Pier 77

By Leonard Wise

During the 1990s in New York City, there was a battle for the rackets of Manhattan. The deadly war was between the Italian Mafia and the Irish Westies. The Mafia had control until Kevin Gerrard decided to put his life on the line to find peace, only to be foiled by a gorgeous East Side call girl and a friend, who happened to be a Priest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leonard Wise
• Release date: Jan 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301054923

Leonard Wise

Born and raised in Hudson, New York, Len spent three years in the 82nd Airborne Paratroopers. After service, he received his F.C.C. Engineering License and worked in radio for a few years before studying writing at Manhattan’s New School of Social Research. In addition to Diggstown, Len is the author of five other published novels, a number of them bestsellers: The Big Biazarro, Doc's Legacy, The Judean, Center Street, and Center Street—The Women. Since being in California, he has been a Story Analyst at several of the Major Studios and has taught writing at UCLA. He is also a noted artist with constant sales of his paintings.

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A Novel by

Leonard Wise

Author of Diggstown

Pier 77

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At the time it seemed as if the powerful, vicious men of New York City had formed the habit of killing off their Messiahs. That's why Kevin Gerrard was content to remain merely a wealthy disciple. However, those close to him were concerned that he would be crucified at an early age because of his fearless disregard for the dangerous men who controlled the rackets throughout Manhattan. Not to mention the ruthless and gorgeous women that wanted him in their lives at all cost

CHAPTER ONE

In mid-Manhattan on 51st Street, just west of 9th Avenue, someone had mischievously turned on a fire hydrant to give comfort to the children during the searing dog days of August. Mostly Irish and other Anglo-European mothers could be seen lounging on the front steps or leaning on their window sills. Nothing that happened on the street escaped their curious eyes.

Nadine, Kevin Gerrard’s mother, a frail, withering woman, sat in her usual locale, looking out of her second-story window. Her hobbies and passion were horses. Figurines of stallions, photographs of ponies, wood carvings, stuffed animals, emblems on her clothes, towels, etc. At 61 years old, she was a sickly yet vocally feisty woman with debilitating cases of arthritis, rheumatism, and the gout. Her physical systems had always been fragile. As a young woman she suffered five miscarriages. Kevin was the only one to survive. Nadine's husband tried for years to cope with her illnesses, anger, and vexations, but when Kevin turned sixteen and was able to support his mother, Ralph Gerrard disappeared without an explanation or even a goodbye. Nadine said to Kevin, It's all right, baby. We don't need that worthless bastard. Me and you are gonna' do jus' fine.

Kevin was a straight-A student and at the head of his class, but was forced to quit school in order to support Nadine. At first he knocked around at part-time jobs. One was delivering super market groceries from which he confiscated extra food for his mother. He grew tall, was big for his age and, with false papers and a phony license, he became a cab driver at age seventeen. Unlike other cabbies who were wary of certain sections of the city, Kevin did well in the business because he was willing to drive anywhere from the notorious South Bronx to Staten Island, from Harlem to the nefarious Bedford-Stuyvesant, and even down the coast to Atlantic City. For obvious reasons he received larger tips from the people going down to the gambling Mecca with their pockets bulging than from the financially depleted players on their return.

It was a card hustler on his way to a poker game who mentioned the action at Benny Belinski's pool parlor in Manhattan. The following night Kevin went to the smoke-filled room which was an original with scuffed floors, wooden benches, and prototype tables with leather pockets. During the slow card game, Kevin volunteered to deal for the others in order to move the hands faster. Seeing this, Benny, an over-weight, asthmatic, sunny-faced man of Russian descent, instantly appreciated what he saw. And he liked the kid even more when a rowdy customer, who had lost a bundle, approached Benny for a loan. When Benny said he had extended him as far as he could, the man moved in on the owner while referring to him as a Fat, Siberian Jew bastard.

Kevin was immediately off his chair, nailing the guy in the kidneys with a hard right hook before the man could touch Benny. As the guy doubled-up, Kevin grabbed him by the nape of the neck and the seat of the pants and threw him out of the hall. Turning to the other customers, Kevin shouted, Does anybody else want to call Benny a name?

When no one replied, Kevin returned to the poker table.

Benny Belinski felt he had no other choice but to hire Kevin. What do you say, kid?

What's my take?

Sixty-forty my way on the cut of the poker games.

And the business?

The business is mine, Benny replied. You do good like you did tonight and I'll see what I can do for you in the future. I'm very good to my friends, kid.

Within days all of the players began to refer to their dealer as The Houseman, or Houseman, and eventually some just called him plain House. The name stuck and he liked it so much he carried it back to his neighborhood.

Mrs. Margaret Murphy, who was the same age as Nadine Gerrard, lived across the hall. She and her longshoreman husband, Ian, had six children. A heavy smoker, Ian had the fortitude to stay alive and provide for his family until all six of his brood were grown and married before he died of lung cancer. Alone now, Mrs. Murphy, a docile, caring person who claimed never to have been sick a day in her life, would stay with Nadine. Kevin paid her generously for the service.



