bullyxtreme Chapter 63 Free Bread is Better Than a Knife
Chapter 63 Free Bread is Better Than a Knife
As dawn broke, a thin layer of sea fog enveloped Boston's North Shore docks.
Several burly Irish men, handpicked by Finn himself, set up a few dilapidated long tables at some of the most conspicuous dock junctions.
Instead of hawking their wares and soliciting day laborers as usual, they placed baskets of steaming white bread and several barrels of cheap ale on the table.
The aroma of the food spread rapidly in the damp, cold air.
A rough wooden sign stood beside the table, with large, crooked characters written on it in charcoal: "Join the mutual aid society and enjoy free breakfast."
The hungry workers stopped and watched from a distance, their eyes filled with doubt and longing.
There's never anything free at the docks.
Every piece of dark bread, every sip of cheap rum, is earned with sweat and even blood.
One of Finn's henchmen, a burly red-haired man named Ham, grabbed a loaf of bread, took a big bite, gulped down a large glass of ale, and then roared in his booming voice.
"What the hell are you all looking at! This is a treat from the 'Boston Dockside Mutual Aid Association'! Just come over and leave your fingerprint, join us, and you'll have work every day, someone to take care of you if you get injured, and your family will even get money if you die!"
The crowd stirred.
A man as thin as a bamboo pole hesitated as he stepped out; his lips were chapped and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Really...really free?"
"It's free!" Ham thumped his chest loudly. "As long as you're willing to follow the mutual aid society's rules! Work on time, and don't steal jobs from others, we'll set the prices for dockside loading and unloading!"
The skinny man swallowed hard, glanced at the bread on the table, and finally made up his mind.
He stepped forward and pressed his filthy handprint onto the register.
Ham immediately handed him two loaves of bread and a large glass of ale.
Once there's a first one, there's a second, and a third.
The crowd surged toward the tables like a floodgate had been opened.
They ate voraciously, as if trying to fill their stomachs with a lifetime of hunger.
Just then, a commotion came from the alley entrance.
A dozen or so tall, burly men, carrying iron hooks and short sticks, charged over menacingly.
The leader was a burly man with a menacing face. He was Tom, the head of the "Rat Gang," and also one of Jenny's most capable henchmen in prison.
He had narrowly escaped Andrew's attack by taking some of his brothers to Philadelphia.
"Damn it! Who dares to run wild on my turf!" the burly-faced man roared, kicking over an empty wooden barrel next to him.
Finn's men immediately gripped the short axes and clubs hidden at their waists, ready to strike.
However, something unexpected happened.
Before Finn's men could rush forward, the dockworkers who were collecting their bread spontaneously turned around and stood in front of the "Rat Gang".
An old worker, who had just stuffed half a loaf of bread into his pocket to take home to his children, glanced at Finn in the distance and received a nod from him. He then used his thin body to block a burly man.
"What do you want?! Are you trying to ruin our livelihood?!"
"Get out of here! This is our territory!"
"Bullshit! Whoever gives us bread is our boss!" the old worker shouted, trembling, but with a hint of inflammatory rhetoric.
"roll!"
"Get out!"
The angry roars merged into a torrent.
Hundreds of ragged workers formed a wall with their bodies, though not sturdy, that was insurmountable.
They had no weapons, only the fear of hunger and the most primal desire to protect that free breakfast.
The dozen or so members of the "Rat Gang" were intimidated by this momentum.
They could fight Finn's men to the death, but they dared not offend all the poor dockworkers at the same time.
Tom, with his fleshy face, turned pale and then red, and finally could only spit out a curse before leading his men away in a sorry state.
Finn stood atop a warehouse in the distance, taking in the entire scene.
He blinked his one eye and subconsciously touched his eye patch.
For the first time, he truly felt that the "order" Mr. Levy spoke of, the power built with bread and rules, was far more terrifying than the killing and intimidation he was used to.
……
That evening, in a dimly lit tavern.
Seamus was sitting face to face with Tom, the leader of the "Rat Gang".
The tavern was empty except for the two of them.
Seamus didn't carry any weapons; he simply took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and gently pushed it in front of the other person.
Tom unfolded the paper with a puzzled look, and after just one glance, cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
The paper didn't contain any accounts, but rather the names of his wife Tudogelo and their two daughters, their current addresses, and even the bakeries they frequented each day.
"Mr. Li said your family deserves a better life." Seamus's voice was calm as he focused on polishing a small wooden horse with a knife, wood shavings falling softly.
"The mutual aid society can provide you with a decent settling-in allowance, enough for you to take your family away from Boston to Philadelphia or New York, buy a small shop, and start a new life."
Tom's hands began to tremble, and the paper made a slight rustling sound in his hands.
“Of course,” Seamus looked up at him, then looked down again to continue his work. “You can also choose to refuse. In that case, something… not so good might happen near your house tomorrow. Like a fire, or some drunken sailors causing trouble.”
The carrot has been offered, and the stick has been raised.
By noon the next day, the leader of the "Rat Gang" secretly boarded a ship heading south to New York with all his savings and his family.
His underlings, leaderless, were quickly divided and absorbed by Finn's men, becoming the first official members of the "Mutual Aid Society".
……
"Son of Liberty" is located in a secret contact point behind the Green Dragon Tavern.
Silas slammed his fist on the table, causing the flame in the oil lamp to flicker.
"This is an absolute disgrace!" he said, pointing to a draft of a newly delivered flyer on the table, his voice hoarse with anger.
"We are singing praises to that devil of the East! We are using the printing presses that preach freedom to print the tools he uses to enslave dockworkers! Samuel, have you forgotten? He treated us like commodities!"
Samuel did not speak.
He simply held the draft flyer and looked at it repeatedly.
The wording above is very clever; it avoids mentioning violence and threats throughout, emphasizing only "fairness," "stability," and "protection of workers' rights."
It perfectly packaged an underground kingdom built through coercion and inducement as a charitable organization working for the welfare of workers.
Samuel felt a chill.
He realized that Levi was promoting his own "order" in the way they were best at.
Moreover, he did it better, more directly, and more effectively than them.
"Print it," Samuel finally spoke, his voice hoarse. "We need his weapons now, and we need his protection. It's part of the deal."
He handed the draft to the comrade in charge of printing, but a surge of unprecedented impulse welled up in his heart.
He wanted to study this person and figure out what was going on in this Eastern merchant's mind.