Chapter 47 - The Founding Ceremony, and Deliberate Avoidance
After ordering the Scarves for our uniforms, the next thing to do is find a proper hideout.
Most people prefer a secluded alley, but I wanted to set up a real base.
"Mother, what do you think about opening an underwear shop? A place where we can directly sell our own products."
"Even street vendors need a permit. And even if you manage to get one, the market's already so crowded, it's almost impossible to squeeze in."
"Not a street stall—a real store. A shop just for underwear."
"…Okay, let's do it if we make some money."
"I actually have a bit of cash with me."
My mother's eyes widened, and she immediately held out her palm.
"How much do you have?"
"One bill."
"A hundred?"
"Is that enough to start?"
"That's enough for rent. It usually goes for thirty to fifty dollars a month. In the busy areas, it's twice as much. So with a hundred dollars, we could hold out for two months."
"If we had a thousand dollars, we could last two years."
My mother took a sharp breath and muttered to herself, wondering what on earth I'd done.
"How about it? This is something you could do without the other workers knowing, right? Or you could start laying the groundwork now—tell the Brothers you think we could pool money together and open a store."
"Hmm. That's not a bad idea. A shop selling our own underwear..."
She spoke almost as if she were dreaming.
Maybe, in her mind, she was already inside the shop.
"Then I'll look into it—just sign the contract when the time comes, Mother."
"Well... It's your money. But do you really have a thousand dollars?"
Add another zero.
If I said that, she'd start yelling right there in the office.
"When have you ever seen me tell a lie?"
"Never have. But, you know, sometimes I wish my son would lie every now and then. You know?"
"Not right now. By the way, I'll stop by the realty office while I'm at it."
My mother nodded as if she were in a trance.
***
Hester Street runs east to west.
It's about 900 meters long, with the largest number of residents being Jews, followed by Italians and then the Irish.
To take over a block, you need a base.
Somewhere no one else can find.
With Tanner's advice in mind, and my own plan, I went to see some real estate agents.
As luck would have it, there was a suitable spot near the Tenement House where I lived.
[Morris Goldberg Realty]
"Welcome...?"
A balding middle-aged man looked at me with a slightly displeased expression.
"I'm here to look at some storefronts."
"You're looking at properties by yourself?"
"My mother will be signing the contract. But I'll be making the decision."
"In that case..."
The agent nodded and gestured to a chair.
"Morris Goldberg. Have a seat."
"Ciaran Graves."
"Mixed-blood?"
"My mother's Irish."
"Aha."
Morris, now visibly more relaxed, picked up a pen and asked,
"Residence or store—what are you looking for?"
"A three-story building with a storefront on the first floor."
"So, a store?"
"The whole building. I'll run the store myself."
Morris paused mid-scribble, blinking at me.
"That'll be at least seven thousand dollars, minimum."
"If I like it, the price doesn't matter."
His expression turned serious. He pulled out a brochure from a drawer and started flipping through the pages, jotting key details onto a separate sheet of paper.
"What kind of store do you plan to run?"
"Underwear."
"... Then somewhere near Orchard Street would be your best bet. Of course, prices are higher in that area."
Orchard itself is famous for its clothing shops.
With high rental prices for storefronts, the cost of a building there is hardly cheap.
"It doesn't have to be on Orchard specifically. What I'm looking for is—"
A place on a side street corner, with multiple entrances.
Ideally, there would be an empty lot behind the building.
"Oh, and it needs to have a basement."
I had a shooting range in mind, but a building with a basement that size would be far beyond what I could afford.
After narrowing down a few suitable options, Morris got up from his chair.
"I'll show you a couple of places."
The first location was a commercial building on Eldridge Street, with a small restaurant on the ground floor.
"The price is eight thousand dollars, and the restaurant on the first floor is just on a month-to-month lease, so you can evict them whenever you want."
There were alleys on both sides, but no empty lot—the building in back was pressed right up against it.
The building itself was only about 1,400 square feet, and the semi-basement was being used as a garment warehouse.
"If you ask, the warehouse tenant could be out within a month."
Usually, lease contracts are for one year, with long-term ones lasting three years.
Most deals are made verbally, and it's customary for landlords and tenants to negotiate things loosely.
Even after visiting three or four places with the real estate agent, I couldn't find anything that truly appealed to me.
"Shall we check out just one more place?"
"Sure."
The real estate agent led me to Allen Street.
The street had a particular atmosphere.
Above us, the Second Avenue Elevated Railway stretched from Manhattan South Ferry, past Chatham Square, and all the way to the Bronx.
I'd passed along this street in my previous life—though back then, I remember the elevated railroad having been replaced by a wide boulevard with a broad median.
