The Rise: King of the City, #1

By James Farner

“We can be kings of this city!”

It’s 1892 and David Kelly has arrived in New York fresh off the boat from Ireland. The family take up accommodation in the poverty-stricken neighbourhood of Hell’s Kitchen. In a place where every penny counts, David is forced out to find any work he can. By chance, he runs into a second-generation Jewish immigrant, Ben Portnoy.

Ben soon teaches David the dark arts of rolling drunks and pickpocketing. David then finds himself falling into the underworld of New York as he begins smuggling and Ben’s grand plans take him into a world of theft, gang warfare, and eventually murder. His sudden rise is tempered only by the undying love he has for Ben’s sister Sarah.

But when their operations gain the wrong sort of attention, David has to fight for his life as men far more powerful than him set his friends and Sarah in their targets.

How much is David willing to give to take the throne of the New York underworld?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Farner
• Release date: Sep 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386302247

Book preview

Prologue

David Kelly coughed as the smoke from the little steamer rose up from the bowels of the engine room. He still looked healthier than the old Irishman clinging to the railings as if the boat had sprung a leak. Dried vomit clung to his ghostly white beard and his eyelids lazed half-open, as if someone had fed him too much opium. David wanted to move away, but his family hemmed him in.

People littered the deck, crammed together from end-to-end. Most of them sat on battered suitcases speaking to each other in their various Irish dialects. Some from the rural areas of Ireland had yet to learn English. David wondered how they could possibly survive in America.

A loud blast from a horn made them almost jump out of their boots as the boat began to creep through the mists towards Manhattan Bay.

Morning, David. How are you?

David recoiled from the man who had stuck his pudgy hand in his face.

Morning, Don. Good to see you again. His father Hugh Kelly pushed David aside. Is Patrick going to meet us off the boat and show us around?

He should be ready for us after we get off Ellis Island. It’s what we agreed in the letter.

His father smiled at the pudgy fellow he apparently knew. David moved away, not wanting to miss his first view of New York.

He turned back to the railings again and tried to spot the city through the morning mists. He couldn’t see anything but the impenetrable fog. The outline of something bogged through the obstruction for a moment, but he couldn’t decipher if it was a building or a strange cloud.

George. David nudged his brother. How close do you think we are?

George shook his head. What am I the bloody captain?

David tutted. Christ, crack a smile, won’t you?

Not got time for any of that. This is no holiday. Da will have you out working before your feet hit the ground. It’s why we’re here.

Thought we were here because Eire’s done? It’s what da always says.

George knuckled the back of David’s fiery red hair. Sit down and wait for it. Can’t move up here with all the people anyway.

David sat down and folded his arms. George had never shown much enthusiasm for New York. He went out of grim duty. David couldn’t understand why only he felt any excitement for their move.

Look, lads. The statue. A fair bit of work that is. Dad pointed at the statue looming up on them.

David and George stared at it open-mouthed. The enormous metal statue emerged in the colour of the sea and seemed to pierce a hole in the heavens. Lady Liberty stood on a plinth in the middle of the Atlantic, stretching a torch into the air and clutching a book in her other hand. The French had given it to the US and it had taken years to get the funding together. Today every new immigrant saw Lady Liberty as the entrance to America.

Hell...

David’s head snapped forward as Dad rapped him around the back of his head with his knuckles. You know not to use language like that when your ma’s about.

David turned away and pouted. He couldn’t say anything these days without someone wanting to hit him for it. Sitting down on one of the family’s cases, he slumped forward and watched as the Statue of Liberty welcomed them to their new home.

When the statue passed them by, the boat made its way to the little island on the edge of New York, like a chunk of marble carved out of a palace and flung into the wilderness.

Ellis Island, said the conductor as he moved through the lanes between the gathering immigrants. Ellis Island. Don’t forget your things.

Everyone started to stretch their legs and their father gathered two suitcases under each arm. They had nothing else, nobody did. Most of the immigrants David had spoken to on-board left Ireland for the same reason; no money, no work, no food. The Potato Blight in the 1840s had sparked a mass migration from Ireland that hadn’t stopped to this day. Even his father didn’t remember when the country had lost most of its potato crop and thousands had starved to death.

His father had told him Ellis Island acted as America’s new immigration processing centre. It had opened that same year, according to someone who bemoaned the lack of opportunity to visit the Castle Garden depot like the first immigrants who had crossed the Atlantic.

David preoccupied himself with trying to catch glimpses of the buildings of New York. It looked bigger than anything he’d ever seen before. He wanted to run into the city now and sample everything it had to offer. Back home the horizon had nothing but green fields and dilapidated farm steads with broken roofs.

