Fic: Tears Of The Saints I: A Jewel Of Great Price (9/14)
Title: Tears Of The Saints I: A Jewel Of Great Price (9/14)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Mel/Johnny (Mel does not appear in this chapter), Charles Makley, Harry ‘Pete’ Pierpont, Red/Homer, Bank President (Uncredited), Phil D’Andrea, Frank Nitti
Series Notes: Tears Of The Saints will deal with the Outfit/Syndicate (aka the Mob) and how they cross paths with the Dillinger Gang and the Bureau of Investigation. It helps to have first-hand knowledge of Italian culture and Catholicism. ;)
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
General Summary: When the Syndicate needs the special talents of John Dillinger, they take out insurance that he will do the job they want by kidnapping someone near and dear to his heart: Melvin Purvis.
Chapter Summary: The Dillinger Gang robs a bank in the heart of Chicago.
Date Of Completion: February 4, 2010
Date Of Posting: March 20, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 928
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The entire series can be found here.
IX
THE SWEET TASTE
"The sweet taste of blood rushing through your veins makes the game worth playing."
Alan O’Dare
"Daredevil
(An Autobiography)"
1927 C.E.
Johnny felt the old, familiar, adrenaline high rush through him as he strode up the bank steps, flanked by Charles and Pete. Homer took up his position outside while Red waited in the getaway car a block away.
The skies were overcast as the bank was minutes way from closing. Johnny preferred robbing banks either just after opening or right before closing. Mornings had people barely starting their routine, tellers still in the bustle of arrival and maybe a little sleepy-eyed, while closing had people’s minds on going home, distracted and thinking of their evening plans.
A gray Monday afternoon was even better. There were only a few customers in the bank. A door to the back opened and a radio announcer’s voice could be heard intoning, “And the manhunt for Special Agent Melvin Purvis continues. No one has seen or heard from him since last Friday. Bureau of Investigation Director J. Edgar Hoover has vowed to track down Agent Purvis’ whereabouts, though it is feared he may be dead.” The door closed, cutting off the announcer.
Don’t worry, honey, you’re gonna be just fine. I’ll see to that.
Johnny touched Mel’s ring that he wore beneath his glove.
This was no run-of-the-mill bank job. He was doing this for his man, and he was determined to make this the best job he’d ever pulled.
“Hands up!” Pete barked.
Everyone’s hands shot up, and Johnny leaped over a counter, exhilaration in every movement. He grabbed the bank president. “Let’s play a game, Mr. President. It’s called Spin-The-Dial.”
The middle-aged banker didn’t put up a fight. By now any banker worth his salt knew the drill. He unlocked the gate and then the vault.
Meanwhile, Charles was grabbing sackfuls of money from the tellers while Pete kept an eye on the customers and tellers.
The banker filled several sacks of cash, and Johnny said, “Get me what’s in Deposit Box Number 6.”
The president looked at Johnny and nodded. He opened the box and brought out a smaller box.
“It’s in here.”
Johnny took the box, treating it with care. There was no way in hell he was going to risk dropping this, but he had no time to take a look. Quickly he placed it in a bag with the cash and hustled the president out to the lobby.
Charles and Pete had the bags and hostages, and they marched outside where Homer was holding off cops with a hostage of his own and Red was waiting in the car right in front of the bank.
Cars screeched down the street, disgorging more cops and agents. Johnny’s pulse was steady as he directed his men in their well-practiced choreography.
Bullets began to fly, Johnny and his men firing back. The hostages were pushed up on the running boards of the car and Red took off, Johnny alive with excitement, worry dancing around the edges of his mind.
The car barreled down State Street and swerved down a side street. Red had studied the ‘git’ (getaway map) well. If their luck held out, they should get away scot-free.
Hang on just a little while longer, Mel honey.
It began to rain as the Ford roared off through the streets of Chicago.
& & & & & &
In the room above The Montmatre Club, Phil was working on some papers he’d spread out on the conference table, music from the radio in the sitting room across the hall drifting in.
“We interrupt this program to bring you news of a daring robbery of the State Street Bank right here in Chicago by John Dillinger and his gang.”
Phil put his pencil down and stood up, walking into the sitting room. Frank Nitti was sitting in his favorite chair by the radio, smiling as he smoked a cigar.
“Nancy-boy might have questionable taste in bedpartners, but he sure as hell is the best when it comes to knockin’ off banks.”
“Yes, Frank.”
“The Dillinger Gang escaped and disappeared after a well-choreographed robbery and getaway. J. Edgar Hoover of the bureau of Investigation vows to bring in Public Enemy Number One.”
“Ha, let that swaggering queer try. He won’t catch a yegg as sharp as Dillinger.”
“So were and when do we make the exchange?”
“Exchange?” Nitti puffed out a ring of smoke. “What exchange?”
“What Dillinger got for us in exchange for Purvis.”
Nitti snorted. “I’m only interested in what was in the safe deposit box. I’ll be sendin’ word for Pretty Boy to be taken care of.”
“Frank, is it wise to double-cross Dillinger?”
“What’s he gonna do about it? If he kicks up a fuss everyone’ll learn he’s been sleeping with that fuckin’ Reb, and his gangster bonafides’ll be all shot to hell.”
“Frank, one of the reasons we’ve got good relations with the yeggs is keepin’ our word. You double-cross Dillinger and we’ll have no end of trouble.”
“Fuck Dillinger. He’s too damned cocky for my taste. Take him down a peg and the mad dogs like Nelson will sit up and take notice.”
“The Feds won’t like one of their own bein’ bumped off.”
“The Feds are screw-ups. They can’t get out of their own way. ‘Sides, what’s one less busone in the world?”
