Chapter 32 - Expanding Connections
Uniformed police officers were conspicuous around Tammany Hall.
This was a natural response, given that the building had become a target for anarchists.
But even that wasn't enough to put the Tammany Hall politicians at ease—they had also hired private bodyguards in plainclothes.
The Marginals Gang.
They lurked around Tammany Hall like undercover agents.
Surprisingly, the combination of gang members and police didn't look out of place.
But what if they weren't gangsters, but mercenaries?
Like the Pinkerton Detective Agency.
"Rookie, Tom Foley's looking for you."
Patrick, who was standing at the entrance, pointed inside as soon as he saw me.
"Wasn't formal attire mandatory?"
"They'll make an exception for you."
Patrick looked back to get confirmation from those behind him.
The police officer stationed at the entrance recognized me and nodded.
Then, wearing a subtle expression, he addressed me.
"Mr. Foley is in the office on the first floor."
The officer cleared a path for me.
Gavin stayed outside chatting with Patrick, while I headed alone to where Foley was waiting.
The man guarding the office checked my identification, then opened the door.
"Oh, our hero has arrived."
Tom Foley, who was seated at the roundtable conference room, greeted me warmly.
The burly older gentleman next to him looked me up and down, then offered his hand.
"Charles Murphy."
This was Charles Francis Murphy, the head of Tammany Hall.
He had held power for fifteen years, and was one of the true powerbrokers, having influenced the elections of the New York governor, the mayor, and even President Woodrow Wilson.
"I hear your mother is Irish?"
"Yes."
Since Murphy was Irish himself, he didn't bother to ask about my Joseon-born father.
In the early days, Tammany Hall politicians had embraced Irish immigrants who had fled the potato famine.
Their goal was to secure the votes these immigrants brought.
As time passed, the Irish began to dominate the Tammany Hall leadership, bringing us to the present day.
Even if I could only claim half-Irish heritage, that alone was enough to win their favor.
Of course, there were more complex factors at play as well.
"Foley, I'll be greeting people at the convention hall, so take your time coming over."
"Understood. I'll be right there."
With that, Murphy left the office, and I was alone with Foley.
"I heard your mother was one of the garment factory workers who recently held a picket protest"
"That's right. She recently took over the scammer boss's factory and started a new business."
"Tanner told me about it. That's actually why I called you in today."
If anyone knew exactly how to scratch my back when it itched, it was Tanner Smith.
He was the one who introduced me to Dopy Benny, a slugger who'd sided with the workers and become an owner of a garment factory.
Tanner always seemed to know exactly what I needed.
"I'm at an age where I could drop dead any day, but thanks to you, I've got a little more time. I'd like to do something to help you in return."
That "help" turned out to be introducing me to the various wholesalers who'd be attending the clothing merchants' convention.
Who says Tom Foley is just a corrupt politician?
He's a man who knows how to give back what he's received.
At least, to me, that's who Tom Foley was.
The actual security detail was handled by the police and the Marginals Gang.
As for me, I simply stood off to one side in the underground convention hall, greeting the people Tom Foley introduced me to.
They were all owners of boutiques and department stores in Manhattan.
What struck me most was this:
"I'd been curious about the hero who took down those anarchists. Didn't expect someone so young. Name's Percy Straus."
Back in 1843, Macy's started out with just four small shops and grew to become the biggest department store in America.
Percy Straus was both the president and grandson of the founder.
However, Macy's Department Store wasn't the kind of place where I could just push the cheap underwear made at my mother's factory.
Maybe if our brassiere was finished and we had a more diverse product line.
For now, Macy's was as out of reach as a pie in the sky.
I just filed away his invitation to visit someday in the back of my mind.
The event hosted by Tammany Hall was mostly for socializing.
It didn't really have an agenda—it was more like a sponsorship gathering to connect capitalists with politicians.
After the event ended, I received business cards from five retailers who might want to stock our underwear.
They all wanted to use me—more precisely, Tom Foley and Tammany Hall—as a foot in the door.
I sat beside Tom Foley in the back seat of a car as we headed for the Tenderloin.
