Ch.12Ch.2 – Intro (Video Not Opening)

# Chapter 2

‘No Country for Young Men’

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April 2, 1929. 10:28 AM

Pollard City Commercial District, Burroway General Store

O’Brien set down the last box on the loading dock. The moment he knocked twice on the cargo hold, the truck drove away.

Dark exhaust fumes lingered in the air, but O’Brien liked this smell. It was the scent of factories and machines, of progress and sophistication—something he never would have experienced in his hometown, where the air was filled with nothing but the stench of horse manure.

“What are you doing now?”

Exhaling a sigh heavier than the breath he’d taken in, O’Brien turned around. McCoy was looking up at him. He was two years older, had worked at the store longer, and loved passing off his work to others.

“I need to stock the shelves.”

“That’s your senior’s job. The boss gave strict instructions. My job is to unload boxes from the truck. Checking inventory and stocking shelves is yours.”

“Hey, why should you get to rest? We’ll finish faster if we work together.”

O’Brien wanted to ask how this know-it-all could say that when he’d been dozing inside the store while O’Brien was unloading the truck, but he suppressed his anger. Though he was as thin as a scarecrow, McCoy was American. Different from O’Brien, who had arrived on a smuggler’s ship a year ago.

“But the boss specifically told me not to touch the merchandise.”

The boss disliked O’Brien’s uncertainty more than McCoy’s negligence.

“So, is the boss here right now? No, he isn’t.”

If they had been the same height, McCoy might have jabbed O’Brien in the chest, but McCoy only came up to about O’Brien’s chest. So instead, he repeatedly poked O’Brien’s lower abdomen. O’Brien tensed his neck.

“I can’t do it.”

McCoy’s finger transformed into a fist that flew into O’Brien’s stomach. O’Brien clutched his abdomen and sank to the ground.

“You can’t? You can’t? Say that again, what did you say?”

“I said I can’t.”

A sharp, high-pitched voice rang out. McCoy frowned and stepped back. A woman in a blue flapper dress inserted herself between McCoy and O’Brien.

“Miss.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

The woman pointed her finger toward the inside of the store. Grumbling, McCoy struggled to lift a box. Trembling like a scarecrow in a windy field, he entered the store.

“Despicable bastard. Just try dropping even one item.”

After muttering quickly, the woman turned and approached O’Brien. She took out a white handkerchief from her bag, bent down, and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.

It was the boss’s daughter, Audrey Burroway.

“Um. I’m fine.”

“Stay still.”

Through the open front of her dress, her chest was clearly visible. She too was a follower of the latest fashion trends and considered wearing undergarments old-fashioned. O’Brien’s face turned as red as his hair.

“Don’t just put up with it. Do something about it. How long are you going to let yourself be pushed around? Stay still!”

Though she spoke casually to him, she was younger than O’Brien. A girl who was a child last year doesn’t suddenly become a lady this year. She was old enough for a coming-of-age ceremony, but she still looked young.

Especially now, as she lightly slapped O’Brien’s shoulder with her palm and then plucked out his gray hair.

“There. Bear with the pain. Gray hair makes you look older. Hey! Stay still!”

People passing by on the street giggled as they walked past. O’Brien turned his gaze away, unable to bear the embarrassment.

In the corner of the alley, he spotted a man wearing a hunting cap and a long coat.

“That’s enough now.”

“There’s more.”

“You’re putting me in a difficult position.”

“Idiot.”

Audrey stepped back. Her sapphire eyes sparkled beneath her bonnet hat. As she crossed her arms, her plump breasts became more prominent.

O’Brien lowered his gaze further. Every time a slight breeze blew, the short flapper skirt rolled up, so he closed his eyes altogether.

“Built like a bear but with the heart of a rabbit. Here, take this.”

When he opened his eyes, Audrey was holding out a white handkerchief right in front of his nose. It was neatly folded, though he wasn’t sure when she had done that.

“Use this to wipe your sweat. Don’t use that dirty sleeve. That’s why you keep getting those things on your face.”

If he didn’t accept it, she would make a scene like last time. He couldn’t bear to witness that again. O’Brien obediently took the handkerchief. When their fingertips briefly touched, Audrey’s cheeks flushed.

“Thank you. I’ll wash it and return it to you.”

Ahem. Ahem. Making unnecessary throat-clearing sounds, Audrey brushed past him.

With each step she took, her skirt hem rolled up, revealing her slender thighs. Her straight legs captured the attention of everyone on the street, which is why O’Brien didn’t notice someone tapping his shoulder until it happened. It was the man from the alley.

