The Fighting O'Keegans

by Aaron Kennedy

  ‘I know that you all think of each other like family now. We all do. I don’t know how it happened to men like us, men who have lived their own lives, but it did. Perhaps we were all looking for something a little more than just ourselves. Anyway, despite all that, tonight, you need to forget that you’re fighting your friends, your brothers…you need to get into that circle and want to win, even if the face opposite you belongs to someone you know would cover your back through the flames of hell today and tomorrow…but tonight, tonight will be different, it needs to be different if we are to get what we want...’

  He looked into each face as they thought through just what he was saying.

  ‘Tonight IS different. Tonight it’s about standing up for yourself and letting lose all the crap that you’ve stacked up over a lifetime, get rid of it all. Tonight…as you stand up for yourselves, as you throw those punches and feel that pain, its like America’s welcoming you to the fold…it’s like this country is fucking baptizing you, all the shit you’ve given and taken in your life being washed away by the pain and watching your own blood running free.’ His men’s faces were resolute as O’Keegan voice gained in passion. ‘I want you guys to give it everything you have. Not for those bastards outside. You owe them nothing…’ O’Keegan said with passion. ‘Use tonight as the point where you put your past lives behind you, where you really become a part of America and a part of our thing, the Boiler Room Boys.’

  ‘You need to feel the pain, you need to relish it and know that it’s the fire that’s burning away all the debts that have sat as guilt in your hearts and stomachs your whole lives. You need to give over every fibre to winning. Winning, it’s all there, is aside from each other…’

  Taking the Priests face in his hands, O’Keegan’s two fingers made a sign of the cross in the air. The Priest looked a little embarrassed, each man laughing, clapping him on the back.

  ‘Now I’m not suggesting that you don’t play fair…if I see anyone taking it too far then you’ll have me to worry about when all the crowds are gone. But tonight is an island, and tomorrow morning we will all be back to how we are now except we’ll be bruised, cut and probably bloody but we’ll also be freer…cleaner, and ready for our new lives in Boston. We will have received the cuts and bruises of our new lives, our past lives scrubbed clean, everything to look forward too and all the shit left behind.’

  The message was clear, they all understood, tonight wouldn’t be a game for show, it would be the real deal and it would be about more than making a few extra dollars or putting on a good show for the hyenas. It was more for them than for the onlookers.

  O’Keegan could see their excitement, he had managed to get through to them but there was something on their minds, he could sensed it and knew what story had been doing the rounds. There was one question that they all seemed to want to ask, the rumours had circulated and despite their own concerns, there was one thing they needed to know before they got on with it. They waited, waited to see who had the guts to be first to ask.

  O’Keegan looked questioningly at each of them, knowing what question was coming.

  ‘What’s on your minds? Spit it out…’

  The Priest decided to step forward, still feeling pleased at O’Keegan recent attention. He looked more like a thin, lanky, loose haired slice of a man than a tearing, crushing, killing hood, but even he had his past. You had to have to be here.

  The Priest had become the closest thing to confessor for most of the boys during the Atlantic journey. His calm way, backed up with his willingness to just listen, a man that preferred to use his ears than his tongue, marking him out as a man who could be trusted, a man that wasn’t looking to be the centre of things, a man with a quiet ego that wouldn’t judge them for their pasts. ‘Priest’ was a good name for Tony, it fit. The Priest wanted to ask what most had been thinking, some voicing to each other but cautious about mentioning it to Flannery and O’Keegan.

  O’Keegan nodded as the Priest stepped forward, encouraging him.

  ‘Go on Priest, ask away.’

  ‘We heard from Flannery’s cousin that Meehan has your Father. Are you going to fight him anyway?’ O’Keegan’s fingers were on the Priest’s shoulders, calm, reassuring. He nodded.

  ‘Yes, on both counts. Meehan did grab my Father and yes, I’m still going to fight him’.

  ‘But if he loses, doesn’t that mean your Father’s going to be out of luck? You can’t win…we’ll all be doing this so you can lose to Meehan, it doesn’t add up.’

