The Fighting O'Keegans

by Aaron Kennedy

  As Flannery waited behind the blanket curtain with his and O’Keegan’s boys he thought about Shorty, O’Toole, O’Keegan’s Father and Meehan. There was still much of the evening to come.

  ++

  Four battles had been fought, won and lost. The curtain which separated the men from the masses had been open by four pairs of nervous hands as the next men to the circle had walked out to have their time beneath the unforgiving white lights.

  Four pairs had stood, given their best and had then walked or had been dragged back behind the curtain to sit or to lie next to their friends. The last few hours had seen the curtain change from lose hanging material to a blood daubed shroud. A shroud of the near innocent splattered with their blood in the hope that the angel of death would be kept from their door for another night.

  Flannery looked out from behind, and made a scan of the still throbbing room. The intensity of the evening was not waning. As they moved one more punch and one more kick closer to the ultimate Meehan and O’Keegan fight Flannery wondered where their appetite came from for more blood, more hurt, more anger. He wondered too how the Meehan O’Keegan confrontation would end but during the evening, as he’d watched the bloody faucet’s being opened on each fighter by yet one more hard edged elbow or knee, the adrenaline and excitement had begun to leave him.

  The wave of exhilaration had crested and receded, leaving the washed out junk and mudflats that were always just below the surface. For Flannery, the night had passed from a meal, to a feast to that sick feeling you get from too much, too soon. Flannery felt numb and the main events were still to come, not a good sign, he and O’Keegan would be needed on top form before this night was done.

  ++

  O’Keegan had given clear instructions to the doormen. He was expecting the Police Commissioner to make a showing and when he did, they were to immediately get his attention before opening the door. After casual but regular looks through the door, the doormen had spotted the Commissioner being driven up and while parking, giving O’Keegan the nod from across the warehouse floor.

  The next moment, O’Keegan walked over and stepped through to the outside. The Police Commissioner’s car was just making its final alterations as O’Keegan walked up. As he approached he could see the grey haired commissioner who, from the evening suit, had obviously cut short an elegant night at some dinner party or other. A white scarf thrown loosely around his neck and hanging down atop a black jacket and white tie. A younger, sharply dressed man, his hair slicked back and briefly nodding to police haircut regulations sat beside him, one of the Commissioner’s favourites kept close for show and support.

  As the car’s engine was cut O’Keegan reached out to pull the door open. The Commissioner stepped out first followed closely by the younger man. Both men accepted their door being opened as the norm, even down here in the docks after dark, never once considering any potential threat, that their position didn’t make them completely impregnable.

  How easy it would have been if he had wanted these guys gone, O’Keegan thought as they placed on overcoats and dusted themselves down without caring to look up and recognise his efforts. The Commissioner reached into a waistcoat pocket and pulled out a quarter, handing it to O’Keegan without his eyes bothering to connect.

  ‘I can tell by all the cars that are already here that I’m in the right place. I was told that one of you Micks had organized a little money making event that would be worth seeing, I guess this is it huh? Tell your boss that the Police Commissioner is outside and would like a word, we have some things to discuss.’ He waved vaguely at the warehouse door as if expecting O’Keegan to run along inside without hesitation, obviously a man used to having the world slot comfortably into place on the strength of his will alone.

  ‘Good evening Mr. Commissioner, I would be the Mick that you want to speak with. Welcome to O’Keegan’s. I’m O’Keegan’, O’Keegan gave the Commissioner his cheekiest smile, consciously broadening his Irish accent for the Commissioner’s sake.

  ‘You’re O’Keegan?’ The Commissioner rasped.

  He noticed O’Keegan for the first time, having to re-evaluate his position after mentally having placing him the box of door opener and general lackey, lifting O’Keegan out of it with difficulty.

