Divide the Dawn- Fight

by Eamon Loingsigh

  The man named Lucy collapses into a chair with a pinched moon face and stares about. With the pad of his fingers he pets a red-coral amulet in the shape of the devil’s horn.

  “What is that?” says I.

  Sixto turns to Lucy. When he looks in my direction the smear of a smile appears on his handsome face, “That is a cornetti, it protects against the evil eye. He has heard that the Irish are sickly and sometimes envious of our health. That would be bad luck.”

  The Swede’s face looks as if he’s on the verge of retching, “Sickly? What the—”

  Dinny interrupts, “Are ya now graduated from college?”

  “I am, thank you for asking,” Sixto grins politely. “Harvard has had Catholics graduate in the past, but not so many as olive-complected as myself.”

  “Isn’t that the name o’ Frankie Yale’s saloon down on Coney Island? Harvard Inn?”

  “Yes it is, the American dream, right? To attend a prestigious, Ivy League University.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Dinny tilts his head.

  “You wouldn’t know?” Sixto says unbelieving. “This is the land where everyone has the opportunity to succeed. America, land of the free.”

  “It’s free as long as ya act like them,” Dinny rests his elbows on the desk and brings his hands together under his face. “Ya seem to’ve assimilated rather well. I s’pose it’s not so hard for a I-Talian to accept the American way. But for us it can be different. For us, the Anglo-Saxon forced us from our homes and when we came here, years before most I-Talians had, we were reviled for bein’ Catholic, not allowed to work an’ blamed for it as well, the same thing that happened to us, by the same type o’ people back in Ireland. Many o’ us see no difference between the English in England and the WASPs here in America.”

  “And yet you have the opportunity to succeed, whereas in Ireland you do not.”

  The Swede mutters his annoyance, “Opportunities paid for by prostitutin’ girls that ain’t even old enough to know what’s happenin’ to them? That the type o’ opportunity ya talkin’ about? Ya think it’s just grand to hold a girl down by her neck so ya can squeeze the dime outta her. No sir, we do not share the same codes as ya people.”

  “I had heard that Irishtown was once a good place for bad habits, but not during the current regime’s reign,” Sixto holds a finger to his chin until his eyes turn up in thought, “And I have always heard that your people are haunted by the ghosts of the past. Battles that were lost in the Middle Ages are still debated and wrongs done you are rehashed, reiterated, rephrased and repeated over and over again. Like the potato famine—”

  “It was only a blight, and but a single crop in a fertile country,” says I. “It seems even an educated man, like yourself, is more than happy to swallow English lies if it benefits you. Did they teach you at Harvard about the millions of pounds of grains and cattle that were exported to British colonies from Ireland back then?”

  “I don’t believe that was high on any of my professors’ syllabi at the school of business, I admit. But what is baffling is so many Irish here in New York are happy enough to dream the American dream. The Tammany Democrats have worked tirelessly to get city jobs into the hands of their constituents. You must excuse my ignorance, correct me if I am mistaken, but it seems only a small amount of Irish in the corner of Brooklyn along the waterfront think otherwise.”

  I turn to Dinny, then look up to The Swede. I could have been a believer in the American dream if I hadn’t been plucked off the streets by the White Hand.

  Sixto folds his fingers together in his lap and smiles when he does not receive an answer. He tilts his head again and speaks, “I admire you, Dinny Meehan.”

  “That ain’t no one’s name around here,” The Swede grumbles.

  “I apologize,” Sixto holds up his palms up to The Swede and turns his cordial smile back to Dinny. “Still, I admire you. You have codes. Powerful and unspoken codes. Your people believe in you. They believe that you will do right by them. And from everything I have seen, you honor them with honesty and forthrightness. The problem is twofold.”

  Dinny nods patiently and sits back in his chair.

  Sixto begins, “Firstly, the Irish are in decline in Brooklyn. This territory was inherited,” Sixto explains with a gentle grin and turns back to Dinny. “And you have done an impeccable job keeping it all together as best as humanly possible, I grant you that. But we are on the rise and will one day take over labor from the Irish predecessors.” He looks over Dinny’s right shoulder. “Why the long face, Mr. Swede?”

