Chapter 40 - Everyone Has Their Reasons
Clatter.
All eyes in the alley snapped to the box I was dragging along the ground.
Among them, a big guy stepped forward.
In his hand gleamed a curved Bowie knife, the blade almost 30 centimeters long.
"Are you the one who beat up our guys?"
Thud.
As I set the box down, the guy flinched and gripped the knife even tighter.
Don't these idiots realize where I just came from?
If they did, they wouldn't be foolish enough to try stopping a customer leaving a gun shop with a knife.
Well, maybe.
If they're not even part of a real gang but just some street punks, maybe they don't know about the gunsmith behind that locked iron door.
I glanced around. A long iron rod, as thick as a finger, caught my eye.
I was just about to bend down and pick it up—
Click, click.
The distinct sound of a gun being cocked came from behind me.
The voice was purposefully lowered but unmistakably female.
"Knock it off and get out of the alley."
The punks recoiled, their faces twisted in disgust, and started backing away.
"Damn, it's that crazy bitch again."
"Let's see how long you can stay holed up down there. If I catch you outside, you're dead meat!"
"She's definitely sick or cursed. I mean, she never comes out—it's obvious!"
"If you get it, beat it. Before I wipe you all out."
The thugs in the alley withdrew like the tide going out.
I turned to look behind me.
A woman with her face completely covered by a scarf and hat was holding a rifle—wait, isn't that a machine gun?!
No wonder the punks ran.
Lying on the ground beside her was a 9-kilogram light machine gun, made by France to compensate for how unwieldy heavy machine guns were. It could spit out 250 rounds per minute.
"Chauchat?"
"You recognized it? What caliber?"
Her voice had changed.
Judging by how clear and lively it sounded, she seemed to be about my age.
Now that I think about it, excluding my mother and the lady next door, this was the first time.
Not that it really matters right now, but for some reason, my throat tightened.
"Eight... millimeters."
"Wrong. It uses 7.62mm rounds."
"If you modify it, you can make it fire anything."
"Well, that's true."
Even though America was the first to create the Gatling gun, compared to rifles and pistols, they never really focused on developing light machine guns.
But that changed when the US declared its participation in the European War. Suddenly in need of light machine guns, America started buying up large quantities of Chauchat machine guns, produced by their ally France.
So, judging by the timing, the Chauchat the woman was holding had probably been recently smuggled into the black market.
Anyway.
"You think those guys will be alright? If they're part of a gang, that could get messy."
"It's actually the opposite. If they really were a gang, they'd stay far away from here. It's always the clueless wannabes who act brave. But seriously, why do you keep your face covered like that?"
The woman asked as she put the machine gun away. I pointed at the scarf that thoroughly concealed her own face with my finger.
"I don't think you're in any position to ask that."
"I have my reasons."
"Everyone has their reasons."
She probably had burns from an explosion, like my grandfather. There was no need for me to ask about her reasons. She didn't pursue it any further either. Instead, she spoke in a voice tinged with laughter.
"Anyway, I don't know who you're planning to assassinate, but I'll be rooting for you."
Did the old man tell her?
That I was an IRA secret agent.
Clang.
The iron door shut, and that brief conversation came to an end.
I dragged the box and made my way out of the alley. I'd expected the punks to be lying in wait, but it turned out they didn't even have the guts for that.
The idea of carrying weapons all the way back home—a full thirty minutes away—made me uneasy. It felt risky to walk, but hopping on a crowded streetcar didn't seem like a great idea either.
It was expensive, but I flagged down a passing freight wagon.
"To 76 Forsyth Street, please."
"That'll be 60 cents!"
Outrageous.
They said a car would be double that, a price regular folks couldn't even dream of affording. I loaded the box into the cargo bed and took a seat next to the driver.
"Hold on tight—here we go!"
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
A time when cars and horse-drawn wagons exist side by side.
When I could proudly bring home a rifle and ammunition in a food box, and when a woman could suddenly appear wielding a machine gun.
"Isn't it a wonderful era?"
"You're quite the optimistic customer. Giddy-up!"
It was past 8 p.m. by the time I arrived at the Tenement House. Roa hurried over and immediately inspected the box.
"Gro-c-eries…? Big Brother, I just had dinner, but I could eat again!"
"No, this isn't food."
"But it says 'food supplies' on the box."
"It's not."
"Open it up. I only believe what I see for myself."
This family, honestly.
There's nowhere to hide even a single box.
We really need to move soon.
To divert Roa's attention, I handed her a book. She glanced at the title and shook her head from side to side.