Our destination was the salon he ran.
"Thanks to you, Mr. Foley, I was able to put my mother's worries at ease today."
"It's not hard for me to make introductions. And don't think I'm helping you just because you saved my life."
True to his reputation as a seasoned businessman and politician, Tom Foley had his own reasons.
"Tanner says you have an insight beyond your years. He even said your mother getting Anne Morgan's investment came from your own ideas, right?"
Who didn't know the youngest daughter of J.P. Morgan?
Tanner had mentioned Anne investing in my mother's business, painting me as someone special among the tough, sharpshooting Irish gangsters.
Do you know why Tammany Hall has stayed at the center of New York politics for nearly a hundred years? They nurture promising young talent and make good use of them.
Tanner said that's how he caught their attention, too.
Tammany Hall needed Irish gangs, but raising only one group was risky. So, they controlled and balanced the power among the Irish gangs like the Gophers, Hudson Dusters, and Marginals, pulling the strings from behind the scenes.
At the same time, to gain voting power through the Jewish and Italian communities, they made alliances with the Eastman and Five Points Gangs.
Tammany Hall was an organization skilled at creating, defending, and wielding power.
By the time we arrived at the Tenderloin, Tom Foley glanced at me and asked a probing question.
"What do you think of this place? If you were to start a business here, what would you do?"
He was asking what I thought of the Tenderloin, one of the most famous entertainment districts in New York.
It seemed like he wanted to see if Tanner was right about my insight.
I answered while keeping in mind the response Foley probably already knew.
"Is there any reason to do business in a declining neighborhood? I'd choose somewhere else."
"Declining? Why do you think that?"
There's no way Foley, who stood at the center of power, didn't already know. He was well aware the prominence of the Tenderloin wasn't what it used to be—that this once-thriving nightlife district, which had long lined Tammany Hall's pockets, had changed.
"The rent here is just too high. The reason is that entertainment venues are steadily increasing around Harlem and Broadway. And the biggest factor—"
Times Square, which is poised to replace the Tenderloin, is developing at a breathtaking pace. The center of nightlife was already shifting to places that were more modern and glamorous.
Tom Foley looked at me with interest.
"Do you think Times Square has potential?"
"That's how I see it."
Foley only nodded and asked no further questions.
In fact, there's another decisive reason for the Tenderloin's decline.
Prohibition will soon be enacted.
Once the law passes, the government will need to set an example to show its resolve in enforcing it.
And that example will be the Tenderloin—the mecca of vice, famous for gambling, prostitution, and alcohol.
Who could withstand a concentrated crackdown by the police?
In the end, the Tenderloin will disappear into history.
That's why, in my previous life, I could only learn about the Tenderloin in museums or history books.
So right now, what Foley and I are looking at is the Tenderloin in its final blaze of glory.
As he entered the salon, Tom Foley asked me to serve as his bodyguard in the evenings for the next week.
The daily wage was two dollars.
Should I take the job?
To be realistic, the current power players in Tammany Hall were aging. Given the ages of Charles Murphy, the boss, and Tom Foley, their influence wouldn't last much longer.
However, if I could use this opportunity to get closer to the young and ambitious, there was no reason to refuse.
Besides, it was only for a few days. So I accepted the offer.
The next morning. When I opened my eyes, Liam was stuffing something into his bag.
Mother had already left for work, and Liam stood awkwardly, clutching his bag and hesitating.
Now that I had started a business and money was coming into the house, I made sure Liam carried a bag instead of a shoeshine tool bag.
He hadn't been able to attend school for over a year. Today was Liam's first day back.
I walked over and gave him a pep talk.
"Don't worry about money, just focus on your studies. Your big brother's got your back."
"And how exactly are you going to help me?"
Smack.
I clapped him on the back and shoved him out the door. Frowning, Liam grumbled something as he disappeared.
"Big brother, I think he just cursed at you. Roa has sharp ears, you know."
"I'll have to scold him tonight."
"Yeah. He'll get used to it."
