The Apple Orchard {Arc Three; Part Six
Allen met with Rachel outside of the diner at the exact time they had agreed on, Rachel grabbing onto his hand and dragging him down the street towards the theatre. There they met Zebediah, standing out in a dark suit and hat tipped down as far as it would go before it looked ridiculous, hiding his features from the people around them.
“I see Rach dragged you into this madness as well, huh doc?” Zebediah greeted, following the grinning woman into the theatre and pulling out a wallet to pay for their tickets. Allen watched while Rachel looked around the theatre with fascination, taking in the crowds and all the different sights the building had to offer. “Why are ya wearin’ that heavy coat for? S’not that cold out.”
“I s-saw clouds earlier,” Allen explained, tucking himself further into his overcoat and basking in the warmth it provided. “It m-m-might be an unseasonably w-warm February evening, but I’m not t-taking my chances.” Zebediah smirked, shaking his head and handing over the money for the tickets, grabbing the slips of paper and handing one to Allen and Rachel each. “S-shall we?”
“I think so.”
They settled into the theatre, sitting near the front because Rachel wanted to ‘feel the full effect of the movie’. The quiet chatter that filled the auditorium silenced after a few moments, the screen flickering and skipping before the grainy film started to play, music filling the room.
Rachel seemed absolutely entranced with the film, leaning forward with interest and squeaking every time something frightening would happen. Zebediah had his arm around the back of her seat, the tips of his fingers subtly tugging on a few of Allen’s curls that were in reach; Allen kept his hands to himself, leaning towards Rachel every time she leaned over to him and whispered something softly.
The movie ended with a sputter after 81 minutes, Rachel breathing a sigh of relief and smiling, pressing her hand to her chest. The crowds started to drift out after a moment, the three of them following them, Rachel hooking her arm through both Allen’s and Zebediah’s and beginning to chatter about the film excitedly.
“Oh, did you see that dreadful make-up they used on Count Orlok? Positively frightening, I’m sure I’ll have nightmares for days! And those sets! And that story! What was your favourite part, I was fond of the scene when Hutter realizes that the Count is actually a vampire, it was just so dramatic!”
“You, ah, l-like dramatic things, R-Rachel?”
“Oh, I love ‘em. You should know that, Allen, I do wanna be an actress! I think I would have made the perfect Ellen, don’t you? I can play innocent and pure, yeah?” She fluttered her lashes, Allen laughing softly and Zebediah grinning at her foolishness. “And the music! I hadn’t been expecting something so theatrical, I was shocked! Those Germans know how to put together a film, let me tell you!”
They were walking down the sidewalk, just enjoying the quiet of the evening. Couples and groups of young people were walking towards hotels, restaurants, and other haunts that the city offered at this time of night. The three of them were heading towards the Price Tag, wanting to listen to some good music and eat a decent meal before they turned in for the night.
“Oh, what did you think of the effects the film used -”
Rachel’s question was cut off by the sudden crash of lightning, followed quickly by a rumble of thunder just ahead and the sudden down-pouring of rain from above.
Shrieking, Rachel ripped herself away from the gangster and the doctor, rushing over to the nearest cover and wrapping her arms around her chest, rubbing at her arms to keep herself warm. The couples and groups of young people all followed Rachel’s lead, running into convenience stores and restaurants and hotels, even if they hadn’t been planning on going in there. In a matter of minutes, the entire street was empty.
Allen gave a quiet ‘oh’ of surprise, bundling his overcoat tighter around himself and starting to make his way over to where Rachel stood. He stopped when he realized that Zebediah wasn’t beside him, turning to look where the gangster had been last. Tipping his hat back to see more clearly through the sudden torrential storm (how strange for February, really, but then again the entire day had been strange), he noted that Zebediah was nowhere near where they last were.
“Z-Zeb?” he called out, turning around completely and looking for him. “Z-Zeb, let’s head to some s-shelter - you’re not in a c-coat like me, you’ll get s-s-sick!”
He heard a laugh coming from his left, and turned to see that Zebediah Walker, fearsome gangster and criminal of the city of Westfield, was stood in the middle of the street with his arms outspread as if he was trying to embrace the rain.
Hat in hand, the freckled youth had his face tipped towards the sky, freckles and scars standing out in shocking relief. His suit had quickly soaked to second skin, the dark grey becoming practically black due to moisture. He didn’t seem to care, though; not about his suit, not about the rain soaking him through, and not about the fact that he was standing in what was quickly becoming a miniature lake in the middle of the street.
