The Silver Beetle Blues: 1920s Gangster RP

[mauve]

The Silver Beetle was the place to be on a Saturday night, and tonight was no exception. The place was packed wall to wall.

For being a modified basement, the Silver Beetle was quite impressive. A long glass mirror etched in a mixture of art-deco geometric shapes and lotus blossoms hung behind the bar, which was a dark cherry-colored wood. Scattered around the bar were larger tables, each lit by a candle and decorated with a floral arrangement.

The dance floor dominated the center of the room, reaching up to the semi-circular bandstand on the back wall. The pseudo-Egyptian theme prevailed throughout the entire establishment, from the decorations on the bandstand to the large vases holding potted plants that lined either wall. The speakeasy’s owner didn’t particularly care for the decorating scheme, but ever since archaeologists cracked open Tut’s tomb in 1923, the mysterious land of Egypt became a huge moneymaker. And Arthur MacCauley liked making money.

Across the dance floor, directly opposite the bar, were the card tables. Gambling was profitable for Art, so there were always several tables up and running. Booze and betting seemed to go well together. And judging by the crowds, no one seemed to notice that half the games were rigged.

In the corner by the bandstand, at his favorite table, sat Arthur MacCauley himself. He was the owner of the Silver Beetle, and probably one of the most powerful men in Chicago. If this affected his perception of himself, he didn’t show it. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, one hand curled around a martini on the tabletop and the other resting on a silver-headed cane at his side. His fingers tapped against the martini in time to the music, his wedding ring clinking a steady beat on the glass as he did.

“Hallo Art!” Two young patrons pushed past his table on their way to the dance floor, waving at Art as they passed. He flashed a smile and raised a hand in salute.

“Max, Lydia. Good to see you again.” While he was here, Arthur was everybody’s friend. MacCauley the Mob Boss became MacCauley the Charming Host as soon as the Beetle’s doors opened. Only his employees and his rivals knew that other side of him, and quite frankly, he preferred to keep it that way. Better for business.

“The place is packed, MacCauley! How do you do it?” A middle-aged man, leaning rather drunkenly on the bar behind Art, raised his glass in salute. Art let out a laugh.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I must be doin’ something right, huh?” He raised his martini in response, although he didn’t drink. The man at the bar shrugged.

“A bit too much so if you ask me! You’re lookin’ a bit understaffed,” The man was looking at the crowds as he spoke, missing the momentary shadow that fell on Art’s face. It passed as quickly as it came.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it. They’ll have me up there serving drinks next, I promise you,” Art replied with forced joviality. “Nah, it’s nothing serious. Just some bad luck. Two of my waiters are out with the flu.” He nodded towards the bandstand. “My bassist took the season off to go play at some dive in Florida. He’ll be back come hurricane season, I promise you. And Irene, y’know, the brunette who sings and plays ukulele, she ran off with some Romeo to San Francisco.” He shrugged helplessly. “Best of luck to her, I guess. And Sally, my lead singer, has been out sick. Probably caught laryngitis or something.”

The drunk laughed.

“Hey, at least that’s the worst of your problems, right? Thank god for that!” He patted Art on the shoulder and stumbled off into the crowd, whiskey in hand. Art frowned, his mood suddenly ruined.

“The worst of my problems.” he grunted under his breath. He threw back his head and downed the rest of his martini. “Damn drunks.”

[Bard The 5th LW]

The Silver Beetle, as mentioned earlier, was indeed the place to be on a Saturday night. Unfortunately for Jeremy though, he wasn't there to enjoy himself, he'd really rather not be there at all under the circumstances he was in. It didn't matter though, he was there, and this would unfortunately be the situation for many more weeks to come.

Jeremy, his spindly arms full with the bags he was carrying, pushed the door to the Silver Beetle open with a melancholy expression on his face. Gradually,he began his trek through the crowd of the speakeasy. Along the way, he happened to shove into a particularly drunk man, who looked pretty likely to start a bar fight. Before one started though, Jeremy made a motion with his face towards the bag, "hey, I'm carrying the sunshine here, take a swing and none for you!" This seemed to make the man back off, and Jeremy continued to move through the bar.

Finally, he placed the bags of assorted alchoholic beverages at the bar table. 'The bar keeper can handle the rest of it,' he decided to himself. Jeremy had definitely held down better jobs before. One of the things he didn't like most was that now he was in debt and working for the man who owned the speakeasy, he couldn't really gamble all that much anymore, and that was his passion. He briefly gave a longing look at the card tables. There was also the fact that this was a second illegal act he participated in. Gambling and rum running. He also carried a gun in his vest. Although he hadn't needed it, in fact he planned on getting rid of it.

