A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

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librarian_7
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A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

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Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Moonlight, I don't own it. Otherwise, it's mine.

I know a lot of people are out of pocket right now, with Christmas, but I wanted to give the board a little present of some new fic to read and (I sincerely hope!) enjoy.

Yes, once again, it's New York City, and it's 1863. Lincoln was president...but there's more to this city than elegant evenings at the theatre.


A Game of Chess

Chapter 3

Just inside the servants’ entrance, Josef listened for the sound of passersby. He knew, in a city this size, someone was always watching. He made a mental note to look into buying the houses on either side of him; setting up additional discreet exits was always a good idea. The street was about as quiet now, just at sundown, as it was going to be, at least for the next few hours. Pulling the rough cloth cap down over his forehead, he slipped out, up the area stairs from the basement kitchen, to the street level. A few steps from there, he was one of the crowd, unconnected to any particular residence.

The rest of his clothing matched the stained workman’s cap he wore. Heavy, clumsy boots, dark trousers, a collarless open-throated cotton shirt striped in faded blue and white, a worn leather vest, and a red bandana tied around his neck. Nothing ragged, but nothing new. Nothing memorable, nothing to stand out.

It had been years since he’d spent much time walking the streets of New York, but he had the basic map of the city in his head. His footsteps carried him out of the relative quiet of Greenwich Village and past Broadway, into the slums of Five Points, finding his way without trouble.

The streets here were more crowded, clogged with noisome mud and stinking of sewage. The early evening was lit by flambeaux marking the entrances of bars and cheap eating places; slightly more discreet lanterns indicated less savory haunts.

Groups of thuggish, dirty men lounged in the front steps of ramshackle tenements, laughing and smoking. Josef heard a few curious comments as he passed one building and another.

The women were out, too, flaunting whatever bits of finery they had at their disposal. Josef found them, reeking of spirits as they were, distasteful. He was actually trying to block his senses from taking in too much information. The atmosphere of Five Points was miasmic, a stench he found almost overpowering. He considered some of the places he’d been in, over the long years, and gave himself a mental shake. He was getting finicky. Disdainful of the mortal ones. It was easy enough to do.

Still, in the years since he’d walked the streets of this city, it had grown more crowded. Noisier, dirtier. On the other hand, New York pulsed with life, hot and red. All he had to do was hold out a hand to take it.

He was lost in thought as he approached a street corner, one of the few lit by a flickering gas lamp. He supposed the city fathers didn’t see the point of public lighting in the slums. Under the light, there were several women, obviously looking for business.

“Well, look at this handsome gent,” one of them cooed with false seductiveness. “How about it, handsome?”

Josef started to walk by, ignoring the lot of them, then thought better of it, and paused.

The oldest of the four, who might have been twenty-five and looked like a hard forty, gave a twitch to her faded red skirt. “There now, love, I see you’re interested.”

Josef lifted one corner of his mouth. “Not to be crass, sweetheart, but—how much?”

She blinked at him, calculating. “For you, love, a dollar.”

A younger woman, her hair bleached to a brassy blonde, laughed, showing off several missing teeth. “Well, la-dee-dah. She’s overcharging, dearie.”

He was amused. “You can do better?”

“Six bits, dearie. And I’ll do you better in more than just price.”

“What about you other two girls?” Josef asked, looking past her. He wasn’t buying what they were selling, but it you never knew who might prove useful.

The most slovenly of the quartet was a woman with her gaze drunken and unfocused from the rum she’d already consumed this evening. The fumes of it rolled off her, although Josef found that scent somewhat more palatable than the smell of unwashed flesh and old sex that permeated her clothing. “Five bits,” she offered, voice slurring. She’d been pretty, once, and maybe once all she needed to do was name a price. But she’d fallen a long way, and Josef, at least, was not tempted.

The last one to speak up was the one who appeared youngest. Josef thought she might have been fifteen, and her blue dress was cleanest of the four, her eye still bright and merry. Experienced, though. She considered him carefully, then said, “Six bits.”

