Chapter 33 - Top Recruitment Priority
An iconic figure who led the Bureau of Investigation for 48 years and elevated the FBI into America's premier law enforcement agency.
A chill ran down my spine at this sudden encounter with John Edgar Hoover.
The hairs on the back of my head bristled, and the shiver snaked down along my spine until I involuntarily flinched at the end.
"What's wrong? Don't you know how to shake hands?"
Of course I do—it's just that I can't bring myself to do it.
Because you're Edgar Hoover.
Because you're gay.
Or rather, were you bisexual?
Anyway, there's still hope.
A Hoover in his early twenties—he can't possibly be that way yet. He should be fine for now.
"I'm Ciaran Graves."
Grip.
A little fidget, a little squirm.
"...You can let go of my hand now."
Before I hit you with a baton.
"You knocked those thugs out so easily, so I thought maybe there was something special about your hands."
"They're just regular human hands."
"By the way, could I take a look at that baton you were holding earlier?"
When I handed him the baton, his fingers ran over it, feeling its texture.
"You weighted it with lead. No wonder those guys dropped so fast after being hit. Still, to take on five men alone... that's seriously impressive."
I probably wouldn't even be this nervous if President Woodrow Wilson himself showed up.
My palms were sweating.
But I had to endure it.
If I didn't want to end up living miserably as a member of the Mafia, I needed as much insurance as possible.
In that sense, Edgar Hoover was my number one recruitment priority. In fact, his name was written in bold in my notebook.
The meeting came sooner than expected, and I was rattled, but I could guess why Edgar Hoover had come looking for me.
Right now, the Bureau of Investigation, or BOI, was founded in 1908.
It was the predecessor to the FBI, and their first assignment was to visit and investigate brothels in preparation for enforcing the "White Slave Traffic Act."
Later, they began investigating matters like interstate commerce, bankruptcy fraud, and antitrust violations—but recently, they'd received a new mission.
The Espionage Act of 1917, enacted on June 15.
The BOI's job was now to investigate and track down German spies and antiwar activists.
Given that, Hoover seeking me out was almost certainly related to the recent business I'd handled with those anarchists.
And just as I thought—
Hoover pulled out a small notebook from his coat, flipped through it, then fixed his eyes on me as he opened to a particular page.
"You took out two anarchists all by yourself, didn't you?"
"You're too kind."
"No need to be modest. The investigators were stunned when they read the case report."
The first shot hit right on the head, and the second bullet landed perfectly in the heart.
"You took out two assassins who showed up out of nowhere in an instant. With just two shots. Who else but a Ford factory machine could pull that off? I got chills just reading the report. What kind of training have you had?"
It hadn't even been two weeks since the Espionage Act was enacted.
According to the papers, the Bureau of Investigation had started hiring law school graduates as investigators instead of drafting them for the war effort, to bolster their counterintelligence operations.
Hoover was one of them.
Maybe that's why his eyes shone with the enthusiasm of a freshly appointed, passionate investigator.
"Natural instincts—and relentless effort, never settling for what I've got?"
"...No need to be modest. Anyway, that's not what I want to know."
Hoover said he'd read through the case report dozens of times and tried to reenact the situation himself.
And the conclusion he came to was this:
"You absolutely knew ahead of time that they were assassins. So you were already prepared to shoot."
Hoover wasn't interested in how I killed them, but rather how I realized they were assassins.
"It's a gut feeling—it's hard to explain..."
But this is a rare opportunity.
Someone like Hoover coming to see me in person and showing such interest.
I should take this chance to demonstrate why I'm someone worth keeping around for the future.
"If you put yourself in the assassin's position, instead of just recreating my actions, you start to notice things."
For instance, the way they look at their target, their hand movements, the route they take as they approach—these things are noticeably different from ordinary passersby.
"Of course, that day, I didn't spot one of them. If they hadn't shouted, Tom Foley would probably be dead now."
"'Власть народу, Death to Tammany's dogs.' Power to the people, death to Tammany's dogs. That's what they yelled right before they acted."
"I only found out what they said from the papers later. Anyway, it's worth analyzing why they shouted such things."
Diehard idealists and dreamers always want to share their beliefs.
To sound the alarm for the world.
To spread their revolution like it's the gospel.
Hoover jotted down my words in his notebook.
Still, his face seemed to grow a bit more serious.
Maybe I was acting like I knew too much.
A talented investigator who'd graduated from law school.
A seventeen-year-old boy scraping by in the Lower East Side slums.
After recognizing that contrast, Hoover's arrogant tone slipped out.
"There's something you don't know. The reason those men targeted Tammany Hall politicians was because of Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman."
The two people Hoover mentioned were Russian immigrants who represented anarchism.
