by Kate Kelly
“How’s Jeanie doing?”
Daniel shrugs the smile from his face. “Better, I think. The flowers were magnificent, Dean. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, Daniel. My heart goes out to you and Jeanie.” Reaching out, Dean places his hand on Daniel’s shoulder, but the intimacy is too much for both men. Daniel, twisting out of reach, takes in the massive amount of flowers for the first time; roses—white, yellow. and red—sit in buckets of water crowding out the floor. More flowers than he has ever seen overwhelm the counters and spill from basins. He spots geraniums, orchids, and baby’s breath, along with even more that he couldn’t possibly name. The smell is an overwhelming mixture of pleasant and sickening.
“What’s going on? Getting ready for a big wedding or something?”
“No, no.” Dean coughs out a laugh. “Just the opposite. Mike Merlo finally gave it up to cancer. His funeral is tomorrow.”
“Yeah, and I’m still nervous about that, Dean.” Hymie Weiss, walks into the room at that moment, talking as if the conversation had never been interrupted. “You should make peace with Torrio and Capone; you should offer some restitution for Sieben’s.”
“Oh, Hymie!” Dean turns, laughing. “Why would I make restitution for the proudest moment of my life? Torrio don’t scare me, and he won’t tell me what to do. To hell with them Sicilians! That’s what I say. If Torrio won’t clear those Genna brothers off my territory, he’s asking for trouble.”
“Yeah, well you’re bringing it to him! Not that he don’t deserve it, Dean. But throwing Torrio to the Feds? Well, he’s gonna be coming back for blood.”
Hymie’s eyes cut from Dean to Daniel. He nods curtly, his features set, his tone dismissive. “Your brother’s upstairs, Daniel. I think he’s excepting you.”
“Thanks, Hymie. I’ll head up,” Daniel replies, relieved to be leaving. The room that only a moment ago seemed so joyful with colour and good wishes is now heavy with foreboding, the feeling as tangible as the sickly-sweet odour of roses hanging in the air.
Swinging Ruby up into his arms, Daniel moves past Hymie and Dean and into the back room. He passes the cold storage and rushes to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time to the office above. The weak, milky-white November sunlight spilling into the upstairs office is bright and almost too harsh for Daniel as he emerges from the darkness of the stairwell. Michael is sitting at the table by the window with Bugs Moran. Laying before them, a handful of metallic objects.
“What the hell is going on here?” Daniel asks, his voice tight with bewilderment and fear.
“Oh, Danny, my boy.” Michael laughs, quickly putting a gun down on the table and stepping forward, blocking the scene from his young niece. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing the princess. Let’s move into the office and Bugs can clear off the table.” He steers Daniel, with Ruby still in his arms, toward the office door.
“So how is Uncle Michael’s wee princess today?” Michael continues in a soothing tone. “Have you come to visit me with your Da?”
Ruby nods, unsure if she should speak, sensitive to the sound of her father’s voice, so different from what she is used to. She has heard this new voice more often recently, in the darkened rooms at home. Instead she looks around, realizing with excitement that she has been here before. Last time, she slid on the chairs and jumped on the cracked leather couch, which she can never do at home.
“What’s going on, Michael?” Daniel asks, placing Ruby down; his voice is less harsh, but his eyes never leave his brother’s.
“Nothing good, let me tell you.” He pauses. “How’s Jeanie?”
“Better … the same…. I don’t know.” Daniel shrugs, the thought of his wife, her despair that lingers like the smell of over-ripe fruit in a house already pungent with loss. “It’s hard to know what to do.”
The silence stretches between them, connecting them, separating them. Unspoken thoughts circle them. Their mother’s death had been quick and quiet; she had slipped from the world without a ripple, followed closely by Daniel’s son, James Joseph Kenny. Baby James. Daniel’s mind touches the memory like a tongue pressing a toothache—pain, the reminder of reality. Jamie’s small body, listless with fever, lying in Jeanie’s arms, his eyes helplessly beautiful. Where is the rhyme or the reason, Daniel wonders? He shakes his head, dislodges the memory, and returns to the present. He knows there is no other way. Forcing his thoughts forward, his voice when he speaks is ragged and foreign, a stranger’s voice.