“I thought you’d undercut her,” Josef commented, with a nod to the drunk.

The girl shrugged. “I’m worth more than she is. And you’re smart enough to know that.” She smoothed a hand over her skirts. “And I want a tot of rum to seal the deal, too.”

Okay, she’d gotten his interest. “Where?”

The girl jerked her head at a saloon across the way. “The Aerie.”

Josef came to complete attention. “That’s your regular dive, heh?”

She tilted her head with a saucy look. “I’m friends with the Eagle himself, I am.”

Now this was something. He’d figured on having to spend half the night trolling the waterfront, determining which gang was disrupting loading of his ships, but if he could get an in to the head of the Eagle Boys, it would save time and effort. He crooked his finger at the girl, and she sidled closer. “If that’s true, you earned yourself a dollar. And without much work.”

She slipped her arm around his waist and twinkled up at him. “You’re on, love. Let’s go.” Then, as her hand worked its way under his leather vest, she gave him an odd sidelong glance. “You’re a cool one.”

It wasn’t the first time an unknowing human had commented on the temperature of his body. He’d learned to deal with that long ago. He laughed at her. “I can be hot when I need to, pet. And what’s your name?”

“My ma named me Catherine,” she replied, “but mostly round here, they call me Cat.”

“A little thing like you? Kitten is more like it.”

They’d made their way almost to the entrance of the saloon by this time, and she answered his laugh with one of her own. “You know what they say, though. Even kittens got claws.”

“I’d never expect anything less.” Josef looked through the open doorway of the saloon. The low-ceilinged room was packed, filled with smoke and shouting, and the tinny sounds of a ramshackle piano, from under a tiny stage, where a woman appeared to be singing. Even the vampire couldn’t hear her voice over the raucous shouts of the crowd. On the dance floor, a few couples moved desultorily to their own rhythms, while more attention was focused on two men stripped to the waist, wrestling on the floor. “Tell me, Kitten, which one is the Eagle?”

The wrestling match was ended, one man unconscious on the dirty, sawdust-strewn floor, the other, somewhat the worse for wear, rising to the acclamation of the crowd. As the victor stood, raising his bare arms almost to the smoke-blackened ceiling, he roared for whiskey. He had trickles of blood running from half a dozen wounds. Scratching and biting were apparently not outside the rules in this establishment. And a dozen glasses were being shoved toward him. He did not, however, take the first he saw, but sent a shrewd look around at the men offering before selecting a tumbler.

As the wrestler downed his victory libation, Kitten pointed toward him with a jerk of her chin. “Can’t you tell? Mike Sullivan, the Eagle himself.”

Josef nodded and steered Kitten to the bar, calling for a whiskey, neat, and a rum and water for the girl. He could see he’d be waiting a bit until the excitement died down, before he could get a private word with the Eagle.

When they’d left the bar, and found a spot to sit out of the way, Kitten squirmed her way into Josef’s lap. At his rather surprised look, she grinned, and leaned to whisper in his ear. “Don’t be so shocked. You’re paying for my time, aren’t you?”

“Come to think of it, I am. And I believe I should give you some advance.” He pulled a half dollar coin out of his vest pocket, and put it in her hand.

“You told me a dollar.”

“We’re not through, yet.”

“Oh.” Her voice sounded smaller suddenly, younger. She looked down.

Josef chucked her under the chin with one finger. “I need to talk to the Eagle. Privately. Can you arrange it?”

“Why not just go to him? I pointed him out to you.”

“That’s not worth another half dollar, now is it?” He paused. “Kitten, you can slip in close and tell him there’s a man wants to talk to him, can’t you?”

“I suppose. It seems daft to me, is all.” She kicked a worn boot against the table leg, making her petticoats flip and rustle.

