Silver Winter {Prologue
December 25th, 1919.
The ring was loud, dimly lit, and warm. Despite the frost in the air outside and the woolen jackets the spectators came in, sweat was dripping down his brow and plastering reddish brown curls to his forehead. People were catcalling from the sidelines, egging on one opponent or the other.
Mackenzie grinned, basking in the attention; hands held in front of him as he bounced on the balls of his feet from side-to-side, waiting to see what his opponent would do. He was a big guy, probably a white collar businessman who thought he could prove himself amongst the 'little people'.
Mackenzie had faced off one too many of those types to count on both hands, and they always amused him. Mostly because they took one look at him and laughed.
Spitting out blood onto the floor, the boxer shifted his stance, strengthening his centre as the white-collar grinned and rolled his shoulders and neck. He hadn't even broken a sweat, yet, using his bulk to land punches on the tinier halfbreed. Shaking out an arm, he looked over to the audience around him, before looking back to Mackenzie; bloody and sweating and watching him with bright blues.
"They warned me about you," he said, then, sounding straight from Brooklyn. Mackenzie tilted his head, silently asking him to go on, and the man grinned; just like he thought. He liked to hear himself talk. "They said, 'watch out for that blue-eyed devil. You'll never know what hit you' - but you're not so impressive so far. Just a halfpint halfbreed who thinks he can play with the big boys."
" Eles dizem quando você menos espera, né?"
"What was that?"
But Mackenzie only grinned wider, and the man scowled. He moved forward, taking a swing at the boxer's face and expected it to hit just like all the others.
Mackenzie ducked at the last minute, however, moving in close and hitting the man in the gut. He continued to hit him, taking him down and bruising his ribs in the process, before finally elbowing him roughly in the temple. Jumping back, he tilted his head when the white-collar fell onto his face on the floor, before looking over to the ref standing to the side.
"...You gonna count, senhor?"
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
Everyone knew that come the New Year, Prohibition would begin.
It was a decision by the American government. The President agreed with it, and just because the rest of the country did not agree did not mean that they could ignore the law. So the state governments prepared for the upcoming changes, and its citizens followed suit.
Some prepared for the noble changes to society, ready with open arms for the blasted Sin that was alcohol to go out of style. Middle aged women and the men who believed in their cause; the children of drunks and the widows of dead drunks gathered together to proclaim their doctrine to any who would listen, sitting in meeting halls and calling out the words of the Bible on dusty streets.
Others, however, prepared for a bright and brilliantly illegal future.
Tugging his jacket closer to him, the dark haired man looked up at the old bookstore with pursed lips before nodding and slipping inside. Sitting in the desk just in the back, a young woman with clipped black hair and dark kohl lining her eyes flipped the page of a magazine, barely looking up to see who'd come in.
"Just checkin' in, Tahno?"
"Da," Tahno Pajari nodded, shaking snow off of his fedora and placing it back on his head promptly. The store was dusty, with a large collection of books in both English and Russian. In fact, he had brought over quite a few books from his home back in Russia, which he had proudly displayed in the glass case just behind Elisaveta - books that could be looked at, but not sold. "Everything is almost ready?"
"You could say," Elisaveta Milen looked up from her magazine finally, winter-pale blue eyes staring into silver; painted lips quirking in the corners in a smirk. "You should probably check it out for yourself, though - I mean, Quinton's got everythin' in the bag, but we all know how exact you artist-types tend to be..."
"Da, da," Tahno waved off the moll's words, smiling faintly and shaking his head. He made his way towards a door in the back, stopping for a moment and looking back to Elisa. "...Have you seen 'Kenzie?"
"Not since last night - I had t'leave the fight early 'cause of some problems. Why, hasn't he checked in with ya?"
"...nyet, he has not." Tahno frowned, sighing to himself. But he pushed the thoughts away for the moment, going through the back door and making his way through a backroom that led to another door.
Going through the second door, Tahno Pajari went down a set of stairs immediately, twisting with the stairs in a loop before making it to the bottom. He then went down a corridor, around a corner, and through a third and final door, looking up to see how things were going.
The speakeasy - as he had heard others begin to call them - was furnished well. Coloured in cool colours, with dark furniture and silver accents, it reminded him in some ways of home. Yet in other ways - the art on the walls, the stage to the far right, and the bar to the left just beside the entryway - made him remember this was as far from home as he could get. And this was for the best.
Standing in front of the bar and speaking with a giant of a man, Quinton Rutherford adjusted his specs when he noticed Tahno walking over to him, standing up a little straighter. He wasn't the tallest of fellas, with brown hair that tended to float around his head like a controlled cloud. Dressed in his accountant best with a dark grey-green pinstripe suit, a deep green vest, and a dark grey tie with a plain silver tie holder, he removed his glasses when Tahno stopped in front of him.
"Mister Pajari--"
"Quinton," Tahno interrupted, smiling faintly and patting the shorter man's shoulder lightly, "it is just Tahno, da? How is everything here? Going well?"
"Yes, sir-- ... Tahno. James and I were just discussing how we're going to obtain our... merchandise." Quinton spoke delicately, as if waiting for a cop to turn the corner of the speakeasy and catch them speaking about breaking the law. Tahno nodded, though, looking over to the taller man.
"Jamie?"
Jamie Highland shrugged one broad shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling vaguely. He was a pretty sort of man, with dark flyaway hair he could only contain with his flat cap. He wore clothes that had seen better days, tugging on his suspenders with the nervous twitch of a mechanic away from his metallic baby. His tie was undone, his collar's first two buttons popped, and Tahno wondered how desperately Quinton wanted to fix his appearance.
"I know a couple of fellas who'd be willin' to lend us their Oldsmobiles, should we have the drivers."
"How many?"
"'Bout four - and then I've got my own, so, that'd be around five automobiles in total." Tahno nodded, rubbing at the side of his nose and taking off his fedora as he looked around. "D'ya need me to find drivers or anythin', Tahno?"
"Nyet, nyet, I can help you with those. Have we heard word from our suppliers?"
Quinton stepped back in, looking down at a folder of papers and such things. Tahno glanced over them and pursed his lips, remembering why he didn't particularly like looking over the details himself.
"Our Canadian suppliers have gotten back to us with a figure... I got them to bring it down a bit, but that's as far as they're willing to go. As for our, ah, more foreign suppliers--"
"I will deal with them, da?" Tahno raised his brows. After a moment, Quinton nodded, though he looked less than pleased with the idea. Tahno closed his book for him, pushing it against his chest and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Show me around quickly, Quinton - I want to get a feel for the place."
"Ah - of course, sir--"
"Tahno."
"...Of course, Tahno."
~+~
December 25th, 1919
It was the last fight, and Mackenzie wasn't really feeling that great anymore.
He wiped sweat and blood out of his eyes, touching his nose gingerly to make sure that it wasn't broken and then counted his teeth with his tongue. Nothing loose; nothing missing; nothing out of order. Shaking damp curls from his eyes, he turned back to his opponent.
A big Italian, obviously from the blue-collar. Called himself Tony. He was at least half a foot taller than Mackenzie, with a girth to match, and the ease of someone who often got into fights. Scars riddled his knuckles and wrists, and the slighter boxer wondered how many beer bottles he'd broken over his life.
Looking around the audience quickly, he noted that Elisa was already gone; her diamonds and pearls nowhere to be seen. Well, that was a bit unfortunate. He was pretty sure this fight was going to take out most of his remaining energy, and he'd hoped he'd get help from his favourite doll.
"You don't look too good, devil eyes," Tony mocked, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe ya should just forfeit, huh?"
"Ah, where's the fun in that?" Mackenzie asked with a grin, straightening up a bit and rolling his shoulders. "Just - give me a second, would ya?"