  O’Keegan took his hand away from the Priest’s shoulders, the Priest briefly felt the loss. O’Keegan spoke to them all.

  ‘Let me tell you something about my Father. My Father has never lost a fight in his life. No matter what the odds, no matter what it cost he…and he never, not ever let me lose a fight either. Not since the day I was born has he ever been prepared to let me lose a fight. No matter how many people were involved, no matter what they used against me, whatever the odds…me losing was never an option I was ever allowed…not for him or for me.’

  Each man thought about what O’Keegan was saying, most seeing O’Keegan’s life in their own. O’Keegan stamped his foot on the warehouse floor. ‘Call it a family tradition if you like…but it was all we had to hold onto where I came from…where a man stood, the small piece of ground he walked on was what he fought for, that is what we are doing this for, to claim our own patch of earth, our own piece of Boston.’

  Tony the Priest and the rest of them started to get comfortable with where this was going. The strength and conviction in O’Keegan was obvious. But they also knew that if their boss lost then all this would be for nothing, they were out manned and outgunned, the only thing that would give them a chance was O’Keegan putting Meehan down, hard and publicly.

  ‘I can guarantee you…absolutely guarantee you that even if they have him hung up by his finger nails and are drawing hot pokers across his back, he will still want me to win tonight and while he’s wishing for me to win he’s probably spiting in the face of any unfortunate bastards that have been stupid enough to grab him.’

  The men laughed, seeing O’Keegan’s plucky father in their mind’s eyes as O’Keegan did. ‘In fact, the one thing I’m sure of is that if I don’t do my best and beat the hell out of Meehan then my Father will be holding those same pokers when he gets a hold of me. Meehan may think he holds all the cards, but Father or no Father, I will not be losing tonight unless Meehan has something more in his arsenal than just those two fists of his and I’m looking to the two boys on the door to make sure that Meehan and any boys he may send, walk into this warehouse with just his knuckles. I can tell all of you that Meehan has nothing that can stop me from kicking two tons of crap out of him assuming he has the balls to fight me…the fact that his boys took my father just gives me on more reason to pull his heart out of his chest – I’m looking forward to it.’

  Another cheer, they could hear the truth in O’Keegan’s words, they knew that there would be no lying down tonight, it would be a fight that wouldn’t, couldn’t be rigged.

  Flannery looked on, wondering who and what O’Keegan was. In this last thirty minutes Flannery saw something he hadn’t seen before, O’Keegan handling the men like a general, like a Messiah, had O’Keegan’s father really created such a man? He nodded to himself, yes, O’Keegan was product of his own Father, a Father whose life was underpinned by an inability to face being a loser, winning instilled in his son since O’Keegan junior had first stood upright, probably before.

  Flannery caught a glimpse of O’Keegan’s father mind as O’Keegan spoke, know he would rather die than allow his son to lose, that he would not want to go on if it meant that the O’Keegan’s had finally lost a battle, had lost their long held standing. It looked to Flannery like Meehan had grabbed a dud chip in this poker game, it was true that blood was thicker than water, but winning for the fighting O’Keegan’s was thicker than blood. Flannery shook his head, amazed and a little sad that it w
as all so screwed up. He refocused on O’Keegan’s voice.

  ‘Right. I think we’ve said all that we need to. We’ll be opening the doors in ten minutes, make sure the first two boys are ready to go in twenty. And boys…good luck tonight.’

  Cheers shot upwards into the warehouse rafters as they let loose the questions and concerns they had had over O’Keegan’s father. O’Keegan could see it in all of them, they were ready. They were ready and so was O’Keegan, he just hoped that when all this was done, his Brother plan would come through for the O’Keegan family.

