The Trouble Boys

by E. R. FALLON

  Now Tom was a man stubbornly hanging on to life. He was now in his early seventies. He was around five-feet-ten inches tall. His face glowed from the years of a life well-lived, and the generous gut hanging over his belt signified a life well-fed. He took a shine to Colin because both were Irish, and because their stories were similar. Like Colin, Tom’s father had died when Tom was young. And he had first killed young. After twelve years in prison, out three years early because of good behavior, Colin still knew the city better than Tom did.

  When Colin told Tom the story of his father’s accordion, Tom offered to ask around the Bowery to see if he could find out who had bought the instrument from the pawn shop. A few days later, Tom handed Colin his father’s accordion still in its beautiful case.

  Colin struggled not to cry. “How?” he’d asked Tom. Tom only smiled.

  Colin felt indebted to Tom after that. Tom, who was good friends with Mr. Quinn, went to the drugstore almost every day. During this time, Colin came to know Tom very well. Tom made appearances in the early mornings and late evenings. Colin often wondered what he did with the rest of the day. Tom didn’t seem to ‘work’, yet he talked about having plenty of money. Colin had a lot of time to wonder about Tom because all Colin did was work at the drugstore and then go to the pub after he finished his shift. Sometimes he’d visit cheap dance halls and meet girls.

  Tom sat in the back of the shop with Mr. Quinn and ‘the men’s club’, which consisted of men from the Bowery who were friends of both Tom and Quinn. They played dice for money. And bonded over alcohol, smoking pipes and fat cigars, while discussing wealth, sports and politics, and children, wives and girlfriends. They had set up their own bar in the basement, which was illegal because Quinn didn’t have a liquor license. It didn’t hurt, however, that one of the men who frequented the club was a prominent city detective. That was when Colin realized how connected the law and top criminals could be. Tom seemed to mostly respect policemen.

  Once in a while, a few younger Irish men around Colin’s age, would stop in and join the club for a couple of hours. These men, who almost always wore classy suits like Tom, only came once or twice a week, to drink and share tips about horse races and boxing matches. Sometimes they’d invite Colin to sit with them. They liked to sing after they had drunk a lot. Other times they got into trivial arguments and Tom tossed them out.

  One evening after work Colin had a drink at Byrne’s, which was still owned by Lucille’s brother and didn’t appear to be closing anytime soon. According to Lucille’s brother, Tom was the top man in the Bowery. If you had a problem, you went to Tom. If you had suffered an injustice, Tom was the one to see. If you wanted to borrow money, you saw Tom.

  “Tom’s the guy,” Joe Byrne said. “If you know what I mean. He makes the decisions around the Bowery.”

  “You mean like gangsters?” Colin laughed. He couldn’t tell if Joe was pulling his chain.

  “Yes. And he’s their boss. I wouldn’t laugh at him if I were you.”

  “I’m not afraid of him.”

  “I mean it. He’s the real deal. People around here call them the Salthill gang because of where they’re from in Ireland.”

  “All right, Joe. Whatever you say.”

  Colin paid for his drink and left. At that point in his life he had little interest in gangsters or their lifestyle. He told himself he didn’t like them because they had destroyed his father.

  But Tom seemed different. He seemed like a gentleman. Colin grew to admire and even to like Tom. Mr. McPhalen, as Colin had called him until ‘Mr. McPhalen’ insisted Colin call him ‘Tom’ because all his friends did. Did that mean Tom considered him a friend?

  Tom and the other Irishmen who hung around him weren’t like the gangsters who had hassled Colin’s father. They had class and were respectable and welcoming. Colin felt honored to have Tom consider him a friend. Colin liked the smell of the cigars Tom and Mr. Quinn smoked. He liked the way Tom talked, with a lilt that reminded him of his da. Tom intrigued Colin. Tom always wore good clothes and had money to spend. He wasn’t struggling like Colin. Colin thought that must be a pleasant way to live. He reasoned that at twenty-eight, he could be doing more than sweeping the floors of a Bowery drugstore.

  On Tuesday morning Colin went to work at Quinn’s as usual. But this time he went in reluctantly. He was nervous around Tom. Now that he knew Tom was an important person he wanted to make a good impression.

