Fic: while the gentlemen walk by | AU | NC-17
title: while the gentlemen walk by
summary: A mob AU love story.
rating: NC-17 for sex; some torture; unsavory language
word count: 8900. EIGHT THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.
a/n: Mixed format writing style. Mistakes: mine. Opinions: may vary. Fun: was had.
"Nice place you got here."
The kid stared everywhere but David's direction. His fingers jangled on a bouncing knee and his crooked mouth curled into a smile. David laced his fingers and leaned back in his chair. He's met a lot of sewer rats, but they all had one thing in common: they all cowed under David's cold gaze. He laced his fingers and leaned back in his chair.
Interesting.
"I have only one question for you," he began slowly. David paused for effect. Liebgott propped his chin on his hand like he was an eager college student awaiting a lecture. "How did you get in the warehouse?"
Liebgott gave an exasperated noise and threw his hands up. "This question again?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of David's men before pointing to his swollen and bruised face. “They asked and brother, I answered."
He did, he certainly did. Goodwin's arm was broken in two places, several teeth swallowed, and the orbit of his eye smashed to dust. David respected his nerve and will to fight back. A survivor, rare in a world where a bottle of whiskey and a couple of dollars could placate anyone. Nothing could tamper this one down.
David always liked a challenge.
"The warehouse."
Liebgott wiped the ooze of blood from his lip. "The southern side between the cracked wall and the alley. There's a gap in the fence, just small enough for someone to squeeze through. It's a short climb to the upper window and down I went."
He punctuated his words with gestures, his fingers climbing through the air.
"You climbed three stories," David began trying to bite back his disbelief. "Without the use of a ladder or stairs?"
Liebgott tossed him a wink. "Ledges, gaps, decorative facing. It's not hard at all."
Arrogant bastard. David was impressed, though he'd never say it. "And how did you get the cases out of the warehouse?"
"Oh, the alcohol," he said nonchalantly. Yes, the alcohol. Oh, it was only the alcohol that he was marking up and moving out of the city. He was trying his patience. "There's an access tunnel. Like I said, small enough for someone to squeeze through."
David stared at Eakely who shifted by the doorway. Colby and Willis shrugged. They were idiots who stated that the entire warehouse was secure. Nothing could get in or out without their knowledge. They lacked the common sense to look up, good lord. No wonder this scrawny Jew from the Lower East Side only got caught because he couldn't hold back a sneeze.
"None of you knew there was an access tunnel small enough for someone to squeeze through?"
He got no response. He would have taken a cough, the sound of breaking wind over the silence. It took all his strength to bite back his anger. He clenched a fist under his desk and dug his heel into the rug.
"Out." Eakely moved to grab Liebgott, but David waved him away. "He stays. You three get out. And send the doctor up here."
"He's with Goodwin," Colby stated. David shook his head. There were losses to cut and Goodwin was useless. He can't keep a man who was probably blind and had a shattered arm and lacked the common sense to examine the entire warehouse before stating it was safe to use.
"Dump him at the hospital." They shuffled out of the room. He stood and loomed over Joe, burned his eyes into his face.
Liebgott snorted and sucked between his teeth. "So, the doctor for you or me? You look awfully agitated. Don't need you collapsing on me."
A quick backhand against his swollen face shut his mouth. David swept his eyes along Liebgott's dirty, bloodied frame. His shirt was torn, his pants stained with mud he tracked on the floor. Christ, he should have gone with the hardwood. And where did this leave him?
Joe Liebgott was mouthy and had issues with authority. He was like every piece of trash he climbed over during his morning walks. But he's clever and fearless. He knows his way around the city and can throw a few punches. Boil it down and he’s a bored kid who needed direction. And David had a few ideas.
"Are there any other gaps in the fence I need to worry about?"
Liebgott stroked his temple. David saw the wheels as they turned. Risk, reward, and opportunity. He didn't answer.
"Let me say this once more, Joe. Can I call you Joe?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You are one resourceful kid in a city full of imbeciles. It's rare to meet someone who is willing to steal alcohol from someone like me."
David paced behind his desk. Joe's eyes followed him and he heard the faint click of a lighter as it opened and snapped shut. He's nervous.
"Let's be honest here, Joe. You may have been caught, but you outsmarted my men and, I’m not ashamed to admit this, myself. I thought the warehouse was well protected, but you found the gaps. I could let you back on the streets where you'll live a mundane, uncertain life."
Joe crossed his arms against his chest and set his jaw. He didn't meet David's face; the lamp deserved all his attention.
"You'd be bored. Hell, I could have you killed for crossing me and end this entire thing. Or." David planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward. Joe looked small and he tried to bring that flicker of arrogance back to his face. He failed. "You could work for me."
Joe licked his lower lip. "If I say no?"
David laughed and slid his hands into his pocket. "You truly believe I would take no for an answer."
"And you think I'm that easily intimidated."
Oh, he liked him already.
"If I were anyone else, no. But I scare you. Don't worry, son. I will never tell a soul."
That cocky smirk came back and he shrugged. "Why the fuck not. What do I do?"
David pulled out his pocket square. "Get cleaned up," he said and handed the silk to Joe. "Then we'll talk."
*** *** *** *** ***
Joe had quick feet and an even quicker temper.
"When I said yes," he paced the office and David stared at the path of grime he left on the carpet. "I didn't think I'd be made a fucking target."
"Take off your shoes, Liebgott."
"Fuck the shoes. I got winged three times." Joe still bent to yank them off and threw them to the boot tray. Too late, the damage was done. Unfortunate.
"I should have a sign on the door for you as a reminder to scrape your shoes before entering. I don't like calling the cleaners in every time I see you."
Joe threw his hands up and stalked to the tile in front of the fireplace. "Now can I complain about the mooks shooting at me?"
Exasperation brought a slight pout to his lower lip and shadowed his face. He looked handsome and more mature despite his theatrics. He’d never show it, but David was quite amused at these outbursts. He reached for a stack of papers, focused on the scrawl of campaign letters.
"No."
Joe huffed. He was upset. David had a knack for interpreting these little noises. Four months of them and he was an expert. Joe had a tendency to show his emotions and let them get the best out of him. It had its charm, but he needed to learn control. Joe waited expectantly for a reply as his hands rattled coins in his pockets.
David enjoyed Joe's struggle to contain himself. It was like watching a dog focus on a piece of meat as it dangled before his nose. If they lunged they'd be denied both food and attention. Rather than get angrier, a deprived Joe became sedate and soft. Now they could talk.
"You agreed to this position. You were, after all, the one bragging about how no one could touch you." Joe dusted off his sleeve and shrugged. "And so far, no one has touched you."
"I got winged. Still don't like being shot at."
David laughed. "You are such a petulant child. The exercise is good for one's constitution. It gets the blood moving."
Another noise of protest cam from across the room. "Oh, it'll flow when I get tagged."
David's fingers curled and the paper crumpled slightly. Yes, it would. David did not want that to happen, not to Joe. He had a spark nothing should put out.
"I’m as upset as you are, Joe. Don’t worry. They'll be taken care of. Smith's men should have known better than try to steal from me. He'll punish them worse than you could for their eager youthful indiscretions." Joe looked skeptical. "Trust me."
"I do." David smiled. Joe ducked his head and cleared his throat. “You think Smith was in on it?”
David shook his head. “No. We have our boundaries, but sometimes his men forget they exist. He has a tendency to hire firebrands without knowing how to deal with their inexperience and energy.”
Joe smirked. The obvious went unspoken, how David and David alone could set Joe’s head straight. Joe wanted to learn. He was clever with sharp eyes and enough ambition to drive him forward but not beyond his limits. It reassured him.
“He’ll set them straight.” David pulled out a drawer and placed two glasses on the table. The gin was pure and from his private collection. "I’m glad that you were there tonight.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit down. Calm your nerves."
"What about the carpet?" His words were tinged with humor. There's the man he hired.
"I'm thinking hardwood. Maybe solid oak." It was nice to relax and to do so with a runner like Joe was conflicting. Any other man he'd send on their way, tell them to patch up their coat and go home. With Joe he wanted nothing more than to call Smith and demand their tongues. Maybe a few moments with the thugs; they’d never consider crossing into his territory again.
Joe took the glass and nodded his thanks. He waited for David to take a sip before he let the juniper bite of liquor meet his mouth.
"Been ages since I had something not watered down. The nightclub I go to serves piss and poison. Not real booze." He licked his lips with pleasure, a quick pink sweep David followed.
"Come to me first, Joe."
He got a questioning look. "You mean it?"
He did absolutely. "I take care of my best men. You haven't screwed up and it's refreshing to have someone resourceful working with me."
Joe flushed. The color looked nice on him, better than the patches of red that sprouted when he was angry or agitated.
"I appreciate it, sir."
David wasn't called Mr. Webster or Mr. W. or Boss. A proper sir. They were making progress, the words genuine. He stood and moved to lean against the desk. Joe shifted his feet over to give him room.
"And your arm?" He fingered the small holes the bullets left. "I hope your sweater is the only thing in need of patching."
"It's fine." His eyes darted from David's face to the hand on his sleeve. David brushed along his arm, the wool rough under his palm.
"I want you in one piece, Joe." He stayed his hand above Joe's wrist and tightened his grip. Joe swallowed and nodded. "I'm glad we're understood. Go home."
The door clicked behind Joe. David sat in the chair and reached for Joe's glass. He licked along the rim, caught the beads of liquor that fell from his mouth. He could take what he wanted and lay waste. But that wouldn't do. Patience was a virtue; he didn't reach this position by grabbing mindlessly. He wasn’t one to hang from a ledge without knowing where he’d land if he fell.
He drained the dregs and shut his eyes. One moment at a time.
*** *** *** *** ***
Sometimes he was in the mood to fuck a woman.
This one had a soft name, something prim like Helen or Evelyn. It was something to pass the time, something expected after he treated her to dinner and a night of dancing.
David liked slim women with narrow hips and breasts small enough to fill his hand. He took Dorothy or Betty from behind, kissed the base of her cropped hair, and stroked below her navel. He liked their soft skin and the wet, perfumed lipstick as it smeared against his mouth and jaw. They moved against him, willed David to thrust faster and deeper. The women looked like dolls, fragile but he wasn’t scared that they would break.
With men, he preferred those with slender frames and angles he traced with his fingers or tongue. His favorite had a sharp nose and a mouth that was wet and willing. Heavy, hard hands and a collarbone that jutted against David's lips.
David made him struggle, fight a little. Joe would. He'd snap and snarl and try to push with his words and body before taking it. He’d let David fuck him until he was unable to move. His body would be limp and stomach caked with dried semen, his skin tasting like sweat and fatigue. Still Joe would wrap his arms around David and cling to him, whisper in his ear.
