S2, E2 | A One Way Ticket to an Alliance

\ Seattle - 1930 /
\ Saturday, 5th July 1930 /

“What does the history between yourself and Willard look like?” Velma queries, seated opposite the sweat-covered and bloodied gentleman, who sits upon a wooden seat within the confines of a dingy, poorly-lit room with a smile. “We’re labourers- just like most of the other chumps you’ve got fighting here” Arthur responds, both hands pressing against the tops of his knees as he shakes his head with a grin, “listen, hot mama. I just slid that crumb out there a new pair of teeth. What’s with all these questions?”

“Are you hard of hearing? I’ve already told you twice now” Velma answers without much joy in her face, displeasing the victorious fighter that now grows less pleasant with the crass remark. “What did you just say to me, dollface?” Arthur questions aloud, climbing out of his seat before approaching the well-paid, yet un-established lady that shows him disrespect, “don’t talk out of line now, pearl.”

“I’m employed by Wilbur Ritter himself. I have complete freedom to say whatever I want to you” Velma replies, standing out of her seat whilst meeting the advancing brawler halfway, not shying away from an altercation beneath the coverage of her employer’s protection. “You just won your fight, and you’ve likely gotten back into his good graces with that. Don’t fall out of them now” she doubles down, staring at the now-angry bruiser as he seethes in his place, “answer my question if you want your paycheck for tonight.”

Holding his disgruntled scowl upon the lady, Arthur remains standing halfway between the two seats in which they’d occupied seconds prior, watching her return to the chair, but kept from taking her seat back upon it. “Excuse me, doll” a voice remarks from the doorway to the unpleasant locker room, catching the attention of both figures inhabiting its interior.

“I understand that you’ve got orders from your boss to carry out, but would you mind letting me speak to our winner over here in private real fast?” Kenny wonders aloud, sporting a tweed overcoat and a professional, full suit piece with a cap atop his long, grey locks of hair. “What the hell for?” Arthur questions aloud, watching his fellow well-dressed fighter enter as Velma leaves in disappointment, again kept from carrying out her duties.

“Because I don’t know that there’s a better time for us to talk than now” Kenny replies, keeping his words to himself for a moment as he waits for the woman to walk off, continuing to pause as her shoes tap along the solid ground outside, assuring the new entrant that she’d fully left. “I’ll ask again... What for?” Arthur queries, standing with both of his taped hands hanging at each side whilst the new arrival tucks one into his pocket and rests the other one across his chest.

“For the purpose of seeing whether or not the two of us can help each other out” Kenny responds, using the hand outside of his pocket to tap the sweaty brawler on the chest, “do you know how much you’re getting paid tonight?”

“I’m getting paid what I’m owed” Arthur replies, only to carry a deep squint when he watches the older gentleman’s head shake from one side to the other in refusal. “No, Jimmy Elliott got paid what he was owed... twenty-five hundred dollars. The exact same as me” Kenny responds, keeping his voice low enough to evade the ears of anyone who could be listening in, “I saw the checks that Mr. Money Bags is going to cut you all. Just over a thousand.”

“What!?” Arthur shouts, immediately enraged before being gestured to lower his tone by the finger that his elder visitor places beyond his lips- which still sports a cut from weeks prior. “Wilbur’s already told all of you that you get paid based on how much money you’re able to peddle. Gambling wages, admission wages, liquor wages, all of it” Kenny replies, breaking bread with the man who stands opposite himself, “if you can get more people to show up, you’ll get a bigger paycheck.”

Grimacing as he looks toward the door, Arthur clears the space of being occupied by anyone other than himself and the guest, irate and forced to subdue his anger. “I can get you in fights with big crowds. I know what the people come out for, and I can make sure you’re on the cards that draw well because I’ll be on them too” Kenny explains, regaining the younger brawler’s full attention with this vow, “but if I’m gonna make that work for you, I’m gonna need something in return.”

“You want your piece of the pie too, right?” Arthur assumes, surprised to find the shake of the older bruiser’s head reply to him immediately. “You can keep every last cent he pays out to you. You win your fight, you keep your cabbage, we all eat really good” Kenny assures, letting his free hand join the pocket directly opposite the other one, “but I want you and that big guy that you’re friends with looking out for each other.”

“What does that mean?” Arthur questions back, his anger having dissolved in the face of his confusion, unsure of what’s being proposed to him. “Jimmy and I have some problems. Our issues are for the same reasons that you and your big friend are here” Kenny answers, clarifying his point whilst adjusting his stance, taking a more firm and upright posture, “Jimmy’s got friends that are watching his back. If he’s gonna have his friends, then I’m gonna need some of my own.”

