N.B: The start of this chapter is different, i added some history/back story.
Not sure about this story, had the idea to write it back in June because I love 1920s America and the idea of Brendan being an actual gangster. There's a lot less Stendan fics and seeing as I don't get to read as much as I would like I though I should write more to focus my Stendan feels elsewhere.
Chapter One
By the mid 1800's Irish-American street gangs such as the Dead Rabbits and Whyos had preserved control over New York's criminal fraction for over a century. This monopoly was easily upheld until immigrating Italian and Jewish gangs began to compete for the territory.
In the early 1900's Italian criminal organisations, such as the Sicilian crime family lead by Arnold Fox invaded the New York waterfront, resulting in uniting of several small Irish gangs to form the White Hand Gang. Although initially successful in keeping their Italian rivals at bay, unhinged leadership and infighting within the White Hand lead to their downfall. Seeing an opportunity to further weaken the Irish, the Italians murdered both Malachy Fisher, leader of a Brooklyn subunit and Donny Lovett head of the Jay Street Gang of Manhattan.
In 1918 Seamus Brady, the last remaining leader of White Hand Gang died of liver failure leading to the gangs complete disintegration and the waterfront was yet again taken over by Italian mobsters.
/
Ste Hay opens the front door of his apartment to find a man in his late 40's, early 50's maybe, dressed in a bespoke charcoal grey chauffeur's uniform, matching hat tucked under his arm. At first he thinks the man must have the wrong apartment, on second thoughts the wrong neighbourhood, nobody in this part of Brooklyn has the money to have someone drive them around.
But he had said his name, Ste was sure of it.
"Mr Steven Hay?" The man repeats himself, this time it sounds like more of a question.
Mister? That's a first, he's not normally addressed so formally, nor by the full version of his first name. The exception being when the police come knocking, looking for him in regards to some petty crime.
"Yes, that's me."
"Mr. Brendan Brady has requested your presence at The Empire Hotel, Sir."
Sir? What the hell is going on?
Ste Hay is a lower class man or working class as he prefers to be referred as. They may be of low paying wage but he almost always has a job, sometimes two or three at a time if his luck is up. His children have never gone hungry, have decent clothes – well clothes that fit, at least – and even have a few toys to play with. He and Amy may have to miss a few meals now and again, and had two babies out of wedlock, later ending the relationship but he won't have people looking down on them. 'Lower Class' suggests that they are less than, but they are hard working citizens, good parents, so he will not be belittled simply because he wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
That being said, he knows he place in society and this entire situation strikes him as odd. That a working class man would be invited to a hotel, and by the owner of that hotel nonetheless. The only time people such as him are allowed in such establishments is through the service door to enquire about work.
Ste had heard of the Brady family, they had businesses all over New York City. When he worked as a shop boy, his boss talked – complained endlessly - of how Brendan Brady has his hands in the money pot of almost every business in New York. Apparently he's a corrupt businessman, gangster type, who basically run The Five Boroughs of New York City. If he wants to see Ste it is not a request, he is expected to be there.
/
Ste is silent on the journey from Brooklyn to Manhattan, fidgeting anxiously in the back seat. What could a man like Brendan Brady want with him? How does he even know who he is? What does "requested your presence" even mean? He wants to ask the driver all the questions that come to his mind over the long journey, but is unsure if it is appropriate? He's never been a passenger in a car, and on the few occasions he had driven it had been as a delivery boy so he doesn't know if it is considered appropriate behaviour to make conversation in such circumstances.
The engine of the car dies down, coming to a stop on the waterfront in front of the Empire Hotel. Before Ste can do it himself – distracted by the shimmering view of the water surface, the expensive looking store fronts and all the well dressed people doing impossibly elegant things – the driver steps out and opens the door for him. Once Ste steps out of the carriage, ungracefully tripping over his own shoelace, the man begins to walk towards the hotel, leaving Ste with no choice but to follow.
Standing in the lobby of one of the grandest hotels in the city Ste feels inadequate, more so than he usually does. He feels exposed and vulnerable too, it's blindingly obvious that he does not belong. He's wearing a tatty and discoloured white cotton shirt with slacks and suspenders, a newsboy cap and work boots. He follows the driver to the front desk but hangs back a little, certain that at any moment he will be stopped and asked to leave.
