“But. . . but where is Neesha?”
He is caught between the darkness o’ the past an’ the light o’ the future. But his soul does not writhe. It is as pure as a cloud in a mountain shroud. . . Inside the hope o’ the future king.
“Who is the future king?”
In life Neesha was the golden child, the prince an’ heir to Irishtown, the old man’s tone becomes formal and salutary. T’was his fate to become king, an’ yers to be queen, but t’was fate that was taken. Ye, only ye Anna, can reclaim him. For now he lives inside the pale blue, see-through eyes o’ yer elder kin, as t’was he who took yer love’s fate. Neesha vowed ya his soul an’ asked ya to lead the way, remember? Only ye can save him now, Anna. Only ye can save us all! With that ring ye can reclaim his soul an’ fulfill his ascension, but if ye forsake trust and renounce love, ye will fail an’ the archons will win. We will all fail unless ye trust yer instincts an’ crown him, King o’ Irishtown!
“An’ what will you get outta it?” Anna sneers. “What am I savin’ you from?”
The old man struggles to stand from his rocker, then raises his hands as the wind catches his words and whisks him away.
To revive this story for to tell.
“Wait!”
Keep going for a sneak preview of the next book (if there is a next book)
An Enduring Labor Solution
July 1919
Jonathan G. Wolcott blushes as he steps up to the stage and the oak podium as a string quartet lay their bows across laps and gently clap into gloved hands.
The room stands in unison to applaud the President of the Waterfront Assembly for his greatest accomplishment.
“It’s been a long-time coming,” Daniel Culkin hears the fat man yell into the crowd. “A long, long time.”
Next to Daniel, Dead Reilly leans into Patrolman Ferris’ ear, “He looks like he’s gonna cry.”
Just as the applause begin to die down, it strikes up again when one of the Board of Directors, Mr. Vandeleurs yells out, “Bravo, well done, sir!”
Daniel rolls his eyes, You’d think we were in church for as many times we have to stand up to give praise.
The smell of new-carpet mixed with brass polish and window cleaner comes to his nose as he waits for everyone to stop clapping. An architect and contractor had been hired to renovate the room on the bottom floor of the Empire Stores building to celebrate the victory.
Well in advance of their arrival, a red carpet had been rolled out over the sidewalk and into the cobbled Main Street where carriages delivered well-fed, middle-aged men and women clad in palatial gowns and stately garb. Daniel had never seen anything so ridiculous.
A caterer had been hired as well, and a staff of tuxedo-clad servants and coat-checkers from an exclusive Lower Manhattan club. They were contracted for the day to serve the four-course meal on shimmering silver platters. All members and their wives even had to choose their lunch two weeks in advance from an a la carte menu.
Each seat has its own rare crystal rocks glass, six-piece silver utensil setting and napkins that are folded into the shape of a white swan. Even the ice water is served in wine glasses.
Five executive tables made of solid wood had been bought and brought in through the arched, iron doors solely for this occasion. They are lined vertically in front of the stage and podium so that all Daniel can see from behind are rows of balding crowns and graying buns with rolls of neck fat pinched upward by collars and coats in the shape of packaged white sausages.
Upon inspection three days before the event, the scent of rotting summer garbage came to the fat man’s nose. And so he sprung into action. He hired a team of White Wings from the Sanitation Department to clear out areas along the water where trash rolled in the tide. As a stipulation to their contract, they were required to work overnight before the gala to remove any and all trash cans within a square distance of four whole blocks.
Out the arched brick windows, beyond Wolcott and the chamber quartet, a skiff lists west toward the Brooklyn Bridge in the East River summer breeze.
“It’s horseshit we gotta sit in the back row,” Daniel growls at Charles Pakenham on his right who scribbles on a notepad busily. “We’re the ones out there fightin’. We should be up on that stage introducin’ Wolcott. At least I should be.”
When Pakenham finishes his note, he puts his pen down and turns to Daniel, “Is it true Harry Reynolds escaped?”
Daniel’s hands ball up into fists, “Ya’re not gonna put that in the paper, are ya?”
Pakenham shrugs, “Tomorrow all the gang members will be arraigned in front of Judge Denzinger. Except Reynolds. The public will know by then.”
