The Fighting O’Keegans
by Aaron Kennedy
Published in the United States by:
{Author Name OR Publisher Name}
{Publisher Address Details}
© Copyright 2015 – Advisor Garage LLC
ISBN-13:
ISBN-10:
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written, dated and signed permission from the author.
Table of Contents
The Fighting O’Keegans
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
About the Author
Chapter 1
Who ever said the whole world loved a winner was a liar.
The world would much rather throw a winner to the floor and pulp their heads against the sidewalk. Let’s face it, the world prefers losers, it’s comfortable with them, knows how they tick, what makes them get up in the morning.
Only your father or your mother will tell you different…one of the two lies they’re allowed…the other is ‘they all lived happily ever after’.
Let me tell you O’Keegan’s story…at least one of them…
For the fighting O’Keegan’s as they were not too fondly called, being the toughest in their neighbourhood had always been their defining place on earth, all that they knew how to do, and all they knew how to be. Sitting on the top of the knuckle heap was the only thing that counted and they were good at it, I know, they were all anyone from my town ever talked about when the beer started to flow...
Maybe your town has a family like that, most do, if you’re interested, find your local bar…not one of those places that are flavour of the week with prices to match, I mean your real local. Wait until closing time, your O’Keegan’s will come out swinging, wanting to end their nights with a fight like most people end their meal with a coffee.
This is a simple story, a story of one ‘fighting O’Keegan’ who wanted something else, a new life, a new start – I’m not sure yet how it all ends just yet but as O’Keegan has said too many times, life is a tall, redheaded bitch with a fucked up sense of humour…right now she must be laughing plenty.
Ryan O’Keegan started off no different than all the other fighting O’Keegan’s - had got himself into too many scraps, never taking shit from anyone, never able just to let it go, even when it wasn’t worth it. Perhaps that was his flaw, O’Keegan didn’t know when to back down, it just wasn’t in him.
Most of the time O’Keegan would win, but in the early days he didn’t always, one too many kids working together…one too old, too strong, when the odds are stacked too high, even the heart of an O’Keegan wouldn’t always prevail - even an O’Keegan could be put down…and hard.
But like I said, that was the early days, before O’Keegan was a man.
After every fight, O’Keegan’s Pa would always be at the rough hung front door of their small house, snake smoke threading its way through the corner of the roof thatch as he trudged up, his little brother Jamie always standing a few steps behind. Both stood, waiting for the verdict but O’Keegan’s foot falls telling them everything before he ever had a chance to open his mouth.
Chest pumped up in pride at his fighting son’s return, O’Keegan’s father looking him over, like a gambler measures a horse, never asking ‘are you hurt?’ or ‘What happened?’, just concerned with the result and O’Keegan knew it – other wishes of what a father might ask murdered long ago.
Blocking the doorway, his father’s large arms stretched up to the top of the door frame, he would always ask him just one thing, wanting to hear the right answer before he’d step aside. Just one question, a four worded interrogation that would echo in O’Keegan’s open eyed nights, his father’s gruff brogue repeating.
‘Did you win son?’
A ‘yes’ brought a warm meal, a ‘no’ won him a slammed door and a shove back into the street. It never occurred to O’Keegan to lie, but O’Keegan wasn’t prepared to be a liar on top of everything else, would always tell it straight, I guess it was the only thing his Mother left him.
Chapter 2
The ship set off. For the next weeks, it was its own country, segmented into layers, the top for the wealthy, the bottom for the poor, a small society of haves and have nots, like all the rest, steaming its way across the Atlantic,.
Somewhere lower still were life’s sediment, the ships workers, metal boots stamping and shuffling their way through the ships bowels, men toiling eighteen hours a day to keep this small country alive and moving.
No one but a select few above knew they existed, breaking their backs and sweating their way to America. A new life for the few, more of the same for most. The American dream - a fallacy before they had even arrived.
‘You from Kerry? Your face is familiar. I know you?’
O’Keegan, continued with his own shovelling, discounting everything except the coal, no easy conversation, no break in his flow, head bent, strong arms lifting and throwing, feeding the mouth of the furnace.
Shorty, not sure if he’d been heard was halfway to his next sentence when O’Keegan huffed out without a break in his shoveling,
‘Got a common face, happens all the time…’
‘Maybe so, maybe so…but are you from Kerry or not?
Challenged lungs breathed in and out a few more times, seconds smothered by the dust and silence as O’Keegan faked concentration, like this was the most important job in the world, hoping his tormentor would get the message but knowing, as he dug, that he wouldn’t.
Shorty didn’t cut the hook loose, staring, locked.
