Chapter 12: Greenwich Village
Bleecker Street was a completely different world from the grease-stained, soot-choked docks of the North River.
Ricky and Marek walked down the wide cobblestone sidewalk, the stiff wool of their new suits brushing against each other as they moved through the crowd. The air here didn’t smell of dead fish and coal smoke; instead, it was a warm, heavy mix of crushed garlic, sweet yeast from open bakery doors, and the sharp scent of leather from a shoemaker’s basement shop.
Pushcart vendors lined the curbs, their wooden wheels locked against the gutters, piled high with bright red tomatoes, heads of cabbage, and braided strands of garlic. Housewives in dark aprons stood in small clusters, loudly bargaining over the price of onions, while children in oversized caps darted between the legs of pedestrians, chasing a rolling hoop down the street. Somewhere nearby, the bright, lively notes of an accordion drifted out from a basement saloon, mixing with the constant clatter of horse hooves and the low, murmuring hum of neighborhood gossip.
Ricky kept his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the storefronts. He was still on edge, his gaze automatically checking every dark alleyway and carriage window for a black coat or a flat cap, but the nervous tension in his chest was slowly starting to loosen.
"We need a room," Ricky said, looking over at Marek. "And we need it close. We can’t keep sleeping on cardboard, and we sure as hell can’t go back to the West Side."
"Vance said Greenwich was quieter," Marek said, adjusting his new cap. "But it’s big. We should ask someone where the boarding houses are."
Ricky nodded. He looked around the busy street, searching for someone who looked like they knew the neighborhood but wouldn’t run away if a couple of young guys approached them.
He spotted a well-dressed woman in her early sixties standing near a fruit cart, examining a basket of yellow apples. She wore a neat, dark green wool coat and a simple black hat. Her hair was a clean, silver white, tied back in a practical, tidy bun. She had a soft, kind face with deep, pleasant wrinkles around her eyes.
Ricky stepped forward, lifting his cap politely. "Excuse me, ma’am."
The woman turned, her eyes tracking from Ricky’s clean flat cap down to his new, dark wool suit. A warm, pleasant smile touched her lips. "Yes, young man? Can I help you?"
"We’re looking for a room to rent," Ricky said. "We just got into the neighborhood. Do you know of any boarding houses nearby?"
The woman tilted her head, her sharp but gentle eyes looking between Ricky and Marek. "Well, there are quite a few over on Greenwich Street. If you’re looking for something a bit cheaper, Christopher Street has a few decent places. Are you boys newly arrived?"
Ricky and Marek glanced at each other.
"We’ve been in the city for a little while," Ricky said, keeping it vague. "But we’re looking for a fresh start here. A place to rent, and hopefully a job. We don’t have a lot of money to throw around just yet."
"I see," the lady said. Her smile widened slightly, her tone turning warm and maternal. "Well, it just so happens I have a building over on Commerce Street. It’s only a few blocks from here. I usually rent the rooms on the second and third floors, but I have the entire top floor—the fourth floor—sitting completely empty and gathering dust."
Marek blinked, his eyes widening. "The whole top floor?"
"It’s an attic space, really," she explained, gesturing with her gloved hand. "It was damaged in a small fire years ago, and I never had the money to properly finish it. It’s dry and clean enough, but it needs a good sweep and some minor repairs. I’d be willing to rent the entire floor to you boys for two dollars a week."
Ricky’s mind automatically ran the calculations. Two dollars a week. That was incredibly cheap—about the price of a single, cramped room in a crowded tenement house on the Lower East Side. And she was offering them an entire floor.
"Ma’am, that’s very kind of you," Ricky said, his caution kicking in. "But why would you rent a whole floor for two dollars? We could just take a single room. We don’t want to take advantage of you."
The woman let out a soft, dry chuckle, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, don’t worry about that, son. I live in the building myself, and my knees aren’t what they used to be. Climbing up to the fourth floor to clean and dust is more pain than it’s worth. It’s been empty for a year. If I rent it to you boys, you can maintain it, keep the dust down, and I don’t have to worry about paying some lazy neighborhood boy to sweep it out. Besides, you look like decent, hard-working lads. I’d rather have good tenants than an empty, dusty room."
She patted Ricky’s arm gently. "And don’t worry if you can’t pay the full rent right away. You can pay me once you find yourselves a steady job. What matters is that someone is occupying the space."
Marek nudged Ricky’s elbow, whispering out of the corner of his mouth. "Ricky, it’s rude to refuse a lady’s kindness. Take it."
Ricky looked at the woman’s warm, honest face. He let out a quiet sigh, his chest filling with a sudden, deep sense of relief. After the cold, violent reality of the West Side docks and the threat of armed thugs, this simple kindness felt like a warm blanket.
"We’re incredibly grateful, ma’am," Ricky said, offering a genuine smile. "We’ll take it. And I’ll handle any repairs the floor needs. I’m good with my hands."
"Excellent," she said, reaching into her small cloth purse and pulling out a small, printed card. She handed it to Ricky. "That’s the address on Commerce Street. I’d guide you there myself, but I still have to pick up some groceries and visit the butcher before the evening rush. Will you boys be alright finding it?"
Ricky looked down at the card. The neat, black script read:
Mrs. Eleanor O’Connell, 14 Commerce Street.
"We’ll find it just fine, Mrs. O’Connell," Ricky said, tucking the card into his vest pocket. "We’ll be there before sunset."
"See you boys later, then," she said, giving them a polite nod before turning back to the fruit cart.
Marek watched her walk away, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. "That... that was too easy. We just walked into Greenwich and got a whole floor for two dollars?"
"She’s a good lady," Ricky said, staring down Bleecker Street. A quiet, steady confidence was starting to return to his chest. They had a safe house. They had a roof over their heads that the Gophers didn’t know about, and it only cost them a fraction of their daily earnings. "But a room doesn’t mean anything if we don’t have an income. Come on. Let’s ask the shops along the street if they need hands. The closer to Commerce Street we find a job, the better."
"Right behind you," Marek said, pulling his cap straight.
They turned down Bleecker Street, their boots clicking against the stones as they began their search for work.