“Performance tonight at eleven.”

The man disappeared into the crowd.

* * * * *

The same day, 11:03 PM

Pollard City South Cemetery

Hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo.

O’Brien looked up at the tree. An owl—or perhaps it was a screech owl—was perched on a branch, hooting in protest.

Screech, screech, squeak

It was probably complaining about the terrible violin sounds coming from the cemetery.

Even to O’Brien, who knew nothing about music, it was clearly noise. It sounded as if the violinist was beating the body of the instrument with the bow rather than drawing it across the strings.

People called him the Gravedigger. No other words were necessary. Just “Gravedigger” was enough. So no one except the three Irish lads who had crossed the ocean knew that every night, he practiced alone on an untuned violin.

The day they set foot on American soil after traveling on a smuggler’s ship, they had fled from the police’s gaze into the cemetery. Hidden behind a tombstone, they had held their breath as they listened to the strange performance. Since then, “performance” had become their code word for secret meetings.

The agreement remained valid even now, when O’Brien had entered a relatively decent company as a worker, and his two friends had become low-ranking members of a new mafia group. Back home, they were called the Red-Headed Trio, though they weren’t actually related by blood.

“Butler.”

It was the man who had tapped O’Brien’s shoulder earlier that day. He still wore the oversized hunting cap and the long coat that was out of season. The ridiculous outfit was meant to hide his plump figure.

“O’Co.”

Though his skinniness resembled McCoy’s, there was no comparison. O’Connor was about a head taller than O’Brien, and he was the strongest of the three.

It was also he who had persuaded his friends to escape from rural Ireland and go to the “land of opportunity.”

“Need a drink?”

Clink. A clear sound came from the flask in O’Co’s hand. Drinking bad moonshine could blind you, but this product was “verified,” so there was no such concern. It was safe, except for being quite strong.

“Kuh.”

“Urgh.”

Butler and O’Co exaggerated their reactions, but—

“Cough, cough. Don’t you have water?”

O’Brien kept coughing.

“What a sorry sight.”

Despite his words, both friends knew well that O’Brien couldn’t handle alcohol. That’s why Butler had prepared a separate bottle.

“Thanks. Hack, hack! This is alcohol too!”

While snickering, Butler handed him the real water flask. After taking one sip, O’Brien gulped down the water. To wipe the water that had trickled down his mouth, O’Brien took out the handkerchief.

“What’s that?”

O’Co’s long fingers snatched the handkerchief.

“Sniff. Sniff. This smells like perfume? When did you receive such a gift? Wow. Isn’t this classic, O’Brien? So, how often are you seeing the girl? Have you decided on names for your grandchildren?”

“You’re crazy.”

“A three-tiered wedding cake would be best, right?”

“Are you insane?”

“Look at how red his face is.”

Butler and O’Co bent over laughing. The violin wailed in agreement. Screech. Screeech.

“You don’t know? The boss’s daughter plucked gray hairs from O’Brien’s head.”

“What?”

Surprised, O’Co looked back and forth between Butler and O’Brien.

“Wow. We left our hometown at one in the morning on a boat, and look how differently our lives have turned out. It’s disgusting. Disgusting. Wasn’t America supposed to be the land of opportunity? Some guy is already about to get married, while others…”

“It is the land of opportunity.”

Butler murmured gloomily.

“We just haven’t been given any opportunities.”

“Are you going to keep talking shit, Butler?”

“You sound just like your father, O’Co.”

“You’ve never even seen my father.”

“Have you?”

“You crazy bastard, crossing the line with somersaults. Are we in a circus?”

O’Brien waved his hand.

“That’s enough, both of you. You’re going to start fighting.”

“Fighting? Shit. I don’t even have the energy for that anymore.”

O’Co muttered, spitting on the ground. He took another swig as if he couldn’t stand it anymore. Butler nudged O’Brien’s shoulder.

“Anyway, good luck. You’re diligent, so opportunities will come your way. You’re different from us.”

“Yeah. That guy’s a eunuch. We’re still kicking.”

O’Co grinned and stretched his back. The moon, not yet a half-moon, was dazzling. Butler took a swig of moonshine and then offered it to O’Brien.

“By the way, O’Brien. Are you off work the day after tomorrow?”

“I have to work.”

O’Brien paused as he was about to take a sip of moonshine. O’Co and Butler were looking at each other.

“Why? Is something happening?”

“Look, don’t misunderstand, O’Brien.”

