Chapter 100 - The Beginning of Change
"He couldn't have seen us."
Hazel let out a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to her chest.
The lights in our room were off, and half the window was covered by curtains. Plus, we were standing right in the middle of the room, far from the window, making it almost impossible for Salvatore to have spotted us.
Now that I thought about it, there were others in the Five Points Gang whom I had met personally, not just Salvatore.
Meyer Lansky, Irving Feinstein, Bugsy Siegel, and Al Capone.
Let's set aside Salvatore for now, since I still wasn't sure exactly who he was.
According to Mafia books I had read in my past life, all of them had joined the Five Points Gang during their adolescence.
However, with the gang now splintered into different factions, it was unclear whose orders they were currently following.
Salvatore and those others I just mentioned were connected to Arnold Rostein.
Ironically, Rostein, who ran casinos and bars in the Tenderloin, wasn't even a member of the Five Points Gang.
In short, it was like someone from the Marginals or Union taking orders from, or working together with, some third party.
Something that would never happen in a normal gang structure.
So, it was safe to say that the Five Points Gang now had a tangled power structure, with everyone working toward their own agenda.
As midnight approached, just as Hazel had said, heads began floating around the room.
It looked like everyone had gotten up from the sofas.
"Looks like they're finally heading out," Hazel said.
Just as Hazel predicted, everyone left the room except for Itsuki Joe.
I moved to the window and peered through the scope at the hotel entrance.
Soon, six men appeared outside, standing in front of a running Ford Model T and chatting among themselves.
As I lifted the scope to check Itsuki Joe's room, Hazel asked, "Do you recognize anyone among the people out front?"
"One person."
"Me too."
"It's not Salvatore, is it?"
"No, it's someone else—Frankie Yale."
For a moment, the Harvard Inn bar in Coney Island and Al Capone flashed through my mind.
Frankie Yale was definitely someone who'd built up his criminal résumé with the Five Points Gang, though he was a different type of boss compared to Itsuki Joe.
When I reached out my hand, Hazel handed me the binoculars.
I scanned the group with them.
"Which one's Frankie Yale?"
"He's the Italian guy with short hair slicked back. Looks to be in his early thirties."
There he was.
The man standing at the center of the group, doing the talking—that's the person to watch out for, Frankie Yale.
"Hazel, do you know that man well?"
"He came to our workshop a few years ago. Bought five pistols and some ammunition."
"Any other information?"
"I'm not sure if my grandfather's opinion will help, but he always said Yale was cunning and dangerous. That he was in a completely different league from the typical gangs."
The Gunsmith's judgement was spot on. From what I knew from my previous life, Frank Yale, like Arnold Rostein, had shifted his focus away from traditional gangs and toward business.
He was also known for being violent and ruthless, willing to use any means necessary to achieve his goals. In that sense, Yale was a particularly difficult figure to deal with.
I handed the binoculars back and turned my scope again to Itsuki Joe's room.
After a moment, the lights went out and a shadow fell across the window.
Soon after, cigarette smoke drifted out into the night air.
It was close to midnight.
The city seemed to be asleep, and the sound of the Model T idling in front of the hotel seemed much louder than before.
As I brought my finger to the trigger, Hazel spoke up cautiously.
"If you assassinate Itsuki Joe, Yale might get involved. Will you be alright?"
"Let him get involved if he wants."
"You're really single-minded when it comes to this stuff, huh."
"What do you mean, 'this stuff'?"
"I don't know."
At that moment, a louder noise drowned out the sound of the car's exhaust.
There was a thudding impact and a screeching friction sound.
It was the noise of a streetcar—steel wheels powered by an electric motor grinding along metal rails.
The Delancey Street streetcar was a crucial means of transportation linking east and west across Lower Manhattan.
It ran from 5 a.m. until midnight.
"That's probably the last one."
The streetcar slowed as it approached the area near the hotel.
I could hear the crackle of electric sparks.
If I'm going to shoot, this is the moment.
I took aim at the shadowy figure of Itsuki Joe, exhaling cigarette smoke.
"Cover your ears."
The moment the streetcar stopped, blocking the group in front of the hotel and the Model T, I pulled the trigger.
Thwump.
A flash of light and a heavy recoil.
The gunshot reverberated through the room as the bullet flew through the open window, headed straight for Itsuki Joe's head
Through the scope, I watched his head snap back and saw blood splatter.
I immediately took the rifle off its stand—the easel—and aimed the barrel at the hotel entrance.
Just as I tried to target Frankie Yale, a Model T was pulling away from the hotel.
The streetcar belatedly followed behind, and there was no one visible at the hotel entrance.
"Wait, were you planning to shoot Frankie Yale too?"
"If he looked this way, I'd have to take him out."
"Wow..."