As they prepared to disembark, staff members in blue uniforms made them line up. Dad took the front and guided their frail mother Annie Kelly with a strong hand. George moved behind him and aimed a kick whenever he moved too slowly.

David gulped. What’s going to happen?

Immigration, son, said Dad. They’ll put us all through. Stick with me and your brother. You’ll be alright. Then we can go off and meet Patrick. He’ll show us around.

David still had little idea who Patrick was. His father had never once mentioned the name.

They won’t let you in. George laughed in his ear. They don’t like lazy buggers like you.

David didn’t say anything. George took great pleasure in trying to scare him. It became his favourite game. When they departed Liverpool in England, he said he would miss the boat and find himself stuck at home with no one to care for him. He’d never left his father’s side after that. This time he wouldn’t listen to him. If they were going to allow that vomit-stained ancient aged creature from the boat in, they would let him in too. He could work. He knew he could.

Little by little they made their way down the gangplank. More officials in their darkened uniforms greeted and directed them to the right places. The salt of the sea clung to them like the dirt under their fingernails.

Inside the building, nobody paid much attention to him and George. Their father spoke to an official at the top of a steep staircase.

What are those letters? David pointed at the chalked letters on people’s clothes.

George looked towards the officials drawing the letters. They hadn’t drawn anything on any of their family. Only the old and the disabled seemed to have that privilege. A team of doctors watched the staircase and pulled out anyone they didn’t like the look of.

Probably for people they don’t want, said George. Like you.

Is that right?

George held an evil grin on his face. It is. They’ll put a ‘C’ on you for crap. You’ll get sent back home and you’ll have to see how many potatoes you can grow on your own.

Didn’t believe that when you said it at home. Won’t believe it now.

Then don’t talk to me. Just you wait. They’ll send you home.

David momentarily thought it true when a doctor pulled him aside. The doctor, dressed in a black coat, moved his hands over his body and prodded him, before sending him on again. He feared the doctor thought something wrong with him, until George and his parents got the same treatment.

Must be good doctors, then. Dad made no effort to hide his sarcasm. Me old da could have done that when he was blind.

David and George smirked when they saw a nearby doctor mutter something under his breath and move on to the next man.

The formalities of immigration bored David. He tried to pass the time by counting the cracks in the blank walls of the office. Men behind desks stamped various forms and looked people over twice. He counted the stars on the American flag; 44 stars for 44 states. With the room crammed full and nowhere to go, David slipped into a daydream.

He revisited his dreams of what he thought New York would turn out like. Dad had told them back home they would make a new life away from home. It was just after grandma’s funeral. She’d clung on until ninety. When they’d put her in the ground, Dad had immediately started the process of getting them to America.

Either way, what they got in New York had to turn out better than what they had in Ireland, didn’t it?

Part 1

Chapter One

New York, New York. Whoever decided to name the city after the state must have had too much whisky, or so Dad said on their way into the city for the first time. The Kelly’s eventually took the ferry from Ellis Island to the waterfront of Manhattan. It took David a while to understand that Manhattan was one of the five boroughs that made up the city, though it would take him a while before he ventured into Brooklyn or the Bronx.

Some friend of Don’s, the Patrick everyone talked about, showed them around and found them a place to live. He found a walkup flat where the Irish flocked together in a neighbourhood called Hell’s Kitchen, on the waterfront. It felt like being back in Ireland again, though with a mix of Germans, Italians, and many other nationalities, David wasn’t sure what an American sounded like.

It’s better than what we had at home, Dad said when he opened the door of their one-room tenement a couple of streets from the jetties jutting out into the Hudson River.

David sniffed the air in the cramped room. Smells like piss.

Dad cuffed him around the back of the head. Don’t be ungrateful. Lot of people in worst state than us. Look at those poor beggars we saw coming up.

Patrick, whom hadn’t said much of a word to David so far, roared with laughter. Well he’s not wrong, but you best listen to your da.

David knew Dad was right. He had to avert his eyes when he saw an Irishman without a leg begging for tobacco and pennies. The man had yelled he fought in the American Civil War and balanced precariously between two makeshift crutches of different sizes. It made David’s leg itch thinking about it.

It’s better than home. Least we’ve got a roof over our heads.

George shrugged. The one we had leaked. You wouldn’t have known because I was right under that leak.

Dad nodded. Right, and that’s why we’ve come to America. We’ve got a roof, so we’re already up. You want to go for a piss, use the pot in the corner. Get all this stuff unpacked. Better get on. Mammy you’re alright for cooking, aren’t you?

As long as you got the money so I can get some food.

