General Fiction posted February 9, 2018


Excellent
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It happened in the City

Have a Bloody Valentine's Day!

by Bar62


The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

Paddy O'Brien was out for his morning jog. He ran ten to twelve miles daily as part of his training regime. You see Paddy was in training for the heavyweight boxing championship. He liked running down by the docks, watching the fisherman unloading their catch for the day. He ran past the many warehouses, where all manner of illegal contraband was stacked up just waiting to be moved to its final destination.
 
O'Brien knew about the illegal goings on, down at the docks and in and around Hell’s Kitchen, because he made his rent money and a bit extra driving Mickey Spillane, a ruthless, and some say a community-minded individual loosely affiliated with the Westies, an Irish gang that ruled the docks, the west side, and Hell’s Kitchen. The Westies were one of the most notorious gangs, they were involved in racketeering, loan-sharking, extortion, bookmaking, numbers running, illegal gambling drug dealing and contract murder. Paddy, when called on, would strong-arm someone who was behind in their payments. He kept telling himself that he was going to quit after the next fight.
 
It was not a safe place to be living or visiting for that matter; It was almost a lawless area where the gangsters called the shots.  There were constant feuds between the different factions that existed within the Irish mobsters, led by Frances Featherstone, Mickey Spillane, James Coonan, Roy DeMeo, and the Genovese crime family. It was DeMeo who killed Spillane on orders from Jimmy Coonan who murdered and dismembered loan shark Ruby Stein. James Coonan had a grudge against Spillane, that went back decades. The Irish Mob and the Italian Mafia ruled the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Not only did they run the numbers, sell the drugs, make the loans, they had most businesses in their pockets by holding their protection. If businesses did not pay protection, they were sure to have an accidental fire or vandals. They were so brazen as to destroy small businesses, by breaking furniture, busting windows, well you get the picture? Larger employers such as any Union shops were also controlled by the Westies or the various Italian crime families.









 
On this particular morning, Paddy had been running along the docks, when his vision was hijacked by this Goddess. She was sitting on a strip of grass and seemed to be in a considerable amount of pain.

 
“Muscle cramp?” Paddy ventures.
 
“Yes, and oh it hurts like bloody hell.”

“I can probably help if you’re fine with that?”
 
“Would you, please!”  
 
“It would be my pleasure.”
 
Paddy gets down on his knees, this might hurt initially, but if my guess is correct, once I pop your muscle you should be grand.”
 
“Yes, yes, please hurry?”
 
Paddy takes hold of this gorgeous leg both hands on the calf, “Ready, 1. 2. & 3!”
Paddy pulls the leg quick and hard; the offending muscle pops back into place, and the woman lies back on the grass, once again my theory holds true, that being, the cessation of pain is undoubtedly one of the best highs you can come by.
 
“I’ve got another few miles before I can lie down and relax, you be having a grand day now.” Paddy says as he continues his workout.”
 
The Goddess yells after him, “Hey what’s your name?”
 
“Me name is Paddy, Paddy O'Brien.”
 
“It was a great pleasure running into you, Paddy O'Brien.”
 
Paddy turns around and jogs back to where this redheaded beauty now stands.

“And I didn’t catch your name, and I thought I knew all of the fair Colleens in this part of the great city of New York.”

 
“My name is Bridgett.”
 
“Aye, an Irish lass to be sure. And your Sir name, dear Bridgett?
 
“It’s a good Irish name, Cohen it is”
 
“It looks to me that you’re still a bit shaky” on that leg. I Think I should offer you a
Gentleman’s escort back to where you live.”
 
“Well, I could use a strong body to lean on,” Bridgett admits.
 
“Where do you live Ms. Bridgett Cohen?
 
“Just off of the theater district, on 8th Ave.  and 45th St. What about you?”
 
“I got me a really sweet place, it’s small, but it’s just right for me.” Paddy didn’t want to tell her that he was living in one of the warehouses like he did when he was a young lad in Belfast. His Da was a drunk and his Mammy left the whole family, taking up with a traveling preacher. Paddy was the oldest of the four kids, and consequently, he took on the responsibility of marginally taking care of the three younger ones.
 
When things got hard, the three kids went to live with their cousins, who lived in Doolin on the Southwest coast of Ireland.  This was the time when Paddy took up residence in the warehouse. This was also the time when Paddy found out that he had a talent for boxing. Hanging out on the docks and around the warehouse’s, did not offer the best sampling of young men. Paddy was constantly challenged, and he found himself fighting for everything which he possessed. Paddy’s Da had toyed with the idea of becoming a boxer, he had a pretty good chance of taking the title, unfortunately, he could not refuse a drink. He let his whole career fizzle down the drain. When Paddy attempted to tell his Da, that he was going to start boxing professionally; his Da looked at him and laughed.
 
“I just had a symphony,” Paddy says to Bridgett.
 
“I think you mean an epiphany”
 
“Yeah that’s what I mean”
 
“Well, let’s hear it.”
 
“I have access to a car, I can drive you home in style”
 
“Really!”
 
“Yeah, why don’t you sit here, get a coffee or tea, and I will return with your chariot.”
 
