Published 2010 at Smashwords
A Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2010 by Rachelle Reese and John E. Miller
Cover art by Rodger C. Francis, II
Copyright © 2010 by Rodger C. Francis, II
Illustrations by Rodger C. Francis, II
Copyright © 2010 by Rodger C. Francis, II
Acknowledgements
This book was inspired by the heroes we’ve encountered in our lives, those whose names we know and those we don’t. You remind us there are angels in the most unlikely places.
About the cover artist
Rodger C. Francis, II is a freelance artist who spends his time between projects trying to ignore reality and waiting for the mother ship to return. To see more of his work, check out his Web site at jericodarkwynd.deviantart.com or e-mail him at jerico3@earthlink.net.
Forward
Every so often, we come across someone who makes a real difference in our lives. It is no different for Hanover Fist. Even as a boy, a red-headed Irishman named Duncan O’Malley influences his life. Angels in Hell’s Kitchen is a look into Duncan O’Malley’s life.
A lot of our stories are about darkness – and this one is no exception. But in the corner of the darkness, a hero’s eyes are gleaming, waiting for a chance to make a difference.
As we wrote about O’Malley, we uncovered the reasons he becomes a hero. But even heroes need champions, so we decided to give him one in the shape of a Holstein-spotted stray dog named Dawg. Dawg befriends O’Malley and, like his real-life namesake, becomes a loyal companion and faithful protector.
We dedicate this book to our real Dawg. You were our friend and our hero. We miss you.
Friends and fans, as you read about the exploits of O’Malley, Dawg, and Maggie, we ask that you think about how you can be a hero by holding out your hand to help a person or animal in need.
Enjoy.
Morning, July 13, 1895
O’Malley woke up in a sweat and not because he was frightened. It was hot in New York’s Hell's Kitchen. The sun had just peeked above the horizon and already the air was heavy in his small apartment. O’Malley heard crashing and yelling outside his open window. He peered out at the street. Down and across the small alleyway, a man and woman were screaming at each other and throwing things.
O’Malley turned away and went into his tiny bathroom. He stared at himself in the fading silver mirror. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Duncan? he thought.
The world was a blur. Less the 12 hours ago, he had been working with his brother Alex. They were trying their best to get the O’Malley Boxing Gym in the black, but it was hard work. He had just got done training one of the neighbor boys in the basics of boxing and was toweling off when the two officers walked in.
“Duncan O’Malley?” the one he knew said.
“You know it's me, Jim. What is it? I’m a bit busy right now, unless you want to go a few rounds.”
“I’m here on business.”
“Here on business? In the name of the good Lord, what business do you have in a sweaty old gym?”
“Can we talk in private?”
“Sure… Sure. Alex, take the Robertson kid to the bag. He needs to work on that left of his.”
Alex turned and gave Duncan a queer look.
“Do as I say, little brother.”
Alex nodded and led the boy to the punching bag.
“Well then, gentlemen, please come into the office.” O’Malley walked ahead of the men and into a room with a small desk and two wooden chairs. He closed the door. “So now what is up with you, Jim? My boys are clean.”
“I know that, Duncan.”
“Then why are you here wasting my time?”
“What's your waist size, Duncan? A 36 or a 38?"
“36. Why?”
“I just want to size your coffin.”
“WHAT? You boys have wasted enough of my time. If you think your idle threats will get money out of me and my brother, you're dead wrong. First I'll put the fear of God in the both of you and then I'll go down and tell your grandparents about this.”
“Duncan, calm down. It’s not what you think."
“You better tell me what I think.”
“I want to give you a job.”
“I have a job.”
“I need someone who can walk a beat and still be respected.”
“You want me to be a flat foot?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ll have to think about it.”
Jim smiled and nudged the other officer. He opened his jacket and pulled out a soft brown paper-wrapped package and dropped it on the desk.
“Now what the hell is that?”
“It’s your blue coffin. You start walking your beat tomorrow morning." Jim dropped a silver badge down on the package.
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.” Jim and the other officer turned to leave.
“Where is my beat?”
“Hell's Kitchen, of course.”
The two officers walked out the door. O'Malley picked up the badge and ran his finger over the engraved letters — NYPD.
A few minutes passed and Alex came bounding in.
“Duncan!? What happened?”
“They got to me.”
“WHAT? Jim’s on the take?”
“Worse.”
“Worse?!”
They made me a cop.”
“You a cop?”
“Yes, me a cop.”
“Have they lost their heads? Or are they just scraping at the bottom of the barrel?” Alex roared with laughter.
“Now what do you mean by that?”
“Look at you, brother. That fiery red hair of yours will stick out like a sore thumb in a raid. They might as well put your head on top of a car so the crooks can see you coming.”
“Mind that mouth of yours. I can still take you down in one round.”
“Sorry,” Alex cleared his throat.
"You think you can handle the boxing club?"
"Sure thing, brother. You just leave it to me."
O’Malley slid his hand across his face, deciding whether he needed to shave or not. He wanted to make a good impression today. He took out the straight razor and ran it over cheeks and chin. He put on the blue shirt and buttoned it up, feeling its stiffness. Too much starch. I'd better run it by the cleaners on my day off.
A rap came on the door. “What do you want? Rent's not due yet.”
“It’s me, O’Malley. Jim.”
O’Malley opened a dresser drawer, pulled out a weighty black leather bag, and slipped the black jack into his pocket. He cracked the door and peered out. It was Jim and he was alone.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have to show you the beat.”
“I think I know Hell's Kitchen well enough.”
“There is more to the job than knowing the streets.”
O’Malley opened the door and let Jim in. “Coffee?”
“No thanks. That will be one of our stops today.”
“Our stops?”
“You’ll see. Oh and here's an extra suit.” Jim handed him a brown package.
O’Malley tucked it under his arm. “Thanks.”
“Aren’t you going to hang it?”
“No, I’m going to make a stop at the cleaners to get the starch out of it.”
“Good idea.”
Both men stepped into the hallway and O’Malley locked his door. “Now Jim, how does the precinct know I’m on the payroll? I'm not doing this for free, you know.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.”
