Wow, my inspiration was low most of this summer. I did find that I probably exhausted myself in terms of Hetalia--which isn't all that unusual, considering that I usually spend about two years on a fandom--but then I turned right around and got back into Vesperia. XD Hard. Which is something I've never done, because normally when I'm out of a fandom, I'm
out.
But yeah, I basically went on a writing spree as a result of that, and I'll try to get the resulting stories up gradually because they sure as heck aren't going to fit in one post.
One of the universes I resurrected was a mafia-esque AU that I formerly dubbed the Aurnionverse. I originally had a lot of Vesperian elements in it--fighting with aer, monsters, the knights vs. the guilds--but in my plotting recently I ended up giving it a more 1920s feel, with gangs and police and the time period appropriate names for the characters. I also have the framework of a storyline for it now instead of just a bunch of scattered scenes, so here's a little synopsis:
Edna Maurer (Sodia) is a policewoman working alongside the corrupt Lieutenant Hartwell (Cumore). Determined to bring him to justice, she assembles a huge file of evidence detailing his illegal activities--only for Hartwell to find out and frame her for a crime, effectively getting her booted off the police force. Unable to retrieve the evidence on her own, she elicits the help of Irving Adenauer (Yeager), an amiable gangster with a vested interest in one of Hartwell's underworld contacts. After an attempt on her life, she becomes involved in the search for said contact and his network of associates, a man who everyone believed dead--the dangerous and vengeful Luis Uccello (Yuri), head of a ring of vice that even most gangsters want nothing to do with.
As you can tell, it's really getting to the point where it's practically original. XD For now, I'll shelve it under Vesperia, but that may change.
Have a few scenes.
Title: The Card
Rating: PG
Warnings: A bit of profanity
Notes and things-to-know: Takes place when Edna's still on the force. Guns are illegal for private ownership in this universe--I think the closest comparison I can make is to the laws England has, where you have to have a damn good reason to own anything worse than a shotgun. Hence the whole conniption Sauber (Kaufman) has over finding one.
Summary: Edna does a favor for Adenauer and receives the promise that will later prove a boon to her.
“You coming, Maurer?”
“I am,” Edna said, hurriedly stepping into the car and slamming the door shut behind her. She glanced at Lieutenant Hartwell, at his thinly pursed lips and beady eyes, looking out with haughty disapproval from above high, age-lined cheekbones, then quickly focused her gaze out the windshield as a sudden stab of disgust poured through her veins. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the leather seat as she tried to suppress the feeling.
Hartwell pulled the car to the edge of the street, hitting the gas as soon as the smallest of openings appeared in the line of cars. The coupe jerked into motion, careening down the road and weaving through traffic without regard for the speed limit signs whipping past. Edna wanted to wince.
“I hate checking out this shit,” Hartwell muttered, taking one hand off the wheel to smooth his greased blonde locks. “Second time this month the bitch’s called us. We ought to tell the staff to just hang up whenever her voice comes on the line, for goodness’ sake.”
“But it sounds like a legitimate concern this time…”
“So she found a rifle. So what? We all know the gun trade is nuts in this town.” He gave a dismissive snort. “And she can point fingers all she wants but she’s not gonna be able to pin it on anyone unless she found it in their own damn hands.”
You would know all about that, thought Edna. Or if you don’t, you will soon, once I get enough evidence to back the witnesses’ statements. I’m sure the courts will be pleased to see what’s been in your hands.
“Civilians are required to report illegal weapons at any rate,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t need to make such a big deal out of it. Wasting our time, that’s all this is.”
A few shuddering turns around corners brought them barreling down a narrow street flanked by tall gray buildings. Hartwell slammed on the brakes in front of a wrought iron lamppost, shutting off the car and practically leaping out in irritated impatience. Edna climbed carefully down from the runningboard to the sidewalk, smoothing her coat and letting Hartwell stride ahead of her through the glass-front doors of the general store.
The gentle tinkle of a bell announced her entrance. She knew the place, though not in an on-duty capacity, and for a second her gaze was drawn aside to the rows of glimmering bottles and brightly colored cans lining the walls. The sight of ‘the bitch’ herself—Josephine Sauber, who was currently engaged in a lively argument with a man leaning against one of the counters—took her attention back to the matter at hand, however.
“Don’t act like that was nothing! You had no good reason to be slinking around back behind the—”
“Ms. Sauber,” snapped Hartwell. “You’ve got a gun here?”
Sauber whipped her head around. She cut an imposing figure, Edna observed, with her shock of wavy auburn hair, piercing stare and tweed suit. As she spun and went to retrieve the object in question from behind the other counter, her heels thudded sharply against the wooden floor.
“Here,” she said, holding out the rifle to Hartwell for examination. “I found it this morning near the trash barrels in the back alley, boxed and wrapped in paper. I have little doubt someone was using that as a drop point for delivery. That someone most likely being Mr. Adenauer here, who I spotted loitering in that alley two days ago.”
Hartwell’s attention switched to the man, a mildly irked, slimly built individual in a dark blue jacket and pearl-pinned tie. “Just because you happened to see me in the alley sometime in the past week does not mean I have anything to do with the gun.”
“If you were someone more respectable, I’d agree with that,” Sauber declared. “But the fact is—Officers—he’s been turning up in all sorts of shady places for months now. I live above this store—I’ve seen him driving to and from work at eleven o’ clock at night, midnight, even as late as two in the morning on one occasion. Moreover, I’ve seen cars full of people turn up in front of his business down the street at those hours, long after his scheduled closing time.”
“Those are just friends. I tend to work late and my apartment is all the way on the other side of town. It’s easier for them to meet up with me at my main store.”
“They didn’t look too friendly to me. Besides, who works until two in the morning? And who stands around for no apparent reason in a place where guns get dropped off by the gangs, looking like he’s memorizing his surroundings?”
“I walked back there as a shortcut to Peckham’s. Perhaps I was a little distracted at the time, but I was not just standing there.”
“Oh, you were. I saw you; you were definitely—”
“Ms. Sauber,” Hartwell said again. “Quiet down. You said the gun was in a box?”
“Yes.” She stepped towards the counter again, then thought better of it, as Hartwell hadn’t yet taken the rifle from her hands. “Second shelf down behind the register.”
Edna walked over, slipping on a pair of gloves as she bent and pulled out the box. The brown paper was still partly over the cardboard and Edna lifted it gingerly, peering inside, noting a folded piece of linen that had served as a bed for the weapon.
“So you picked this up and opened it?” she asked to be sure.
“I did, out of curiosity. Honestly, it’s an odd-shaped thing. Seeing as there was no address label and it looked newly wrapped, I wanted to know what was in it.”
“It’d probably be best to get your fingerprints, then. Would you mind submitting to that?”
“Not at all. Just make sure to get his, too.” Sauber looked meaningfully at Adenauer.
“Don’t give the police orders, Josephine,” he said. “It isn’t polite.”
“If there is the slightest possibility that you could’ve slipped up and gotten your fingerprints on that box, then I—”
Hartwell exchanged glances with Edna, pointing to Sauber’s hand and nodding towards the car. Edna sighed but let him go fetch the fingerprinting cards and ink, leaving her momentarily to deal with the arguing pair.
“You are much too suspicious of me,” Adenauer responded. “You know as well as I do that a good part of it is our business interests. There is no need to send the authorities on a wild goose chase mainly because you are still mad at me for taking your customers.”
“That has nothing to do with it. I have every right to be suspicious of you. You’re a manipulative bastard that would do anything for money.”
“Anything? Oh, you must be talking about the time I redirected that socialite from this store to mine, aren’t you? The instance you thought was ‘so terribly rude?’”
“No, but—on that subject, there is no way you could logically sell that supply kit for twenty cents less. I had that price as low as possible. The only way you could feasibly take it lower would be if you were making far more money than me through the stores—which you’re not—or if you had some other source of income to balance the risk. It’s the latter, isn’t it? You’ve got a great arrangement going on under the table with the gangs, don’t you?”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“You’re shamelessly lying. You know what? I’d bet twenty dollars you know all about this gun—where it’s from, where it was headed, all the specifications.” She turned it over, surveying the polished barrel. “One of your ‘friends’ probably bought or sold it. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that were the case.”