"Mr Brady's guest has arrived." The driver informs the concierge.
"Good afternoon Mr Hay." The concierge addresses him, politely and with a level of respect that not even the driver had shown him. Which Ste thinks is odd, although he can't be sure, but from that week he worked as a Hotel kitchen porter he got the impression the hotel concierge ranked quite high in the hierarchy of service workers. Higher than a chauffeur in any case. "We were expecting you a little earlier than this." The man is still all smiles and enthusiasm, but when he looks up at the grandfather clock behind him and then to driver Ste can feel the underlying tension. "But what is it they say? Better late than never. Allen?" He calls to one of the bellhops. "Take Mr Brady's guest up to his penthouse."
"Yes sir."
/
As soon as the elevator gates has been shut and they start to travel up on the long journey to the 25th floor Ste takes of his hat, stuffing it into his back pocket and finger combs his hair trying to make it look more presentable. It's gotten too longer, flopping over his forehead and encroaching onto his eyes. He doesn't have the money for such luxuries as regular trips to the barber so Amy normally cuts it for him. Amy's a talented girl, however, cutting hair is not one of those talents and Ste ends up looking like a little boy whose mother has sat him down and taken a soup bowl and shears to his head.
The elevator's operation board is made of reflective gold and he crouches down so he can see what his face looks like. And of course there's a dark mark on the side of his cheek, most likely dirt transferred from one of the kids. As he licks his thumb and frantically swipes at his face the bellhop begins to laugh.
"What's so funny?" He asks, he attitude and temper getting the better of him, covering up his embarrassment with defensiveness.
The man, not much older than Ste himself apologises for the laughter. He informs Ste that having already walked through the hotel lobby, full of New York's elite, aristocrats, well educated men from old privileged bloodlines, and some of the most beautiful women this world has to offer, the time for making a good impression has been and gone. Allen, or Al as he tells to Ste to call him says Mr Brady doesn't care about class. "He maybe one of the richest men in the state, from one of the most powerful families in New York Gang history but I reckon he's just like us." Al continues, seemingly not to need a response to carry a conversation. "He grew up with his mom over in Ireland and from what I've heard they didn't have much money. What's your business with the boss today anyway? I haven't seen you around before."
"I dunno." Ste shrugs.
"So you're not one of his boys then? I know about all that, being a bellhop I'm almost invisible, see and hear things I probably shouldn't. I know how to keep these things to yourself, so you can tell me if you are, one of Mr Brady's boys that is."
Ste has no idea what Al's talking about and tells him so. "I woke this morning to a man I'd never seen before at my door telling me my presences was requested, forty-five minutes later I'm driving over Brooklyn bridge and here I am in Manhattan." Ste tells him.
"You're from Brooklyn, huh? Benedict, the chauffeur wouldn't have liked that much, he's going to be in a rotten mood for the remainder of the week. He always manages to get lost on that side of the city, the narrow allies and back roads confuse him. And then there's the fact that he thinks he's better than the rest of us, old money you see. But his father lost it all, ran the family business into the ground, if you ask me old Benny is no better than the rest of us now. I reckon, Mr Brady had him fetch you all the way from Brooklyn just to play with him, having to drive around a blue collar man like yourself must have been maddening for the man. So, you have no clue what you're doing here then?" He enquires, not taking a breath.
When Ste replies no, he's never even met Mr Brady before, worry passes over Allen's face. It's like a twitch in his features, there for a second before the wide cheerful grin reappears. A bell dings from somewhere in the elevator, indicating that they've arrived at their destination. Allen quickly slides the elevator gate open but doesn't exit after Ste.
"As longs as you don't owe him money and haven't stolen from him I'm sure you'll be fine. Mr Brady's a reasonable man, really." He hesitates for moment, glancing around the room behind Ste. Ste follows his gaze to each corner of the room because maybe he had missed someone in there. But the room is empty, and Al seems assured enough to continue. "I think he's on his own, as long as it's just Brady you'll be fine, it's not the boss you have to worry about."
It's meant to be reassuring, it's anything but and the feeling of worry Ste had been feeling has grown into full blown panic. Before he can say anything, ask what to expect or how to behave Al is sliding the gate shut on Ste's face and he's left alone to face the unknown.
Well, not quite alone because one of the doors on the right of the room is being opened, and a smartly dressed, intimidating looking man steps out.