Giant Problems

[dannymac910]

I just don't understand why this doesn't have over 1000 views already. READ IT PEOPLE!

[OregonDuck1989]

San Francisco Giants Week Two Review:

Record: 8-7 (Current Streak: W 3) ½ GB of LAD for Division Lead

Positives: Willie Mays continues to hit well batting .333. Ken Henderson is hitting .354 and Gaylord Perry is still tossing amazing at a 1.09 ERA in 33 IP and holding opponents to a .140 batting average

Negatives: Ed Halicki still can’t pitch. I might mention to Davidson to send him down to the minors as his ERA is still in the cosmic regions of the 9’s. The bottom three of the lineup (6,7,8) is still having trouble putting the bat on the ball and Bobby Bonds the leadoff man is barely getting an OBA of .359 so his quick legs aren’t on base enough. Jim Ray Hart’s defense is called into question and his bat has cooled off enough to where people are starting to notice.

Next on the Schedule: 3 vs. Pirates 2 off day’s 3 at Pirates

Injuries: None to the Major league boys.

April 12, 1971
San Francisco, California

My morning routine hadn’t changed since I moved to San Fran. I would leave my apartment around eight in the morning, grab a coffee from the grocery store on the corner and then walk to my office to get there around nine at the latest. Today was no different. I got my coffee and headed up the two flights of stairs to my office.

I unlocked the door and flipped on my lights. Janice was always here around 9:30 so I had some time to unwind before the day officially began. As I walked into my office, I saw a man sitting in the chair in front of my desk. He didn’t turn to look at me but he spoke.

“Mr. Donnelly, I’m Vic Canigliari,” he said. “And I’m here to speak with you about your brother.”

I sat down at my desk and looked into the man’s face. He looked like you would expect a New York Italian to look. He had black hair that was gelled and a strong face that was chisled. He had broad shoulders and a lower lip that was a stuck out farther then his upper. “How did you find me?” I said.

“Mr. Donelly, you’re the Assistant General Manager of the San Francisco Giants, if you wanted something more subtle I would suggest something like you did before like the trash industry.”

“Funny, well I can assure you I had nothing to do with the killings of the captians in New York.”

“I can assure you I’m not accusing you of that, sir,” the man took off his jacket.

“Then why are you here?”

“As I said before, I’m here to ask you some questions about your brother.”

“Such as?”

“Where is he?”

“In New York last I heard, as usual, running his crew in the Five Points.”
“We can’t find him there.”

“Join the club my mother’s always been looking for Jimmy.”

The man leaned forward. “I can assure you,” he growled. “I am not playing games, Mr. Donnelly.”

“Mr. Canigliari, if you are here to find my brother you will be disappointed. If you are accusing my brother of murdering the captains you are accusing the Irish mob of murdering the captains which, as you know, constitutes either a sit down or some kind of war.”

“I haven’t said any accusations at this meeting.”

“My brother is not in California. He should be in New York. Running the Five Points.”

“You heard the news lately?” the man leaned back in his chair. “Peratto runs the Five Points now.”

“Big Man decide this?”

“Big Man don’t got a choice until we figure out who killed our made men.”

“Big Man isn’t someone you should be messing with.”

“Bobby O’Shea is not on our worry list.”

“Jimmy Donnelly is?”

“Jimmy Donnelly is a bug, and he is soon to be squashed. Good day.”

Canigliari stood and left the room and after a few seconds for him to put on his jacket he left the office and I watched him exit the building onto the sidewalk and flag down a cab. The second he got in the car I picked up the phone.
***********************************
Manhattan, NY

Detective Larry Wilson rode along in the squad car watching as the neighborhoods flew past.

“Why do we always get screwed on this?” he asked his partner Detective Bruce Morgan.

“What do you mean?”

“We always get the mob hits, and we know it’s a mob hit but we’ll never catch who did it so it’s kind of pointless. Plus if we did catch them, they would figure a way out of it. It’s the mafia.”

“Shit, I would rather get the mob hits then those drug deals gone wrong down in Harlem wouldn’t you?”

“At least those have motives and actual smoking guns what do these got? A dead body and witnesses too scared to tell the truth.”

“And the more we do paperwork on these murders, the more the uncleared murder rate goes up, which means the more the Major gets on our asses about solving these murders. And then the mob whacks someone else.”

“Exactly, what happened to that NYPD unit dealing with the mafia?”

“You think they are going to take these murders? They aren’t stupid. They will let us file the paperwork and then they’ll stick it in their file of ‘mafia happenings’ and then we get to find the murderer. Basically, we’ll find the killer, they’ll take down the mafia and that unit gets all the glory for all of our dirty work.”

“Jesus Christ, Morgan,” Wilson laughed. “I didn’t think you were such a cynic.”

“You bring it out of me,” Morgan laughed and pulled the car into a side street where four or five patrol officers were standing around. Morgan and Wilson got out of the car.

“What do we got?” Wilson asked the patrol officer.

“Well, me and Jackson over there pulled up on a call of gun shots and someone falling out of the window up there and we found two bodies. Each men about 25 years old with three shots each in them,” the first officer said.
“Thanks, anything else from witnesses?”

“Nobody saw anything,” the officer said and rolled his eyes.

“Story of my life,” Morgan said as the two detectives walked up on the scene. They found the two bodies lying next to each other and looked up to find two windows in the office building smashed out.

