Next came the off beat cops and the cops without a beat. Cops that had long since left their comfortable walking shoes behind in exchange for the tight, pinching shoes of the police force’s politics, bribes and city intrigue. The cops felt a certain social responsibility, willing to play the politics of appearance, leaving their girlfriends at home. They came to see what the rising waters of Boston’s social life would bring to the surface inside of O’Keegan’s place, sure when the waters receded, there would be a few pieces of scum left unprotected around the edges, scum that could be mopped up when the time was right.
The cops were paid to see things for what they were, bullshit cutters in suits, seeing everything and sometimes more, each looked across at Flannery and O’Keegan, knowing exactly who and what they were, etching their faces into the book of other faces drawn and collated in their minds throughout the years since the very first day on the job - filed for later retrieval and leverage.
Nods were exchanged between each of the cops, Flannery and O’Keegan as people on obviously different sides recognized each other for what they were, hunter and hunted, warily eyeing each other but recognizing that just for tonight a ceasefire had been called.
Flannery and O’Keegan waited a few more minutes, the trickle of characters slowing, soon there would be no one left to be shoehorned through the front door. They both listened as the sound and the tempo of the crowd increased, as if they could sense that the show was soon to begin. There was just one last piece left and both Flannery and O’Keegan were waiting for it, waiting for Meehan to make his entrance. But he had not yet materialized.
‘I hope the dumb bastard hasn’t got himself killed before he even got here’, Flannery said.
‘No…we’ll still get to hammer the nails in the coffin ourselves, don’t you worry.’
‘So where the hell is he?’ Flannery said with testy impatience.
‘Making everyone sweat as usual, but he can’t not be here. He’s probably got some broad kneeling between his legs in that stupid assed car of his. It’s got to be good for something.’
‘You mean aside from making a good ashtray?’ Flannery grinned. O’Keegan laughed, clapping Flannery on the back as he remembered the sparks dropping to Meehan’s carpet as he ground the cigar into the car’s leather ceiling.
‘Alright, let’s go get everything started. We’ve got a show to put on.’
‘Good luck tonight O’Keegan.’ Flannery reached out, grasping O’Keegan’s hand in a tight grip, a few seconds passing as they recognised the moment. They had finally got here.
Handshakes released, O’Keegan said,
‘Thanks Flannery, you’re a good man. On the luck side, we’ve already had all we’re going to get, it’s now down to everyone doing what they’re supposed to do, when they’re supposed to do it - me included. Let’s go give the customers what they want. Let’s start the blood flowing. You ready?’
‘Yeah, you?’ Flannery asked.
O’Keegan reached up, fingers laying on Flannery’s shoulder.
‘You’re sure? Losing the Supervisor’s men must have been tough? But at least you got out Okay…we didn’t get a chance to talk about it’
Flannery looked troubled for a moment then answered.
‘What’s to say…Never been better O’Keegan, it sure beats being back at home…or on that damned ship’
O’Keegan put his hand back to his side. ‘I guess one way or another Boston is home now Flannery.’
‘You’re not wrong O’Keegan, you’re not wrong.’
++
Flannery and O’Keegan walked into the warehouse, O’Keegan arm around Flannery’s shoulders. The place was heaving. It seemed like half of Boston had managed to pry their way in and find themselves a spot, leaving the central circle as the only place free of bodies.
It seemed to O’Keegan as if people of all colours had been squeezed out of some gigantic tube filling into every inch and corner of the warehouse and as people moved, their space was immediately filled by yet more liquid humanity. Out of recognition or respect for what was to come or perhaps concern that if they stepped inside then they would be putting their own heads on the block, no one crossed the line to step foot inside the circle, leaving it for those braver than themselves. For most of the people in the crowd, just being here and stepping foot outside of their protected tram lined lives was courage enough.
Flannery and O’Keegan walked through the throng, making their way towards the cordoned of section of the room. As they walked they passed little pockets of business and politics naturally created and flourishing since the rabble had moved inside.