"Oh, of course, devil eyes - have to let the pretty princess breathe, right?"
Mackenzie only continued to smile, stretching his back exaggeratedly and cracking his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony coming at him, and he closed his eyes before leaning backwards. Falling onto his shoulders, he rolled back onto his feet as Tony stumbled forward, his momentum throwing him off; and, using this to his advantage, Mackenzie got in a kidney shot, knocking Tony to his knees.
He stared down at the cocky Italian with a sharp smile of his own, canines almost coming to sharpened points, and clocked him in the face, watching as he fell over, knocked out.
"And there you have it, folks! Our reigning champion, Mackenzie Moore, is found to be victorious once again!"
The underground ring was filled with loud cheering and whistling, and Mackenzie smiled, holding up a hand and waving a little; swaying side-to-side. The referee helped him off the stage, then, one of the guys who collected bets handing him a glass of water, and he promptly dumped it over his head; blood and sweat washing off in the lukewarm water.
"Go collect yer winnin's, 'Kenzie - then get your beaten ass home."
"Got'cha, Sarge."
The bet collector rolled his eyes, shaking his head and shoving Mackenzie over to the winnings table.
"I haven't been a soldier in a year, 'Kenzie."
"Ah," Mackenzie looked back smiling and stumbling his way to the table. "I don't think you ever stop being one!" Sarge rolled his eyes but grinned, waving Mackenzie off and walking away. The 'reigning champion' drunkenly made his way to the table, snatched the papers held out for him by a grinning gal, and stumbled right on out of the underground ring after grabbing both jacket and pageboy cap.
Looking up at the clear night sky, stars twinkling along with the lights of NYC, Mackenzie Moore made it about two blocks before he finally passed out in the snow.
~+~
December 25th, 1919
"Where're you goin'?"
"Out!"
Jerome Morales rolled his eyes and waved off his brother as Raymond made his way out of candy shop. The family had gotten together to discuss what they were going to do about Prohibition, and Timothy had brought up the large cellar downstairs that could basically be a second store, which brought up conversation of converting it into a bar like some other people were doing.
It was all very interesting and exciting, but not particularly something Ray had the mind to pay attention to just then. Maybe tomorrow, when his head was clearer, and not swimming with the spiked eggnog Timothy and Arthur had plied onto him.
Walking down the mostly-empty sidewalks of NYC, watching as couple and groups of friends stumbled around going from bar-to-bar as if it were the last day on earth (as they had been since Prohibition had been announced), Ray shook his head and turned a corner - looking up just in time to see some schmuck collapse into a nearby snow bank.
"Holy - ah, damn." Ray half-jogged to the man, crouching down beside him and gingerly turning him onto his back. "Please just be drunk, don't be dead." The fella groaned, and Ray heaved a sigh of relief, rubbing his forehead tiredly and looking down at him properly - double-taking at the sight of him.
It was hard to tell under the beginnings of bruises and the smears of dried blood, but Raymond Morales recognized Tahno Pajari's problem-solver as easily as he recognized his own family. He'd been to most of his fights, marvelling at the fact that he faked it until the very end, where he would take down his opponent while they thought they had the upper hand. He liked knocking them down a peg or five, it seemed - though it did often lead to him getting punched more than he got hits in.
"Jesus Christ," Ray muttered, dragging a hand down his face and looking around. He then crouched, hoisting to smaller man up with an arm around his shoulders, and began half-dragging him down a different street. "Hey, you awake?"
Another groan greeted him, and Ray decided that he'd take that as a 'yes'.
"Okay - okay, I'm goin' t'take ya to a friend's place, okay? A friend of mine's - I doubt you know 'im. Just... stay awake long enough for me to get you there, okay?" A third groan, and Mackenzie Moore rolled his head onto Ray's shoulder. Ray pressed his lips together, hoisted the other man up more securely against his side, and drag-carried him faster. "Soon as we get there, you can pass out. I promise. Just... stay with me for a bit longer."
"...'oo're'y'."
"Y'get into the gin while fighting?" A snort answered him, and Ray smiled a little. "I'm a fan."
"S'that y'name, then?" Mackenzie slurred, blinking slowly and looking up at Ray through squinted eyes. "'A Fan'?"
"Nah," Ray shook his head, looking around quickly to make sure he was going the right way. He sighed in relief when he saw the right building, making his way over to the side where he knew the door was always kept unlocked. He slipped through as quietly as he could, looking around for a second to make sure no one was prowling around this late at night. Once sure no one was going to see them, he started towards another door that led to the stairs.
"...wha' is i' then?"
"...Ray," he said softly, staring at the stairs with a grimace before shifting Mackenzie around until he could carry him on his back. The boxer's head rested on the back of his neck, his curls tickling tattooed skin. "Hold on a bit longer, okay?"
"Mmmm.."
He made it up the one flight of stairs, down another hall, and to a single door that was so nondescript it almost looked like it was part of the wall. He knocked quietly; a special knock that let the person on the other side know it was him. After a moment, the door opened, and a tall, waif-like young man stood in front of him; wrapped in a silken robe that looked foreign and looking as if he had just woken up.
"...Ray?" The man blinked, looking over his shoulder to see the top of Mackenzie's curled head. "...it's late..."
"I know, but this guy's in bad shape."
"...the hospital is the other way, Ray."
"Goose, please."
Blinking, Goose nodded and stepped aside, letting his friend walk into the room and quickly drop his load onto the bed. The two of them then took the time to stare down at Mackenzie Moore, Ray frowning and Goose cocking his head to the side.
"....I'll get the first aid kit."
"Thanks." Goose nodded, drifting away without another word, and Ray sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyes before sitting down on the bed and shaking Mackenzie's shoulder. The boxer only grunted and moved away from him, showing that he wasn't braindead, at least. That was promising.
Goose came back with a small box, sitting on the other side of Mackenzie and pulled out a wad of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"Who's your friend?" he asked quietly, wetting the gauze with a proficiency that spoke of him having to do something like this very often. Ray frowned as he watched him, rubbing his arm and looking back down at Mackenzie.
"...Just a guy."
Goose didn't say anything for a moment, before nodding and getting to work fixing up the passed-out boxer.
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
Tahno had gone off somewhere, probably to talk to a certain private investigator to ensure that their business would run smoothly come the New Year, leaving Quinton and Jamie alone in the speakeasy.
"So what's he callin' this place again, Quinn?" Jamie asked, walking along the dance floor. It was a pretty spacious place, the walls lined with lights so that guests would be comfortable even when underground. It was a bit colder than the bookstore above, but he supposed that was to be expected.
Quinton was sat at the stage, going over the books to make sure he had all the information they needed. The Canadians were going to supply the abundance of their liquor, and that was all well and good. Yet it was the Russian exports Quinton was worried about. Vodka - the main attraction for Tahno's establishment - was only available through other Russian immigrants who either had connections back to the 'motherland', or had their own distillery.
Quinton did not know what kind of relationship Tahno had with these other Russians, but he was uncomfortable with it nonetheless.
The bookkeeper was jostled from his thoughts, however, when a certain mechanic shook his leg impatiently.
"Earth to Quinn! Y'wanna answer me?"
"...Pardon, James, I hadn't realized you were speaking to me. I thought you were musing aloud again."
Jamie smiled, leaning on the stage just beside Quinn's dangling legs, large brown eyes staring up at him. "Nah - I'm talkin' t'ya. What're you doing?"
"Just going over some last-minute things. What had you asked?"
Jamie pouted a bit, before shrugging and stretching his arms above his head. "I was askin' about the name! I can't remember it."
Quinton sighed, but smiled a little, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses. "It's called 'the Silver Winter' - a translation. Tahno originally wished for it to keep the Russian name, but, ah... I suggested the English. It will be easier for a wider range of clientele to find us, after all, if we stick to a more... universal language."
