How Do You Sleep While The City Is Burning? Part Three
Part One | Part Two
Ryan was quiet all the way to the Black Canary. He wasn’t sure if the nervousness he felt, and what was keeping him silent, was due to the fact that he was in the same car as Brendon Urie, or if it was due to the fact that Urie’s bodyguard - who Urie had called as soon as he had the promise that Ryan wouldn’t write about anything that happened - was driving the car. He decided that it was a combination of both. He also wondered briefly, even if he had no idea where the question came from, if Urie even knew how to drive a car, or if he was just driven everywhere.
Hall pulled into the alley behind The Black Canary, getting out and walking around to open the door for them. He gave Ryan a look as he climbed out in front of Urie, shutting the car door behind his boss and going to open the back door.
“Does everyone open doors for you?” Ryan asked quietly as he followed Urie inside, trying not to meet Hall’s eyes.
Urie looked over his shoulder at Ryan, the look a mix of amused and faintly annoyed. Ryan wondered if any look that crossed Urie’s face could be unattractive before he reined in his thoughts. Ryan was not sure where the thought had come from and not sure that he even cared.
“Of course I can open doors. I already proved that to you earlier this evening,” Urie pointed out, leading the way to his office. “But Zacky likes making things easy for me. I can drive too, but I choose not to. Especially not in a city like Chicago.” He opened the door to his office, leading the way inside and crossing the room to his desk. “Besides, what’s the point of having a bodyguard if you do all the menial tasks yourself?”
“How is he your bodyguard if he’s not always attached to your hip?” Ryan watched as Urie ignored his question and shuffled through paperwork on the desk, a frown crossing his face when he couldn’t find whatever it was he was looking for. Ryan glanced around. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”
Urie jabbed a finger at his desk, starting to go through drawers. The movement scattered some of the papers that were already on the desk, making Ryan wonder how Urie could find anything on it, much less know that something was missing. If something was missing. “I had paperwork here related to Amanda Palmer. Beckett kept a record of all his transactions with various politicians and he uses the Black Canary, and mine and Saporta’s offices, for some of his dealings.”
Ryan walked over, shuffling through the papers in the in and out trays that sat on one corner of the desk. “Would they be damaging? To you, Beckett, anyone?”
“Don’t get any ideas.” Urie frowned at Ryan, jabbing a finger at him. “But to answer your question, yes. Not explicitly, mind you. I don’t keep that sort of extensive paperwork in my office, nor does Saporta. But it’s all underground dealings. Pay offs, exploitation, blackmail. They’re less damaging to Beckett, Saporta and my respective public images, and more damaging to those we’ve had dealings with.” Urie’s eyes met Ryan’s briefly before he went back to searching. “Quite a few politicians are in office right now because of mob money padding the way for them.”
Ryan stared despite himself, his hands pausing in their search. He’d heard rumors of politicians taking bribes, dirty cops taking pay offs to look the other way, but as for a newshound, he’d always assumed they were just that because he’d never seen any proof. “Was that going to be part of the story you were going to give me?”
“I was going to give you the story as it related to Miss Amanda Palmer,” Urie stated, still focused on his search and seemingly unaware of the fact that Ryan was staring at him in disbelief. “And, off the record, between Saporta and me, there’s a few important movers and shakers who are paid to look the other way from the fact that The Black Canary is also a speakeasy in addition to being a cabaret.”
“I’d heard that rumor,” Ryan breathed, still staring. He shook himself to snap out of it, trying to compose himself. “Well, that this place was also a speakeasy. Again, I just thought it was the kind of rumor that spread because this was a happening place.”
“Sex and alcohol sell,” Urie commented dryly, slamming the final searched drawer shut with a curse before getting to his feet. “Where could those records be?”
Ryan straightened the paperwork in his hands, setting them back on the desk. “Why are you looking for them? I thought we, I mean you, came into The Black Canary because something was broken?”
“Something’s always broken here.” Urie looked through the paperwork on his desk again, clearly frustrated at the disappearance of the records.
Ryan watched him for a bit longer before suggesting something that had just occurred to him. “Maybe Saporta’s seen those records. You said yourself that Saporta keeps records like that in his office too. So he might’ve taken them. Right?”
Urie stared at him like the idea was so absurd, it had never occurred to him. Finally, he straightened up. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s go check, and maybe Saporta can tell me why one of his underlings is calling me to tell me that things are broken here instead of fixing it himself.”
As Ryan hurried after Urie across the hall to the office that faced Urie’s, he chewed his lip. “Wouldn’t Saporta himself call you to tell you if something wasn’t running smoothly?”
Urie tried the door, a look of mild surprise crossing his face as the door swung open at the simple touch and he glanced toward Ryan. Ryan wasn’t sure if the surprise was directed at his question, the door opening so unexpectedly, or a combination of the two.
The office inside was as drastically different from Urie’s as the sun was to the moon: where Urie’s office had been tastefully done in dark woods with occasional bright pops of color, this office was all pale wood with the occasional darker colors swirling about. Where Urie’s office had pictures of various structures and similar artwork, this office had photographs of various celebrities that had come through the cabaret and speakeasy. It was also conspicuously empty.
“Saporta never goes on the club floor when he’s in,” Urie muttered, crossing the room to the desk and starting to shuffle through the paperwork that sat on the top. He seemed to forget Ryan was standing there for a few minutes before glancing up, as if suddenly remembering him. “Do me a favor, would you? Go on the cabaret floor, and see if Saporta’s there. Do you know what he looks like?”
