Author: Agent_girlsname

Title: Bad Seeds in the Big Apple

Rating: PG13

Betas: Lola_mejor & Bluecloudsupabove

Summary:

In 1920's New York Blaine wakes up to find he has been framed for the murder of famous film star Kurt Hummel. He puts his trust in his friend Sam to hide him in the hidden tunnels of his speakeasy.

However Kurt Hummel is very much alive and hiding in the speakeasy with mob moll Santana and he's just as anxious to find out who is behind this as Blaine is.

Together the two of them traverse the murky depths of the bootleggers, mobs and film industry of New York while trying to stay alive.

XxXxXxXx

New York City, May 22nd, 1923.

The sun was barely breaching the horizon when Kurt Hummel stopped in a store front to catch his breath. He had been running for over half an hour, keeping to the quieter streets and as many back alleys as he could manage. He had passed some shady characters down some of the alleys but he was sure that none of them were as dangerous as whoever he was running from.

His legs trembled, from the exertion or from fear he wasn't sure, and he braced himself on the doorway to the store. When he moved his hand away the white paint was stained blood red, a streaky smear in the shape of his own hand.

Kurt whimpered and stared at his shaking hands. He hadn't even noticed the blood coating his palms, the sticky red mess that belonged to the dead body now lying in his apartment, the body of a person someone had mistaken to be him. It should be his blood coating someone else's hands as they reached down to search in vain for a pulse.

He glanced around the deserted streets in desperation. They wouldn't stay deserted for long; New York was a city that started early and finished late, if it ever finished at all. The streets would be crawling with people soon and he had one of the most recognizable faces in the country, if not the world. There was no way he could keep hidden in a crowd as he was.

He knew people, people who could keep him safe and keep him hidden but he couldn't go to any of them. Less than an hour ago someone had broken in to his apartment and emptied the barrels of a sawn off shotgun into the back his assistants head. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the shot was meant for him, he was meant to be alone in the apartment after all, and he didn't know who was behind it. What if the people he went to for safety were the ones behind it all in the first place?

Kurt took a deep breath and willed his legs to carry his weight. There was one place in the city he could go, one person he could trust. He pushed himself away from the door front, leaving another bloody smear on the paintwork, and headed south.

XxXxXxXxX

Tick Tick Tick Tick

Blaine came to with the sound of his pocket watch ticking next to his ear. He groaned as he sat up, his head screaming in pain at the motion as the world spun around him. He looked about the room, momentarily confused as to why he wasn't in his own apartment, but then he recognized where he was. Sebastian's apartment was closer to his favourite speak easy than his was, he must have stumbled there late last night, or early this morning depending on how you looked at it. Good thing Sebastian had given him a key to let himself in for this very purpose, and so he wouldn't have to disturb his friend.

The only sounds in the apartment were those of the ticking of his watch and the muffled sound of bird song from outside. Both were monstrous to Blaine's sensitive head and he had to hold on to the arm of the couch to stop himself from swaying. His foot nudged against the hard glass of a bottle on the floor and he reached down to pick it up. It was a half-full bottle of whiskey, cheap bathtub whiskey that was sure to taste disgusting and guarantee a hangover.

He could remember the barmaid pressing it into his hand as he walked out of the bar last night. 'Hair of the dog that bit you boyo,' the sweet redhead had said as he stumbled away from the bar. Blaine enjoyed a drink as much as the next guy but the hangovers from the cheap stuff were killer. Pity prohibition was law in New York making the good stuff too expensive for most people like Blaine forced to take the risk of a terrible hangover for a drink.

He picked the bottle up and placed it on the table next to a glass of water. Sebastian must have gotten up already, leaving Blaine the water before heading off to work. Blaine looked at the choices on the table, and for once chose the water over the whiskey.

The water cleared his head some, and the relentless hammering of the ticking watch caught Blaine's attention once more, the sound ricocheting inside his head. He squinted at the source of his auditory pain and cursed; it was almost nine thirty and he was late for work.

