Tell Them I'll Be There (10 page)

‘Why do people do these things?' Tim asked.

‘Well,' Father Pat said, ‘in O'Connor's case I reckon it's because he suspects Declan is not really his. The lad doesn't look 
like anyone in their family and, despite Mrs O'Connor protesting her innocence, every now and then this great eejit flies into a rage and beats her up.'

Mrs O'Connor was in alone when Father Pat knocked on her open door. She looked up and smiled and Tim saw that her once pretty face was clearly disfigured. Her nose had been broken at some time and right now there was a bruise over her left eye.

‘Angie!' Father Pat exclaimed. ‘How are you?'

‘Fine, Father,' she said. ‘Just fine.' She held up a roll of cloth. ‘Lots of work in.'

‘Good, good, pleased to hear it,' the priest said. ‘This is my new assistant – Tim.'

‘Father Tim?' she asked.

‘Not yet,' he said. ‘Just Tim for now. Thought we'd say hello. Now where's O'Connor? I want a word with him.'

Mrs O'Connor's eyes registered alarm. ‘Oh no, Father. Please. There's no need. He's fine right now.'

‘Where is he, Angela? He has to be told.'

‘I don't know,' she said. ‘He was outside, on the stoop.'

And before she could protest further the priest said, ‘See you at Mass on Sunday and don't you worry about a thing.'

Tim nodded and smiled at Mrs O'Connor and followed his mentor out and down the bare stairway. ‘Doesn't seem like a woman taken in adultery,' he ventured.

‘Sure and you'd have an affair if you was married to a great bonehead like O'Connor,' Father Pat said.

‘She seems like a nice lady,' Tim said.

‘And so she is. But according to the gossips – and we've plenty of them, Timothy, so we have – our friend Angela got into a little trouble one time over some Christmas hamper she was buying. O'Connor was working at the yards then and giving her a little help to pay for it. This slimy kike was collecting
instalments
by the week but Angie O'Connor had not been able to keep up with the payments. Declan has two older sisters and they were little girls in those days. They were expecting this big hamper for Christmas so, the story is, Angie paid the man in kind. And that's why Declan's birthday is early in September.' 

‘Sounds like malicious gossip to me,' Tim said.

Father Pat looked at him sharply. ‘All right. So it could be just gossip and I shouldn't be repeating it. But if you want to get to know the people you need to know all this background stuff. And anyway, the fact is, this used to be one of the little kike's best rounds and we ain't seen him since Declan arrived.'

Assholes? Kikes? thought Tim as they emerged from the alley. They don't sound like words your parish priest should be using. But then, Father Pat was no ordinary parish priest.

O'Connor was coming back from wherever he'd been. He was large and untidy, bleary-eyed and unshaven, with a
crumpled
workshirt open to the waist displaying his hairy chest. He was not especially tall, but he had big hands and long muscly arms with bulging shoulders.

Father Pat stopped him in his tracks. ‘O'Connor!' he bellowed and the big man froze. ‘I want a word with you.'

O'Connor looked from Father Pat to Tim and back.

With a few brisk steps Father Pat confronted him
threateningly
. ‘Do you want to die? Is that it?'

O'Connor looked down at the little priest. It seemed to Tim that the man could swat Father Pat with one sweep of his hand. Yet O'Connor cowered back as if genuinely scared.

‘One more go at Angie and you're dead. The boys will be round and they'll be scraping you off the sidewalk. An' that's a promise. They'll batter you so's you never wake up. Have you got that?'

O'Connor looked at him stupidly.

Father Pat stepped up even closer. ‘I said, “Have you got that?”'

O'Connor backed off. ‘Yeah, yeah.'

‘Final warning,' the priest said. ‘All right?' And again, ‘All right?'

‘Yeah, yeah,' O'Connor said.

‘Get out of my sight,' Father Pat said with a jerk of his head. ‘And get a job, you idle bastard.'

O'Connor slunk away as Father Pat and Tim watched him 
go. ‘Useless sod,' the priest said, and he looked at Tim as if he'd forgotten he was there.