Jamie nodded, smiling a little and nudging Quinn's knee with his arm. "You've always been smart like that."
Quinton shook his head, though, slipping off of the stage and straightening his suit with careful, nimble fingers. "Don't be foolish, Jamie - it's a rather simple conclusion to come to. Now, we have nothing further to do down here. You should probably return to your job at the mechanic's."
Jamie nodded, following after Quinn as they made their way out of the hall, up the stairs, through the second building and back into the bookstore. Elisa looked up from her magazine again, smiling widely and hopping off her stool as Quinton moved towards the desk. She pressed a hand to his arm in greeting, Quinton nodding silently back, and then the dark-haired moll moved straight to Jamie.
"You're comin' with me."
"Oh?" Jamie blinked, brows raising as he looked over to Quinton. The bookkeeper shrugged thin shoulders, however, pressing his lips together. "Why's that?"
"'Cause 'Kenzie's been missin' since last night and I'm gettin' a bit worried."
Jamie frowned, then, Quinton moving over to stand with the other two as Elisa spoke. He turned to Elisa, now, looking at her with narrowed green eyes.
"I had thought you were with him last night?"
"I had to leave - somethin' came up."
Quinton continued to frown, watching Elisa with vague suspicion, but Jamie spoke before anything more could be said on the matter.
"Let's just see if we can track 'im down, okay? Take us to where the fighting was last night, and we'll go from there."
Elisa nodded, hooking her arm with Jamie's and dragging him off. Jamie stumbled after her, looking back at Quinton.
"We'll call if anything comes up!"
Quinton nodded, sighing as they disappeared. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at his temple, shaking his head. It was too early for troubles to be starting already.
~+~
December 26th, 1919 -Morning
He was crouched over a body in an alleyway when he realized he was being watched.
Standing up slowly, adjusting his coat with nimble fingers, Louis Midou turned around slowly to see who would be bothering him when he was obviously working. He then smirked at who stood at the mouth of the alleyway, doffing his fedora and giving the man a nod.
"And what brings the illustrious Tahno Pajari to my crime scene?" The Frenchman asked, voice smooth as he walked towards the Russian. Tahno said nothing, silver eyes looking back at the body with raised brows. Louis waved a hand. "I'm certain it was her husband, I'm merely looking for the clues to tell me I'm right. Now then. What are you doing here?"
"...I wished to discuss some things with you, when you're not busy," Tahno said, smiling at the PI in an easy manner; one that spoke of a long relationship of shaky trust and teasing. Louis nodded, looking over to a couple of the cops who had been assigned to go with him. He waved them over, taking the pad of paper from one and the pen the other offered.
"She's missing her engagement ring - that's a sign of sentiment. He probably took it as a trophy, or as a reminder. Probably a reminder - this didn't look planned. It seems like an accident. Probably a fight gone wrong. He'll be keeping it on him. Take him into the station, search him when he's there, and I'll be there in an hour to question him. Alright?" He looked up, handing over the pad and the pen after writing down the quick instructions, smiling. The cops nodded, and they walked off. Another cop, along with the coroner, went into the alleyway in order to take the body.
Louis then turned to Tahno, leading him down the sidewalk a bit so that they could have some semblance of privacy. "What is it, then?"
"The New Year is going to bring some changes to the city, da?" Tahno asked, hands shoved into his pockets. He was looking up at the sky, watching birds fly by with the boredom of someone who was too used to being around crime scenes. Louis bonded with him on that, even if they were usually on different sides. He nodded, though, head tilting. "I wished to come to some kind of... arrangement."
Louis narrowed his eyes, but he smiled all the same, shrugging a shoulder. "Come by my apartment tonight, then - we can speak more on these, ah... 'arrangements'."
"Just talk, da? I don't have time for anything else."
Louis smirked, shaking his head. "Oui, oui, just talk. Nothing more. I promise."
Tahno narrowed his eyes, but nodded all the same. "Good. ...I'll see you tonight, then."
"I do so look forward to it."
~+~
December 25th, 1919
"C'mon, 'Kenzie, this guy's a chump!"
A few older men looked over at Elisa with distasteful sneers, taking in her short hair and her kohl-lined eyes. She looked back at them with challenge in her eyes, giving them a white, sharp-toothed smile until they eventually looked away, looking a bit uncomfortable. She snorted, brushing her dress of wrinkles and turning to watch her friend take down said chump in a glorious fashion.
"Yeah! That's how you do it, baby!" She grinned, holding up a glass of gin and tonic in toast to the victory. Mackenzie looked over at her with a lazy grin, a cut over his eyebrow bleeding sluggishly, and she wrinkled her nose. They'd have to fix up his face that night, else he'd look like a dunch dumpling in the morning.
She was pulled from her thoughts, however, when someone who barely came up to her shoulders slinked up beside her and jostled her shoulder. "Okay, son, if you're trying to rob me--"
"No, ma'am," the boy piped up, looking up at her with a grin. "But someone's lookin' for ya outside. You're Elisa Milen, aren't'cha?"
"Well now," Elisa drawled, turning away from the fight completely, arms crossed over her stomach. She eyed the pint-sized brat for a minute, pursing her lips. 'That completely depends on who's askin', sweetheart."
"A friend of Dom's."
The name dropped on her like a five-tonne weight, and she pushed her drink into the kid's hands, walking away without another word. Elbowing and pushing her way passed the crowd around her, she finally made it to where the coat racks were; grabbing hers, she slid it on and stepped outside into the crisp, Christmastime air.
"Baby boy, what trouble have you gotten into now, huh?"
She looked around the somewhat-empty street, ignoring a quartet of brothers walking by and laughing, two of them urging a taller one to 'drink the eggnog - c'mon, Ray, just drink it!'. Finally, after what seemed like forever but was probably only two minutes, a young man stepped out from behind a dumpster.
Dominic Montague was taller than Elisa, but still slight, with raggedy red hair and a constellation of freckles over pale, dirtied skin. He wore clothes that had seen better days, tugging and pulling at the pageboy cap in his hands as if it were his lifeline. There was a developing bruise along his cheekbone, which Elisa took note of immediately.
"Did your daddy do that, sweetheart?" Elisa asked, reaching up to touch the bruise. Dom flinched, but let her, shaking his head. Brown eyes looked red around the whites, and Elisa realized he'd been crying. "...Sweetheart, what happened?"
"...m'parents're dead," Dom mumbled, sniffing and rubbing at his nose. Elisa felt her heart break, and she tugged Dom closer, hugging him tight. "'Lisa, I dunno wha' t'do...!"
"Shhh, hey," Elisa squeezed him tighter, sighing a little when he finally hugged her back. "Hey, we're gonna figure this out, okay? ...you got anyplace to stay?" Dom shook his head against her shoulder, and Elisa hummed in understanding. "You can move right in with me and 'Kenz, 'kay? Does that sound okay?"
Pulling back, Dom rubbed at his eyes, looking at her a little unsurely. Elisa just gave him a big smile, though, reassuring him that it really was okay, and after a moment Dom nodded. Elisa hooked her arm with his, then, tugging him down the way to her and 'Kenzie's apartment.
"Let's get you settled in, then. We'll talk more after that, okay?"
"...okay."
Elisa nodded, looking back over her shoulder to where the fighting was still going. But she knew 'Kenzie - he'd be just fine.
He would be able to get home by himself.
~+~
December 25, 1919
"How's he lookin'?"
Goose looked up from playing nurse, pursing his lips before looking back down to his impromptu patient. The freckle-faced youth was breathing deeply, obviously very much asleep. After cleaning up blood and cuts and dirt, it was revealed that the damage that had looked so bad before was really very minimal. Though he would very much be sore in the morning. Crumpled papers stuck out of his jacket pocket, but Goose didn't bother looking at them, instead brushing reddish-brown curls from a damp forehead.
