Chapter 25 - A New Name, A New Beginning, and the First Request
"Do you know a guy named Dopy Benny?"
That was the first question Tanner asked on the rooftop.
Of course, it was a name I'd never heard before.
"Who's that?"
Tanner looked at me, as if studying my reaction.
"You really don't know? Dopy Benny—the guy who walks around half-asleep, looking like he's high all the time?"
"I don't. Is he someone I need to know?"
"Well, not exactly. I just wondered if maybe Dopy Benny was your role model."
My only role model is myself.
There's no one out there impressive enough for me to want to imitate.
This was all based on a bit of a misunderstanding.
But once I listened to Tanner, I could see why he might have thought that.
"Dopy Benny is a shtarker who, like me, came up from the ranks of workers. Three years ago, he was a central figure when the gangs had a shootout over control of the labor market."
Back then, business owners used gangs to break up workers' strikes and protests.
Dopy Benny was a shtarker (an enforcer) who fought fiercely for the workers, taking their side against the capitalists.
In Yiddish, the language of the Jews, "shtarker" means a gangster, which meant that Dopy Benny was Jewish.
"Of course, that was a few years ago, but what matters is the current Dopy Benny. Earlier this year, he took over a garment factory and started running a business."
He reportedly pays his workers higher wages than average, and splits the business profits with his underlings. For example, workers would get $2, while his men would get $7.
"Watching what you're doing now, Dopy Benny immediately came to mind."
More than anything, Dopy Benny was known to be ruthless and cold-blooded.
You could see it in the way he dealt with his enemies.
He would cut off ears, break kneecaps and arms, shove people down stairs. Women weren't exempt from this treatment.
"I'm not that kind of person."
"Of course, you're different."
Dopy Benny made his underlings do the dirty work. In contrast, I'd taken out the conman boss, the Hudson Dusters, and Johnny Spanish all on my own.
"What surprised me was how these seemingly unrelated incidents snowballed into the outcome we see now. It's not just about being good at fighting, or being able to kill people."
At first, I just assigned a few people to keep an eye on you, out of curiosity, wanting to see what would happen.
"But with every step, things kept going just the way you wanted. Isn't that remarkable?"
"I guess I was just lucky."
"Share some of that luck with me, will you?"
Tanner let out a laugh, then suddenly grew serious and asked,
"You seem to want both—the business and the gang life. Do you realize how tough that's going to be?"
"I suppose so."
"Do you know why I left the gang?"
"Did you really leave, though?"
"Of course, I did. Anyway, as soon as I got out, my mother and younger sister begged me in tears to stop."
They pleaded with me not to do anything dangerous anymore.
"There's nothing more precious in this world than family, right? You know that now after what you've been through. Who knows when someone like Johnny might show up knocking at your door again?"
It wasn't much, but Tanner said I needed a nickname.
It would be another identity to hide behind.
"For the record, hardly anyone outside of my family knows my real name. You'll need a name like that, too."
"I've actually been thinking about that."
Nox.
It means 'night' in Latin.
That was my codename back when I was a mercenary.
"That's a fitting name for a double life. It's like you're declaring you'll become the night itself—a pretty grandiose choice, don't you think?"
"I guess that's just your impression."
Tanner smiled warmly and nodded.
"Let's forget your old name. From today, everyone will call you Nox, not Rookie. And on that note, it's time for you to start working in earnest."
Work—not for the business, but for the gang.
Tanner handed me a sheet of paper with the details of a mission written on it. It was similar to the kind of work I'd done before.
[Target: Loan Shark Angelo Carfano, Zorfe Mangano's crew. Objective: Assassination Reward: None]
"I'm not just surprised that the job is assassination, but the lack of a reward is downright shocking."
"So, as long as there's a reward, you're fine with it?"
"No, both are an issue. Let's get something straight here. I said I wanted to start a gang, not join one as an underling."
There are over a thousand gangs in Manhattan alone.
Most are satellite outfits, and what's unusual here is they're all intertwined with the larger organizations through webs of mutual interest.
So, when things went south, it wasn't uncommon for gangs to team up with others or switch sides entirely.
"I know that too. Look at the location—this isn't an order; it's something we're doing for our vision."
I glanced back down at the note.
[Location: South Brooklyn, Red Hook, Delavan St.]
"You're mistaken about one thing. The logistics aren't at the South Harbor in Lower Manhattan—it's Red Hook."
It's a crucial hub for handling cargo coming in through the Atlantic Ocean.
