cgraven
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Sep 6, 2001
- Posts
- 63,893
This is a closed thread for caela and cgraven
Goatham, the Big Apple, New York, the city of dreams where anything can happen. The Great White Way, Broadway where a girl’s dreams of a theatrical career is just out there for the taking. At least that was what all the Movie magazines said. But there was another side to this huseling and bustling town. One that “Spat’s” Dugan knew only to well. A town of broken dreams and innocence lost.
“Spat’s” had grown up on the lower East side, Hell’s Kitchen among the teaming rows of tenements the squalid of the Irish ghetto. He had been a tough runny nosed kid without a future just another poor kid distend to be a no body, and that is just what he was until the Great war and he went to France to fight the Kaiser. He had made a name for himself in the old Fighting 69th, the Irishers of New York. When he got back there was not an honest job to be had so he went to the Irish gangs that ran the lower East side. He had worked his way up in the mob and was now a made man. Spats ran everything from Broadway down to the Bowery on the East side. He had picked up the moniker of Spats because he dressed like a Dandy right down to his spats.
He was sitting at the little club her ran his empire from down at 42nd and Broadway. A ritzy little place he called Chez Paris. It was a posh night club where only the swells came, and was noted for its singers and show girl’s.
Tommy Hennessey had come in a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The little pug Irishman was Dugan’s enforcer.
“Hat Spats the boys down in Chinatown are getting uppity and says they aint goanna pay no more.”
Spats ran his hand through his copper red hair. He was a big bull of a man, all muscle, but with that infamous Irish charm, and sparkling hazel eyes.
“Look into it Tommy and find out who’s the mug make trouble.”
Sure thing boss.
Goatham, the Big Apple, New York, the city of dreams where anything can happen. The Great White Way, Broadway where a girl’s dreams of a theatrical career is just out there for the taking. At least that was what all the Movie magazines said. But there was another side to this huseling and bustling town. One that “Spat’s” Dugan knew only to well. A town of broken dreams and innocence lost.
“Spat’s” had grown up on the lower East side, Hell’s Kitchen among the teaming rows of tenements the squalid of the Irish ghetto. He had been a tough runny nosed kid without a future just another poor kid distend to be a no body, and that is just what he was until the Great war and he went to France to fight the Kaiser. He had made a name for himself in the old Fighting 69th, the Irishers of New York. When he got back there was not an honest job to be had so he went to the Irish gangs that ran the lower East side. He had worked his way up in the mob and was now a made man. Spats ran everything from Broadway down to the Bowery on the East side. He had picked up the moniker of Spats because he dressed like a Dandy right down to his spats.
He was sitting at the little club her ran his empire from down at 42nd and Broadway. A ritzy little place he called Chez Paris. It was a posh night club where only the swells came, and was noted for its singers and show girl’s.
Tommy Hennessey had come in a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The little pug Irishman was Dugan’s enforcer.
“Hat Spats the boys down in Chinatown are getting uppity and says they aint goanna pay no more.”
Spats ran his hand through his copper red hair. He was a big bull of a man, all muscle, but with that infamous Irish charm, and sparkling hazel eyes.
“Look into it Tommy and find out who’s the mug make trouble.”
Sure thing boss.