An Evening At The Club Loreli

Started by Michael O'Rourke at Jul 15, 2020 12:01 PM
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Michael O'Rourke

Racketee, smugler, gun runner
144
?Years Young
108 Posts

"Do not mistake my friendly demeanor for weakness."


Callahan could see the headline in his head "Modern Day Pirates: the Terror of the Caribbean!" Boy, that outta shift a few sheets, and no mistake!

“How do they operate? Far as I know they lay in wait, engine runnin’, where they got a good field of vision for anything approaching. Then they give chase, or they intercept. They don’t mind killin’ neither. They capture or sink their prey. Capture is about upgrading.” Michael was enjoying relaying what he knew about the pirate efforts. I’d guess they hock what they can in the bigger island cities, or even on the coast here if it’s safe enough, Yeah, you got a terrific story, an’ maybe that’s why “The Commodore” doesn’t go very far out. Bet he’s got a tale or two.”

“Yeah, I might talk to the old barnacle about it. I guess he’s been around a long time, he could tell me if it’s a new phenomena or if it’s been a long standing problem in these waters.” He thought out loud, but then, looking around the onboard restaurant that they were sitting in, another thought struck him.

“If there’s a man that would know about these rogues, it’d be the Commodore alright.” Michael agreed. “I mean pirates been with us since way back and even though times have changed. Don’t mean they have.

“Say, what about this tub? Ain’t they ever worried about being hit by these pirates? I mean, these luxury weekend cruises, they must be chock full of rich folk smothered in diamonds and pearls, and gents with fancy watches and overstuffed pocket books – not to mention the booze they got on board! Imagine a heist like that, at sea! And no cops around the spoil the job!”

Snub pulled at his collar.

“And this boxing match is going to be a magnet to the rich and famous: boy, I’m starting to regret signing up for the thing now, I don’t wanna walk the plank – I’m too young and handsome and talented to die!” he blurted: mainly in jest, but not completely


“Far as I know, Snub, they don’t hit larger ships just yet. Mostly little boats, that they can easily overtake that don’t have a crew like this tub does.” Michael informed the reporter. “Now if they had a boat that could hold a larger crew, maybe, but I doubt it. I’m thinkin’ the bo\ys that run this thing ain’t about to have no penny-ante operation heist their boat.”


Snub Callahan

Reporter for the Herald's rival newspaper The Miami Daily News and Reporter
290
?Years Young
27 Posts

Nails put the reporter’s fears about a possible pirate attack on the S.S. Chanteuse to rest. He was still interested in a possible story about the pirate phenomena, though. What would really ‘sell’ it, he reckoned, would be a real-life incident to report on. He thought about giving the smuggler his number and asking him to let him know if he heard about, or was actually involved in, another running sea battle with the modern day skull and cross-bones merchants, but then decided the man probably had enough on his plate without running around supplying stories for newspaper hacks.

Also, it’s not like he didn’t have enough stories to write, either for the newspaper or for broadcast on air. He looked at his watch.

“Well, I’d better be pushing off soon, my wife’ll be expecting me home for dinner!” he told O’Rourke “Poor girl, married to a reporter; most nights she doesn't know what hour of the night I’ll finally get in. Usually my dinner’s in the oven frazzled to a few burnt embers and she’s asleep in the armchair.” He laughed “I guess your missus has it even worse, in your line. Least mine doesn’t have to worry about me being attacked by pirates!” 


Michael O'Rourke

Racketee, smugler, gun runner
144
?Years Young
108 Posts

"Do not mistake my friendly demeanor for weakness."


Nails put the reporter’s fears about a possible pirate attack on the S.S. Chanteuse to rest. He was still interested in a possible story about the pirate phenomena, though. What would really ‘sell’ it, he reckoned, would be a real-life incident to report on. He thought about giving the smuggler his number and asking him to let him know if he heard about, or was actually involved in, another running sea battle with the modern day skull and cross-bones merchants, but then decided the man probably had enough on his plate without running around supplying stories for newspaper hacks.

Also, it’s not like he didn’t have enough stories to write, either for the newspaper or for broadcast on air. He looked at his watch.

“Well, I’d better be pushing off soon, my wife’ll be expecting me home for dinner!” he told O’Rourke “Poor girl, married to a reporter; most nights she doesn't know what hour of the night I’ll finally get in. Usually my dinner’s in the oven frazzled to a few burnt embers and she’s asleep in the armchair.” He laughed “I guess your missus has it even worse, in your line. Least mine doesn’t have to worry about me being attacked by pirates!”

“Snub, you take it easy, and rest assured if I hear anything more about pirates, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Michael promised the reporter. “And say, when is this pugilist match again? Can’t disappoint Mavis, you know.”


Snub Callahan

Reporter for the Herald's rival newspaper The Miami Daily News and Reporter
290
?Years Young
27 Posts

“Snub, you take it easy, and rest assured if I hear anything more about pirates, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Michael promised the reporter. “And say, when is this pugilist match again? Can’t disappoint Mavis, you know.”

