I’m forty-seven. Forty-seven years old. You know how I stayed alive this long? All these years? Fear. The spectacle of fearsome acts. Somebody steals from me, I cut off his hands. He offends me, I cut out his tongue. He rises against me, I cut off his head, stick it on a pike, raise it high up so all on the streets can see. That’s what preserves the order of things. Fear.
At my challenge, by the ancient laws of combat, we have met at this chosen ground, to settle for good and all who holds sway over the Five Points: us natives, born right wise to this fine land, or the foreign hordes defiling it.
Here’s the thing. I don’t give a tuppenny fuck about your moral conundrum, you meat-headed shit-sack. That’s more or less the thing. And I want you to go out there… You, nobody else. None of your little minions. I want you to go out there. And I want you to punish the person who’s responsible for murdering this poor little rabbit. Is that understood?
I know your works. You are neither cold nor hot. So because you are lukewarm, I will spew you out of my mouth. You can build your filthy world without me. I took the father. Now I’ll take the son. You tell young Vallon I’m gonna paint Paradise Square with his blood. Two coats. I’ll festoon my bedchamber with his guts. As for you, Mr. Tammany-fucking-Hall, you come down to the Points again, and you’ll be dispatched by my own hand. Get back to your celebration and let me eat in peace.
The Priest and me, we lived by the same principles. It was only faith divided us. He gave me this, you know? That was the finest beating I ever took. My face was pulp. My guts was pierced, my ribs was all mashed up. And when he came to finish me, I couldn’t look him in the eye. He spared me, because he wanted me to live in shame. This was a great man. A great man. So I out out the eye that looked away, I sent it to him wrapped in blue paper. I would’ve cut them both out if I could have fought him blind. And I rose back up again with a full heart… and buried him in his own blood. He was the only man I ever killed worth remembering.
My father gave his life, making this country what it is. Murdered by the British with all of his men on the twenty fifth of July, anno domini, 1814. Do you think I’m going to help you befoul his legacy, by giving this country over to them, what’s had no hand in the fighting for it? Why, because they come off a boat crawling with lice and begging you for soup.
Everything you see belongs to me, to one degree or another. The beggars and newsboys and quick thieves here in Paradise, the sailor dives and gin mills and blind tigers on the waterfront, the anglers and amusers, the she-hes and the Chinks. Everybody owes, everybody pays. Because that’s how you stand up against the rising of the tide.
We hold in our hearts the memory of our fallen brothers whose blood stains the very streets we walk today. Also on this night we pay tribute to the leader of our enemies, an honorable man, who crossed over bravely, fighting for what he believed in. To defeat my enemy, I extinguish his life, and consume him as I consume these flames. In honor of Priest Vallon.
He ain’t earned a death! He ain’t a death at my hands! No, he’ll walk amongst you marked with shame, a freak worthy of Barnum’s Museum of Wonders. God’s only man, spared by the Butcher.
Ears and noses will be the trophies of the day. But no hand shall touch him. NO hand shall touch him! He’ll cross over whole. With honor.