He groaned and stood up slowly, waiting for the world to stop spinning before he made his way to the bathroom. He winced at the sight of his face in the mirror. He hadn't shaved for a few days now and his stubble had gone from being tolerable to downright unkempt. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a tousled mess. He figured as he was already running late that spending a few more minutes tidying himself up wouldn't hurt.

Sebastian's straight edge razor lay on the side of the sink. Blaine picked it up, running his thumb along the edge of the blade to see if it needed sharpening.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

Blaine cursed and dropped the blade into the sink, watching it skid along the porcelain, blood smeared along the blade from where Blaine had cut his thumb.

'Blaine! Blaine! Are you in there? Answer the door!' The banging noise started up again as though the person on the other side of the door was trying to crash it down.

'Hold on!' Blaine called out, leaving the bathroom and walking through the small apartment to the door.

'Hurry up!' The voice shouted and Blaine finally recognized it as Sam.

Blaine had barely unlocked the door before Sam swung it open, barging in past Blaine and slamming the door shut again behind him.

'Ugh… Sam? What's eating you? Why all the noise' Blaine mumbled, his mind still too fragile to comprehend what might be going on.

'Thank God you're here Blaine.' Sam panted, rushing over to the windows to pull the blinds closed. 'I called Brittany and she said the police were all over your apartment block and had knocked down your door. I was worried they had gotten you already.' He turned to face Blaine and for the first time Blaine could see just how scared his friend was. Some of the fog cleared, making way for mild alarm.

'Police? What's going on?'

'You haven't turned on the radio yet then?'

'No, I've just gotten up.' Blaine yawned and scratched at the stubble on his chin, he really would need to shave before he went anywhere today. What possibly could have Sam in such a state?

'The police are after you Blaine; we can't let them find you.'

A cold feeling flooded Blaine's stomach and alarm spread to fear as he comprehended what Sam was saying to him.

'Why are the police after me?' he said slowly, breathing evenly to try to stay calm.

'Your wallet was found at the scene of a murder this morning and you're the prime suspect .'

'What? Who was murdered?' Nothing made sense. Nothing made any sense at all.

'That movie star you're stuck on. Kurt Hummel.'

Blaine frowned and sat down heavily on the couch. The information was too much to process. Images of the glamorous young movie star flashed in his mind. Kurt was his favourite actor; he was gorgeous and had a way about him that Blaine found utterly compelling. 'You're telling me Kurt Hummel is dead?'

'Yes Blaine, and you're the main suspect.' Sam grabbed hold of Blaine's shoulders as though he wanted to shake some scene into his friend.

'You slay me Sam, but this ain't funny.' Blaine said, backing out of Sam's grip, shaking his head. How on earth could he be the main suspect of a murder?

'This ain't a joke Blaine, we have to get you outta here.'

'But I was in your bar all last night.'

'I know, I think you've been set up.'

Realization hit Blaine like a truck. Kurt Hummel had been murdered and the police thought he did it. Unless he could prove otherwise he could be looking at a term in Sing Sing ending up with a long drop on the end of a short rope.

'Wh-where can I go?' Blaine had a few friends in the city but not many had the means to hide a murder suspect. Thankfully Sam was one of the ones who could; he owned a speakeasy, smuggling things out of sight of the police was his job.

'Come on, I'll keep you safe.' Sam said, thrusting a jacket laying on the back of the couch into Blaine's hands. Blaine followed numbly as Sam cracked the door open a few inches, checking that the coast was clear before stepping out in to the hallway.

The apartment block was empty as they made their way out to the street but once they were outside they weren't so lucky. Business men on their way to work passed by young mothers pushing their small children in pushchairs. It wasn't as busy as it could have been but the sight of all those people filled Blaine with dread.

'Ok, put this one and walk fast.' Sam said quietly, taking his own hat off and placing it on Blaine's head, tipping it forwards slightly so it covered his face as much as it could.

Sam's speakeasy was only a couple of blocks away, a riverside venue disguised as a boating club. The disguise gave it the perfect excuse to be staying open past normal business hours but people still needed a password to be let inside.

