The Trouble Boys

by E. R. FALLON

  “But I was born in Kilrea,” Colin said. “I came here with my family when I was a boy.”

  Max nodded his head in approval. “So, you came here a while ago, then. Guess that’s why you lost your accent.” But he seemed unable to change the topic. “Still, why do you think they chose you out of all the South guys they got over there in the Bowery?”

  “I don’t know. I guess Tom thinks I have something to offer. He saw past everything else.”

  “You’ll see, Colin. When you’re there long enough and it’s about time they moved you up, you’ll realize then that you don’t belong. You’re a Northerner. Sure, they might let you move up a little, but they’ll never let you go as high as a sharp Northern guy like you could.” Max pointed at him with his finger to emphasize his point. “Our boss will let you in, I’m sure of it. If you want a shot at becoming something big, you need to work with us.” He smiled. “Besides, McPhalen’s all about making himself and his son rich.”

  Colin glanced at Max’s unkempt associates.

  “They can afford suits, but they dress that way because they want to,” Max said.

  “Ronan McDuff’s got money,” Colin countered.

  “His wife’s father’s a politician. She’s the one with the dough.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “I’d like to help out a fellow Northerner.”

  Colin nodded. Tom had trusted him enough to attend the meeting despite his Northern heritage, and he wasn’t going to downright agree with Max, although it seemed like a fair offer and he felt he could deal with Dean Fitzpatrick. His family was from the North, and he had always felt a bond with the few other Northern Irish in the Bowery. Now a powerful Northern-affiliated organization had given him an offer to join them, with what he assumed would be a promotion to captain.

  Colin left the meeting still uncertain. He wondered during the drive home if he should have said yes to Max’s offer and then he could have been rising to the top over time, and maybe he’d even be running an organization someday.

  He dropped the car, keys, and money off at Tom’s and reported the details of the meeting to him, minus Max’s clandestine offer. Then he went to Ronan’s building because Tom had mentioned Ronan needed Colin to do a favor for him. When he knocked on Ronan’s apartment door and was greeted by a pretty young woman, he forgot about Max’s offer for the moment.

  Her name was Margaret and she looked around eighteen years old. She had luminous skin and soft-looking brown hair. Her eyes shone with kindness. She introduced herself as Ronan’s niece. The wife’s side, obviously, based on her looks. She explained she was visiting her aunt and uncle on a rare visit. Her mother had dropped her off on her way uptown to see her divorce lawyer.

  Margaret would be spending the afternoon in the city. She lived in Yonkers and didn’t know Manhattan well. Colin was instructed by Ronan to show Margaret around and make sure she was safe. Ronan made it clear that nothing was to happen to his lovely, sweet niece, and that Colin was to protect her with his life. Colin knew that wouldn’t be a problem because just by looking at her, he already wanted to protect her.

  “How old are you?” she asked him as he drove her around the city.

  “I’m almost thirty.”

  “You’re over a decade older than me. That’s a long time. But not too bad. Some girls I know would marry fellows that old.”

  “We’re engaged now?” he joked. Margaret laughed.

  “Maggie—is it all right if I call you that? Your uncle said your name’s Margaret so I wasn’t sure what I’m supposed to call you.”

  “Call me Maggie, please. Nobody calls me Margaret except for my mother when she’s angry with me.”

  Colin smiled. “Okay, Maggie. Do you want to get some ice cream? Your uncle Ronan said he wanted you to have fun.”

  “I’m not a child, but, sure, let’s go.”

  “I’ll take you over to Little Italy. Ever been there? Of course you have.”

  He navigated through the traffic to Paulie’s Gelateria, because every Irishman in the Bowery knew the Italians made the best ice cream, only they called it gelato. You went to the Bowery for a stout, and you went to Mulberry Street for food. A cone or a milkshake from Paulie’s cost almost as much as three cones or two shakes from other places. But Maggie wasn’t like many of the other girls in the Lower East Side. She was the niece of Ronan McDuff, who was Tom McPhalen’s underboss, and was royalty there.

