Interesting news
[Takes place about a week or so after this]
Orlando closes the ledger with a snap and gives his accountant a level look. "When?"
"Two--two days ago, Mr. Bloom," Tom answers, stammering at the icy calm in Orlando's steady gaze.
Orlando steeples his fingers together and stares down at the ledger, mind racing. Such an obvious, amateur trick -- siphon marked money into a rival's account, bringing scrutiny and heat -- obvious and so completely beneath his real enemies. Whoever did this has not a single clue as to the nature of the business. "And what does Lenny have to say?" Lenny's one of Capone's men on the NYPD -- a high-ranking lieutenant, paid very well to pass along certain information and quell certain avenues of inquiry.
"Lenny's not exactly sure, as of yet, how the money got there, but he says the money came from a deal between Lucky's men and the Allen gang. Some drug deal a few weeks back."
"Nah, neither of them would fuck me," Orlando says, dismissing the idea. "Not like this, not without a reason." He frowns, lost in thought. "No, this wasn't a pro."
"Who else would be stupid enough to cross you and Capone?"
"No, not stupid," Orlando says, snapping his fingers. It makes complete sense -- and is something only a rich boy would think of. "You said the money was from a drug deal? Between Lucky and the Allens?"
"Yes."
"Then I know who it is."
"Who?"
"Elijah fucking Wood."
"The Elijah Wood?" Tom clicks his jaw shut, but his eyes are still as round as saucers. "Why in God's name would he want to tangle with you?"
"Because I pissed him off," Orlando replies, tapping his fingers on the ledger. "Did you talk to Mr. Xang for me?"
"Yeah, spoke to him personally." Tom pushes a lock of sandy hair from his open, deceptively honest face and tugs on the jacket of his custom-fitted suit. He's not a dandy or anything, but every job should have its perks. And Tom has a weakness for turning himself out nicely. "He said to consider it done. Wood's out of the opium loop. No one'll touch him."
"Good." Orlando's smile lacks warmth. "Now, as far as this little stunt --"
"-- I don't get it, though," Tom frowns. Orlando lets him get away with the interruption; trust-worthy money men are as rare as virgins on Rush Street. "He had to have planned this some time ago. I only spoke to Mr. Xang last night, so this can't be about that."
"Mr. Wood has another quarrel with me," Orlando replies, voice mild. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with."
"Alright." Tom nervously plucks at an imaginary piece of lint. "Um, you know his family's wealthy, right? And connected?"
"Yeah, I know."
"He could potentially hurt you."
"He can't touch me." And the statement's mostly true. Josh is gone, and there isn't a fucking thing Elijah or his family could do to compete with that loss. "You got my train ticket for tonight?"
"Right here." Tom pulls out an envelope from his briefcase and slides it across the desk. "Need me to drive you?"
"Nah, I'll get Lawrence to do it. But thanks for the thought." Orlando puts the envelope away in his jacket pocket. "I'll be back early tomorrow morning. We can go over last week's p&l for The Shimmy. Numbers're off a bit for the amount of traffic."
"You don't think--?"
"No, nothing like that." Orlando shakes his head decisively. He knows his employees. "Think the bartenders are free-pulling a bit much is all."
"Alright."
Both men stand and clasp hands in a firm shake. "Breakfast here at 10," Orlando says. "Bring the files."
"I'll be here, Mr. Bloom." Tom gathers his briefcase and walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Um, Mr. Bloom?"
"Yes, Tom?" Orlando's already seated again, a file on the desk.
"What do you want me to do about New York?"
"Did you get rid of the money?"
"Yes sir. Of course."
"Then I'll take care of the rest on my own."
Tom walks out of Colosimo's to his waiting car, feeling very sorry for Elijah Wood.
Orlando closes the ledger with a snap and gives his accountant a level look. "When?"
"Two--two days ago, Mr. Bloom," Tom answers, stammering at the icy calm in Orlando's steady gaze.
Orlando steeples his fingers together and stares down at the ledger, mind racing. Such an obvious, amateur trick -- siphon marked money into a rival's account, bringing scrutiny and heat -- obvious and so completely beneath his real enemies. Whoever did this has not a single clue as to the nature of the business. "And what does Lenny have to say?" Lenny's one of Capone's men on the NYPD -- a high-ranking lieutenant, paid very well to pass along certain information and quell certain avenues of inquiry.
"Lenny's not exactly sure, as of yet, how the money got there, but he says the money came from a deal between Lucky's men and the Allen gang. Some drug deal a few weeks back."
"Nah, neither of them would fuck me," Orlando says, dismissing the idea. "Not like this, not without a reason." He frowns, lost in thought. "No, this wasn't a pro."
"Who else would be stupid enough to cross you and Capone?"
"No, not stupid," Orlando says, snapping his fingers. It makes complete sense -- and is something only a rich boy would think of. "You said the money was from a drug deal? Between Lucky and the Allens?"
"Yes."
"Then I know who it is."
"Who?"
"Elijah fucking Wood."
"The Elijah Wood?" Tom clicks his jaw shut, but his eyes are still as round as saucers. "Why in God's name would he want to tangle with you?"
"Because I pissed him off," Orlando replies, tapping his fingers on the ledger. "Did you talk to Mr. Xang for me?"
"Yeah, spoke to him personally." Tom pushes a lock of sandy hair from his open, deceptively honest face and tugs on the jacket of his custom-fitted suit. He's not a dandy or anything, but every job should have its perks. And Tom has a weakness for turning himself out nicely. "He said to consider it done. Wood's out of the opium loop. No one'll touch him."
"Good." Orlando's smile lacks warmth. "Now, as far as this little stunt --"
"-- I don't get it, though," Tom frowns. Orlando lets him get away with the interruption; trust-worthy money men are as rare as virgins on Rush Street. "He had to have planned this some time ago. I only spoke to Mr. Xang last night, so this can't be about that."
"Mr. Wood has another quarrel with me," Orlando replies, voice mild. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with."
"Alright." Tom nervously plucks at an imaginary piece of lint. "Um, you know his family's wealthy, right? And connected?"
"Yeah, I know."
"He could potentially hurt you."
"He can't touch me." And the statement's mostly true. Josh is gone, and there isn't a fucking thing Elijah or his family could do to compete with that loss. "You got my train ticket for tonight?"
"Right here." Tom pulls out an envelope from his briefcase and slides it across the desk. "Need me to drive you?"
"Nah, I'll get Lawrence to do it. But thanks for the thought." Orlando puts the envelope away in his jacket pocket. "I'll be back early tomorrow morning. We can go over last week's p&l for The Shimmy. Numbers're off a bit for the amount of traffic."
"You don't think--?"
"No, nothing like that." Orlando shakes his head decisively. He knows his employees. "Think the bartenders are free-pulling a bit much is all."
"Alright."
Both men stand and clasp hands in a firm shake. "Breakfast here at 10," Orlando says. "Bring the files."
"I'll be here, Mr. Bloom." Tom gathers his briefcase and walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Um, Mr. Bloom?"
"Yes, Tom?" Orlando's already seated again, a file on the desk.
"What do you want me to do about New York?"
"Did you get rid of the money?"
"Yes sir. Of course."
"Then I'll take care of the rest on my own."
Tom walks out of Colosimo's to his waiting car, feeling very sorry for Elijah Wood.