Josef put his arm around her, tight enough to tell her she was well caught. The proximity of the young human was tempting him, making his hunger rise to the forefront of his mind, and he didn’t like that. He had business to take care of, before he could think of feeding. And although this girl had caught his eye, she wasn’t a swallow, wasn’t a type he’d care to feed from. “Let’s just say, Kitten, that all of a man’s business doesn’t need to be conducted in public. You should have learned that by now.”

The girl eyed him, and nodded.

“Now go see what you can do. And make it look casual.” Josef loosened his grip. He could tell no one around them had noticed a thing, except a man sitting with a doxy on his lap. He took a good slug of the whiskey from his tumbler, wanting to preserve the illusion.

“What if he asks for a name?” she said in a low voice.

“Tell him…it’s to do with Night Wind Trading.”

Kitten frowned, memorizing the name. “Night Wind Trading,” she repeated. Sliding off his lap, she sauntered through the crowd, smiling at men she knew, tossing off replies in response to greetings. Josef watched in approval, while pretending to direct his eyes elsewhere. The girl was good. It had been a fortunate encounter, perhaps for them both.

Taking her time, she sidled up to the Eagle, and reached up to plant a sound kiss on his cheek. Even Josef’s sharp eyes had a hard time catching her quick whisper in the man’s ear, but he laughed, and replied as stealthily.

A few minutes later, Kitten was back on Josef’s lap, and he had a fresh drink in hand. She dropped her head on his shoulder, and told him. “The Eagle will see you. He said for me to bring you back, after he goes to the club room.”

“Thanks, Kitten. You…are in the wrong job. You should be on the stage.”

She tilted her head at him, pert as a sparrow. “Someday,” she said.

They waited, watching the crowd, until Mike Sullivan finally shook off the corps of flatterers around him, and saying that he needed to wash off the sweat and blood of his fight, disappeared behind the bar. Josef didn’t like that. The entrance to the clubroom looked far too publicly observable. He didn’t say anything, but arched his eyebrows at Kitten, and she answered with a slight shake of her head.

The girl stood, preening, and batted her eyes at Josef. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s find a darker corner.” She reached for his hand, and he stood with a smile, draping an arm around her shoulders.

“Someplace good and private,” he said, grinning around at the nearby tables. He could act, too, when needed.

“I know just the place,” she laughed back, and steered him toward an unlighted hallway. Once they were out of sight of the crowded public room, she looked up at him. “More than one way in to the Eagle’s clubroom. More than one way out, too.”

Josef grunted. “He’s no fool.”

The clubroom was a much more welcoming environment than the saloon. A few tables scattered around the room, with a long dining table dominating the far end of the space. Oil lamps provided better light than the bar had, as well. The walls were decorated with gilt wood carvings of American eagles, and against the wall, behind the long table, the flags of the United States and New York State stood in holders. The tops of the walls were draped in red, white, and blue bunting, somewhat dusty, but still proclaiming the gang’s patriotic sentiments. A sideboard held bottles of whiskey and cut glass tumblers, and in another corner, a washstand held a pitcher and basin, complete with a few fresh white towels.

At the washstand, Mike Sullivan was sluicing the blood, sawdust, and sweat from his chest as they entered, heedless of the dirty water falling on the wide bare boards of the floor, and he rubbed the towel vigorously over his red hair, then pulled it around his neck, holding the ends in his hands. Kitten left Josef’s side, and danced over to him.

“Here he is,” she said, and Josef was interested to sense her heart beating a little faster at being close to the Eagle.

“Thanks, Cat,” he said, heedless of her reaction to him. “Now leave us.”

She pouted, and started to protest. “Oh, come on, Mike, I just got here.”

“Get out,” he said, and hitched a thumb in the direction of the door.

She turned away, but looked back over her shoulder with a wink. “I’ll be back later, then, Mike.”

“Not unless you’re called, Cat. Now get.”

Josef spoke up, then. “A moment.” He crooked a finger at the girl. “Come here.”

Sullivan gave him a narrow look, unaccustomed to having his orders countermanded, especially in his own clubroom.