  Tom sneaked up behind Colin. “Why are you being so quiet today?” he asked in a friendly tone.

  Colin jumped with his broom in his hand. Tom stood very close to him. “No reason. I’m a little tired. That’s all.”

  Tom stepped around to face him. Colin ceased sweeping. “Okay,” Tom said. “If that’s what it is. But is it really?”

  Colin looked at Tom’s glassy blue eyes. “That’s all it is.”

  Tom nodded. He turned his back to Colin and was about to walk away, but then he stopped and faced Colin again.

  “Maybe you’re getting tired with your work here. Maybe it’s not bringing in what you would like.”

  “No, that isn’t it.” He didn’t want to insult Tom’s friend Quinn.

  “Are you sure?”

  Colin leaned against the broom he grasped. He relaxed himself enough to shrug. “Maybe I am a little tired of it sometimes. But I don’t want to offend Mr. Quinn.”

  Tom smiled. “I like your loyalty. I’ll tell you what. You’re a good worker. You’ve been working here for a while, and you’ve been good to Quinn, and to me as well. You always bring me the newspaper and my tea exactly when I want them without me having to remind you. You’re a sharp, strapping young lad.”

  Colin smiled and waited for Tom to say what he had in mind. “I’m going to give you a chance.”

  Colin stared at Tom with his eyes wide. “A chance, sir?”

  “Sir?” Tom grinned. “A chance to work for me. How about you come help me tomorrow evening? Come to Ronan’s apartment. You know Ronan, right? He’s been in here a few times for a drink.” He gave Colin the address.

  “Thanks, Mr. McPhalen—I mean, Tom. I’ll be there. But what about Mr. Quinn? Won’t he be angry if I quit?”

  “Don’t worry about Seamus. He won’t harbor no dislike of you. I guarantee it.”

  Colin gulped because he sensed Tom was very serious.

  Tom had just given him a chance, probably his only chance, to step up in the world. That night Colin strode home with an uplifting sense of pride, and he held his shoulders straight. He couldn’t wait to call Lucille and tell her the news. He had no one else to share it with. Colin found a phone booth near his home. He wondered how much she’d changed and hoped she’d want to speak with him. He looked at the cocktail napkin her brother had given him. Colin gave the operator the number. It rang three or four times, and then a child answered.

  “Hello?” It was a little girl. “Hello?”

  “Is your mother home?” he said with patience.

  “She’s here. Who are you?”

  “Tell her it’s Colin.”

  He could hear the child shouting to someone. “Mom! Colin’s on the phone.”

  “What?” Lucille spoke to the girl on the other end of the line. Lucille sounded the same to Colin. She came on the line. “Colin? Is this really you?”

  “It’s me, Lucille.”

  She breathed out. “Jesus Christ. How did you get my number?”

  “Your brother gave it to me.”

  “You’ve been to the pub?”

  “Yeah. I just got out of prison.”

  “I’m sorry I never visited you in there. You know how I feel about those places.”

  “I understand. It was good of you to visit me before my trial.”

  “Joe shouldn’t have given you my number.”

  “Don’t blame him. He knows I care about you. You’re married now?”

  “I am.”

  “I have to admit I was pretty disappointed when I heard that. How long h
ave you been married for?”

  “Seven years.”

  “And you have a child?”

  “Yes. She’s seven.”

  “Who’d you marry? Your brother wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I married a detective.”

  “No wonder your brother didn’t want to tell me. How did you meet this guy?”

  “I met him when I was arrested. I’m sober now. I’ve been sober for years. I’m sure you don’t want to hear the whole story—”

  “I do. Please. You always told good stories.”

  After a moment of silence Lucille spoke. “Back when he was just a cop, he detained me for loitering a few weeks after you got sent away. I was in a bad way after you got sentenced and I lost my job at the button shop. I felt so terrible you were locked away. He took me to the station, but then he took pity on me when I sobered up and he let me go. I ran into him a few days later. He asked me to have dinner with him.”

  Colin noticed how she never gave him her husband’s name, and he wondered if she was afraid to.