In other areas the individual book makers had set up their unofficial stalls, blackboards leant against the damp walls, the names of each of tonight’s fighters written and enhanced with whatever threatening pseudo names they had managed to think up and agree upon for each of the fighters. O’Keegan looked with amusement at the creative use of street names giving the book makers punters something to get their teeth into, noticing too that his boys must have added their own thoughts to some of these names. Frankie ‘The Hammer’ Alteri, John ‘The Executioner’ Edwards, Tony ‘The Priest’ Jenkins and at the very top of the list was his own name and Meehan’s underlined and in bold.
O’Keegan smiled as he saw the odds set beside the battle that was to be last on the night’s roster, the book makers deciding O’Keegan didn’t have much of a prayer. He smiled to himself, knowing they were wrong or at least, hoping they were.
Stopping his forward momentum O’Keegan stopped and walked towards the closest blackboard, as he approached he saw it was covered by perhaps the youngest book maker he had ever seen. O’Keegan didn’t hesitate, moving towards what looked like a fourteen year old boy, blonde hair brushed back beneath the attempt at a man suit, looking for a few extra years and failing. O’Keegan summed him up in an instant, a near boy trying to go solo in the gambling business, the odds badly against him, no one wanting their bets covered by a boy where the payoff was uncertain.
As he approached, the crowd made way for him, most knowing but some guessing that he was O’Keegan from description piled upon description. Each person stopped speaking as he parted the waves, waiting to hear what O’Keegan would say, wondering if he would place a bet.
The boy bookmaker looked nervous as O’Keegan closed the gap, wondering if any bet by O’Keegan would give the listening gamblers an edge when deciding where to put their money. O’Keegan stood by the blackboard, making a show of reading through each name, considering the options and the odds.
Pulling out some notes, he took out two fifty buck notes, holding them towards the boy as the crowd silenced itself, watching O’Keegan hesitate for a few more seconds while they all listen on.
The boy considered for the briefest moment that he wouldn’t accept O’Keegan’s money, wondering if he could claim insider knowledge, an unfair advantage. But no one so far had placed even one bet with him and he couldn’t back down now, if he did his short career would be over before it had even began.
But as O’Keegan stood looking at him, for the first time he came face to face with the man that he had marked down as the almost certain loser against Meehan. Some might say it was inexperience but his youth allowed this young gambler to see something in O’Keegan that he and his bookmaking counterparts had so far missed.
As he stood looking at O’Keegan the boy saw or sensed something that he had never seen during his few years on the street, a determination and resilience in O’Keegan that he hadn’t seen before. O’Keegan whole face smiled as he looked firmly into the boy bookmakers eyes, but it was a smile that stopped around his eyes.
The boy bookmaker quickly undertook some mental calculations and knew that this was the most sensible change to his odds that he would ever make in his short career, before O’Keegan could open his mouth, he scratched off the established odds and made O’Keegan even money. O’Keegan’s smile at once spread to his eyes and taking the boy by the shoulde
r he handed him the two fifty dollars. O’Keegan spoke for all to hear.
‘Thanks for your faith boy, it show’s your smarter than the other bookies around here. You’ll do just fine in this business. I’m not sure I like the fact that I’m going to win less money when I put Meehan on the mat. But you’ve just done yourself a favour, you’re going to lose less money now. A hundred bucks on me to win.’
The boy smiled despite the fact that in O’Keegan’s grip he could sense that this was a bet he was sure to lose.
‘I’ll take your money Mr. O’Keegan, and if you beat Meehan, you’ll not be short of cash…but you have to promise me that you’ll at least give Meehan the chance to give you a few shots otherwise they’ll say it was a fix.’
‘I can’t promise that boy but here’s what I’ll do for you. This won’t be the last event we hold, from now on the other bookies will be kept outside and you’ll be the only one with a prime spot. How’s that?’
