Chapter 84 - Behind the Times
Why did Fritz Duquesne become a German spy?
Every action has a reason behind it. In Duquesne's case, you have to look to his origins to find it.
Duquesne was a Boer of Dutch descent living in South Africa.
In order to seize the resources of South Africa, England instigated the Second Boer War from 1899 to 1902. It was this war that made Duquesne harbor hatred, resentment, and a thirst for revenge against England.
"I, too, want to see the destruction of England—the same England that burned your parents' farm and raped your sister. Gott strafe England (God, Punish England)."
Duquesne reacted.
His body trembled, and then he fixed his gaze on me.
"How... how do... you... know that...?"
Even though I had mentioned a past that no one could possibly know, Duquesne kept up his act.
At this point, I wondered if he really was paralyzed.
"I want to help you escape, but things aren't looking good. If you don't want to be executed like Margaretha Geertruida Zelle, act carefully."
Two months ago, a Dutch dancer suspected of being a spy was executed in France.
The famous Mata Hari.
Whether she was actually a spy or not, Mata Hari was executed by firing squad in France.
Duquesne couldn't help but worry about his own situation.
"I act on my own. My goal is to climb all the way up to the top of the US Federation Bureau of Investigation. Once I do that, it won't be hard to get you out."
So don't suspect me.
I'm your ally.
Of course, I don't expect Duquesne to trust me just because of this.
All I want is to establish a connection.
During the Second World War, Duquesne would form a spy ring operating inside America.
Dozens of Nazi collaborators would be arrested, and if I am to help, I need to create an opening with Duquesne now.
Only then can I extract the information I need and provide it to Hoover.
Besides, I intend to make use of Duquesne's words.
"The Bureau suspects you are behind Kaplan's bombing. Of course, I know you weren't involved. But if you keep your mouth shut like this, it will only make things worse for you."
So you should leak some information too.
"Kaplan is just bait to turn the Bureau's attention toward ILA. If you want to delay your extradition to England, just mention that an ILA executive was involved."
This isn't betraying your comrades, nor is it any less than what a true spy would do to throw the US Federation Bureau of Investigation off track. I emphasized this point and stepped away from the bedside, bidding Duquesne farewell.
"Whether you trust me or not doesn't matter. I have only one wish. Gott strafe England (God, Punish England)."
I was about to turn my back and leave when Duquesne repeated my words.
"Gott strafe England (God, Punish England)."
I glanced back.
Duquesne was lying there calmly, looking right at me, his lips set perfectly straight.
Has something changed in his mind?
Or is he testing me?
"What's your codename?"
"Let's keep each other's secrets, Duquesne. And the war will be over within a year."
"…What?"
"Unfortunately, the German Empire will lose, but that'll just be the beginning. I'll create the Nazi Party in the new Germany."
"Nazi?"
Duquesne's eyes narrowed.
It was only natural—after all, the Nazi Party doesn't exist yet.
The Nazi Party, successor to the German Workers' Party, will be founded in 1920.
At first, it's just one of many far-right parties and doesn't attract much attention, but little by little, its influence grows.
If Duquesne remembers what I just said, he'll have no choice but to seek me out.
"That's far enough, Duquesne. If you ever want to meet me, pass the message to Agent Hoover. He's the only one who can reach me."
I simply smiled as if there were more to it, then knocked on the door.
As soon as the guard opened up, Duquesne reverted to playing the part of a paralyzed patient, groaning and thrashing his limbs feebly.
I left the prison ward with Hoover.
"Did you find out anything?"
"Not a thing."
"Then what did you two talk about all that time?"
"I pretended to be a German spy. Not sure he believed me, though."
"Oh, like you were posing as a double agent to extract information?"
"If he's buying it."
In reality, Hoover would later become the Director of the FBI and would wipe out Duquesne's spy network by sending in double agents. Since it's bound to happen anyway, I might as well throw my hat in the ring.
If I don't want to die because of the Mafia, I need as many cards up my sleeve as possible.
For me, Hoover and Duquesne are just two more cards to play.
