The Hidden City by Lady MSM

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Welcome to the Family

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Christmas Eve, 1923

Chicago

 

“So…you know the password for this place, right?” said Tuor nervously.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Voronwë with a roll of his eyes. “This club changes its password every week and I’ve been gone since 1917. The only reason they’ll set us in is because I used to work here, and you’re…well, a van Hador. I think that’s still a respected last name around here.”

Tuor’s stomach rumbled louder than was strictly polite, and he grimaced. The last time he and Voronwe had eaten a good meal had been three days ago when that old woman in Ohio  had invited them in for supper—since then they’d been reduced to stealing pies off windowsills and eating the few packages of crackers in Voronwe’s bag. Turgon Gates’ speakeasy was hidden underneath a restaurant; surely the old man would be able to cough up a Christmas dinner before he shot them.

After Voronwë’s three quick knocks on what looked like a storeroom door, it seemed like an eternity before a panel slid aside and a suspicious gray eye peeked out at them.

“Password,” the person behind the door demanded.

“Elemmakil, it’s me. Voronwe Andersen. You remember me, we were at school together, I used to work here…”

“Voronwë? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I thought you died in the Navy. You sure as hell look skinny. Who’s that with you?”

“That’s my friend Tuor. He’s got business with the boss.”

“Sorry, old boy, you know we can’t let just anyone in to see the boss. He’s a busy man, no time to spare for hobos.”

“Hey, I’m not a hobo,” said Tuor indignantly. “Well, I guess I am, but I’m not just a hobo. My pa was Huor van Hador. From what I’ve heard he was a friend of the boss’.”

There was silence. Then a click, and the door opened, to reveal a flight of stairs and a dark-haired young man grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “The boss is big on privacy. But if you’re Huor van Hador’s son, well…no one’s going to keep you out.”

The flight of stairs led to another door, this one guarded by a man who introduced himself as Ecthelion Bellafonte and reacted similarly to Tuor’s last name. It was Ecthelion who led them through the crowded, glittering, noisy speakeasy to a door in the back, marked PRIVATE in large, commanding letters.

“You ready?” asked Voronwë. “If you get involved with this family, there’s no backing out.”

Tuor thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it can’t be any worse than where I’m from.”

And he opened the door and stepped into Turgon Gates’ office.

Three pairs of dark eyes were turned upon him immediately as he entered. One belonged to a pale young man standing to the right of the huge desk. One belonged to a pretty blonde girl in a blue dress sitting on the left side of said desk. And one…one belonged to a handsome, stern-faced man in spectacles frowning at him from behind the desk.

“Turgon Gates.”

The party in question raised an eyebrow. “And you are….?”

“Tuor van Hador. You… you knew my father, back before I was born, he…”

“Saved my life.” Turgon’s face softened. “ Of course I remember him. What can I do for you, son?”

This was it. He drew a breath and clenched his fists.

“I’m looking for a job.”

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“So you’re from…where, exactly?”

“Ah…West Virginia,” Tuor replied, suddenly painfully aware of his hillbilly accent in comparison with all these upper-class Brits. Then again, he already looked like a hobo, so the accent couldn’t make things much worse.

“Hmmm,” said Glorfindel Delafleur, the elegant blond fellow who’d asked him. “Can’t say I’ve ever been there.”

Tuor snorted. “Do yourself a favor and stay that way. It ain’t exactly Paris.”

“I know your father died in the war…did you live with just your mother, then?” asked the pretty girl from the office (Tuor had since discovered that her name was Idril, she was the boss’ only daughter, and that she was as businesslike and brilliant as her father).

“Actually, no. When Ma got the news that Pa had died she went a little wild and ran off, and got taken in by this coal-mining family—the Swansons. Good people. I was born in their house. But a few days after I came along, Ma…killed herself. Sleeping pills. It was the Swansons who brought me up.”

There was a chorus of sympathetic murmurs and shaking heads from around the table. Eventually Ecthelion spoke up. “So how did you wind up in Chicago?”

“Well, Uncle Annael had been in the war with my pa and he’d told me how Pa’d saved the life of a rich and famous gangster, so I always wanted to come here and track him down. Then when I was sixteen there was an explosion and the coal mine went out of operation, and we were running out of money, so I decided to set out and start providing for myself. I traveled around doing odd jobs for…let’s see, about seven years? Tryin’ to save up to come here. Then when I was in Maryland working for some old fisherman I ran into Voronwe, and since he’d worked here it seemed only right for us to come here together. So I came here, and we got in, and then it was now, and then I don’t know what happened.”

“That’s a swell story,” remarked Glorfindel. “They ought to make a moving picture from it. Maybe with Valentino and Keaton. Idril, love, go fetch me a martini, would you?”

“Do I look like a waitress, Delafleur?” snapped Idril. “Get your own damned martini.” She ran her fingers through her sleek bob and sighed. “So. New boy. I take it you’ve never been in a speakeasy before?”

“No, ma’am. To be honest, I always thought swanky places like this only existed in the pictures.”

Idril made a noise that in a less attractive girl Tuor would have called a snort. “If this was a moving picture then I doubt I’d have so much work to do.”

“Ah, come off it, Gates, you know you wouldn’t stop working even if you married the Shah of Persia,” laughed Ecthelion. “This girl may look sweet and pretty, van Hador, but I’m of the opinion she could take down the whole Angband mob just by lecturing them for an hour about bookkeeping.”

Idril shrugged. “Probably, yeah.”

Tuor decided he liked her.

 

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Chapter End Notes

Honestly, coming up with last names for everyone was absolutely the most fun part of writing this.