"I'm not interested in the internal affairs of the German Empire."
"If you give it a try, you might change your mind."
I gently forced her head, which was shaking no, to nod up and down.
At that moment, my mother, who was peeling potatoes, spoke up.
"By the way, son. Leo and Marcus were looking for you all day. You'll go to the company tomorrow, won't you?"
"I'll be on a business trip for a while. It'll take about two days."
Thud.
The potato my mother dropped hit the floor.
Roa scurried over, saying it was a waste to drop precious food, blew on it, and set it back on the table.
"Are you supposed to throw potatoes away, or not?"
"She just made a mistake, that's all."
My mother looked back at me and asked,
"It might wrap up sooner, right?"
"No. It'll take at least two days."
"Alright. I understand."
My mother answered, staring intently at the box.
"It's just a business trip. Nothing complicated."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that."
If she opened the box, she'd be shocked.
Good thing it was nailed shut so tightly.
That old man really knew what he was doing.
Or was it that woman?
"Hey, stand still for a second."
"If you try to throw me, you're dead."
Liam licked his lips and tried to coax Roa.
"Hey, let's play with your big brother."
"Roa's reading. She says the inside of the German Empire is in even worse shape than our household."
Isn't that something? After just one page, Roa understood the whole point of the book.
Anyway, Roa has stayed the same, and lately Liam seems noticeably lighter.
The dark cloud that used to follow Liam around has lifted, and he's even started joking more.
"What happened to that kid who used to bully you at school?"
"If you're curious, just stand here for a sec."
Looks like he's solved his problem.
***
The next morning.
Mom went to work, Roa to the neighbor's, Liam to school. And me—
"The instructor has urgent business, so we'll be on break for a while."
"Whoa!"
"You cheapskate!"
It was the fourth day of training, so only four of us were left:
Gavin, Cory, and trainees number 3 and 5 from the neighboring gang.
As we did PT exercises together in the vacant lot, I was suddenly struck by reality.
The shooting range two floors underground in Hell's Kitchen—
A place right in the heart of the city, packed with people, where you can fire guns to your heart's content.
I wonder when I'll make enough money to build something like that, a place where I can set up an underground shooting range of my own.
Or maybe, like Old Man Smith, I'll have to rent out a space like that instead
By the time I finished training, lost in various thoughts, it was around noon.
Only Gavin and I were left in the vacant lot, eating bread for lunch.
"Tanner Boss has prepared a boat marked 'O'Neill' at Pier 35 on the East River."
"And the captain?"
"River Gray. He's a half-Navajo Indian, and he's been working closely with the Marginals for a long time."
"So he's been smuggling with them."
"Well, that's about right."
After finishing lunch and my conversation with Gavin, I headed back home.
Once I finished getting ready for the trip and grabbed the box, I was just about to leave the Tenement House when Leo and Marcus suddenly sprang out from the basement as if they'd been waiting.
"Gotcha!"
"Slacker, skipping out on work!"
"I'm working like a dog here, what are you talking about?"
When they saw the box, they made a fuss, asking if I'd started a grocery business too.
Just then, a carriage arrived, and as I waved it down, both of them freaked out.
"You're not actually planning to ride in that carriage like some high-class folks, are you?"
"No way. Put your hand down—are you crazy?"
"East River, Pier 35, please"
"That'll be 50 cents."
"Wow, he actually got in."
I loaded the box into the cargo area and climbed up next to the driver's seat.
Then I waved to Leo and Marcus.
"Boys, I'm off to earn some money. Listen to Mom, and work hard, okay?"
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
As the carriage set off, Leo and Marcus flipped me off, then disappeared back down to the basement of the Tenement House.
A short while later, we arrived at Manhattan's East River, Pier 35.
Dockworkers were bustling about, and I wove my way through them toward the pier.
The boat marked "O'Neill" was a small fishing vessel used to haul fish and seafood.
With the box and my bag slung over my shoulder, I stood in front of the boat and quietly called out the captain's name.
"River Gray!"
A man who looked to be in his thirties emerged on deck, rubbing his face with his palm as if to wake himself up.
Tanned skin, curly hair.
It was Captain River Gray, with a messy beard. He must have inherited his Indian looks from his Navajo mother.
"Come aboard."
As I loaded the box onto the boat and climbed on board, River shouted while working to unfurl the sails.
"Everyone thinks steamships or motorboats are hot stuff these days! Only people who don't know shit about boats say that!"
"I didn't say a word."
Besides, I don't even consider steamships and motorboats to be cutting-edge vessels.
