Divide the Dawn- Fight

by Eamon Loingsigh

  “He swore to protect an’ serve,” Sullivan says in a proud, but lowered tone. “To respect the dignity o’ civilians an’ render his services in the engagement o’ law wit’ courtesy, civility. An’ in my opinion, an’ in the opinion o’ all our colleagues on the force, he succeeded in doin’ just that, Mrs. Culkin. He did his time wit’ great honor, now may he rest.”

  Doirean heaves and sobs through a deep breath, but her soft eyes darken and grow severe when she turns them back up to the captain, “Who killt my father? Tell me. Who killt him!”

  “Now sweet thing—” the old fellow begins.

  “Don’ start wit’ that sweet thing horse shit, ya’re the captain around here, ya know everythin’ about this case. Tell me, or get ya fat arse off o’ my new furniture.”

  Daniel snorts when Captain Sullivan pushes himself up from the coffee table and runs his fingers round the edges of his cap like a shamed five year-old.

  “Ya’re are all the same, men, yaz only try to do the right thing when all else fails,” Doirean disparages the red-nosed captain. “So why did ya have my husband out runnin’ around in the snow after his shift durin’ that storm last February?”

  Daniel’s hands clinch inside his tunic pockets, Why can’t she just be more timid? I have no idea why old Brosnan called her doe, her temperament is as wicked as a wolverine’s.

  “Daddy?” Little Billie pulls on Daniel’s trouser leg.

  “Go lay down,” he shoos the boy off.

  “Mrs. Culkin—” Sullivan begins.

  “Don’ call me that,” Doirean snaps.

  “Don’ call ya Mrs. Culkin? Well then, what—”

  “I’m a Brosnan an’ dignity is the strength we hold in our name,” Doriean points a finger at each and every man in the room. “If all policemen in New York kept the Brosnan words, there wouldn’t be so much corruption an’ crime—”

  “Now hold on—”

  “I asked my father one time how many men worked on the force in Brooklyn, ya know what he said? He said ‘about half.’”

  Ferris snorts at that one.

  “Laugh it up, why not? All o’ yaz. I’m just a woman who has to work twice as hard to be considered half as good, but I want yaz all to know that I’ll find out what happened to my father. On my own! Then yaz can fight amongst ya’selves to take the credit.”

  “I won’t have this in my house,” Daniel bellows. “We’re married. Ya’re a Culkin, ya said the words.”

  “I’ll tell ya some more words—”

  “Ya keep talkin’ an’ ya—”

  “An’ what? Ya gonna hit me again?” She turns wickedly toward Captain Sullivan. “Tell me why there is a house up in Peekskill in my father’s name.”

  Daniel cuts in, “Maybe he had a woman on the side, ya know? He was a lonely ol’ fella.”

  “Ya fookin’ lie—”

  “Stop cursin’ like that in front o’ the kids—”

  Captain Sullivan cuts in loudest of all, “I can assure ya Mrs. Cul. . . Ms. Brosnan, ya may have an eye for detail, but it takes courageous men—”

  “Tell me this then!” Doirean screams over him. “Why does my husband come home wit’ a dotted eye? Why was there a fire in that saloon he was in? Why was he even in that buildin’? It’s not even his jurisdiction!”

  Captain Sullivan turns a stern face round to Daniel, but lowers his voice, “Ya husband was on some. . . reconnaissance mission.”

  “Was it ya’self that sent him down on Hoyt Street?”

  Captain Sullivan bites his lip and stands upright, “I. . . I cannot say—”

  “No one can say nothin’ around here, ya’re as bad as the gangs an’ their codes o’ silence. My own husband looks at me as if I’m a stranger. I’m all alone in this world now. All I have are my children.”

  “Stop wit’ the self-pity,” Daniel is surprised by the words that he lets slip.

  “Ya couldn’t even protect him,” Doirean points at Daniel. “He was old an’ helpless an’ ya just let him fall prey to. . . to. . . what? I don’ even know what.”

  Daniel grits his teeth, She thinks she’s in charge. Time to put an end to it.

  “Cap? Ferris?” Daniel says while staring at his wife. “Do us a favor an’ take Little Billie an’ his brother downstairs.”

