Hooray for chapter 11! :) I finally finished this chapter at 4:09 am my time so I'm pretty tired now that I've gotten off the writing train. I'm actually kind of proud of how quickly I wrote all of this so I hope you like it. But before you read, I have a serious warning.
WARNING: Seriously, read this so I don't get reported. In this chapter there is a word used by the wonderful Mr. Capone that is highly offensive today. It begins with an 'n' so I think you can guess what it is. I do not use this word and it has been placed in this story for historical aspect only. Keep in mind that the 20s were a time of racism against African Americans. Again, I do not mean to appear racist to anyone and this will be the only time that I use a word that is this bad. If you are indeed offended, feel free to just skip through that part of the dialogue. Thanks! -PuttingOnTheRitz
Chapter Eleven: Into the Snake Pit
Contrary to the popular lore and belief that has been spread about by highly reputable Chicagoans, the Green Mill is a place of more back-alley deals than genuine entertainment. The entire joint is run by the mob- the singers, the hooch, the décor, and even the bartender must be at top condition at all times. If this is not achieved the consequences are high and plentiful from a group of lethal men.
Unlike the desperate hopefuls that plead with the hulking bouncer at the door, Florence and Leo are able to go to the front of a very long line, coolly ignoring the threats and coarse curses that are hurled at their backs all the while.
“Aw, come on!” cries one flapper, a young girl with a choppy honey colored bob, bawdily as Leo knocks three times without hesitation at the door. She turns to her older companion with a pouting innocence and whines pitifully as she hangs on his arm, “Let’s go, daddy. It’s all a waste of my time. I didn’t buy this Chanel just so I could return it by tomorrow without having a shred of fun.”
A pair of large brown eyes appear suddenly in the hole in the door after Leo knocks.
“Password?” a voice grunts hoarsely from the opposite side.
Leo smiles charmingly and removes a white card from his breast pocket. As he holds it up to the hole for inspection, the pair of eyes widen rather comically in an obvious instance of realization.
“I’ve an appointment with Mr. Capone and Mr. Torrio. If you would be so kind,” he says pleasantly, gesturing to the door in an unspoken request that it be opened.
“Certainly,” The Voice is much obliging this time. “And your friend, sir? Will she be accompanying you?”
Leo’s eyes harden and Florence watches nervously as they grow black as pitch. “I should think so, don’t you?” he asks dangerously, his knuckles quickly growing alabaster as he clenches his hand around her arm. His fingers dig into her skin in plain view of The Eyes and she know that there will be bruises in their wake by the following morning.
“Forgive me,” The Voice grunts. “Welcome to the Green Mill, lady and gent.” The door swings open quickly and they are ushered inside. The man behind the door is tall and thickset with hands that look as though they could easily break a man’s neck with a single twist.
Leo keeps a firm hand placed on Florence’s back as he leads her deeper into the interior. A party is already in full swing and they must move with precision to avoid the wild dancers and waiters with their trays held aloft. At the end of the bar a small round table sits illuminated by the yellow flame of a flickering candle, perfectly positioned between the joint’s two doors.
As they approach the green felt booth, he hisses in her ear, “Play stupid and don’t ask any vital questions, understand? I am the single greatest thing that has ever happened to you and you don’t mind that I hurt you because of it.” She nods curtly in agreement as he comes to a stop. The three men that are seated rise at their arrival, stepping out into the open to greet them.
The man in the middle appears to be the leader of the group and his two accomplices keep quiet as he contemplates his next words with a painful slowness.
“So glad that you could come, my boy,” he says, blowing out a perfect smoke ring from his cigar toward their faces. To the man on the left he orders idly, “Get them drinks, will you?”
The man tears his eyes away from the group of flappers that he has been observing during this time and faces Leo completely. When he steps out of the shadows and into the dim light Florence can feel him tense suddenly beside her.
Leo clicks his heels together and throws his shoulders back so that he is standing completely erect. His hand snaps up to his forehead in a salute to this stranger and no one dares to question it.