“I’ve seen pictures of you two and your boss,” Ryan said, hurrying out into the hallway and toward the main floor.
~~~
Brendon listened to the sound of Ross’ footsteps fading away before he turned his attention back to shuffling through the papers that lined Saporta’s desk. This whole evening was rapidly turning into something he didn’t understand. Although Saporta’s underlings had, in the past, told Brendon about various things breaking or going wrong, he couldn’t remember a time when they’d called him at home to do so. Especially when he was taking a night off - something he only did when he knew that Saporta, who should be taking care of whatever the supposed problem was, was going to be in - and his own underlings knew better than to call him if Saporta was in. And another thing: Saporta never left his office when he was in, and he definitely never left it unlocked when he wasn’t.
After he finished searching Saporta’s desk once, he went through it again, in case he’d missed anything the first time. As he expected, nothing came up.
Brendon frowned, crossing the hallway back to his own office. He wasn’t expecting any change, but he could still hope.
As he moved toward the desk once more, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He assumed it was Ross coming back, so he ignored the door opening in favor of searching through his paperwork again.
The door shut, making Brendon look up. He’d been expecting the newshound, but the person standing by the door was one of Saporta’s underlings. It took him a moment to remember the man’s name, while he wondered where Saporta was, because he’d never seen this particular underling except in Saporta’s shadow.
“It’s Justin, right?” Brendon said, keeping his hands on the desk. “Justin Bieber. You’re one of Saporta’s men. Always in his shadow.”
Justin grinned, pulling a gun out of a holster hidden under his suit coat and tapping it against his temple in salute. “Gabey says you’re a smart man, Urie. Always says it.” He waggled the gun in Brendon’s direction. “’Keep an eye on that Urie, Biebs.’ Gabey always tells me. ‘Follow his example, Biebs, and you’ll get far.’”
He shook his head, lowering the gun. “Saporta’s wrong. You’re not as smart as he gives you credit for. Leaving paperwork lying around that lets just anyone know when you’re meeting up with that Palmer dame to pay off politicians? You made it so easy for anyone to walk in and see that.”
“It wasn’t the best decision I ever made,” Brendon admitted, one hand slowly moving to one of the drawers in his desk and the gun he knew was inside. He wondered where Ross was, or Hall. He wondered if the newshound had found Saporta, or if the man was even in the cabaret. Then again, with the .45 that Justin was holding, Brendon was glad that the newshound wasn’t in the room. He figured his best option until help arrived was to keep Saporta’s underling talking. “So you knew about me and Amanda Palmer, then?”
“Wasn’t hard to. You flaunted her at quite a few events. But who would’ve guessed that you two were getting cozy for more than just having a doll on your arm?” Justin tapped the gun against his temple again, knowingly. “You know how I found out about it? Gabey wanted me to get some paperwork for the Black Canary outta your office, and it was just sitting there.” He waved the gun, laughing a bit. “It was just so easy to take it, find out when your next appointment with Palmer was to make the drop, and just make sure I was there first.”
Brendon’s eyes closed briefly at the memory of finding Amanda Palmer’s body before he opened his eyes again, trying to distract Justin from noticing that he was going for his gun. “By why kill her? Saporta coulda told you we needed her alive. Her connections, her family’s connections. She was useful to us, to the family. Beckett won’t like knowing that one of his right hand men had an underling who interfered with set plans.”
Justin tapped the gun against his chin before aiming it directly at Brendon, directing it to a spot right between Brendon’s eyes and pulling back the hammer. “Stop moving, you. I know you keep a gun in your desk, but if you go for it, so help me, I’ll blow your fucking brains onto the wall.” When Brendon stepped away from the desk, hands up to show that he was unarmed, the gangster pushed the hammer back and lowered his gun to his side before waving it around again. Brendon had to keep himself from flinching at the fear that the gun would accidentally go off and either one of them would get hurt by the stray bullet. “And sure, Gabey told me that. He tells me a lot of things.”
“But why kill her?” Brendon pressed, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess. Wondering if someone would come check on things, or if Justin would just put a bullet right between his eyes and paint the wall behind him with his brains. He could only imagine the cost of the clean up in his office, not to mention that Beckett would have to find someone to replace him.
“To get rid of you!” Justin lowered the gun to wave his free hand, gesturing to the office at large. “I was Gabey’s assistant before you two opened this cabaret, before I joined up. And then after I discovered Gabey’s secret, well, he’d start going on about how things were before you showed up after that other guy got bumped off.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Oh, sure, he’s got plenty of respect for you. Says you’re so much better than the guy you replaced. But I’m not stupid. I can read between the lines.”
“And what do those lines say?” Brendon kept his hands raised, eyes flicking toward the door as he tried to figure out if he could make it to the hallway to yell for help before Justin decided to redecorate in blood red. He wasn’t entirely sure if Justin could use that .45 he was waving around, but someone who couldn’t use a gun was just as dangerous as someone who could.
“That Gabey would be in a much better position if you were out of the way.” Justin came over, tapping the gun against Brendon’s temple. “All Beckett needs is one right hand man. No one needs two right hand men.” He smacked Brendon in the temple with the gun again. “Don’t even make sense.”
Brendon prided himself on the fact that he didn’t flinch when the gun connected with his temple, but he was pretty sure that it’d leave a mark later. “If you paid attention in class, Bieber, Saporta could tell you why Beckett wanted two right hand men. Saporta and me, we balance each other out. We work pretty well together. Why we went into this business together.”
