When the battle's lost and won...
Aug. 25th, 2011 12:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oldwickedsongsTitle: When the battle's lost and won
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oldwickedsongs
Characters: Jimmy Darmondy, Al Capone, Nucky Thompson, Jimmy Torrio, mentions of Meyer Lansky and many other gangsters of the day.
Rating: PG, I think Al cusses a few times.
Word Count: 1977
Summary: Set during the infamous Atlantic City conference in 1929, when organized crime sat down and divided up the East Coast. A character study of the young Turks and Mustaches Pete.
Warnings: Character death (again)
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.
Atlantic City, May 1929
“I thought you were retired.”
Nucky’s voice cut through the dark like a knife, but it still had the undertone of a joke hiding just beyond the next sentence. That was Nucky’s skill, Torrio thought as he stepped off the train and extended his hand in friendship, the man had a charm that put people at ease within seconds- despite that being one of the worst places you could be when facing Enoch Thompson across the table. The politician was smiling, but it didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. In its place was a sort of weariness Torrio did recognize all too easily from every look in a mirror. The job aged people, it took it’s payment out in years and warmth bit by bit- God did Torrio know it, and those it didn’t age, it simply killed.
No where had that been made clearer than six months ago.
“You gonna frisk me?” Nucky asked before taking his hand. The joke was there but no mirth behind it, Torrio laughed anyways. It beat standing around like two old fools. “Is there a reason I should?”
Nucky was studying his face; probably thinking the same thing of him that he was of Nucky. Torrio knew what spooked him too; four years ago he took a shotgun to the jaw. He’d lived but after that he was done. He remembered Nucky had sent him a bottle of six hundred dollar whisky, real stuff, and called him the luckiest bastard alive; alive being underlined and bolded. Not to be outdone, the Bankroll had sent Meyer with the simple message: ‘What you need, you have.’
Torrio had used it too. He put New York’s loyalty squarely behind Al Capone, while he took Europe.
“Old times’ sake?” Nucky asked and motioned to the Rolls parked near the exit.
“Times change, Nuck. Where’s Eddie?”
Something unreadable passed over Nucky’s face. “Times change. Besides, I wanted…” Nucky trailed off as if the desire had escaped him in that moment, or if he hesitated to show a momentary weakness.
“Tell me about it.” Torrio cut him off. “All these fucking youngsters; makes a man feel old. Where are the Young Turks anyways?”
“Already at the Ritz. Your boy Capone has already trashed two hotel suites and scared the maids. Lucky…he’s kept to himself since he arrived. The little man’s with him.”
“Like lovers, those two. And James? Where is my Jimmy-boy?”
“…he keeps his own schedule, you know that but I imagine he’s already there too. Come on, we’ll talk in the car.” Nucky said as he held open the door for Torrio. “…somehow we gotta clean up this mess.”
--------
“Who’s the dopey looking guy?”
“Dutch Schultz, controls the liquor trade in the Bronx.”
“That one?”
“Longy Zwillman, Newark.” Al Capone took another long drink of his bourbon, flashing his teeth against the sting of the liquor and then jutted his chin towards another guy. “And that one, the bugsy looking one- that’s Albert Anastasia. He heads up the Brownsville Boys.”
“Murder Inc.”
“Spooky sounding bullshit, ain’t it? Fucking New York, I still miss that bitch.”
Jimmy Darmody had yet to lift his head higher than a few inches, splitting his attention between the melting ice in his glass and the men Capone was pointing out loudly, despite the murderous glares that were being sent their way. The years had done nothing to smother Al’s fire, in fact if possible Jimmy was a little certain he’d become more volatile. Power suited Al; but then again it always had and Jimmy had seen the beginnings of it even back then. He was getting fatter too; signs of compliancy he’d won with his war with the Irish but the laugh still remained strong. People tended to underestimate Capone because of the fire; they mistook temper for stupidity and that was usually the last mistake they made.
He was already on his fourth double bourbon, and gesturing around the room with all the passion of a sports fan watching a match by the time Jimmy had found him. A few times his comments had made him laugh but more than that, Jimmy had just found he missed the evenings sitting beside Al shooting the breeze. Atlantic City had changed since those days when they were both drivers, waiting for their bosses; it had changed him too and for a moment, it was nice to savor the mindlessness.