But Allen couldn’t help but notice the smile on his face.
It wasn’t the usual sharp, wolf’s smile, all corners and edges and danger hiding within the expression. It wasn’t faked cheer, either, which he pulled whenever he wanted something. It wasn’t small, or quiet, or subdued - it was there and it was screaming pure contentment in that moment.
Zebediah was a young man in that moment, still in the cusp of his youth and alive, and Allen felt an ache in his chest that had never been there before at the thought.
“Allen!” His voice broke through Allen’s musings, making the doctor turn to him curiously. “Come over here for a sec, would ya?”
Allen frowned, shaking his head before making his way over to the criminal, trying his best to avoid the deeper puddles and failing quite miserably. He stopped just a foot or so away from Zebediah, looking at him expectantly and waiting for him to say something.
Instead of speaking, however, Zebediah reached out and snagged Allen by the waist, dragging him as close as he could and grinning down at him.
“Z-Zeb!” Allen gasped, pushing back against him for a moment and staring at him with shock. “W-what are you d-doing?”
Zebediah looked down at Allen quietly, hazel-green eyes staring into grey-silver. The hint of his innocently boyish smile was still on his lips but quickly fading, the hands on Allen’s hips tightening and loosening sporadically the longer they stood there. In the background, Allen could hear Rachel yelling out to them that she did not want to get soaked because Zebediah wanted to jump into puddles like some mangy mutt, but the two of them ignored her.
“No one’s paying attention to two lunatics in the rain outside of the bird twittering at us incessantly. I never get to hold you, Allen - not like this. Not in the middle of the street.” He closed his eyes, leaning forward and bumping noses with Allen, the rain cool and dripping down the curve of his cheekbones and length of his nose with no sign of letting up. Lightning flashed above them, women in white dancing through thunderous clouds, before another growl of thunder rolled through the sky, shaking Allen to his core. “I hate that. I hate that so much - ‘cause sometimes, when I see ya, I just want to grab hold of ya and never let you go. But I can’t, you know? I can’t just kiss ya like I could kiss Rachel or any of those molls. And it drives me out of my head, alright? ‘Cause you’re a prize, Allen - you need to be shown off. I need everyone to know that you’re with me.”
Allen kept his mouth shut, eyes wide and stomach in knots, unsure of what to say to something so deeply personal; so completely open that for a moment Zebediah was not the man Allen had gotten to know over the past few months but someone utterly broken. Someone so fractured he just wanted to sooth the cracks and the pain away. But could he?
“And I can’t,” Zebediah repeated, voice cracking before he shook his head, giving a thin smile. Pressing even closer to Allen, lips practically touching but not quite - for the streets might have been empty, but the buildings were not - Zebediah replaced his fedora onto his head, tilting it back so he could stay close to the doctor as he was. The doctor’s hand was suddenly grabbed by the gangster’s, Zeb positioning them so that they looked like they were about to dance. Eyes still closed Zebediah hoisted Allen a bit closer, their chests touching much too close for proper dancing.
“Dance with me,” he commanded, voice quiet and barely heard over the rumbling sky above them.
Staring uncertainly at the young man, Allen squeezed his fingers and nodded minutely. “Okay.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Rachel had finally gotten sick of the two lovebirds in the rain, running out and dragging Allen - and therefore Zebediah - towards the closest hotel so that they could dry off. Zeb ordered a room for he and Rachel, Allen taking his own, and the three of them went their separate ways.
However, when it came for Allen and the ‘couple’ to separate, Rachel peeled herself away from Zebediah and grabbed Allen’s room key, kissing his cheek and going up the stairs the extra flight, leaving the two alone. And wordlessly, Allen followed Zebediah back into their hotel room.
Closing the door carefully behind him, Allen slid out of his coat. He flinched when it was pulled away from him, turning to see Zebediah hanging it up on the coat rack without being asked. The gangster set his fedora and his suit jacket onto the hooks as well, reaching out for Allen to give him his.
Once that was settled, the two stopped moving, Zebediah looking at the coat rack and Allen looking at Zebediah; then, without warning, Zebediah reached out for Allen’s hand and dragged the doctor over to him.
He did nothing for a moment, callused hands holding onto the doctor’s wrist as if he were a manacle and Allen his prisoner. The older man moved to pull away and Zebediah squeezed his wrist tighter, looking at him with an expression that told him he was not letting go; yet Allen simply smiled a small, understanding smile, pulled away anyway, and quickly laced their fingers together to create a bond and not a shackle.
