Chapter 202: New Order

The heavy oak doors of 207 Bowery slammed shut, locking the heat and tension of forty men into the main hall. Gas lamps flared against the damp walls, casting long, flickering shadows over the polished floorboards where the blood of the Bowery Boys had been scrubbed clean only hours before.

?The atmosphere in the room was stifling.

?Larry Mulligan sat behind Big Tim Sullivan’s oak desk at the back of the hall, resting his elbows on the green blotter. To his left stood Captain Peter P. Corcoran and eight armed patrolmen, their hands resting loosely on their leather holsters. To his right stood Thomas Gallagher and his Bowery lieutenants, looking wary and unsettled. Along the side wall, bound to wooden chairs, sat two remaining gang lieutenants who had been dragged out of Mulberry Street earlier that evening.

?And standing in the center of the room, crowded together like reluctant wolves, were the leaders of Manhattan’s underworld.

?Nick Terranova stood at the front, flanked by his brothers Vincenzo and Ciro. Behind them stood Paul Kelly, his coat buttoned tight, accompanied by four senior enforcers. Off to the side, leaning casually against a billiard table with a toothpick between his teeth, was Jack Zelig, surrounded by six Eastman Gang lieutenants.

?Every man in the room was armed. Every man was furious.

?Nick Terranova’s knuckles were white as he clutched the lapels of his heavy overcoat. His organization had been bleeding men for seven months in a brutal street war against the Brooklyn Camorra and the White Hand Alliance, and Larry’s sudden police raids on Mulberry Street had been the final insult. Being dragged into the Bowery like a common pickpocket had pushed him to the absolute brink.

?Larry slowly stood up behind the desk, adjusting his cuffs.

?"Gentlemen," Larry began smoothly, "I believe you all know why—"

?"Know why we’re here?" Nick Terranova cut in, stepping forward. His voice echoed sharply across the room. "You dragged us here after raiding our establishments, beating our men, and arresting our lieutenants!"

?Larry didn’t flinch. He remained standing, his blue eyes fixed calmly on Nick.

?"Who the hell do you think you are?" Nick snarled, his voice rising. "You come walking into the Bowery like you inherited the city! You ought to be grateful my men didn’t fire on your petty police officers when they came through our doors on Mulberry Street!"

?The room went dead silent. Captain Corcoran’s hand shifted to the grip of his service revolver, but Larry raised a single finger, signaling the police captain to stay put.

?Larry didn’t argue. He didn’t raise his voice.

?Instead, Larry reached down to his hip, drew his snub-nosed revolver, turned slightly towards the bound Morello Crew lieutenant sitting in the chair beside his desk, and pulled the trigger.

?Bang.

?The heavy gunshot roared inside the enclosed room. The bullet struck the bound lieutenant squarely in the temple. The man slumped sideways instantly, his body hanging limply against the wooden bindings as a quiet pool of red began to form on the floorboards.

?Every man in the hall froze.

?Jack Zelig stopped chewing his toothpick. Paul Kelly instinctively took a half-step back. Even Nick Terranova stood stunned, his eyes wide as the echo of the gunshot died away into the thick smoke of the gaslights.

?Larry calmly dropped the spent cartridge into his palm, slipped a fresh round into the cylinder, and clicked the revolver shut before sliding it back beneath his coat.

?He looked back up at Nick.

?"You were saying?" Larry asked softly.

?Nick’s face flushed a deep, dangerous crimson. His hand twitched toward the inside of his coat.

?Before he could reach his grip, Vincenzo Terranova lunged sideways, grabbing his brother’s wrist with both hands. "Nick! Don’t!"

?"I’ll kill you," Nick spat through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he glared at Larry. "I’ll fucking kill you!."

?Larry smiled. It wasn’t a nervous smirk; it was a cold, genuinely amused look.

?He walked out from behind Big Tim’s desk, taking three slow, deliberate steps toward Nick until they were standing less than four feet apart. Larry unbuttoned his dark overcoat and pushed it open with both hands, deliberately exposing his vest and chest.

