Chapter 10 - I'll Take Care of This
Have I ever endured this much in my entire life?
At last, my patience has reached its limit.
What does a second chance at life even matter?
I'll just live true to my nature.
Of course, unlike before, I have no intention of being dragged to court to leave my fate in the judge's hands.
As covertly as possible.
Fiddling with the knife in my pocket, I went after those bastards.
It wasn't hard to find the four men wearing Fedora hats on Wall Street, which was only about 600 meters long.
They caused trouble wherever they went.
"I told you not to sell that lousy paper!"
"Should we just burn the whole damn thing down? Huh?"
The sluggers stopped by every newsstand they saw to wreak havoc: throwing certain newspapers onto the ground, tearing them up, stomping all over them so they couldn't be sold.
The police should have shown up by now, but they were nowhere to be seen.
Even as newsstands were attacked one after another, the police just stood by and let the sluggers run wild.
I even started to suspect they had no intention of intervening or were pretending not to see what was happening.
By the time the sluggers attacked the last newsstand, it was already dusk.
As darkness settled over the street, the building manager lit the street lamps one by one to brighten the road.
Although electricity had spread rapidly, gas lamps and electric lamps still coexisted, and each lamp had to be manually turned on and off.
Watching the street lamps light up one by one, anger flared in me again.
What else could be the reason those so-called slugger bastards, who hardly had any real job, showed up late in the afternoon and snatched my money?
They waited until I had saved up a decent amount from diligently shining shoes.
During the day, they'd hide somewhere, then stagger onto the street to grab the money I'd set aside as if they were collecting a debt.
Aren't they the kind of scum who deserve to die for this?
Darkness quickly swallowed the street.
The sluggers' behavior grew even bolder once they left Wall Street behind.
"What are you looking at, you filthy bastards?"
"I'll gouge your eyes out!"
They picked fights with passersby, snatched fruit from street vendors' stalls and ate it however they pleased.
Once, in a shadowy alley, they threatened a pedestrian and stole his money.
The night belonged to those scoundrels.
They burned away any remaining strands of reason they held onto during the day and prowled the streets like outlaws.
They moved north along Pearl Street and, passing an abandoned building, they ran into another group.
Luckily, it wasn't the same gang.
"Bang! Scram!"
A dozen or so people burst out of the abandoned building, and the sluggers sprinted with all their might. As if used to this kind of trouble, they naturally split into two groups to flee.
A jungle where the strong eat the weak.
I became a hunter and chased one of the groups, sprinting through the streets of Manhattan at night.
Beekman Street, connected to the East River flowing on Manhattan's east side.
A few years ago, gangsters were dismantled by NYPD special forces, and the remnants scattered like the roots of a horn, continuing their activities in fragments.
Slugger thugs hired by newspaper companies, corporations, and labor unions engaged in gambling, opium, prostitution, and robbery.
The men Ciaran was pursuing were one of those groups, still locked in a brutal turf war with gangs that hadn't yet fallen.
James and Mike, fleeing, caught their breath heavily in an alleyway out of the streetlight's reach.
"The Marginals are really treating us like trash now," James muttered.
"Those bastards must have changed their base. How about we get the guys together and take them down tomorrow?"
"Let's wait for Robert to get here first. He said he's been thinking about allying with the Pearl Buttons anyway."
Though the era when their gang dominated Lower Manhattan had passed, James and Mike still couldn't forget those days.
They couldn't forget the thrill of roaming the streets at night, high on drugs, without fear.
"While we wait, I'll roll a cigarette," James said, steadying his breath as he pulled the supplies from his pocket.
He placed a leaf inside the paper, emptied powder medicine from a small packet into it, mixed it, and rolled the cigarette.
Then he lit the one he made first and handed it to Mike.
"I'll watch for the others coming from ahead."
Mike, cigarette in his mouth, stepped out of the alley and leaned his back against the building on the right.
