The Fighting O'Keegans Read online

  First and foremost stood O’Keegan and just behind him the more visibly threatening Flannery. The last few days had seen a change in both of them. For Flannery, gone was the man they had all hated, in his place a lieutenant that had shrugged off the spite and anger he had walked with since the journey began, almost a new man.

  It was obvious to all that Flannery was changed, convinced like only the reformed can be that all of his questions could be answered by O’Keegan.

  O’Keegan too was noticeably different, find comfort in his new position, a leader.

  The land of opportunity had given these men the first real one in their lives before even reaching the shore - O’Keegan and Flannery. They seized it.

  Now within a few feet of America, the dieing turbines told them their new home, their new country would soon be a few short strides down a ship’s gangplank.

  O’Keegan’s men stood together, the boiler room quiet, the ship arriving.

  Chapter 12

  The boiler room supervisor made his first real appearance since they had left England. Walking down the metal steps from above, he held a small canvas bag perched on his shoulder, a blue with a sneeze of gold to signify his minor station in the ship’s hierarchy.

  He was not a man that impressed, squat and running to fat, his brass buttons fighting with the tension placed upon them by his rounded paunch.

  Walked behind him was an even smaller, uglier, bulldog of a man who made the supervisor look handsome in comparison, arms built through years of work, designed to threaten through their sheer tug rope size and texture.

  ‘Welcome to America boys. As you can hear, we’ve arrived and made good time. You’ve all worked well. As promised, I have your wages here’ He patted the small canvas bag.

  ‘Now, the deal that you all agreed to was that you would work you way here and at the end of it all, you’d have earned thirty bucks and a new life in America. You’ve kept your side of the bargain, we’ll keep ours.’

  He put his hand into the bag and began to pull out thin, thumb smudged packets, passing them to each of the men in turn. It wasn’t long before calloused fingers held their still sealed envelopes.

  The supervisor waited, expecting each man to look inside at their first American money, just like every other ship of losers that had come to America in the same way.

  Then, as they all agreed, every one of them walked over to O’Keegan giving him their unopened wages. The supervisor looked on with shock as they gave up everything they had sweat to earn.

  O’Keegan reached out slowly sliding the canvas bag off the Supervisor’s shoulder before carefully placing each envelope back inside then hanging it from his own shoulder. Flannery stood grinning, watching it all happening, realising in that moment that he had made this happen, the new gap in his teeth glinting at the nervous Supervisor as Flannery eyed up the bulldog man that was the Supervisor protection.

  ‘What else do you have to tell us?’ O’Keegan spoke directly to the Supervisor knowing that this wasn’t quiet the end of the story.

  The Supervisor looked uncomfortable, he had never seen anything like this, normally men just took their cash, tripping over themselves to get off the ship and find the closest gin joint.

  What the hell had happened? The Supervisor was sure it had been Flannery not O’Keegan who had kept the men inline through threats and muscle, he hadn’t even noticed O’Keegan. He knew something else had happened here he just didn’t know what.

  The Supervisor’s nervousness intensified, he looked behind him to make sure his protection was close by, seeing him a few steps behind he swallowed, feeling more reassured, speaking with a little more confidence.

  ‘Tax…’

  ‘Tax?’ O’Keegan said

  ‘Yes, tax. I promised to pay you thirty dollars for your work and I have, but as you all know…’ he gave a weak grin. ‘…as you all know, you can’t escape paying the tax. That’s only reasonable right?’ He choked.

  ‘Okay, so you’re telling us that in each of these envelopes is not the thirty dollars you promised us - there’s less?’

  ‘Yes that’s right. I deducted tax. It’s the way of things …everyone needs to pay a little tax to someone to get by…’

  ‘So you deducted the ‘tax’ from our money… how much does that leave us?’

  ‘Well…the rate is 30%’

  O’Keegan thought about it for a second, ‘You took ten bucks, that right?’

