Chapter 36 - Doesn't your chest feel tight on Sunday evenings?
There are people you inevitably have to face on the path toward the future you've planned.
Among them are Meyer Lansky, Bugsy Siegel, Edgar Hoover. And, of course, Al Capone as well.
In other words, the more I meet them, the more it proves I'm on the right track.
The problem is that, like the butterfly effect, even my smallest actions can end up changing the future I know. If the future changes too much—even to the point where my knowledge is useless—there's nothing more uncertain than that.
It made more sense to let Al Capone live and keep the predictable future intact, rather than risk whatever gains might come from killing him. Besides, now was not the time or place to kill anyone.
"The police are coming!"
"If you heard that, get away from Al right now!"
The man named Johnny shouted at me. The staff were all ready to jump in if things got out of hand.
I released the arm that was choking him and slowly got to my feet.
"He attacked me, so I was only defending myself. I didn't mean anything else by it, so when he wakes up, please tell him that."
"…Get lost."
Johnny growled at me, glaring.
The moment I looked at his face, his name came to me.
Johnny Torrio In the Mafia Genealogy I'd read in my previous life, his name was mentioned as a key figure.
He was the mentor who would guide Al Capone's future.
A man with business acumen as sharp as Meyer Lansky's.
Johnny Torrio—who would one day become a Mafia big shot—was glaring at me, or rather, at my scarf like he wanted to tear it to shreds.
"Don't take it so hard. If you replay what just happened in your mind, you'll see there's nothing to be angry about."
It was late at night, but the street outside the bar was still crowded with restless souls.
The White Hand Gang was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe they'd run off, spooked by the talk of the police coming. For all their posturing about saving me.
I turned to look up at the bar's sign.
Come to think of it, even the owner of the Harvard Inn was no ordinary man.
Frank Yale.
It was a mystery why he named the place Harvard and not Yale, but he was a figure involved in several major incidents.
In the early parts of the Mafia Genealogy I'd read in my past life, Frank Yale was described as a rather unusual character.
Like Johnny Torrio, Yale was an Italian immigrant who broke away from the old gangs and was the new kind of gangster that put business first.
Labor unions, opium, robberies, protection rackets—those were the traditional revenue sources for gangs, but Frank Yale expanded criminal organizations into legitimate businesses: bars, clubs, distribution. He was the one who took the syndicates and turned them into commercial enterprises.
But in the end, he remained a gangster rather than a true Mafia member. The reason was…
"Hey, Irish friend."
The White Hand Gang, who I thought had run off, now surrounded me.
"You're a pretty good fighter, huh?"
"What you did just now was seriously impressive."
Two of them grinned at me, all smiles.
These idiots had already forgotten about picking a fight with me over a woman, like a bunch of birdbrains.
Not that I was planning to hold it against them.
"Like I said earlier, I can't just stand by and watch a fellow Irishman get beaten down by Italian guys."
"Man, you sure know how to say exactly what we want to hear. And just so you don't get the wrong idea, if we'd actually put our minds to fighting, not even the bar's pillars would be left standing."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
I gave a nonchalant nod, and one of them pointed at my scarf.
"So, why are you covering your face? Are you wanted or something?"
"If I was, I wouldn't be wandering around a resort so leisurely, would I?"
Use your head for once and try thinking.
One of them crossed his arms and asked,
"So, what's your name?"
My goal wasn't these small fry, but the inner circle of the White Hand Gang.
More specifically, I wanted to make sure even Boss Dinny Meehan would hear about me.
The best way is:
"Nox."
"Everyone's called Nox these days… Wait, don't tell me you're that Nox?"
"Whatever you're thinking, just keep thinking that."
Nox, the IRA secret agent who took out those Italians at the docks. Nox, who just saved an Irishman from the Italians.
Even if you're not that bright, you'd start making connections.
"I'm off."
I projected an air of mystery as I walked away.
With their heads spinning, none of them followed me.
Then I realized I'd forgotten something important: I'd just let some information about myself slip to them.
"If you ever want to see me again…"
***
[The Brass Lantern Pub]
It was well past midnight when I arrived, and Tanner was dozing on the couch.
"Why are you back so soon?"
"If I'd stayed any longer, things would've gotten a lot more dangerous."
I explained what had happened.
At my last words, Tanner slapped his knee and burst out laughing.
"So you told them you're Nox and said if they want to see you again, they should come here, huh?"
The Marginals—who share the west side of Manhattan, including Hell's Kitchen, with the Hudson Dusters and Pearl Buttons. The White Hand Gang—who split Brooklyn with the Italians.
No one knew better than Tanner that, in terms of scale, we couldn't possibly compete with them.
"To be honest, even I find the White Hand Gang's boss hard to handle. That's why I was planning to stay out of it and let you deal with him directly. But now, things will unfold naturally."