“Any reason they go to an office building around two in the morning?” Wilson said.

“To get killed.”

“Three times each in the chest and then pushed out the window,” Wilson kneeled to look at the bodies closer. “Italian?”

“Irish,” Morgan said looking at the man’s wallet. “I got a Tommy Farrell and a Leroy McDowles.”

“Tommy Farrell? Holy **** I went to school with Tommy Farrell at Five Points High.”

“Well, you know anyone who would kill him?”

“He was in the Irish mob, Bruce. I think he had some enemies.”

Morgan looked up into the building then back at the bodies. “Retaliation, you think?”

“For those captain murders on the west side?”

“Yeah, you think we got a mob war brewing?”

“Shit, I hope not.”

[OregonDuck1989]

April 14, 1971

Bobby O’Shea sat at his desk as Jimmy Donnelly walked in and sat down in front of him. Jimmy was wearing his trademark hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“You take care of Tommy Farrell?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, and his budy Leroy, Look Bobby I don’t know what this has to do with us getting the five points back.”

“It doesn’t but Tommy was the snitch to the Italian mob.”

“No ****,” Jimmy leaned forward. “How’d you figure that out?”

“We got people who talk to people to figure out who sings to everybody. He told the mafioso bastards about your little shoot out.”

“Listen, Bobby, I gotta go somewhere, the italians are out to get me.”

“Jimmy, you know I love you, you’re my favorite lieutenant but if I send you somewhere that means I was implicated in the shootings of the captains. I can’t do that.”

“Then, I’ll go myself, I’ll go to San Francisco.”

“No can do, Jimmy. The Italians visited your brother two days ago, he called me about it.”

“He didn’t call me, the *******.”

“Listen, Jimmy, if I give you six hundred dollars cash right now, will you go away? I mean away. For two years you will not speak of the mob.”

“Two years? Jesus Bobby.”

“Jimmy, I gotta figure this thing out, I gotta worry about a bunch of **** with the Italians and the Chinese and the Russian money laundering and everything, I don’t need you clogging up my head. I love you Jimmy you know that and you run the Five Points right but right now we got no Five Points.”

“Bobby, I’ll help you get the Five Points back.”

“Jimmy, I would rather have you out of the game for two years then have you killed by Italians fighting. I can’t lose you forever.”

“It’s my fault,” Jimmy sighed. “All of this ****.”

“Jimmy, what you did was stupid and wreckless. I’m not going to lie to you though. You stood up for your brother and the Irish mob and maybe this is what we needed. Someone to stand up to those Guinea bastards, but we didn’t need it right now.”

“Where would I go for two years?”

“Hell if I know, Jim. Fiji, New Zealand, even England. I just can’t have you around here. Go visit the mother land for two years. You just can’t tell anyone I’m sending you away. You’re going on vacation, that’s the plan.”

“Jesus, Bobby, can I tell my brother?”

“Sure, visit San Francisco for one day, no longer, you’re there and then you leave. Don’t even make a name for yourself. David will understand.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Yeah, maybe he can save you now too.”
*****************************************
April 15, 1971
Manhattan

The gun rested easy in his hands as he filled it with his clip. The black Lincoln drove the speed limit across the George Washington bridge into downtown Manhattan and rested at a stop light before turning into china town. He tucked the gun in his jacket and waited for the car to stop at his destination. He looked out and saw four bodyguards at the door. They stared at the Lincoln. He got out of the car and looked the body guards in the eye.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Xian,” he said. The bodyguards approached him and began to pat him down before a gun shot was heard across the street. The guards dropped behind the Lincoln and he carefully walked inside the building while the guards looked for the shooter.

Plan going perfectly so far, he thought as he walked down the hall and to a staircase. When he reached the staircase he pulled out his pistol. “You’ve always been true,” he whispered. “Don’t let me down.”

He walked up the stairs to find Mr. Xian and his son sitting in the living room with four or five girls and a bodyguard around them. He raised the gun and fired twice. Xian slumped as the bullets hit his chest. The bodyguard charged him but he fired twice more into Xian’s son’s chest and he fell to the ground, the girls ran. He didn’t have time to shoot the bodyguard as the man was on top of him before he could aim. The man picked him up and threw him down the stairs. He hit the stairs twice before crashing to the bottom in a heap. The man picked up the gun he had dropped halfway down the stairs and pointed it at his head.

“Kill me,” he said. “My job is done.”

“The Italians want a war? They have got a war,” the bodyguard said and fired twice into the heap that was the assassin. Then, he unloaded the clip.

April 16, 1971

CHINESE GANG LEADERS GUNNED DOWN IN RESTAURANT IN CHINA TOWN
Assassin shot and killed trying to escape with his own gun, police say. No word yet on possible gang war in New York

**
“Christ,” I said. “I thought they knew it was you?”

My brother Jimmy sat across from me with his bags packed and sunglasses on to be incognito.

“The Italians do know, they just want to take this advantage of taking over all of New York.”

“So you’re going on a special two year vacation?”

“Yeah, but I can’t tell you where, big man’s orders. How’s the business coming along here?”

“Big Man’s going to send me a crew here in about a month and we’ll start making a name for ourselves. Did you hear about Tommy?”

“Farrell? Yeah. Damn shame, I guess he was snitching though.”

“Damn shame, I’ve known Tommy since he was six years old. We grew up in the same neighborhood, you were too young to remember.”

