Chapter 2 – Employment
Tim McGee
Hours after meeting with the mysterious man, Tim found himself pacing his tiny apartment trying to work off his nervous energy while he waited. It was almost six and Tony still hadn't arrived. His boss wasn't here yet either. He tried to remain calm but he was worried. And in his empty apartment, his imagination was running wild.
He had a meeting with Jimmy Napolitano in a few hours. How could he remain calm with that hanging over his head?
Suddenly there was a knock on his door, which nearly caused him to jump out of his skin.
Chiding himself, he hurried to the door and found Gibbs standing outside.
"Boss," he said as he moved out of the way to let him enter. When he shut the door, he asked, "Tony?"
"Not coming," Gibbs replied, pulling his coat off to reveal dusty overalls. He must have come straight from work. Gibbs worked as a carpenter and handyman for Napolitano. "He's been called into work. Not sure if it's related to you. Who contacted you, Tim?"
"I didn't recognize him. He called himself Tobias Fornell. I don't think it was an alias," Tim replied. He thought he saw a flicker of recognition in Gibbs' eye at the mention of Fornell's name but when Gibbs didn't say anything, he figured it had been his imagination. "Older guy, maybe your age?" he guessed. Gibbs dropped his coat onto the back of the chair and turned around. Tim saw the look his Boss was giving him. "Well he was older than me. I didn't say he was old," he stammered slightly.
He watched as a ghost of a smile played across Gibbs' lips. He wasn't sure why that made him nervous. It certainly wasn't reassuring.
Deciding that he shouldn't wait for Gibbs to tell him to get on with it, he cleared his throat and said, "Five foot ten or five eleven. Grey hair, but mostly bald. Blue eyes. Way too observant for one of Napolitano's normal messengers. I'm thinking he's either a cop or a Fed."
"You think this might be a sting to get you?" Gibbs asked as he removed his well-worn flat cap and tossed it onto the table. Gibbs ran his hands through his hair as he sat down at the worn wooden table and looked around. He followed Gibbs' gaze, self-conscious of his shabby apartment. It was scrubbed clean but there was no hiding the wear and tear from less conscientious renters. "We know the Bureau has a file on Gemcity after Sugar Street was raided. They'd love to pick him up for questioning."
"I don't think it's a sting," he said shaking his head emphatically as he sat down across from Gibbs. "He didn't like what he was doing. I could hear it in his voice. I've thought about it and my guess is that he's probably being blackmailed into working for Napolitano."
Gibbs shrugged. "Not out of the question," Gibbs said. "He's got dirt on half of this town."
His brows furrowed as he thought back to the conversation. "The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced he didn't know what he was talking about. He never said that I was seeing Naps about the accountant's job. Heck, he never even said Napolitano's name. He was just a messenger."
He stopped as he realized that the man hadn't said Napolitano's name. Was he a messenger for Naps? Or was he a messenger for some other underworld businessman? There were a few out there. Naps might be the biggest fish in the pond but he wasn't the only one.
"What if he doesn't work for Napolitano?" he asked. "That would explain why we didn't recognize him."
"He works for Napolitano," Gibbs said confidently.
"How do you know?" Tim asked.
Gibbs motioned towards the window. "You've got company keeping an eye on your place."
"I thought I would," Tim replied. "They didn't see you?" Gibbs stared at him. "Of course, they didn't." He glanced towards the window even though the curtains were pulled shut. "You recognized the guys watching my place."
Gibbs nodded. "Sal Balducci is all muscle and no brains," Gibbs replied. "And easy to spot from a block away. I've seen the other guy around but I don't know his name. He must be the brains of the outfit. You think this Fornell was cop? Could he have been from the Prohibition Unit or the Bureau of Investigation?" Gibbs asked.
"Maybe," Tim said shaking his head. He wasn't sure. And not knowing could be disastrous. He could get made or worse: he could get dead. Either way their mission failed. "He definitely wasn't one of Napolitano's normal messengers. I don't know. There was just something off about him but I can't put my finger on it."
Gibbs nodded. "I'll pass it along. See what we can find."
"It won't be easy," he said. "If we start asking about him, then it might make Napolitano suspicious." Gibbs stared at him. He wavered under his boss' intense gaze. "But you know that," he said stammering slightly. "Right, well he knew me as Thom Gemcity," Tim said. "Not Timothy McGee." He frowned as he searched his gut instincts. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like a sting, Boss, but there's something weird about Fornell." Suddenly it hit him. "Well if it is a sting, he'll only get Mr. Gemcity."
"Well that's why you're running an undercover profile while undercover," Gibbs replied. "And that's not something easy to do, Tim. Tony and I only have two stories to keep straight. You've got three." He blinked in surprise at the praise. Gibbs offered his praise so sparingly that it took him off guard. "But it's been worth it. If he was with the Bureau of Investigation and tonight is a sting, then it means our plan is working and we're keeping Tim McGee out of any more trouble than you're already in. If it is a sting, maintain your cover as Gemcity and we'll deal with the outcome as best we can."
Tim nodded then frowned. Taking on this mission had meant some personal sacrifices on his part. So far it didn't seem to be worth it but he wasn't about to abandon his partners in the middle of an operation. He just had to pray that in the end that he could redeem himself in his family's eyes.
"You be careful tonight, McGee. If it gets hairy, get yourself out of there."