Justin glared, resting the gun against Brendon’s temple, but he didn’t pull back the hammer. Brendon took some relief in that, and didn’t give Justin the pleasure of flinching away from the gun. “Shut up. Don’t talk about Gabey like you know how he thinks.”
“Saporta and I have had many conversations, covering lots of topics.” Brendon managed to smile reassuringly. “And whatever else he might think about me, I don’t think he’d want you to kill me. You killed the Palmer dame, right? It was already known that I’d escorted her to a few events, like you said. The newspapers could spin a great story about how she didn’t want to be my moll, so I killed her. I’m arrested and out of the picture. Saporta’s the sole man at Beckett’s right hand. That was your plan, right? And not to kill me?”
To Brendon’s relief, Justin pulled the gun away again. “Yeah, exactly. Gabey was right, you’re a smart man.”
Brendon took a deep breath, trying for a gamble based on something he’d already suspected. “You ransacked that newshound’s apartment, didn’t you? The one whose roommate is the skin tickler I hired for The Black Canary.” When Justin nodded, he frowned faintly. “Why? I’d guessed that whoever had killed the Palmer dame had broken into the newshound’s apartment and ransacked it, but I couldn’t figure out why.”
Before he got an answer, though, the door opened and the newshound in question came in. Ross froze at the sight of the gun in Justin’s hand being aimed at him, as well as Brendon standing there with his hands up.
“Just in time to hear all about that now, huh?” Justin grinned. He smacked Brendon upside the head, sending him to the floor before pointing the gun to Ross once more, keeping it on Ross as he went over to Brendon, lightly touching Brendon’s now bloody cheek.
“Ouch,” Brendon mumbled as Ross’s fingers gently probed to see if the bone had been broken along with the skin.
“Feels fine,” Ross whispered before looking up at Justin, mild confusion crossing his features. “Just in time to hear all about what?”
“He killed Amanda Palmer.” Brendon pushed himself up to a sitting position, trying not to fall forward into the newshound’s lap. Even if it did look comfortable at the moment, it wouldn’t do for Brendon’s reputation. “And he ransacked your apartment.” He glanced up at Justin, even as the gangster loomed over both of them, his .45 still leveled at Brendon’s face. Brendon attempted to ignore the gun pointing at him, mostly succeeding, and tried for a smile. The facial expression pulled at his sore cheek, but he forced himself to ignore that too. “He was just about to tell me why when you came in.”
Justin crouched down in front of the two of them, resting his forearms on his thighs and letting the gun dangle over his knee. “You two do realize that I’ll just have to kill you after telling you my whole plan, right? Wouldn’t want either of you telling another soul what I did for Gabey. If he likes you as much as you claim he does, Urie, Gabey wouldn’t ever trust me again if it came out that I killed the Palmer dame just to frame you and get you out of the picture.”
“He wouldn’t be okay with it if you killed me, either.” Brendon said, eyes dropping to the gun as he considered whether or not he could wrangle it out of the other young man’s hand. He was pretty sure he could, but he was also pretty sure that he couldn’t cause a distraction that would confuse Justin enough to let him take the gun away from him.
He was just trying to think how to convey what he needed to Ross in some silent way, when it seemed that Ross had picked up on his thoughts. Ross’s face grew inquisitive, like Justin was a fascinating interviewee.
“Why did you ransack my apartment?”
“I had barely finished the job when Urie here showed up. I had to get out of there before he saw me and my plan was blown out of the water. But then came that story in the Chicago Journal about her being dead, and I overheard Gabey talking to Beckett. Some editor that Beckett knew had gotten the okay to write up a story about Amanda Palmer being involved with the mob and helping the mob pay off a well known politician.” Justin spread his hands. “I panicked a bit on that one, worried that I might’ve dropped something at the scene that Urie here had missed, and then I heard a newshound who worked for the Chicago Journal had been at the scene? That wasn’t good. Your reputation preceded you, and I had to figure out which newshound at the Journal had had the original story.”
“And make sure that I didn’t have anything that’d tie you to her murder,” Ross finished, eyes wide in interest, while he nodded like he absolutely understood Justin’s plight. Brendon had to applaud the newshound’s acting skills; if he didn’t know better, he’d have bought the guy’s intense interest, just like it seemed Justin was, because the other man preened a bit at the recognition.
Ross placed a hand on his chest, staring at Justin like he was the most brilliant man the newshound had ever met. “That’s just. It’s brilliant, making sure the newshound assigned to the story doesn’t have anything to tie you to a murder you’re framing someone else for.” He heaved a sigh, shaking his head miserably. “Too bad the Journal fired me for getting too close to the mob. I could’ve written you a piece that would’ve made headlines, writing you up as the man that stopped a killer like Urie.”
Justin opened his mouth to respond, clearly pleased with the offer even if the newshound had said he couldn’t follow up on it, when the door burst open. He whirled around, raising his gun to shoot at the intruder, but Hall, standing in the battered doorway, shot first.
The bullet slammed into Justin’s chest, making Ross yelp and scoot back, eyes wide in fear as Justin’s body fell backwards, narrowly missing him.
Brendon pushed himself to his feet as Hall approached, smiling in sheer relief. “Showed up late to the party, Zacky.” He reached out, patting Hall’s arm. “But I am fuckin’ glad to see you.”
“You get into so much trouble when I’m not around,” Hall grumbled, nudging the body at their feet with a dirty look. “Clear case in point.”
