Chicago, 1925
It's warm, but a soft breeze chills the air of the Chicago streets. It's pitch black in the alley, but the couple know they're in the right place. The man lifts a hand, knocking on a heavy door hidden in shadows. The woman stands by his side, her arm looped through his as they wait.
"Helen, are you sure about this?" James murmured his fingers interlaced with hers in the shadows.
The woman chuckled as she replied, "Am I sure about meeting Al Capone? Honestly James, you act like I have it all planned out."
James turned to her, the teasing twinkle in her eyes dragging a laugh out of him as well. A loud slam turned their attention back to the door, where light poured out from a small slit. A pair of menacing eyes peered out, watching them closely.
James reached into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and held a small white card up for the eyes to see. The card was an ace of spades, given to them by their contact who'd set up this meeting.
The peephole was shut and the sound of a bolt slamming back was heard through the thick door. A strong arm pushed the door open and stepped back to let them in. James led Helen through the door into the warm glow of the makeshift bar's small entryway.
A young black man dressed in waiter's attire stepped forward and motioned for them to follow him. James placed his hand on Helen's lower back as they made their way into the main room. A bar ran alongside one wall, three bartenders serving at least a sixty men and women. A stage took up the left side of the room, a pale, blonde woman dressed in a shimmering red gown sang to the slow jazz melody created by the band behind her. Many couples were swaying drunkenly on the dance floor, lulled into a dream-like state by the woman's deep sultry voice.
Helen and James followed the waiter through a door behind the bar, once closed the music and chinking of glasses couldn't be heard. The waiter held out his arm, motioning for them to continue down the hallway. The waiter stepped back through the door, his footsteps swallowed by the lively noise of a speakeasy at work.
James cocked an eyebrow at Helen, who smiled and took his arm once more and proceeded down the carpeted hallway. The smell of cigars and liquor filled their nostrils as they entered a rather large sitting room. Men dressed in black suits, Helen counted four of them, were playing cards in a corner oblivious to their entrance. James, cautious as always, followed Helen to a deep red loveseat. The pair sat, Helen sat one leg draped over the other leaning ever so slightly into James, her hand resting on his lower thigh. James draped an arm behind her back playing with the red curls that had slipped from the loose bun atop her head.
Helen tensed slightly as she felt James' hand travel down her back, his long fingers tracing the straps of her black evening gown. This was not the time, nor the place for him to be handsy. In response Helen trailed her hand up his thigh, just skimming the front of his black pants as she made her way up to his bow tie straightening it. Her nails scratched lightly at his neck. Biting back a small groan, James threw her a promising glance as a door across the room opened.
A larger man, dressed in a black pin-stripe suit entered the room. His dark hair hid beneath a black fedora, scars running the length of the left side of his face. He walked casually, as though he had all the time in the world. Helen and James stood as the man approached them, a cigar hanging precariously from his lips.
He held out his hand to James as he said, "James Watson, pleasure to meet you. Glad the two of you could make it this evening."
James gripped the man's hand, shaking it in earnest. Al Capone was every detective's fantasy case and James was in awe of how this man continued to elude the law. It was damn impressive if he admitted it to himself.
The notorious mob boss turned to Helen, who held out a hand and smiled broadly as she said, "Thank you for making time to see us, Mr. Capone."
He took her hand in his, placing a light kiss on the skin of her hand. He chuckled, his laugh a deep baritone. "Please, Dr. Magnus, call me Al," he replied motioning for them to take a seat.
Helen smiled kindly, "Then please, call me Helen."
She and James settled back on the small sofa, instinctively interlacing their hands. Al laced his fingers together, rings glinting in the light of the lamps. He watched them carefully, his dark eyes friendly as he waited for them to get comfortable.
"Would you care for a drink?" He asked, smiling over his hands.
James nodded as he said, "That would be wonderful, thank you."
Al turned his head to the men playing cards in the corner and said, "Demetri, would you grab a bottle of my best Scotch and three glasses?"
A tall, dark-headed man rose from the table immediately, moving to a large cabinet in the corner. The sound of clinking glass echoed throughout the room as Demetri set down a large bottle of the brown liquor and three glasses.
"Anything else, sir?" Demetri asked his dark eyes on his boss.