With that, Roa stood in front of me and turned her back.
"Push me too."
Without a bag, Roa was heading not to school but to the neighbor's house—which doubled as a daycare. I gently pushed her forward, and with a "whoosh," she ran out the door and held out her hand. I took her hand, and together we walked down to Aunt Mary's apartment on the lower floor.
"Big Brother, Jake says Coney Island is amazing! He says they have everything there—even people who can fly!?"
What kind of nonsense is that? Turns out, she was talking about the circus.
"He says there are dancing elephants and monkeys that spin hats."
"He's making that up. Elephants can't dance. I bet Jake never even went to Coney Island."
"That's not true! He said he's already been there three times!?"
"You're too gullible, Roa."
Living in a tenement house, going to Coney Island three times?
With that kind of money, I'd rather buy meat.
We arrived at Aunt Mary's place.
"Hello, Ciaran. So Big Brother brought Roa today?"
"Please take care of her."
As I nodded in greeting, I spotted curly-haired Jake.
The troublemaker who always fills Roa's head with tall tales. I shot him a glare before heading back home.
I made do with some potatoes and bread at the table for breakfast. Just as I was getting dressed for work, Leo knocked on the door.
"Ciaran! You up?"
"I'm heading out soon. Wait a minute."
"Jeez, just hold on. Isaac's gang is waiting for you downstairs!"
Thunk.
I opened the door and asked Leo,
"Who are those guys?"
"You went to Orchard Street yesterday to collect overdue payments and beat up two guys, right? Those guys are part of Isaac's Gang."
Leo swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry.
"So how many did they bring?"
"Five!"
I grabbed my knife and a club.
"W–wait, you're really going? They just joined the Orchard Street gang recently. If this goes bad, it's going to get messy."
"It's already gone bad."
We headed downstairs. Just like Leo said, five of them were loitering outside the entrance.
Two of them started trembling when they saw me—the ones I'd beaten up yesterday.
"You, you bastard!"
"What? You got worked over by some scrawny Chink like him? Hey, you, come here."
A big, rough-looking man crooked his finger at me. If he calls, I've got to go.
Ssshhh
I pulled out my club and gripped it tightly.
"Where do you want to take your beating?"
Everyone's jaws dropped.
Even Leo, standing behind me, recoiled in horror and sucked in his breath.
As I strode forward without hesitation, the others started pulling out their own weapons one by one.
"This guy's a complete lunatic."
Some had brass knuckles, steel pipes, clubs, and one even wielded a folding pocket knife.
Might as well call this my morning workout.
"Follow me into the alley."
I walked into the narrow alley next to the Tenement House. It was so cramped that only two people could fit side by side.
Before anyone could even take their position, I lunged at one of them and smashed him over the head with my club. That was the signal to start.
Since the alley was so narrow, it was guaranteed to be one-on-one, no matter what. Strike, retreat, take one down, step over him, and face the next guy. I bashed in one skull after another as I pushed forward.
Thwack! Thwack!
They all collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain. By the time I was about to leave the alley
Two men stood squarely in my path.
One of them was a police officer in uniform.
Well, I'm screwed.
The cop stared, mouth agape, at the guys groaning on the ground. Just then, one of the gang members yelled at him.
"Hey, arrest that guy! He attacked us!"
Gangsters calling for the police—how disgraceful.
I turned and shot him a glare.
"Are you Ciaran?"
I looked straight ahead again.
Next to the officer stood a young man in a sharp suit, watching me with eyes full of curiosity.
"Who are you?"
"So it is you."
Instead of answering, the man clicked his tongue as he looked at the thugs slumped on the ground.
"You're not just a good shot after all. Do you have a moment?"
Saying he had something to discuss, the man gestured for me to follow him somewhere quieter.
As if he'd finished his job, the policeman saluted and disappeared.
The man looked to be, at most, in his early twenties.
Yet he had the older police officer act as his guide.
Who exactly are you.
As if he'd read my mind, the man extended his hand.
"I'm John Edgar Hoover from the Bureau of Investigation. Nice to meet you."