  Captain Sullivan straightens his tunic, “I’ll have a word wit’ ya first, son,” and wobbles to the door.

  Daniel watches Ferris’s face as he walks by, then stops to stare at his wife before reluctantly following the captain.

  In the narrow hallway, Sullivan towers over Daniel as they stand in the dark, “Ya gotta light for that lantern?”

  “Nah, I don’ know how it works.”

  “Ya don’ know how. . . Ah never mind then,” Sullivan points a finger in Daniel’s face. “Do ya know who’s down there waitin’ right now as we speak? Police Commissioner Enright an’ Mayor Hylan—”

  “Do they have retirement papers ready for ya to sign?”

  “My retirement? My retirement’s none o’ ya goddamn business. Don’ wave a red rag at me, ya’re nothin’ but a patrolman, Culkin. The cart don’ go before the horse, ya’re a private in the army o’ the law. A grunt. Ya’d be smart to remember that. No, Enright an’ Hylan want to turn Brosnan’s death into somethin’ good, but they don’ know what to tell the papers.”

  “Why not run it through the reporter on our payroll? Like Pakenham? He can spin it for ya.”

  “What? Whose payroll? We don’ have reporters on payroll.”

  “Ya know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Sullivan wipes sweat from his face and takes a deep breath. “Is there somethin’ about Brosnan I need to know?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why does his daughter suspect her husband has somethin’ to do wit’ his death?”

  Culkin’s fists curl up again, “She’s a stupit woman, don’ listen to her. She’s outta her skull right now wit’ grief. She’s just lashin’ out, ya know how they can be.”

  “What was ya doin’ in that goddamn Hoyt Street saloon?”

  “I told ya, I was on reconnaissance.”

  “For what? What exactly were ya reconnoiterin’?”

  “I got a tip that maybe the White Hand G—”

  “Liar,” Sullivan grabs Daniel by the throat and backs him against the wall.

  Oh god, Daniel feels Sullivan’s big hands round his neck. Oh god that feels good. Choke me. Choke me, I give in.

  “If ya wasn’t buryin’ ya father-in-law t’day, I’d beat the truth outta ya. But that will have to wait.”

  Beat me, beat me, do it, Daniel smiles and is forced to talk through his teeth. “I was proved right too, Dinny Meehan blew in an’—”

  “Ya said it was Harry Reynolds at first. An’ just so ya understand, ya're the only one who identifies Reynolds, or Meehan or whoever it was.”

  “Well it couldn’t’ve been Reynolds that burnt down the Hoyt Street Headquarters, he’s dead I heard. So it must’ve been Meehan. There was a fire an’ I couldn’t see straight.”

  “Headquarters? Headquarters o’ what? Whose headquarters?”

  Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.

  “Nothin’,” Daniel mouths self-consciously.

  Captain Sullivan lets him go, turns on his heel and lowers himself down the first steep step with one hand on the bannister and the other on the wall, “An’ what about that house he bought upstate? If I was ya I’d try an’ live up to my namesake an’ pull a Daniel-come-to-judgment. Take the transfer to Peekskill before I open an inquiry into Brosnan’s death. Then ya will have the devil to pay.”

  “That’s not gonna happen. I ain’t movin’ upstate.”

  “Ya better, otherwise I have a feelin’ that when my new investigator starts diggin’ up evidence, he’s gonna unearth somethin’ that will shock all o’ New York. Now I don’ want that to happen as much as ya do. But if ya refuse me, I’ll push it through.”

  “Captain Sullivan,” Daniel call
s down the stairwell confidently.

  The old captain breathes heavily and turns round to look up.

  “If ya open that inquiry, I’ll have Wolcott send a man to murder ya an’ Ferris. Then we’ll release information through the newspapers, who are in our pocket, that the both o’ yaz have been on the tug wit’ the gangs for decades. Which is true, o’ course. Then, finally, I’ll come into my captaincy,” Daniel turns round. “See ya outside. Tell the commissioner an’ the mayor I’ll be out wit’ my little Doe soon.”

  I will take what you have, old man. Daniel thinks as he rubs at his neck and smiles. I thought he was going to choke me to death. Now I feel better.

  When Daniel walks in, Doirean does not bother to move her eyes up. She sits on the new sofa with perfect posture as if to accept Communion in the hand. But instead of the bread of Christ, it is her father’s rusted badge she holds in her palms.