“Now you’re letting your imagination run away with you,” said Adenauer. “I don’t have those sorts of people as friends.”
Sauber started a curt reply to that but Edna came around to cut her off, reaching for the gun. “Might I have a look?”
“Of course.” Sauber laid it into her hands. “Is there anything you can tell me about it, Officer, seeing as Mr. Adenauer isn’t so keen on confessing?”
“Well,” Edna said, tilting the rifle. “It looks as though the manufacturer’s trademark has been removed, which isn’t unusual. Gangs often prefer to make firearms more personal by replacing that with marks of their own, like these little etched swirls here… This looks to me like a Pitzer, though. I’ve seen a few like it before. Pitzer’s considered a higher end brand because their firearms are more lightweight and finely machined…”
“This is considered lightweight?” Sauber took the gun back from her, holding it up. “Seems pretty heavy to me.”
“Well—”
It happened so quickly that Edna barely had time to react. From what she could tell afterwards, she and Adenauer came to a simultaneous realization that Sauber was inadvertently pointing the rifle at his chest. He moved first, taking two sprinting steps to her side and forcibly directing the weapon towards the ground. Had he done that motion alone, Edna would have dismissed the reaction as typical, but as he brought one hand down on the barrel the other went in a flash to click on the safety—beating her to it in a display of knowledge that definitely was above average.
She stared at him. For an instant, their eyes locked.
“Don’t point the thing at me,” he scolded Sauber, backing up as though nothing unusual had happened.
Edna continued to stare. The door creaked open behind her and she heard Hartwell walk in, beckoning to Sauber. Sauber set the rifle in Edna’s hands and went over to be fingerprinted, throwing some defensive remark to Adenauer about how she wasn’t stupid enough to put her finger on the trigger, so there really wasn’t anything for him to be afraid of.
Adenauer met her eyes again, expression turning from slight discomfort to impassive calm, tinged with a hint of a friendly smile.
“Mr. Adenauer,” Edna said, lowering her voice. “Because I do not know anything about you, I’m in no way prepared to buy into any of Ms. Sauber’s accusations and denote you as a person of interest in this investigation. However, as you are here, any pertinent information you could provide would be deeply appreciated.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer,” he responded. “A rumor or two, maybe, but otherwise I can’t be much help.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“Things I have heard from my customers about gang activity. You know about the Pritchards, yes?”
“We believe they’ve been responsible for a lot of homicides on the west side as of late.”
“Indeed, I’ve heard their kill rates have been increasing due to inter-gang tensions. I’ve also heard that one of their major clients was killed recently and his resources immediately snatched by rival gangs, so they have been low on funds. Apparently they are planning a warehouse raid soon to meet their basic expenses.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere in the northwest district, possibly between Garia and Twenty-Fifth.”
“And the people you heard this from are trustworthy?”
Adenauer nodded. “They had no reason not to be.”
She studied him intently. Sauber had called him manipulative and she could see the potential in the smooth angles of his face, the gleam of his blue eyes, the gentle curve of his apologetic smile. He was handsome, with neatly swept back hair and a clean, understated affluence in his clothes, and she was sure he knew how to use it to his advantage. Her instincts told her not to trust him, insisted that she distrust him.
But her mind told her that she’d witnessed something that she could take him into questioning for, and he definitely knew that. He had a reason to stay on her good side, at least for now.
“Very well,” she said, withdrawing her notebook and scribbling a few phrases in it. “We will look into that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Maurer!” Hartwell called. “Do me a favor and check out back where the gun was found. I’m gonna take care of the box and the statements.”
Edna sighed, resisting the urge to mutter a sarcastic ‘yes, Master’ under her breath, and went for the door. She had just set her hand on the burnished knob when she felt a light tap on her shoulder.
She turned, facing Adenauer, who was subtly drawing a small card from an inner pocket of his suit.
“If you have any more questions in the future,” he said, in a slow, measured tone full of insinuations, “please let me know. I will see what I can do.”
He held the card out to her, close to the level of her free hand, and she took it in mild confusion. He retreated quickly, throwing her a smirk as he headed back to where Sauber stood and she glanced down, reading what he had given her. It was an ordinary business card bearing the name ‘Adenauer Hardware’ in serifed lettering, espousing the company’s ‘fine tools and supplies for home, recreation and business’ and naming three different locations about town. She hesitated, turning it over in her palm, then shoved it into her skirt pocket as Hartwell’s gaze shifted her way.
She opened the door and stepped outside, the jingle of the bell mingling with the breeze of traffic. Part of her felt as though she had just agreed to something shady and shuddered at the notion, while another part insisted that no harm had been wrought. Certainly Adenauer was up to something beneath the surface, but if he was willing to offer tips in exchange for her not bringing him in, then the good she could get out of this might very well be much greater than the consequences of letting him go free for the moment. It was so rare, after all, for anyone involved with the gangs to talk—she knew that well enough through her poking around into Hartwell’s dealings. This could prove a useful arrangement.
For now, though, she’d have to do without his aid. She had a fellow officer to take down, after all—her hands had to appear as spotless as she knew them to be.
Title: The Contract
Rating: PG
Warnings: Threatened violence (more of, Roscoe (Zagi) being Roscoe XD)
Notes and things-to-know: Pretty self-explanatory.
Summary: Edna seeks Adenauer's help and learns that Uccello may have defied death.
She arrived at Adenauer’s main store ten minutes too late, and for a moment or two she just stood at the doorway, feeling ready to cry over the latest in a week full of disappointments.
The store took up the bottom two stories in a narrow brownstone with an arched-windowed, vaguely Romanesque look about it. The blinds were drawn over the panes on either side of the doors, and in the light of a white-globed sconce whose iron fitting had left a greenish stain on the brick, she could easily read the little ‘closed’ placard hanging behind the glass. She stared at it, biting the inside of her cheek in frustration, then, as though the action would make it go away, knocked twice on the door.
A few seconds went by. Nothing happened.
She heaved a sigh. She could come by on Monday, she supposed, provided she still had the nerve. She could spend another few nights lying sleepless, drifting without a course of action and a hundred unpleasant possibilities thick in the air.
She turned, treading back down the steps and making a right towards the streetcar stop, flipping Adenauer’s business card over and over in her hand. The street, aside from the occasional passing car, was deserted, as the whole block was filled with businesses and most had shut for the night. There was no sense in being out here with nothing to buy or sell—well, unless you happened to reside on one of those upper stories, which were almost exclusively populated by the proprietors themselves anyway.
It was that passing thought that took Edna on impulse across the street and to the darkened windows of R. A. Sauber’s, heading into the grimy space separating it from the jewelry store next door. She stepped around barrels of trash, striding through the dimness until she reached the back alley she’d scoured during the incident with the rifle. The fire escape ladder was cold and rough with corrosion beneath her hands as she pulled herself up. She climbed up one story, two—then saw, with some relief, a barred glass door on the third level, dully illuminated by an inside light.
She strode across the platform to that door, hesitated in momentary regard to the oddity of her situation, and knocked.
Inside, she could see that the light was from a stained-glass lamp in the corner of a cozy parlor. There was a plush couch on one side, a round center table atop an oriental rug, and a smoothly curved, gleaming radio flanked by ferns. The single window was hung with straight flower-printed curtains and the walls were covered with the kind of nondescript meadow portraits that hotel rooms often sported. Indeed, the room seemed very average, aside from one striking detail—a long rapier resting on hooks above the radio in the way a ceremonial sword might over a mantelpiece, only far more modern and perfectly polished.
It was for self-defense, Edna knew. As Sauber stuck her head into the room, her eyes flickered reflexively to the weapon. Edna offered a helpless smile, showing her empty palms to try and convince Sauber that she wasn’t some disguised thief about to waltz in and knife her, and even with that gesture it took another few moments before Sauber decided to slide open the glass door.
