The Trouble Boys

by E. R. FALLON

  Colin could hear police sirens in the distance. “Scout’s honor.”

  “What?” Little Bill said. He motioned to Frank and Mikey.

  “Let’s get out of here. Tom has a car waiting at the corner.”

  12

  Two Years Later

  Colin put the glass on the end-table in his bedroom, stared at it for a moment and then pressed it to his lips again. The warm scotch slipped down his throat. It no longer burned as it went down, and there were no headaches in the mornings anymore.

  One night in a dream he imagined Johnny was still alive. In this particular dream he hadn’t seen Johnny in what felt like years, and while he had been busy establishing his reputation, Johnny had quit the Tigers all-together and moved out of Manhattan into the suburbs with Lila and their daughter.

  “So you’re a Long Island guy now?” Colin joked in the dream.

  Johnny smiled. In Colin’s dream they stood next to the crumbling pier by the East River. Johnny reached out to hug him and he accepted the embrace.

  “You were my boyhood pal and then you killed me. I saw you.”

  Colin stepped out of the embrace. “It wasn’t me. It was Jarlath.”

  “Jarlath?”

  “Yeah. Do you know him in heaven?”

  “What makes you think men like us end up in heaven?”

  “Because we go to church. Sometimes.”

  “Getting into heaven is not all about going to church, Colin. You shouldn’t have seduced my wife even if she and I didn’t love each other.”

  “I’m sorry, Johnny. How do you know about that?”

  “I know everything where I am.”

  They began to walk in the dream, away from the pier and into the streets of the Bowery, only it was the streets of their youth, the old Bowery. They waved to the people on the sidewalk because they knew all of their faces. As it got dark outside they returned to the pier. The water moved faster than it had before.

  “We had some good times, Colin.”

  “We sure did.”

  “Have you ever thought about leaving this place?”

  “Sometimes, but I don’t know where I’d go to.”

  “You could come to Long Island, stay with us. We could get real jobs at the same place. The way I figure it, working for Tom could get you killed someday. Look what happened to me working for Tito.”

  “But we killed you. I didn’t stop them. Can you forgive me?”

  “I do.”

  There were tears in Colin’s eyes.

  And then he woke up alone and damp with sweat.

  Colin would sometimes still privately weep over Johnny’s demise. It had been a few years since Johnny had died, yet Colin still sent money to his family every month.

  Colin began to associate himself with a young woman named Beatrice who lived on the other side of the Hudson River in Hoboken, where Frank Sinatra grew up. She was petite with short blonde hair and green eyes. Her family were respectable people, and she was studying to be a nurse. Colin bought Beatrice things like a fur stole and a gold bracelet. He enjoyed her companionship but he never had sex with her because he felt she was too young. He used other women, older women, for such pleasurable experiences.

  Sheila Finlay was from Queens, just outside Manhattan. She was twenty-seven years old, worked as a sales girl at a famous department store, came from a middle-class Italian and Irish family, and was more than determined to make a name for herself. Her older sister was a proper schoolteacher.

  If Beatrice was cute and traditional, Sheila was beautiful and glamorous. Taller than most women, she had long, red hair, and a face that was reminiscent of the actress Rita Hayworth. She knew how to dress to show off her long legs, ‘wasp’ waist, and ample chest.

  Colin met Sheila through Beatrice. The girls’ parents knew one another. It was no coincidence that the gorgeous, exciting Sheila, who frequented the nightclubs in Manhattan and dated affluent men twice her age, who had once snubbed the younger and somewhat ordinary Beatrice, began to invite her to go shopping and out to lunch once she heard the girl was dating Colin. And it was no surprise that Beatrice, being the naïf she was, accepted the invitations.

  Colin first encountered Sheila at Beatrice’s nineteenth birthday party. The large party was held at Beatrice’s family’s home, and it was the last time Colin ever spoke to Beatrice.