“I don’t know if I like that or not.”
“O’Malley, you knew it was only a matter of time. People can’t keep their mouths shut. You should have heard I was asking questions about you.”
“It may have come by me, but I don’t pay rumors much mind.”
“Maybe you should from now on.”
“Can I ask? Why me?”
“I need a man I can trust, who can hold his own in a fight. Someone the people like.”
“And I’m that man?”
“It was you or your brother, but he likes his whiskey too much.”
O’Malley nodded his head.
As the men walked down the streets, people stopped in their path and stared. O'Malley's gut told him it was going to be a long day. “What are they looking at?” he whispered.
“Amazement that there are two cops walking down the street or seeing you in the blue suit,” Jim smiled. "Makes no difference either way."
The two men walked into the corner diner and hung their hats on the coat rack.
“Hello, Jim. Have a seat and I will get you two some coffee.” A heavyset man poured the coffee for the other patrons without looking up. Jim and O’Malley sat at the two empty seats at the bar. The man set two cups down in front of them. “Who's the new… bless my soul, is that you, Duncan O’Malley?”
O’Malley gave the man a weak smile.
“Yep. I finally got him in his own blues.”
O'Malley heard the pride in Jim's voice and smiled a little wider.
“Looks like I need to whip you two up something special,” the man grinned.
“Just the usual will be fine.” Jim said.
“No… No. I insist. COOKIE!! Come out here and take care of the rest of the customers. I’m going to whip something up myself for these officers.” The man patted O'Malley on the back and hustled into the kitchen.
A black man stuck his head through the service window. His eyes looked confused for an instant, then a wide toothy grin spread across his face. He hurried out of the kitchen. “Well I’ll be… look at you O’Malley. Now what are you doing in a blue suit? It ain't Halloween yet.” The black man wiped his hands on his apron.
“It seems that I didn’t have much of a choice,” O’Malley said.
“So where will you be walking?”
“Right here in Hell’s Kitchen.”
The black man laughed. “I’ve always taken you as good man, but not a fool,”
O’Malley peered at Jim, scrunching his eyebrows a bit.
“Don’t listen to him, O’Malley. It’s not that bad,” Jim said.
“He may be right, O’Malley. I tell you what though. I best get back into the kitchen before Hank burns the place down. You men need anything?”
“Orange juice, please,” O’Malley said.
“Coming right up.”
As the men waited, O'Malley watched the late night dockworkers dribbling in, their eyes half closed. As they caught sight of O’Malley in the blue shirt, their eyes widened. Most smiled, but one creased his eyes with worry.
A few minutes later, Hank and Cookie brought out a mound of food for the two of them. The men ate as much of it as they could, but neither could finish it all. As Jim and O’Malley got up to leave, O’Malley pulled out his coin purse and started to pay.
“Now what are you doing, O’Malley?” Hank waved the coins away.
“Paying for my meal.”
“Your money is no good here. You two have a hard enough job as it is, now you best hit your beat.” Hank grinned and started to take the plates away.
“It that how it always is?” O’Malley asked in a low voice.
“Get use to it. There’s more to come.” Jim took both hats off the rack and handed one to O'Malley.
As they stepped outside, O’Malley could feel the heat rise from the sidewalk. As he looked over the familiar streets, they seemed different now. He wasn't quite sure why, but he liked it.
“O’Malley, quit day dreaming! Don’t let the suit go to your head. You have things to learn, believe it or not.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Like that coin purse of yours.” Jim started walking down the street.
“What about it?”
“Don’t carry it.”
“Why not? I have to pay my way.”
“You pay when you can. You know as well as I do Hell’s Kitchen is not for the light-hearted. They will jack you as if you were a normal person on the street if they think you have a purse.”
“Come on, Jim. Hell’s Kitchen isn’t that bad. I've lived here for years and never been jacked.”
“No, it's not that bad, it's worse. You can't turn a blind eye or think what is rumors is just rumors.”
O’Malley nodded slowly. He thought he kept a good eye on his world, but maybe Jim knew something he didn't. He noticed that Jim walked with a certain gait and figured it would be best to match it.
As they walked down the street, O’Malley glanced down an alley and noticed a group of boys pitching dice against the wall of a building. He nudged Jim.
Jim just kept walking. “You can choose your battles after today. Today I'm just showing you your beat.”
O’Malley nodded and kept pace alongside Jim. When they were a block away from the cleaners, they approached an elderly woman who had just stepped off of her stoop.
“Good day, Miss Fletcher,” Jim said.
“Good day, Officer. I see you have someone with you. Going to arrest some ruffians?”
“We'll see. I'm just showing Officer O’Malley his new beat.”
“O’Malley, did you say?” The elderly woman adjusted her glasses and looked at O’Malley. “Is that you, Duncan O’Malley?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Hmmmph. Now I know why they call this place Hell’s Kitchen. Now get out of my way and be gone with you,” Miss Fletcher waved her cane at O’Malley.
Jim and O’Malley quickly stepped away from her and headed on down the street.
“So what was up with her, O’Malley?” Jim asked after they were out of earshot. “It’s not good to make enemies on your first day.”
“Oh, she's still mad that we broke her flowerpot playing stick ball that day,” O’Malley said calmly. “I can still feel the cane on my backside. I guess I was too dumb to run like the rest of you. I felt like one of us needed to tell her we were sorry.”
“And now you know why I picked you.”
O’Malley gave Jim a confused look for an instant and then they both laughed.
It wasn’t long before they reached the cleaners. As they walked inside of shop, O’Malley could smell the strong bleach and starch in the hot air, a table lay broken in the corner and jumbled cloth lay haphazardly on the counter. O’Malley frowned and rang the bell three times.
“What the hell now?” an Oriental voice yelled from the back. A small Chinese man walked out of the back doorway, wiping his brow. O’Malley set his package down.
“Oh you flat foots show up now. Where the hell were you ten minutes ago, when the Hell’s Kitchen gang was trying to get my hard earned money out of me,” he barked.