As he lit the cigarette and exhaled the smoke, it spread into the dark street.
He puffed twice like that.
A shadow, hat pulled low and hands shoved deep into pockets, approached slowly, shoulders hunched tight.
Mike narrowed his eyes and glanced around. No one else was in sight.
Still, despite the street being wide enough, the man deliberately passed right in front of him.
Annoying as hell.
'What a rude bastard.'
Mike blew smoke directly at the man's face, flicking his fingers holding the cigarette.
The man hesitated.
Mike reached for the knife at his waist and stepped closer.
"If you're gonna come, then come, you son of a—"
In that instant, the man took a swift step forward, closing the distance between them.
Suddenly, his right hand snapped out like lightning from his pocket.
Shing.
Following the sharp arc of his hand came something sharp that grazed Mike's neck.
The sting from the cut flared sharply.
Thin threads of blood surfaced along the skin, and the wound slowly began to open wider.
"Ugh...!"
Clutching his neck, Mike watched as the unidentified assassin snatched the knife and dashed deeper into the alley.
Thud.
Mike collapsed to the ground, blood rapidly draining from his body.
His gaze fixed on the alley.
What kind of damn bastard was that?
Before he could even confirm, the man was already attacking his accomplice.
"W-what are you...!"
From the dark alley came James's shout, groan, and the sound of someone falling.
Then the heavy shadow approached again.
Fortunately, Mike was able to recognize the man who had just attacked him before he nearly died.
Or rather, it might have been better if he hadn't.
The shoeshiner, wearing James's Fedora pulled low, grabbed Mike's leg and dragged him into the alley.
***
I rifled through the bodies, grabbing anything that might be worth money.
Having taken down two of them, the loot was decent.
I ended up with thirty-eight dollars and eighty cents, two knives, a small amount of opium, and—nothing special—an ordinary Fedora hat.
By the way, it looked like the dead guys had been waiting in this alley for the rest of their scattered group. They didn't show up, so I had left the alley.
Having already taken more than what they'd stolen, I didn't see any reason to stick around and wait for those guys.
Maybe it was better to pin this on a rival gang, letting them tear each other apart in a brutal fight—that could work in my favor.
The time was 9 p.m.
The adrenaline that once surged through my body cooled, replaced by sharp, cold rationality.
On top of that, a quiet loneliness seemed to stir even my emotions.
Even though it sounded psychotic, the lyrics of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody—one of my old favorites—floated through my mind.
Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Is this reality,
or just an illusion?
Mama, just killed a man
Mother, I have killed a man
Put a gun against his head
Held the gun to his head
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead
I pulled the trigger, and now he's dead
Mama, life had just begun
Mama, life had only just begun
But now I've gone and thrown it all away.
It's not that guilt suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
There's no way someone like my darkened self still has that kind of feeling.
I'm just a little worried about how my actions might affect my family.
My fragile mother, who's barely more than a stranger to me, Liam going through his rebellious teenage years, and naive little Roa.
If any of them become targets of retaliation and get hurt, it will all be my responsibility.
If only I were an orphan, I might feel more at ease.
That said, I don't want to abandon the idea of family.
My past life was free but lonely.
This life, though limited, comes with family.
Maybe the latter is a more meaningful existence.
I lifted my head and looked up at the sky.
The moon remains unchanged across all eras.
What changes is only the person who looks at it.
***
"Galileo, Galileo..."
Oh, mamma mia, mamma mia.
Mamma mia, let me go...?
Ciaran, humming a tune, arrived at the Eldridge Street intersection.
Looks like they finally came for it today.
When I reached the tenement house where I live, the entrance was in complete chaos.
"Damn it, why don't you just get lost? If you've got complaints, take it up with your boss!"
Men were hauling sewing machines out from the basement, and a group of furious women were blocking them.
These were Italian and Jewish immigrant laborers struggling with poor English skills.
