Pairings/Characters (this chapter): Frank Nitti, Phil D’Andrea, Mel/Johnny (Mel does not appear in this chapter)
Series Notes: Tears Of The Saints will deal with the Outfit/Syndicate (aka the Mob) and how they cross paths with the Dillinger Gang and the Bureau of Investigation. It helps to have first-hand knowledge of Italian culture and Catholicism. ;)
Fandom: Public Enemies
Genres: AU, Drama
Rating (this chapter): G
General Summary: When the Syndicate needs the special talents of John Dillinger, they take out insurance that he will do the job they want by kidnapping someone near and dear to his heart: Melvin Purvis.
Chapter Summary: The Syndicate makes its move.
Date Of Completion: January 26, 2010
Date Of Posting: February 23, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Universal does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 896
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
The entire series can be found here.
Sure can shatter
In the wink
Of an eye.
"The View From
My Kitchen Window"
“You wanted to see me, Frank?”
Phil entered the private room over The Montmatre Club. It was dominated by a mahogany conference table and leather-backed chairs, the walls painted a pale green. Good-quality paintings of Italy in old-fashioned Victorian frames were the main form of decoration. Nitti was sitting in his customary chair at the head of the table. Phil sat in the chair next to him.
“Yeah.” Nitti lit a cigar. “The State Street Bank has something I want.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a certain object that I want from one of the safe deposit boxes.”
“Yeah, so?” Phil waited to hear what the object was, but Frank obviously wasn’t going to spill the chichi beans.
“So I can’t just go in there and sign it out, now can I? It’s not in one of my safe deposit boxes under one of my aliases. No, this one has to be taken.”
“And the owner doesn’t want to fork it over?”
Nitti shook his head. “It’s better if he doesn’t know I’m interested.”
“Okay, so how do you plan to get it?”
“We’ll need someone with special talents.”
Puzzled, Phil asked, “What kind of special talents?”
“Bank robbing talents.”
“Bank robbing isn’t one of our areas of expertise, Frank.”
“So? What do we do when we have a special job? We use specialists.” Nitti took a puff on his cigar. “We got the best bank robber in America right here in town.”
“Dillinger?” Phil gasped. “He don’t work for the Outfit, Frank. He’s an independent, about as independent as one can get.” Phil scratched his head. “Besides, it’s too hot for him here in Chicago. He can’t rob a bank here.”
“I think he will.”
Phil wanted to laugh and say, “You’re crazy!” but he knew when to keep quiet. Frank didn’t mind criticism because Phil had proven to save the Outfit’s butts more than once, but a guy could only go so far with the Enforcer.
“So what’s in it for him?”
Probably some deal for guns and access to doctors that won’t cost him a fortune.
“He’ll get his nancy boy back.”
Nitti’s smile was smug.
“Oh, no! Frank, tell me you didn’t!”
Johnny hummed as he re-checked on the contents of the icebox: fresh chicken, a head of lettuce, a cucumber, tomatoes, and Idaho potatoes. He took out the potatoes to start cutting them up.
The boys were still going out tonight to Anna’s place and Red and Homer were getting ready to go to the movies. He and Mel would have the house to themselves. While he would have liked to go out on the town with his man, he knew that it was impossible. Still, he was looking forward to the time alone.
The meal was simple, but fried chicken was a favorite of both of them. Some mashed potatoes and salad would be perfect to go with it.
He and Mel were so domestic! Johnny laughed. He never would have dreamed of such a thing.
Johnny finished with the salad and went to get the chicken to start cooking when the back doorbell rang. Everyone was gone so he had to answer it.
He smiled. His Southern bell was right on time.
He picked up his gun from the hall table just in case. He couldn’t afford not to be cautious.
Checking through the side window, he was disappointed not to see Mel, but curious to see a kid with a box. Slipping his gun into the back of his waistband, he opened the door.
“Hey, kid, what’s up?”
“Hi, Mister. This is for you.”
“Yeah? Who sent it?”
The kid, around eight years old, casually chewed gun, wild red hair beneath his newsboy cap that he wore sideways on his head.
“A mug gave me a quarter to deliver this to you.”
“A mug, huh?” Amusement danced in Johnny’s eyes. “Okay, thanks.” He handed the kid another quarter.
“Gee, thanks, Mister!”
The kid snapped his gum and ran off. Chuckling, Johnny closed the door.
He studied the package. It seemed all right. Holding it up to his ear, he didn’t hear any ticking.
He set the box on the kitchen table. It wasn’t big or heavy. Curiosity won out and he unwrapped the brown butcher paper after untying the string.
There was a plain white envelope with his name scrawled across it. He fished out a letter opener from the drawer and slit it open. As he began to read, his insides grew cold.
We need you to do a job. Come to the Montmatre Club tomorrow at 10 A.M. If you have any ideas about ignoring this note, check further down in the box.
The Montmatre Club! That was the Syndicate’s headquarters. With trepidation he pushed aside the tissue paper, afraid of what he might find.
Frowning, he saw a small black velvet box. He lifted it out and carefully opened the lid.
Gasping, he took out the object with shaking fingers.
The light winked off the topazes and sapphires of Mel’s University of South Carolina gold ring.