“Sorry, but we haven’t had anyone available to walk this beat until today,” Jim said.
“So who is the damn fool you got then?” The Chinese man didn't even look at O'Malley.
“It’s me, Mr. Chi. Duncan O’Malley.”
Mr. Chi’s head turned quickly and looked at O’Malley, his mouth open and his eyes wide with surprise. “What?! Now that’s what I’m talking about. It's about time you flat foots got some real muscle down here.” Mr. Chi gave a deep laugh that didn't match his small frame.
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad you like my choice,” Jim said proudly.
“Well go out and get those boys.”
“We're working on it,” O'Malley said.
“Well then why the hell you here?”
“I thought you could do something with my extra suit.” O’Malley pushed the package toward him.
Mr. Chi opened the brown package and felt the suit. “Who pressed this? A white man?” Mr. Chi laughed.
“Who knows,” Jim said.
“Well you come back this afternoon and I will have it feeling like a baby's bottom. And I should know what one feels like.” He winked. “I have eight children.”
O’Malley and Jim both smiled and tipped their hats. They stepped out the door and noticed that the air on the streets seemed cooler after the heat inside the Mr. Chi's shop.
As he walked down the street, O’Malley felt the sweat pooling beneath his curly red hair. He didn’t know whether it was hotter in the cleaners or on the street. He turned his head and glanced down every alleyway, making a mental note of the buildings, stoops, and passageways.
“Will you quit?” Jim asked.
“Quit what?”
“You have to act like you have horse blinders on.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You have to look out the corner of your eyes.”
“Why?”
“So the crooks don’t think you're looking at them.”
“But we are supposed to look for them.”
“Yes, look for them, not at them. If they know you're looking at them, they won’t try anything.”
“Right. And maybe they won’t carry out their plans.”
“Oh, they will carry out their plans. It will just be at a different time when they know you're not around.”
“They would anyway.”
“Not really. They like the thrill that there's a chance of being caught. It comes from their upbringing, at least that’s what I figure.”
O’Malley just nodded, not quite sure what Jim was talking about. They turned on 57th and 9th and were heading to 10th street when O’Malley jerked his head around and stared down an alleyway.
“O’Malley, what the hell?! Haven’t you been lis….”
“Clown!” O’Malley yelled as he crossed the street, almost running into a set of horses drawing a streetcar.
Jim stared after O'Malley for a moment, unsure why he had bolted. Clown? Is that what he'd said? After the streetcar passed, he crossed the street and walked cautiously into the alleyway. When he was halfway to the next street, he saw O’Malley kneeling by a bunch of rubbish. He watched as O’Malley pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. What is he doing? Jim took a few more steps forward and realized that the rubbish was a young lady in baggy clothes. He saw O’Malley tying the handkerchief around the girl's arm and rushed forward.
“O’Malley?” he looked down at the girl and it struck him that the blood streaming from her arm was a weird purple.
“Jim, quickly bind the worst wounds. I’ll be back.”
Jim kneeled over the girl and examined all the cuts on her body. He located the worst slashes and tried to stop the bleeding, but his eyes kept traveling back to the purple blood on her arm.
O’Malley ran to a corner of the alleyway where layered shadows cloaked the street in darkness. As he stepped into the near-gloom he felt the cool dampness of bricks untouched by sunlight, smelled urine and the mold of trash. These were familiar smells in Hell's Kitchen, but there was something odd that struck him, something he could not identify. He thought he heard his name being called from somewhere beyond the edge of light. He started to step past it.
“O’Malley! Get over here now!”
It was Jim’s voice and O’Malley turned away to go back to the girl. He could swear he heard the darkness laugh at him, but he kept walking, imagining his eyes were cloaked by horse blinders, refusing to turn his head.
“Yes, Officer?”
“O’Malley you're one of us now… Never mind… I’ll flag a streetcar. You stay with her.”
“No good.”
“No good?”
“Streetcars won’t be back for an hour.”
“Then what the hell are we going to do?”
O’Malley lifted the girl into his arms as if she were a leaf. “We're going back to Chi's”
“O’Malley, that’s over three blocks away.”
“Well, Jim, I hope you can keep up with me.” He started sprinting towards Chi's. After he'd gone a block, he realized he could no longer hear Jim’s footsteps.
At Mr. Chi’s
“Mr. Chi… Mr. Chi!” O’Malley called out as he entered the laundry.
“Hold your damn horse. Did you forget you were just here?” Mr. Chi stepped out from the back. “You got more clothes for me?”
O’Malley held the girl a little higher up so that Mr. Chi could see her face.
“What the hell do you want me to do with her?” Mr. Chi asked.
“Help her. We found in the back alley. She’s been cut to ribbons.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Mr. Chi, don’t play dumb. You have herbs and stuff for bleeding. You’ve sold them to me. Remember, I’m still Duncan O’Malley who owns the gym.”
“You’re a cop now. I know nothing about illegal medicine.”
“I’m a friend.”
Mr. Chi sighed. “Alright, but you owe me big and if you arrest me, no laundry for you.”
“Thanks,” O’Malley smiled openly.
“Well, bring her back here before she bleeds all over my clean floor.”
O’Malley was just starting to carry her to the back when he heard the door open and close. Jim rushed in, out of breath and red faced.
“Are you alright Jim?”
“You… You… don’t huff look… even wheeze winded.”
“It wasn’t that long a run,” O’Malley shrugged. “Come on.” As he stepped into the back, he noticed that Chi had cleaned off a table and was tearing a sheet in strips.
“Set her down here,” Mr. Chi pointed at the table. He noticed Jim and narrowed his eyes. “You brought him with you?”
“I have to. He’s my boss.”
“Well, don’t get in my way.”
O’Malley laid the girl down. He watched Mr. Chi pull a steel box out of a cupboard and set it down beside the girl.
“What the hell?” Jim exclaimed.
“Mr. Chi was a doctor in China.”
“I’m still a doctor,” Mr. Chi huffed.
“I’ve needed him a time or two when some of my boxers got hurt real bad.”
“How’d you know he was a doctor?”
