Read Online At End of Day by George V. Higgins - Free Book Online
Authors: George V. Higgins
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Office, and Rita Gaspari’s within earshot, she’ll drop what she’s doing—come over and tell you what a savage bastard McKeach is. Her sister married Malachy Gallagher.”
“Brian G. was her brother-in-law,” Dowd said.
“You got it,” Naughton said, nodding. “Brian … My father
knew
Brian Gallagher. He had a lot of money that he didn’t get by workin’ hard, but he wasn’t some mystery figure with magical powers that McKeach is now—he wasn’t glamorous. People tended to avoid him unless they did business with him, but they weren’t afraid of him on general principles—the way they are of McKeach or even the black gangbangers you got today in North Dorchester.
“Brian G. was a criminal, sure; he was outside the law. But at the same time, he stood for order. If you as a private citizen figure that there’s bound to be crime, no matter what the copsdo—as most people do, and I’m one of them—then what you want is some assurance that if you tolerate it you won’t get hurt. And that if you
don’t
take part in it, you won’t get hurt by the cops. Brian didn’t pretend to answer officially for the cops—though on behalf of some I think he could’ve ’cause I think they worked for him—but on behalf of the outlaws, Brian G. gave that assurance. And his word was good.
“Brian G. got respect as the head hoodlum. In a rough sense of justice you could say he deserved it. He was good at it and knew it. He kept the peace.
“Before Brian, our guys did it the same way we did things across the water, stealing pigs and poaching pheasants from the Protestant landlords. We were all independent contractors—just went out one night and did it. One guy ran the protection rackets—another one smuggled the Irish Sweeps tickets in; set up his own network to sell them. Prohibition? Bunch of guys got fairly rich bringing the booze in on boats. Haulin’ it up and down the coast, one bunch the bootleggers who owned the boats and trucks, another group that retailed it. There was no structural continuity to it—all freelancers, strictly short term. They made an alliance to do something; lasted ten years? That was unusual. They respected a guy because he had what they needed to do what they wanted to do, sell what they had to sell,
today
. Thirty years later still fly-by-nighters, sellin’ TVs off the backs of trucks when TV was still a novelty, one day, hijacking a load of dry goods in Connecticut the next.
“Brian G. was your solid citizen. He set up and ran a diversified, ongoing business. Knew how a good chief executive hood should act. With dignity. Looked like he was offering pretty much the same goods and services the underworld’d always offered—but his philosophy was different. He
unified
the people who delivered the goods and services in Southie—and later on,outside of Southie. The law said nobody could deliver that kind of stuff
anywhere
in or outside of the city, but he did it. He did it by consolidating the common interest in doing business without interference. So when he got through it was impossible for anyone from outside to come in and strong-arm him, and it was impossible for anyone inside to rise up and compete with him.
“Before and right after the war if you wanted to play the numbers, according to my father, you saw Toby Hannigan. He was World War One disabled vet, bad left leg. Ran the newsstand, Toby’s Corner, sold the numbers with the papers and cigars and cigarettes on the corner of East Fifth. He probably paid protection to some guy from Dorchester—who didn’t really protect Toby very much but came around faithfully for his cut. Toby had no complaint—the upside was he kept most of the profits. The downside was that he had to keep a certain cash reserve on hand—which obviously made him worth holding up. Therefore Toby kept his nineteen eleven Colt forty-five army combat pistol under the counter—any losses came out of him, so he was willing to take risks to prevent
“Brian G. was her brother-in-law,” Dowd said.
“You got it,” Naughton said, nodding. “Brian … My father
knew
Brian Gallagher. He had a lot of money that he didn’t get by workin’ hard, but he wasn’t some mystery figure with magical powers that McKeach is now—he wasn’t glamorous. People tended to avoid him unless they did business with him, but they weren’t afraid of him on general principles—the way they are of McKeach or even the black gangbangers you got today in North Dorchester.
“Brian G. was a criminal, sure; he was outside the law. But at the same time, he stood for order. If you as a private citizen figure that there’s bound to be crime, no matter what the copsdo—as most people do, and I’m one of them—then what you want is some assurance that if you tolerate it you won’t get hurt. And that if you
don’t
take part in it, you won’t get hurt by the cops. Brian didn’t pretend to answer officially for the cops—though on behalf of some I think he could’ve ’cause I think they worked for him—but on behalf of the outlaws, Brian G. gave that assurance. And his word was good.
“Brian G. got respect as the head hoodlum. In a rough sense of justice you could say he deserved it. He was good at it and knew it. He kept the peace.
“Before Brian, our guys did it the same way we did things across the water, stealing pigs and poaching pheasants from the Protestant landlords. We were all independent contractors—just went out one night and did it. One guy ran the protection rackets—another one smuggled the Irish Sweeps tickets in; set up his own network to sell them. Prohibition? Bunch of guys got fairly rich bringing the booze in on boats. Haulin’ it up and down the coast, one bunch the bootleggers who owned the boats and trucks, another group that retailed it. There was no structural continuity to it—all freelancers, strictly short term. They made an alliance to do something; lasted ten years? That was unusual. They respected a guy because he had what they needed to do what they wanted to do, sell what they had to sell,
today
. Thirty years later still fly-by-nighters, sellin’ TVs off the backs of trucks when TV was still a novelty, one day, hijacking a load of dry goods in Connecticut the next.
“Brian G. was your solid citizen. He set up and ran a diversified, ongoing business. Knew how a good chief executive hood should act. With dignity. Looked like he was offering pretty much the same goods and services the underworld’d always offered—but his philosophy was different. He
unified
the people who delivered the goods and services in Southie—and later on,outside of Southie. The law said nobody could deliver that kind of stuff
anywhere
in or outside of the city, but he did it. He did it by consolidating the common interest in doing business without interference. So when he got through it was impossible for anyone from outside to come in and strong-arm him, and it was impossible for anyone inside to rise up and compete with him.
“Before and right after the war if you wanted to play the numbers, according to my father, you saw Toby Hannigan. He was World War One disabled vet, bad left leg. Ran the newsstand, Toby’s Corner, sold the numbers with the papers and cigars and cigarettes on the corner of East Fifth. He probably paid protection to some guy from Dorchester—who didn’t really protect Toby very much but came around faithfully for his cut. Toby had no complaint—the upside was he kept most of the profits. The downside was that he had to keep a certain cash reserve on hand—which obviously made him worth holding up. Therefore Toby kept his nineteen eleven Colt forty-five army combat pistol under the counter—any losses came out of him, so he was willing to take risks to prevent
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