"And ruin eight months of undercover work? I don't think so, Boss," he replied emphatically. He was not about to jump ship at the first sign of trouble tonight. They had worked too hard for this opportunity and he wasn't a coward.
"I'd rather waste eight months of time than have you end up like Spooner," Gibbs replied. Tim frowned. He didn't want that either, but he wasn't going give up so easily. "You got anything to eat?" Gibbs asked as he looked around the tiny apartment. He eyed the icebox.
"Uh yeah," he replied after a moment's pause. "Some roast chicken and potatoes my sister made yesterday," he replied. "Help yourself."
Gibbs walked over to the icebox and opened the door. "She gave you all this?"
Tim shrugged as Gibbs pulled out most of a whole roast chicken and a bowl of potatoes.
"Sarah thinks I'm unemployed," he said with a frown. He hated lying to his sister but it couldn't be helped. "She can't understand why the Navy canned me or why I can't get a job with the Bureau of Investigation," he replied. "I never told her that I was 'fired' for getting involved with the bootlegging trade. My parents haven't told her either."
Gibbs nodded as he turned on the oven to heat the food.
Instead of taking on a new identity, he had gone undercover as himself. Except that Timothy McGee had been fired from ONI for suspected involvement in bootlegging or more accurately, laundering money on the side for bootleggers. He was the good egg gone bad even though they didn't have enough proof to take him to trial. It was still enough for him to be fired.
Unfortunately, that meant that the world thought that Tim McGee was a suspected criminal and that included his family. They didn't know that he was under cover. They didn't know that he was trying to stop the bootleggers. They didn't know that he was still on the side of the law.
His father, a Navy Admiral stationed in California, had been furious. He had gone so far as to disown him. It was bad enough that he had a son that refused the family duty to serve in the Navy. He wouldn't have a criminal for a son.
His mother had been crushed and had apparently cried for a week according to a friend of the family who had tried to convince him to come back to California to get his life straightened out.
He had refused, of course. He knew that he still had a job to do but it had been incredibly hard on him. Knowing how disappointed his mother was in him had been a body blow and his already tenuous relationship with his father had been shattered. And until this case was over, he couldn't attempt to repair the damage. He just hoped that he could tell his family the truth before the damage was permanent.
The great irony was that the Bureau of Investigation had asked Office of Naval Intelligence to go undercover. Prohibition had led to rampant corruption among police and even within the Bureau of Investigation. The Bureau knew they had one or more corrupt agents in their organization helping Napolitano avoid prosecution. Every time they put someone undercover, their man turned up dead within days.
The BOIs knew they had to go outside of their organization if they wanted to get Napolitano. They needed an organization that Naps wouldn't suspect. They needed people who weren't known in Washington and an organization that wouldn't leak. That had led the Bureau to ONI.
"And she was happy," Tim continued as he joined Gibbs in the kitchen. "She sold a short story to the paper." Gibbs looked at him questioningly. Suddenly he remembered that he had told Gibbs about Sarah's troubles with being accepted as a writer because she was a woman. "Under the name Sandy Banks," he added with a frown. He hated that his sister had to use a penname just to get her stories published. She was just as good a writer as any man. And he hated that the 'readers' wouldn't accept something written by a woman. It was a lousy excuse to discriminate against her and he would bet that if he had submitted Sarah's story, he'd have been paid twice as much. "And they've expressed interest in a couple more of her stories. If they keep buying her stuff, she thinks she'll be able to quit her night job and focus solely on school."
"Good for her," Gibbs replied as he grabbed a couple of plates. Gibbs divided up the leftovers and put them in the oven. He wasn't really hungry but he didn't stop Gibbs from fixing a plate for him. He didn't feel like arguing with his boss.
They stood in silence while they waited for the food to reheat. After a while he worked up the nerve to bring up the topic he most wanted to discuss. Taking a deep breath, he said, "You didn't ask if I was ready for this."
"I don't have to," Gibbs replied as he looked him straight in the eye.
He knew Gibbs meant it but he wasn't so certain. "Boss…I've never been undercover before…"
"You forgetting these last eight months McGee?" Gibbs asked sternly.
"No," he said stammering slightly. "But working for Willie Taylor isn't the same as working for James Napolitano! This is big boss. Everything we've worked for comes down to me. If I don't get the job, then eight months of work is lost. Even if I do get the job, I could get made and then we've lost eight months of work and I'm dead!"
He blinked in shock as he felt a sharp smack to the back of his head. He hadn't seen Gibbs move but he knew Gibbs had just hit him. And it had the desired effect. It stopped his rambling and got his attention.
"You're a good agent, Tim. You've proved that by getting to this point. Tony couldn't have gotten this meeting with Napolitano. God knows, I couldn't have done it either."
He opened his mouth to object. Gibbs and Tony were natural undercover agents. He was awkward at best and prior to this case, his one and only time undercover had been only half successful.
Gibbs cut him off before he could say a word. "Tony is a great undercover agent. He can talk his way out of the worst situations. But both he and I don't have the book smarts you have. You can work numbers and figures better than any man I know. That's what this job needs and that's why I'm not worried that you can do this job. Doesn't mean…"
"That I should be prepared for anything. I know," he said drolly. Gibbs had hammered those lessons into him since he had joined his team. "I just wish I didn't have to leave my gun behind." He glanced at his pistol that lay on the counter and a small revolver that was next to it. His main and his back up. "If something goes wrong, I'll be at a disadvantage with only a knife."