"On the day the Espionage Act was enacted, Goldman and Berkman were arrested. This attempted assassination against Tammany Hall was basically a kind of blackmail to get them released."
I knew that, too. It was all over the papers.
Hoover, eager to assert his superiority, kept adding unnecessary details.
And he always started with—
"You probably don't know this, but today we arrested three more anarchists in Manhattan. For now, we believe there are no more threats to Tammany Hall."
So does that mean there's no reason for me to guard Tom Foley anymore?
Hoover went on, making sure I understood just how critical his work was.
"Ever since the Russian Revolution ended, the anarchists here in America have been supporting the revolutionary movement. My job is to catch them."
In other words, what could someone like me possibly understand? I need to make things clear this time.
I have to make sure my presence stays embedded in his mind so he can't help but keep thinking of me.
"The Russian Revolution isn't over yet."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The February Revolution that overthrew the Emperor involved various factions. The problem is, the group that ended up with real power hasn't been able to stop the German and Austrian armies."
"So what?"
"They're incompetent, and after having already toppled the Emperor once, why couldn't it happen again? There will be another revolution."
The people, desperate to end the war, will rise up—and a group will take power riding that wave.
Vladimir Lenin's Bolsheviks will take control of Russia.
The event that will happen this October will be the world's first communist revolution and the decisive moment that births the Soviet Union.
And Hoover, who would turn out to be an extreme anti-communist, will make hunting down communists his top priority throughout his term as director of the FBI...
Hoover had stopped writing at some point and was staring at me with wide eyes.
The same look he gave me the first time we met.
Curiosity, intrigue, and surprise.
Time to push further.
"Shall I tell you one more thing? The European Great War is about to end."
He snorted, "Ha! Why, because America is joining the fight?"
"That's right. But that's just one factor—the real deciding issue lies within Germany itself."
Germany has been at war for nearly three years now.
Severe food shortages and the threat of famine are looming.
"When that happens, unrest will break out from within. The anti-war movement will spread, and workers will go on strike. And if Germany is defeated in a major battle during this time? Surrender will be their only option."
Edgar Hoover, a rookie investigator.
Unlike the customers who ignored me while I was shining shoes, he at least writes down what I say in his notebook.
"That was quite a plausible story. I don't know when we'll meet again, but it's time for me to go."
Instead of shaking hands as if we'd never meet again, Hoover tucked his notebook into his coat and disappeared.
But when my words become reality, the higher he rises through the ranks at the Bureau of Investigation, the more Hoover will seek me out.
No, he must.
Suddenly, I feel all my strength drain away.
I was so nervous, thinking he might try to shake my hand.
On my way back, I noticed that the guys who had been lurking in the alley next to the Tenement House had vanished without a trace.
When I went down to the basement factory, I found Leo and Marcus fooling around with their batons.
"Aren't you two supposed to be working?"
"Oh, Ciaran! Perfect timing. I was just explaining to Marcus how you fought earlier."
"Teach me too. You know, some baton-slamming skills or something."
"That's actually pretty advanced. And whatever you do, I told you—you have to train first."
"But that's boring."
"Then it's going to be tough to learn. By the way, I'm heading out soon to try and land a new client—anyone want to come with me?"
Both Leo and Marcus raise their hands.
"Work it out between you two. I'm going to check in with Mother for a bit."
I greeted the Ajummas and stopped by the office. Maybe Leo had already told her, because as soon as Mother saw my face, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Why are you only coming in now? Nothing happened, right?"
"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."
I gathered some underwear samples to show prospective clients.
"Are you planning to go out and sell directly yourself?"
"If we lost two orders, I need to win at least two new ones to make up for it."
"That day, I just said all that in the heat of the moment, so don't worry about it too much. So, where are you headed?"
Her voice carried a hint of anticipation.
I kept it to myself and slipped out of the office. Marcus was waiting outside the factory entrance, looking triumphant. Leo was busy carrying fabric.
"Stop slacking off and make sure you actually work."
"You should take your own advice. Don't get sidetracked—just come straight back when you're done."
Marcus and I grabbed the bag of underwear samples and set out for our clients.
Thanks to making connections at the Tammany Hall Convention Hall, getting new business was easy.
The first stop was a shop on Orchard Street that specialized in selling only underwear.
"Please take good care of us from now on."
"That's my line. Let's make this work."
As long as we kept up the quality and delivered on time, there shouldn't be any issues with this client.
The next place we visited was the same.
That day, we visited five shops, signed delivery contracts with all of them, and added their names to our list of new clients.
On the way back to the company, Marcus let out a low whistle.
"Sales really is a breeze. Is this the power of Tom Foley?"
"It's the power of influence. And for that, you need both money and muscle."
I nodded in agreement at Marcus, then asked him,
"Do you go straight home after work these days?"