“All I remember from Tommy and our childhood was catching you guys stealing pop’s playboys.”

We laughed. “Yeah, they were good playboys though.”

“I’m gonna miss you David.”

“I already miss you Jim. You stay safe wherever you’re going.”

With that, Jimmy left for the airport. A two year hiatus for Big Man to get everything calmed down and for us to figure out how to put back to sleep the Italian giant that we had awakened.

[OregonDuck1989]

San Francisco Giants Week 3 Review

Record: 10-9 (Current Streak: Won 2) Tied for First with LAD

Positives: Gaylord Perry still dominant. Ed Halicki improving after threat from manager that would send him to AAA. Willie McCovey improving.

Negatives: Willie Mays in a slump. Bullpen struggling especially in middle innings. Bobby Bonds still struggling to get on base.

Next on the Schedule: 2 at Pirates 3 at Cardinals to end the month of April
***********************
April 20, 1971

With all that was happening in New York and here it’s been tough to focus on baseball but as the team starts to fight with the season and we move towards the second month I was forced to look away from my family problems and look to my actual job.

The team is stuggling to keep above .500 but luckily the whole division is struggling at the start of the year. Charlie Fox was yelling at the club more often then Hitler yelled at Germany and we we’re seeing some results but we still couldn’t get a winning streak going.

Luckily, Gaylord Perry was pitching like Cy Young himself this past month. If it weren’t for him, we might not be competing at all. With Willie McCovey and Mays working the middle of the lineup this team should eventually get hot, but who knows, right?

As I was pouring over my notes and statistics the phone rang. I answered to hear my mother’s voice yelling back at me.

“David, why haven’t you been calling?” she cried

“Listen, Ma, I’m sorry it’s just been really busy around here. Job and everything.”

“You aren’t seeing that woman anymore are you?”

“Ma, her name is Vanessa."

“No red hair on her, I'm embarrassed."

“You wonder why I don’t call, all you do is nag at me, how can I stand it?”

“I’m your mother, David, I’m paid to nag.”

“Then you must be making bank.”

“When are you coming back to New York?”

“In two weeks, I gotta meet with Bobby and Uncle Leo.”

“Uncle Leo? Bobby? Not your mother?”

“I’ll visit you too Ma, have you heard from Jimmy?”

“Oh, don’t talk to me about Jimmy, he didn’t tell me where he was going and he hasn’t called from where ever he is.”

“Well, he’s got a lot on his mind.”

“I’m his mother why am I not on his mind?”

“I’m sure you are, listen I’ll take you out to dinner while I’m in New York, maybe we’ll go catch a show down on Broadway? I hear Sinatra is coming to town.”

“Sinatra, oh why couldn’t I have married that man.”

“Cause he’s not Irish.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Vanessa’s Irish.”

“Barely, I met her mother, she has more polish in her then a dutch whore.”

“You don’t talk about her like that. You’re gonna have to accept that we are gonna get married.”

“David, why do you pain your mother with those words?”

“Christ, Ma, I’ll see you in two weeks.”

I hung up the phone and sighed. I love my mother but Christ does she kill me sometimes.
**************************************
September 14, 1946

I walked out onto the sidewalk out in front of our duplex in the Five Points. Our family lived in one half, the O’Shea’s lived in the other. Packie came out from the other duplex a few seconds after I came out.

“You finally get that math homework done?” I asked.

“Why are you always talkin about school?” Packie asked.

“****, I didn’t think it was a crime.”

We walked down the block and my mother cried out. “Wait for your brother, David!”

“God…Crap,” I said as six year old Jimmy came bouncing towards us.

“You know Jimmy you’re really busting my chops here.”

“Oh shut up David,” Jimmy said. He walked quickly next to us to keep up.

“So Packie what have you been doin the past few days down in Queens? You’re pop was telling my pop about it,” Jimmy said.

“I’m not supposed to tell anybody, Jimmy,” Packie sighed. “It’s personal.”

“What have you been killing people?” I said.

“Hey, screw you!”

“Woah, Packie, I was just messing around.”

The three blocks to the school bus were almost up and I could see the corner, but then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye, my father’s cadillac. He was inside of it with my Uncle in the passenger seat. Uncle Mikey had what looked like a baseball bat. Suddenly, another car pulled up next to it and they started talking. I stopped walking and Packie and Jimmy looked back.

“Hey, David, let’s move along,” Packie said. “No reason to get into you’re fathers business.”

“I wanna say hello,” I said.

“Say hello later you see him every night.”

“Not recently,” Jimmy said.

“Shut the hell up Jim,” I said.

My father and my uncle kept talking to the other guys in the car until my father got out of the car. The guys in the other car started yelling something along the lines of “no need to blow this out of proportion, Jonesy” Who was Jonesy? My father’s name was Ryan Donnelly.

“Maybe you should pay Jonesy his money next time eh?” my uncle yelled.

“Maybe Jonesy should be more clear on the deadline,” one of the men shouted.

“I don’t have to be clearer gentleman, I want my money now, or you’re heads not going to make it through today,” my father yelled. I stepped back from the harsh words. Packie tugged at my arm. Jimmy stared in shock as my father pulled out a revolver and pointed it at the driver.

“Hey, bro, not in the open,” my uncle said.

“You’re right,” my father said and he walked to the passenger side door of the lincoln. The other man moved for my father to get in.

“Let’s take a drive,” my father said and I saw him point the gun at the men. “Move it.”

