The Celestial

The Celestial is one of the several speakeasies that sprung up when all of the once heavly frequented saloons were shut down due to Prohibition. Meant as a place for one to enjoy the now illegal vice of alcohol, speakeasies were well-known for their connection with not only organized crime but as well as having ties to several public officials and the law enforcement community. Remember to speak easy in a speakeasy, or you might end up with your face in the gutter and a knife in your back.

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Peering out through the blinds of the Celestial's second-story window, the man known only as Lorre stood with his back to Miller, taking tentative sips of his gin before closing the blinds, casting a shadow over the room's abstemious furnishings. Taking a few steps towards Lorre, Miller struck a match and lit the cigarette that had hung between his lips, slowly taking a drag.

Reaching out in the dark, Miller grasped the back to one of the chairs set before Lorre's desk. "I'm here to report that things are going exactly as planned, Mr. Lorre. Not only is Taylor supplying The Celestial with all the booze it can hold, but it seems that our friend Traven has found means of smuggling in a few barrels here and there as well."

The ice in Lorre's glass clinked together softly as he set it down, thoroughly pleased with Miller's proclamation. Opening a drawer to the desk, Lorre withdrew both a bottle of gin and an empty glass. Generously pouring a glass for both Miller and himself, Lorre exclaimed his esteem with an appreciative chuckle, "Splendid. Soon, the Celestial will be the best gin-joint in the city." Reaching into his coat's pocket, Lorre tossed an envelope with Miller's take in it to the man.

Miller, happy to be free of the old man's presence, slipped the envelope into his breast-pocket before turning towards the door. Reaching out for the handle, Miller turned to look over his shoulder to hear Lorre's final request of the night… "Be sure to pay a visit to the 12th Precinct and check in with O'Hara. I'm sure he's brought in a few hoodlums that we can use for the time being."

"Sure thing, boss." With that, Miller opened the door and made his way down the steps and into the Celestial itself, pleased with himself for two reasons. One, being that he wasn't in the room with Lorre and two, that he'd get a chance to partake in all the Celestial had to offer.

Sebastion found himself wasting the night away, once more, in the Celestial. Taking a sip of his fifth glass of gin, he began to debate with himself whether or not the decision of choosing this city as the setting for his novel was going to be profitable in the end. It had been months since he first chose that one room apartment overlooking a garbage-strewn alley. Surely, he thought to himself, this city had looked far more interesting back then than it did now. Shaking his head, Sebastion removed the dull pencil from behind his ear and began to jot down a few lines on the napkin before him, taking a few moments before realizing that a woman was addressing him.

"Do you mind if I join you, Mister?"

Tearing his attention away from the napkin and towards the woman, Sebastion felt his breath catch in his chest as his eyes fell upon her. She looks just like Sophia, thought Sebastion as he fumbled to fetch the pencil, which he had absent-mindedly released as he looked at her. Composing himself, he rose from his seat and pulled out the chair across from his for the young woman, "Only if you've got a cigarette I can borrow, Madame."

Sitting down across this amusing man, Christine smiled as she undid the latch of her purse and removed two cigarettes from some hidden pocket within the bag. Offering one to the gentleman, her smile widened as she took a seat directly across him at the same moment he came to his senses and took his seat at the table once more. "You can call me, Christine, Mister…What'd you say your name was?"

"That's a beautiful name. I'm sure it has some equally beautiful meaning in one of the Romantic languages, but I'm no etymologist. As for my name, you can call me Sebastion." Returning the young woman's smile as he graciously took the cigarette from her hand, Sebastion couldn't help but touch the skin of her hand for a fleeting moment, reveling in its delicacy. Slipping his hands into one of his pockets, Sebastion removed a book of matches, leaning forward to light her cigarette before he lit his own up.

Unable to stop herself from smiling at the man's charming comments, Christine arched her brows as she nodded her head in gratitude, exhaling a fine thread of smoke. "That's not a name you hear very often. Say, are you some kind of writer, Mister?"

Running his fingertips over the sallow surface of the napkin he had been scribbling upon, "I like to think of myself more of a merchant of words," Sebastion paused for a moment before continuing, "But, yes I am a writer of sorts. At this very moment, I am in the process of drafting a rather lengthy narrative about the dealings of crime in this fair city."

"That all sounds rather interesting. Dangerous, too, no doubt. Are you sure it wouldn't be wise to touch on another topic in a place that's so well-known for wanton violence, Mister?" Gingerly depositing the ash from her cigarette in the ashtray set upon the table's surface, Christine began to feel herself pulled towards this enigmatic man and his contumacious disposition. Crossing her right leg over her left, she took a slow drag from her cigarette before gazing into Sebastion's obdurate eyes.

Catching the faint glint of metal in the Celestial's dimly lit interior, Sebastion glanced down the length of Christine's dress, admiring her shapely legs in their fine hose before discovering the source of the mysterious glint. An anklet of resplendent gold hung loosely from her right ankle, seemingly at odds with the rest of her attire, which was nice enough but surely nothing extravagant. Recovering his train of thought, Sebastion parted his lips, wisps of smoke escaping from his mouth as he spoke, "I can't say that it isn't dangerous, but I despise talking of myself. What brings you to this bar?"

