The Hidden City by Lady MSM

The Same Boat

Riley’s Bar was smoky, poorly-lit, and, surprisingly, not making any efforts to conceal that it was a bar. Tuor wondered for a moment, but figured that practically everyone had forgotten about Port Vine…even Prohibition.

He glanced around, trying to figure out who in here could be Voronwë Andersen. Likely not the two old fishermen in the corner booth…they didn’t look the Chicago bootlegger type. The old woman talking to herself in the shadows could be ruled out immediately. But stepping a bit further into the building, he could make out a thin, dark-haired young man sitting at the end of the bar.

Bingo.

“Can I buy you a drink, pal?”

On closer inspection, the young man looked like he’d been through the wringer…unshaven, torn clothes, dark circles under his eyes. He  looked up at Tuor suspiciously. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet, but I think I can hazard a guess as to who you are. Voronwë Andersen, yeah?”

“Ah…yes, but who told you that? You with the FBI or something?”

“Nah, nothing as interesting as all that. I was helping out an old fisherman today and he mentioned your name. Said you used to work for Turgon Gates.”

“Shhh!” hissed Voronwë. He glanced around worriedly. “Sorry, I don’t like to talk about the Gates family in public much. They’ve got enemies everywhere.”

“But you did work for him, then?”

Voronwë frowned. “Look, who are you, anyway? And what’s your interest in the boss?”

Tuor held out a hand. “Tuor van Hador. My pa was a good friend of the boss. I’m hoping that if I can get to Chicago, I can find a job with him.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Voronwë shook his hand. “You’re Huor van Hador’s son? Gee, I thought that family had all died out.”

“Close enough to it. As far as I know, I’m the last one left.”

“Hmm. I know how that feels.”

“How so?”

“I just got out of the Navy,” replied Voronwë, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “Joined in 1917, but when the war ended my tour of duty wasn’t up, so I stayed in Europe with my unit. We shipped back to America about a month ago, but…we hit a bad storm on the way back.  Ship sank. I had to pilot the lifeboat back here by myself. Since then, I’ve just been…lost.”

Tuor patted him on the back sympathetically. “That’s rough. Looks like you and me are in the same boat, pardon the pun.”

“Seems so.” Voronwë took a swig of his beer. “I expect you’ll be wanting me to take you to Chicago, then.”

“I’d be mighty grateful if you could.”

Voronwë sighed. “It wasn’t part of my plan to go back, honestly. I always thought I might go down to Mexico, where my mother’s family’s from. It’s beautiful there, really is. But hell, I don’t have enough dough to get down there. Don’t even know if my relatives are still there.” He looked down at the table, thinking, then turned back to Tuor.

“All right. Let’s go to Chicago.”

Chapter End Notes

I don't know if anyone's aware of this, but I adore Voronwë.