"If their boss shows up here, just let me blend in as one of the regular bar patrons. Then, casually mention that an outsider is running a bar with the Italians—this could be our chance to suggest it's time for the Irish to help each other out."
"Okay. Sounds good. Let's do it this way! You really know how to set the stage."
Tanner looked pleased.
"So, since today's job is finished successfully, how much are you going to pay me?"
"Pay? What are you talking about? If we make this bar a big hit, do you really think I'll be the only one to benefit? It's for our vision."
"Oh? Then does that mean I get to share the profits from the bar too?"
"Not exactly You're not even going to invest for a share. I'll just give you some cash.
Tanner pouted and handed over a dollar.
"For two hours' work, that's not bad."
"I was supposed to take Roa to the amusement park tomorrow. Guess I can't. We'll just have to go home."
"You came with your family?"
I nodded with a pitiful look.
"We barely managed to find a place to stay because we don't have any money. I was planning to catch fish on the beach for breakfast. My little sister wants lobster, but who knows if we'll be able to find any. Fighting in bars at night, and tomorrow risking my life at the beach..."
"All right, all right, that's enough. And anyway, lobster doesn't cost much, you idiot."
With that, I took the ten dollars and went back to our lodging. The more I get to know Tanner, the more convinced I am that he's rich. I'll have to squeeze as much out of him as I can.
When I unlocked the door and came in, my mother was dozing off on a small sofa.
Then, my mother woke up at a slight sound.
"You're just getting in now?"
"Yes, just now."
She came over and gave me a once-over, checking up and down to see if there was any blood on me, looking especially closely at my sleeves. Only after she failed to spot anything unusual did she finally smile and pat me on the shoulder.
"You must be tired. Go on, get some sleep."
She gently moved Roa's legs, who was sprawled out fast asleep on the bed, and lay down herself.
"One more ride on the carousel, Roa… mmm."
"Mom? Could you check if Roa's actually awake?"
It really sounded more like she was voicing a wish in her sleep rather than actually sleep-talking.
Otherwise, there's no way she'd say that.
"Oh, come on…"
Even my mother looked uncertain and raised her head, staring at Roa. Then, deciding Roa was definitely asleep, she tucked the blanket over her.
"You shouldn't be suspicious of your sister."
So I'm the only bad kid here.
I nudged Liam aside and lay down.
***
There's a problem with Roa.
The director who promised her a role suddenly replaced her with another actor, and since he's always been shady, I think something's up.
What about Roa?
She says she's fine, but… it's been three days and she still hasn't come out of her room.
Look into that bastard director, and if you find anything, bring him in.
Understood.
A dark, windowless room.
What did you just say?
S-she didn't suit the role… For the success of the movie, I—I had no other choice.
P-please, have mercy…
You're blaming my sister, when you were the one who took a bribe to change the cast?
There's no way Roa, who's been acting at a method level since she was little, can't handle a role like that!
What you just did was insult our family, Director.
Bang!
"..."
***
I woke from that ridiculously contrived dream to find harsh sunlight streaming between the curtains.
Roa was already up and getting dressed.
As soon as our eyes met, she dashed over and threw off my blanket.
"Come on, let's go! I want to play all day long."
"If we don't go today, then when will we? Come on, let's go."
Coney Island, Day 2.
Lobster was served for the hotel breakfast.
Just as Tanner had said, lobster was a cheap and common food. In some places, it was considered "poor man's protein" for workers, and it was even processed and sold in cans.
Being able to eat my fill of lobster was one of the few perks of living in this era. I really need to stop being so scrawny.
"Since we went to Luna Park yesterday, let's go to Steeplechase Park today. The rides there are included in the admission ticket."
"Roa, can we ride the carousel ten times?"
"Of course."
"Eleven times? Twelve—"
"Hey, eat your breakfast."
Following Liam's suggestion, we headed to Steeplechase. Walking along the beach, we just dipped our feet in the water.
There were too many people, and swimming and getting cleaned up afterward was just too much trouble. As Roa walked hand-in-hand with our mother, stepping on the sand, she stared straight at me and tilted her head, curious.
"Big Brother, aren't you going to cover your face with a scarf today?"
No.
Today, it's actually more dangerous to cover up.
You never know when Al Capone might come after us.
I asked Roa,
"Do you prefer it when I hide my face, or like this?"
"No, I like you much better now. You look so much more confident!"
So she thought I'd never been confident before. That's something to think about.
We stood in line to buy tickets for Steeplechase Park. As more day-trippers arrived, the line grew longer and longer behind us.
Last night I hadn't paid much attention, but looking around in the daylight, I saw white, Black, Hispanic, and even the occasional Asian faces.
Step just a little outside this area, and you'd find discrimination everywhere—but here at the resort, it was like seeing all the races together in one place.