  Daniel wipes his tunic down and opens the door, “Ferris?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take the kids downstairs, I need a moment alone wit’ my wife.”

  Ferris turns back to him for a stare that Daniel could not misread.

  He doesn’t like me telling him what to do, but he better get used to it. We may be partners, but he’ll soon be reporting to me.

  Reluctantly, Ferris takes the boys by the hand. Little Billie Bear quickly yawns, nestles into Ferris’s chest and puts his thumb in his mouth. On the way out the boy’s lethargic eyes lock with Daniel’s for a moment.

  Don’t stare at me like that. One day you will understand what it takes. If you don’t win, you lose. If you lose, you stay weak and vulnerable your whole life.

  The door closes and Daniel moves toward Doirean on the sofa, “Ya fookin’ kiddin’ me wit’ all this drama? All this over a old man? Ya said ya’self he was helpless.”

  “That means ya were supposed to help him!” Doirean shakes her head back and forth with a hand on her forehead.

  “Nah, it means he can’t help hisself. He wasn’t no charity case.”

  “He didn’t think he needin’ help, o’ course. But he really did, an’ ya couldn’t even notice it. Ya only worry about ya’self instead. Just like ya can’t even notice I need help now. . . ” her words trail off into little pouts.

  “Tears,” Daniel turns his back. “A woman’s weapon—”

  “I’m not attackin’ ya, Daniel.”

  “Sure seems like it.”

  “My point exactly,” her head is lowered with a middle finger held between her eyes.

  “Ya want the last word, g’ahead. I’ll just stand here quiet like a fool so ya can turn the knife in my side. G’ahead.”

  Doirean sits up on the sofa and wipes tears away. She smooths the wrinkles on her black dress and exhales slowly.

  “C’mon, we gotta go downstairs now,” he says.

  “Daniel,” her eyes are closed as he tries handing her the black veil and black hat she persists on wearing, even though she’s not a widow.

  “What?”

  “I just wanna know what happened to my daddy.”

  Shame pulses through him and raises goose pimples on the back of his neck.

  “Ya father. . . He thought he was cursed or somethin’, I dunno.”

  “What are ya talkin’—” Doirean catches herself and changes her tone.

  He looks into her eyes, “He was worried about ya. Always worried about ya, Doirean. Ya were all he ever thought about. Everythin’ he did, he did it for ya.”

  Doirean’s chin quivers.

  “He had some strange notion that if he. . . If he died it would give ya life. He went out after the storm to help me but—”

  “But what?” Doirean puts a hand on his.

  No, don’t say it. Don’t admit to anything. I need to find someone who will hurt me for what I did. Then I’ll feel better.

  Daniel grits his teeth in anger, “It was the gangs that did it to him.”

  “Ya’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  What was it that Wolcott had said? Let the gangs fight for control over the headquarters in Irishtown, while from above divine providence will reign fire down on them all.

  He wheels round to his wife, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. The gangs were after him for years. Dinny Meehan and Bill Lovett. They might be fightin’ amongst each other, but they wanted him dead because. . . because he was such a good detective.”

  Doirean’s eyes move from left to right, “So is Captain Sullivan gonna have them arrested? At least questioned?”

  “He has us manacled until we can prove probable cause. Maybe ya can talk to him?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Doirean nods doubtfully. “I’ll talk to him.”

  She doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t have to. She just has to do what she’s told.

  “We should get goin’,” Daniel stands.

  I’ve been very bad. I don’t deserve to be loved. I deserve to be punished.

  Doirean flashes a false smile, “Ya’re right. We should get goin’.”

  Daniel pulls her black coat off the coatrack by the door and holds it as she gently puts an arm through. He helps her put the black veil over her head that is connected to the black hat.

  She’ll be wearin’ this hat again soon if I don’t win, Daniel tells himself. He opens the door for her, “Ya look beautyful, my little Doe.”

  “Thanks,” she whispers unconvincingly and walks down the dark, narrow stairwell.