They hurried along the sidewalk, stepping out of the way of a pair of young women clearly on their way home from a late night out. They were dressed in knee-length dresses bedazzled with sequins that sparkled and shone in the morning sunlight. Blaine almost smiled when he thought of what his mother would think of the length of their skirts, and hair for that matter. He didn't have to use much imagination though, the look on the older woman's face walking behind the pair of girls was a pretty good match.

Blaine almost smiled at the woman, a natural instinct for him until he saw her double take at the sight of him. He pulled the hat down further over his face and quickened his pace, hoping that the split second she had seen his face had been too quick for her to recognize him.

He wondered if he was being too paranoid, maybe it was the sight of his unshaven face that had shocked the older woman?

'Sam? Is my picture in the papers yet?' He asked, having to skip every couple of steps to keep up with Sam's brisk pace.

'Not yet, they found Hummel too early for it to get in the morning edition, but no doubt they'll have it on the news reels by now. And anyone who knows you knows you sometimes stay with Sebastian. His place is the next place they'll come knocking.'

Blaine felt his stomach turn over again uneasily at the thought of what had happened. What could he have done to make someone frame him for murder? And what could Kurt have done to get murdered in the first place? He seemed like such a nice young man. Maybe his dad was right and you really do never know what goes on in people's lives behind closed doors.

They reached the low stone wall of the church that stood half a block away from Sam's speakeasy, the once merry bells now tolling ominously above them. Sam put a hand out to stop Blaine.

'Wait for a moment, we need to make sure no one is scoping out the joint, they know you and I are friends.' He said.

'But won't they come looking for me there as well?' Blaine asked.

Sam snorted. 'They can try, but once you're in there no one will be able to find you, only I know about the entryway to the bootleggers tunnel.'

Once Sam seemed sure that there were no police watching his place he started off again at a brisk pace, Blaine running to catch up behind him.

They reached the 'East River Boating Club' and were inside within a minute. Sam locked the door securely behind them and pulled Blaine through to the bar area.

They both froze at the startled gasp of the redheaded barmaid that had seen Blaine off the night before.

'Emma, what are you doing here?' Sam asked.

'I came in early to clean up after last night.' The Irish barmaid replied, her large eyes not leaving Blaine's face for a second. 'Is it true what they're saying on the radio? That the movie star has been murdered?'

'It's true but Blaine didn't do it.' Sam insisted. 'And Emma, you can't tell anyone he was here, you got that?'

Emma pressed her lips together and nodded frantically.

'I knew it couldn't be true what they're saying about you Blaine. You're a sweet young boy who wouldn't hurt no one.'

'Thanks.' Blaine replied, trying to smile but failing, turning to face away from her so she couldn't see that he was so scared he thought he might cry.

'Come on Blaine, we need to get you down to the store room, no one will find you down there and we can figure out what to do about this whole mess.' Sam turned to the barmaid. 'Emma, you can't tell anyone Blaine was here ok? Not a soul.'

'I promise you both, I won't tell anyone.' Emma replied so solemnly Blaine couldn't help but believe her.

'Good, come on now Blaine.' Sam led him towards his office at the back of the club, locking the door firmly behind them.

Blaine scanned the room, he knew the secret passageway was in this room, it was how Sam got the hooch in to the club without getting caught, but no matter how many times he sat in the room he could never fathom where it could be. Despite the desperation of his situation he couldn't help but wonder still.

Sam walked over to the bookshelf housing a large selection of books on boating, a clever ploy in case anyone from the law did ever happen to be inside this room, and lifted a heavy leather bound volume. A loud click resonated through the quiet office and Blaine waited tensely for something to happen.

'Is that it?' He asked when Sam pushed the book back into place.

'That just releases the brakes.' Sam replied, gripping on tightly to the edge of the bookshelf and tugging it sharply to one side. The whole unit slid smoothly along the metal runners inlayed in the polished wooden floor and tucked in neatly behind the adjoining bookshelf.

