tampered | Gangsters and thugs / criminals and hoods

Entry tags:

Gangsters and thugs / criminals and hoods

When; January 17th
Rating; R because... it's them.
Characters; Al Capone, Meyer Lansky
Summary; It's Al's birthday. Meyer decided to bring him a present. I think we all know how well that'll go.
Log;

Meyer's been accused of working all the time and of never having any fun. And of course, it doesn't escape his notice that one of his biggest accusers is Al. To be fair, Al's decidedly better at having fun than he is. In fact, he might go so far as to say that Al's excellent at having fun, whereas he himself is only middling at best.

But he's determined to change that, if only for today, because he's caught wind of the fact that it's Al's birthday. And that deserves just a little bit of indulgence, doesn't it?

So although Al may not be expecting to hear a knock on his door shortly before he'd be heading out for his shift at the casino -- if he'd intended to come in to work on his birthday at all, which Meyer's doubtful of -- he'll open the door to find Meyer standing outside of his apartment with an immaculately wrapped gift tucked under one arm, looking expectant.

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Work is work and, contrary to Al's frivilous attitude on most things, he intends to keep busy for at least part of the day. The City's fine for a celebration, sure, and he has some plans of his own for his birthday, but might as well indulge in some time with the people that see him on a regular basis; besides, he can get away with one-upping his status this one day out of the year without too much room for resistance.

The door is answered quite promptly and he's still in the process of tying his tie. He stares at Meyer, not sure if he's actually physically at his door or not. Then he spots the well-dressed package and he smiles just a bit.

"That for me?"

"Yeah, it's for you. I was under the impression that it was your birthday."

Where he'd learned that, he neglects to mention. Don't think on it too closely, Al, or you'll start to suspect that your boss is keeping tabs on you. To be fair, he keeps tabs on just about everyone, and at least this has resulted in something good -- he holds out the present for Al to take, if he wants it, and smiles. It's a genuine smile, though whether that's recognizable as such is always a tossup.

"No work tonight."

That's probably the most shocking thing Al's heard all week.

It's more surprising for the effort, knowing Meyer as he is which is not necessarily the most...external about his gestures. Tabs are to be expected. While certainly not as intricate, he keeps his own eyes and ears open and has extra pairs here and there just in case. He takes the package, inspecting it and weighing it in an amused way.

"Couldn't think of a better day for a holiday either."

Now that's something he can mull over. The man who could work himself to death at a desk calling off work for anyone? Even Ebenezer Scrooge can lighten up after Christmas. Hanukkah. Whichever.

"Then if you've got the time, come on in."

"Sure, I've got plenty of time."

It's not like he'd been intending to force Al to celebrate with him, or anything. If Al had just accepted the present and hadn't seemed inclined to invite him in, he wouldn't have felt bad about it. On the other hand, he's oddly pleased for the invitation, and of course he accepts it, stepping into Al's apartment and looking around curiously.

For all the time they've spent at work together, they don't exactly spend much time in each other's homes. And he's curious to see what Al's done with the place, whether he's made his apartment more homey than Meyer has made his own (it wouldn't be hard; he sees his own apartment as a place to sleep and sometimes not even that.)

The apartment is done up and tidy, a balance he has struck from easy cleaning, hired help and rarely being home. There's a fragrant mix of cigar and cigarette smoke and cologne with a vague hint of cooking though the stove hasn't been on for days. Company is rare (and he likes to keep it that way), but when it does come along there is a certain manner of appearances he likes to keep up. A home should be a man's kingdom, and it should appear lived in.

There's a vague gesture to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the living room. "Help yourself," he's had Meyer over for dinner once, maybe twice, some time that seems far off now. It wasn't much, somewhat insightful into his associate's mannerisms and appetites, but he figures he might as well give him a refresher on the rules: here Al is a host, but he's nobody's waiter. One can take and touch what they need. If it's off limits, he won't be shy about letting anyone know.

"I'd be worried if this was payback for your party, but if you managed to cram sixteen girls into this box, it'd be pretty damn impressive."