  His slight grimace did not change as his eyes travelled down from O’Keegan’s red hair and took in each feature and item of clothing. He noticed every scuff and tear before finishing off his review at O’Keegan black work boots that had seen him safely across the Atlantic, boots he never bothered to change. To the Police Commissioner O’Keegan was the archetypical immigrant Mick, not even having the decency to make the effort for a paying public or the position he was obviously working to consolidate. The Commissioner was judging the book by the cover and it looked like a pretty shabby book to him. Over the years from street policeman, to desk jockey to the intrigue and back scratching of city politics he had aptly played, the Police Commissioner had seen every type of man. He believed he had an inbuilt ability to see inside each and every man he came across, that within moments of pulling together all conscious and subconscious information, he would understand the motivation and measure of the man. As he placed O’Keegan under his eye he could not summon up even the remotest feeling that O’Keegan was anything but just one more immigrant Irishman, long on smiles, short on everything else.

  As the Commissioner finished his appraisal of O’Keegan he decided how he was going to play this new opportunity. Reminding himself that he had seen and met the greats, had worked with them over the years to keep the city functioning the Commissioner reworked his face into his best politician’s smile while considering his position.

  O’Keegan didn’t return the apparent friendliness, he had heard enough about this man, Shorty had done his job well. Word was that the Commissioner had long ago come to the conclusion that Policemen didn’t fight crime, they just segregated and helped organize it. This Commissioner ensured crime never went too far and with a strict awareness of public support, ‘too far’ for this man standing in front of him meant on the front page of the Boston Herald. Aside from that, all was within the game.

  Shorty’s information had not been far from the truth, as a fresh recruit the Commissioner had been told that organized Crime wasn’t going anywhere, it was never going to be ‘solved’ or ‘eradicated’, he had gone on to learn it was even needed. People had tastes, people were weak, if they didn’t find what they wanted in Boston then they would just go somewhere else for their pleasure, and where was the gain in that? So at the feet of the old Police hero’s he had learnt the way things worked here and as his career grew, he knew that Boston was no worse and no better than any city in any country.

  The Commissioner had long since come to the conclusion that each city worked in exactly the same way whichever flag it sat under, it was just the faces that were different and some knew how to play it right and others didn’t. The ones that didn’t were soon thrown out of the centre of the spinning machine, to be ground up by the cogs and gears as it did what it did best, make money. His countenance physically reassembled and realigned, he gave O’Keegan his best smile.

  ‘So you’re the man that everyone is talking about.’ He thrust out his best pinkie ringed handshake, firmly gripped O’Keegan’s, instantly taking onboard that this was a grip that could crush Christmas walnuts.

  ‘I’m not sure that I’ve met everyone and try not to listen too hard to what the ones that I have met are saying but I would be that O’Keegan.’

  The Commissioner let it wash over him, the only visible sign that his sense of humour was reserved for family and mistresses was a slight tightening around his thin lips.

  ‘Well said O’Keegan. I understand that you and Meehan will be steeping into the ring at the end of the night. I thought I would drop by and see how that works out. What do you think? Do you have a chance against one of Boston’s own, one of Boston’s finest?’

  He clapped O’Keegan on the back and smiled as
if two friends were discussing the potential result of forthcoming football game or horse race, a Boston pedigree favourite set to compete against a ragged last minute entrant from no-fixed-abode. He expected some semblance of false humility or the pandering of one junior man to his senior, for the second time this evening he had misjudged his man. This second misjudgement was almost inconsequential, the first and greater misjudgement, of O’Keegan himself, could be fatal.

  ‘Finest?’ O’Keegan shook his head. ‘I think Boston could have put forward someone better, at least I hope so for Boston’s sake and as for Meehan, he’s got rich and sloppy. Let’s hope he’s not your finest otherwise we may need to move to New York’

  He gave the Commissioner a long look and continued,

  ‘It seems that as soon as someone makes some money around here, they start getting fat and slow. Even your young man here could probably give Meehan a good go’. He nodded towards the Commissioner’s aide,

  ‘I’ve walked around Southie and those people have the grit to take on Meehan if they were of a mind. But maybe that’s because they are so soon off the boat themselves and are circulating through the shit of this city everyday. Maybe they haven’t been tainted too much yet.’