But right now, the elevated tracks cast a shadow over the street and filled it with noise, and the storefronts all had a somewhat gloomy feel.
As the agent and I walked along the street, we passed by a public bathhouse.
Since most Tenement Houses didn't have bathing facilities, New York City built public bathhouses in various neighborhoods from 1901 to 1914.
The bathhouse on Allen was one of the first built, and I'd been there a couple of times with my family.
Not long after we passed the bathhouse—
I spotted a three-story building with a 'For Sale' sign hanging out front. I assumed this was our destination, but the agent walked right past it.
"What about that place?"
"Don't even bother looking at it. The building we're here to see is right next door."
The first floor was a restaurant, and next to it was a narrow entrance leading upstairs.
There was an alley to the right, and the building itself was fairly wide.
What's the problem, then?
When I stopped and looked at the storefront, the real estate agent reluctantly spoke up.
"There's a salon in the basement… You know, one of those places kids shouldn't know about."
"So, it's a brothel, then?"
"…It's operated quietly under the table, so it's best to just pretend you don't know."
"Is the landlord running it himself?"
"If he were, the place would've sold a long time ago."
The landlord wants to sell, but the problem is the tenant operating the underground salon-slash-brothel in the basement.
"It seems to be connected to a gang. Anyway, kicking them out would be a headache. You probably wouldn't even get proper rent."
"So I'm guessing it's listed at a lower price?"
"Six thousand dollars. It's a little cheaper, but who'd want to buy it? You're better off with the one next door. The layout's exactly the same, same landlord, too."
Just by having a troublesome tenant in one place, there was a two-thousand-dollar difference in price.
Even so, rent on Allen Street was lower than elsewhere because of the elevated train tracks, so the buildings themselves were relatively inexpensive.
The price was one thing, but what really caught my interest was that the two buildings stood side by side.
As I was scanning the exterior, I noticed the cement between the buildings had been applied unevenly.
"Was this originally one building?"
I asked.
"…That's right. The owner split it into two a few years ago," the agent replied.
It was an era when illegal renovations and additions were rampant.
Dividing a single building into two was nothing out of the ordinary.
In fact, according to the real estate agent, it wasn't unusual for landlords to carve up the interior space for rental purposes, and even split the exterior to sell separately.
"If we consider it as just a single building, isn't the price actually high?"
"Well, if you factor in the repairs and remodeling costs to divide it, I'd say it's fair."
"That makes sense. I'd like to take a look inside the building, if that's possible."
The left side housed the basement salon and brothel. The right side was being used as a warehouse. Naturally, the real estate agent showed me the building on the right. The first floor was a clothing store. Next to it, there was a small door, and when we went in, a narrow staircase led both up and down.
"You know the Lower East Side is notorious for its high groundwater and drainage problems, right?"
"I've heard as much."
"So it's hard to find buildings with two basement levels around here."
Starting in the 1850s, when a massive wave of immigrants arrived, the Lower East Side became one of the fastest-developing areas in New York. This building was constructed during that boom.
Some newer constructions go as deep as three basements, but considering this building dates back fifty years, it certainly stood out.
"The interior's been renovated and repaired every time the ownership changed, so it's in pretty decent shape."
Decent shape, my ass.
The walls were uneven and the lighting was dim. The first basement level was tolerable, but the deeper we went, the mustier and damper it got.
The floor was either made of rough stone or, in some areas, covered with old concrete. Years of flooding and dampness had left it uneven.
The only source of light was a single, old incandescent bulb dangling from the ceiling.
Its glow was weak and flickered, making the shadows seem to dance on the walls. Any corner the light didn't reach was pitch black, and you'd need a flashlight or candles to search the place properly.
Overall, it reminded me of the Gunsmith's shooting range. The only problem was, it was too cramped to actually use as a range.
I moved over and tapped on the left wall.
Tap, tap.
Since the building was originally one and had been split in two, if I tore down this wall, the space would double…
Tap, tap.
Hmm?
Someone answered back, faintly, from the other side.
I considered knocking again, but instead, I just turned to leave.
That's when I heard a much louder knocking sound from the other side.
What's going on?
The real estate agent seemed to have heard it too, and his expression soured.
"If someone from over there comes over to start trouble, it'll be a headache. Let's hurry upstairs."
"...Let's check the upper floors."
"Do you actually like this place? You're certainly thorough."
Before leaving the second basement, I glanced back at the wall. The knocking sounds had stopped.
We went upstairs and looked around the second and third floors.
It covered roughly forty pyeong. The area was divided into small offices, and occasionally, some workers would step out and shoot the real estate agent a wary glance.
After surveying the interior, I stepped outside the building and asked the most important question.
