City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(66)

“All right, Danny Ryan,” Marvin says. “You got yourself some Zulus.”

Marvin laughs at his own joke and then everyone laughs. Even Bernie Hughes ventures a chuckle.

It’s a win for Danny.

He don’t care about a victory inside the back room, even if it raises his status. What Danny cares about is the Dogtown Irish surviving this war. This alliance changes the numbers, maybe enough to bring Peter to the peace table.

The surprising thing about the dinner is that Marvin Jones and John Murphy become buddies.

When John starts telling old war stories, Danny tries to shut him down, but Marvin waves him off—he wants to hear them. Sits there like a grandson while John goes on and on about the old days. Danny, he’s just glad that Marty ain’t there to chime in or start singing or something.

When John gets up to take a piss, Danny says, “Sorry about my father-in-law.”

“No,” Marvin says. “Respect.”

John comes back in wiping his hands on his khakis. When he sits down, Marvin says, “This is how I look at it, Mr. Murphy . . .”

Danny sees that John likes the “Mr. Murphy.”

“No offense,” Marvin says, “but the Irish were the British niggers. My people are the Americans’ niggers.”

Danny is afraid John will go off, but he says, “When my grandfather got here, there were signs reading ‘No dogs or Irish allowed.’”

“What I mean,” Marvin says.

Bobby Bangs brings in a new round of drinks. John says, “Not the house shit. Go get the private stock.”

So Danny sits there in disbelief as John and Marvin sit sipping vintage Irish whiskey and swapping stories. They’re both pretty much in the bag when John says, “Can I ask you something, Marvin?”

Marvin nods.

“Grape soda,” John says. “Do you like it?”

“You got any?” Marvin asks.

“No.”

“Then why ask?”



Not all Marvin’s guys are behind the new alliance.

His cousin Demetrius, for instance, doesn’t like it at all. “Let ’em kill each other. That’s a good thing. The fewer whites, the better. Why do we want to get in the middle of that?”

“Don’t we want the guineas off our blocks?” Marvin asks.

“We can do it ourselves.”

“We can do it quicker with the Irish,” Marvin says. “And we need their protection. They got judges, state senators, some cops. We have none of that.”

“You trust Old Man Murphy?”

“He’s not running things anymore,” Marvin says. “Ryan is. Let me tell you about him, cousin—that motherfucker wants out. I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want any part of dope, he doesn’t want any part of the rackets. We get the Italians out of the way, Danny Ryan will leave us alone. Let him have his unions, his docks—chicken feed compared to dope.”

“I know, I just hate honkies.”

“So let’s go kill us a few.”



At first, Peter Moretti thinks that the alliance between Marvin Jones and the Dogtown Irish is hysterical.

It’s open mic night at the American Vending office when the rumors start coming in about it, the guys are firing off so many lines about “black Irish,” John Murphy growing a ’fro, the Irish finally getting some dicks worth the name.

Peter thinks it’s so fucking funny he has a load of watermelons dumped outside the Gloc and a crate of potatoes delivered to Marvin’s club and they all get a good laugh out of that until one of the comedians, a heroin dealer, is found dead slumped over the wheel of his Lincoln. And Marvin’s witticism, “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an Eye-talian,” makes the rounds.

The boys at American Vending don’t find that amusing.

Peter sends Sal and Frankie out to do some “coon-hunting” and they do a drive-by on one of Marvin’s dealers on Cranston Street.

Marvin responds by killing one of Sal’s guys outside his gumar’s apartment.

The papers love it.

Now they have a three-way war to write about.

Life is good.

At Danny’s house, it’s more like okay. With less and less money coming in, it’s harder to buy diapers, formula, car seats, all the expensive shit that comes with having a kid, and Terri is feeling the pinch, plus she’s getting a little stir-crazy being at home with a baby all day. And she knows that Danny has gotten a bump in his responsibilities, she doesn’t understand why he hasn’t gotten the bump in earnings to go with it.

“I have half a mind to talk to my father about it,” she says one night when Danny comes home.

“Use the other half of your mind,” Danny says. Last thing that would get him a move up is his wife fighting his battles for him.

“But you’re the one who put this thing with Marvin Jones together,” Terri says, trying to force a spoonful of some vegetable shit into Ian’s unwilling mouth.

“You’re not supposed to know about that.”

“It’s all over the neighborhood,” Terri says. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Fish that don’t open their mouths don’t get caught.”

“What does that even mean?” Terri asks, frustrated with him and her son, who dodges with his head and thinks this is some sort of really fun game. “Fish? What? All I’m saying is that with . . . Pat gone . . .”