'Here we go.' Sam picked up a lantern from a hook on the wall behind the secret door and the pair of them stepped into the damp stone corridor.

'This is your big secret tunnel Sam? An old offshoot of the sewers?'

'Hey it was already there when I bought the place, didn't have a use for it 'til the eighteenth amendment kicked in and we all had to start sneaking around to wet our lips.'

Blaine stepped gingerly along the narrow ledge keeping one hand against the wall. The stone was cold and damp and the whole tunnel had an odour that indicated the active sewage lines weren't far off, but on the whole the place didn't seem that bad.

'Yeah, don't pretend like you're not pulling in more clams a week than you did in a year before all the Mrs Grundy's of the country got their underwear in a twist over a little booze.'

Even in the darkness of the tunnel Blaine could feel Sam's smirk. Bootlegging was a lucrative business if you were smart enough not to get yourself caught or killed doing it.

'Can't argue with that Blaine. But dealing with the mob brings its own share of drama, even if the money makes it all worthwhile.'

They walked in silence for a few minutes, a faint dripping sound and the soft pat of their footsteps on the moss covered stones the only sound.

'Sam, how can you be so sure I didn't do it?' Blaine asked quietly. Sam stopped ahead of him, standing in silence for a few moments before turning to face Blaine, his face-softly illuminated by the lantern-set in a grim smile.

'Because I know you Blaine. I know you wouldn't hurt the people you do have beef with let alone someone you're crushing on.'

Blaine was glad the darkness covered the heat rising in his cheeks. He was fine with Sam knowing he was into men, he was glad that Sam was fine with it but they never really spoke about it unless they'd had a drink.

'Besides, you were so tanked by the time you left last night you wouldn't have been able to handle the type of gun that blew Hummel's face away.'

And that was another subject they rarely broached on; Blaine's drinking habits over the last few months. Even the mention of it made Blaine's stomach twist. But there were more pressing things to talk about now as they continued to walk further into the sewer.

'So what's the plan? I'm going to live in the sewers forever?'

'I'll take you to my store room for the hooch. You can stay in there until I can pull up some money and then you can go on the lam until they find the real murderer.'

'You think they'll find him if they're only after me?'

'All they have on you is your wallet, that ain't much to go on.' Sam paused for a moment thinking. 'How did your wallet end up there?'

Even in that question there was no doubt in Sam's voice about Blaine's innocence. Blaine felt the love and gratitude for his friend almost double.

'I don't know, I think I left my jacket in the club when I left last night. My wallet was in there.' He had realised the moment he put it on that the jacket Sam had given him back at the apartment wasn't his. Sebastian had longer arms than him and there was a cigarette lighter in the breast pocket; Blaine didn't smoke.

'So that's it then, someone took your jacket from the bar last night, went to murder the film star and dropped your wallet in the process. Or maybe someone saw an opportunity to make you a fall guy for their crime and took it?'

It sounded crazy to Blaine's ears, but if the only other explanation was that Blaine had murdered his idol in a drunken stupor, then it was a theory Blaine was happy to take.

'But why would someone want to murder Kurt Hummel?' Blaine wondered aloud.

'You never know what these film stars are messed up. Maybe he pissed off the mob or something?'

'I'd keep thinking up theories if I were you Evans.' A female voice echoed through the damp tunnel, startling them both.

Sam rounded a corner concealed in the darkness and turned the lantern up brighter. Blaine stepped up behind him, his eyes adjusting to the brighter light of the lamps already burning in what was obviously the storeroom.

Shelves and shelves of bottles lined the walls while stout brown kegs took up much of the floor space, but Blaine hardly noticed them.

Sitting on one of the barrels, smoking on a cigarette that covered him in a thin veil of blue smoke, was Kurt Hummel.

A woman stood next to him, smoking her own cigarette and eyeing Blaine with a haunting expression. She withdrew the slender white stick from her lips and met Kurt's eyes.

'Kurt, this is an acquaintance of my husband: Sam Evans. And this is Blaine Anderson, he's the one they think murdered you this morning.'