"Sir, please sir, please."
And David would until there was nothing left.
*** *** *** *** ***
Once upon a time Joe had a girl.
Her name was Jean, Jean with soft blonde hair finger waved to perfection. He ran into them on a walk during the afternoon, before the offices opened and men spilled onto the street. She clung to Joe's arm and laughed sweet and high at David's pleasantries.
He wanted to break her neck. One quick motion and nothing would put Jean together again. The poor dear would fall and ruin her lovely hair. What a shame. But he wasn't a person who did such things, not anymore. Instead he admired the necklace Joe gave her and the soft slide of her hem against her knees.
Once upon a time Joe had a girl. Her name was Jean Seward and she was a dancer at a nightclub. She kicked her long legs and swirled her hips to the rhythm of the band. She sat with men and drank watered down liquor and captivated scrawny Joe Liebgott from Hester Street.
"How odd," David expressed later to Father O'Byrne during a lovely afternoon meeting. "This city has so many spaces where depravity is forefront and holds nothing for the children."
And so David bought the club and handed it over to the church.
"All this was possible through an anonymous donation by a kind, concerned citizen," Father O'Byrne stated to the press. "We are combating sin by providing a place for youths who are in danger of falling into the clutches of criminals."
David asked after Jean, beautiful Jean with her dull hair and red lipstick that dotted stained teeth. Dear Jean with pale makeup that stood unblended against the tan of a throat that vomited shrill giggles.
Joe mumbled something about her returning home after losing her job. Shame no one was interested in hiring someone with her look.
"Sad. She was a lovely girl, Joe."
He ignored the hard set of Joe's jaw and stretched his mouth into a sympathetic smile. He waved his hand to the sofa and Joe sat down, crossed his legs at the ankle.
He had taken his shoes off.
Once upon a time Joe had a girl. And now David had himself a man.
*** *** *** *** ***
Excerpt from Gay Men in Straight Places: Crime, Politics, and Masculinity
"Though it was well known that Webster had "certain tendencies" (Martin 1999) towards both genders, no one questioned him or his judgement. According to Paul Bovaro, underboss of the Marfisi crime family, while there were rumors the other bosses knew never to use them against Webster.
‘Yeah, we all knew. We called him a fag behind his back, but we still respected him. He had a brain, like a chess player. He worked for himself, but never screwed any of us, well not openly. No matter how much he probably wanted to, he was steady. We needed him. Hate to admit it, but no one could replace him.
Helped he was handsome. Webster got a face like an actor, same presence. My wife found him charming. All women did. He was good at working the broads, you know the voting groups, widows, and waitresses. They thought he was a good man and tripped for a chance to be near him. Shit, I remember one dancing girl somersaulting off the stage and into an empty chair next to him. Never saw moves like that even at a circus. He didn’t even jump, just stretched an arm around her shoulder. They left together.
He still would order a hit or backhand some hoodlum if they stepped out of place. Well, almost all of them.' (Bovaro 1960, p. 95-96)"
*** *** *** *** ***
Ernest Smith was a bloated mass of a man. David likened him to a boiled pig that had the misfortune of being dressed in an ill-fitting suit after death.
"Gotta say," Smith chewed around his damn stinking cigar, "I don't understand the company you keep anymore."
David sliced into the roast beef and failed to acknowledge Smith's pointed glare. The meat was tender, the carrots glazed, and the company bitter but necessary. As much as he respected Smith, the man was a brute. He earned his power through physical intimidation whereas David used his brain. For Smith it was an underutilized organ, but that’s why he had numerous advisors on the bankroll. They did all the heavy lifting for him.
"What about my company offends you, Ernest?" David took a sip of champagne.
"I'm not offended, just concerned." Smith raised his brow. "Considering the rumors about you."
He trailed off and David held the knife in his hand a little tighter. It wasn’t sharp enough to slide through the layers of blubber and fabric stretched across the man’s frame.
"There are rumors about all of us, Ernest. Those pesky tales about your wife for instance. Does she still lay out the welcome mat for her pussy?"
Smith glowered and cursed around his cigar. "You're a queer."
"And a rumrunner. And I fix elections. And I am your business partner for reasons I've yet to fathom." David shrugged and speared a carrot. "Now I appreciate men and women. Both sexes have their appeal and their failings."
"And this driver who spits on my men every chance he gets? What’s his appeal, Webster? Outside of blowing you I’m sure.”
"Liebgott? Oh, he has a set of balls. He speaks out of turn and he pushes me every time I let him. But he's fearless and he gets the job done. Without him, you wouldn't get your supply. And lest we forget your men shot at him." He wiped his mouth. “Whatever my proclivities are, Ernest, I can assure you they do not apply to him.”
Ernest shrugged. "Still a hood. And I never saw you associate yourself with any hood before."
"People change, Smith. Though I hope our partnership will remain as solid as it is at this juncture." David clattered his utensils on the plate and pushed his chair out.
"We need each other," Ernest pocketed his cigar and extended his hand. David took it and watched his hand disappear in a meaty palm. He refrained from wiping the cold, clammy feeling on his pant leg.
It was damp out, the air heavy with threatening rain. David enjoyed the rain, the steady drum of water against the roof and the crash of thunder. He remembered sitting on his window sill as a child, watching the lighting splinter across the sky. It was a scene of magic for his young eyes; the memory made him smile. Tonight he’ll revisit that moment when the world was so big and out of his reach.
Joe pushed himself from against the car and dropped his cigarette to the ground. "You okay, sir?"
"Another exciting evening." He slipped through the opened door and threw his hat on the seat. "I wish that bastard would choke to death."
"The way he packs it away, yeah that's pretty likely to happen."
David enjoyed the image of Smith laid out on a butcher’s block. A comically large apple was shoved in his mouth. "A man can dream, Joe."
"Ain't that all we're left with?"
"Profound."
"Nah, it's the truth."
He caught Joe’s reflection in the mirror. No. It wasn't.
*** *** *** *** ***
Excerpt from Every Good Mother's Son: The Biography of Joseph Liebgott
"Webster's bisexuality is well documented. Though Joseph was a well-known ladies man, his sexuality in relation to Webster is still a subject of debate among historians and laypersons. Their often speculated relationship runs the gamut from casual business partners to devoted lovers.
Joseph’s own words about Webster are demonstrative of the lingering speculation and only add fuel to the fire.
'He was everything. Roll that around your fucking heads.'”
*** *** *** *** ***
"Tilt your head back," David said. Joe exposed his cheek to the lamp light, the sharp pink-reds of developing bruises swept from his cheek to his jaw.
Joe clicked his tongue and squirmed slightly. "It ain’t so bad."
David dug his thumb into his chin. "Hold still. I can't work with someone who won’t listen to the slightest command. I need your head clear and those hands in your pockets, not you attacking some moron with a chip on their shoulder."
"He called you a queer," Joe stated bluntly.
David dabbed his pocket square against the cuts and scrapes. The fabric seeped red, but everything would heal. Scars wouldn’t suit Joe’s angular face. "I've been called worse."
"No one should talk shit about you," Joe winced at the antiseptic. "And you're ruining your handkerchief."
"I've got more where this came from." David stroked along Joe's sharp jaw. Nothing was broken; he was perfect. "I don't need you defending my honor. People can talk, but without power they can't do a damn thing."
"I can do this myself," Joe pulled away and reached for the stained cloth.
"I'm not trying to turn you queer," David threw the handkerchief in his face, the moment of intimacy gone. He wanted to clean the blood from his skin, trace along the bones of his face. But Joe was too pigheaded to sit still and let him. He looked down at his fingers. They were tinged pink with blood and smelled like a hospital. He stalked to the washroom and dragged them across a towel.
Joe leaned in the doorway. He looked irritated, as if he had a reason to be. "I didn't mean that. You always put words in my mouth."
"Patch yourself up and go home. I'll have Morris come in tomorrow." He dismissed Joe and tried to push past him.
"No, that's fine," Joe said and blocked his path. Smug son-of-a-bitch. David's arm reached out and his hand clamped around his throat. Joe pushed and pushed and wore his patience down. He was an irritating itch he had to scratch and David demanded satisfaction.
"Listen to me, Liebgott." David threw him to the carpet and barked into his ear. Joe’s fingers tightened around his wrist and tried to pull him off. David had the upper hand; he always did. "You may have some leeway, but do not fucking test me."
"Do something. Anything. Just don't push me out like trash," Joe gasped. He turned red and a hand moved to palm David’s jaw. It caught him off guard. He thought he would be punched or clawed, not. Not caressed. He relaxed his grip and Joe rolled over gagging.
No.
David sank next to him and brought his hand along Joe's back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Joe drew in frantic breaths. "I didn't want to lose control like that." That was the action of the impulsive boy he used to be. Nothing good came from stupidity. It was supposed to be his mouth on Joe's neck, his tongue catching on stubble as it moved around his Adam's apple. Not a hand that crushed and left raw marks.
Joe hocked onto the floor and wiped his mouth. "Don't lie to me. You did. You fucking wanted that."
He wanted something, but to let go and lash out in such a manner disturbed him. His hand fit around Joe’s throat so well, the steady drum of his pulse quickened for him. And he left Joe struggling for air, pinned him down violently.
David slammed his fist against the nearby cabinet.
"I tell you to keep your hands steady. I'm as bad as you are," David shook his fingers and tried to relax his body. His muscles tensed and white specks in his vision spun as he blinked.
"Give me it," Joe said and reached for David's hand. "Come on, don't worry. I'm not trying to queer you up."
He said it seriously, his voice even. Joe's fingers were cool as he brushed over David's knuckles. He shut his eyes and tried to steady himself. There was the shift of fabric and the press of Joe’s body against his. A slight wave of dizziness overtook him momentarily, most likely from his previous exertions. It wasn’t because Joe’s breath was hot near his face or because he could feel the dry flakes that peeled from his lips. They kissed and their tongues slid while a hand tugged clumsily at his belt buckle.
"Joe," David weaved his hand into Joe's slick hair. "Have you done this before?"
"You taught me a lot of things. I'm sure this'll be another." Joe tugged his sweater off and splayed out on the carpet.
David crawled over him and mouthed his jaw. He tasted the bite of aftershave and felt the rush of his pulse. Joe didn’t fight; there was no struggle. Instead he stayed under him while his rough hands curled against the nape of his neck and pulled him closer. David’s hand strayed to the flat front of Joe’s trousers and he felt him grow hard.
“I want this to last,” David said. He stood up and heard a groan of protest from Joe that stopped once he began to undress. Joe sucked in his lower lip when David kicked off his pants. “You wanted a lesson, you’ll get one. Patience.”