Brendon smiled, grimacing a bit as it hurt his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. I should always stick close to you, Zacky. Got it.” He turned toward Ross, offering his hand to the newshound and helping him to his feet. “You gonna be okay, Janey?”
“We could’ve died,” Ross whispered, eyes still on the dead body. He looked up at Brendon.
“How do you live with this?”
“You could die, warm and comfy in your bed.” Brendon shrugged, flinching away as Hall examined his cheek with a frown. “And that fucking well hurts. Stop touching it.”
“We’re getting a doctor to look at that,” Hall commented, glancing toward Ross. “After we get the two of you home. I’ll let Beckett and Saporta know what happened, too.”
Brendon watched Ross glance back down at the dead body once more. “You can spend the night at my place. I’m gonna need someone to hold an icepack to my face, and hold my hand while a doctor examines my cheek.”
Ross’ mouth twitched faintly, as if he’d forgotten how to smile. “Sure.”
~~~
Ryan walked into Pete Wentz’s office at the Chicago Journal a few days later. He wasn’t even sure if he was doing the right thing, ending his career on this note, but he didn’t think he could continue being an unbiased newshound anymore.
He found that Wentz wasn’t alone in his office. William Beckett was sitting across from the head editor, and both men looked up when Ryan entered. Beckett’s expression was unreadable as he studied Ryan’s face, and Ryan wasn’t sure what that could mean.
Wentz, though, got to his feet, walking over to Ryan and placing a hand on his arm. “I heard about what happened. The whole story.” His eyes flicked toward Beckett as if Ryan couldn’t guess where his information had come from.
Ryan wondered how Beckett was handling it. Hell, Ryan wondered how Brendon was handling it. He hadn’t seen Brendon since then, and the Black Canary had been closed for the past few nights. Spencer had guessed it was so Brendon and Saporta could reevaluate how things were run, but he wasn’t entirely sure.
“You okay?” Wentz went on, oblivious to Ryan’s thoughts. “You coming back? We’ll give you the front page to write about your harrowing experience.”
Ryan smiled faintly, wondering if it looked as fake an expression as it felt on his face.
“I’ve had better days.” He opened up his bag and handed Wentz the letter he’d spent all night trying to write. “I wanted to give you this in person. It’s my resignation from the paper. I’m not coming back. You and Stump were right when you fired me the first time. I got caught up in the mob, and unlike Stump, it’s hard for me to separate my personal life from my professional one.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Beckett’s face become even more unreadable, if that were possible. He briefly wondered what crossed Beckett’s mind, but he decided he really didn’t care.
Wentz read the letter through a couple times before laying it on the desk with a sigh. Ryan caught Beckett eying it like he wanted to know the contents, and probably whether Brendon had had a hand in the Ryan’s decision to resign from the paper, and once more, Ryan found himself not caring. He wondered if that was a side effect from what had happened, being okay with the gangster knowing why he was doing something.
“Are you sure?” Wentz studied Ryan’s face as if looking for something there. Ryan wondered if he found whatever he was looking for.
Ryan glanced at Beckett, wanting to know what he was thinking despite himself, before nodding. “Without a doubt.”
Wentz nodded, patting Ryan’s arm. “Alright then. Well, if you ever change your mind, we’ll keep your desk open.”
Ryan smiled, this time feeling like the expression wasn’t fake and hoping it looked genuine as well. “Thanks, Wentz. I’ll remember that if I ever get sick of whatever I decide to do from here on out.”
He held his hand out to his former boss, shaking it.
“You take care of yourself, Ross,” Wentz said as their hands dropped.
“You too.” Ryan waved, turning to head out.
He’d made it down the stairs and halfway toward the door when he heard Beckett’s voice calling for him to stop. He did so, turning around to face the man.
“What happened the other night didn’t cause this resignation, did it?” Beckett asked, keeping his voice low.
Ryan shook his head. He’d seen enough to know that Beckett would find out sooner or later, and he wanted to start off on the right foot with the gangster. “No. I think the idea was already there. I just needed the push, and the other night gave it to me.”
Beckett nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “Urie, then? He’s persuasive enough.”
“No, not Urie.” Ryan smiled. He still wasn’t quite sure what Beckett was looking for, but he’d definitely make this conversation easier. “Although the kind of stories I could get out of him would’ve made staying a newshound a lot easier, and more profitable.”
Beckett looked Ryan up and down, like he wasn’t sure what to make of this. Finally, he shook his head. “Well, if you ever need a job, and don’t mind who you’re working for, you know where to find us.” He studied Ryan again. “Although I do wish you’d stayed a newshound. We need more guys like you in the wings, so to speak.”
Ryan considered that for a moment. “Well, maybe whatever I do will be even more beneficial to you than me staying a reporter and keeping certain stories hushed. You’ve still got Stump here, after all. But I do appreciate the job offer.” He paused briefly. “I’ll see you around, though.”
“Not if we see you first.”
Ryan watched as William Beckett, known furniture salesman with countless other dealings and rumored gangster with even more shady dealings, preceded him out the front door of the newspaper and got into a waiting car. Through the open door, Ryan could just make out Brendon sitting inside before the car door shut. And he knew that Brendon saw him.
In that moment, Ryan knew what he wanted to do. Whatever he ended up doing, it was going to be something that would help out Beckett’s mob, and Brendon Urie in particular. He just hadn’t figured out what that thing would be.
“Yeah, William Beckett, you just might see me sooner than you think.”