  When Sheila arrived, all the guests in the grand living room turned to stare at her, but Colin barely noticed her at first. Sheila had been voted Miss Atlantic City as a teenager, and she could have been a showgirl. At the party she wore a close-fitting dark dress with billowy sleeves, and her red hair spilled down her back. Colin was surrounded by Beatrice and her friends, all girls, who were eager to speak to him.

  Sure, Colin loved women, and Sheila looked fantastic, but he wasn’t going to run and trip all over himself just to talk with her. First and foremost he wanted to make the line of work he had going successful for him. He was focused on attaining power.

  He had glanced at Sheila once or twice throughout the evening as she hovered by the bar, flirting and drinking. He was impressed by her temerity.

  Then she came up to him and grabbed his arm. Colin could tell she’d had too much to drink.

  “Do you like dancing?” She beamed.

  “It’s all right.”

  “I love it.” She pulled him onto the dance floor before he could stop her.

  She was a terrific dancer, and they danced together for every song, and when they weren’t dancing they were drinking. Sheila and Colin discovered they had something in common: they both liked to have a good time.

  When Colin glanced at Beatrice she was chatting away a young man with eyeglasses, and she didn’t seem angry at Colin.

  Colin and Sheila danced even when the party had wound down and their bodies dripped with sweat. They danced as everyone else began to collect their coats and started to walk out of the front door.

  Colin and Tom and Angela had arrived at the party together. Tom and Colin had business to take care of in Jersey City after the party, and Angela had friends in Hoboken.

  When Colin finally left the party with Tom and Angela and Sheila’s phone number, Tom warned Colin that Sheila could be a problem. She had dated Italian mob guys and had a reputation. He’d said all she wanted was to get close to power and would attach herself to any man she thought could get her that power. When the Italian guys couldn’t give her what she sought, she’d moved on. Colin later found out Tom himself had messed around with Sheila years ago, and was pretty much still fixated with her. After all, she had that face and those legs. But Colin had a feeling Tom was taking care of Angela on the side these days.

  Colin got caught up in Sheila’s beauty. Colin hadn’t had serious feelings like this for a woman since Lucille, and it scared him and excited him. Sheila seemed to show up at the same restaurants and nightclubs as him, and they always ended up spending the evening together.

  Sheila told Colin she believed she was the result of her mother’s affair with another man because no one else in her family had red hair. She expected things in return when they began to see each other. Each time they set foot inside a shop or in a pub in the Bowery, Sheila made it clear she was ‘Colin O’Brien’s girl’ even before she officially was, as if she expected to be treated like a star. Soon she no longer paid for her perfume and clothing, or her liquor and meals.

  Despite Colin reminding Sheila of the organization’s structure, she pushed him to ask Tom for a higher-ranking position. Tom said no, that had to be earned over time, and questioned whether Colin or Sheila was asking for this. When Colin admitted it was Sheila’s doing, Tom tried to convince Colin to ditch her. Only one thing came out of their conversation: the fact that Sheila was going to be sticking around.

  “I’ve dated a lot of fellas like you,” Sheila told Colin one day. “You have guts, baby, but I know the only way you’re going to rise to the top is if you make that clear to others.”

  One time when th
ey were at a bar inside a recently opened hotel, they overheard a man make a snide comment about Sheila’s laugh, and she begged Colin to “get him.”

  Colin thought it was a joke at first. Then he realized she was quite serious. He didn’t want to lose Sheila. If he’d been sober, he would have reasoned he didn’t want to be sent away for another twelve years. But he was pretty drunk, and when drunk, there seemed little to lose except Sheila.

  “Colin,” she purred into his ear. She thrust her chest into his side and fingered the outline of his gun through his suit jacket.

  Colin remained frozen. “Come on, baby!” Shiela shouted.

  People inside the bar ceased their conversations and stared at them.

  Colin placed his hand over his gun. The man who’d offended Sheila ran for cover. People rushed to remove themselves from Colin’s path, and tables and chairs were knocked to the floor. Sheila kissed his face.

  Colin took his gun out and didn’t bother to perfect his aim as he pulled the trigger. It took him less than a second.