He was naked and he knelt beside Joe’s stretched form. “Do you see my erection? This is what you do to me, Joe. You drive me wild. Raise your arms.”
Joe’s undershirt rode up and David scraped the backs of his nails along his chest. He dipped his nose into Joe’s armpit and kissed him, smelled sweat and the lingering trace of soap. He puffed the hairs and Joe sighed, just enough for David to lose focus. “Don’t talk, Joe. Please. Remember your lesson.”
David gathered himself and Joe shut his eyes. “This is for the both of us, Joe. I know you understand this.” Joe’s mouth opened and David traced his lips with the tip of his tongue. He did know. Clever boy.
“You ever smell a man, Joe?” He pressed his palm against Joe’s chest and dragged it down to his crotch. He worked his fly and tried not to touch him. Joe swallowed and let out a sharp breath when his pants and underwear were pulled to his knees. His fingers stroked through his pubic hair. “I never liked how women smell like they are drowning in cheap perfumes. Cloying and thick, like a haze. Now men, you Joe remind me of leaves and soft earth and the rain.”
He brought his hand to Joe’s mouth and slid his fingers past his lips. “This is how you smell. This is what drives me crazy when we share a car. When you sit in my office with your legs spread I notice you. It’s subtle and I taste you. I want to throw you on the floor and fuck you with my mouth. Too vulgar?”
David licked Joe’s mouth through his fingers. “Suck on them,” and Joe tongued his pointer and middle finger while his teeth scraped the skin. He pumped them slow until they were slick. “God, I fucked a man who reminds me of you but was nothing like you. Seeing you now, he’s a begging dog with ribs that show through paper thin skin. He smelled used and dotted color on his cheeks. But your flush is all for me.”
He pulled fingers out of Joe’s mouth and licked them. “I want to run the head of my prick along your lips,” and Joe huffed and parted them a little wider. “But that isn’t what I want for you.” David pulled Joe's undershirt above his nipples. "I want you to feel good. Do you want that?”
David tilted his head and admired Joe’s cock. “You stand so proud for me,” he said. He wanted the best for Joe as he kissed his collarbone. He followed the line down to his nipple and he mouthed and licked until Joe’s breathing deepened. “You like that. You should; I’m fond of that as well. Make a note of that.”
He moved his way down Joe’s body, following the dark hair to below Joe’s navel. He rubbed his face into Joe’s stomach. David likened himself to a cat as he nuzzled him, scented him with the expensive aftershave he wore. “When we are like this,” he breathed into Joe’s skin, “you can call me David. Don’t say it in the company of others or when we are clothed. I will not hesitate to terminate you. And that would be unsatisfactory for us both, no?”
"David," his name sounded foreign when Joe spoke. He said it slow and uncertainly like he was learning it for the first time. "David." This time hushed; it sounded right. The slow burn of his name sank into his body. David wanted to make that name burst past Joe's lips out of desire.
“There are lines we need to establish. Never forget who I am and who you are.” He leaned over Joe and flicked his tongue along the wet tip of his cock. David took him into his mouth. He got a satisfied grunt in response and Joe gripped his hair. He imagined his taste and how he felt for some time. This was better than those fevered dreams.
Never had your cock sucked like this before David hummed happily. He took him deep and massaged his inner thighs. His fingers slipped along the crack of his ass to behind his balls. Joe tensed under him and came. It wasn't his name Joe said, but something guttural and primal. Syllables that had no meaning. Close enough. David swallowed and sucked until there was nothing left to spend. He gave Joe a minute to recover, stroked his hips and brought him down.
"Fuck. David," he panted. "You. What do you need?" Joe reached up and wiped the saliva and semen from David’s chin. He looked so handsome, his body loose and eyes heavy with release. Those slender fingers and wide palms that found his face always caught his eye and imagination.
“Turn over.” Joe hesitated then flipped.
David raised his hips up slightly and licked a wet stripe along his ass crack. “I never,” Joe stammered.
“You aren’t. For now, you’re untouched.” He positioned himself and moved his cock slow. Finally, his patience was rewarded. “Is this fine, Joe? You’d tell me if you didn’t like it.”
“Fine,” Joe braced himself and David thrust faster. “You’re fine.”
David came thick on Joe’s back and carpet. He felt satisfaction seeing his semen striped shiny against the notches of Joe’s spine. He dragged his fingers through a pool and smeared a path to his waist.
“Of course I am.” Joe rolled over and David kissed him gently on his bruised jaw and raw throat. “We are both fine.”
*** *** *** *** ***
“Is your mother still alive, Joe?”
Joe peered over his newspaper at David. “Yeah. Why?”
David flipped through his stack of letters. A handful from the church, scented stationary from a former paramour, a lovely thank you from the League of Women Voters for his attendance at a meeting. He grabbed them and strolled to the fireplace.
“My mother’s dead.” He did not know why he wanted to share this information. It pressed against his throat, a hard bubble that popped and the question and his words fell out. “I was nine when she died in a factory accident.”
He flicked the scented letter into the fire and watched it blacken and disappear. He heard the newspaper crumple. Whether Joe folded it to listen or turn the page he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
Liar.
“I’m one of many orphans thrust into the care of those willing yet ill equipped to deal with the temperaments of those growing into young adulthood.”
The sisters did care for them deeply as they reminded them of sin and salvation, temptation and fortitude. Look how far he came from the little boy who recited psalms and promised to love man with all his heart. It was laughable. He heard the faint click of the rosary and caught the scent of the soft perfume of roses as he leaned against the mantle.
“Do you care for your mother?” The thank you letter flared and he dropped it into the flames.
“I send her money, yeah,” Joe sounded concerned, not for David but over the direction of the conversation. No. He may be wrong; he was tired and a headache throbbed behind his eyes. Nothing particularly trying led to his exhaustion, but he felt drained.
“Good. And you love her,” David crumpled the church papers and they burned to ash. He faced Joe. “I can tell you do.”
“You okay, sir?” Confusion crossed Joe’s face. David wanted to brush his fingers along his forehead and smooth his hair back.
“Yes. It’s odd, Joe. When I look at you I remember who I used to be. Shocking, I know.” He moved to the window and pulled open the curtain. The streets bustled with activity. Women in furs, well-dressed men, and the poor milled about as faceless forms. “We’re two sides of the same coin, Joe.”
“I’m learning that’s the case,” Joe said. He joined David by the window and folded his arms across his chest.
He’s changed, David noticed. His posture was straighter and his eyes weren’t as hard and arrogant as they were when they first met. The flare was still there when his anger came and got the best out of him. But he cut a striking figure when he tried. Joe caught his stare and a smirk slid across his face.
The streets below seemed so insignificant.
*** *** *** *** ***
Pictured, orphans at the Sisters of Mercy Home for Youths, date unknown. Black line denotes David K. Webster.
*** *** *** *** ***
The air in the old warehouse was stale. It smelled like sweat and urine with a faint metallic edge of blood to tie it together. David stared at Colby, bound to a chair, his swollen lips cut by broken teeth. Joe did quite a number on him, but he never forgot the man had to speak. The missing ear was particularly nasty; the hole obviously revenge for the pummeling Joe took so long ago. David didn’t want to chastise him for that; let him have his fun. He’s surprised Colby wasn’t in worse condition. Later he’ll thank Joe for being so considerate.
“How much did you steal?” David spoke calmly, his limbs loose and all tension gone from his body. He’ll enjoy this. Shame it had to be Colby, he really did like him. He was a good man with a level head, up until this glaring mistake. David didn’t want to question his better judgment and choice of men. The rest wouldn’t stab him in the back and piss in the wound.
He’d remind everyone why they shouldn’t if they so happened to forget.
Colby mumbled through is swollen lips. “Just enough for me.” His head lolled back in the chair and blood from the wound in his head dribbled down his neck. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, boss.”
David nodded and reached for Colby’s sweaty, shaking hands. “No, you aren’t.” He bent his pointer finger until it popped, separated from the joint. Colby’s cries turned into a scream as he spun the finger around and left it useless.
“Quantify ‘just enough for me’,” another finger snapped and rose in an unnatural position. “A few hundred? A few thousand? How much satiated your greed?” He punctuated his words with the sound of breaking bones. Colby’s sobs echoed through the warehouse.
“Be a man,” David said with a voice that rattled in his chest. He grabbed Colby’s head and screwed his knuckle in the gash where his ear belonged. “You’ll give up before I do. Answer me now.”
“Ten grand, only ten grand.” He keened in pain and David nodded. Only ten grand, as if money were something disposable. He stomped on the high part of his bare foot. It cracked and more muffled cries greeted him.
“I doubt,” David extended his hand for a towel one of his men offered, “you can pay me back. That’s fine. I understand. I mean, I’m a shit boss. I don’t take care of any of my men. No booze, no access to nightclubs. No women. Am I right gentlemen?”
He extended his arms to his side and waited for an answer. No one spoke and no one moved. There wasn’t a single twitch of muscle or blink. Exactly how it should be. He leaned over Colby and snapped his fingers loosely around his throat.
“You gonna kill me,” Colby muttered a matter-of-factly. David stared blankly and Colby laughed. “Fuck you and fuck your stupid Jew dog.”
David’s shaking fingers wrenched around his neck, crushing through his pulse and the ropes of sinews. Colby’s eyes bulged and David squeezed. If only he could dig through his chest with his bare hands and wrench his heart. Hearing the strangled gasps and feeling Colby’s legs kick against the rope was pleasure enough. Something gave under his hands and Colby stilled, his eyes bloodshot and tongue pressed against his lips.
David tossed him to the ground and enjoyed the sound of his head smack against the concrete. The tremor in his hands disappeared and he tried to gather himself. The man deserved to die with piss running down his leg.
“Dog,” he hissed. He gave the body a quick kick in the stomach and remembered to steel himself. “Take care of him.”
When his eyes met Joe, David remembered the feel of his throat under his palm. How he coughed for breath and sucked it in when released. The memory burned and he shook it from his mind. Their outcomes were different, yet surprisingly similar. David got exactly what he wanted.
As it should be.
*** *** *** *** ***
“I feel like a kept woman.”
“You are,” David threw the window open and let the autumn air into the apartment. “A one room tenement is no place for you.”
“I can’t afford this,” Joe peered into a closet. “What’s that thing?”
“It’s called a dumbwaiter. It carries food and things between floors,” David smiled at Joe’s puzzled look. “I find it quaint.”
“I can’t afford this,” Joe stated again, slower with his arms crossed.
David dragged his fingers along the leather couch. “You don’t have to. I own this building.” David faced Joe and ignored the shocked look. “Here is a thinking exercise. Give me a reason why I would own hotels.”