“Ms. Maurer,” she said, looking mostly suspicious and mildly confused.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Edna apologized. “I was just wondering if I could ask you a question about Adenauer.”
“Why? I heard the police let you go.”
“I think his activities may have played a part in Lieutenant Hartwell’s decision,” she lied.
Sauber frowned, trying to understand. “You think the Lieutenant was working with Adenauer?”
“Yes. I uncovered some records that indicated that was likely the case. I think Hartwell may have spoken against me in order to prevent my eventually launching a corruption investigation.”
“I wouldn’t put that past him,” muttered Sauber. “Hartwell’s a bastard. You hardly seemed the type to play the system, either, regardless of what the papers are claiming.”
“Thanks,” Edna said, feeling a stab of gratitude. “So, I’m wondering where Adenauer is right now. I figured you might know.”
“Friday nights he likes to hit the bars,” she replied immediately. “He typically goes to the June Bug at Johnston and Sixth, stays there until eleven or midnight, and then comes back with two or three of his so-called friends to the store for ten, maybe twenty minutes. After that he goes home—he has a house in the fancy district around East Castillo Avenue.”
“All right.” Edna smiled, trying not to show her surprise over the barrage of information. “I guess I’ll go to the June Bug then.”
“Be careful if you try and interrogate him,” warned Sauber. “He’ll end up being the one asking questions if you’re not vigilant. And he lies as easily as breathing.”
“I will, Ma’am. Thank you.”
“And do let me know if you uncover anything interesting. I’ve been trying to prepare a case against him for years and any information helps.”
“I’ll be sure to,” she promised, knowing that she was lying again.
“Good luck,” Sauber said, shutting the door.
Edna climbed gingerly down the fire escape, letting herself drop the last few feet to the ground. She was fairly astonished that Sauber had been that compliant, but perhaps any venture putting Adenauer on the spot prompted her cooperation. She certainly seemed to have a thorough vendetta against him—enough to make Edna, oddly enough, pity Adenauer a little.
She took the streetcar from the corner to the deeper recesses of town, blinking as she stepped into the well-lit interior and again as she went back out into the gathering dusk. The car whizzed and snapped on its wires as it sped into the night, leaving her surrounded by the chatter of loitering pedestrians and the steady rumbling of automobile engines. Her eyes grazed the narrow street and its crowded buildings, then peered through the dimness up at the metal sign that marked Johnston and Sixth.
Well, here she was. It was more dingy than she’d expected, but she could make out the sign of the June Bug halfway down the cracked sidewalk, jaundiced under three bare, caged bulbs. She approached it, pulling her cloche a bit further down her forehead, trying to be inconspicuous.
The windows were blacked out by thick curtains, revealing none of the inside. She opened the door and immediately a wave rushed at her—talk, music and smoke mingling with the warmth of close-packed bodies. She skirted around some necking couples in the entryway, scanning the bar with its leather stools and glittering bottles, the jazz quartet crowded against the wall, and a mass of energetic dancers crammed into the space not occupied by small candlelit tables. Not seeing Adenauer anywhere, she began a slow walk about the room, trying her best not to get in anyone’s way.
It was the archetypical gang bar, all right. The location was not much to be desired, but the patrons were decidedly middle-class, all in white linen shirts and loose dresses dripping with rhinestones. They were raucous, too, laughing loudly and moving wildly, the seated ones keeping their hands full with glasses and bottles and cigars. Edna knew there was probably some back room or locked cellar for discreet business from which suited men would filter in and out, their conversations well-concealed by the zaniness of the customers. She hoped, for her own sake, that Adenauer wasn’t conducting such business tonight.
Her walk took her back by the tables, her roving gaze failing to see him among the dancers. She caught the stares of a few of the patrons there and realized what a contrast her plain blue dress must make to the other women—not wanting to be questioned, she increased her pace.
She had just reached the other end of the room when a hand fell on her shoulder.
She turned to face a tall, lanky man with blonde hair and a wide grin. He had his sleeves rolled up and his tie dangling half-undone about his neck, and her first impression was of playful wit.
“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted. “Who ya lookin’ for?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but in that moment his grin tightened a bit, and she saw dangerous intent lurking beneath the playfulness. She took a breath, considering her options.
“Just a friend of mine,” she said carefully, looking him straight in the eye and betraying no anxiety.
“Who? Maybe I know ‘em.” He took a step closer. “Maybe I could be your friend.”
“I don’t think so.” She stepped back.
“Are you suuuure?” He took another step.
“Quite.” Her glance darted around, seeking help—unfortunately, the others seemed content to ignore her now. “Please leave me alone.”
The man laughed a gleeful, cackly sort of laugh. She backed away, and with unexpected speed he leapt forward and grabbed her by the shoulder again, restraining her easily.
“I don’t want to,” he hissed into her ear, and she felt the unmistakable pressure of something thin and sharp against her neck.
Her eyes widened.
“Roscoe, put the weapon away,” a voice said. “That is no way to treat a lady.”
The man’s grin lowered into a pout. “But she’s that hound.”
“She’s not a hound anymore, and even if she was, you have no excuse to jump her like that. Put it away.”
Roscoe gave a light, dog-like whine, but dutifully backed off, sheathing his knife somewhere beneath his waistband. Edna forced herself to relax her stiff stance, looking at the man who had spoken.
Adenauer appeared much the same as he had the day she had met him. His auburn hair was slicked back and his high-cheekboned face was clean-shaven. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but he did have on a pinstriped waistcoat with a silver watch chain looped through one of the top buttons. He smiled genially at Edna as their eyes met, the very portrait of friendliness.
“I’m so sorry about Roscoe,” he said. “He has no sense of tact to begin with, and he’s been terribly antsy since all those arms busts earlier this week.”
“Does he work for you?”
“Yes. Well, not in any manner you would find on my ledgers, so yes and no.” He squinted at the place where the knife had touched her neck, making sure that Roscoe hadn’t left any perceptible wound. “Might I ask what brings you here?”
“I came to find you, actually. I remembered that—”
His hand closed gently about hers, startling her into silence. “Let’s go sit down and talk.”
He turned on his heel, heading back to one of the tables. She followed, letting him guide her and studying his countenance—his gaze roved about the room easily, giving every impression of calm. She realized he was watchful without it being obvious, cautious without seeming wary.
His table was occupied by two thickly-built men in their shirtsleeves. They barely regarded her or him, automatically rising as he went to sit and leaving for some other part of the room. Adenauer scooted his chair closer to the edge of the table and reached for his wineglass, taking a sip as Edna lowered herself into the chair across from him, folding her hands.
“Chardonnay,” he said, catching her staring at the gold liquid. “Would you like a drink?”
Her first instinct was to refuse, but the incident with Roscoe had left her mouth a bit dry. Not wanting to impose, she said, “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water.”
Adenauer gave a small wave of his hand. Like a waiter, one of the men emerged from the crowd and drew to his side. He quietly repeated her request and the man went back towards the bar.
“So I assume you’ve come to ask me a favor,” Adenauer said, once Edna’s attention had returned to him.
“Well,” she replied, forcing a smile, “you offered.”
“I did.” He smiled back warmly. “I also am assuming that it has to do with getting back at Hartwell.”
“It does. I…never thought I would be doing this, honestly, but I don’t have much of a choice. Even my best friend on the force has decided to submit to Hartwell’s judgment. I want to finish what I started—I need to, to ensure that justice takes its proper course—but I’ve lost access to everything I compiled and I fear that it might be destroyed if I wait too long.”
“Probably,” Adenauer agreed. “The police have been becoming more conscious of document safety in recent years.”
“I figured that, you know, as a…an illegal arms dealer, to be perfectly precise, you wouldn’t mind helping me retrieve that evidence. I’m aware that Hartwell was involved in the arms trade and I have some thorough accounts of some of the representatives he met with. If there is any account related to you, I can give you the opportunity to remove it.”
“So you want to offer me the chance to dispose of that evidence in return for helping you get all of it.”
“Yes, if that’s acceptable to you.”