  Sheila screamed in glee.

  But Colin hadn’t shot the man. The bullet hadn’t even grazed the guy’s shoulder. Colin knew right away after he fired that he had missed and hit the decorative mirror instead as he’d intended. But he didn’t tell Sheila that.

  Colin put his gun away and clutched her hand. “Let’s go. I’m not waiting around until the police come.”

  “Tom will handle it.” Sheila grabbed his face and kissed him.

  Colin wasn’t as sure. “Let’s go. Now.” He pulled out of her hold and gripped her arm.

  “I haven’t finished my drink.”

  “Leave it.” Colin dragged her outside to the sidewalk.

  Sheila attempted to pull Colin close to her as he tried to walk down the street.

  “No.” He gently pushed her away. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Just one kiss. I’m so proud of you.” She put her arms around his neck.

  Colin pried her warm body off him.

  Sheila backed way. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  He could tell she was angry because she insisted on sleeping on the couch in his living room that night instead of in his bed.

  Early the next morning Colin woke up to Tom shouting in his face. “What the feck did you do it for?”

  Tom had somehow gotten into the apartment. Colin could hear Sheila yelling and banging on the bedroom door, which Tom had shut and must have locked.

  Colin got out of bed and put on his pants. “What’s going on?” The light pouring in through the curtains burned his eyes.

  “You know what the hell I’m talking about.” Tom grabbed and shook Colin’s arm.

  Colin didn’t pull away. “I didn’t actually shoot the guy.” Colin put his sweaty palms to his face and rubbed his eyes. “We’d been drinking.”

  “You should drink less, or else I won’t be able to keep you on board.”

  Had Tom threatened him? He and Sheila didn’t consider what they did boozing. They simply considered it having a good time. But Colin didn’t want to end up like his father. He stopped yawning, and Tom’s remark made him wake right up. He might be out of a job, or worse, Tom would eliminate him.

  “You got lucky this time,” Tom said. “The publican is a good friend of mine. He called me instead of the police. But some people who were inside the place talked, and now the police are asking questions. I’m going to have to pay off the cops who matter to keep them quiet. It doesn’t matter that no one was hurt. You can’t fire a gun inside a luxury hotel. That place isn’t some Bowery flophouse. Hasn’t working for me taught you anything? I expected better from you. You need to get some more class, Colin. We waste money because of this kind of foolishness. Things like this make us look like eejits in the newspapers. I’m going to need you to pay me back. And Liam, the man who owns the hotel, he’s going to have trouble too, and he’s a friend of mine also. He’s a good man and his business has never had any trouble until now.”

  “Sheila—”

  “You stay away from that bitch.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “No.” Tom’s face reddened. “You stay away from her. You’re young still, you don’t know anything about women like her, so I’m telling you, stay the hell away from her kind because they’re not good for business or for you.” Tom pointed his finger in Colin’s face.

  Colin silently looked Tom in the eyes.

  Tom sighed. “What are you trying to prove, that you’re fecking invincible?”

  “I don’t know,” Colin answered honestly.

  “That’s what I thought.” Tom unlocked the door and let the screaming Sheila in.

  It wasn’t until Tom asked him to cut another deal with the Irish over on the Lower West Side that Colin thought he might just be invincible. Colin and Sheila had scaled back on their drinking but were still seeing each other.

  Colin remembered Max and Gerry from when he’d finalized the deal at Dowd’s pub, back when Max and Gerry had worked for the Two Declans. When Colin inquired about Dean Fitzpatrick’s whereabouts, he’d been told the man was in prison and would be there for a long time. The Two Declans had long since died. They were shot one dreary night on the West Side. Now Max and Gerry worked for a man named Sean McCarthy.

  McCarthy was the son of an immigrant from Castlewellan, who had become a prosperous wool merchant in New York, and a Scottish-American woman. This had always been an issue for Sean since all of the Woodlawn gang boasted seventy-five percent Irish ancestry or more. After completing college, an unusual feat for someone in his line of business, he’d decided a traditional upper-class existence didn’t interest him. He was as an astute student of corruption and learned the ‘trade’ quickly.