“Safe investment, steady flow of income, easy to hide the guy you’re fucking,” Joe rattled off like a student at a recitation. He sat down and propped his feet on the coffee table. David refrained from smacking his feet to the floor.
‘That’s from the early Victorian era,” he stated and regretted not removing it from the location. Joe smiled and left them where they were. Tomorrow he’ll replace it with something more contemporary and replaceable.
“The catch?” Joe stretched his arms along the back of the couch. He licked his upper lip and raised an eyebrow. David wanted nothing more than to bend him over the table and indulge in some mid-afternoon debauchery. He swallowed that urge and leaned over the back of the couch and breathed into Joe’s ear.
“Our business relationship remains the same. You do well, the apartment remains in your care. You do poorly, you’re punished. You cross me in any way and well, we don’t exactly want that to happen.”
“No, it won’t, sir,” and Joe exposed his neck to David’s mouth. “Maybe you can show me to the bedroom. Give me the grand tour.”
David kissed below his ear and tongued along his hairline, tasted the wax of his pomade. “Later. I have a meeting with some lovely members of the Christian Women’s Bureau. Such delightfully benevolent women are interested in speaking to me about resisting sin.”
“Fuck, maybe I should sit in on that meeting,” Joe groaned as David slid a hand down his chest.
“We’d both learn a lesson.” He desired Joe, dreamed of him, forced himself to maintain that fine balance between attraction and discretion when in public. They were alone, unlikely to be interrupted by a stray knock at the door or phone call. But what message would they send to the chaste old women he helped fund if they entered smelling like sex and uncontrolled lust?
“Let’s go,” David kissed the bend of his neck. “I promise tonight we’ll erase their blathering from our minds.”
*** *** *** *** ***
David knew Joe had the odd woman when it struck his fancy. It wasn’t like he would find another Jean, a woman he called on with gifts and soft words that held meaning. Women were charming and had their appeal. David enjoyed their company at dinner and clubs. They were an accessory, the most beautiful made all eyes fall on them.
He had Joe describe what he did with them. How he buried his tongue between their thighs and drew shapes until they writhed. The soft curves of their body he mouthed as they rode him, how he made them moan.
David got satisfaction out of his words. No matter what he did or felt, Joe came back to him. He slept in their bed and groaned his name. David, David, David as a tongue swirled around his anus, his name a chant when a finger and then another entered. That’s right, when David pushed into him and thrust.
Some people he took to his bed beamed at him like they conquered an invading army. As if their conversational skills and faces disarmed him, not his desire to plunge forward into something warm and willing. He held their arms over their head or watched their faces press into a pillow. It took all his power to not laugh at them.
When Joe smiled, David felt something unhinge and open, a lurch like a train coming to a stop. He didn’t see achievement, just satisfaction. His limbs felt loose and body satisfied while Joe leaned over him and mouthed words into his ear. In their ink-black world this was an invitation to feel safe and content.
Everything else could burn away.
*** *** *** *** ***
Excerpt from The Intellectuals: The Brains and Their Brawn in the New York City Underworld
"Law enforcement is predicated on the idea that the vast majority of the public will do what the law wants. Let them fall in step. Without us that majority would be miserable. We fund the nightclubs, we provide the liquor, and we give the working man something to look forward to after hours. We're society's safety valve. The police should be thanking us."
David K. Webster
"They do. We pay them enough."
Joseph Liebgott in response to David K. Webster
*** *** *** *** ***
There’s a bite in the air. Concern.
“Noose is tightening,” Smith coughed and reached for a glass of water. “Tyler won’t budge.”
“He’s getting too greedy for his own good,” Samson Jones concurred. He was a small man who compensated with lifts in his shoes and anger. David liked him enough though he fell back on “gut them nice” as a solution to a problem a bit too much. It wasn’t as fun as toying with ones target, but Jones was one for instant satisfaction.
“How much?” Joe reached across the table for the newspaper. Tyler’s broad, toadish face grinned below the headline. Tyler Stands Firm: Booze’s Flow Will Stop Here. David resisted the urge to tear it from his grip and toss it into the fireplace.
“Ten large,” Smith stated. “Politicians these days don’t understand the value of cooperation.”
“He has a propensity for whores,” David remembered. What good politician didn’t appreciate the warm touch of a paid woman? Christ, they were all such clichés.
Jones nodded. “Big tits,” he extended his arms out in front of his chest. “Big bouncing beauties, not the flat boards you tend to find.”
“I know one of the places he frequents,” Joe offered. David caught his eye and Joe frowned. “You know Marfisi’s driver? I talk to him about baseball sometimes. He sees him at this joint outside of Harlem.”
“I think we should borrow a page from Jones’s book here,” Smith said. The man looked like a turtle sitting upright, fat legs kicking to push his bulk up so he could lean forward. What an unctuous man, he thought and was struck with the desire to have ham for dinner. Well, if nothing productive came from this meeting, at least he has his meal planned.
David pushed himself back into the situation at hand. Though permanent, killing anyone who got in their way opened a whole new can of worms: investigations from young, over eager police officers who wanted to climb the ranks.
Jones looked excited at the prospect. “See, what’d I tell you? Kill him. Simple.”
“Lex parsimoniae,” David murmured. “True. We could kill him, but imagine the fallout. Use the women he likes against him.”
“Lex persimmon?” Smith asked and Joe leaned over and explained. “Oh, I got you. So, what you thinking of?”
“Bring a lamb to slaughter,” David said. “He’ll need us to clean up the mess.” He pulled the newspaper from where it was placed. Again Tyler stared up seemingly daring him to take action. Pay me or you’re done, my ass. “Jones, you want to use your typical solution to our problems? Good, then Joe will give you the location of the club.”
He smiled at the newspaper and bit back the laugh that threatened to push past his lips. It’d be his pleasure to wipe the smirk from that man’s face.
*** *** *** *** ***
He remembered the visits to church, how he fell to his knees and accepted the Eucharist eyes lifted and heart full. It grew soft on his tongue and melted into paste when he sipped the wine. Here was the Body of the Lord washed with the Blood. He became a part of David; they could never be divided.
Ecce Agnus Dei.
He was young and believed in the love of his fellow man. It was a love that flowed like blood from their veins and coated his fingers. It left his skin sticky and crusted under his nails, made his hand slip on the grip of his knife. Then, when he was naïve, David wondered if the men he killed took the Blood of Christ. He could never be divided and He brought them the word. And now He was on his hands. But there was no spiritual truth in the blood that slicked his fingers. It was something to wash off and swirl like watercolors in the sink.
Ecce qui tollis peccata mundi.
David looked up and waited. No songs greeted his ears, only a grunt and the wet slap of skin. There wasn’t the heady scent of the church, but warm earth and salt. Some time ago he stopped believing in God and worshipped money and power and his intelligence. But now there was a higher power. Joe blurted his name and David opened his mouth. A splash of semen hit his lips and face. It slipped onto his tongue and dribbled onto his chin. This was for him, for them; this was Joe’s body transformed. With a smile Joe knelt to lick his mouth and take part in the sacrament.
Ite missa est.
*** *** *** *** ***
"Politics occur when a handful of stupid people come together to stroke one another off. Now as fun as that prospect is, gentlemen I am no politician."
Attributed to David K. Webster, date unknown.
*** *** *** *** ***
Tyler was found dead, bullet in his brain and gun at his side.
“Did he off himself,” Joe asked around a mouthful of food. “Or did one of us help him along?”
Neither Smith nor Jones spoke.
“Once he swallows, should he repeat the question?” David propped his chin on laced fingers. Joe glanced at the elbows he placed on the table, but damn manners. The answer was necessary. It was to end with Tyler groveling for help, not with him decorating his office in shades of red and brain matter.
“We could ask you that same question,” Jones said. He pointed at Joe with his fork. “Don’t think he’s as innocent as he plays.”
Joe grunted. “You assume a lot about me, Sam. Me, innocent,” he chuckled bitterly. He yanked the cloth napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. David felt the irritation in Joe’s body and refrained from holding him back. He trusted Joe to not act out beyond these words. “You don’t know who I am, do you Sam?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Smith groaned in disgust. “We connected him to dead women. Now he joins them by his own hand.” He glowered at Joe. “We got clout in politics, we use it.”
“Who do we push for?” David’s neck stiffened with tension. It wasn’t the end of the world, far from it. It was a temporary misstep to setting things right and in their direction. A person had to adjust to the unexpected or drown under uncertainty. Adapt or fail; David was not in the mood to lose everything.
“No matter what we’ll have to grease some palms to get our man in charge,” Jones said. The very thing they were seeking to avoid was rearing its ugly head. To help install a new political figure this soon unnerved him. They just had to be wise and set the pieces.
David survived worse and life moved on.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine, gentlemen. This town belongs to us after all. Nothing can pull it from our grasps.”
*** *** *** *** ***
Pictured, 33rd Infantry Division prior to the Battle of Hamel. Black line denotes Private Joseph Liebgott, aged 22.
*** *** *** *** ***
Scene: Two men alone onstage with a gramophone. The men sway to music that has long since ended, hands clasped and bodies pressed.
Joe: Never was good at this.
David: What?
Joe: This part. Dancing.
David: You’re fine.
Joe (Flatly): I’m all hooves.
David: Stallion. (Little pause) Though I worry about the state of my shoes.
Joe: I thought I apologized.
David: I own plenty.
Joe (Overlapping): Of course you do.
David (Overlapping): We aren’t even dancing.
(Long pause. David releases his hand and drops it to Joe’s waist.)
David: You think- (Little pause, slight hesitation) How much longer can this last?
(Joe’s head snaps up)
Joe (Pulling back): I don’t like that question.
David: I don’t like that I need an answer.
(Both men stare at one another.)
Joe (Struggling to control himself): Why you need one?
(David drops his shoulders. He hesitates to speak and falters.)
You don’t know. You don’t need an answer but you still want one? Jesus Christ. (Pauses) I’m not doing this right now.
(David moves for Joe’s hand)
Joe (Stepping away): I don’t get you.
David (Laughing bitterly): Neither do I. All I remember is that line I drew. How quickly we forget. (Little pause) I can’t protect you.
Joe: Never wanted it. I survived worse before you even got in the picture. I know you got my back, boss. But fuck, that line got erased long time ago.
David (Quietly): You’re everything.
(Joe reaches for David and places his hand against his face. He holds it there.)
Joe (Gentle): You gotta figure out what that means.
(David tries to rebuff the touch. Joe holds firm.)
Look at me and tell me you still need that answer.
(David reaches to cover Joe’s hand. They stand in silence.)