Before leaving Bellevue Hospital, I asked Hoover,
"By the way, what happened to Kaplan's hideout?"
"We conducted a search a few days ago. Didn't find any new evidence, but we did arrest Kaplan's men and they're under investigation."
So it must be empty, then?
After 'Kid Dropper' Kaplan died, the targeted troop transport set off safely for Europe. But the investigation wasn't over.
The Bureau of Investigation and the police were rounding up Kid Dropper's men for questioning, chasing down the woman who disappeared from the motel, and probing the ILA labor strike as well.
Apart from all that, tonight an illegal casino—not a licensed one—was opening.
As soon as I left the hospital, I headed to the second basement floor of the Twin Buildings. The dealer, Lenny, who had finished all the setup and final preparations, spoke to me cautiously.
"Boss, don't expect much on the first night. It takes time for a casino to catch on."
I knew that already. Unlike the dance hall, all we could do for promotion was spread rumors through the underworld. I wasn't expecting much. Still, as the Boss, I couldn't let that show.
"Your job is to shorten the time it takes for us to get established. You have three days. Even if we take a loss, give the customers a taste for gambling."
"Got it, leave it to me."
The more things happen in the shadows, the more important word-of-mouth marketing becomes.
The more customers leave the casino happy, the faster the rumors will spread.
That's where the dealers came in.
Lenny had brought in four dealers. Three of them were his former colleagues from the Italian casino just recently.
I left Patrick in charge of management and went looking for Cory.
"There's somewhere I need you to go with me tonight."
"Okay, what should I bring?"
I whispered in Cory's ear.
"Anything we'll need to crack a safe."
That evening at six, the dance hall opened and, at the same time, the casino began business. I headed home early because I didn't want to see the place empty, and because Cory and I had something to take care of that night.
***
Tenement House.
Just as I arrived, I ran into Mother at the entrance as she was getting off work.
"That's good, Mother. I have something to tell you—let's go up to the rooftop."
"W-what is it?"
Mother's face was visibly tense. No wonder—no matter what I'd done before, even when it came to murder, I'd never asked to speak with her privately like this.
As soon as we got to the rooftop, Mother pressed me.
"It's not something serious, is it? Tell me quickly, you're making my heart pound."
"I went to see Uncle Larry today."
"Really? That's good. But, why?"
"He said he'd like everyone to get together for Christmas."
Mother's eyes grew wide and she blinked in surprise.
"Larry…was that just his idea?"
"No. Apparently, people have been saying it for a while now. Most of all, our maternal grandparents said they want to see us."
I wondered which word had just choked Mother up. Her eyes turned even redder than the sunset, and soon tears welled up. She quickly wiped them away with her hand, but it seemed her heart wouldn't calm down easily.
Not wanting to just stand by, I gently hugged Mother. That turned out to be a mistake. She began to sob so mournfully that my clothes became damp from her tears. I'd chosen to talk outside just in case this happened, but that was a mistake, too. A rooftop in midwinter is no place to be. The weather was bitterly cold.
***
Third floor of the Tenement House.
During dinner, Mother made an announcement.
"This Christmas, we're going to visit your maternal grandfather's house!"
"Oh, wow! So, Roa finally gets to go somewhere?!"
Roa clapped her hands and shouted, then suddenly turned to look at me with a worried face.
"But what about Santa Claus? Will he bring my presents all the way there?"
Why is she asking me that? I have a strong feeling she knows that I'm Santa Claus.
"Santa Claus will always find Roa, no matter where she is."
At Mother's words, Roa let out a sigh of relief. Looking at me.
After dinner, Roa played in the living room until she fell asleep. It was late at night when I finally got up from bed to head outside.
"Santa Claus... I don't need anything else, just a bag."
"...Just ask me to buy you one, will you? You're all grown up, why are you still talking about Santa?"
Liam pretended not to know what was going on, wiping his mouth as if he'd just woken up.
"Tsk, did I just talk in my sleep?"
"You're terrible at this. Seriously."
If you want to act, you should at least be on Duquesne's level.
With a snort, I turned my back to him.
