Bad Land for Gods
Title: Bad Land for Gods
Author: oldwickedsongs
Characters: Meyer Lansky, Carolyn Rothstein, with mentions of AR and Lucky
Rating: PG
Word Count: 705
Summary: November, 1928. Meyer goes to AR's offices after he's been shot to clean up.
Warnings Character death, hints of drug use, and angst.
"You work for me now. You protect me. You transport me from place to place. You run errands. In an emergency, but only in an emergency, you hurt people who need to be hurt. In the unlikely event of my death, you will hold my vigil. And in return I shall make sure that your needs are adequately taken care of." -American Gods
The last time he saw AR; Meyer knew he was dying. You could tell it in Rothstein’s brown eyes and for a poker player; he had such a terrible game face. It was open and honest- a sort of school boy look that only maintained its youth when everyone else in his position had grown inward and hard. Not a gangster’s face at all because Rothstein wasn’t a gangster. Not really. It’s why he had taken the hands off approach with the business after everything with Atlantic City went down. Left the day to day dealings to Charlie and the gang.
His eyes were bright, artificially so and his arm was so tight against Inez’s (the dancer that had moved in promptly when Carolyn moved out, a fair copy of the wife too if loud and showy) that Meyer wondered if he was using her for support. He laughed too easily, and quickly. Bunched his words up with the laughter, and kept patting his coat as if he was forgetting something.
Meyer Lansky knew from the first second what it was. He’d been along enough times with Charlie to recognize a fiend. But he didn’t say anything. You don’t. He had already convinced himself by the time he left the restaurant that he had misread the scene.
Still, he didn’t tell Charlie.
He didn’t go to the hospital on purpose. There were too many reporters, and cops around there to talk to him about what he’d really want to say. Besides, he already knew what AR would say. That was the genius of the so-called Mr. Big. He had set up the business so if anything happened to one part- even the head- the business would keep running and the money would still flow.
By the time he convinced Carolyn to let him into AR’s offices; it was already morning. She looked angry; tired too and for the first time in a long time when she had dropped a comment Rothstein had made at the hospital about retiring from all this- going somewhere just the two of them- she sounded like she almost believed him.
“He’ll die soon,” Carolyn said quietly, as she walked out of the office. “I expect you to clean that up.”
Part of him wanted to ask what she meant, and part of him already knew. That was the worst part. It had been clear without being stated that Rothstein had gone through great pains to keep the mud off her. Meyer’d done the same with Anna. But she wanted blood. Funny how money changed people, he thought to himself, because again the alternative- the insinuation that this was not love of money but love of something- someone- else made the emotions he was keeping at bay edge a little too close. It was money because it had to be. He couldn’t remedy the other.
And if there was personal influences, mistakes were easily made. People got stupid when hurt.
Carolyn might get foolish.
She wouldn’t be the only one.
Sitting down in AR’s chair, at his desk before reaching for the books is when it hit him. He wasn’t dead yet and Meyer wanted to be just naïve enough to believe he’d pull through. He envied Carolyn for her ability; Lucky too. He enjoyed, just for a second, the idea that AR would pull through and then this all would be taken care in that tidy way he handled everything. He glanced towards the window, where the morning was turning a brighter blue with every passing hour. He knew the vultures were already circling, had seen them en route at the hospital and he knew, also, he was wasting time entertaining dreams. AR would never approve.
So, gingerly, brushing away the morning from his eyes and capping the edging tide- he began to leaf through the pages.
Author: oldwickedsongs
Characters: Meyer Lansky, Carolyn Rothstein, with mentions of AR and Lucky
Rating: PG
Word Count: 705
Summary: November, 1928. Meyer goes to AR's offices after he's been shot to clean up.
Warnings Character death, hints of drug use, and angst.
"You work for me now. You protect me. You transport me from place to place. You run errands. In an emergency, but only in an emergency, you hurt people who need to be hurt. In the unlikely event of my death, you will hold my vigil. And in return I shall make sure that your needs are adequately taken care of." -American Gods
The last time he saw AR; Meyer knew he was dying. You could tell it in Rothstein’s brown eyes and for a poker player; he had such a terrible game face. It was open and honest- a sort of school boy look that only maintained its youth when everyone else in his position had grown inward and hard. Not a gangster’s face at all because Rothstein wasn’t a gangster. Not really. It’s why he had taken the hands off approach with the business after everything with Atlantic City went down. Left the day to day dealings to Charlie and the gang.
His eyes were bright, artificially so and his arm was so tight against Inez’s (the dancer that had moved in promptly when Carolyn moved out, a fair copy of the wife too if loud and showy) that Meyer wondered if he was using her for support. He laughed too easily, and quickly. Bunched his words up with the laughter, and kept patting his coat as if he was forgetting something.
Meyer Lansky knew from the first second what it was. He’d been along enough times with Charlie to recognize a fiend. But he didn’t say anything. You don’t. He had already convinced himself by the time he left the restaurant that he had misread the scene.
Still, he didn’t tell Charlie.
He didn’t go to the hospital on purpose. There were too many reporters, and cops around there to talk to him about what he’d really want to say. Besides, he already knew what AR would say. That was the genius of the so-called Mr. Big. He had set up the business so if anything happened to one part- even the head- the business would keep running and the money would still flow.
By the time he convinced Carolyn to let him into AR’s offices; it was already morning. She looked angry; tired too and for the first time in a long time when she had dropped a comment Rothstein had made at the hospital about retiring from all this- going somewhere just the two of them- she sounded like she almost believed him.
“He’ll die soon,” Carolyn said quietly, as she walked out of the office. “I expect you to clean that up.”
Part of him wanted to ask what she meant, and part of him already knew. That was the worst part. It had been clear without being stated that Rothstein had gone through great pains to keep the mud off her. Meyer’d done the same with Anna. But she wanted blood. Funny how money changed people, he thought to himself, because again the alternative- the insinuation that this was not love of money but love of something- someone- else made the emotions he was keeping at bay edge a little too close. It was money because it had to be. He couldn’t remedy the other.
And if there was personal influences, mistakes were easily made. People got stupid when hurt.
Carolyn might get foolish.
She wouldn’t be the only one.
Sitting down in AR’s chair, at his desk before reaching for the books is when it hit him. He wasn’t dead yet and Meyer wanted to be just naïve enough to believe he’d pull through. He envied Carolyn for her ability; Lucky too. He enjoyed, just for a second, the idea that AR would pull through and then this all would be taken care in that tidy way he handled everything. He glanced towards the window, where the morning was turning a brighter blue with every passing hour. He knew the vultures were already circling, had seen them en route at the hospital and he knew, also, he was wasting time entertaining dreams. AR would never approve.
So, gingerly, brushing away the morning from his eyes and capping the edging tide- he began to leaf through the pages.