Chapter 2: Hunger and Horror

Boston: Present Day

"Damn," I said shaking my head. "You palled around with Blackie Conroy." I couldn't help it. Blackie Conroy is one of, if not the best known, mobsters is the city and maybe the country. And Max was his childhood friend. I suddenly wondered aloud what had made two such close friends choose such different paths in life.

"Son, the Blackie I knew was no murderer. A thief, yes. A liar, for sure…" Once again, Max was lost in a memory. "But the Blackie I knew as a boy was not someone who would take a life. Hell, he saved mine on more than one occasion." Max continued to stare out over the softly lit room.

South Boston, 1956

Max Cavanaugh had grown into his lanky frame and built up a pair of tight, sinewy, muscular arms that framed his prominent chest well. He wore a thick Navy pea coat handed down to him by an older cousin who had fought in the war. Max didn't care if it was second hand though, it was warm against the winter chill and chicks dug a guy in a Navy coat. As he hurried into the warmth of the corner pub and his eyes watered from the sudden change of bitter cold to inviting warmth, he felt several sets of eyes turn slowly on him from a familiar booth in a back corner. He nodded silently to one of the 4 young men sitting in the booth and after a brief word with the others in the booth, Blackie Conroy slowly rose and came to the front of the pub where Max was removing his jacket and scarf.

"He here?" Max whispered sharply and Blackie responded with a curt nod as Max hung his scarf over top of his jacket. The young friends exchanged faintly worried, entirely excited glances before Max took a deep breath and followed his friend to the booth. Blackie slipped into the bench quickly and Max followed.

"Whitey…you remember my pal Max right?" Blackie squeaked at one of the two dark figures sitting across from he and Max. The figure leaned forward into the light and his cold, dark eyes twinkled with that eerie charm all bad men seem to possess. He was older than Max and Blackie. Not considerably older in years, but in criminal deeds he was lifetimes older than the 16 year olds who sat before him. Whitey Bulgar was going to be the head of the Boston Mob before he even hit middle age. No one doubted it, and no one was surprised when it actually happened several years later. But even as a 20 something mob Enforcer, Whitey radiated power. The boys held his gaze as steadily as they could and Whitey smiled mischievously at them.

"So Max, Blackie here says you might be interested in a position with the Office. I've been watching you fellas since you was nothin' but a coupla little Boosters, but you were good little Boosters." He said eying Max carefully, searching the depths of his young, vibrant blue eyes for the true color of the soul behind them.

Whitey sat back and took a long drag on his cigarette.
 "So…do you think you're cut out for it Kid?" He asked and Max shifted his gaze from Whitey to his fidgeting buddy beside him.

When Max didn't answer, Whitey smile admiringly and nodded his head as a cloud of smoke silently escaped his lips.

"I'll give you some time to think about it…but think hard kid, think hard." He said crushing out the butt in the amber ashtray beside him as the still silent accomplice beside him slipped suddenly from the booth and Whitey slipped out himself. Neither man looked back at the table as they swaggered out the back door of the bar and a chill ran down Max's spine. He couldn't tell if it was from the winter chill that had snuck in past the two men, or the men themselves. In the back of his still juvenile mind, Max half imagined that even the bitter Massachusetts winter would cower at the sight of Whitey. He turned back to Blackie and sighed heavily.

"How come you didn't say nothing?" Blackie asked lightly hitting at Max's wrist. Max just shook his head.

"I dunno….there's just something that don't feel right about this." He said glancing back at the door. Blackie looked at him, exasperated. "

"Are you looped!? Something doesn't 'feel right' about never havin' to worry about money for the rest of your life!? About…never having to worry about being roughed up on the streets again? Never havin' to worry about fillin' our stomachs…or…or having a roof over our heads? Max, you're folks would be taken care of, your mom could live in a nice place on the other side-a the tracks…" All of this tempted Max and he remembered suddenly what had made this offer so enticing in the first place.

Max just nodded to Blackie and said once again that he needed to think about it.

"See that's your problem, Max…you think too much…" Blackie said frustrated as he slipped out of the booth and Max hurried past him to the front door. Max turned thoughtfully as he suited up to go back outside.

"And your problem is that you don't think enough, Blackie." He said as he pushed open the door and headed out into the cold.

As Max turned the corner of his street, he caught sight of his family's quaint South Boston row home. He reached the front steps to the porch and dodged the array of sleds, shovels and snow clothes his younger siblings had left there in a dash for the dinner table. Max pulled the door open gently and four smaller, toe-headed children descended upon him from the staircase in front of him. They were jabbering away at their oldest brother, inquiring into his daily activities while simultaneously describing there day of snow play. Max smiled and patted each one on the head, customarily scooping the youngest, Megan up into his arms and carried her through the house with him. His parents sat in the kitchen at the table and they welcomed their oldest child home.