Extinguishing her cigarette in the bowl of the chipped porcelain ashtray, Christine rose from her seat, a smile flitting across her features as she smoothed out her skirt and slipped her purse up the length of her arm, allowing it to rest at her elbow. "I'm afraid that my story will have to wait until another time."

"I'll be here tomorrow. Will you?" Sebastion rose from his seat, adding the corpse of his own cigarette next to hers.

"I guess so."

"Same chair, same anklet?"

"Naturally." With that, she made her way out of the Celestial, leaving Sebastion to his musings and his watered down gin.

Traven shifted his weight from foot to foot, as he was inclined to do when he was agitated, while waiting for Cerello and Henry to arrive. He had sent them to procure the latest shipment hours ago, and they should have been due to arrive at any moment. Producing a flask from somewhere within his trench coat, Traven took a few swigs of whiskey to calm himself. Surely they’ll arrive with grins on their faces and enough booze to keep their heads over water for a month or two, he thought to himself before he caught the sound of footsteps coming down the sidewalk.

Squinting in the darkness of the alley that lay beside the Celestial, Traven quickly pocketed his flask and in its place took out his trusted .38 caliber pistol. Using his thumb to undo the safety, he pressed himself flat against one of the alley’s walls, casting his form in shadow. As the sound of the footsteps drew nearer, Traven heard the familiar chuckle of his comrade, Cerello. Stepping into the light from a nearby window that bathed the littered ground beneath his feet, he slipped his pistol into its holster as he called out, “You imbecile, you had me worried.”

Chuckling once more at Traven’s obvious relief to see him, Cerello waved his hand before his face in a sweeping manner while replying, “I’m sorry, mother. I’ll be sure to drop a line periodically from now on.” Unable to contain himself any longer, Cerello doubled over in a fit of laughter at the look on Traven’s face at his comments. Regaining his composure, Cerello clasped Traven’s hand and shook it furiously, “Don’t worry, Amory. It’s all been taken care of. Henry’s at the docks right now with the boys, loading some of the finest gin I’ve ever had into our safe-house.”

Prying his hand from Cerello’s grip, Traven felt his friend’s light-hearted disposition flowing into himself, his face breaking out into a wide grin. Handing his flask to Cerello, he took the moment to assess the current situation. Traven and his comrades now held control over what was the equivalent of one-third of the city’s liquor. Not only would being in control of such a large amount of booze gain respect in the underworld, but it would also allow him and his colleagues the opportunity of branching out into other forms of illegal activity. If they were to somehow gain control of a piece of land, like say, the Celestial, they would no longer need a to go between their contacts which brought the liquor into the city and Lorre, the crude businessman that ran one of the biggest speak-easy’s in town. They would directly profit from their negotiations, instead of having to take whatever price Lorre was willing to pay, seeing as how he kept the heat off of their backs as long as they only provided him with their wares.

“You know that the more you worry about what may happen farther along in the future, the more likely it is that you won’t see someone coming out right in front of you and taking you out.” Cerello could tell that Traven had a lot on his mind, undoubtedly wishing to expand their business, although Cerello himself knew that they would only get themselves into trouble if they did.

“That’s why I’ve got you, Christian. You’re here to make sure nothing happens to the both of us. After all, I’m simply a businessman. You, on the other hand, know more than enough of the streets to get us along just fine.” Shaking his head, Traven knew that taking a jab at Cerello’s entrepreneurial skills would surely deflate his good mood, even a sliver would surely keep him from interrupting Traven’s scheming for the time being.

“One of these days, Amory, I’m going to have to teach you a few things about the street. I can’t be around to protect you all the time. In fact, when’s the last time you used that old .38 you carry? In fact, when’s the last time you even serviced it? If you put more stock into things in the present, you’d find that not only would you be able to hold your own, but you’d be able to get a little bit more action.” Gently tapping Traven on the jaw with his left hand, Cerello grinned as he hopped to and fro, reminiscent of Jack Dempsey.

Ignoring the blow dealt to his ability to attain women, Traven steered the conversation in a direction that would certainly keep Cerello busy. “Speaking of action… How about you and I take ourselves inside and see if we can’t find a few of Lorre’s girls to take care of us for the night. I think we’ve earned ourselves a bit of entertainment. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking we should get the Hell out of this stinkin’ alley and warm ourselves up with a drink and a girl. Did you see that pretty little thing that Lorre got his hands on? I hear she’s just turned nineteen. I’m afraid that I’ll be getting her before you, pal.” Putting his arm around Traven’s shoulder, Cerello led them out of the alley, which loomed on either side, like Moses and the split sea, and into the Celestial, pausing for a moment to reflect on the thought of getting his hands on that new girl.

“I’ll be sure to teach her that Cerello’s got that magic touch.”