Dad reached into his pocket and dropped a selection of bronze coins into his wife’s grasping hands. The glint of metal disappeared before anyone could see how much he’d given her. You’ll be alright, won’t you?

If I’m not, you’ll know about it.

Dad frowned.

Ma shuffled out of the room and left the rest of the family to unpack their meagre belongings. They didn’t have much to unpack. They strung a line up with two nails embedded into the walls, where they could hang their clothes. The family flung their suitcases underneath the sagging mattresses.

David only saw two mattresses. He counted one for his parents and the other for him and George. He had no doubts as to who would end up sleeping on the floor. George had grown too big to share a mattress with him.

When they’d finished, the room looked as homely as it possibly could. The cold slid through the gaps between the window frames. The wood had rotted in parts and brown specks clung to the glass.

David’s mother returned with food about an hour later, which she dumped on the table out of her raggedy linen bag. Colcannon. That alright with the lot of you?

Grand. Dad puffed on one of his prized cigarettes he’d brought over from Ireland.

David didn’t say anything, and neither did George. Both of them knew they had no choice in the matter. Colcannon formed the staple of their diet as they couldn’t afford much else. Potatoes mashed with kale or cabbage and little else. A few times of year they would eat it with a thin rasher of bacon.

The steaming meal buffeted David in the face as it arrived at the table. Nobody talked as they ate. It was tradition in their household. If anyone did try to speak, everyone would stop eating as a matter of principle. Speakers at dinner usually had something serious to say, and it tended to revolve around a death in the family.

After a dinner of silence, Dad leaned back on his bed and patted his stomach. Lads, we’re going to have a bit of a talk about what we’re doing tomorrow. Not going to get started today because we’ve already wasted most of the day. Alright?

Alright, da, David and George parroted.

Grand. Now tomorrow I’m going to go about and see if I can get a job of work. We’re not going to last long if we don’t have a bit of money coming in. George, I want you to do the same. Go and find something to do.

What sort of work, da?

Well how should I know? he snapped. Go and find anything. I’m not fussed about what it is. Anything that pays and pays decently. The more you can get the better. You’re a big strong lad and you shouldn’t have any problem.

George said, What about David? Doesn’t he have to bring some money in as well?

Dad straightened up and looked at him. He does. That’s assuming he can get it.

Get him to dig some holes. That’ll do him some good.

David tried to elbow George, but he moved out of the way and batted him on the nose.

Enough. I’ve seen those children sleeping on the street on the way here. He’ll have to go over them for work. He’s not strong enough for any of the bigger jobs. They won’t let him build the rails or unload ships and the rest of it. That’s for you and me.

What do I do, then? said David.

Go out tomorrow and find work. Probably only get some basic jobs that don’t pay much. Dad rubbed his chin. But it’s something, mind. Ma’ come here a sec.

Ma trotted over.

Tomorrow morning, make sure David’s out of the house early and don’t let him back in until late on. I want him out working, you understand?

He’s a good boy. He knows our family needs the money.

His father raised his eyebrows. Patrick told me what the rent is on this place. He doesn’t work and we’ll be in a place worse than this one.

David stifled his frown. His first idea revolved around sneaking back into his house when his dad and brother went out to work. Ma lacked a forceful hand unless da specifically asked her to do something. That was that plan out of the window, then.

The rest of the night passed within the confines of the flat. David stared out of the window at the blurry people walking past. As the night got darker, more of them started staggering around and falling into things. At one point, someone smacked a bystander in the face and ran away, with the victim in pursuit. David arched his head as far he could, until they disappeared from view.

––––––––

David managed to stay out of George’s way until the next morning. A boot kicked him in the ribs. The thin sheet flung over him did nothing to cushion the blow. He groaned as he blinked. The light had barely managed to sneak through the dark curtain cast over the sky. Dad and George dressed in the gloom and left the apartment together. Ma made sure he didn’t shirk, as promised, and a new day began.

You make sure you do as you’re told and get some work. Your da will want to know you’ve been doing something.

If I can get anything. He said there wasn’t much work for people like me.

You watch yourself, son. Didn’t like the look of some of those people in the street. They’re not right in the head, some of them.

David ignored his mother’s warning. She always acted over-cautious. Rather than go down to the street level, he ascended the stairs. Doors to the left and right of him housed families just like theirs, with peeling paint on the door and almost no furniture to speak of. He kept climbing, even past the couple screaming at each other at the top of one flight of stairs.

He’d seen something the night before that intrigued him. A group of people crowded on the roof in the building next to theirs. It had mesmerised him. Had they managed to climb the whole building from the street?

The final flight of stairs came to a halt. He ran into a wall. Only a wooden door shut tight with its door handle missing blocked his path. David tugged on the rope that made for a makeshift door handle, the door opened and an area of concrete spread before him.