*** *** *** *** ***
summary: A mob AU love story.
rating: NC-17 for sex; some torture; unsavory language
word count: 8900. EIGHT THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN.
a/n: Mixed format writing style. Mistakes: mine. Opinions: may vary. Fun: was had.
"Nice place you got here."
The kid stared everywhere but David's direction. His fingers jangled on a bouncing knee and his crooked mouth curled into a smile. David laced his fingers and leaned back in his chair. He's met a lot of sewer rats, but they all had one thing in common: they all cowed under David's cold gaze. He laced his fingers and leaned back in his chair.
Interesting.
"I have only one question for you," he began slowly. David paused for effect. Liebgott propped his chin on his hand like he was an eager college student awaiting a lecture. "How did you get in the warehouse?"
Liebgott gave an exasperated noise and threw his hands up. "This question again?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of David's men before pointing to his swollen and bruised face. “They asked and brother, I answered."
He did, he certainly did. Goodwin's arm was broken in two places, several teeth swallowed, and the orbit of his eye smashed to dust. David respected his nerve and will to fight back. A survivor, rare in a world where a bottle of whiskey and a couple of dollars could placate anyone. Nothing could tamper this one down.
David always liked a challenge.
"The warehouse."
Liebgott wiped the ooze of blood from his lip. "The southern side between the cracked wall and the alley. There's a gap in the fence, just small enough for someone to squeeze through. It's a short climb to the upper window and down I went."
He punctuated his words with gestures, his fingers climbing through the air.
"You climbed three stories," David began trying to bite back his disbelief. "Without the use of a ladder or stairs?"
Liebgott tossed him a wink. "Ledges, gaps, decorative facing. It's not hard at all."
Arrogant bastard. David was impressed, though he'd never say it. "And how did you get the cases out of the warehouse?"
"Oh, the alcohol," he said nonchalantly. Yes, the alcohol. Oh, it was only the alcohol that he was marking up and moving out of the city. He was trying his patience. "There's an access tunnel. Like I said, small enough for someone to squeeze through."
David stared at Eakely who shifted by the doorway. Colby and Willis shrugged. They were idiots who stated that the entire warehouse was secure. Nothing could get in or out without their knowledge. They lacked the common sense to look up, good lord. No wonder this scrawny Jew from the Lower East Side only got caught because he couldn't hold back a sneeze.
"None of you knew there was an access tunnel small enough for someone to squeeze through?"
He got no response. He would have taken a cough, the sound of breaking wind over the silence. It took all his strength to bite back his anger. He clenched a fist under his desk and dug his heel into the rug.
"Out." Eakely moved to grab Liebgott, but David waved him away. "He stays. You three get out. And send the doctor up here."
"He's with Goodwin," Colby stated. David shook his head. There were losses to cut and Goodwin was useless. He can't keep a man who was probably blind and had a shattered arm and lacked the common sense to examine the entire warehouse before stating it was safe to use.
"Dump him at the hospital." They shuffled out of the room. He stood and loomed over Joe, burned his eyes into his face.
Liebgott snorted and sucked between his teeth. "So, the doctor for you or me? You look awfully agitated. Don't need you collapsing on me."
A quick backhand against his swollen face shut his mouth. David swept his eyes along Liebgott's dirty, bloodied frame. His shirt was torn, his pants stained with mud he tracked on the floor. Christ, he should have gone with the hardwood. And where did this leave him?
Joe Liebgott was mouthy and had issues with authority. He was like every piece of trash he climbed over during his morning walks. But he's clever and fearless. He knows his way around the city and can throw a few punches. Boil it down and he’s a bored kid who needed direction. And David had a few ideas.
"Are there any other gaps in the fence I need to worry about?"
Liebgott stroked his temple. David saw the wheels as they turned. Risk, reward, and opportunity. He didn't answer.
"Let me say this once more, Joe. Can I call you Joe?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You are one resourceful kid in a city full of imbeciles. It's rare to meet someone who is willing to steal alcohol from someone like me."
David paced behind his desk. Joe's eyes followed him and he heard the faint click of a lighter as it opened and snapped shut. He's nervous.
"Let's be honest here, Joe. You may have been caught, but you outsmarted my men and, I’m not ashamed to admit this, myself. I thought the warehouse was well protected, but you found the gaps. I could let you back on the streets where you'll live a mundane, uncertain life."
Joe crossed his arms against his chest and set his jaw. He didn't meet David's face; the lamp deserved all his attention.
"You'd be bored. Hell, I could have you killed for crossing me and end this entire thing. Or." David planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward. Joe looked small and he tried to bring that flicker of arrogance back to his face. He failed. "You could work for me."
Joe licked his lower lip. "If I say no?"
David laughed and slid his hands into his pocket. "You truly believe I would take no for an answer."
"And you think I'm that easily intimidated."
Oh, he liked him already.
"If I were anyone else, no. But I scare you. Don't worry, son. I will never tell a soul."
That cocky smirk came back and he shrugged. "Why the fuck not. What do I do?"
David pulled out his pocket square. "Get cleaned up," he said and handed the silk to Joe. "Then we'll talk."
*** *** *** *** ***
Joe had quick feet and an even quicker temper.
"When I said yes," he paced the office and David stared at the path of grime he left on the carpet. "I didn't think I'd be made a fucking target."
"Take off your shoes, Liebgott."
"Fuck the shoes. I got winged three times." Joe still bent to yank them off and threw them to the boot tray. Too late, the damage was done. Unfortunate.
"I should have a sign on the door for you as a reminder to scrape your shoes before entering. I don't like calling the cleaners in every time I see you."
Joe threw his hands up and stalked to the tile in front of the fireplace. "Now can I complain about the mooks shooting at me?"
Exasperation brought a slight pout to his lower lip and shadowed his face. He looked handsome and more mature despite his theatrics. He’d never show it, but David was quite amused at these outbursts. He reached for a stack of papers, focused on the scrawl of campaign letters.
"No."
Joe huffed. He was upset. David had a knack for interpreting these little noises. Four months of them and he was an expert. Joe had a tendency to show his emotions and let them get the best out of him. It had its charm, but he needed to learn control. Joe waited expectantly for a reply as his hands rattled coins in his pockets.
David enjoyed Joe's struggle to contain himself. It was like watching a dog focus on a piece of meat as it dangled before his nose. If they lunged they'd be denied both food and attention. Rather than get angrier, a deprived Joe became sedate and soft. Now they could talk.
"You agreed to this position. You were, after all, the one bragging about how no one could touch you." Joe dusted off his sleeve and shrugged. "And so far, no one has touched you."
"I got winged. Still don't like being shot at."
David laughed. "You are such a petulant child. The exercise is good for one's constitution. It gets the blood moving."
Another noise of protest cam from across the room. "Oh, it'll flow when I get tagged."
David's fingers curled and the paper crumpled slightly. Yes, it would. David did not want that to happen, not to Joe. He had a spark nothing should put out.
"I’m as upset as you are, Joe. Don’t worry. They'll be taken care of. Smith's men should have known better than try to steal from me. He'll punish them worse than you could for their eager youthful indiscretions." Joe looked skeptical. "Trust me."
"I do." David smiled. Joe ducked his head and cleared his throat. “You think Smith was in on it?”
David shook his head. “No. We have our boundaries, but sometimes his men forget they exist. He has a tendency to hire firebrands without knowing how to deal with their inexperience and energy.”
Joe smirked. The obvious went unspoken, how David and David alone could set Joe’s head straight. Joe wanted to learn. He was clever with sharp eyes and enough ambition to drive him forward but not beyond his limits. It reassured him.
“He’ll set them straight.” David pulled out a drawer and placed two glasses on the table. The gin was pure and from his private collection. "I’m glad that you were there tonight.” He pointed to a chair. “Sit down. Calm your nerves."
"What about the carpet?" His words were tinged with humor. There's the man he hired.
"I'm thinking hardwood. Maybe solid oak." It was nice to relax and to do so with a runner like Joe was conflicting. Any other man he'd send on their way, tell them to patch up their coat and go home. With Joe he wanted nothing more than to call Smith and demand their tongues. Maybe a few moments with the thugs; they’d never consider crossing into his territory again.
Joe took the glass and nodded his thanks. He waited for David to take a sip before he let the juniper bite of liquor meet his mouth.
"Been ages since I had something not watered down. The nightclub I go to serves piss and poison. Not real booze." He licked his lips with pleasure, a quick pink sweep David followed.
"Come to me first, Joe."
He got a questioning look. "You mean it?"
He did absolutely. "I take care of my best men. You haven't screwed up and it's refreshing to have someone resourceful working with me."
Joe flushed. The color looked nice on him, better than the patches of red that sprouted when he was angry or agitated.
"I appreciate it, sir."
David wasn't called Mr. Webster or Mr. W. or Boss. A proper sir. They were making progress, the words genuine. He stood and moved to lean against the desk. Joe shifted his feet over to give him room.
"And your arm?" He fingered the small holes the bullets left. "I hope your sweater is the only thing in need of patching."
"It's fine." His eyes darted from David's face to the hand on his sleeve. David brushed along his arm, the wool rough under his palm.
"I want you in one piece, Joe." He stayed his hand above Joe's wrist and tightened his grip. Joe swallowed and nodded. "I'm glad we're understood. Go home."
The door clicked behind Joe. David sat in the chair and reached for Joe's glass. He licked along the rim, caught the beads of liquor that fell from his mouth. He could take what he wanted and lay waste. But that wouldn't do. Patience was a virtue; he didn't reach this position by grabbing mindlessly. He wasn’t one to hang from a ledge without knowing where he’d land if he fell.
He drained the dregs and shut his eyes. One moment at a time.
*** *** *** *** ***
Sometimes he was in the mood to fuck a woman.
This one had a soft name, something prim like Helen or Evelyn. It was something to pass the time, something expected after he treated her to dinner and a night of dancing.
David liked slim women with narrow hips and breasts small enough to fill his hand. He took Dorothy or Betty from behind, kissed the base of her cropped hair, and stroked below her navel. He liked their soft skin and the wet, perfumed lipstick as it smeared against his mouth and jaw. They moved against him, willed David to thrust faster and deeper. The women looked like dolls, fragile but he wasn’t scared that they would break.
With men, he preferred those with slender frames and angles he traced with his fingers or tongue. His favorite had a sharp nose and a mouth that was wet and willing. Heavy, hard hands and a collarbone that jutted against David's lips.
David made him struggle, fight a little. Joe would. He'd snap and snarl and try to push with his words and body before taking it. He’d let David fuck him until he was unable to move. His body would be limp and stomach caked with dried semen, his skin tasting like sweat and fatigue. Still Joe would wrap his arms around David and cling to him, whisper in his ear.
