A Study in Sin (11 page)

“Just get me the meeting,” Jimmy said.

“I’ll mention it to him, but I’m telling you, this is a bad idea. If you want my advice, let it go.”

“Come get me when he’ll see me.”

It was near the end of his shift as Jimmy was checking over his ledger, looking at the list of lowlife dirt bags he’d have to track down tomorrow, when Daugherty came walking across the room towards him.

“You got your wish; the Colonel wants to see you.”

Daugherty’s face was a steel trap, no emotion to be found. He was silent as he took Jimmy to see their boss, and it worried Jimmy a little, but not enough to say anything. He followed him down the hall and up the stairs to the Colonel’s office. When he opened the door, the smell of whiskey and cigars hung thick in the air.

The Colonel’s office was on the second floor and looked out over the main area of the club. He had an affinity for American Jazz and was constantly listening to Coltrane and Nat King Cole. It didn’t fit him. The music he listened to was as smooth as the silk dress of a Louisiana woman; the Colonel on the other hand, was made up of only edges. The man had no gradual curves anywhere on his body. His head was a box and his cheek and eye bones jutted out like they were trying to cut through the skin of his face. He looked like a human recreation of the spiked ball on the end of a medieval flail.

“Ahh, Jimmy, come in, come in. Have a seat. Eric says you have something you want to discuss,” he said, motioning for Daugherty to leave the two of them alone. Jimmy nodded his head in response. “So what can I do for you?”

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Jimmy started as the Colonel chewed on the end of a cigar. “I’ll get straight to the point –”

“I always liked that about you; no bullshit” the Colonel said.

“Right. I hope you know that I’m very grateful for all the opportunities you’ve given me. I’m not afraid to say that, sometimes, I disagree with your methods, but I fully understand I’m still young and there are pieces that I don’t see yet. I’ve learned a lot from you over the years and I’m ready to do more for myself. It’s time; I’m ready.”

“You’re asking for more responsibility then?”

“No sir. Not exactly. I should be more precise with what I’m saying.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s time I went out on my own. I need to find my own way… the right way… my way. I’ve got people who count on me and I want to be able to keep them safe and provide for them. You’ve done amazing things for me, but it’s time I moved on.”

“I see. So what you’re really saying is that you want out,” the Colonel said, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling, still gnawing away at the end of the cigar.

“I’ll clear my list, do all the collections you’ve assigned me. And any work you need me to handle before I finish, I’ll do it. I’m not trying to walk out on you, I just need to transition to something… to something else.”

“Right.”

The Colonel rocked back and forth in his chair, not allowing his gaze to fall on Jimmy, his eyes glued to the ceiling as if in deep thought.

“Well,” he said, straightening up in the chair and smashing the chewed up cigar into the thick glass tray on his desk, “The simple fact is I just can’t let you go, Jimmy. You’re one of my best guys. If you want more responsibility around here, and you need more money – although, I feel like I pay you very well already –”

“No, it’s not about the money.”

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking,” the Colonel said, his face a slightly darker shade of red than before. “As I was saying, if you want more, I’ll talk with Daugherty and we’ll figure out a place where you can run a few guys, get a bigger piece of the pie. But, I can’t let you go.”

“I appreciate the offer Colonel, but that’s not what I’m saying. I need to make a new life for myself.”

“And what life do you think is out there waiting for you?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. But that’s the point. There are opportunities in every corner of this city. I learned that from watching you. Think of it this way, if I fail, you haven’t lost a dime. But if I succeed, I can bring in whole new revenue streams that haven’t even been tested in Dublin. I’ll pay you what you’re owed, always, I promise you that. I’m more valuable to you out there than I am collecting debts every day.”

“True as that may be, I still can’t let you go. If I let you just leave, who’s next? How many other of those soft little nancies will want to leave? I run a business, and although you might not see it, you’re the packaging my products come wrapped in.”

“I’m telling you, there are things you’re missing –”

“First you want to leave, now you’re telling me how to run my business? I’d say you’re moving in the wrong direction, son.”

“No, I’m not telling you how to run anything; I’m just proposing a slight tweak that I know will be mutually beneficial.”