  Vincent snorts at the jape and mutters under his breath, “Long face.”

  “We ain’t in decline,” The Swede protests. “We control labor along the most profitable waterfront docks an’ piers in Brooklyn. I hear pretty words comin’ from ya pretty face Sixto, but they ain’t worth a fiddler’s fart.”

  “Oh no? Even your line of succession has been cut off, didn’t Pulcinella, the black clown, take the life of Irishtown’s heir? I heard Mickey Kane described as the golden prince. Handsome, strong, extremely talented and dead,” Sixto continues, “It has also come to my ear that you are in a vast amount of debt with Johnny Spanish an’ we all know what he did to the mother of his own child. Before you become irate again, Mr. Swede, think of it in terms of families. The family unit is the most important element in a strong culture. Forgive me, but the Irish family unit has been decimated with alcoholism, disease, the Great War, dissension and flight for many years now.” Sixto moves in his seat and speaks with both hands in the air. “Think of it in terms of weddings and funerals. Which do Irish experience more of in these neighborhoods?”

  I turn to Dinny. I know the answer: Funerals. I have never been to a wedding among our people, but I have attended many funerals. Especially during the war.

  “Let me finish. Secondly,” Sixto moves his presentation forward. “There is the Germanicus Complex.”

  “Huh?” Vincents asks from behind.

  “Have any of you ever heard of Germanicus?” Sixto asks the room.

  I look to Vincent and Dinny and The Swede, but none of us recognize the name.

  “Of course you haven’t,” Sixto’s voice is silken with courtesy as he speaks to Dinny directly. “In ancient times Germanicus was beloved by the people, like yourself. Germanicus was born into the Julio-Claudian patrician society of Rome and was adopted by his father’s uncle, Emperor Tiberius. With that, he became the heir to Rome. Fate had rolled out in front of him like a long red carpet and he was destined to one day rule all the land. He commanded many legions of the Roman Army and avenged previous defeats. All that he pursued, became his success. And we all know that nothing succeeds like success, and so his power accumulated. Everything he touched turned to gold and everywhere he went the people threw roses at his feet. On top of all his success, he treated the poor not with the disdain and fear that other Roman rulers had. No, he loved the poor people in their masses. He kissed lepers and yet never lost a limb. He hugged those who had the black death and did not once cough. He sent his personal finances to help the needy and paid particular attention to the mothers who had lost husbands and sons in battle, or were alone in the world. When he arrived in Rome after yet another winning campaign abroad, the streets overflowed to welcome him with adoring, fanatical followers. And what was Emperor Tiberious to make of all this love for his heir? He summoned Germanicus in front of the court and forced him to kneel and kiss his ring. But Germanicus made matters worse. Germanicus showed Tiberius great humility and swore him loyalty to his dying breath. An honorable, selfless act. Can there be anything more infuriating to the emperor of Rome than humility from his rival? Tiberius had lost on all fronts in the people’s eyes, so he sent Germanicus East. But Tiberius, stricken with jealousy, had a plan and promised to elevate the governor of Syria if he did his bidding. And so it was done. Germanicus was poisoned and died and the people of Rome never had the emperor they loved, no. Do you know what Rome got instead of the righteous a
nd beloved Germanicus?”

  None of us know the answer, and so we return the question with blank stares.

  “Rome received Caligula instead, the son of Germanicus, a sadist, sexually perverse and an extravagantly insane tyrant who was so maniacally self-centered that the world would never look back to the likes of Germanicus again. You are doomed, Dinny Meehan—”

  The Swede interrupts, “How many fookin’ times I gotta tell ya—”

  “You are doomed to be forgotten forever and your code of silence will conceal your wonderful intentions like a crypt so that the world will never know you. Your victors will write your history, but mostly you will receive the greatest slight anyone can offer; instead of writing about you at all, you will be ignored. Woe to the vanquished, as they say. But in the meantime, you may be of help. Right now there is a cancer in Red Hook, spreading death. This Pulcinella that you call Wild Bill Lovett butchered five of my friends last February when he appeared mysteriously out of the storm. He had murdered Sammy de Angelo and Il Maschio before that. Worst of all, he has taken the territory, breaching our agreement. The only way this situation can be resolved is to grant us our grievance with more territory.”