A smile flits at the man’s lips. “At ease, Sergeant.” Leo’s arm snaps down. “We’re friends now, you and I, are we not?”
“Of course, sir.” To Florence he adds, “Darling, this is Lieutenant Harry Thompson. I served under him in the war.”
Florence twirls a curl around her finger, giggling girlishly. “Pleased to meet you, Harry. Do you want to save me a dance?”
A rakish smile spreads across his lips. “I would be delighted, Miss-?”
“Florence Hale,” she purrs, edging away from Leo and towards him.
“ Quite willing, I like that. You don’t mind if I take her for a spin do you, old sport?” He claps Leo on the shoulder and begins to chuckle. This is abruptly silenced, however, when Leo pierces him with a glare.
Pulling Florence to him roughly with a possessive grip, he growls, “I would rather that you didn’t. I don’t like her getting the wrong ideas into her head, surely you understand.”
Harry’s smile turns cool and appraising. “Of course. We must keep our woman folk innocent, isn’t that right, gentlemen?” The pudgy middle man mutters something under his breath. “What was that, Mr. Capone?”
Capone grunts. “I was only going to say that if we don’t keep them in their proper place, the world as we know it will deteriorate. Same goes for the situation with them Negros.”
“And what situation is that, sir?” Harry inquires politely. Capone motions for them all to sit before continuing.
“Oh, I’ll tell you exactly what the situation is, Thompson. I’ll tell every single one of you,” he pauses for effect, “It’s a crying shame that their kind can just waltz around the city like they own it. A city that, may I remind you, was built up by good, honest white men. And now what do these- these,” he sputters angrily at a loss of words. Thompson passes him a handkerchief from the opposite end of the table and he mops his perspiring forehead with it briefly. “These god damned niggers do? They take our jobs, they invade our once pure neighborhoods, and bite the hand of the kind white man that feeds them!”
“They make the best jazz,” smirks Harry, nodding his head toward the five piece band that is playing on the stage.
“They make the best jazz because I pay them to!” Capone screams in his face, his red blotches blossoming over his skin. He slams his fist down onto the table, sending a wave of booze splashing out of the clustered glasses after the motion.
The man on Capone’s left strikes a match to light his cigar. As he speaks he blows smoke into their faces. “Keep calm. There’s no need to call attention to ourselves.”
Capone wipes his temples with the handkerchief. “You mark my words, Torrio, they’re going to take over us all one day. Hell, they can already vote! What’s next, one of them for president?”
Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’d rather not talk of things that are so controversial. We all remember why we’re here.”
Capone takes a long swallow of scotch. “That doesn’t mean that we can’t have a bit of fun first. Loosen up some, won’t you, kid?” Addressing the group, he mutters, “You’re all too god damn tense.”
Harry brightens. “Say, you’re right! Care for that dance, Miss Hale?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” Florence exclaims. “As long as you behave, Mr. Thompson, I would be delighted!” A trilling little laugh escapes her lips and Leo grinds his teeth in irritation.
“Sit down,” he growls. “Now.”
Florence steps towards Harry, putting his arm snugly around her waist. “I won’t do it. I won’t let you bully me into everything anymore, Leo.”
“You heard him,” Capone breaks in. “Shut your trap and sit down like you’re told.”
“But daddy,” Florence whines loudly, pressing herself closer to Harry, “I came here to have fun. Just because you’re dealing with shipments of hooch doesn’t mean that-”
“Shut up!” Leo barks, banging his empty martini glass on the table. “Keep quiet before you get us all caught!” He scrambles out of the booth in a crazed rush and grips her upper arm roughly. She lets out a whimper that is just loud enough for the men to hear- if it is for effect or she is actually in pain, Leo is not certain. “Get over here,” he snarls, dragging her away through the drunken crowd to the powder rooms. He pushes her through the door, seeing as the remainder of their party is looking on, before he takes his hands off.