In particular, smuggled goods from Europe, the Caribbean, and Canada come through Red Hook before being distributed to New York and the rest of the East Coast.
"Manhattan Harbor mainly deals with domestic cargo. Plus, regulation there is a lot stricter."
In contrast, oversight in Red Hook is much looser.
It's perfect for moving contraband.
"Regardless of Prohibition, that area is already a battlefield for gangs. Whoever controls it rakes in the most money."
Tanner had cut right to the heart of the matter.
I knew how important Red Hook was too.
It's just, with no real power or backing, how was I supposed to take control of it?
That's why I'd pushed it down on my list of priorities.
But Tanner established a connection sooner than I expected.
That job request was related to it.
The person suffering from aggressive debt collection by loan sharks was a Red Hook Harbor security guard.
"A few months ago, he used to work at the same place I was. After being transferred to Red Hook, he got hooked on gambling."
The real problem wasn't the debt.
The loan sharks used it as leverage to force the security guard to turn a blind eye to smuggled goods passing through.
Instead of just bribing the manager, they threatened his family as well, squeezing him dry for free.
"If you look at the names, you'll see—they're Italian. If it comes out that we're involved, things will get extremely messy."
If you want to fight for control of the harbor, you'll have to clash with them eventually, but now isn't the time.
I agreed with Tanner.
We hadn't even taken over the Lower East Side yet, and widening the front now?
It would only increase the number of enemies.
"How long do we have?"
"Until that security guard kills himself. That's how badly they're harassing him. Anyway, it's time for me to go. I still haven't had a break."
Our conversation finished, and as we headed down from the roof I asked a question.
"Why did you bring up Dopy Benny?"
Dopy Benny had taken up a large part of our conversation.
Given Tanner's personality, I doubted it was just idle talk.
"You're starting out in the garment business. I don't know much about it myself, but I doubt it'll be easy. Dopy Benny might end up being useful to you."
"Does he have any reason to help me?"
Tanner shrugged.
"He and Johnny Spanish were mortal enemies. When he heard Johnny died, he broke his years-long sobriety and even sang out loud."
Slugger Johnny sided with the capitalists.
Dopy Benny stood with the workers.
They hated each other so much that each wanted the other dead.
"Still, don't trust Dopy Benny too much. He can be just as dangerous as Johnny."
As we reached the second floor, we ran into my mother coming up the stairs.
Her startled eyes shifted from me to Tanner.
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Graves. I'm Tanner Smith."
"Oh... N-nice to meet you."
They exchanged brief greetings, and Tanner waved his hand, saying there was no need to see him out.
As soon as he disappeared, my mother asked,
"How do you know Tanner Smith?"
"I should be the one asking you that. How do you know him, Mom?"
Because he's a gang boss?
That might mean something in that world, but it wasn't a name my mother should know.
"I heard about him from your uncles a long time ago. Unlike most gangsters these days, they said he's loyal and has a good head on his shoulders. I heard he was the one leading the South Harbor strike too?"
"I think that's right. By the way, have you met up with my uncles recently?"
"They're still family, aren't they? After hearing about my situation, they came to check on me."
She'd lost her money to a swindling factory owner and had even joined the protest—news that had apparently reached my uncles.
So they pooled what money they could and gave her fifty dollars.
Maybe it was at my grandparents' request.
"Of course, I turned it down I told them I didn't need it."
"Oh, come on—now you've probably fallen out with them again."
"Maybe…"
They offered the money with good intentions, but if you just flat-out refuse with no explanation?
Of course, to her brothers, she probably came off as stubborn, and that must have been frustrating.
And sure enough— My mother complained with an annoyed expression.
"They called me impossible and said they'd never see me again. They actually got mad at me."
Honestly, it seems like my mother is the problem here.
Maybe it's just that their relationship is already too strained.
Or maybe she just feels guilty for having to rely on them at all.
If it's the latter…
"Don't tell me you're thinking, 'I'll make it up to them once I start making money'?"
"How did you know? That's exactly what I was thinking just now."
Well, it's true—I have lived more years if you count both my past and present lives.
"If you show up claiming you've made it big, they'll just find you even more annoying. No matter what you do, they'll think you're showing off."
"So what do you suggest?"
"They're family, aren't they? You have to accept help if you want to be able to give it in return. Try to mend things with them now, before it's too late."
"You really do have a way with words. Anyway, that's for me to deal with."
Instead of agreeing with me, my mother just pouted.
