The Fall: King of the City, #3

Prologue

October 1945

Far from the raucous celebrations in Times Square, Sean Adams climbed out of a cab on the outskirts of New York. Fall threw its long shadow over this quiet corner of New York City. The leaves had already turned into a painter’s palette of warm yellows, burnished oranges, and crimson reds. The occasional brown leaf fluttered along the road with the wind.

Are you sure you want to do this? Gerald Collier said.

The cab cruised away, leaving them at the beginning of a long, winding road. Nature had already begun to reclaim it, with unkempt weeds and overgrown grass reaching for the cracked asphalt.

I have to do this.

Gerald nodded his bald head. The silver edges of his eyebrows almost seemed to catch the glint of the afternoon light.

He used to say the same when I asked him the same questions. Seems so long ago now. Gerald clicked his tongue. Well if you’re sure. You asked for this and if you think you’re old enough to make your own decisions then we’ll do it.

Sean sniffed at the air. Dressed in a suit tailored especially for him, he began to walk down the long road. He slowed his pace to make sure Gerald could keep up with him. Sometimes Gerald would grunt as his leg pained him again.

So how’s Patrick? Gerald puffed away on a cigarette.

Fine. Sean kept his eyes straight ahead.

I mean with the war. In Japan.

Sean shrugged. I haven’t heard much. I think he wanted to be sent to Europe. All those jungles. Never knowing who’s watching you. Not that he said much more than that. He says I’m too young.

Well you’re not even a man yet. Gerald coughed. I never fought in any of the two wars.

You told me, Gerald.

Ah ... that’s right.

They continued their walk down the half-mile road until they came to what looked like an abandoned fortress. High walls with the points of broken glass sticking out of the bricks at the top level barred the way.

Almost impossible to ever make it in here. God knows they tried. Gerald seemed to read his mind. But I told you I’d get you inside.

Gerald dug inside his short suit jacket and pulled out a ring filled with keys. He jangled them for a moment and picked out a single long key from the pack. Gerald advanced on the main iron gates, inserted the key and jerked it to the left.

There we are. A little rusty, but they still work. I’ll lock the gates behind us. I don’t want anyone following us.

Sean inclined his head. That was the old Gerald still speaking to him; the man who had participated in one of the biggest criminal organisations of the age during prohibition and throughout the aftermath. Nobody would have ever thought it of Gerald, who now lived as a retiree in the northern suburbs of the city.

He stepped through and left Gerald to lock the gates behind them with a thudding click. Sean bit his lip as he looked upon the home of his grandfather for the first time. The abandoned complex of David Kelly. The house had survived any damage, but he could tell that nobody had entered it for many years.

Gerald pointed at the overgrown lawn. Look here. See that there are no trees. Stops anyone from trying to get close to the house. He jabbed his finger at the little brick turrets placed on top of the walls at regular intervals. Search lights so nobody can hide in the dark. Mr. Kelly always did have an eye for security.

Sean’s eyes lingered on the searchlights for a moment longer. His pulse accelerated. Sean had never met his grandfather, never even exchanged a word with him on the telephone or sent him a letter. Part of him was glad of that and the other part of him wished he had known who the man truly was.

Had my grandfather ever heard of me? said Sean.

Gerald nodded. Only once. But by then it was too late for him to do anything about it. The whole thing had fallen apart. Mr. Kelly had too much to handle. He didn’t have the men to spend time looking into you. You weren’t even born at the time.

Sean took a deep breath. Can I go inside?

Gerald retrieved his ring of keys again and selected a small, rusty key at the bottom. They approached the scratched door and Gerald swung it open.

He lingered on the doorstep as Gerald took a step back. Sean peered into the shadowy hallway. Every cabinet and end table had a thick covering of dust. He took his first step into his grandfather’s house. The floorboards creaked under the pressure.

To his right, a staircase led to the upper level. To his left, an open door led into a sitting room.

Gerald sighed. I wasn’t allowed in here much. I had to stay in the garage when I was here. If it was Mr. Kelly’s birthday everyone would come inside. But I think that was more your grandmother’s doing.

Sean continued moving forward without saying a word. Other corridors leading to other rooms offered a maze of things to see. But Sean walked straight into the kitchen. A little table had knives and forks set for dinner. The empty plates awaited a family that would never sit down again. Sean felt numb looking at where the family he never knew would have sat.

They never ate there. Gerald broke the spell. This was where the staff ate or where your grandmother ate when Mr. Kelly was out on business. During the last years that was most of the time.