Of course, not every resort was like this. Some places even banned anyone but whites from entering the ocean.
But at Coney Island—with its melting pot of tourists, immigrants, and workers from Manhattan—there was at least a little less discrimination.
At Steeplechase Park, I threw myself into all the excitement. Looking at Roa, that description seemed just right.
But even Roa, whose energy seemed endless, finally reached her limit.
When she said she wanted to go home, it was already 6 p.m.
"I guess... this is as far as Roa can go."
Her eyes were getting misty, and her steps suddenly grew heavy.
"Big Brother... please take care of Roa."
And just like that, she climbed onto my back and promptly fell asleep, as if it were a heroic retreat.
When we boarded the steamship back home, she quickly recovered her energy and started running around the deck. Maybe finding this cute, a middle-aged man gave her some candy and patted her on the head.
"She really talks to strangers so easily. What if someone kidnaps her one day?"
"Come on, that's an exaggeration. Who's going to kidnap Roa on a crowded boat like this?"
"You never know what could happen in the world."
Standing beside me, Liam was watching our mother and Roa talking with the middle-aged man.
"How's school these days?"
"Eh, it's alright, I guess."
"Don't you feel weighed down every Sunday night?"
"..."
"You haven't been working out much lately, either. Did someone hit you?"
Liam's eyes widened in surprise.
"How did you know?"
"It's obvious. If you went to all the trouble to work out and then got beaten up, would you feel like doing it again?"
"… Tch. Now you're just annoying me."
"Was he bigger than you?"
Liam hesitated, then nodded, gritting his teeth, clearly frustrated.
"Show me what he did."
"What do you mean?"
"Show me exactly how the fight went."
Liam, who'd been standing there awkwardly, asked again if it was really okay for him to go ahead.
"I'm your big brother. Whatever move you make, I can block it." "Are you sure?"
Liam charged straight at me. He came at me with both arms, almost like a wrestling tackle.
"When that happens, you use the strength of a stubborn idiot against him."
I stepped in close to the charging Liam, grabbed his shirt collar at the chest,
"You break his balance with your shoulder—at the same time, use the other guy's momentum against him."
Whoosh.
I hoisted Liam up and slammed him down onto the floor.
Thud!
"He probably felt the first shock, but that's not enough."
Just like I'd done with Al Capone yesterday, I pressed my forearm against Liam's neck.
"If you push down even harder here, he's done for—straight to heaven. But don't ever do that."
I let go and Liam coughed and sputtered, then asked,
"W-what was that? Damn, I actually flew into the air."
"That's a hip throw technique. Practice this first, and you can adapt it to a lot of different situations."
"Bro, show me again and explain it properly."
Thinking of a sensitive fifteen-year-old, I wondered how much he must have been struggling with this without saying anything. He probably hadn't wanted to go to school, either.
The real problem is Liam's personality.
When he gets fixated on something, he becomes obsessively attached to it.
Just when I thought he was finally over his gym rat phase, now he's started obsessing over martial arts.
"If Roa ever gets caught in a hip throw, she's done for."
"Come on, I'm not that bad."
When we got off the steamboat, Roa waved to the middle-aged man, saying goodbye with a little regret.
"Goodbye, Mr. Trump!"
"Take care, young lady."
On the streetcar ride home, Roa just wouldn't stop talking.
"He gave me candy and bread, too. He said he's going to Wall Street—no wonder he's rich!"
"Yeah, he must be loaded."
"He told me, 'Back in the day, I used to live in the Lower East Side,' but that was way before I was born."
Roa recounted her conversation with the middle-aged man almost word for word. Then, she nodded off again and dozed on my back.
"Hey, want me to carry her?"
"I'm warning you—if you try a hip throw on Roa, you'll face a new kind of hell."
"I said I won't…"
"Look at him, mumbling at the end like that. Mom? I think Liam's lost his mind."
"I told you, Ciaran, be nice—don't say that your brother's crazy."
By the time we got home, it was 10 p.m.
Our two-day, one-night trip to Coney Island had been both fun and exhausting.
Leaving home really is a pain in the neck.
I was about to turn away after tucking Roa into bed.
"Bronx Zoo... mm, mm."
She's already picked our next destination.
I quickly covered my ears and left the room.
***
A new week began.
A few days had passed since we returned from Coney Island.
All the young men who had registered for the draft were now focused on one thing.
America joining the war.
With government officials and reporters gathered in Washington, DC, the lottery was held to determine who would be called to the battlefield.
To ensure fairness according to the Selective Service Act, a random lottery was held.
Inside a giant glass jar, the capsules of fate held as many as ten million numbers.
The very first number drawn was 258
With the first symbolic lottery draw, hundreds of thousands of names were added to the list.
The results were published the very next day, with names printed in the local newspapers.
It was around that time that Gavin and Cory from the Marginals came to see me.