"Hey! How ya doin' boy?" his father asked around a large cigar as he paged through the daily Globe sitting on the table in front of him.

Max nodded and set the weekly earnings from his job at the docks down on the dirty gray newspaper. His father smiled subtly but appreciatively at his son and patted his hand. He smiled at his baby girl perched on Max's hip and tickled the bottom of her stocking foot. She giggled and Max set her down on the floor where she waddled off to her mother. Max nodded at his father and took the seat next to him and waited for his father to routinely pass him the section of the paper he had finished with. When he finally slid the paper over Max took it casually and leaned back balancing his chair on two legs and spreading the paper out across his strong legs. His father watched him out of the corner of his eye and a proud smile crept across his lips. Max caught the scrutiny and glanced back before returning his attention to the sports scores.

"How was work?" his father asked clearing his throat and using his left hand to flip back his own shaggy blonde bangs. Max nodded slowly and glanced playfully at his mother standing at the stove with Megan now on her own hip.

"Cold." Max said with a grin and his mother smiled as she turned and set a hot bowl of soup and a large piece of French bread down in front of him. Max quickly pushed the paper aside and disregarding the shiny utensils within reach of his hands, Max grabbed the chunk of bread and used it to scoop the broth hungrily into his mouth. His father chuckled and reached over to muss his hair.

The younger children rushed like a tornado into the room bent on dragging Max out to watch television with them.

"Come on Max! We wanna watch tv and we ain't allowed to turn it on by ourselves!" his 9-year-old brother Davey whined pulling at Max's shirt sleeve. Max shooed him off in the midst of trying to swallow a sopping piece of bread.

"I'll be in soon, find something to do till then." He said and the children obediently filed out of the room. Max chugged down a large glass of warm milk and then stood from the table with a satisfied belch and strode into the other room, his father's cheerful laugh behind him.

"You're welcome!" his mother called as he went to the box and turned on the television. 5-year-old John sat dutifully beside the T.V. his small hand poised on the dial awaiting orders to change the channel. After a few minutes of a show the bunch lost interest and instructed John to turn the dial which he was pleased to do. When the next program was of little interest to John, he took it upon himself to change the channel.

"Hey! I was watching that!" 12-year-old Frank hollered obnoxiously from the couch. He jumped to his feet before Max could scold him and dove at the dial. He pushed John out of the way and changed the channel back.

"Leave him be Frankie." Max said tired and irritable. Frank ignored his older brother and pushed John once more as he returned to the couch. John had had enough of the bullying and sat up angrily and switched the channel back again. Max rolled his eyes, too tired to prevent what was coming and sighed heavily as Frank's head whipped around and he dove back at the television and snapped the dial angrily back. John countered and switched it again. Frank shoved him and changed it back just as a bright flash and a loud pop signaled the shorting of the tube in back of the large box. Max sighed heavily and all of the children suddenly quieted and stared blankly at the now dark screen.

"God Damn it, Frank!" Max hollered angrily as a renewed strength caused him to stand from the couch.

"Maxwell! I didn't just hear you take the Lord's name in vain did I?" his mother called from the kitchen and Max avoided the question.


"Frank and John were screwin' with the box and the tube blew." He called angrily and headed for the door to grab his coat.

His father came to the kitchen door and handed Max a few dollars to pick up a new tube at the hardware store. John and Frank wordlessly followed Max in dressing for the cold, fully aware that it would be their combined monthly allowance that would pay for the new tube, and followed him out the door after one last stern look from their father.

Boston: Present Day

"So did you beat them senseless when you got out the front door?" Woody asked taking a second sip of his chilled new drink. Max just smiled and shook his head.

"I wasn't allowed to lay a hand on any of those kids and I knew I'd hear about it if I did. They understood what needed to be done though." Max said filling a few glasses and handing them over the counter to a barmaid.

"So what did they do?" Woody asked trying to imagine what his own younger brother might have done in the situation.

"They didn't say a word. They knew better than to bicker on the way, it was too cold to speak anyway. We walked to the hardware store and I handed Frank the money and John the old tube so he could more easily compare it to the others and get the right size tube. I tucked my hands under my arms and waited for them to come back out."

South Boston: 1956               

Frank and John dashed to the back of the store, knowing that the faster they got out and home where it wasn't so cold, the less mad Max would be about having to stand outside. They were actually pretty sure Max's standing outside was solely to encourage their speediness. They paid for the new tube and turned towards the door; where they saw a local well-known booster watching Frank place his change in his coat pocket. The two young boys subtly turned towards the back door exit and headed for it. They didn't sense the older boy following them out.

