It was still the pre-dawn dark, but downtown New York was already shaken awake. The clamor of fire carriages, the frantic blowing of police whistles, and the shouts of alarm blended into a chaotic symphony. Near Pier 4, soaring flames cast an unnatural, orange glow across the night sky, and thick smoke billowed up like a thunderhead.
When Felix returned to the basement, Mrs. Hudson stood at the top of the stairs in her nightgown, her face etched with terror.
"Oh my God, Mr. Felix! Did you hear that? An explosion! I swear to God, I heard an explosion!"
"I heard it too, Madam." Felix displayed a perfect mix of panic and exhaustion, beads of sweat on his forehead suggesting he'd just been torn from all-night toil. "It seemed to come from the pier. I hope no one was hurt."
"It must have been those damned Fenians! Always trying to cause big trouble!" Mrs. Hudson cursed indignantly, assigning the chaos to the era's usual suspects.
"Perhaps. In any case, it has nothing to do with us." Felix yawned, looking utterly defeated by fatigue. "Madam, I need to get some sleep. I haven't closed my eyes all night to meet the deadline."
"Go on, child, take care of yourself." Seeing his tired appearance, her worry eased, replaced by sympathy.
Felix returned to the basement and locked the door. He didn't sleep. Instead, he systematically threw his night clothes and all tools that might bear traces of his work into the roaring stove, watching the fabric quickly reduce to ash. Only after all evidence was destroyed did he lie down on his pallet, listening intently to the noises outside.
In the early morning, when the first weak rays of sun reached New York, news of the pier warehouse explosion had spread like wildfire.
"Did you hear? The Viper Gang's lair was raided!"
"Burned down! My cousin at the fire department said the entire warehouse was destroyed, even the guns they hid exploded!"
"Who did it? Who's that bold?"
"The Italian Mafiosos, who else? Someone found pieces of their red silk scarf at the scene. That bastard Murphy is going to go crazy!"
Rumors, all pointing an accusatory finger at the Viper Gang's rival, the Mafia, fermented quickly in every tavern and market. The piece of red silk scarf Felix left behind had played its decisive role.
On his way to Gable's general store, Felix heard at least half a dozen versions, all unanimously blaming the Mafia.
Mr. Gable was animatedly discussing the incident with customers when Felix walked in. "...I'm telling you, this was definitely done by the Italians! They went for the kill this time."
Seeing Felix, he waved him over. "Argyle! Come listen to this big news! Your new 'partner' had his entire fortune burned down last night!"
"I heard, Sir." Felix's face registered a mixture of 'survivor's relief' and just the right touch of confusion. "What... what exactly happened?"
"A gang war!" Gable gloated. "Now it's good. That bastard Murphy can't even protect himself, so he won't bother you for a while. You've escaped a disaster, child!"
"I hope so." Felix kept a worried expression. "But Mr. Gable, I promised to pay Mr. Murphy. Now that this has happened, should I still go?"
"Are you crazy?" Gable's eyes widened. "Murphy must be like a wounded beast! If you go to him now, aren't you just asking for trouble? Listen to me, stay put in your workshop until the dust settles."
"But, my reputation..."
"What reputation are you talking about with thugs!" Gable interrupted. "The most important thing for you right now is to keep my goods coming. Money is the most reliable thing in this world!"
"You're right, Sir." Felix nodded, feigning sudden enlightenment. "I understand. I will work quickly to produce them." He promised Gable the first batch would be ready the day after tomorrow. Then, like a frightened small businessman, he hurried back to his safe haven.
In the "Cripple Dog" tavern, the air was toxic. Murphy, the Viper, sat livid, his silver snake-head cane gripped so tightly his knuckles were white.
"Useless! My entire fortune, all gone overnight! And you didn't even get a clear look at who did it?" Murphy hissed.
"It... it was the Italians, Boss!" A subordinate trembled, placing the charred corner of the red fabric on the table. "Mario is trying to wipe us out."
Murphy picked up the fabric, his eyes narrowing into slits. "The Mafia... Mario..." He squeezed the name out.
"Boss, what do we do now? We must retaliate!" a subordinate shouted.
"With what?" Murphy retorted, coldly. "Most of the guns we hid were destroyed! The rest confiscated by the police. You tell me, what do we have to fight those prepared Italians with now?"
The subordinates fell silent, realizing they had lost the very foundation of their power.
"We need money, and guns. We need to rearm ourselves." Murphy stood up. "What about that kid who makes canned goods? It's time for him to pay."
"It's precisely because of this situation that we need his money and business even more!" Murphy said chillingly. "Let's go, we're going to 'collect.' We need to show the surrounding merchants that even if the warehouse is gone, I, Murphy, the Viper, am still the master of this block!"
