The morning sun, struggling to reach the street level, cast a faint, dusty light into Felix's basement through the back window.
Felix rose and lit the oil lamp, the flame illuminating the neatly arranged tin plates and tools on his workbench. He was preparing materials for Mr. Gable's new order, his movements unhurried, as if the shadow of last night's encounter was an insignificant bad dream.
Mrs. Hudson's deliberately light footsteps paused at the head of the stairs. "Mr. Felix?" Her voice carried a tremor of concern.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." Felix looked up, a calm smile on his face. "The milk today seems richer than usual."
The landlady looked at the young man, composed despite the clear, impending disaster, and her worry deepened. "Child, listen to my advice," she pleaded. "Those men, they aren't businessmen, they are beasts. You can't fight them. Why don't you hide with relatives for a while? Or just leave New York altogether?"
"I don't have any relatives left, Mrs. Hudson," Felix replied, his tone even. "And my business is here."
"But, "
"Please don't worry, Mrs. Hudson," Felix interrupted gently, his eyes showing a quiet, unshakeable resolve. "I assure you, I won't bring any trouble to you. Whatever sounds you hear today, please stay upstairs and lock your door. This is just a business negotiation."
Seeing Felix's undeniable gaze, she let out a slow sigh. She knew her words were useless. This young man possessed a stubborn confidence that worried her deeply. She set down the meager breakfast and departed, leaving Felix alone with his thoughts.
He ate his meal quietly, then retrieved the loaded Colt Navy revolver from its hiding place. After a quick, practiced check, he placed it under a cloth beneath the workbench, ensuring it was within easy, instantaneous reach. He then picked up his tin-cutting tools again, maintaining the outward appearance that he was simply awaiting a group of ordinary business partners.
Around ten in the morning, a series of heavy, disorderly footsteps halted outside the door. "Thump! Thump! Thump!" The knocking was rough, forceful, and designed purely to intimidate.
Felix put down his work, wiped his hands on a rag, and walked over to calmly open the door.
Five men stood crammed into the narrow stairwell. The leader, a man in his thirties, wore a respectable black coat and leaned on a walking stick topped with a silver snakehead. His face was pale, his lips thin, and his eyes were long and cold, precisely like a snake's. This was the feared leader of the Viper Gang, "Viper" Murphy.
"Presumably, you are Mr. Felix Argyle?" Murphy offered a predatory smile, though his eyes held no warmth.
"That's me. You must be Mr. Murphy." Felix's gaze smoothly assessed Murphy and his subordinates, all of whom looked menacing, their hands strategically placed in their pockets.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Argyle. I hear from my men that you're running a very good business here." Murphy tapped his cane lightly on the wooden floor. "I always admire smart young men. Won't you invite us in for a sit?"
"The place is humble; I'm afraid it can't accommodate so many distinguished guests." Felix stepped aside, allowing only enough space for one person. "However, if it's just you, Mr. Murphy, you are most welcome."
Murphy's eyes narrowed. The kid was interesting, maintaining composure and controlling the rhythm of the encounter despite the pressure. He gestured for his crew to wait outside and, alone, walked into the basement.
He immediately noticed the lingering aroma of stewed meat. His gaze swept from the large canning pot to the neat tin plates, and finally rested on the strangely shaped seaming machine. As a street veteran, he recognized quality and novelty immediately.
"Mr. Argyle, you truly are an eye-opener," Murphy commented, tapping the machine with his cane. "Is this your secret weapon for getting rich?"
"Just some small tricks to make food last longer, Mr. Murphy," Felix said noncommittally, pulling over a wooden stool. "Please sit."
Murphy sat down unceremoniously, placing the snake-head cane across his lap, his cold eyes locking onto Felix. "Alright, Mr. Argyle, let's skip the pleasantries. I'm here today to discuss a 'collaboration' with you."
"I'm listening."
"It's very simple. You do business in this neighborhood, and we, the Viper Gang, guarantee order. No one will bother you, no thief will visit, and no other gang will collect protection money. In return, we need a small share of your business profits." Murphy held up five fingers. "Fifty percent," he said lightly, as if stating an insignificant number.
The basement fell into a tense silence, broken only by the flickering oil lamp. Murphy enjoyed watching his prey struggle. Yet, Felix's reaction surprised him again. There was no fear, only deep thought.
After a moment, Felix spoke slowly. "Mr. Murphy, isn't your offer a bit too high for my small workshop?"
"Oh? Is that so?"
"Of course. I'm just starting out; all my money is invested in raw materials and tools. Right now, my profits are almost zero. If you take fifty percent, I'll have to close down."
Murphy sneered. "Argyle, don't play games. I know how booming Mr. Gable's grocery store business has been. The money you make in a day is more than what my brothers here earn in a month."
"That was just good luck, only the first few batches of goods," Felix insisted sincerely. "Mr. Murphy, I respect you as the strongman of this neighborhood. How about this: I currently give you five dollars a week. When my business grows bigger, we can discuss profit sharing again."
Upon hearing "five dollars," Murphy roared with laughter, his men outside joining in with guffaws.
"Five dollars?" Murphy finally managed to stop, wiping his eye. "Young man, are you trying to appease a beggar? Five dollars probably isn't enough to buy the matches to burn down your workshop!" His face darkened instantly, his voice turning icy. "Argyle, one last chance. Accept my terms. Or I guarantee that before dawn tomorrow, this precious workshop, along with you, will turn into a pile of charcoal."
The naked threat froze the air. Felix lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly, appearing utterly defeated.
Murphy watched him triumphantly.
"Alright…" Felix's voice was hoarse and weak, thick with resentment. "Mr. Murphy, you win. Fifty percent it is. But I need time. Mr. Gable just placed a large order, and I must complete it first. Only after I receive payment can I give you the first share."
