The prequel continues...
Rating M for language, references non-explicit Al/Jack slash Al, Trixie, Dan, Johnny Burns, Jack Langrishe
Summary: As Trixie continues to try to recover in Virginia City, Al continues to recruit for what will be the Gem gang, and meets up with an old friend to discuss a job on the side. And a bit on the side.
Virginia City, Carolina Boy
She should have been a good draw. Lithe legs showing up to the thigh, nipped waist, a froth of lace barely covering pink nipples, and delicate features to boot. One by one, the free-spending men gravitated towards the blonde sitting with one foot hiked up on the edge of the opposite chair, their eyes glued to her one hand idly running up, then back down her inner thigh.
One by one, they shifted their eager eyes to the vacant blue ice in hers, then to her downturned mouth. It was a good night for the other girls, as men sought their warmth even more eagerly after her chill.
A short plump woman, walking among the customers with a gracious smile here, a joking remark there, laid a soft hand on the blonde's shoulder and leaned over to her ear. Trixie ran one hand over her eyes, then down her face, as the other woman guided her up from her perch and walked with her to the back room. She murmured soothing sounds to the blonde as she shot a sharp look at the long-haired man at the bar, mouthing the words "too soon". The two women disappeared into the back room, door closing behind them.
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Al's breath caught in his throat as the slender hand slipped into a side trouser pocket. Gently, lightly, fingers barely registering on skin…the cool open air of the cheap standing room tickets negated the heat from an eager palm. Progress seemed agonizingly slow; he could feel beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. He consciously slowed his breathing so that progress could continue with no one the wiser.
Fingers now moving up, up…he closed his eyes for a second. He wasn't used to this, and the waiting on another's fingers was agony. Almost, almost…there! He saw the shadow of a dark leather wallet slowly emerge from the mark's pocket. He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the ginger-haired youth continue to gently fish the wallet out, smoothly folding it into his palm.
A few quick steps and the young man was at an alcove partially shielded by a huge potted fern. Al slowed his breathing again as he imagined the young man opening the wallet, removing most of the bills, then folding it again. He twitched, chagrined, as the young man bumped into a large miner's wife a few steps behind the mark and actually excused himself to the cow, but he noted that the lad had kept his face turned down, cap covering his ginger hair. A careful dip and dodge, and the mostly emptied wallet lay at the mark's feet, lighter at least by a hundred dollars.
"How was I, Mr.—"
"Not yet, Johnny. Follow me out the side, not too close."
Al looked up at the night sky, praying for patience. The boy was willing, obedient, and thick as a stump. His soft Carolina accent marked him as a Johnny Reb as soon as he opened his mouth, but it seemed his older brother's post-war teachings on stealth had stuck. Or maybe he was just a natural-born thief. Small wonder he and his preacher father butted heads all the way out to the West territories.
They stood away from the crowd in front of the theater, heads together in the night air as Al critiqued the younger man's technique and pocketed the money. Johnny couldn't keep the grin off his face as Al divvied out praise for a decent job of pocket theft.
"I could do it a few more times, Mr. Swearengen. There'll be lots of people here for a good while yet. Don't those actor fellows always do a few turns at comin' back on stage?"
"Those are called encores, Johnny, and I know folks'll be here a while, but do you think one might start talking near another about how his wallet's thinner than it was when he came in? Maybe get to comparing stories and the like?"
Johnny's earnestness almost pained him to watch. "Um…yes?"
"That's right, Johnny. Tomorrow's another night, hmm?"
Johnny looked puzzled, then his face cleared and he smiled at the swarthy man in the suit coat. "We keep low tonight, we can get some more tomorrow."
"That's right, Johnny." He held back a sigh. "You go on back to Daisy's, mind the girls there are behavin' themselves, being nice to the customers. You get some free time, practice on Dan."
Johnny looked uneasy. "You mean, practice pickin' Dan's pocket? He ain't gonna like that too good."
Al took another step away from the boy. "Tell him he can punch you in the mouth every time he can tell you're nickin' him."
Johnny looked crestfallen as he walked away after uttering a soft "yessir".
Al shook his head. He had no doubt Johnny would tell Dan exactly that. Boy was honest in his own way, even if it was a challenge for him to hold two thoughts in his head at one time. Be a good chance to see how the two got along without his supervision, see if Johnny stuck it out, and if Dan showed enough sense to refrain from pummeling the kid.
He took a deep breath of night air and could swear he tasted money on the breeze. Banks fighting each other for depositors, the mines running three shifts, silver in the mud, dust, and air. If a handful of men hadn't had a stranglehold on the big riches here, he thought he could be happy in Virginia City.
Crowd finally thinning, going off to saloons and ice cream parlors, he could finally make his way to an unobtrusive entrance far to the side of the more ornate main theatre doors. He tapped twice, then slipped in with an ease borne of practice.
"Al!"
"Shh…keep it the fuck down, would you, Jack? There's still a fuckin' throng out there."
The dimpled blonde-haired man frowned. "Is it against the law, now, for two old friends to say "hail fellow, well-met!" to one another?"
"I got some business going on tonight. Less notice, the better."
The dandy waved his arm towards a small dressing room. "Let us retire away from prying eyes, then!"
Al walked into the actor's small room. "Maybe if you quit acting like that, eyes wouldn't pry so fuckin' much. Ever think of that?" He shut the door behind them.
Jack Langrishe sat down, sweeping his caped coat out from under him first. Leaning an ankle on a knee, he smiled at his old friend as he reached for a bottle of apple brandy. "But then, I fear I would cease to be Jack Langrishe at all."