"Sir, please sir, please."
And David would until there was nothing left.
*** *** *** *** ***
Once upon a time Joe had a girl.
Her name was Jean, Jean with soft blonde hair finger waved to perfection. He ran into them on a walk during the afternoon, before the offices opened and men spilled onto the street. She clung to Joe's arm and laughed sweet and high at David's pleasantries.
He wanted to break her neck. One quick motion and nothing would put Jean together again. The poor dear would fall and ruin her lovely hair. What a shame. But he wasn't a person who did such things, not anymore. Instead he admired the necklace Joe gave her and the soft slide of her hem against her knees.
Once upon a time Joe had a girl. Her name was Jean Seward and she was a dancer at a nightclub. She kicked her long legs and swirled her hips to the rhythm of the band. She sat with men and drank watered down liquor and captivated scrawny Joe Liebgott from Hester Street.
"How odd," David expressed later to Father O'Byrne during a lovely afternoon meeting. "This city has so many spaces where depravity is forefront and holds nothing for the children."
And so David bought the club and handed it over to the church.
"All this was possible through an anonymous donation by a kind, concerned citizen," Father O'Byrne stated to the press. "We are combating sin by providing a place for youths who are in danger of falling into the clutches of criminals."
David asked after Jean, beautiful Jean with her dull hair and red lipstick that dotted stained teeth. Dear Jean with pale makeup that stood unblended against the tan of a throat that vomited shrill giggles.
Joe mumbled something about her returning home after losing her job. Shame no one was interested in hiring someone with her look.
"Sad. She was a lovely girl, Joe."
He ignored the hard set of Joe's jaw and stretched his mouth into a sympathetic smile. He waved his hand to the sofa and Joe sat down, crossed his legs at the ankle.
He had taken his shoes off.
Once upon a time Joe had a girl. And now David had himself a man.
*** *** *** *** ***
Excerpt from Gay Men in Straight Places: Crime, Politics, and Masculinity
"Though it was well known that Webster had "certain tendencies" (Martin 1999) towards both genders, no one questioned him or his judgement. According to Paul Bovaro, underboss of the Marfisi crime family, while there were rumors the other bosses knew never to use them against Webster.
‘Yeah, we all knew. We called him a fag behind his back, but we still respected him. He had a brain, like a chess player. He worked for himself, but never screwed any of us, well not openly. No matter how much he probably wanted to, he was steady. We needed him. Hate to admit it, but no one could replace him.
Helped he was handsome. Webster got a face like an actor, same presence. My wife found him charming. All women did. He was good at working the broads, you know the voting groups, widows, and waitresses. They thought he was a good man and tripped for a chance to be near him. Shit, I remember one dancing girl somersaulting off the stage and into an empty chair next to him. Never saw moves like that even at a circus. He didn’t even jump, just stretched an arm around her shoulder. They left together.
He still would order a hit or backhand some hoodlum if they stepped out of place. Well, almost all of them.' (Bovaro 1960, p. 95-96)"
*** *** *** *** ***
Ernest Smith was a bloated mass of a man. David likened him to a boiled pig that had the misfortune of being dressed in an ill-fitting suit after death.
"Gotta say," Smith chewed around his damn stinking cigar, "I don't understand the company you keep anymore."
David sliced into the roast beef and failed to acknowledge Smith's pointed glare. The meat was tender, the carrots glazed, and the company bitter but necessary. As much as he respected Smith, the man was a brute. He earned his power through physical intimidation whereas David used his brain. For Smith it was an underutilized organ, but that’s why he had numerous advisors on the bankroll. They did all the heavy lifting for him.
"What about my company offends you, Ernest?" David took a sip of champagne.
"I'm not offended, just concerned." Smith raised his brow. "Considering the rumors about you."
He trailed off and David held the knife in his hand a little tighter. It wasn’t sharp enough to slide through the layers of blubber and fabric stretched across the man’s frame.
"There are rumors about all of us, Ernest. Those pesky tales about your wife for instance. Does she still lay out the welcome mat for her pussy?"
Smith glowered and cursed around his cigar. "You're a queer."
"And a rumrunner. And I fix elections. And I am your business partner for reasons I've yet to fathom." David shrugged and speared a carrot. "Now I appreciate men and women. Both sexes have their appeal and their failings."
"And this driver who spits on my men every chance he gets? What’s his appeal, Webster? Outside of blowing you I’m sure.”
"Liebgott? Oh, he has a set of balls. He speaks out of turn and he pushes me every time I let him. But he's fearless and he gets the job done. Without him, you wouldn't get your supply. And lest we forget your men shot at him." He wiped his mouth. “Whatever my proclivities are, Ernest, I can assure you they do not apply to him.”
Ernest shrugged. "Still a hood. And I never saw you associate yourself with any hood before."
"People change, Smith. Though I hope our partnership will remain as solid as it is at this juncture." David clattered his utensils on the plate and pushed his chair out.
"We need each other," Ernest pocketed his cigar and extended his hand. David took it and watched his hand disappear in a meaty palm. He refrained from wiping the cold, clammy feeling on his pant leg.
It was damp out, the air heavy with threatening rain. David enjoyed the rain, the steady drum of water against the roof and the crash of thunder. He remembered sitting on his window sill as a child, watching the lighting splinter across the sky. It was a scene of magic for his young eyes; the memory made him smile. Tonight he’ll revisit that moment when the world was so big and out of his reach.
Joe pushed himself from against the car and dropped his cigarette to the ground. "You okay, sir?"
"Another exciting evening." He slipped through the opened door and threw his hat on the seat. "I wish that bastard would choke to death."
"The way he packs it away, yeah that's pretty likely to happen."
David enjoyed the image of Smith laid out on a butcher’s block. A comically large apple was shoved in his mouth. "A man can dream, Joe."
"Ain't that all we're left with?"
"Profound."
"Nah, it's the truth."
He caught Joe’s reflection in the mirror. No. It wasn't.
*** *** *** *** ***
Excerpt from Every Good Mother's Son: The Biography of Joseph Liebgott
"Webster's bisexuality is well documented. Though Joseph was a well-known ladies man, his sexuality in relation to Webster is still a subject of debate among historians and laypersons. Their often speculated relationship runs the gamut from casual business partners to devoted lovers.
Joseph’s own words about Webster are demonstrative of the lingering speculation and only add fuel to the fire.
'He was everything. Roll that around your fucking heads.'”
*** *** *** *** ***
"Tilt your head back," David said. Joe exposed his cheek to the lamp light, the sharp pink-reds of developing bruises swept from his cheek to his jaw.
Joe clicked his tongue and squirmed slightly. "It ain’t so bad."
David dug his thumb into his chin. "Hold still. I can't work with someone who won’t listen to the slightest command. I need your head clear and those hands in your pockets, not you attacking some moron with a chip on their shoulder."
"He called you a queer," Joe stated bluntly.
David dabbed his pocket square against the cuts and scrapes. The fabric seeped red, but everything would heal. Scars wouldn’t suit Joe’s angular face. "I've been called worse."
"No one should talk shit about you," Joe winced at the antiseptic. "And you're ruining your handkerchief."
"I've got more where this came from." David stroked along Joe's sharp jaw. Nothing was broken; he was perfect. "I don't need you defending my honor. People can talk, but without power they can't do a damn thing."
"I can do this myself," Joe pulled away and reached for the stained cloth.
"I'm not trying to turn you queer," David threw the handkerchief in his face, the moment of intimacy gone. He wanted to clean the blood from his skin, trace along the bones of his face. But Joe was too pigheaded to sit still and let him. He looked down at his fingers. They were tinged pink with blood and smelled like a hospital. He stalked to the washroom and dragged them across a towel.
Joe leaned in the doorway. He looked irritated, as if he had a reason to be. "I didn't mean that. You always put words in my mouth."
"Patch yourself up and go home. I'll have Morris come in tomorrow." He dismissed Joe and tried to push past him.
"No, that's fine," Joe said and blocked his path. Smug son-of-a-bitch. David's arm reached out and his hand clamped around his throat. Joe pushed and pushed and wore his patience down. He was an irritating itch he had to scratch and David demanded satisfaction.
"Listen to me, Liebgott." David threw him to the carpet and barked into his ear. Joe’s fingers tightened around his wrist and tried to pull him off. David had the upper hand; he always did. "You may have some leeway, but do not fucking test me."
"Do something. Anything. Just don't push me out like trash," Joe gasped. He turned red and a hand moved to palm David’s jaw. It caught him off guard. He thought he would be punched or clawed, not. Not caressed. He relaxed his grip and Joe rolled over gagging.
No.
David sank next to him and brought his hand along Joe's back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Joe drew in frantic breaths. "I didn't want to lose control like that." That was the action of the impulsive boy he used to be. Nothing good came from stupidity. It was supposed to be his mouth on Joe's neck, his tongue catching on stubble as it moved around his Adam's apple. Not a hand that crushed and left raw marks.
Joe hocked onto the floor and wiped his mouth. "Don't lie to me. You did. You fucking wanted that."
He wanted something, but to let go and lash out in such a manner disturbed him. His hand fit around Joe’s throat so well, the steady drum of his pulse quickened for him. And he left Joe struggling for air, pinned him down violently.
David slammed his fist against the nearby cabinet.
"I tell you to keep your hands steady. I'm as bad as you are," David shook his fingers and tried to relax his body. His muscles tensed and white specks in his vision spun as he blinked.
"Give me it," Joe said and reached for David's hand. "Come on, don't worry. I'm not trying to queer you up."
He said it seriously, his voice even. Joe's fingers were cool as he brushed over David's knuckles. He shut his eyes and tried to steady himself. There was the shift of fabric and the press of Joe’s body against his. A slight wave of dizziness overtook him momentarily, most likely from his previous exertions. It wasn’t because Joe’s breath was hot near his face or because he could feel the dry flakes that peeled from his lips. They kissed and their tongues slid while a hand tugged clumsily at his belt buckle.
"Joe," David weaved his hand into Joe's slick hair. "Have you done this before?"
"You taught me a lot of things. I'm sure this'll be another." Joe tugged his sweater off and splayed out on the carpet.
David crawled over him and mouthed his jaw. He tasted the bite of aftershave and felt the rush of his pulse. Joe didn’t fight; there was no struggle. Instead he stayed under him while his rough hands curled against the nape of his neck and pulled him closer. David’s hand strayed to the flat front of Joe’s trousers and he felt him grow hard.
“I want this to last,” David said. He stood up and heard a groan of protest from Joe that stopped once he began to undress. Joe sucked in his lower lip when David kicked off his pants. “You wanted a lesson, you’ll get one. Patience.”
