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oldwickedsongs) wrote2011-09-26 02:34 pm
oldwickedsongs) wrote2011-09-26 02:34 pm
will you burn the bridge behind you
Title: will you burn the bridge behind you?
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oldwickedsongs
Characters: AR, mentions of Nucky Thompson, others indirectly
Rating: G
Word Count: 853
Summary: Reaction post for 2x01, since we were denied my boy.
Warnings: Nothing but minor spoilers and Lifehouse-inspired angst.
News travels fast and nowhere faster than in the New York.
It finds Arnold Rothstein at a little past midnight, sitting at Lindy’s, enjoying one of several coffees he’ll have before the night is out. His companion (Walsh, tonight- the boys have more pressing matters as of late) had teased him at the start of the night that one part coffee to eight parts milk and sugar does not coffee make but he simply smiled and waved him off. They’re midway through a conversation about what house to visit, and the chatter coming out of Boston when the patrolman enters and makes a beeline to the Bankroll. AR has to wave Walsh’s hand away from his gun.
A friend of Tammany from across the river had sent him and thought he’d like to know that Enoch
Thompson was arrested earlier this evening on suspicion of voter’s fraud.
Huh.
Rothstein’s nose twitches, as if he’s smelled something foul before the officer’s completed his sentence. Still, the money clip is out and the fifty dollar bill is pushed into the officer’s hand in thanks. The tip is many-fold, the least of which being the obvious ones assuring the City the Bankroll is forever in clover (reputation, like gossip, fuels New York), it also shows that he’ll pay top dollar for good information but even more for discretion. Their same Tammany friend had put the feelers out days ago concerning storm clouds brewing for Czar Thompson, of Atlantic City and now that he’d made good AR had no qualms with paying up.
He waits for the cop to leave before he’s on his feet, dismissing Walsh for the night. The problem with bodyguards is they have ears but seldom brains and Rothstein has no use for possible leaks this early in the game. Now that it’s afoot, he’ll be working on someone else’s timetable so he needs to move quietly.
It never ceases to amaze AR how much people chatter, thinking no one is listening. He’s even more surprised that no one listens. There’d been rumors and whispers of rumors coming out of Atlantic City for months now, since his own war with Thompson had stalled and the election went through but no one had seemed to take note. Thompson was all fair weather and AR was a little disappointed that their first move, against his position and his Colored workers (yes, AR knew about that too- amazing what people would share for fifty bucks and a kind thank you.) hadn’t been more decisive.
This was a sloppy first move, and had emotion all over it. It rank of vendettas over business. Thompson saw himself as a politician first, so attack it. They’d chiseled off the rest as the opportunity arose. He wondered if the conspirators were close to home. Somehow he knew they were.
Something else occurred to him as well. Now that the ball had entered play in Atlantic City, the usurpers would have to move hard and fast- which meant they’d be coming to New York for alliances. That would probably incite his own nesting vipers.
He could crush them easily, send a message to both the Italians and any other hungry princes that his fine clothes and respectability did not separate him too much from his days learning at Monk’s knee, and then having Monk in his employ. But the truth was; he had no desire to, and no interest in war. There was very little money to be made in it. Power too, after a fashion, held little sway. He had noticed ‘kings’ were constantly forced to defend their courts- he’d be just as content to collect his winnings quietly. Let all the little kings and princes destroy each other; what did he care? As long as they paid.
And he didn’t like entering into bets he wasn’t sure he could win…
There was another reason too; a quieter one. He liked the boys. They had a sincerity not often seen in their line of work, a true affection for each other AR couldn’t buy. They were loyal, if not to him although- and he admired their ability to convince him- he had believed they were, once. Part of him wanted to see them flourish, and he’d take the hit in funds to allow it.
Sentimentality had never been his strong suit, once more emotions caused mistakes. Just ask Nucky Thompson.
By the time he has cleared five blocks from Lindy’s, he’s completely alone on the crowded street. There are calls to make, and countermoves that await him but he makes up his mind before his next step to back Thompson. The man (and politician, and King, and gangster) has already made it clear he is willing to overlook blood and personal injury for the sake of profit. He has one million dollars of Rothstein’s money to prove it. So far, all the youngsters have proven is they’re hurt and want the world to hurt with them. As for his own, Rothstein will deal with them when there is something to counter.