The Colonel finally looked down across the desk at Jimmy and smiled. “Mutually beneficial. I like that,” he said. “You know, you’re one hell of a talker. Unfortunately for you, this isn’t a negotiation.”

“I’ve always done everything you’ve asked of me. For over ten years now, whatever was needed, you could always come to me and I’d get it done. So now I’m asking you, give me this reward that I’m due.”

“No.”

“Colonel, listen –”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to listen, boy. I said you’re not going anywhere!” the Colonel bellowed, picking up and tossing his ashtray in Jimmy’s direction. It missed, but barely. “I’ll not hear another word of this. Go home. Take tomorrow off too. But when you come back, you best have a new fucking attitude. Do you understand me?”

Jimmy Ryan sat in the chair across from his boss, staring back at the man that controlled his entire life. He knew what it felt like to lose, and he knew there was nothing left to say, but even still, he wanted to get a good look at the man who ruled him.
Know thy enemy
, he thought to himself.

“I asked you a fucking question Jimmy?”

“Yes sir. Understood,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been having a weird few days. I just need some rest. Forget I ever brought it up.”

The Colonel sat like a statue in his chair. He didn’t say a word in response, just opened the box on his desk and started chewing on a new cigar. Jimmy got up and turned to leave and, as he grabbed the handle and swung the door open, the Colonel called out to him.

“Jimmy, it would be best if we really did forget about all this,” he said, rising from behind his desk. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to that pretty little girlfriend of yours.”

Inside, Jimmy was exploding with rage, but on the outside, he gave the Colonel nothing. He only very precisely said:

“Yes sir.”

With that, he turned and left, letting the door shut behind him. He walked past Daugherty, who didn’t try to stop him, and continued on through the back door. He walked home with the image of his girlfriend who was waiting back at their apartment – his girlfriend who was now actually his fiancé – his fiancé who was now pregnant with their child – and an idea popped into his head that would come to define the lives of so many people.

Jim Ryan was given the name Jimmy Rhino when he was twenty. He had worked in the Irish Mafia in Dublin from the ripe old age of sixteen after dropping out of school, despite having relatively good grades and a realistic chance at a career on the pitch. Short and muscular, yet surprisingly agile, he quickly became notorious for getting into fights and letting his bigger opponents throw the first punch. He would lay in wait for the moment of no return, when some six foot giant would decide to squash the small runt in front of him, and then, without warning, he’d duck inside the larger guy’s reach, formulaically dismantling him with punch after heavy-fisted punch.

The Colonel had told Daugherty to show Jimmy the ropes after seeing him step-in to break up a fight in the club. One of the guys Jimmy was trying to help pulled a knife on him in the confusion. In the blink of an eye, four guys were on the floor and Jimmy was looking at Daugherty with a “what the hell do I do now” look on his face. He was nineteen at the time.

But Jim Ryan was never meant to be a mob goon, and Jimmy Rhino should never have existed. His quiet, introverted nature made him seem a little psychotic, when in actuality he spent most of the hours of his days listening instead of talking, learning about people, wondering about things that were beyond the mental grasps of those surrounding him. His brawling was taken as aggression, when he was really just acting with swift and accurate strokes, protecting himself and doing the job he was paid to do, but never inflicting any more damage than was absolutely necessary. It was a complete anomaly that nobody had ever stopped to notice that Jimmy Rhino, for everything he was supposed to be, had never taken another man’s life – not once.

And much in the same way his unborn daughter would experience some eighteen years later, life has a way of setting you on your true path.

Late one night, while walking back to his apartment after finishing his collection rounds, Jimmy noticed a young woman fighting with her umbrella. Somewhat out of character, the loner reached out to the struggling stranger, offering a helping hand. When she looked up at him, the light from the street lamp illuminating her face, Jim Ryan’s world instantly changed.  

Three weeks after his conversation with the Colonel, everything was in place.  

It was the day of the All-Ireland Hurling Final. Fans of Cork and Wexford would file into the stadium; as many as seventy-five thousand. The Colonel had called a meeting earlier in the week to stress the importance of this one single day, a day in which the Irish Mafia could bring in more than a million pounds in bets on the match.