"It's only a disadvantage if they know about it," Gibbs replied as he pulled his plate out of the oven and tested the temperature of the food. When he found it to be warm enough, he grabbed a towel and transferred the plates to a small table in the living area. "You got something to drink?"
"Yeah," he replied as he grabbed some utensils then opened the ice chest and reached to the back. He pushed aside the nearly empty bottle of milk and grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and uncapped them before joining Gibbs at the small table.
"Beer?" Gibbs asked surprised.
"Tony left them the last time he was here. Figured I could use a drink before I leave and I don't have anything stronger," he replied as he sat down. "I don't drink bourbon." Gibbs smiled slightly. "Not that I could afford a bottle of liquor right now even if I did. My finances are getting a little thin."
"I thought you'd saved most of your salary while we were overseas," Gibbs said as he started to eat.
"We haven't been overseas for a year, boss," he objected as he pushed a couple potatoes around on his plate. "And besides, most of that went to Sarah's schooling. I saved as much as I could since I knew that I was going to be fired from ONI but it's been eight months since I last had a reliable and decent paycheck. Taking this place helped stretch things but…"
"You worked for Taylor since the Navy fired you," Gibbs said cutting him off.
He snorted. "Taylor wasn't exactly the shining example of a businessman. It was rare that I got paid on time or in full. Hell, some weeks, I was just happy to get paid at all and that was after I sorted out his books and improved his cash flow. If he hadn't hired me, he would have had to close up shop months ago."
He frowned as he realized that if Taylor had gone out of business, he'd probably still be alive. In a way, it was his fault that the man had been killed…
"How come I'm just hearing this now?" Gibbs asked, pulling him out of his dark thoughts.
He shrugged. "I figured it wouldn't do any good to complain. I had to make do, didn't I?"
"We could help you out McGee," Gibbs replied. "Naps pays well enough. Tony and I could have spared some money to keep you afloat."
He shook his head. "Thanks. But I'm getting by. As long as I'm frugal, I have enough for a couple of months, yet." Gibbs nodded. "And I'm definitely better off than some others right now. Unlike Taylor, I'm still alive."
Gibbs shrugged. "I wouldn't have guessed Taylor's finances were that bad. Speakeasy's make money hand over fist."
"Yeah well, Taylor was a small fish in a big pond. He was getting squeezed by businessmen with dubious business practices," he said. Gibbs looked at him questioningly. "Napolitano was probably squeezing him but I didn't dig too much into it. I didn't want to make myself a target."
"Probably a good idea," Gibbs replied.
"Even without Naps squeezing Sugar Street, bootlegged liquor, especially decent liquor, is expensive for an independent club. And no one can do anything about it because everyone is forced to work in the shadows just so people can have a drink."
"Prohibition," Gibbs said as he lifted his bottle of beer to his lips. Clearly a beer would do just fine in place of Bourbon. "The most ridiculous law ever made."
"The law that spawned this mess," Tim muttered as he took a swig. The quality wasn't great but it had the same effect. "All those idiots should have seen something like this coming. Temperance is one thing and a good thing because I've seen what alcohol can do to a man and his family."
He paused for a moment while memories bubbled to the surface. A childhood friend, Dicky Newsome, had a father who drank too much. Dicky had told him all about how his father would come home drunk as a skunk and fight with his mother. Apparently, Dicky's father was a mean drunk. His friend was always complaining about the rotten things his father said to his mother, his brother and himself.
While his father didn't drink, he empathized with his friend. His father was a demanding taskmaster, always pushing him to do better even when his best was leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates. And his father dismissed even his best work, saying that he could always do better. It had been hard to grow up with a man that was never pleased with anything he had done. But at least his father's demanding and abrasive personality had led to getting into MIT at a young age. He might not have had the most loving father, but he at least knew that his father wanted the best for his son.
Dicky's father only redeeming quality was that he never raised his hand and he managed to keep his drinking to times when he wasn't on duty so could still provide for his family. It was small comfort though because his father's drinking made Dicky's family life hard and unhappy and no child deserved that.
He sighed. "But completely banning alcohol spawned people like Jimmy Naps and all the crime that comes with him. There are still plenty of drunks out there, so I'm pretty sure it didn't fix the problem either."
"Probably not," Gibbs replied contemplatively. "But no one can be right all the time. So, don't be too hard on them, Tim. They're politicians. And most of them are lawyers."
Tim chuckled as he began to eat. At the first bite, he realized how hungry he actually was and he ate ravenously. He had let his worry steal his appetite but now that Gibbs was there, he felt better. The rest of the meal passed in silence. Gibbs was a man of few words to begin with and both of them were preoccupied by their food.
When they finished, Tim gathered their plates and transferred them to the sink.
"Sarah's a good cook," Gibbs said.
"She learned from my dad," he replied. When Gibbs looked at him, he explained. "My grandmother passed when my dad and his brothers were young. As the oldest, he learned to cook their meals. He would cook for us on weekends and Sarah would help."
"You didn't learn from him?"
"I learned enough to get by," he replied wryly. He knew now that was one of the sources of tension between him and his father. His father thought that he hadn't placed any value on the lessons he had tried to instill in his son. But that wasn't true. He knew his path would be different than his father's, that he wouldn't be joining the Navy, and he knew he would need different skills to accomplish his goals. "Speaking of, I wouldn't mind any advice you might have for me."