The car sped off and I saw my uncle follow it. I just stared in astonishment.

“Can we please get a move on?” Packie said. “We’re gonna miss the bus.”

I started walking and I grabbed Jimmy while Packie started talking about the Giants again.

“Yeah, I doubt anyone can beat the Cardinals in the series though,” I said.

“That’s just cause you’re a National Leaguer for life,” Packie said. “Red Sox all the way, they are tearing up the Americans.”

“The Red Sox? I have a feeling they won’t win it for a while, Pack.”
**********************************
April 21, 1971
Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan

Bobby O’Shea rode in his blue Mercedes while his driver Pauly Farrell took a left turn onto 37th street.

“Shame about Tommy,” Pauly said.

“Yeah, what are you gonna do? These drug punks kill whoever they want,” Bobby said as he looked up at the downtown skyline.

“So you’re really going to talk to this guy, eh? Even after all he did with Spillane.”

“What happened with him and Spillane was something that might be happening with us, we might need his help.”

“I hear he’s crazy. He still beats people for siding with Spillane.”

“I’d be more scared of Featherstone,” Bobby rolled down his window and threw out a cigarette. “Who knows what he learned over in Vietnam.”

“We run Five Points, he runs Hell’s Kitchen, why do they only call these punks the Irish mob?”

“Because these punks don’t give a **** about anybody. They’ll kill anyone, we work below the scenes, we make money the same way the Italians do, by not going out and killing every sorry son of a ***** who owes us a dollar.”

“And you want to work with them?”

“If the Chinese are willing to start something with the Italians, why can’t we start the bulk up our muscle? Merge Hell’s Kitchen with the Five Points.”

“That was tried once, by the city.”

“I know, they cleared the Five Points out, they made it not even the Five Points anymore, but we’ll call it that until the day we die.”

“You think he’ll go for it?”

“If he doesn’t want the Guinzo’s breathing down his neck he’ll have to.”
“Jesus, I don’t know about this Bobby, what if he takes control of the whole neighborhood? Like he did with Spillane.”

“Spillane started what happened to him.”

“You really think the Guinzo’s are going to start something?”

“Not all five families of course, but…the Peratto's for sure. Maybe the Gioli’s. All I know is that if a war is brewing the Irish need to get their **** together or we’re going to be working for the Guinzo’s like Cummisky is now.”

The car pulled into an alley along the road and stopped.

“You want me come in with ya?” Pauly asked.

“Na, Pauly, we’re good.”

“Jimmy Coonan and Bobby O’Shea working together? I thought I’d never see the day,” Pauly said and Bobby shut the door.

[Rongar]

A real page-turner, O.D. -well done!...keep this up, and you should start looking for a literary agent, to get it published as a novel...

[OregonDuck1989]

Thanks Rongar! A novel...really?

And to all other readers...this isn't on hold I have just hit a very busy patch in my summer where I have been traveling to Denver to find an apartment. And I found one so I will be moving up on Friday so I may be a little erratic for the next couple weeks while I get my apartment all set up.

Just so everyone knows...I'm sixteen blocks from Coor's Field and three stops on the light rail ha.

[RedsoxRockies]

LuckY!

[OregonDuck1989]

RSR:

April 21, 1971
New Jersey

It wasn’t often that the Gioli’s and the Peratto’s met. So to mark this special occasion Michael Peratto and Anthony Gioli, the two heads of the family, moved the meeting to Elizabeth, New Jersey.

“What a beautiful day it is when we can meet as two families in peace,” Peratto said as the two sat down for dinner at Fagioli’s, where of course the special everyday was Fagioli.

“Truly,” Gioli said.

“How is your boy doing? Um…Peter?”

“Yeah, Petey is off at Georgetown right now, he’s doing real good, how’s your daughter doing?”

“Emily? Oh she’s doing fine, about to graduate high school.”

“That’s great, boy they grow up fast eh?”

“Jesus, I can’t believe we’re talkin like that,” Peratto said. The two laughed. “Old age comes quick.”

“Yes, it does,” Gioli said. “Now let’s get down to business.”

“Of course, of course, the reason we came.”

“If you’re willing to go to war with the Chinese and the Irish shouldn’t you get the permission from the commission?”

“To hell with the commission, these punks started it! They shot my captains.”

"The families will get angry if you effect their business with this war.”

“The families don’t need to worry, if I can get you on my side, there won’t be much of a war.”

“Look, Mike, I love you you know? We grew up together and we stole some crawfish back in the day but this…this…ain’t like you. Taking over the Five Points? I mean come on.”

“They shot my captains. These were made men.”

“Shootings happen all the time but going to war with two mobs? The Irish are disorganized I know but only for now. Imagine if they all got together, we couldn’t stop those Micks.”

“It’s the damn chinamen I worry about.”

“They got numbers on just one family,” some wine arrived and the men smiled at their waitress.

“Exactly, which is why I can’t go into this on just one.”

“Then don’t go into it, yet. Call a meeting of the families.”

“The families haven’t met since 1960 to discuss Donnelly,” Peratto sipped his wine.

“But that did work did it not?”

“But it’s been 11 years! There has been animosity since then.”

“The mafia has always survived, the Cosa Nostra survives when unified. We can’t let these Irish punks and these chinamen take us down.”

