Chapter 35 - Should I Just Kill Him
When you look at everything through the lens of Prohibition,
it becomes clear what Tanner and I need to get our hands on.
There are several things, but one of the most important is securing outlets to sell bootleg liquor.
After Prohibition went into effect, Coney Island became a huge market for bootleg alcohol.
And after Prohibition was repealed, its true potential shone even brighter.
Unless it's bombed out of existence, a resort like Coney Island will always be a never-ending well—a cash cow for the gangs.
Bar owners keep order and prevent trouble by hiring bouncers.
Since violence is common and you have to deal with all kinds of troublemakers, bouncers are usually tough guys with plenty of fighting experience.
The man who spoke to me at the entrance was that kind of bouncer.
He looked about my age and height, but he was broad-shouldered, with a presence that would make most people shrink back.
"Why are you wearing a scarf in this heat? You hiding a scar on your face?"
"Can't it just be because I'm too good-looking?"
"...Yeah, confidence—that's what a man needs. I like that."
The bouncer let out a chuckle, gestured inside, and allowed me to enter.
I went in and sat down at the bar.
"A Coke with ice."
The bartender glanced at me, shrugged, and poured Coke into a glass.
It might seem odd to order a Coke in a bar, but there were a few others drinking it here, too. There were mostly women, but sometimes there were men who couldn't handle alcohol and chose Coke instead.
On one side, some young, energetic men drank beer loudly, showing off and raising their voices.
"We'll be holding rifles on the battlefield soon, so let's drink all we want tonight. Am I right?"
"Of course! Before I slit the throats of ten German soldiers, I need a little alcohol to soothe my blood-soaked combat. It's brutal, but we have to protect our freedom!"
"Cheers!"
Their names were on the draft list, but the actual drawing wouldn't happen for another three days.
How many of them would actually get shipped off to war? Even if they did get sent to the front, would they ever laugh and joke around like this again?
Once they saw brains bursting out and the exposed bones of their friends' corpses, they'd realize just how cruel and merciless war really is.
For whatever reason. For the young souls who would be dragged off to senseless battles.
Gulp, gulp.
"Ahhh."
The distinctive scent and brisk fizz of cola went perfectly with the early summer air by the sea. I hadn't been much of a Coke drinker in my last life, but the taste hadn't changed one bit, then or now. The bar was full of laughter, chatter, and the impassioned calls of youthful bravado.
But in one corner, there was a group that stood out—gloomy and menacing, at odds with the lively atmosphere.
They eyed the other customers with open disdain, their threatening posture making it look like they could start trouble at any moment.
They were members of the White Hand Gang.
A newcomer from Manhattan had opened a large bar here under the protection of the Italian gang, and that had clearly rubbed these guys the wrong way.
"The White Hand Gang has been hanging around the Harvard Inn every day lately. They're interfering with business," I'd heard.
Who gave you permission to run a business here?
But since this is a tourist spot, they couldn't exactly start smashing furniture or resort to open violence. Instead, the White Hand Gang was sowing discomfort, spreading a gloomy mood everywhere like a virus. It was enough to spoil anyone's drink.
"Coney Island is controlled by the White Hand and the Italians. I bought this bar to avoid conflict if possible, but like you said, it's too small to satisfy them," Tanner had confided.
Each gang had its own territory. The Marginals controlled the southwest of Manhattan, with Hell's Kitchen, while Five Points operated in the Lower East Side.
It stung his pride, but Tanner Smith's crew was just a local gang that hadn't even secured a full territory for themselves.
And if you tried to do business outside your home turf? You had to be prepared to accept the risks.
If a confrontation broke out, we'd be outnumbered, and the side that had bribed the local officials would have the upper hand.
That's why Tanner hadn't actually bought the small bar outright, but just invested for a share—to stay under the radar.
So, what was I supposed to do here?
Tanner wanted me to be the link to the White Hand Gang. If trouble arose, he expected me to help them out.