“Did you grow up blind, Jim?”
“Hush.” Mr. Chi unwrapped the worst wound, which was still oozing purplish-red blood.
“What do you make of it, Mr. Chi?” Jim asked. "I’ve never seen blood that color and I’ve seen a lot of blood."
Mr. Chi opened a bottle and sniffed it. He dumped a thick amber liquid on a piece of torn sheet and wiped it on the wound. He waved a small brown bottle under the girl’s nose.
“Oh my…”
“What’s wrong?” O’Malley asked.
“What are you blind? Look… this wound was made not by a blade.”
“What then?” Jim asked.
“Claws," the girl moaned.
O’Malley and Jim looked at each other.
“She’s right. Now stay still little one,” Mr. Chi said gently. “I never saw wild animals in Hell’s Kitchen.”
The girl closed her eyes.
“She’s passed out again. I will wake her shortly so we can find out what happened.”
“We?” Jim asked.
“Yes, we. You bring her to me and you expect me to stand back and act like a dumb Chinaman." Mr. Chi’s tone became annoyed. "I’m not a dumb Chinaman. I’ve been schooled in traditional Chinese medicine. Years of training. Besides, there is more to this.”
The front door slammed.
“Chinaman… Chinaman… we’re back for round two,” a young man’s voice called out.
The three men looked at each other.
“I’ll take care of this,” O’Malley said softly.
“You’re still green,” Jim said. "I’ll go."
“Look, if you want me to walk THIS beat, then you’ll have to trust me.”
Jim gave O’Malley a worried glance. O’Malley smiled and turned to walk out the door.
“Don’t wreck my store or there will be hell to pay,” Chi called out after him.
“Chinaman… come out and play!” a young man’s voice called out from the front of the store.
O’Malley slowly slid his hands through the curtains.
“Come on Chinaman. Curtain tricks don’t fool us. Are you trying look bigger than you are?”
O’Malley spread the curtain just enough to step through.
The three boys shuffled a bit, looking at one another.
“Is there a problem?” O’Malley asked, watching their eyes dart around. He waited while the boy in the center drew his face in tight and let his eyes go cold. As the boy opened his mouth to speak, O’Malley reached over the counter and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him up close to his face. “Look here sport, this is my beat now. If there’s going to be any rough housing, it will be with me. Do I make myself clear?” O’Malley saw the boy’s eyes drift down to the bloodstains on his jacket. When the boy glanced back up, the defiance had melted from his face.
“Sure… So uh this is your beat now?”
O’Malley pitched him back, but didn’t let loose of his eyes. “Understand this. Duncan O’Malley is walking this beat now. You can tell all your aspiring thug friends, if they come here looking for trouble, they’ll find me. Got it?”
The three boys nodded and scampered out the door. O’Malley waited until they were gone and then smiled broadly and turned back toward the gap in the curtain. His smile faded as he heard a moan. “Is she awake?”
“Awake enough to get her to a hospital,” Jim said.
“Who needs a hospital when you have Chi?” Chi exclaimed.
“No offense, but we have to do our job and part of that job is to take victims to the hospital.” Jim’s voice held new respect.
“I understand,” Chi bowed slightly.
“I’ll take her to the hospital. O’Malley, do you think you can finish walking your beat?”
“I don’t even know what my beat is.”
“Wherever your heart takes you. You seem to have a knack for finding trouble.”
“How are you going to get her to hospital?” O’Malley asked.
“Not to worry,” Mr. Chi said. “I’ve called for number two son to come with the carriage.”
“Carriage? Mr. Chi, you don’t own a horse,” O’Malley said.
“Come, you carry her out and you will see.”
As O’Malley picked up the girl, she let out a light groan. He did his best to carry her as one would a child. As they stepped out the back door, they saw Chi’s second oldest son standing where a horse should be in front of a covered carriage that could seat two.
“Mr. Chi?” O’Malley asked.
“Rickshaw. Chinese carriage. Don’t worry. My boy is very quick, quicker than you think. Besides she’s going to make it. You can count on Mr. Chi.”
O’Malley put the girl in the rickshaw and strapped her in. Jim climbed in next to her. “You’re a good man, Mr. Chi.”
O’Malley leaned down close to Jim. “What do you mean by wherever my heart takes me?”
“Duncan, there isn’t a damn fool cop who would walk this beat for any sum of money. That’s why I picked you. The streets of Hell’s Kitchen are yours.” Jim patted O’Malley on the upper arm then turned to face the boy who held the shafts. “Go, son.”
O’Malley stood there dumbfounded for a minute, thinking about what Jim had said.
“O’Malley, you come inside. We need to talk.” Mr. Chi opened the back door and motioned for O’Malley to go inside.
“I can sense you have questions for me,” Mr. Chi said, looking down at the utensils he was cleaning.
“What you said about claws doesn’t make sense,” O’Malley said. “You said she was attacked by an animal, but I saw a person dressed as a clown.”
“A clown you say?”
“Yes.”
“A clown with tiger claws?”
“Are you saying that the attacker is using tiger claws as weapons?”
“No. I’m saying it has claws.”
“Long fingernails?”
“What? Has your mind gone to noodles? Fingernails can’t do damage like that.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m lost.”
“Come over to the table. I want to show you something.”
O’Malley saw a queer look – something between fear and certainty — pass over Mr. Chi’s face. “Something wrong?”
“Yes. You take that jacket off right now.”
“Why?”
“Why? You’ve got blood on it and if it dries it’s hard to get out.” Mr. Chi laughed. “You know nothing.”
“About doing laundry? That’ll I’ll admit.” O’Malley took off his jacket and unpinned his badge before handing it over to Mr. Chi.
“No, about demons.”
“Demons?”
“Yes, demons.” Mr. Chi walked up to the table. He bent down and pulled the napkin from the trash can and laid it on the table. “See?”
“Yes, I see. I was going ask why the blood is so purple.”
“The wound was packed with dried ink.”
“What?!”
“The demon likes to tattoo his victims, so that he knows that he doesn’t have to bother with them again.”
“Do you really believe in that?”