After a minute or two O’Keegan succumbed, wanting to get the talk done with he lifted his eyes to meet Shorty’s, knowing that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he wouldn’t let it go, people like Shorty never know when to let it lie. Taking a breath O’Keegan shrugged,
‘Kerry? Yeah, I’m from Kerry…spitting distance anyway…spitting on’s all its good for as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Yeah, you’re not wrong about that, you-’
‘You know me? Why don’t I know you back?’
’Got an even more common face than you do… happens all the time too’ He lifted it up for O’Keegan to see. O’Keegan grunted, shook his head, wanting no recognition, stamping on the conversation like a cockroach.
‘You’d know more about that than me. I’ve got a job to do, won’t leave it half finished. We’re done -’
‘You’re an O’Keegan aren’t you?’ Shorty persisted.
O’Keegan’s shovel paused, hardly noticeable but Shorty caught it like a served ball. It was the ‘an O’Keegan’ he’d reacted to, telling Shorty everything he needed to know. Almost jumping on the spot, Shorty grinned, he was right, it was O’Keegan.
With a slight slouch, O’Keegan looked up at Shorty for the first time, his arms still digging.
‘…So you do know me. Now what?’
Shorty’s grin widened, it was good not to be wrong. Shit, O’Keegan really was here. This was something. For the first time letting the grimace on O’Keegan’s face register, Shorty moved back behind his coal pile, feeling the barriers reassurance.
‘Now nothing, you’re someone where I come from O’Keegan, a friggin’ legend…you and the rest of your family. The fighting O’Keegan’s, that’s what they call you all isn’t it?’
‘Some do… others have different names for us one way or another…not that they’d say them direct. Anyway…’ O’Keegan looked down seeing himself anew, as other would, smudged and smoky coal dust covering every inch, it didn’t feel good ‘…anyway, that’s all done with now so gonna get ba-’.
‘Done with now? O’Keegan what the fuck are you doing here? You had it all…girls, respect, standin’, everything…people would have killed for your reputation.’
O’Keegan shook his head, sadness dripping faster than sweat, ‘They tried more often then I cared for…what the fuck am I doing here? Mindin’ my own, that’s what. Do the same’ O’Keegan growled. ‘Leave me alone… I’m happy just doing what I’m doing, let’s keep it that way, you don’t get in my way…I won’t get in yours… we understand each other?’
‘Yeah, Yeah, okay O’Keegan, I’ll do it, I won’t bother you, no problem, you and me are neighbours O’Keegan, here and in Kerry, I can respect that.’
‘Good…’ With a slight crack in his voice, O’Keegan turned back to his coal.
Chapter 3
The drone of the Ship’s engine was constant, the machinery vibrating up backs pushed past weary days before.
A water break called but unnecessary, the eighteen men knowing and moving instinctively, a breathing space in a place where there was none, air crushed chests rasping from coal dust as the bell sliced through the clouds of black sparkling dry smog.
Flannery, the man whose size, muscles and temper had set him up from the first day as the boiler room boss began pushing each man into a semblance of order, straggling to line up, metal cups in hand.
One of the men the others had taken to calling the Priest was given front line as they all shuffled a few steps back to free up a space. The Priest held out his cup as the water was glugged into it, more hitting the floor and his trousers as the water stumbled out, the wetness ignored as he drank, stepping to the side.
He wasn’t a priest, at least no one had ever heard him say as much, but most of others had taken turns talking to him just before settling down to sleep. The Priest was a man that would listen, and they needed to speak, finding themselves saying the buried deep things, feeling better for it as they curled themselves into their regulation blanket, heads resting on crossed arms.
Waiting until O’Keegan laid down his tool, Shorty unconsciously mimicked each move filtered in behind him, taking a place in the already formed line.
O’Keegan did his best to ignore him, concentrating on moving forward step by step as each man at the front of the line received his share, no chains strung between inching forward feet, just inching forward minds. He quietly growled to himself as Flannery, their self appointed galley boss passed by, his meaty hand glancing across O’Keegan’s shoulder, urging him forward.
Shorty’s voice whispered out from somewhere beneath his shoulder,
‘Don’t mind him, you know he’s been pushing us around since this ride started. We’ll both be on his list…me, I’ll let him get one in then’ll hit the floor faster than a whore’s smalls….’
O’Keegan imagined Shorty’s grin that he knew must have followed the end of that sentence.
O’Keegan broke his self imposed silence,
‘I hope not…for his sake…and mine…seen too many like him, put them all down…one way or another…’
‘Yeah, well, you’ve seen him pounding on each of us.’
‘I have, but it’s not my business. You guys just have to look out for yourselves, you should know that by now.’
O’Keegan glanced back, seeing Shorty’s half smiling face looking back, pleased O’Keegan had finally given him some attention.