In the weak light from the single bulb overhead, Florence can see his eyes flit towards hers in concern.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispers, his eyes darting towards the door. He holds up an index finger in an indication for her to keep silent as he turns to lock the door securely.
Florence rubs her arm absently. Dark little bruises in the shapes of his fingers have already begun to appear there and Leo feels a violent stab of guilt.
“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” she assures him, though he doesn’t miss the barely perceptible wince that crosses her face.
“I would apologize now, but they’re all listening outside of this door as I speak. They’re waiting to see what I’ll do to you.”
Her breath catches in her throat. “What are you going to do to me?”
“No real harm, I promise. Can you cry a bit while I shout insults? Thumping on the wall wouldn’t hurt either,” he murmurs lowly into her ear. Florence nods silently in agreement. She steels herself and he reaches over to squeeze her hand and give a kind smile. “I don’t mean any of it. Just pretend that you hate that I exist and everything will go smoothly,” he whispers.
“Shall I go first, then?” she asks with a grin.
“Pick your poison.”
“I’m so s-sorry, Leo,” she stutters. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean to let anything slip, I swear.” A wink. Your move.
“Stupid bitch!” he roars. “I feed you, I cloth you, I house you. What more are you looking for? I’m a kind man, wouldn’t you say, darling?” A raise of his eyebrows. Am I laying it on too thick?
Florence shakes her head slightly. Keep going. Make it even worse. “Yes, of course,” she sobs. “What do I need to do to make you happy, daddy? I’ll do anything, promise.”
Leo takes her by the shoulders and moves her away from the wall. His fist pounds into it violently several times before he speaks again.
“You will obey me, is that clear? No talking to Harry, no telephoning anyone from home, no leaving the house, no nothing!”
Florence lets out a painful wail as she takes the mirror from above the sink and throws it to the floor. It shatters loudly and its pieces fly in every direction.
“Please!” she cries, disheveling her hair and forcing tears out of her eyes, “Don’t hurt me, Leo! I promise I’ll do whatever you want. Just make the pain stop!”
“I’ll stop when I want!” he bellows, frantically loosening his tie and undoing a few shirt buttons. “Lie down,” he snarls as she hurls a heel across the room and takes one arm out of her dress. Leo ruins his hair with a pained wince and rips his jacket off roughly and untucks his shirt. He bends down rips her dress in a jagged, haphazard line up her thigh.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “It has to be done.”
“Stop! Please, someone help me!” she screams, letting tears flow down her face.
After nearly ten minutes of screaming, sobbing, and various vicious thumps on the wall, they cease completely.
“And what have you learned?” Leo asks lowly.
“To keep my mouth shut,” she replies meekly.
“And?” he presses.
“That you are always in control.”
“Very good,” he praises. “Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson and we will never have an episode like that again. And what will you say if any of the gentlemen question you?”
“That we had a passionate encounter,” Florence murmurs, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Stop crying!” he orders roughly. “You’re completely unbelievable. You aren’t hurt so stop your blubbering and let’s go.” She collects her shoe and he his jacket and he rips the door open. Harry stands before them, his cool demeanor gone and his complexion turned a harsh white from fear.
“N-now listen. I don’t want any trouble,” he begins. "but you really shouldn't have hurt Miss Hale. I'm going to report you to the police for domestic violence, you mark my words!"
“Get out of my way,” Leo snarls, pushing past him. “Tell Mr. Capone that if he’s agreed on the deal to telephone me at this number.” He flicks a business card at Harry, who catches it deftly between his fingers.
“But you can’t just leave!” protests Harry. “We haven’t discussed any terms yet.”
Leo whirls on his heel and in one short, deft motion he dislocates Harry’s jaw with his fist. Harry howls in pain, clutching his jaw in both hands and too stunned to move any further. Leo and Florence slip out the door virtually undetected.
“Was that truly necessary?” she questions, raising a doubtful eyebrow.
“Completely.”
As he helps her into the Packard, Leo says with a grand flourish of his hand, “And that, darling, was the snake pit.”