Gibbs looked at him and after a moment he replied, "Relax." Blinking, he realized that his shoulders were tensed up. Taking a breath, he allowed his shoulders to sag before he straightened his posture until he was sitting erect, just as his father had drilled into him. Gibbs smiled slightly at his old habits. "You're undercover as yourself, McGee. Don't try to be something you aren't."
Tim nodded but he wasn't convinced.
"I'm worried," he confessed in a rush. "I know you're going to say I shouldn't but I'm not a natural undercover agent like Tony and I can't lie. And this is Jimmy Napolitano. He's smart and he doesn't suffer fools or liars. I mean, look at what happened to Terry Spooner."
"Yeah, that's a concern. But you could also get hit by a car crossing the street," Gibbs replied.
He blinked in surprise. "Good point," he said. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a watch. It was almost eight o'clock. "I need to get going," he said as he hurried to collect his coat and hat.
"I'll wait here," Gibbs replied.
Tim nodded as he pulled open his door.
"McGee," Gibbs called.
Turning around, Tim saw him hold up a pair of round spectacles. "Thanks," he said as he pulled them on. "I'm glad these things aren't real but it makes me look the part." Gibbs nodded. "You know that I'm going to have to shut the lights off, Boss?"
Gibbs took a seat at the table and kicked up his feet onto the nearest chair. He leaned back, nodded and closed his eyes. "Break a leg, McGee."
"Thanks," Tim replied dryly as he shut off the light and closed the door, locking it behind him. He pulled on his hat and adjusted his glasses before he made his way out of the apartment building.
He had barely stepped outside when he heard someone call his name. He turned towards the voice and noticed Jimmy Napolitano's driver and personal body guard Sal Balducci flanked by someone he didn't recognize. Tim had seen Sal with Jimmy Napolitano a few times from a distance and he was a distinctive man with his large size and permanent scowl.
"Thom Gemcity," the unknown man said in a thick British accent. He was tall, well-built and had sandy-blond hair.
"Yes," he replied. "And you are?"
"Ian Hitch," he replied. The name was unfamiliar but he wasn't surprised. Napolitano had a large payroll. Tim couldn't pretend to think that he, Gibbs and Tony knew everyone. "Mr. Napolitano sent me to escort you to your meeting."
Tim nodded and followed the men to their car, which was parked a short distance away. Ian opened the back door and allowed him to enter the car first. After he slid across the seat, Ian joined him while Sal took the wheel.
Perhaps Mr. Hitch was more muscle. He could feel Ian's piece poking him in the side. He shifted closer to the door as Sal pulled the car onto the roadway.
Even though he wasn't being poked by Hitch's gun, he was still very conscious of the fact that he was in a very small enclosed space with two well-armed men. And he was also very aware that he only had a small knife. It took everything he had to keep his expression neutral and his posture relaxed.
They drove through the city streets and stopped at a posh apartment building near the center of the city. Ian motioned for Tim to enter the building and then led him to an elevator which took them to the fifth floor. They walked down the hallway to the corner apartment and opened the door. Tim stepped into the entrance hall and removed his coat and hat, which were taken by a maid.
As she left, Ian looked at Tim expectantly.
"What? You brought me here," he said. "You tell me what's next."
Ian smiled. "Before we take you to see Mr. Napolitano, there's one matter to address," he said.
"What's that?" Tim asked cautiously.
"Hold out your arms," Sal said.
"We need to make sure you aren't packing," Hitch replied as Sal began to roughly frisk him. "Mr. Napolitano doesn't trust anyone."
When Sal pronounced Tim clean, having missed his knife, Tim glared at Sal as he readjusted his clothes. "You could have taken it a little easier on the suit. It's my best one." Sal didn't look amused but the corner of Hitch's mouth was slightly upturned. He would bet that his best suit wasn't half as nice as Ian's worst one.
"This way," Hitch said as he led Tim through a plush living room towards a closed door. Hitch knocked and after a moment, he opened the door. "Mr. Napolitano, Mr. Gemcity is here."
"Good. Good. Come on in, Gemcity," Napolitano called. Tim entered an opulent office and looked around. The floor was covered with plush carpeting that made it feel like he was walking on air. Bookshelves to his right were filled from floor to ceiling and a large mahogany desk stood to his left. In front of him was a small seating area with a couple of sofas on either side of a small coffee table. A lit fireplace was on the far wall.
Napolitano was seated at the desk which meant that he would be forced to stand which wasn't surprising. It was a power play and for the moment, he would deal with it.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Gemcity. I've heard a lot about you," he said as Tim stopped in front of the desk.
He looked at James Napolitano. He was a portly man and mostly bald. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit that made Tim feel shabby in his own modest suit. He unconsciously smoothed the coarse fabric as he admired the fine wool Jimmy's suit was made from. Being a mob boss definitely had its perks.
Like Terry Spooner, he knew Napolitano to see but that was as far as it went. Working for Willie Taylor meant that he was only to patronize Willie's club. But since he had become unemployed, he had ventured into the Tin Angel a few times to catch a show since they booked some of the best jazz bands in town. He had seen Jimmy there a few times but this was the first time they had spoken to one another.
"A pleasure, Mr. Napolitano. And I can honestly say I have heard a lot about you as well," he replied.
Jimmy chuckled good-naturedly and replied, "Of course. I won't pretend that you are a stupid man, Mr. Gemcity, so I won't explain why you are here. You know why you are here."