  Chapter 45

  O’Keegan and Flannery brushed aside the curtains and walked back out into the centre of the warehouse. Looking around, they saw that pretty much all was about as ready as it was ever going to be. The three barmen had stopped their frantic movements, the polishing, the setting up of the bottles and the glass stacking was all done. They waited, taking a few minutes to chat amongst themselves getting some peace before the gates were opened and the frantic activity would begin keeping them occupied most of the evening and some of the early morning.

  Walking past the barmen, it pleased O’Keegan that they would be getting their slice of the money they would be taking tonight and as their bar was in Meehan’s patch, if everything went as planned, they would be taking their slice from them from tonight on. Turning to Flannery, O’Keegan asked,

  ‘What about Shorty and the other boys? Alteri and O’Toole. Seen them recently?’

  ‘No Boss. Some of the boys said Shorty was here an hour or two ago, just to make sure everything was coming together as it should but since then he’s been keeping a low profile.’

  ‘Probably just as well. I saw a few uniforms and regulation haircuts in the crowd. We should keep Shorty in the background for as long as possible. Seems to be the place where he’s most comfortable too. If things go to plan then its better he, Alteri and O’Toole make themselves scarce for a day or two…tell them that after their done, they need to blend into the crowd until its safe to be back on the streets again.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll get the jobs done?’

  ‘Shorty’s the sneakiest Bastard I’ve ever met and thank God he’s on our side… if he can’t get it done then there’s no one else on the payroll that I would trust to pull it all off without making too many waves. If I put down Meehan and Shorty and the other guys do what they’re supposed to do then we’ve hit them with a one two combination that they’ll never recover from.’

  ‘Let’s hope it goes to plan then, what then? Will it really be that easy to take over from Meehan?’

  ‘Let’s do what we can to get rid of Meehan first, we can worry about after…after but I think without Meehan, it will all be up for grabs…god willing, you, me and the boys can step into the vacuum and mop up what we want from the chaos that will be left behind. Shorty is our ace of spades, I trust him, O’Toole and Alteri to get it done, I’m just glad they’re on our side.’

  ‘What about you? Are you ready yourself?’

  ‘I’ve been getting ready for this day every day of my life Flannery. Every person I’ve ever come up against, every fight I’ve had has been preparing me for right here and right now. My Pa trained me for this and I didn’t even know he was doing it. I see what he was doing now and why…I’m starting to realise that my Father had more to him than I thought? Can that be possible? Had I got it wrong about him all that time? Was he smart all along? It’s true he was a son-of-a-bitch, but I’m starting to realise he was a son-of-a-bitch for a purpose and that was to give me everything I needed to survive and maybe win the big prize. Meehan isn’t what I’ve been training for, Boston is… and before I’m done, I’ll have the city trailing behind me like a trained bitch on a leash.’ O’Keegan clenched his fist to their faces, reinforcing his point, passionate and certain in his commitment to win.

  Flannery swallowed, feeling some of what O’Keegan was.

  ‘I’ll watch your back O’Keegan.’ Flannery said quietly.

  ‘I know you will Flannery and as long as we work together, they’ll never pull us down’.

  O’Keegan took one last long around the warehouse, his eyes passing over the large whitewashed circle where later tonight, a city would be won and lost.

  Trying to put the stakes behind him, O’Keegan walked to the closed doorway to the street, threw open the last door to his destiny, whatever that might be. He closed his eyes, savouring the smells of the city, the crap and smoke of the town combining with the flavours of the salt water mixed with the diesel, creating a rich note of life. O’Keegan basked for a few moments as the noise and smell of this city washed over him, sucking in a deep breath, holding Boston in his chest for a few moments before gently releasing it, O’Keegan reaffirming the difference between living and life. Alone at the edge of the crowd for a moment.

  The people silenced themselves as O’Keegan stood there, throwing open the gate to the coliseum to begin the night’s bloody entertainment. The cheer started, and built, rolling around from mouth to mouth as they noticed him. The moved forward, just one brain amongst them, expecting to be allowed to stream through the gap to find their place before the spectacle began but O’Keegan did not move aside, standing at the gateway for a few moments more, his senses reaching out and primed.