But that was easier said than done.
As I watched, hanging back and waiting to see if things would escalate, a minor commotion broke out in one corner. Just a lover's quarrel.
"Do I look that pathetic to you?"
"That's not it."
"Oh really? So you don't think I'm easy, huh?"
"Come on, get a grip. You followed me all the way here and now you're acting like this?"
"Fuck off! You horny bastard!"
It was obvious just by looking—she'd caught his eye on the street, and he'd made his move too quickly.
As I sipped my cola with a smirk, right on cue, the White Hand Gang stepped in to meddle in the lovers' spat.
"Hey, did you two rent out this place or something? If you want to fight, do it in bed, not here. Why are you making such a fuss and yelling in public?"
"It's not the pretty lady's fault, is it? The problem's the weakling guy. Beautiful lady, why not have some fun with us instead?"
Seeing the tough-looking gangsters, the man flinched and sat down.
Apparently fed up, the woman snorted and disappeared somewhere—toward the restroom.
Unable to contain his anger, the man just grabbed his bag and stormed out of the bar.
"What a punk. He chickened out completely and left the woman behind."
"Oh, then I guess I should go comfort the lonely lady."
What sleazy bastards.
As one of the White Hand Gang tried to head toward the restroom, a man blocked their way. It was the bouncer standing at the entrance.
"That's enough, guys."
"A guy's just trying to pick up a girl at a bar, what's the big deal. Is that illegal?"
"Don't cause trouble. Just have your drinks quietly and leave. I've been watching you for days, and tonight I'm not letting it slide."
"Oh? Are you threatening us now?"
The woman was just a flimsy excuse to start some trouble. The White Hand Gang had grabbed their pretext and looked ready to throw down at any moment.
There were five of them. To counter this, the bar staff lined up behind the bouncer.
With both sides squaring off, the once noisy bar fell silent.
Worried they might get caught up in a pointless fight, customers anxiously grabbed their bags and finished off their drinks, getting ready to leave.
But honestly, I was hoping things would blow up and end in chaos. If I helped the White Hand Gang at a critical moment, it'd be my chance to naturally grow closer to them.
That's when the woman who'd gone to the restroom reappeared.
Half-drunk, she glanced at her table, scoffed when she realized the man had left, and suddenly slid onto a seat at the long bar. Of all places, she sat right next to me. "Give me a whiskey."
As the woman ordered her drink, the White Hand Gang swaggered up behind her, making sure everyone saw.
"Hey, miss."
"How about hanging out with us?"
"We're a better option than that coward, aren't we?"
Ignoring them, the woman suddenly turned to look at me.
Her eyes started at my scarf, then finally settled on mine.
Maybe it was the dim lighting or the drinks, but she didn't seem to realize I was Asian. After hearing what she said next, I was certain.
"Hey, thief. I'll give you a chance to steal my heart. Try to win me over."
"..."
What was that? I could feel myself cringe inside. How could she say something like that without even batting an eye?
Exasperated sighs erupted from all around us.
Seeming to enjoy the attention, the woman slid in close, pressing her hip right up against me. Leaning in, she whispered in my ear, her breath tickling.
"Be brave, Mr. Thief. Save me from those scary-looking men over there."
Was she out of her mind? Should I just splash my coke in her face?
Still, I could sense she was about to spark some real trouble. Even if she had the wrong idea...
The White Hand Gang members were all wearing disgusted scowls.
"Fuck, what did that crazy bitch just say?"
"Yeah, is she saying we look like shit or something?"
One of them suddenly grabbed her hair. When the woman let out a cry, he ignored her and glared straight at me.
"Go ahead, try saving her, you pervert."
With that, he reached out to yank off my scarf.
I'd come here to make friends, not to get dragged into this.
Crunch.
I grabbed the hand trying to tear off my scarf. The guy looked startled, raising his eyebrows.