Butler leaned forward.

“Your boss and our boss, ‘Red-Headed O’Malley,’ don’t get along very well.”

“Not well at all.”

O’Co nodded. O’Brien’s face darkened. Sensing that the conversation was taking an ominous turn, he took another swig of the strong drink. The violin’s roar grew louder.

“Mr. Burroway refused to deliver some goods. It was just a matter of bringing some general merchandise from Arkham, but he flatly refused. So our boss got… quite angry.”

“Very angry.”

Moonlight flashed like a blade between O’Brien and his two friends.

“So what are you two saying?”

“Go on a date with the boss’s daughter the day after tomorrow. Buy some decent clothes, wash your hair, wear a nice hat. Here’s some money. It’s not much… but O’Co and I saved it.”

Butler held out crumpled bills and dirty coins, but O’Brien didn’t take them.

“This isn’t right.”

O’Co spat sharply.

“You think we came to see your ugly mug because we wanted to? We came to warn you. If we get caught, both of us will have only our heads floating in the waters off Pollard. Is this how you disrespect your friends’ goodwill?”

“Hey, hey, O’Co!”

Butler grabbed O’Co’s arm.

“Sorry, O’Brien. Actually, it was O’Co who suggested coming here. He was also the one who asked the boss to spare you. You know we worry about you a lot, right?”

“And knowing that, you’re planning to sabotage someone else’s business?”

“Ha. Listen to how this guy talks.”

O’Co stood up.

“Cut the crap and take that girl out to eat in the busy part of town the day after tomorrow. Hold her arm or wrist, whatever. Just don’t set foot in the commercial district until the job is done. Create an alibi, understand?”

Butler slapped his own thigh.

“Yeah, and while we’re at it, let’s show that McCoy guy some Irish spirit. We should make him piss himself just from seeing O’Brien’s face.”

“What’s wrong with you guys?”

O’Brien burst out in anger.

“Why are you acting like this? Is this why we crossed the ocean? Did we come here to set fire to other people’s shops and kill people?”

“Watch your mouth. We haven’t killed anyone… yet.”

O’Co’s voice trailed off. O’Brien grabbed O’Co and Butler’s hands.

“Please. Please, let’s not do this. Okay? Stop it. We can still turn back. Please stop doing bad things. Let’s go back. Or move to another city.”

“Yes, teacher. Thank you for the lecture. But what are we supposed to do in this American land where we have no work?”

O’Co lamented. Butler scratched his head.

“You know, O’Brien. Not everyone is as lucky as you. Especially not the two of us. No one would hire us except Captain O’Malley.”

“But this… this…”

Butler shook his head. Then he reached into his coat pocket. In his hand was a heavy metal rod.

“I told you, O’Co. Words won’t work with him.”

“Hey. Hey, Butler. Hey!”

A flustered O’Co waved his hands, but Butler’s eyes were filled with determination.

“This guy is too stubborn. He needs something broken before he’ll listen.”

O’Brien stood up.

“Fine. Hit me.”

“I’m sorry. This is for your own good. They won’t make you work with a broken arm or leg.”

Butler raised the metal rod with all his might.

O’Brien clenched his fists.

The metal rod, raised high into the sky, fell like a meteor shower.

“No!”

Suddenly, O’Co rushed forward. He tried to grab Butler’s arm. But he was too drunk, and Butler was too tall. Unable to control his body, O’Co fell forward, inadvertently pushing Butler.

“Uh… uh…”

Butler, also drunk, wobbled and fell sideways.

Thud.

Blood spread around Butler’s head as he stared with wide eyes.

“Butler?”

O’Co shook Butler’s body. Bloody foam bubbled from his friend’s mouth. Kneeling, O’Brien laid Butler flat and pressed the handkerchief against his shattered temple.

But it was already too late. No pulse could be detected in his neck, heart, or wrist.

“Butler? Hey. Hey. Stop joking around. Hey.”

O’Co and O’Brien’s voices grew wet with tears. But Butler’s eyes were already rolled back. The violin sound grew eerily loud.

‘The Gravedigger is coming!’

O’Co and O’Brien rose and ran through the midnight forest. Their legs tangled, and they fell a couple of times, but that strange sound still whispered in their ears and tickled the napes of their necks.

In his panic, O’Brien didn’t even realize he had left the handkerchief behind.

Moonlight washed over Butler’s face.

The Gravedigger looked down at him, playing the violin.

Butler’s body swayed gently to the rhythm.

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