Max was standing outside the hardware storefront, his toes gradually losing all feeling and the exhaustion of school and work finally becoming nearly unbearable. He huffed and muttered some inappropriate things about his young brothers as he slipped into the front door of the store. The store-keeper, a friend of Max's father, quickly signaled to Max that they had left through the back which let Max know that there was trouble. He nodded and hurried back out into the cold.

Max slipped along the wall of the store, now almost oblivious to the biting cold. He heard the muffled voices of his younger brothers as well as a slightly older voice he didn't recognize. He peeked around the corner and watched the boys' body language. Frank stood protectively in front of his young brother. The older boy stood uncomfortably close to the two. He was shifting from foot to foot, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his large coat. Max couldn't tell if he was carrying a weapon or not, but at that point it didn't matter; this kid was threatening his brothers. He had to defend them.

"There a problem here boys?" Max asked casually as he stepped into the light of the alley.

The boy turned to Max with a slight jump and stared him down with a cool smile.

"No problem Cavanaugh. Just a little exchange of finances between my boys here and me, nothing for you to be concerned with." He said casually. Max couldn't place his name but he knew the boy was about his age.

"Well, actually those are MY boys there so it DOES concern me." Max said stepping closer to the little crowd.

The boy sighed and looked menacingly at John and Frank before turning his head back to Max.

"And I thought you might be cut out for this line of work…you're disappointing a lot of people Max." He said almost in a singsong voice.

Max stepped forward once again and was now nearly nose-to-nose with the little thief. They eyed each other coolly and finally the other boy looked away.

"Well, I don't wanna upset anyone…see ya around boys." He said over his shoulder still looking at Max.

"And I'm sure I'll DEFINITELY be seeing YOU around Max." he said and walked backwards away from Max towards Frank and John. Max lowered his eyes to his brothers and gave them a half hearted smile, assuring them it was okay now. But in taking his eyes off of the other boy, Max had made a fatal mistake. The boy took the opportunity to slide a knife out of his pocket and in what seemed like barely a second, grab 12-year-old Frank by the shoulder and plunge the cold knife into his side.

"You son of a Bitch!!!" Max screamed as the boy took off running down the street, each snow-crunching step being stored in Max's head so he might later hunt the boy down.  Max dove towards his younger brother and pulled him into his lap. Blood pooled hot and dark in the pure white snow, as John looked horrified down at the carnage. Max began to cry out of frustration at his inability to make things better. He was always the one to pick up the younger ones and dust off their knees. But there was no amount of dusting that would save Frank. Max watched as his face paled and his eyes glazed, a few hot tears squeezed past his lids. Max searched the area for someone to help. He screamed at John to go find help and after a few stunned seconds, John took off down the opposite side of the alley.

Max sat holding Frank and ordering him to stay with him and not to sleep. It seemed like an eternity before he finally saw John pulling a tall dark figure behind him as he hurried down the street. When they finally reached Max and Frank, the man gently took Frank from Max and lifted him into his strong arms after removing his heavy coat and wrapping it around Frank's shivering body. It was then that Max noticed something shiny on the man's coat and realized what it was. It was a badge. Max swung his head around to the man's face as the three raced down the street to the corner where there was a street light. The officer set Frank down and began to question Max as to what happened. Max felt no fear of trusting this police officer as he had felt with every cop he'd ever been picked up by. This man wanted to help save his little brother. He spilled to him about the television, and the fighting, and the tube blowing because of the boys and making them come to buy a new one. The officer must have detected the guilt in Max's voice and he laid a reassuring hand on Max's shoulder and handed him his police hat so he could better take a look at Frank. Max held tightly onto the hat, his fingertips tracing nervously over the dark, shiny brim as they waited for an ambulance to arrive.

The officer talked to Frank, comforted little John and reassured Max the entire time they waited. When the van finally arrived, the officer wisely held Max and John back from riding along with them. He picked up little John as if he were his own child and carried him to his cruiser, all the while assuring him that his big brother would be okay. Max stood on the corner, watching the ambulance pull away and cried. He didn't care if the cop thought he was a baby right then, he just let all of his anger release in a string of sobs that wracked his body and caused him to slump to the ground under the streetlight. A shadow appeared at his side and when Max looked up, the cop was standing beside him, a large fur lined police coat held open in front of him. Max looked down and wiped his eyes.

He felt himself being lifted to his feet as the jacket was placed around his shoulders and the officer guided him to the car where John sat quietly in the front seat. He guided Max into the back seat and closed the door after him.