A suppressor can dampen the sound of gunfire a bit, but it does nothing to hide the muzzle flash. If any of them caught that brief flash, they could figure out which room the shot came from and come after us.
"Well, looks like they didn't see it, thankfully."
"I'm seriously curious—watching you in action, it's like you've spent decades fighting in wars or something."
Feels like I really have gone through that much.
Anyway.
A bolt-action rifle doesn't eject the spent casing automatically.
If you force it out, there's a risk gunpowder residue could spread.
As I prepared to disassemble the rifle just like that, suddenly, footsteps echoed in the hallway—at least three or four people.
Hazel and I immediately froze, listening closely to what was happening outside the door.
The footsteps paced down the hall, then gradually faded away.
Someone must have reported it, or maybe a guest in another room sensed something strange and came out into the hallway.
The gunshot that rang out in the room was about as loud as a car horn, and the vibrations would have carried through the walls and ceiling for several people to feel.
I detached the suppressor and scope again, while Hazel lit a candle and threw the window wide open to air out the smell of gunpowder.
"It'll be interesting to see the morning scene. I wonder if the police will come knocking, or if they'll have no clue at all. I'm curious."
"One thing's for sure—it'll take them a while."
It would take quite some time to figure out that the bullet lodged in the body was a .30-06 and to realize the shot was fired from outside.
Click.
I unlocked the bolt of the Springfield in the easel case and removed the ammunition.
Then I pocketed the spent casing and closed the lid of the easel case.
"Leo's coming to pick this up at seven in the morning."
As I was about to leave the room, leaning the easel case against the wall, Hazel grabbed my hand.
"See you in the morning."
If we're going to see each other, why is she grabbing me? She only let go after our eyes briefly met.
"Don't get caught. Be careful on your way."
***
The next morning.
When I went down to the lobby, surprisingly, nothing had happened. There were a few early check-out guests and others like us who had come out for breakfast.
Because the number of guests had dropped due to the European War, business at the hotel was terrible. Of course, that was the only reason I managed to book two rooms.
As we were about to leave the lobby to have breakfast together as a family at a nearby restaurant, a guest asked a staff member about the events of the previous night.
"I thought it was an earthquake or something. Are you sure nothing really happened?"
"We checked, but didn't find any particular problems. You don't have to worry, sir."
"I wasn't the only one. People from other rooms rushed out, too. I'm sure everyone heard the noise and felt the building shake."
"There may have been an issue with the streetcar around that time. Sometimes they make quite a racket."
Leaving the conversation behind, we headed to the restaurant. Roa said the whole situation made her think of Coney Island, and she was pretending this was like a vacation.
"Roa must be made for hotel life. Isn't that right, Teddy? Hmm? Is that so? You really want to keep living here!? But you know, this place is expensive, right?"
"That's true. If you want to stay, tell that Big Bear to pay for it."
"Little Brother, his name is Teddy. Roa's little brother, Teddy."
"Yeah. Teddy. Tell him to stop working for once."
"For Teddy, playing with Roa is his job."
"Oh dear, what a tough life. Poor thing, really."
"Little Brother, you sure have a way with words, don't you? Teddy, you scold him for me."
We ordered some simple bread and milk at the restaurant. While watching Liam and Roa bicker, Hazel walked into the restaurant.
When our eyes met, she flashed me a cheerful smile and sat down at the table right next to ours.
But while we were waiting for our food, a sly-looking man casually approached Hazel's table.
He was the same man who had just been chatting with the hotel staff in the lobby.
"Hello there, lady. You're staying in Room 403 at the Livingston Hotel, aren't you?"
"That's right."
"My name's James Harvey, I'm in Room 408 on the same floor. By the way, did you hear anything unusual last night, ma'am?"
The man tried to use what had happened last night as an excuse to start up a conversation with Hazel.
But when she didn't respond, he started bragging instead, talking himself up—he said he was some kind of businessman and that his sales were pretty good, though none of it sounded impressive.
"That guy sure is putting in a lot of effort for this early in the morning. Doesn't look like Hazel's interested at all," Roa remarked.
I nearly spit out my milk at her comment. Mother and Liam had pretty much the same reaction.
"You can actually pick up on that?"
"What, big bro, you can't see it? Roa can tell just by watching someone's face, their eyes, and how they talk.
Why would anyone fall for a guy like that?"
"Hang on to that ability of yours," I said.
It didn't look like Roa was about to fall for some loser like him.
That was a relief.
In the end, the man got up and left, having gained nothing.
The friendly look vanished from his face as he returned coldly to his own table.
After breakfast, we headed back to the hotel.
My family left for work and school, leaving me alone to check out at my leisure.
With some time to spare, I went up to the fourth floor.
As I walked down the hallway, I paused outside Room 408 at the far end.
I took the spent shell casing from last night out of my pocket and dropped it to the floor.