Jimmy was in the back of the club with two other guys, watching the start of the match on the three TV’s, each having a front row seat for what was at stake.

The back of the club housed what Daugherty called The Vault. An exterior sliding steel door opened into a large holding room with boxes of extra whiskey and empty crates. From the view of anyone passing by in the alley behind the club, it was nothing more than a spot for trucks to pull in and drop off deliveries. The next interior door, though, was three inches of steel and led into the main warehouse area, which was entirely surrounded by reinforced concrete walls. Both doors were manned twenty-four hours a day with guards.

Jimmy sat in the vault, pretending to watch the match. On the other side of the room was the man simply known as the accountant, who was currently counting every single bet that had been taken, and matching it to the stacks of cash on the table beside him. Jimmy estimated it was over half a million pounds.

“What are you thinking about over there Jimmy?” Reece said, a stupid look on his hardened face.

“Just thinking about how many poor souls we’ll be visiting the next few days.”

“They’re the scum who bet more than they can pay. Not our problem,” Jack said quietly. Jimmy tried to stay clear of Jack Clarke whenever possible. He was one of the guys who didn’t want more responsibility; he didn’t want better pay or guys to boss around. He was perfectly content to continue his work of breaking bones and inflicting pain. Jack took pleasure in his work and was disturbingly efficient at it.

“Hey, Jimmy, you don’t look so good,” Reece said a minute later.

“Yea, you’re looking a little pale,” Jack agreed, a suspicious look on his face. But then again, his face always looked like that.

“Fighting a cold, no big deal.”

Jimmy tried to make himself sweat and strained to look as awful as he could. A little while longer and he decided it was time.

“Can you two handle this? I’ve got to use the jax.”

“Daugherty told us not to leave the room,” Reece said.

“No one in, no one out,” Jack mumbled in agreement.

“Well unless you want to watch me puke on the damn floor, I’m going to the toilet.”

Neither Jack nor Reece put up any other arguments, so Jimmy left through the thick door and walked down the hall towards the bathroom.

Once inside, he calmly walked to the last stall in the row and locked himself inside. He bent over, lifted the back off the toilet and reached inside. He took out a duffel bag that was wrapped in plastic and checked the seal, looking to see if any water had leaked inside. When he was finished inspecting his package, he replaced the back of the toilet and tossed the plastic wrapping in the bin as he left. He made his way down the hall, away from the vault, towards the staircase that led to the basement, with the small, seemingly empty, black bag in his hand. 

Jimmy knew the hurling finals would mean the place would be fully staffed. He expected as much, and he also knew his plan hinged on looking as normal as possible. At first, he attempted to blend in, putting on a face that said “I’m normal, I’m supposed to be here”, but quickly decided that the Jimmy Rhino “I’m not normal, stay the fuck out of my way” look would serve him better.

As he descended the staircase down into the basement, he thought about his fiancé and was reaffirmed in his belief that this was the only choice, his only way out.

The one part of his plan that Jimmy couldn’t control was the weather. Much of his brilliant idea required that this particular September day be a warm one. If that day had been abnormally cold, none of the extraordinary events that were to come would ever have been put into motion. And yet, his wishes were granted and it was well into the seventies, plenty warm enough for the building’s air conditioning to kick on.

He found the vent above the main fan, the one that fed every other ventilation shaft in the entire club. Climbing up to find the place he was looking for, Jimmy unzipped his bag and reached in to remove his first tool: a simple screwdriver.

With it, he undid one of the sections of the venting, until it just started to fall away from the connecting piece. The gap that he created was more than enough room. He reached into the bag and pulled out his next tool: three small containers.

The containers were identical to the ones used when fumigating a house to rid them of roaches or bugs. Only, in these pressurized containers, the pesticide had been removed and replaced with diethyl ether. Once used as anesthetic by doctors, the prolonged breathing of ether has been known to cause users to pass out, which was what Jimmy was hoping for, but could also cause severe disorientation and hallucinations.