped it up as an alibi, but what do you think?"
"You're really good at this."
"I'm even better at blueprints. So… are we doing this now?"
"Why?"
"No reason, just asking."
Hazel pulled the canvas off the easel and leaned it against the wall.
Then she picked up a long cylindrical tube standing by another wall.
Usually, painters use these tubes to carry foldable tripod easels for outdoor work, and they can be pretty heavy.
But inside this one, there was something else besides an easel.
She turned the tube upside down and pulled out the contents.
Out came the Springfield M1903 and its components—the same one I'd used at Newtown Creek.
As I attached the silencer and scope, Hazel pointed to the easel inside the room.
"Set it up over there. I modified it."
A painter's easel is similar in structure to a folding camera tripod.
It's made of wood, and at the back there's a long arm that sticks out to support the canvas.
But when Hazel attached an oval device to the end of the wooden arm, the easel transformed into a mount for holding a rifle barrel.
It would make for much steadier shooting.
"I'm turning off the lights."
When Hazel flipped the switch, the room was plunged into darkness. My eyes gradually adjusted, and I started to make out shapes in the gloom.
Then Hazel drew back the curtains.
The moonlight, along with the glow from a streetlamp outside, illuminated the building across from us.
I pressed my eye to the scope and fixed it on Room 407, where Itsuki Joe was staying.
"There were a bunch of people hanging around with him all evening, and I guess they still haven't left."
Hazel, standing beside me, raised her binoculars and peered in the same direction.
She must have been keeping an eye on Itsuki Joe's room the whole time she was painting.
"I can't see a thing," Hazel said.
"That's because he's sitting on the sofa. If he stands up, his head'll be floating in plain view. If you pull the trigger, every shot's gonna be a headshot."
"..."
The hotel windows weren't made of plate glass; they were arched, with lots of bars.
Our vantage point was almost level with the target.
What if I fired from here, and some sharp-eyed NYPD coroner examined the body? They could trace the ballistic trajectory and figure out not only the floor, but even the exact room in this hotel.
That's why I booked two rooms—and why I called Hazel over instead of Ida. I needed cover and an escape route in case things got complicated. If the police picked up Ida and started digging, they'd end up connecting it right back to the Pumpkin Dance Hall.
I refocused on the scope, staring into Itsuki Joe's room. To hit a target through that tiny gap in the glass window would demand absolute concentration and precise timing.
And for that timing, Hazel offered one more piece of information.
"They seem to open the window sometimes because of cigarette smoke. Maybe because there are so many people in there, but it gets opened almost exactly every ten minutes. And before anyone showed up, Itsuki Joe would stand right by the window, open it, and have a cigarette."
It was still January, and at night the temperature dropped sharply.
I'd been planning to ignore the sound of breaking glass, but if Hazel was right, I'd have to wait for the moment when the window opened and Itsuki Joe moved close to it.
Just then, a head appeared in view.
It wasn't Itsuki Joe; someone else opened the window.
He stuck his head out to look down, then lifted his gaze and stared straight ahead. He locked eyes with me.
"Whoa…"
He must have made eye contact with Hazel, too. As she lowered her binoculars in surprise, I kept my eye on the scope, focused on the man.
Salvatore Luchania.
Come to think of it, he was part of the Five Points Gang, too.
Was that why he was with Itsuki Joe?
Salvatore glanced over our hotel, then stepped away from the window.