Whack!
The bouncer appeared out of nowhere and shoved him off me with his hand.
"I told you not to cause trouble!"
"Oh? You threw the first punch?"
That was the spark.
A full-blown brawl broke out inside the bar. The woman who'd started it all seized the chance to slip out, escaping the bar in a hurry.
Things hadn't gone exactly as planned, but since I'd originally intended to help the White Hand Gang, I just stood off to the side and watched the chaos unfold.
Unfortunately, with some of the bar's lights smashed during the melee, I couldn't get a clear view of the fight. It ended surprisingly quickly, though.
The bouncer and the staff teamed up to overpower the five members of the White Hand Gang. Once they'd forced them to their knees, the bouncer barked at them.
"I warned you not to stir up trouble."
"Fuck you, asshole. Now that you've messed with us, things are only going to get worse for you!"
"Well, we'll see if you even survive till then."
Just as the bouncer raised a metal pipe to bash in their heads—
"Stop."
He paused mid-swing, pipe still in hand, and turned his head slowly to stare at me.
Why is this guy still here?
The look of utter disbelief quickly vanished, and he furrowed his brow.
"Read the room. Flap your mouth off at the wrong time and you could end up dead."
"I was going to leave, but how could I just stand by and watch fellow Irishmen get beaten?"
Now all eyes from the White Hand Gang were on me, their expressions warming up with a sudden surge of goodwill.
In contrast, the Italians glared at me like they wanted to tear me apart. Especially the bouncer.
"I knew you were trouble the moment you walked in here with that scarf over your head. Knew you were nuts."
The bouncer twirled the metal pipe and strode toward me.
"If you swing that thing, you won't be running this place for a while."
"...Lunatic."
Right then, someone else walked into the bar. A man in his late thirties looked around at the chaotic scene and scowled.
"Damn it. What the hell happened here, Al?!"
"These bastards have been coming in for days looking to pick a fight. Even Johnny knows it."
"This isn't right, though. You should have held back a bit longer."
So that guy must be Johnny. The bouncer is Al. Anyway, the man called Johnny looked troubled as he rubbed his temples, glancing at the White Hand Gang members kneeling on the floor.
"Go on, get out of here. I'm going to take this up with your boss about what happened today, so just keep that in mind."
"Screw that, you think the Boss will just let this slide? You're all screwed, just wait and see."
"Shut your mouth and get lost—while you still can. You think we're just going to sit here and take this?"
With a flurry of middle fingers, the standoff finally came to an end. As the White Hand Gang started to file out of the bar, one of them shot me a glance and jerked his head, as if to say, "Come on."
It seemed like they were offering to help me get out of here. But the bouncer stopped me.
"You're not going anywhere."
"What are you talking about? I can go wherever I want."
The angry bouncer suddenly crouched down and lunged at me, throwing a punch
His name was Al, wasn't it? He looked about my age, but there was a reason he worked as a bouncer.
Even in the middle of that brawl, he stood out.
He was used to street fighting, skilled at hitting and slipping away.
And now, the punch he threw at me packed a force that rivaled any seasoned fighter's.
In other words, he was your typical street brawler—nothing more, nothing less.
I simply twisted my body to dodge his punch.
In that moment, I closed in on him.
With my left hand, I grabbed his shoulder, and with my right, seized him by the collar. Using my weight, I slammed him to the floor.
Thud!
With my grip still on his collar, my forearm naturally pressed against the bouncer's throat as he hit the ground.
I stared into the eyes of the bouncer I had just slammed down right in front of me. Because my arm was crushing his neck, I could only see the whites of his eyes.
It all happened in an instant.
Only after a beat did someone gasp in shock.
"Al Capone!"
So that Al was that Al?
No wonder the "Harvard Inn" felt so strangely familiar.
The legendary Mafia boss and the greatest beneficiary of Prohibition, Al Capone
Should I just kill him