After a moment's silence, he finally responded.
"...he'll be fine," he said, looking over to Ray again. The tattooed man sat on the chair that Goose usually used to tend to his own ugly bruises and markings; shows of violence he never wanted Ray to know about. Ray, who had known him for so long; who didn't judge him for what he had to do to keep off the streets. Ray, who was both his brother and his love.
Ray nodded, though, unaware of Goose's wandering thoughts. He got up from the seat, jolting Goose out of his own mind, and walked over to the two on the bed, sitting down carefully beside the stranger's arm.
"...Ray?" Goose spoke up again, looking over at Ray silently. "...who is he?"
Ray didn't speak for a bit, chewing the inside of his cheek before shrugging a shoulder. "His name's Mackenzie Moore - he's a fighter."
"...A fighter?"
"Yeah - boxing. Underground, though, he couldn't make it in the legal rings, apparently. He's got connections to Tahno Pajari."
Goose's eyes widened at the name, folding one of his long legs against a bone-thin chest. He wrapped his arms around the shin in a squeeze, pressing his mouth to his bared kneecap. "He's a criminal...?"
"...So're you'n'me, Goose," Ray smiled, shaking his head. "He's no worse than a mobster's kid and a prostitute." Goose flinched at the word 'prostitute', Ray wincing and reaching out. "Goose, I'm sorry--"
"No," Goose spoke quietly, looking up at Ray again with a weak smile. "Why... apologise for the truth... right?" He gathered together the first aid supplies, then, bunching up the trash and closing the lid of the box before standing up. "...are you staying long...?"
Ray didn't say anything, rubbing his forehead and looking like he'd done something stupid or said something stupid. Sighing, then, he shook his head, standing up and going over to where he'd put his hat and jacket. "I need to be heading back, actually," he said as he picked them up, slipping the jacket on and doing up the buttons. "My family will be wondering where I am."
He stopped in front of the door, though, turning back towards Goose who was once again sitting next to Mackenzie, watching him with the careful intentness that he watched everything. "...you'll be okay with him?"
Slowly, Goose looked over to Ray, before smiling and nodding. "...we'll both be fine, Ray."
Ray hesitated a moment more before nodding and slipping out. The door closed with a dry, muted click.
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
"I think that's blood on the ground."
Elisa crouched down where Jamie was pointing, reaching out and running a gloved finger over the dark stain. Rubbing her fingers and thumb together, dried flakes of blood flecked off, and she nodded. "Good work, Detective Highland. And there's a bit of a trail!"
The moll hopped back to her feet, grabbing Jamie's wrist and dragging him along the path. They were in front of the building where the fight had been taking place; she could still see her own footprints from when she'd collected Dom and taken him home. The blood led away from the apartment, though, meaning 'Kenzie hadn't even been going the right way.
"Was he lost?"
"He probably had his brains shaken so much that he thought he was going right when he actually went left," Elisa said, huffing out a sigh and shaking her head. "Why didn't he go home with someone?"
"'Cause you're usually there." Elisa snapped her mouth shut, giving Jamie a point for that. They went down two blocks when they stopped in front of a slightly larger collection of blood in a snow bank. Yet the trail ended there.
"...think someone took him to the hospital?"
"Let's give Quinn a call - see if he can figure it out."
Elisa nodded, standing up again, and the two went to the nearest telephone booth to call up the accountant back at the bookstore. After a few rings, the other line picked up.
'Pajari Books.'
"Quinn? It's Jamie."
'Is something the matter, James?'
"We followed what we think is 'Kenzie's trail for two blocks away from where the fight took place last night - he was heading towards some of the nastier parts. But it ends pretty abruptly, and we lose track of it."
'...What was the trail?'
"Blood," Jamie said bluntly, rubbing between his eyes. "We were wondering if you could call the hospital, see if someone checked him in?"
Quinton did not say anything for a moment, before sighing heavily.
'I will do so. Come back to the store - I should have some information when you get back.'
"Alright - we're on our way."
Jamie hung up after Quinton murmured some form of goodbye, turning to Elisa with pursed lips.
"Let's hope 'Kenzie's not in trouble."
"Don't we always?"
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
He woke up slowly, groaning when light hit his eyes.
Somewhere to his left, he heard someone walking around, and then the light was cut off abruptly, leaving him in darkness once more. He sighed a little in relief, eyes fluttering open, and it was then that he noticed he was not at home.
"...where am I...?"
He sat up carefully just as a long-limbed waif of a man sat down on the bed next to him, looking at him with wide, careful silver eyes. He was pale, with pointed features and dark hair that fell into his eyes. He almost appeared feminine, with long, thin limbs and hands that looked like they should handle delicate silver tools and fragile instruments. He wore an oversized button-up shirt that was a pale grey, and dark slacks. Suspenders hung loose at his hips, and the shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a wife beater underneath.
He was not someone Mackenzie knew.
"How are you feeling?" a gentle voice asked, and 'Kenzie realized it was from the man watching him quietly. He shrugged, rubbing his shoulder and wincing when bruises made themselves known. He wouldn't be able to fight for a little while, then. That was fine; he'd be busy with work for Tahno soon enough, anyway. "...can you stand?"
'Kenzie shrugged again, not seeing why he wouldn't be able to. He then moved to stand and groaned when pain hit him, collapsing back on the bed. The man fluttered beside him worriedly, pressing a cool hand to his forehead, before leaving his side briefly. He returned with a glass of water, pushing it into 'Kenzie's hands.
"...you'll probably need to rest another day..."
"Great..." 'Kenzie mumbled, rubbing his eyes and taking a long swallow of the water. He paused, looking over at the man. "...got a phone?"
"...no," the man said, frowning apologetically. "But... I could get one for you...?"
Mackenzie nodded, sitting up slowly again with the man's help. He moved to leave, but then stopped, peeking out the door before turning around to face 'Kenzie again. "...can you wait... for a little bit?"
"...how come?"
"...I don't want anyone... walking in while I'm not here," the man said, moving away from the door and sitting on the bed again. "...you're Mackenzie, yes?"
"..Yeah," 'Kenzie nodded, rubbing his shoulder carefully. "You?"
"...I have two names," the man said, smiling faintly. "Rose... and Goose." Tugging on one of his sleeves, he looked away from Mackenzie after a moment, shoulders hunched inward. "You can call me either..."
"Well.. why two?"
"Mm..." Goose hummed, closing his eyes and swaying a little side-to-side. "One is a name... clients call me... and the other a name... friends call me."
"Clients?"
"Yes.. and this is my workspace."
Mackenzie frowned in confusion at first, before realization dawned on him. But he didn't say anything, noting the way the young man was sitting, as if waiting for sharp words or retaliation of some sort. Instead he smiled a little and nodded, leaning back on the comfortable pillows.
"...think I'll call you Goose, then, okay?"
Goose looked over at 'Kenzie, before smiling a little wider and nodding. The two of them fell quiet for a moment when a knock came to the door. Goose got up quickly, moving to the door and opening it a crack. He spoke in a quiet voice for a moment, accepting something from the person on the other side, and then closed the door once more, sighing and turning back to Mackenzie.
"We'll wait a few more minutes... and then I'll get the phone."
Mackenzie nodded, watching Goose as he fiddled with something. He narrowed his eyes, then, thinking he recognized it.
"Is that hop?"
Goose blinked, looked down at what he'd been given, before quickly putting it into a drawer and shaking his head. He stood up, then, and moved towards the door again, opening it quietly.
"...I'll be right back, Mackenzie."
He left before Mackenzie could say anything else.
