Chapter 13 - Why Is the Gang Boss Looking for Me
"That bastard. He deserves to rot in hell, even after death!"
"He's not even human—he's garbage. Not even worth the air he breathes."
My mother echoed my words, trying to calm her anger.
Then, as if something didn't make sense to her, she asked me,
"Why did you bring this back? If you'd left it at the scene…"
"I don't trust the police. And honestly, leaving it there wouldn't have changed much. It's clear the boss has been scamming everyone, but the sewing machines are a separate problem."
That's why I already have something else in mind.
A plan to retrieve the sewing machines, and a way to make them the prime suspects.
"But more importantly, how do you want to use this money?"
$1,400.
It was a lot for us to just keep, and part of it actually belonged to my mother's coworkers.
Looking troubled, my mother spoke carefully.
"It's impossible for us to split this money with the other workers right now, isn't it?"
"Well, what's the worst that could happen—your son ends up in the electric chair."
"Hey, how can you say something like that…"
So for now, we have to hide the money thoroughly.
We can't suddenly start spending more, either.
Moving away would be one way to go, but that's something my mother's conscience can't accept.
Still, the best option is to grow the money—whether through business or investment—and then give it to the others.
It'll take time and there's the risk of failure, but at least we'd have less guilt on our conscience.
"Wasn't there something you always wanted to do?"
"For me, aside from wanting our family to eat well and live comfortably, there's nothing particular…"
"But still—there must be something you've always thought might be worth doing, or something you want to try."
My mother thought for a moment, then gave a bitter smile.
"The only thing that comes to mind is sewing. Pretty pathetic, right?"
"Well, you've been doing it a long time. But the clothes you made, weren't they…?"
"Underwear, yes."
"Oh, you used to make things like corsets, didn't you?"
"Can't make those these days. The government's restricted production—says there isn't enough metal." "So I mostly made slips, drawers, and girdles."
A slip is a kind of undergarment that flows down to the ankles, and a girdle is similar underwear that comes down to the knees.
Drawers are petticoat-style panties made of cotton that also come down to the knees.
Anyway.
"They restricted corset production because of a metal shortage?"
"It's chaos because of the war in Europe."
Most of the iron produced domestically is being used for weapons or shipbuilding, and some is exported to Europe.
"Do corsets really use that much metal?"
"Of course. They used to use whalebone for the boning, but since it's expensive and hard to get, they use metal instead."
The ideal of feminine beauty in this era is to have large hips and chest, with an extremely slender waist.
Corsets use several thin metal strips arranged vertically to maintain that wasp waist shape...
Suddenly, a word flashed through my mind.
"By the way, what about brassieres...?"
"Hm? How do you know about those?"
Having lived single all my life, I actually know a lot.
All those fancy undergarments I saw in countless videos are still vivid in my mind... anyway.
"Is there such a thing as a brassiere?"
"As a matter of fact, more and more women are looking for them these days. Corsets are expensive and hard to make, so they're switching to brassieres."
This is also connected to the increase in women's social activities.
Besides, the splendid Victorian Era of the British Empire is coming to an end, and even the extravagant, cumbersome fashions are changing.
The brassiere is a prime example of this shift.
"Could I possibly see one?"
"You."
Mother shot me a look.
I quickly waved my hands to clear up the misunderstanding.
"It's not like that—I'm just curious how they're made."
"Hm. Well, I wear regular drawers, so I'll just explain with words."
Mother placed two handkerchiefs on the table.
She set them at an angle, overlapping them, and then folded the middle.
"You sew the two pieces together like this, attach straps to the shoulders and under the arms, and that's it."
That's a brassiere?
It was incredibly simple and crude.
Most importantly.
"What about the hook?"
"Hm?"
"You know, the kind you can just flick open with your finger..."
"What's that?"
Is it not a thing?
Whack.
When I slapped the table, my mother flinched.
"This is it. Let's get into the underwear business."
Not just luxurious lingerie for women, but also men's underwear. In my head I had all the underwear styles from a hundred years in the future.
To be honest, there was some personal desire mixed in.
I wanted to get out of these underwear I was wearing as soon as possible.
They weren't really briefs, more like drawers that had been cut off at the knee.
And if I needed to relieve myself, I had to undo four buttons to take it out.
It couldn't have been more inconvenient.
Now that I thought about it, I hadn't even seen a sleeveless undershirt here yet.
If I make a rough sketch, maybe someone could turn that into an exact design.
"Mother, are you any good at drawing?"
"I'll have you know, I've made quite a few clothes based on my own sketches. Who do you think Roa takes after when it comes to drawing?"
I glanced at Roa's picture hanging in the living room.
It looked like it had been drawn with her feet; maybe I should judge it from the perspective of a six-year-old?
Anyway.
As expected, people really do think better when they have money.
Those were the days when we were still full of hope.
A coworker of my mother's came to visit.
