Flannery didn’t say much as they walked, his mind turning over the last minutes. Everything was moving too quickly for his liking and he still didn’t have all the pieces. Was it really possible that two guys like them could have a shot at taking over Meehan’s patch? It all seemed crazy when he thought about it too much. Big stakes came with big risks, although he wasn’t sure what the hell was going on in O’Keegan’s head, he knew he may never have a chance like this again. The prize was close, tantalizingly reachable, the only things that might screw it up was one old man in Ireland and O’Keegan’s ability to win against Meehan in tonight’s ring.
Flannery had fought O’Keegan and was confident that if O’Keegan wanted to win then there weren’t too many people around that could stand against him. What Flannery worried that O’Keegan would be prepared to trip himself up in the ring and play dead for the sake of saving his old man.
Flannery looked closely at O’Keegan, hoping for some sign or word that would help him understand O’Keegan better, nothing more important than knowing how tonight would end. O’Keegan looked back, seemingly content to walk without talking, leaving Flannery to his thoughts. Flannery expected O’Keegan to look worried or maybe nervous, but instead he looked like a school boy that had just found ten bucks. It didn’t make any sense. Flannery shook his head, confused. O’Keegan smiled at him, almost as if reading his mind, seeing Flannery’s concern written across his face, O’Keegan gave him a quick wink,
‘Don’t worry Flannery, it’s all under control. Don’t worry about my Pa and don’t worry about me. We have Meehan just where we want him. Believe me. I had this all figured from the beginning. As soon as word gets out that me and Meehan are going to be the cherry on tonight’s cake then we have him. He won’t be able to back out, that is unless he’s prepared to look the coward to Boston and his own boys. If he does that then he had better be the one on the train because they’ll eat him up…and if they don’t, we will.’
‘But what about your Father?’
‘I can’t go into it now Flannery but it’s all in hand. From the day we arrived all this was going to happen, it’s the only way. Meehan grew up in these streets, he has more people, more money, more guns and more clout than we could hope to get anytime soon. That leaves us with one option, to take out the man himself. Yes, we can kill him, but first we need to make him a man again in the eyes of all those that keep him at the top. That’s where our little event comes in. It put us front and centre in the minds of everyone in Boston, and even better, if we can make sure Meehan sets foot inside that ring then if I win, we’ll make the emperor naked, we’ll show them all that he’s nothing different than all the rest of us – if we can do that, we can get it all, in one night.’
‘Okay, I get all that, but you’re forgetting that if you don’t take a dive, they’ll kill your Father.’
‘You remember that call I got in the meat shop?’
‘Yeah’ Flannery stopped, looking more intently at O’Keegan.
‘That was a call from my Brother. Like I told you at the time, it’s all in hand. Have faith in the fighting O’Keegan’s Flannery, unless it all gets screwed up then Meehan’s not going to see this side of next wee, unless there are such things as ghosts.’
‘Do you think you can win fair and square against Meehan?’ O’Keegan started to walk again, Flannery falling in beside him.
‘Well, we’ll just have to see, maybe I shouldn’t have used his car upholstery as an ashtray.’
Both Flannery and O’Keegan laughed, Flannery let his apprehension go, O’Keegan walked with confidence, praying that it all worked out just right, as his feet picked up the rhythm, he knew there was still many, many things that could still go wrong. He hoped the Irish gods were with him tonight.
Chapter 39
The package sat, more intimidating than it had cause to be, just a lump wrapped with brown paper and string.
‘Alteri’s outside now, he’s already been taken through it and what’s expected for today and tomorrow.’
‘Where’d this come from?’
‘My cousin just said it was dropped off an hour or so ago while we were with Meehan. A young guy had come by an a few hours before, my cousin said he didn’t say much, just to tell you to make sure it got to the right place.’
The brown paper wrapping looked like it had been destined for a few more pork chops, blood speckled from sitting too close to the meat preparation area, consciously ignored as the butcher went about his job.
O’Keegan looked over at the package, distaste written across his face as blood starting to seep from one crinkled corner.
They heard his cough, conscious that one of their boys was waiting outside. The even tempered Alteri who had backed up Flannery during their run in with the local boys had been waiting for the last fifteen minutes outside of their office doorway. He had been told what his task was, he was unconcerned, Flannery had been clear in his instructions, all he was waiting for now was to receive the package.
Flannery rose and leaning around the opening, beckoned him in. O’Keegan stood, and shaking hands with Alteri as he came through the door,
‘Flannery’s been clear on what you have to do?’
‘Yes Boss.’
‘Good. Don’t worry too much about it. This afternoon is important, we don’t know what to expect…get over to the wharf. Make sure you’re at the warehouse early. As for tomorrow night, it will go fine without you and this needs doing. I don’t doubt that you would have won the fight…’ He tried hard to smile, to show a levity he didn’t feel.
‘So we thought it only fair that we give you your prize money in advance…’
O’Keegan handed over a crisp one hundred dollar bill.