He likes Al's apartment; there's something about it that's far more comfortable than his own, but maybe that just has to do with the simple fact that Al obviously takes some pride in it and has striven to make it look good. There's actual artwork on the walls, some definite focus on decorating things in a purposeful way. He can't remember the last time he'd hung up a painting on one of his own walls, even back in New York.

He moves towards the liquor cabinet, pours himself a glass of whiskey which he figures isn't off limits, and laughs quietly at Al's comment. "I'm an enterprising guy, but even I don't have that kind of talent. Open it and find out."

When Al does open the present -- which is really ridiculously neat in its wrapping, the corners of the wrapping paper crisp, the ribbon around it perfectly curled, nothing out of place -- he'll find a wooden box. It's heavy, made of some kind of expensive, dark wood, but not overly large. The top lifts off, but it's obvious that the box is also capable of being locked, given the fact that there's a key sticking out of it right now. And carved into the top in an ornate script are Al's initials, all of them, including his middle initial. Feeling like your boss knows too much about you yet, Al?

Really, at first glance, it's simply a nice personalized keepsake box, the sort of thing that a guy could put things he wanted to keep private and safe in. Sentimental things. Of course, if he turns the key and opens the box, he'll find that it's already been filled. Nestled inside is a very expensive bottle of bourbon, and... is that an array of various types of drugs in little bags surrounding the bottle? Damn straight, it sure is.

The wrapping is impressive and fits the habits of the giver impeccably, but a wrapped gift is only good for so long. The package is torn apart with enthusiasm. He gives a little bob of surprise at the sight of the dark wood with a familiar label.

"Fuckin' hell."

There's a short-lived sense of unease that his curiosities manage to suppress. The key leads him in next, just as planned, and by the time he opens the box to reveal its contents, he laughs. It's generous-- much more generous than he expected. He sits down, hoping it will lead the other to do the same, and begins to pick at the contents curiously, closely inspecting the bags and feeling their various textures and differences voraciously.

"Might not be girls, but you didn't pull any punches."

Then, after a calm pause, comes a genuine acknowledgement.

"Thank you."

"I thought I might as well get you something you'd find a use for."

The box Al can use for whatever he wants, which makes it useful, and he knows Al well enough to know that he'll find the drugs useful, too. Following Al's motions, he sits down, taking a sip from his glass, smiling, looking proud of himself, but not as smug as he usually does.

"You're welcome."

There's something to be said for getting people presents that they'll actually appreciate. Sometimes he does it for the sake of manipulating people, of trying to show that he knows them well enough to buy them something perfect. Other times, he just feels like giving someone a gift that means nothing except an expression of potential friendship. He's pretty sure this falls into the latter category; he honestly doesn't think about it too much.

It's not something that needs to be brought up in this moment or ever really, not in his book. If a friendship (or whatever this is) happens, it should go unnoticed. Maybe it even ties in neatly with a healthy business association, encourages both parties to keep things in check. Many men might find that sort of arrangement nerve-wracking, but he's always fallen into it and found it works out quite nicely. It hasn't backfired on him yet.

"This isn't all stuff out the back."

While the powders are familiar, the colors of some of the tablets are almost alien entirely. His curiosity is back again, and with the contents of the box now explored, he might have a few more questions for you, Mr. Lansky.

"You expanding your market or just had a great time shopping around?"

"I think my market's expanded enough, but I have to admit, I was curious as to what else was out there. Did some asking around, found out that there've been a lot of innovations since the last time you and I checked."

Yes, trust Meyer to make it sound as though he's talking about engineering or technology when he's referring to drugs, but really, how else is he supposed to phrase it? There's a whole new world of modern drugs in existence that he'd never even heard of, much less dabbled in, until he went shopping for them. And he knows that Al's one of those guys who can appreciate a new and exciting experience.

"Figured I'd buy some of the stuff I'd never heard of, see what you thought of it."

There's always an angle with this guy. By now Al recognizes it's not a bad thing so much as a habit: a talent that helps a guy survive in the world, whether it be home or home abroad.

The best and worst part about home abroad is that you never know what you're getting into. Though it might take some work to coax the guy out of his rigid mannerisms, at least Meyer can entertain these whims if the circumstances are right. That's a hell of a lot more credit than he might have given the kid back home.