Tim was smiling. This was a new one. The hoodlum priest with the colourful language.

‘It's all people like him understand,' Father Pat said.

 
D
AN WAS EARLY
again that second morning at the office but Lois and Harry were already busy at their desks. He raised a hand in greeting and went through into Joe Baker's office where he sat at the desk he had been allocated. Nothing in the drawers, nothing on the desk, not even a pen. Today, he thought, maybe Baker would give him something to do.

The door opened and Paul Merrick came in. Without a glance at Dan he went to Joe Baker's big desk and dropped some papers in the in-tray Then he turned to leave but Dan stood up.

‘Mr Merrick,' he said.

Merrick paused at the door and looked back, his hand on the door handle, his face without expression.

‘I …' Dan began. ‘I just want to say, I get the feeling there's – I don't know – a sort of atmosphere here. You don't seem too happy to have me around.'

Merrick didn't deny it.

‘If that is so,' Dan said, ‘I'd like to know why and what, if anything, I can do about it.'

‘You are working with Mr Baker,' Merrick said at last. ‘Let us keep it that way.'

‘Well,' Dan said, ‘the thing is, I don't know why the hell I'm here or what I'm supposed to do. I expect both you and Mr Baker have forgotten more than I'll ever know about the stock market so I thought maybe you would put me right if I go wrong. I'd like us to get along, Mr Merrick. I mean, I don't know anybody, I don't have any friends. The last thing I need is enemies.' 

Merrick shrugged.

Dan smiled and held out a hand. ‘Dan Dolan.'

Merrick seemed to need a second or so to think about it then he relented and shook Dan's hand. It was a brief business-like handshake, lacking in warmth. But at the door he looked back. ‘You had better call me Paul.'

Dan nodded and smiled. Progress, he thought.

Joe Baker came in. ‘Morning, Daniel. Ready for the lion's den?'

‘Sure am, Mr Baker,' Dan responded and soon he was striding as before to keep up with Baker's short brisk steps.

‘You know something, Dan,' Joe Baker said, not even short of breath. ‘There's something going on and I'm not sure what.'

There was a change in the air, he tried to explain. Echoes of the war were fading fast and the whole country was gripped by a new feeling of prosperity. Everyone seemed to be a bit better off than they were last year and things were getting better. On the Avenue,
Fifth
Avenue, on Madison and certainly along Broadway, people seemed to have a spring in their step.

Dan knew what he meant. There was music everywhere, a crazy rhythm. Crotchets and minims seemed to dance out of doorways and fill the air with the infectious bounce of the Charleston, the Shimmy and the Black Bottom. Song sheets rolled off the presses and spread their words as every day a new breed of popular songwriter, underwriting the buoyant mood of the people, came up with something new.

New goods filled the shops. Washing machines and
refrigerators
, gadgets galore, with bigger and better advertisements to announce their arrival. Radios were in great demand with broadcast news and entertainment from far and wide. And all this added up to a new awareness. A pretty face could sell a thousand products and now, at long last, the older generation was forced to acknowledge there was such a thing as sex.

Girls cast off their drab heavy dresses and took to wearing the new slimline skirts cut just below the knee. They bobbed their hair and wore make-up and turned a deaf ear to their critics. They had won the vote. They could do as they liked and 
they did, captivated and seduced by the blandishments of a newly empowered advertising industry. From every vantage point big bold advertisements beamed invitations: ‘See what wonders await you at our brand new store.' And reprovals: ‘Still using that old wash tub? Throw it out! Throw everything out! Start again.'

Shoppers were shamed into realizing they needed toothpaste, perfume and skincare products, longer eyelashes, redder lips and rouged cheeks and, most of all, smart new clothes. And with a down payment of just a few dollars or sometimes no down payment at all the average American could buy a new car or a new home on the instalment plan. And there was something even newer to engage and dazzle the populace. For the first time in history the old and the young, the worker and the housewife were actually
buying
stock. Stocks were rising in value by the day or by the hour and people who had never dreamed of owning a stake in a prospering company were rushing to buy. Cab drivers, bellboys, waiters, stenographers, shopgirls – all of them eager for a piece of the spiralling bonanza. The paper gold rush was on.