"No, I stay out on the street for a while and don't head home until around eight."
"Because of Leo?"
To avoid our alcoholic father, Leo tended to come home late.
On the other hand, I realized I had no idea when Marcus usually went back.
"Well, it's not just because of Leo. I also hang around to pick up stories from the shoeshine boys on the street."
"You probably don't get much time to pick up news, being stuck in the factory all day."
"Yeah, it has its pros and cons."
Maybe it was meeting Edgar Hoover, but I felt like the next steps I needed to take were starting to fall into place.
"As practice, how about building a more organized information network?"
"How do you mean?"
"Start by setting up a network right here on Hester Street. Keep it loosely connected, like a cell structure."
We needed to draw information not just from the shoeshine boys, but expand our sources—to everyone from street sweepers to lamplighters.
"We'll start that way. Sometime this year, I'm planning to open a store."
"A clothing store?"
"We need a place to sell directly. I'm thinking you and Leo can handle the management."
"Are you thinking of using the store as an information headquarters, too?"
As I expected, he caught on right away.
"Information grows with money and power, too. The bigger we get, the more information we'll have to manage and the more varied it'll be. So it needs to be handled discreetly and systematically."
I was confident that money and power would come.
If this were the old Marcus, he'd have called it nonsense, but now his mind was full of optimism.
"So you're saying we try it out on Hester Street first—a test run. Sounds like a good idea. No risk, either."
The sky was awash with red from the sunset.
Back at the factory, I placed the paperwork on my mother's desk.
Five new clients.
The documents listed each store's name, owner, address, and even the types and quantities of goods.
"My goodness! My son!"
My mother sprang up from her seat and ran over, arms wide open.
"What do you want for dinner tonight?"
"Meat."
"Then meat it is! If my son wants it, that's what we'll have!"
That evening, the whole house was filled with the smell of meat.
Before the food was even on her plate, Roa was already holding her fork, her nose twitching.
"Roa, this is serious. You're addicted to the taste of meat. What if today's the last time? What if we can't have it again, Big Brother?"
"Humans are adaptable creatures, so you'll be fine. If things get desperate, even bugs start to taste good."
"But Roa isn't an animal."
"I learned at school that humans are animals too."
Liam chimed in.
It made going to school worth it.
I took the rare chance to praise Liam as well.
"That's why people have to learn. That's what sets us apart from animals. Kid, you're going to Harvard."
"What, all the way to college?"
"If your big brother's backing you, why not? Don't tell me you're not confident?"
When Liam just mumbled and didn't answer, Roa shot her fork up into the air.
"If little brother can't make it, I'll go instead. Harvard!"
"Let's start with elementary school first, Roa."
"Okay! It's almost time!"
Come to think of it, she'll be seven next year—that's the age when compulsory education begins.
Smiling, Mother set a plate piled high with meat on the table.
Just as we were about to dig in—
Knock, knock.
"It's Gavin. Is Rookie home?"
My family exchanged confused looks.
"Who's Rookie?"
"Roa's not Rookie either."
"It's my first day of school, so am I Rookie?"
While everyone looked puzzled, I stood up.
Why would Gavin come looking for me at this hour?
Right when we were about to eat meat, too—what timing.
I whispered through the door.
"Prove you're Gavin."
"…Baton."
"What?"
"I gave it to you."
Click.
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway to talk.
"You're having dinner and then going to see Tom Foley, right?"
"That's the plan. Why?"
Gavin told me there was no need to go anymore.
Just like Edgar Hoover said, the Russian Anarchists in Manhattan had been arrested.
So my job was gone, too.
"Tom Foley's headed to Washington DC in a hurry. He said to stop by sometime next week."
"Understood. Then I'll be off now"
"I'm not done talking yet."
Tanner Smith's been shot.
"You should have led with that!"
"It's not that serious."
He took a bullet to the thigh.
Fortunately, the bone's fine.
"And…?"
"He wants to show you something. There's a bar the Boss invested in."
"Where is it?"
"Coney Island."
A New York State resort, the beach packed with entertainment venues.
Where Tanner took a bullet—and where Roa's dreams and hopes are still alive.
When I sent Gavin off and went back inside, All that was left on the table was an empty plate.
"...This can't be real, can it?"
I glanced at my mother, Liam, and Roa in turn.
Just then
"Surprise~!"
Roa holds out a plate with some pieces of meat set aside.
The amount is a bit disappointing, but the fact that she saved some for me is just so endearing.
"I have a surprise too."
Roa tilts her head and spins around me once.
"Well, whatever it is, it must be small if I can't see it. Should I be excited, Roa?"
"Of course."
"Should I close my eyes!?"
Shaking my head, I leaned in and whispered in her ear.
Roa's already big eyes grew even wider.