A little farther away, Lucky Luciano was sitting alone moving the contents of a steak dinner around the plate like a child disinterested. He looked thoughtful, his dark features fixed as if he was working through a problem rather than mulling over the last time they’d all been together. Jimmy didn’t expect any outward signs of grief, the sort of men gathered in the hotel would have smelled it as quickly as blood in the water. The only sign that the event that had brought all of these parties here in the first place even occurred; or that Lucky even cared was the fact Meyer seemed to linger around him like a nurse. Meyer himself was still wearing the black mourning band.
It was still in the papers. Six months ago, Arnold Rothstein took a bullet to the back and died two days later. There were a dozen theories, each one linked to a dozen different rumors that ran the underground from Chicago to New York. The one Jimmy had heard the most often was the reneged poker bet but even that one sounded a little too clean for him. It seemed impossible that the King of New York to be fell by such a mundane reason.
But then of course, the Archduke got shot by a kid and look at what that did to Europe.
And it was the same fear that had caused Torrio to call this meeting; managing or not Luciano was bleeding and all those eager parties gathered could smell it. Chicago and Atlantic City, not to mention Philly, Boston, or the South couldn’t afford to have New York destabilized any longer then it was already. It’s true Lucky had kept business running without any major upsets but he was still new, and while no one was big enough to challenge him- yet, there were enough little factions to seriously injure him.
Jimmy remembered something Capone had told them on their first meeting; AR was as big as they came and it was only now that his place was filled by another did he see clearly how long the shadow he cast was.
His next thought was interrupted by Al punching his arm. In typical fashion, Al had noticed Jimmy’s attention diverted and like a child had demanded it back. “You eyeballing the new Bankroll?” He asked, glass and contents swishing towards Lucky. “He ain’t got it, you know. No wheres near AR’s smarts.”
“Little Man seems like he might.” Jimmy answered noncommittally.
“Lansky?” He pronounced it Land-ski, drawing out the name like it was something foul he had smelled, but the thought quieted Capone. Then, he followed suit with a shrug. “Maybe. They also got Busy Siegel on their payroll. Frank Costello too. A good man in a pinch.”
“That what this is all about?” Jimmy continued, sitting up. Luciano seemed to realize they had noticed him.
“Sure is. We gotta cut up Rothstein’s empire. All of it has to go somewhere.” Capone had leaned forward, his voice dropping to a loud stage whisper. Jimmy wondered if Al was drunk, or simply didn’t care if anyone heard him. Probably both. “Between us, Lucky’s gonna make a move for it, I think. He would have had it already…but the old cheat didn’t die quicker. Hell, for all we know- he could have done it. From what I hear? The Bankroll died in debt…”
Lucky shifted just slightly at the jab. Jimmy had seen that anger enough times over the years to know it well, both on the receiving end and in aiding it. But what surprised him next was how Lucky used it. Or rather, didn’t. He simply ignored them, the rage still burning and then straightened out his vest to wait.
“Alphonse, respect for the dead.” Torrio’s voice shot through the room like a dart. Everyone there looked up and paid attention. Nucky, who had arrived with Torrio, straightened a little like a wayward student. He didn’t look at Jimmy but that didn’t surprise him. When others were around, Nucky tended to keep Jimmy as a shadow- partly because he wanted Jimmy unassuming and partly because he still didn’t trust him.
Jimmy doubted he ever would; but it was his fault as much as Nucky’s and both of them knew it. He’d once been brash enough to think he could challenge Nucky and had paid for it in more ways than he thought possible. It was only later, after it was all said and done that he had realized his mistake. Back then, Jimmy had thought he could retake the city from Nucky but the truth, Atlantic City didn’t want another king. She had intertwined herself with Nucky like a lover- or a Siren- and there was nothing that could part them. Jimmy had tried being a gangster to take the lot and all she did in return was brush him away like yesterday’s lover.
It was part of Nucky’s revenge, and not his love that had brought him back home. He’d kept him around as a reminder, a felled prince no longer the beloved.
