Chapter 112: Building The Trojan Horse
Under the dense shadow of the trees along the southern edge of Washington Square Park, the night was cold and quiet. Peter sat on a low stone bench, his coat collar pulled tight against the chill as he kept his eyes locked on the empty street.
"Did you bring the money?" Peter asked quietly without turning his head.
Reggie pat the thick paper bag resting in his lap. "Fifteen hundred and fifty dollars, every cent of it. What about the boys?"
"They’re tucked away in the alley just behind the park," Peter murmured. "Waiting for the signal."
Before Reggie could answer, the slow, steady rhythm of iron-shod hooves clattering over cobblestones drifted down the avenue. A dark wooden wagon emerged from the mist, draped in a dirty white canvas tarp. Sitting up on the driver’s bench were two men dressed in sharp, pitch-black suits and dark bowler hats, with two more seated quietly in the back.
Peter stood up, squinting into the gloom. "There they are."
Reggie rose beside him, adjusting his coat. "Why do those guys look more like an outfit crew than a bunch of freight merchants?"
"Because they are," Peter said under his breath. "They’re just playing merchants for the boss."
The wagon pulled up to the curb and creaked to a stop. John climbed down from the driver’s seat, nodding toward Peter and Reggie, while Arthur stepped to the rear and pulled back the tarp, revealing stacked wooden crates.
"Here’s your delivery," John said smoothly.
Arthur hoisted five heavy crates off the wagon bed, setting them on the curb and popping the iron clasps on the lids. Inside lay rows of greased steel and polished wood.
"Thirteen Smith & Wesson thirty-eights," John listed off in a steady voice. "Fifteen Colt Model 1903 Pocket Hammerless thirty-twos. Thirty Winchester ninety-fours. Fifteen Mauser ninety-eights, and twenty Winchester ninety-seven pump shotguns, plus full crates of ammunition for each. You’re welcome to inspect every piece, but if it were me, I’d make it fast."
Reggie leaned over, running his fingers along the blued steel of a Winchester shotgun, a wide smirk spreading across his face. "No need. I trust you guys." He handed over the paper bag.
John glanced inside at the thick rolls of greenbacks, then casually handed the bag to Arthur without counting a single bill.
Reggie raised an eyebrow. "Ain’t you gonna count it?"
"Trust goes both ways," John replied with a dry smile. "I doubt this is the last time we’ll be doing business." He motioned over his shoulder, and Caleb and Eli began hauling the rest of the crates off the wagon bed. "You got people to move all this heavy iron?"
"Don’t worry," Reggie said. "Our men are right around the corner."
Once the last box hit the pavement, John tipped his bowler cap. "Pleasure doing business with you. Just remember our agreement."
Reggie smirked, folding his arms. "Agreement? I don’t even know you guys."
John let out a quiet laugh, climbing back onto the bench. Eli and Caleb jumped onto the tailgate, and with a flick of the reins, the wagon rolled away into the foggy night.
Peter put two fingers to his mouth and let out a sharp, low whistle. Seconds later, an unremarked closed carriage emerged from the alley across the street. Half a dozen eager hands stepped out from the shadows, quickly loading the heavy weapons crates into the interior until everything fit perfectly. The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage took off toward their secure hideout.
Peter and Reggie stepped out of the park, swinging over the low iron fence as they crossed the street.
"So," Peter murmured, lighting a fresh cigarette, "I assume our operation starts tomorrow?"
"We wait for our middleman to bring in the cash from the Bowery trade first," Reggie said, shaking his head. "We need to buy another shipment of guns and ammo to arm the rest of our crew. If we act tomorrow, Barney and Kid Yorke are going to escalate things instantly. We’d be forced into an early coup with half our men holding empty hands."
Reggie adjusted his collar, his eyes cold. "We need enough firepower to neutralize Barney’s loyal enforcers in one quick sweep. That lets us lock down Washington Street to block Jack’s forces, while another squad hits all of Barney’s stash houses to gather the cocaine and you blast that idiot’s head once and for all."
"And what if Kid Yorke tries to step in?" Peter asked.
"If we’re fully armed, Barney’s lapdogs will surrender without throwing a punch," Reggie said. "But Gansevoort will be the northern front line if Kid decides to make a play for Greenwich."
Peter let out a trail of smoke, grinning in the dark. "Sounds like a good fucking plan."
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Back at the Atlantic & Pacific office on Hudson Street, the quiet hum of the late hour was broken only by the scratching of graphite on thick paper. Ricky had returned from the Callahan mansion in Carnegie Hill an hour ago and is currently hunched over his drafting table, sketching out the exterior sheet-metal panels and wooden framing for his truck bodies.
The office door creaked open, and Evelyn walked in carrying a small stack of papers and a brightly colored book.
"Sir," Evelyn said softly, stepping up to his desk, "I know it’s late, but I’ve located three local artist candidates who can handle redrawing the Dragon Ball comic strip pages. Should I arrange for them to come in for interviews tomorrow?"
Ricky set his pencil down and stretched his arms. "What about the writers I asked you to find?"
"I found four interested writers as well," Evelyn replied with a nod. "They’re eager to review the outlines for The Witcher and The Lord of the Rings. Shall I bring them in at the same time?"
"Yes, bring all of them in," Ricky said. "And while you’re at it, see if you can track down a few experienced wood sculptors or pattern makers. I need physical wooden mockups carved for the engine blocks and gear housings before I send the casting specs to the foundries."
"I’ll look into it first thing in the morning, sir," Evelyn said. She then placed the first volume of Dragon Ball back on his desk. "I’m returning this as well. The rest of the clerks downstairs have been practically begging to read it."
Ricky smirked, leaning back in his swivel chair. "They like it that much?"
"They’re completely captivated by it, sir," she admitted with a slight smile.
"Tell you what," Ricky chuckled. "If everyone hits their performance targets this month, I’ll give them personal copies of volume one for every single employee."
Evelyn’s eyes brightened. "Thank you, sir. They’ll be thrilled to hear that. As for myself... would you mind if I borrowed the second volume tonight?"
Ricky laughed, reaching into his desk drawer and sliding the second volume across the desk to her. "Here you go. Just make sure you actually get some sleep tonight instead of staying up until dawn reading comic books."
Evelyn picked up the book, tucking it securely under her arm. "Of course, Mr. Stevenson. Have a good night, sir." She offered a polite bow and turned toward the door.
Ricky watched her walk out, shaking his head with a faint smile. "Yeah... I doubt she’s sleeping a wink tonight."