“You want us to work with you like a team?” Arthur queries, earning a nod from the man directly opposite himself as their minds reach the same internal passageway, discovering the same destination they now venture through. “The big advantage that Jimmy and the other fella who beat your boy a couple of weeks ago have are the allies they make with each other” Kenny reiterates, stepping back toward the chair of the woman he’d politely requested leave them on their own.

“If the three of us work together, we’ll be able to get the most out of it. Wilbur won’t just be promoting me to the audience, he’ll be promoting all of us” the proposition-proposing gentleman remarks, climbing off of his feet to take the interviewer’s unoccupied seat. “That means more people show up for all of us. We get paid more and Jimmy’s friends don’t have their precious advantage anymore” Kenny carries forward, shrugging with ease at the offer, “everyone of us wins.”

Staring at the ground with a slight parting of his lips, Arthur sits with his thoughts for a moment as the still air makes it impossible for the sound of anything other than their collective breaths to meet his ears. “So...” Kenny questions back, crossing one leg over the other before coupling his hands atop his lap, his long locks flowing over the coat to the gentle sound of ruffling with each motion of his head, “...what do you say?”

= Seattle Noir is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

\ Thursday, 10th July 1930 /

“Thank you for taking this meeting with us, Mr. Nichols” Wilbur remarks, shaking the hand of the politician that stands opposite himself and his business partner before taking a seat at the empty restaurant’s table when appropriate. “Gentlemen, for the sake of transparency- I wasn’t sure that I should take this meeting” the city’s mayor replies, folding his hands opposite the pair that take seats with him, “the two of you haven’t been very quiet about wanting to wet your feet on my shores.”

“You say that like we floated here in a boat from across the ocean” Wilbur jokes, the only one of the trio holding a genuine grin, Norman’s face holding a polite smile to the showman’s right whilst the politician opposite them retains an emotion nothing of the sort. “Well, I don’t want to waste any of our time, so I’ll just state myself clearly and beyond misapprehension” Mayor Nichols remarks, lowering his chin slightly as his serious visage deepens, “I know that you’ve been breaking federal law.”

Caught by surprise at the bluntness in which their adversary speaks, the pair of businessmen opposite the relatively-unknown candidate turn toward each other in silence, unsure of what to say next. “Do either of you gentlemen wish to respond?” the mayor queries, staring past the candlelight in the middle of the table to the pair of faces that soon look back to him, their freshly-shaven jawlines wearing shadows cast by their angle toward the open flame.

“Well, you’ll have to be more specific, Mr. Mayor...” Wilbur begins, taking the helm of the conversation as he leans into the table, coupling his hands together atop the cloth-covered bench, “...we’ve broken several.”

Turning his chin upward slightly, the politician takes surprise in this confession as he furrows his brows, needing a moment before nodding toward one of the officers stationed beside himself. “So the two of you are admitting to this? On the record and without interrogation?” the mayor questions back, watching as Norman nods silently whilst his eccentric business partner puts their claims into speech.

“Of course! What’s the fun in turning a city into our personal playground if we can’t have any fun with it?” Wilbur queries, taking a glass standing just a short distance away into his possession, swirling the red wine that sits within it as he continues. “As I- myself- have stated clearly, we didn’t come here just to lay our roots down. We’ve come here for infamy” the showman carries onward, “we’ve bribed officers, bribed the dock workers, served liquor in the age of prohibition... all of it for the sake of infamy.”

Caught completely off guard by the ease in which this discourse has taken its course, the mayor pats the table’s top and stands out from his seat, his eyebrows raised and hand waving toward the officers accompanying him. “I believe that’s all I needed to hear gentlemen” the mayor explains, looking toward the policeman beside him with lips parted, prepared to order a pair of arrests before being corrected by his criminal foe.

“You’d be wrong in that belief then, Mr. Mayor. I’d even argue that you’ve barely heard the first thing” Wilbur replies, finishing his sip whilst Norman lifts a finger in the direction of a server, preparing to not only have a conversation within the establishment, but enjoy a meal as well. “The two of you are no-good criminals, gentlemen. I have no reason to hear you out” the mayor replies, doubling down on his disregard as he continues his attempt at leaving, “officers, arrest these-”

Attempting to return the way in which he’d entered, the city’s mayor stops in his tracks as the palm of law enforcement’s hand presses against his chest, forcing him to remain within the presence of those who join him for dinner. “What are you doing?” Nichols questions, looking to the cop he’d made an attempt at ordering around, shocked to find that it isn’t his command that they follow.