Paddy stops the waiter and tells him, “Anything she wants, it’s on me, just give it to her.”
 
He continues his running, but then he cuts through an alley and enters The White House. The White House was the watering hole where many of the Westies hung their hat. Mickey Spillane had his table in the back where Mickey could see everyone that entered the Pub.
 
Paddy pays respect to the old timers, who used to run the various operations that the Westies gradually took over. Paddy walks over to Mickey’s table. He has his eyes cast downwards. The unspoken law is that you don’t say anything or look straight at one of the bosses unless they speak to you first.
 
“This is a surprise, What’s shakin Paddy?”
 
“Mickey, I want to ask if I can use the car for like an hour?”
 
“And why does Paddy need the car?”
 
“Well, you see, I ran into this real stand-up young lady, and well, she had this muscle cramp and well, um, I said I could drive her home.” Paddy stammers.
 
Mickey looks at Paddy, just stares until Paddy can’t stand the feeling of being stared at.
 
“So, what da ya say Mickey?”
 
“I guess it’s ok. Why don’t you wash it before you bring it back?”
 
“Yeah, sure Mickey, I’ll wash it really well, thanks a lot, Mickey.”
 
Paddy runs back outside and then realizes he did not get the keys. He goes back in the bar, and Mickey tosses him the keys.
 
~~**~~
 
Paddy pulls up to the café where he left Bridgett. He takes a quick look around, no Bridgett.  The waiter tells him she left about ten minutes ago. “Damn it” he shouts.  He gets back in the convertible Mercedes, and cruises up 8th Ave. There she is, Paddy pulls over to the curb.
 
“Hey why didn’t you wait, I told you I was getting the car.”
 
“I didn’t want to put you out, besides my leg feels fine. You have some healing hands there Paddy, me bucko.”
 
“Well, get in I can still drive you home.” He says somewhat dejected.
 
“But I’m home,” Bridgett says with a laugh, “That’s my place right across the street.”
      
Paddy is beginning to let his emotions get the better part of him. I guess you don’t need me anymore then?”
 
He starts backing up the Mercedes. . .

“Hey wait a minute,”
 
“Yeah what is it?”
 
“Well, it’s a shame to let such a beautiful car go by without a ride, why don’t we take a ride to the ocean!” Bridgett says with a big beautiful smile.
 
“It would be nice driving with the top down.”
 
” Let’s go, Charles” 
 
As they’re driving, warm spring afternoon, the wind is blowing their hair, Paddy notices out of the corner of his right eye, that Bridgett has unbuttoned three of the buttons on her blouse, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what this means. She then repositions herself, so she is facing him, two tantalizingly luscious breasts, peek out from the confines of her flimsy blouse, apparently quite happy with their current state of freedom.
 
“Paddy, pull over at the next turnout” 
 
“Aye Captain”
 
He pulls off the highway and parks the Mercedes. They have an expansive view of the Atlantic Ocean.
 
 “Now, I would like a kiss, if you don’t mind.”
 
Paddy turns towards Bridgett and those delectable bosoms are just waiting to be fondled, kissed and licked. Paddy folds himself into the open and loving embrace waiting for him. They kiss, lick, suck, touch, probe, and otherwise do everything that can be done when two individuals are involved. Bridgett is all worked up and needs a release. Paddy O'Brien knows exactly what Bridgett needs, but even more importantly he knows what she wants!
 
On the drive back home both young strumpets were physically drained and happy. They had discovered a very important piece of information that the two of them had in common. Both had a voracious appetite for sex.
 
~~**~~
 
 
Paddy O'Brien had his opponent Jose Gueverra up against the ropes. He was abusing Jose’s body with repetitive punches to his abdomen, & his solar plexus. Paddy was kind of leaning on Gueverra, and Jose was getting tired of this fucking Irish creep laying all over him. Finally, Gueverra pushes O’Brian off of him and frees himself from the ropes.
 
“Get off of me Cabron”
 
The bell rings to end the 12th round. When Paddy gets back to his corner, after getting the once over. His manager Jim Johnson asks what’s wrong, he seems listless, like he doesn’t care about this fight? Paddy did not want to tell Jim about Bridgett Cohen, but he knew that was the reason he felt perfectly fine about where he was at, he did not have that hungry feeling that was part of being a Great Boxer. The only way he was going to take the title and hold on to it, was if he were a Great Boxer, and to be a great boxer, one had to be hungry. Right now, Paddy felt complete, content, and confident that he could finish this fight, and hold onto the title.
 
“If you want to prove to me that you still have that Winner mentality you’ll finish Jose Gueverra in the 13th round. His manager, Jim Johnson tells him straight away.
 
~~…~~
 
Paddy moves out into the center of the ring; Gueverra is bobbing and weaving. “Watch him, he may throw you a punch you’re not expecting,”  Johnson yells from the corner.  O'Brien moves in, but he’s leaving himself unprotected so as to have as much power in the punch as he can get.  Paddy throws a few jabs to keep Jose honest. Gueverra gets in close and delivers a barrage of body shots and then a vicious upper-cut, which catches Paddy a bit unprepared. Paddy stumbles and seems disoriented. Gueverra was right there with a right hook and a bunch of punches to the face and head.
 
