Chapter 175: Unexpected Ally
The muffled screams inside Galnick’s cell slowly died down, replaced by the heavy silence of the concrete corridor. Ricky walked away from the wooden door, his boots echoing softly against the damp floorboards as he made his way to the holding room at the far end of the hallway.
He lifted the iron latch, pushed the thick oak door open, and stepped inside alone.
John De George sat bound to a heavy wooden armchair in the center of the dark room. His starched high collar was wilted with sweat, his dark wool suit rumpled, and his hair unkempt. He looked up at Ricky as the door closed, his eyes hollow and dark.
"So..." De George said, his voice flat and resigned. "I take it Galnick is dead."
"He got what he deserved," Ricky replied casually, standing near the doorway. "In the end, he died at the hands of the very victims he tried to sell."
De George sucked in a dry breath, looking Ricky up and down. "Who are you people? What do you want with me?"
"I think you already know," Ricky said smoothly. "Silent Charles sent us to find his kin. Every trail we followed in Midtown led straight back to your doorstep."
De George’s posture stiffened, a flicker of fear cutting through his exhaustion. "Look, I don’t know anything about that! I swear to God, I really don’t!"
"Of course you don’t," Ricky said, taking a step closer. "You wouldn’t even know if you sold her off to one of your private high-society buyers. I could have my men drag your fixer, Henrietta Arnette, into a room and break her piece by piece until she gives up those names. But I think you already know. I need those names, John. If the reformists find out Charles’s kin was sold through your ring, Tammany will burn you to the ground to cover their own tracks. You and your whore will be at the very top of the list to die in agony."
De George swallowed hard, his jaw working as he stared at the floor. "If I give up those names... they’ll kill me anyway."
Ricky pulled his Colt M1911 from his inner coat pocket, the dark steel glinting under the dim brass wall lamp. He held it casually at his side, his thumb resting on the hammer.
"I’m the nearest one who can kill you right now," Ricky said quietly. "You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you walk away from this city. You and Henrietta can go off somewhere quiet and play house."
De George stared at the pistol, his breathing quickening. He slumped back against the wooden chair, his resistance snapping all at once. "It’s all in my safehouse," he gasped out, his chest heaving. "Roosevelt Island. Main Street... 456 apartment, third floor, room twenty-three." He nodded toward a leather satchel resting on a crate near the corner. "The key’s in the side pocket of my bag."
Ricky walked over to the crate, unbuckled the leather flap of the satchel, and retrieved a small brass key.
"You’re going to accompany two of my men tomorrow morning," Ricky said, slipping the key into his vest pocket. "If you’re lying to me, you know exactly what happens."
"I’m not lying!" De George pleaded, leaning forward against his ropes. "Everything is in there! The names of the buyers, the cancelled checks, the transaction receipts—all of it! It was supposed to be my insurance policy... my way out in case everything went sideways."
"And now it did," Ricky said.
De George let out a bitter, raspy laugh, shaking his head. "I just wanted to climb up in the world. I thought if I played the game like everyone else in Midtown, I could finally have a rich, peaceful life for once."
Ricky paused, looking at the man thoughtfully. "How much do you actually know about Tammany Hall?"
De George looked up, confused by the sudden shift in topic. "I keep track of everyone involved in the ward committees. Why? Are you... are you working with the reformists?"
"How confident are you in what you know?" Ricky asked, ignoring the question.
De George rasped out a dry cough. "I have women on my payroll across Midtown—maids, hotel workers, parlor staff... and whores. I had to run the prostitution ring as a front so the ward bosses thought I was just another vice manager. I paid Tammany their cut to keep them off my back, but I used the rest of the revenue to pay those women for information."
Ricky stared at him, connecting the dots in his head. "You’re a paid informant for the reformists."
"It’s just exchanging information for cash," De George admitted defensively. "It was business! That’s all it was! Are you a spy too?"
Ricky didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door.
𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
"Wait!" De George yelled frantically after him, straining against his wrist bindings. "We can help each other! You don’t have to kill me! I’ll give you information for free! Anything you want on the Midtown committee! Just let me live!"
Ricky pulled the heavy oak door shut, cutting off De George’s desperate shouting, and slid the iron bolt into place.
John Caldwell was waiting in the corridor, leaning his shoulder against the damp concrete wall while checking the cylinder of his revolver. He slid the gun back into his shoulder holster as Ricky approached.
"What did you get out of him, Boss?" John asked.
"He’s a paid informant," Ricky said, walking down the hallway. "He’s been selling Tammany secrets to the anti-corruption reformists using his parlor girls as eyes and ears."
John raised an eyebrow, walking alongside him. "You sure he’s not just spinning a yarn to save his neck?"
"That’s why you’re taking two men to escort him to Roosevelt Island tomorrow morning," Ricky replied. "Room twenty-three at 456 Main Street. If his client ledgers and bank checks are in that safehouse, then he’s telling the truth."
"And if he is?" John asked. "Do we put a bullet in him once we get the papers?"
"No," Ricky said, stopping near the entrance to the main staging bay. "He’s more useful to us alive than dead."
John frowned slightly, taking off his flat cap to wipe sweat from his brow. "What about Mandy Moore? You still want him confessing to the press?"
"We delay Moore’s confession for now," Ricky decided. "We shut down De George’s vice operations immediately, but we keep De George alive and working."
John looked taken aback. "Are you planning on recruiting him?"
"It’s a gamble," Ricky admitted. "But as long as your men keep him on a tight leash, it’s a manageable risk."
"It’s a sudden change to the operation, Boss," John said carefully. "We set up this entire raid to clean them out."
"We can’t keep killing people every time we need information," Ricky said, looking John dead in the eye. "Killing syndicate managers leaves bodies, and bodies leave traces that draw unwanted attention. If we want to take down the top dogs in Tammany Hall, we don’t do it with blood in the streets—we do it with paper."
John nodded slowly, listening closely.
"We use De George’s network to gather every document, check, and record connecting Tammany to organized crime," Ricky continued. "We build a complete file, and when the next election cycle hits, we dump everything onto the press at once. During the chaos of the election, any core Tammany boss we need to eliminate can be removed silently under the cover of political rivalries."
John let out a low whistle, a faint smile touching his mouth. "Clean. Less noise, more leverage. I like it."
"Precisely," Ricky said, turning back toward the staging bay where the trucks were being prepared. "Check for more information on De George’s satchel and get ready for Roosevelt Island tomorrow."