“He’s doing what we paid him to do, Mr. Mayor” Wilbur replies, prompting the politician to turn back toward him with wide eyes, continued shock carried through his troubled visage. “We knew it’d only be a matter of time before word got around that two novices to the area had paid off everyone worth a pretty penny to skirt past the rules” the showman carries on, taking lead of the conversation whilst his business partner requests a menu from the well-dressed server.

“When word gets around, it’s only a matter of time before the mayor hears about it. And, in due time, the governor will have heard of our presence as well” Wilbur explains, extending a hand toward the seat the politician had intended to leave, gesturing for him to return to it. “When that day comes, we’ll take care of him just as we’re taking care of you now” the top hat-wearing fight promoter explains with a sadistic grin, “please, Mr. Mayor... reclaim your throne.”

Glowering in the direction of the intelligent and poised criminals, the mayor concedes to the orders placed upon him with little alternative to choose from, reluctantly descending back into his chair. “We’ve broken laws left and right up to now, and we will continue to shatter them after we’ve taken care of business tonight” Wilbur clarifies, reaching for a cloth napkin off to his sides before wiping his hands on them, “the entire police department in this city is on strict orders to refrain from putting cuffs around these wrists.”

“You’ve broken the laws of prohibition. That’s a federal crime...” Nichols rejoinders, earning a shrug for his troubles whilst doing so, “...that’s not pissing on Washington state, that’s going against the will of Washington D.C.” Continuing to wear his smile, Wilbur tosses the towel back upon the table whilst taking one of the menus that the waiter returns to them with, placing it in front of himself for later use once he’s concluded speaking.

“Within due time, Hoover himself can sit in the exact seat that you’re occupying right now and he’ll have just a little power in the matter” the showman assures, placing the palms of both hands against the smooth, glossy cover of their dinner cards. “I want everything. I own your police department, I want to own your population, your city’s wealth, your economy... I want to own Seattle” Wilbur explains, stopping at nothing short of the big prize, “and as long as you’re in office here... you’re going to let me.”

“Why would I do that?” Nichols challenges, prompting the showman’s eyes to fall and shoulders to roll. “Because if you don’t, I’ll democratically install someone in your place that will” Wilbur answers, holding the keys to a kingdom he’s yet to legitimately stake claim of the throne to, holding out grand dreams of one day fitting its Pacific Northwestern crown atop his own head, “you’ll either play ball or you’ll be pushed off of the court. I will, gradually, come to control everything in this city.”

“You speak with the cadence of an emperor” Nichols retorts, immediately watching the head of his opposition shake with glee. “I prefer dictator. The quiet kind of dictator, but dictator nonetheless” Wilbur argues back, continuing to speak whilst he opens the menu, pointing to a dish at random for the server that awaits him. “I will fund the infrastructure projects, own fields, own properties, feed the poor, everything the Hoover administration has failed to provide this country” the grandeur-laiden, master-schemer proclaims, “and you will not get in my way.”

“With what you’re claiming to have done already, I’m not sure I see how I’m supposed to stop you” Nichols explains, pleasing the showman that points his finger forward. “That’s the spirit! But, Norman and I are both aware that you’d still try unless all of this was made clear to you” Wilbur confesses, pressing the fabrics of his expensive coat into the wooden seat hosting him, “so, we decided to explain to you how things would work from here on out in person.”

Hanging his head whilst gently scratching at the top of his eyelid, the mayor sits quietly with his thoughts whilst the pair of men opposite himself await his continued attention. Stationed around the table with their hands held at their laps, the policemen do nothing to intervene, taking their orders from the private citizen that may as well have bought the land to which the city was built upon by now.

“You will leave through the front of this establishment where the public can see you” Wilbur explains, jotting down each of the politician’s next steps in real time. “Someone with a camera will photograph you leaving this expensive establishment with a police escort whilst the public withers away and starves in your commander-in-chief’s camps” Norman carries on, finally taking his turn to speak, “and if you ever decide to act accordingly against us- those pictures will make national headlines.”

Troubled and anxious, the mayor finds himself at the mercy of those directly opposite himself, wearing the exact opposite posture as the pleased, powerful and upright-seated havers-of-wealth. “You will never inform the governor about our little meeting here. When we want something done, your office will get it done. When we want blind eyes turned toward us, your office will suddenly go blind” Wilbur takes the helm once more, “and if we ever smell descent coming from you, we will kill your political career and leave you in those squatter’s camps ourselves. Understand?”