"I do," he replied as he stuck his clasped hands behind his back. Falling into parade rest was habit he had formed as a child of a naval officer. Whenever his father would lecture him, this was how he was to stand. Now it allowed him to hide the fact that his hands were shaking slightly. It was taking nearly everything he had to keep his expression neutral and his voice even.
"I did some checking and everyone tells me that you are the best there is, Mr. Gemcity," Napolitano said as he stood and walked over to a small liquor cabinet. He turned and followed Jimmy's path with his eyes. "Would you like a drink, Thom?" he asked as he poured a glass of some sort of liquor.
"I don't mix liquor with business, Mr. Napolitano," he said firmly. It was a good rule to have for any occasion but it was especially relevant while dealing with mob bosses.
Napolitano nodded. "Do me a favor would ya? Stand at ease. I ain't inspecting the troops, Gemcity." He jolted and relaxed his posture even further. "Or do you prefer to go by, Timothy, Mr. McGee?"
Unsurprised that Napolitano knew his real name, Tim replied, "You can call me Tim. Thom is my business name."
Jimmy turned around and looked at him. "Business name?"
"A wise person once told me that anonymity deflects more bullets than body armor," Tim replied as casually as he could manage. "By using Thom E. Gemcity for my business endeavors, I hope to keep Timothy McGee out of the Feds' sights while I'm walking down the street."
"That's clever," Napolitano replied as he examined Tim. "Clearly since you are standing here rather than in the joint, it's worked for you."
"Partially," Tim replied.
Jimmy examined him. "You worked for the Navy."
Tim nodded. "Port Security," he said. "I was let go," he added unnecessarily.
"Why is that?" Jimmy asked.
Tim frowned. He knew perfectly well that Jimmy knew why he had been let go. He wouldn't have been brought in for this interview if he hadn't been fully vetted by Jimmy's people. But he decided to answer anyway. "My sister is attending Waverly University. She was having trouble paying her tuition. I couldn't afford to give her money on my salary so I took a second job to help her out. My boss caught wind of my nighttime activities when the club I worked for was raided."
Jimmy took a sip of his drink and motioned towards the sitting area. Tim walked over to the sofa and took a seat as Jimmy sat. They were facing each other with the small table between them. "Well somehow you managed to avoid the big house."
Tim smiled wryly as he adjusted his glasses. "Because of Mr. Gemcity. He ran the club's books, not Timothy McGee. So, when the club was raided, they couldn't prove that I had actually done anything illegal other than visit a club that sold liquor."
"Clever," Napolitano said. "Is that why you wear those spectacles too? I doubt you need them."
Smiling slightly, he removed the glasses and tucked them into his coat pocket.
"Part of Mr. Gemcity's persona," he admitted. "Helps me play the part and for some reason, people think that wearing glasses makes you look smarter." Napolitano chuckled. "Most people don't realize I don't need them."
"You weren't arrested when Sugar Street was raided?" Napolitano asked.
He shook his head. "I hadn't been drinking that night," he replied. "Since the cops had other fish to fry, they let me go. But the club was popular with sailors and a navy liaison was called in when the police found sailors among the patrons."
"You were recognized and reported," Napolitano inferred.
He nodded. "It didn't matter that they didn't find me with a drink in hand," he said. "It was enough that the Navy didn't want to keep me around. If I was willing to patronize an illegal club, they worried I might be corruptible and the Navy doesn't want a corruptible man securing our ports."
"Very unfortunate," Jimmy said without a hint of sympathy.
"What is unfortunate," he said sourly, "Is that without my ONI salary, I couldn't afford to help my sister with her tuition and that meant she had to take on a night job to pay for school. I'm not doing my job." Jimmy looked at him questioningly.
He knew he shouldn't allow himself to be so emotional because it opened him up to the risk of letting something slip. But in this case, he was genuinely upset that this mission had impacted Sarah as much as it had. She had it hard enough since their father refused to pay for her to attend college. He wasn't in the business of financing a 'husband hunting expedition' as their father put it. If Sarah wanted to go to school, she had to pay for it herself. Sarah had been upset but she was still determined to attend Waverly and as her big brother, he was going to do everything to help her get her degree.
"I'm her big brother and our parents are on the other side of the country. It is my job to look after her. If I'm not working, I can't do that," Tim finished.
Jimmy nodded. "Family is important, Timothy, and I understand why you're upset about your sister's financial situation. But I know that you have been working."
Tim nodded. "It wasn't much. Willie Taylor didn't have a big business and it took a while to straighten out his finances. When I was still working for the Navy, it was enough to help my sister, but it wasn't enough to live on. Especially since his profits were down since had been raided and couldn't serve liquor. Luckily, he had connections in the music world and he got some of the best bands to play his club or else he would have gone under months ago. Still, he couldn't pay much and I just got by. I was lucky that I saved up a bit or I'd be on the street."
"Your sister doesn't know you were fired?"
Tim shook his head. "She knows that I was fired but she doesn't know why the navy let me go. She also doesn't know that I've taken on the less than legal work."
"You don't want her to be disappointed with you," Jimmy said as he sipped his drink again. Tim shook his head. "You don't want her to see you as a criminal."
He shook his head again, unhappy that he was forced to share his personal life with Napolitano. As far as he was concerned, he had shared far too much information with a known mobster. Logically he knew that Napolitano knew all of this before he was asked to interview for the job, but he still didn't like it.
"Again, this is for her protection," he said. "And it has worked just as my business name has protected my employers," he replied bringing them back onto topic.