“No they won’t. He’s got no fam’ly. No one cares about a fookin’ motherless rowdy, so no one will know if he ain’t there ‘cause no one even knows he exists.”
“The Coal Hole Robber,” Pakenham says, recalling a headline from the year 1905. “It was my first year as a beat reporter. He was stealing through the coal holes, sneaking up through the fireplaces in the basements an’ picking tenement door locks, then quietly creeping into bedrooms and stealing little valuables to resell in pawnshops. He would’ve never been caught if he didn’t leave coal soot all over his bedsheets at St. John’s School for Boys. I was there when Judge Denzinger sentenced him to Elmira. That’s where he met—”
“Dinny Meehan, I know the story.”
Pakenham smirks at Daniel, “My editor will want a quote from the lead investigator of Brosnan’s death after the arraignment. Especially if they’re released.”
When he hears those words, Daniel feels the pain rush up from his groin again where Kit Carroll had made him repent for his sins a few days ago. She had bound his cock and balls in the leather strings of a cat o’ nine tails so tightly that his gentiles had turned a blueish purple. The gag he had given her stopped him from crying out and if he moved too quickly, it would touch the back of his throat, causing great discomfort and fear of choking. But that was not enough. No. She then took his blackjack and raked his bound testicles so that the lead ball crushed them. After the tenth time she undid the gag.
Through the tears of groin and abdominal pain, Daniel said, “More, I’ve been really bad lately. I have to get better. I can’t carry this weight. Ya gotta make me pay, Kit. Please, make me pay.”
Daniel turns his eyes up to the cheerful fat man who is soaking up his victory. Then a champagne cork pops and Daniel jumps out of his seat.
Harry? Is that you?
“What’s wrong?” Patrolman Ferris says with one hand on his revolver.
“Jesus Culkin, sit down,” Pakenham complains.
“Shaddup, you.”
Father Larkin leans on his staff and turns to look back at Daniel too.
Mind your own business, priest.
As the applause again dies down, Wolcott’s tremulous gut clenches as he raises his voice so all can hear him.
“First, let us thank our host, my former employer; the New York Dock Company.”
Again with the applause, jeez.
“Now if you will allow me to thank the speakers that preceded me this afternoon,” Wolcott clears his throat and steps aside to extend a stubby arm to a man sitting behind him on a leather Queen Mary wing chair. “First; our keynote speaker. A Brooklyn-born genius and National Academy of Sciences member, Dr. Charles B. Davenport.”
Again the applause builds up, then dies down.
“Dr. Davenport, with funding from the Carnegie Institution of Washington, has completed the most groundbreaking research at the Station for Experimental Evolution. His findings have informed us immensely. We thank you Dr. Davenport for you wise words this day.”
Again the many men on the executive table drop their cigars in their mouths, or in crystal ashtrays to clap and shout out polite encouragements, while their wives share smiles and whisper to each other.
“Hear, hear!”
“I also must recognize our guest speaker. Mrs. Marian K. Clark, Chief Inv
estigator of the New York Bureau of Industries and Immigration. Her tireless advocacy for the deportation and sterilization of defective aliens will help us create a healthier America.
“Two other groups that we invited in to give information must be underscored as well. The National Americanization Committee has done incredible work compelling immigrants and their children to assimilate, creating conformity to American patriotism and loyalty to our national ideals.
“And finally, please help me in thanking Eleanor Allerton of the Woman’s Christian Temperance League. With her great work, along with many others comes a truly remarkable, extraordinary occasion when by this time next year, alcohol will cease to be a great determinate in worker accidents, harlotry and inefficiency.”
A final round of applause echoes through the room as pudgy fists pound on the tables. Unwittingly, the hired staff even clap into their white-gloved hands if only to join the momentum.
Outside, through the arched windows Daniel sees a dark figure amidst the working men near the Fulton Ferry Landing.
Who is that? Is he wearing a mask? My god, what have I done?
As the sound in the room dies down, Wolcott smiles humbly and shuffles hidden papers on the podium in front of him, then looks up.