Now he's bringing fuchsia tablets with smiley faces. Apparently neutral colored powders eventually lose their appeal.

"It's smiling. How bad can it be."

"Yeah, well, the guy who sold those ones to me told me it was called Ecstasy. That doesn't sound so bad, right? Apparently, it's an amphetamine that..."

It's with some effort that he drags himself away from the scientific explanation of the cheerfully smiling tablets. Al probably doesn't care. Most people don't. What they usually want to know is what effects it'll have on them, good or bad, whether it'll have a bad comedown, whether it's highly addictive. He won't go into the excruciating details.

"Anyway, the guy said that a lot of people like to take it when they go to parties. At clubs or bars, with the dancing and the loud music..." He shrugs. He's never been too fond of most of those things himself, but it's an intriguing thought. "My understanding is that it makes everything feel generally more pleasant and intense."

Ecstasy is a good word as far as he's aware. He thinks that he's heard it in church in some vague memory long past, but it also has the aura of something less wholesome. As for the enhancements put in terms he actually cares about, it's as good of an occasion as any for any of these things. They're all great hobbies, but he's not in any particular hurry. Apparently it's his day off; the kind of day one can leave their tie half-tied and hear no complaints.

"So you're saying there's nothing to worry about."

That's his assumption of the specs given. He's experienced enough to know that no up lasts forever, but a comedown he can deal with. It's the effect, the here-and-now he'll be getting into that interests him. He sets the cheery package aside from the others, picking up the box and standing, going to place it somewhere safe.

"Well..."

He's slightly more hesitant, of course. He wouldn't say there's nothing to worry about, so he can't advertise it that way. "I'd say that, from what I've heard of it, it's the kind of thing you'd enjoy."

Because unlike him, Al is actually capable of understanding parties. It's an impressive ability, as far as he's concerned, and that's not flattery, that's just the truth. He's never been good at relaxing enough to really enjoy things the way Al seems to. Except on those odd occasions that he and Al spend a significant amount of time together. Odd, how that works out. He takes another sip of his drink.

Parties aren't all that hard to understand-- just don't worry about a thing and the rest quite literally falls into one's lap. It's not a terribly important skill, but he wouldn't trade his keen sense of smell for a good time for anything in this world or the next.

After removing the bourbon, he places the box on top of a cabinet near the fireplace. The wood can shine regally there, but it's just out of reach: enough to be noticed and admired, but not touched.

"And we know each other pretty well."

Like middle names and birthdays, right? Al steps up from behind Meyer, reaching over to grab his own drink from the table, not sitting quite yet.

"We know each other pretty well," he concedes. And for him, it's a big concession. It's one thing for him to admit that he knows Al pretty well, but it's another thing to admit that the knowledge goes both ways. Of anyone in the City, Al probably knows the most about him. That makes him closest to Al, doesn't it? Strange, if they were back home, he knows for certain that never would have happened. Too much to get in the way, no real chance to connect in this bizarre way that they have here, if their occasional enjoyment of each other's company can be considered a true connection.

He admires where Al places the box, thinks that it suits the apartment well, nods a little in appreciation. It does look good, and he's proud of it, proud that his present has been well-received and proud that it complements the rest of the apartment that Al has clearly put so much work into.

"Well, it's your birthday, so I guess you get to choose -- do you want to go somewhere, or stay in?"

Either way, he figures, it's only a matter of time before Al suggests trying out the new and exciting drugs. He'll leave whether they do that at home or elsewhere up to Al. It's remarkable that he trusts him enough to even give him that amount of choice.

The City doesn't give much, but he's more grateful for Meyer's presence than he'll ever say. Sure it's not a friendship in the textbook definition, but it's a link to home and that's reassuring-- a healthy one. No strings attached, no expectations considering they're both isolated parties...plus, turns out, the guy has a sense of humor. It's been alright getting to realize there's some life left in New York.

"You can get the home tour another time. Since it's a blue moon and you're taking the day off, might as well make the most of it."

Really, he might just end up calling or dropping by the casino just to make sure things are really on lock-down like Meyer says. It's something to keep in mind for later in the night.