Alteri smiled back and handed back the one hundred to O’Keegan,
‘No Boss, no matter that the bookies don’t have you down as the favourite, I saw what you could do in the Boiler room with our man Flannery here’ Nodding over to Flannery, who grinned back, happy to have lost. ‘…I’d not be taking the prize money off you and I don’t think any of the other boys would either. This is your prize money fair and square, and if everything goes well, perhaps I can be back in time to join in tonight anyway.’
O’Keegan smiled at him, he knew the hundred was significant for Alteri, it was a good gesture. Getting on with business,
‘Right, here’s the meat we promised you. Look after it and we’ll be seeing you later at the warehouse’. O’Keegan handed over the wrapped up package, the string tied tightly across it’s top, just another package like all the rest that had been walked out of the shop today.
‘I know you don’t need it but good luck. One last thing, have you and Shorty been over there and made sure you know whose who?’
‘Yes Boss, could have figured it out without Shorty’s help but yes, I know who I’m dealing with’.
‘Good, this is important, no slip ups’. O’Keegan grasped Alteri’s hand in a last big shake and Flannery followed. If everything went as planned then these next two days would be one to remember.
Shorty and O’Toole sat across the small friendly café table, two espressos slightly drunk, cooling and forgotten while they talked through their business. A brown paper package sat between them, the conversation quiet and controlled as they mapped out the events of the evening.
If O’Keegan and Shorty had spent the last few days walking around each and every Boston street banging a big skinned drum and shouting out at the top of their lungs there would not have been more people making plans to come to what was being commonly called O’Keegan’s Boston Event of the Century.
As the sun set, each and every bar and gin joint, each restaurant and café had been closed down, there was little point in them staying open as the flow of paying public had dwindled to little more than a trickle. Shutters were pulled down, bars drawn across doors, sidewalks swept in preparation for a normal business day tomorrow. Most of Boston was closing down as empty joints with the bare bones of a waiting staff meant money ou
t and no money in.
Those in the know closed up shop as they too began to hurry in the direction of the wharf side with the rest of Boston. The ragged street workers jostled with dinner jackets and bow ties as they all streamed like a human rat train in one direction only, to O’Keegan’s event and Boston’s wharf.
As they travelled, caught up in the flow of others walking steadily towards the wharf, each felt the jingle of excitement, the heightened anticipation of the night ahead, almost as if it were to be them standing bare-chested, adrenaline pumping and ready for the bell to sound. But they knew it wouldn’t be them, they could appreciate the blood without the need to bleed, just how most of them like it.
As each Boston stranger walked, minds thought back to past times and today times when they confronted their own fears and threats, feeling the pace of their hearts quicken, past blows given and received, physical and otherwise, failures rewritten to victories, loses to wins.
Tonight would be an opportunity to touch those times again, enclosed in the safety of being part of an audience, watching men ducking and avoiding blows that would crush and fracture if they connected. Each person could for a few hours, put their dull and boring lives behind them as they mentally put themselves in harms way, heads twitching and moving as they pre-empted each fighters movements.
Bankers would forget shuffling papers from one desk to the next, fish mongers one more blank eyed fish staring up at them from yesterday’s newspaper wrapper, street hustlers the money they owed to one of Meehan’s sharks. They all strove for temporary amnesia from their lives and O’Keegan would provide it.
A truce had been called, everyone wanting nothing more than the heart pumping joy of the event. Gangs from other parts of the city, the Profaci boys and the smaller outfits, were prepared to put aside their blood animosity and their wars for one night, wanting to enjoy the spectacle of one man ripping apart another, fists beating into each others bodies, trying to stay standing against the onslaught. It was underclass Christmas in Boston and everyone was waiting to unwrap the gift at O’Keegan’s warehouse.
If Boston had not have been connected firmly to the earth, the weight of man and womankind moving to congregate in one small block would have tipped the city into the sea. The men outnumbered the woman ten to one, but even in Boston there were women who desired the thrill of the being close and wrapped up in the real edginess of life, women young and bored, women old and bored - O’Keegan’s event had penetrated every level of society, every gender and age. This really was becoming the Boston event of the century. Humanity streamed onwards.
Chapter 40
Meehan dressed slowly, pleased with each item of clothing he had spent a fortune to purchase. He looked at himself in the mirror as he put on the lightly starched white cotton shirt, doing up the very top and the very bottom buttons first, to close each button between in the carefully cut and stitched button eyelets.
Pulling on his socks, trousers and braces, he tucked in each bottom tail of shirt and selecting his most garish but most treasured tie, his dexterous fingers looped and snaked, creating the perfect tie knot to finish off his look.
He took down the porcupine haired brush and dragged it a few times through his thick hair before standing ready in front of a lengthened mirror.
A few flicks of invisible dust, a few fingers ruffled through his too well brushed hair Meehan was ready for another night of fun.
He needed one last item of ‘clothing’ before Meehan felt completely dressed, reaching into his top draw and moving aside a few linens, he dug out a small calibre hand gun clasped by a well oiled leather holder designed to be worn on the ankle.
He knew the explicit instructions he had been given about muscle and firearms and he would visibly abide by the rules, no muscle, in fact he would even be driving himself in his new car to the event. But there was no way that Meehan would ever walk down these streets, even though he considered them his own, without being able to defend himself if some wise guy decided to make his name tonight by aerating Meehan’s new clothes.
