A/N: Thank you so very much for reading this. I know it's a bunch of short little chapters but it's easier to write that way.

More Than Words-Chapter 10

"What the fuck happened to the carpet out there?" Meyer demanded of Richard the next day.

"That wasn't...carpet. It was, mm. Dust stuck to the floor."

"Oh. Well then...she did a damn good job . Petey and Digger thought we were bracing for a raid when they walked in." Meyer paused, using the excuse of lighting a cigarette to quickly study Richard. He looked tired and seemed harder around the edges. Meyer wasn't exactly a friend, but he was more concerned for Harrow than just a boss being worried for an employee. When Richard had shown up with news of Jimmy Darmody's death, he had been so numb he was almost a statue. There had been grief shared between Harrow, Lansky, and Charlie Luciano, along with whiskey and memories of the young man. Richard had lost, not only his best friend, but also his purpose in life. Meyer asked Richard what he planned to do; Richard had nothing planned, so Meyer invited him to stay. And he had.

Meyer had discovered something interesting and occasionally useful; if you got Richard drunk enough and asked questions, the quiet man became chattier than a gossiping grandmother. Meyer didn't know why he was so curious about what was bothering Richard this time, but he pulled out the bottle of whiskey any good businessman kept in his desk drawer and poured two glasses, handing one to Richard, who took it without protest. Meyer pulled a straw out from a cupful that he kept specifically for the masked man. (He hadn't had any on hand that very first night, and it had been painful watching Richard figure out just how to hitch his mouth so he could toss the shot down. He ended up flinging his mask away without thought and tilted his head back and to the right to get most of the liquor in his mouth and down his throat. That hadn't been any less painful to watch.)

He kept Richard's glass full as he ran ideas about what to do with Gwen since she had cleaned the office. It was a more difficult task than he imagined it would be; what, exactly, was a young mob boss to do with a petrified, illiterate, poverty stricken woman? The brothels were out; thin might be all the rage but brink of starvation was a bit extreme. She couldn't read, so Meyer couldn't use her as a clerk or secretary.

"What about O'Connell's?" Meyer suggested.

"No," Richard shook his head. "She'd miss. Mm, half the shift because...of her second. Job."

"What about Hills?"

"Jerry would...eat her alive."

Meyer topped off Richard' s glass, noting that he was slightly swaying in his seat. Good; he'd be talkative soon. He certainly wasn't chatty now. Every suggestion Meyer had, Richard said no to, and eventually he stopped giving reasons why he thought they wouldn't work.

"Well, then," Meyer said with as much patience as he could muster, "what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you set, mm. Someone else...as her damn baby sitter."

Oh...he was cussing. Meyer was probably going to regret this.

"Why?" he asked mildly.

"Because I'm tired of her. Looking at me like, mm. My only goal is...to kill her son." Richard held his empty glass out to Meyer, who obligingly refilled it. "I can't stand...how...mm. Frightened of me. She is." He sucked his drink down, and as he stared at the bottom of the now empty glass, he admitted "They're making me care. And I don't. Mm, want that." With a bit of prompting from Meyer, Richard explained what had happened the previous day.

Meyer exhaled heavily and tried to think of what to say. He could fix money issues, and he had a knack for smoothing over arguments and tense personal disputes. But this was not exactly an area he was an expert in. He knew Richard had trouble relating to people, and he knew Richard did his best to remain completely indifferent to them. He didn't understand Richard's reasonings for it, but how could he, when he hadn't experienced the things Richard had? Meyer didn't think it a wise course, personally; but since he wouldn't want someone lecturing him on *his* life choices, he wasn't going to be hypocritical and do so to Richard. He WANTED to, but he wouldn't.

"Alright," he simply said, giving a small nod. "Benny doesn't have anything else going on right now. I'll put him on it."

Richard's head shot up, his eye wide with alarm. "Not Siegel. " The thought of that abusive, sadistic prick near Gwen or Chris put his heart in his throat. Benny could be very charming when it came to the fairer sex, but if charm didn't work, he wouldn't hesitate to forcefully take what he wanted. And dear God, how many ways could Siegel find to torment such a trusting boy as Chris? Especially once he found out the boy was deaf? Richard shuddered at the images that popped into his head, and he knew they were mild compared to what Benny could do.