  “What are ya askin’?” Dinny responds coolly.

  “You and yours are hanging on by a thread and that thread is fraying fast. It would be a mercy if we snipped that thread by invading the Irish territories up to the Navy Yard and pushing you all into the East River so that Brooklyn can get serious about its future.”

  “Try it,” The Swede’s gaunt face shows he is keen for the challenge.

  “What are ya askin’,” Dinny’s voice hardens.

  “The price is all of Red Hook,” Sixto leans back. “It is a small price. Truly small, considering the vast majority of Red Hook is already settled by our people. All but the rich waterfront area. We will provide support from the South and East in an attack on Lovett while your faction of the White Hand attacks from the North.”

  “We are the only White Hand,” The Swede reminds.

  “And yet this Pulcinella claims the White Hand name for himself,” Sixto lowers an eye and wags a slow finger at Dinny. “Tell me this. Is it true Lovett sees himself as Vercingetorix reborn?”

  I look to Dinny as I had not heard that myself.

  “That he determines his policy based on druidic signs due to ancient connections between the trees and the moon? Relies on a whisperer and sends shadows out to do his bidding? If he sees himself as Vercingetorix reborn, is it not the Italian that he centers his own personal vendetta against since it was an Italian, Julius Caesar who defeated Vercingetorix?”

  “I ain’t responsible for what Lovett thinks,” Dinny says. “Ever since he came back from the war, he’s been, I dunno. Different.”

  “There are some who say you know exactly what you are doing. That you make a big production about how your gang is split up in two, but send Pulcinella to take back Red Hook from us. This has lead some to believe that you are behind it all. I have even heard it said that you have dispatched two murderers under the auspices of being banished. That Harry Reynolds and Tanner Smith are killer bees sent from atop Irishtown to attack down in the honeycombed tenements and factories along the waterfront areas to exact your own brand of law, is this true?”

  “If ya not my enemy, then ya have nothin’ to worry for,” Dinny answers.

  Sixto reaches across to his father and touches the top of his hand. His father then nods back pridefully. Sixto then turns to Lucy, who pulls a cigar case out, withdraws one and hands it to Sixto.

  Sixto holds the cigar as if it were a treasured item and gently leans it on the edge of Dinny’s desk and speaks, “I don’t believe much in superstition either, but my people do. As do your own. In any case, here is our offer. Together we will crush the rebels in Red Hook and the new border will move from the Gowanus Canal to Union Street. Everything north is yours, everything south is ours. Some will die. Many will be hurt, but the threat to you will be removed. Agree to this plan and Frankie Yale, even Paul Vaccarelli, will be contented and this egregious disrespect offered to our people will be forgotten and righted. All you have to do is pick up that cigar and light it. We will shake hands and eat like kings. And most importantly, a war between the Black Hand and the White Hand will be averted.”

  Take it. Pick up the cigar and light it, I think to myself. We have no choice. Irishtown is under siege and needs its allies.

  The Swede chuckles, “Ya owe ya success to Thos Carmody an’ us for makin’ that agreement that brought us together. But wouldn’t it be funny if the first thing ya ever did, is the best thing ya ever do? Or the only thing ya ever did?”

  The Young Turk sits back in his chair. His father mumbles something to him in Italian, but Sixto only twists the rings on his fingers, then holds a pinky up in the air to await Dinny’s response.

  “Ya’ve done well for ya’self, Sixto. When last we jawed ya had not yet supplanted ya father. I hear ya take after Frankie Yale more than ya father an’ ya’ve gone into business down by the cemetery. Funeral parlor, I hear. Is that how ya wash all that dirty money ya make in prostitution? I hear ya keep ya top earners locked up in a room above it”

  “I can promise you that Frankie Yale and I are excellent undertakers,” Sixto warns with a cunning smile.

  “It’s a dyin’ industry,” Vincent cuts in awkwardly from the door.