‘It's boom time,' Joe Baker told Dan. ‘There's big money to be made and there's big money to be lost. And that's OK. The trouble is, there's
small
money to be lost. Too many newcomers, ordinary people who can't afford to lose are risking their life savings, their homes, everything. And that's a problem. It's storing up trouble.'

‘But the radio, newspapers – we're being told things are good,' Dan said, ‘and they're going to get better.'

‘Maybe,' Baker said. ‘But too many people are buying blind. They don't know what they're buying. We don't do that, Dan. Take Radio. This is something everyone wants. Better still, something everyone
needs
. It's a good, solid investment. Even so, we've got to keep an eye on that investment. If we get a sniff something better is coming along we've got to be the first to know about it.'

‘Something better than radio?' Dan queried.

‘You never know,' Baker said. ‘Some nutty professor might be inventing something new in his back room right now.' 

‘So what do we do?'

‘We keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground. Never discount a rumour until we've checked it out.'

‘And what do
I
do?'

‘Ah,' Baker said. ‘The way we work is this. Something big like General Motors or Radio comes along and we buy into that in a big way. Knowing what to buy and when is important, yes. But we always keep a close check. Knowing when to sell is essential.

‘Now, we go for the big stuff like radios and cars, sure we do. But our business was built on spotting future winners and it still is. That's what we do. We look out for the genuine company with a solid long-term product. Then we go see them, see how they operate. We find out if they are open to investment and, if so, how open. I prefer to deal with small closed outfits who need just one backer. If we like what we see we buy in and grow with 'em. If things change and they run into trouble, sometimes we'll stay with 'em, sometimes we'll call in our investment.

‘Once you get the hang of this place,' he said, waving an arm over the Stock Exchange floor, ‘I'll send you out on a few jobs. I don't know where yet. We operate all over the country.' He laughed. ‘One way to see America, son. I send you to meet the board or the boss of some growing outfit, tell you what to look for. You look at the product, you look at the premises and you look at the work-force. Then you come home, make a report and we discuss what you got.'

‘Sounds good,' Dan said.

‘Lots of travelling, couple of nights in some hotel, maybe more, and you've got to make your mind up fast about people you never met before. Think you can handle that?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good. We'll talk about this some more. Right now I want to check out US Steel. So let's see what's new at Post 2.'

Arnie's was a theatre club on Canal Street. It was also one of the many illicit drinking joints that had sprung up and proliferated with the advent of Prohibition. The long low wooden building 
had been a neighbourhood bar. Now it was, officially, a stone dry variety club, a place of entertainment, though everyone, including the police knew it was a place to buy and consume bootleg liquor.

Patrons were carefully vetted and, if admitted, they were handed a slip of paper with the title of a popular song. Drinks, mostly gin, would be served in teacups and if the three-piece band at any time during the evening struck up this song it was the signal to drain your cup, drink up fast. Arnie's was about to be raided. This week's song was
Yes, we have no bananas
.

The poster outside promised an ‘All Star Cast' but Michael and Nathan, listed as the Dolan Brothers, found the only other ‘star' that night was a ripe old stripper billed as ‘Legs Akimbo'. Michael was the first to meet the lady. The house manager had pointed him towards a dressing-room down a dingy corridor but when he opened the door he was met by a stream of abuse and a high-heeled shoe that narrowly missed his head.

The stripper refused to let them in and they had to settle for a tiny table and two chairs by the stage.

‘She's got a point,' Nathan said. ‘We can't share a dressing room with a lady.'

‘She's a stripper, for God's sake,' Michael said. ‘What would we see that she won't be showing on stage?'

The audience at Arnie's was nothing like the audience at the Irish Club. The house manager was not the only gorilla
looka-like
. Half the men at the tables looked as though they had done a mass breakout from the zoo and raided a tuxedo store. And they had girlfriends to match.

