Chaper 72 - Tough Night Work for Everyone
Salvatore Luchania and Dominic Mileno were both born in Sicily.
As soon as they met, they started speaking Italian, so I couldn't understand what they were saying.
While I focused on them, River Gray was studying the box. Like a mentor training his student, he asked Kali,
"What do you think's in that box?"
"Come on, it says right on the box. Twelve-year Johnnie Walker Black Label."
"You can read that? Damn, you've got sharp eyes."
A high-end Scotch whiskey usually goes for $2 to $3 a bottle.
Johnnie Walker Black Label 12-Year gets a premium—sells for $4 to $5. And with World War I driving up prices, whiskey now goes for as much as $7 a bottle.
River Gray questioned Kali again.
"Looks like they knocked over a delivery truck. How much do you think they got?"
"Hey, I've loaded enough of those to throw my shoulder out. One case holds twelve bottles, forty cases fit in a Model T truck—how many bottles is that?"
"...How many is it?"
Suddenly, both of them went silent. Seriously, don't tell me they don't know.
"480 bottles." Kali nodded at my answer.
"Yeah, that sounds about right. But look at them—they've stacked over fifty cases. Looks like they hit two trucks."
"So that's it. They must've robbed the trucks either as soon as they were loaded at the harbor or right when they reached the wholesaler's warehouse."
"What does it matter? The point is, they hit two trucks. Anyway..."
Kali glanced around the ship and then shook his head.
"If we try to load everything from the warehouse, the ship's going to sink."
"Don't misunderstand, man. Do you know what the ship's max load is?"
"Five tons."
"Then we're fine. As long as there aren't any weapons..."
It was well over thirty minutes before Salvatore left. Mileno and his two companions were inside the warehouse counting inventory.
Now's our chance.
Just as I was about to step off the ship onto the dock, I saw two unfamiliar men approaching Mileno's warehouse. Then they started talking again.
Seeing this, River Gray quickly grabbed my back. "They're the harbor managers."
I quickly pulled myself back and hid behind the seawall. We peeked out just enough to see Mileno handing an envelope to the managers. River clicked his tongue and said to me,
"A bribe. Actually, this is perfect. Now that they've collected, they won't be coming back to the warehouse today."
"How much do they usually get?"
"Somewhere between 10 and 20 percent of the deal. That's if you count it all the way through customs though. If the warehouse is only being used to store smuggled goods, it's a bit less."
If we estimate the whiskey at $5 per bottle and say there are about 900 bottles, that's $4,500. Even 10 percent of that is a huge sum. It's about the equivalent of a laborer's yearly salary.
Who'd risk trying to crack down on crime when all they have to do is turn a blind eye and get their hands on a bribe like that?
"The ones who come in person like that are the junior guys. The higher-ups—you have to go to them directly, and you have to pay even more."
No wonder the place is crawling with corrupt managers.
The managers, having finished collecting the bribe, moved away from the warehouse. Watching my surroundings carefully, I stepped off the ship.
It was past 10 p.m., but in some areas, people were still busy working under bright lights.
At least, on either side of Mileno's warehouse, the doors were closed, making things a bit quieter.
I pulled along an abandoned handcart that one of our members had left by the dock in advance.
Hunched over like a hunchback, I approached the warehouse where Mileno was. As I got closer, their voices became clearer.
"...Idiots. They knocked over two trucks, just left us with a pile of work."
"There's way too much whiskey. Just moving this stuff will be a job in itself."
"First, focus on finding that bastard. We can deal with the whiskey afterward."
"What about the money for Salvatore?"
"I can pay him out of my own pocket."
If he had that much money, why not just buy the engraving plate instead of betraying his own people?
My guess is they wanted to monopolize the plates and keep their secret, so they decided to get rid of Rosenthal. You could tell as much from the way they talked.
As Rosenthal's name came up, their voices got louder.
"Killing Kate was the worst mistake we made."
"That crazy woman bit me down there. How was I supposed to put up with that!?"
"Why did you mess around in the first place, you idiot? What if Rosenthal loses it and hands over the engraving plate to another gang?"
"That's why I said we should find him quickly!"
As the argument escalated, Mileno snapped sharply.
"Everyone shut up. The only ones Rosenthal can turn to are the Marginals. But they're not in good shape right now."
He said the new boss, who succeeded Tanner, was trying to expand their territory somewhere other than Hell's Kitchen, making a stupid move.
From an outsider's perspective, that was completely understandable. Maybe even the members felt the same way.
"Let's wrap this up. Even if we have to stay up all night, we have to find out where that bastard is."
"I have a place in mind, so let's check it out first."
It looked like they were finally done tidying up the warehouse.
I dragged the handcart inside, right where they were.
"Who are you? What are you doing in here?"
"I've got a delivery."
"A delivery of wha—"
The muzzle of the gun popped out from the handcart, aiming at them. With a silencer attached, the gun's barrel spat fire.
Thup, thup.
Each time I pulled the trigger, lightning flashed through the warehouse.