“I never thought you would do something of this nature either, Ms. Maurer,” he declared, amused.
“I—” Adenauer’s henchman returned with the water and set it down in front of her, giving her a moment to compose her retort. “I determined that the loss of that evidence would not be too detrimental to the overall case. Hartwell has participated in many different illegal activities, after all.”
“I do think you are making a fine offer.”
Adenauer sipped his wine, taking on a look of consideration that she realized a few seconds later he hadn’t meant. “But unfortunately there is little advantage to me in removing evidence, as I have never done business with Hartwell and I know exactly who has.”
“You do?”
“The Neilsens, mainly. They’re a smaller enterprise specializing in handguns, with some expertise in customization. They’re a bit annoying, what with their territorial tendencies and penchant for standing up other gangs’ runners. I wouldn’t mind seeing the law get to them. Neither would I much care for it catching up with the Murdochs or the Collettis.”
The first gang was vaguely familiar to Edna, while the others were unknown to her. She wondered briefly whether Adenauer’s under-the-table business went by his name.
“Couldn’t you use the evidence as blackmail against them, if they’re your competitors?” she suggested.
He shook his head. “They’re too confident to change their behavior much. Besides, if the Society caught wind of a possible sell-out, they would be all over me.”
“The Society exists?”
“Of course it does,” he said, looking amused again. “If the underworld didn’t have some manner of structure, things would be as violent here as they are in Berford right now. I’m surprised the police haven’t realized yet.”
“We’ve heard rumors of it, but we haven’t uncovered anything more,” she replied, realizing a moment later that ‘we’ was the wrong word. She sighed—old habits died hard. “So I suppose I have nothing to give you in return for doing this, then.”
Adenauer rested his arms on the table, leaning in a bit closer. “Not necessarily. I have many connections in different industries, some rather undesired, and I don’t know the full scope of Hartwell’s dealings. There probably is still a name or two in there that would be useful to me.”
“You think so?”
“Mm-hm. He engaged in a lot of bribery to support different runners, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” she said, straightening her posture. “I believe his most recent was the payment of five dollars to two officers that discovered crates of stolen liquor and opium in a home on the west side. The home belonged to a Mr. Engler, who had ties to a Mr. Viveros that Hartwell had made at least three alcohol purchases from.”
“That I wasn’t aware of. Viveros works for a smuggling ring operating out of the Kinkead station.”
She nodded, making a mental note of that piece of information. “Hartwell also recently paid off Officer Tousant in order to arrange a meeting with a man identified as Luis, with whom he discussed the destruction of evidence in a breaking-and-entering case.”
Adenauer’s brow twitched. For an instant, his tranquil features tightened into a look resembling fear.
“Did you say Luis?” he responded, lowering his voice.
“A witness stated he was referred to as Luis. They saw him only once, but described him as about 6’0, with dark brown hair and a black overcoat.”
“Do you by chance recall Luis Uccello, Ms. Maurer?”
She blinked. “The man that was gunned down a year ago in the Rothman warehouse massacre?”
“That one, yes.” Adenauer leaned still closer, nearly whispering. “If that story is indeed about the same Luis, it’s the fourth time in the past few months that I have heard talk of him being alive and well, and the most solid account of that rumor to date.”
“But three separate witnesses identified the body as his,” said Edna. “And everything in his apartment was found intact. His car was even still there on the street.”
“I agree; it is a pretty unlikely set of circumstances. But this sort of thing does happen every so often. A gangster gets himself into a dire situation and has to feign his own death as a way out. In less drastic forms it’s almost standard practice for the more illicit professions.”
He turned his head, glancing over to where Roscoe was having some animated conversation with a heavily made-up woman. “For instance, according to city records, he’s been dead for the past eleven years. Twelve, this year.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Though the city admits they never found his body.” Adenauer frowned. “The fact that Uccello provided a body makes his situation troubling, as well as the fact that he is apparently still in town. I have to wonder what his motivations might be.”
“If it’s indeed Luis Uccello,” commented Edna, “maybe someone’s operating under his identity?”
“Possibly, though I can’t see what they would gain. Uccello was in deep with the Society for being a suspected informant to the police. He wasn’t exactly beloved at the time that the Wools bumped him off, or tried to.”
“Well, the Wools were tracked down and arrested shortly after. That would be one less enemy to worry about, at least.”
“True. Nonetheless, the evidence against him was indisputable. A lot of well-respected bosses raised complaints. I doubt that’s something an impersonator would want to deal with.”
“I see,” Edna said. “Were you one of those bosses?”
Adenauer smirked. “What makes you think I’m a well-respected gang boss?”
“The fact that you’re here with bodyguards and you employ men like that.” She gestured to Roscoe. “And you just generally seem like…uh, you’re not the usual type personality-wise, but you seem as though you would be good at it.”
He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But my situation aside, I’m intrigued by this news of a Luis. I’d like to see whatever else you have about him.”
“Can I show you in return for helping me retrieve the evidence?”
He nodded, raising his glass to his lips again. “It will be a somewhat difficult task, but my associates will be able to manage it. They’ll use utmost secrecy, of course. No need to pile problems atop problems.”
“Of course. Do you want to just let me know when the job is done?”
“Yes, I shouldn’t need any more input. Which method of communication would you prefer? If Hartwell at all has his eye on you, I’d rather not risk the phone.”
The possibility of Hartwell tracking her actions made Edna inwardly cringe. “How about I just check in with you at your main store?”
“That will work. Pretend you’re repairing something at home, if anyone asks.”
“I’ll come up with some excuse, if need be.” She gulped at her water, then extended a hand. “Thank you for your assistance, sir.”
Adenauer shook it lightly. “I’m happy to help.”
“If you need any further information or compensation—”
“This is a favor, Ms. Maurer. You saved me plenty of time and trouble by letting that rifle case go cold a few weeks ago, and I will not ask more from you.” He patted her hand. “I suggest you push this matter out of your mind for now and try to get some sleep. Come see me next week.”
“Okay,” she said, reddening a little at the touch.
She finished her drink and got to her feet. She took two steps away from the table, a bit dazed by Adenauer’s kindness, before she remembered something and turned back.
“Mr. Adenauer?”
“Hmm?” he said.
“I thought I should inform you that Ms. Sauber has been tracking you. She knows your entire Friday night schedule.”
“Does she?” Adenauer’s expression passed swiftly from incredulity to pleasure. “Oh my. That’s hilarious. I’ll have to mix things up a little next week and see if she gets jumpy.”
Edna had assumed he’d interpret Sauber’s knowledge as a threat, but he seemed genuinely entertained. “You’re not concerned about that?”
“The only thing that woman has ever managed to do to me is get me a parking ticket. She’s more amusing than anything.” He turned his gaze thoughtfully to the ceiling. “I wonder what she’d think if I decided to pay her a visit that Friday evening…”
Edna thought briefly of the rapier over Sauber’s mantelpiece. “Just try not to frighten her too much.”
“I won’t,” he promised, smirking. “Take care, now.”
She left the bar quickly, striding past Roscoe and Adenauer’s bodyguards. She felt the former’s eyes on her as she went by and had to suppress a shudder. It didn’t take much guessing to determine what role that man served, and in spite of how well the whole transaction had gone, she found herself looking forward to cutting ties with Adenauer as soon as the evidence was back in her hands.
As far as she was concerned, this was a desperate time, and she’d taken a desperate measure. There was no need to remain on the criminal side of things for long.
Title: The Escape
Rating: PG
Warnings: Talk of murder and assassins
Notes and things-to-know: I'm going chronologically here, so this takes place after Edna gets her evidence back and Adenauer starts looking into Uccello's doings. The 'ambush' is a reference to an event in the interim, where Marion and Roscoe were arrested after someone (one of Uccello's associates) anonymously tipped off the police about a gang deal they were going to make. Marion has a rather interesting backstory, which I'm not going to fully give away, but which does involve him spending some time on the police force. There's a hint dropped about it, so keep that in mind. :)
Summary: Marion rescues Edna from an assassination attempt.