Al raised his eyes to him and smiled, "No, that'll be all, Demetri."
Al poured their drinks and handed each a glass before settling back in his chair. Helen sipped her Scotch slowly, too much and she'd be worthless for this meeting. Helen already liked him, the power he had over Chicago didn't go to his head. He was working for his people, albeit illegally. They didn't call him the modern day Robin Hood for nothing.
James took a large sip of Scotch, smiling as it burned down his throat. It was in James' nature to be cautious in every situation; meeting with Chicago's organized crime boss had him positively on edge. However, with another sip of smooth liquor he was beginning to relax.
"So what can I do for the Sanctuary?" Al asked, setting his half empty glass aside.
Helen set hers down beside his, red lipstick marring the clean glass. He was straight to business, she was quite sure if he weren't he'd be behind bars by now.
"We thought you may be interested in helping us acquire land and invest in starting a Network of Sanctuaries across the globe," Helen explained, her blue eyes watching Al intently.
Al laughed, "Straight to the point, I like that. Now, Helen, what makes you think I would want to invest in your Sanctuaries?"
James remained quiet, draining his glass before setting it down on the table. He felt relaxed, simply buzzed but he knew this was Helen's show. He was there merely because she was; he had nowhere else to be rather than by her side. The Sanctuary Network needed to be spread throughout the world, doing so would take money, vast amounts of it. Helen's farther Gregory had created the London Sanctuary many years ago, but James knew that one Sanctuary couldn't help the abnormals that spanned the globe.
Al waited for Helen to speak, his eyes watching her cautiously. She was no ordinary dame, he'd heard about her through his contacts overseas. He'd never thought she'd come looking for help from him, when he'd heard she was trying to get a meeting with him he'd jumped at the chance.
Helen smiled under his gaze as she said, "I know how passionate you are about helping your people, Al. It's very admirable the work you do, albeit not by the book. I am simply asking for you to aid your people once more."
Her eyes peered at him as she raised her glass to her lips once more. She watched his brain turn over her words, finding the hidden meaning within them. He blinked slowly, before nodding slightly his eyes moving to his hands and back to Helen's.
Al turned to his men, "Boys, could you give us a minute alone?"
A chorus of "sure Al," came from the table in the corner as the men filed out back into the bar.
James his inhibitions fading shifted in his seat, draping his arm around Helen's shoulders, pulling her against him. His fingers traced small patterns on the skin of her right shoulder. Helen, feeling a small buzz herself leaned into him, her now free hand resting on his thigh.
Al stood and began pacing back and forth across the carpet as he spoke.
"So I'm an abnormal?" he asked quietly.
This time it was James who answered, "Yes, a diacon. A diacon is subspecies of human that suffers from uncontrollable bouts of rage causing the glands in your hands to release radiation when you're angry."
Al nodded rapidly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants as he continued to pace. Al knew he couldn't have been normal, his rage wasn't normal. Finally, he had a clarity that some if not most of his anger was due to this abnormality.
Al stilled and turned to them, his voice even as he asked, "So if I agree to help you, will you help me control this? I've hurt people before, friends and family."
Helen nodded as she said, "Al, that is the purpose of the Sanctuary. To find and aid abnormals, keep them safe, help them understand themselves."
A smile graced the lips of Al Capone, and he crossed the space between them and announced, "Whatever you need, I'll be glad to help."
Helen and James got to their feet quickly, animatedly thanking Al for what he was doing for them.
He waved away their thanks, saying "I will always help my people, no need for thanks. Now, enough business. You two head back out to the bar and enjoy yourselves. Everything is on me tonight."
"Thank you, Al. You have no idea what this means to me," Helen murmured, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek.
James took Al's hand and said, "We'll be in touch quite soon. It will take some time to find locations and heads for the Sanctuaries. We owe you a favor, Al."
The bigger man clapped James on the back, "I'll hold you to that, James. Now go on, take that fine lady and have yourselves a good night."
James took Helen by the hand and led her from the room, his lips close to her ear as he whispered, "I cannot wait to get my hands on you, love."
Helen's stomach flipped, her hand trailing across James' forearm as they returned to the noise of the bar. Their meeting had been a complete success, now it was time to experience a little American fun. She was positively giddy with excitement as the band started up a slow song.
xxxx
