No.
The public is sick of it.
The word came down from the bosses of the bigger families in New York, Boston, even Chicago to cool it, dial it back, give it a rest. Don’t do shit in public which should be done in private. Keep us out of the headlines for a while.
Pretty much what Pasco told Danny on the phone. “I understand you’re filling in for John during his period of mourning.”
“I’m helping out.”
“I need you to stay your hand,” Pasco said. “You know what I mean. Certain people are getting very concerned. It’s not a good look, not with all this RICO shit, the trials . . .”
Danny knew what he meant. The feds were pounding organized crime with the RICO statutes and all the families were feeling the pressure. Car bombings and guys getting run over in the street weren’t helping with the public image.
“I hear you,” Danny said. “Does Peter?”
“He does,” Pasco said. “I don’t suppose you’d consider a sit-down.”
“That train has left the station.”
“That was his response, too,” Pasco said. “I’ll tell you what I told him—be smart, be discreet. If certain people have to come in on this, it won’t be good for either of you. Capisce?”
Danny understands: If New York or Boston decide we’re too much trouble, they’ll come in. It will be a hostile takeover, and their first move will be to put both me and Peter in the dirt.
So there’s a breather, a gasping spell of sorts.
March weather is fickle in this part of the world. It can rain or snow, sleet or drizzle or clear up. March should be the end of winter—everyone is sick to death of it and wants it to be over, but the month usually delivers what Danny thinks of as a fuck-you storm. Like You want spring, right? Well, I’ve got your spring for you right here. Then it dumps snow on your head.
Fuck you.
Right now it’s just windy—a damp cold that blows up from Narragansett Bay—and Danny’s glad to be out of it as he walks through the Gloc’s door.
Bobby Bangs is already behind the bar and hands him a cup of coffee, a sign of Danny’s new status.
Jimmy’s sitting in a booth, reading the Journal. He sees Danny, gets up and follows him into the back room. Bernie shows up a few minutes later and they get to work going through the day-to-day.
It’s almost time for lunch when they come out, and two skinny punk kids in jeans and black leather jackets are sitting in a booth looking nervous.
Danny looks at Bobby.
“I carded them,” Bobby says. “They’re legal. Twenty-one.”
“We just wanted to see Mr. Ryan,” one of them says, his voice actually cracking. They both slide out of the booth and stand up.
Jimmy pats them down, looks to Danny and shakes his head, meaning no, they aren’t carrying.
“Do I know you?” Danny asks. One of the kids looks familiar, Danny’s pretty sure he’s seen him at a hockey game or something.
“My name is Sean South, this is Kevin Coombs.”
“What do you want with me?” Danny asks.
“We were wondering,” Sean says, “if you, you know, needed anybody.”
“To do what?”
“You know,” Kevin says, “stuff.”
Stuff.
Yeah, Danny has stuff they could do. Like hang around and wait, sort of a probationary period. Guys don’t just walk in and get in, you gotta know them for a while. It’s not you’re so concerned they might be undercover cops, it’s more that they might be flakes, screw-ups, cowboys who will get you in trouble.
Truth is, though, that they need fresh blood. Outgunned and outmanned by the Morettis, the Dogtown Irish could use some new guys. What surprises Danny is that they came to him.
They want to be on Danny Ryan’s crew.
Danny has them hang for a while, run errands, go out to get coffee, doughnuts. A couple months of them making Dunkin’ runs, not screwing that up, he puts them out on the street as lookouts. Then he sends them out to take some of his collections, with the warning that they better not get carried away. They don’t, they use “measured violence,” in Sean’s words, so he sends them on a few more.
He also has them run errands for Sheila Murphy, at home with no husband and a toddler, and for Terri, who’s feeling fat and miserable. Her back and legs ache and she can’t wait to “pop this kid out.” So Danny sends “the Altar Boys,” as Sean and Kevin come to be known—to the supermarket, the drugstore, the cleaners—all the shit he’d be doing if he had the time.