Then why did they clear out so quickly? Sean observed a dead fly with its legs straight up in the air in the middle of one dinner plate.

Gerald shrugged. Things fell apart quickly. They had to move fast. Sorry I can’t tell you more about it. I was only Mr. Kelly’s driver. I didn’t know too much about the real business. Only that it existed.

The remark left a bitter taste in Sean’s mouth. He clenched his fists. It made him angry not knowing about his own family. Regardless of the terrible things they did, he wanted to feel a part of the good and the bad. He’d always grown up with a boiling anger in him as his relatives kept their secrets.

Sean, I know this is hard for you, but you ain’t going to find anything down here. Mr. Kelly worked upstairs. Downstairs was where the family looked normal.

Looked normal?

None of the real business happened here. Come with me, Sean. I was only upstairs once, but I remember everything so clearly. The ... size of it all made an impression on me. The business, I mean.

Sean tore his eyes away from the silent kitchen and followed Gerald back toward the staircase. Every step they took sent creaks reverberating through the cobweb-filled mansion. Somewhere a bird cawed upon the silent landscape and the sound slipped through a crack in the window at the top of the hallway.

He took a moment to peer outside at the bare lawn. To try to see what his grandfather would have seen. To try to get inside the mind of the biggest crime boss in New York.

Gerald soon guided him onwards towards a study. He didn’t need to be told that his grandfather would have used this. Leather-bound volumes lined the walls, protected from time by glass doors. Sean’s eyes moved towards the desk, where an unfinished letter lay. The writing seemed hurried, like the writer had been in distress at the time.

Sean looked back at Gerald.

Read it. I don’t know nothing about it.

Sean gulped and arched his head over the writing, as if touching the letter would cause its secrets to disintegrate.

Mr. Portnoy,

I hope this letter reaches you. I couldn’t send a telegram or call you. I don’t know where you live, so I sent this letter in the care of someone close to you.

I concede defeat. I implore you to leave my family out of this. Whatever happened between me and your family is all in the past. I don’t care if you know my sons or grandson. They have nothing to do with the family business.

I’m willing to sell the business away. The only condition is that you leave my family in peace. That’s all I want now in my old age. Mr. Portnoy, I’m begging you to reconsider everything. You don’t know the half of it. If you knew the truth then you would know why it was necessary to do what I did. We live in a hard world and

The letter cut off with a line of ink stretching away into the white nothingness. Sean read it through again and still didn’t understand who Mr. Portnoy was or why his grandfather had fallen to his knees in this manner.

Read this, Gerald. I don’t understand it.

Sean stood aside and gave the letter to Gerald. He took some time reading it, squinting at the words with his brow furrowed. When he’d finished, he straightened up.

Do you think this was written by my grandfather? asked Sean.

Gerald nodded. I know it was written by Mr. Kelly. He was the only one allowed to come in here. It was his paradise. I used to see the lights on all night. Sometimes he wouldn’t come out for nearly a whole day.

Then what happened? Who’s this Mr. Portnoy? It must be something to do with business. You were his driver. I know that drivers have the confidence of their masters.

Gerald gulped. I did know Mr. Kelly’s secrets. But ... he told me them in confidence.

Sean felt like he was going to tear his hair out as he peered back at the mystery of the letter again.

I’m his grandson. We’re family and he’s dead. What harm could it do now when this is all over with? Sean paused and lowered his voice. I was never a part of this family. All my life nobody told me anything. Don’t I deserve to at least know where I come from and who my family was?

Gerald nodded. I’m sure it wouldn’t do any harm. But this letter confuses me. I don’t understand it myself.

Sean raised his voice again. How can you say that? You just told me that he shared his secrets with you.

Gerald looked unperturbed, like his mind had drifted towards someone else not in this room.

Who is Mr. Portnoy, Gerald?

That’s what I don’t understand. This letter was obviously written before your grandfather’s death. But the only Mr. Portnoy I’ve ever heard of was Benjamin Portnoy.

Why is that funny?

Gerald had gone pale. Because Mr. Portnoy has been dead for over twenty-five years.

Sean shook his head. How could his grandfather have written a letter to someone who had died so many years ago? Gerald must be mistaken.

Mr. Portnoy used to be your grandfather’s best friend out of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Used to be –"

Mr. Kelly murdered him in Central Park over twenty-five years ago. Shot him through the head. I used to take him there nearly every morning. I don’t know what he did when he went into that park and I don’t wanna know.

