by Jack Tunney
None of this seemed to faze him in the least, maybe he knew I was making it up as I went along.
“Mister Ardee would still favor the pleasure of your company for a brief meeting. You may just find it worth your while, sir.”
“I doubt it.”
“Very well,” he said, exhaling the words like a sigh, as if he’d done all he could. “Should you chance to reconsider, you can find him…”
“I know where to find him. His betting shop. I’ve had the distinct displeasure of being in there once before.”
“Very well, sir. I bid you good day,” he said, touching his right hand to the brim of his hat.
As he departed, I noticed he walked with a slight limp from a stiff left leg. I watched him move down the lane until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. I went back inside, closed the door behind me and turned back into the sitting room. Gran and Mary sat there looking stone faced.
“What?”
“That was Mister Archie Hooley you were talking to,” Mary said. Gran nodded.
“Yeah, that’s what his card says.” I held his card out at arm’s length pretending to read the thing.
“He’s a very powerful man, a very dangerous man,” Mary said.
“Ardee’s solicitor,” Gran added.
“Yeah, that’s what he said. I told him there was really nothing we wanted to talk about with Ardee.”
“Oh, Kevin, I’m not so sure,” Gran said. She sounded worried.
“I’m sure. We’re moving you, to someplace nicer, still in the Liberties, so don’t worry.”
Despite my effort, Gran looked worried, very worried.
Mary just stared at me.
For my part, I wondered how I had gotten myself and them into this mess.
***
That evening there was another knock on the door. When I opened it Peter stood there, this time without his wife, Kate. He looked serious.
“Peter, please come in.”
“I’m wondering if you wouldn’t join me at The Stoop for a pint,” he said.
“Thanks, but it’s been a long day. I think I better stay close to home.”
“Actually, young Kevin, not to sound like a bother, but there’s something that’s come up, and there are a number of us from the lane waiting up there,” he said. Then he stepped forward and half whispered, “We need to talk.”
“Talk? At The Stoop?”
He nodded.
“Alright. Look I’ll be there in a bit. I want to go over some things with Gran and Mary.”
“Well, you see, I’m to fetch you.”
“Fetch me?”
He nodded, suggesting I was finally getting the point through my thick skull. I said a brief goodbye and then Peter and I walked over to The Stoop.
***
The Stoop was a dimly lit place with a bar along one wall, three or four individuals sat along the length of the bar, no one conversing. In a rear room were maybe a half dozen large oak tables. The only table occupied had seven men sitting round. All looked familiar. I’d met a number of them the other night at Gran’s although I couldn’t recall any of their names.
Peter gave the introductions, nods all around as he ran through the names, reintroducing everyone. When he finished the reintroductions, I still couldn’t remember who anyone was.
“Will you have a pint, young Kevin?” Peter asked, as I pulled back a chair. He seemed a bit nervous.
“No, I better not,” I said.
My response generated looks telegraphed back and forth around the table. One of the men pushed a waiting pint of Guinness across the table to Peter as he sat down. He wrapped both hands around the pint glass and seemed to hang on for dear life.
It was quiet for a very long moment, each man in turn taking a long swallow from their Guinness and then focusing their eyes on the pint glass sitting in front of them. As if looking left or right or cracking a smile might cause the entire glass to simply disappear.
Eventually Peter cleared his throat, “Ahem, well now, young Kevin. It seems there’s been a development with your man, Ardee.”
“My man Ardee? I’m really not interested in having anything to do with him.”
“So it seems. We hear Ardee’s solicitor, Archie Hooley paid you a visit this morning.”
“He stopped by, wanted me to meet with Ardee. I told him there was really nothing to meet about. We’ve given our notice. We’ll be out at the end of the month. Ardee’s rent has been paid up until then.”
“You told Archie Hooley no?” This from a plump red faced guy across the table from me. He followed his question with a long pull from his pint.
“Well yeah. There’s really nothing to say on the matter. Gran, I mean, Kathleen, will be moving out of Ardee’s house. Look we plan to keep her in the Liberties if that’s what this is all about.” I looked around the table, but everyone’s eyes were focused on their pints of Guinness.
Another long silence before Peter finally broke the ice. “Well, not exactly, young Kevin. You see, we all received notice this afternoon that our rents were going to be increased effective the end of the week.”
Nods around the table, but still no one looked up from their glass.
“So, what you’re telling me is that because I won’t meet with Ardee, your rents are going to be raised?”
Nods all around again, a few pints raised to lips, no one’s eyes met mine.
“Bit of a problem, I’d say,” Peter said, then chased his comment with another healthy swallow of Guinness.
ROUND 13
It was agreed. I’d meet with Ardee at one-thirty the following afternoon. I told Gran and Mary I was going for a walk. Neither one said anything, but I had the distinct impression they both knew exactly where I was headed.
There wasn’t a soul about when I left the house and walked toward Meath Street, but I thought I may have caught the odd window curtain move as I made my way down the lane. Meath Street was its normal busy self for a weekday. Again I had the feeling everyone knew exactly where I was headed. More than one person turned to stare as I made my way along the street toward Ardee’s betting parlor. Apparently everyone, but me, knew what I was going do.
