|Open to all - Just another night on the town
Things have been quiet on the outside, and might be that's the lull before the storm, but inside The Fury? Everything's a hoppin'.
Jazz hounds fill the dance floor every time the band strikes up, while booze hounds line the bar two deep at times - keeping Nathan on his toes.
Zeta's just finished a set and Kate'll be on later, meanwhile Brendon's entertaining the crowd while John keeps a weather-eye out for trouble.
Not that there's gonna be trouble, but you never can tell.
Things seem to be running just as smoothly as usual in the Fury. Good to see it back on track.
James didn't need Stellan tonight, so he decided to come over and swill down vodka. He's on his own, seated at a table with a bottle and a glass. He doesn't dance; he used to, when he was younger, but that was years and years ago. Before the war. He doesn't play cards; too much is left up to chance, and he likes for things to be more certain than that. He doesn't chat dollybirds up; not been his style for a while.
He keeps a semi-professional eye as he winds down from his day. If there's trouble, he's here. He's definitely enjoying the music, though, and he's not asocial, as anyone would find out if they decided to join him.
He'd probably even share the vodka, which is about as important to him as eating his eggs in the morning.
Scott's not the excitable sort.
It's not easy to get under his skin. Not easy to get a reaction. He's cool. He's calm. He is collected. His voice doesn't raise, his hair doesn't muss, and as far as appearances go, his clothes are too busy being scared stiff to even think about wrinkling.
Scott likes it that way: saves trouble, saves questions, and saves him having to get his hands dirty.
Not that he won't get his hands dirty, when it comes right down to it. Just ask Tim -- or John. Not that they'll tell you anything, but they're less likely to cut your tongue out for asking.
It's been that kind of month, and Scott's in that kind of mood.
He settles into a chair in the back corner of the club, before the place is open for business. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. His elbow's on the table, deft fingers spinning a half-empty glass of something amber against the polished surface. When he hears someone getting close he finishes his drink and looks to them.
"What do you need?"
Couple of blocks from The Fury, where the alleys turn darker and the streets a mite meaner, there's a building. Looks abandoned from the outside, most of the time. Didn't used to. Up to a couple weeks back, there was a slowish, steadyish, lowish stream of folks passing through the doors at night. Long as they knew the right words to get through the doors.
59 Club's been dark near on two weeks. Dark and dry. Word's just beginning to get round that might be changing sometime real soon.
The night Tim Ollivander was found passed out and bleeding there didn't do much for the joint's reputation, but it brought it to attention.
Brought it to Daniel's attention, that it's empty. That it's worth checking out. And that someone thinks they can get away with slugging his boss' button man. Maybe they can. Could be Tim's falling from grace, and there's a sweet thought.
Brought it to Giuseppe's attention, that it's empty. That it's worth checking out. And that a touch of competition might be the leverage he needs to weaken The Fury's power. Cut down cash flow. Tempt away a few of the staff.
Brought it to the Boss's attention, that it's empty. Nature abhors a vacuum. The Boss abhors a missed opportunity.
Either way. It ain't gonna stay missed, empty, dark or dry for much longer.
Kate is all smiles as she walks in and sees how busy the place is tonight. It's her night off from performing but she's in the mood for a good time and everyone knows this is the place to be for that. She smiles and nods at the staff members she knows while heading toward the tables. Before settling herself at one, she stops and chats briefly with several people. Once she sits down, she orders a dry martini and leans back in her chair to watch the show, both on stage and off.
Aidan's colleagues are not a bad bunch, really. They left his face pretty much out of it, and the only exterior sign of what happened is a healing split lip. Well, that and the fact that he can't sashay through life the way he usually does, nonchalant and easy. Instead he walks just like most people, regular, steady, nothing original there.
Getting the Broderick is pretty boring, past the initial rush of pain and adrenaline.
All the more reason to go enjoy a quiet drink at the Fury, really. Whiskey. What else? He didn't save it for nothing.
Not so quiet after all, the Fury's buzzing with activity. It's nice to be looking at it, seated on his own at a table with a good view of the stage and the dancefloor. In the middle of all that jazz, but not quite part of it. Just the way he likes it best. He rubs at the back of his neck, trying to soothe aching muscles; at least his breathing has gotten better. Ribs are healing up.