Still, for whatever reason, River couldn't stop singing the praises of his sailboat.
"How could coal or petroleum ever compare to wind, God's own creation? Wind is an infinite energy source—it's free! And breakdowns? Don't even get me started! If your engine fails, it'll cost a fortune and you're dead in the water until some engineer fixes it!"
In the end, the real selling point of a sailboat was that it was cheap to operate.
"Shall I be honest with you?"
River whipped his head around, glaring at me.
Clearly, he had no interest in hearing my counterargument after all his enthusiastic praise.
But I went on anyway, ignoring him.
"If you really think about it, what's the biggest advantage a sailboat has?"
"And what do you think that is?"
"It's nearly silent. Imagine moving around in the dead of night with a motorboat or a steamship—every harbor patrol officer in earshot would wake up and swarm over."
In other words, it's the perfect boat for smuggling.
Captain River Gray came closer, grabbing hold of a long, loose sailpole with one hand. He reached out his hand with a wide grin.
"You're the first. No one's ever really understood the value of my boat."
He must've dealt with so many people who dismissed it out of hand. In that instant, I felt much closer to Captain River Gray.
The East River runs between Manhattan and Brooklyn. The O'Neill sailed north along its waters.
"By the way, you've loaded weapons and bombs onto this boat—are you planning to start a one-man war or something? Even the boss of the White Hand Gang who got you those explosives was apparently taken aback at first."
Tanner Smith was shocked by my plan twice. The first time was when he heard I intended to go solo.
— Are you insane? You're going to take on the Italians by yourself? Does that even make sense?
— It's safer to work alone if you don't want someone stabbing you in the back.
— ...You've got guts, I'll give you that.
And then, the second: Tanner was surprised when I asked for additional weapons beyond just what I needed personally.
— Ten rifles, a hundred rounds of ammunition, and even bombs? If you're working alone, what do you need all those for? Do you have some helpers I don't know about?
— That's exactly it. If even Tanner thinks that, don't you think the rest of the White Hand Gang will feel the same way?
To make things even more convincing, I told Tanner not to get the weapons and bombs himself but to have Dinny Meehan supply them.
— That way, nobody will believe I'm acting alone. Even if someone's thinking of betraying me, they'll be too uneasy to actually do it.
But if they try anything foolish, it's better to destroy the White Hand Gang altogether than ever work with Dinny Meehan again.
I told Captain River Gray to just leave the weapons in the ship's hold.
"Then why did we load them in the first place?"
"In case something happens. Anyway, just keep them hidden until everything's over."
The captain didn't need to know the whole plan.
His job was simply to transport people and smuggled goods. As long as he stuck to that, it was enough.
But maybe he was worried about my plan—he scratched his chin and offered some advice.
"I've seen the boss of the White Hand Gang a few times. Dinny Meehan is as fierce as a wolf and as cunning as a fox. You'd best be careful."
"I've also heard his charisma is something else."
"There's something to that. While other bosses just give orders, Dinny Meehan actually takes action alongside his men."
Whether it was robbing trucks at gunpoint or fighting other gangs, he was always there with his crew.
That sort of leadership by example was what kept the White Hand Gang so tightly knit.
Of course, who knows how long that will last.
While we were chatting about this and that, we arrived at our destination—a junction where Newtown Creek branches off from the East River and flows into Brooklyn.
It was about 1.5 kilometers south of the Italian gang's smuggling warehouse.
The boat docked at a pier that met the shore, and we unloaded the cargo.
"I'll be back tomorrow. Good luck."
Captain River took the weapons we'd gotten through the White Hand Gang and headed back the way he'd come.
I took the box and made my way to a small hotel I'd scoped out in advance called the New East Inn.
Leaving most of the luggage behind, I only took a pistol and the scope with me as I set out for the warehouse the Italian gang was using.
If I just wanted to get rid of them, I could do it right away.
But my real goal was the smuggled goods inside the warehouse.
On top of that, I had to factor in the possibility of betrayal from the not-quite-trustworthy White Hand Gang.
I'd already done some recon with Tanner, but that alone wasn't enough.
I needed to spend a couple of days watching how many people were in the warehouse, what kind of shift changes they had, and how they moved about.
I observed the warehouse and its surroundings, and also set up a sniping position in advance.
After spending two days getting everything ready, I left the hotel with my weapons and headed to the spot I had picked out.
It was about 800 meters from the warehouse.
Attaching the silencer to the rifle, I used the scope to check how many people were inside the warehouse and waited for the right moment.