March 22, 1939
O'Toole told them it would take a week or so before word got around from Great Neck to Bushwick that the Claybournes were friendly to a particular sort. The FBI had tipped off their informants in the area to make sure news spread. And sure enough, word did spread.
A man entered the shop that morning. He kept his hat on, and he was trying very hard to appear inconspicuous. Trish was at the register ringing up a customer and chatting happily. Nick saw how the man tried to keep his head down, but as a trained cop, Nick knew someone casing a joint when he saw it. This guy was looking around everywhere. Real shifty.
Trish glanced at Nick and they shared a look. She had caught sight of the guy, too, and she gave a subtle nod to Nick. He nodded back.
Nick approached carefully. Warily. But he let the persona of Wesley Claybourne fall over him, and he smiled. "Hey there, pal, what can I do you for?" he asked exuberantly, giving the man a hearty clap on the shoulder. Nick was taller, but this man was broad and brawny. It would be an even fight, if it came to that.
"You Claybourne?" the man asked, his voice gruff and harsh.
"Wesley Claybourne, the one and only," Nick answered cheerily, internally amused by the lie.
Obviously Nick was not Wesley Claybourne, and there were two of them now. The other one was in federal custody and would probably end up in Sing Sing when this operation was through.
The man narrowed his eyes. He did not smile. Nick wasn't surprised. He also knew that the man was eyeing the baby blue argyle sweater that Wesley wore with distinct distaste. Nick couldn't really blame him for that.
"My cousin Paulie Johnson up in Great Neck said I should look you up. Paulie says you got a nice back room for rent."
The FBI bait had worked. They had a bite. Paulie Johnson was one of the men arrested with the real Claybournes, and he'd struck a deal with the FBI to turn informant. Nick knew all about him from the file they'd memorized before coming to Brooklyn. "We sure do, Mr…"
"Marcus. Billy Marcus."
"Sure thing, Mr. Marcus. We've got a swell space in the back for whatever kind of meeting or party you could want. My wife's got it decorated real nice. And there's an entrance from the back alley, so you don't have to worry about anyone coming in and out through the store."
Billy Marcus nodded at that last part. Nick knew he would. "Can I take a look?"
"Lemme just tell the wife I'll be in the back so she knows to mind the front."
With that, Nick hurried through the aisles of the shop to the front where Trish stood behind the counter. She looked at him expectantly. "Well?" she asked quietly.
"Hey honey, I'm gonna take Mr. Marcus here around the back room. He's got a cousin in Great Neck who told him we got a nice place. You remember Paulie Johnson?"
Trish smirked but played along. "Oh yeah, real nice guy," she responded brightly.
Nick gave a small wink to her and went back to Mr. Marcus. "If you want to follow me this way, I'll show you around," Nick told him.
Billy Marcus was a mob toady if Nick had ever seen one. And he'd seen plenty as a New York cop for the last fifteen years. The bootleggers had come and gone. The mafia showed up here and there. But organized crime was all the same, no matter what business they wanted to be in. They wanted power and control and to squeeze every dime they could out of the people under their thumb. The bosses were always smart and brutal. Their followers were equal parts vicious and frightened. Desperate to protect themselves and ride the coattails of some schmuck who couldn't give a damn about them. Billy Marcus fit the mold perfectly.
They went through the door to the storeroom and through another door to the soon-to-be-infamous back room. There were two big wooden table, one round and one rectangular, and some cheap chairs around each one. It was otherwise empty. One single window with heavy dark curtains and the door to the back alley. "This is the place," Nick said. "What are you looking to do?"
Marcus smirked again. "I got some buddies who like to play some cards. Sometimes some dice. Just a friendly game with the boys, you know?"
"And the old lady won't let you host at home, is that it?" Nick said, laughing heartily in a manner that was perfectly Wesley Claybourne and entirely unnatural for Nick himself.
"Something like that," Marcus said with a chuckle of his own. "We don't like to get interrupted, see?"
"Of course. Well, you won't get interrupted here, I can guarantee it. What do you say, Mr. Marcus? How would you like to rent the place? Maybe for an evening this week, see if you like it and wanna come back?" Nick felt like he was laying it on thick, but Wesley Claybourne was the sort to carry it off.
"Yeah how's about Thursday at eight? Paulie said your rate was good in Great Neck, still the same here in Brooklyn?"
Nick nodded and told him what the price was. "Though we can do a little extra for a price," he hinted.
"Like what?"