Michael was worried. ‘How do we know what they want?'

Nathan shrugged. ‘We give them what we've got and we get out of here and as soon as possible if you ask me. Tomorrow night we take the money and run.'

The only way on to the stage was up three steps close by the table where Michael and Nathan were seated. The three-piece band – piano, bass and drums – had been playing a selection of Eddie Cantor songs. Now, as the lights went down, there was a 
drum roll to bring the audience to heel. Some of them actually looked up and listened.

Michael found the stripper, enveloped in pink fans, standing immediately in front of him as she waited to go on. She had her back to where he was sitting and she was wearing exceptionally high heels. This brought her naked and ample backside almost level with his chin. She looked over her shoulder and winked at him as if their previous encounter had never happened. Then, deftly handling the fans, she mounted the steps.

Nathan looked hard and long at Michael. ‘Forget it. OK? We do the gigs and that's it.'

Michael feigned innocence. ‘I never said a word.'

Their act went down without incident, a ripple of applause here and there but nobody was really listening and there was proof of this when, after midnight, they were out of songs and they repeated some they sang earlier. The following night, Sunday, was more eventful.

The stripper had been replaced by a moustachioed magician who twice inadvertently set himself on fire, but nobody seemed to notice. Then in the small hours Michael was surprised to find when he began to sing an Irving Berlin song –
When I lost You
– there was a quietening down, an unexpected hush. He glanced back at Nathan but Nathan merely shrugged, as puzzled as he was. The audience was suddenly respectful and the reason for this seemed to come from a table where several well-dressed men who looked like mobsters presided.

Michael and Nathan were almost through when the boys of the three-piece ran up the steps to the stage and made for their instruments, the piano player bundling Nathan
unceremoniously
off the stool. In seconds they were into the chorus of
Yes, we have no bananas
. Nathan joined Michael at the microphone and together they took up the words. The pianist looked round and nodded in approval, but again no one was listening. They were too busy consuming their gin. Arnie's was being raided.

The main doors burst open and eight uniformed police
officers
led by a stern-looking inspector entered wielding batons. 
Everyone was now relaxed, smiling at the officers, as Michael and Nathan backed by the trio launched into a further chorus of
Bananas
. The raid took less than ten minutes, the house manager chatting to the inspector as the officers walked around, sniffing here and there at the drained teacups.

As inventive as ever, Michael couldn't resist breaking into the policemen's song Nathan had taught him on the boat coming over. Nathan joined in as the drummer picked up the beat. Then the bass player came in, then the pianist.

It was when they sang the chorus, ‘
We run them in
…' the audience laughed and applauded and very soon joined in.

The police inspector gave a sardonic smile, signalled to his men that the raid was over and they trooped out. Again the audience broke into a cheer.

‘You did all right,' the pianist told Nathan and Michael. ‘You even made old Vinnie smile.'

They looked at him enquiringly. ‘Vinnie?'

‘The guy with all the bodyguards. That's Vin O'Hara. His ma died last week. That's why we all had to be quiet when you sang
When I lost you
.'

‘Who is he?' Michael asked.

‘Who is he?' the drummer said incredulously. ‘You mean you don't know?'

‘He's the big gang boss around here,' the bass player said. ‘Got a stake in all the dives. All the top showplaces, too. Music halls, vaudeville, even a stake in Broadway shows. A guy could go a long way with Vinnie pushin' him.'

‘Or die,' the pianist said soberly.

Later, when they had been paid their sixty dollars, Michael and Nathan set off walking. It was a warm, balmy night, with a bright moon washing the empty streets and the steps of the tenement buildings. The place where they were still laying their heads was only a few blocks away but, as they turned into Bedford Street, they realized they were being followed. A couple of rough-looking characters had emerged from an alleyway to fall in behind them.

Michael was ready for a fight, but Nathan nodded to indicate 
they should make a run for it. The two men behind were very close now and one said clearly, ‘This says you won't.'