  Colin double-parked and got out of the car to move the milk crate blockade in one of the parking spaces in front of the shop. Paulie illegally reserved a private space for his loyal customers – mostly the mafia, and a few Irish guys they sometimes collaborated with, like Tom and his men – to use. So of course no one in the neighborhood dared to complain to the police. Colin got into the car again and parked. Maggie seemed amused by the milk crate barrier.

  “Is that so no one else can park here?” she asked.

  “It is. The fellow who owns the shop, Paulie, only lets his favorite customers park here.”

  “You mean criminals?” Maggie snorted.

  Colin didn’t know how much Ronan had told his niece about his line of work so Colin didn’t answer the question.

  He got out of the car and opened Maggie’s door and led the way inside the sun-filled shop toward a small corner table. Maggie sat down and Colin asked her what she wanted. He walked to the serving counter and ordered a chocolate milkshake for her and a vanilla cone for himself. Colin knew Paulie through Tom.

  Paulie glanced over at Maggie seated at the white table. “I see you have a date, Colin. She’s very pretty.”

  Colin nodded at Maggie, who was gazing out the window. “She’s just a young girl,” he said to Paulie. “Too young for me.”

  Paulie continued to smile.

  “That’s Ronan McDuff’s niece. He asked me to chauffeur her around the city and keep an eye on her.”

  “Why, is she a troublemaker?”

  “I’m not sure, but I better return to the table soon just in case she tries to sneak out.”

  Paulie chuckled. “It must not be that tough of a job because at least she’s cute. Right?”

  Colin laughed.

  “Is she Robert’s daughter?” Paulie asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s from Yonkers. McLean Avenue, probably.

  The wife’s side, I guess.”

  “I forgot she had a sister. It’s on the house.”

  “What?”

  “Your sweets, they’re on the house.”

  Colin looked at Paulie like he was playing a trick on him. “They’re free. Understand?” Paulie said.

  “They never were free before.”

  “You come in here all the time. You give me business. I give a little something back. Okay?”

  Colin nodded slowly. He understood Paulie’s point, but, still, Paulie was Sicilian. He knew mafia guys. What did he really care about pleasing one of Tom’s Irish hoods? Colin knew better than to ask Paulie to explain. Tom expected his men to accept the gratitude that was offered to them if it was genuine and Colin felt Paulie’s was. Colin thanked Paulie and took the ice cream cone and the milkshake to the table. He set Maggie’s shake in front of her and she smiled up at him.

  “You’re tall,” she said.

  He could feel himself blushing as he sat down. He put his hat on the table and licked his cone carefully so as not to appear vulgar in front of the girl.

  He thought about what Paulie had said about Maggie’s beauty. Of course, Colin was interested in pretty, fascinating women. And right then he thought that he would like to lean across the table and kiss Maggie’s soft, red lips, but he didn’t dare go beyond dreaming. Ronan would maim him if Colin put the moves on his innocent niece.

  “Have you lived in the Bowery for all your life?” she asked him. Colin noticed that despite having grown up in Yonkers, Maggie had no trace of an accent. The way she twirled her red-and-white straw between her fingers made him smile.

  �
�No.” He tried not to stare at her long, dark eyelashes and tempting lips.

  “Where did you live before you came here?”

  “I was born in Kilrea.”

  “Where’s that? Ireland or somewhere?”

  “Northern Ireland.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “You aren’t kidding, are you?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Where’s your accent?” she teased.

  “I came here when I was a very young boy. I lost it over time.”

  “I’ve been to Europe. Once. A few years ago.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Oh, yes.” She beamed. “I loved it. I’m going again someday. My parents are getting divorced so we won’t be going anytime soon.”

  He didn’t want to admit the longest time he’d been away from the city was prison. “I’m sorry to hear about your parents.”