“I have seen the tattoo before in the old country.”
“What is the tattoo?”
“A gateway.”
“A gateway?”
“Yes.”
“To what?”
“Hell. What do you think?”
“Sorry, I don’t know if I really believe in that.”
“You should.”
O’Malley shook his head slowly and noticed that Mr. Chi was nodding intently. His expression made O’Malley uncomfortable. “I best get back to work. Can I get my other jacket?”
“Sorry, but I can’t. It’s in the wash.”
“Alright.” He pinned his badge on his shirt and turned to leave.
“O’Malley, you be careful. It’s hell out there.”
“Well I don’t think I have a gateway on me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“If it’s hell and it’s my home, I must be the devil. See the red hair?”
Mr. Chi laughed half-heartedly and shook his head. “You’re a fool.”
O’Malley walked out the back door and into the blazing sun. He squinted his eyes and looked around. I don’t care what Jim says. I want them to know I’m coming. He started to walk, peering down each alley as he passed it. He already knew where the criminals liked to lurk. He wouldn’t bother them, but he’d let them know he was there, walking the beat, just waiting for them to mess up.
The day was long and hot and O’Malley was glad he’d left his jacket at the laundry. At the end of what he perceived as his shift, he went to the gym. As he opened the door, he bumped into a slim young lad. “Sorry…”
“Sorry, Officer.”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Uh…”
“You do have a name don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s Mark.”
“Well come on in. I’ll help you get set up.”
The boy’s eyes widened a bit.
O’Malley laughed. “Don’t worry, son. I’m Duncan O’Malley and I own the place.”
In the gym
Maggie slowly followed the well-shaped man into the gym, unsure whether coming here was the right thing.
“Well come on, son.” The stocky red-head walked over to a locker, pulled out some clothing and tossed it to Maggie. “Here, put these on.”
Maggie looked around at all the men working out. “Do you have a bathroom?”
“Yeah over there.” The man gave her a half smile and pointed to a door labeled Gentlemen. “A bit shy, are we?”
Maggie nodded.
“Well, get dressed and I’ll see you on the floor.”
“Okay.” Maggie walked into the bathroom and smelled the heavy musk of man sweat. She was surprised at how clean it was and relieved to see a deadbolt on the door. She locked the knob and slid the deadbolt into place. As she unbuttoned the shirt she’d taken from her brother’s closet, she looked at herself in the old silver mirror. She straightened the tight bandage that flattened her breasts, hoping to ease the discomfort, but no matter how she twisted it, she could feel the pain around her nipples. She remembered her friend Emmy nagging at her that this was a bad idea, as she pulled the bandages so tight Maggie gasped. Maybe she’s right, but I can’t take Jimmy’s beating again. I have to learn how to fight back and how else will I do that? If I ask my brothers to teach me, there’ll be trouble for sure.
Maggie removed her tweed hat and made sure her long hair was still coiled tightly on her head. The last thing she wanted was for all of it to come falling down. She slid the loose undershirt on, making sure it didn’t disturb her hair. She was quite surprised at how clean and soft it felt. She put the boxing shorts on over her brother’s boxers and cinched the tie tight. She glanced down at the rough wool stockings, relieved she’d thought to borrow them as well. She hadn’t realized she’d be expected to bare her calves. She put her brother’s soft leather shoes back on. They were a little large. So far she’d made due, but she hoped they wouldn’t fall off while she was boxing. Finally, she placed the padded leather boxing helmet on her head. It hid her hair well, but made her head feel lopsided.
She gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror and had to admit she did look like her brother.
As she stepped out the door, Mr. O’Malley was standing right beside it. She could barely keep from blushing when she saw the young, well-built Irish man shirtless and wearing boxing shorts. He was stout, but toned. She could see the muscles ripple on his chest and back.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Maggie could only nod.
“I’m going to be your personal trainer. My name is Duncan O’Malley and yours was Mark, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well come and climb in the ring with me, so you can show me what you’ve got.”
Maggie could not help thinking that she’d like to show Mr. O’Malley something and it didn’t involve throwing any punches. She sighed and followed him to the ring, wondering just how much trouble she’d gotten herself into.
“Okay, show me what you’ve got,” O’Malley said.
Maggie took a couple of swings, hitting O’Malley in the chest. He didn’t even wince.
“You hit like a girl. Can’t you do better?”
Maggie threw a few more punches.
“Stop… Stop. I’ve seen enough,” O’Malley barked. “Let’s start at the beginning. Forget anything anyone ever told you about fighting.”
Maggie let her arms drop down to her side. O’Malley slipped his gloves off and stepped behind her. She stiffened up a little when he grabbed her forearm.
“Okay now. I want you to bend your knees a bit and stand like I’m standing.” He leaned against her back, shaping her body into a boxer’s stance. Her thigh pressed against his inner thigh. Maggie shivered and hoped it didn’t show. He rested his hands on her wrists and folded her elbows, positioning her fists for the punch. He did a few short jabs, holding her arms.
“Something isn’t right. You’re breathing funny and your jabs are constrained.” He moved his hand up her arm and down her side. He rested his finger gently on her flattened breast. A tremor ran through her. She wished the bandage wasn’t there. “I got it now,” he said.
Maggie’s eyes widened with the fear that she’d been discovered. “Got what?”
He leaned close to her ear. She could feel his hot breath on her neck and knew was for sure she was busted.
“Your daddy broke some of your ribs, didn’t he? Must not have been too long ago. You’re still swollen in front.” He gave Maggie’s breast a light squeeze. Blood ran to her cheeks. And then his hand was gone, resting on her shoulder. “I’ll cut you slack for awhile, but I do want you to let your old man know that Duncan O’Malley walks Hell’s Kitchen now and that I won’t put up with a child beater.” He put one arm around her shoulder and started walking her out of the ring. “Why don’t you hit the bag for a bit? I’ll show you some pointers.”
Maggie watched Duncan hit the bag and did her best to imitate his moves. But as she punched at the bag, a part of her mind kept thinking about how his hand had felt on her breast and how she might arrange for him to rest it there again.
