#meyer lansky

Torrio is storming up the concrete path to Capone’s residence. He can see him coming through the sheer curtain hanging over the kitchen window. Capone is able to sense something is amiss with the way Torrio carries himself. It’s not like him to show up to his front door unannounced. Something must have happened. 

Capone tries to undo the latch keeping the barrier closed, but braces himself for the impact of the swinging panel of wood. Torrio is old but not infirm, kicking in the barrier before waltzing right inside. “Where is she?”

“Hold- hold on, a sec-” Capone stumbles, nearly losing his footing as he tries to back away from Torrio.

“What’s this I hear about you keeping my daughter from me like some fucking coglione?” Torrio tosses Capone’s coat at him from where it hangs by the door, followed by his hat while he remains looking for a harder object to pelt him with like an umbrella or shoe.

“I was gonna tell ya-” Capone takes a child’s boot to the face, wincing more from the abrupt and insulting impact than the pain.

“Oh, ya were?” Torrio looks down on him, only by a couple inches but it makes Capone feel ever so small. “Was that before or after I had to hear it from one of your guys?” 

“I have it under control!” Capone has already let go of the reins and Torrio has arrived to pick up the slack.

“Don’t seem like it! I knew you and that Darmody fella were up to no good.” Torrio smacks him upside the head for good measure like he’s an eight year old boy again. “Now make yourself useful and bring her to me.”

Capone leaves to unlock the door and let Audette walk out herself. She’s been cycling through the same few sets of clothes she has in her luggage, informal and wrinkled slightly. Capone doesn’t even acknowledge her, motioning for her to leave while staring at the floor. The irate expression on his face tells her everything she needs to know. Her father is here.

Every step down the staircase feels like an eternity. Audette sluggishly makes her way to the bottom like she’s wading through chest-deep flood waters. It’s been quite a long time since she’s been under the same roof as him. Capone’s footsteps behind her add to the suspense. It was a hideous affair, the way they left things. 

Since she was a girl, Torrio has been aiming to slap a pair of shackles on her in the form of marriage. When he found out she had gotten eloped behind his back with her high-school sweetheart, he wanted to kill him. 

Audette’s mind sends her to the night she came home in her wedding gown, ready to make a statement. Her husband, Evan Conway Rhys, walked straight up to Torrio with Audette’s hand in his, a gold band on each of their ring fingers. Vulgarities are spat right in Evan’s face, readying him for a barehanded assault from her father.

“Just my luck. I’m surrounded by fucking micks.” Torrio’s racial prejudice against Audette and her husband is advertised loud and clear with his inability to accept who she prefers to call her own. “You’re just like your mother.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Audette counters, tightening her grip on Evan’s hand. “I’d rather take after her than you.”

“What, ya too high n’ mighty to be a part of the family?” Torrio refers to the many instances of undermining Audette committed when Torrio would try to ask around for potential suitors, ensuring none of them would dare be matched with her. “Gonna waste your life with this poor son of a bitch without a ha’penny to his name?”

Evan lunges forward wanting to land a punch, his arm reared back in preparation, but Audette stops him short. “We may not have much, but at least we have each other. What have you ever done for me but curse my existence?”

“Well maybe if you did what I told ya, we wouldn’t be at each other’s throat’s all the time!” Torrio shouts back at her, never taking accountability for his share of the conflict and choosing to blame her for their misgivings. “This is your fault for marrying this fuck.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” Audette shoves Torrio with a hand to his chest, creating distance between the two men. “That’s my husband!”

“Not under my roof, he ain’t.” Torrio inches closer to Evan, wanting to encourage the fight.

“Exactly why I’m takin’ her far away from ‘ere.” Evan defends her honor, a plan in mind to escape with Audette in tow. He speaks with conviction, a dense Welsh accent bleeding thick into his response. “Away from you.”

“The only place she’s goin’ is upstairs where you ain’t seeing her again.” Torrio points his bony finger to the ceiling, then he uses it to poke against Evan’s lapel on his suit, barking orders like always.

“Make me.” Evan bumps his chest against Torrio’s, closing the distance completely while opening himself up for an attack. Torrio clamps both his hands around Evan’s throat, squeezing with all his might in an attempt to choke him out. Using his quick thinking, Evan slams his fists down on Torrio’s inner elbows and breaks his hold. Evan recedes, choking and gaining his breath while Audette sneakily swipes Torrio’s 1911 from the holster under his arm. She points it directly at his temple, receding with her husband in hand just as she walked in. 

“Don’t come looking for me.” Audette is the one giving commands now, her finger on the trigger. “Unless you want people to die.”