Sometime around three in the morning, Edna awoke to a hand pressed against her mouth.
Her eyes snapped open, instantly alert. Her hands flew up before her mind could even process what was happening, fingers clutching and pulling at the foreign palm. She gave a muffled, panicked cry, and another hand intervened—her assailant pried away her digits with a firm grasp, seizing one of her wrists and twisting it back. She swung her free arm around, fist clenched, then heard the bedsprings creak in protest as a body pushed against her, an arm pinning her arm, a breath warm and steady against her face.
“Ssssh,” a voice whispered. “Quiet down. I’m with Adenauer.”
The statement was incomprehensible to her in her terror. She flailed her legs and screamed behind the pressed hand, struggling to free herself.
“Quiet!” the voice hissed. “Do you want to get yourself killed?!”
It occurred to her then in a flash of reasoning that the assailant might be armed. Realizing that it would be best not to let the situation escalate, she ceased her movements, gazing anxiously up at the black shadow of a head.
“Okay.” She saw the head turn towards the doorway, vaguely outlined in the darkness of the room. “All right. I’m going to let go of you and give you some instructions, but I need you to be completely silent. If you scream, you’re going to put both of us in grave danger. Understand?”
She didn’t understand beyond that order but nodded slightly anyhow. The assailant hesitated for a moment, then drew back, the bedsprings giving another light creak. She took a deep, shuddering breath as the hand came free from her mouth.
“Okay,” the voice whispered again. “Here’s the deal—someone put a hit on you. There’s a man coming up the stairs right now to do the job and two downstairs as backup. I need you to get up, put your shoes on, and follow me. I’m going to sneak you out the back way.”
Edna opened her mouth to ask who would possibly hire someone to kill her, as it was far more extreme than anything Hartwell had ever dared to do, but her reason again prevailed. She rose without a word, crossing the room and heading down the short passage to the apartment door. She knelt there, feeling for her leather police uniform shoes and putting them on. Figuring that it would probably be cold outside, she reached to where her coat hung as well.
“Leave that here,” said the voice. “The fabric makes too much noise when it moves.”
She jumped—she hadn’t heard any approaching footsteps. She did, however, catch the sound of the latch gently clicking open and the soft whine of the hinges. She blinked in the flood of yellowish light, dull as it was, as the door swung forth, her vision adjusting to the sight of the assailant—a short-statured man with dark, side-swept hair, dressed in a black woolen shirt and trousers.
He peered cautiously from left to right, then turned back to her, beckoning with two fingers. She followed on his heels as he inched out into the corridor, shutting the door behind him and sticking close to the papered wall. He took measured steps, his gold eyes flickering around, searching for any sign of movement.
As they came to the connecting hallway, he paused, listening. Edna pricked her ears and caught the bare hint of a sound—the creak of steps somewhere nearby.
The man made a sharp right, heading more briskly towards the back of the building. His right hand disappeared into his shirt, and with raised brows she saw it emerge with a small, sleek pistol, cocked and ready. She wished immediately that she still had her police-issued revolver, or at least had had the presence of mind to take the knife in her desk drawer with her.
As he came to the back stairs, he flattened himself against the section of wall beside them and leaned sideways, looking down the stairwell. Seeing that no one was there, he waved her down, staying near the railing.
At the fourth step from the bottom, he froze.
Edna stopped at once, glancing around herself. Her gaze snapped back to the lower landing as a man stepped into view beneath the clouded-glass fixture there, the shadows heavy on his bony features. He was carrying a modified military-issue rifle with a drum magazine, holding it off to an angle with one hand not far from the trigger.
For a long moment, barely breathing, Edna watched him. The dark-haired man before her stood with his pistol pointed, completely still, fully ready for the rifleman to turn and see the two of them there on the steps.
“Chilly night, ain’t it?”
The remark came from down the hall to the right. The rifleman turned—towards the outer wall, thank goodness—and walked back toward the speaker, muttering a response. Gradually, the voices grew more distant.
The dark-haired man shot a quick, one-eyed glance around the corner. Evidently the men had wandered off, as he proceeded to descend the last of the steps. Edna expected him to try the back door, but he went straight past it, taking a few strides to a tall window instead. The window, a sash design, was being held propped open by a wooden board, and without hesitation he bent and pulled himself through the cramped opening, gripping the sill and letting his feet hit the ground a few bricks’ length below. As he passed through, for an instant he was lost to the darkness—then his face reappeared, mouthing ‘quickly.’
She looked to ensure that the men were still out of sight and got down on her hands and knees, crawling through. She wasn’t nearly as good at squeezing hurriedly through a tight space and at one point she slipped, the top of her foot slamming against the sill. She scrambled for purchase and kicked herself off like a swimmer, managing to get her legs safely outside. One of the men’s voices echoed in the hallway.
The dark-haired man seized her hand and yanked her to her feet. He took off running and she kept pace with him, avoiding the pools of light from wall-mounted lamps. There was a shout of alarm but she didn’t glance back. She followed the man through a maze of alleyways, winding between buildings and around clustered boxes and barrels, until he emerged on the corner of a deserted side street.
He gazed about for good measure then crossed to where a rusty two-seater sat along the sidewalk. He sheathed his gun and pulled a key from his trouser pocket, unlocking the car. Without being asked, Edna climbed into the passenger seat. He sat down beside her, started the engine and pressed the gas as soon as it sputtered to life, advancing rapidly down the road.
For a few minutes the two of them rode in silence. Edna let her heartbeat settle and her eyes focus on the window, watching the turns the man made, wondering where exactly he was going. He didn’t take his view off the road or otherwise acknowledge her, and it soon became clear that she would have to ask for an explanation.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Safehouse out by the warehouse district,” he said simply.
There was an awkward pause. Edna faced him and said, “So you mentioned you work for Adenauer..?”
“Yes, I do. He’s been having me keep an eye on you since the ambush. Apparently his suspicions were justified.”
“The ambush?”
“Incident with another gang. There’s some connection with Uccello, we think.”
She frowned at his cryptic answer. “You think Uccello sent someone after me?”
The man shrugged. “Someone doesn’t like the evidence you’ve got; that’s for sure. Could be him if he’s still alive and kicking, could be somebody else that caught wind of it. I don’t know.”
Edna thought about that. According to Adenauer, stealing the evidence had gone without a hitch, as had placing copies of it back in the police records. Unless Hartwell had accessed the records during those few days in between, he shouldn’t know anything about the theft, and even then the hiring of a hitman was a bit too cold-blooded for him. She had a fair amount of faith that Adenauer didn’t notify other gangs about it, either—for some reason she felt a lot of trust in him, and he’d told her himself that there was no one he’d dare blackmail with the information. He was awfully careful about security, too—who could have found out, and how?
It occurred to her then how little she actually knew about Adenauer’s dealings. She knew his area of business and his personality, and knew what contacts he’d told her about over their meetings, but otherwise she was barely aware of how he operated. Before, she hadn’t had an interest in knowing, but now it seemed important. The fact that she was traveling to an indefinite location with an armed stranger only furthered that feeling.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Mr. Neal,” the man said.
“That’s an alias, isn’t it.”
The man shot her a brief look. “I don’t put a lot of trust in former officers.”
“I think I should be entitled to know the name of the man who saved my life,” she replied. “Besides, the real you is probably dead according to city records.”
“I see Adenauer’s been having some interesting conversations with you.”
“He’s told me a lot of things, yes.”
“He picks the strangest people to take pity on,” the man remarked with a sigh. “It’s dangerous to be so forthcoming.”
“You know, it wouldn’t be fair for me to try and condemn you after you did me such a service.”
“You do realize that since I barely know you, I have to suppose that you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” she said, offended. “You saved me. I’m practically indebted to you.”
Another look aside at her. “I did a job that I was assigned. If you have any debt, it’s to Adenauer.”
“Don’t trivialize your own actions. You went through the effort and regardless of your motives, what you did was great. I just…I want to be able to thank you properly, by name.”