Jose is going for the brass ring. Paddy grabs Gueverra in an embrace, and whispers in his ear.
 
“It’s time for you to call it a night,” with that Paddy steps back and delivers a flurry of punches that catch Jose in the mouth and a number of blows to the face and head. The last three punches landed right above the right eye causing a temporary blindness in that eye.
                                                                        
Paddy went in for the kill. The two gladiators threw everything they had into the mix. Both fighters were exchanging punch for punch. Paddy brings a punch from right field, which Gueverra doesn't see coming due to the temporary blindness. The punch just about decapitates Jose Gueverra. Jose hits the mat, and Paddy hopes he stays down. The Referee starts the count, 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . Gueverra grabs for the ropes, he's trying to stand up on his own, 7 . 8. The bell ending round 13 saves Jose Gueverra. Two of Gueverra's team help guide Jose to his corner. Both pugilists are dead tired having barely enough strength to finish the required fifteen rounds.

The judges called it for Paddy O'Brien, almost unanimously. Paddy O'Brien thought the fight was much closer than did the Judges. That's the way scoring goes when you happen to be the reigning champion. Paddy is looking to congratulate Jose Manuel Gueverra-Castillo, but he has already left the auditorium.  

  
Paddy had not been beaten up the way he was in tonight’s fight for a long time. He started thinking if he really wanted the title. Was it worth it to get his brains beat in every time he was called on to defend the title? What was he doing with his life anyhow? Maybe Bridgett was in his life for a good reason? Paddy slips his robe on and walks back to the locker room. He watches these couple’s arms around each other, laughing and walking out of the auditorium together. That’s what I’m missing, he says to himself.
 
=~0~=
 
Bridgett was having a wonderful time, flirting with all the guys and a couple of women as well. They were hitting all the bars and getting quite looped.  They were on their way to an Irish Pub, Danny O’Keefe’s Irish Pub. They walk in and the Pub is happening! There is plenty of young, handsome Irish blokes. Jimmy Coonan is totally banjaxed.  He zeroes in on Bridgett Cohen, and James thinks he’s in love, again. He walks up to Bridgett and says, “Pardon me, but you are the most feckin beautiful bird in this whole bloody Pub. Would you mind if I had me-self a ride?”
 
“Look, don’t be a Whanker. I’m not interested in a chubby feckin Muppet that feels like he needs to act the Maggot!”
 
“Yeah, so what if I am, there’s not a bloke in this Pub who can stand up against me and have you for his bar Prize!
 
“Sorry mate, but I’m not willing to be a bar prize for ANYONE! So, you can put your stallion back in the barn.”
 
Coonan grabs Bridgett by her long red hair and yanks her head back. “Do you know who you're talking too?”, he continues to pull her hair backward. One of the men in the party makes the mistake of calling James Coonan on his bravado.
 
The young foolish man breaks a beer bottle, “Jaysus man, leave her be.”
 
“James Coonan while still pulling on Bridgett’s hair reaches behind himself and brings forth a derringer pistol. He cocks it and points it at the foolish young man.
 
“I have one bullet and you have a broken beer bottle, who do you think is going to win? You dumb motherfucker!

Coonan pulls the trigger hitting the guy in the chest. Jimmy Coonan is just that kind of crazy, for instance once he learned the art of dismemberment of dead bodies, from Eddie "the Butcher" Cummiskey, he was hooked on the blood and the guts.
 
All of a sudden there is a whole group of armed men and Danny’s Pub becomes an armed camp. Mickey Spillane and his supporters Joseph "Mad Dog" Sullivan, Tom Devaney and Tom "the Greek" Kapatos, three of Spillane's top lieutenants.
 
“Jimmy Coonan, let that girl go right now, if you don’t I can promise you, a taste of machine guns that will put your single shot derringer to shame,”  Spillane speaks for the individuals who have joined Spillane's gang.
 
On Coonan’s side were Anthony Salerno, a high-ranking member of the Genovese crime family, Roy DeMeo, Gambino crime family soldier, Eddie "the Butcher" Cummiskey Paul Castellano of the Gambino’s, and John Gotti who would take over the Gambino’s. And last but not least Frances Mickey Featherstone stands, holding a machine gun.
 
“I’m thinking a lot of people could be getting hurt, you best think about your threat, Mickey me boyo”
 
“Think about the repercussions.”
 
“You know, Mickey I have thought about the repercussions and I don’t think there are any worth paying any mind.” James Coonan fires at Spillane but misses.
 
The Coonan group opens up firing their weapons. The Spillane faction walks slowly forward spraying bullets throughout the pub. Scores of innocent victims are being hit, some are wounded, others are dead.
 
Before the Coonan Gang had chosen the Irish Pub as a potential target, Jimmy Coonan had told them that this was going to be a repeat of the Valentine’s Day Massacre. Many of the Westies as well as members of the Genovese, & Gambino Crime Families, lost their lives. It turned out to be a feckin bloodbath.
 
Have a Bloody Feckin Valentines Day!
 

 [BP1]


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