“We can’t let them gain the upperhand while we wade through incessant mafia nonsense. The Cosa Nostra doesn’t unify! Corleone took them down in The Godfather! Either one man rules or we fight over land.”

“Always a pessimist, Michael.”

“Is that always so bad?”
****************************
April 23, 1971

I’m not going to say I was shocked when Vanessa called me at 4:30 in the afternoon and screamed the words “I’m pregnant!” along with several other words I have yet to make out, but I was pretty surprised. This would slay my mother, of course. Pregnant before marriage meant one horrible thing: sex before marriage. Although she had caught me fooling around with a girl once in high school she refused to believe I had ever had sex, even with Vanessa whom I had been living with for three months now. I told Vanessa we may have to get married soon, before the baby starts to show. This was 1971 and although the ol’boring 50’s and early 60’s were over we weren’t in some kind of sexual revolution yet. Being my mother was devout catholic this would hurt her even more.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Vanessa said.

“I didn’t want to do it this way, but yes, I have a ring and everything,” I said. I had to hold the phone away from my ear a few more minutes while Vanessa screamed and yelled things I didn’t understand in a squeal then finally calmed down and said “Yes.”

“Don’t end up like my mother,” I said.
*********************************
April 21, 1971
Sydney, Australia

Jimmy Donnelly sat in the taxi driving towards his hotel with disinterest. He had just left everyone he had ever loved and not even the beautiful city of Sydney, Australia could keep his interest right now. The car pulled around a corner, then pulled to the side of the road and stopped.

“Why are we stopping?” Jimmy said. The cab driver was silent. Jimmy looked around him and out each window, there was a crowd on the sidewalk so he couldn’t tell if someone was after him.

“Why are we stopping?” he asked again, the cab driver still did not reply. Jimmy got nervous and attempted to reach the door knob, the doors locked. “What the hell?”

“Jimmy Donnelly?” the driver finally spoke up.

“What?”

“You’re Jimmy Donnelly,” the driver turned around and lifted his glasses, it was not someone Jimmy knew.

“No, I’m not,” Jimmy said. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“No, no, I know a Donnelly when I see one, you’re Jimmy Donnelly,” the driver turned the car off and Jimmy pulled the handle of the door hoplessly.

“Who the **** are you?” Jimmy yelled. “Who are you?”

“I am Dimitri. That’s all you need to know.”

“Dimitri? Russian?”

“No, Ukranian.”

“All the same.”

“I am proud of my heritage and will not allow the Soviets to take it,” the driver turned towards Jimmy. “Learn that about me of anything, I am stubborn.”

“What do you want with me?”

“You are someone who is being looked for, I understand.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“I help people find things, I am being paid by someone to find you.”

“Who? The guineas? I’ll pay double.”

“I assure you that you cannot pay double what this man is paying me to find you and bring you to him alive,” Dimitri started the car and drove down the road.

“Listen I’m a very high ranking member in a huge international crime agency, you will be dead if you deliver me.”

“I’ll be dead either way then, but I’ll take my chances after I deliver you. Look, I’m going to hold you for ransom, that is what I do to make the person I deliver you to kill you and make it look like a horrible hostage situation. I’m sorry.”

“Who are you going to call to tell them I am being held hostage?”

“You’re brother, Jimmy, you’re brother David.”

The cab turned into a warehouse and four men walked up to the cab and pulled Jimmy out, he struggled and fought but soon one man came with a pipe and swung, the second swing threw Jimmy into darkness.

[PotatoOfCouch13]

Seriously? I leave for 2 weeks, and Manny gets traded, and this awesome dynasty gets started up!

WTF?

This is awesome. I keep overlooking the baseball to focus on the incredibly interesting stories. Very well done!

[OregonDuck1989]

PotatoOfCouch: Thanks a lot! I was inspired by your dynasty along with Cat's To Rule in KC and ETB so you helped this dynasty come to fruition

Note: I'm surprised no one caught this but The Godfather reference from above was not from the movie. The movie was not released until 1972, the reference was from the book in 1969. I was almost certain someone would have pointed out that the film had not come out, but maybe you guys are smarter then you look and knew about the novel

Also, a short post as I have to get to packing as I finish moving tomorrow!

************
April 23, 1971
San Francisco

What had been so far one of the better days of my life quickly escalated into one of the worst. I’d been busy the past few weeks and not just with baseball. On the eleventh Big Man gave me a little share of the workload and I started to run the west coast crew. Basically, what we do is move “packages” from the docks to one of our trucks, the truck drives the packages to a private airfield out in Berkley and loads them on a private plane. This plane flies to a private airfield in Syracuse and the packages are delivered to Big Man and sold for whatever he wants to sell them for. We get 35%, which sounds small but on a lot of days it’s pretty large. To keep this extra income from tying me to the mob we set up a dummy corporation which I am doing ad work for to earn this extra cash. All I have to do is pay taxes on it and no one will ever suspect a thing.

Needless to say after my quick proposal to Vanessa I was sent to the docks to help unload the next set of packages. I drove to the docks with my second in command Lucas and got out to see the rest of my crew standing still.

“What the hell is this? A siesta?” I yelled as I got out. “We runnin some kind of ****ing get together nap thing?”

“No, sir,” my crew man, Teddy, said. “We found something.”

I stopped. “Found something?” I said. “What do ya mean, found something?”

“It’s a note,” the muscle of the group, Bear, said.

“A note?” I asked as I walked over. I grabbed the note from Teddy’s hands and read it.