Johnny was talking to Al in spitfire Italian, like a bustling Aunt tidying up her wayward child. He even straightened up Al’s coat and smoothed the wrinkles out from the sleeves. It occurred to Jimmy then, especially when Al simply smiled and took it that Torrio would always be like that; constantly checking over Al’s shoulder and keeping the peace where he could. He would- and had- relied on Capone to be fire and feared but there was another interest there, a paternal one, that keep him coming back to America even after the gunshot wound to check in.
It was Nucky who approached first; AR’s first and foremost rival, followed closely behind by Torrio. The older men saw the anger in Lucky’s eyes and did something funny then. They deferred, in ways they never did around Rothstein and his dispassionate ways. Nucky bowed his head, and shook Lucky’s hand, calling him for the first time in Jimmy’s memory ‘Mr. Luciano’ and Torrio followed suit by tugging Lucky into a hug and muttering another polite apology for Al in Italian that Lucky thanked him for in English. He even corrected Nucky, asking to be called by his nickname.
And just like that it happened; it was such a silent accession. Out of all the players in the room, established and promising all; the old guard had greeted Lucky like they would have treated AR upon his arrival. Everyone would see it and understand. It was natural and exactly how AR had maneuvered it all those years ago. Jimmy wondered for a second if that’s why AR had made sure Charlie was sitting at the table almost ten years ago when the idea of bootlegging was still just a prospect, and no one was dead. The Bankroll’s way was quiet, understated. He never challenged him, like Nucky had and never coddled like Torrio. He had just placed him by his side as if to say This is the one. Watch him. He’ll be bigger than us all. Just watch.
AR had fixed the game from the start. That was his way. Jimmy wasn’t surprised that now eight years later; they were still paying up.
“Gentlemen,” Nucky broke Jimmy’s daydream. His booming voice washing over the room like an election rally. “Since we’re all here…to business.”
Author:
oldwickedsongsCharacters: Jimmy Darmondy, Al Capone, Nucky Thompson, Jimmy Torrio, mentions of Meyer Lansky and many other gangsters of the day.
Rating: PG, I think Al cusses a few times.
Word Count: 1977
Summary: Set during the infamous Atlantic City conference in 1929, when organized crime sat down and divided up the East Coast. A character study of the young Turks and Mustaches Pete.
Warnings: Character death (again)
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.
Atlantic City, May 1929
“I thought you were retired.”
Nucky’s voice cut through the dark like a knife, but it still had the undertone of a joke hiding just beyond the next sentence. That was Nucky’s skill, Torrio thought as he stepped off the train and extended his hand in friendship, the man had a charm that put people at ease within seconds- despite that being one of the worst places you could be when facing Enoch Thompson across the table. The politician was smiling, but it didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. In its place was a sort of weariness Torrio did recognize all too easily from every look in a mirror. The job aged people, it took it’s payment out in years and warmth bit by bit- God did Torrio know it, and those it didn’t age, it simply killed.
No where had that been made clearer than six months ago.
“You gonna frisk me?” Nucky asked before taking his hand. The joke was there but no mirth behind it, Torrio laughed anyways. It beat standing around like two old fools. “Is there a reason I should?”
Nucky was studying his face; probably thinking the same thing of him that he was of Nucky. Torrio knew what spooked him too; four years ago he took a shotgun to the jaw. He’d lived but after that he was done. He remembered Nucky had sent him a bottle of six hundred dollar whisky, real stuff, and called him the luckiest bastard alive; alive being underlined and bolded. Not to be outdone, the Bankroll had sent Meyer with the simple message: ‘What you need, you have.’
Torrio had used it too. He put New York’s loyalty squarely behind Al Capone, while he took Europe.
“Old times’ sake?” Nucky asked and motioned to the Rolls parked near the exit.
“Times change, Nuck. Where’s Eddie?”
Something unreadable passed over Nucky’s face. “Times change. Besides, I wanted…” Nucky trailed off as if the desire had escaped him in that moment, or if he hesitated to show a momentary weakness.
“Tell me about it.” Torrio cut him off. “All these fucking youngsters; makes a man feel old. Where are the Young Turks anyways?”
