It was still dark, but the entirety of downtown New York was already thoroughly roused.
The ringing of fire carriages, the blowing of police whistles, and people's shouts of alarm mixed together, forming a chaotic symphony.
Near Pier 4, the soaring flames almost lit up half the night sky, and thick smoke billowed, obscuring the sun.
When Allen returned to the basement, Mrs. Hudson was standing at the top of the stairs in her nightgown, her face filled with terror.
"Oh my God, Mr. Allen! Did you hear that? It was an explosion! I swear to God, I heard an explosion!"
"I heard it too, Madam."
Allen's face showed just the right amount of panic and exhaustion, and there were even a few beads of sweat on his forehead, making him look as if he had just been startled awake from an all-night toil.
"It seems to have come from the pier. I hope no one was hurt."
"It must have been those damned Fenians! They're always trying to cause big trouble!"
Mrs. Hudson cursed indignantly, clearly attributing it to the active Ireland independence movement organization of the time.
"Perhaps, but in any case, it has nothing to do with us."
Allen yawned, looking utterly exhausted, "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."
Mrs. Hudson looked at his tired appearance, and the worry in her heart lessened a bit.
Allen returned to the basement and locked the door.
He didn't immediately go to sleep; instead, he threw his night clothes and all tools that could leave traces into the roaring fireplace.
The flames licked the fabric, quickly reducing it to ash.
Only after all this was done did he lie down on his pallet. But he couldn't sleep, his ears carefully listening to every sound from outside.
In the early morning, when the first rays of sunlight shone into New York, news of the massive explosion at the pier warehouse had already spread like wildfire to every street corner.
"Have you heard? The Viper Gang's lair was raided!"
"More than just raided! My cousin, who works for the fire department, said the entire warehouse was burned down! All the wine and goods stored inside were destroyed, and even the guns they hid exploded!"
"Really? Who did it? Who's that bold?"
"Who else? It must be those Italian Mafiosos! Someone found pieces of red silk scarf at the scene, the kind their minor bosses love to wear."
"Oh God, now there's going to be a show. That bastard Murphy is definitely going to go crazy!"
Various versions of rumors quickly fermented in taverns, markets, and on the streets.
On his way to Gable's general store, Allen heard at least five or six different versions, but all fingers, without exception, pointed to the Viper Gang's arch-rival—the Mafia.
The piece of red silk scarf he left behind played a decisive role.
When Allen walked into Gable's general store, Mr. Gable was animatedly discussing the matter with a few old customers, spitting as he spoke.
"...I'm telling you, this was definitely done by the Italians! They've been openly and secretly fighting with the Viper Gang over the pier business for months. This time, they went for the kill," Mr. Gable said with absolute certainty.
Seeing Allen enter, he immediately waved him over: "Williams! Come listen to this big news! Your new 'partner' had his entire fortune burned down last night!"
"I heard, Sir." Allen's face showed a 'survivor's relief' and a hint of just the right amount of confusion.
"What... what exactly happened?"
"What else could it be? A gang war!" Mr. Gable said, gloating.
"Now it's good. That bastard Murphy can't even protect himself, so he probably won't have time to bother you for a while. You've escaped a disaster, child!"
"I hope so."
Allen's expression still looked a bit worried, "But Mr. Gable, I promised to pay Mr. Murphy. Now that this has happened, should I still go?"
"Are you crazy?" Mr. Gable's eyes widened.
"Murphy must be like a wounded beast right now, looking to bite someone. If you go up to him now, aren't you just asking for trouble? Listen to me, don't go out these next few days. Just stay in your workshop. Wait until the dust settles."
"But, my reputation..."
"What reputation are you talking about with a bunch of thugs!" Mr. Gable interrupted him.
"Listen, Williams, the most important thing for you right now is to get my goods out. As long as your canned goods can be supplied continuously, that's better than anything. Money is the most reliable thing in this world!"
"You're right, Sir."
Allen nodded as if "suddenly enlightened."
"I understand. I will work quickly to produce them." He promised Mr. Gable that the first batch of goods could be delivered as early as the day after tomorrow.
Then, like a frightened small businessman, he hurried out of the general store and returned to his safe haven.
For the next few days, Allen truly stayed indoors.
He devoted all his energy to production.
In the basement, the stove fire burned hotter than ever, and the aroma of stewed meat was constant.
Outside, as he had expected, a storm was brewing.
In the "Cripple Dog" tavern, the atmosphere was so oppressive it felt like water could drip from it.
Murphy, the Viper, sat with a livid face in his usual seat, his silver snake-head cane gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles white from the effort.
In front of him stood a few dejected core subordinates.
"Useless! A bunch of useless people!"
Murphy's voice was hoarse and low, like a wounded snake hissing.
"My entire warehouse, most of my fortune, all gone overnight! And you didn't even get a clear look at who did it?"
"Boss... the fire was too big... by the time the fire department arrived, everything was burned down..." one subordinate stammered in reply.
"I asked who did it!"
Murphy slammed his cane on the table with a loud bang.
"It... it was the Italians!" Another subordinate quickly pulled something from his pocket and placed it on the table.
It was a piece of red fabric, burned down to just a corner. "We found this in the ruins. It's the symbol of those Mafia bastards, and we heard they want to take this opportunity to wipe us out. A lot of our men have already run off."
Murphy picked up the fabric, his eyes narrowed into slits, a venomous glint in them.
"The Mafia... Mario..." He squeezed the name through his teeth.
Mario was the head of the local Italian Mafia and his biggest rival.
"Boss, what do we do now? The brothers are all waiting for your orders, we must retaliate!"
One subordinate shouted excitedly.
"Retaliate? With what?"
Murphy retorted coldly, "Most of the guns we hid in the warehouse were destroyed in the explosion! The rest were all confiscated by the police as 'evidence.' Now, even most of our underlings have run off. You tell me, what do we have to fight those prepared Italians with now?"
The subordinates all fell silent.
They then realized that what they had lost was not just money and goods, but the very foundation of their standing—their firepower.
"Then... we just let it go?"
"Let it go?" Murphy's face twisted into a ferocious grin. "Of course not. But not now. What we need now is money, and guns. We need to rearm ourselves."
His gaze suddenly turned to the window.
"What about that kid who makes canned goods? After all these days, isn't it time for him to pay?"
"Yes... yes, Boss. But... in this situation..."
"It's precisely because of this situation that we need his money and business even more!" Murphy stood up and said chillingly.
"His business is very good, it's a golden goose that must be firmly controlled. 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!"
He picked up his cane and, with his remaining core thugs, walked out of the tavern.