WE HAVE YOUR BROTHER, 3 MILLION DOLLARS OR YOU’LL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN

“Who’s this for?” I said.

“It was addressed to David Donnelly,” Bear said.

“You didn’t see anyone drop it?”

“Na it was with the coke,” Teddy said.

“Is there anything else?”

“Na, all the package is here, they didn’t take nothin just left the note.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone around here suspicious?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong, Teddy? They got my brother that’s whats wrong. They got Jimmy.”

“Who?”

“Most likely the damn ginzos.”

“Christ,” the group said in unison.
***************************************

April 23, 1971
The Five Points, Manhattan

Bobby O’Shea sat in his desk across from Jimmy Coonan and Mickey Featherstone. Both hard cut gangster looking men with suits on. Jimmy’s grey and Mickey’s black. Bobby looked at both men before carefully choosing his words.

“That was David Donnelly,” he said looking at the phone. “His brother, who was on vacation, was just taken hostage and is being held ransom.”

“Pity, what does this have to do with us?” Featherstone asked.

“We’re working together now, right?” Bobby stared cold at Featherstone who stared back through long hair. “Look, this kid David runs my west coast operation, if he’s upset about his brother disappearing then my west coast operation has a bit of a work shortage you know what I’m sayin? I need his brother to come home alive or a lot of **** I started goes bad.”

“Listen, Bobby,” Coonan said. “I’m no miracle worker. Saving this kid could be tough work.”

“I’ll give you some guys,” Bobby said.

“Some of you’re loony punks who don’t know their ass from their mouth, I suppose?” Featherstone asked.

“You wanna work with us or not? Cause if not you can shove off right now!” Bobby stood, Featherstone stood to meet him.

“Alright calm down no one is gonna be fighting here,” Coonan said and the two sat. “Bobby, we can try but who can say if we can save him? If this David kid wants to stop working because his brother is dead we will send someone else out there to work that crew, simple as that. Don’t get all worked up over this.”

“The Donnelly’s are one of my best friends, their father and I worked hard together.”

“Sometimes, in the love of the business, we have to let go of friendships,” Featherstone said.

Coonan nodded before saying, “You get too attached to captains and you’re gonna start being depressed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Featherstone said.

“Nothing? Jimmy I need you to save this kid.”

Coonan leaned back in his chair. “I know, and I can promise you that I will try my very hardest to bring him home alive.”

[oriole^]

Hey, just wanted to let you know that this is a great dynasty. Very entertaining! It's good to see someone else making a real story out of it. I'll have to make sure to "tune in" from time to time.

Go Giants! (I gotta say "Go Giants", or I might get hit... )

[OregonDuck1989]

oriole: Thanks! It's been quite a fun ride writing this! And as long as you don't say Go Dodgers...

***********


April 23, 1971
Brooklyn, New York

Mickey Featherstone walked alone on the sidewalk of Queens Boulevard. The cars racing past him as they traveled on the Queens-Brooklyn expressway. No one stopped to notice what a man with long hair and army camouflage was doing on one of the busiest steets in the state of New York, they were all too busy trying to get home. Featherstone kept walking even as the rain began to pour.

He had a destination, the home of Homer Miles. Homer was a man who found people, people who sometimes don’t want to be found. He had a talent of knowing which people to ask to get to the people that are needed. Mickey Featherstone needed to find someone.

Miles’ house sat three blocks away as Featherstone spotted it’s lone porch light in the darkness and pouring rain and started walking quicker to get to the porch. Homer stood on his porch smoking a cigarette, he sucked in and a red light appeared to Featherstone who now stood at the start of the block which Miles’ house sat. The smoke bellowed out as Featherstone reached the steps.

“Mickey,” Miles said.

“Homer,” Featherstone said as he hopped up the stairs and joined Miles on the porch, the cigarette smoke engulfing the two.

“Jimmy called me, he says you got someone to find.”

“That’s right, did he give you the name of the kid?”

“I got it written down somewhere, I’ll start calling around tomorrow.”

“It’s of the utmost importance, I would suggest calling tonight.”

“Why you looking for this Donnelly kid anyway?”

“How’s the wife Homer?”

“Fine, why are you looking for Donnelly?”

“He’s not where we want him to be.”
***********************************

August 30, 1961
Hell’s Kitchen

“And as we lay Ryan Donnelly to rest on this day we must remember to not mourn the loss as much as we celebrate the life,” the catholic preist echoed at my father’s funeral. Over 65 people sat in the church and we knew every single one of them. A catholic funeral is like the dark version of a catholic wedding and everyone here…though sad and mourning…was starting to get bored.

“He was a good man!” my tearful Uncle Mike shouted. “And a great worker!”

“Here, here!” was heard across the room as some clapped. The priest raised his hands to quiet the crowd. One week ago my father had been trapped in a burning home and was rescued by brave fireman, only to discover that the smoke inside the home had poisoned his body so much that he may not make it through the week. My father lasted two days on a respirator before succumbing to the smoke poisoning. Five days later the world already seemed a little bit darker.

We moved from the church out into the funeral gardens where my father would be laid to rest. Jimmy and I led the pallbearers to the grave my mother had selected. We spotted a few men we had never met before standing across the street and I waved to my uncle who nodded and walked towards them.

The casket lowered into the ground slowly. Jimmy and I stood next to each other staring blankly at our fathers final resting place.