  “It’s better for them. They can’t stand each other, and they’ll be happier apart. They only stayed together for me, but now that I’ve finished high school they don’t have to anymore.”

  Colin glanced at the crowded sidewalk. He looked at Maggie again and she had already finished her shake. “You know, you’re going to get a stomach ache.”

  “What?” She frowned.

  “Your shake. You drank it so fast you could get a stomach ache because it’s cold. It happens to me all the time, especially with the milkshakes from this place because they’re so good.” He didn’t want her to think he was criticizing her so he smiled.

  After a second she said, “I don’t mind.”

  “How did you like high school?”

  “How did you like it?”

  “I never went.”

  “Really? It was nothing special. You didn’t miss anything. We read. We wrote. We did math. Learned history. The girls had to learn home economics.” Maggie made a face. “It’s nothing as exciting as being a gangster.”

  “How much do you know about what your uncle does?” Colin asked carefully.

  “Enough to know that you’re probably a gangster like him.” She grinned.

  When the day was over he brought Maggie back to Ronan’s building. She secretly gave him a quick peck on the cheek and thanked him for the good time she’d had. He sensed she wanted to see him again, and he wouldn’t have minded seeing her either. But she had held herself back. Perhaps she didn’t want to encourage him because she knew that as a pair they would have almost no chance at a real relationship or even a friendship. It was sound advice not to romance a gangster’s female relative, and even more sound advice for lower-ranked men in an organization not to seduce the women who belonged to the upper echelon. And if one did foolishly step over that line, he’d spend nearly every moment with the woman taking care not to upset her, or push her to do things she wasn’t ready to do, because if he did, he’d get maimed or killed, or both, by her father or her brother or her uncle.

  Colin swore to himself he’d never wash that cheek again, but he did, eventually.

  But he kept after Ronan, using good judgment, asking him when Maggie might be back in town. Ronan always said he didn’t know, and after Colin had asked him a fourth time, Ronan snapped, “Why the feck are you so curious about her?” Colin knew from then on there’d be no more asking.

  Johnny stepped toward 143 East Fifteenth Street at five-fifty on Friday night. Ten minutes early. But he couldn’t wait inside the coffee shop across the street, where he’d been slowly drinking a cup, for any longer than he already had. He knew he had to get himself out of there and across the street right then or he might never go.

  Already he could hear the music booming from inside of the building. He pondered if he should wait outside for another few minutes or just go in.

  He went inside.

  Tito Bernal greeted him at the door. “I am glad you’ve made it.” He smiled.

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  To Johnny’s surprise, the room was already packed. People were scattered across the gymnasium of the local school, where Tito had mentioned club meetings of LESCA were held. The people were seated in folding chairs at the tables around the dance floor or leaning against the walls in groups or by the refreshments table. They were chatting, laughing, and moving to the sound of the musicians warming up on the stage. Colorful ribbons hung from the ceiling.

  “You can take off your coat and give it to the lady over there.” Tito pointed to a small woman with white hair who was managing the coat-check. “The music will begin shortly. Please grab a drink for yourself.”

  Johnny thanked him again and then looked around the bright room. His shoes squeaked on the waxed wooden gym floor as he walked to the coat-check area. Everyone in the room looked like him. After he handed his coat to the woman and received his ticket, another woman accosted him from behind.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. What street do you live on?”

  Johnny turned around to see a young woman standing behind him. She had short, curly black hair and deep brown eyes. She appeared to be no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, with a body still that of a girl’s, straight and thin. She had on a simple black dress embroidered with small white flowers.

  “I don’t live in this neighborhood. I live a few streets away.”

  “So do I. You were born in New York?”

  “Yeah.” Johnny started to walk away from the girl—she seemed too young for him—but she called after him.

  “Same here. My parents are Cuban, though.”

  He turned around. Johnny rarely met somebody growing up whose parents weren’t from Ireland or Italy. “Really?”