It was then he noticed that he was just a few feet from his 'boss' Mr. Arthur McCauley. "Oh hey boos," he said nervously, "just unloading the most recent shipment, don't me." He then skittishly made his way back towards the entrance, there was only a little left to unload, and it probably wouldn't take too long, but he didn't want it to seem like he was slacking off, especially if the Eels guy was skulking around the place.

[batgirl]

With The Silver Beetle being as busy as it was, Jules had her hands full at her packed table. Between keeping her eyes on the drunks, the patrons' respective piles of chips, and her own cards, she was multitasking with the best of them. But then again, multitasking was what she did best and the three things she was keeping an eye on was why Art hired her in the first place. A half drank cranberry vodka sat at her right elbow and a cigarette hung out of her mouth as she flourished and shuffled the cards fast enough to make the players' heads spin. She cut the cards and surveyed the scene before she dealt the next game. The fat businessman to her left had accumulated a large enough pile of chips for her liking, so it was time to slowly break away at his small mountain. Sure, she'd let him keep enough to make him a small profit, but she'd skimmed enough off of all of the 7 men at her table to make Art a nice haul for the night. She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray next to her drink and smiled, her dark red lips parting to reveal her enticingly white teeth.

"Now boys, what shall we play for our next game?" The large Irish man sitting in the middle chugged his beer and gave her a rotten toothed grin which bespoke of his desire to get lucky tonight with Jules. "Oy, dealer's choice aye?" The others clinked their glasses in approval, "yea dealer's choice!"

"You pick lovely Jules!"

"Boys you flatter me," she said as she saluted them with a raise of her glass, taking a small sip. "Texas Hold' Em, no pre-flop raises, and don't forget my cardinal rule," she raised her finger and the men answered, "you muck, you're fucked!" They answered in unison. She smiled and nodded, beginning her dealings, her manicured red nails flicking cards with practiced ease, her briain carefully counting the cards, ensuring that the large man would get the best hands for the first 3 rounds or so, and then lose badly once he starting upping his bets; losing to her of course. She caught Art out of the corner of her eye, and winked ever so slightly in his direction. It would be a profitable night for both of them.

[Overcast]

At his own table sat Adin, close to the boss as usual. If not noticeably. He was dressed in the suit today, finding it suitable for the crowd. To himself he kept one glass of wine, that he sipped from softly and tried to appreciate the taste of. The common idea of taking your drink till you could take no more didn't quite set his interest. He preferred a bit of art in anything he did for leisure. Of course he was also thinking of business, not ever being too far from Art himself in case a plan came up. After all he couldn't always be by a phone and the boss might not always know the number to it. It was better to be close, to be ready.

He eyed the rum runner moving his goods with the nervousness of a man who was still dancing on the edge of a needle. It was the debted man, basically an indentured servant forced to crime. An amusing investment if anything. He himself didn't know if he completely trusted his work or not, but then it was always better not to trust anyone in this line of work. Else you'd find that soft spot ripped out as a brand new asshole.

The key at the time was just to be easy. To chill. Downtime was as important as any other time, because if you don't take what time you are given, you'd find your debt taxing to the mind.

[krogothwolf]

James stood by the door and nodded as Jeremy went by. He like the little man, even though his vices got him in tremendous trouble. He only ever had to throw him out once, when he was arguing about some gambling issue he got himself into again. He didn't enjoy throwing out Jeremy, the little man was a nice enough fellow. He did notice the guy bump into a guy who seemed to want to fight. Didn't, but he did want to.

Although everyone seemed to be behaving lately, Fifi did have the joy of throwing out a few rowdy morons today. It was always fun throwing people out by the scruff of the neck. One of them was lying in a dumpster right now feeling very much like he was in hell, he did make the mistake of calling him "Fifi" and not be a friend after all. He nodded to Jeremy again as he came back.

"Ya know, ya should be more careful next time," James whispered to him as he walked by, "Best be careful with the goods, if you damage em, or draw attention to them the boss ain't gonna be happy if ya thrash the goods somehow."

It was a friendly warning, he really didn't want to have to see the little guy getting hurt. He was a nice enough fellow after all. He looked around the place again and figured most people were behaving well enough, for now anyways. Losing money plus booze can make customers angry sometimes, and that was why he got paid to rough people up.

