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oldwickedsongsTitle: He died
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oldwickedsongs
Characters: Arnold Rothstein, Rube Sofer mentions of Carolyn
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1636
Summary: A Dead Like Me/Boardwalk Empire crossover. If you don’t know the show- I highly suggest you watch it. It’s brilliant and underrated. Basically, there is a Reaper at everyone’s death who had to claim the soul and somehow convince them to go on their way. It's Rothstein's misfortune he got the Jewish mobster Reaper.
Warnings: Character death (again) and one Yiddish word. Goy means “Gentile”
If there was some greater authority out there, Rube had a sneaking suspicion it had something against him and he used moments like this one as he stood in front of the Polyclinic as proof. He had already become accustomed to his inheritance as one of the Reapers specializing in the made men and most days, even if a familiar face had crossed his path, he didn’t really let it affect him. This was, after all, a life that everyone who stepped into it knew would eventually end just like this or worst. As far as it went too, most of them never got as much as this one: warm and clean in a hospital with family near and the best help available. He had died abandoned, and cold. He should have been envious. But of course, he wasn’t. Dying was still dying.
It was nine in morning when Rube had arrived, notebook in hand with the information Malcolm had given him the previous night penciled neatly into its row like a bookmaker’s ledger.
A. Rothstein. Polyclinic. 10:48am.
He had stayed in the hospital’s fire escape for the better part of an hour, allowing the silence to wash over him and wondering if he walked away right now what would happened: would he buy the man a few hours, would he just die alone, or would something else happen. The other thing, even Reapers didn’t like to talk about. And would anyone in the world even notice if a gangster’s soul turned bad…
The wife was asleep in the hallway, eased haphazardly into the wooden bench where exhaustion had finally found her. The newspaper she’d carried in laid sprawled across the floor where it had fallen. She didn’t even stir when Rube passed her. Inside, the hospital room was sparse, devoid of any of those typical signs of hope or denial. There were no flowers, no overnight bags left by either Carolyn or the police officers who had formed the bedside vigil. On the nightstand beside the bed was a stack of papers, each one turned to the racing numbers and on the bed Rothstein himself, in the middle of a nightmare.
He stirred when Rube stroked his hand, then sighed and nothing else.
Rube found him in the hallway, looking at his wife with his hands tucked into his pockets like he was examining flowers from a street vendor. After a few moments, Rothstein reached over as if to push an errant lock of hair away from the woman’s face and seemed surprised when his fingers fell through her. He seemed more disturbed she didn’t as much as move in her sleep.
“We were going to go away.” AR said suddenly, and until that moment Rube hadn’t been sure he was even aware of him. “She said we would. All this divorce business….right out the window. You know if I knew all I had to do was ask her to stay, I would have months ago.”
Then as if he remembered his manners, Rothstein turned to him and smiled. It was that classic smile he had that Rube remembered, as open as a school boy’s and somehow sincere, even if it didn’t reach the eyes. “…I know you.” He wagged a finger as his mind worked. This could have been dinner at Lindy’s, from his tone and his mannerisms with Rube a lost friend from previous years.
“Sofer.” Rothstein’s smile brightened for a second. “I wanted you in charge of Englewood.” There was another quiet look, and he seemed to diminish, just for a moment. “You disappeared last year.”
“I died.”
“Is that what happened here?”
Rube didn’t answer for a moment because his throat tightened. “...yea, I’m afraid it did.”
Rothstein was unreadable as he glanced to his wife again, then the hospital room. From the vantage point, Rube doubted he could see his body but somehow he didn’t think it really mattered. AR was famous for being two moves ahead in any meeting and even now, Rube suspected he had seen this coming and was now working through the angles. For a few moments Rothstein just stood there staring off into space. “…Hump? He did it? Over that bet.”
“Cops think so. You owed him a lot of money.”
“Who won the election? Roosevelt or Ottinger?” Rothstein asked next, motioning to the newspaper. His flippant tone made Rube shake his head as he retrieved the information. “Roosevelt looks like he’ll be the next Governor, with Hoover taking the White House.”