"How long do you need?"
"Five days," Felix gritted his teeth. "In five days, I will definitely have the money ready."
"Very good!" Murphy stood, a victorious smile back on his face. "I like smart people who know when to bow their heads. Remember, I will come personally to collect the money in five days. Don't disappoint me." He patted Felix's shoulder with his cane, then swaggered away with his men, their arrogant laughter fading up the stairs.
The basement door closed again. Felix, who had been "trembling" moments ago, slowly straightened up. The humiliation vanished without a trace, replaced by an extremely cold calm.
He walked to the bench and gently wiped non-existent dust from his hands. Five days. He had bought himself five precious days.
"Collaboration?" Felix muttered, a cruel curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Mr. Murphy, you will soon understand that I never collaborate with scoundrels."
The day after Murphy left, Felix, as usual, pushed a cart full of canned goods out the door. His demeanor was unchanged; he even bought a steaming hot apple pie, causing the secret observers from the Viper Gang to relax their guard. They believed the 'canned goods kid' had been thoroughly scared and would now be working desperately to satisfy their boss's extortion.
Felix's first stop was Mr. Gable's grocery store.
"Argyle, you're finally here!" Mr. Gable immediately pulled him into a corner. "I heard that scoundrel Murphy came to see you. Are you alright? They didn't do anything to you?"
"We had a… very frank business discussion," Felix calmly replied. "Now, the Viper Gang is also my business partner."
"Partner?" Gable's eyes nearly popped. "You agreed? Kid, they'll suck you dry!"
"It's a necessary investment, sir. To ensure our supply can be stably produced, paying a small price is worth it. Don't worry, our agreement won't change. In fact, to quickly gather the 'gift' for my new 'partners,' I'll have to work even harder."
Gable, speechless, ultimately resigned himself. "Alright, since you've already decided. Just be extra careful. Those guys are jackals who eat people without spitting out the bones."
"I will," Felix nodded. "Also, Mr. Gable, I need to ask you something. I'm looking for the smartest and most well-informed child on the streets, a newsboy or a shoeblack."
"Then you'll have to find 'Nimble' Timmy," Gable replied. "That kid is like a mouse scurrying all over the city; there's nothing he doesn't know. He's usually near the steps of the city hall."
Felix played his role perfectly, spending the day purchasing a large amount of beef and other ingredients, making everyone believe he was desperately producing to meet Murphy's deadline. It wasn't until dusk that he arrived at the City Hall square and spotted Timmy.
"Hey, sir, want a shoe shine?" Timmy, a thin boy smaller than his age, immediately approached.
"Shine them." Felix took a generous twenty-five-cent coin and placed it on the step.
"Kid, your name is Timmy, right?"
Timmy froze, wariness flashing in his eyes.
"Mr. Gable told me. He said you're the smartest kid on this street." The compliment worked, easing Timmy's tension.
"Timmy, I buy information. Business that pays more than shining shoes. Information about the Viper Gang. Their boss, Murphy, where he usually goes, what he likes to do. And their men, their strongholds, especially... where they hide all the good stuff they've stolen."
Timmy's face paled. Getting involved with the Vipers was terrifying. "Sir, I... I'm just a shoeblack. I don't know anything."
Felix pulled out a one-dollar coin and placed it next to the quarter. In 1860, a dollar was a fortune for a street child.
"I promise, no one will ever know you told me. And this is just a deposit. If your information is useful, I'll give you five dollars more."
Fear seemed powerless against that temptation. "Alright, sir!" Timmy whispered quickly. "That scoundrel Murphy loves to stay at the 'Cripple Dog' tavern. He drinks and plays cards there almost every night. Their lair is on the floor above the tavern."
"What about the warehouse?" Felix pressed.
"The warehouse is over by the docks, an abandoned brick house next to Pier Number Four! The liquor they 'took' and the goods they 'collected' are all piled up there! I heard there are quite a few guns inside too! Usually, only two people guard it at night because they think no one dares to touch their things!" Timmy, having given up, spilled everything.
"Excellent, Timmy." Felix pushed the two coins toward him. "Tonight, a ship from France is unloading brandy. The Viper Gang will definitely transport the liquor to that warehouse. You can go see for yourself!"
Felix stood up, his shoes gleaming, and merged into the twilight. He believed the boy would easily find his residence now.
That night, Felix changed into dark, inconspicuous clothes and arrived near Pier Number Four. He waited patiently, lurking in the shadows of a pile of crates.
At midnight, a carriage drove out from the dock and stopped in front of a two-story red brick building, the warehouse Timmy had mentioned. Felix watched several Viper Gang members unload French-marked wooden crates, which they carried inside. The two guards at the entrance were lax, leaning against the wall, sharing a bottle of brandy.
The information was confirmed. Felix did not linger.
Returning to the basement, he locked the door, a cruel, cold smile on his face.
He walked to the corner where his other purchases lay: saltpeter and sulfur powder from the pharmacy, and a large amount of iron filings from the blacksmith. He precisely mixed these ingredients, adding sugar and charcoal powder. What he was creating was not simple black powder, but an improved, high-temperature incendiary agent.
He carefully divided the mixture into several bags sewn from thick canvas, attaching a simple fuse made of oil-soaked cotton thread to each one.
By the time he finished the last incendiary package, the first crow of a rooster had sounded. Two of the five days had passed. He looked at the seemingly innocuous canvas bags, containing terrifying energy, and there was no pity in his eyes.
"Mr. Murphy, you want my profits?" Felix murmured, wiping the powder from his hands. "That's certainly possible, but I'm accustomed to paying fire with fire."