America 1881: They Call Me Legend

Chapter 521
The tough 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 to be asking for his life.

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

The butcher became angry.

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

"Yo, it's quite horizontal." Chen Jianqiu hooked his fingers at the detective next to the machine, "Increase the battery!"

Under repeated electric shocks, the butcher finally died.

He drooped his head, rolled his eyes, and his saliva flowed out, dripping to the ground.

"Remember?" Chen Jianqiu waved his hands in front of him, and after confirming that the man was not in a coma or in a state of nervousness, he asked, "Who killed those two policemen?"

Randall the butcher was almost exhausted.

"Torio, Torrio did it. The first one was done by 'Gopher', and the second one was done by himself. Here, can you give me some saliva?" He replied panting.

"Sign it, draw a pledge, and let the doctor treat his injuries, so as not to say that I abused witnesses when I bring him to Roosevelt later."

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

He turned around, pointed his thumb at the half-dead butcher who was hanging behind him, and said to Holiday:
"I'll discuss it with Roosevelt later, you guys are optimistic about this man."

Just as the butcher was thrown into a cart full of offal for the Frontier Detective Agency's Honest Pleasure House, a gang meeting was taking place in a warehouse on the other side of downtown.

Almost all the gang leaders active in the lower city area showed up here with their subordinates.

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

Their active areas are mainly from Fourth Street to No.12 Street, and their members are mainly Irish. They can be regarded as the successors of the Irish gangs that had a great reputation in the eastern cities of the United States in the mid-to-early 19th century.

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

This guy is an American Jew. When he came to the United States, he was basically penniless, and he was also carrying a bunch of murders.

But now he can basically fight against the "Gopher Gang" and "Five Point Gang".

An old Chinese man with a goatee and a gloomy face, squinting his eyes, sat on the edge of the table and smoked a "cigarette".

His name is Li Xiling, he is the founder and boss of Anliangtang, a Chinese hall, and a godfather figure in the Chinese gang in New York.

This man is cruel and has no bottom line.

Anliangtang's sphere of influence is near Chinatown, and this old man can basically be said to have a single hand in Chinatown.

In addition, there are other small power street gangs.

They rarely have the opportunity to sit at the same table with these bigwigs.

The atmosphere in the warehouse is very quiet.

Each gang brings a lot of younger brothers, so there can't be any troubles.

Usually there are many grievances and grievances, but they are all conflicts of interests. Now everyone is nothing more than staring.

Because, the master who convened the meeting has not come yet.

"Where's Torrio? This bastard pulled us together and stared at him, but his own people were late. What's the matter?" Brennan, the Irishman, couldn't bear it at last.

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

Once a person's body starts to hurt, his temper will become very irritable.

"I won't wait, whoever you like to wait for." Brennan stood up angrily, waved to his subordinates behind him, and was about to leave.

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

"Well, yo, why are Irish people always so irritable? Is it because of drinking too much?" Torrio came in through the gate speaking English with a strong Italian accent.

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

He walked with one foot and one step, with one shoulder high and the other shoulder low. He was not as elegant as his clothes at all, and his posture looked very squishy.

"Don't give me such a bad mood! I don't have so much time to spend nonsense with you!" Brennan said angrily.

Eastman on the side opened his eyes and looked at the Italian mockingly:

"Torio, you are still so unpopular, people hate you wherever you go."

Torrio's face was inexplicably radiant. He pointed to his nose, with a sick smile on his face, and asked Eastman:
"Are you saying I hate it? Oh yes, my neighbors have hated me since I was a kid, and my dad said the same, so he kicked me out of the family, thank you very much for the compliment!"

Eastman and Torrio had known each other 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 to the only vacant chair at the table.

He was followed by several people standing behind him, including his Neapolitan named "Robert".

"Boss, I don't know why the butcher didn't come." A stocky Italian with mischievous eyes approached 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 behind Eastman saw the stocky Italian , couldn't help but rushed out.

"Hey, he drank too much and fell into the river by himself. What's the matter with me?" The gopher laughed, looking more and more wretched.

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

"I'll talk about it later." He cleared his throat, "Torio, if you have anything to say, hurry up, don't whine, just like a woman."

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

The warehouse suddenly became very quiet.

But soon, wild laughter erupted from the crowd.

"Rob the bank! He said he was going to rob the bank!"

"This Italian really has a brain problem, no wonder his father wants to drive him out of the house!"

Torrio straightened his collar and smoothed the wrinkles on his clothes.

He asked Old Man Li who was silent at the side: "Is there something wrong with my clothes? Or is there something funny?"

"You're a fucking idiot!" Brennan couldn't hold it 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 more angry he became, and suddenly remembered the old account.

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

"The gang from the Tammany Association will not let us go, they will take this opportunity to clean us up!"

"They will take this opportunity to seize our bar and various underground businesses! Then they will ask us for a higher protection fee!"

Torrio looked a little disapproving:
"Oh? Then I can clean up the Tammany Association. After all, as long as I control the entire lower city, I will have the capital to compete with them.

Brennan couldn't take it anymore.

He slapped the table:
"Whoever you like to chat with this lunatic go talk to! I won't accompany you! Goodbye!"

However, just when he was about to leave with someone.

Gopher and Torrio glanced at each other.

The gopher whistled!
Outside the door, a group of dark people suddenly appeared.

The guns in their hands pointed at the gate of the warehouse.

(End of this chapter)