Brannigan, Hannigan, Some Strippers, Some Gangsters, and Then There's A Church

Chapter One

Alastar Brannigan had been on the New York Police Department since the second year of the 18th Amendment. It was a job he applied for because the force was hiring, and the money his father had sent him from Ireland had run out, and he had lost his job at the barber shop, piano mover’s and Barini’s Bakery. So it was not quite a job he had meant to get. But in the seven years he had held it, he had surpassed all the other officers in his branch all the way up to the Lieutenant position. Besides that, his younger brother, Rory Brannigan, had joined in ’25, and was excelling almost as much as his brother. Yes, there was no denying that he was clever, charming, and powerful, which wasn’t a bad combination.

But there’s something else you need to survive in Manhattan, especially in those legendary late 20’s. Something that made the difference between a fearless gang and pigeon food- luck. And while Alastar Brannigan might’ve had wit, charm and power, he did not, no matter what anyone said, have luck.

The overcast weather above the police station reminded Brannigan of the way his badge looked after a fight with a few gangsters. The analogy made the scar under his left eye pound a bit, the mark the infamous gambler and gang leader, Nathan Detroit, had left a few years back during a confrontation between the cops and Nathan’s gang at the gangster’s annual floating crap game. It was every police officer’s dream, busting a game like that, and had it not been for the unanticipated… strength Nathan possessed, Brannigan would’ve had the whole gang behind bars.

But the scar was a constant reminder that he hadn’t.

Well.

He had other things.

Shaking himself clean of memories, he pulled open the heavy station doors, putting on his most confident and authoritive look. The promotion to Lieutenant was still new, and he had to make it well known amongst his subordinates. Not that any of them disliked him all that much.

“Evening, officers,” he called as he entered.

The station full of policemen chorused their greetings.

“Well, Brannigan? Didjya catch ‘em?” It was Billy Oxford, a new officer, younger than Brannigan and much more eager. “The Chicagoan crapshooters. Where is he?”

Brannigan raised an eyebrow. “You know how the Chicago police are, Billy. These gamblers are clever. But I think I’ll be able to… encounter them tonight. If you know what I mean. They’ll be easy to get down here then.”

The cops listening laughed. Brannigan smiled graciously, but a younger officer watching unamused caught his eye.

“Something wrong, Rory?” he asked as he made his way to his younger brother.

Rory looked down. “No.”

“Ror, come on, I’m your brother. I can tell when you’re lying.”

The other man looked up, exasperated. “It’s not fair, Al.”

“What isn’t?”

“This! All of this. You getting promotions when you’ve spent nights with almost all of the gamblers. Why? They don’t get off on anything.”

“That isn’t why I got the promotion. And I get ‘em down here, which is all that matters, right?”

Rory’s shoulders fell. “I guess.”

“It’s just…” Brannigan looked towards the door. “It’s been hard. First there was Jane, and then Nath- well. That doesn’t matter. I’m lonely, you know? Sad, I guess. The gamblers help.”

“Why?”

Brannigan exhaled. “I used to have friends who played. You know that.”

Rory frowned. “But why can’t you just let it go? I mean, it was years ago. And you’re a good enough cop to get ‘em the usual way.”