  “I like that one,” Sixto turns and smiles at Vincent, “That reminds me. I want one more thing added to our offer. I want Vin as well.”

  The Swede scowls, “The fuck’s wrong wit’ ya? Ya can’t have him.”

  “As part of this deal, I want you to give me Vin as a gift,” he turns back to Dinny. “Vin is very popular in South Brooklyn and his Irish heart doesn’t bleed through the waistcoat like the rest of you. At the Adonis, he would be in my employ.”

  “More like a prisoner,” The Swede says.

  “He is much more appreciated by my people than your own, isn’t that right Vin?” Sixto turns in his seat and all eyes are on Vincent, who turns a shame-faced frown away from everyone.

  “Ya knew about this request beforehand?” The Swede demands of Vincent.

  “I don’ have nothin’ to do wit’ nothin’,” Vincent pleads. “A guy can ask for whatever he likes, but I’m Patrick Kelly. Always have been.”

  Behind everyone, Dinny speaks, “Ya won’t ever have Vincent.”

  “Such a shame, he is quite a specimen.”

  “Fookin’ sausage lovers,” The Swede growls and throws his lone good hand in the air at the Italians.

  “This one over here is very quiet and oozing with innocence,” Sixto points at me with curiosity in his eyes. “You should let him speak more. I believe he is in favor of our offer.”

  Dinny lazily says, “Ya can’t have him either. Anyhow, it’s my turn to talk.”

  “You have the floor,” Sixto allows a curtsy from the chair in front of the desk.

  Just pick up the cigar, Dinny. Just do it.

  “What we have here is a difference in values,” Dinny folds his hands and leans back, distancing himself from the offered cigar. “We want only what’s ours. Wit’ that bein’ said, ya’ve overlooked our ways. In fact most people would say ya attempt to subvert it,” Dinny’s face darkens.

  “How have I offended?” Sixto requests.

  “Our people have for thousands o’ years sought an honorable way to resolve disputes between factions. But even though we were uprooted, we have kept our traditions. Bill Lovett an’ I have a difference an’ we have decided to resolve it in a way that ya do not care to honor.”

  “A fistfight? That’s what honor is?”

  “In an honorable world, the fist is mightier than the gun. An’ ya would have me invade Bill Lovett from the North before even we can have a chance to resolve our issues, our way.”

  “Listen—”

  “Two things,” Dinny interrupts again. “First thing’s this Scarfaced Al fella? Ya better get him the he
ll outta Brooklyn. That’s a warnin’ I won’t bother to say twice. Bill knows the big boy has been tasked wit’ takin’ him down. Bill has his men on reconnaissance as we speak an’ his lieutenants are devisin’ a counterattack. Ya got a few days. I know the man is a tough fighter an’ smart as a whip. Don’ matter though, no one plays as tough as Wild Bill Lovett, an’ there is no one in all o’ Brooklyn that can fight like Richie Lonergan can.”

  “Pegleg,” Lucy growls.

  “Except ya’self,” The Swede says. “No one’s ever beat ya.”

  “Two,” Dinny points two fingers into the desk. “We have a common enemy, ya’self an’ I, which is what brought us together in the first place. An’ it took a smart guy like Thos Carmody to get us both under the ILA banner. Our common enemy is Jonathan G. Wolcott an’ the Waterfront Assembly,” he picks up the cigar and Sixto hands him a pack of matches.

  “What is your counter offer? Name it? If you have a hard time justifying the loss of all of Red Hook, ask me for something in return. Ask me to take care of your debt with Johnny Spanish. Ask me to help you expunge the charges that loom over your head. Name the price.”

  “The price is Wolcott.”

  Sixto turns round to his father, then back to Dinny, “What would you have us do?”

  “Go to every business in South Brooklyn and burn down those that are on this list,” Dinny produces a piece of paper and hands it to Sixto.

  The Turk runs a pinky vertically down the paper, “These are all major businesses with executives that put big numbers on our racket games, spend large quantities of money at the Adonis and hire us as Starkers to take care of personal problems. All the graft we would lose—”

  The Swede butts in, “From kidnappin’ their fam’ly members for ransom?”