Sean bit his lip. That had taken him aback. It only made the mystery that much deeper. Whatever had happened between Mr. Portnoy and his grandfather didn’t matter now. But it didn’t make sense that he would be writing to someone who he had personally murdered many years before.

Do you know?

Gerald shook his head. That’s all I know. I never knew your grandfather when he knew Mr. Portnoy. Long dead.

Gerald turned on his heel and left the room, closing the study door behind him. Sean’s look lingered upon the door for a few seconds. He took one last reading of the letter and rifled through some of the stiff drawers in the room.

Sean discovered dusty tomes and ledgers filled with numbers. It all bored him. He had known about his grandfather’s activities during Prohibition from his own father. Everything seemed to pertain to that. But he couldn’t stop himself from returning to the letter and wondering why his grandfather had sent a letter to someone who had died many years before he had.

He sighed and left the room. Gerald awaited him outside with a bent cigarette perched between his fingers. He looked unnerved about something. Sean sent an angled glance at him but didn’t ask. It had taken a lot of convincing for Gerald to bring him here.

Is that it? Sean shrugged in dissatisfaction.

Sean didn’t feel as if his visit here had brought him closer to understanding his grandfather or what had happened to change the life of David Kelly in such a way. He figured it was worth a shot, though.

One more thing. Come with me.

Gerald marched down the corridor past a couple of rooms and turned to a door that took some forcing to open. A steep, gloomy passage led up into the rafters of the mansion. A dead pigeon rotted about half way up the steps.

Up here Sean could see that the only light came from the small windows. This time Gerald didn’t stand aside but took the lead. Within the attic he found long sheets draped over bulky pieces of furniture and rat droppings that looked like tiny raisins puncturing the snow-like film of dust. A sadness seemed to hang in the air, as if all the tragedy within the house had risen to collect in this tiny room.

Sean attempted to walk forward, but Gerald threw an arm out in front of him. Don’t move, he hissed.

He examined what was in front of him. A noose hung from the rafters. It didn’t make sense that anyone would have a noose in their house.

What do you want to show me? Sean’s voice barely came above a whisper. Why did you bring me up here?

Gerald sighed. Because this is where your grandfather died.

Chapter One

April 1932

The sound of trumpets blaring, drums banging and fingers strumming a row of fresh strings forced the bass to create a low undercurrent that reverberated through the underground speakeasy. Formerly a saloon, Green’s Place was now a café. To the untrained eye, it served nothing more than orange juice and elegant cakes. To everyone else, Greene’s was one of the most luxurious speakeasies in New York City.

Belle Baker prepared to step onto the stage in a coat trimmed with fur. Most people stopped to look. They couldn’t believe who had appeared in front of them. Baker never performed anywhere outside of Broadway these days, much less perform her hit song All of Me. Normally, her words could only be heard on the radio or through the mouth of another performer.

David Kelly, now aged fifty-six, was one of the few who didn’t turn around for a moment. This was his party and he’d known about her appearance weeks ago. Some well-placed persuasion had forced her to perform tonight, no matter how much she protested.

Wine glasses filled with illicit booze lay upon ironed white tablecloths. Chocolate cakes and lobster sat side by side amongst a hundred other dishes. Even David didn’t know the name of half of them. He sat at the head table greeting the line of people who came to thank and congratulate him on his birthday.

It was now the turn of Al Broadside. With his hat doffed and in a tuxedo at least one size too big for him he shook David’s hand gently. Everyone who knew David knew his chronic arthritis could flare up at any time.

It’s a swell party, Mr. Kelly. Thank you for inviting me. Real nice of you. Al bowed his head.   You’re welcome, said David without an inch of pleasure. You know about that little favour you said you’d do for me, don’t you?

Al bowed his head again. Yes, Mr. Kelly, of course. It’ll be done by Monday.

David withdrew his hand. The pain began to rise again. It had started about the same time as the greying hair. Three years ago the pain swelled and had never given him any peace since. He needed a break from shaking hands.

He sloshed a brandy down his throat. The cherry-coloured drink warmed his insides and gave him new life. If he made it through this night without shooting someone he’d consider it a success. It wasn’t his choice to have a party.

You throw a nice party, David, my boy. Drew Rutherford limped up the step towards his table.

This time David snapped out of his seat and bowed his head to him. Thanks, Drew. Real nice of you to say ... He stopped himself. He hated that he’d picked up some of the New York lingo.

I told you to have a party for all your friends and look what’s happened. They all turned out.

Wouldn’t call them friends, Drew. More like business associates.

Drew winked. And they can be as useful as friends. You know that.

So, what do you think’s going to happen afterwards?