The End
Bonus Materials
Ryan was quiet all the way to the Black Canary. He wasn’t sure if the nervousness he felt, and what was keeping him silent, was due to the fact that he was in the same car as Brendon Urie, or if it was due to the fact that Urie’s bodyguard - who Urie had called as soon as he had the promise that Ryan wouldn’t write about anything that happened - was driving the car. He decided that it was a combination of both. He also wondered briefly, even if he had no idea where the question came from, if Urie even knew how to drive a car, or if he was just driven everywhere.
Hall pulled into the alley behind The Black Canary, getting out and walking around to open the door for them. He gave Ryan a look as he climbed out in front of Urie, shutting the car door behind his boss and going to open the back door.
“Does everyone open doors for you?” Ryan asked quietly as he followed Urie inside, trying not to meet Hall’s eyes.
Urie looked over his shoulder at Ryan, the look a mix of amused and faintly annoyed. Ryan wondered if any look that crossed Urie’s face could be unattractive before he reined in his thoughts. Ryan was not sure where the thought had come from and not sure that he even cared.
“Of course I can open doors. I already proved that to you earlier this evening,” Urie pointed out, leading the way to his office. “But Zacky likes making things easy for me. I can drive too, but I choose not to. Especially not in a city like Chicago.” He opened the door to his office, leading the way inside and crossing the room to his desk. “Besides, what’s the point of having a bodyguard if you do all the menial tasks yourself?”
“How is he your bodyguard if he’s not always attached to your hip?” Ryan watched as Urie ignored his question and shuffled through paperwork on the desk, a frown crossing his face when he couldn’t find whatever it was he was looking for. Ryan glanced around. “What are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”
Urie jabbed a finger at his desk, starting to go through drawers. The movement scattered some of the papers that were already on the desk, making Ryan wonder how Urie could find anything on it, much less know that something was missing. If something was missing. “I had paperwork here related to Amanda Palmer. Beckett kept a record of all his transactions with various politicians and he uses the Black Canary, and mine and Saporta’s offices, for some of his dealings.”
Ryan walked over, shuffling through the papers in the in and out trays that sat on one corner of the desk. “Would they be damaging? To you, Beckett, anyone?”
“Don’t get any ideas.” Urie frowned at Ryan, jabbing a finger at him. “But to answer your question, yes. Not explicitly, mind you. I don’t keep that sort of extensive paperwork in my office, nor does Saporta. But it’s all underground dealings. Pay offs, exploitation, blackmail. They’re less damaging to Beckett, Saporta and my respective public images, and more damaging to those we’ve had dealings with.” Urie’s eyes met Ryan’s briefly before he went back to searching. “Quite a few politicians are in office right now because of mob money padding the way for them.”
Ryan stared despite himself, his hands pausing in their search. He’d heard rumors of politicians taking bribes, dirty cops taking pay offs to look the other way, but as for a newshound, he’d always assumed they were just that because he’d never seen any proof. “Was that going to be part of the story you were going to give me?”
“I was going to give you the story as it related to Miss Amanda Palmer,” Urie stated, still focused on his search and seemingly unaware of the fact that Ryan was staring at him in disbelief. “And, off the record, between Saporta and me, there’s a few important movers and shakers who are paid to look the other way from the fact that The Black Canary is also a speakeasy in addition to being a cabaret.”
“I’d heard that rumor,” Ryan breathed, still staring. He shook himself to snap out of it, trying to compose himself. “Well, that this place was also a speakeasy. Again, I just thought it was the kind of rumor that spread because this was a happening place.”
“Sex and alcohol sell,” Urie commented dryly, slamming the final searched drawer shut with a curse before getting to his feet. “Where could those records be?”
Ryan straightened the paperwork in his hands, setting them back on the desk. “Why are you looking for them? I thought we, I mean you, came into The Black Canary because something was broken?”
“Something’s always broken here.” Urie looked through the paperwork on his desk again, clearly frustrated at the disappearance of the records.
Ryan watched him for a bit longer before suggesting something that had just occurred to him. “Maybe Saporta’s seen those records. You said yourself that Saporta keeps records like that in his office too. So he might’ve taken them. Right?”
Urie stared at him like the idea was so absurd, it had never occurred to him. Finally, he straightened up. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s go check, and maybe Saporta can tell me why one of his underlings is calling me to tell me that things are broken here instead of fixing it himself.”
As Ryan hurried after Urie across the hall to the office that faced Urie’s, he chewed his lip. “Wouldn’t Saporta himself call you to tell you if something wasn’t running smoothly?”
Urie tried the door, a look of mild surprise crossing his face as the door swung open at the simple touch and he glanced toward Ryan. Ryan wasn’t sure if the surprise was directed at his question, the door opening so unexpectedly, or a combination of the two.
The office inside was as drastically different from Urie’s as the sun was to the moon: where Urie’s office had been tastefully done in dark woods with occasional bright pops of color, this office was all pale wood with the occasional darker colors swirling about. Where Urie’s office had pictures of various structures and similar artwork, this office had photographs of various celebrities that had come through the cabaret and speakeasy. It was also conspicuously empty.
“Saporta never goes on the club floor when he’s in,” Urie muttered, crossing the room to the desk and starting to shuffle through the paperwork that sat on the top. He seemed to forget Ryan was standing there for a few minutes before glancing up, as if suddenly remembering him. “Do me a favor, would you? Go on the cabaret floor, and see if Saporta’s there. Do you know what he looks like?”