God, this guy was too easy. Nick couldn't believe how quick he fell into it. "You and your buddies come for your card game on Thursday, and we'll see if we all get along. If we do, then we can talk."
Marcus shook his hand. And so it began.
March 25, 1939
"I'll come in about two minutes after you with the deviled eggs, yes, I know," Jennifer said for the tenth time.
"I know you know," Wesley answered with a small smile.
He looked at her like that a lot when they were up in the apartment, and she was never sure what to make of it. He was hard to figure out. Quiet but charming. Kind but serious. She'd only know the man for two weeks, but she already felt strangely comfortable around him. His gentle strength and easy manner put her at ease. And she was glad for it, because she wouldn't have been ready for something like this with anyone else.
Tonight was their first night with the back room. That Billy Marcus and his 'friends' were coming for their game. Illegal gambling was small time for the FBI, but usually it led to a whole lot more, and that was what they were there to find out. The recordings that Spencer Jones was responsible for getting would get evidence for crimes that these gamblers and their contacts were involved in. The mafia wars a couple years ago had caused factions to ally and split up territory, and the Family in this part of Brooklyn was rumored to be doing a hell of a lot more than just racketeering. The hope was that some of these small-time gamblers might bring in some bigger fish to fry. Fish who might open their big mouths for the microphones to hear.
They'd had a couple days to get this plan in motion. Wesley would be the charming host and check on the party every so often. Not enough to put people on edge, but enough to assert his position as the landlord looking out for his interests. And Trish, as the perfect wife, would bring food for the guests and keep them comfortable and happy. This was what they'd expect from being in contact with people who dealt with the real Claybournes. But for Jennifer and Detective Buchanan, it would be a way for them to elicit some conversation that might be interesting and to observe what was going on.
If all worked as planned, they might be able to entice Billy Marcus and whoever else he brought tonight to coming back and for Mrs. Claybourne to sit out on the landing of the stairs that led up to their apartment and play lookout. One of the nice extra 'services' that the Claybournes could provide for an increased fee. And it would give Jennifer the perfect opportunity to observe all the comings and goings without suspicion.
But all that would come later. Tonight was just the beginning. Jennifer had been in the kitchen all afternoon making food for dinner for Wesley and herself and the snacks for the back room. Wesley had taken over on his own in the store for the afternoon to leave her free to do the wifely work upstairs. And ever since he'd closed up and joined her in the apartment, he had been fretting.
Well, fretting wasn't really the word for it. He was repeating their plan of action over and over. He'd done the same thing in that hotel in Manhattan when they were learning the Claybourne files. He would quiz her constantly, which she quickly learned was his way of learning the information himself. And when she was nervous, his quizzing helped her calm down and focus on the task at hand and forget about her worries for the moment. That's what he was doing now, she knew. Quizzing her to make sure she was focused and calm. It was working.
Jennifer good at what she did, she knew. She was a damn good detective. But being a woman in her field meant that she was only involved in certain kinds of things; people just wouldn't hire a woman to do the same jobs they'd hire a man for. And what that meant for Jennifer was that she had a very limited experience in many things. One of those things was prolonged undercover work like this. Oh she could charm her way past a doorman or lie through her teeth to get information she needed. But convincingly existing as another person for months at a time was pretty far outside of her wheelhouse. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that she could do it, however. She had the skills to meet this challenge just like she did with everything else. She had prepared as much as she was able and she had good instincts, and those things could get a person through almost anything. It was just…well, she'd never done anything like this before.
And she'd never had a partner before, either. Living these last two weeks with a 'husband' had been enlightening. The awkwardness faded quickly. She and Wesley existed in the space quite easily together. Talking to him got easier, too. It was that gentle strength and kindness of him that just made everything easy. Jennifer had never met anyone like that before.
She looked at him across the kitchen table as they ate dinner. It was almost time to meet Marcus, so they were rushing their meal a little bit. Jennifer mostly pushed her food around on her plate anyway.
He looked up to see her staring at him. "Yes?" he asked expectantly.
Jennifer didn't know what to say, really. She almost wanted to tell him that she was glad they were in this together, but that didn't seem like the right thing. Not right now, anyway. And besides, she didn't really know him enough to be certain that she really was glad to have him there. So far so good, but two weeks out of six months wasn't saying a whole lot. Instead, Jennifer just gave a small smile and said, "Everything's going to be fine."
"Yeah," he agreed with a small smile of his own. "Everything's going to be fine."