  ‘No-Last-Name’ Max was sitting with Gerry and Ed Dowd when Colin stepped inside the pub. All of the men now wore suits, which must have been Sean McCarthy’s influence, and Colin assumed McCarthy had more control over his men than their previous boss.

  “Colin.” Then Max looked at Ed and gestured to Colin. “This is the fella I’ve been telling you about. He sealed that deal with me and Gerry back when we worked for the Declans.”

  It didn’t seem to matter to Max and Gerry that they were now working for Sean McCarthy, who had gunned down their previous boss and underboss in cold blood. They followed whoever had earned control.

  Ed Dowd only glanced up from his Guinness. He was younger than Max and Gerry. Colin said hello to the men and sat down. He ordered a half pint.

  “Are you Irish or not?” Ed Dowd questioned Colin, after what had to have been Ed’s fourth round.

  “I am.”

  “Then why did you only order half then?”

  “I don’t drink to get smashed, buddy. I drink because I like the taste.” Colin smiled as he concentrated on Ed’s eyes.

  Ed laughed and continued to drink. “Why are you working for the Bowery guys?”

  “Why are you cutting deals with them?”

  “My boss wants to. I don’t make the rules.” Ed smirked at him.

  Colin watched the drunken Ed Dowd. Ed’s hair was a shiny black but if he looked closely enough he could see a few gray strands. Ed had intense brown eyes. The deep scar on his face had to have been from a knife wound. He looked tall, even when seated. Ed was about to say something else, or take out his gun.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s smashed,” Max interrupted and lessened the tension in the bar room.

  “He is,” Gerry said.

  “I ain’t drunk.” Ed slumped down in the booth and took another gulp.

  “Don’t worry about it. Sometimes he gets all fucked up in his head when he drinks.” Max put his finger to his head when Ed wasn’t looking and gestured. “You can talk to me and Gerry.”

  Colin nodded. “Tom wanted to let your boss know that if he’d like to contribute to the place in Harlem, it’d be best to do so immediately.”

  The Harlem building, an old coffee factory, would be renovated and used for
one of the largest money laundering schemes Tom had ever devised. It needed partners and resources. Tom was asking every monied top man he knew to contribute, and, in turn, was promising them a share of the profits. Tom and Sean McCarthy attended the same church, and since Sean was the very ‘top man’ of all the Irish gangs in New York, and maybe on the East Coast, everyone consulted with him.

  Tom was now a very old man, and after the deaths of Tom’s top men, including Errol, Ronan, and Jarlath, Colin had once believed that when Tom left this earth he’d be the one to move up and lead because he was brighter and more doted on than Little Bill. But a few weeks ago Colin received some unpleasant news.

  “Tell him we’re not sure if we’re interested. Tell him next time he should send one of the policemen he has on his payroll.” Ed’s eyes looked bloodshot.

  Max cleared his throat and smiled at Colin. Gerry shrugged and then stared at the table. Colin didn’t say anything. All he could think about was how much Ed reminded him of Dean Fitzpatrick from his first meeting with these guys. He later found out that they were cousins.

  Ed pounded his fist on the table. “Why are you working for Tom McPhalen? You haven’t answered me.”

  Colin chose to ignore him.

  “Take it easy, Ed. Colin’s a big guy. I’d be careful if I were you.” Then Max smiled at Colin. “Don’t listen to him. He can’t handle his booze.”

  “No. He’ll listen to me or I’ll make him. I ain’t afraid.” Ed rose from the booth, and he probably would have reached for his gun and pointed it at Colin, but when he got up he was so drunk he crashed to the floor.

  Gerry and Max laughed, and Colin did as well but it shocked him when not much did anymore.

  Max looked at the floor where Ed was snoring, and tossing every so often. “He looks like a damn baby in a suit sleeping there. He’s going to need to get that suit dry cleaned.”