The reporter wasn’t fancy, but he found in his profession that it was wise to carry business cards with his contact details on, care of the newspaper he worked for. He fished one of these out, a plain utilitarian white thing, along with a stubby pencil, and wrote the details of the date of the fight on the back. This he handed to O’Rourke.

The comment about Mavis made him laugh “Ha! She’ll be working that night, you’ll be lucky if you get a word in edgeways to her – knowing Mavis, she’ll only talk to me that night to boss me around.” He chuckled, shaking his head: Nails had seen an unusual side of the woman tonight, and not a particularly salubrious one. It was certainly not a side that was good for her image or that of the radio station, and he hoped she’d keep off the sauce from now on.

"All right. Nice to meet you Mr O'Rourke" he finally said, standing up and offering his hand.


Michael O'Rourke

Racketee, smugler, gun runner
144
?Years Young
108 Posts

"Do not mistake my friendly demeanor for weakness."


The comment about Mavis made him laugh “Ha! She’ll be working that night, you’ll be lucky if you get a word in edgeways to her – knowing Mavis, she’ll only talk to me that night to boss me around.” He chuckled, shaking his head: Nails had seen an unusual side of the woman tonight, and not a particularly salubrious one. It was certainly not a side that was good for her image or that of the radio station, and he hoped she’d keep off the sauce from now on.

"All right. Nice to meet you Mr O'Rourke" he finally said, standing up and offering his hand.

Michael stood and grasped the reports hand firmly. He liked the guy, even if he seemed a bit odd, and hadn’t given him a hint of the boxing matches actual date. But no matter, he would watch the papers, it would be in print for sure. “See you around.”


Snub Callahan

Reporter for the Herald's rival newspaper The Miami Daily News and Reporter
290
?Years Young
27 Posts

The reporter wasn’t fancy, but he found in his profession that it was wise to carry business cards with his contact details on, care of the newspaper he worked for. He fished one of these out, a plain utilitarian white thing, along with a stubby pencil, and wrote the details of the date of the fight on the back. This he handed to O’Rourke.

"All right. Nice to meet you Mr O'Rourke" he finally said, standing up and offering his hand.

Michael stood and grasped the reports hand firmly. He liked the guy, even if he seemed a bit odd, and hadn’t given him a hint of the boxing matches actual date. But no matter, he would watch the papers, it would be in print for sure. “See you around.”

Snub was about to leave when he remembered the card with the date and time of the boxing match on.

“Oh, I nearly forgot to give you this!” he said “It’s got all the details of the fight on – I really hope to see you there! It'll be a wow!”

He pulled away, nearly bumping into a waitress carrying a heavily laden tray of food and drinks, but giving a little yelp of “Ooops!” he managed a snakelike swerve and disaster was averted. It was only to be hoped that Daniel Kovach would be equally adept at avoid collisions with Carl Kress’ fists on the night of the big fight!


Michael O'Rourke

Racketee, smugler, gun runner
144
?Years Young
108 Posts

"Do not mistake my friendly demeanor for weakness."


Observing Snub's dancer-like moves to avoid catastrophe he smiled wide. "Nice moves!"  A compliment that he meant. Actually, Michael liked this guy probably more than he cared to admit. Close friends, well, any friends were always a risk of one sort or another.

He held the card with all the information that he would need for the event, and there was a good deal of lead time before it was scheduled to take place. "Thanks for this, makes it easy for me to make sure I make it. He held up the card as he spoke. "I'll be there, count on it."


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Lt. Baxter

Police Detective
290
?Years Young
4 Posts

He held the card with all the information that he would need for the event, and there was a good deal of lead time before it was scheduled to take place. "Thanks for this, makes it easy for me to make sure I make it. He held up the card as he spoke. "I'll be there, count on it."

Snub waved his farewells and moved off to the door, and the waitress he’d nearly collided with departed in the other direction. It was like a pair of human curtains parting to reveal an actor on stage. The actor in this case was the plain-clothes cop from the pinch that had taken place an hour earlier – the unmistakable figure of Detective Lieutenant Tom “Bull” Baxter, eyeing over the table where Dooley O’Brian and his unfortunate companions had been sitting, looking to see if anything incriminating had been dropped or secreted during the arrest. He pulled out a piece of paper that had been shoved down the back of one of the plush seats, looked it over and slipped it into his pocket. Then, turning, the mean-looking, derby-hatted  man caught sight of Nails.

Baxter nodded knowingly to himself and took a big puff of the black stogie he habitually smoked, before ambling over. He stood, hands on hips, which had the effect of drawing back his jacket and allowing the shiny police badge on his vest to glint in the weak afternoon sunlight. He removed the cigar and barked a short, humorless laugh.