“So, what is the nothing good that’s going on, Michael? Hymie is downstairs with Dean, and the friction between them is pretty evident. Then I come up here, and you and crazy Moran are handling hardware?”
Ruby is exploring the room. Running her fingers over the smooth leather couch, pulling out books from the shelves, she thinks it would be fun to play house here with someone. Then she remembers Patty, her rag-doll, hidden in Daddy’s coat pocket.
“Daddy, can I have my doll?” she asks excitedly.
Extracting the doll from his pocket with difficulty, Daniel hands her to his daughter. “Here you go, honey.”
Both men watch as Ruby takes her doll to the dormer window. Chatting to herself, she arranges her doll into the corner and begins to tell an elaborate story; she is lost to the world of her imagination. Daniel is surprised by the strength of emotion he feels surging through him every time he looks at his daughter—his history and his future together in one small, fragile being. She is tenacious, this child of his. Jeanie finds her headstrong, but Daniel knows she will need that kind of strength to face a world as unpredictable and, at times, unfair, as this.
“Take your coat off, Daniel, and sit. I’ll pour us a short one and fill you in. You’ve had your hands full the last little while, and a lot has happened.”
Throwing his coat over the arm of a chair, Daniel sits. “Isn’t it a bit early for a short one?”
“Are you arguing with the doctor, lad?” Michael hands Daniel the drink.
“No.” Daniel shakes his head, smiling at the old joke. “I guess I could use it after all. I think I’d like to get lost in the bottom of that bottle.”
Michael nods in understanding and sits across from his brother. Extracting his cigarettes from his pocket, he offers one to Daniel, who shakes his head. “How’s the job going? Any more promotions?” Michael asks, lighting up and inhaling deeply.
Before he answers, Daniel lets the scotch fill his senses, enjoying the burn as he swallows, almost thankful for the harsh bite. He is feeling more present than he has in months. “No,” he answers. “Not for a while, I think. McKinsey is expanding the company quickly but cautiously. Financing and accounting as a business is a new idea for local manufacturers, but they’re starting to realize that it’s a necessity.”
“You’ll still be able to do the books here, though?”
“Yeah, I can’t see that ever being a problem. The company is getting more and more clients, and business is booming, but I’ll always be able to help Dean, although I haven’t looked at his books in a while.”
“So, there is only one way but up for you.” Michael laughs. “I always knew you were born under a lucky star.”
“Well, I don’t know so much about that.” Daniel’s eyes cloud and his gaze falls on Ruby, who is busily chatting to her doll. She has struggled out of her hat and coat, and they lie beside her, the sun falling across them, the smoke in the room drifting up like lost dreams.
“So, let me fill you in on things here, Danny-boy,” Michael hurries on, uncomfortable with his brother’s pain sweeping into the room like a cold draft.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Daniel nods, anxious to busy his mind with other concerns.
“Mike Merlo died.”
“Yeah, Dean said. That’s too bad. But what’s the problem?”
“Well, Merlo was the only one standing between Dean and Torrio. You k
now Merlo—he was the president of their Unione Siciliano or something.” Michael shrugs at his mispronunciation. “Anyways, his word was law for those guys, and Merlo don’t like violence.” Michael shrugs. “Now that Merlo bit it, Hymie thinks there’ll be serious trouble. Capone is ruthless and Torrio listens to him. Hymie thinks big trouble is coming.”
“Torrio is the head of the organization over there, isn’t he? Remember we used to call him torero, the bullfighter. I always thought he was competent. Why is he listening to Capone?”
“Capone has got a one-track mind. If you ask me, he would love to take over the whole operation. So, I figure Torrio plays along with him and keeps him close.
“So, what’s Hymie so worried about? I thought things were going well with Torrio.”
“Yeah, they were for a while, but the Genna brothers started moving in on our territory and Torrio wouldn’t do a goddamned thing about it. The Gennas are selling their liquor at three dollars a barrel, and we sell ours at between six and nine. Their liquor is total shit, but they’re selling it on our turf. When Dean found out he hit the floor running; he told Torrio to keep his goons out of the North Side or else.” Michael takes another drag, stubbing the butt into the brass ashtray to his left. Shaking his head, he continues, “Those Genna brothers are a mean bunch. There’s five of them, and I think Capone is their captain. They’re Torrio’s army, but they’re a power unto themselves. I don’t know if Torrio is actually behind the move into our territory, or if he really can’t control the Gennas. Anyways, we had a sit down about it and it didn’t go well.”