"I'm heading out, so go back to sleep."
"I was sleeping. That was just sleep talking."
"Yeah, yeah."
I slipped out of the house and made my way toward the Twin Buildings.
As I was walking down Hester Street—
"If you go to Pumpkin when it opens, there's always some kind of event, but at this time, Palm Garden is way better."
"So, should we go to Palm Garden tonight?"
Two couples stood under a street lamp, debating which dance hall to visit. I walked past them, listening in on their conversation.
"Pumpkin or Palm Garden, they're pretty much the same thing. I went to a dance hall up in Harlem a while back, and the music there was incredible. They were already playing 'Dixie Jass Band One-Step.'"
"Oh, I heard that on a record not long ago. They're already playing it live?"
"Already? This place is just behind the times."
"Well, that's the Lower East Side for you."
Behind the times, not even keeping up with the trends?
That stings my pride.
We're even doing marketing ahead of the curve with the Pumpkin Mask, for crying out loud.
Just then, the Pumpkin Mask was out on Hester Street, drumming up business.
They said it was warm, so they started wearing it even before opening back in the winter—let's see if they can keep that up in the summer.
"You're working hard."
"Boss, why'd you come back?"
"I've got something to take care of. By the way, do you know the Dixieland Jazz Band?"
"Dixie? Even the name sounds old-fashioned as hell. What is it, some band thrown together by a bunch of Southern hicks?"
During the American Civil War, the regions that supported the Confederacy were called Dixie. Over time, up North, 'Dixie' had come to mean Southern style—basically, backward and countrified.
"I'm telling you, it's all the rage right now. And don't you dare say that in front of them."
Leaving the Pumpkin Mask behind, I arrived at the Twin Buildings.
I entered not from the front, but through the alley on the right.
"Talk. Who put you up to this?"
Ida was threatening a woman with a knife. Three other members stood nearby. I quickly hid myself.
"I swear, it's not like that. I was just curious, that's why I wrote it down!"
"You think I'm some kind of joke?"
Ida clamped a hand over the woman's mouth and slowly pressed the tip of her knife to the woman's face.
"What should I draw here? So you'll never dare show your face again."
The terrified woman trembled. As soon as Ida released her grip, the woman blurted out desperately,
"Some guy named Anthony said he'd give me two dollars if I told him about the dance hall. That's all I know."
"Be specific—what kind of information did he want?"
"Things like the number of customers, band details, performance schedules, info on the staff…"
Ida sneered and set the knife down.
"What about the others? Did anyone else try anything?"
"I don't know. Who's to say how many more people Anthony might have sent…"
Ida exchanged glances with the other members, then let the woman go.
"Get lost. If I see you here again, you'd better be ready."
"I promise, I'll never come back."
As the woman emerged from the alley, there was blood smeared on one side of her cheek. She hurried away from the street.
When I stepped into the alley, Ida and the others were deep in discussion.
"What's going on?"
Ida described what had just happened in a calm voice.
"She was acting suspicious, so we watched her and caught her writing something down in secret. Just like I thought—she was a spy sent from another dance hall."
But she let the woman go for a reason.
The woman didn't actually know anything anyway. The name "Anthony" she confessed was probably a lie, too. She likely just agreed to do it for two dollars, not even knowing what was going on.
This sort of thing happens all the time when dance halls compete with each other. At first, it's just a matter of keeping tabs on the competition, but if their revenues suddenly drop, they'll attack the dance hall they suspect is responsible.
But since you never know who might be behind it, no one goes on the offensive recklessly—they approach cautiously.
"For a while, they'll probably try every trick in the book to dig up information."
Ida nodded in agreement at my words.
"Poaching employees, deliberately messing up the band's schedule, threatening our beverage suppliers… We'll need to be careful about things like that."
"Tell the staff and the band what we just discussed. If anything comes up, they need to report it right away."
"Got it, Boss."
After issuing instructions to Ida and the members, I headed upstairs.
I grabbed a pistol from the secret room, left the office, and made my way to the hideout where Cory and Kaplan were staying.