Turning back with a sigh, O’Keegan finished up, ‘I’m looking for some peace, last thing I need is more trouble.’ He heard the small guffaw from behind him,
‘From what I heard, trouble’s what you do O’Keegan, you trying to run away from it?’
O’Keegan stopped for a moment, giving Shorty a prolonged look until Shorty took a slight step back stepping on the man behind him.
After one more second, O’Keegan turned back to the line, wishing the silence would remain unbroken, already knowing it wouldn’t.
A moment later and Shorty’s voice ground against O’Keegan’s ears,
‘Is it true?’
O’Keegan stepped forward, close to the end of the line but knowing he wasn’t close enough yet.
‘Don’t give up do you?’ O’Keegan growled at Shorty ‘Is what true?’
‘That you’d bring the people you beat back home to your Pa so you could prove you’d won your fights? How many was it I heard? Twenty, fifty, a hundred? I’ve heard so many different numbers…’
‘I’m not proud…’
‘So it IS true. Shit. That’s something else O’Keegan.’
One more step forward in the line, O’Keegan kept silent, the faces of men always too close to the surface, blurring together, one face after another caste in blood. It was true. They all has gone dragged and bleeding pushed to the floor in front of his father’s feet. The gossipmongers and story tellers had earnt their beers, they had told it right.
‘See Pa, I won Pa. I did it. I did it.’
With a grunt his father would turn back into the house, like O’Keegan was some stray cat that had left another dead bird on the doorstep, an offering to his master but leaving the door open anyway, this time. O’Keegan had once more kept the family honour, their standing maintained, he was allowed to eat and the losers allowed to crawl their way back home.
Chapter 4
O’Keegan saw the line end, pushing out his cup to the sour face helper, he watched as the cloudy water fell in. His lips dried and cracking, he coughed trying to clear his chest from the smoke and dust that hung like a fog across the top few feet of the metal coffin they worked and lived in.
Feeling a touch on his elbow, he stepped to the side, raising the water to his lips while he waited for Shorty. Best to get the questions over and done with now.
Shorty stood beside him, looking him over with unhidden awe.
‘Why did you do it O’Keegan? What was it all about? Why the fighting O’Keegan’s? What else did you do?’
‘Nothing else. There was nothing else. Our fists was all my family had, something no one could take away from us’
‘But was it worth it?’
‘Did I make any money at it? You see me here don’t you?’ O’Keegan raised the tin cup to his parched lips. Shorty shook his head,
‘No, was it worth it? What did it get you?’
Shorty looked up at O’Keegan who seemed to think it through for a moment. O’Keegan ran his hand through his hair as he answered,
‘Pain…pain for all of us. All I could do was win, do whatever I had too, that’s all there was, knocking down whoever stood up. But I…’
‘But what? There’s anything more important than that? You had a reputation’
‘So what… you think I won? If I did, what was I winning? Yeah, I had a reputation…more trouble than it was worth. The other fighters kept on coming, re
putations do that, always one more to give it a try like a game at a fair ground. The fighting O’Keegan’s, someone who-’
‘You lost?’ Shorty leaned forward his voice incredulous
‘No, No, I didn’t loose, don’t you get it? I wasn’t allowed to go down, not without getting back up and keeping on going…sometimes they just gave up because they didn’t want it anymore, couldn’t take it again and again. But I had no choice…they did’.
O’Keegan looked Shorty over, wanting to know that it was sinking in, that maybe someone could understand. Not seeing it, he threw himself back into the fight, ‘I never lost, not the fights anyway. I was losing something else…In the end losing would have been a relief, it might have got me off the hook. No, I didn’t lose the fights. They thought that they could make their reputation by putting me down, as quickly as I won, they’d be more, like that line we was just in, I was the water, the line just kept growing…’
Shorty nodded, maybe starting to understand. O’Keegan spoke, hopeful.
‘I could see where it was all going, more and more, cockroaches waiting for their chance. I was the Friday night entertainment, the freak, the fighting O’Keegan, worst of all, I couldn’t see anything else, no point to it, it was starting to be all I was…so I left. That’s it. We understand each other?’
His hand reached out to Shorty, a brief touch on his elbow as his question was asked, almost tender, a pleading touch.
‘Okay’ Shorty sensing the conversation was done, ‘didn’t mean to make it hard for you. So that’s why you’re here, a new start? The American dream, just like the rest of us?’
‘That’s it. That’s what I want, a new beginning, just a chance…’
‘You really think you can walk away from your old life? You think you can be somebody else? Maybe that’s all there is for you…’
O’Keegan paused, searching Shorty’s eyes wanting to figure out if Shorty was being straight with him. Sensing he was, O’Keegan shrugged,
The Fighting O'Keegans Page 1