“Thank God the Guineas didn’t get him,” I said. Jimmy looked at me slowly.

“Thank God?” Jimmy said. “Thank God our father was taken from us.”

“Don’t talk like that, Jim, you’re just angry.”

“You’re damn right I’m angry. What the hell did we do? Our father worked his ass off to give us a life of our own, now thanks to this….tragedy… we’re stuck where we don’t want to be.”

“You’re going back into the business?”

“I never truly left, I guess.”

“Jimmy, what about automotive school?”

“Automotive school, David? A Donnelly working on cars? Let’s leave that up to the God damn Cubans.”

“Jimmy…”

“Don’ talk me out of this, David. I’m going back in. I already talked to Big Man, he’s going to be the boss. You can talk to him, too. I’m sure he’ll let both the Donnelly boys in.”

“I’m not going back.”

“What?”

“I’m going back to Harvard and I’m going to get a job, maybe Big Man can help me with that but right here and right now, I’m not going back.”

“David, our father.”

“Our father would have wanted more from us then to be what he was!” I raised my voice. “He wouldn’t want another generation of Donnelly thugging around the streets of Manhattan killing any sorry **** who gets in his way!”

“You take that back.”

“I’m not going to Jim. I’m not going to,” I left the green as men began to cover my father in dirt, uncle Mike watched as the men across the street drove away and he spotted me.

“David,” he called. “Where you goin?”

“I gotta get back to school,” I said. “I love you guys though, say hello to Dawna for me.”

“Going back to school? Jimmy said you guys were gonna help out?”

“Jimmy lied,” I said and closed the door of my car.
****************************************
April 24, 1971
LaGuardia International Airport

I stood as the cold wind of Flushing punched my face and the rain poured all around me. The overhang covered me and several other people pushing their way underneath all waiting for someone to pick them up. This was the first time I had been back home since I had gotten the job in San Francisco and so far I couldn’t see a reason why I would stay.

A silver four door drove up and parked in front of me. The passenger side window rolled down and Larry Wallace poked his head out.

“Hey you sorry sack,” he said. “Get in the back seat, welcome home.”

I hopped into the back seat and saw Lawrence driving.

“Hey Lawerence,” I said. He nodded at me.

“What do I need to speak with the new business partners about?” I asked, Larry turned to me.

“Well, simple enough really,” he said. “They need to meet the west coast crew.”

“What about my brother?”

“In due time, David.”
“In due time? He’s a lieutenant I thought the mob would be a little more antsy about this.”

“What do you want us to do? Go cowboy all over everyone? Take a shotgun and blow every Italians brains on the streets?”

“Larry, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well as of right now we don’t even know who has your brother. Until someone contacts us, that is.”

“Maybe he’s already dead,” I said and looked out the window.

“Don’t say that,” Larry said. “Derrick’s on the case.”

“Derrick Carter?”

“The one and only.”

“Jesus, what about Coonan or Featherstone?”

“I don’t know, they get heated when someone brings up Jimmy. Maybe just keep that on the down low until something starts to happen.”

“Anything else happen with the Italians?”

“Not that I know of, it’s been quiet ever since Jimmy went missing, maybe they are respecting him.”

“Or maybe they have him.”

[OregonDuck1989]

NOTE: Just to allow everyone to know right now before the story continues.

A lot has happened in the month of April and obviously if I wrapped all of this up by the middle of May it would get rather boring around David Donnelly as all he would do is work.

There will be one more post in April, then a couple in May but the story will move rapidly in terms of dates from here on out and some posts will be specifically meant to deal with baseball as I have realized I am starting to disregard Mr. Donnelly's position entirely.


Also, I have the entire story outline written out and not to give away a spoiler or anything but "Giant Problems" itself will do with only 1971. I have 1972 and 1973 somewhat in plan but I don't know if I will go on from there, we will see I guess....

Alright. More actual story coming in about an hour as I edit and wrap up the post. I hope you keep reading. Just had to throw a lot of plans into the air as I keep writing.

[OregonDuck1989]

NYPD Manhattan Precinct
Organized Crime Department
April 25, 1971

Special agent Ross Lorenzo sat at the desk the precinct had given him when he came in from the FBI to cover the recent mob activity in the city since the death of the four captains two weeks ago. On his desk sat four folders, the one on top sitting open and the picture of Jimmy Coonan paper clipped to the top. Notes were scribbled below the picture that said things like “whereabouts unknown” and “75 murders?”. Lorenzo just stared at the paper with no movement. He’s a ghost. He thought to himself. A man unable to be found.

“Still searching for Coonan?” a voice said from behind him. Lorenzo jumped slightly then turned around to see his partner agent Jesse Collath.

“You scared me,” Lorenzo said. “And no, there is no point searching for a man who can’t be found.”

“He would have to be delivered to you, I guess,” Collath said, pulling up a chair.

“Coonan? Delivered? You remember he is Irish right?”

“I was just throwing something out there.”

“No it’s going to take something special to bring any of this mob down right now, there is word on the street that Bobby O’Shea is leading this charge against the Italians.”

“Bobby? He stays in the shadows that’s why we never even try to go after him.”

“Exactly, but if this war is for real…imagine the city.”