Turns out her threats came to fruition, only it wasn’t Audette and Evan leaving such a vibrant blood trail from Jersey to Atlantic City and then finally to Chicago. It was her and Richard.

Once she’s made it to the ground floor, she steps aside and allows Capone to descend alongside her. She’s lacking any form of protection, bare and unarmed. Bide your time. She reminds herself. Bide your time.

Torrio walks the couple steps forward to greet her. Strangely, he’s not yelling at her, but instead he pulls her in for a hug. The embrace lasts far longer than she would prefer, awkwardly keeping her arms down in a protest against hugging him back. 

“I missed ya, kiddo.” Torrio addresses her like he did when she was young, but the moniker holds no weight anymore.

“I think you mean you miss bossing me around.” Audette does not accept his false kindness, a bitter taste still in her mouth when reminded of Evan.

“Let’s not do this, ah?” Torrio pleads, releasing her from the hug to place both hands on her shoulders. He examines her closely, seeing what features have aged or stayed the same. Torrio can see more freckles have formed along her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Her hair is a slightly darker shade of red, having grown out much longer despite her plaits fashioned tightly to her head. She’s on the light side, having lost weight since he’s seen her last. “How long’s it been?”

“About six years.” Audette discloses flatly, disappointed to think he might have forgotten when she ran away and never looked back. “I got married in 1916. I thought you’d remember that day at least.”

“I do remember that day, but it’s not worth talking about, is it?” Torrio meets her with a toothy smile, eyes squinted in artificial consideration. “We have the opportunity to sweep all that under the rug. Now that’s worth chewing the fat.”

“For what?” Audette is familiar with her father’s ways. There’s only one thing he really wants out of her. “I know there’s a catch.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be part of a real family?” Torrio starts, thinking his pitch sounds like a bargain she can’t refuse. “I have the power to make that happen.”

“I already have a family.” Audette counters, thinking about Richard, Jimmy, Angela and beyond.

“On paper you’re nothin’, sweetheart.” Torrio calls her out, but she cannot repudiate what is inherently true. “You’re unwed, ya got no prospects, ya might as well be another one of Al’s broads slingin’ hooch for a roll in the hay.”

“I told you before, I’m not doing that.” Audette detests Torrio’s determination to pressure her into that wicked lifestyle, reminding him of her stance on the matter.

“I know, and you don’t have to.” Torrio adds, continuing to explain his true motives. “I wana set you up right n’ fair. 'Big Jim', God rest his soul, he’s got a wanton bachelor for a son. A made man. Loaded.”

“I don’t care about the money.” Audette thinks he can buy her out with expensive clothes and fine jewelry, but she’s not shallow like the rest of them. If only it were that simple when she realizes Torrio is implying something else entirely.

“But that’s just it. I know you do, because money means freedom, hon.” Torrio then addresses Capone with a conflicting ideology in reference to his liberty being directly tied to their finances, but it would seem that Capone is kept on a rather short leash that leaves him with no other option but to chew through it when times are tough. “Ain’t that right?”

Capone keeps silent, letting Torrio go on with his tangent while being reminded of his flaws yet again. Torrio circles around Audette, stopping just behind her to grip her roughly at the nape of the neck, bringing her down so that he can speak directly into her ear. His breath reeks of old coffee and tobacco and Audette is channeling all her might in not throwing up. “Because if you don’t like freedom, you can forget about ever leaving that attic.” 

Audette bites her lip raw. Her tongue drags over the tender break in the skin. The taste of blood fills her mouth as she sucks on the wound, sensing her own stream of crimson drawn out of it. Torrio can see she’s thinking, pulling her closer to his wrinkly face.

“Yeah. I know that look. You’re weighing your options in ya head.” Torrio sucks his teeth at her, releasing his hold on her neck with a stiff push. Audette is nearly shoved to the ground, but she holds herself steady, standing tall in those darling heels Angela gave her. Audette doesn’t let him get to her, remaining silent as Capone in the corner. Torrio walks circles around her one more time, stopping just in front to look her in the eyes. “I got news for ya, kiddo. The odds ain’t in your favor if you don’t take this chance. I’m offerin’ you an olive branch, see?”

Audette’s look of scorn recedes through her unwilling acquiescence, closing her eyes and slumping her shoulders in defeat. 

“That’s it! I knew you’d come to your senses.” Torrio cheers and Capone comes to light him a cigarette unprompted, merely taking initiative that he would like to gloat with one in hand. Torrio accepts, clapping to himself with a smile and laugh before taking a long, victorious drag and blowing the smoke back at Audette. “Al, get your cousin Vincent on the line. We gotta set up a meet.”

