Chapter 71 - I'm Asking You Too
"Does Tanner know as well?"
Rosenthal shook his head.
He said that after he received the goods stolen from the Newtown Creek warehouse, he just happened to discover the engraving plate by chance.
"There was a particularly heavy cigar box.
When I looked inside, there was an engraving plate hidden under a false bottom."
He thought about telling Tanner, but Rosenthal figured Tanner would just destroy the plate.
Unlike the other items, the moment the engraving plate appeared on the market, both the Sicilian and Neapolitan gangs would definitely come after it.
"You knew all that and still got greedy for the plate?"
"…I was going to get rid of it after things calmed down. I planned to tell Tanner then."
The problem was the drinking.
While having drinks with a colleague he was close to, he let slip something about the plate without realizing it.
That colleague turned out to be Dominic Mileno, the one who shot him.
"Damn it, if I'd just had a little less to drink that night… none of this would have happened."
"Nonsense. Since Mileno handles goods for the Italian gangs, he was probably fishing for information anyway."
Crack.
I dug my fingers into Rosenthal's bandaged shoulder. As he screamed and thrashed, I grabbed him by the hair and forced him upright in the chair.
The once-clean bandage was now turning red. Hazel stood watching the scene, holding a fresh bandage. The gunsmith was nowhere to be seen, and only cigarette smoke drifted through the room.
"Cut the tricks and just tell the truth."
Rosenthal trembled all over as he spoke with great difficulty.
"I disguised the origin of the engraving plate through a different channel. O-of course, they'll still be suspicious, but I had my reasons for doing that."
Mileno is an ambitious guy.
Instead of handing the engraving plate over to the Italian gangs, he'd want to print the counterfeit bills himself.
Mileno wants to become someone like Morello, the Sicilian-born gang boss.
According to Rosenthal, Mileno was never content just being a fence. He wanted to be at the center of power himself.
"So when I said I'd hand over the engraving plate for five thousand dollars, Mileno readily agreed to the deal. He said he'd get the money together."
But the next night, he suddenly showed up at the pawnshop with two gunmen and attacked.
"It was lucky I was alone. If Kate had been there, it would've been a disaster."
"Who's Kate?"
"My girlfriend."
A smile appeared on Rosenthal's lips.
Just the thought of her makes him happy?
My head tilted in disbelief.
A deep, heavy sigh, as if the ground was about to collapse, could be heard from outside the door.
It wasn't a sigh of exasperation, but one filled with dread.
Rosenthal, too, turned his head and gazed anxiously across the room.
"You truly had no idea... I'm sorry, Rosenthal. But you won't be seeing Kate again."
It was the gunsmith's hoarse voice.
As Rosenthal heard this, his face went pale, as if all the blood had drained from it.
He jumped up from his seat and ran out the door.
"Wh-what happened to Kate?!"
"The day after you ran off to hide here, she was found dead at the pawnshop."
"Aaaagh!"
Rosenthal's anguished scream filled the house.
He pounded the floor with his fists and cried out in fury, losing his mind.
Hazel, too, seemed to know Kate.
She clenched the bandage tightly, trembling with anger.
I sat in a chair, resting my chin in my hand, forced to listen to the sobbing coming from beyond the room.
Swept up in the gloom of the moment, my mind spun with a thousand thoughts.
Even I hadn't been told about Kate's death by the gunsmith.
Seeing that he just now broke the news to Rosenthal, it seemed he was trying, in his own way, to spare his feelings.
The fact that he'd even pointed a gun at me made it clear that he and Rosenthal had a bond deeper than most.
Suddenly, a thought crossed my mind.
Maybe it wasn't Rosenthal who asked me for help, but the gunsmith instead.
After all, he probably understood better than anyone just how serious this situation was.
While I was lost in thought, the sobbing from outside faded away.
Before I knew it, Rosenthal, looking pale, was standing at the door, staring at me.
Then, all at once, he came over and dropped to his knees in front of me.
"Boss, I'm begging you... Please get rid of Mileno."
And the price.
"I'll give you everything I have, including the engraving plate—no, even that bastard's assets, everything will be yours. Just kill him!"
He lusted after what should have been left alone and trusted someone who should never have been trusted.
