He wakes up all at once, suddenly becoming aware of something moving against his neck, and a moment later, he realizes it's Charlie's mouth. Meyer grins and rolls over, right on top of Charlie. "How long have you been awake?" he whispers after pressing a kiss to Charlie's lips.
Charlie grins right back. "Long enough to hang the sign, lock the door, an' take a shower," he says, and that last part must be true, because when Meyer runs his fingers through Charlie's hair, it's still damp.
"What time is it?"
"Time for you to shut the fuck up an' kiss me."
Charlie's definitely back to being Charlie again, and even though part of Meyer wants to punch him in the face for being an incorrigible prick, most of him honestly doesn't mind Charlie's teasing—it's his strange way of showing affection, affection that Meyer doesn't understand. But Charlie likes him for some reason, and he isn't going to say no to that.
By all rights, Charlie should piss him off—he's cocky and impulsive and blunt, lacking any of the finesse or social skills that Meyer usually values in his friends (as few of them as there are). But he likes Charlie—he's funny in a carefree way that has him laughing more than anyone else does. He can tell Charlie doesn't underestimate him and doesn't judge him based on his surface traits.
Charlie respects him, more than anyone else he's met. Somehow, he's managed to get closer to Meyer in six days than anyone else has in six years. It normally isn't this easy for him to trust someone, and maybe he's an idiot for trusting Charlie so intrinsically already, but he does and there has to be some reason besides "He's pretty hot." But Meyer doesn't have the patience to devote to trying to figure out their instant, inexplicable bond right now. Charlie is pulling him down for another kiss and Meyer's reminded of his promise last night to ravish him, and he's tempted to laugh but his mouth is already occupied.
Charlie's hands slip up his sides, under his shirt, and they stop kissing for just long enough to allow Charlie to pull it over his head and toss it aside. Meyer loves the feeling of Charlie's skin against his and he shivers in anticipation when Charlie starts pushing down his sweatpants.
He lets out a strangled moan as Charlie finally pushes into him, digging his nails into his own thighs. Charlie's returning gasp echoes in his ears and he opens his eyes to see Charlie gazing up at him in a mix of lust and adoration—at least, that's what he thinks it is. His brain doesn't seem to want to work right because all he can see is Charlie, this immature brat from Brooklyn with more courage than brains, and none of that matters anymore because Charlie is everything.
Even though he wants to close his eyes, he wants to keep them open even more because looking right at Charlie while they're fucking is hotter than he can verbalize—Charlie's focused completely on him, and Meyer can't look away. It isn't until Meyer leans over and rides him as hard as he can, reveling in Charlie's murmured curses and muffled cries that he realizes what's happening, why his heart is pounding like this, and he knows it's not the sex.
He's got a huge, dumb crush on Charlie, and it's too late to do anything about it. He's too far gone, too wrapped up in Charlie to pull himself out of this mess—and he knows because he doesn't want to pull himself out. He wants to stay like this forever, just the two of them, no A.R., no Carolyn, no Torrio, no Capone. He wants Charlie, but Charlie...
Charlie sucks in a deep breath through his teeth with a hiss, his fingers tightening on Meyer's hips. "Oh, God, Mey," he breathes, "fuck, Mey, so fuckin' close... come with me, please..."
Charlie's hitting all the right spots, and all Meyer has to do is look at his face to see how badly he clearly needs to come, and he lets out a high whine, gasping out Charlie's name, and then they're both coming. Meyer instinctively grabs onto Charlie's wrists and clenches down, trying to swallow his moans while at the same time not caring who hears them. The childish, perverse part of him actually hopes the Chicago guys have their room bugged—let them find out just who they're dealing with.
He slumps forward, right into Charlie's arms, and for a few minutes, they just lie there. Then Charlie murmurs, "Guess I gotta shower again."
"So do I." Meyer sighs and slowly, reluctantly disentangles himself from Charlie.