The boy did the math and realized that the fifty bucks he might lose had just been paid off ten times over, providing O’Keegan survived the fight. This was one bet he would be happy to lose, he would even wish for it.
‘Worth the money Mr. O’Keegan, I’ll see you when this is all done.’ The smiles were mutual and O’Keegan stepped back saying,
‘Not just yet boy, I have to earn it first.’ Releasing the boys shoulder from his grip he stepped back and nodded with satisfaction as he watched, like ice breaking, the hesitant gamblers standing nearby laughing with them or at them and began waving their cash at the young bookmaker. If O’Keegan could trust this kid then so could they.
The boy winked at O’Keegan as he began to accept his second bet of the day, seizing the cash that was being waved by enthusiastic fists started to place a string of bets for each and every fighter.
O’Keegan winked back, ‘Good luck kid’ O’Keegan said as he walked towards Flannery to stand outside the fighter’s enclosure and away from the sides of the warehouse where the uninitiated were throwing their money at the other bookmakers, pockets of real business was being done.
O’Keegan looked around seeing other people in his line of work taking advantage of the gathering and the imposed amnesty to get together with other like themselves obviously talking through past agreements and disagreements, new plans and opportunities.
The Italians made up their own little group, finding their way from their own territory to form their own within O’Keegan warehouse, they didn’t come often to the wharf, even with the amnesty they constantly looked over their shoulder in case one of Meehan’s boys were close behind.
One person stood at the centre of the revolving Italian crowd, the minor planets and stars circulating around the orbit of the local man in charge. Cesare Cormungo didn’t say much, just standing there, making small talk with a few of his boys, smiling as the latest sycophant kissed his rear end and laughing as one of the three women who seemed to be glued to his side making some witty remark worked out in advance. Cesare was loving it. It was just times like this that reminded him why he worked so hard to keep the Italian contingent in Boston on his hook, that and the underlying threat that always went with being one of Profaci’s men.
Cesare Cormungo was not a big man, fast to lose his temper, unforgiving of others human weaknesses and deadly as an adversary, this small man with his near regal roman nose and high forehead was firmly in control of his Boston businesses and his territory.
Only one man made Cesare nervous and that was Profaci, not just because he would not hesitate to have Cesare’s heart stopped if it suited his purposes but because Profaci had been and still was the only man that knew instinctively when Cesare was not being absolutely and one hundred percent straight and honest. Cesare respected Profaci and everyone else respected Cesare, that was the way it worked and that was the way Cesare liked it.
Cesare had watched and listen hard over the last few weeks ever since news about tonight’s event had reached his ears. A few questions was all it took for the whole O’Keegan story to be painted high in all it’s flamboyant glory by one of his street ‘news’ people.
Every man like Cesare has his little network of people that keep him informed of everything new in each and every Boston street, bar, hall and business. These news people made sure that people like Cesare could see the threat coming even before others saw them as threats. Every leader needs his intelligence community and it hadn’t taken too many days for Cesare to be told about O’Keegan, his boys and the impending confrontation between O’Keegan and Meehan.
It hadn’t immediately bothered Cesare. Why should it? He had know for a while or at least judged as much, watching from the sidelines as Meehan began to lose his grip on his own patch.
Cesare had his own personal rules, rules which Meehan may once have had too but as far as Cesare could see, had long since forgotten. Although Cesare had his string of boys to do his front work for him and although he had more money than he could ever spend, he like to live a simple life revolving around his business and making, taking and implementing hard decisions and even harder justice.
His home was still in the seedy part of town, he still lived amongst his people, people he had grown up with and some of whom he trusted. Sure he had to make a few examples of people that stepped over the line, but he didn’t enjoy it like some did, like Meehan did. There was just one thing which set Cesare apart from the other leaders spread across Boston and that was that Cesare didn’t just kill his enemies, he made messages out of them. Each person that stood in the way of Cesare’s will was usually found in pieces like a human jigsaw puzzle. Cesare always said to any that would listen that when he had people knocked off he always thought about the poor cop and mortician that would find the corpse. His point was that if they had to deal with the body, he’d make sure they had some fun as they tried to put the body jigsaw back together in their efforts to identify the bodies.