“Already at the Ritz. Your boy Capone has already trashed two hotel suites and scared the maids. Lucky…he’s kept to himself since he arrived. The little man’s with him.”
“Like lovers, those two. And James? Where is my Jimmy-boy?”
“…he keeps his own schedule, you know that but I imagine he’s already there too. Come on, we’ll talk in the car.” Nucky said as he held open the door for Torrio. “…somehow we gotta clean up this mess.”
“Who’s the dopey looking guy?”
“Dutch Schultz, controls the liquor trade in the Bronx.”
“That one?”
“Longy Zwillman, Newark.” Al Capone took another long drink of his bourbon, flashing his teeth against the sting of the liquor and then jutted his chin towards another guy. “And that one, the bugsy looking one- that’s Albert Anastasia. He heads up the Brownsville Boys.”
“Murder Inc.”
“Spooky sounding bullshit, ain’t it? Fucking New York, I still miss that bitch.”
Jimmy Darmody had yet to lift his head higher than a few inches, splitting his attention between the melting ice in his glass and the men Capone was pointing out loudly, despite the murderous glares that were being sent their way. The years had done nothing to smother Al’s fire, in fact if possible Jimmy was a little certain he’d become more volatile. Power suited Al; but then again it always had and Jimmy had seen the beginnings of it even back then. He was getting fatter too; signs of compliancy he’d won with his war with the Irish but the laugh still remained strong. People tended to underestimate Capone because of the fire; they mistook temper for stupidity and that was usually the last mistake they made.
He was already on his fourth double bourbon, and gesturing around the room with all the passion of a sports fan watching a match by the time Jimmy had found him. A few times his comments had made him laugh but more than that, Jimmy had just found he missed the evenings sitting beside Al shooting the breeze. Atlantic City had changed since those days when they were both drivers, waiting for their bosses; it had changed him too and for a moment, it was nice to savor the mindlessness.
A little farther away, Lucky Luciano was sitting alone moving the contents of a steak dinner around the plate like a child disinterested. He looked thoughtful, his dark features fixed as if he was working through a problem rather than mulling over the last time they’d all been together. Jimmy didn’t expect any outward signs of grief, the sort of men gathered in the hotel would have smelled it as quickly as blood in the water. The only sign that the event that had brought all of these parties here in the first place even occurred; or that Lucky even cared was the fact Meyer seemed to linger around him like a nurse. Meyer himself was still wearing the black mourning band.
It was still in the papers. Six months ago, Arnold Rothstein took a bullet to the back and died two days later. There were a dozen theories, each one linked to a dozen different rumors that ran the underground from Chicago to New York. The one Jimmy had heard the most often was the reneged poker bet but even that one sounded a little too clean for him. It seemed impossible that the King of New York to be fell by such a mundane reason.
But then of course, the Archduke got shot by a kid and look at what that did to Europe.
And it was the same fear that had caused Torrio to call this meeting; managing or not Luciano was bleeding and all those eager parties gathered could smell it. Chicago and Atlantic City, not to mention Philly, Boston, or the South couldn’t afford to have New York destabilized any longer then it was already. It’s true Lucky had kept business running without any major upsets but he was still new, and while no one was big enough to challenge him- yet, there were enough little factions to seriously injure him.
Jimmy remembered something Capone had told them on their first meeting; AR was as big as they came and it was only now that his place was filled by another did he see clearly how long the shadow he cast was.
His next thought was interrupted by Al punching his arm. In typical fashion, Al had noticed Jimmy’s attention diverted and like a child had demanded it back. “You eyeballing the new Bankroll?” He asked, glass and contents swishing towards Lucky. “He ain’t got it, you know. No wheres near AR’s smarts.”
“Little Man seems like he might.” Jimmy answered noncommittally.
“Lansky?” He pronounced it Land-ski, drawing out the name like it was something foul he had smelled, but the thought quieted Capone. Then, he followed suit with a shrug. “Maybe. They also got Busy Siegel on their payroll. Frank Costello too. A good man in a pinch.”
“That what this is all about?” Jimmy continued, sitting up. Luciano seemed to realize they had noticed him.