And New York waits but not for long.
Author:
oldwickedsongsCharacters: AR, mentions of Nucky Thompson, others indirectly
Rating: G
Word Count: 853
Summary: Reaction post for 2x01, since we were denied my boy.
Warnings: Nothing but minor spoilers and Lifehouse-inspired angst.
News travels fast and nowhere faster than in the New York.
It finds Arnold Rothstein at a little past midnight, sitting at Lindy’s, enjoying one of several coffees he’ll have before the night is out. His companion (Walsh, tonight- the boys have more pressing matters as of late) had teased him at the start of the night that one part coffee to eight parts milk and sugar does not coffee make but he simply smiled and waved him off. They’re midway through a conversation about what house to visit, and the chatter coming out of Boston when the patrolman enters and makes a beeline to the Bankroll. AR has to wave Walsh’s hand away from his gun.
A friend of Tammany from across the river had sent him and thought he’d like to know that Enoch
Thompson was arrested earlier this evening on suspicion of voter’s fraud.
Huh.
Rothstein’s nose twitches, as if he’s smelled something foul before the officer’s completed his sentence. Still, the money clip is out and the fifty dollar bill is pushed into the officer’s hand in thanks. The tip is many-fold, the least of which being the obvious ones assuring the City the Bankroll is forever in clover (reputation, like gossip, fuels New York), it also shows that he’ll pay top dollar for good information but even more for discretion. Their same Tammany friend had put the feelers out days ago concerning storm clouds brewing for Czar Thompson, of Atlantic City and now that he’d made good AR had no qualms with paying up.
He waits for the cop to leave before he’s on his feet, dismissing Walsh for the night. The problem with bodyguards is they have ears but seldom brains and Rothstein has no use for possible leaks this early in the game. Now that it’s afoot, he’ll be working on someone else’s timetable so he needs to move quietly.
It never ceases to amaze AR how much people chatter, thinking no one is listening. He’s even more surprised that no one listens. There’d been rumors and whispers of rumors coming out of Atlantic City for months now, since his own war with Thompson had stalled and the election went through but no one had seemed to take note. Thompson was all fair weather and AR was a little disappointed that their first move, against his position and his Colored workers (yes, AR knew about that too- amazing what people would share for fifty bucks and a kind thank you.) hadn’t been more decisive.
This was a sloppy first move, and had emotion all over it. It rank of vendettas over business. Thompson saw himself as a politician first, so attack it. They’d chiseled off the rest as the opportunity arose. He wondered if the conspirators were close to home. Somehow he knew they were.
Something else occurred to him as well. Now that the ball had entered play in Atlantic City, the usurpers would have to move hard and fast- which meant they’d be coming to New York for alliances. That would probably incite his own nesting vipers.
He could crush them easily, send a message to both the Italians and any other hungry princes that his fine clothes and respectability did not separate him too much from his days learning at Monk’s knee, and then having Monk in his employ. But the truth was; he had no desire to, and no interest in war. There was very little money to be made in it. Power too, after a fashion, held little sway. He had noticed ‘kings’ were constantly forced to defend their courts- he’d be just as content to collect his winnings quietly. Let all the little kings and princes destroy each other; what did he care? As long as they paid.
And he didn’t like entering into bets he wasn’t sure he could win…
There was another reason too; a quieter one. He liked the boys. They had a sincerity not often seen in their line of work, a true affection for each other AR couldn’t buy. They were loyal, if not to him although- and he admired their ability to convince him- he had believed they were, once. Part of him wanted to see them flourish, and he’d take the hit in funds to allow it.
Sentimentality had never been his strong suit, once more emotions caused mistakes. Just ask Nucky Thompson.
By the time he has cleared five blocks from Lindy’s, he’s completely alone on the crowded street. There are calls to make, and countermoves that await him but he makes up his mind before his next step to back Thompson. The man (and politician, and King, and gangster) has already made it clear he is willing to overlook blood and personal injury for the sake of profit. He has one million dollars of Rothstein’s money to prove it. So far, all the youngsters have proven is they’re hurt and want the world to hurt with them. As for his own, Rothstein will deal with them when there is something to counter.
And New York waits but not for long.
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