Later that afternoon
O’Malley’s eyes sprung open and he jumped to his feet, fists ready to go.
“Whoa… Whoa, my brother. You fell asleep.”
“What?” O’Malley shook his head and saw Alex standing a few paces back.
“You fell asleep.”
“I did not.”
“You did. Don’t worry. I took over with the boy. I’m going to lock up now.”
“You do that. I’m going to hit the bag a bit.”
“Are you alright Duncan?”
“It’s my first day on the beat. I guess I’m not used to it.”
Alex nodded and walked toward the door.
O’Malley stood up and took his boxing stance. He tagged the old canvas bag and watched it swing farther back than he meant it to. It started swaying back to him. How in the hell did I get myself into this?
He punched again and listened to the sound echo in the empty room. What right do I have to judge the people in Hell’s Kitchen anyway?
The bag took a little longer to come back to him. He punched again and watched the bag’s fabric fold around his fist before the bag sailed toward the wall. Is my life going to be plagued with girls scarred up from some demon clown and little boys taking a beating from the old man? What have I done?
The bag swung back at O’Malley as if it were attacking him. He swung out with his weaker arm. The percussion of his punch echoed again, this time accompanied by the jingle of the chain that held the bag. The bag jumped up in the air and flew back, the way it had one other time, but he had not been the one who’d thrown the punch.
“Wake up, son! You’ve seen me hit this old sack a million times, what are you thinking about?” the man with light grey hair had asked.
“New York.”
“There is nothing to think about. You and your brother are going.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t send Daisy and Alex, and let me stay here. I can help better then they can.”
“Look son, there is no discussing it. Daisy is too little and besides, I need you to protect Alex. Besides, visiting American will do you some good, get your head out of the clouds.”
O’Malley slammed his fist into the bag again. The beam that held it groaned.
“Damn it, Duncan! Will you stop? We don’t have the money to replace that bag,” Alex yelled.
O’Malley watched the bag come back to him and readied himself for another punch. But at the last moment, he caught the bag instead. “What did you say, Alex?”
“I said you have to watch yourself or we will be looking for a new building.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“As hard as you’re hitting, you’ll either bust the bag or break the main beam and bring the apartment above us down with it. While Mrs. McNeil’s expression might be fun to see, I sure as hell wouldn’t want her husband climbing down our throats.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Are you telling me that being a cop is getting to you already?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Look, instead of bringing down our livelihood, why don’t we go to the pub, have a stout one and talk about things?”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. A drink always does a man good.”
“Let me get changed.” O’Malley walked over to the office and picked up the shirt and pants he’d put on that morning.
“You’re going to the pub in you officer clothes?”
“Would you rather me go naked?”
“No, but do you think that’s safe?”
“It has to be. I’m the cop on this beat.”
At Maggie’s house
Maggie ran up the stoop to her apartment building. As her foot hit the small flat rectangle just in front of the door, something red caught her eye. Someone had painted the welcome mat with the words “Welcome to Hell come on in.” She just shook her head and opened the door. She gave a quick look down the hall and hurried upstairs to 2B, the apartment she shared with her family. She didn’t mind that she shared a room with her two younger sisters. One day she would have a house of her own. She caught herself skipping across the living room. Her arms were sore in places she didn’t know could be sore, but she couldn’t help thinking of the big strong hands brushing against her breast. She could shiver openly now that she was home.
“Hey Dreamhead, what are doing with my shirt on? For God’s sake, you got it wet.”
“Not wet… sweat.”
“Sweat?! Maggie if I hear that you slept with that peon, I will kill him and kick your ass.”
“William, it’s not like that.”
“Best be explaining, little girl.”
Her brother William stepped out of the kitchen. She could tell he had just woken up and hadn’t even dressed for work yet. Like her father, he carted away the septic tanks filled by the families of Hell’s Kitchen.
“I… I … I was… Who’s home?”
“Now what does that have to do with what we’re talking about?”
Her brother scratched his chin and eyed her up and down. “Just you and me, but they will all be home soon.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Margaret Belle Bloom! I’m your oldest brother. You know I can keep a secret.” His eyes narrowed and drifted down to her waistline. “Unless it’s one the family should know about.”
“It’s not one they need to know. I was boxing.”
“Boxing?! You?” William laughed until he could barely catch his breath. “And what gym would let a lady in to box?”
“They didn’t let a lady in. They let Mark in.”
“Now who the hell is Mark? I thought the loser’s name was Jimmy.”
“I’m Mark.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
Her bother stood dumbfounded for a bit and then started to talk. “Wha…”
“Look, just keep it quiet and I’ll tell you the rest later. Jimmy will be here soon.”
“Now won’t he be happy to know that he’s dating a guy?” William laughed.
“William!”
“Don’t worry, Maggie. My lips are sealed, on the condition that you will tell me the full story later.” William shook his head and went back into the kitchen.
Maggie quickly grabbed a dress from her closet and ran into the bathroom. She looked at herself as she unpinned her damp braids and let them hang loose to her waist. Their usual sunset-colored shine was dulled by sweat. She removed the wrapping from her chest and thought how she couldn’t wait to tell Emmy about what had happened today. There were some things she could tell Emmy that she certainly would not tell William, although it would be funny to see his expression if she told him about O’Malley touching her breast. But no, she would leave that part out. Some things are only meant for girlfriends’ ears.
As she soaked in the tub, she could hear the others come in. She dipped the washcloth in the warm water and draped it across her breast, reliving the sensation O’Malley’s hands had given her. Her nipples got hard now they were free. She soaped up the cloth and started to wash her sides. A sharp pain hit her. She looked down and saw a bruise. Was it from the wrapping or from Jimmy? She pushed the memory of him hitting her away. She couldn’t think about that right now when she had to see him in only a few minutes. Besides, maybe it was just a one-time thing. He’d never hit her before. She started washing her thighs and closed her eyes. Her thoughts drifted back to O’Malley and how his inner thigh had felt against her outer thigh. The musky fragrance of his sweat she had breathed in so deeply as he’d pressed his body against her back to adjust her stance wafted around her.