Phil stared at Nitti for a moment, then returned to the conference room, staring off into space for a long time before going back to his paperwork.
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Mel/Johnny (Mel does not appear in this chapter), Charles Makley, Harry ‘Pete’ Pierpont, Red/Homer, Bank President (Uncredited), Phil D’Andrea, Frank Nitti
Series Notes: Tears Of The Saints will deal with the Outfit/Syndicate (aka the Mob) and how they cross paths with the Dillinger Gang and the Bureau of Investigation. It helps to have first-hand knowledge of Italian culture and Catholicism. ;)
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
General Summary: When the Syndicate needs the special talents of John Dillinger, they take out insurance that he will do the job they want by kidnapping someone near and dear to his heart: Melvin Purvis.
Chapter Summary: The Dillinger Gang robs a bank in the heart of Chicago.
Date Of Completion: February 4, 2010
Date Of Posting: March 20, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 928
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The entire series can be found here.
IX
THE SWEET TASTE
"The sweet taste of blood rushing through your veins makes the game worth playing."
Alan O’Dare
"Daredevil
(An Autobiography)"
1927 C.E.
Johnny felt the old, familiar, adrenaline high rush through him as he strode up the bank steps, flanked by Charles and Pete. Homer took up his position outside while Red waited in the getaway car a block away.
The skies were overcast as the bank was minutes way from closing. Johnny preferred robbing banks either just after opening or right before closing. Mornings had people barely starting their routine, tellers still in the bustle of arrival and maybe a little sleepy-eyed, while closing had people’s minds on going home, distracted and thinking of their evening plans.
A gray Monday afternoon was even better. There were only a few customers in the bank. A door to the back opened and a radio announcer’s voice could be heard intoning, “And the manhunt for Special Agent Melvin Purvis continues. No one has seen or heard from him since last Friday. Bureau of Investigation Director J. Edgar Hoover has vowed to track down Agent Purvis’ whereabouts, though it is feared he may be dead.” The door closed, cutting off the announcer.
Don’t worry, honey, you’re gonna be just fine. I’ll see to that.
Johnny touched Mel’s ring that he wore beneath his glove.
This was no run-of-the-mill bank job. He was doing this for his man, and he was determined to make this the best job he’d ever pulled.
“Hands up!” Pete barked.
Everyone’s hands shot up, and Johnny leaped over a counter, exhilaration in every movement. He grabbed the bank president. “Let’s play a game, Mr. President. It’s called Spin-The-Dial.”
The middle-aged banker didn’t put up a fight. By now any banker worth his salt knew the drill. He unlocked the gate and then the vault.
Meanwhile, Charles was grabbing sackfuls of money from the tellers while Pete kept an eye on the customers and tellers.
The banker filled several sacks of cash, and Johnny said, “Get me what’s in Deposit Box Number 6.”
The president looked at Johnny and nodded. He opened the box and brought out a smaller box.
“It’s in here.”
Johnny took the box, treating it with care. There was no way in hell he was going to risk dropping this, but he had no time to take a look. Quickly he placed it in a bag with the cash and hustled the president out to the lobby.
Charles and Pete had the bags and hostages, and they marched outside where Homer was holding off cops with a hostage of his own and Red was waiting in the car right in front of the bank.
Cars screeched down the street, disgorging more cops and agents. Johnny’s pulse was steady as he directed his men in their well-practiced choreography.
Bullets began to fly, Johnny and his men firing back. The hostages were pushed up on the running boards of the car and Red took off, Johnny alive with excitement, worry dancing around the edges of his mind.
The car barreled down State Street and swerved down a side street. Red had studied the ‘git’ (getaway map) well. If their luck held out, they should get away scot-free.
Hang on just a little while longer, Mel honey.
It began to rain as the Ford roared off through the streets of Chicago.
& & & & & &
In the room above The Montmatre Club, Phil was working on some papers he’d spread out on the conference table, music from the radio in the sitting room across the hall drifting in.
“We interrupt this program to bring you news of a daring robbery of the State Street Bank right here in Chicago by John Dillinger and his gang.”
Phil put his pencil down and stood up, walking into the sitting room. Frank Nitti was sitting in his favorite chair by the radio, smiling as he smoked a cigar.
“Nancy-boy might have questionable taste in bedpartners, but he sure as hell is the best when it comes to knockin’ off banks.”
“Yes, Frank.”
“The Dillinger Gang escaped and disappeared after a well-choreographed robbery and getaway. J. Edgar Hoover of the bureau of Investigation vows to bring in Public Enemy Number One.”
“Ha, let that swaggering queer try. He won’t catch a yegg as sharp as Dillinger.”
“So were and when do we make the exchange?”
“Exchange?” Nitti puffed out a ring of smoke. “What exchange?”
“What Dillinger got for us in exchange for Purvis.”
Nitti snorted. “I’m only interested in what was in the safe deposit box. I’ll be sendin’ word for Pretty Boy to be taken care of.”
“Frank, is it wise to double-cross Dillinger?”
“What’s he gonna do about it? If he kicks up a fuss everyone’ll learn he’s been sleeping with that fuckin’ Reb, and his gangster bonafides’ll be all shot to hell.”
“Frank, one of the reasons we’ve got good relations with the yeggs is keepin’ our word. You double-cross Dillinger and we’ll have no end of trouble.”
“Fuck Dillinger. He’s too damned cocky for my taste. Take him down a peg and the mad dogs like Nelson will sit up and take notice.”
“The Feds won’t like one of their own bein’ bumped off.”
“The Feds are screw-ups. They can’t get out of their own way. ‘Sides, what’s one less busone in the world?”
Phil stared at Nitti for a moment, then returned to the conference room, staring off into space for a long time before going back to his paperwork.