Now, after losing his beloved, all that remained in Rosenthal was burning anger and a thirst for revenge.
And then, one more person spoke up.
"As Rosenthal's friend… I'm asking as well."
Even the gunsmith now pleaded for my help.
***
Rosenthal, exhausted, eventually fell asleep. While Hazel changed his bandages, I sat on the living room sofa with the gunsmith, drinking coffee.
"…Rosenthal never really thought this situation would become such a big deal. Of course, if he'd known Kate was dead, things would have been different."
Most likely, overwhelmed by guilt and anger over her death—blaming himself—Rosenthal would have rushed outside despite his injuries.
"That's why I personally urged him to ask for your help."
"You didn't know about the engraving plate?"
"Not at all. Honestly, it caught me off guard too. Rosenthal isn't the kind of man to covet something like that, especially to the point of hiding it from Tanner."
The real reason behind all this was the late Kate. While Mileno became obsessed with the plate out of ambition, Rosenthal clung to it in hopes of building a happy life with Kate.
"To make an excuse for him, he probably just wanted to sell it and get a lump sum of money."
At this point, I had to ask about the relationship between the gunsmith and Rosenthal.
The story, old and worn, began with Manhattan's overflowing orphans.
Starting in the 1860s, whenever America faced the devastation of the Civil War or outbreaks of diseases like smallpox and cholera, the number of orphans surged.
On top of that, countless immigrants arrived in New York, but many were so destitute they could barely feed their families. Children abandoned under such circumstances wandered the streets.
Many children went missing or were kidnapped. The government and religious organizations tried to set up child welfare facilities, but there were far too many kids to care for, making proper management almost impossible.
That's when the federal government came up with a radical solution: to relocate the orphans from the big cities in the East out West.
"You've probably heard of the Orphan Trains."
As the name suggests, the passengers on those westbound trains were orphans. Overnight, they were thrown into an adventure where they had to survive far from New York, in places like Arizona, New Mexico, and Oklahoma.
"Even a seven-year-old kid knew it was crazy. He ran away, trying not to get on that train."
The child who had drifted from place to place in Hell's Kitchen found a home in the alley where the Gunsmith lived.
"Somehow, that little kid found out about my workshop and knocked on my iron door, holding a pistol so heavy he could barely keep his grip on it."
He'd found the gun while wandering around a murder scene and came to the Gunsmith hoping to sell it.
That was the first time he met Rosenthal.
"I considered taking him on as an assistant, but he had zero talent for it. So I introduced him to a fence I worked with, told him to put the boy to use."
"Judging by the fact that he managed to survive all this time, maybe working with the fence suited him."
"So what? We're all back in the gutter again."
Despite the cold words, there was regret in his voice. After watching the kid's struggles and small victories for over twenty years, even the Gunsmith's eyes had grown a little misty.
Suddenly, it struck me that Hazel probably wasn't so different from Rosenthal.
"And about pointing the gun at you—I never intended to fire. You of all people should know that, right?"
A shotgun shell is packed with multiple small pellets, which scatter widely the moment you fire.
In such a cramped space, it would be nearly impossible to avoid hitting Rosenthal and shoot only me.
"You knew I wasn't going to kill Rosenthal, didn't you?"
"It was fifty-fifty. Who can predict what you'll do? Even now, it's the same."
The Gunsmith shot me a look, urging me to take on both Rosenthal's and his own request.
Either way, for the sake of keeping the existence of the engraving plate secret, Dominic Mileno had to be eliminated.
Even if word had already reached the Italian gang, that wouldn't change the outcome.
As I steeled myself for what needed to be done, the Gunsmith gestured toward something with his hand.
"We've got a phone, you know. Which of the Marginals should I call?"
"...Patrick would be best."
***
Find the fence, Dominic Mileno.
Patrick put out a $50 bounty to the Marginals' members. Of course, the money would come from Rosenthal's pocket, burning with the need for revenge.
It just so happened that the Marginals' members were currently staying in their old haunts, Hell's Kitchen and Chelsea.
Rosenthal poured out every bit of information he had on Mileno's business locations and all the places he frequented. Thanks to all the information, it took less than three days to track down his whereabouts.