"Nora, before we visit the WTUL, we want to have a meeting. Do you have time?"
"Yes, I'll be right there."
The empty basement workshop was now being used as a meeting room for the unemployed and those who had been scammed.
Most of them were Italian or Jewish and struggled with English, so they relied on my mother, who was Irish.
"Ciaran, I think we need to think things through more carefully about this money. We're not in a rush, are we?"
"Of course, rushing would just make things more dangerous. By the way, what's WTUL?"
"The Women Trade Union League."
According to my mother's explanation:
Founded in 1903, the WTUL (Women Trade Union League) is a women's labor union league that supports strikes against labor exploitation and runs a variety of campaigns to advance women's suffrage.
Most notably, in 1909, when about twenty thousand shirtwaist (clothing factory) workers rose up in a major strike, the WTUL was the organization that quietly provided support.
"I met with one of their representatives yesterday. She said she understands our situation and suggested that we work together to figure out a plan moving forward."
What my mother and her colleagues wanted was to get their sewing machines back and have someone take over the workshop.
For the sweatshop workers, the only real solution was to keep working.
"I'm heading out, so take care of your siblings if they come home."
I sat alone at the table, skimming through the notebook I'd scribbled in over the past few days.
The jumble of words on the pages reflected the state of my mind.
[Gangster, Mafia, Prohibition Era, electric chair, Alcatraz Prison, Sing Sing Prison, CCTV and the internet, inventor, businessman, commerce, politics, Long Live Korean Independence, Seo Jae-pil, Ahn Chang-ho, Park Young-hyo, Atomic Bomb, Cuba…]
I'd just written down whatever came to mind, not knowing what to do.
Now, I added the clothing business to the list.
It was an industry where I could make use of my mother's sewing skills and one that could continue to grow well into the future.
And if we managed to take over the underground workshop, kept the current staff, and paid them fair wages, wouldn't that be ideal?
Of course, to make that happen, we'd have to get the sewing machines back.
I had a few suitable people in mind.
Just as I was about to get up, the door opened and my younger siblings came in holding hands, cheerful as ever.
"Wow, big brother, you're home!"
Roa ran over and hugged my leg.
"So, what do you want to do with Roa today?"
"I need to work out."
"You're always exercising!"
Unlike Roa, who was all smiles and sweetness, my younger brother Liam wasn't affectionate at all.
Actually, today, he looked especially troubled—his face was pale, and he was even biting his nails.
"Is something bothering you?"
"..."
"What is it? Did someone hit you again?"
"I'm not a little kid, always getting beat up. It's not like that."
Liam hesitated to answer.
He chewed on his lip before finally speaking up.
"Gary's Gang is hanging out in the alley up ahead, looking for you… They told me to get you. Why is Gary so obsessed with picking a fight with you?"
Why?
Because I didn't beat enough sense into him last time. I went easy on him since he's still just a teenager, but clearly, he hasn't learned his lesson yet.
"Where are they?"
"You're not seriously going to Gary, are you?"
"If they've found me, I have to go."
"I don't think that's a good idea, bro."
"I'm against it too! Big brother, do you want to end up laid out again?"
It'll be Gary getting laid out this time.
I pressed Liam until he told me where they were.
Ignoring my siblings' worries, I quietly grabbed a knife and slipped outside.
Honestly, there's no real reason I have to go just because they called me out.
But I can't stay on my own forever, can I?
If you want to build a crew, it starts with a little reputation.
And I need a reputation.
I'm going to teach Gary a lesson for good.
I'll make sure they all know who I am—starting with his body.
Before I turned into the alley near my house, I looked up at the sky.
The sunset streaked the sky in red. The light was at my back.
I entered the alley.
The guys clustered together all turned their attention to me.
The deep shadow cast over me made it hard for them to recognize who I was right away.
Taking advantage of that, I sprinted at them at full speed.
"What the—what's with that guy?!"
They scrambled to their feet in confusion, and while Gary hesitated, I kicked him in the head.
Crack.
Thud.
Gary smashed into the wall, and as three others rushed at me, I took each one down by targeting their vital points.
All three were on the ground in an instant.
I grabbed Gary by the hair as he groaned and hauled him up.
"It—it's a mistake. I just wanted to talk to you—"
"I'll tear that mouth of yours right open."
I was just about to shove my fingers in his mouth and pull when— "T-Tanner Smith wants to meet you! We called you here to give you that message!"
"Who?"
"
He's the founding boss of the Marginals Gang!"
The Marginals Gang?
The group being suspected as the culprits in that murder case is the Marginals.
No way, have they found out about me?
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
"Why would a gang boss be looking for me?"
"He's not the boss anymore. He washed his hands of the business three years ago and now helps guys like us."
Tanner Smith.
Unfortunately, I only know about the Italian Mafia—I barely know anything about the Irish gangs.