Capone picks them up from the Ritz at eleven-thirty. While Charlie was in the bathroom taking his second shower of the morning, Meyer called A.R. and worked out the details that Torrio wanted, and then stashed the heroin in the pocket of his suit jacket. He's nervous to have it on his person as opposed to in his or Charlie's luggage, but he's pretty sure he could keep calm and talk his way out of trouble better than Charlie could if he got caught with it. Hell, he could probably talk his way out of a gun to his head if it came down to it.
Not that he wants to find out from experience or anything.
Capone doesn't treat them any differently on the way to The Four Deuces, where they're meeting Johnny Torrio for lunch. Meyer has to believe that the Chicago gang either doesn't have their suite bugged or Capone's paygrade is too low to listen in, because he suspects that someone who's as vocal an asshole as Capone would definitely make his opinions known.
Capone parks behind the building in a spot marked "Employee Parking Only" and gets out with them, causing Meyer and Charlie to exchange brief glances. Capone's never gotten out of the car before. Meyer doesn't like this sudden change—dealing with him is fine in the car, but having to see him outside puts him on-edge.
His suspicions are confirmed when, after showing them through the door and to a small table, Capone sits down with them. Meyer drums his fingers on his thigh under the table, the only external indication of his nerves. Charlie checks his watch four times in about thirty seconds. After nearly two minutes of waiting, Capone pulls a cigar out of his suit jacket and lights it.
It's as noxious as his personality.
"I thought it was illegal to smoke in restaurants in Illinois," Meyer says with a raised eyebrow, although calling The Four Deuces a restaurant would be like calling The Spearmint Rhino a bar. Meyer's not an idiot. He knows this place is a cathouse.
Capone grins. "Torrio owns the place. No one's gonna say shit."
Charlie pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one as well, but Meyer isn't feeling it right now. He can't explain the subtle off-ness he feels about this place.
Charlie's almost completely finished with his cigarette when there's the bang of a door opening from somewhere upstairs and then, a moment later, uneven footsteps descending the stairs. Meyer glances toward the archway, expecting Torrio, but it isn't him. It's a younger man, around Charlie and Capone's age, but he walks with a limp in his right leg, and his hair is dark blond or light brown—Meyer can't quite tell, but he does know this guy isn't Italian.
He heads straight for Capone, who grins at him. "Jimmy! What's the word?"
"Torrio isn't feeling great, so he'll be down in a few minutes. He thinks he got food poisoning last night."
Meyer wants to call bullshit, but he keeps his mouth shut. Torrio and Charlie got the exact same thing last night, but Charlie's perfectly fine.
Jimmy glances at them. "You the guys from New York?"
"Yes. Meyer Lansky."
"Lucky Luciano." Charlie stubs out the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray on the table.
"Jimmy Darmody."
"Jimmy here's another transplant to Chicago," Capone explains, as if Meyer particularly cares. "I'm from Brooklyn, he's from Atlantic City. But he's been a great help to us in Torrio's operation, huh?" he adds, clapping Darmody on the back.
"Sorry about the wait," a familiar voice says, and Torrio appears behind them. Meyer immediately stands up, but it takes a second for Charlie to do the same. "I must be getting old if pasta's gonna do that to me," Torrio adds with a laugh.
"It's alright, Johnny. The important thing is your health." Meyer can see Capone smirking out of the corner of his eye.
"Very true. Sit down, boys, sit down. Jimmy, get our guests somethin' to drink. Al, you, too. And put out that fuckin' cigar, for God's sake. You're stinkin' up the joint."
Meyer manages to hide his grin, but Charlie clearly isn't as adept at hiding his emotions. He smirks and Capone catches it, a dark look crossing his face before he gets up from the table and follows Darmody out of the room.
"They're good kids. A little headstrong," Torrio explains, "but they work. Anyway, to business. You spoke with the Rothsteins, correct?"
"What a fuckin' prick," Charlie grumbles once they're safely ensconced back in their suite. "Why the fuck'd it take him two fuckin' hours to say he wants a different price?"
"He was trying to be civil," Meyer explains. He feels a bit better about today than Charlie does, although whether that's from the deliberations or from not having heroin on his person anymore, he isn't sure. Capone was also eerily quiet on the drive back, which Meyer can only chalk up to him still being sore about Torrio's comments and Charlie's smirk.