Then I nudged it with my foot, sliding it into the gap under the door.
***
11 a.m.
After checking out, I left the hotel.
It wasn't until then that the police finally arrived at the entrance of Hotel Dellenchy across the street.
As expected, they're slow to react.
Not drawing any attention to myself, I made my way to Allen Street.
***
Second floor office of the Twin Buildings.
Some guy was sprawled out sleeping in an arrogant pose.
His hat was pulled down over his face, and his feet were propped up on the table as he slept.
"Sleeping after finishing your job, huh?" I said.
Anthony, lifting his hat just slightly, let out a snicker.
Then he straightened up and spoke.
"It's all taken care of—perfectly. And hey, if things get messy, you can leave Itsuki Joe to me too, Boss."
"It's done on my end too."
"Oh? How, what method did you use to get rid of him?"
"Sniper shot."
Anthony let out an impressed sound, then motioned toward a chair.
"A sniper shot, huh. Sit down for a minute, Boss. We've got a lot to talk about, don't we?"
The NYPD coroner conducted an autopsy on Itsuki Joe's body, and after examining the bullet and the time of death, concluded that he had been "killed by a sniper."
Customers who had stayed at both Hotel Dellenchy—where Itsuki Joe had been staying at the time—and Hotel Livingston, suspected as the sniper's location, were all questioned.
The NYPD police, conducting an active door-to-door investigation, even ended up visiting Mrs. Graves's residence at the Tenement House.
—There was a leak, you say?
—Yes, water suddenly started leaking through to the apartment below, so we patched up the balcony and living room with cement.
—On the day of the incident, did you notice any strange noises or vibrations?
—Not at all. I had a lot of work, and the kids passed out early that night.
After questioning Mrs. Graves, the police decided there was no reason to suspect her for the time being.
Hazel, bold as ever, stayed at the hotel for three days before being questioned herself.
Although she was considered the prime suspect for the sniper's location, no firearms or evidence were found. Above all, because shell casings were found in Room 408 on the same floor, the investigation became focused there.
For a time, a man named James Harvey was considered a strong suspect.
Meanwhile, the police also tracked down and questioned those who had been with Itsuki Joe right before his death.
Salvatore and Frankie Yale were among them.
Of course, since Yale had been paying off the police for some time, the questioning was little more than a formality.
In fact, the police even offered him protection.
"Yale, you'd better stay in Brooklyn for a while. First a bomb attack, now a sniper. Whew, there are maniacs running wild in LES these days."
With a grim expression, Yale stared at the newspapers scattered across his desk.
[Manhattan Nights Run Red. Five Points Gang Members Shot by Unknown Gunmen at Multiple Sites on the Same Day]
[Itsuki Joe Found Attacked at Hotel!]
[NYPD Suspects the Rival Union Gang, Amid Escalating Tensions with the Five Points Gang]
But it was the long headline in one paper that truly unsettled Yale.
[The Fall of the Five Points Gang. Union Gang Rises Meteorically—LES Underworld Undergoes a New Reordering!]
"A new order? How arrogant."
"And they're insane, too. Anyway, you'd better watch your step for now. The higher-ups are taking this very seriously. If you get caught up in something right now, even I won't be able to help you."
"I have no intention of getting involved anyway. I'm busy with other things."
Yale finished his questioning in just thirty minutes and left the police station.
Outside, Salvatore and the other men who had also been questioned were waiting for him.
"Are we just going to let the Union be?"
At Salvatore's words, Yale just shrugged.
"I made myself clear when I spoke with Itsuki Joe."
A few days earlier, during a meeting with Itsuki Joe, Frankie Yale had made his intentions known: he no longer wanted anything to do with the Five Points Gang.
"LES doesn't matter to me. I've got bigger things on the horizon."
'Wiping out lunatics like Union can wait until after that.'
With only a meaningful smile left behind, Yale walked away.
Watching Yale's car disappear into the distance, Salvatore rubbed his chin
"What exactly does he mean by 'bigger things'?"
Yale, who had built his own independent power base in Brooklyn, had come to LES to establish a network among the Italian gangs.
Because of this, Salvatore and Yale weren't part of the same gang, nor was one subordinate to the other.
***
A few days later.
The fall of the Five Points Gang accelerated, and the Union Gang began to rise as the new rulers of LES.
Until the NYPD's investigation quieted down, Ciaran focused on absorbing units within LES and using them to control the territory.
And as the power dynamics in LES shifted, a quiet and secret change was underway that would overturn the balance of power among New York's gangs.
The new head of New York's Unione Siciliane.
Years earlier, after Giuseppe Morello and Ignazio Lupo had been sentenced to thirty years in prison, the position of Capo di tutti capi had been left vacant.
Now, Frankie Yale was appointed as the "Boss of Bosses" among New York's Sicilian gangs.