"Chi non sa che state minacciando Blank per portargli via tutto?" (Who doesn't know you're threatening Blank to take everything away from him?)
"Mir hobn oykh gelt tsu bakumen! Der nemashin iz undzer!" (We also have money coming! That machine belongs to us!)
"Since you're in someone else's country, at least speak English. What the hell are you even saying like idiots?"
If that's the case, then you should be speaking Indian.
It's infuriating how they discriminate just because they're immigrants, even though they're all newcomers here.
Anyway, the workers were desperately trying to hold onto the equipment instead of money.
Whether to sell it or to secure other jobs themselves—
as long as they had the sewing machines, they could make money.
But the ruthless loan sharks had already finalized the transfer papers with Blank.
"Damn, showing the contract should've been enough, why so much fuss?"
"Tell him to go find Blank's damn house or something. This is enough already…"
"I don't want to hear it! This is ours!"
An agitated woman lunged at the sewing machines.
She was a mother of five kids living downstairs, a woman named Jane.
"That crazy bitch, really. Get lost!"
A man stepped in to stop Jane and slapped her across the face.
He kicked and stomped on her as she fell to the floor.
When the women rushed forward to intervene, he pulled out a gun.
Click.
"You fucking bitches just don't get it! If you keep interfering, I'll kill all of you, your kids, and your families, so shut up."
Hearing the word "families," the women flinched and gave up their resistance, stepping back.
So they had to watch as not only their wages but also the sewing machines they had worked with for years were taken away.
Among them was my mother.
Her eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears, her fists clenched tightly.
There was no way to claim the unpaid wages, and on top of that, she suddenly lost her job.
The manager didn't even show his face, so she forced herself to swallow her anger and frustration.
There's no way out living like this, Mother.
How much longer do you plan to stay in a place that feels like it will make you sick just by breathing?
Sure, some might survive the sewer and find success, but there's no guarantee our family will be one of them.
Even I, living through my second shot at life, don't have an answer.
It's time for a change... hmm?
Suddenly, Mother moved forward and went inside the Tenement House.
Keeping my distance, I followed behind her up the stairs, holding my fedora in my hand.
On the third floor, a single door stood open in the narrow hallway.
It was the apartment where I lived.
Quietly approaching, I stopped in front of the door and unexpectedly came face to face with Mother just as she was about to leave.
To my surprise, there was a gun in her hand.
Mamma Mia.
What is this!
Mother quickly hid the gun behind her back, and our eyes met.
Where did the gun come from?
Why was she holding it at a time like this?
Where was she planning to go?
I was confused.
But at the same time, seeing my aggressive mother holding a gun brought an odd sense of peace to my heart.
Breaking the brief silence, I asked,
"...What are you going to do with that?"
Mother, who had been biting her lip, seemed worried about Liam lying in the house and closed the door.
Standing in the hallway, she spoke with a determined expression.
"I'm planning to go find Blank."
She vented her anger, saying the manager had fallen into gambling, borrowed from loan sharks, and ate up all their wages.
Instead of recklessly going out to fight those outside with a gun, Mother wanted to confront the root cause of the problem—the manager himself.
It was impulsive, but at least she had some kind of plan.
Without realizing it, I nodded.
Misreading my reaction, Mother quickly continued.
"I shouldn't be showing you this side of me, but the situation is too serious. At this rate, really…"
"That doesn't seem like a bad idea," I said.
"...Huh?"
Mother flinched and looked up at me.
"Sure, it's right to deal directly with the manager rather than those outside. But even if you find him, it'll be hard to get any money back. Unless you're ready to kill him, they'll just laugh at you."
"If necessary... I can be."
Suppressing the rising anger, she bit down on her lips until it hurt.
She showed no hesitation even in front of her son.
Watching her, I became certain—she could do anything for her family.
No matter what I did, she would support me.
My heart felt more at ease.
Silently, I accepted my mother's request.
"I'll take care of this."