  “I’m sorry you were in a bad way. I had no idea. The way you met your husband sort of sounds like a fairytale.”

  “I guess it sort of was a Bowery fairytale.” Lucille laughed a little.

  “You’re living on Long Island now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I come… visit you?” he asked quietly.

  “Don’t you have a family, Colin?”

  “When I got out they were all gone.”

  Lucille sighed. “I think I heard about that. I’m sorry, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to come here. My husband doesn’t know I had a friend like you.”

  “Had?”

  Lucille didn’t elaborate.

  “I found a good job.” Colin hoped she’d be proud enough to let him visit her.

  “Where?”

  “I’m going to be working for this posh fellow named Tom McPhalen soon. I’m going to be making a lot of money, Lucille.”

  “Everyone knows he’s a criminal,” she said coolly.

  “So am I. You know him?”

  She cleared her throat. “No, but my brother told me all about him. You just got out of prison, Colin. Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be associating with criminals?”

  “I need to make a living. Besides, I was a criminal even before I did that long stretch in prison.”

  “Get a regular job,” she snapped back. “You’re a big guy. I’m sure you can find work on the waterfront.”

  “I did have that kind of job for a while. I worked at a drugstore. It didn’t pay enough. Nowhere that pays well enough to live will hire murderers. I thought you’d be proud. Working for Tom’s still a job, just a different kind, and the money will be better.”

  She snorted and didn’t say anything in response. After a minute she spoke again. “I need to go. I have food on the stove, and my daughter’s going to wonder who I’m talking to.”

  “You sound different,” Colin observed.

  “A lot about me has changed.”

  “Lucille? I never got to thank you for the favor you did for me when I got myself into that tangle. Johnny and I wouldn’t have been able to carry that bastard down the stairwell of my building and into the car if it wasn’t for your help as our lookout.”

  “Oh, God. That was so long ago. Please don’t talk about that. If my husband finds out, he’ll take my daughter from me.”

  “That’d be terrible of him. He wouldn’t dare. Anyway, you have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. I won’t tell a soul. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I call you tomorrow? I like hearing your voice.”

  “God, Colin. You sound the same. You sound so young.”

  “I grew up fast in prison.”

  “I don’t doubt that you did. And the answer is no. You can’t call me tomorrow.”

  “The next day then?”

  “No.”

  “The day after that maybe?” She hung up.

  Ronan McDuff lived just outside of the Bowery. His home was a well-maintained apartment building with shiny brass doorknobs, clean window glass, and a regal entrance. Ronan was in his late thirties and had been released a year ago on probation after serving three years for perjury and bookmaking. He was a pleasant, red-haired man with a short, solid build.

  Tom had bought Colin a suit to wear so he’d fit in with the other men. It was the finest building Colin had ever stepped into; it had an elevator, and the McDuffs had two entire floors to themselves. A woman answered the door. She used an elegant cane and in a subtle New York accent introduced herself to Colin as Ronan’s wife.

  Mrs. McDuff was a good-looking woman with green eyes and short brown hair. She was wearing a long black dress which was cinched at the waist. She had a lot of makeup caked on her pale face, and her lipstick was a bright red color. Her teeth were straight and very white.

  Colin saw Errol, Tom’s youngest son, inside the apartment. The barrel-chested Errol was below average height and all muscle with not an ounce of fat on him. From the drugstore, Colin recalled Errol as a short-tempered man who liked to start fights. He had the darkest eyes Colin had ever seen. He seemed around thirty years old.

  Errol was married to Angela. ‘Angie’, as she asked Colin to call her, was a glamorous trophy wife with big, white-blonde hair and large breasts spilling out of her form-fitting pink dress. She kissed Colin on the cheek when he first met her, under the watch of Errol. Angela had a soft Irish accent and smelled wonderful, like mint and expensive tobacco. Colin would later find out Angie couldn’t have children and Errol resented her for it. She seemed like a caring woman, and he didn’t understand why she was married to a coldhearted man like Errol. But Colin guessed she, like many other women of her class, had probably married as a way to escape the circumstances of her upbringing. And Errol had money because of his father. The scenario made Colin think of Maureen, and he wondered how she was really doing. He planned to visit Maureen and Patrick someday; and his mother.