“You know that I don’t have a choice” Nichols angrily rejoinders, still speaking with a calm tone as the men opposite him nod in approval of that claim. Concealing their smiles as best as they can, the policemen await their marching orders as the suited politician- already in the bad will of his suffering populace- finds himself within the possession of more powerful owners.

“I understand” the mayor responds, conceding defeat without a leg to stand on, pleasing those who do business with him as they nod approvingly. With the wave of a hand, Wilbur gestures for the borough master to step away from their table and rejoin his armed enforcements, freeing the powerful criminals to enjoy their evening of fine dining and lavish luxuries in peace.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Ritter” Norman quips, extending the hand that his partner in crime reciprocates the gesture of. “Much the same, Mr. Mountebank” Wilbur retorts, claiming ownership of the seat that their mayoral chess piece abandons in his exit, retaking the cloth he’d wiped his hands with earlier before tucking it into the collar of his dress shirt, addressing his friend whilst clinking the rims of their glasses together, “now, let’s celebrate.”

|

\ Tuesday, 15th July 1930 /

“Will you be joining us at Wilbur’s theatre tomorrow?” Cathy wonders aloud, looking across the table to their peers with a glass of wine in hand, a candle and some plates of food separating them beyond the wooden length of the surface itself. “We’d never leave our pal out in the cold” Jesse assures, tilting his head back to take one quarter of his wine glass’ contents down at once, licking his lips with a satisfied sigh.

“Have they told you anything about when the fight’s scheduled?” Stanley inquires, seated beside the shorter-in-stature acquaintance whilst looking toward his longtime friend. “I haven’t spoken to the doll since she broke into our home. Wilbur sends one letter every few weeks and I haven’t gotten one of those since before the fight” Jimmy responds, shaking his head as he reaches for his own wine glass, “I’ll know tomorrow, though. He’s not chiselling, that’s what counts.”

“Do you think he’ll have me fight with yous that night?” Jesse queries, receiving a shake of his host’s uncertain head in response. “He won’t even tell me when my own fight’s happening until tomorrow, how would he be telling me anything about yours?” Jimmy wonders aloud for the sake of voicing rationality, only for the laughter of his wife and his mate’s lover to fill the room.

“I’ve not clue, do I!?” Jesse proclaims, amusing Jimmy and prompting Stanley to chuckle whilst gesturing his hand toward the wine bottle in silence. “How’re you healin’ up?” Cathy questions aloud, passing the tall, glass of beverage to the bachelor’s hand without notice whilst addressing the good friend sitting directly opposite herself.

“The Big Man’s doctor says it’ll take quite a bit longer, but I’m not looking too bad right now” Stanley answers, passing a sly look toward his wife with a flimsy grin, “the broad and I have made it work, though. Haven’t we, Josie?”

Heavily insinuating adult activities to the tune of the group’s larger amusement, Stanley prompts his wife’s playfully embarrassed grin to take toward him just as a knock at the door interrupts their fun. “We expecting company, Jim?” Jesse questions aloud, the first to let his laughter die out in the name of bringing attention to the obvious at the flat’s entrance.

“Aside from the three of you- no” the prize fighter responds, climbing out of his seat with a towel in hand, wiping the grease from around his mouth before making toward the door, wanting to take on the appearance of someone professional. Sifting across the floor whilst those that remain around the table wait patiently for further insight, Jimmy’s feet carry themselves across the apartment and to the door, opening it to a look of uncertainty.

“Can I help you?” the apartment’s primary tenant inquires, only to step aside and allow the woman that approaches a free route inward. “Velma. I’m Mr. Ritter’s employee” she answers, taking six steps into the flat without interruption before turning back to the most notorious fighter that her boss has employed to date.

“The woman that broke into our home the other week?” Cathy questions aloud from the table, joining her husband in rising to her feet at the lady’s appearance. “It doesn’t take much effort to pick a lock, darling” Velma answers, watching the three visitors that had seated opposite the main couple join their friends in standing upright- led by Jesse.

“When is my next fight!?” the man on his second serving of red wine wonders aloud, hurrying around his seat with such speed that he even steps further ahead than his friend’s also-approaching wife. “You don’t have another fight scheduled yet. Wilbur will send you a latter when he decides you’re needed next” Velma answers, furrowing her eyebrows as she takes a step back, creating distance between herself and the slightly-buzzed brawler.

“Is there a purpose behind you making this visit?” Jimmy questions aloud, redirecting the conversation to the purpose he’s more interested in, continuing to stand by the door he hopes his unexpected arrival will soon step through to leave once more.