He heaved another sigh. “If I had that kind of sentimental attitude, I would’ve gotten myself into a lot of trouble by now. But fine, if it’ll make you happy. I’m Marion.”
“Just Marion?”
“I don’t use my last name.”
“All right, then. Thank you, Marion. I’m deeply grateful for what you have done for me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, practically staring down the road.
“At least as far as I remember, I’ve never seen a Marion in the police records,” she informed him. “I won’t look for it, either, if I ever get the opportunity. So you don’t need to worry.”
“Sure,” replied Marion, still sounding skeptical.
She figured it might be best to change the subject, but her curiosity got the better of her. As amiably as she could manage, she ventured, “So, does your job normally involve protecting Adenauer’s clients?”
“Sometimes does. I do a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Secretarial work, bodyguarding, whatever needs to get done.”
She thought of the way he’d restrained her, pinning her against the bed without suffering a punch or letting go of her mouth. She thought, too, of the way he’d lead her out—he had technique rivaling most officers she knew. Bodyguarding seemed too mild a description of his talents.
“Whatever needs to get done?” she echoed. “That means getting rid of people too, doesn’t it?”
Marion, who had been approaching a traffic light, slammed on the brakes a bit too hard. “Adenauer’s not fond of that.”
“But he orders it sometimes?”
“Look,” Marion said, letting his hands drift along the thin rim of the steering wheel. “When you go over to the gangs, you can’t expect the law to help you. If someone wants your head, you risk your safety and the safety of everyone else near the guy by blabbing about it to the police. You’ve got to solve the problem with the resources you have. It’s not pretty and it’s not always fair, but that’s the way it is. Safety’s something you take a lot of pains for.”
Edna nodded, startled by the sudden flood of speech. “I see. Just so you know, I’m…not incredibly horrified by the thought of you killing people. I’ve met quite a few murderers before.”
“I’m not a murderer,” he snapped. “I have no personal stake in it. When I do it, it’s a job.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that. What term do you like? Contract killer?”
The light turned green and the tires screeched as Marion hit the gas. “Hell no. I haven’t contracted out in years. It’s like prostitution. You get decent clients and you get all the riffraff that stick you with close deadlines and no background information. The pay gets annoyingly unpredictable, too. Much better to be salaried.”
“What about hitman?”
“Too common. If you’re going to make me choose, I’d pick assassin. That at least indicates skill.”
“Assassin it is, then. Out of curiosity, how long have you worked as an assassin?”
He took a moment to think. “About ten years. Less so in the past few years. Adenauer would rather try to talk it out with his enemies than bump them off.”
“Well, that explains how well you maintain stealth. You’re as good as some of my old colleagues.”
“I have to be. I’ve had the pigs on my tail more times than I can count.” Noting her look of disapproval, he corrected himself. “The police, I mean. I have to stay one step ahead of them, especially when I’m in their neighborhood.”
“I imagine you’ve been arrested a few times?”
“Three times. Been brought into questioning at least six times. Tiresome business, that.”
“And you were released?”
“The most I’ve ever gotten is two weeks in jail for reckless driving.”
“I must say, considering what you do, that’s rather impressive.”
“Thanks, Maurer.”
Marion turned the car onto a gravel road, the wheels thudding as they left the pavement. Up ahead, Edna could see a few blocks of tall red-brick and steel structures, some illuminated and some swathed in darkness. Rusted junk sat in piles along the pitted street, the refuse of industries that had moved south decades ago. In the distance, a locomotive steamed past the half-shattered skylights of an abandoned station, its white headlight like an eye, blinking in and out as it passed behind buildings.
The safehouse Marion pulled in front of was a former office of some kind with boarded windows and barred doors. It had once had a porch but the wood had rotted, causing the structure to collapse sideways. The lamppost out front was dark, its glass panels smashed from vandalism.
Marion parked and got out, not bothering to open the door for Edna. She hastily followed him, clutching her arms as she realized just how cold it was—she hadn’t felt the chill during the escape, but now it was bitterly apparent. Marion didn’t bother with the porch, instead leading her to a side entrance, which he unlocked with another key kept—she noted in disbelief—in a pocket on the inside of his trousers. She had to wonder how many pockets he had.
“It’s pretty dusty in here,” he said, stepping inside. “Still well-stocked, though. Haven’t used it in a while.”
From the outside, she’d expected something derelict. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the waiting room they came into was well-furnished and painted an unbroken white. The windows were covered with thick black cloth, letting no hint of a glow between the boards, and she took her look around as Marion strode through the place, flipping on the lights.
“This way,” he beckoned. She followed him down a small corridor to a room that had assumedly once held books and records—a few disintegrating volumes were still holed up on the corners of the shelves, which now were mainly filled with items of a different nature. There were rows of canned food and bottled beverages, piles of folded clothes and blankets, oil lamps and matches, bandages and antiseptic, and a variety of other items intended to sustain a few fugitives for at least a month. Marion walked past most of the stash without a glance, pausing at one shelf and retrieving a latched leather case.
He set it down on the rug, opening it and pulling out a handgun that appeared strikingly familiar.
“Is that a Stadtler M8?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s a Pig Stick,” he said. He missed her frown at the derogatory nickname, opening the loading gate and inserting cartridges one by one. “If Uccello or whoever goes after you again, you’d better be able to defend yourself. Figured you’d be most comfortable with what you’re familiar with.”
He shut the case, walking back to her and handing it and the gun over.
“Where did you get one of these?” she asked, examining the weapon. “From an officer?”
Marion shrugged. “Someone picked it up. Probably went through a couple gangs before it reached us, because I can’t remember where it’s from. It’s still in good condition, though, as far as I can tell.”
“Do you have a holster for it?” she asked.
“Hold on.” He retreated, going for one of the higher shelves. When it became apparent to him that he wasn’t tall enough to reach it, he grabbed a nearby table and dragged it over with ease, using it as a stepstool. He hopped back down with the leather straps of a shoulder holster in hand, giving it to Edna.
“This is definitely police-issue,” Edna commented, eyeing it.
“Yeah. Not the best for concealment, but it’ll work.”
“How do you usually carry your gun?”
Marion immediately started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Edna, embarrassed, thought to look away, but he did have a white undershirt on and stopped halfway down. He had a holster belted across his chest, his pistol positioned at an angle for his right hand to easily grasp from above.
“That’s one,” he said, and before she could ask what he meant he bent, pulled up the left leg of his trousers and revealed a second gun strapped to his ankle. “That’s the other. And I’ve got ammunition here, a knife here, another knife here, and some other things in here.”
He pointed to his waistband, his other ankle, and his left sleeve, then gave a general gesture towards the pockets of his pants. Edna stared at him.
“That’s…quite a bit.”
“Never hurts to be careful.” He gave her a hard look, as though daring her to call him paranoid. “And no, this isn’t unusual for a gangster. You met Roscoe, right?”
“Yes.”
“He carries a .45 and about ten different blades. Though he has a thing for knives, so maybe he isn’t the best example.”
Considering the nature of her run-in with Roscoe, Edna wasn’t surprised. “What about Adenauer?”
“What about him?” Marion said as he buttoned his shirt back up, suddenly guarded.
“You can tell me what he carries. I’m already doing business with him, so he’d surely find a way to incriminate me if I tipped off the police.”
“A couple of knives usually,” he replied, seeing her point. “It’s too dangerous to be walking around with guns most of the time when you’re out front. He does have a nice customized S-19 though.”
“I’ve never heard of an S-19.”
“You guys know it as a Palk M19. The S stands for service—it’s from the military.” Marion ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, he’s a better shot with a long gun, but you’ve got to wait until autumn to start wearing one of those.”
“You need an overcoat to hide it,” Edna said, understanding.
“Yep.” He lifted his right sleeve, checking his wristwatch. “Well, we’d better get some rest. Have to meet up with Adenauer at noon tomorrow.”
He flicked off the lights and left the room—barely taking his gaze off of her, now that she had a loaded weapon—and went for the stairs to the second floor. Edna trailed after him tentatively, puzzled.
“You’re staying here?”