When the decisive moment came, I packed a few necessary items and returned to the Gunsmith's place.
—As an apology for pointing a gun at you, I'll personally equip you with weapons.
Trying to mend the trust he'd damaged, the Gunsmith revealed a new secret room to me.
Clack.
It was a space about six square meters, give or take.
On the walls hung antique revolvers that looked to be from before the American Civil War, as well as handguns, rifles, and shotguns.
Underneath, ammunition was stacked by type, and there were even grenades, plus suppressors and smoke grenades I had designed myself.
"What do you think of this space? I'm going to build the exact same thing in your building."
"I like it a lot."
"Take whatever you need."
I picked out two familiar Colt M1911 pistols and suppressors.
Four spare magazines.
Even if I ended up facing three people in a row, this would be more than enough.
As I left the secret armory and moved to another room, I happened to lock eyes with Hazel—who hadn't spoken to me since the day the Gunsmith had aimed his gun at me.
She just waved silently, wishing me well.
***
On a chilly night brushed by cold wind, I walked along the ominous, shadowy 10th Avenue in Hell's Kitchen. I passed the West 47th Street Intersection and slipped into an alley.
There were three or four people gathered, exuding a gloomy energy—it was Cory and a few members.
"Everyone's here, Boss."
I followed the members into the basement of a building.
After the club once run jointly by Tanner Smith and Gopher gang boss Oweny Madden had shut down, this place had become the Marginals' headquarters.
Roughly fifty members had gathered.
I gave them their orders.
"Tonight, we hit three places at once. It's going to be a long night, so everyone stay sharp."
The three targets were the coordinates Rosenthal had provided:
Mileno's warehouse where he stashed his goods, the pawnshop where he met with buyers, and the jewelry store.
The larger the main clients, the more wealth they moved—Mileno was one of the heavy hitters among fences. That kind of money must have fueled his ambition.
As the members scattered, I led one group toward the location of the warehouse.
Near 55th Street, at the harbor in Clinton Cove.
It was right by the Hudson River, making it easy to move contraband discreetly using small boats.
"There are lots of warehouses and workshops around here. Perfect for smuggling goods without drawing attention."
Hamilton, who had worked here as a dockworker a few months back, stuck close and explained.
He'd scouted Mileno's warehouse just yesterday and today, and he filled us in on the route, the layout, and what to watch out for.
"A lot of places are still working at night, so if there's gunfire, people will swarm over right away."
We passed the harbor workers going back and forth between the yard and the warehouses and reached our target. Members who had already been waiting there met up with us.
"Mileno and two others are in front of the warehouse. Looks like they're waiting for someone. I think we should keep watching for a bit, Boss."
The members spread out until they got a separate signal. Some disguised themselves as workers, others hid between the crates. At most, if they were caught, they'd just look like slackers taking a break.
I was the same. Thanks to the chilly weather, no one thought it strange for me to walk around with a scarf covering my face.
I walked right up to a fishing boat at the dock with "O'Neill" painted on the side. Quietly, I called for River Gray. But before I could even call out, someone poked their head up over the deck. It was a face I'd never seen before.
"Customer's here, Captain," he said.
Then finally, another head popped up over the deck—this time, it was River Gray.
"You made it. This one's my new helper."
He looked about my age, on the shorter side, and he was Black. His round eyes gave him an innocent look
"I'm Kali Dustin."
If River hired him as a crew member, he must be trustworthy. And if he brought him here, he must really trust him.
I glanced at River Gray, silently asking for confirmation. He smiled and whispered quietly,
"He's one of us. It's fine."
Apparently, he killed two gang members in East Harlem, Upper Manhattan, and went on the run.
"But are you sure it's safe, with all these people around?"
"Who knows. Today might be ridiculously easy."
River Gray looked puzzled. I kept my eyes locked on our target—Dominic Mileno and his crew, just 30 meters away.
Once they went into the warehouse and we made our move, it'd be over.
What more could there be?
But my plan quickly ran into an unexpected complication.
A group approached and made contact with Mileno. A meeting between a fence and his supplier. But among them, there was a familiar face.
A man shook hands warmly with Mileno. It was Salvatore—he was supposed to be on the Lower East Side.
They soon began moving the contraband into Mileno's warehouse.