The ring was loud, dimly lit, and warm. Despite the frost in the air outside and the woolen jackets the spectators came in, sweat was dripping down his brow and plastering reddish brown curls to his forehead. People were catcalling from the sidelines, egging on one opponent or the other.
Mackenzie grinned, basking in the attention; hands held in front of him as he bounced on the balls of his feet from side-to-side, waiting to see what his opponent would do. He was a big guy, probably a white collar businessman who thought he could prove himself amongst the 'little people'.
Mackenzie had faced off one too many of those types to count on both hands, and they always amused him. Mostly because they took one look at him and laughed.
Spitting out blood onto the floor, the boxer shifted his stance, strengthening his centre as the white-collar grinned and rolled his shoulders and neck. He hadn't even broken a sweat, yet, using his bulk to land punches on the tinier halfbreed. Shaking out an arm, he looked over to the audience around him, before looking back to Mackenzie; bloody and sweating and watching him with bright blues.
"They warned me about you," he said, then, sounding straight from Brooklyn. Mackenzie tilted his head, silently asking him to go on, and the man grinned; just like he thought. He liked to hear himself talk. "They said, 'watch out for that blue-eyed devil. You'll never know what hit you' - but you're not so impressive so far. Just a halfpint halfbreed who thinks he can play with the big boys."
" Eles dizem quando você menos espera, né?"
"What was that?"
But Mackenzie only grinned wider, and the man scowled. He moved forward, taking a swing at the boxer's face and expected it to hit just like all the others.
Mackenzie ducked at the last minute, however, moving in close and hitting the man in the gut. He continued to hit him, taking him down and bruising his ribs in the process, before finally elbowing him roughly in the temple. Jumping back, he tilted his head when the white-collar fell onto his face on the floor, before looking over to the ref standing to the side.
"...You gonna count, senhor?"
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
Everyone knew that come the New Year, Prohibition would begin.
It was a decision by the American government. The President agreed with it, and just because the rest of the country did not agree did not mean that they could ignore the law. So the state governments prepared for the upcoming changes, and its citizens followed suit.
Some prepared for the noble changes to society, ready with open arms for the blasted Sin that was alcohol to go out of style. Middle aged women and the men who believed in their cause; the children of drunks and the widows of dead drunks gathered together to proclaim their doctrine to any who would listen, sitting in meeting halls and calling out the words of the Bible on dusty streets.
Others, however, prepared for a bright and brilliantly illegal future.
Tugging his jacket closer to him, the dark haired man looked up at the old bookstore with pursed lips before nodding and slipping inside. Sitting in the desk just in the back, a young woman with clipped black hair and dark kohl lining her eyes flipped the page of a magazine, barely looking up to see who'd come in.
"Just checkin' in, Tahno?"
"Da," Tahno Pajari nodded, shaking snow off of his fedora and placing it back on his head promptly. The store was dusty, with a large collection of books in both English and Russian. In fact, he had brought over quite a few books from his home back in Russia, which he had proudly displayed in the glass case just behind Elisaveta - books that could be looked at, but not sold. "Everything is almost ready?"
"You could say," Elisaveta Milen looked up from her magazine finally, winter-pale blue eyes staring into silver; painted lips quirking in the corners in a smirk. "You should probably check it out for yourself, though - I mean, Quinton's got everythin' in the bag, but we all know how exact you artist-types tend to be..."
"Da, da," Tahno waved off the moll's words, smiling faintly and shaking his head. He made his way towards a door in the back, stopping for a moment and looking back to Elisa. "...Have you seen 'Kenzie?"
"Not since last night - I had t'leave the fight early 'cause of some problems. Why, hasn't he checked in with ya?"
"...nyet, he has not." Tahno frowned, sighing to himself. But he pushed the thoughts away for the moment, going through the back door and making his way through a backroom that led to another door.
Going through the second door, Tahno Pajari went down a set of stairs immediately, twisting with the stairs in a loop before making it to the bottom. He then went down a corridor, around a corner, and through a third and final door, looking up to see how things were going.
The speakeasy - as he had heard others begin to call them - was furnished well. Coloured in cool colours, with dark furniture and silver accents, it reminded him in some ways of home. Yet in other ways - the art on the walls, the stage to the far right, and the bar to the left just beside the entryway - made him remember this was as far from home as he could get. And this was for the best.
Standing in front of the bar and speaking with a giant of a man, Quinton Rutherford adjusted his specs when he noticed Tahno walking over to him, standing up a little straighter. He wasn't the tallest of fellas, with brown hair that tended to float around his head like a controlled cloud. Dressed in his accountant best with a dark grey-green pinstripe suit, a deep green vest, and a dark grey tie with a plain silver tie holder, he removed his glasses when Tahno stopped in front of him.
"Mister Pajari--"
"Quinton," Tahno interrupted, smiling faintly and patting the shorter man's shoulder lightly, "it is just Tahno, da? How is everything here? Going well?"
"Yes, sir-- ... Tahno. James and I were just discussing how we're going to obtain our... merchandise." Quinton spoke delicately, as if waiting for a cop to turn the corner of the speakeasy and catch them speaking about breaking the law. Tahno nodded, though, looking over to the taller man.
"Jamie?"
Jamie Highland shrugged one broad shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling vaguely. He was a pretty sort of man, with dark flyaway hair he could only contain with his flat cap. He wore clothes that had seen better days, tugging on his suspenders with the nervous twitch of a mechanic away from his metallic baby. His tie was undone, his collar's first two buttons popped, and Tahno wondered how desperately Quinton wanted to fix his appearance.
"I know a couple of fellas who'd be willin' to lend us their Oldsmobiles, should we have the drivers."
"How many?"
"'Bout four - and then I've got my own, so, that'd be around five automobiles in total." Tahno nodded, rubbing at the side of his nose and taking off his fedora as he looked around. "D'ya need me to find drivers or anythin', Tahno?"
"Nyet, nyet, I can help you with those. Have we heard word from our suppliers?"
Quinton stepped back in, looking down at a folder of papers and such things. Tahno glanced over them and pursed his lips, remembering why he didn't particularly like looking over the details himself.
"Our Canadian suppliers have gotten back to us with a figure... I got them to bring it down a bit, but that's as far as they're willing to go. As for our, ah, more foreign suppliers--"
"I will deal with them, da?" Tahno raised his brows. After a moment, Quinton nodded, though he looked less than pleased with the idea. Tahno closed his book for him, pushing it against his chest and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Show me around quickly, Quinton - I want to get a feel for the place."
"Ah - of course, sir--"
"Tahno."
"...Of course, Tahno."
~+~
December 25th, 1919
It was the last fight, and Mackenzie wasn't really feeling that great anymore.
He wiped sweat and blood out of his eyes, touching his nose gingerly to make sure that it wasn't broken and then counted his teeth with his tongue. Nothing loose; nothing missing; nothing out of order. Shaking damp curls from his eyes, he turned back to his opponent.
A big Italian, obviously from the blue-collar. Called himself Tony. He was at least half a foot taller than Mackenzie, with a girth to match, and the ease of someone who often got into fights. Scars riddled his knuckles and wrists, and the slighter boxer wondered how many beer bottles he'd broken over his life.
Looking around the audience quickly, he noted that Elisa was already gone; her diamonds and pearls nowhere to be seen. Well, that was a bit unfortunate. He was pretty sure this fight was going to take out most of his remaining energy, and he'd hoped he'd get help from his favourite doll.
"You don't look too good, devil eyes," Tony mocked, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe ya should just forfeit, huh?"
"Ah, where's the fun in that?" Mackenzie asked with a grin, straightening up a bit and rolling his shoulders. "Just - give me a second, would ya?"
"Oh, of course, devil eyes - have to let the pretty princess breathe, right?"