"That is true," Jimmy replied as he took a sip of his drink. "It's a shame what happened to your last employer. What did you say his name was? Willie Taylor?" Tim nodded. "Shame what happened to him." Napolitano looked at him in such a way that he knew it had been Napolitano who had ordered Willie killed. "But it was a good opportunity for his brother and good for me because that freed you up employment-wise. And right now, I have a good opportunity for you."
Tim paused for a heartbeat. Like he had told Gibbs, he had suspected that Napolitano had been squeezing Sugar Street in an attempt to put the club out of business. Willie had been killed last month in what had been billed by the police as a street robbery gone wrong. But everyone in the business knew that was a lie.
Willie's brother now ran the club and he hadn't kept him on as the club's accountant. Napolitano had wanted Willie's club, Sugar Street and Willie hadn't wanted to sell. So, Jimmy had Willie bumped off and took Sugar Street. That would explain how they could serve booze again. With Napolitano's weight behind the club, they could pay the local authorities to look the other way.
Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Napolitano must have suspected for a while that Spooner had been stealing from him. Had Napolitano knocked off Willie Taylor not just for his club but for his accountant too? Had Napolitano wanted him as his new accountant since he had learned that Spooner was stealing?
The thought that Naps had been eyeing him for so long was chilling and it would explain why he couldn't get another job. James Napolitano had wanted him and had made sure no one else had hired him before he had disposed of Spooner. He wondered if he had done anything to make Naps suspect that he was undercover. Then he wondered if he was going to have a choice in this employment matter.
"Before we get too far along here," he said carefully. "I would like to ask you a question."
"What's that?" Napolitano asked.
"Am I going to be given the opportunity to turn down this job?" he asked partially afraid of the answer. He wanted to work for Jimmy because that's what his mission was. But he wanted to make sure it was on his terms.
Jimmy laughed heartily allowing him to relax slightly. "Tim, my boy, of course you're going to be given the opportunity to turn this down," he said. "This is a sensitive position and I don't want an unwilling man taking care of my finances. You might be tempted to do something stupid."
"Like Terry Spooner," Tim supplied. It had been the elephant in the room that both had been trying to ignore. But he couldn't avoid the topic. It had to be addressed before they went too far.
Napolitano's smile disappeared abruptly. "That was a very unfortunate incident. And I'd rather leave that in the past. But I understand why you don't."
He nodded. "He stole from you?" Tim asked. "Or attempted to steal from you?"
"He did steal from me," Napolitano replied.
"You discovered it." Napolitano nodded. "You recovered your money."
"Every last cent," Napolitano replied firmly. "My dear father, rest his soul, used to say: Quando la sua vita rivolge intorno a rubare i dieci centesimi delle altre persone, non è sorpreso se accende un dieci centesimi di tanto in tanto." He shook his head. He didn't speak any Italian. "When your life revolves around stealing other people's dimes, don't be surprised if it turns on a dime every now and then. Terry's life turned on a dime."
Tim wondered why Napolitano would answer his questions. But then again, he hadn't admitted to doing anything or ordering anything done to Spooner so even if Tim didn't take the job, he couldn't pin Spooner's demise on Napolitano. Nor could he prove that the money stolen had been from an illegal source.
So that meant that Jimmy was telling him this so he knew that Spooner hadn't been killed on a whim. He looked at Napolitano. He noticed slight facial tics in Jimmy's expression which told him that he hadn't been happy with what had happened with Terry. But it wasn't just from a business perspective.
"You liked Terry," he replied, realizing what the tics meant.
Napolitano's smile returned, slightly. "You are an observant man, Mr. McGee. I did. He was a friend, which is why it was such an unfortunate incident. I'm sorry for what happened but Terry got greedy and he tried to steal from me. No man steals from Jimmy Napolitano and gets away with it. I tell you this so you know that you know that I don't dump business associates at the drop of a hat. You show me loyalty and I'll return the favor."
Tim was suddenly reminded of Gibbs.
"I've learned over the years that money can buy you nearly everything but when you get in a pinch, money won't buy true loyalty," Napolitano said. "And that's what you need when you are backed into a corner, a loyal friend at your side. Terry turned on me, which was far worse than losing a bit of money."
Despite what Napolitano was and what he did, Tim could respect the man for his views. He knew what it was like to have a loyal partner who had your back. And he knew what it was like to have his partner's back. He, Gibbs and Tony were always going to be there for each other.
Tim nodded. "That is something I can truly respect, Mr. Napolitano. Too often loyalty is undervalued."
"It is," Jimmy replied after taking a sip from his glass. "Having said that. Once you agree to take the job, there's no backing out. I can't afford to have someone knowing the inner workings of my business loose on the street."
"I understand," Tim replied. "Then let's talk compensation."
Jimmy smiled broadly. "Good!"
"I haven't agreed to take the job just yet," he said quickly. "This job has inherent risks. The Feds. Your competitors. Don't think I don't realize that you could have gone through me to get Sugar Street."
"That's a valid point," Jimmy said, obviously impressed. "Which is why you'll have a personal body guard."
"Personal body guard?" Tim looked at Napolitano incredulously even as he grew worried. If he had a body guard on him day and night that would make communicating with his partners a hell of a lot harder. "Is he guarding me or your money?"
Jimmy laughed. "I like your sense of humor! He's guarding you. You think some stupido I hire for muscle and because he can shoot a gun is going to understand the books enough to know whether you're stealing from me?"