He's usually left alone in here, so he don't expect nobody to come walk up to him like that. He doesn't mind the way he thought he would, and actually smiles up at the intruder with his usual spark of slightly barmy.
The club's closed during the daytime. It gives the staff a chance to get the place set for the night, keep it secure, and means there's a secure rehearsal space.
Sometimes it means there's a place for John to entertain favored guests during the day, but not right now. Right now, he's off that kind of duty, and it's making him all kinds of antsy. That's what's got him down there when it's barely past noon, sitting at the piano, working through a new number.
Sure would be easier if they'd got a regular piano player. He's not sure what happened to Jimmy, but he's got suspicions that it involves the dame he'd been carrying a torch for, a couple deep games, and a short trip to the big house. Either way, it leaves John picking out a melody he half knows of a duet he'll half sing.
When the door swings open behind him, he swivels on the stool, abandoning the keyboard. "This ever gonna work, you think, or am I wasting my time here?"
Nathan's fully recovered, well, as fully recovered as he needs to be to get back to work. The cuts and bruises have mostly healed, and he can walk without pain. His shoulder's a little touchy, but as long as he makes no sudden movements it'll do.
It's time and past that he's back behind the bar. He's missed being here, missed chatting with the staff and customers, worried that Mike might not be able to keep up... He's heard whispers of confirmation on that last in the short time he's been back, and has vowed to himself to work with Mike. Can't have The Fury's reputation shot to hell because a barkeep can't mix a proper cocktail. Might seem to be a minor thing with all the other troubles in the air, but it's the only one he can do anything about, so he will.
The joint's really jumpin' tonight. Card tables full, dance floor fuller, sounds of music and conversation fill the air. Yeah, he's missed being here, and the smile on his face as he greets his next customer shows just how happy he is to be back.
I want all the details.
I want her unaware.
Report in two days.
David slids into the seat across from Marco, tapping his fingers against the table, then stealing Marco's coffee. It isn't a planned meeting, but it's only a day after Marco had given him the assignment so he figures he's near as expected. "Now, are you going to remember this or should I write it down?"
David clearly as a death wish.
Tim looks at the paper and nods once, then folds it and tucks it into his pocket. That was it. Nothing shows on his face or in his manner. It's a job, one just like every other one he'd gotten from his boss. Once the messenger leaves and the door closes firmly behind him, Tim pushes his untouched pie away.
He'd known it was coming from the time Giuseppe had started pushing back, looking for his own piece. Tim didn't think his brother in-law realized that not everyone played by the same rules he did. That wives and children were sancrosanct and beyond reprisal. They weren't. Tim could have followed the order, orphaned his own niece and nephew, but he'd made his sister a promise. If he didn't do this, they were in danger-all of them, but Giuseppe was family and the kids were his blood.
Bossman might look the other way for a bit, out of respect for the number of times Tim had pulled his ass out of the fire. Daniel and James sure as Hell wouldn't though. His reputation would be dust and the price on his head? Not worth thinking about. He had to buy himself some time.
Leaving the money on the diner table, Tim stands up and heads out. Once on the street, he lights a smoke and heads on foot to his brother in-law's place. They need a plan.
Two days since the raid, and the doors reopen. There's little sign that the police were ever here, except as customers, and the bar's freshly stocked with the hooch delivered safely from the dock.
Nathan's still home, recovering, but Mike's behind the bar, a capable replacement, kept busy serving the steady stream eager to return to The Fury after a weekend's closure. The band's playing, the dancefloor's full, and the staff are busy.
John's on stage for his opening set, waiting for the cue to sound for Zeta to join him for handover, and everything's as it was a week ago.
Back in business, and ain't it grand. Let the good times roll.
He can't go to Scott's place. That's a stupid move, risks revealing Scott's address, and confirms the strong (and accurate) rumors about their relationship beyond business. Going to the club...yeah, it's stupid, but it's less stupid. At least, less stupid since Aidan's message got passed on.
So John goes to The Fury. Keys still in his pocket, going in through one of the back entrances very few people, even staff, know about, and making his way through to front of house. Very, very careful. Tread light, touch nothing. Someone's done some cleanup work, but there's still a fair amount to be done before they can open to the public again.
Primarily, getting Aidan his money for distribution.