Many thought House Gerrard and Bryan Corbin were biological brothers. They were the same height, six-one, both in their mid-twenties, mature, and Gaelic handsome. The difference was that House had straight, black hair and cool, green eyes, whereas Bryan had reddish-brown hair with hazel eyes. Seldom were they seen apart, especially in Hell's kitchen. Their philosophies about life, however, were completely different. House loved women and poker. Bryan was devoutly religious. It was suspected that Bryan played poker, and House went to church just so they could hang out. Bryan attended mass every Sunday. So did House, and they even joined St. Timothy's choir together. It all began when Bryan, who was the same age as House at the time, 19, moved up from Chelsea and into a tenement directly across the street. After he and his father were settled into the third floor walk-up, Bryan ventured outside to survey his new environment. House and two of his ruffian friends were coming down the block. They approached Bryan, surrounded him, and glared a challenge to him. Ignoring the other two, Bryan went eye-to-eye with House. When the latter announced that he ran the neighborhood, Bryan looked around in disgust and said, It's obvious you need some help.

House was instantly impressed with Bryan's style. When one of the other boys offered to take Bryan on, House told the two of them to get lost. Let me talk to my new assistant.

That was the beginning, and they were together from then on.



Nadine and Mrs. Murphy were presently looking out of the window when House and Bryan came rushing down the street. House took the moment to smile and wave to his mother as he and Bryan hurried into the latter's building.

Dad Corbin, Bryan's father, was a light-weight boxer in his youth with a respectable record of 35 wins and 19 losses. However, in all his losing bouts he was knocked out by the seventh round. At age 63 most of his blond crew cut had thinned to a frizzle and his trim boxing figure was supplanted with fifty pounds of useless fat. He and his wife, Kathleen, had four children, three of whom Kathleen took with her when she grew tired of her husband's gambling, drinking and philandering. Bryan was the oldest of the siblings and volunteered to remain with his father.

This day, Dad was perspiring and wringing his hands with worry while wondering how he was going to pay his debt to the Westies the neighborhood mob. He nearly jumped through his skin when the door was unlocked and opened quickly. Much relieved to see his son and House Gerrard, he closed his eyes in relief. Thank God it's you.

Are you crazy, Dad? Bryan asked. Where do you get off borrowing money from those guys?

Because Jimmy McLoughry swore he had a sure thing in the fifth race.

Jimmy McLoughry is a jerk and you know it.

He says he wins at the track all the time.

House asked, Did you borrow the money from Jimmy?

No. I got it from Jack McCall and the Westies.

Standing over by the window, House was watching Dad Corbin with some compassion and understanding. When Bryan asked how much he owed, Dad said, I borrowed three hundred.

That's all?

Yes, but it's been six months. And every time I get up enough to pay them off, I stop at that damn OTB. And the damn interest keeps going up.

When House asked what he owed that day in total, Dad did some figuring and said, About six-fifty.

Six-fifty!? Bryan groaned.

That ain't that much.

It's more than enough, Dad.

Bryan, how much you got on you? House asked.

Looking at House, Bryan went into his pocket and brought out his cash. About three hundred.

How much you got, Dad?

About fifty.

Okay, said House. I'll kick in another three with Bryan and your fifty will pay it off. And you'd better do it, or me and Bryan will kick your butt. While handing Dad the $300, House said, Bryan, you drive him over there. And, Dad, you cut back on your habit and don't take another penny from those guys. You got it?

I swear I won't.

You better not. House looked out of the window and saw someone who made him smile. As he rushed out the room, he said, You guys take care of it.

Toby Shea stood an even six-feet in high heels. She had straight auburn hair, long legs, and dressed conservatively perfect in sleek suits and hats. Born and raised in Hell's Kitchen, she escaped when she became a wealthy Park Avenue accountant and moved over to the rich East side. Before stepping out of the cab, she told the driver to wait. House was standing on the curb. They immediately smiled at each other, and House guided her into his hallway. Once there they went into each other's arms, kissing, feeling, caressing. Breathlessly, Toby finally pushed him away. We better stop or we'll both get arrested for indecent exposure.

What's up? said House. You usually invite me over to your palace.

I'm leaving town.

Where you off to?

Philly. My boss made me the proverbial offer I can't refuse.

When House said that Philadelphia wasn't that far away, Toby replied that it was further than he thinks.

Oh, I see. It's more than just a job.

Yes, but not if you'll come with me.

You know I can't leave my mother.

Of course not. I want you to bring her with us.

Frowning, House shook his head. People go to places like Philadelphia to die.

I think more people die here than there, if you know what I mean.

You really expect me to give up the Apple for the cracked Liberty Bell?

You'd be giving it up for me and a much better life.

I like my life.

We grew up together in this Kitchen, Kevin. It's time to leave. We've always been together. We belong together.

What would I do down there?

Anything you want to, darling.

Mom doesn't want to leave here, and I can't see myself in Philly.