Still, somewhere in Ciaran's memories, there's a rumor about Tanner Smith.
Supposedly, out of atonement, a once-famous gang boss who got out of prison now helps youngsters stay on the right path so they don't turn out like him.
But is that really true?
"A guy like you can't even be steered onto the right path, so what's the point."
"I don't pick on kids from the same background as me, you know. You're…"
"What, is it because I'm mixed?"
Smack.
I slapped him across the face.
The group, already intimidated, backed away even more.
"Tell me. Why does Tanner want to see me?"
Gary, holding his cheek, continued.
"He… he wants to gather some tough guys to protect this neighborhood. The Italians and the Jewish gangs have been messing around a lot lately."
"Did you get roughed up by them too?"
Gary bit his lip hard.
Now I realized why his attitude toward me had changed.
"Anyway. Isn't the whole idea of gathering kids just forming a kid gang?"
"It's not a gang or anything like that. The reality is, if you're powerless, you just end up getting hurt."
Oh, Irish boys.
Unite and you'll live; scatter and you'll die.
If you have strength, use it to protect your neighbors and friends.
That's the only way to avoid falling into crime.
"This is what Tanner Smith wants."
"Sounds like he's a cult leader."
"You just don't know… Tanner's loyal, and he even helps out kids who are struggling financially."
Gary clearly respected and admired Tanner Smith.
It was written all over his face.
"It wouldn't be a bad thing for you, either. Even though he's retired, Tanner Smith still holds a lot of influence in the Marginals Gang. Everyone respects him."
And most importantly—
"Did you hear about those guys who took your money on Wall Street? They were found dead in an alley a few days ago. The Marginals killed them."
I took care of those guys, you idiot.
I kept my mouth shut and started thinking.
If what Gary said was true, then he'd already told the former boss of the Marginals about me.
That meant, whether I realized it or not, I was starting to gain a bit of a reputation.
Maybe this was my chance to meet Tanner Smith and build a faction centered around the Irish.
There was another option, too.
The Mafia, with its guaranteed future—Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel.
With Prohibition coming, that was a much safer route than following Tanner Smith into uncertain territory.
But the problem was, there was just no room to squeeze into that tight-knit circle of Italians and Jews.
It wasn't something I could decide on right away.
"If you're lying to me, I might actually kill you next time."
"I'm not crazy enough to throw around Tanner Smith's name just to lie."
"If you mean it, I'll think about it."
"So… you're not saying no?"
Gary asked, smiling awkwardly.
Smile?
My glare wiped the grin off Gary's face.
"But you— Why did you tell Tanner about me?"
"Tanner was just looking for some useful guys at the time."
"So you sold me out to curry favor?"
"N-no, it wasn't like that at all. I just thought it might help Tanner, that's all…"
"That's the same thing, you idiot. Whatever."
I held out my hand. Gary flinched, brushed off his clothes awkwardly, then took my hand and pulled himself up.
"If I feel like it, I'll come find him myself."
"Once you meet Tanner Smith, you'll get hooked too. He might even look out for you in the future..."
"Yeah, yeah, just go already."
"No, you go first."
The alley was narrow.
Gary and his friends insisted that I go first.
Probably because they thought we might attack each other from behind.
You can't trust anyone in a group like this, so leaving your back exposed is tough.
Honestly, I felt the same way.
"Go on ahead, you little punks."
"Uh, alright."
Gary and his crew kept their eyes fixed on me as they slowly backed out of the alley.
"What a bunch of weirdos."
I strolled out of the alley myself, mulling over Tanner Smith's offer.
But suddenly, a question popped into my mind.
"If he quit the gang, what's he using for money to help those kids?"
Maybe I should've asked Gary.
But I shook my head.
Anyway, I'm on my way to meet someone who's bound to have more information.
Who exactly is Tanner Smith?
Where are the sewing machines the loan sharks took from the basement workshop?
I need answers.
Shoeshine boys who run around the city have developed their own kind of network.
Through this network, all kinds of things get passed around—wild stories and valuable tips alike.
The key is the ability to gather unfiltered information and extract what's important.
People look down on shoeshine boys, but in the Lower East Side, there are two with real skill.
Dusk falls on East Broadway Street.
A shoeshine boy hanging around on the street spots me and sticks out his lower lip.
"Well, well, look who it is. Got wrecked by Gary, lost your money shining shoes on Wall Street without a shred of fear, and then smashed your shoeshine box all in one day—Ciaran himself?"
"Listening to you, I might just be the saddest guy in the world."
One of the best-connected guys and informants in the Lower East Side.
One of them was Leo, the same one who nearly saved my life by dragging me home.
"What are you gonna do, seriously? Do you really think you can feed your brothers like this? Maybe it's time to find something else..."
"I've actually been thinking of trying something new. Want to join me?"
"Join what?"
Moved by the sincere advice from my loyal friend, I answered just as honestly.
"Gang."