  The Commissioner looked like he’d been slapped. It had been a long time since someone had spoke so frankly with so little regard to his position. He was used to honey covered words, delicately placed by surgeon’s of the spoke language making neat little incisions only where absolutely necessary to get the job done.

  ‘You think this city is weak, you think it’s full of shit?’

  ‘No sir, you misunderstand me. Boston is the greatest city there is. No, I have nothing against Boston, this is where I am going to make my home. What I’m saying is that my place in Boston is close to the shit. Every city has it, it’s the engine that keeps things moving, it’s also what gives each its smell. Wealth and shit together, there’s nothing like it. But Meehan and me, we’re closer to the shit because that’s where we come from and that’s what we know. But Meehan’s forgotten that. He’s made some money and wants to start being a part of your Boston society. As he moves away from the shit, he’s losing everything he needs to stay in control of it. He needs to step into it and keep shovelling, but he’s lost the will to get his boots dirty.’ He raised one of his own and gave it a stamp to underline his point.

  Looking down at O’Keegan’s boots he said,

  ‘I see you still have yours O’Keegan. Are you shovelling Boston’s shit?’

  O’Keegan grinned, ‘Every day Mr. Commissioner. We both shovel Boston’s shit, its just yours has more zeros after the numbers and is made to smell nicer.’

  ‘Alright, why don’t we stop fucking around? I think a man like you would appreciate it if I tell you what’s on my mind no?’

  ‘A man like me always appreciates it when a man like you says what’s really on his mind, Mr. Commissioner.’

  The Commissioner ignored the prod and went on,

  ‘This is my city O’Keegan. Everything you see comes under me. The wops, the chinks, the micks, Southie and the shit that you are shovelling, it’s all within my turf. You want to play in this town then you need to play by my rules. They are not open to negotiation or backchat. Neither am I’.

  O’Keegan kept silent, expecting the soliloquy and wanting it said and out there so they could move on after Police Commissioner had staked his flag in the ground.

  ‘If you and Meehan take you battle outside of your ring then that’s your business. My business is keeping everything working and smoothly. I don’t give a damn if you bastards stand out in the street and cut each other to bits with those knives you all carry. What’s one more or one less Mick, wop of chink criminal in Boston, no one would notice. I certainly wouldn’t give a shit…But what I do care about is when it impact the good people in this city or business. If your little tiff overflows and if your shit starts to float up to my or any of my friends doorsteps then you will all be gone. Your turf or Meehan’s? Your own little piece of Boston? No. It’s all my turf and you and Meehan rent from me. That’s how it works here. Play by my rules and we can get along. Don’t and one way or another you’ll be buried up to your neck in more shit than you’ve ever seen. Now get out of my way so I can at least enjoy the rest of my evening.’

  He started to push his way past O’Keegan, stepping around him to knock firmly on the door, the O’Keegan chat behind him. The doorman’s face appeared at the top of the door, a small window open, the door remaining closed. O’Keegan shook his head gently from side to side then gave it a quick twitch to the left telling the doorman to close his large peep hole and leave the door closed. For the first time the Commissioner seemed a little nervous, looking up and down the street realising that although the largest conglomeration of humanity and more than a fair share of off duty cops were behind that warehouse door, he was still standing outside. The noise of the cheers and the conversation oiled by too much cheap drink was the predominant sound, so loud to drown any other noise within a three street circumference.