Capone almost looks sorry, but his penitence is on account of his own ridicule and humiliation. Al does as he is told, departing to the kitchen where a landline will directly connect him to his extended family. Audette can do nothing but sit as the people around her orchestrate her life like strings attached to a marionette. She knew her father would disapprove of her unkempt wardrobe and within the hour, privately commissioned stylists arrive in order to give Audette a makeover, prettying her up like a measly decoration to this cursed family tree.

~~~

Back in Atlantic City, Jimmy made those calls he promised Audette. He patiently waits at the fine-mesh screened patio for his guests to arrive with the sunny ocean horizon painting the beachside landscape. One by one, the underdogs of the very big shots he rubs shoulders with file into the home; the likes of which include Meyer Lansky, Lucky Luciano and Mickey Doyle with the exception of Richard already present. Richard keeps apart from the meeting, closed off and spectating in the corner of the room. Jimmy told him that this meeting will bring them closer to Audette, so he lies in wait in anticipation of the outcome, praying it goes Jimmy’s way.

The last person they are waiting on to arrive has just pulled up. The men stand ready to receive their business associate to make himself known for a second time.

“Do you always meet out of your home?” Remus asks Jimmy, finding the setting quaint but poignant.

“Only when I want the privacy.” Jimmy admits while opening the deck’s screen door to allow Remus to enter, shaking his hand as he does so before all persons find their own seats through the breezy patio.

“Remus enjoys a trip to the shore” Waves crash in the distance peppered by the sound of seagulls squawking in their flocks. “What is the occasion?”

“I understand you still have government bonded whiskey to sell.” Jimmy prompts the question, getting straight to the point.

“An arrangement of which Remus has already established, correct?” Remus is right to be confused. He remembers the exact interaction taking place, only it was Capone doing all the talking. “It seems like you’ve found your voice.”

“I wana make an amendment to that agreement, if you don’t mind.” Jimmy flicks the ash off his cigarette before putting it out.

“You speak for the group?” Remus asks, glancing at everyone else around him.

“In Atlantic City he does.” Lucky announces, taking it upon himself to answer in confidence with Meyer and Doyle likewise nodding on their own behalf.

“Then yes.” Remus confirms, choosing to conduct this while on his feet to keep an eye on the rising tide. “Strictly medicinal purposes.”

“Turns out we got a lotta sick people in this town.” Jimmy delivers with a chuckle, laughing at his own innuendo.

“Remus knows you are familiar with how he does things, leaving a reiteration in order for the new faces present.” Remus walks the perimeter of the room, ensuring they’re all listening. “Remus has permits that allow him to sell this alcohol to legitimate drug companies only. However, once the alcohol is sold to a sanctioned buyer, what happens when it’s on the truck is not Remus’ concern.”

“Where might we be able to find… Remus’ trucks.” Jimmy inquires, putting his own inflection on the habits of his visitor. “Particularly ones meant for Capone.”

“That’ll cost extra.” Remus shifts his weight to his dominant foot, twisting his body to face Jimmy now. “Is there any reason you wish to give your partner the short end of the stick?”

“Before long, our partnership will have ended and you won’t have to go back to Chicago again.” Jimmy’s sincerity is pleasing to Remus. He can see it in the way the corners of his mouth turn up.

“Remus much prefers the beach to the Windy City.” His answer is exactly the one Jimmy was looking for. “That means his luxurious weekend is on you, yes?”

“You’re an honored guest here.” Jimmy puts his hand out, waiting for Remus to shake it. “Whatever you like is courtesy of yours truly.”

 Remus meets Jimmy in the middle, motioning their hands up and down a few times. “You’ll get word from my associate.”

Remus’ chauffeur has been waiting just outside, ready to take him anywhere he likes while Jimmy talks over the deal with his new partners. Richard is implored to join the circle, navigating from his little corner to sit between Jimmy and Lucky.

“If we play it straight, this op could be worth millions.” Doyle sets his hat down on the table in front of him, evidence of the fall he suffered on behalf of Jimmy shown through bruises on his features and a wooden neck brace strapped to his collar. 

“Then don’t fuck it up” Jimmy spits that venomous attitude he’s known for at Doyle with Lucky and Meyer raising a brow at the insinuated issue being brought to everyone’s attention.

“You’re already on the way there.” Doyle is more liberal with his comebacks, knowing Jimmy is depending on his cut of the cash to get things moving.

“Something you wana say?” Jimmy incites Doyle to explain, prepared to hear it for the umpteenth time.

“Manny Horvitz, from Philly.” Lucky adds, familiar with the very man they’re referring to. “He’s still nudging for his piece.”

“Yeah, well fuck ‘em already.” Jimmy cannot stand to hear that name under his own roof, plagued by the obligations tied to it.

“Or… give the man what you owe.” Meyer eases himself into the exchange, albeit his obvious input still leaving him vulnerable to attack by their new boss.

“You could cut him in as a partner.” Doyle suggests, punctuating his sentence with one of his trademark giggles.

“I’d sooner cut my own arm off.” Jimmy detests the idea, feeling himself get all worked up from a simple mention. Richard stops Jimmy from burning too hot, scooting his glass of whiskey into the hand holding a fresh cigarette. Jimmy accepts it, taking a sip and collecting his thoughts.

“He ain’t no milksop.” Doyle isn’t finished, including more words about Munya that he feels are worth mentioning.

“I’ll take care of it.” Jimmy is through with this conversation, making every attempt he can to end it.

“He’s a persistent fucker.” Lucky has made his own acquaintance with Munya, relaying no opposition to the claims made.

“I said I’d take care of it.” Jimmy slams a fist on the table, disrupting the curious energy to a closure of their deal.

“So it’s settled.” Meyer stands to give the seconds of awkwardness a segue into finalization with a shake. “We’ll be making a lot of money after today, gentlemen.”

“Now that business is out of the way, let’s talk pleasure.” Lucky says as he stands with Meyer to leave Jimmy’s home. “Jersey City.”

“We’re off to see the Dempsey match.” Meyer relays to Jimmy and Doyle, wondering if they're up for watching a little blood spilt over canvas. “Why don’t you come along? We booked a suite at the Fairmont. It would be a nice way to commemorate a coup.”

“I got matters to attend to here.” Jimmy looks at Richard, realizing what it is they’re asking of him but turning it down anyway. The pact they’ve formed is definitely a lot to ask for anyone. If Arnold Rothstein or even Munya caught wind of what they were planning, they would be killed on the spot. “I’ll give it a listen on the wireless.”

“Might as well read a book.” Lucky scoffs as he and Meyer laugh at Jimmy’s humorous quip, departing jovially down the beach to their vehicles followed by Doyle. 