Mackenzie only continued to smile, stretching his back exaggeratedly and cracking his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony coming at him, and he closed his eyes before leaning backwards. Falling onto his shoulders, he rolled back onto his feet as Tony stumbled forward, his momentum throwing him off; and, using this to his advantage, Mackenzie got in a kidney shot, knocking Tony to his knees.
He stared down at the cocky Italian with a sharp smile of his own, canines almost coming to sharpened points, and clocked him in the face, watching as he fell over, knocked out.
"And there you have it, folks! Our reigning champion, Mackenzie Moore, is found to be victorious once again!"
The underground ring was filled with loud cheering and whistling, and Mackenzie smiled, holding up a hand and waving a little; swaying side-to-side. The referee helped him off the stage, then, one of the guys who collected bets handing him a glass of water, and he promptly dumped it over his head; blood and sweat washing off in the lukewarm water.
"Go collect yer winnin's, 'Kenzie - then get your beaten ass home."
"Got'cha, Sarge."
The bet collector rolled his eyes, shaking his head and shoving Mackenzie over to the winnings table.
"I haven't been a soldier in a year, 'Kenzie."
"Ah," Mackenzie looked back smiling and stumbling his way to the table. "I don't think you ever stop being one!" Sarge rolled his eyes but grinned, waving Mackenzie off and walking away. The 'reigning champion' drunkenly made his way to the table, snatched the papers held out for him by a grinning gal, and stumbled right on out of the underground ring after grabbing both jacket and pageboy cap.
Looking up at the clear night sky, stars twinkling along with the lights of NYC, Mackenzie Moore made it about two blocks before he finally passed out in the snow.
~+~
December 25th, 1919
"Where're you goin'?"
"Out!"
Jerome Morales rolled his eyes and waved off his brother as Raymond made his way out of candy shop. The family had gotten together to discuss what they were going to do about Prohibition, and Timothy had brought up the large cellar downstairs that could basically be a second store, which brought up conversation of converting it into a bar like some other people were doing.
It was all very interesting and exciting, but not particularly something Ray had the mind to pay attention to just then. Maybe tomorrow, when his head was clearer, and not swimming with the spiked eggnog Timothy and Arthur had plied onto him.
Walking down the mostly-empty sidewalks of NYC, watching as couple and groups of friends stumbled around going from bar-to-bar as if it were the last day on earth (as they had been since Prohibition had been announced), Ray shook his head and turned a corner - looking up just in time to see some schmuck collapse into a nearby snow bank.
"Holy - ah, damn." Ray half-jogged to the man, crouching down beside him and gingerly turning him onto his back. "Please just be drunk, don't be dead." The fella groaned, and Ray heaved a sigh of relief, rubbing his forehead tiredly and looking down at him properly - double-taking at the sight of him.
It was hard to tell under the beginnings of bruises and the smears of dried blood, but Raymond Morales recognized Tahno Pajari's problem-solver as easily as he recognized his own family. He'd been to most of his fights, marvelling at the fact that he faked it until the very end, where he would take down his opponent while they thought they had the upper hand. He liked knocking them down a peg or five, it seemed - though it did often lead to him getting punched more than he got hits in.
"Jesus Christ," Ray muttered, dragging a hand down his face and looking around. He then crouched, hoisting to smaller man up with an arm around his shoulders, and began half-dragging him down a different street. "Hey, you awake?"
Another groan greeted him, and Ray decided that he'd take that as a 'yes'.
"Okay - okay, I'm goin' t'take ya to a friend's place, okay? A friend of mine's - I doubt you know 'im. Just... stay awake long enough for me to get you there, okay?" A third groan, and Mackenzie Moore rolled his head onto Ray's shoulder. Ray pressed his lips together, hoisted the other man up more securely against his side, and drag-carried him faster. "Soon as we get there, you can pass out. I promise. Just... stay with me for a bit longer."
"...'oo're'y'."
"Y'get into the gin while fighting?" A snort answered him, and Ray smiled a little. "I'm a fan."
"S'that y'name, then?" Mackenzie slurred, blinking slowly and looking up at Ray through squinted eyes. "'A Fan'?"
"Nah," Ray shook his head, looking around quickly to make sure he was going the right way. He sighed in relief when he saw the right building, making his way over to the side where he knew the door was always kept unlocked. He slipped through as quietly as he could, looking around for a second to make sure no one was prowling around this late at night. Once sure no one was going to see them, he started towards another door that led to the stairs.
"...wha' is i' then?"
"...Ray," he said softly, staring at the stairs with a grimace before shifting Mackenzie around until he could carry him on his back. The boxer's head rested on the back of his neck, his curls tickling tattooed skin. "Hold on a bit longer, okay?"
"Mmmm.."
He made it up the one flight of stairs, down another hall, and to a single door that was so nondescript it almost looked like it was part of the wall. He knocked quietly; a special knock that let the person on the other side know it was him. After a moment, the door opened, and a tall, waif-like young man stood in front of him; wrapped in a silken robe that looked foreign and looking as if he had just woken up.
"...Ray?" The man blinked, looking over his shoulder to see the top of Mackenzie's curled head. "...it's late..."
"I know, but this guy's in bad shape."
"...the hospital is the other way, Ray."
"Goose, please."
Blinking, Goose nodded and stepped aside, letting his friend walk into the room and quickly drop his load onto the bed. The two of them then took the time to stare down at Mackenzie Moore, Ray frowning and Goose cocking his head to the side.
"....I'll get the first aid kit."
"Thanks." Goose nodded, drifting away without another word, and Ray sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyes before sitting down on the bed and shaking Mackenzie's shoulder. The boxer only grunted and moved away from him, showing that he wasn't braindead, at least. That was promising.
Goose came back with a small box, sitting on the other side of Mackenzie and pulled out a wad of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
"Who's your friend?" he asked quietly, wetting the gauze with a proficiency that spoke of him having to do something like this very often. Ray frowned as he watched him, rubbing his arm and looking back down at Mackenzie.
"...Just a guy."
Goose didn't say anything for a moment, before nodding and getting to work fixing up the passed-out boxer.
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
Tahno had gone off somewhere, probably to talk to a certain private investigator to ensure that their business would run smoothly come the New Year, leaving Quinton and Jamie alone in the speakeasy.
"So what's he callin' this place again, Quinn?" Jamie asked, walking along the dance floor. It was a pretty spacious place, the walls lined with lights so that guests would be comfortable even when underground. It was a bit colder than the bookstore above, but he supposed that was to be expected.
Quinton was sat at the stage, going over the books to make sure he had all the information they needed. The Canadians were going to supply the abundance of their liquor, and that was all well and good. Yet it was the Russian exports Quinton was worried about. Vodka - the main attraction for Tahno's establishment - was only available through other Russian immigrants who either had connections back to the 'motherland', or had their own distillery.
Quinton did not know what kind of relationship Tahno had with these other Russians, but he was uncomfortable with it nonetheless.
The bookkeeper was jostled from his thoughts, however, when a certain mechanic shook his leg impatiently.
"Earth to Quinn! Y'wanna answer me?"
"...Pardon, James, I hadn't realized you were speaking to me. I thought you were musing aloud again."
Jamie smiled, leaning on the stage just beside Quinn's dangling legs, large brown eyes staring up at him. "Nah - I'm talkin' t'ya. What're you doing?"
"Just going over some last-minute things. What had you asked?"
Jamie pouted a bit, before shrugging and stretching his arms above his head. "I was askin' about the name! I can't remember it."
Quinton sighed, but smiled a little, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses. "It's called 'the Silver Winter' - a translation. Tahno originally wished for it to keep the Russian name, but, ah... I suggested the English. It will be easier for a wider range of clientele to find us, after all, if we stick to a more... universal language."