  ‘Yes, er…that’s right’ The Supervisor check again that the bulldog was still plainly in sight, almost visibly reaching out to hold his hand. This time it was Flannery’s turn, not letting the Supervisor loose.

  ‘So where does that ten bucks go and what do we get for it?’

  The Supervisor swallowed, ‘Well, almost all of it goes to the people who control the docks.’

  Flannery’s playfully slapped his own forehead, ‘Ahhh, now we’re getting somewhere. The harbour master and the officials get our 30%. Is that right?’

  The Supervisors discomfort was physical, droplets of sweat appearing across his forehead, brushed away by his pudgy hand. ‘No…no, not exactly.’

  Flannery played with his mouse a little longer.

  ‘Not exactly?’

  ‘No, not exactly. I give the tax to the people who run the docks. The people that need to get paid before anything comes on or of these ships.’

  ‘..and they give you a little for your trouble too?’

  ‘Well, I do get a small payment for collecting the tax but as you say, it’s for my trouble.’

  ‘…and do you expect any trouble?’ Flannery grinned, looking the bulldog up and down.

  The supervisor stepped back to stand beside his bulldog. ‘Not often but as I said, this is just the way things work around here. You guys are new here and starting anything before you’ve even been let through immigration is not smart. Believe me.’

  ‘Oh, we do believe you. O’Keegan, what’s it to be?’

  ‘How much do you take for your ‘trouble’?’ O’Keegan asked.

  The Supervisor felt his panic surfacing, surprised his blue and gold braided cap meaning nothing here. It was obvious that these men only respected one, perhaps two powers of authority and that was O’Keegan and Flannery.

  The fact that these men had got behind O’Keegan as the leader and Flannery as the mouth meant he was dealing with all of them as one and whether or not he had brought the bulldog would not do much good if they decided to take back their money.

  The Supervisor shuffled, feeling trapped, on the one side were these guys not budging an inch, on the other the real power on the waterside, Meehan and his gang holding the docks through a cocked gun. Well, he had seen what Meehan could do to those who didn’t play by the rules, but these guys, O’Keegan and Flannery, they were here and now.

  ‘Look O’Keegan…Flannery, I don’t make the rules around here, I’m just a small guy that collects for them. If you have a beef, go take it up with them, I’m not you’re guy.’

  ‘Small guy’ Flannery chuckled to himself before O’Keegan answered the Supervisor’s real point.

  ‘That’s just what I want, I want you to be our guy.’

  Surprised, Flannery tilted his head, wanting to hear what O’Keegan was thinking. O’Keegan didn’t disappoint.

  ‘As far as I can see you’re holding our money. Some of it you’ll give to whoever runs the waterfront but some you’ll keep. Right now you have one hundred and eighty bucks of our money in your pocket. Okay?’

  The Supervisor squirmed, ‘Yes, that’s…true’

  ‘Well, Mr. Supervisor, I had to shovel two tons of coal while sweating out every drop of water I had in my body to earn less than twenty percent what you’re tax guys earnt. And what did you do for your money? You collected from us. And I’m guessing you collect money from all the poor bastards who work their hands raw on your ship.’

  The Supervisor started to stammer out a reply, but O’Keegan stepped on it before he could get out a
word.

  ‘After all that, you’re telling me I have to walk away with only twenty bucks because ‘that’s the way things work around here’. Am I wrong?’

  O’Keegan looked over at a few of the men that had spent the last few sentence to stand behind the bulldog. With a gentle upwards movement of his head, four of the men responded instantly, grabbing the bulldog’s arms from behind as they pulled him into a corner.

  The Supervisor looked around and watch his only lifeline being dragged away, now more sure than ever it had all gone very wrong. Turning back to O’Keegan and Flannery he waited for whatever was next, unsure if he was going to survive it.

  His eyes stretched wide as Flannery reached inside Flannery’s own leather belt, his fingers pulling out two knives, their small point length blades capped off by two silver handles.

  Flannery held them like it was the most natural thing in the world. Anyone that knew Flannery from the old days would not have been surprised, he had grown up in a tough part of London and had gained his reputation for being a two knife fighter, when there was a need. Where Flannery grew up, that was too often.