"So Cavanaugh, what's it like to be in the back of a cruiser without worrying that you're going to jail?" The officer asked with a playful smile as he headed towards the Cavanaughs'. Max allowed himself to smile slightly for the first time since the stabbing. He knew his brother was going to be fine, the cop wouldn't have joked with him otherwise. He snuck a peek at the man's pleasant eyes in the rear view mirror and then looked down at the hat still clutched in his hands. He ran his fingers over the hard badge attached to the front of it and mused that maybe cops weren't all that bad after all.

Boston: Present Day

I could only sit there at the bar, my mouth hung open and my right hand still clutched tightly around my warm, forgotten beer.

"Jesus…did…did he make it?" I asked and Max raised his eyebrows with a smile.

"Sure, he was alright. My mother said St. Jude was right by the boy's side that night. Though a lapse Catholic as I am, I think I have to agree with her on that one." He said wiping off the bar and shaking his head like he still couldn't believe that his brother had survived.

I sighed in relief and nodded. I think I would have to agree with his mother on that one as well.

"So what happened? You find out who the kid was?" I asked and Max nodded casually as he cleaned some glasses. He looked from the stack of dirty beer mugs to me and back.

"Well…I dunno…maybe if some helpful young detective would hop back here and help me clean some glasses I might be willing to satisfy his curiosities?" He asked with a smirk. I smirked right back and stood from my stool as Max smiled and lifted the counter flap and I stepped back behind the bar with him.  Max handed me a glass and a dishtowel.

"Well of course I found out who the kid was! I told ya I recognized the little bastard didn't I?" Max said and I rolled my eyes.

"So…who was he?" I asked and Max suddenly grew more serious as he reflected back on that dark period of his life.

"Well, I guess you can gather that the night Frank was stabbed was the night I decided to become a cop, right?" He asked and I nodded confidently. Max handed me another glass and stared down into the bottom of the glass he was cleaning.

Boston 1956

"Max! Blackie's here to see you if you're finished with the dishes!" Max's mother's voice called from the family room. He sighed and set the last glass on the drying rack.

"Coming!" he called back and threw the rag on the sink after drying his hands with it. He cautiously entered the family room and headed straight for the door. His mother moved away into the kitchen as Max stepped outside to speak with Blackie.

The boys exchanged uncomfortable smiles.

"Well, now I know to get you some new dishtowels for Christmas 'Maxine'." Blackie said cautiously and Max nodded with a half-hearted smile and leaned against the large wooden door.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Blackie spoke.

"I'm sorry about Frankie, Max. How's he feelin'?" he asked sincerely and Max took a deep breath before looking out over the still snow-covered streets.

"Better…thanks for asking." Max said and a few more seconds passed. "It was one of Whitey's boys, Sean." Max said in the most adult tone he had used in his life to that point. Blackie seemed surprised by Max's use of his real name, but he understood Max's intention to show him how serious this was.

"Yeah, I suppose it was." Blackie said looking off in the direction Max was looking.

"So?" Max asked expectantly, waiting for the delicious revenge plot he was sure his best friend was cooking up in his head right then. Instead, Blackie just looked at him blankly.

"So….what?" Blackie asked stepping away from Max closer to the end of the porch. Max was speechless for a second.

"So WHAT!?" Max yelled, leaping forward so that he was right in Blackie's face. "Eye for an eye is WHAT, Blackie!! I want that little prick to feel the cold blade of a knife in HIS side and I want the man who ordered him to put it in my brother to feel that blade too!!" Max hollered and punched the railing of the porch. Blackie backed up once again.

"I…I can't help you there Max, this…this…attack was strictly business…I can't make nothin' personal of it." He said raising his hands helplessly. Max was appalled.

"That dirty Mc, rat bastard Capone-wanna be tried to beat me into workin' for him by putting a knife through my little brother's ribs! It was business when we talked in the bar! It became personal when he went after MY FAMILY!!" Max all but screamed in Blackie's face.

Blackie shook his head silently and sadly. He looked down at the ground.

"I…I told you Max, we're different you and me." He said and Max scoffed.

"More now than ever." Max said bitingly. Blackie looked up into his friend's face.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He asked angrily and Max got closer to his face.

"It means…that…that when you see Whitey or one a his lackies beatin' on someone…you have this…this hunger in your eyes. Like it's a Saturday night fight or somethin' and you're always rootin' for the bad guys! Maybe a few years ago I mighta been that way…but now…the only thing you'll see in me when I watch them guys roughin' up somebody…is horror! I've almost felt that pain of loss! I've felt it scratchin' at my back door! And I don't ever wanna be responsible for makin' anyone else feel that loss!" Max screamed and pushed Blackie off his porch into the street. Blackie almost lost his balance, but he just slipped across the dirty slush. He didn't try to fight back, he just looked at Max for a long second before sticking his hands in his pockets and walking off down the street. Max watched him until he was out of sight and then turned and went back into his house, throwing the deadbolt as he did.