“Yes. You’re outmatched now” the visitor replies, leaving her statement both open-ended and vague as she stands with her hands coupled together at her lap, staring at the apartment’s owner in the face as she finds his expression to sport confusion. “What’s the story, morning glory?” Jimmy queries back, one eyebrow raised higher than the other as he requests clarification, watching the woman casually stroll further into the home.

“You and this drunkard over here are allies. Stanley doesn’t really matter right now because he can’t fight” Velma answers, gesturing to the significant other-less Jesse at the start of her statement. “Kenny has put together a group of people to serve the same purpose that this man and Stanley serve to you” she carries on, again gesturing to the somewhat inebriated gentleman prior to pointing out the tall, wounded brawler.

“I don’t understand, the three of us are friends” Jimmy retorts, gently closing the door before crossing his arms, addressing the woman’s comments without much of a choice but to, “what are you getting at?”

“In the world that surrounds these fights, friends serve more of a purpose than just being buddies. They’re allies. In times of trouble, you’ve got people watching your back instead of taking shots at it” the well-dressed, polka-dot sporting employee of the wealthy showman explains. “If they’re more than just allies- like friends- that’s great. But the important thing is that they serve the purpose of an advantage” she carries on, “Kenny’s decided to find allies of his own.”

“And who are they?” Jimmy wonders back, going along with the line of discussion now that it’s proven to be worth hearing. “Wilbur has disclosed to me that I’m not allowed to give you the answer to that question, but you will find out at tomorrow’s conference from what I understand” Velma replies, prompting the tenant’s head to lower as his wife’s hand rests upon his shoulder, “the conference is sold out and will host the most wealthy of our clientele. We will put tickets to your fight with Kenny up for offer at-”

“I don’t care who’s going to be there. Why bother coming here to tell me that Kenny found some friends to watch his back if you’re not going to tell me who they are?” Jimmy interjects, raising the only inquiry that matters to him in the moment. “Because Mr. Ritter is going to market this as being more than just you facing Kenny” Velma answers, allowing her prior point to fall to the wayside in favour of addressing the fighter’s concerns head-on, “it’s my job to inform you of-”

“What is he ‘marketing’ this fight as then?” the undefeated fighter proceeds to interrupt again, irritating the professional woman enough to force a sigh out of her, the hat on her slightly-hung head lowering itself forward alongside the headwear. Gathering her composure following the disrespect, the woman presses her teeth together and gathers her breathing under control.

“He’s marketing this as your side against Kenny’s side” Velma concludes, again biting her tongue and addressing the prominent question head on with a collected tone of voice. “My side against his side?” Jimmy questions aloud, still crossing his arms over his chest as the woman’s face lifts once more, her eyes connecting with the fighter’s own as he continues, “is that all?”

“That’s all I came here to tell you” Velma assures, capable of hearing the silence that she’s immediately met with as the flat’s owner nods his head, looking off to the side as he takes the woman’s comments to heart. “I apologise for the rash way in which my husband speaks” Cathy remarks, finding sympathies for the woman who’d come only to do her job, “there’s a lot on his plate and he’s been very eager to get his hands on Kenny.”

“It doesn’t help that she introduced herself to us by breaking into our home” Jimmy clarifies, looking at his wife with raised brows before turning to find Velma’s beleaguered expression staring at the floor. Collecting himself, the apartment’s owner uses the break in their collective speech to gather himself before the woman that stands before him shatters the illusion of quiet first.

“I would just like some people to stop walking all over me so I can just do my job” Velma answers, again keeping herself together as she looks toward the apologetic lady off to her side, “I’m not in a world that’s very polite to me.” Continuing to press his lips together, Jimmy looks to the floor as his breathing steadies, his tongue’s tip slamming against the roof of his mouth as the air goes quiet once more.

“I’m sorry, miss. I could be more courteous to you” Jimmy concedes in a soft tone of voice, earning the slightest grin out of the lady whose preferred rock-solid demeanour had broken down over the duration of their discourse. “Thank you” Velma replies with an equal hush to her tone, appreciative of the man’s concession before gradually clearing her mind of as much of their dialogue as possible, “now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Following her own lead to the door, Wilbur’s employee ventures onto her next unscheduled appointment, leaving the group with the food for thought that they will be forced to sit through for at least one calendar day. “Alright. We’ve got work to do” Stanley remarks, earning a collective nod from his peers as the same conclusion had been drawn amongst each of them.

== Seattle Noir ==