Jamie nodded, smiling a little and nudging Quinn's knee with his arm. "You've always been smart like that."
Quinton shook his head, though, slipping off of the stage and straightening his suit with careful, nimble fingers. "Don't be foolish, Jamie - it's a rather simple conclusion to come to. Now, we have nothing further to do down here. You should probably return to your job at the mechanic's."
Jamie nodded, following after Quinn as they made their way out of the hall, up the stairs, through the second building and back into the bookstore. Elisa looked up from her magazine again, smiling widely and hopping off her stool as Quinton moved towards the desk. She pressed a hand to his arm in greeting, Quinton nodding silently back, and then the dark-haired moll moved straight to Jamie.
"You're comin' with me."
"Oh?" Jamie blinked, brows raising as he looked over to Quinton. The bookkeeper shrugged thin shoulders, however, pressing his lips together. "Why's that?"
"'Cause 'Kenzie's been missin' since last night and I'm gettin' a bit worried."
Jamie frowned, then, Quinton moving over to stand with the other two as Elisa spoke. He turned to Elisa, now, looking at her with narrowed green eyes.
"I had thought you were with him last night?"
"I had to leave - somethin' came up."
Quinton continued to frown, watching Elisa with vague suspicion, but Jamie spoke before anything more could be said on the matter.
"Let's just see if we can track 'im down, okay? Take us to where the fighting was last night, and we'll go from there."
Elisa nodded, hooking her arm with Jamie's and dragging him off. Jamie stumbled after her, looking back at Quinton.
"We'll call if anything comes up!"
Quinton nodded, sighing as they disappeared. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at his temple, shaking his head. It was too early for troubles to be starting already.
~+~
December 26th, 1919 -Morning
He was crouched over a body in an alleyway when he realized he was being watched.
Standing up slowly, adjusting his coat with nimble fingers, Louis Midou turned around slowly to see who would be bothering him when he was obviously working. He then smirked at who stood at the mouth of the alleyway, doffing his fedora and giving the man a nod.
"And what brings the illustrious Tahno Pajari to my crime scene?" The Frenchman asked, voice smooth as he walked towards the Russian. Tahno said nothing, silver eyes looking back at the body with raised brows. Louis waved a hand. "I'm certain it was her husband, I'm merely looking for the clues to tell me I'm right. Now then. What are you doing here?"
"...I wished to discuss some things with you, when you're not busy," Tahno said, smiling at the PI in an easy manner; one that spoke of a long relationship of shaky trust and teasing. Louis nodded, looking over to a couple of the cops who had been assigned to go with him. He waved them over, taking the pad of paper from one and the pen the other offered.
"She's missing her engagement ring - that's a sign of sentiment. He probably took it as a trophy, or as a reminder. Probably a reminder - this didn't look planned. It seems like an accident. Probably a fight gone wrong. He'll be keeping it on him. Take him into the station, search him when he's there, and I'll be there in an hour to question him. Alright?" He looked up, handing over the pad and the pen after writing down the quick instructions, smiling. The cops nodded, and they walked off. Another cop, along with the coroner, went into the alleyway in order to take the body.
Louis then turned to Tahno, leading him down the sidewalk a bit so that they could have some semblance of privacy. "What is it, then?"
"The New Year is going to bring some changes to the city, da?" Tahno asked, hands shoved into his pockets. He was looking up at the sky, watching birds fly by with the boredom of someone who was too used to being around crime scenes. Louis bonded with him on that, even if they were usually on different sides. He nodded, though, head tilting. "I wished to come to some kind of... arrangement."
Louis narrowed his eyes, but he smiled all the same, shrugging a shoulder. "Come by my apartment tonight, then - we can speak more on these, ah... 'arrangements'."
"Just talk, da? I don't have time for anything else."
Louis smirked, shaking his head. "Oui, oui, just talk. Nothing more. I promise."
Tahno narrowed his eyes, but nodded all the same. "Good. ...I'll see you tonight, then."
"I do so look forward to it."
~+~
December 25th, 1919
"C'mon, 'Kenzie, this guy's a chump!"
A few older men looked over at Elisa with distasteful sneers, taking in her short hair and her kohl-lined eyes. She looked back at them with challenge in her eyes, giving them a white, sharp-toothed smile until they eventually looked away, looking a bit uncomfortable. She snorted, brushing her dress of wrinkles and turning to watch her friend take down said chump in a glorious fashion.
"Yeah! That's how you do it, baby!" She grinned, holding up a glass of gin and tonic in toast to the victory. Mackenzie looked over at her with a lazy grin, a cut over his eyebrow bleeding sluggishly, and she wrinkled her nose. They'd have to fix up his face that night, else he'd look like a dunch dumpling in the morning.
She was pulled from her thoughts, however, when someone who barely came up to her shoulders slinked up beside her and jostled her shoulder. "Okay, son, if you're trying to rob me--"
"No, ma'am," the boy piped up, looking up at her with a grin. "But someone's lookin' for ya outside. You're Elisa Milen, aren't'cha?"
"Well now," Elisa drawled, turning away from the fight completely, arms crossed over her stomach. She eyed the pint-sized brat for a minute, pursing her lips. 'That completely depends on who's askin', sweetheart."
"A friend of Dom's."
The name dropped on her like a five-tonne weight, and she pushed her drink into the kid's hands, walking away without another word. Elbowing and pushing her way passed the crowd around her, she finally made it to where the coat racks were; grabbing hers, she slid it on and stepped outside into the crisp, Christmastime air.
"Baby boy, what trouble have you gotten into now, huh?"
She looked around the somewhat-empty street, ignoring a quartet of brothers walking by and laughing, two of them urging a taller one to 'drink the eggnog - c'mon, Ray, just drink it!'. Finally, after what seemed like forever but was probably only two minutes, a young man stepped out from behind a dumpster.
Dominic Montague was taller than Elisa, but still slight, with raggedy red hair and a constellation of freckles over pale, dirtied skin. He wore clothes that had seen better days, tugging and pulling at the pageboy cap in his hands as if it were his lifeline. There was a developing bruise along his cheekbone, which Elisa took note of immediately.
"Did your daddy do that, sweetheart?" Elisa asked, reaching up to touch the bruise. Dom flinched, but let her, shaking his head. Brown eyes looked red around the whites, and Elisa realized he'd been crying. "...Sweetheart, what happened?"
"...m'parents're dead," Dom mumbled, sniffing and rubbing at his nose. Elisa felt her heart break, and she tugged Dom closer, hugging him tight. "'Lisa, I dunno wha' t'do...!"
"Shhh, hey," Elisa squeezed him tighter, sighing a little when he finally hugged her back. "Hey, we're gonna figure this out, okay? ...you got anyplace to stay?" Dom shook his head against her shoulder, and Elisa hummed in understanding. "You can move right in with me and 'Kenz, 'kay? Does that sound okay?"
Pulling back, Dom rubbed at his eyes, looking at her a little unsurely. Elisa just gave him a big smile, though, reassuring him that it really was okay, and after a moment Dom nodded. Elisa hooked her arm with his, then, tugging him down the way to her and 'Kenzie's apartment.
"Let's get you settled in, then. We'll talk more after that, okay?"
"...okay."
Elisa nodded, looking back over her shoulder to where the fighting was still going. But she knew 'Kenzie - he'd be just fine.
He would be able to get home by himself.
~+~
December 25, 1919
"How's he lookin'?"
Goose looked up from playing nurse, pursing his lips before looking back down to his impromptu patient. The freckle-faced youth was breathing deeply, obviously very much asleep. After cleaning up blood and cuts and dirt, it was revealed that the damage that had looked so bad before was really very minimal. Though he would very much be sore in the morning. Crumpled papers stuck out of his jacket pocket, but Goose didn't bother looking at them, instead brushing reddish-brown curls from a damp forehead.
