Chapter 78: Victories
The atmosphere in the back corner of the storage shed was entirely different from the heavy, suffocating tension of the storage shed a few days prior. There were no armed watchers in the rafters, no shotguns hidden behind crates, and no staring contests.
It was just two guys sitting at a sticky wooden table with a couple of half-empty whiskey glass. Aside from the warehouse staff still working unbothered by them.
Peter sat across from Jimmy. Peter was there representing Barney Knox and the Hudson Dusters, while Jimmy easily played the part of the Atlantic & Pacific Trading Company’s public face.
"I’m here to apologize on behalf of Barney Knox," Peter said, keeping his voice level and his hands resting on the table. "He wants to reopen the arrangement."
Peter watched Jimmy’s face carefully. He fully expected Jimmy to push back. Normally, when a street gang rejected a merchant’s offer and came crawling back a week later, the merchant immediately tightened the screws. Peter figured Jimmy would demand a higher cut, a stricter quota, or extra fees just to punish Barney for being an idiot.
But Jimmy just took a casual sip of his beer and set the mug down. "It doesn’t matter. The deal is exactly the same as before."
Peter frowned slightly, genuinely surprised. "No changes?"
"No changes," Jimmy said easily, leaning back in his chair. "Just tell Barney we expect him to prioritize our protection. If any outsiders try to move in and dilute our relationship, or if precinct cops start snooping around our wagons, he must handle it. We just want the delivery lanes clear. That’s all we ask."
Peter leaned back in his creaky wooden chair. On the surface, it was incredibly generous. But as Peter thought about it, a cold, heavy knot formed in his stomach.
This was a disaster for his plans.
We need Barney vulnerable, Peter thought, staring at his beer. If he stays a useless mutt who starves his own men, the bosses—even his brother Frank—wouldn’t retaliate if someone finally put a bullet in him. His death would be justifiable.
But now? Now Barney had exclusive access to high-end, imported whiskey. Every saloon and gambling den in Greenwich would be buying from him. The money would flow straight up to the top Duster bosses, and Barney would suddenly become a key financier for the entire gang. He wouldn’t be a useless mutt anymore. He would be protected.
Shit, Peter thought, forcing a polite, agreeable smile.
Jimmy pulled a folded contract from his coat and slid it across the table. Peter took out a pen, scratched his signature at the bottom, and pushed it back.
Jimmy grinned broadly, shaking Peter’s hand. Peter just kept his forced smile in place.
Later that evening, the first ten crates of the Three Piece rye arrived at Barney’s saloon on Tenth Avenue.
The moment the pry bars popped the wooden lids off, the tavern erupted. Men crowded around the bar, shouting and laughing as the amber bottles caught the flickering gaslight.
"Free drinks for everyone!" Barney yelled, slamming his heavy hands on the bar counter. He was already red in the face, sweating through his shirt with pure excitement. "Pour it out!"
The bartenders scrambled to uncork the bottles, filling shot glasses and tin cups as fast as they could. Out of Barney’s five street captains, Alvin and Andy were standing near the back wall cheering, including Peter. They watched the chaotic celebration with tight jaws. While the other two were nowhere to be found.
Barney climbed onto a sturdy wooden chair, holding a full glass of whiskey above his head. The loud chatter in the room dialed down just enough for him to be heard.
"Listen up!" Barney shouted, grinning ear to ear. "The Atlantic & Pacific Trading Company is now our official business partner! You see their black wagons, you leave ’em alone! Anyone messing with them, anyone trying to shake them down, has to go through us first! Understand?"
A roar of approval went up from the crowd. Men raised their glasses, cheering and whistling.
Peter took a slow drink from his own glass. The whiskey was incredibly smooth, but it tasted like ash in his mouth. He looked at the other two captains beside him. They were forcing smiles, clapping along with the rest of the enforcers, but Peter could see the exact same frustration in their eyes. Barney had just stumbled into a goldmine, and they were stuck watching him take all the credit and all the power.
Back at the Gansevoort storage shed, the heavy wooden loading doors were shut and bolted for the night. Down in the yard, horses stamped their hooves in their stalls, and the distant, muffled whistle of a river tugboat echoed off the brick walls.
Inside the small office, Ricky sat behind his desk with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Jimmy had returned to his route from his meeting with Peter an hour ago, dropped off the signed contract, and headed back out to finish his route.
Danny sat in the chair opposite Ricky, taking a healthy drink from his own glass.
"Boss," Danny said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Didn’t you just gain something other than money from that deal?"
Ricky nodded slowly, a calm smile touching his lips. "Yep. I just gained their dependency." He took a sip, the ice clinking softly against the glass. "Like they say, Danny. You control the money, you control the world."
Danny chuckled, raising his glass slightly. "I just realized that now. Cheers."
They clinked their glasses together and drank. The office was quiet for a moment, save for the faint sound of a late-night wagon rattling over the cobblestones a block away.
"This is just the first phase of the plan," Ricky said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the desk. He looked at Danny. "Have you ever seen a fungi controlling an ant?"
Danny frowned, looking completely confused. "A what? No."
"There’s a specific kind of fungi in the jungle," Ricky explained, his voice steady. "It spreads these tiny spores into the air. When a spore lands on an ant, it burrows inside. It grows straight into the ant’s brain and actually controls it."
Danny stared at him, his drink paused halfway to his mouth.
"It forces the ant to leave its colony and climb to a higher place," Ricky continued. "Once it’s up high enough, the fungus fully grows out of its head and spreads more spores everywhere." Ricky smiled, leaning back in his chair. "That’s my plan. We don’t have to fight the Dusters. They’ll fight each other instead. And Barney Knox is the key."
Danny slowly lowered his glass to the desk. "I can’t tell if you’re the devil or not, boss."
Ricky scoffed, shaking his head. "Books sometimes overrate the devil, Dan. In reality, humans are way more vicious than demons. Most people are just overcome by their emotions. It influences their logic and their decisions. And emotions are easy to control and influence."
Ricky smiled again, taking another casual drink of his whiskey.
Danny sat perfectly still. A heavy mix of deep fear and genuine respect settled in his chest. He looked at Ricky, really looked at him. The guy sitting across the desk was only eighteen years old—two years younger than Danny—but the way his mind worked was terrifying. He wasn’t just running a logistics business. He was playing a massive game that none of the street gangs even knew they were in.