"It's you or Benny. This is a very unique situation and I can't trust it to any of those schmucks," he waved towards the outer office. "So either give Benny the details or stay on it. The choice is yours." Richard gave Meyer a glare that would have curdled milk, set his glass on the desk, stood up and left the office, not quite as gracefully as normal, but not nearly as stumblingly as he should have been with half a bottle of whiskey in him.

Benny was playing cards with some of the guys, and Richard couldn't refrain from glaring at him as he walked by. Benny didn't seem to notice, but when Richard was gone Benny tossed his cards down and went in to Meyer's office without bothering to knock.

"Come in, Benny," Meyer said without looking up from the paper he was reading. "Sure, I can talk. I'm not doing anything at the moment."

Benny threw himself into the chair Richard had vacated, one leg dangling over an arm of the chair; he chose to ignore Meyer's sarcasm.

"What's Moon Pie's problem? He just glared at me like he wants to kill me."

"He does," Meyer reminded his friend.

"I don't understand why. I'm a likable guy."

"It *might* have something to do with the fact you always call him Moon Pie," Meyer speculated. "Or the fact that he thinks you're an unstable, out-of-control nutjob."

"Watch it, pal," Siegel growled; that last was a little to close to a nerve. But Meyer wasn't cowed or even vaguely concerned. He and Benny went way back, and Meyer knew just how far he could go with his friend's sensitive ego.

"I'm just saying," Meyer said. "You two view things differently..."

"Yeah. I view things with both eyes." Benny laughed at his joke; Meyer could barely muster a smile. "So what had you and Moon Pie holed up for so long? No...wait, lemme guess! You asked how his day was and it took him twenty minutes to stammer out 'boring'!"

"Why are you being such an ass today?"

"I just wanna know what you were talking about."

"Business. Specifically, none of yours."

"We're partners, ain't we?"

"Like you tell me every thing you got going."

"You're gonna kill some one, " Benny reasoned. "That's why you were in here with Moon Pie, isn't it?"

"You figured it out," Meyer replied dryly. "Did you need anything else?"

"Something to do. I'm bored as hell."

"You don't have collections to make?" Meyer replied pointedly. "What about making sure everyone's flush with product? You don't want Charlie getting back and finding out you let shit get low."

Benny knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he was pissed that Meyer was treating him like an inconsequential child. He didn't realize it, but his entire attitude lately was due to the fact that he was jealous of Harrow and how easily the man had managed to integrate himself in to the operation, while Benny had had to work his way in; perform every menial task Lansky and Luciano set before him, ranging from file boy (as in 'here boy, file these serial numbers off these guns') to delivery boy (here boy...take this herion and deliver it and for the love of god don't shoot any one). Benny didn't understand that he still had the maturity level of a five year old raised by rabid wolves; finding joy in pain and destruction, always hoping for a violent resolution to every problem, pushing people to their breaking point for the pleasure of it. Harrow, on the other hand...Benny saw him as a crusty ninety year old woman in a thirty year old man's body. Harrow was a stick in the mud who wouldn't know how to have fun if it was hand delivered with written instructions. Everything Harrow did was precise and thought out. He had no spontaneity, no excitement, and that was such a strange concept to Benny. Benny couldn't picture Harrow as having any adaptability, so he couldn't see Harrow as being useful in any situation that wasn't a planned hit. Also, Harrow's utter lack of emotion made the passionate Benny exceptionally uncomfortable; that was part of the reason Benny was always poking at the veteran. He wanted some sort of rise out of the man; until he got some display of emotion he would not believe Harrow was human.

"Goodbye, Benny," Meyer said pointedly since his young friend wasn't taking the gentle hint. Benny gave a put-upon sigh and stood up. When he left the office, he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass. Meyer tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose and hoped Benny took his temper out before he started his collections. The last thing Meyer needed was half a neighborhood making no income because everyone was in the hospital or the morgue.