A rap on the door brought her back home. She finished her bath quickly, knowing that soon someone would need to use the bathroom they all shared. She got out of the tub and dried off, then dressed to join her family.
Not too long after she finished her bath, there was a knock at the door. Her mother answered it and Jimmy Tyler walked into the room. He wore his tailored clothes well and walked like he had money to burn. She still didn’t understand why he’d chosen her. Many other girls in Hell’s Kitchen were far prettier and some of their families had money enough for new dresses.
Maggie knew she should feel lucky to have him – and she had until he’d started getting angry. He had always been good to her and her family, but in the last few days he had been stressed about something and he’d taken that stress out on Maggie two nights ago. They had been sitting together on the stoop and he was looking out into space. Maggie had asked twice if everything was alright and he’d ignored her. But when she’d asked the third time, he’d said “It’s my business” and he’d hit her in the ribs hard enough it took her breath away. Tonight he had a wild stressed out look and the last thing she wanted was his wrath.
“Are you ready to go?” Jimmy asked.
“Sure, Jimmy.”
“Good evening everyone,” Jimmy took Maggie’s arm and led her out the door. They walked quietly down to a waiting carriage.
He helped her in and then situated himself next to her. He draped his arm around her shoulder more out of possessiveness than passion. “Go driver, I’ll let you know where we are going in a minute.”
“No special plans?” she asked softly. But as she looked into his eyes and saw both anger and fear, she regretted saying anything.
He sat in silence, staring straight ahead. She listened to the clip-clop-clip of the horses. At last he spoke. “Can you believe that my boss told me to lay low for a while and not expand our business?”
“Why is that?”
“Because there is a cop walking the beat. One Duncan O’Malley,” Jimmy growled.
Just hearing his name sent a thrill through Maggie’s body. “I don’t think I understand,” she said carefully. She had some idea that what Jimmy did wasn’t legal, but he just called it business and she left it at that.
“Neither do I. But Pugnose Finney told me just to watch him for awhile. Get an idea of his leanings.”
“It makes sense to know your enemy,” Maggie said slowly and realized the double meaning as soon as the words were out.
“He’s just a two bit boxer with a badge.”
Maggie had no response and they sat quietly for a bit, watching the tawdry street pass by. She noticed that Jimmy kept clenching his right hand into a fist. She considered asking him to take her home, but worried that it might anger him. Keeping him out around people he liked might help diffuse him. She put her hand over his fist. “I know what we can do. Why don’t we get some friends and go dancing? We haven’t gone dancing in a long time. Maybe it’ll help you get your mind off things.”
Jimmy looked down at her hand for a few minutes before answering. At last, he looked up at her and said. “You know, we haven’t gone dancing for a while. Joe and Tanya are going to The Drunken Fiddle.”
“That sounds like fun, Jimmy.”
“Driver, take us to The Drunken Fiddle at 56th and 11th.” Jimmy’s voice was more cheerful than she’d heard it in a week. Maybe things would work out after all.
At the Luckless Shamrock
O’Malley opened the door to the Luckless Shamrock to let his brother go in first. The hot musky smell of men and alcohol assaulted his nose and almost turned him around, but he got past it and stepped into the dark hallway lined with empty coat nails. By the number of voices and their level of excitement, he figured it must be pay day. He usually let the din of conversation flow over him like an ocean wave, but this evening he paid closer attention to what was being said.
“Great, just great. I hear we have a flat foot hovering over Hell’s Kitchen now,” a gravelly voice barked. “How long before we’re payin’ him tribute?”
“Well, the way I hear it, he already beat the laundry guy to a pulp,” another man spoke out.
“It’s, true. My boy was there earlier and he said the copper had blood all over him.”
O’Malley walked a few paces behind his brother. Alex turned the corner and stepped into the large pub room. People gave him a stout greeting, as usual. O’Malley grinned to himself, knowing that he always got a better reception than his brother. He turned the corner, ready for the yell, but to his amazement, the pub became as silence as a cemetery. Not even a glass chimed out. The alcohol-softened faces O’Malley was accustomed to seeing at the pub had grown hard like stone walls. Even the bartender and owner, Timothy O’Brien, gave him a hard stare. O’Malley saw only one smiling face across the smoky room. It belonged to a small wrinkled fellow perched at the end of the bar, his legs crossed. His top pant leg hung legless from the barstool. O’Malley moved toward him slowly. As he passed each table, he heard whispers and knew they were directed at him. Alex had made himself comfortable at a table across from a slender dark haired man. He had seen Alex with him before and couldn’t help noticing how striking the man was. He considered joining them, but it looked as if they were not too keen for his company. Instead, he took his place at the barstool next to the smiling man.
“Evening,” O’Malley nodded.
“Well, now. It would seem that I am in the company of the man of the day.” The one-legged man laughed.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s all these simpletons can talk about — the new blue suit in Hell’s Kitchen.”
“These are hard working men. I don’t think I like you calling my friends simpletons.”
“I didn’t mean offense,” the man grinned.
“Just watch your tongue.”
“No problem with that. I watch my tongue wag often. By the way, my name is Grumwald.”
“Duncan O’Malley.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been watching you.”
O’Malley gave him a queer look.
“Don’t worry. I watch a lot of people. Lost my leg because of it.”
“Really?!”
“Goblin’s honor. But that’s another story. The question of the night is, are you on the take?”
“What did you say?” O’Malley felt his face get red.
“Are you on the take or not?” Grumwald said slowly. “That’s what all your friends here want to know.”
O’Malley’s face grew hard and he slammed his fist on the bar, making Grumwald’s glass bounce. “It will be a cold day in hell before an O’Malley goes on the take.” O’Malley looked around the room. “And if there is anyone who wants to question it, you can step up here and let me know.” He noticed that a few of the men turned their heads away or lowered them, but most faces relaxed and the whispers turned to normal conversation.
“Well said, Officer O’Malley,” Grumwald chuckled. “Alright gents, pay up.”