But Meyer isn't too concerned about whether or not Capone likes them. Torrio, he's realized by now, is definitely in charge, and as far as Italians go, he's much more even-tempered. Besides, Torrio liked everything else about the proposal except the price. If they can get that last detail taken care of tonight, the first shipment could be on its way before he and Charlie leave Chicago.
The problem is that Torrio is pretty adamant on not paying a penny over three-quarters of a million dollars, and Rothstein wants twice that. If it was Meyer's own money on the line, he'd counter with a million, but A.R. told him to ask for two million first. It's a pretty hefty gap, especially considering Torrio's first counteroffer was five-hundred thousand.
Still, Charlie's right on how long it took Torrio to basically tell them to go fuck themselves. They could have ended the whole debate within twenty minutes if Torrio had told them flat-out that he wasn't budging on his offer. They managed to work their way through lunch, but by three, Meyer calmly told Torrio that he and Charlie had to discuss an alternate proposition with the Rothsteins.
So a resolution would have to wait until dinner.
Charlie goes out onto the balcony to smoke while Meyer calls A.R. again. His boss picks up on the first ring.
"Meyer. Good news, I hope?"
"I suppose that depends on which side of this deal you're on. Torrio's agreeable to most of the terms we've proposed."
"I'm sensing a 'but."
"But he refuses to pay over seven-fifty."
"And what was your lowest offer?"
"One-point-five."
"Where are you and Charlie now?"
"Back at the Ritz. We're meeting Torrio again for dinner tonight, and negotiations will resume then."
"I see. Wait for him to bring it up again tonight. I know Torrio—he's desperate to get a foothold in this avenue, but he doesn't want to seem desperate. He'd be good for up to five million, but he'll never let you know that. When he finally mentions it, keep your offer at one and a half. He should come up to nine-hundred. He won't want to break a million, not with you two. If I were there, it would be another matter entirely. But he won't want to break so easily with you. He doesn't know you.
"If he comes to nine-hundred, counter with one and a quarter. If he doesn't—"
"A.R.," Meyer says, cutting him off. He doesn't need to be lectured at. He knows how to negotiate. "What should we settle at?"
"A million," Rothstein says. He doesn't sound like he noticed Meyer's interruption. "If he refuses as low as a million, you walk, and that's it."
"Got it." Meyer hangs up and turns to look at Charlie. He'll settle for a million if he absolutely has to, but something's burning at the back of his brain and he thinks he might just know a way to get more bang for A.R.'s buck.
Charlie flicks the rest of his cigarette off the balcony and looks back at him. "What, you got an idea outta this mess?"
Meyer lets a small smirk cross his face. "I think I do, Charlie."
It's easier than he expects, really. Again, it's dinner at Big Jim's, with Colosimo joining them and lots of wine. True, Charlie and Big Jim drink most of it (Meyer wishes Torrio would drink a little more since it would soften him up a bit), but Charlie keeps his head fairly clear compared to the night before.
Torrio's the one who finally brings the conversation back around to business. "Have you had a chance to discuss a different price with the Rothsteins?"
Meyer and Charlie exchange a glance. "We have," Charlie says finally. He idly taps his finger against the table for a moment. "They said that they appreciate the negotiations this far, but... price ain't changin'."
Torrio half-smiles. "I had a feelin' you'd say that. Alright, alright. Only because I respect the Rothsteins. I'll go to a million."
Check. Meyer glances at Charlie again, and Meyer says in quiet Yiddish, "I'm going in for the checkmate."
Charlie nods even though he has no idea what Meyer said—the point is that it looks like Charlie knows what he said. It looks like they have a plan. "It's a shame. Carolyn was looking forward to doing business with you." He's taking a huge gamble here, but if it blows up in his face, he still has tomorrow to play it off. He goes to stand up and Charlie takes the cue and does the same.
Torrio sighs and waves. "Wait, wait, hold on. How about... one and a quarter? That's the highest I can go."
Checkmate. Meyer and Charlie glance at each other again. "Alright, Johnny," Meyer says, reaching out to shake Torrio's hand. "We have a deal."