"What kind of person is the owner?"
The real estate agent hesitated, chewing on his words for a moment, then glanced around cautiously before answering.
"...Her name is Rosie Hertz. She's an elderly lady, over sixty."
Rosie Hertz. An immigrant born in Hungary.
From the 1880s to 1913, she ran dozens of brothels in the Lower East Side and was known as the "Queen of Prostitutes."
A few years ago, her legend ended when she was arrested by the police, and now she's become a forgotten madam of the Lower East Side.
I remember her as a kindly old woman in an apron handing out candy to little kids. When I was young, I used to receive those candies.
And now Rosie Hertz is the owner of this building?
"That's surprising. But how could she not know about the brothel in her own building's basement?"
"Considering Rosie Hertz's age, she's probably retired from that business by now. Someone else is likely running it."
"Either way, I can see why this place isn't selling."
"...What about the building on the right? Isn't that better?"
"Hard to say."
Though this place met my requirements, Rosie Hertz made me reconsider the purchase.
When I got home, my mother hurried over—she was even quicker than Roa.
"Did you check out the shops?"
"None of them really appealed to me. I'm thinking of visiting another real estate agency tomorrow."
"Yeah. Take your time and be thorough about it."
Roa glanced back and forth between Mom and me.
"A shop? Big Brother, did you buy something for Mom as a gift?"
"No."
"Then did you get something for me?"
"As if."
I gave a sheepish laugh and patted Roa on the head.
"Everything's fine at Aunt Mary's place, right?"
"As if."
"...That means there weren't any problems, right?"
"As if."
***
A few days later.
I gathered the trainees in Chelsea and looked each of them in the eye.
After the last training session, I had made an announcement to them.
I'm planning to form a new Street Unit—a gang. Our beginnings may be small, but we'll grow beyond local or even city level and become a nationwide gang. !
If you're not with me, leave the training now.
Don't join out of idle curiosity.
If you can't handle strict discipline and the law of blood, then don't come.
After making this declaration, those who gathered again
were, just like at the beginning, twelve in total.
I'd expected Gavin and Cory to stay.
But why had the others chosen me?
Was it because they'd been impressed by my sniping skills at Newtown Creek?
Or did they share my dreams and vision?
It was none of those reasons.
"Don't just follow the seniors mindlessly—step into a new era with a new way, with Nox."
According to Gavin, Tanner had said this to them.
Tanner's intentions were clear.
He wanted to change the Marginals through me. He'd decided that was ultimately the best path for himself.
The existing members found it difficult to break away from the traditional ways of the gang. Rather, Tanner had chosen to make new plans with me at the center.
Am I giving him too much credit?
Maybe he just wasn't thinking that deeply...
Whatever the reason, those gathered here still remain under Tanner's influence.
My job is to strip all that away.
So I held a sacred ceremony.
"All right, take one each."
I handed out thirteen black scarves my mother had made. The eyes behind the scarves fixed on me with a solemn resolve.
I put on a scarf, too.
"Next is the blood oath."
Each person lightly cut their arm to draw blood, dabbed it on their thumb, and pressed it onto the mouth of their scarf.
"All problems stay inside. All secrets stay within. Wall of Silence!"
"Wall of Silence!"
If the Mafia has Omertà, then we have our 'Wall of Silence.'
It might look childish, but everyone does it this way.
For informers and traitors, merciless retribution. Revenge will be brutal.
"Well then, shall we cement our bonds?"
With the rites finished, we gathered our tools and headed for the Lower East Side. We moved into the tenement house where I lived.
"But don't we need a hideout?"
"Are we supposed to meet on the street?"
"…I told you, I'm still looking for a place."
Late afternoon.
A group heads into an alley off Hester Street.
There are seven of them, Italian gangsters who have just shaken down my mother's workplace for protection money.
I pulled my hat down low and raised my black scarf. As soon as we trailed them into the alley, I drew my club.
I charged at them, leading the way toward the startled men who spun around. Launching myself off the ground, I swung my club down on one of their skulls.
As he collapsed with a thud, iron pipes and clubs rained down from behind us in a chaotic onslaught.
"Die, you bastards!"
"Come on, try to hit me! I dare you!"
Gavin, Cory, and a couple of others stood out in particular. What they had in common: all had recently completed the physical exam for the draft.
Maybe that's why. They didn't hold back at all. If they're acting like this on purpose, they'll end up in the brig for draft dodging.
"You crazy bastards… What… gang are you with?"
The guy whose skull I had just cracked open and who was now crawling on the ground looked up at me and asked. I pressed my foot down on his head.
"Union."
On the very first day of the gang's founding, the alleyway off Hester Street was stained with blood.