Another smile graced AR’s lips, Rube wondered how many people were charmed by that smile; by the whole façade of the earnest and sincere man, the gambler with a terrible poker face, or the gangster who wasn’t really one. “See now, I just made four hundred grand. McManus and the others would have gotten their money. I just needed time. I would have paid them out of that…I just needed a little scratch.”
Rube tilted his head, glancing at him from under the rim of his cap. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
The same smile, this time guilty and playful as if Rube had just called his bluff. Rothstein merely shrugged, like a sullen kid. “Maybe not.” He took another look around the hallway, and Carolyn before looking back up. “…listen, there’s nothing I can…”
“No.”
He shivered a little, before the nonchalant shrug. There were the counterarguments in his eyes, Rube could tell, and he kept glancing between his wife and the door as if he kept expecting someone to walk through he trusted. He seemed to be waiting for someone. Anyone. As if another body would break this spell and when it didn’t come- he faced the Reaper again. “So what? I can’t imagine there’s pearly gates out there for me. Seems boring.” Then he tasted the next words, as if they were unfamiliar. “Very Goy.”
Rube laughed, “It’s different for everyone.”
“Can I at least have a day? Few hours? I got some things I need to do…”
“There’s not much you can do now.”
The smile flickered then, revealing a little of icy demeanor underneath; the man who was accustomed to getting his way but there was a look there too. Not fear, not quite, more akin to worry. He glanced at the door again and did not turn away. His hand, Rube noticed then, had fallen purposefully by Carolyn’s and he kept brushing their knuckles together, as if he sought comfort or wanted to give it. Or both. “There’s gotta be something,” The tone was almost pleading, almost surreal. “I just want them…”
“To what? You wanna see who mourns you?”
“No.”
“See who got you put in the ground.”
“No.” AR shot back, shutting his eyes. He seemed to silence and still, to force his mind into locking away something that danced in it and when his eyes opened again, he just stood there.
“I never told them.” His hand brushed Carolyn’s again, rippled and reformed again like water. “Not even her. I should have. I need to.”
“You can’t.” Rube returned, quietly. “That part is over. They’ll have to come into that on their own. Maybe they know.”
“And if they don’t?”
“…then that’s how it is.”
He didn’t like it, that part was evident but he also seemed to realize the futility of further argument. So instead he turned back to the door and waited for his luck to change. He didn’t seem to realize when Rube had taken him by the shoulder and begun to walk him away from the room, towards the fire escape. As they descended, Rothstein seemed to shiver again. “…so what’s beyond the door? Do you know?”
Rube glanced towards the exit door that had begun to shimmer in the dark, like a mirage in the desert. Already he could hear voices from the other side, but it wasn’t the hustle of the city. It was a different kind of noise that even as they approached seemed to be contagious as if the air was electrified. He heard a train whistle in the distance, and gradually as they approached he could make out the smells of hay and dirt in the air, the sound of horses chomping on the bit and the reverb of their hoofs pounding the track.
Beside him, Rothstein had begun to chuckle, at first low and surprised then grateful. He quickened his pace, moving past Rube towards the door. “…you know what that is, don’t you? The Cavanaugh Special, New York City to Saratoga Springs…start of the races for the day.” He glanced back to Rube. “I was married there, had my first club out there...” Rothstein tugged on his jacket, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles and glanced back. Ahead of them, the door had shifted, becoming a train depot. The Bankroll had taken another look behind him, stopping just shy of the door. “You coming?” That smile again. “I can get you in with the doorman.”
“Why don’t you go ahead?” Rube said quietly, hands folding into his pockets. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Rothstein seemed incline to dispute him but instead, merely nodded his head and pushed open the door. There was a flood of light, and the sounds of an announcer over the speakers announcing the next race as Rube turned to protect his eyes.
By the time he looked back, there was nothing. Just the emptiness of the dark hallway as it slowly returned to silence. Rube hesitated at the foot of the steps. Above his head, he could already hear the scrambling of orderlies and medical personnel. He thought he heard a woman scream. Then, he shrugged, adjusted his cap and used the same exit, muttering mostly to himself as he went. “Yitgadal v'yitkadash shemi rabbah”
But even that, eventually was swallowed up.
