As long as I had a little money in my pockets and was not involved in any of the darker elements, I could live with the thought that it wasn’t all fun and laughter. I was already a cold man back then. The scars of the war ran deep, but there also seemed to be a dark, brooding miasma inside me that had first reared its head when Greene had sacked me back at Longwood and had never really disappeared. At the time I simply thought it was just a trait of my character. I know better now, of course. I simply enjoyed what I did and didn’t care all that much about the consequences of the work.
I liked the people at the Speakeasies, I liked making good money just driving trucks around and I enjoyed the fact that the local coppers kept out of my way. I enjoyed New York.
And there was one more reason I was pleased I got a job working for Mickey Donovan.
It made me rich beyond my wildest dreams.
*
I had been in America for just over a year when, whilst delivering my illicit goods around the city one afternoon, I met a young Bostonian named Percy Drebham. And he changed my life.
Percy was the manager of one of the Speakeasies on my rounds. It happened to be that first one I had visited with Sean and Mickey when I first got off the ship: Drew’s Bar on West 67th.
I was trolleying in the goods when Percy came outside to stand in the sun for a smoke. He nodded at me and I nodded back. We knew each other a little by this time, but had only really talked about where I had to drop off the booze.
It was July 1924, and it was a warm day. I stopped for a rest in the shade of the porch and wiped the back of my neck with a handkerchief. Percy and I watched the cars and trams clattering by, listening to the chatter of the people on the sidewalks and the sound of bright jazz music coming from an open window somewhere. He offered me a cigarette and we smoked companionably for a while. He was reading a newspaper.
‘Electric irons,’ he murmured.
‘Sorry?’
He smiled up at me from the paper. ‘Electric irons. In fact, electrical goods of all shapes and sizes. That’s what I’m investing in.’ He returned to the paper and did some mental calculations. ‘I believe I have made just over $2,000 this morning.’
I was mightily impressed. It was a king’s ransom.
‘How?’ I asked, interested.
‘Stock market, my friend. Stocks and shares are the new future. Anyone can make a fortune if they invest in the right things. And electricals are the right things. They’re only going to go up.’
I didn’t know what he was talking about. I’d heard of the stock market but had assumed it was something for bored highfliers and millionaires to play with on their time off. I knew nothing about it, and I said as much to Percy.
‘You don’t have to understand it, friend; you just have to play it.’ He smiled, secretively.
Percy was a dapper young fellow. He wore a finely tailored suit, Homburg hat, and spats on his perfectly polished shoes. His cigarette case was gold, and his cufflinks and tie stud were glittering diamonds. Maybe he was on to something.
I asked more about the ins-and-outs of stocks and bonds, and he gave me a quick rundown of what he thought might be worth investing a little money in. He seemed eager to share his knowledge.
It would have to be only a little money for me. I made a decent amount working for Mickey Donovan as I was employed, in essence, in an illegal trade but I didn’t have a lot of disposable cash. However, after questioning Percy a little more I found out what I had to do and he put me in touch with his stockbroker. I put my few dollars down to see what would happen.
It’s incredible to think now, how much money I made in the next couple of years. As Percy said, it seemed everyone was at it. Shoeshine boys, barbers, shopkeepers. They were all indulging in the glories of Wall Street.
Once I became more knowledgeable, I learned that a lot of people were buying their shares on what was called the “margin”. This meant they only had to stump up about ten percent of the worth of the shares they bought, the other ninety percent being funded by banks as a type of loan. It seemed there was no real downside to the stock market, but a cautious part of my nature baulked at doing this and I made sure I only bought shares I could afford myself. What if something went wrong?
It didn’t seem to be going wrong though. My investments went up and enabled me to invest more and more. Within a year-and-a-half I had made enough money to move out of the shared apartment I had been renting and into a very nice place of my own in Greenwich Village, not far from Washington Square.
I became a minor expert, and even began to give tips myself, like Percy had done for me. Sean made a little extra cash from my advice, although I think he spent most of it in Drew’s. Still, he seemed happy enough with it.
Apart from the new apartment, I kept my dabbling to myself. I didn’t start wearing flashy clothes or buying cars or diamond cufflinks or anything stupid like that. I invested, I sold, and I banked. By 1927 I had almost $120,000 in my account, an enormous sum of money in those days. And by 1927, I needed it.
Because by then I was a marked man.
VI
The apartment in Greenwich was owned by a certain Mrs Molly O’Brian. She was aged about forty or so, with a thick mane of jet-black hair that the grey had yet to mar. Her eyes were huge and dark, in a face that was careworn but seemingly carefree too, and her smile was warm and wide and welcoming.
I found her instantly alluring and, before too long, I also found out that the body beneath those rather staid clothes was firm and smooth and voluptuous. She was a rare beauty, was Molly O’Brian.
Donovan himself had put me on to the apartment. He knew I’d been making some money and he also knew it was not a threat to his own, much more lucrative, business. I think he even admired me a little for making my own way, and he never had any cause to complain about my work. I enjoyed what I did. The stock market was simply something I participated in on my time off. It was a sort of perverse version of the American dream.
When he heard I was looking to upgrade my housing situation he called me into his office in Hell’s Kitchen. He asked me how much I was willing to spend on rent and then told me about the apartment block Molly owned.
Of course, what he didn’t tell me at the time was that he and Molly were lovers. If he had then things may not have got out of hand; although even if I knew I probably would have done what I did anyway. I was getting cocky by then.
I found the apartment and rang the bell, and Molly answered. I was attracted to her immediately, despite the fact she was about ten years older than me. I think that was actually part of the attraction; she was all woman.
When the door opened I was confronted with a vision of dark, wild beauty. She was so different to the Flappers of the time, with their short hair and ironing-board figures. She wore a simple, ankle-length skirt and white blouse, and her thick black hair was piled on her head in what had been the height of fashion a decade or so before. I don’t think she wore any make-up on that first meeting. Then again, she didn’t need to.
‘Mrs O’Brian?’ I asked, taking off my hat.
‘You must be Mr Deakin,’ she answered in a thick Irish brogue, smiling a smile that made my heart jump. ‘Michael said you would be stopping by.’ She pronounced his name ‘Moichael’.