[Krylo]

Eels sat away from the other patrons of the bar, on the end near Art. His location was as much Art's choosing as it was his. It allowed Eels to stay away from most of the customers, who preferred an area they could more easily watch the stage from, and keeping Eels away from the customers was always good for business. Even when he behaved there was still something... wrong about him. The way he smiled at the customers perhaps... a predatory smile, completely opposite of Art's welcoming smile, that just seemed wrong. Like he wanted something from you... or from inside you.

His eyes flicked over the crowd, sizing up each person in turn as he sipped from some plain soda water--no alcohol. He didn't like to dull his senses... it was so much better when he was awake for it. Sharp.

'Sharp,' the thought made him smile as he ran his thumb over the edge of one of the knives in his pocket, feeling the cold steel, and the sharp point. His eyes centered in on a young woman, as his smile grew. He could almost feel it... sliding between her ribs, cutting slowly...

But he couldn't. That kind of senseless violence is what got him put away, and this time it'd be worse than juvie, especially if he were to start cutting some of Art's customers.

The smile ran away from his face as he glanced towards James, and then back at Art. He knew, as well as anyone in the bar, that ones urges must be controlled. One must not act upon every thought of pleasure, no matter how tempting... but the urge was there. Floating about in the back of his mind.

He turned back to the bartender and requested something stronger. Perhaps it would be ok to dull his senses a bit tonight. The alcohol helped to push back the urges, sometimes. Sometimes it made them harder to control... he hoped for the former, as he sincerely doubted he'd be able to partake of his... vice, tonight.

[Geminex]

Johann entered through the back door, unlocking it, then locking it behind him. He could have gone through the front entrance, but that would've meant interacting with the crowd, having to greet his associates, pretending to enjoy himself, but he was in no mood for social interaction. So back door it was. He paused as he entered the Speakeasy, letting his eyes adjust to the light, seeing who was present, who wasn't.

He spotted a few Contacts sitting at the bar, near the door. They weren't directly involved in the Speakeasy, but they could be useful to those who were. The fact that they were here usually meant that they either wanted to make him an offer, sell information, or report on an assignment. He'd have to meet up with them later. But first, a report of his own. He had seen Art sitting at his table, and now, moving silently, went over and sat down next to him.

"Good evening. I'd comment on how the night seems to be going well, but I bear... regrettable news. You are familiar with the... account I'm working on at the moment?"

The "Account" in question was a former customer, now a competitor. He ran a Speakeasy himself, but up until a few weeks ago he had been buying the booze he sold from Art. There had been some competitive pressure, but since they were his suppliers, they had still made money. No more, alas. The Account had found his own contact in Canada, and decided it'd be more profitable to run his own alcohol. Johann had met with him twice so far, had not managed to elicit any concessions. He was scared, Johann could tell, but he was still standing up to them. Very annoying.

"It seems as if we're not making any progress... We could either simply close the account" (This would mean giving up on the customer and involve murder (owner) and arson (his Speakeasy) "Meet his challenge" (engage him in a price war, sabotage him, bankrupt him, buy his premises, and then kill him) "or, of course, target the source directly..." (He had good information on the identity of the individual supplying the competing speakeasy with booze. Elimination of this source would force him to keep buying from them, or put them out of business. "I'd prefer the latter option... Perhaps we could send Eels. This job calls for inefficiency."

[mauve]

"Oh hey boss," A nervous greeting pulled Art from his dark mood. He looked up to see an armful of bags moving towards the bar while not-so-subtly trying to avoid Art.

"Well if it ain't Blackjack Jeremy!" Art greeted Jeremy. "I wondered where you went off to. Looks like you're starting to get the hang of this job, eh?"

He smiled, in a sort of condescending way that he was sure was made more ominous by Adin and Eels' presence on either side of him. Art was just messing with the poor guy. He knew James was smart enough to know not to double-cross him or try and get out of repaying his debt. But the fact that the unfortunate gambler was visibly terrified of Art made it hard for the boss to resist tormenting him a little.

As the poor guy made his escape into the crowds, Art caught Jules give him a wink from her spot at the card tables. Art grinned in response, pleased. Jules was a master at counting cards-- Art had no doubts she'd pull in a small fortune with the crowds tonight.

"Well gentlemen,"Art said, looking over his shoulder at Adin and Eels, "Good night, eh? Enjoying yourselves?" He already knew the answer for Eels. That fellah wasn't happy unless he was ripping someone's innards out. But between the promise of gambling winnings and the amusement of tormenting the new guy, Art was in a much better mood.