Another year of big profits is my guess. It’s hard to believe you were nothing more than street trash all those years ago. I was right about you. You were always due for bigger things. The good lord had plans for you.

David smiled with his fingers crossed in his mind. He didn’t like being reminded of that dark time, the time when he was nothing and nobody.

A nice evening, David. You should listen to her. Drew cocked his head at Baker, who had just started to sing. Might be worthwhile if you ever need someone young enough to put a daughter in.

Drew tittered to himself and stumbled away.

Despite Drew’s crippled state, he was one of the few people who could speak to David however he liked. Even as an old man, he remained one of the most powerful people in New York. He backed Tammany Hall, the Democrat Party’s political machine in New York. Without him, corrupt mayor Jimmy Walker couldn’t hope to cling to power for more than a week.

David watched Baker’s mouth move for a moment. She did have a beautiful voice, but he felt drowsy and needed to hold his empire together, like a chief trying to sew the many pieces of an Indian quilt.

A kind word here and a shaken hand there could mean everything. He even pored over the Christmas card list. Snubbing the wrong person could mean payment in blood eight months later. He’d managed this constant balancing act for twenty-five years.

David got up from his chair and began to circulate throughout the party, bumping into old friends, adversaries who didn’t yet know they were adversaries, and people who didn’t matter at all. Everyone knew his name, even if he didn’t know theirs.

David, said a woman’s voice.

David absentmindedly picked a prawn from a platter and popped it into his mouth.

David, I got to talk to you.

He turned to confront his wife Sarah Kelly. Once known as Sarah Portnoy, she was once the love of his life. No longer.

He shrugged. Yeah?

I’ve been looking for you all night.

Well, I’m here. What is it?

Sarah straightened up. Her aging years had left her with the beginnings of silvery hair and wrinkles poorly covered by inches of make-up. She wasn’t beautiful anymore. Patrick’s been looking for you all night.

Then he can come here and look where he knows I’ll be. Kid needs to learn to not have to speak to me about every little thing all the time.

You know he lacks confidence.

Why should he not have confidence in himself? I’ve done everything I could to make him act for himself. Not much else I can do, unless you’re telling me I need to get a new son.

Sarah paused. He’s twenty-four. Some kids need time.

He doesn’t need time when it comes to getting on the drink and screwing every woman he can see within three miles of our house.

She glared at him. Just you see him. I’m tired of having this argument with you every night. I need to go see our other son, assuming you even remember you have another son.

Sarah swung about and carved her way through the crowd and out of the party.

She wasn’t going to ruin his night tonight. This was his party and he was going to run it how he wanted. He would find Patrick in his own good time. Right now he had important people to see.

He soon found Isaac Stanbury standing at the far end of the room hidden against the darkened walls. Like always, he didn’t integrate himself too much. The only reason he had a job was because he had a low level of talent and lived in a booming city. Chicago-born, Isaac had associated with the Irish gangs there from a young age. He had grown into a middle-aged recruiter and administrator now. His thuggish days were long behind him.

Mr. Kelly. Isaac turned his head and didn’t attempt to take his hand. I was wondering if I could speak to you in a mo’.

Upstairs. In the storeroom.

Isaac nodded and negotiated the underground speakeasy like he owned the place. They’d gone through this process so many times in the past year after the FBI started to take an interest in the gang warfare in Chicago no words needed to pass between them. David followed at a slow meticulous pace, taking great care with every step in the dim lighting.

As soon as Isaac shut the door behind David, he sat down on a rickety chair and waited for leave to speak. David swept the room. He didn’t trust anywhere these days. Beyond the boxes and the buzzing of the electric light, everything seemed normal. He relaxed his shoulders.

So, anything else happened I need to know about?

I think they’re getting close, said Isaac. FBI is closing in on Capone. Not sure what they’re going to get him on, though.

Might be all those people he had shot up in ’29?

The Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre attracted attention, but he got himself so well covered they’ll never pin it on him if they had a hundred years to look through it. I’m thinking something small so they can keep him off the streets for a few years. Enough to have someone else take over.

He nodded. Any ideas?

Not yet. Need to wait until we hear something. FBI has got this tied up like a sack of potatoes.

David raised his eyebrow. Let’s not bring the stereotypes of our own people into this, Isaac.

Sorry, Mr. Kelly.

I want to know what we can do now. Capone’s been the reason why we can’t have any influence in Chicago. If we get rid of him, we’ll be the strongest gang in the whole country. Our lads should be ready to run in when it’s clear.

The Irish