“I’ve seen pictures of you two and your boss,” Ryan said, hurrying out into the hallway and toward the main floor.
~~~
Brendon listened to the sound of Ross’ footsteps fading away before he turned his attention back to shuffling through the papers that lined Saporta’s desk. This whole evening was rapidly turning into something he didn’t understand. Although Saporta’s underlings had, in the past, told Brendon about various things breaking or going wrong, he couldn’t remember a time when they’d called him at home to do so. Especially when he was taking a night off - something he only did when he knew that Saporta, who should be taking care of whatever the supposed problem was, was going to be in - and his own underlings knew better than to call him if Saporta was in. And another thing: Saporta never left his office when he was in, and he definitely never left it unlocked when he wasn’t.
After he finished searching Saporta’s desk once, he went through it again, in case he’d missed anything the first time. As he expected, nothing came up.
Brendon frowned, crossing the hallway back to his own office. He wasn’t expecting any change, but he could still hope.
As he moved toward the desk once more, he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He assumed it was Ross coming back, so he ignored the door opening in favor of searching through his paperwork again.
The door shut, making Brendon look up. He’d been expecting the newshound, but the person standing by the door was one of Saporta’s underlings. It took him a moment to remember the man’s name, while he wondered where Saporta was, because he’d never seen this particular underling except in Saporta’s shadow.
“It’s Justin, right?” Brendon said, keeping his hands on the desk. “Justin Bieber. You’re one of Saporta’s men. Always in his shadow.”
Justin grinned, pulling a gun out of a holster hidden under his suit coat and tapping it against his temple in salute. “Gabey says you’re a smart man, Urie. Always says it.” He waggled the gun in Brendon’s direction. “’Keep an eye on that Urie, Biebs.’ Gabey always tells me. ‘Follow his example, Biebs, and you’ll get far.’”
He shook his head, lowering the gun. “Saporta’s wrong. You’re not as smart as he gives you credit for. Leaving paperwork lying around that lets just anyone know when you’re meeting up with that Palmer dame to pay off politicians? You made it so easy for anyone to walk in and see that.”
“It wasn’t the best decision I ever made,” Brendon admitted, one hand slowly moving to one of the drawers in his desk and the gun he knew was inside. He wondered where Ross was, or Hall. He wondered if the newshound had found Saporta, or if the man was even in the cabaret. Then again, with the .45 that Justin was holding, Brendon was glad that the newshound wasn’t in the room. He figured his best option until help arrived was to keep Saporta’s underling talking. “So you knew about me and Amanda Palmer, then?”
“Wasn’t hard to. You flaunted her at quite a few events. But who would’ve guessed that you two were getting cozy for more than just having a doll on your arm?” Justin tapped the gun against his temple again, knowingly. “You know how I found out about it? Gabey wanted me to get some paperwork for the Black Canary outta your office, and it was just sitting there.” He waved the gun, laughing a bit. “It was just so easy to take it, find out when your next appointment with Palmer was to make the drop, and just make sure I was there first.”
Brendon’s eyes closed briefly at the memory of finding Amanda Palmer’s body before he opened his eyes again, trying to distract Justin from noticing that he was going for his gun. “By why kill her? Saporta coulda told you we needed her alive. Her connections, her family’s connections. She was useful to us, to the family. Beckett won’t like knowing that one of his right hand men had an underling who interfered with set plans.”
Justin tapped the gun against his chin before aiming it directly at Brendon, directing it to a spot right between Brendon’s eyes and pulling back the hammer. “Stop moving, you. I know you keep a gun in your desk, but if you go for it, so help me, I’ll blow your fucking brains onto the wall.” When Brendon stepped away from the desk, hands up to show that he was unarmed, the gangster pushed the hammer back and lowered his gun to his side before waving it around again. Brendon had to keep himself from flinching at the fear that the gun would accidentally go off and either one of them would get hurt by the stray bullet. “And sure, Gabey told me that. He tells me a lot of things.”
“But why kill her?” Brendon pressed, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess. Wondering if someone would come check on things, or if Justin would just put a bullet right between his eyes and paint the wall behind him with his brains. He could only imagine the cost of the clean up in his office, not to mention that Beckett would have to find someone to replace him.
“To get rid of you!” Justin lowered the gun to wave his free hand, gesturing to the office at large. “I was Gabey’s assistant before you two opened this cabaret, before I joined up. And then after I discovered Gabey’s secret, well, he’d start going on about how things were before you showed up after that other guy got bumped off.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Oh, sure, he’s got plenty of respect for you. Says you’re so much better than the guy you replaced. But I’m not stupid. I can read between the lines.”
“And what do those lines say?” Brendon kept his hands raised, eyes flicking toward the door as he tried to figure out if he could make it to the hallway to yell for help before Justin decided to redecorate in blood red. He wasn’t entirely sure if Justin could use that .45 he was waving around, but someone who couldn’t use a gun was just as dangerous as someone who could.
“That Gabey would be in a much better position if you were out of the way.” Justin came over, tapping the gun against Brendon’s temple. “All Beckett needs is one right hand man. No one needs two right hand men.” He smacked Brendon in the temple with the gun again. “Don’t even make sense.”
Brendon prided himself on the fact that he didn’t flinch when the gun connected with his temple, but he was pretty sure that it’d leave a mark later. “If you paid attention in class, Bieber, Saporta could tell you why Beckett wanted two right hand men. Saporta and me, we balance each other out. We work pretty well together. Why we went into this business together.”