"Boss..."

Art looked up as Johann approached his table. He sighed and gave Adin and Eels a shrug.

"No rest for the wicked, eh? Oh well, back to business I suppose."

Johann went into a detailed account of his conference with one of Art's customers. It was in code, obviously; discussiong this in the open was bad for business, and Johann was nothing if not professional.

"Hm." Art stared down at the table as he contemplated this newest turn of events. Johann had already spoken his opinion, and Eels would probably jump at the chance to get out of here and do some "work."Attacking the dealer might just bring the ire of his other loyal customers upon Art, and that might be a problem. But at the same time, attacking the speakeasy boss who bought from him had its ups and downs too.

"What do you think, Adin?" Art asked.

[rapter200]

The moon shone in the night sky silently as Rolls Royce Phantom pulled up near The Silver Beatle. The man who stepped out though dressed in his best garb did not look like he should even be in spitting distance of the beautiful vehicle. Though Walter made quite a profit selling arms to Arthur and a number of smaller gangs, he most definitly did not have the money to own one of these. Truth be told, it was a vehical that he indefinitly borrowed from his father's estate, and he never drove it around. But a night like this demanded luxary, and this car screamed that. He had hid it in an old abandoned barn far from the city when he had made his trek up to Chicago. The reason why he drove it today was because he had just closed on a huge deal for the MacCauley Family. Soon a large shipment of Thompson Submachine Guns and more would be pouring in straight from the factory. More than enough to arm Arthur's footmen..... and more.

As he exited the Phantom he took one last drag of a Lucky Strike and threw it on the ground. The walk to the entrance was quite uneventful, giving him time to think about how he should break the news. When he entered The Silver Beatle he took quick note of who was inside. Arthur was the most obvious, he had an inviting aura around him. Then there was Jeremy, he seemed uneasy today. Jumpy some would say. Jules was handling her table quite well, those men didn't stand a chance. Adin sat by himself sipping what looked to be a glass of wine. James was right next to him as per usual, making sure no one got out of hand. The big man Eels seemed to be getting drunk, that won't end well no matter how you look at it, and the German sat at Arthur's table talking to him.

It was the usual crowd, everyone Arthur had on his payroll someway or another. As he continued on in he greeted James with a hello, and then made his way to Arthur's table. “What do you think, Adin? " he heard Arthur ask Adin when he got close enough to make out what he was saying. He quickly responded before Adin could. “I don't know what you are talking about because I just got here” he said with a slight laugh in his voice. “But, what I do know is something that will make you very happy.” he said as he eyed the entire room. “Though I think it would be best told in private.” he finished off in a hushed tone.

[Toastburner B]

Mickey sat at the bar. He was idly sliding a full shot gas back and forth between his hands on the counter.

On one hand, he thought to himself, I don't have anything else planned for the night. So why shouldn't I just enjoy the weekend and get plastered?

The shot glass slide across the bar, where his other hand deftly caught it. On the other hand, the boss looks like he's getting annoyed. He might want to go somewhere, and you can't drive the boss around drunk.

The glass slide to the other hand. So? The boss has enough cash, he can get himself a cab if he wants to go for a drive. I'm not his personal chauffeur. Slide. He pays me enough to be, though. Slide. I've done enough work this week! I deserve to have a night off. Slide. But if the boss wants me and I'm sauced, what's to keep him from finding someone else to watch the cars? Slide. Just one drink. I deserve that much. Slide. When was the last time you stopped at one drink?. Slide. "Mickey." Two drinks, then. Two shots won't work you over that much. Slide. "Mickey!" How long before I talk myself into three? Slide. "MICKEY!"

Startled, Mickey looked up, his shot glass gliding past his unmoving arm. The barkeep was glaring at him. "If you ain't going to drink anything, don't tell me to pour you something!" the man barked. "If I had known you just wanted to play with your glass, I would of poured you water!"

With a mental shrug, Mickey picked up the glass and drained it. With a grimace, he put it back on the bar. "I think you did just pour me water. Didn't you put any hooch in there?" Mickey asked.

The barkeep shrugged innocently. "You want another?" he asked with mock concern. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boss talking with Eels and Adin...maybe there was something going down tonight. "No thanks," Mickey relied as he threw a dime on the counter as a tip. However, the barkeep had already moved on, and was schmoozing other patrons with drinks and chatter for tips.

Muttering under his breath, Mickey picked up the coin and stepped away from the bar. Better to remove the temptation of another shot, even if the barkeep hated him enough to water down his drinks.