Hey, so this is my first Heist Society story. It's inspired by Al Stewart's song "The Year of the Cat." The title made me think of Kat, so I wrote this. I'm willing to continue this story, if people like it. *wink wink hint hint nudge nudge* Feedback always welcome.
W.W. Hale the Fifth was strolling down Broadway, contemplating his company's future, when he saw her. She looked like a painting come to life in her white silk dress, the neon-tinted rain making her fair skin and dark hair shimmer. She laughed and her hair swung around her face as she looked back to another young woman behind her. They were both very beautiful, but Hale hardly noticed the second woman. It was the first one, in the white dress, who enchanted him.
The two turned down an alley, which Hale knew led to a speakeasy. He followed them. They stopped at an unmarked door, knocked a specific rhythm, and were let in. Hale waited a few moments, then did the same.
The inside was smoky and dim. The sounds of jazz and well-dressed couples danced around the room.
Hale removed his fedora and trenchcoat, handing them to an attendant standing nearby. He scanned the room and found the woman at the bar. He approached the bar, trying to project an air of confidence.
"Whisky," he said to the bartender. A shot glass appeared and Hale knocked it back before turning to the woman from the street. He found himself staring into her hypnotic blue eyes as she studied him coolly, a martini cradled in her hand. Suddenly, the savvy business mogul felt about three years old.
"Like what you see, Mr. Hale?" Her voice was sultry and musical, harmonizing perfectly with the jazz from the stage.
"You know me?" he asked, berating himself an instant later for such a stupid response.
She smiled at him. "Everyone knows you, Mr. Hale. One of New York's most successful businessmen. You're a celebrity."
"Right," Hale said, only half to her.
"So tell me, what's a respectable businessman, like yourself, doing in one of New York's most infamous gin mills?"
Again, his mouth started talking without his permission. "I saw you on the street, and I followed you. You're beautiful. What's your name?"
She smiled again, but this time it was a shy smile. "You may call me Kat."
"Is that short for something?"
"Yes, but it's not important. Just Kat. What's your name?"
"You already know: Hale," he said, pleased he managed to sound halfway intelligent.
"I mean your real name. What do people call you?"
"Depends on whom you ask. My employees call me 'sir,' my family calls me 'Scooter,' which I hate."
Kat laughed, and the sound left Hale breathless. "What do your friends call you?"
"I don't know. I don't have many friends, but I hope I may consider you one," he looked at her over the rim of the shot glass, refilled with whisky.
She smiled at him. "What should I call you?"
"Call me Hale, just Hale."
"Very well, Hale."
"So, what's a respectable girl like you doing in a joint like this?"
This time, Kat smirked. "I'm not as respectable as you think," she leaned close and whispered in his ear. Hale was feeling drunk and it wasn't from the whisky.
Then, the second woman from the street rushed up to Kat and grabbed her hand. She pulled Kat away from Hale and said, "We need to rush. Now!"
Kat cast one lingering look at Hale before letting the other woman drag her away. He watched them go, then threw some money down on the bar.
He slipped through the throng, keeping the two women in his sight. He couldn't let Kat get away. Even in those few moments they shared, he could tell. She was different.
He followed them behind the stage and they stopped in front of one wall. Hale hid himself from view and watched as Kat pushed on a wooden panel and a hidden door slid open. Kat and her friend stepped into the dark tunnel beyond. Hale followed quickly before the door shut. But he did not do it quietly enough and Kat turned around, stopping Hale in his tracks.
"Hale! What are you doing here?" she whispered furiously, pulling him aside.
"I followed you," he said. His answer did not lessen the anger in her eyes. "Please, Kat. I've never met someone like you. Wherever you're going, I want to go, too."
"This isn't your world, Hale," Kat warned. "You don't belong here."
"I don't belong anywhere. My parents are dead. The rest of my family is only nice to me for my money. My employees just want my signature on their paycheck. But, Kat, with you, I felt like I could belong somewhere."
Kat stared at him, waiting for him to realize what he'd said, waiting for him to take it back, but he didn't. "Okay," she took his hand and led him to the other woman. "Hale, this is my cousin, Gabrielle. Gabrielle, this is Hale. He's with us now."
Gabrielle looked from Kat to Hale to their joined hands. "Uncle Eddie's not going to like this."
"Who's Uncle Eddie?" Hale asked, as he followed Kat and Gabrielle down the tunnel.
"Eddie Romanov."
"The bootlegger?!" Hale looked between Kat and Gabrielle. "That's what you are, aren't you? You're bootleggers."
"Hale," she only spoke his name, but her expression said it all.
He took a deep breath. "Alright. I'm in. Let's go."
Kat looked at Gabrielle, who merely shook her head and kept moving down the tunnel.
Finally, the three of them emerged in a completely different part of New York. "What was all that for? Why not just go the streets?"
"The fuzz are gunning for us, so we bounced before they made us," Gabrielle said.
Hale looked at Kat, who translated. "The police are looking for us, so we left before they could recognize us."
He nodded in understanding.
In this part of town, the streets seemed darker and meaner than downtown.
"Where is everyone?" Hale asked. "Is there some sort of big party nearby or something?"
Gabrielle sent Kat a look that said, "He's got a lot to learn, don't he?"
"This is Brooklyn. Nobody's out here after dark," Kat explained.
Hale felt the first stirrings of fear, but he wasn't backing out, not when Kat was still holding his hand.
Five blocks later, they stopped in front of a large brownstone. Hale started up the steps, but Kat shook her head and led him around to the back door. It was unlocked and the three of them stepped into a warm, well-lit kitchen.
"Uncle Eddie! Gabrielle called. "We're back."
Seconds later, the famous bootlegger, Eddie Romanov, stepped around the door frame and his face broke into a smile. He hugged both Kat and Gabrielle and spoke to them in what sounded like Russian to Hale. Then, his eyes landed on Hale and the smile disappeared, replaced by the ruthless grifter Hale had always imagined.
"So, you want to join the Family?"
"Um, yes, sir," Hale squeezed out.
"You are a successful businessman. You would throw all that away for the life of a criminal?"
"Yes, sir," there was less hesitation in Hale's voice this time.
"Why?"
"Well, sir, I'm rather lonely and unhappy. My whole life has been planned out for me; I'm just along for the ride. I want to do something for myself and I figure if I'm going to die someday, I'm going to live the fullest life I can."
His answer seemed to satisfy Eddie. "And you are certain you will not desert us when the police come to arrest us? You will be faithful to us?"
"Yes, sir," Hale said empathically, but he looked at Kat as he said it.
Eddie gave him a smile and said, "Welcome to the Family."