Author:
oldwickedsongsCharacters: Arnold Rothstein, Rube Sofer mentions of Carolyn
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1636
Summary: A Dead Like Me/Boardwalk Empire crossover. If you don’t know the show- I highly suggest you watch it. It’s brilliant and underrated. Basically, there is a Reaper at everyone’s death who had to claim the soul and somehow convince them to go on their way. It's Rothstein's misfortune he got the Jewish mobster Reaper.
Warnings: Character death (again) and one Yiddish word. Goy means “Gentile”
If there was some greater authority out there, Rube had a sneaking suspicion it had something against him and he used moments like this one as he stood in front of the Polyclinic as proof. He had already become accustomed to his inheritance as one of the Reapers specializing in the made men and most days, even if a familiar face had crossed his path, he didn’t really let it affect him. This was, after all, a life that everyone who stepped into it knew would eventually end just like this or worst. As far as it went too, most of them never got as much as this one: warm and clean in a hospital with family near and the best help available. He had died abandoned, and cold. He should have been envious. But of course, he wasn’t. Dying was still dying.
It was nine in morning when Rube had arrived, notebook in hand with the information Malcolm had given him the previous night penciled neatly into its row like a bookmaker’s ledger.
A. Rothstein. Polyclinic. 10:48am.
He had stayed in the hospital’s fire escape for the better part of an hour, allowing the silence to wash over him and wondering if he walked away right now what would happened: would he buy the man a few hours, would he just die alone, or would something else happen. The other thing, even Reapers didn’t like to talk about. And would anyone in the world even notice if a gangster’s soul turned bad…
The wife was asleep in the hallway, eased haphazardly into the wooden bench where exhaustion had finally found her. The newspaper she’d carried in laid sprawled across the floor where it had fallen. She didn’t even stir when Rube passed her. Inside, the hospital room was sparse, devoid of any of those typical signs of hope or denial. There were no flowers, no overnight bags left by either Carolyn or the police officers who had formed the bedside vigil. On the nightstand beside the bed was a stack of papers, each one turned to the racing numbers and on the bed Rothstein himself, in the middle of a nightmare.
He stirred when Rube stroked his hand, then sighed and nothing else.
Rube found him in the hallway, looking at his wife with his hands tucked into his pockets like he was examining flowers from a street vendor. After a few moments, Rothstein reached over as if to push an errant lock of hair away from the woman’s face and seemed surprised when his fingers fell through her. He seemed more disturbed she didn’t as much as move in her sleep.
“We were going to go away.” AR said suddenly, and until that moment Rube hadn’t been sure he was even aware of him. “She said we would. All this divorce business….right out the window. You know if I knew all I had to do was ask her to stay, I would have months ago.”
Then as if he remembered his manners, Rothstein turned to him and smiled. It was that classic smile he had that Rube remembered, as open as a school boy’s and somehow sincere, even if it didn’t reach the eyes. “…I know you.” He wagged a finger as his mind worked. This could have been dinner at Lindy’s, from his tone and his mannerisms with Rube a lost friend from previous years.
“Sofer.” Rothstein’s smile brightened for a second. “I wanted you in charge of Englewood.” There was another quiet look, and he seemed to diminish, just for a moment. “You disappeared last year.”
“I died.”
“Is that what happened here?”
Rube didn’t answer for a moment because his throat tightened. “...yea, I’m afraid it did.”
Rothstein was unreadable as he glanced to his wife again, then the hospital room. From the vantage point, Rube doubted he could see his body but somehow he didn’t think it really mattered. AR was famous for being two moves ahead in any meeting and even now, Rube suspected he had seen this coming and was now working through the angles. For a few moments Rothstein just stood there staring off into space. “…Hump? He did it? Over that bet.”
“Cops think so. You owed him a lot of money.”
“Who won the election? Roosevelt or Ottinger?” Rothstein asked next, motioning to the newspaper. His flippant tone made Rube shake his head as he retrieved the information. “Roosevelt looks like he’ll be the next Governor, with Hoover taking the White House.”
