Chapter 52: Loose Lips
Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smooth and unbothered, masking the surge of quiet triumph in his chest. He turned his head slightly, eyeing Mr. Sullivan as the old man gripped the edge of his counter until his knuckles turned chalk-white.
"Are you interested in talking now?" Peter asked, his voice low, conversational, and patient.
Sullivan closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, muttering a silent curse beneath his breath. Forgive me, boys, the old grocer thought bitterly. I can’t let these thugs touch my family or my neighbors.
"What I want to know," Peter said, stepping closer to the counter, "is how I find them."
Sullivan looked up, his spectacles glinting under the morning light. "You must promise me... you won’t hurt those boys. I hope you know what will happen to you and your gang of thugs if you lay a finger on them."
Peter scoffed softly, waving a casual hand. "Don’t worry, pop. We’re only interested in the silver. Although... I can’t speak for the other enforcers under Barney if things get messy. But you have my word."
Sullivan took a long, trembling breath, realizing the thin wire he was walking. He could only pray the commission boys were smart enough to pack up and move their operation if the extortion got too heavy.
"All I know," Sullivan muttered, leaning over the counter, "is that one or two of them visit the shop during the day to take down orders. Then they deliver at night. Usually between eight and midnight."
Peter’s eyes brightened slightly. His hunch was dead-on. "Any idea what they look like?"
"I don’t know," Sullivan grunted, shaking his head. "It’s almost never the same lad twice in a row. But lately... they’re dressed in clean black suits. Usually two or three of ’em together. That’s all I know."
"That’s more than enough, old man," Peter smirked, picking up his paper bag of groceries. "Thank you. Hopefully you’re telling me the truth. Otherwise... I’ll be back real soon."
Peter turned on his heel, pushing the brass door handle down as the bell above gave a light jingle.
Outside on the sunny cobblestones of Perry Street, Peter fell into a steady, thoughtful stride.
Black wagons and black suits, Peter thought, a cold grin touching his mouth. Perfect for operating in the dark. Nobody expects a delivery wagon at ten at night.
His smirk broadened, but his eyes stayed sharp. Except during the day... three young men in tailored black suits walking Greenwich Village aren’t invisible at all. They stick out like gold coins in a coal bin.
He took a bite of his fresh tomato, chewing as he analyzed the strategy. Taking orders on foot by day, running shadow drayage by night... it’s a brilliant setup. But a few threats, a little pressure on the merchants, a few loose lips in the saloons, and the secret crumbles.
Then, a sudden, heavy wave of paranoia hit Peter’s chest.
Wait, he thought, his pace slowing near the corner of Christopher Street. No group of street teenagers pulled this strategy out of their ass. To organize a shadow logistics network like this—without a paper trail, without leaving a trace at the docks—that’s not some local gang. That’s uptown money. That’s Five Points, Morello, or the White Hand expanding south.
Peter swallowed hard, a cold sweat breaking out across his neck despite the crisp morning air.
If the other enforcers find ’em first and Barney tries his usual knuckle-busting routine... we might be pulling the trigger on a war with a syndicate boss uptown who could wipe the Hudson Dusters off Tenth Avenue in an afternoon.
Peter rubbed his throbbing forehead, feeling thoroughly stressed. "I ain’t getting paid enough for this shit," he muttered aloud. "I just want the bloody money so my boys can eat."
He spat into the gutter, cursing Barney Knox’s useless, lazy existence. While Barney sat in a plush saloon drinking gin off his brother’s name, Peter was out on the cobbles navigating a potential syndicate war.
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Meanwhile, inside the cool, brick-walled Gansevoort storage shed, Ricky stood near the wooden staging table, where four young men—new recruits brought in by Danny from the Minetta block—were standing in a neat line. Beside them stood Danny, who was introducing them to Ricky.
The four recruits were cleanly dressed in dark wool trousers and vests, looking attentive and practical. Two of them were younger, around seventeen to twenty-one—Mark Connelly and Joseph Miller. The other two were older, around twenty-two to twenty-five—Luke Higgins and Sander Reed.
"Danny," Ricky said, looking over at his head lookout. "Do you have enough guys back on the Minetta blocks to cover the stoops if these four move inside?"
Danny offered a broad, confident grin. "Boss, there are more than enough lads sitting around the Minetta tenements who would kill for a twenty-four-hour watch shift doing nothing but keeping their eyes open for a dollar a day plus overtime. I’ll have the stoops filled by noon."
"Good," Ricky nodded. He turned back to the four recruits. "Danny tells me all four of you can read and write?"
The four boys nodded respectfully.
"Here’s the position," Ricky explained, his voice calm, direct, and conversational. "I’m creating a dedicated Warehouse Staff. Your job is working inside this storage shed during the night shift, starting at seven in the evening. When the route leaders bring their order sheets in, you fetch the stock from the stacks, organize the crates, and help the field agents load the wagons so they can hit the road without delay."
He looked at their faces. "Starting wage is $1.35 a day, plus thirty cents an hour overtime. Raises will be evaluated based on your speed, accuracy, and the report of the Warehouse Manager."
Ricky turned to Danny, leaning his hip against the table. "Danny, I need a man I can trust implicitly to supervise this shed and manage the night loading. I’m offering you the position of Warehouse Manager."
Danny blinked, taken aback by the offer. He looked at Ricky, then down at his own leather notebook. "Warehouse Manager?"
"It’s your choice, Dan," Ricky said gently. "Up to you."
"If I take the manager spot," Danny asked, "who takes over my spot?"
Ricky offered a small, easygoing smile. "I’ll cover it myself for a few days. I don’t have much field work right now anyway. The office staff handles the writing, and Evelyn manages the administrative decisions upstairs."
Danny let out a soft chuckle, a knowing, teasing glint flashing in his eyes. "Speaking of Evelyn, boss... I couldn’t help but notice she’s been looking at you a bit strange lately. If you catch my drift."
Ricky scoffed dryly, shaking his head. "Heh. I don’t know what’s got into her, Danny. She’s just doing her job."
Danny gave a subtle, disappointed shake of his head, chuckling silently to himself. The boss is an absolute genius when it comes to business and shadow routes, Danny thought, but he’s an absolute dunce when it comes to women.
"Anyway, boss," Danny said, shifting back to business, "if you’re looking for someone to step up as a new field agent, why not promote one of the current watchers? Ever since you announced the new wage scales and route leader promotions, a bunch of the younger lookouts have been ambitious as hell. They’ve even been begging me to teach ’em how to read and write so they can qualify for field agent spots down the line."
Ricky raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed by the ambition spreading through his ranks. "Is that right?"
"Yeah," Danny nodded. "I just haven’t had the time to teach ’em."
"I’m not going to block anyone’s growth," Ricky said, a firm, approving smile touching his face. "If they’re passionate about learning and want to step up, I’ll assign one of them to take over your position. And if I need more muscle down the line, I’ll let you know."
"There are plenty of hungry boys in the slums desperate for clean work, boss," Danny said warmly. "So... am I taking the Warehouse Manager contract?"
"You tell me," Ricky grinned.
"I’m in, boss," Danny declared, clapping his hands together. "Besides, I can’t compete with the Williams when it comes to pitching shopkeepers anyway. And I’ve got my own crew to look after."
"Well said, Dan," Ricky said, offering a firm hand. "We’ll revise your employment contract in the HQ later today. For now, orient Mark, Joseph, Luke, and Sander on how we organize the stocks."
"Got it, boss," Danny nodded, turning to the four new warehouse staff as Ricky adjusted his dark wool vest and walked out into the cool morning air of the Gansevoort alley.