~~~

“What the hell do you mean the truck was empty?!” Capone shouts into the phone, scolding one of his lackeys on the other line. “That’s the third one this week!”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, boss.” The grainy voice over the receiver explains, having no reason for this misfortune. “I showed up early to the drop point like you asked and there ain’t nothin, here.”

“Fuck!” Capone slams the earpiece onto the receiver hook, but it falls out of his grasp, caught by the connecting wire keeping it from dropping to the floor. He is so angry he could punch a hole into the wall but holds back and places a connect call to Remus. 

Capone picks it up by the wire, putting it up to his ear only to listen to dead air. Seconds of waiting gets under his skin, but when he finally is connected, he doesn’t realize that Remus has been expecting such a call. Remus is currently receiving a deep tissue massage, soaking up his own luxuries that are provided with his cushy lifestyle. He groans blissfully as he picks up the phone, a masseur digging his elbows into the knots in his back. “Go for Remus.”

“Aye, it’s Al. We needa talk. I catch you at a bad time?” Capone can tell he’s at least occupied with something, ensuring he has time to listen to him vent before starting.

“It’s as good a time as any.” Remus sighs, breathing out the relieved stiffness of his massage. “My schedule allows for a reprieve every now and again.” 

“I’ve visited three of the locations you gave me, and all have come up short.” Capone tosses the information out there, but it is not taken as seriously as he’s hoped.

“What would you like Remus to do about this?” He asks, following a mental script he’s conjured to keep his affairs in line.

“Well for one, I wana make sure I’m not losing any more of my money.” Remus rolls his eyes at Capone’s proposal, exhaling sharply through the phone. “For another, I’m looking to get reimbursed for the missing product.”

“Do you not recall the terms of the agreement you shook on?” Remus loves this part of the profession, putting grunts like Capone in his place. “What happens when the supply is on those trucks is not Remus’ responsibility.”

“Seriously?” Capone lets his anger slip, and he realizes too late he actually said that.

“Survival of the fittest.” Remus gives him a piss-poor justification for the lack of resources. “You must be faster if you don’t want to miss out on the lottery of a lifetime.”

“Faster?” Capone can’t believe what he’s hearing, wanting to wring his thick neck himself. “I had one of my guys show up early and it was already picked clean. What do ya call that?”

“Hazards of the industry.” Remus holds a hand up in pause for his masseur to stop until he hangs up the phone, knowing the conversation is about to come to a close. “Now, have you anything of importance to discuss, or did you simply call to tell Remus of your own incapabilities to fulfill your end of things?”

