A Requital of Gratitude

Chapter 2: The Beginning

By Samuel

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Gathered in a hospital lounge, Nicholas O’Bannon and his crew listen as Nellie Potts recounts the bloody history of the Irish Blue Street Boys, the massacre of his family, and the harrowing night she pulled him from the river.

“It all started about twenty years ago,” she began. “Nicholas’s father, Fin O’Bannon, led a local syndicate called the Irish Blue Street Boys. They operated from a small, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The gang ran numbers, prostitution, extortion, and theft—mostly from the city’s wealthier districts. Local law enforcement largely tolerated them through heavy bribes, and the townsfolk did too, because Fin enforced one unwritten rule: always treat the locals with respect.”

She paused as a nurse delivered a steaming teapot and shortbread, acknowledging the woman with a brief nod before continuing her story.

“The original gang consisted of twelve local Irishmen. But as their notoriety grew, so did their numbers. They expanded, bringing in Greeks, Frenchmen, the Dutch, and a few Black Americans. New blood brought new opinions, and a far harsher edge. At first, the tension was subtle. The newcomers complained that Fin’s traditional rackets were too small-time and the payouts too modest. They wanted bigger scores, pushing first for armed hijacking and high-stakes extortion. But even that didn’t satisfy them for long. Soon, word spread that an ambitious faction wanted to cross lines Fin had sworn never to touch, eyeing two massive, ruthless operations: heavy narcotics and the international trafficking of young children.”

Nick’s jaw tightened, but he remained utterly silent.

“Fin, who prided himself on his own skewed sense of justice, flatly refused,” Nellie said softly. “He knew that route, however profitable, would sow unnecessary hardship and misery. But that refusal drew a target on his back. Greed tore the syndicate apart, creating a violent rift between Fin’s old guard and the ambitious newcomers. To make matters worse, Fin no longer had the muscle to enforce his authority—his original circle of twelve had dwindled to just five, depleted by sickness and bloody turf wars. Outnumbered and stripped of leverage, he realized he could no longer control the mutiny brewing inside his own walls. He saw the writing on the wall and knew it was time to pack up his family and run. Sadly, he hesitated just a moment too long.”

She looked at Nick, her eyes pooling with sorrow. “When the strike came, it was swift and merciless. They turned your family’s home into a slaughterhouse, murdering your father, your mother, Soiree, and little Catherine. You only survived the initial bloodbath by a sheer twist of fate—because you were staying the night at a friend’s house. But when the horror reached you, grief and panic took over. You raced home blindly, unaware that the hit squad was already sweeping the neighborhood to wipe out Fin’s remaining bloodline. When they realized you weren’t among the dead, they sealed off the streets, scouring block after block until they cornered you in a neighbor’s garage.”

Nellie took a slow sip of her tea, her hands trembling slightly against the warm porcelain.

“That afternoon, I was down at my usual spot by the river, hidden behind a thick clearing of trees. I had a clear view of the entire bank, but no one could see me.”

The four men at the table leaned in closer, captivated by the weight of her words.

“First came the screech of tires and an engine cutting off, followed by the screams of a boy being hauled toward the water. Staying as still as I could, I watched three men shove Nicholas to the river’s edge. He fought back with everything he had, but he was just a child against grown men with baseball bats. They rained down a barrage of brutal, calculated blows until his cries stopped. Believing they’d finished the job, they tossed his limp body into the river, one of them calling out that they needed to report back that Fin’s son was dead.”

Rion and Keefe exchanged dark, knowing glances. Nick stared into his teacup, the ghosts of his past swimming in the dark liquid.

“The second their car sped off, I dove into the river. When I pulled him to the surface, he coughed—he was still alive. I dragged him onto the bank and just held his broken body, crying right along with him.”

She reached out with her good hand and gently touched Nick’s sleeve. “Under the cover of fast-approaching darkness, I managed to get him back to my home. I cleaned him up and bandaged him as best as I could. By some miracle—perhaps because they were in a rush to leave—they hadn’t broken any major bones or caused fatal cranial damage. My apartment had a back storage room, which I quickly converted into a hidden bedroom. Nicholas could rest and recover there without anyone being wiser. I knew if word got out, both our lives would end.”

Nellie sighed, her eyes softening. “Bandages can fix broken skin, but rage rots a boy from the inside out. Confined to that tiny back room with nothing but his thoughts, Nicholas was completely consumed by a desire for vengeance. I knew if I couldn’t reach his mind, that hatred would end up killing him faster than the hit squad ever could. Night after night, I sat by his bed, using every bit of wisdom I possessed to steer him toward survival instead of self-destruction. It was slow, painful work, but as his body mended, my words slowly took root—and a bit of reason finally penetrated that thick skull of his.”

“They did, Aunt Nellie,” Nick murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“As the months passed, the gang waited for a body that never washed up, eventually assuming he’d fled,” she said. “Because my late husband and I had always kept to ourselves, no prying neighbors came around. Nicholas stayed locked away, stepping out only after dark. I bought him novels and taught him chess to keep his mind sharp while we waited for his strength to return.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “When he was finally strong enough, we knew he had to leave for a fresh start. I used my savings to buy him a train ticket to New York, and late that night, I drove him out to Concordia. We embraced, he boarded the midnight train, and he was gone. I truly thought I’d never lay eyes on you again, Nicky.”

As her voice drifted into silence, a heavy, reverent quiet settled over the hospital lounge. Declan, Casey, Keefe, and Rion stared at Nick, the final pieces of his past locking into place. The sudden insistence on ghosting into Kansas City, the strict cover names, the extreme caution—it wasn’t about paranoia. It was the only way a dangerous man could guard the fragile life of the woman who had traded everything to give him his.

Nellie reached across the table, her fingers gently brushing his sleeve as her smile faded into quiet, maternal anxiety. “I can’t tell you what it means to see you, Nicky—at my age, all my old friends and kin are long in the ground. But seeing you sitting here, dressed like this… I have to ask. What brought you back to Kansas City, Nicholas? What are your true intentions? I’ve prayed for years that you left that hatred behind, and I would sleep much easier knowing you aren’t here looking for blood.”

Nick looked at her like a son, but when he spoke, his voice turned cold.

“I came back to make sure you’re taken care of, Aunt Nellie. As for the rest… maybe I could’ve made peace with my father’s death. In our world, men pay for their choices. But Catherine was just a little girl. Slaughtering an innocent child isn’t mob business—it’s a debt that can only be settled in blood. Everyone who touched that house is going to pay.”

He spoke over her hesitation. “How long are they keeping you? I’m getting you out of here.”

The weight of his chilling vow left her speechless, a mixture of grief and fear pooling in her eyes. Sensing her exhaustion, Nick softened his gaze; he reached out to steady her good arm. The four men moved with quiet tenderness—hardened mobsters suddenly gentle as nurses—helping her to her feet and supporting her fragile frame as they escorted her back to Ward 3A. As she settled into bed, Nick squeezed her hand, promising they would be back to fetch her the moment she was cleared.

At the front desk, Nick checked Nellie’s status. The receptionist confirmed two more days of observation before her official discharge.

Walking out into the bright Kansas City afternoon, Nick adjusted his jacket, a grim sense of satisfaction settling over him. No one had recognized him. No whispers had followed them. The past was still sleeping soundly, completely unaware that the boy they threw into the river had returned as a nightmare.