Michael leans back, sipping his scotch, his mind drawn back to that evening. He remembers the look in Dean’s eyes, stone cold and piercing, as he stared down Torrio with the bravado of the fearless, or the foolish. More and more, when he allows himself to go there, Michael feels the cold sweat of worry. Dean is a good match for Torrio, but it’s Capone who pulls the air from the room.
“Daddy. Daddy!” Ruby calls from her world by the window. A smile lights up her face, engaging and open. “Daddy, come see the house I made for Patty! Daddy!”
“All right, my Jewel, I’m coming,” Daniel answers, looking at Michael and smiling. “She’s only three and already I do her bidding.”
Michael shrugs, laughing. “That’s women for ya’. They start young.”
“Well, this is quite the structure, honey.” Daniel crouches beside her and inspects the stacks of books piled up around his daughter. “Maybe we should just straighten out a few—that way the walls of your house won’t topple in on you. All right?” Daniel straightens the walls of Ruby’s ambitious doll’s house. “There. That’s better.”
“Can you play with me, Daddy?” Ruby strokes Patty’s hair and looks up into Daniel’s face; she hasn’t felt this happy in a long time.
“Later, honey. Let Daddy spend some more time with uncle Michael, and then I’ll take you and Patty for a nice lunch. How does that sound? Do you think Patty would like that?”
“Oh yes,” Ruby answers seriously. “Patty has to eat her lunch to grow up strong.”
Daniel laughs and returns to Michael, whose amusement at the exchange shows in his smile. “You’re a good father, Danny.”
“You taught me well, Mick.”
There is humour in the exchange, but Daniel means every word. His eyes meet Michael’s. The two brothers smile, and in a single moment, their history passes between them: Michael’s youth sacrificed to bigger concerns, his struggle to take their father’s place, setting himself up as the barrier for Daniel and their mother against the harshness of life.
Too old before his time, Daniel thinks, looking at his brother. A man before he was a boy and now, thin and greying while still in his prime. Forcing these thoughts from his mind, Daniel asks, “So, where were we? The Gennas taking over Dean’s territory.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Dean has been dissatisfied with Torrio and Capone ever since he helped them take over Cicero.” Michael continues, picking up the thread of the conversation.
“I thought that was a done deal? Papa Torrio took that territory almost three years ago. Daniel’s facetious use of John Torrio’s mob name is not lost on Michael. “Dean was happy to help him out then. So what happened?”
Michael nods. “Torrio is smart. He fixed the elections in Cicero so’s he could move his headquarters out of the city limits and away from the pressure of the reformers and Mayor Dever. Dean even sent a dozen of us over to Cicero to lean on the constituency on election day.”
“Yeah, I remember all that. So why the trouble over Cicero now?”
“Well, Cicero has become a big cash cow, Danny boy. The South Side is seducing more politicians and cementing its hold on everything moving in and out of the goddamn city. Those goons are becoming more condescending in their attitude. Makes me so mad, I could spit blood! Torrio has more than he can handle: The South Side, the prostitution ring, Cicero, the Canadian liquor consortium.” Taking another long swallow, Michael shakes his head, the politics of all of this getting to him. “Then about a year ago, Torrio gave Dean a strip of Cicero territory, just like he was throwing a bone to a dog.”
“Yeah, I know that. So what?”
“Well, the earnings in that territory are pretty slim, about twenty grand a month—such a minor concession that it verges on insult. Dean said he had a plan and that he’d beat the Ities at their own game, and he did! Dean has quadrupled the income by leaning on fifty or so of the saloon keepers on the South and West Side, and now we got them doing business in our territory.”
Daniel stares at his brother, his mind racing. His throat constricts around his last swallow of scotch, and he has difficulty answering. “This is sounding pretty reckless on Dean’s part. I mean, this is heading for serious trouble.”