  As Flannery twisted and rolled the knives around his fingers, across his knuckles. Even O’Keegan was shocked, not that Flannery was prepared to slice the Supervisor, he had done that and more when his own fury had demanded it, the surprise was that Flannery hadn’t used them when they had fought each other that day before.

  Then O’Keegan grinned knowing Flannery had chosen to fight him fair and square, wanting to see who was the better man, he could have used them but instead had chosen to lose if it would unite them all.

  O’Keegan saw Flannery anew, he’d chosen the right partner. Coming back to the moment, O’Keegan stared into the Supervisor’s twitching eyes.

  ‘Want me to cut him?’ Flannery interrupted the look, bringing the knives up against the Supervisor’s throat.

  He grinned back at O’Keegan knowing full well O’Keegan had been thinking back to how their fight had gone, understanding for real now that Flannery had wanted their men to come behind a leader not to kill one.

  O’Keegan gave a saddened glance back, taking the Supervisor’s position seriously so he’d know that his life was close to forfeit.

  ‘Not yet Flannery. Not quiet yet.’ Taking the Supervisor’s chin in his large hand

  ‘We’re reasonable men. Aren’t we reasonable men Flannery?’ Flannery shrugged, suppressing a grin as an almost comic tick began to appear at the corner of the Supervisor’s eye. O’Keegan gently slapped the Supervisor’s face before he lost all control completely.

  ‘We’ll allow you to keep your head and the money in your pockets but you’ll need to earn it…just like we earnt it.’ The Supervisor gently nodded, careful not to bring his neck to close to the knives that Flannery still held to either side of his throat. O’Keegan continued.

  ‘I want three things from you. I want the name of the man who controls the waterfront. I want you to organize a meet. Last, when you have a ship of men working like us in your next boiler room, tell them about me, Flannery and my men here. Tell them they can have friends when they arrive. For those three things you get to keep breathing and our money. Fair?’

  ‘You want me to recruit men for you?’

  ‘Like I said, whoever works their way here, are welcome to find us and join us. I’m guessing you work this line every few weeks and have friends who do the same. Right? Right. So just to show no hard feelings, for every man that we take on, we’ll pay you and your friends for your ‘trouble’. I think that’s a generous deal don’t you?’

  The sense in what O’Keegan was proposing surprised Flannery. It’s true that they could all use the money the Supervisor had but getting more men quickly who needed work, protection and friends as they arrived, made more sense than the trouble of killing this guy even if a few bucks were involved. Flannery took the knives from the Supervisor’s throat and scratched an itch on his head with one of the hilts.

  Flannery had figured early that pulling these guys together could mean the difference between going solo and being eaten up and having a chance at a real future. Getting these boiler room guys to join together had been about as far as his plan had gone.

  But now Flannery was thinking…seeing a bigger chance that O’Keegan had seized on before any of them. Ship meant a stream of poor men looking for a future, it meant the Boiler Room boys could rival any gang out there. Every ship could bring them more and more men, and it wouldn’t be long before they would be a force that even the established guys would not be able to ignore. What a world it could be, Flannery finished his scratching, happy to let the Supervisor keep his few dollars.

  This time it was the Supervisor’s turn to be surprised, looking from O’Keegan to Flannery trying to see if this was some kind of joke.

  ‘You’ll pay me to tell more men to join you?’

  ‘That’s right. But if you tell the wrong people about us and we find some unexpected trouble from the locals first, you’ll not get any more money and second, Flannery here will carve the skin off your back in one piece. And I, Mr. Supervisor, will frame that skin and place it on my wall. We have an agreement?’

  His adam’s apple frantic, the Supervisor nodded, ‘We do Mr O’Keegan, you can trust me’, giving O’Keegan a wane smile.

  ‘Why don’t you let me worry about who I trust and who I don’t. Do you live in Boston?’

  A nod

  ‘…and are you married?’ Another nod.

