Over the past week, the streets of Greenwich Village had fundamentally shifted. The usual daytime clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones and newspaper boys shouting headlines now extended late into the night.
Through Peter’s introductions, and with Jimmy stepping up as the official representative of the "Commission Boys," Ricky had successfully brokered the new supply lines to Barney Knox. And to Ricky’s mild surprise, Barney had actually listened to his advice. Instead of blowing his new profits on tailored suits and lavish dinners, Barney had reinvested his cash directly into capital. He bought heavy shipments of Three Piece and Black Lapel whiskey, flooding the local saloons with affordable, mid-tier liquor that immediately drew the working class.
For the high-end market, Ricky had sold him Royal Spades. Barney had initially wanted to hoard the luxury crates in his private cellar, but Ricky had convinced him otherwise: Keep it exclusive. Sell it only to the rich figures and wealthy merchants who come down looking for a thrill. Make Greenwich known for it.
The results had been staggering. A week ago, Barney’s local extortion rackets and small-time robberies were pulling in around two hundred dollars a week. Now, the liquor alone was generating six hundred dollars a week. More importantly, the sheer volume of foot traffic flooding into Greenwich from neighboring Chelsea had caused Barney’s cocaine sales to skyrocket, easily eclipsing the volume sold by his fellow Duster boss, Kid Yorke, up north.
It was a perfect loop. More foot traffic for Barney meant more daytime customers for the local legitimate shops, which meant more wholesale orders directed back to Ricky’s office.
To celebrate the massive influx of cash, Barney had rented out the second floor of a massive, smoke-filled saloon on Gansevoort Street.
Ricky stood alone on the wooden balcony overlooking the main floor, a glass of seltzer water in his hand. Below him, the saloon was deafening. A piano player was hammering out a fast ragtime tune, barely cutting through the roaring laughter, the clinking of heavy glass mugs, and the thick, suffocating cloud of cigar smoke drifting up toward the rafters.
He watched his crew mingling near the bar. Arthur and Frank Murphy stood stiffly with their beers, clearly uncomfortable but keeping their expressions neutral. The Williams brothers, however, were entirely in their element, fast-talking a group of Barney’s enforcers and laughing loudly at jokes that weren’t funny.
Getting them to attend had been a fight. We don’t drink with Dusters, Arthur had argued back at the warehouse. But Ricky had shut the resistance down quickly. It isn’t about making friends, Ricky had told them. It’s socializing. It’s gathering information. It’s a social manipulation scheme, and we need to be in the room to play the game.
The Morgan and McClain brothers, along with Danny, had flat-out refused, opting to stay at the docks to manage Owney Madden’s new lieutenant. Owney’s operation was running surprisingly well. His point man had a talent for making money through strict, by-the-book accounting, a stark contrast to the Williams brothers’ aggressive, persuasive street hustle.
And Marek? Marek was up in Midtown, spending the evening with the Callahan sisters. The ’Three Sisters of Doom,’ as Marek liked to call them. Ricky took a sip of his seltzer, a faint smirk touching his lips. Marek was actually maturing lately, likely because the three wealthy women had finally taken his virginity. There’s never been a luckier guy than Marek, Ricky thought, shaking his head.
"Friend! Why are you all alone up here?"
Ricky turned as heavy footsteps thumped against the floorboards. Barney Knox approached, holding a glass of amber whiskey, his face flushed with alcohol and success.
"Oh, Mr. Knox," Ricky said smoothly, offering a polite nod. "I apologize. I’m just up here gathering my thoughts."
Barney laughed, leaning his forearms against the wooden railing next to Ricky. "Business again?"
"Well, yes," Ricky admitted, looking out over the crowd. "I’m thinking of a way to expand our businesses without trespassing over any established boundaries."
Barney took a slow sip of his whiskey, his jovial expression sobering slightly. "Please, speak your mind."
"I was thinking about Chelsea next, since it’s our direct neighbor," Ricky said, his tone casual, as if he were merely thinking aloud. "Besides, there are already many regulars from Chelsea coming down to your establishments. I was considering opening a partnership with one of your fellow bosses. Kid Yorke."
Barney’s expression instantly turned sour, though he forced his smile to remain. He gripped his glass a little tighter. "I don’t know about that. He’s been bothering me lately, demanding that I arrange a sit-down between the two of you. But you see, Ricky, I’m not really the type to just give someone what they want without getting something in exchange."
"I see," Ricky murmured.
"The problem is, Kid is slowly losing his regulars to me," Barney continued, a hint of arrogance bleeding into his voice. "It’s not like I told them to come down to Greenwich. They just followed the good liquor. I tried to negotiate with him. I told him I would sell the liquor in his territory so his customers would return, and I even offered to share fifty percent of the profits in Chelsea with him."
Ricky raised an eyebrow. "And he refused?"
"Flat out," Barney scoffed. "He said he’s going to talk to you directly, whether I like it or not."
Ricky frowned, staring down at the ice in his glass. "That is indeed a problem. We haven’t even begun to properly expand our business, and there already seems to be heavy resistance from your own organization."
Barney sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "As much as I hate dealing with my brother, Frank, I’m going to have to talk to him about this. It’s not my fault you ended up setting up shop in my territory, and it’s not my fault Kid’s cocaine regulars decided they like my saloons better."
"If I’m right, your brother will likely force you to let me partner up with Mr. Yorke to keep the peace," Ricky said quietly, driving the wedge exactly where he wanted it. "Which would mean your exclusive attraction down here loses its light entirely. I’m not purposely trying to stir up trouble, Mr. Knox, but when it comes to competition in business, men always lose their reason."
Barney scoffed loudly, his eyes hardening as he glared down at the crowd. "I think Kid already lost his. But don’t worry, my friend. He won’t get to you. You’re mine only."
Ricky didn’t say anything, simply nodding as if reassured.
But internally, Ricky’s mind was racing, analyzing the board. This is a perfect setup, he thought, taking a slow breath of the stale, smoky air. If I can make Hell’s Kitchen the next major attraction, I can have Owney Madden approach Kid Yorke. Kid will be hesitant, but if his territory is bleeding money and customers, he’ll do absolutely anything to survive—even betray the Dusters.
To pull it off, though, Ricky knew he couldn’t sell them the same product. If Kid Yorke suddenly started pushing Three Piece whiskey, Barney would immediately know Ricky was supplying him behind his back.
I’ll have to pull different brands from the System. Ricky realized. Gin, wine, champagne, tequila. Completely different labels. That way, Barney and Kid won’t be suspicious of each other’s supply chains.
With Kid Yorke and Barney Knox going for each other’s throats over customers and territory, it would only be a matter of time before the Hudson Dusters fractured from the inside out.
There was only one massive obstacle left. Frank.
Barney’s older brother was cold, calculating, and far too smart not to notice a shadow war being orchestrated right under his nose. If the Dusters started tearing each other apart, Frank would look for the source. And he would look right at Ricky.
I need to discuss this with Owney first, Ricky decided, taking a final sip of his water. Before Frank realizes we’ve already lit the fuse.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter