The Trouble Boys

by E. R. FALLON

  Colin received his first kiss that same year, from a shapely friend of Donna’s named Peggy. He lost his virginity a month after to that same girl. He wondered if this meant he had a girlfriend. He wanted Peggy to be that.

  “It’s getting hot.” Johnny raised the edge of his shirt toward his face and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “These guys are going to get us beer?” Colin asked.

  “Yeah. And this time I think we’re actually getting it for nothing.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Especially now that I’ll remind them you’re Irish, they’ll be even more generous. Micks stick together. Right?” Johnny grinned.

  Colin laughed. Their friendship was strong enough for them to insult one another in jest. “Can I ask you something?” he said after a moment.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you think it means that since I’ve been with Peggy, I’m her fellow?”

  Johnny chuckled. “Who knows? Peggy’s been with a lot of guys and they all ain’t her ‘fellow’. Do you like her that much? To get serious?”

  “Serious? What, like you and Donna?”

  “Like Donna and me.”

  “If you mean it like that then I’m not sure.”

  Johnny smiled. “Sometimes Donna drives me crazy—she acts like we’re married—but I really like her.”

  “I know you do.”

  Colin knew how much Johnny was stuck on Donna. Johnny always had his arm around her waist and would whisper into her ear. “Have you ever seen the Dunleavys’s sister Alison?” Johnny asked.

  Colin shook his head.

  “She sure is something.” Johnny whistled. “Great figure. Beautiful eyes. Sweet, too.”

  “Then why don’t you go for her too, then, Johnny?”

  “I don’t think Donna would like that very much.”

  “Probably not.”

  Johnny laughed. “This guy, Freddie, is one of the people we’re meeting, one of the Dunleavys. He’s lucky. His old man let him leave school last year to come work with him. Now he’s making like fifty bucks a week. My mother tells me I have to stay for as long as the school will have me.” He imitated his mother’s voice, which made Colin laugh. “Yours, too?”

  “I don’t know what my mother thinks. She hardly leaves the apartment.”

  “What’s wrong with her, is she sick?”

  “She’s sick but she’s not getting better, if you know what I mean. She’s worried something bad will happen to her if she goes outside, and she sleeps a lot when she’s feeling sad. That’s how Maureen explained it to me.” Colin didn’t believe Johnny understood his mother’s condition. He hardly understood it himself. “My father will make me finish school. He won’t have it any other way.”

  They walked to the Dunleavys’s building. There was only one Dunleavy loitering in front of the steps today. The Dunleavy family owned the place, and the building was better kept than most others in the area since the family made substantial money. The Dunleavys’s place wasn’t considered a ‘tenement’. It was a white four-story building with two street-facing windows on each floor. Those windows glistened like wintertime ice in the sun. It impressed Colin that the windows were kept so clean. In his family’s home, the outsides of the windows were forever grimy because of a lack of interest or a lack of an effort in cleaning them, or they were fogged with thick steam from cooking inside. “O’Brien. Garcia,” Freddie Dunleavy said to them as they approached.

  “How’s it going today?” Johnny asked.

  “I’m doing all right. You?” Freddie looked directly at Colin. Colin nodded at him.

  Colin sized Freddie up. Freddie was smaller than him, but he was seventeen and already raking in significant cash. He worked for his father’s beer distribution company full time. The Dunleavy family supplied all of the Irish pubs on the East Side of Manhattan. Freddie had on a pressed dark suit with a red silk tie, and his hair was slicked back.

  “You’re going to buy beer from us today,” Freddie stated. “O’Brien here is from the old country.” Johnny pointed at Colin.

  “That so? I never knew that.”

  “Yeah,” Colin spoke up.

  “Where’s your accent?” Freddie asked.

  “I lost it when I came here.”

  Freddie stared at him as though he was trying to assess whether Colin was telling the truth. Then he smiled at him. “I’ll give you a discount, then.”

  “Uh, Freddie?” Johnny said.

  “Yeah?”

  When Johnny didn’t talk, Freddie said, “Yeah?” again.

  “When I spoke to your brother he said you’d be giving it to us for free today.”

  “Which brother?”

  “Frank.”

  “Frank? That explains it. Frank’s been a little slow lately. He isn’t right about that. We don’t give it away for free. Never.”

  “I don’t know if we’re interested, then.”

  Colin couldn’t believe the way Johnny was speaking to the powerful older boy. He knew Johnny had guts, but he didn’t think he was rash enough to challenge the Dunleavys.

  “I was told I’d be getting it for free.” Then Johnny looked over at Colin. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go to those other guys.” There weren’t any ‘other guys’. Colin knew Johnny was bluffing and hoping to change Freddie’s mind so he played along with Johnny’s plan.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re both going?” Freddie shouted as they started to leave. He pulled out a knife.

  Johnny didn’t eye the knife. Colin knew that if his friend had looked at the knife, then Freddie would have sensed his fear. And Johnny couldn’t let Freddie think he feared him.

  “We’re going to someone else,” Johnny said to Freddie.

  “You’re going too, giant Irish?” Freddie stared at Colin. “Or are you going to let him speak for you?”

  “I’m going with Johnny.” Colin held Freddie’s stare.

  “Not smart.” Freddie switched the blade up and shook his head at both of them. “I think one of you should stay here and pay for this beer we got for you.” He gestured to the box of brown bottles on the building steps. “And I think it should be you, Irish.”

  “Are any of your brothers fighting in the war?” Colin asked Freddie to diffuse the situation.

  “Why are you asking me that?” Then Freddie nodded. “Yours?” Colin shook his head.

  “Why not?” Freddie asked.

  “My older brother lost his arm.”

  “So he’s a cripple?”

  Colin nodded.

  “That’s too bad for him. Or maybe it isn’t. At least he won’t get killed in the war, right?”

  Colin shrugged.

  Freddie clutched the knife at his side in his pale, thick hand and looked at Colin. The look caused a long-simmering rage in Colin to boil over. It was the same kind of look his Uncle Rick had given him the night he was drunk. It wasn’t that Colin sensed Freddie Dunleavy wanted to touch him, rather it was that Freddie gave him a look like he was going to hurt him and there wasn’t anything Colin could do about it. Colin didn’t like the feeling. Freddie was older than them, but Colin was larger. Soon he was grasping Freddie’s knife. Freddie was on the ground a second later, and then Colin violently kicked Freddie’s back.

  Colin didn’t speak or yell as he continued to kick Freddie. His face and body felt very hot. Sweat wet his back. Kicking the shit out of Freddie was revenge for his childhood, albeit revenge taken out on the wrong person. Payback for a childhood that Colin figured had been stolen from him. And Freddie, at that moment, was the unfortunate incarnation of the robber.

  “Stop it,” Johnny shouted at Colin. “You’re going to kill him!”

  But Colin kept kicking. His mind told him to stop but his body didn’t want to. It was his first taste of physical release, and it felt wonderful.

  “Holy Mother. Colin, stop. You’re going to kill him.” Yet Johnny didn’t move from where he stood watching.

 
In the end, Johnny began to move and pulled Colin off of Freddie. When Colin snapped out of his rage, he clutched Freddie’s knife as he stood above him. Freddie moaned and rolled around on the ground. His forehead was bleeding. He looked helpless, but Colin continued to hold the knife. It was as if it gave him added security.

  Johnny tugged at Colin’s sleeve. “We need to get out of here.” He spoke to Colin as they ran. “You didn’t stab him, did you? I couldn’t tell. There was so much going on.”

  Colin shook his head. He wiped the handle of Freddie’s knife with his shirt and then flung it into a street gutter.

  Colin ran with Johnny as far as they could without stopping to catch their breath. They stopped at the corner of Thirtieth Street and Third Avenue, unable to run any further. Respectable businessmen stared at them like they didn’t belong near the large office buildings. Colin looked over his shoulder and saw they were near a police station.

  Colin pointed out the station to Johnny. “Do you think I should turn myself in?”

  Johnny didn’t smile. “You know, Colin, I really thought you were going to kill him back there.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  Johnny grinned. “You’re tough and you’re a good fighter. Maybe you’ll be a boxer someday.”

  Colin smiled at his friend’s compliment. “Do you think Freddie’s brothers will come after me?”

  “Yeah. You’re screwed.” They both laughed.

  “Too bad we forgot to take the beer with us,” Johnny said.

  Colin saw a dead body being taken away to the morgue one night when he was coming home from the movies with Maureen and Johnny. The body was lying in the middle of the street and was covered with a bloodstained sheet.

  At the movies Colin had warm, buttery popcorn and a cola. Colin was starting to believe Johnny was sweet on Maureen despite having Donna. Johnny had insisted he sit next to Maureen at the theater and he’d bought her candy. Colin wasn’t sure if he approved of Johnny showing interest in his sister, but he didn’t blame him. Maureen was growing into her face and looking pretty. She already had herself a boyfriend, a young dockworker. Colin was sure she wasn’t interested in Johnny, who was younger than her.

  The dead man under the bloodstained sheet had been shot by the husband of the woman he’d seduced, at least that’s what all the adults said the next day over breakfast or at the pub. A sudden, violent death in the Bowery wasn’t considered shocking because it happened so often. The sad occurrence would be discussed, but only casually.

  Johnny stepped closer to Maureen. “Goodnight, beautiful.” He kissed her hand.

  Maureen laughed.

  Johnny said goodbye to Colin and then left to return to his home farther uptown. Johnny turned his head every chance that he could, to glance at the body under the bloody sheet.

  “I don’t want you to be looking at that,” Colin and Maureen’s father said to them when they had entered their apartment.

  Michael was sitting on a chair at the table. There was an empty glass next to his hands, which were folded and resting on the tabletop.

  Colin glanced at his father as if he didn’t know what he meant. “I saw it out the window,” his father replied.

  “We’ve seen it so many times here in New York, it doesn’t mean anything anymore,” Maureen said.

  “It should.”

  “Where’s Danny?” Colin asked.

  “You’re both fifteen minutes late.” Colin’s father ignored his question. “And Colin, you haven’t been going to school. The Duffys got a telephone call for me this morning about it.”

  Colin looked at his sister for what to say.

  “We were just with Johnny,” Maureen said to their father. “We were at the movies. We weren’t doing anything bad.”

  “You shouldn’t be running around with Johnny Garcia. Either of you.” Colin’s father didn’t turn his head to face them, rather he spoke staring ahead.

  “What’s wrong with Johnny?” Maureen asked.

  “He’s always getting into trouble, and his father’s in prison.” Michael rose from where he sat and went close to where Maureen stood near the doorway with Colin. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again, girl.” He bent his big self over and leaned in close to her face. “I’m going to use the strap on you if you do,” he threatened.

  Colin smelled alcohol on his father’s breath. “Don’t hurt her!”

  Michael looked away for a moment, as if he was ashamed at his behavior. He shook his head and muttered something Colin didn’t understand.

  “Maureen, darling, I’m sorry.” He turned and embraced Colin’s sister in his arms and kissed her gently on the forehead. “You know I’d never hurt you.” He patted her back as his voice slurred.

  “I know, Da.” Maureen sounded afraid.

  “He’s been drinking,” Maureen said to Colin and Danny that night. “He never drinks.”

  “He’s never drank his whole life,” Colin added.

  “Ha,” Danny commented from the floor where he was resting flat on his back on a threadbare quilt. Colin and Danny were too big to share a bed, and their parents hadn’t gotten them a new one. Danny stared up at the white ceiling covered with a little black mold. He was smoking one of their father’s cigarettes. “He’s a goddamn drunk and a hypocrite.”

  Doctors had told Colin’s brother he would have to learn to write all over again using his left hand. But Colin noticed Danny only got frustrated trying to write with his left hand, and his frustration continued to grow. Then one day he seemed to give up. He took a part-time job as a clerk at a drugstore, and went out at night alone. Colin didn’t know what his brother did at night.

  “What’s a hypocrite?” Colin, and Patrick, who was now five years old, asked at the same time.

  Patrick had grown to become a quiet little boy who had difficulty learning to read.

  Colin assumed a ‘hypocrite’ must have been something very important, something only an older person would know, and Danny was the eldest.

  “A hypocrite preaches against something and then goes ahead and does it anyway,” Danny said. “Da’s always saying drinking’s bad for us and that he’d never do it himself, and neither should we, but he is doing it so he’s a hypocrite.”

  “Maybe he’s not doing it,” Colin suggested.

  “He’s doing it. I saw him bring home that bottle of mick whiskey myself. Mam’s been drinking it with him.”

  “Don’t use that word.” Colin abruptly rose and shouted at his brother.

  “What are you going to do about it? What, are you going to ruin my only arm and leave me with nothing?” Danny said with sarcasm. “Anyway, I’m Irish so it’s okay for me to say that word. Calm the feck down.”

  Upon hearing the word ‘feck’, young Patrick burst into giggles. “He said the bad word!”

  Danny smiled at Patrick then looked up at the ceiling again. “I give him a month until he blows.”

  Colin watched him light another cigarette with his Ronson lighter.

  “What’s ‘blow’?” Patrick asked.

  “In this case, I meant until he hits the bottom.”

  “Why’s he going to hit the bottom?” Colin said, suddenly worried.

  “He’s going to drink and drink . . .” Danny put out the cigarette to go to sleep. “And then they’re going to get him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Colin asked him. “Danny?” But it was too late. Danny was already asleep.

  4

  Colin’s father owed a lot of money to a Bowery loan shark named David Burke who had been a rumrunner during Prohibition. Burke had taken to confronting Colin’s father at the building sites where he sometimes worked. Danny had been the first in the family to find out what had driven their father to the drink.

  But Colin still believed his father would be all right, that he’d somehow come out of it okay.

  “Why do you think you’re going to die?” Colin asked his father one day when his father had mentioned the possibility.
/>   “You never know what can happen. Things like that, people dying unexpectedly or getting killed, you read about it in the newspaper every day. Just yesterday I read about this man who suddenly dropped dead in the middle of the park. It happens all the time.”

  “Da, I don’t think you need to worry about that. Besides, I heard that man was shot, he didn’t just drop dead.”

  “You just never know.”

  A week later, Colin’s father managed to scrounge up fifty dollars, but when he met with David Burke to give the money to him, Burke refused to accept anything less than the full amount he was owed. Colin’s father had run out of time.

  When Colin and Danny found out how much their father really owed Mr. Burke, thousands of dollars, they thought they could pick pockets to get the money needed to save their father’s life. But they didn’t manage to get enough.

  Colin’s father didn’t come home for dinner one night. His body was found later in the evening. He was identified by Danny and Colin at the city morgue early the next morning on behalf of their frantic mother. But David Burke hadn’t killed him. Colin’s father had shot himself in the mouth in the back of an alley with a gun he’d bought. Colin had planned to ask his father when he got older if he was really his father. Now he couldn’t.

  Danny and Colin sat on their steps when they came home from the morgue. Danny was sitting quietly, staring up at the clear sky through the tall city buildings. His hands were folded in his lap. He seemed strangely calm. Colin’s body felt hot and ached from anger.

  “I can’t believe he did it,” Colin said about their father. Danny murmured in agreement.

  The air was thick with a humidity that day that never seemed to end – the oppressive, tiring humidity that always clung to the city in the summertime. The tenement, out of respect for the deceased Michael O’Brien, was nearly silent, except for the occasional howl of Colin’s mother or the wailing of Maureen and Patrick.