  ‘Happy family?’ Again, the nod.

  ‘That’s nice, you have a photo?’

  The Supervisor was dipping into his jacket to pull out the wallet and family photo before he had a chance to consider. He passed it across to O’Keegan who smiled down at the photo of the Supervisor and two plump children.

  ‘A nice family you have…’ The Supervisor reached up for it, his hand left dangling as O’Keegan slide it inside his own jacket.

  ‘Now I know I can trust you, we understand each other?’

  The Supervisor dropped his hand carelessly at his side realising what he’d just done.

  ‘Yes’. The Supervisor near whispered.

  ‘Good. Now runs the waterfront?’

  ‘ Meehan’. He mumbled.

  ‘…and can you organize a meeting between me, Flannery and this Meehan?’

  ‘Well, I can ask but I can’t promise anything.’

  Flannery brought the knife back up to the Supervisor’s throat and without effort cut him just below the jawbone, little more than a shaving cut but the point was made.

  The Supervisor brought his hand up to his throat in fear looking at the blood smeared across his fingertips, looking over to the Bulldog who was tightly tied up with a few of O’Keegan’s men.

  O’Keegan followed the Supervisor’s eyes over to the corner, then smiled, ‘Show him this and tell him that you DID promise. We don’t ask a favour twice. I’ll expect you to have it sorted out in the next forty eight hours… we understand each other?’

  The Supervisor gave his last nod before scampering back up the metal rungs, sucking in a treasured lungful of air as he surface back into a world of sunlight.

  Chapter 13

  The ship disembarked. They shuffled through the poking, prodding of the immigration gauntlet, O’Keegan, Flannery and the rest of them walking along the welcoming line, the do-gooder food hand outs wrapped in voting papers, promoting one candidate or another.

  Finding themselves a spot just outside of the immigration hall, O’Keegan stood to the side of the group, attempting to size up the eighteen men that stood milling around waiting to hear what O’Keegan had to say.

  Noticed the tired and nervous looks he knew he had taken on a new kind of responsibility when he beat Flannery, agreeing to be their leader.

  ‘Men, I know all of you are tired and will probably be happy to never see another piece of coal in your life.’ He smiled and the men laughed for the first time since as long as they could remember.


  ‘I also know that most of you, me included, would like nothing better than to take the cash that I have here and find the closest bar’. Again he looked around as they laughed, hearing the yes’s from each of them.

  ‘Well that’s what every poor soul does when they get here and what good does it do them? All they have end up with is a painful head, red eyes and empty pockets.’ No laughter now but as it sunk in many of the men repeated a more muted set of ‘yes’s’.

  ‘We’re going to do things different. We all know America doesn’t owe us any favours, no one does and we won’t expect any. We’ll make our own luck. They may say this place is paved with gold but they’re full of shit.’ He waited for this to sink in.

  ‘This is the way I see it and if anyone sees it differently then they’re welcome to leave now, no hard feelings but this is it, this is where you make your decision. Maybe it all looks different to you in the daylight? But once you’re in there’s no out.’

  O’Keegan looked around at the other faces making sure he spoke to each man in turn.

  ‘You have three choices.’ Raising his finger to count off the first.

  ‘Go your own way and take whatever life throws at you. But there are people who have been here a hell of a lot longer than you. They have their friends and their own ways of making their money. Perhaps in a week or two you can find yourself a small job and over time you can make yourself a small life.’

  Raising finger number two.

  ‘Next, you can try join of the gangs. They might take you on, they might not. Who knows? You might join the right one, you might not. You might end up dead quick or you might not. You’re a stranger here, how are you going to know if you’re doing the right thing with the right people? You don’t.’

  Third finger, all eyes riveted to each of them as O’Keegan spoke.

  ‘The third way is that we all work together, one family. We each got friends, we’re each smart in our own way and we’ve known each other up close. Working together we can make our own family. We can find out everything we need too know, who we need to work with and who’s weak. Who we can muscle and who we can’t.’