Justin glared, resting the gun against Brendon’s temple, but he didn’t pull back the hammer. Brendon took some relief in that, and didn’t give Justin the pleasure of flinching away from the gun. “Shut up. Don’t talk about Gabey like you know how he thinks.”
“Saporta and I have had many conversations, covering lots of topics.” Brendon managed to smile reassuringly. “And whatever else he might think about me, I don’t think he’d want you to kill me. You killed the Palmer dame, right? It was already known that I’d escorted her to a few events, like you said. The newspapers could spin a great story about how she didn’t want to be my moll, so I killed her. I’m arrested and out of the picture. Saporta’s the sole man at Beckett’s right hand. That was your plan, right? And not to kill me?”
To Brendon’s relief, Justin pulled the gun away again. “Yeah, exactly. Gabey was right, you’re a smart man.”
Brendon took a deep breath, trying for a gamble based on something he’d already suspected. “You ransacked that newshound’s apartment, didn’t you? The one whose roommate is the skin tickler I hired for The Black Canary.” When Justin nodded, he frowned faintly. “Why? I’d guessed that whoever had killed the Palmer dame had broken into the newshound’s apartment and ransacked it, but I couldn’t figure out why.”
Before he got an answer, though, the door opened and the newshound in question came in. Ross froze at the sight of the gun in Justin’s hand being aimed at him, as well as Brendon standing there with his hands up.
“Just in time to hear all about that now, huh?” Justin grinned. He smacked Brendon upside the head, sending him to the floor before pointing the gun to Ross once more, keeping it on Ross as he went over to Brendon, lightly touching Brendon’s now bloody cheek.
“Ouch,” Brendon mumbled as Ross’s fingers gently probed to see if the bone had been broken along with the skin.
“Feels fine,” Ross whispered before looking up at Justin, mild confusion crossing his features. “Just in time to hear all about what?”
“He killed Amanda Palmer.” Brendon pushed himself up to a sitting position, trying not to fall forward into the newshound’s lap. Even if it did look comfortable at the moment, it wouldn’t do for Brendon’s reputation. “And he ransacked your apartment.” He glanced up at Justin, even as the gangster loomed over both of them, his .45 still leveled at Brendon’s face. Brendon attempted to ignore the gun pointing at him, mostly succeeding, and tried for a smile. The facial expression pulled at his sore cheek, but he forced himself to ignore that too. “He was just about to tell me why when you came in.”
Justin crouched down in front of the two of them, resting his forearms on his thighs and letting the gun dangle over his knee. “You two do realize that I’ll just have to kill you after telling you my whole plan, right? Wouldn’t want either of you telling another soul what I did for Gabey. If he likes you as much as you claim he does, Urie, Gabey wouldn’t ever trust me again if it came out that I killed the Palmer dame just to frame you and get you out of the picture.”
“He wouldn’t be okay with it if you killed me, either.” Brendon said, eyes dropping to the gun as he considered whether or not he could wrangle it out of the other young man’s hand. He was pretty sure he could, but he was also pretty sure that he couldn’t cause a distraction that would confuse Justin enough to let him take the gun away from him.
He was just trying to think how to convey what he needed to Ross in some silent way, when it seemed that Ross had picked up on his thoughts. Ross’s face grew inquisitive, like Justin was a fascinating interviewee.
“Why did you ransack my apartment?”
“I had barely finished the job when Urie here showed up. I had to get out of there before he saw me and my plan was blown out of the water. But then came that story in the Chicago Journal about her being dead, and I overheard Gabey talking to Beckett. Some editor that Beckett knew had gotten the okay to write up a story about Amanda Palmer being involved with the mob and helping the mob pay off a well known politician.” Justin spread his hands. “I panicked a bit on that one, worried that I might’ve dropped something at the scene that Urie here had missed, and then I heard a newshound who worked for the Chicago Journal had been at the scene? That wasn’t good. Your reputation preceded you, and I had to figure out which newshound at the Journal had had the original story.”
“And make sure that I didn’t have anything that’d tie you to her murder,” Ross finished, eyes wide in interest, while he nodded like he absolutely understood Justin’s plight. Brendon had to applaud the newshound’s acting skills; if he didn’t know better, he’d have bought the guy’s intense interest, just like it seemed Justin was, because the other man preened a bit at the recognition.
Ross placed a hand on his chest, staring at Justin like he was the most brilliant man the newshound had ever met. “That’s just. It’s brilliant, making sure the newshound assigned to the story doesn’t have anything to tie you to a murder you’re framing someone else for.” He heaved a sigh, shaking his head miserably. “Too bad the Journal fired me for getting too close to the mob. I could’ve written you a piece that would’ve made headlines, writing you up as the man that stopped a killer like Urie.”
Justin opened his mouth to respond, clearly pleased with the offer even if the newshound had said he couldn’t follow up on it, when the door burst open. He whirled around, raising his gun to shoot at the intruder, but Hall, standing in the battered doorway, shot first.
The bullet slammed into Justin’s chest, making Ross yelp and scoot back, eyes wide in fear as Justin’s body fell backwards, narrowly missing him.
Brendon pushed himself to his feet as Hall approached, smiling in sheer relief. “Showed up late to the party, Zacky.” He reached out, patting Hall’s arm. “But I am fuckin’ glad to see you.”
“You get into so much trouble when I’m not around,” Hall grumbled, nudging the body at their feet with a dirty look. “Clear case in point.”