By the time three of them had fallen, I heard the footsteps of many more approaching the warehouse. These were the other members of the marginals who had been lingering nearby.
One of them brought over three long, coffin-like wooden boxes and loaded them onto the cart.
"Take care of it."
Around thirty members had gathered. Just as we were about to really get to work, one guy on the floor was still twitching.
"This bastard isn't dead yet."
"Just shut his mouth."
Mileno was still alive. We stuffed some paper from the warehouse into his mouth and forced him into one of the long wooden boxes.
By the time all three boxes were filled, a boat pulled up in front of the dock.
It was River Gray's small fishing boat, moved just two docks over.
Once the boat was fully docked, we loaded the boxes with the bodies onto it first.
"If you rush, people get suspicious. Take it slow."
We washed the blood soaked into the floor away with water, then used dry rags to wipe away every trace.
River Gray and Kali picked up large stones from around the dockside and loaded them onto the boat. These were to be placed in the boxes with the bodies so they wouldn't float to the surface of the river.
After a while, the real loading work began. Eighty crates of whiskey were carried onto the boat, along with other items of unknown contents.
In the middle of all this activity, some other workers passed by the front of the warehouse.
"Everyone's working hard with these night shifts."
"What choice do we have? Gotta make a living. Looks like you guys are about done?"
Hamilton, a member who used to work at this dockside, casually joined in the conversation.
"Nothing to envy. We have to come back before sunrise anyway."
"Geez, that's rough. At least get some shut-eye while you can."
"Thanks."
This audacious warehouse job was wrapped up in about an hour.
Once the boat departed, the members headed back to the Hell's Kitchen basement headquarters.
I stayed behind alone, looking around the now-empty warehouse.
Cut ropes, torn packaging, scraps of old fabric. Scattered across the floor, these remnants gave the place the distinct feeling of people making a hasty getaway in the dead of night
As a final step, I closed the door and locked it tightly with the key I had taken from Mileno's pocket.
Hell's Kitchen, Clinton Cove, dockside warehouse. The first-floor jewelry shop and third-floor pawnshop on West 21st Street. All three sites had been cleaned out.
We replaced the cut locks with new ones, so unless someone actually looked inside, they'd have no idea anything had happened.
The stolen goods from Mileno weren't stored in Rosenthal's warehouse, but taken instead to Warehouse 7 at Pier 88 in Hell's Kitchen—the Marginals' old storage spot for Newtown Creek shipments.
***
The estimated value of the haul was $60,000.
The cash Cory pulled from the pawnshop safe alone came to $25,000.
Of that, I handed out $5,000 to the members.
Four days after the incident. In the second-floor office of the Twin Buildings with Allen, I sat down with Tanner, who had come over from Coney Island. It was the first time we'd met in about two months.
As he listened to what had happened, Tanner reacted with a whole mix of emotions. When he heard about Rosenthal hiding the engraving plate, he exploded in anger.
"That idiot—he let all this happen just because he got greedy over one plate? I was the one who introduced him to Kate! He swore he'd look after her to the end! What the hell was he thinking!"
It was the first time I'd ever seen Tanner this angry.
I'd heard he used to have a hot temper—impulsive and violent—and that was exactly the side of him showing now.
"So where's Rosenthal now?"
"He went to the police station, and now he's at Allen's Twin Buildings."
"He—he went to the police station on his own!?"
"I sent him."
Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life in hiding, he had to go in for questioning about Kate's murder.
Aside from the engraving plate, Rosenthal just needed to tell the truth.
He could testify that Mileno shot him, and that during his escape, his girlfriend was murdered by Mileno.
That way, Mileno wouldn't be listed as missing, but as a fugitive. Like Jacob, who killed Rosie Hertz.
I wasn't worried about Rosenthal betraying me.
There was no body for Mileno anyway, and even if he talked, there wouldn't be any evidence.
"That's also why we moved the goods here instead of leaving them in Rosenthal's warehouse."
"Yeah, you can't really trust that guy. So, how are things with the police?"
The plan had worked.
The police raided Mileno's warehouse, jewelry store, and pawnshop, only to find them all cleaned out.
They identified Mileno as the suspect in Kate's murder and issued a warrant for his arrest. As long as his coffin didn't float up in the Hudson River, there was no chance Mileno would ever be caught.
So there's no need to rush to unload the stolen goods. I plan to sell them off when the time is right.
"By the way, do you have anyone who can fence the goods now that Rosenthal's out of the picture?"
Tanner seemed to grasp what I was getting at, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.
"We always used Rosenthal to move the merchandise. I don't trust any of the other guys. This is my problem too, so let me handle it."
"Alright, you handle it."
"By the way, what happened to the engraving plates?"
I pulled the heavy plates out of the drawer. Tanner examined them curiously, turning them over in his hands.
Each set of plates included the front of the 2 Dollar Bill, the back, and the unique serial number—three plates in total.
"So if you print with these, the bills come out looking just like real ones, right?"
"You need some skills for that. Everything from the type of paper to the printing ink has to be just right."