"Forgive me, but I don't exactly trust you just yet, Mr. Napolitano. Trust must be earned," he replied firmly. "And it is a bit alarming to find out that a complete stranger is going to be following me every waking moment."
"I can understand that especially if you're like me and value your privacy. But you need to remember that trust is a two-way street, my boy," Jimmy said as he stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet. He refilled his glass and returned to the sitting area although he didn't sit. "You remember that if you take this job."
Tim nodded.
Jimmy set his drink on the table and walked over to the fireplace. He put another log on the fire and stirred the fire with the long metal poker.
"During Mr. Spooner's tenure, there were eight attempts to kidnap him or turn him on me. Nine men paid with their lives and the rest have learned to keep their distance," Napolitano said as he replaced the poker onto its hook. "This is something you've never encountered working for the small-time club owners, Mr. McGee."
"No," he replied. It wasn't surprising that Napolitano's moneyman would be a target but it was alarming. It was going to be a big enough risk trying to take Jimmy down. And now if he took the job he'd have to worry about outsiders trying to take him out. He didn't like the prospects of viewing everyone he met as a potential threat to his person. "Not something I encountered at all."
"For that same reason, I have a secure apartment for you and your new shadow," Jimmy said as he sat down and picked up his glass. "I understand that this will be a considerable step up from the hole you live in now."
Tim couldn't stop himself from laughing. He was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. It had become far too common in his voice as of late.
"Anything short of a box on the sidewalk is better than the place I live now," he replied. He didn't need a luxury home but since he had been fired by the Navy, he had been forced to take a shabby one-bedroom apartment in a bad neighborhood. He sobered. "But I don't want to feel like a prisoner either. My body guard will live with me?" He really didn't like the sound of that. It would be bad enough to be forced to room with a stranger but again, it would make his real job much harder. "I haven't had a roommate since my first year at college and I didn't particularly like it then either."
"It is a necessary evil that must be dealt with," Napolitano said firmly. "You'll be free to come and go as you like, Mr. McGee. I have better things to do than keep tabs on your whereabouts. Now you give me reason to be concerned about your actions and then we have a different story," Jimmy replied, his tone becoming slightly annoyed.
Tim paused a minute. He was being too suspicious and without good cause. Napolitano hadn't given him any reason to make him suspicious. Jimmy was known to be a tough negotiator and a shrewd businessman. And of course, he dealt ruthlessly with his enemies. But he had an affable personality in social situations, or so he had heard.
"I'm sorry Mr. Napolitano, for my suspicions. You have not given me a reason for my behavior," he replied. "Prudence is a virtue but I allowed myself to take it too far."
"It was beginning to grate," Napolitano replied as he sipped his drink. "But men like us get to where we are by trusting only a few. If we trusted everyone, then we'd be in a ditch somewhere."
The tension eased as Tim nodded. "You had an apartment for Terry as well?"
Napolitano nodded. "It isn't the same one, if that's what you're thinking."
"I was," he replied. "I don't like the idea of sleeping in a dead man's bed."
"I don't blame you one bit," Napolitano agreed.
"Perhaps we should return to business?" he asked. Napolitano nodded. "A full-time bodyguard and an apartment. Shall we talk about the rest of the particulars?"
Napolitano sat down. Over the next hour, they hammered out details about his work schedule, where he would work and other small technicalities, such as only frequenting Napolitano's establishments.
Napolitano was a good negotiator and Tim found the challenge enjoyable. If he was reading Napolitano correctly, he too was enjoying the challenge.
"We've been avoiding the subject for almost an hour," he said as they looked at each other expectantly.
"We have," Tim replied knowing what Jimmy meant. "Money."
He might be a lousy liar but he could haggle with the best of them and at times, better than the best of them. Gibbs had the gravitas that seemed to work magic with merchants and Tony had his 'tough-bluff' style that worked well for him. He often left the negotiating up to Gibbs or Tony but he could hold his own when needed.
Unlike the others, he based his negotiations on the going price of goods and services. He researched and when he had enough information, he would use that knowledge to get the best price. It had served him well when they had been stranded in Tunis for three days with limited funds. While Gibbs and Tony had gone looking for work to earn enough cash to continue their journey, he had bargained with their remaining funds for food. In addition to their first hot meal in a week, he had stretched their funds enough to purchase rations to keep them until they were able to buy passage on a steamer three days later.
Napolitano really wasn't any different from the Tunisian merchants. The difference was that he had the service that Napolitano desired. And all the evidence he had showed that Napolitano was actively recruiting him and that put him in a position of power. Hedging his bets, he decided to start high. "Five hundred a week."
Napolitano leaned back and laughed. "You shoot high, my boy. You're asking for the moon."
"But we have a starting point," he countered.
"That we do," Napolitano replied. "Five hundred a month."
"One twenty-five a week is a bargain for what you are asking for, Mr. Napolitano," he said quickly. "Your organization encompasses dozens of clubs and hundreds associates in multiple fields of work. Legitimacy issues aside, that's quite a lot to keep tabs on. Then you're adding physical risks to my person and creative accounting into the mix? Only a fool would work for so little."
"Creative accounting?" Napolitano asked, amused. "Never heard it put quite like that."