Butterflies danced in his stomach. He was right. They could get up to the roof this way. David stepped forward and did a 360-degree turn. He was alone. Little shelters made from discarded pieces of wood hammered together with rusty nails offered a place to sit and people could forget they were so far from home.

Across to the left and right of him, other roofs, some slightly above and some slightly below, traced the whole street into the distance. He looked over the edge. His legs buckled under him. He hadn’t realised how high he had climbed. David had never lived in a house with more than a single flight of stairs before. Now he hung in the air like a bird.

Waiting for the dizziness to pass, he pulled away and closed the door behind him. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to these heights.

––––––––

Hell’s Kitchen had a reputation as the arse end of New York. A man couldn’t walk without stepping through the abject poverty. Street kids begged and shined shoes on every corner. Most of them went barefoot. They bore bare legs up to the knee and wore torn coats with frayed edges. Their bones stuck out like walking skeletons with a sheet of skin draped over them.

David glared at them whenever they came too close. Kids like these inhabited every corner of Ireland as well. He had to compete with them if he didn’t want to end the same way. Dad wouldn’t let him eat if he returned too many times without any money to throw into the family kitty.

He traced the street and walked around the block to the other side. Each street looked much the same as the other. Dirty-looking women and men, with cloth caps slung low over their eyes, trudged along the paving stones on the sidewalk and in the middle of the road. Any horses or the few motorcars that wanted to come through would jolt them to life with their horns or a nasty shout from the window.

Why couldn’t da let me have Patrick or Don so I’d know where to look for work?

For most of the day, David got his bearings and explored some of the alleyways between the buildings. Washing hung from the windows and some people slumped against the wall smoking cigarettes. They eyed him with suspicion as he walked by.

Later that afternoon, as he watched the sun beginning to drop behind another row of tenements, he thought about making for home. Possible excuses for why he hadn’t earned anything today ran through his head and he let his guard drop.

As he rounded a corner, someone took him off his feet and he went flying to the ground. His head smacked against the concrete and a sharp slash of pain cut its way through the back of his head. David sniffed back tears and sat up, ready to fight. He found himself looking back at a boy not much older than himself.

The boy had a handsome face, but his eyes darted around in their sockets like a rat fleeing from a catcher. David balled his fist up and tried to punch him, but as soon as his arm left his side the boy vanished. The heels of the boy’s shoes vanished around the corner. A red-faced policeman followed the boy closely, threatening him with his truncheon. The policeman stopped to look at David for a moment, before following the boy round the corner. David looked on after them, fearing the two figures would come back for him.

David got up off the ground and brushed himself down. He massaged his aching head. A thin trickle of blood filtered from his nose. He swiped it away and headed for home. He was starting to like the chaos of New York.

Chapter Two

Who was that boy?

David spent the rest of the day trying to recall his face and put it together again. His nose had a slight crook on the bridge and he wasn't much bigger than him soaking wet. He felt tempted to ask his dad or his brother about why he could have run from the police, but he knew how they felt about crime. Dad acted the straight man all the way through.

David tried to put the boy out of his mind as he went out to find work that morning. He could roughly work out his part of the neighbourhood. Dad had warned him to stay within the boundaries of Hell's Kitchen, and he had no intention of disobeying him. Even the twenty or so streets comprising this part of New York made his head spin. In their home village in Ireland they had one street and endless fields. Someone could stand on top of a hill and pick out where everyone lived in the surrounding village and farms.

His wanderings soon brought him to the hidden small bars and saloons. Unemployed men drank their days away, whilst the aged begged for pennies so they could have one final drop of alcohol. Even the scruffy denizens of this area would turn their noses up at these people. Any honest, hard-working Irishman considered begging as beneath them.

One particular bar that stuck out to him was the Harp and Lion. It had a picture of a lion playing a harp scratched into the sign. He assumed it had once bore the colours of gold and green, but now they melted into a dirty brown. David thought about taking a look inside until someone flew into his line of vision. The boy from the day before.

The boy stopped in his tracks. Gees, it's a small world.

Could say that.

Sorry for running into you like that yesterday. I normally don't do that. You came around the corner so fast. What am I going to do? The boy shrugged.

Calm yourself, said David. No harm done. I didn't know they had the civil guard over here.

The civil guard?

You know, the ones always trying to put you in irons.

What are you talking about? The boy frowned. You mean the police?

Oh, we called them the civil guard back in Ireland.

Ah, you're fresh off the boat, then?

From Ellis Island a couple of days ago. I'm living in one of the tenements close to where the ships come in.

The boy looked satisfied. So you're not one of those living on the streets, then?