His mouth twitched with irritation. “Of course I’m staying here. I’m not giving you the run of the place.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You think I’m going to take anything out of here that you didn’t offer me?”
“How do I know that you aren’t? I barely know you.” She started a retort but he cut her off. “Besides, Adenauer’s not the only one who makes use of a safehouse in this area. On the off chance that someone from a different gang’s going to come creeping around, I want to be here.”
The latter reason seemed logical enough. In spite of the former, after the night she’d had, Edna found she didn’t much mind the idea of Marion staying around. Even if nothing happened and his presence proved unnecessary, it lent her some peace of mind.
“Fine,” she said, climbing the steps.
The floor contained six small rooms. Marion pointed her towards the cramped bathroom, then to a room near the end, which was fitted with a cheap nightstand, a bed, and a trunk of clean blankets and sheets. She set the gun, holster and case on the nightstand and on his advice retrieved a fresh set of sheets. He watched her for a bit as she changed out the ones on the bed, smoothing creases and tucking corners.
“You make beds like a nurse,” he observed.
“My mother was a nurse,” she informed him, stepping back to examine her work for a moment. “And I considered becoming one.”
“Changed your mind?”
“Well, the police academy finally opened to women and I felt that I could do more there.”
Marion leaned against the doorframe. “I can’t say you were right about that.”
“If I can convict Hartwell, that’ll strike a strong blow against the corruption in the police force and the power of numerous gangs,” she insisted. “When that happens, I will be able to consider my choice right.”
“So long as it’s not going to rain repercussions on Adenauer’s enterprise, I guess you can go ahead with that,” Marion said. “Teach a few gangsters not to play around with law enforcement.”
“Because that endangers the rest of you?”
“It’s always better to keep far away from the police. Dealing with them is like tossing bones to a guard dog. You might distract him for a while, but he’ll still bite you when you run out, because that’s what he was trained to do. And when you’re in pain you’re not exactly rational, so chances are you’ll follow up with something really stupid, like naming names. God help you when it comes to that.”
“I heard the Society gets up in arms over those situations.”
Marion nodded, his gaze vague and thoughtful. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve seen some…pretty awful results.”
Edna felt a little prickle of unease—considering what Marion did for a living, his notion of ‘awful’ would have to imply something singularly disturbing. She sat down on the bed, not wanting to speculate and not sure how to reply.
Marion sensed the awkwardness and cleared his throat, deciding to bring the conversation to a close. “Well, good night. I’ll be across the hall. If you need to wake me up, give my bed a kick.”
“Give your…what?”
“You don’t want to wake me by touching me,” he informed her. “Roscoe tried that once and I started strangling him by reflex.”
“…Okay,” she said, managing a smile for lack of a more appropriate reaction. “Good night, Marion.”
He shut off the light and closed the door. She heard the creak of the opposite door but none of his footsteps, even though the floor was wooden. She lay down, listening until only the dull sounds of old, settling beams were left and exhaustion at last rose to overtake her.
Title: The Chase
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gun violence (though no one actually gets injured), car accidents
Notes and things-to-know: Oh geez, was this fun to write. XD I've been wanting to do a car chase scene with Yeager for just about forever. This takes place sometime later in the story while they're still investigating Uccello. The officer mentioned by name is Flynn--Edna's old friend and romantic interest on the police force, who currently believes in spite of himself that she did commit the crime Hartwell framed her for, unfortunately.
All the car names are fictional--as are any gun and street names I use in these fics--so don't bother looking them up.
Also, keep in mind that while Adenauer is pulling crazy stunts, he is indeed driving a stick. And that fifty miles an hour is about the maximum speed of a 1920s car. I have deep respect for his skill. XD
Summary: The arrival of some of Uccello's henchmen propels Adenauer and crew into a high-speed chase.
They were just making a right off of Woodland Drive when Marion spoke up.
“Adenauer?”
“Hm?” Adenauer said absently.
“We’re being followed.”
“Are we?” He glanced at his rearview mirror. “The black cabriolet?”
“They’ve been on our tail for three blocks now.”
“Well, let me see.” As they came up to a small side street, Adenauer abruptly turned the wheel, pulling the car into a sharp left. The motion made Edna nearly smack against the door while Roscoe stayed still with his hand clutching the top of the leather seat, as though he’d expected such an action. Adenauer’s gaze flickered from the road to the mirror again.
“Ah,” he said. “They are following us.”
Edna turned to look out the back window. The driver was keeping a good distance from Adenauer’s sedan, enough that she couldn’t make out the features of any of the three passengers, all of who were clad in dark suits and newsboy caps.
“They’re probably planning to surprise us once we’re in a quieter area,” Marion said. “Think you can lose them?”
“Certainly,” replied Adenauer, up-shifting and pressing the gas.
The sound of the engine shot from a steady drone to a roar. In the space of a few moments, the cabriolet fell away into the distance, vanishing behind a building as Adenauer banked around a corner. Edna held on, keeping her gaze fixed to the window.
Halfway up the block, she saw the pursuing car round the corner after them, gradually increasing speed.
“They’re catching up,” she said.
Adenauer came to a red light and made a left, passing neatly in front of an approaching car. The driver hit their brakes, momentarily blocking the cabriolet as Adenauer went flying down the street, staying close to the center line to avoid pedestrians.
At the next intersection, he was forced to brake, hand nimbly working the shifter as a line of cars passed in front of him. As soon as an opening appeared, he zipped through, speeding up until he was inches from the car before him.
Seconds later, the cabriolet emerged from the intersection, undeterred.
Adenauer maneuvered into the space between the lane and the sidewalk to pass the car ahead, nearly side-swiping a lamppost. At the crosswalk, a pedestrian screamed and leapt back, and Adenauer careened right, slipping back into the lane as a parked car loomed. That obstacle went by and he quickly made use of the space again, frightening a group of ladies and popping the curb as he overtook another car observing the speed limit. The street widened after the following intersection, which he darted into amidst a barrage of horns, getting in the center lane.
“They’re still there,” Edna announced nervously, watching as the cabriolet cut off a few drivers, following the sedan’s movements.
“So they actually know what they’re doing,” Adenauer said coolly. “Well, I’ll just have to try a different method.”
He checked his mirrors, waited a moment, then swerved into oncoming traffic. Edna gasped as a truck bared down on them, honking deafeningly. Adenauer swept into the other lane, letting it pass, and switched lanes again as a town car barreled towards them. The driver, reacting too late, swung to the side and smashed into a post box, its radiator crumpling.
Another driver veered into the opposite side of the road upon seeing Adenauer advancing towards him, their car striking an oncoming vehicle and swinging in a wide arc that blocked both lanes. Tires screeched, glass shattered and horns sounded in a cacophony of protest. Adenauer pulled onto the sidewalk as he turned, causing a man to jump out of the way and a few other people to flatten themselves against the building walls as he went for a break in the traffic, making it over to the right side of the road before the light ahead turned green and allowed a whole group of vehicles through.
Somewhere to the right, Edna caught an unmistakable, thunderous crack.
“They’ve opened fire!” Marion cried.
The cabriolet—which now sported a wide dent on one side—was approaching fast. One of the passengers had produced a machine gun and was attempting to fire it whilst half-kneeling on his seat, while the other had a handgun. As they gained on the sedan, bullets ricocheted off the back bumper, and Edna crouched down below the windows, reaching beneath her coat for her gun.
“Now this is getting interesting!” Roscoe said in delight, retrieving his own weapon from beneath his waistband and reaching over Edna to roll down her window. He fired through it, striking a few passing cars and landing a bullet in the cabriolet’s windshield, breaking the glass. “Hell yeah!”
Edna fired more cautiously, keeping low enough to easily duck and trying not to cause collateral damage. As the cabriolet pressed on, bullets riddled the door on her side and she and Roscoe dove for cover. Roscoe flopped on top of her and, as the machine gun shooter paused, brought his hand up and fired blindly, the blast of the pistol painful to her ears.
