Chapter 49 - Daughters of the Poor
Tenement House Underground Garment Factory
"Rosie Hertz?"
"Not 'Hertz' but 'Hertz?'"
"Yeah. That's how it's pronounced in German. Anyway, we're supposed to find the house of that crazy old woman—the one they call the Queen of the Whores, right?"
"That's right."
This was the core of the information network I mentioned earlier.
When I explained that we were building that system, Marcus's face finally lit up for a change.
He tossed aside the fabric he was handling, his eyes blazing with energy, looking ready to turn the whole Lower East inside out.
"Check on it as soon as Leo gets here."
"What about things here?"
"Four subs will be coming in to cover. Oh, looks like they're already here."
Right then, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed through the underground workshop.
Four of the Union gang's muscle showed up, grumbling as they entered.
"Keep your mouths shut."
"Come on, think about it again. We're the ones who should be going over there."
"That's right. Our faces tend to work well on women, you know."
In what world?
They look like they've never even held a woman's hand.
I divided the Union gang's assignments into three groups. One group was to go to the salon—actually, the brothel—to scope out the layout, the staff, and the general atmosphere.
Another group, along with Tanner, would track down the brothel's owner.
And these guys would substitute at the factory. They were the members I intended to give jobs to from time to time.
"I told you I'd pay you for the day. Anyway, everyone here thinks you're just temp laborers, so don't say anything unnecessary—just let your work speak for itself."
"What, you think we're mutes?"
When I picked up a bolt of fabric, the four of them quickly mimed zipping their lips shut.
I turned to Marcus, who was watching all this with bated breath.
"You'd better find her fast if you want these guys to be free from this place. I'm headed out, so show them how things are done."
"…"
All those predatory eyes focused squarely on Marcus.
With that kind of pressure, he was bound to give it everything he had to find her as quickly as possible.
Four days into gathering information.
Tanner, Gavin, and I sat down together on the tenement house rooftop to share everything we'd learned so far.
First, Tanner spoke up.
"The guy running the underground brothel is Jacob Reich. I ran into him a few times back when I was really into the gang scene."
Another name is Jack Sullivan.
He's a Jewish fixer who used to work for the Eastman Gang and also served as Rosie Hertz's bodyguard and troubleshooter.
"Rosie was running nine brothels, and she was paying massive bribes to the police and Tammany Hall. Jacob acted as the go-between for all of it."
Then a Manhattan prosecutor known for his anti-corruption stance arrested Rosie.
That prosecutor is the current governor, Charles Whitman.
"Anyway, when Rosie was put on trial, she asked everyone she could for help—including Jacob, it seems. She apparently gave him twelve thousand dollars, begging him to get her out."
It all ended in failure.
Jacob pocketed the money, and Rosie ended up being sentenced to a year in prison.
"But this shameless bastard didn't just take her money—while Rosie was locked up, he also stole one of her brothels for himself."
Even if it was hard to change the building's title on paper, all it took was muscle to take over the brothel itself.
Specifically, the underground brothel in the left building on Allen Street.
"So now that Rosie's lost her money and one of her brothels, she got mad and decided to sell off the building."
"Doesn't Jacob want to buy the building?"
"What for? He's not even paying rent as it is. All he has to do is dig in his heels. And honestly, who else but you would want a place like that?"
Gavin, listening from the side, nodded in agreement.
A troublesome tenant who doesn't pay rent.
On top of that, he's running a brothel in the basement. Who would want to buy a building like that?
"I just don't get it. Why doesn't Rosie hire a gang to kick him out? If she just offered some cash, someone could probably take care of Jacob for her."
Tanner's eyes lit up, like I'd hit on something important.
"Rosie's out of connections. All the cops and politicians she used to bribe have turned their backs on her."
And the same goes for the gangs.
As luck would have it, Rosie's downfall happened right around the same time most of the gangs got smashed up by the NYPD's special police.
All the gangsters Rosie knew are either dead, in prison, or getting medical exams because they volunteered to fight in World War I.
"Rosie's probably scared of working with gangs now. Jacob's still there, and he wouldn't hesitate for a second to kill someone."
Tanner and Gavin stared at me intently.
I blinked without realizing it.
"So, basically, this is how it goes. Rosie's afraid of Jacob, and Jacob knows it and refuses to budge."
"That's exactly right. We need to take advantage of that."
Next up was Gavin.
He shared information he'd picked up from a couple visits to the basement salon.
"When you go down to the first basement level, there are two guys guarding the door. They frisk you before you go in, and there's a clerk at the counter."
A female employee guides you to a seat. If you order a drink there, they'll pair you up with a woman.
"When her arm brushed against mine, it was so soft. And the scent she wore had this sort of dreamy, lingering quality…"
As Gavin spoke, the corners of his mouth started to curl up, and his eyes drifted upward.
Smack.
Tanner slapped him on the back of the head, and only then did Gavin's eyes snap back to normal.
"Get a grip, idiot. What exactly did you do down there?"