"I gotta check up on something today. Short errand. You oughta come."

"Sure, okay, I'll come with you."

He says it, but he has the distinct feeling that Al having to check up on 'something' could lead to trouble. But he's already called off work, and he's already made the distinct impression that he's here to have fun, so he might as well go along with what Al says, assuming it's not all ridiculous (that's debatable.)

"Long as you don't think I need to be armed for this short errand."

Yes, will wonders never cease? He's actually left his gun at home for once in his life, which is a remarkable amount of lenience on his part. He usually shows up armed to the teeth, but that doesn't seem like the appropriate thing to do for what he's expecting will be a relatively low-key party.

As though he could really apply the words low key to Al.

"I don't know," it's hard to gauge if he's serious or not. His hands perch on his hips, seeming to assess the situation.

"It's, ah, routine, but better safe than sorry, right?"

After a short, reassuring smile, he disappears down the hall. The echoes of his footsteps grow more distant indicating a long hallway or room of some kind. There's silence for a moment, then he returns, now dressed for the afternoon and holding something. It's a massive handgun, something from a much later time than theirs. He extends it to Meyer placidly.

"Here. You can borrow it."

He's assuming Meyer's going to take it, because he's already busy adjusting his own weapon, another pistol that is not quite so large. Be a sport, Meyer.

"Right."

And of course he takes the gun, after gazing at it with something very like affection for a moment. He's always been fond of firearms, of the way they feel in his hands, of the power they give him, and this one is particularly impressive for the sheer size and weight of it. After giving it a thorough once-over, he stashes it away underneath his jacket. It would never occur to him to turn down a weapon when one was offered, of course.

"And here I thought we were going to celebrate your birthday."

Although maybe going on errands counts as celebrating. He can almost get behind that. That's the kind of thing he'd do, after all.

The look doesn't go unrecognized and there's nothing but approval for Meyer's good sportsmanship. It's an expensive gun that leaves a hell of a hole, and anyone who can handle that and appreciate it is someone worth knowing.

"We're getting to the cake and ice cream. Get the business out the way first."

It's sort of like priorities. Sort of.

"Try not to fly off the handle, killer. Like I said, just a routine precaution."

He's only poking a little fun. Finishing off his drink, he pockets the selected bag of ecstasy and makes for the door.

"When have you ever known me to fly off the..."

Oh. Right. Al was the only person in the City, as a matter of fact, who had known him to fly off the handle. It could be embarrassing, but he feels remarkably relaxed today, and so all it gets as a way of finishing the sentence is a slightly amused little smile, the slightest quirk of his lips, nothing more. He's never exactly been effusive.

"Do I get to know what kind of business it is?"

He might be asking questions, simply for the sake of information, but he's still willingly following Al right out the door, just as soon as he downs his drink, too.

Funny guy, funny guy. Reserved as the realization may be, it gets a good laugh that surely his neighbors have come to appreciate by now.

As they exit the building, there's some pep in his step. He enjoys this game, a little blind man's bluff.

"You'll see. I'll give you a hint: you had some business consulting involved in this particular matter. It's about time you see the face of it."

He's not too sure he enjoys this game, for his part, mostly because he doesn't like walking into a situation blind. He likes having all of this information he can possibly have, maybe to the extent of being ridiculous. But, hey, it's Al's birthday, and this appears to be how Al wants to spend it. Might as well indulge him; the weight of the gun feels comforting, at the very least.

"I have business in a lot of things. That doesn't narrow it down too much."

And if they're taking guns, he's got the distinct sense that things're going to get worse before they get better. Wonderful. He knows he should be wary about this, but there's something of a thrill in it, too. It feels like being back home, conducting business the way he's used to.

"Not my problem."

The walk isn't too far, cutting through alleys and gradually less populated sections of the City until they finally reach a more industrialized section of town, spacious with no shortage of warehouses. They arrive at one via the back. It's not very large or extraordinary in any way.

Meanwhile Al's reaching for his gun.

"Knock on that door. If nobody answers, we let ourselves in."

It's a large, metal door that looks as though a knock would result in a resounding reverberation of emptyness-- the kind of door no one is really behind because it speaks for itself. Keep out.

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