?"Then do it," Larry said, his voice smooth as glass. "Go ahead."

?Silence stretched across the hall. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

?Larry’s smile vanished completely, replaced by a expression of absolute, terrifying detachment.

?"But understand something first," Larry said, gesturing loosely toward Captain Corcoran and the armed patrolmen standing along the walls. "If one of you touches a police officer from this moment forward, I’ll stop treating this as a gang dispute. I will call the governor. And then I will ask for the military."

?Nick stared at him, his chest heaving.

?"Then we will hunt every one of you down," Larry continued, stepping closer. "Your organizations will instantly vanish. And don’t imagine your families will somehow remain untouched by the consequences of losing everything."

?He looked Nick straight in the eye, his voice flat and unyielding. "Your wives lose their homes. Your children lose their fathers. Your businesses disappear. Your families are left with nothing on the street. That is what happens when you make the government your enemy."

?Behind Nick, Ciro Terranova snapped. Humiliated and blinded by pride, Ciro stepped around his brothers, reaching into his pocket. "Don’t push your luck, you bastard—"

?Bang.

?Before Ciro’s hand cleared his pocket, Larry’s revolver was out again. The shot slammed straight into Ciro’s right thigh.

?Ciro let out a sharp yell and collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding leg as his hat rolled across the floorboards.

?Nick and Vincenzo instantly tensed, but before they could move, Thomas Gallagher and four Bowery lieutenants stepped in with drawn weapons, while three police officers pointed their revolvers directly at Nick’s forehead.

?Larry didn’t even look down at Ciro, who was groaning on the floor. He kept his eyes fixed entirely on Nick.

?"I believe I just explained the consequences," Larry noted quietly.

?He slipped his weapon back into his hip holster and looked at the assemble bosses. "Didn’t Tim tell you about me?"

?Silence was his only answer.

?Larry began walking slowly around the room, passing in front of Paul Kelly and Jack Zelig. "I’m not afraid of Italians. I’m not afraid of any old Italian families, Nick. I’m not afraid of anybody in this room. Not even death and God himself."

?He stopped near the doorway, gesturing toward Captain Corcoran.

?"You should remember something," Larry said. "You have your gangs. Charles Murphy has the city."

?He looked at Vincenzo, who was kneeling down to check on his bleeding brother.

?"Why do you think the government was able to capture your boss Giuseppe Morello?" Larry asked, his tone almost instructional. "Why do you think you couldn’t simply shoot your way out of a federal courtroom? Because eventually, boys, somebody with a badge outranks somebody with a knife."

?Larry turned on his heel and walked back to Big Tim’s desk, picking up a white handkerchief and wiping a trace of gunpowder residue from his fingers.

?"Now that we’re finished with that," Larry said, setting the handkerchief down, "Charles wants this war over."

?Paul Kelly let out a sharp, cynical scoff from the back. "And what makes you think the White Hand Alliance and the Brooklyn Camorra are going to stop fighting just because Charles Murphy asked politely?"

?Larry looked over at Kelly. "Easy. We’ll wipe them out."

?The gang leaders exchanged baffled, skeptical glances.

?"I don’t think you understand," Larry said, leaning his hands flat on the desk. "I intend to put the entire police apparatus on the outer boroughs starting tomorrow morning. Brooklyn. Williamsburg. Queens. Astoria. Long Island."

?He looked around the room, letting the names sink in. "Every known gang house. Every gambling room. Every protection racket. Anyone who refuses to cooperate gets arrested or killed, their saloons closed, and their assets seized by the city."

?Paul Kelly frowned. "And what about the ones who cooperate?"

?"They’ll earn their share," Larry replied instantly. "Territory can be negotiated."

?Jack Zelig, still leaning against the billiard table, raised an eyebrow. "Negotiated?"

?"Astoria," Larry listed, pointing around the room. "Williamsburg. Brooklyn. Queens. Long Island. You cooperate with me, and you get something solid. You fight me and you lose everything."

