City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(60)

“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.

Terri appreciates it but still gives him grief. “What, I married those two jamokes instead of you?”

“They’re good kids.”

“When this baby comes,” Terri says, “if this baby ever comes, don’t think those two knot-heads are going to be over here changing diapers, because that’s going to be you, Danny Ryan. You knocked me up, not them.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Terri. That’s good to know.”

Terri’s eating increasingly weird shit.

One night Danny comes home, she’s sitting at the kitchen table chucking down something he don’t recognize.

“What is that?” he asks.

“An English muffin with green beans, melted cheese, and grape jelly,” she says, like it’s obvious.

“Wow.”

“Hey, you want some, make your own. I’m off my feet.”

Another night she gets on him about Madeleine. They’re lying in bed watching Carson when she says out of nowhere, “I miss your mom.”

“I don’t.”

“I do,” Terri says. “I like her. And it would be nice to have her help, you know, when the baby comes.”

“Yeah, because she’s so good with babies.”

Terri isn’t letting it go. “Are you ever going to forgive her?”

“Why?”

“Why do I ask,” Terri says, “or why should you forgive her?”

“I dunno. Both.”

“Because I’m your wife and I get to ask questions,” Terri says, “and because one day you’ll be standing at her grave and you’ll be sorry you didn’t.”

“No, I won’t,” Danny says. “Because I won’t be at the funeral.”

So Terri keeps getting bigger and weirder, and the uneasy peace between the Italians and the Irish holds up. While everyone knows it’s a truce and not a peace, still everyone acts with a measure of restraint. The Irish stay pretty much in Dogtown, the Italians on Federal Hill, as guys from each side keep a distance and a wary eye but are careful to avoid any other contact, lest a careless word strike a spark.





Twenty-Five


The baby comes in June, one day early.

Danny would say later that Ian slid out like he was trying to beat a double play at second.

Terri, she didn’t share this observation.

She’s in labor for six long hours, and it’s three in the morning before Ian decides to make his appearance in the world. Danny, he hangs in, he’s right there with the ice chips and the encouragement and the rhythmic breathing and all that happy crap. He’s seen his share of blood, although nothing like this, but Danny’s a soldier and is right there when the nurses wrap up the baby and lay him on Terri’s chest, saying, “Here’s your son.”

Ian Patrick Ryan.

Six pounds, four ounces.

All the fingers and toes.

Danny knows true happiness for maybe the first time in his life.

He don’t even get that mad when, later that morning, Terri—who recovers with astonishing speed—insists on calling Madeleine. “She should know she has a grandson.”

“I’m not talking to her.”

“Then go down to the cafeteria and get me an omelet,” Terri says.

“Didn’t you already have breakfast?”

“And now I’m going to have another one,” she says. “A cheese omelet. Cheddar.”

Danny obeys.



Madeleine answers the phone. “Terri? Do you have news for me?”

“Ian Patrick Ryan,” Terri says. “Six pounds, four ounces. Congratulations, you have a grandson.”

“And how are you?”