  Errol wasn’t Tom’s only son. Tom had an older son, Joseph, who was somewhat of a phantom in the McPhalen family. Colin had heard he’d attended law school and didn’t want anything to do with the family ‘business’. Colin couldn’t get a definite answer out of anyone he asked, but he managed to piece together that Joseph had worked for his father for around three and half years. Then, after he met and married a lovely Greek woman named Anna, he left the family business and moved out to Brooklyn to practice law. Joseph and Errol both had records, with Errol having the worst, for armed robbery, for which he’d served five and a half years. Joseph was only arrested once, for stealing a car, which Tom claimed tainted the family’s reputation. From what Colin concluded, you had to have at least a perjury charge to seem acceptably ‘tough’ according to Tom’s standards of masculinity.

  Tom and his wife, and Errol and his wife, didn’t like Joseph’s Anna. Mrs. McPhalen disliked Anna the most. She claimed to Colin that the conservative woman kept Joseph away from his family because she thought the McPhalens were wicked. Colin didn’t quite understand Mrs. McPhalen’s complaint, because from what he’d heard around the Bowery, Anna seemed right.

  “Have a seat,” Tom said to Colin inside the McDuffs’s apartment. He gestured toward one of the ornate high-backed chairs at the long dining room table.

  Colin didn’t know they would be having dinner first. “Thanks, Mister—I mean, Tom.”

  Tom gave him a wink.

  Colin liked how they ate under a sparkling chandelier at a gleaming dark-wood table with a lace tablecloth that felt delicate under his hands. Everyone wore expensive-seeming clothes, and the women always smelled of perfume. They laughed a tremendous amount and drank fine Bushmills whiskey, and only Bushmills.

  Tom’s wife and Angela brought out the food because the McDuffs had sent their maid home for the night. Colin wondered why. He couldn’t help notice how Tom seemed to stare at Angela’s breasts and behind each time she walked, or rather sauntered, by. Good s
teak was served, then more whiskey and a coconut cake that Tom’s wife had brought over for dessert. Errol had gotten drunk halfway through dinner, and now he raised his hands and went on a tangent about “those Cubans on the West Side”.

  Ronan corrected him and said, “I think you mean the East Side.”

  “I’m going to knock out your teeth,” Errol said to him.

  Tom spoke to Errol, “Calm down.”

  Angela glanced at her husband. “Be quiet,” she muttered with a sigh.

  Ronan’s wife shook her head, and Colin just watched.

  Errol got up from the table and walked around the vast dining room, still going on about the Cubans.

  “Have some more cake.” Ronan’s wife gestured toward Colin, who was trying to ignore Errol staggering around the room.

  Colin accepted another piece. “Thank you, Mrs. McDuff.”

  “Mrs. McDuff. So polite. I like this guy already. And he’s tall and handsome, and has nice eyes.” Angela smiled pleasantly.

  “Do you usually begin work with dinner?” Colin asked Tom. He wasn’t really curious, and the answer wouldn’t have mattered to him one way or the other, but he wanted to make small talk.

  Errol overheard and took it as something else. He walked to the table. Colin tried his best to avoid Errol’s bloodshot eyes.

  “You just come in here and think you’re running things? I’ve been here my whole blasted life.” Errol’s breath reeked of booze.

  Colin gradually looked over at Errol. “I’m not trying to run anything.”

  “Be quiet.”

  Colin remained seated and looked straight at Errol, which wasn’t difficult because he was a lot shorter than Colin. “I should be quiet. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? That I should be seen and not heard, like a child? As far as I can tell, you’re not much older than me.”

  Colin knew he’d taken a risk by mouthing off to a hotheaded drunk, and one who probably had a loaded gun on him, but he wanted to make it clear from the start that he wasn’t going to be intimidated by the boss’s son just because he was the boss’s son.

  Tom interrupted them before Errol could retort or act. “Errol, sit down and shut your mouth. You’re so fecking pissed there’s no sense in your talking.”