Another smile graced AR’s lips, Rube wondered how many people were charmed by that smile; by the whole façade of the earnest and sincere man, the gambler with a terrible poker face, or the gangster who wasn’t really one. “See now, I just made four hundred grand. McManus and the others would have gotten their money. I just needed time. I would have paid them out of that…I just needed a little scratch.”
Rube tilted his head, glancing at him from under the rim of his cap. “No, you wouldn’t have.”
The same smile, this time guilty and playful as if Rube had just called his bluff. Rothstein merely shrugged, like a sullen kid. “Maybe not.” He took another look around the hallway, and Carolyn before looking back up. “…listen, there’s nothing I can…”
“No.”
He shivered a little, before the nonchalant shrug. There were the counterarguments in his eyes, Rube could tell, and he kept glancing between his wife and the door as if he kept expecting someone to walk through he trusted. He seemed to be waiting for someone. Anyone. As if another body would break this spell and when it didn’t come- he faced the Reaper again. “So what? I can’t imagine there’s pearly gates out there for me. Seems boring.” Then he tasted the next words, as if they were unfamiliar. “Very Goy.”
Rube laughed, “It’s different for everyone.”
“Can I at least have a day? Few hours? I got some things I need to do…”
“There’s not much you can do now.”
The smile flickered then, revealing a little of icy demeanor underneath; the man who was accustomed to getting his way but there was a look there too. Not fear, not quite, more akin to worry. He glanced at the door again and did not turn away. His hand, Rube noticed then, had fallen purposefully by Carolyn’s and he kept brushing their knuckles together, as if he sought comfort or wanted to give it. Or both. “There’s gotta be something,” The tone was almost pleading, almost surreal. “I just want them…”
“To what? You wanna see who mourns you?”
“No.”
“See who got you put in the ground.”
“No.” AR shot back, shutting his eyes. He seemed to silence and still, to force his mind into locking away something that danced in it and when his eyes opened again, he just stood there.
“I never told them.” His hand brushed Carolyn’s again, rippled and reformed again like water. “Not even her. I should have. I need to.”
“You can’t.” Rube returned, quietly. “That part is over. They’ll have to come into that on their own. Maybe they know.”
“And if they don’t?”
“…then that’s how it is.”
He didn’t like it, that part was evident but he also seemed to realize the futility of further argument. So instead he turned back to the door and waited for his luck to change. He didn’t seem to realize when Rube had taken him by the shoulder and begun to walk him away from the room, towards the fire escape. As they descended, Rothstein seemed to shiver again. “…so what’s beyond the door? Do you know?”
Rube glanced towards the exit door that had begun to shimmer in the dark, like a mirage in the desert. Already he could hear voices from the other side, but it wasn’t the hustle of the city. It was a different kind of noise that even as they approached seemed to be contagious as if the air was electrified. He heard a train whistle in the distance, and gradually as they approached he could make out the smells of hay and dirt in the air, the sound of horses chomping on the bit and the reverb of their hoofs pounding the track.
Beside him, Rothstein had begun to chuckle, at first low and surprised then grateful. He quickened his pace, moving past Rube towards the door. “…you know what that is, don’t you? The Cavanaugh Special, New York City to Saratoga Springs…start of the races for the day.” He glanced back to Rube. “I was married there, had my first club out there...” Rothstein tugged on his jacket, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles and glanced back. Ahead of them, the door had shifted, becoming a train depot. The Bankroll had taken another look behind him, stopping just shy of the door. “You coming?” That smile again. “I can get you in with the doorman.”
“Why don’t you go ahead?” Rube said quietly, hands folding into his pockets. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Rothstein seemed incline to dispute him but instead, merely nodded his head and pushed open the door. There was a flood of light, and the sounds of an announcer over the speakers announcing the next race as Rube turned to protect his eyes.
By the time he looked back, there was nothing. Just the emptiness of the dark hallway as it slowly returned to silence. Rube hesitated at the foot of the steps. Above his head, he could already hear the scrambling of orderlies and medical personnel. He thought he heard a woman scream. Then, he shrugged, adjusted his cap and used the same exit, muttering mostly to himself as he went. “Yitgadal v'yitkadash shemi rabbah”
But even that, eventually was swallowed up.