“Yeah, you telling me. Torrio was none too happy at the sit-down, let me tell ya’.” Michael swirls the golden liquid in the bottom of his glass, remembering the scene in the drafty back room of the abandoned mill
“DEAN, MY FRIEND,” Torrio’s voice is low and controlled. A smile plays at the corners of his jackal mouth. “I need some kick-back from your Cicero territory. You cannot undermine me on my own turf—what will the neighbours think? We will agree on a weekly price, and then we will talk about the Gennas.” Torrio nods slightly in the direction of Sam and Angelo Genna, who, standing to his left, are far enough away that the conversation remains private but close enough that their menacing glare is undeniable.
Dean, his attitude unwavering, the smile on his face incongruous with the murderous look in his eye, lets the moment stretch on to minutes; the sweat running down Michael’s back is the only movement in the room.
“Okay. All right. You drive a hard bargain, O’Banion. No one can ever say you’re not a tenacious business man!” Torrio laughs, trying unsuccessfully to dispel the tension in the air. Nodding to Capone, who is seated to his right, he continues, “Perhaps we will offer interests in the brothel. Fifteen percent. You agree to weekly payments for Cicero and take fifteen percent of the brothels in the area. It’s a good offer, my friend.”
“I’ll have no dealings in brothels.” Dean breaks his silence, the anger in his voice barely contained. “There are no brothels on the North Side and there never will be. I’ll not deal in human flesh.” Dean’s voice drops to a whisper with the last statement. Leaning forward, he continues, his eyes locked on Torrio’s, his jaw muscles jumping. “Remove the Genna dogs from my territory.”
Torrio leans back and laughs again, loud, boisterous. “Dean, my friend, I cannot force the Gennas to do anything. It is a free country, is it not?”
Before the words are out of Torrio’s mouth, Dean is up from the table. “Let’s go, boys.” Dean nods to Michael, Hymie, and Ducci. Then he turns and looks back at Torrio, Capone, and the Gennas. “You won’t take care of the Gennas, Torrio. I will!”
DANIEL SHAKES HIS HEAD,
blood pounding in his temples. “So Torrio won’t keep the Gennas under control?”
“Won’t or can’t. Anyways, we hit two Genna shipments and it was a good haul.” Michael smiles, the innocent smile of a child happy with the outcome of his game. “Over thirty grand in Canadian whiskey! But that’s not the best of it.” He gets up and takes Daniel’s empty glass. “You’ll need another one for this.”
“But we’re running our own Canadian whiskey. Why hit the Gennas?”
“It ain’t about money anymore, Danny boy. It’s about honour. We can’t let just anyone walk in and start operating out of our territory. Torrio gave Dean the Cicero territory, and now he’s leaning on him for kickback. He won’t call off the Genna dogs, and then he insults Dean by suggesting he take an interest in the brothels. You know how Dean is against that—hell, everyone knows!”
Daniel watches his brother, his forehead creased with worry. He’s going too far with this, he thinks. This is still just a game to him. And he’s too thin. And lonely. Daniel can hardly understand what holds his brother so tightly to this life. The O’Banion gang has become his whole world, consuming him to the point of obsession. Michael has no wife, not children, no home life. He is still living in the old neighbourhood, one of the few left from the old days. The gang has become wealthy and influential, all of them except Michael, moving with growing families out to more prestigious areas, into homes they could never have imagined a few short years ago.
The American dream is coming to fruition in barrels of Canadian whiskey and syndicated crime. Although the syndication is yet to become fully realized, Daniel knows it’s headed in that direction. The neighbourhood gangs have become more and more organized. They have transformed from groups of delinquent children to deadly serious organizations with levels, with routes, with influence that reaches from one area of the country to the other, one continent to another. They export whiskey from The Distillery Company of London, in Britain to the Liquormans in Canada, who then act as middlemen, importing and exporting to and from America. Their main contact is Arnold Rothstein, who will eventually become the godfather of organized crime. Within a decade of the Roaring Twenties, the syndication will be peddling heroin, cocaine, and other illegal substances through the same means—the same wholesale, transportation, and retail system developed to bootleg booze during prohibition. Daniel can’t predict the specific outcome of their activities, but he can feel the power and deadly intent growing as these gangs organize and legitimize themselves through corruption.