“The future,” he begins with a long pause.
artofneed.com
Other Characters (in alphabetical order)
Sammy de Angelo - Black Hand assassin, murdered by Lovett 1917
James Behan - Trench Rabbit, Petey’s older brother
Boru - Mr. Campbell’s horse
Henry Browne - Red Donnelly’s righthand, Thos Carmody informant
Joseph Burke - Thomas Burke’s disabled son
Giovanni Buttacavoli - Lucy’s cousin, murdered by The Swede 1915
Mr. Campbell - Boru owner, lives across street from Meehan brownstone
James Cleary - Garry fookin’ Barry’s lone crony
Johanna Connolly née Walsh - Wife of Cinders, Spy
Costello - Member of the Marginals, Tanner Smith follower
Freddie Cuneen - Whitehander, best friends with Eddie Hughes
Dierdre - Tulla farm dog
The Dropper - Manhattan shylock, labor slugger
Needles Ferry - Drug addict
Abigail Abby Garrity - Liam’s sister
Brigid Garrity - Liam’s sister
Da Garrity - Fenian, Liam’s father
Joseph Garrity - Liam’s dead uncle
Mam Garrity - Liam’s mother
Timothy Garrity - Liam’s older brother
The Gas Drip Bard - Irishtown shanachie
The Ghost God - ?
James Hart - Teamster truck driver, quarantined with the grippe
Sean Healy - Trench Rabbit, Frankie Byrne follower
Quiet Higgins - Whitehander, died in WWI
Biddy Hoolihan - Blind woman at Irishtown tavern
Hotelier - Owner of Rockville Centre, Long Island hotel
Ragtime Howard - Whiskey drunkard at Dock Loaders’ Club
Eddie Hughes - Whitehander, best friends with Freddie Cuneen
Mayor Red Mike Hylan - Mayor of New York
Gimpy Kafferty - Whitehander, died in WWI
Mickey Kane - Cousin of Dinny Meehan, Murdered by Lovett in 1919
Paddy Keenan - Bartender at Dock Laoders’ Club, Minister of Education
Feeble Philip Large - Cinders Connolly’s righthand
Lefty - Member of the Marginals, Tanner Smith follower
Celia Leighton - Frank Leighton’s wife
Colleen Rose Leighton - Darby & Ligeia’s baby
Frank Leighton - Darby’s older brother, Sadie’s cousin, Thos Carmody informant
Pickles Leighton - Darby’s brother, in Sing Sing since 1913
Rose Leighton - Sadie’s mother, Darby’s aunt
John Lonergan - Anna/Richie father, former Yake Brady enforcer
Tiny Thomas & Ellen Lonergan - Died from infection & grippe, respectively
Willie Lonergan - Anna/Richie younger brother
Honora Lynch - Wife of tavern keeper
Mr. Lynch - Tavern keeper, Greenwich Village
Happy Maloney - One-legged World War I vet, Sadie’s escort
Il Maschio - Former Black Hand leader, murdered by Lovett 1916
Christie The Larrikin Maroney - Former Brooklyn gang leader
Charles McGowan - Former Meehan righthand, murdered in Sing Sing, 1915
Emma McGowan - Liam’s first love, died of Spanish Influenza in 1918
Chisel McGuire - Flimflam man, singer & barker
John L’il Dinny Meehan - Sadie’s son
Dago Tom Montague - half-Irish/Italian Whitehander
Big Dick Morissey - The Lark’s righthand
Motshan - Master of Ceremonies, gypsy king
Johnny Mullen - Whitehander, WWI vet, father of Whyo, died of grippe 1918
Widow Mullen - Widow of Johnny, Mother of Whyo and Vincent’s child
Mrs. O’Flaherty - Lived above Lonergan bicycle shop, original Irishtown settler
Timmy Bucks Quilty - Trench Rabbit, former Lonergan Crew member
James Quilty - Trench Rabbit, Timmy’s older brother
Miko O’Dea - Liam’s childhood friend in Tulla
Jidge Seaman - Trench Rabbit, Frankie Byrne follower
Shanachie - Itinerant storyteller in Ireland
Silverman - Wolcott’s thug murdered by Vincent & Thos in 1916
Whitey & Baron Simpson - Whitehanders, died in WWI
La Sorrisa - Italian recruiter of prostitutes
Johnny Spanish - Manhattan shylock, labor slugger, gave loan to Tanner Smith
Tommy Tuohey - Irish gypsy, Liam mentor, murdered by Lovett 1917
For more art, character backstories, the Divide the Dawn soundtrack
and more:
artofneed.com
Divide the Dawn- Fight Page 64