Brendon smiled, grimacing a bit as it hurt his cheek. “Yeah, yeah. I should always stick close to you, Zacky. Got it.” He turned toward Ross, offering his hand to the newshound and helping him to his feet. “You gonna be okay, Janey?”
“We could’ve died,” Ross whispered, eyes still on the dead body. He looked up at Brendon.
“How do you live with this?”
“You could die, warm and comfy in your bed.” Brendon shrugged, flinching away as Hall examined his cheek with a frown. “And that fucking well hurts. Stop touching it.”
“We’re getting a doctor to look at that,” Hall commented, glancing toward Ross. “After we get the two of you home. I’ll let Beckett and Saporta know what happened, too.”
Brendon watched Ross glance back down at the dead body once more. “You can spend the night at my place. I’m gonna need someone to hold an icepack to my face, and hold my hand while a doctor examines my cheek.”
Ross’ mouth twitched faintly, as if he’d forgotten how to smile. “Sure.”
~~~
Ryan walked into Pete Wentz’s office at the Chicago Journal a few days later. He wasn’t even sure if he was doing the right thing, ending his career on this note, but he didn’t think he could continue being an unbiased newshound anymore.
He found that Wentz wasn’t alone in his office. William Beckett was sitting across from the head editor, and both men looked up when Ryan entered. Beckett’s expression was unreadable as he studied Ryan’s face, and Ryan wasn’t sure what that could mean.
Wentz, though, got to his feet, walking over to Ryan and placing a hand on his arm. “I heard about what happened. The whole story.” His eyes flicked toward Beckett as if Ryan couldn’t guess where his information had come from.
Ryan wondered how Beckett was handling it. Hell, Ryan wondered how Brendon was handling it. He hadn’t seen Brendon since then, and the Black Canary had been closed for the past few nights. Spencer had guessed it was so Brendon and Saporta could reevaluate how things were run, but he wasn’t entirely sure.
“You okay?” Wentz went on, oblivious to Ryan’s thoughts. “You coming back? We’ll give you the front page to write about your harrowing experience.”
Ryan smiled faintly, wondering if it looked as fake an expression as it felt on his face.
“I’ve had better days.” He opened up his bag and handed Wentz the letter he’d spent all night trying to write. “I wanted to give you this in person. It’s my resignation from the paper. I’m not coming back. You and Stump were right when you fired me the first time. I got caught up in the mob, and unlike Stump, it’s hard for me to separate my personal life from my professional one.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan saw Beckett’s face become even more unreadable, if that were possible. He briefly wondered what crossed Beckett’s mind, but he decided he really didn’t care.
Wentz read the letter through a couple times before laying it on the desk with a sigh. Ryan caught Beckett eying it like he wanted to know the contents, and probably whether Brendon had had a hand in the Ryan’s decision to resign from the paper, and once more, Ryan found himself not caring. He wondered if that was a side effect from what had happened, being okay with the gangster knowing why he was doing something.
“Are you sure?” Wentz studied Ryan’s face as if looking for something there. Ryan wondered if he found whatever he was looking for.
Ryan glanced at Beckett, wanting to know what he was thinking despite himself, before nodding. “Without a doubt.”
Wentz nodded, patting Ryan’s arm. “Alright then. Well, if you ever change your mind, we’ll keep your desk open.”
Ryan smiled, this time feeling like the expression wasn’t fake and hoping it looked genuine as well. “Thanks, Wentz. I’ll remember that if I ever get sick of whatever I decide to do from here on out.”
He held his hand out to his former boss, shaking it.
“You take care of yourself, Ross,” Wentz said as their hands dropped.
“You too.” Ryan waved, turning to head out.
He’d made it down the stairs and halfway toward the door when he heard Beckett’s voice calling for him to stop. He did so, turning around to face the man.
“What happened the other night didn’t cause this resignation, did it?” Beckett asked, keeping his voice low.
Ryan shook his head. He’d seen enough to know that Beckett would find out sooner or later, and he wanted to start off on the right foot with the gangster. “No. I think the idea was already there. I just needed the push, and the other night gave it to me.”
Beckett nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “Urie, then? He’s persuasive enough.”
“No, not Urie.” Ryan smiled. He still wasn’t quite sure what Beckett was looking for, but he’d definitely make this conversation easier. “Although the kind of stories I could get out of him would’ve made staying a newshound a lot easier, and more profitable.”
Beckett looked Ryan up and down, like he wasn’t sure what to make of this. Finally, he shook his head. “Well, if you ever need a job, and don’t mind who you’re working for, you know where to find us.” He studied Ryan again. “Although I do wish you’d stayed a newshound. We need more guys like you in the wings, so to speak.”
Ryan considered that for a moment. “Well, maybe whatever I do will be even more beneficial to you than me staying a reporter and keeping certain stories hushed. You’ve still got Stump here, after all. But I do appreciate the job offer.” He paused briefly. “I’ll see you around, though.”
“Not if we see you first.”
Ryan watched as William Beckett, known furniture salesman with countless other dealings and rumored gangster with even more shady dealings, preceded him out the front door of the newspaper and got into a waiting car. Through the open door, Ryan could just make out Brendon sitting inside before the car door shut. And he knew that Brendon saw him.
In that moment, Ryan knew what he wanted to do. Whatever he ended up doing, it was going to be something that would help out Beckett’s mob, and Brendon Urie in particular. He just hadn’t figured out what that thing would be.
“Yeah, William Beckett, you just might see me sooner than you think.”
The End
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