"Oh, uh. I had about three glasses of whiskey. All of a sudden, this woman leans in and blows in my ear. Says if I've got a dollar, I can go downstairs—hooo."
"If anyone blows in my ear, I'll kill them."
Tanner shoved him with his foot, muttering that he was out of his mind.
As Gavin toppled over, he kept talking.
"So I went down to the second basement level and saw a row of rooms with curtains. I went into one where the curtain was open, and…"
"That's enough. How many guys do you think are on guard?"
"Maybe about six? And I also found someone who really knows the layout down there."
He said there's an entrance in the back, too. And he actually confirmed that the door exists.
"But about the women…"
"Hey, that's enough about the women."
At Tanner's words, Gavin shook his head.
"They looked sick. I saw a few others, and they all seemed so young—deathly pale, like they were seriously ill. Big dark circles under their eyes…"
"Is this your first time there? Most of the girls working there are like that. A lot of them have syphilis, too."
At Tanner's words, Gavin's eyes flew wide and he recoiled in shock. Then he gave a visible shudder.
He wasn't just saying that—there was even a newspaper article saying there were over 400 brothels in the Lower East Side alone, and that about 80% of the workers were believed to have syphilis.
The reliability and accuracy of that data were questionable, but there was no doubt things were dire.
"You guys don't seem to know much about this business. The Jews and those Italian gang bastards—do you have any idea how ruthless they are…"
Tanner should've been lecturing at a university, not running with a gang. When he talked about the sex trade, he spoke with the expertise of a professor.
His descriptions were so vivid that the more I listened, the more a heavy feeling pressed on my chest and my brow furrowed involuntarily. This wasn't like anything I'd ever heard or seen before, in any lifetime.
When Tanner finished his lecture, even Gavin seemed to feel guilty about something, smacking his lips uneasily.
"Getting back to the point—the crux of the matter is that Jacob's got the cops on his payroll, at least to some extent."
"Yeah, figures."
If not just the real estate agents but even people who came to view the property, like me, knew about it, it meant he had some security in place.
Gavin continued.
"The second time I went, I casually asked about it. It seemed like they were trying to sell the building, so I asked where the owner was. As soon as I did, the staff's expression completely changed."
"And?"
"They said it would be better if I wasn't thinking of buying the building. Basically, they threatened me. So I backed off, but then the others started changing up the questions, asking about the owner's whereabouts."
That way, the Union gang members who'd gone undercover at the salon found out something important.
"Apparently, Jacob goes to a public bathhouse nearby once a day."
They didn't know the exact time, but that was enough to go on. Tanner turned to me.
"So Jacob's case is settled. What about Rosie?"
"She lives just south of Gramercy Park."
"Living right next to a wealthy neighborhood, huh. Living easy off other people's backs. So are you keeping tabs on her?"
When she wakes up, how she spends her day—Leo and Marcus are monitoring Rosie Hertz's every move.
That part of the operation is progressing as planned.
Once we had all the information we needed, we started putting together a concrete plan to snatch the building for ourselves.
Usually, I'd do most of the talking and suggesting, while Tanner and Gavin would either nod in agreement or shake their heads.
Their final review of my plan?
"That's ruthless. Seriously ruthless."
A few days later, on the third floor of the Tenement House.
"What day is it today?"
Roa shot her hand up excitedly.
"Roa knows. It's the day we eat meat. Friday, Beef Day. Yep. I'm sure of it."
"So it's Friday."
Roa was already chewing as if she were a cow ruminating.
"Let's try not to drool, okay?"
"They say it helps with digestion."
"Aunt Mary's taught you a lot, hasn't she?"
"Yeah. She taught me something else yesterday too. Not to talk to strangers in strange places."
"Yeah, that's exactly what I wanted to tell you earlier."
"Then why didn't you? Come on, sit here. What else haven't you said?"
Roa patted the floor next to her, telling me to sit down.
Thinking of Rosie Hertz suddenly made me more cautious.
"Never, ever get separated from your family. Don't go anywhere with anyone, and don't drink anything someone gives you, got it? Even if they offer you meat, don't eat it. It could have poison in it."
"Poooiiison?!"
"Yeah, like this."
I took a small brown bottle down from the kitchen cupboard and showed it to her.
In the future, it'd be rare to see phenol in an ordinary home.
It's highly toxic, so it's usually used in compound or derivative form for disinfecting and sterilizing.
But in this era, pure phenol is used at home to clean floors, drains, trash cans, and to get rid of bugs.
"If you ate something like this by accident, you'd have to say goodbye to your family forever."
"Roa would never eat it. I'm going to live with Mom and Big Brother forever."
As she glanced over at Liam, it was obvious from her expression that she was conflicted.
I wore the winner's smile, while Liam looked sulky.
"Hey, whatever. I'll just live by myself."
"No, Little Brother. It'll be tough for Roa, but I can handle it. I managed before, and I can do it agaaain!"
"This is annoying, and it's not even noon yet."
After we finished our peaceful breakfast, everyone scattered to their own spaces.