  Downstairs Daniel hears his wife gasp when she moves outside the tenement foyer. He opens the door to see what it is. Together they stand atop the outside stairwell as a thousand men in police blue take off their hats in unison while black-clad wives and children offer the same respect. Sad-eyed men. Angry-eyed, burly men. With vengeance on their tight-lipped faces, the men in tunics have overwhelmed the street by their numbers. Along the sidewalks across the street they honor the Brosnan-Culkin family with their bolt-upright stance. They have taken to standing upon the Navy Yard wall across the street too, as behind them looms a coal silo and a twenty-foot pile of coal ash with the Medieval plinths and turrets of the Navy Yard gatehouse to their right. A dry-docked warship reaches over the rooftops of the machine and blacksmith shops and high above them all are gigantic smokestacks that issue smoldering black plumes into the overcast sky.

  And there it is: Phase two. Daniel looks across the mass of tunics. My standing army. Ready to fight for me. Ready to reign fire.

  Family First

  The last thing I remember was in the ambulance car. I pulled back a curtain. It was nighttime and very dark on Poplar Street but for the bulbs of gas flames in the street lamps. My mother and sisters were not there waiting outside for me.

  “Liam are ya alive?” Suddenly Beat McGarry came over to me when he saw that it was me in the back of the Model-T ambulance behind the Poplar Street Police Station.

  “Step away, sir,” the driver warned him.

  “Beat, where’s the scaffold?” I ask.

  “What scaffold?” Beat’s left eyebrow raises and his head slants sideways to show his confusion.

  “The scaffold made of pine from the Navy Yard. The one they want to hang me from.”

  “No one’s gonna hang ya, kid,” He licked his thumb and reached into the back of the ambulance to rub it across my face. When he pulled it back, his finger had turned a rust color. “Where’d ya get that fancy suit? There’s blood all over it. Is that ya own blood? What did they do to ya?”

  “Step away from the car, old man,” the driver warned again. “Don’ make me drop ya. He did this to hisself.”

  Behind Beat, out in the street I saw the slew of people that had come to see me hang. Twenty, maybe thirty tunics kept them up on the sidewalk with their arms outstretched. Made even longer by their blackjacks at the end of their hands.

  Beat yells into the back of the motorcar one last time, “Are ya uhright, kid?”

  “Tell Red and Whyo and Will that I don’t hold it against them. Tell them. They’ll know wh
at I’m talking about.”

  But Beat just looks at me with a quizzical stare as the back of the ambulance is closed.

  “Get better soon!” I hear him yell.

  They must have moved the scaffold, I thought as the motorcar began to move. It was there, I know it was. I heard them erecting it. I pictured it. It existed like an itch on a phantom limb. A voice in the head. It loomed in the mist and the enveloping darkness. The platform and the swaying noose.

  ~~~

  My eyes open. I blink twice and jump up to fill air into my lungs.

  “Liam, it’s ok.”

  I turn to meet my sister’s voice, “Abby?”

  “Mam an’ Brigid just went out. They just went—”

  “Where am I?”

  “Long Island College Hospital, near the Atlantic Terminal.”

  “I know where it is,” says I, collapsing back into the pillows.

  I lift my bandaged hands and all of a sudden my body’s pain comes rushing up to my brain. Wincing, I pull the covers over my eyes to block the bright light coming through the long windows behind me.

  “I’ll close them,” Abby says until much of the light is blocked.

  The room is like a dorm. It is not the same room I stayed in when I contracted the grippe last year, but is similar. Nine people fill the twelve beds in the dorm. Some have no family whatsoever at their side.

  “Liam, what happened to ye? Ye told us ye were goin’ Confession, but the police said ye ran from them. Why, Liam? Who did this to ye?”

  “Is Mam upset?”

  “O’ course she is. But she doesn’t know what happened to ye. The patrolman said it might’ve been one of Lovett’s men that did this to ye. Or maybe an Italian?”

  “Patrolman Culkin said that?”

  “That’s him.”

  That son of a bitch spoke to my mother? I’m in so deep now that I can’t escape, even if I wanted to.

  The swaying noose comes to my mind again and I have to shake it off to get it out.

  That wasn’t real, I tell myself. It wasn’t real. It was just my imagination. But what do I do now? Go back to the gang, or leave?

  I toss the sheets off me, “I can’t stay here.”

  “Liam!” Her voice turns all eyes toward us.