He was naked and he knelt beside Joe’s stretched form. “Do you see my erection? This is what you do to me, Joe. You drive me wild. Raise your arms.”
Joe’s undershirt rode up and David scraped the backs of his nails along his chest. He dipped his nose into Joe’s armpit and kissed him, smelled sweat and the lingering trace of soap. He puffed the hairs and Joe sighed, just enough for David to lose focus. “Don’t talk, Joe. Please. Remember your lesson.”
David gathered himself and Joe shut his eyes. “This is for the both of us, Joe. I know you understand this.” Joe’s mouth opened and David traced his lips with the tip of his tongue. He did know. Clever boy.
“You ever smell a man, Joe?” He pressed his palm against Joe’s chest and dragged it down to his crotch. He worked his fly and tried not to touch him. Joe swallowed and let out a sharp breath when his pants and underwear were pulled to his knees. His fingers stroked through his pubic hair. “I never liked how women smell like they are drowning in cheap perfumes. Cloying and thick, like a haze. Now men, you Joe remind me of leaves and soft earth and the rain.”
He brought his hand to Joe’s mouth and slid his fingers past his lips. “This is how you smell. This is what drives me crazy when we share a car. When you sit in my office with your legs spread I notice you. It’s subtle and I taste you. I want to throw you on the floor and fuck you with my mouth. Too vulgar?”
David licked Joe’s mouth through his fingers. “Suck on them,” and Joe tongued his pointer and middle finger while his teeth scraped the skin. He pumped them slow until they were slick. “God, I fucked a man who reminds me of you but was nothing like you. Seeing you now, he’s a begging dog with ribs that show through paper thin skin. He smelled used and dotted color on his cheeks. But your flush is all for me.”
He pulled fingers out of Joe’s mouth and licked them. “I want to run the head of my prick along your lips,” and Joe huffed and parted them a little wider. “But that isn’t what I want for you.” David pulled Joe's undershirt above his nipples. "I want you to feel good. Do you want that?”
David tilted his head and admired Joe’s cock. “You stand so proud for me,” he said. He wanted the best for Joe as he kissed his collarbone. He followed the line down to his nipple and he mouthed and licked until Joe’s breathing deepened. “You like that. You should; I’m fond of that as well. Make a note of that.”
He moved his way down Joe’s body, following the dark hair to below Joe’s navel. He rubbed his face into Joe’s stomach. David likened himself to a cat as he nuzzled him, scented him with the expensive aftershave he wore. “When we are like this,” he breathed into Joe’s skin, “you can call me David. Don’t say it in the company of others or when we are clothed. I will not hesitate to terminate you. And that would be unsatisfactory for us both, no?”
"David," his name sounded foreign when Joe spoke. He said it slow and uncertainly like he was learning it for the first time. "David." This time hushed; it sounded right. The slow burn of his name sank into his body. David wanted to make that name burst past Joe's lips out of desire.
“There are lines we need to establish. Never forget who I am and who you are.” He leaned over Joe and flicked his tongue along the wet tip of his cock. David took him into his mouth. He got a satisfied grunt in response and Joe gripped his hair. He imagined his taste and how he felt for some time. This was better than those fevered dreams.
Never had your cock sucked like this before David hummed happily. He took him deep and massaged his inner thighs. His fingers slipped along the crack of his ass to behind his balls. Joe tensed under him and came. It wasn't his name Joe said, but something guttural and primal. Syllables that had no meaning. Close enough. David swallowed and sucked until there was nothing left to spend. He gave Joe a minute to recover, stroked his hips and brought him down.
"Fuck. David," he panted. "You. What do you need?" Joe reached up and wiped the saliva and semen from David’s chin. He looked so handsome, his body loose and eyes heavy with release. Those slender fingers and wide palms that found his face always caught his eye and imagination.
“Turn over.” Joe hesitated then flipped.
David raised his hips up slightly and licked a wet stripe along his ass crack. “I never,” Joe stammered.
“You aren’t. For now, you’re untouched.” He positioned himself and moved his cock slow. Finally, his patience was rewarded. “Is this fine, Joe? You’d tell me if you didn’t like it.”
“Fine,” Joe braced himself and David thrust faster. “You’re fine.”
David came thick on Joe’s back and carpet. He felt satisfaction seeing his semen striped shiny against the notches of Joe’s spine. He dragged his fingers through a pool and smeared a path to his waist.
“Of course I am.” Joe rolled over and David kissed him gently on his bruised jaw and raw throat. “We are both fine.”
*** *** *** *** ***
“Is your mother still alive, Joe?”
Joe peered over his newspaper at David. “Yeah. Why?”
David flipped through his stack of letters. A handful from the church, scented stationary from a former paramour, a lovely thank you from the League of Women Voters for his attendance at a meeting. He grabbed them and strolled to the fireplace.
“My mother’s dead.” He did not know why he wanted to share this information. It pressed against his throat, a hard bubble that popped and the question and his words fell out. “I was nine when she died in a factory accident.”
He flicked the scented letter into the fire and watched it blacken and disappear. He heard the newspaper crumple. Whether Joe folded it to listen or turn the page he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
Liar.
“I’m one of many orphans thrust into the care of those willing yet ill equipped to deal with the temperaments of those growing into young adulthood.”
The sisters did care for them deeply as they reminded them of sin and salvation, temptation and fortitude. Look how far he came from the little boy who recited psalms and promised to love man with all his heart. It was laughable. He heard the faint click of the rosary and caught the scent of the soft perfume of roses as he leaned against the mantle.
“Do you care for your mother?” The thank you letter flared and he dropped it into the flames.
“I send her money, yeah,” Joe sounded concerned, not for David but over the direction of the conversation. No. He may be wrong; he was tired and a headache throbbed behind his eyes. Nothing particularly trying led to his exhaustion, but he felt drained.
“Good. And you love her,” David crumpled the church papers and they burned to ash. He faced Joe. “I can tell you do.”
“You okay, sir?” Confusion crossed Joe’s face. David wanted to brush his fingers along his forehead and smooth his hair back.
“Yes. It’s odd, Joe. When I look at you I remember who I used to be. Shocking, I know.” He moved to the window and pulled open the curtain. The streets bustled with activity. Women in furs, well-dressed men, and the poor milled about as faceless forms. “We’re two sides of the same coin, Joe.”
“I’m learning that’s the case,” Joe said. He joined David by the window and folded his arms across his chest.
He’s changed, David noticed. His posture was straighter and his eyes weren’t as hard and arrogant as they were when they first met. The flare was still there when his anger came and got the best out of him. But he cut a striking figure when he tried. Joe caught his stare and a smirk slid across his face.
The streets below seemed so insignificant.
*** *** *** *** ***
Pictured, orphans at the Sisters of Mercy Home for Youths, date unknown. Black line denotes David K. Webster.
*** *** *** *** ***
The air in the old warehouse was stale. It smelled like sweat and urine with a faint metallic edge of blood to tie it together. David stared at Colby, bound to a chair, his swollen lips cut by broken teeth. Joe did quite a number on him, but he never forgot the man had to speak. The missing ear was particularly nasty; the hole obviously revenge for the pummeling Joe took so long ago. David didn’t want to chastise him for that; let him have his fun. He’s surprised Colby wasn’t in worse condition. Later he’ll thank Joe for being so considerate.
“How much did you steal?” David spoke calmly, his limbs loose and all tension gone from his body. He’ll enjoy this. Shame it had to be Colby, he really did like him. He was a good man with a level head, up until this glaring mistake. David didn’t want to question his better judgment and choice of men. The rest wouldn’t stab him in the back and piss in the wound.
He’d remind everyone why they shouldn’t if they so happened to forget.
Colby mumbled through is swollen lips. “Just enough for me.” His head lolled back in the chair and blood from the wound in his head dribbled down his neck. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, boss.”
David nodded and reached for Colby’s sweaty, shaking hands. “No, you aren’t.” He bent his pointer finger until it popped, separated from the joint. Colby’s cries turned into a scream as he spun the finger around and left it useless.
“Quantify ‘just enough for me’,” another finger snapped and rose in an unnatural position. “A few hundred? A few thousand? How much satiated your greed?” He punctuated his words with the sound of breaking bones. Colby’s sobs echoed through the warehouse.
“Be a man,” David said with a voice that rattled in his chest. He grabbed Colby’s head and screwed his knuckle in the gash where his ear belonged. “You’ll give up before I do. Answer me now.”
“Ten grand, only ten grand.” He keened in pain and David nodded. Only ten grand, as if money were something disposable. He stomped on the high part of his bare foot. It cracked and more muffled cries greeted him.
“I doubt,” David extended his hand for a towel one of his men offered, “you can pay me back. That’s fine. I understand. I mean, I’m a shit boss. I don’t take care of any of my men. No booze, no access to nightclubs. No women. Am I right gentlemen?”
He extended his arms to his side and waited for an answer. No one spoke and no one moved. There wasn’t a single twitch of muscle or blink. Exactly how it should be. He leaned over Colby and snapped his fingers loosely around his throat.
“You gonna kill me,” Colby muttered a matter-of-factly. David stared blankly and Colby laughed. “Fuck you and fuck your stupid Jew dog.”
David’s shaking fingers wrenched around his neck, crushing through his pulse and the ropes of sinews. Colby’s eyes bulged and David squeezed. If only he could dig through his chest with his bare hands and wrench his heart. Hearing the strangled gasps and feeling Colby’s legs kick against the rope was pleasure enough. Something gave under his hands and Colby stilled, his eyes bloodshot and tongue pressed against his lips.
David tossed him to the ground and enjoyed the sound of his head smack against the concrete. The tremor in his hands disappeared and he tried to gather himself. The man deserved to die with piss running down his leg.
“Dog,” he hissed. He gave the body a quick kick in the stomach and remembered to steel himself. “Take care of him.”
When his eyes met Joe, David remembered the feel of his throat under his palm. How he coughed for breath and sucked it in when released. The memory burned and he shook it from his mind. Their outcomes were different, yet surprisingly similar. David got exactly what he wanted.
As it should be.
*** *** *** *** ***
“I feel like a kept woman.”
“You are,” David threw the window open and let the autumn air into the apartment. “A one room tenement is no place for you.”
“I can’t afford this,” Joe peered into a closet. “What’s that thing?”
“It’s called a dumbwaiter. It carries food and things between floors,” David smiled at Joe’s puzzled look. “I find it quaint.”
“I can’t afford this,” Joe stated again, slower with his arms crossed.
David dragged his fingers along the leather couch. “You don’t have to. I own this building.” David faced Joe and ignored the shocked look. “Here is a thinking exercise. Give me a reason why I would own hotels.”