Josef kept his eyes on the man as the young woman approached. “I owe her some money, yet, and I’ll not have it said I don’t pay up.” He looked down at the girl as she approached, her full skirts swinging. Josef dipped his forefinger and thumb into his vest pocket, and pulled out another half dollar, laying it in her outstretched hand. He focused on her face. “You going to remember me, Kitten?” he asked softly.

She nodded, clutching the coin. “I will.” Then she grinned at him, a professional smile, and was gone into the hallway.

Mike Sullivan had finished his rudimentary ablutions, and was pouring a couple of glasses of whiskey. “Cat told me you were connected with Night Wind Trading?” he asked casually.

“I am.”

“I suppose you have a name? I like to know who I’m dealing with.” He held out a glass to Josef, who accepted it, but did not drink.

Josef had thought about this. He was having enough trouble with the Five Points gangs, without letting them know who he was. He’d only intended to scout this evening, but chance had given him an opportunity, and he believed in seizing the moment. It didn’t mean he was unprepared. “Madigan,” he said. “Oliver Madigan. And the owner of the company has authorized me make whatever deals I see fit.”

Sullivan shrugged, his face closing down. “I don’t really see what interest Night Wind would have with a simple saloon keeper.”

Josef decided to be relatively straightforward. “I’m more interested in you as the head of the Eagle Boys.”

“We’re a social club. We have no business interests. And we’re not for hire.” His statement should have been dismissive, but he waited for Josef’s response, and that told Josef more than a few things.

“I wouldn’t dream of asking. But…I understand there’s no love lost between you and the Blood Hand?”

The Eagle looked as though he’d smelled something bad. “That’s true. What of it?”

Josef shrugged. “Maybe nothing. But someone’s been interfering with business down on the docks—goods stolen, equipment vandalized, that sort of thing. Word is, the Blood Hand is doing the dirty work.”

“You want to complain about that, you should be at Tammany, not here.”

That got him a wry smile. “Yeah, I’ve been there. Apparently, someone is paying Tammany more to look the other way, than my boss is to get the trouble stopped.”

Sullivan dragged out a chair from one of the tables, and dropped into it unceremoniously, motioning Josef to join him. “So why not just pay off the Blood Hand? Evidently, Patrick Thornton can be bought.”

Josef sat, and took a long sip of whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, my boss…he’s not in favor of rewarding their bad behavior, if you know what I mean.”

Sullivan nodded. “It’s a bad idea.”

“And we thought…why not use what it would take, and make sure they suffer a little for their trouble? If your men are fighting the Blood Hand boys, anyway, we can sweeten the deal on that.”

The Eagle leaned back in his chair, and set his glass on the nearby table. He fingered a cut on his cheek absently, wincing a little when he hit a particularly tender spot. Josef thought he could smell a story coming, and he was not mistaken. “I was there the day the Blood Hand got their name, you know. Me and the lads, we were having a bit of a lark with Patrick’s boys. Probably the best street fight I’ve seen since they killed old Bill Poole, back in ‘57. The Native Americans knew how to throw a party, believe me. Anyway, I don’t recall how the discussion started, but merry hell broke loose, and more than fists were flying. If you ask anyone now—including Patrick Thornton himself—he’ll tell you he dipped his hand in the blood of his enemies and held it high as a standard for his men to follow. I was there, and that’s bullshit. Someone threw a brickbat at him, and caught him in the forehead. You look like a man who might appreciate that head wounds bleed. He went down like stone, but wasn’t even out. And he clapped a hand to his face, got it covered with his own gore. Then he bounces back up, and holds up his arm, and roars, ‘Follow the Blood Hand, boys!’ and plunges back into the fray.”

Josef laughed. “And did they win the fight?”

Mike Sullivan ducked his head, hiding his own smile. “Now, who wins a street fight? He’ll tell you, and anyone who’ll listen, it was a famous victory, but best I recall, the cops showed up with nightsticks flying, and we all dived for whatever cover we could. To my mind, that’s a draw, but…”

“A famous victory indeed.” Josef paused. “My boss is prepared to be generous, if he sees results.”