“Nice talkin’ to ya.” Capone slams the earpiece onto the phone without it falling this time, shaking his head from side to side in frustration. “Fucking prick.”

“What’s all this yelling?” Torrio’s footsteps announce his approach, startling Capone when he thinks a single word he said to Remus was eavesdropped upon. “Who were you just talking to?”

“Ah, nothin’ to worry about.” Capone shrugs it off, petitioning for Torrio to do the same. “Just some of my guys not pulling their weight.”

“How ‘bout I give you some advice.” Torrio can see the panic on Capone’s face, avoidant of the shitstorm brewing around him. “Remember what I told you about making your own enterprise. I don’t give a shit what you do, just keep me out of it and don’t be a fuckin’ idiot.”

“You got it all wrong-” 

Capone makes a sorry attempt at defending himself, but Torrio cuts him off. “It don’t matter. Vincent’s here.”

Capone throws a drink back to buffer his nerves, panicked that he has to basically pretend to be fine when everything is falling around him. Here he goes donning that disguise again.

Capone has always had something against Vincent. “Too soft” according to him. He’s at least a couple feet taller than Capone, handsome. His jawline is full and square, clean shaven with the scent of cologne lingering. Behind the shroud of his russet fringe descending his scalp lie a pair of eyebrows, expressionless as they hang over his deep brown eyes. He carries himself broadly, dwarfing Capone and Torrio by comparison. “Apologies on the late hour. There was only one rail expected to come through when you called.”

“I should be the one apologizing. Compensation is in order. I had no idea I put you out like that.” Torrio makes his way to the bar, taking a few glasses and a bottle of bourbon off the counter. “Why ain’t you living in that big ole mansion your mother signed over to ya?”

“It’s too much house. And she’s not my mother.” Vincent swallows roughly, contending with his inner turmoil when reminded of his lack of familial support. 'Big Jim' had only been married to his wife at the time of his death for barely a year, though the specifics of Vincent's origins remain an ambiguous mystery. “I have an apartment in Cicero. That’s more than enough for me.”

“Tomato, tomahto. All the more reason to share this proposition with you.” Torrio hands him an empty crystal glass before uncorking the unlabeled bottle of rye.

“And I might have an answer” Torrio fills Vincent’s cup, passing the bottle to Capone for him to prepare his own serving.

“I know things have been rocky since Big Jim’s passing.” Vincent looks into the swirling drink in his hand, preserving his sadness by camouflaging his grief when Torrio regards it so bluntly. “But he left some big shoes to fill. You get me?”

“What makes you so sure I’ll accept this offer?” Vincent takes a sip of the alcohol he’s being asked to peddle, determining its worth by its potency.

“No use letting that big house get taken by the bank. How’s about you move back to Chicago?” Using this as a persuasion, Torrio waves to Capone to bring Audette down. “I have a little something extra to sweeten the deal.”

Torrio purchased a new gown for her to wear and requested the stylists he hired to put on a little rouge for their guest tonight. She sits alone in her cherry chiffon drop-waist gown, adorned with sparkling golden jewels secured to her neck and wrists when Capone comes to bring her to the foyer. The makeup on her face hides the stains of sorrow that seem to never disappear, and Vincent can see right through her mask. 

Audette does not lift her gaze to Vincent’s, behaving like a timid concubine so that he knows exactly what he’s getting into with her. To her surprise, he accepts the terms with little to no convincing. “You’re right. It is lonely.”

“This should take care of things.” Torrio pushes Audette forward, but she displays as much resistance as she can before he gives up. Audette’s lips tremble, holding herself back from the vexed disgrace she feels being offered like an object.

“My father never wanted to get into this side of business.” Vincent refers to the time he was held at gunpoint and questioned if they sold liquor on the premises. Thankfully they weren’t at the time, but that fact is subject to change after tonight. “It took just one of his clubs getting raided to turn him off even considering bootlegging for good.”

“I know what your father wanted, but he’s not here anymore is he?” Torrio has had this plan all along, looking to take over the Colosimo campaign since he ordered the hit on his life himself.

“He wouldn’t approve of this.” Vincent looks between Torrio and Audette with Capone at least getting some entertainment of seeing Audette thrown to the wolves, snickering off to the side.

“He’s not here to tell you what to do.” Torrio is the devil in Vincent’s ear, whispering sweet nothings that make him more scared than excited. “Now, you just gonna let this honey in front of you go to waste? We got a whole evenin’ planned so you kids could get to know each other.”

After some pensive reflection, Vincent presents his bent elbow to Audette for her to hook her arm around. She does so, humbly doing what’s expected of her. “See, completely painless. Have ‘em bring the car around Al. They’re going out on the town!”

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