After a moment's silence, he finally responded.
"...he'll be fine," he said, looking over to Ray again. The tattooed man sat on the chair that Goose usually used to tend to his own ugly bruises and markings; shows of violence he never wanted Ray to know about. Ray, who had known him for so long; who didn't judge him for what he had to do to keep off the streets. Ray, who was both his brother and his love.
Ray nodded, though, unaware of Goose's wandering thoughts. He got up from the seat, jolting Goose out of his own mind, and walked over to the two on the bed, sitting down carefully beside the stranger's arm.
"...Ray?" Goose spoke up again, looking over at Ray silently. "...who is he?"
Ray didn't speak for a bit, chewing the inside of his cheek before shrugging a shoulder. "His name's Mackenzie Moore - he's a fighter."
"...A fighter?"
"Yeah - boxing. Underground, though, he couldn't make it in the legal rings, apparently. He's got connections to Tahno Pajari."
Goose's eyes widened at the name, folding one of his long legs against a bone-thin chest. He wrapped his arms around the shin in a squeeze, pressing his mouth to his bared kneecap. "He's a criminal...?"
"...So're you'n'me, Goose," Ray smiled, shaking his head. "He's no worse than a mobster's kid and a prostitute." Goose flinched at the word 'prostitute', Ray wincing and reaching out. "Goose, I'm sorry--"
"No," Goose spoke quietly, looking up at Ray again with a weak smile. "Why... apologise for the truth... right?" He gathered together the first aid supplies, then, bunching up the trash and closing the lid of the box before standing up. "...are you staying long...?"
Ray didn't say anything, rubbing his forehead and looking like he'd done something stupid or said something stupid. Sighing, then, he shook his head, standing up and going over to where he'd put his hat and jacket. "I need to be heading back, actually," he said as he picked them up, slipping the jacket on and doing up the buttons. "My family will be wondering where I am."
He stopped in front of the door, though, turning back towards Goose who was once again sitting next to Mackenzie, watching him with the careful intentness that he watched everything. "...you'll be okay with him?"
Slowly, Goose looked over to Ray, before smiling and nodding. "...we'll both be fine, Ray."
Ray hesitated a moment more before nodding and slipping out. The door closed with a dry, muted click.
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
"I think that's blood on the ground."
Elisa crouched down where Jamie was pointing, reaching out and running a gloved finger over the dark stain. Rubbing her fingers and thumb together, dried flakes of blood flecked off, and she nodded. "Good work, Detective Highland. And there's a bit of a trail!"
The moll hopped back to her feet, grabbing Jamie's wrist and dragging him along the path. They were in front of the building where the fight had been taking place; she could still see her own footprints from when she'd collected Dom and taken him home. The blood led away from the apartment, though, meaning 'Kenzie hadn't even been going the right way.
"Was he lost?"
"He probably had his brains shaken so much that he thought he was going right when he actually went left," Elisa said, huffing out a sigh and shaking her head. "Why didn't he go home with someone?"
"'Cause you're usually there." Elisa snapped her mouth shut, giving Jamie a point for that. They went down two blocks when they stopped in front of a slightly larger collection of blood in a snow bank. Yet the trail ended there.
"...think someone took him to the hospital?"
"Let's give Quinn a call - see if he can figure it out."
Elisa nodded, standing up again, and the two went to the nearest telephone booth to call up the accountant back at the bookstore. After a few rings, the other line picked up.
'Pajari Books.'
"Quinn? It's Jamie."
'Is something the matter, James?'
"We followed what we think is 'Kenzie's trail for two blocks away from where the fight took place last night - he was heading towards some of the nastier parts. But it ends pretty abruptly, and we lose track of it."
'...What was the trail?'
"Blood," Jamie said bluntly, rubbing between his eyes. "We were wondering if you could call the hospital, see if someone checked him in?"
Quinton did not say anything for a moment, before sighing heavily.
'I will do so. Come back to the store - I should have some information when you get back.'
"Alright - we're on our way."
Jamie hung up after Quinton murmured some form of goodbye, turning to Elisa with pursed lips.
"Let's hope 'Kenzie's not in trouble."
"Don't we always?"
~+~
December 26th, 1919 - Morning
He woke up slowly, groaning when light hit his eyes.
Somewhere to his left, he heard someone walking around, and then the light was cut off abruptly, leaving him in darkness once more. He sighed a little in relief, eyes fluttering open, and it was then that he noticed he was not at home.
"...where am I...?"
He sat up carefully just as a long-limbed waif of a man sat down on the bed next to him, looking at him with wide, careful silver eyes. He was pale, with pointed features and dark hair that fell into his eyes. He almost appeared feminine, with long, thin limbs and hands that looked like they should handle delicate silver tools and fragile instruments. He wore an oversized button-up shirt that was a pale grey, and dark slacks. Suspenders hung loose at his hips, and the shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a wife beater underneath.
He was not someone Mackenzie knew.
"How are you feeling?" a gentle voice asked, and 'Kenzie realized it was from the man watching him quietly. He shrugged, rubbing his shoulder and wincing when bruises made themselves known. He wouldn't be able to fight for a little while, then. That was fine; he'd be busy with work for Tahno soon enough, anyway. "...can you stand?"
'Kenzie shrugged again, not seeing why he wouldn't be able to. He then moved to stand and groaned when pain hit him, collapsing back on the bed. The man fluttered beside him worriedly, pressing a cool hand to his forehead, before leaving his side briefly. He returned with a glass of water, pushing it into 'Kenzie's hands.
"...you'll probably need to rest another day..."
"Great..." 'Kenzie mumbled, rubbing his eyes and taking a long swallow of the water. He paused, looking over at the man. "...got a phone?"
"...no," the man said, frowning apologetically. "But... I could get one for you...?"
Mackenzie nodded, sitting up slowly again with the man's help. He moved to leave, but then stopped, peeking out the door before turning around to face 'Kenzie again. "...can you wait... for a little bit?"
"...how come?"
"...I don't want anyone... walking in while I'm not here," the man said, moving away from the door and sitting on the bed again. "...you're Mackenzie, yes?"
"..Yeah," 'Kenzie nodded, rubbing his shoulder carefully. "You?"
"...I have two names," the man said, smiling faintly. "Rose... and Goose." Tugging on one of his sleeves, he looked away from Mackenzie after a moment, shoulders hunched inward. "You can call me either..."
"Well.. why two?"
"Mm..." Goose hummed, closing his eyes and swaying a little side-to-side. "One is a name... clients call me... and the other a name... friends call me."
"Clients?"
"Yes.. and this is my workspace."
Mackenzie frowned in confusion at first, before realization dawned on him. But he didn't say anything, noting the way the young man was sitting, as if waiting for sharp words or retaliation of some sort. Instead he smiled a little and nodded, leaning back on the comfortable pillows.
"...think I'll call you Goose, then, okay?"
Goose looked over at 'Kenzie, before smiling a little wider and nodding. The two of them fell quiet for a moment when a knock came to the door. Goose got up quickly, moving to the door and opening it a crack. He spoke in a quiet voice for a moment, accepting something from the person on the other side, and then closed the door once more, sighing and turning back to Mackenzie.
"We'll wait a few more minutes... and then I'll get the phone."
Mackenzie nodded, watching Goose as he fiddled with something. He narrowed his eyes, then, thinking he recognized it.
"Is that hop?"
Goose blinked, looked down at what he'd been given, before quickly putting it into a drawer and shaking his head. He stood up, then, and moved towards the door again, opening it quietly.
"...I'll be right back, Mackenzie."
He left before Mackenzie could say anything else.