“I’m assuming, Mr. Madigan, that you didn’t bring much cash with you?”

“I prefer not to carry too much, given the reputation of the neighborhood. No offense, Mr. Sullivan.”

He appeared to consider, taking another drink from his glass, then rose and extended his hand. “We’ll talk terms another time, Madigan. For now, I think we can show you some results soon enough, and we’ll see what your boss thinks.”

Josef rose as well. He nodded, and took Sullivan’s hand. “Then we have a deal, Mr. Sullivan.”

The other man smiled. “My friends call me, the Eagle,” he said.

“Good enough,” Josef replied.
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by wollstonecraft61 »

I love the contrast of environments, that of the previous chapter, genteel, this one visceral and gritty. It shows the scope and range of your writing abilities, your ability to visualize, and make us visualize, the dichotomy of the two worlds.
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by tucutecats »

a great look into Jpsephs past
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by francis »

The underbelly of New York - I can so see Josef on his undercover mission, the dirt, the stench, the women, the bar and the Eagle. Almost like watching a movie. Great writing.
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by Phoenix »

Outstanding, Lucky. :clapping:
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by moonlight_vixen »

Great chapter, Lucky! :thumbs:
It wasn’t the first time an unknowing human had commented on the temperature of his body. He’d learned to deal with that long ago. He laughed at her. “I can be hot when I need to, pet. And what’s your name?”
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by redwinter101 »

Mmmm, very intriguing. What precisely is Josef up to? :chin: Loved the scene-setting - I could smell that saloon.. :snicker:

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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by allegrita »

I loved the girls undercutting each other under the streetlamp... and the tone of this jaunt into the gritty demimonde of New York in the mid-19th century. The gangs staking out territory and fighting each other for influence... a whole subculture that's completely unknown to the people that Josef recently met at the opera. Hmmm... a subculture that exists unknown to the mainstream... sounds familiar!

This chapter is a terrific departure--one I didn't expect at all--and you depicted it all so well! I'm fascinated by Cat and I hope that, somehow, she'll come out of this experience with something that'll help her avoid the fate of her sisters on that streetcorner. She's got intelligence and gumption, but a few years in her chosen profession will grind that out of her. Here's hoping that her encounter with Josef will turn out to be fortuitous for both of them.

Love the name Night Wind Trading! It's so wonderfully piratical... :devil:
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by Penina Spinka »

You really know Old New York. I used to visit that area on our way to the Staten Island Ferry and the Statue tour, but I don't know the neighborhood's name now. The accent sounds a bit Irish from the settlers who once populated the place. Josef is perfect, but when you write him, I expect him to be. I don't usually go for long stories these days, but yours are worth the time. Thank you. Penina
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by cassysj »

This is such a switch from the last chapter. I like Cat and hope for a better life for her then the one she's started.

Josef can switch easily from the beautiful people to the rougher part of society that's why he's survived so long.
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by RangerCM »

Finally finding time to get caught up on my reading and this was my first stop. As always, you paint such a vivid picture. I can see the scene perfectly and see every detail of the action...... absolutely love this. I'm also hoping to see more of Cat, but my guess is, you'd already planned on that :yes:
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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by librarian_7 »

Thank you so much for all the comments (and the reading!).

Hopefully, the most welcome thank you I can offer is this: the next chapter will be out soon.

:snicker:

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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by mitzie »

Terrific chapter!! Josef is such a chameleon, he can fit himself into any place he chooses. Love Cat!! I love this story, off to read chapter 4... :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :hyper2: :hyper2: :gasp: :whistle: :devil: :yahoo: :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :thud: :thud: :thud: :thud: :notworthy: :heart: :flowers: :fingerscrossed:


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Re: A Game of Chess, Ch. 3 (PG-13)

Post by jen »

Lovely!

Josef moves through the various strata of New York society with ease, adapting to the rules of the wealthy and prosperous and the rougher elements with equal ease, yet he remains quintessentially Josef.
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