Note to anyone who read chapter one yesterday or earlier today, I've changed it slightly, well added a 3 small paragraphs of history to the beginning.
Chapter Two
It wasn't until two years after his father's deaths that Brendan Brady decided to pack up is family and emigrate from Dublin, Ireland to The United States of America. It was August of 1920 and the Eighteenth Amendment, establishing national prohibition of alcoholic beverages had only been in place for eight months.
Brendan used the beginnings on prohibition and his sister's still non-operational bootlegging business to his advantage, managing to rise in the criminal world through the distribution of counterfeit alcohol.
With ancestry dating back to the five points war and a large family fortune left behind by his father Brendan Brady had essentially inherited his position in the Irish Mob. His seemingly swift and sudden claim to power was widely resented among Irish-American's hoping to rebuild their own gangs. The stigma surrounding Brendan was further perpetuated as he was an immigrant and there was a general consensus that a natural American citizen should hold such a high position in their organisation, resulting in many plots to remove him from power.
Once aware of the target on his back Brendan made several strategic moves to ensure it was almost impossible for his opponents to gain any support in an effort to overtake him. His first move was to befriend the right people in law enforcement and the political world, then he decided to make reductions in protection taxes and finally supporting the African-American community in any endeavours they may have for more equal standing in society.
Brendan's final conquest was to take back control of the waterfront and boardwalk that had been acquired by the mafia after his father's death. He did it just to prove he could, to do what no 4th, 5th or 6th generation Irish gangster had, to get back the territory that the Irish saw as their own. After that there were no longer any questions of Brendan's authority, he had control of most of New York. One day looking down at it all from his penthouse it dawned on him, it was his, all of it. Brendan was building an empire, – hence the change in name of his father's hotel - not just for himself but also for Irish-American gangs all over the US.
By 1924 the Brady Organisation - as people where calling it by this time- produced the majority of the counterfeit alcohol in the State of New York and surrounding areas, his strong connections in Ireland enabled him to import large quantities of genuine alcohol and weapons, giving the Irish Mob authority in New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago and New Orleans. Brendan personally travelled to these cities, setting up illegal tax for protection, bootleg alcohol distilleries and drugs distribution to rebuild the presence of the Irish Mob and marking his place at the top of it all.
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Christopher, the concierge is half way through a long-winded explanation as to why Brendan has been kept waiting all morning for Steven Hay's arrival when he hears voices coming from the parlour.
He walks out of his office and into the main room of the penthouse to find whom he assumes to be Steven standing at the other side of the room. The first thing that comes to mind is the lad looks different to what he had expected. That's not to say he had been expecting anything in particular upon arranging this meeting, the boys appearance and physical features aren't important, he just isn't expecting him to look like this.
Steven is tall and thin like his father, but really that's where the similarities end. His skin seems to glow, has a luminous tint to it, which is strange considering the April weather and his English heritage. His hair is fairer than his father's too, most likely has a blonde tinge to it in the sunlight but Brendan supposes that may have been passed down from his mother. His eyes are a captivating shade of blue, framed by eyelashes that are too long to belong to anyone of the male gender. Yet, on this boy, as they blink close and then open again it is mesmerising. Every single flutter.
It's the boy coughing, a not so subtle clearing his throat under the heavy scrutiny of Brendan's gaze that brings the older man back to reality.
"Steven." Brendan greets, smiling at the obviously nervous boy in front of him. "Can I offer you something to eat? Drink?"
Before the boy can answer Brendan is pressing the service bell twice to let the kitchen staff know he requires afternoon tea. The boy still hasn't moved or said anything and Brendan can't help but wonder if the boys a dullard and the private detective he had hired to track down and investigate Steven negated to inform him.
"Please take a seat." Brendan gestures towards the couch, speaking slowly and enunciating each word and trying to play down his thick Dublin accent.
With the boy seated Brendan neglects his usual seat at the head of the coffee table for the second couch across from the boy, as to not intimidate him.
"I'm so glad you were able to join me."
That seems to spark something within the boy because he looks Brendan in the eye for the first time, his expression indignant.
"Glad I could join you?" He repeats. "Didn't give me much of a choice, I were basically kidnapped."
The elevator bell rings out, startling Steven. It's the same with all the staff that are not used to the noises made by technology: telephones, elevators, talking movies. The chambermaid opens the gate, rolling in a trolley loaded with a teapot and cups, an assortment of sandwiches and desserts.
It's not been long since Brendan rang the bell, Mary must have found out in advance that he'd been expecting a visitor. She's efficient, dedicated to her job, which is probably why Brendan likes her so much, that, along with the fact that she's a straight-talking, retired nun from Dublin. The old lady never fails to put Brendan in his place, isn't afraid to speak her mind, and she is one of the only people Brendan can trust to give him advice.
Both men are silent as Mary unloads the contents of her trolley. Pouring out two cups of tea, a sugar bowl and jug of fresh milk to accompany it. Then she place the sandwich platter out and several plates, each hold it's own slice of cake, pie and scones with clotted cream and jam.
Although he doesn't look up at the woman Brendan can almost feel the fiery, judgmental glare she is burning into him. The hotel only serves afternoon tea between 4p.m and 6p.m, in keeping with tradition. It's around one, entirely too early and nothing displeases Mary more than blatant disregard of British and Irish custom.
When Mary leaves, taking her disapproval with her Brendan addresses Steven once again.
"Where were we? Oh, you were telling me of how I had you abducted, and am now imprisoning you." Brendan asks, smug smirk on his face.
Faced with politeness and a buffet of foods the boy's talks of kidnap are obviously out of place and most people would consider his outburst rude and unappreciative. At least he has the sense to look regretful and embarrassed.
"I just what to know what I'm doing here, right."
Straight to the point and not verbally apologetic, Brendan likes that, can't keep the smile on his face from growing.
"I never like to talk business on an empty stomach. Lets eat first, shall we?"
Brendan prepares his tea to his preference, three heaped teaspoons of sugar and just a dash of milk. Just as he's about to take a bit of bread pudding with vanilla whiskey sauce, bypassing the savoury sandwiches he realises the boy hasn't moved.
By the way Steven is ogling the food and unconsciously licking his lips Brendan can tell he wants to eat, but is holding himself back. Americans have strange rules of conduct, how people are supposed to behave, how people from different class are supposed to interact. He's sure they have the same absurd restrictions back in Ireland, but as a boy Brendan was never in the presence of anyone rich enough or important enough for his demeanour to be of any importance.
He knows even the poorest of people have their pride and are never to been seen as begging or to openly accept charity. At some point in his life Steven has most likely been told he is not to eat if there is someone of higher social stature in the room, to wait until that person is done and then to eat from their scraps and leftovers.
Brendan knows the boy must be hungry, has heard the very audible rumble of Steven's stomach. His detective's report describes how Steven, his lady, Amy and their two children are toeing the line of poverty. Brendan can still recall what that is like, even when there is food it is spread thin, is never enough - too many mouth. As a child he was always hungry, it was just a feeling he adjusted to over time, a constant dull ache in his stomach that he learned to ignore.
He's not having this boy sit and watch him eat when in all likeliness he has yet to eat a thing today himself. Especially not because of some senses of unworthiness society has labelled him with. So he tells Steven, if he doesn't want to further offend his host he better start eating the food he has be so kindly offered, to eat to his heart's content.
Satisfied with the three sandwich triangles Steven has consumed and the slice of pie he is currently making his way through Brendan restarts their previous conversation, the entire reason for their meeting.
"I requested you meet with me so we could discuss a job opportunity that has recently come up in my staff. A job that I would like to offer to you."