“Sure is. We gotta cut up Rothstein’s empire. All of it has to go somewhere.” Capone had leaned forward, his voice dropping to a loud stage whisper. Jimmy wondered if Al was drunk, or simply didn’t care if anyone heard him. Probably both. “Between us, Lucky’s gonna make a move for it, I think. He would have had it already…but the old cheat didn’t die quicker. Hell, for all we know- he could have done it. From what I hear? The Bankroll died in debt…”
Lucky shifted just slightly at the jab. Jimmy had seen that anger enough times over the years to know it well, both on the receiving end and in aiding it. But what surprised him next was how Lucky used it. Or rather, didn’t. He simply ignored them, the rage still burning and then straightened out his vest to wait.
“Alphonse, respect for the dead.” Torrio’s voice shot through the room like a dart. Everyone there looked up and paid attention. Nucky, who had arrived with Torrio, straightened a little like a wayward student. He didn’t look at Jimmy but that didn’t surprise him. When others were around, Nucky tended to keep Jimmy as a shadow- partly because he wanted Jimmy unassuming and partly because he still didn’t trust him.
Jimmy doubted he ever would; but it was his fault as much as Nucky’s and both of them knew it. He’d once been brash enough to think he could challenge Nucky and had paid for it in more ways than he thought possible. It was only later, after it was all said and done that he had realized his mistake. Back then, Jimmy had thought he could retake the city from Nucky but the truth, Atlantic City didn’t want another king. She had intertwined herself with Nucky like a lover- or a Siren- and there was nothing that could part them. Jimmy had tried being a gangster to take the lot and all she did in return was brush him away like yesterday’s lover.
It was part of Nucky’s revenge, and not his love that had brought him back home. He’d kept him around as a reminder, a felled prince no longer the beloved.
Johnny was talking to Al in spitfire Italian, like a bustling Aunt tidying up her wayward child. He even straightened up Al’s coat and smoothed the wrinkles out from the sleeves. It occurred to Jimmy then, especially when Al simply smiled and took it that Torrio would always be like that; constantly checking over Al’s shoulder and keeping the peace where he could. He would- and had- relied on Capone to be fire and feared but there was another interest there, a paternal one, that keep him coming back to America even after the gunshot wound to check in.
It was Nucky who approached first; AR’s first and foremost rival, followed closely behind by Torrio. The older men saw the anger in Lucky’s eyes and did something funny then. They deferred, in ways they never did around Rothstein and his dispassionate ways. Nucky bowed his head, and shook Lucky’s hand, calling him for the first time in Jimmy’s memory ‘Mr. Luciano’ and Torrio followed suit by tugging Lucky into a hug and muttering another polite apology for Al in Italian that Lucky thanked him for in English. He even corrected Nucky, asking to be called by his nickname.
And just like that it happened; it was such a silent accession. Out of all the players in the room, established and promising all; the old guard had greeted Lucky like they would have treated AR upon his arrival. Everyone would see it and understand. It was natural and exactly how AR had maneuvered it all those years ago. Jimmy wondered for a second if that’s why AR had made sure Charlie was sitting at the table almost ten years ago when the idea of bootlegging was still just a prospect, and no one was dead. The Bankroll’s way was quiet, understated. He never challenged him, like Nucky had and never coddled like Torrio. He had just placed him by his side as if to say This is the one. Watch him. He’ll be bigger than us all. Just watch.
AR had fixed the game from the start. That was his way. Jimmy wasn’t surprised that now eight years later; they were still paying up.
“Gentlemen,” Nucky broke Jimmy’s daydream. His booming voice washing over the room like an election rally. “Since we’re all here…to business.”
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Date: 2011-08-25 06:28 pm (UTC)I'm crazy for the mentor/protege relationships and you portray them really well, with the rift between Nucky and Jimmy and how Torrio parents Al; and then even though Rothstein is gone, the things he gave Lucky are more prevalent than ever, which isn't something that would necessarily be true for any of the other boys if/when their mentors died. Just, augh feelings and Meyer hovering, and Lucky checking his temper because he's a big kid now
My heart, you broke it ;A;