Evidently he’d done something right, as the cabriolet fell back. From the passenger seat, Marion leaned out the window and shot after the pursuers, ducking as they returned fire. After some further exchanges of bullets, Edna heard a different sort of blast and looked from the cabriolet to Marion, catching a brief flash of satisfaction on his face.
“One down,” he said, eyeing the flat tire.
“Ooh, ooh, let me get one!” cried Roscoe, loading another clip into his pistol. He shot towards the road, striking the radiator and runners with sharp chinks of metal, and jerked back to avoid another barrage of machine gun bullets. Edna, leaning low across the window frame, sighted carefully and fired—one of the front tires collapsed, causing the cabriolet to pull into a spin.
“Niiice!” Roscoe congratulated, but before Edna could reply the sedan jerked beneath them. She exchanged glances with Marion, whose glance turned to the back right wheel—the tire had been hit.
Adenauer pulled back on the shifter, slowing to regain control. The cabriolet, thankfully, seemed to have come to a stop on the edge of the road, so Adenauer guided the sedan a few blocks further and pulled into an alley. He switched off the ignition and got out, surveying the damage.
“This is going to be difficult to explain to the shop,” he remarked.
Edna, extricating herself from beneath Roscoe—who was peering, dog-like, out her window in interest—opened the door and went to stand beside Adenauer. The right side of the car was pretty well torn up, peppered with round indentations. The back bumper had partly fallen and one of the right wheel’s spokes was cracked, as well as its tire blown.
Adenauer met eyes with Marion. “Get the jack and the wrench.”
Marion immediately went shuffling around within one of the inner compartments. Roscoe folded up the back seats and pulled out the spare tire from beneath them—a good place for it, Edna thought, considering what the outside of the car had gone through. He rolled it over to the men, stretching idly as Marion jacked up the car and Adenauer undid the nuts.
“I’m glad it was this car,” Adenauer commented as he lifted off the tire. “I would have been very displeased if they’d shot up the Embrey.”
“You also have an Embrey?” said Edna.
“And a Duprais roadster,” he replied with a smile, watching her eyebrows shoot up at the well-known name. “I’m a bit of an automobile enthusiast.”
“A bit?” Marion scoffed. “Do I need to remind you how much you spent last week on custom headlights for the Embrey? And of the fact that you have a heated garage?”
“That’s not that unusual,” said Adenauer, popping on the new tire and tightening it into place. “So, which route are we going to take now?”
“We’re near Second, so if you make a left there you can follow the road west towards Trivett,” Edna suggested. “And then head north to your store.”
“That’ll work,” Adenauer agreed, climbing to his feet as Marion lowered the jack. “I think I’ll take a few side streets before Trivett, though, to keep from attracting attention.”
He brushed the dirt from his gloves and went back to the driver’s seat. Marion resumed his position beside Adenauer, leaving Roscoe to stow away the useless tire and take his place with Edna in the back. Firing up the engine, Adenauer shifted into gear and took them out of the alley, turning left at the next intersection.
He was getting ready to make a calm turn onto a back road when Edna spotted an unmistakable black and white car with a flashing red light behind them.
“Adenauer,” she warned, pointing towards the back window.
“Oh dear,” he said. “Well, let’s not dawdle.”
He yanked the shifter forward. Edna found herself holding onto the seat again as he barreled around the corner, accelerating down the narrow road.
“Wait!” she cried. “Don’t do that; if you only explained that there was a chase and other cars were shot at—”
“I’d rather not bother,” he murmured, taking another turn into a neighborhood and dodging parked cars. Behind them, Edna heard the police car’s siren go on and covered her face with her hand.
“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Roscoe drawled. “The bulls don’t usually start shooting.”
Marion, on the other hand, seemed to be siding with Edna on the issue. “Adenauer, really? What license do you have on you?”
“Elliot Bristow.”
“Oh, that explains a lot,” he huffed. “Didn’t I tell you to take Lawrence Sykes? Elliot’s still suspended!”
“I was busy this morning and I forgot,” Adenauer explained lightly. “Anyway, I can outrun this guy.”
Edna watched the speedometer’s needle broach fifty miles an hour. The police car did its best to keep up, and when the sedan reached a green-lit intersection, Adenauer yanked the car around. The sedan went into a spin, causing Roscoe to let out a whoop of excitement and Edna’s breath to catch in her throat, and from the corner of her eye she saw the police car skid away and smack into the edge of a building.
Adenauer stopped the sedan, shot a glance at the police car, and shifted into reverse. He hit the gas.
Edna wasn’t sure whether she was impressed or simply terrified as the sedan flew backwards down the street, with Adenauer half-twisted in his seat to look out the rear window. He side-swiped a trash barrel but managed to successfully weave between two cars and a mail truck. As he reached a busier road, he swung around and backed his way a short distance through traffic until he reached a strip of grass at the median. There he stopped, shifted forward again, and waited a moment to merge into the left lane.
There was a second in which it seemed that Adenauer, Marion, Roscoe and Edna all looked across the road at once, realizing that another police car was parked there with a pulled-over towncar, and that the officer was staring openmouthed at the sedan.
“My luck is just terrible today,” Adenauer remarked.
“Oh my God,” Edna said, ducking down. “I know him. That’s Clarence…”
A space opened and Adenauer entered the lane, passing deftly from left to right. The siren of Clarence’s car shrieked to life and like the parting of waves, Edna saw the vehicles behind them pull over, making way for the police car.
“Go,” she urged. “Don’t let him reach us!”
“I won’t,” Adenauer said, somehow managing a soothing tone while jumping the curb to the sidewalk and blowing through a red light.
Clarence managed to stay hot on their heels, the deference of other vehicles giving him an advantage. Marion leaned forward in his seat, looking for a good escape route as Adenauer zigzagged around obstacles, horns honking in his wake.
“Should I shoot him out?” Roscoe asked. “He’s gaining on us.”
“No!” cried Edna. “Don’t make this worse!”
“It won’t matter if he doesn’t catch us.”
“Adenauer,” Marion said, pointing to the left. “Go through there.”
Edna followed his hand and saw a fenced-in park coming up. Adenauer took Marion’s advice, swerving over the median and through a gap in approaching traffic. He blew his horn as he came to the crosswalk, scaring pedestrians out of the way as he maneuvered through the open gates and onto the gravel path inside.
“There’s a lot of people here,” he commented, swiftly deciding that it’d be safer to drive on the grass. He pulled off of the path, steering around trees and bushes. Clarence’s car followed, but the policeman had slowed to avoid walkers instead of expecting them to move aside and was not as close to the sedan as before.
As they came to a large pond, Adenauer downshifted. Clarence’s car loomed in the rearview mirror.
“What are you doing?!” Edna yelled.
“Trying something.” He rode to the edge of the pond, the sedan’s wheels slowing.
She caught a glimpse of Clarence’s surprised face as he realized that they were stopping. Just as he started to brake, Adenauer upshifted and hit the gas again, careening to the right. The sedan’s left wheels splashed through the shallows and as Clarence brought his speed back up to try and follow, his car swung into the pond, water pouring into his exhaust pipe and radiator.
Roscoe cheered and Adenauer chuckled as he drove away from the stalled car, exiting the park and turning onto the road.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll take Trivett,” he said. “Better to just go north to begin with. This part of town is too busy.”
“I’d say so,” Marion put in with a snort.
“I guess Clarence will have an interesting story for the other officers,” Edna observed, barely believing what Adenauer had just pulled off. “He didn’t really see us, did he?”
“Nah,” Roscoe assured her. “I was watching. He didn’t get a good look. By the way, Ad, can we go out for food soon? I’m hungry.”
“I suppose,” Adenauer said, entirely relaxed. “What would you like?”
“Chinese would be great. I’ve got a hankering for eggrolls.”
“Would that be fine with you?” inquired Adenauer, glancing at Marion and Edna.
Marion nodded. Edna, astonished that the conversation had so quickly turned to something so normal, hesitated before saying, “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Chinese it is, then.” Adenauer pulled to a smooth stop and leaned back in his seat, waiting for the light to turn.
The rest of the drive was entirely uneventful.