The noise level increased and a number of the men motioned to O’Brien, who lined up shots of whiskey in front of Grumwald. O’Malley looked at the row of glasses.
“I won the bet. I said that the only man to walk Hell’s Kitchen in a blue suit couldn’t be on the take and I backed the right horse. Have a drink on me.” Grumwald pointed at one of the glasses. “Or should I say on THEM.” He laughed and took a shot in a single gulp.
At the Drunken Fiddle
The carriage pulled up in front of The Drunken Fiddle. Jimmy jumped out and Maggie noticed excitement in his step. She was glad their conversation had turned to light chit chat.
He helped her out and she smiled when she saw him check for any missing bricks in the street where water might have puddled. She looked at the dance hall’s sign and was amused, not for the first time, that such a refined place would have a name like “The Drunken Fiddle.”
Jimmy took her arm gently and guided her into the establishment, walking as if he were ten foot tall. As they entered, he surveyed the room. She noticed Joe and Tanya sitting in a booth by a window, but Jimmy only gave them a quick nod. He walked up to a table where three young men were sitting.
“Pardon, but that’s my table,” Jimmy purred in his polite public voice.
“Bugger off,” one of the young men said.
“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” His voice strained at the edges in a way that only Maggie could detect.
“Jimmy, it’s okay. We can find a different table,” Maggie said softly, not wanting to upset him.
“No!” he erupted. “Like you, these boy need to learn how to treat those with power. Do you know who I am?”
“By the whelp, your name is Jimmy!” another boy said with half a laugh.
The first boy nudged the second. “We were just leaving.”
“That’s better.” The purr returned to Jimmy’s voice.
Joe and Tanya walked up. Joe was laughing. “I see that you got your table.”
They all sat. Maggie looked Tanya over. She didn’t really care for Jimmy’s friends. Joe was so reckless with his money and it showed in the way Tanya dressed, always wearing the latest fashion.
“So Jimmy, what time is it?” Joe smirked.
Jimmy gave his friend a funny smile and pulled a gold watch she had never seen before from his jacket’s watch pocket.
“Oh, Jimmy! Where did you get that?” she asked.
“From a pawn shop. Check it out.” Jimmy opened it and showed Maggie the engraving of a tiger with eyes made from real tiger’s eye gemstones.
“That is very nice,” she said, trying not to wonder how much he’d paid for it.
“I earned it.”
Maggie gave him a short queer look.
“Half past seven,” Jimmy laughed.
“So Jimmy, what do you think of the flat foot in our little town?” Joe asked.
“I decided that we should lay low,” Jimmy said softly.
“What?”
“You know, watch our enemy. Get to know him.”
Joe just nodded.
“Let’s dance.” Maggie changed the subject. The last thing she wanted Jimmy talking about was O’Malley.
Jimmy’s offered Maggie his hand. “The band is playing my song. Care to waltz?”
She took it and he escorted to her to the floor and took her in his arms. It was a waltz Maggie had never heard, but it didn’t matter. Jimmy was an excellent dancer.
As he led her around the floor, she noticed other women admiring him. Why shouldn’t I be happy? I have the best looking man in town. He has money and influence, she thought. But something nagged at her – something missing.
Jimmy twirled her and brought her in close. She felt her leg rest between his, brushing against his inner thigh and drew back a bit. She understood now what was missing – that thrill she’d felt when O’Malley’s thigh had pressed against hers.
“Did I misstep?” Jimmy asked.
“No… no it was me.”
“Good.” Jimmy swirled her around the room and Maggie tried to focus on the dance.
At the Luckless Shamrock
O’Malley swallowed the last of the shot Grumwald gave him and grimaced.
“Don’t drink much, do you?” Grumwald asked as he threw back his third shot in one gulp.
“Not really.”
“And you call yourself an Irishman.”
“I call myself an O’Malley, Mr. Grimwall.”
“Grumwald.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, friend. I’ve been called worse.” Grumwald slid another shot glass over his way.
O’Malley picked it up and took a sip. He heard fingers running scales along the keyboard. “Oh no,” he muttered
“Something wrong?” Grumwald raised an eyebrow.
“There will be soon.”
The fingers started dancing an Irish jig.
“Well, that’s not bad at all,” Grumwald laughed.
“Wait.” O’Malley frowned at his drink.
A horrendous wail echoed through the bar, almost causing Grumwald to drop his glass. “What creature is making that horrible noise? Is someone beating it?”
“No. Unfortunately, that is my brother trying to sing.”
“Make him stop.” Grumwald covered his ears. “Now.”
O’Malley hurried to the piano, the others urging him on. “Alex… Alex. Stop.”
The wailing stopped for a moment. So did the piano.
“What did you say, Duncan?”
“Stop.”
“What? Is something wrong with Dylan’s playing? I thought he sounded a bit offkey.”
“No. It’s your singing.”
“What? Is it too loud?”
“No. Like told you before, it’s too terrible.”
“Well, why don’t you show me how it’s done?”
“No.”
“Come on, Duncan. You’re the best.” Alex let the charm ooze from his voice.
“No,” Duncan said firmly.
Others chimed in, urging him to sing.
Duncan shook his head.
“Alright,” Alex winked at Dylan. “I guess it’s up to me to carry the melody.”
Duncan sighed. “One song and that is it.”
“You got it, brother.”
O’Malley stood by the piano and looked out over the crowded bar. He smiled. “Do you know how to play Avenging and Bright?” he asked.
“Sure do.”
“Let’s do that one then.”
Dylan smiled and ran his fingers across the ivories.
“Avenging and bright, falls the swift sword of Erin,” O’Malley sang.
The bar got quiet except for the piano and O’Malley’s voice. Grumwald smiled and nodded with approval. When the song was done, the men coaxed him into another and another. He sang half a dozen songs before the people would let him rest. When he finally walked back to the bar for a drink, Grumwald was still perched on his stool.
“You calm the savage beasts, I see.”
“What do you mean?”
“They can see past the blue now.”
“Oh, right.” O’Malley had forgotten he was wearing a uniform. He looked down at himself just as Alex walked up to them accompanied by the piano player.