“Safe investment, steady flow of income, easy to hide the guy you’re fucking,” Joe rattled off like a student at a recitation. He sat down and propped his feet on the coffee table. David refrained from smacking his feet to the floor.
‘That’s from the early Victorian era,” he stated and regretted not removing it from the location. Joe smiled and left them where they were. Tomorrow he’ll replace it with something more contemporary and replaceable.
“The catch?” Joe stretched his arms along the back of the couch. He licked his upper lip and raised an eyebrow. David wanted nothing more than to bend him over the table and indulge in some mid-afternoon debauchery. He swallowed that urge and leaned over the back of the couch and breathed into Joe’s ear.
“Our business relationship remains the same. You do well, the apartment remains in your care. You do poorly, you’re punished. You cross me in any way and well, we don’t exactly want that to happen.”
“No, it won’t, sir,” and Joe exposed his neck to David’s mouth. “Maybe you can show me to the bedroom. Give me the grand tour.”
David kissed below his ear and tongued along his hairline, tasted the wax of his pomade. “Later. I have a meeting with some lovely members of the Christian Women’s Bureau. Such delightfully benevolent women are interested in speaking to me about resisting sin.”
“Fuck, maybe I should sit in on that meeting,” Joe groaned as David slid a hand down his chest.
“We’d both learn a lesson.” He desired Joe, dreamed of him, forced himself to maintain that fine balance between attraction and discretion when in public. They were alone, unlikely to be interrupted by a stray knock at the door or phone call. But what message would they send to the chaste old women he helped fund if they entered smelling like sex and uncontrolled lust?
“Let’s go,” David kissed the bend of his neck. “I promise tonight we’ll erase their blathering from our minds.”
*** *** *** *** ***
David knew Joe had the odd woman when it struck his fancy. It wasn’t like he would find another Jean, a woman he called on with gifts and soft words that held meaning. Women were charming and had their appeal. David enjoyed their company at dinner and clubs. They were an accessory, the most beautiful made all eyes fall on them.
He had Joe describe what he did with them. How he buried his tongue between their thighs and drew shapes until they writhed. The soft curves of their body he mouthed as they rode him, how he made them moan.
David got satisfaction out of his words. No matter what he did or felt, Joe came back to him. He slept in their bed and groaned his name. David, David, David as a tongue swirled around his anus, his name a chant when a finger and then another entered. That’s right, when David pushed into him and thrust.
Some people he took to his bed beamed at him like they conquered an invading army. As if their conversational skills and faces disarmed him, not his desire to plunge forward into something warm and willing. He held their arms over their head or watched their faces press into a pillow. It took all his power to not laugh at them.
When Joe smiled, David felt something unhinge and open, a lurch like a train coming to a stop. He didn’t see achievement, just satisfaction. His limbs felt loose and body satisfied while Joe leaned over him and mouthed words into his ear. In their ink-black world this was an invitation to feel safe and content.
Everything else could burn away.
*** *** *** *** ***
Excerpt from The Intellectuals: The Brains and Their Brawn in the New York City Underworld
"Law enforcement is predicated on the idea that the vast majority of the public will do what the law wants. Let them fall in step. Without us that majority would be miserable. We fund the nightclubs, we provide the liquor, and we give the working man something to look forward to after hours. We're society's safety valve. The police should be thanking us."
David K. Webster
"They do. We pay them enough."
Joseph Liebgott in response to David K. Webster
*** *** *** *** ***
There’s a bite in the air. Concern.
“Noose is tightening,” Smith coughed and reached for a glass of water. “Tyler won’t budge.”
“He’s getting too greedy for his own good,” Samson Jones concurred. He was a small man who compensated with lifts in his shoes and anger. David liked him enough though he fell back on “gut them nice” as a solution to a problem a bit too much. It wasn’t as fun as toying with ones target, but Jones was one for instant satisfaction.
“How much?” Joe reached across the table for the newspaper. Tyler’s broad, toadish face grinned below the headline. Tyler Stands Firm: Booze’s Flow Will Stop Here. David resisted the urge to tear it from his grip and toss it into the fireplace.
“Ten large,” Smith stated. “Politicians these days don’t understand the value of cooperation.”
“He has a propensity for whores,” David remembered. What good politician didn’t appreciate the warm touch of a paid woman? Christ, they were all such clichés.
Jones nodded. “Big tits,” he extended his arms out in front of his chest. “Big bouncing beauties, not the flat boards you tend to find.”
“I know one of the places he frequents,” Joe offered. David caught his eye and Joe frowned. “You know Marfisi’s driver? I talk to him about baseball sometimes. He sees him at this joint outside of Harlem.”
“I think we should borrow a page from Jones’s book here,” Smith said. The man looked like a turtle sitting upright, fat legs kicking to push his bulk up so he could lean forward. What an unctuous man, he thought and was struck with the desire to have ham for dinner. Well, if nothing productive came from this meeting, at least he has his meal planned.
David pushed himself back into the situation at hand. Though permanent, killing anyone who got in their way opened a whole new can of worms: investigations from young, over eager police officers who wanted to climb the ranks.
Jones looked excited at the prospect. “See, what’d I tell you? Kill him. Simple.”
“Lex parsimoniae,” David murmured. “True. We could kill him, but imagine the fallout. Use the women he likes against him.”
“Lex persimmon?” Smith asked and Joe leaned over and explained. “Oh, I got you. So, what you thinking of?”
“Bring a lamb to slaughter,” David said. “He’ll need us to clean up the mess.” He pulled the newspaper from where it was placed. Again Tyler stared up seemingly daring him to take action. Pay me or you’re done, my ass. “Jones, you want to use your typical solution to our problems? Good, then Joe will give you the location of the club.”
He smiled at the newspaper and bit back the laugh that threatened to push past his lips. It’d be his pleasure to wipe the smirk from that man’s face.
*** *** *** *** ***
He remembered the visits to church, how he fell to his knees and accepted the Eucharist eyes lifted and heart full. It grew soft on his tongue and melted into paste when he sipped the wine. Here was the Body of the Lord washed with the Blood. He became a part of David; they could never be divided.
Ecce Agnus Dei.
He was young and believed in the love of his fellow man. It was a love that flowed like blood from their veins and coated his fingers. It left his skin sticky and crusted under his nails, made his hand slip on the grip of his knife. Then, when he was naïve, David wondered if the men he killed took the Blood of Christ. He could never be divided and He brought them the word. And now He was on his hands. But there was no spiritual truth in the blood that slicked his fingers. It was something to wash off and swirl like watercolors in the sink.
Ecce qui tollis peccata mundi.
David looked up and waited. No songs greeted his ears, only a grunt and the wet slap of skin. There wasn’t the heady scent of the church, but warm earth and salt. Some time ago he stopped believing in God and worshipped money and power and his intelligence. But now there was a higher power. Joe blurted his name and David opened his mouth. A splash of semen hit his lips and face. It slipped onto his tongue and dribbled onto his chin. This was for him, for them; this was Joe’s body transformed. With a smile Joe knelt to lick his mouth and take part in the sacrament.
Ite missa est.
*** *** *** *** ***
"Politics occur when a handful of stupid people come together to stroke one another off. Now as fun as that prospect is, gentlemen I am no politician."
Attributed to David K. Webster, date unknown.
*** *** *** *** ***
Tyler was found dead, bullet in his brain and gun at his side.
“Did he off himself,” Joe asked around a mouthful of food. “Or did one of us help him along?”
Neither Smith nor Jones spoke.
“Once he swallows, should he repeat the question?” David propped his chin on laced fingers. Joe glanced at the elbows he placed on the table, but damn manners. The answer was necessary. It was to end with Tyler groveling for help, not with him decorating his office in shades of red and brain matter.
“We could ask you that same question,” Jones said. He pointed at Joe with his fork. “Don’t think he’s as innocent as he plays.”
Joe grunted. “You assume a lot about me, Sam. Me, innocent,” he chuckled bitterly. He yanked the cloth napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. David felt the irritation in Joe’s body and refrained from holding him back. He trusted Joe to not act out beyond these words. “You don’t know who I am, do you Sam?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Smith groaned in disgust. “We connected him to dead women. Now he joins them by his own hand.” He glowered at Joe. “We got clout in politics, we use it.”
“Who do we push for?” David’s neck stiffened with tension. It wasn’t the end of the world, far from it. It was a temporary misstep to setting things right and in their direction. A person had to adjust to the unexpected or drown under uncertainty. Adapt or fail; David was not in the mood to lose everything.
“No matter what we’ll have to grease some palms to get our man in charge,” Jones said. The very thing they were seeking to avoid was rearing its ugly head. To help install a new political figure this soon unnerved him. They just had to be wise and set the pieces.
David survived worse and life moved on.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine, gentlemen. This town belongs to us after all. Nothing can pull it from our grasps.”
*** *** *** *** ***
Pictured, 33rd Infantry Division prior to the Battle of Hamel. Black line denotes Private Joseph Liebgott, aged 22.
*** *** *** *** ***
Scene: Two men alone onstage with a gramophone. The men sway to music that has long since ended, hands clasped and bodies pressed.
Joe: Never was good at this.
David: What?
Joe: This part. Dancing.
David: You’re fine.
Joe (Flatly): I’m all hooves.
David: Stallion. (Little pause) Though I worry about the state of my shoes.
Joe: I thought I apologized.
David: I own plenty.
Joe (Overlapping): Of course you do.
David (Overlapping): We aren’t even dancing.
(Long pause. David releases his hand and drops it to Joe’s waist.)
David: You think- (Little pause, slight hesitation) How much longer can this last?
(Joe’s head snaps up)
Joe (Pulling back): I don’t like that question.
David: I don’t like that I need an answer.
(Both men stare at one another.)
Joe (Struggling to control himself): Why you need one?
(David drops his shoulders. He hesitates to speak and falters.)
You don’t know. You don’t need an answer but you still want one? Jesus Christ. (Pauses) I’m not doing this right now.
(David moves for Joe’s hand)
Joe (Stepping away): I don’t get you.
David (Laughing bitterly): Neither do I. All I remember is that line I drew. How quickly we forget. (Little pause) I can’t protect you.
Joe: Never wanted it. I survived worse before you even got in the picture. I know you got my back, boss. But fuck, that line got erased long time ago.
David (Quietly): You’re everything.
(Joe reaches for David and places his hand against his face. He holds it there.)
Joe (Gentle): You gotta figure out what that means.
(David tries to rebuff the touch. Joe holds firm.)
Look at me and tell me you still need that answer.
(David reaches to cover Joe’s hand. They stand in silence.)
*** *** *** *** ***