  She walked to where he now stood a little farther from her. “Yes. You sound surprised. Why are you surprised?” Her eyes brightened with curiosity.

  “To tell you the truth, I grew up in a mostly Irish and Italian neighborhood, and my mother, she’s Irish. My father was the one who was . . .” He struggled to finish the sentence.

  “Cuban?”

  Johnny nodded. “I didn’t grow up around Cubans.”

  “Now you are with us.” She finally smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “Johnny Garcia.”

  “I’m Lila.” She held out a delicate hand.

  Johnny took her smooth hand and didn’t ask for her surname. “Would you like a cola?” She stared at him with her pretty eyes. “Sure.” He looked away and let go of her hand. She still seemed too young for him.

  Lila didn’t give up. She grabbed his hand and led him to the refreshments table. Johnny didn’t dare glance down to check out her backside as they walked. She probably didn’t have much there, anyway.

  “Have you ever been to the homeland?” Lila asked Johnny while they waited for their drinks.

  “To where?”

  “I said, have you ever been to where your father was from?”

  “No, I’ve never been there.”

  “Me either. Maybe we’ll be able to go together in the future.”

  “What?” His mouth hung open.

  Lila laughed. “I was kidding.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re a very serious person.”

  “Being the only Cuban kid on the street, means you have to be serious.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It was. Still is.”

  “Even now?” Then she answered her own question. “Don’t worry. There’s many more of us moving in now. Soon we will have our own force.” She gestured to the people socializing in the crowded room.

  “You sound like a gangster,” Johnny teased.

  “Yes, I’m the Cuban mafia,” she teased him back.

  He stopped chuckling when Tito quietly approached them. “Johnny. I was going to introduce you but I see you’ve already met this enchanting young lady.” He gestured to Lila.

  Johnny tensed up a little, then he smiled and nodded. “I introduced myself to him first,” Lila said to Tito.

  “That’s good, my dear. It’s good of you to be friendly to
our guests.”

  Johnny gave him a perplexed look.

  Tito continued to speak to Lila, “But it’s eight o’clock, my dear.” Then he said to Johnny, “If you’ll please excuse her, my daughter has to leave now with her mama. Lila has school early tomorrow. But she’ll be at our festivities again two evenings from now. Perhaps you will be there as well, Mr. Garcia?”

  “Maybe.” Johnny glanced at Lila. He’d assumed she was young but he didn’t know she was young enough to still be in school.

  Lila frowned and set down her soda.

  Tito Bernal put his arm around his daughter and they walked away. Johnny stood still and then drank his cola.

  10

  “Hi,” Colin said.

  “It’s you,” Lucille whispered on the phone.

  “What happened to us?”

  “Us?”

  “You know what I mean. We used to be friends, and we could’ve been more someday. That’s what I thought, anyway.”

  “You went to jail. I moved on. I’m sorry but I had to.”

  “I understand that. But now you act like you hate me.”

  She sighed. “I don’t hate you. I’m married now. I don’t know, it’s different.”

  “Won’t you have dinner with me? Or we could grab drinks?”

  “I don’t drink anymore.”

  “Then we can grab a soda. My boss is having a party for me tonight. Maybe you can stop by.”

  “Is that what you called me for?” Lucille snapped at him. “You want to invite me to your gangster party? Don’t you have a date you can bring?”

  “I want you to come.”

  “I’m not going to go. Thanks anyway. I have to pick my daughter up from school soon, and then I’m making dinner for my family. I love them.”

  “I know you do.” Colin sighed.

  Lucille hung up the phone.

  Six beautiful girls danced in a long, straight line across the elegant hotel’s stage. Their hair was done up high on their heads. The bodhrán drums thundered, players strummed guitars fast, and the notes leapt from flutes and fiddles. The girls’ upper bodies never moved as all of them kicked into the air and then back down again. Their shoes hit the glossy wood stage. The light of the brilliant glass-and-gold chandeliers shone on their red hair and made their skin pink with youth.