"If you hope to avoid Capone's fate, you'll need to make sure your accounts are all above board," he said. Napolitano frowned. Capone's conviction on numerous charges of tax evasion and his subsequent sentence to eleven years in prison with hefty fines had rattled those in the business. It put extra pressure on those in the accounting business and meant that good accountants were worth their weight in gold. And he was very good. "Four hundred a week," he countered.
"One seventy-five," Napolitano countered.
He resisted the urge to laugh. One-seventy-five was no better than one-fifty. "Don't insult me, Mr. Napolitano," he said before he thought better of it. He noticed a slight smile tug at the corner of Jimmy's mouth. "You and I both know that my services are worth far more than that." Jimmy nodded and motioned for him to counteroffer. "I won't work for less than three-fifty a week," Tim replied firmly.
Jimmy examined him intently for a moment. He felt like the other man was sizing up his resolve.
"Two-fifty," Napolitano countered.
He considered the offer but based on Napolitano's subtle body language he had a feeling that he could go higher. He decided on one last push even though he would settle for Napolitano's last offer. He shook his head. "Three hundred," Tim replied.
"Done!" Jimmy replied holding out his hand. A little surprised but extremely pleased, Tim shook Jimmy's hand firmly. They both smiled broadly, clearly pleased by their negotiations. Three hundred a week was a king's ransom but evidently Napolitano thought he was worth it. "You're a good negotiator, Mr. McGee. I might need to employ your skills in my business endeavors."
"We'll see," he said to Naps' delight. It wasn't a 'no'. "I'll endeavor to prove my worth." Napolitano nodded approvingly. "If you're still offering," Tim said. "I'll take you up on that drink, Mr. Napolitano."
"Business is over, eh?" he asked good-naturedly as he stood. He poured Tim a drink and refilled his own glass. "To a profitable partnership."
Tim nodded and clinked his glass against Napolitano's.
After they had sipped their drinks, which turned out to be an excellent scotch, Napolitano said, "Now that we are business partners, you can call me Jimmy. I'll have my people draw up a contract to make our terms official. I'll have them dropped off at your place in the morning and once you sign the dotted line, we'll get you into your new apartment."
"Sounds good to me," Tim replied as the liquor warmed his sore throat. After talking for more than an hour, he was happy to have something to drink although he knew he needed to be cautious. He didn't want to get corked.
"It isn't official yet, not until you sign the contract anyway, but," Jimmy said. "I would like to introduce you to your new best friend. You might want to put those glasses back on."
Startled, Tim looked at Jimmy. He was going to meet his new body guard? Already? Jimmy must have been confident that he would take the job. And that meant that his new shadow was going with him back to his old apartment where Gibbs was waiting for him…
"Ricky!" he called. "Show him in."
He hastily set his drink onto the table and put his glasses on. Tim turned around just as the door opened. For a moment, he could only see Ricky, Napolitano's son, but then Ricky disappeared and he was replaced by a tall man in a dark suit.
"Tim, meet Anthony DiNozzo," Jimmy said.
Thankfully Ricky hadn't stayed in the room and Napolitano was behind him. That meant that Tony was the only witness to his expressions of shock followed by cool relief. He quickly recovered and held his hand out. Tony shook it firmly without indicating that he knew Tim whatsoever. Then again, Tony had known he was walking into a meeting with his partner. "Timothy McGee," he said.
"Anthony DiNozzo. You didn't say he was Irish, Mr. Napolitano," Tony said looking at Tim critically.
"I'm not Irish," Tim replied darkly. Tony was speaking in a thick Italian accent and he looked at Tim with disdain. It was a safe bet that this was part of his persona but it was annoying none-the-less. It wasn't the first time he had been given him a hard time because of his surname and Tony knew it was a sore point with him. "I'm an American born and raised."
"Then what's with the McSurname?" Tony asked.
"It's Irish whether you like it or not," Tim retorted with a hint of annoyance. Leave it to Tony to come up with another nickname starting with 'Mc' even when under cover. Ever since Tim had transferred to Gibbs' team, Tony had made up weird nicknames for him using his surname.
"Whatever," Tony replied, rolling his eyes.
"DiNozzo," Napolitano said sharply. "You need to play nice. From now on, you don't leave his side. Anything happens to him, you better be dead." Tim smirked at Tony. Napolitano sounded a lot like Gibbs for an instant.
"Got it, Mr. Napolitano," Tony replied. "Ricky explained it to me and you don't have anything to worry about. You won't find a better shot than me. If someone comes after your associate, he won't live to tell the tale."
"If he gives you any trouble, you tell me, and we'll find you someone else, Tim," Jimmy said.
"I'm sure once we get to know each other, we'll be fine," he replied. "But I will let you know if I find Mr. DiNozzo's services to be unsatisfactory."
"Good," Jimmy said. "The wheels on this thing are going to start turning fast. You start Monday, Tim."
Tim nodded and shook Napolitano's outstretched hand once more. "I look forward to it," he replied.
"Excellent!" Jimmy said as he drained the rest of his drink. "I think this calls for a small celebration. You'll be my guest at the Tin Angel tonight."
Author's Note: Whew, that was a long one! Not as many new characters in this chapter but lots of background on Tim and most importantly, he's officially employed by a mobster!
Just to put the money part into perspective, $300 a week would be ten times the average wage earned in 1932 and well above the average salary of an accountant. The average weekly salary for an accountant in 1932 was around $50 which is equivalent to about $900 today. Tim's salary of $300 a week would be equivalent of $5,400 per week today. He definitely went from poor to upper crust very quickly!