I promise to find you some poker games, Toby said and smiled, winking at him. And, of course, Atlantic City is right around the corner.

Frowning, House said, It ain't New York, Toby. No place is, and you know it.

Gazing sadly at him, she said, All right, you don't have to decide this minute. Once I'm down there and settled in, I'll give you a call. One call. If your answer is still no, I don't want to ever hear from you or see you again. Okay?

Okay.

They kissed. A long, full kiss as if they both suspected it would be their last. Toby got into the cab. House watched her disappear into the Manhattan traffic. Going upstairs to his apartment, he found his mother sitting with Mrs. Murphy, still staring out of the window.

Hi, guys, he said. Did she eat her lunch, Mrs. Murphy?

No, I didn't eat it, Nadine shouted. It was chicken gumbo and it was awful.

You say that about every meal.

That Toby Shea is a smart, pretty girl.

She's moving down to Philadelphia.

You goin' with her?

No. I flipped a coin and you won.

Mrs. Murphy laughed.

Are you gonna' play poker or deal tonight? Nadine asked.

I don't know. Which one do you want me to do?

Both; as long as you win. It don't matter because I'll probably be dead by the time you get home.

Again? House laughed and gave his mother a hug.

Working at Benny's in the evening until midnight, House would then venture up to Madison Avenue to play in a large, lucrative poker game. When that game broke up, he would go to breakfast at a place called The Pussy Cat Cafe. He usually arrived home around nine or ten in the morning. Nadine, once again, was in the window that day. House smiled and waved to her, and then becoming suspicious and serious, his face turned to a black limousine that parked in front of Bryan's building. House recognized the two neighborhood Irish thugs, Tom Finch and John North, as part of Jack McCall's gang. The two entered Bryan's building. House immediately went across the street and attempted in vain to look into the car through the tinted windows. Going into the building, he rushed up the three flights of stairs and, when he reached the landing, he heard a violent argument coming from the Corbin's apartment. Dad Corbin was shouting while swearing he would get the money for them. Bryan was yelling for the men to leave his father alone. When the door opened and House walked in nonchalantly, Finch stopped punching Dad in the face. North, who had a razor to Bryan's throat while holding him against the wall, stopped what they were doing to turn and look at the intruder.

What the fuck do you want? Finch shouted.

Nothing, except he owes me money, too.

Yeah? Well, the line's at the end of the hall; get on it.

House continued to move purposefully into the room and, when he was close enough, he smashed North's arm with a karate chop causing him to drop the razor. Bryan was immediately on Finch, kicking him in the groin and smashing a chair over his head.

Dapper, pasty, humorless and slightly over-weight, Jack McCall was sitting in his limousine and wondering what was taking North and Finch so long to get the money from old man Corbin. After checking his watch, he lowered the window to witness something that shocked and infuriated him. Finch and North, battered, bloody, bound and gagged, were being guided to the car by House Gerrard. The neighbors began to gather and cheer loudly. Opening the back door, House shoved Finch and North into the limo. Speaking to Jack, he said, When you want something done right...don't send in the clowns.

Do you know who I am? Jack snarled at him.

Yeah, I know. Don't you see me shaking?

You better start.

Right. And you tell that idiot Jimmy McLoughry to stay the hell away from Mr. Corbin, or it's going to be his ass next. As a matter of fact, if I was all you guys I'd stay the hell away from this block.

Are you threatening me? Jack asked.

No. I'm just trying to save you some discomfort. You wouldn't want to end up like them, would you?

What's your name?

After pausing a moment, House said, Ask around.

House stepped back and walked over to his building with the neighbors still cheering him along the way.

Jack's chauffeur, in the meantime, had reached back to release the bindings on Finch and North. They both took out handkerchiefs to dab their wounds.

Move it! Jack yelled to the chauffeur. The car was driven quickly away, some of the younger Irish kids threw cans and bottles at it.

Sitting on the opposite end of the back seat was Jack's number one henchman, Butch Findley, a taut, wiry, dark-eyed, deceitful man with the reputation of a ruthless killer.

Who is that son-of-a-bitch? Jack asked Finch.

He's the fucking Houseman who deals poker for that Jew Benny Belinski over on Broadway. That's how he got his name.

So what is it?

What is what?

His goddamn name! Jack snapped.

Kevin House Gerrard.

North said, Don't worry, Boss, we're going to make that bastard pay for what he did.

Yeah, right. You guys couldn't even get a few hundred bucks out of old man Corbin. How are you going to make somebody pay who's already kicked your ass? And what's this bullshit about Jimmy McLoughry?

Don't you remember? Jimmy quit us and moved to Brooklyn to work for Big Al DeSilvio and the Galentis.

Then he's their problem, not mine.

You're right, said Butch. Jack, why don't you call Big Al on the car phone? Tell him about Jimmy.

Big Al DeSilvio was having lunch in his Brooklyn Heights penthouse. He was a wide, hairy, loathsome man who was famous for his classy and extravagant wardrobe. With Big Al were his two main henchmen, Paulie Grasso and