“Well, well, well, … who should just happen to be sitting right opposite my old friend Dooley O’Brian when I arrest him, but Mr Michael O’Rourke, that well known Merchant Seaman and man-about-town. Say, you do know that feller you were just talking to is a reporter, Mike.” He said, referring to the now departed Snub Callahan. “You wanna be careful, you might end up on the front of tomorrow’s newspaper. They say it pays to advertise, but I doubt that applies to guys in your racket!” he advised, pointing his cigar at the seated smuggler.

The vinegar pickled old cop took another puff at his cigar. He knew of O’Rourke’s game all right, but technically it was nothing to do with him. The Coast Guard and the County Sheriffs in the areas where the hood unloaded and transported his imported ‘wares’ were the ones whose incompetence and corruption allowed him to get away with it.

O’Rourke was a smart operator, all right, but all criminals were only as strong as the weakest link in the chain they supplied. O’Brian, for instance, would be singing like a bird when they were through with him down at the station.  Sure, a Grand Jury had stopped the Miami Police Department using their special ‘electric chair’ to get information from suspects last year, but they still had the rubber hoses, the lamps, the threats and all the other interrogation techniques that made the operations of some of the gangsters look positively effeminate in comparison.

But he knew that O’Rourke kept his nose clean in town, and that was as far as Baxter’s remit ran.


Liked 1

Michael O'Rourke

Racketee, smugler, gun runner
144
?Years Young
108 Posts

"Do not mistake my friendly demeanor for weakness."


“Well, well, well, … who should just happen to be sitting right opposite my old friend Dooley O’Brian when I arrest him, but Mr Michael O’Rourke, that well known Merchant Seaman and man-about-town. Say, you do know that feller you were just talking to is a reporter, Mike.” He said, referring to the now departed Snub Callahan. “You wanna be careful, you might end up on the front of tomorrow’s newspaper. They say it pays to advertise, but I doubt that applies to guys in your racket!” he advised, pointing his cigar at the seated smuggler.

“Do tell, Baxter, or do you prefer “Bull”?” Micheal responded to the flatfoot's greeting. “Why Snub and I were discussing the fight game and upcoming bout aboard this tub, there some law against that? Besides, what would he write about me? I mean I done nothing, well, won the dance contest at the “Tropics” last month.”

The vinegar pickled old cop took another puff at his cigar. He knew of O’Rourke’s game all right, but technically it was nothing to do with him. The Coast Guard and the County Sheriffs in the areas where the hood unloaded and transported his imported ‘wares’ were the ones whose incompetence and corruption allowed him to get away with it.

O’Rourke was a smart operator, all right, but all criminals were only as strong as the weakest link in the chain they supplied. O’Brian, for instance, would be singing like a bird when they were through with him down at the station.  Sure, a Grand Jury had stopped the Miami Police Department using their special ‘electric chair’ to get information from suspects last year, but they still had the rubber hoses, the lamps, the threats and all the other interrogation techniques that made the operations of some of the gangsters look positively effeminate in comparison.

But he knew that O’Rourke kept his nose clean in town, and that was as far as Baxter’s remit ran.

He smiled up at the detective, “So Bull, anything I can do for you, or is this just general harassment of a privet citizen?” O’Rourke asked, momentarily grateful his pistol was in his car, the last moment decision that just might prove fortuitous, depending on the copper’s intentions.


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Lt. Baxter

Police Detective
290
?Years Young
4 Posts

“Do tell, Baxter, or do you prefer “Bull”?” Michael responded to the flatfoot's greeting.

The police detective didn't even give this question the time of day. 

“Why Snub and I were discussing the fight game and upcoming bout aboard this tub, there some law against that? Besides, what would he write about me? I mean I done nothing, well, won the dance contest at the “Tropics” last month.”

“Is that so?” replied Baxter sarcastically, thumbing his spare hand into the top of his vest. “Maybe you should take up taxi-ing* at night clubs. Might not pay so good, but at least it ain’t illegal.”

He smiled up at the detective, “So Bull, anything I can do for you, or is this just general harassment of a private citizen?” O’Rourke asked, momentarily grateful his pistol was in his car, the last moment decision that just might prove fortuitous, depending on the copper’s intentions.

“Just a warning shot across your bows, Cap'n Ahab.” The Lieutenant frowned, referring to Mike’s nautical activities “Some people have been getting away with murder around here just lately, but this is an election year, D.A., Chief of Police, County Sheriff, they’re all gonna want arrests a-plenty to make ‘em look like they’ve been doing a swell job before the masses go to the polls. O’Brien there is just the thin end of the wedge.” He glowered, clearly pleased that his corrupt or diffident bosses were finally having to be seen to act against the organised gangs that were the bane of the fast growing city.

“So, don’t be surprised if my next little social call ain’t quite so … social!” he would have grinned, if he’d known how.

 

*A taxi was paid, male dancing partner.