I'd forgotten I was supposed to ask what her relationship with Tanner Smith was.
***
It was the first day at our new, small garment factory with our family's name on it.
From dawn, my mother was up preparing breakfast. She seemed more energetic than ever, even managing to chat with me as she cooked.
"Ciaran, you know Imelda, right? She was planning to move to California."
She'd decided to put the move on hold and work with us instead.
The regret was for the fifteen women who hadn't stuck with the protest all the way to the end.
They ultimately chose to find other jobs or move elsewhere.
Most of them either didn't approve of my mother taking investment or just didn't trust that the business would succeed.
So, instead of leaving quietly, they demanded compensation.
It wasn't unreasonable, since they had partial ownership of some of the sewing machines—though the investment money was off-limits.
So in the end, we paid each of them $50, starting the business with $750 less right from the beginning.
"We can do this!"
At my mother's cheerful shout, Roa chimed in as well.
"I have absolute faith in your success, Mom!"
"Oh, my girl. How do you always say such lovely things? Don't either of my sons have anything to say?"
"Running a business takes stamina. Work out with me."
Liam, who was thoroughly enjoying his fast-growing physique.
Sooner or later, he'd probably get knocked down by someone and realize that strength and fighting are two very different things.
"I'm off to the company, Mom!"
"If someone heard you, they'd think you were going miles away."
"It's all about the feeling, you know."
We set off for work with hope, but reality was anything but easy.
We couldn't make brassieres yet, since we needed to source the right hooks and elastic bands for them.
For now, we had no choice but to make our usual product, drawers.
We'd bought the necessary fabric for those a while ago, so we could get to work right away.
But there wasn't much of it.
To secure a sufficient supply, my mother went out on the very first day to find new fabric vendors.
But then.
"It's going to be hard to supply you, I'm afraid."
"What do you mean by that?"
"There are...circumstances. You'll probably hear the same thing no matter where you go."
We had run into a new obstacle.
We tried three more vendors, but all of them refused to supply us with fabric.
When my mother returned home, her face was full of agitation.
"They really are shameless cowards."
"I had a feeling the negotiations went a little too smoothly."
The clothing factory owners were holding a grudge.
Who else would stoop to such petty tactics but them?
We couldn't run to the ILGWU or WTUL for help every time something happened, and my mother was no longer in the position of a worker—she was now a factory owner herself.
There was no longer a clear cause or justification for protest.
The owners probably counted on that, plotting to crush my mother, a mere worker daring to become a business owner.
I remembered something Tanner Smith had once said.
"Dopy Benny might be able to help."
Dopy Benny, the aggressive Slugger who had stood with the workers and wasn't above threatening, detaining, or beating up the factory owners. Now, that same Dopy Benny had started his own garment business. I wondered what kind of obstacles my senior had faced, and how he had overcome them. I should go meet him.
There was still the assassination contract in Red Hook, but come on, would the client or the harbor security officer suddenly die in the next few days? They say he's already lasted several months.
The next morning.
Lafayette Street, packed with Jewish and Italian immigrants.
I visited the "Dopy Shirtwaist Factory," which took up the entire three-story building.
The office was thick with cigarette smoke, and three men with gloomy, menacing faces were playing cards around a round table.
Is this really what you'd call an office?
"You said you were sent by Tanner Smith?"
A voice came through the haze of smoke.
Pushing the smoke aside with his hand, I saw a man lounging in a chair, his legs up on the desk, scowling at me.
There was a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the desk.
Benjamin "Dopy Benny" Payne. Just like Tanner had said, his eyelids were puffy, and he looked half asleep, as if he was on something.
"So that's the same Tanner from the Marginals?"
"That's right."
Dopy Benny exhaled and asked why I had come. Because of the sewing machine incident, word had gotten around in the garment industry, so he understood my explanation right away.
"So those clothing factory bastards are throwing a fit behind the scenes. So, you're here for advice on what to do?"
"That's right."
Dopy Benny snorted.
The guys playing poker did the same.
"And why should I help you?"
Dopy Benny sneered, clearly enjoying himself.
This must be why Tanner left me a hint.
Weren't he and Johnny Spanish sworn enemies—enough to have had shootouts with each other?
If I told him I killed Johnny, he'd never believe me, and besides, I shouldn't say that.
Instead—
"I was the first one to find Johnny's body."
For a moment, Dopy Benny took a deep drag from his cigarette and slowly released it.
Then, with a scraping sound, he slid the whiskey glass on the desk over to me.
"First, have a drink."