“I don’t want to,” Collath said. “I just don’t want to.”
***********************************

The Five Points

The car took a left onto an alley behind my old neighborhood and traveled slowly so as not to crash into any gardens. One thing Irish men learn early, do not mess with an Irish woman’s garden. We passed several houses before returning to a street in the middle of the Five Points Irish neighborhood. We stopped at a street light to continue going straight towards Big Man’s office when a man exited the car in front of us. He walked towards the car and Lawrence rolled down his window.

“Problem?” Lawrence said. The man continue silently walking towards the car.

Larry reached for his pistol and layed it across his lap, I just stared at the man as he approached the car.

“Hey!” Lawrence called. “What are you doing?” The man did not respond.

“This ******* better be stalled or else he’s getting a quick bullet between the eyes,” Larry said.

“Calm down Larry,” Lawrence looked at Larry and I. “You don’t know what’s going on.” The man reached the car and looked into the window as soon as he reached the car four other men got out of his car and looked at us. We were distracted by the other men, so much so that we didn’t see the first pull out his pistol.

“Mikey Peratto says goodbye,” the man said. He fired his pistol into Lawrence’s skull, the blood ripped across the backseat and into my eyes. The world went black. The only thing I thought to do was drop to the ground, I slid out of my seat as I heard dozens of machine pistol shots fired into the car and Larry screaming as he tried to reach his pistol. The bullets ripped through the car and blew out all of the windows, broken glass crashed around me along with leather and foam from the seats…but I wasn’t hit. After what seemed like an eternity of gunfire, I heard a car screech off… then I heard nothing.

***

I rubbed my eyes for several minutes before I could see again. I got up from behind the front seats and looked around. Glass and shell casings littered the ground outside the car and Lawrence and Larry’s dead bodies littered the car. I looked to Lawrence who had died on the first shot but had at least seven more bullet holes punctured into his body from the ambush. Larry looked like swiss cheese, his body mangled and torn, his pistol laying at his feet, blood escaping from his mouth. I layed my head on the seat for a moment in silence but soon realized I had to get out before the cops arrived. One thing I didn’t need while I was here was a police report and Horace Stoneham starting to wonder about my past. I grabbed my bag and exited the back seat, I carefully stepped around large pieces of glass or any shell casings and was soon on my way to Big Man’s office alone. I took several looks back to see if anyone watched me leave but no one was around. As I reached Big Man’s block I took one last look at the smoking car and the two men inside and said my families Irish blessing.

“And now although we lose you, our love shall remain, Until the Lord does take us and we meet again. Leaba imeasc na naomh go raibh acu agus ag an chlann mac is iníon atá leo.”

Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done.
********************************
Bobby O’Shea was not expecting me with blood on my face, I knew that was certain.

“What the hell happened?” he yelled as I walked into his office.

“Guineas, they popped us on our way over, Lawrence and Larry are dead,” I said as I sat down in a chair. “We need to get them back, boss.”

Bobby stared at me hard. “Lawrence and Larry are dead?”

“Yes.”

He picked up the phone and dialed quickly. “Jimmy? The Italians have struck us, we need to strike back,” he said, then got quiet as he listened to Jimmy Coonans response.

“Do what you can, take any Italian crew man you see off the streets, we need to make an example,” I had never heard Bobby O’Shea speak like this. He was never a man for hardcore violence. When you owed him money, sure he could be mean, but feeding the flames of war? That wasn’t Bobby’s style. He wasn’t a cowboy and neither was our gang. He made sure of that. But now with Jimmy Coonan on our side we were whatever the Italians wanted to make us.

He hung up the phone and looked at me again. “It’s all taken care of,” he said. “Go clean yourself up.”

I nodded and walked to the bathroom down the hall. “I’m sorry about Lawrence and Larry,” I said.

“Not your fault, kid,” Bobby said. “The guineas will get what has been coming to them.”

I nodded again and continued my walk to the bathroom reliving the past hour of my life over and over again. As I reached the bathroom I flipped both faucets all the way on and began to scrub my arms and face as hard as I could to get the blood off of them. To me, the blood meant was what tied me to Lawrence and Larry. These men had been killed right before my eyes, I did nothing. What could I have done? I don’t know. But I still did nothing. I realized right away that I had to get back to San Francisco after my meeting with Coonan. My mind had to be away from New York, from Jimmy, from Lawrence and Larry. My mind had to be away from my past and the mob. I decided right then and there that once Jimmy was back safely, I would forever quit the Irish mob. This time, there was nothing to bring me back in.
*****************************************

SEVENTEEN ITALIAN GANG MEMBERS KILLED AFTER TWO IRISH MURDERED IN IRISH NEIGHBORHOOD
Police say “War not likely” and that murders are “simply coincidence”.

***

The front page headline made me a little less cheerful the next morning. Jimmy Coonan had gone overboard, as usual. He had ordered a hit on every single Italian gang member. From drug dealers to soldiers to Mikey Peratto himself. By the end of the day seventeen Italian gang members lay dead and three civilains lay next to them. No one high up on the Italian chain but enough to get the message across that the Irish were no longer sitting pat. The police could deny a war all they wanted but soon bodies would be dropping like flies and soon they would have to admit and realize…they had a full scale international mafia war on their hands.

“Jimmy wants to meet you today,” Bobby said.

“Today? Already?”

“You’re only in town for so long, hell it’s the first time I’ve seen you in a month, we need to get you in there before you skip out again.”

“Alright, what time does he want to meet me?”

“In two hours, get dressed.”

[asianinvasion]

Bump. Great story. More people should be reading this