I rounded the corner at McQuillian’s pub. This time no one was outside leaning against the front of Ardee’s. Strange, I thought. It was the usual time for the first-pint-of-the-day crowd. You’d think by now at least one person would have lost a bet and been outside cursing their bad luck.
I approached Ardee’s door, looked up and down the street trying to spot a trap. I couldn’t see anything out of place. “The place is dead,” I said to myself as I pushed the door open then thought maybe that hadn’t been the best choice of words.
Nothing had changed inside Ardee’s except that it was almost empty. The same large, mangy brown dog was still asleep against a wall, however, it was a different wall today. Bits of paper and cigarette butts still littered the floor. The air was sharp with the smell of stale smoke, although this afternoon you could actually see up to the nicotine stained ceiling in the place. The lights were still dim, but without the low hanging cloud of smoke, they appeared a bit brighter.
There was only one person in the place, Ardee’s solicitor, Archie Hooley sat at one of the tables at the far end of the room. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and a somber tie. A cigarette smoldered in the overflowing ashtray just to his left. His fedora rested on the table next to the ashtray. He nodded as the door closed behind me. Behind Hooley, glaring at me with his one good eye through the bars of his little cell, sat Ardee.
“Thank you for joining us, Mister Crowley,” Archie Hooley said. “Please come in. We’re all friends here… today.” He seemed to add this last bit as an afterthought.
Sitting alone in the room, Hooley seemed to look even more transparent than the first time I saw him. His head was capped with thin, reddish-blond hair, brushed back along his temples. His eyes were a pale, lifeless grey and carried no expression. His thin lips seemed to smirk at a j
oke to which only he was privy.
As I approached, Ardee seemed to grow redder sitting back in his cage. His unshaved jowls rolled over his neck like a red velvet collar, the white of his good eye appeared yellow and bloodshot. There was no mistaking his look. He would have tried to tear me limb from limb if he’d been let loose.
Archie Hooley held his smirk. I stopped opposite his table. Ardee glared at me through the bars just six feet away. I slowly scanned the room. I half expected the side door to explode open at any moment with a bunch of Ardee’s thugs jumping out waving clubs and chains. It didn’t happen. You could feel the tension building in the room. All that was missing was the sound of a ticking clock signaling time hadn’t quite stood still.
After what seemed like hours, Hooley brushed something imaginary from his coat sleeve and spoke. “You seem determined to cause us some difficulty, Mister Crowley.”
I turned my head toward him, gave a glance back at Ardee, who hadn’t moved or changed his growling expression. “Difficulty? How so?”
“Let’s just say you’ve developed a bit of a reputation and leave things at that, shall we?”
“A reputation? Why? Because I don’t like bullies picking on defenseless women?”
“I can assure you, we’ve had no involvement in anything of that sort,” Hooley said dismissively.
“I must have been mistaken then when Bad Billy Keane and three others pounded on my grandmother’s door for the rent. I must have been mistaken when Dennehy and two others harassed her young neighbor in the street.”
“As you say, I believe you’re mistaken,” Hooley said.
I was up on my high horse now. “Then I must have been mistaken when someone threw a rock through the window and hit Kathleen Crowley in the head.” I turned and looked directly at Ardee. “It must be my mistake that rents have been raised up and down the lane because I’m moving Kathleen Crowley away from you, Ardee.”
If he had appeared red before, he suddenly flushed scarlet, bordering on purple. He growled at me through clenched teeth. “How dare the likes of you come into my establishment and accuse me of such a thing. I’ve done nothing but offer shelter to every ungrateful, thieving sod on that lane.”
“You’ve used your band of thugs to intimidate those people. And now you’re raising the rent. Why?” I yelled back.
“Perhaps if we might find some common ground, we could reach a solution that would benefit all parties,” Hooley said calmly.
Ardee seemed to slump back slightly in his chair. I could see his chest rise and fall with his heavy breathing. I watched his nostrils flare on either side of that giant bump on his nose. His face slowly began to drain from purple back to red. His lips were pressed together tightly, as if he was forcing them not to growl one more word.
I glared back at Ardee.
“Are you a betting man, Mister Crowley?” Hooley asked.
I glanced for a moment toward Hooley, “A betting man? Me? No, not really.” I wasn’t sure where this was going.
“Hmm-mmm. Still, might you be interested in a small wager? Say, oh, I don’t know, perhaps the rents on the lane?”
That caught me off guard and I turned to face him, hoping I didn’t appear too surprised. My voice, an octave or two higher probably gave me away. “The, the rents?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” I’d regained my voice, but I was speaking louder than was needed with just the three of us present.
“It’s really rather simple. You fancy yourself a fighter, I hear. A bit of a reputation I believe earned over in Berlin.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I just…”
“Come, come, Mister Crowley, don’t be modest. Actually, we were all quite impressed. Weren’t we, Basil?”
Ardee continued to glare with his good eye.
“You’re division champion,” Hooley continued. “And then beating that big Soviet fellow so handily. Don’t be bashful, Mister Crowley. It’s really quite the accomplishment.”