  The Commissioner looked to his aide, realizing for the first time that he was calling the shots and saying what he wanted without any real support. For the first time in years, the Police Commissioner was made aware of his mortality, effectively alone with O’Keegan without protection, neither ever worrying enough to carry a gun when having an entertaining evening out. O’Keegan seemed to know what the Commissioner was feeling as he placed his hand on the warehouse door. He hesitated a moment then spoke to the now turned around Commissioner,

  ‘Mr. Commissioner. I except that this is your city and I hope that we can leave this evening as friends but don’t think that just because I’m fresh off the boat I’m just one more dumb Mick, as you like to call us. Don’t ever underestimate me Mr. Commissioner and for that matter…I wouldn’t underestimate the dumb Micks in this city either.’ The Commissioner saw the dangerous glint in O’Keegan’s eyes before the Irishman before him finished his point. ‘If things go my way then you and I can come to what I hope is an amicable agreement or at least an understanding. But I play by my own rules Mr Commissioner, not yours, Meehan’s or anybody else’s. I’m not Meehan. I’m not a wop or chink or whatever else you supposed blue blooded bastards might want to label me or mine. As of three weeks ago I’m an American. This is not your city Mr. Commissioner, it belongs to all of us. Now you can go in but if you forget everything we talked about tonight, remember one thing, killing a policeman has been off limits in the past, but that was the past Mr. Commissioner. If you push too hard then you may have finally found someone that will push back harder. Have a good evening Mr. Commissioner, and don’t forget.’

  The Commissioner anger welled up, through gritted teeth he replied, ‘Oh, I won’t forget O’Keegan. I’m going to remember every word. Let’s see if you get through these next few days before we start worrying about a future that might not exist, shall we. Meehan might make all of this so much wasted breath and I don’t like wasting my breath O’Keegan.’

  O’Keegan knocked on the warehouse door before turning his head back to the Commissioner, ‘Agreed Mr. Commissioner. Have one of your boys drop by my place next week and I’ll tell him my thoughts on tonight’s discussion. I’m sure we can come to an agreement one way or another.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have someone to pay you a visit. The meat shop in Southie, that’s where you’ll be?’ It was O’Keegan’s turn to be a little surprised.

  ‘Seems you been taking an interest. Yes, that’s our place.’

  The Commissioner wrapped it up, finally having got his feet back, ‘Fine. Until next week then.’

  O’Keegan gave another rap on the door and again the little window opened. This time there was no hesitation as the doorman quickly pulled open the door and allowed the men through. O’Keegan stepped to the side and allowed the Commissioner and his bag man to enter first, before stepping through himself, back in the middle of the throng.

  All eyes but M
eehan’s were resolutely focused on the beginning throes of yet one more couple slugging it out bare-chested in the centre of the circle. Meehan’s eyes found O’Keegan’s as he and the Commissioner walked in together, the look Meehan sent over was pure murder wrapped with a bow of hatred. O’Keegan gave Meehan his best smile following it with an affectionate pat on the Commissioner’s shoulder, before leaving the Commissioner to his social constituents, already knowing the Commissioner had filed and discarded him in favour of the local politics of schmoozing with the other Boston elite circulating around O’Keegan’s event.

  Walking calmly to the curtain, O’Keegan was sure that he would find Flannery on the other side. Brushing his way through the blood dripping material Flannery was amongst the marked and the physically beaten, bending down to say a few words to the Priest who had been cleaned up and was looking a little more human. O’Keegan touched Flannery on the shoulder getting his attention.

  ‘The Police Commissioner has just arrived.’

  ‘That’s good, was he nice and friendly?’ Flannery said, looking up at O’Keegan.

  O’Keegan grinned, ‘What do you think? He just wanted to come by and make sure we understood his rules. This is his town by the way…’

  ‘So I heard…And do we understand his rules?’

  O’Keegan smiled broadened,

  ‘I don’t think I pissed him off too much but we won’t be getting too many party invites.’

  ‘That’s a shame. It would have made my Ma proud’.

  O’Keegan sat beside the Priest, crossing his legs out in front. ‘Let’s face it. If we look like we’re winning then he’ll be our best friends and if we start to lose, he’ll be the first to show us the shiny end of his Police boot. That’s the plain facts of life.’ O’Keegan answered.

  ‘It’s all up to us then.’

  ‘It’s never been any other way. We both know that. Anyway, that’s the last thing we need to worry about tonight.’ O’Keegan looked around the makeshift waiting room, taking in the few bruised and battered sitting around. ‘How long before I’m up?’