America 1881: Legend of the West

The iron-clad butcher Derek Randall was electrocuted to death.

He vaguely saw hundreds of people with bull heads floating in the air, sitting and talking to him.

The Butcher couldn't hear what the tauren were saying.

It seemed like he was asking for his life.

"You trash! I can kill you once, but I can kill you a second time!"

The butcher's anger increased.

His hands were tied, he was unconscious, his body was twisted, and he was yelling viciously at the air.

"Oh, that's pretty cool." Chen Jianqiu raised his finger at the agent next to the machine, "Increase the battery!"

Under repeated electric shocks, the butcher finally died.

He drooped his head, rolled his eyes, and drooled from his mouth, dripping to the ground.

"Do you remember?" Chen Jianqiu waved his hand in front of him to make sure that the man was not in a coma or nervous state, and then asked, "Who killed those two policemen?"

Randall the Butcher had almost no air left.

"To, Torio did it. The first one was done by the Gopher, and the second one was done by himself. Here, can you give me a drink of water?" He replied breathlessly.

"Sign, make a signature, and let the doctor treat his injuries, so that he won't be accused of abusing witnesses when he is taken to Roosevelt later."

Chen Jianqiu, who had already gotten the answer he wanted, glanced at the butcher.

He turned around, pointed with his thumb at the half-dead butcher hanging behind him, and said to Holiday:

"I'll discuss it with Roosevelt later. You guys are optimistic about this person."

Just as the butcher was being thrown into a cart full of offal and sent to the "Honest Happy House" of the Border Detective Agency, a gang meeting was being held in a warehouse on the other side of downtown.

Almost all the gang leaders active in the lower city appeared here with their men.

For example, the Irishman sitting at the wooden table wearing a tall hat and a mustache is Marty Brennan, the leader of the "Gopher Gang".

Their active area is mainly from Fourth Street to Twelfth Street, and their members are mainly Irish. They can be regarded as the successors of the Irish gangs that were famous in eastern American cities in the mid-to-early 19th century.

Half lying in a chair, with his feet on the table and his eyes closed to meditate, it was Monk Eastman, the leader of the "Eastman Gang".

This guy is an American Jew. When he came to the United States, he was basically penniless, and he also had a bunch of murder cases on his back.

But now he can basically compete with the "Gopher Gang" and "Five Point Gang".

An old Chinese man with a gloomy goatee and a goatee sat at the table with squinted eyes and smoked.

His name is Li Xiling, he is the founder and boss of the Chinese Tangkou Anliang Tang, and he is also a godfather-level figure among the Chinese gangs in New York.

This person is ruthless and has no bottom line.

An Liangtang's sphere of influence is near Chinatown, and this old man can basically dominate Chinatown.

In addition, there are other small-power street gangs.

They rarely get the chance to sit at the same table as these big guys.

The atmosphere inside the warehouse is very quiet.

Each gang brings a lot of young men, so there won't be any trouble.

There are usually a lot of grievances, but they are all conflicts of interest. Now everyone is just staring at each other.

Because the person who called the meeting has not come yet.

"Where's Torrio? What's wrong with this bastard who brought us together to stare at each other while one of our own is late?" Brennan, an Irishman, finally couldn't bear it anymore.

He is relatively thin and does not have much flesh on his butt, so his butt hurts after sitting for a long time.

Once someone starts to feel pain somewhere on their body, their temper will become very bad.

"I won't wait any longer. Whoever wants to wait will wait." Brennan stood up angrily, waved to his men behind him, and prepared to leave.

Just as he stood up, someone suddenly came from outside the warehouse.

"Well, yo, why are Irish people always so grumpy? Is it because they drink too much?" Torrio walked in from the gate speaking English with a thick Italian accent.

He was still wearing the black woolen coat, with a gray scarf around his neck and black gloves on his hands.

He walked one step at a time, with one shoulder high and one low. He was not as elegant as his clothes at all, and his posture looked very slender.

"Stop being so weird to me! If you have something to talk about, I don't have that much time to talk nonsense with you!" Brennan said angrily.

Eastman on the side opened his eyes and looked at the Italian with a mocking look:

"Torrio, you are still so unpopular. People hate you wherever you go."

Torrio's face glowed inexplicably. He pointed to his nose with a sick smile on his face and asked Eastman:

"Are you saying I'm annoying? Oh, yes, my neighbors have hated me since I was a child, and my father said the same, so he kicked me out of the family. Thank you very much for the compliment!"

Eastman had known Torrio for a little longer, and knew that this man was a little unreasonable, so he stopped talking to him and continued to close his eyes and meditate.

Torrio walked over to the only empty chair at the table.

Several people stood behind him, including his Neapolitan named "Robert."

"Boss, I don't know why the butcher didn't come." A short, stocky Italian with a sinister look came close to Torrio's ear and whispered to him.

Torrio didn't answer, just waved his hand.

"Gopher! Last time you led someone to kill my brother and threw his body into the Hudson River. How are you going to explain it?" A gang member behind Eastman saw the short and stocky Italian. , couldn't help but rushed out.

"Hehe, he drank too much and slipped and fell into the river. What does it have to do with me?" The gopher chuckled, looking even more wretched.

"You fart!" The gang member was about to rush towards the gopher, but unexpectedly Eastman coughed.

"If you have anything to do, we'll talk about it later." He cleared his throat, "Torrio, if you have anything to do, just say it quickly. Don't be too nagging, like a woman."

"I want to lead everyone to do something big." Torrio crossed his hands and got straight to the point, "How about we go rob Wells Fargo Bank?"

The warehouse suddenly became extremely quiet.

But soon, the crowd burst into laughter.

"Robbing a bank! He said he was going to rob a bank!"

"There is indeed something wrong with this Italian's brain. No wonder his father wants to kick him out of the house!"

Torrio adjusted his collar and smoothed out the wrinkles on his clothes.

He asked Old Man Li, who was silent on the side, "Is there something wrong with my clothes? Or is there something funny about me?"

"You're a fucking idiot!" Brennan couldn't hold it in any longer. He put his hands on the table and glared at the Italian. "Do you know where Wells Fargo is? Do you know how many security guards there are?"

The more he talked, the angrier he became, and suddenly he remembered the old accounts.

"Do you think we don't know who killed those two policemen? You idiot is already trying to trick us!"

"The Tammany Hall gang won't let us go. They'll take this opportunity to deal with us!"

"They will take this opportunity to close down our bars and various underground businesses! Then they will demand higher protection fees from us!"

Torrio looked a little disapproving:

"Oh? Then I can just clean up Tammany Hall. After all, as long as I control the entire downtown area, I will have the capital to compete with them.

Brennan couldn't hold it in any longer.

He slapped the table:

"Whoever wants to chat with this lunatic can do it! I won't accompany you anymore! Goodbye!"

However, just when he was about to take people away.

Gopher and Torrio looked at each other.

The gopher whistled!

Outside the door, a group of dark people suddenly appeared.

The guns in their hands were pointed at the door of the warehouse.