  Looking out across the mass of people, O’Keegan saw Bostonian’s of all flavours brought together by the promise of a few hours of fun and games, the immigrants mingling with the old time locals, even the Chinese mixing with the Italians. Over the last few weeks O’Keegan had made it his business to get to know, each and every person that ran this city, the power both above and below the line and everywhere his eyes fell, these people were sprinkled like diamonds among the rough. Everyone was here tonight. Some to enjoy and some to assess this new man called O’Keegan, the man who had sprung up so quickly and so decisively from nowhere. Threat or opportunity? That was what they still had to determine.

  O’Keegan started to see the different dimensions of this evening, this was an opportunity to start to create friendship, alliances and enemies that would have long lasting implications on his future in Boston, assuming he had one he mused. O’Keegan took one last look, picked out a few very specific faces and made a mental note to talk to some of them before the night was done and lights were turned off for the night.

  O’Keegan smiled one last smile and throwing open his arms, shouted out over the crowd,

  ‘Welcome to O’Keegan’s. We have a night ahead of us that I hope you will never forget, I know I won’t. Come in, pay your $5 bucks, find your place and get yourselves a drink. We have just one rule while you’re in O’Keegan’s - no weapons are allowed. The only weapons that will pass this doorway are those hands at the end of your wrists, and I recommend you keep those in your pockets too.’

  He stepped out of the way, retreating to stand beside the broader, larger Flannery and was replaced in the doorway by the two O’Keegan doormen. The people began to move through the single doorway, one and two at a time. The doormen briefly patted them down for weapons and when they were sure those entering were clear, took their $5, placing the cash in the large pail.

  The warehouse began to fill as the trickle of people turned into a more constant stream, slowly filling in the gaps of the warehouse, humanity beginning to squeeze into every space.

  Those outside realized the time had finally come shuffling forward as the next stage of the night was upon them, their hungry mouths watered, the main course was soon to be served, medium rare.

  ++

  Thirty minutes later only the stragglers remained outside of O’Keegan’s. The large bulk of the waiting crowd had been taken through and were now waiting on the other side, still talking, almost no breathing gaps between words, interested in their own voices and opinions more than any others, their mouths and their ears marginally connected at best. But this group were the rump who wanted to be there from the beginning, to savour every morsel. Each minute saw one more car pull up to find fewer and f
ewer spaces to wedge their vehicles between and as time ticked on towards the first opening bell, the social elite, the cops and the hoods began to arrive.

  Flannery and O’Keegan decided to leave the warehouse, to give themselves some space away from the curious freak show looks from the majority of the watchers. They waited on the other side of the street while the social cream began to float to the surface.

  First came the penguins. The long black tailed coats, white shirts and ties who thirty minutes before had been watching another Opera or classical replay, one more Giovanni, one more Beethoven’s fifth, one more rehearsed polite conversation before stepping off the social tracks to venture down to a cold, damp warehouse where life was made transparent again.

  Young ‘nieces’ clung on to old frail arms as they stepped out of driven cars, unclear who was supporting whom. False red smudged smiling mouths making fake laughter which sounded like fractured glass bells, discordant to the ears of all that could hear except the old men themselves, only see and hearing what their old bodies wanted to see and hear.

  Flannery and O’Keegan watched them knowing their type, old men grasping at a youth that had slipped past them unappreciated in their rush to get somewhere else, somewhen else, living life more quickly than it was intended to be lived. They had failed to appreciate life and were now struggling to resurrect taste buds and senses long since killed of their own accord.

  They didn’t see Flannery and O’Keegan standing there, two more shadows on the dark side of the street. Too busy in their own world of battling eyelids and girlfriends, the tantalizing whispers of late night promises that would never be kept by either side or discussed again once the clothing hit the floor.

  Flannery and O’Keegan watch them come as one flock, entering their world. They had little to say, knowing that despite their own crimes, the greatest of not appreciating the here and the now had not been one they had yet committed.