They didn’t bother with the lights, the curtains of the room left open and the lightning flashes giving the room an otherworldly glow every time it spiked. The doctor met the criminal halfway, lips pressing dryly against lips, a scarred hand tracing the outline of a cheek while shaking fingers curled into a fist just above a steadily beating heart. They undressed one another, fumbling and struggling in the dark and with dripping wet shirt buttons or trouser buttons or suspenders - but they managed all the same.
Zebediah led Allen to the bed, the blind leading the blind, and over they toppled; Zebediah flat on his back, Allen for once above him and in control. Allen kissed his way down Zeb’s throat, nuzzling into his collarbone and murmuring either romance or medical theories - he couldn’t make out which. Zeb spoke in lyrics, hands shaking against ribs and hips and thighs, eyes aimed towards the ceiling as if he were in prayer.
The boy from an apple orchard in the country couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next day, thinking on the Colt he left with his harness on the floor; thinking about the stitches in his side that had just been removed. He swallowed thickly when Allen paid special attention to the two thin scars on his throat he never talked about - about the one time Thomas Gray had almost killed him, and the only reason Zebediah was breathing to talk about it was because a man stumbled on them and accidentally saved his life.
He thought about piano wires and marble-mouthed accents, cool eyes and fire, and his heart seemed to stutter in his chest when Allen whispered what sounded like the Hippocratic Oath just over the madly beating organ that he constantly put in danger every day or his goddamned life. His hands were the ones shaking, and he felt so small and so young and so helpless for a moment and he blamed Allen Townsend with his whole heart.
He blamed him because he had stolen him.
And looking up into those grey-silver eyes, so much like storm clouds and precious metals, he didn’t bother trying to stop himself from framing his face and kissing him as if he had never kissed him before. He didn’t even care if it was cliché.
“Zebediah,” Allen murmured once they pulled back, doctor’s hands pressing against his cheeks and swiping at the tears he knew were falling. He let Allen say it anyway. “You’re c-crying.”
Smiling, Zebediah nodded, kissing Allen’s palm and hiding his face away in capable hands.
“Make me stop.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________
He did not appreciate the manhandling, but he supposed he could deal with it as long as it got him what he wanted.
Being led down the hall of the local jailhouse, Thomas Gray curled his nose in distaste at the sight of dirty criminals sitting around behind bars, some plucking at the threads in their shirts, others spilling around the tin cup left behind since they had nothing better to do. He thought he could hear one singing somewhere in the back, but the gangster couldn’t be sure.
Thomas Gray was Old Money - Old Money with no money left to his name. His father had spent it all on drinking and whores, and Thomas had salvaged what he could to buy out the art museum in Westfield - only to convert the basement into the Boiler Room. It was a prestigious place, and only those with cash were allowed in.
At least, that was how it used to be. But then the Apple Orchard opened, and business went south.
Tugging his arm out of the grip of the bull leading him down towards the back of the building, Thomas straightened his light gray suit and brushed off imaginary lint and wrinkles, sighing forlornly when he noted that there was one he would not be able to smooth over. It appeared he’d have to make an appointment with Yue, then - he wondered how angry the little Asian would be.
“Wait here,” the officer ordered when they stopped in front of a plain door, a name written on the glass plain stating that it was the Chief of Police’s office. Thomas rolled his eyes but nodded, taking off his fedora and brushing it off as well. He wondered if he should get a new one - this one had a speck of blood on it he just could not get rid of.
After a few minutes, the door opened again and the officer walked out, pointing into the office. “He’ll see you.”
“Oh, thank you, how very gracious,” Thomas smiled, sarcasm and contempt all rolled into a flash of very, very white teeth. He stepped inside, shutting the door before the officer could step back inside, before turning to look over at the desk.
Sat with his feet up on the table and his hands folded over his stomach, Gregory Hale watched Thomas with the lazy eyes of a predator waiting for his prey to let down his guard. He was not a young man, but neither did he look his age; his ginger hair was greying these days, and he had more frown lines along his mouth and eyes than he did laugh lines. He was dressed in the nicest, cheapest brown suit he could possibly find, with a dull black tie and a vest that looked like it had seen a few resizes over the years.
Overall, Thomas was not impressed. But then again, he was rarely impressed with anyone these days.
“What can I do for ya,” Hale asked after a moment, though he didn’t necessarily word it as a question - more of a rhetorical statement that Thomas was going to answer whether the bull wanted him to or not.