?Jack Zelig let out a sudden, bark of laughter, a broad smirk spreading across his face. "Why the hell didn’t you start with that?"

?Larry looked at Zelig without a flicker of humor. "I wanted to know who was stupid first and stupid ones gets eliminated."

?Zelig’s grin widened, and he nodded in appreciative acknowledgment.

?Over by the wall, Nick Terranova looked down at Ciro, who was binding his wounded leg with a handkerchief. Vincenzo helped their brother to his feet. Nick looked back up at Larry, the fierce rage in his eyes replaced by the cold reality of criminal survival.

?"All right," Nick said quietly.

?Larry waited, saying nothing.

?"I apologize for what happened when I came in," Nick said, stiffly bowing his head. "But if you’re serious about ending this war... I’ll help you destroy the Brooklyn Camorra. I’ve lost enough men already."

?Paul Kelly stepped forward, nodding grimly. "So have I. We’ve all been bleeding money while the docks sit empty."

?Thomas Gallagher stepped out from the side of the desk. "The Bowery will help, Larry."

?Larry looked at Gallagher and shook his head flatly. "No."

?Gallagher blinked, confused. "No?"

?"You and the other Bowery crews aren’t joining that fight," Larry said. "You’ve got another job."

?He gestured toward the assembled Bowery leaders. "Unite. Bring the Bowery crews back together under one roof."

?Larry paused, letting his next words carry absolute weight. "You do that, and I’ll give you the Lower West Side."

?Gallagher and his lieutenants stared at Larry in stunned silence.

?"Greenwich Village," Larry detailed. "Chelsea. The docks along the Hudson River. The Lower West Side. Portions of the old Hudson Dusters territory. The Dusters are broken, and Frank Knox is dead. Rebuild properly, and it’s yours."

?Gallagher swallowed hard, his eyes shining with sudden ambition. "And what about the police on the West Side?"

?"If you need assistance or coverage," Larry said, "talk to Captain Teague at the Ninth Precinct. I’ve already spoken with him. He understands how things will be run from now on."

?Gallagher looked at his lieutenants, who were all nodding eagerly. Big Tim’s old empire had broken into pieces, but Larry was handing them a chance to rebuild a massive, protected territory on their own terms.

?"I think we can manage that," Gallagher said, a wide smile spreading across his face.

?"If you manage to get your shit together, then you get your territory," Larry affirmed.

?Larry stood up straight, his presence dominating the quiet room once more.

?"There is one final rule," Larry said, his tone dropping into a hard, final register.

?Every man in the hall—Nick, Vincenzo, Paul Kelly, Jack Zelig, and Gallagher—looked up at him.

?"From today forward, major decisions go through me," Larry stated. "You want territory? You come to me. You want a ceasefire? You come to me. You want to move against another organization? You come to me."

?He paused, letting his dark blue eyes sweep across the faces of every boss in the room.

?"You want to start another war..." Larry said softly, "...you’d better come to me first."

?Silence settled over 207 Bowery. No one challenged him. No one argued.

?An hour later, the main hall had cleared out.

?Nick and Vincenzo Terranova had left, supporting Ciro between their shoulders as they headed toward a private doctor on Mulberry Street. Paul Kelly had departed with his lieutenants, already drafting plans for the eastern precincts. Jack Zelig had walked out into the Bowery drizzle, whistling a quiet tune.

?The bodies had been removed through the back alley, and Captain Corcoran’s officers were posted outside on the street.

?Larry sat alone behind Big Tim’s desk in the dim gaslight.

?Tommy walked quietly across the room, carrying a thick stack of leather-bound ledgers that had been pulled from Tim’s private safe. He set them down on the desk beside Larry.

?Tommy looked toward the heavy oak doors, then back at his boss. "You think they’ll actually follow you, Mr. Mulligan?"

?Larry opened the top ledger, flipping past pages of scribbled numbers, gambling receipts, and saloon protection fees. He didn’t look up.

?"They already did. Otherwise, it’ll be just another annoying clean up for me." Larry said.