I took a crisp 2 Dollar Bill from my wallet and handed it to Tanner. He compared it to the plates from every angle, and suddenly his eyes went wide.
"Wait—don't tell me you've already made counterfeit bills!? Look, that's playing with fire. The Secret Service is going to be after you!"
"Those bastards are relentless."
"Just because you have the engraving plates doesn't mean making counterfeit bills is easy."
I hadn't really doubted him, but from Tanner's reaction, I could tell he didn't know about the plates.
As expected, Tanner is trustworthy.
"Then what about this bill? It has the same serial number."
"Well, of course it does. It was printed with the same plate. And this bill—I took it from Rosie Hertz's safe."
It matches exactly with what Lenny Goldstein brought in from the casino not long ago.
"So all these cases are connected through the counterfeit bills. Fascinating. So, what are you going to do with the plates?"
"I'll hang on to them for now. There will come a time when they'll be useful. Until then, I'll keep them hidden."
"Just don't get caught. The Secret Service guys are seriously dangerous. Get caught, and your life is over."
The conversation soon shifted to the gunsmith. Tanner frowned at the mention of pointing a gun at someone.
"I've known Rosenthal since he was a kid, so I know how close those two were. Still, for an old guy, he made a massive mistake."
"So what are you going to do now?"
"I'm not sure. Things won't be the same as before."
"Broken trust takes time to mend. I'm sure the old man knows that too."
A brief silence fell between us.
It was Tanner who originally introduced me to Rosenthal and the gunsmith.
Maybe that's why he looked a bit uneasy.
"By the way, when is the Coney Island bar opening?"
"Next Saturday."
"And how's the Harvard Inn doing these days?"
"That place is always packed with customers. Oh, and just the other day, one of the staff got into a scuffle—started hitting on a customer and things got heated. Now he's got a long scar down his cheek."
Tanner grinned slyly and traced a line down his left cheek with his finger.
Right then, Marcus knocked on the office door.
"Long time no see, Tanner!"
"How've you been?"
After a quick greeting, Marcus gave me a meaningful look.
"I finally found out where their hideout is"
"You sure do keep yourself busy. Me? I need to have a serious talk with Rosenthal downstairs."
Shaking his head, Tanner stood up from his seat. He looked around the office, then grabbed the baton hanging on the coat rack.
"I'm borrowing this for a bit. Might break it, though."
"No problem. Use it as much as you like."
As soon as Tanner stepped out of the office, Marcus swallowed hard and asked,
"Why would the baton break?"
"How should I know? Anyway, you found their hideout, right?"
"I even figured out who their bosses are."
Marcus scribbled details into his notebook as he explained.
Boss Luger of the Orchard Street Gang. Bosses Fioji and Lombardi from the two Allen Street gangs.
All three bosses had now become our new targets. After I heard the exact locations, Marcus headed out of the office.
Not long after, someone knocked on the door.
"It's Ida, boss."
Tomorrow is the long-awaited grand opening of the boutique.
With Ida, who was wearing a gentle smile, I went down to the first-floor store.
And there was Leo, frozen in place as he was arranging lingerie. Only his lips moved ever so slightly.
"Wow…"
The women who were helping arrange the lingerie also looked at Ida with interest. They were employees dispatched from my mother's company.
I introduced Ida as the manager, and together we walked around the shop.
The furniture, decor, and display shelves that now filled the shop had all been arranged in just one week.
The clean, sophisticated interior was modeled after the high-end department stores of my previous life. The moment everyone saw it, they couldn't help but express their admiration.
But Ida's reaction was no more than a soulless "Wow."
It took the wind right out of my sails.
In contrast, Leo, who had exclaimed a heartfelt "Wow," started following Ida around, clearly trying to win her favor.
"This is Leo Kruger, who'll be working with us from now on."
"Nice to meet you, Leo."
It's all pointless.
Her heart is dead inside.
At least, that's how Hazel would put it.
As I watched Leo grinning from ear to ear, I had to keep myself from clicking my tongue.
The door to the shop burst open and three men with menacing faces stormed in.
"Tell the boss to come out here!"
They were gang members from Allen Street.
It had been a whole month since they'd last collected protection money, so I suppose they'd been rather patient.
Still, only these bastards would think to demand protection money before we've even opened.
No sense of honor at all.
"Who's the boss here?!"
Ida looked at me.
When I nodded, she calmly stepped forward.
"Can I help you?"
The gang members hesitated when they saw Ida, then their eyes quickly ran over her from head to toe.
Their gazes soon filled with vulgar interest.
"Oh ho, so you're the boss?"
"I'm the manager. Unfortunately, the owner isn't here right now."
"When's the boss coming...?"
—Aaaaargh.
Suddenly, a strange scream echoed from somewhere. Everyone inside the store turned their heads in confusion. The gangsters did the same. One of the thugs tilted his head and muttered,
"I think I just heard a scream. What was that?"
That was just Tanner roughing up Rosenthal. Don't worry about what's happening here—worry about the sound your own boss is going to make.
Because we'll be paying him a visit tonight.