"Mom, phenol is dangerous, so I'll put it away. If Roa touches it, it could be really bad."
"Nothing's happened all this time… But fine, do what you have to. But if we don't have that, what are we supposed to clean with?"
"I'll get something else when I go to Macy's."
"Alright. You take care of it. I'm heading down first."
My mother left for work, while I sat at the table with a pen in hand.
Thanks to the phenol, I was suddenly reminded of the pandemic I'd put off thinking about—the Spanish flu.
The name Marcus had given me from the New York World was also a long one—Reporter Herbert Bayard Swope.
While I was at it, I decided to write a letter to Reporter Swope. It might end up in the trash, but someday, someone will recognize its value.
The first topic.
[This illness can spread through close contact between humans and may appear with symptoms similar to those of the flu.
However, its deadliness is far greater than we imagine.
There is a high chance it will spread rapidly around the world, especially breaking out quickly among densely packed soldiers during wartime.
In addition to common symptoms like high fever, fatigue, and sore throat, it might progress rapidly and lead to pneumonia.
Such a disease could cause massive damage in a short period and is highly likely to bring about a global pandemic.]
Rather than making definitive statements, I wrote in terms of "could" or "might."
And at the end, I included 'masks' and 'hand sanitizer' as solutions to overcome the pandemic.
I'll have to make and sell them.
The important thing was the pen name—how I would present myself—but, as if struck by indecision, I couldn't easily choose one.
The topic of my next submission would be
For now, I just wrote down the title. I placed the letter about the pandemic into an envelope, put it in my small bag, and added the bottle of phenol as well.
"I'd better hide these for now."
I slipped out of the house and headed up to the rooftop.
From the morning, our crew had been gathered there, smoking and chatting.
"Everyone, come here. We have a busy schedule today."
I gave out the plan, double-checked it, and made sure everyone understood.
Around noon, one of our guys, who had been watching from the rooftop, called out quietly.
"They're here. Those bastards showed up!"
These broke Italians had come again today to demand protection money from my mother's company.
We immediately got up, dusted ourselves off, and started grabbing our tools.
"Alright, let's go."
In twos, threes, and ones, we left the rooftop like regular tenants and slipped into the alley to hide. When those guys came out from the basement, we tailed them.
Forsyth Street. Once they reached a quiet alley, we ambushed the Italians again.
Whack!
I ran out in front and cracked one of their heads with my club. Our crew surged forward and swept the Italians aside like a tidal wave.
The guy I'd struck first was flailing on the ground, glaring up at me and grinding his teeth.
"You... bastards... what the hell is this Union?"
"If you're curious, come find us."
At 137 Allen Street.
The ambush, the $200 loot—all of it took just one minute from start to finish.
As soon as my crew and I came out of the alley, we scattered in all directions.
Ten minutes later, we regrouped at 137 Allen Street.
"Damn, I feel like I'm gonna puke… huff, huff."
"No time to rest. Let's move."
The crew and I headed to the left side of Liz Hertz's building—straight into the underground brothel.
Thud, thud, thud.
We pulled our scarves up again and charged down the stairs.
"What the—what's going on!"
"In that case, what are we supposed to do with this information?"
"These damned Italians—urk."
Crack!
We smashed up the heads of the guys guarding the entrance and stormed into the main salon, taking down the counter first, since that's where the guns would be.
"Break everything!" (shouted in Italian: "Rompi tutto!") "Kyah!"
A wild frenzy swept through the salon.
Everyone jumped over tables, gleefully smashing and destroying everything in sight.
Leaving that behind, Gavin, Cory, and I headed straight down to the second basement level.
We kicked and clubbed anyone we ran into on the stairs.
When we opened the heavy iron door, unlike the chaos upstairs, it was quiet.
No, there were only moans.
"..."
I walked to the far right, toward the wall.
Then I knocked on the wall with my fist.
Thud, thud.
No response…
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
I moved toward the sound of knocking. In a section where the curtains were open,
A pale, bloodless woman, only half-dressed, lay there, tapping weakly on the wall.
Even when our eyes met, she continued to knock at the wall with blank, unfocused eyes.
[A young and impoverished daughter fell into a pimp's trap at an East Side dance hall.
She was dragged to one of the Lower East Side's red-light districts and thrown away as a ruined prostitute.
Who did this?
Jake Hertz, Rosie Hertz, and their family.
Because of them, the girl's heart was shattered, her innocence was stolen, and her virtue was ruined.
The cries of girls who fell prey to the evil deeds of the Hertz family echoed endlessly throughout the Lower East Side.
[From the records of Abraham Schoenfeld,
a detective who, from 1912 to 1917, infiltrated Jewish crime organizations, brothels, and gambling dens in Manhattan's Lower East Side.]
***
At the same time, in the public bathhouse on Allen Street.
Two men, their bodies covered in wounds, spoke frankly with each other.
"A few days ago, I heard the building you're in was sold."
"!?"
At Tanner's words, Jacob Reich, the owner of the brothel, jumped to his feet.