Al handed him two glasses from the actor's dressing table. "Oh,we wouldn't want that. So, pour me a fuckin' drink and tell me how you've been, Jack." He smiled and felt his tense shoulders and neck begin to relax as he breathed in the smell of apple brandy and greasepaint that had been Jack's signature scent for as long as he'd known him.
An hour later, the bottle was almost empty and Al's throat was scratchy from the unaccustomed brandy and chatter.
"Boy, I suspect we've started re-stirring the same pot of sorry stew. Let's go on to matters not so tedious."
"It ain't tedious to make sure we've got a workin' plan, won't land either of us on the wrong side of swinging hemp."
"Ah…the big boyos are doin' the heavy liftin' on this one. We…you…have just the one small piece."
Al rolled his glass between his palms. "And you're sure I can't use my usual methods for my small piece."
The actor shook his head. "They were adamant about that, lad. Natural causes only, or the whole thing is buggered up."
Al snorted. "They think it's natural for a regular swimmer to drown in his usual swimming hole?"
"Springtime exuberance can make even well-used holes seem strange and foreign, as I recall."
"Your fuckin' banter won't seem so delightfully risqué when we're in front of a judge and jury, Jack. Can you fuckin' focus for now?"
Jack dropped his jovial demeanor. "I mean, ya humorless prick, the spring run-offs are likely to create the risk of swifter currents and higher water than the bank officer is accustomed to. Which, if you'd get your head out of your arse and other nearby points of interest, you'd see is a perfectly plausible explanation for why a regular swimmer might come to accidental harm."
He poured the last of the brandy and drank half the shot. ""Absent, of course, any slashes in the throat area. I know you find it incredulous, but people do die other ways, you know." He offered the last half of the shot to Al.
Al looked at the dark liquid for a few seconds, then looked up at Jack. "I gotta say, I don't like it. Don't like a lot of people in on one job. But you say they're good for the money. And the discretion."
He downed the half-shot, apple and smoke lingering on his tongue. "Natural causes…" He shook his head.
Jack stood, taking the glass from his hand. "Oh, who's to say he wouldn't bump his noggin a time or two while fightin' the current?"
Al rose, nodded, deep in thought. "Suffocating, I'm thinking, wouldn't look that different from drowning, save for water in the lungs…"
Jack turned him into the even smaller sleeping space at the side of the small dressing room. "Which the good Samaritan, tryin' to rescue the poor unfortunate, would have displaced from his lungs ere any medical attention was obtained."
AL was still focused on the risks of the prospective job. "Is that really how it works? With the lungs, I mean?"
Jack briefly let go of the shirt placket he was unfastening. "I couldn't say, but that's what the doctor will opine, before he gets his cut." His hand fell to belt and buttons.
"And our cut comes right off the top?"
"Our $5000 comes right off the top, yes." Shirts were shrugged off shoulders.
An unusually tentative note crept into Al's voice. "You sure this is a good idea?"
He heard a soft "huff" as Jack blew out the lamp, the quick stink of coal oil in the air.
An apple brandy-scented hand grabbed his long black hair at the back of his head.
"Quite sure, lad. Now, would you fuckin' focus, here?"
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Al's warm, rough haze of satiation had lasted until he got back to Daisy's joint. Dan met him at the door, grinning widely, one arm slung around the Carolina boy's shoulders.
"Al, this Rebel boy can take a hell of a good punch and come back for more."
"Yeah, those boys are known for that. Not sayin' that's necessarily a virtue, mind. How'd it go?"
Johnny grinned through a blood-stained mouth. At least at first glance, it looked like he had kept all his teeth. "Boss, he only got me the first time. I musta lifted his wallet three, four more times after that, and he never suspected a thing."
Al raised his eyebrows at Dan over Johnny's head. Dan gave a warning shake before he extolled Johnny's pick-pocket abilities some more.
"Great, Johnny, great. Go get us a bottle, would you?"
He sat across a small table from Dan. "Well?"
Dan leaned forward. "Boss, if I hadn't known you were schooling him in picking pockets, he woulda got by me at least twice. And that was after he told me you said I was to punch him in the mouth every time he didn't get by me."
Al laughed. "You're not shittin' me? He really told you I said that?"
Dan grinned again. "He's a…a loyal little fucker, and he's got heart, I'll say that. Felt bad about bustin' his mouth, but he was all over doing just like you told him to."
Al watched Johnny get bottle and glasses, speak with a couple of girls, then make his way back to the table.
"How's he seem with the girls?"
Dan thought for a minute. "He does okay. Treats 'em friendly, calls 'em out on their bullshit if he needs to…you know, squabbling over who's next, arguing in front of the customers. I ain't seen him hit one yet, but things just seem to…smooth out after he drawls at 'em for a minute or so."
Al relaxed back in his chair, feeling warm and loose for a change, as Johnny set the bottle and two glasses down, then turned back towards the bar.
"Johnny."
"Yessir, boss?"
"Bring another glass and sit the fuck down, hmm?"
"You bet!" His grin was still blood-tinged but wide.
Al lowered his brows and shot a look at Dan. "You better be fuckin' right about him, Dan."
"You rather have a man smart as a whip but can't be trusted?"
He sighed. "I guess if it's a choice, I'll take dumb as a stump and trustworthy. I expect you to look out for him as needed. And don't hit him anymore, unless I tell you to."
Johnny sat his glass down for Dan to pour him a shot. In the midst of the "huzzahs', Al heard Dan mumble "it's like kicking a puppy, anyways" as they brought Johnny Burns into their group.
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A/N: feedback, concrit, or comments greatly appreciated!