“You have an acquaintance of mine in one of your…charming jail cells,” the criminal stated, walking over to the rather uncomfortable chair in front of Hale’s desk and sitting. The officer quirked a brow at him, looking a cross between amused and aggravated, before nodding for him to continue. “Wesley Blake - small, jumpy young man, blue eyes, rather distinctive nose?”
“Ah, yeah - he was with those caught at the Apple Orchard run. If he’s a friend of yours, Gray, what’s he doin’ with the likes of Walker?”
“I’m sure he was just visiting,” Thomas said tightly, smiling thinly. He was still hitting himself for allowing Wesley to get caught - he needed a lawyer of his own. Dawson had been unavailable for the past month, and Moore was a lapdog of Zebediah’s through-and-through. He wouldn’t even go near Rodgers, the man offered his services to the highest bidder and Thomas didn’t have the kind of money a Townsend might have these days.
So he was stuck with what he did best - bartering.
“Well, if ya’d like to join ‘im in his cell, I can make sure the both of ya are cozy,” Hale said after a pause, dropping his feet back onto the ground and standing up. “Really, quite thoughtful of ya to come in and turn yourself in, wasn’t expecting such manners from snobs like you -”
“Oh, I’m not turning myself in, Mister Hale.”
“Chief. And what’re you doin’ here, then? Can’t think I’m just gonna let you walk off.”
“You will. Today.” Thomas smiled, leaning back in his seat and looking up at him with the air of looking down his nose. “Sit, please, I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’ll sit when I goddamn please.” Hale crossed his arms, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Tell me why you think you’re gettin’ out of here, no problems, this evenin’.”
“Myself and Wesley Blake - I won’t be leaving without him.” Hale snorted, and the gangster continued on as if he hadn’t. “Tell me, honestly now, out of the two of us…who is the sharper thorn in your side? Zebediah Walker…or myself?” He looked up to see Hale carefully keeping his expression neutral, though he could see the aggravation in his eyes. “Honestly now, Chief.”
“…Walker - but only ‘cause he’s been the louder of the two of ya!”
“I know when to keep my nose out of danger, yes.” Thomas nodded, as if Hale had complimented him. “He’s been giving you a bit of a hard time, though, hasn’t he? He’s always getting away from you…you keep making a bull’s rush for the club, but he’s always gone. And if he’s not gone, he’s shooting your men. Must burn, not being able to get him. How long have you been chasing him? Six, seven years?”
“Eight,” Hale spat, sneering and looking away unhappily. “And countin’ the more I waste my time with you. What about him, Gray?”
“I know where he’ll be tomorrow,” Thomas said softly, looking down at his suit and tugging at a sleeve carefully. “I know the time, the place, and I know he’ll only be with one other person - he thinks he’s going to have a private meeting with me. He’s quite upset with me, you know.”
“I’m sure there are a lot of people upset with you, Gray. How d’ya know he’ll be there?”
“I planted the information into his little informant’s ear that I would be where he’s going to be. I won’t be there, of course.” He smiled, looking up at Greg with a condescending look. “And don’t you think for a moment I’ll tell you where I’ll be!”
“I’ll find ya either way, flashy men can’t hide in shadows.” Hale shook his head, sitting down on his desk. “So where’ll he be then, huh? Since you know so much.”
“The abandoned hospital at the corner of West and Fifth. The one you were born at, actually, if I’m right?” Thomas smiled, standing up slowly and adjusting his tie. “He’ll be there at around one o’clock in the afternoon. He’ll have a gun, of course - when doesn’t he? - so I would suggest setting up a sniper there while you can.” Slipping his hands into his pockets, Thomas Gray smiled. “May my associate and I leave now?”
“How do I know you ain’t just pullin’ my leg?”
“Oh, Chief Hale,” Thomas stepped over to the door, narrowing his eyes and glaring through the frosted glass unhappily, “Zebediah Walker is the one who put Wesley Blake into your find accommodations in the first place. And you know what they say about revenge.”
“Best served cold or some baloney like that?”
“Oh, you’ve picked up on the quaint slang, how sweet.” Thomas grinned, before shaking his head. “But no. Revenge is best done from behind - they’ll never see it coming. I’ll wait outside for Mr Blake, shall I?”
He left the office without waiting for word from Hale, his smile turning absolutely snake-like when he was followed by the sounds of the Chief of Police’s cursing behind him.