I hoped I didn’t look as shocked as I felt. How did they know?
“We were wondering if you would be interested in having a go with one of our local lads? All in the name of good sport, of course. There’s nothing quite like a bit of your experience to show our sort how it’s really done.”
“You want to have a boxing match?” I asked.
“A fight, sir, exactly.”
“And what’s the wager?”
“We’ll wager the rent increase. As soon as you win, Mister Ardee would be only too happy to rescind the measure. Besides, what better way to show our lads how things should be conducted than with a demonstration of your skills? What do you say, sir?”
“I fight and if I win, you won’t increase the rent anywhere on the lane?”
“Exactly, sir. Not so much as a farthing.”
“And if I lose?”
“Well, as you say, the Crowley woman is moving at the end of the month, so be it. And we’ll just leave that decision up to the various parties.”
“The various parties?”
“If the rent is too high, the other tenants are free to move.”
“Move, with no restrictions?”
“None, sir. They are free to move wherever they may wish.”
“And all you want is a boxing match?”
“Yes, sir, a fight.”
“Who would I fight?”
“We’ve a local lad who holds some promise. Nothing along the lines of your good self, but he might be able to learn a thing or two from your tender touch.”
“And what’s his name?”
“James Keane, although, he uses the name Baldy James, just for that bit of color, you know.”
“Baldy James?”
“Exactly.”
“And I suppose you’ve a location and date all ready to go?”
“As it turns out, we do. In the brewery works. We’ll set up a ring… two weeks from today. And of course, we’ll have it officiated.”
“Officiated?”
“I believe a referee is what you call them.”
“And if I say, no?”
“If you say no… well, that’s your right, isn’t it? Just like Mister Ardee has the right to raise the rents in the properties he works to maintain.”
I didn’t want to touch Hooley’s “works to maintain” line. Then again, in an officiated match, I felt I could hold my own, show them a thing or two. Anyone with a ring name like ‘Baldy,’ I’d probably have to carry the man three or four rounds just to make it interesting. How bad could it be?
***
“Are you daft, lad? It amounts to nothing short of suicide,” Peter said later that night. “And Baldy James Keane? He’s a right murderer, he is. A villain of the worst sort. Oh, he’ll be gunning for the likes of you, all right.”
“I’ve been in the boxing ring once or twice before, Peter, I think I can handle myself against some guy named Baldy. I was division…”
“Boxing! Boxing? Is that what you think this is all about? Boxing?”
“Well, yeah. There’s going to be a referee, and…”
“Boxing. This isn’t about boxing, Kevin. This is a fight you’ve signed on for.”
“That’s what boxing is, Peter, the fight game.”
“Kevin, Baldy James is Ardee’s fight champion. There’ll be no such thing as boxing gloves, a nice few minutes to catch your breath, or an end to things after fifteen rounds. This is a bare-knuckled sort of nonsense, murder with an audience, a fight to the finish.”
“Bare knuckle?”
“Exactly. Baldy James is said to have sent more than one man to his grave. I fear you’ve no idea what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done? I just wanted to stop the rent increase and make it easier for the rest of you to move somewhere else.”
“Thanks for that, but move where? There is nowhere else to move, nothing available… and after what you’ve done…”
“What I’ve done? You mean other than
to try and make things a little better for everyone?”
“Oh, Kevin, I fear Hooley and Ardee played you like a fiddle. They set you up in a fight with Baldy James. And after what you did to his brother, well, no need to say his only intent will be cold blooded murder.”
“His brother?”
“You honestly don’t know? Bad Billy Keane, that night you and the lads snuck in on him and that knacker, Dennehy. You smashed the whiskey bottle over Dennehy’s head and then the four of you caught Bad Billy from behind.”
“I didn’t sneak up on anyone. Four of us? Who did you hear that from?”
“It’s the story they told and they’re sticking to it. They were outnumbered, two to one. You snuck up on the two of them while they were asleep. Smashed the bottle over Denney’s head, wasted a good bit of whiskey, too, I might add. Then the four of you went after Bad Billy before he’d the chance to even get to his feet.”
“Peter, the only three people I even know in the entire country are you, Gran, and Mary. You weren’t there that night, were you?”
“No, of course I wasn’t.”
“Do you think I’d put Gran and Mary in that sort of situation?”
“Well, no, but then that just leaves you there with the two of them.”
“Right, just me. The two of them had been drinking.”
“The drink just makes Bad Billy that much worse.”
“And his brother is this Baldy James fellow?”
“Yes, larger, a bit more ugly and an awful lot meaner.”
“And he’s a fighter?”
“He’s a fighter of the most savage sort.”
“Any advice?”
“I’d think about leaving Ireland, tonight.”
ROUND 14
I didn’t leave that night, although it was tempting. Instead, I enlisted the help of Peter and his friends in a short and intense training regime. After all, the fight was just thirteen days away.
I began the following morning with a breakfast of porridge, rashers of bacon, and four eggs scrambled. Lunch was beefsteak and brown bread. Dinner was more beefsteaks sent over twice a day from Morris the butcher.