This was the man that stood in the centre of the Italian crowd. A man that made the girls giggle and the local hoods laugh. O’Keegan made his decision, he walked through the crowd towards Cesare knowing instinctively that this was no Meehan, Cesare was a man that he would either have to work with or kill. Cesare was not a man that could be manoeuvred and played as he had tried to play Meehan, Cesare was a different game altogether. ‘God I love this business’ O’Keegan thought only steps away from Cesare, continuing on until he stood squarely in front of him.
Cesare continued to whisper into the closest blonde’s ear as O’Keegan stood, waiting for Cesare to finish whatever story he was regaling her with. They both knew that this was all part of it. Cesare was showing that he was in the power seat and O’Keegan was showing his recognition by silently waiting for Cesare’s attention.
As the seconds ticked on Cesare continued the whispered story calculating just how many seconds would be power versus insult, as he bumped against that line, he looked up at O’Keegan while some of his boys who stood a few feet behind watched the meeting, careful just in case. Cesare decided to speak first, recognizing each move was part of the total play to be stored away and weighed up later as each evaluated the other’s skills.
‘So you would be the Ryan O’Keegan that I’ve been hearing all about.’ Cesare looked O’Keegan over, showing nothing as he assessed him.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘I understand you and Meehan will be top of the bill tonight. I don’t know how you did it but my hat’s off to you. Should I be putting my money on you or on Meehan?’ The crows behind Cesare crowed, Cesare’s humour cascading over the little group that had gathered to hear O’Keegan and Cesare speak. O’Keegan looked around at the laughing, grinning clown faces and thinking how power must make you funnier to the masses and the hanger-ons but he wasn’t laughing. With a trite smile, O’Keegan said,
‘That depends whether you like to win or to lose money’.
Cesare’s eyes didn’t move from O’Keegan’s.
‘I never lose money.’ Cesare said, und
erstanding instantly how O’Keegan’s mind worked, ‘You know O’Keegan, I have a feeling about you. I think I’m going to put my money on you to win tonight. But O’Keegan, the important thing isn’t if you win or lose in that circle, its if you’re going to win outside of it. Are you?’
‘Yes.’ O’Keegan said without any hesitation.
Cesare watched O’Keegan’s unblinking eyes, seeing the resolute truth and conviction of his words.
Briefly nodding, Cesare said,
‘You know, I think I believe you, so let me give you one piece of advice. By all means expand that circle. Fight all the battles you want with Meehan and anyone else that stands in your way for his patch. Win them all. If you do, you’ll have me applauding you as you go through the leagues…but don’t EVER make the mistake of allowing your circle and mine to cross. If they do, then you and I will need to come against each other and I’m not one hundred percent sure either of us will ever leave that circle.’
O’Keegan thought it through in silence. Cesare stepped forward into O’Keegan’s space.
‘O’Keegan, I’m going to do something I don’t do too often. Here’s my hand O’Keegan, shake it and if you win against Meehan then we might be able to do some business together. Don’t shake it and after you’re done with Meehan, I’ll be waiting just outside and we can finish our business tonight without having to look over our shoulders until the inevitable happens.’
Cesare held out his hand, waiting for O’Keegan’s grasp.
O’Keegan looked down at the offered pact. He hadn’t been exactly sure what he had expected when he had impetuously decided to come across to tweak Cesare’s ears but this was more than his daydreams or his nightdreams would have thought possible.
Thinking through exactly how long Cesare had left him waiting while he had stood for this audience, he played his own game, leaving Cesare waiting just long enough to prove his point, without underscoring it with an insult in front of Cesare’s entourage, hoping he wasn’t misjudging, wouldn’t see Cesare’s hand pulled away before responding.
The Fighting O'Keegans Page 19