David fans out from the Fury, hitting businesses he knows from experience don't know him well but are owned by sympathetic Catholic types who will understand and do everything they can to help him. He made it about a mile out from the Fury, standing in a tiny drugstore and retelling his sad story for the tenth time, eyes glistening with unshed tears as Mrs. Giovani, the wife of the store owner he's talking to, clucks and pats his arm, giving him a cup of tea while Mr. Giovani studies the picture. David goes through the story again in Italian, explaining how the short dark man drawn in the picture had turned the head of his dear, sweet, innocent sister and taken her virtue, leaving her in a family way. He's looking for him to convince him to do the honorable thing.
Mr. Giovani clicks his tongue then tells David in a low voice that he thinks, perhaps, this is not a man David wants as a brother, but, but if it is too late, (it is, David assures him), then he wants to go across the street to the diner. The man in the picture is not there this morning, Mr. Giovani had not seen him go in through the large windows at the front of the drugstore, but a man he sees often with the dark man was in there. Tall. Blond. Worth talking to if David wants to locate the man who'd dishonored his sister.
David nods hugely, wiping his eyes and taking a shaking breath to center himself before thanking Giovani and his wife before heading across the street and locating Stellan immediately. He straightens his shoulders from the scared boy he'd been across the street, to a cocky boy- but still a boy, not the 30 year old man he is. He gets a cup of coffee, then saunters to Stellan's table, sitting down across the table from him.
It's just a day since the raid. John's not heard from Mr. Palin, but he's not expected to. After a raid, everyone goes to ground. And after that, going back to the club's a fool's move.
He's got to get news somewhere, though. Somewhere neutral. Somewhere that doesn't involve going to the Fury, contacting James, or exposing Scott. That's why the next morning (late morning) finds him at Rosa's, lingering over a plate of eggs and a mug of coffee strong enough to bend the spoon that's resting in it after stirring in more sugar than most people would stomach.
When someone slides into the booth next to him, he doesn't look up at first. Just raises his hand for Mitzy's attention, nods, and waves at his companion. "Put it on my tab."
Marco knows he can find out information himself. He also knows that his ways of gathering information tend to be conspicuous.
That's why he's going to talk to David. David don't look like much, but the fella knows his onions when it comes to getting the low down on someone. Once the someone's identified - that's when Marco comes in.
A couple of words with Joseph, and Marco slips through to the back, down the hidden stairs to the cellar, leaning back against the door and folding his arms. "Marzello. The boss needs information."
That place few know of is an empty hangar on the outskirts of town, isolated enough that nobody'll hear you scream. Comes in handy when they need information and they need it fast; gonna come in handy tonight.
Stellan and James only have one man with them. A trusted lookout while they get that information out of their two prisoners, and yeah, faster would be better. Been a while since they had such a crisis to face, but they always come out on top, and tonight's proof of that.
The two prisoners are dragged into the hanger with the lookout's help, and Stellan drops one of them unceremoniously on a wobbly chair. Then he steps back and turns to James expectantly. They're all his, now.
Nathan takes another drag on his cigarette, the one provided by Det. Walsh, using the opportunity to give thanks the man had been in tonight. He'd not had much contact with the detective before, tended to keep to himself which Nathan respected, but what he'd seen tonight, he'd liked. And not just because he'd kept them all from being hauled downtown. Turns out, 'Sandy' has a rather quirky sense of humor, and Nathan likes that in a person.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he turns to the bouncers, sending Rob off in search of Scott and setting the other two to righting the tables and chairs, before joining Kate and Bren.
"Let's see about cleaning this joint up some, shall we."
Few know his name. Only those from whom he takes orders. Everyone else just calls him 'The Boss'.
When word reaches him through well-greased channels of the situation surrounding The Fury, he doesn't rant and rave. It's not his style. Instead, he sits at his desk, chair tilted back, legs propped on the desk - crossed at the ankle - and fingers steepled and tapping his lips as his brain races, exploring all possibilities. Don't be fooled by the pose, though. Many people have mistaken the pose for true relaxation. Those people are dead.
Reaching a conclusion, he drops his feet to the floor and snaps his fingers for one of his minions to step closer. Quickly writing on a slip of paper, he folds it in half and hands it to the boy in front of him - with instructions to deliver it to Mr. Olivander and no one else.
There are only two words written on that paper.