He knelt to one knee and wrapped the gun and holder around his left ankle, which would allow him access via his crossed over right hand, should he have the need which seemed often in Meehan’s business.
You didn’t make it this far by being stupid Meehan thought as he stood, admired himself one last time and with pleasure picked up his new car key anticipating the spring loaded drive across the city to the Boston event of the century.
Even Meehan was looking forward, begrudgingly, to tonight’s activities. It was not ever night you had an opportunity to check out each person on your competition’s roster.
As Meehan looked through his hallway closet for just the right hat, he magnanimously considered offering O’Keegan’s best boys a slot on his payroll after O’Keegan left Boston in just a few hours.
He wouldn’t be long before he spent a lot more time with the people that mattered in this city and the last thing he wanted was for those people to see his business side.
It also didn’t make sense as Meehan had been tipped off that even the Boston Police Commissioner would be coming along with some of the political elite to mix with the ‘people’.
Word of this event had penetrated so deeply into the top Boston social circles that although O’Keegan hadn’t made any pay offs to the cops, nor secured himself an unofficial license, there was no way in hell that tonight’s event would be called off, too many people with too much power were talking about it and looking forward to it.
Meehan had been told by one of the Commissioner’s unofficial goons in as polite a way as possible for a cop that tonight’s show would be off limits to any muscle or problems, whatever the difference between Meehan and O’Keegan. Meehan was ‘welcome’ to come along, pass the time, perhaps make a few unofficial bets on the side, even join in if he was of a mind but he was to leave his muscle and his guns somewhere safe and far away. The message had been clear, if he had any problems with O’Keegan, he was welcome to sort them out, but not tonight and not in front of all of the Commissioner’s friends who would be attending tonight’s entertainment. It was very, very ‘off limits’.
Meehan was confident, after tonight’s event he and his boys would have a few quiet words with O’Keegan and before the new day broke Meehan’s boys would break O’Keegan. Simple. Picking up a well stocked wallet, Meehan rattled the car keys and thought about the smell of the new car leather as he started to leave the house, walking the few flights towards the way out and his pride and joy. As Meehan strolled down the stairs curving downwards into the hallway, he caught sight of the cook, shuffling quickly trying to get back down to the kitchen without being noticed.
‘Hold it, where’s my wife? She been around lately?’
The cook stopped, inwardly cursing that he had been too slow. Fixing a smile, he looked up at Meehan, seeing that he was dressed for another night out.
‘I haven’t seen her since this afternoon Mr Meehan. She came into the kitchen for some food for the child. They were going to the park I think.’
Meehan chewed his lip, nodding. It wasn’t unusual for them to be out for the afternoon but it was getting late, his daughter had a routine and it was getting close to when he expected them around, preparing her for bed. Oh well, she must have met up with some friends. Meehan put the thoughts aside, feeling the weight of the gun on his ankle as he walked down the last few steps, bringing him back to the night ahead.
‘Thanks. When you see her, let her know I’ll be a bit late tonight will you?’
‘Yes Mr Meehan.’ The cook nodded, careful not to meet his eyes, hoping his nervousness didn’t show.
Meehan felt the cook’s caution, his fear, but it didn’t fully register, he was used to everyone acting this way eventually. It had always happened one way or another, part of being who he was. Pulling the long coat of the banister where he had thrown it, shrugging the coat on, he watched the cook leave through the kitchen’s swinging door before walking out of t
he house.
Outside, Meehan shined shoes tapped as he walked towards his car, just where he left it, its left side two tires parked on the sidewalk, its two side doors gleaming. Meehan slide the key into the front door, sliding his well tailored and pressed trousers into the driver’s seat, Meehan thought back to the bad old days when he didn’t have two five cents to rub together feeling the heavy wallet bulging with notes weighing down his jacket on the left side, hands running around the smoothness of the steering wheel, driving a car that cost more than most people in this city earnt in five years. Meehan smiled, life was good.
Chapter 41
The boys were getting ready.
Shorty had sectioned off one corner of the warehouse, some sheets and rope creating the nearest thing to a set of changing room that these boys would ever see.
The level of excitement had quickly become palpable among all the boys since it was first mentioned. Shorty moved around the warehouse, doing what he could to get it finally ready, more to calm his own nerves and to give him some time before tonight’s anticipated craziness.
Shorty had seen these boys go through it all over the last few months, had seen that although they would be fighting each other, it had brought them closer together rather than causing problems, taken it in their stride, joking about it as they went about their business in Meehan’s neighbourhood.
As they started to prepare themselves he could see them all thinking back over their time since arriving in Boston.
They had sweated and shovelled hours upon endless hours together during the crossing, had slept side by side in their cramped bunks, had shared piss buckets, fears and stories, living closer together than most other men could or should. Over time they had become like a family.
Phantoms that had seemed so important, driving them to leave behind their countries of birth were aired, laughed about, joked about and in turn were released out of the depths of their secretive hearts and slain together.
The Fighting O'Keegans Page 16