BANG!
The flimsy wooden door to Felix's basement was kicked open, splinters flying. Murphy and his men surged in like hungry wolves.
Felix sat at his workbench, unhurriedly wiping a freshly sealed can, seemingly undisturbed.
"Argyle!" Murphy's rage intensified at his calm demeanor. "Where's my money? You'd better give me a satisfactory answer!"
Felix slowly set down the can, a polite smile on his face. "Mr. Murphy, I was just about to come find you. However, regarding our 'cooperation,' I think the terms might need a small change."
"Change?" Murphy laughed in extreme anger. "Yes, it needs to change! From today on, eighty percent of your profits are mine! Now, hand over the money immediately!" He stepped forward menacingly.
"Eighty percent?" Felix shook his head, his smile turning playful. "I'm afraid not. Because I won't give you a single penny."
"What did you say?!" Murphy's eyes instantly became bloodshot, and he raised his cane.
"Mr. Murphy, before you act, wouldn't you like to meet my new partners? I imagine you're in the same line of work."
Before he finished speaking, two figures silently emerged from the charcoal-filled shadow of the basement corner.
Leading them was a middle-aged man in his forties, tall and resolute, with a scar running from his eyebrow to his mouth. He wore a clean, old military uniform, and his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's. Beside him was a young man, also in uniform, carrying a heavy iron bar.
Murphy and his men were stunned.
"Who are you?" Murphy demanded, trying to mask his fear.
"Miller. A retired Army Sergeant," the leading man introduced himself in a steady tone, his hand resting on the holster. "This is Corporal Jones. From today on, Mr. Argyle's business is under the protection of our 'Spartan Security.' If you gentlemen have nothing else, you may leave now."
"Spartan Security? You two useless men in worn-out uniforms dare to meddle in the Viper Gang's affairs?" Murphy scoffed.
"Whether we are useless, you will soon find out," Sergeant Miller said with a cold smile. "We've faced Mexican artillery fire. Frankly, you street thugs who only bully civilians are not much of a match in our eyes."
"Get them!" Murphy roared frantically.
Miller moved with lightning speed, sidestepping a knife thrust and driving his elbow into the opponent's neck. The man dropped without a sound. Corporal Jones swung his iron bar with trained precision, smashing another thug's wrist with a sickening crack.
In one encounter, two Vipers were down.
The remaining thugs were momentarily stunned by this professional lethality. And just then, Felix moved, snatching the Colt Navy revolver from under the workbench. A thug attempting to flank Miller found a dark gun barrel aimed squarely at his forehead.
"I suggest you don't move," Felix's voice was soft, but the chill in it made the thug freeze.
"I'll kill you!" Murphy completely lost his mind, rushing at Felix with his snake-head staff.
"Bang!" A loud gunshot echoed in the small basement. Murphy froze as the bullet struck the floor beside his foot, kicking up dust.
Miller seized the moment, executing a clean takedown, twisting Murphy's arm behind his back and pinning him firmly to the ground. Murphy let out a frustrated roar, struggling futilely.
The remaining thugs, seeing their boss captured, lost all will to fight. In short order, Miller and Jones knocked them to the ground and tied them securely.
Felix walked over to the subdued Murphy, looking down at him. "Mr. Murphy, now, we can renegotiate the terms of our 'cooperation.'"
"You... who exactly are you?" Murphy spat, confusion and venom clouding his face.
"I'm just a small canner." Felix smiled faintly, then stepped out and loudly addressed the crowd that had gathered outside. "Ladies and gentlemen, please look! This man, Murphy, and his gang of thugs, broke into my workshop in broad daylight, attempting armed robbery! We will not bow to them! We honest people who earn our living with our own hands will never compromise with evil!"
A round of cheers erupted.
Two policemen, who had finally squeezed through the crowd, entered.
"Officer, you've come at just the right time!" Felix met them, his face full of righteous indignation. "We acted in self-defense. These men are members of New York's notorious 'Viper Gang,' and they committed armed robbery! I formally hand them over to you!"
A young man wearing a reporter's hat was writing furiously. Felix gave him a meaningful look, knowing tomorrow's papers would feature the headline: "Street Hero: Canner Battles Gang, Defends Business Freedom."
He watched Murphy, disheveled and defeated, being dragged away by the police, his venomous eyes still fixed on Felix.
Sergeant Miller walked up to him. "Sir, you handled that very well. Better than many officers I've seen."
"This is just the beginning, Sergeant." Felix's gaze swept over the crowd, looking further afield. "Just a beginning."