Giovanni Chronicles IV - Nuova Malattia
Act One of Four - First Communion
Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities.
-Romans 13:1
Scene One - The Invitation
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly;
" 'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to shew when you are there."
-The Spider and the Fly, Mary Howitt, 1829
The date is August 14th, 1929. Boston is still in the grip of a summer heat wave. As the heat rises, tempers grow short. Arguments that would have been resolved with words spill over into violence. Kids on the north end knock open fire hydrants to cool off. Those not stuck at work seek refuge by the Charles River. Even so, times are good. Europe, still bleeding from the wounds of the Great War, is dependent on US-manufactured goods, and so industry is thriving. Unemployment is low. Automobiles are everywhere. These Roaring 20's have been good to America, and yet organized crime infests the big cities. The Prohibition has been in effect for a full decade, and where there is a demand for alcohol a black market will inevitably rise. Boston is no different. Bootleggers, moonshiners, smugglers, mafiosi - all are getting rich supplying the public with their illicit needs. This is the stage where our story begins.
Serafina
Tuesday morning has started off like every other morning for you. Mother is in the kitchen, on her second cigarette, making breakfast for you and your sister. After breakfast she will divide the day's errand list between you and your sister before rushing away to her office job. You remember her being happier when father still lived at home. Then she didn't have to work for a living. He would show up late, usually, always with some new present he'd picked up during his workday - one day a mink coat, another day five pounds of salami - kiss mother in the hallway, then pour himself a drink.
The ringing of the doorbell breaks you out of your daydreaming. "Sera, get the door!" Mother shouts from the kitchen.
Leonard
It's almost noon when you wake up. Your head hurts and your mouth is dry. You've been sleeping on the bed this evening at least, so that's progress. Leaving the bottle on the bedside table, not so good. But then you're not expecting anyone, and you're pretty sure you locked your front door, so the chances of anyone stumbling on your secret stash is not likely. Truth be told, you could easily stay in bed, but the sun's rays are cutting through the blinds right into your eyes, and besides it's too hot. Better to get up, splash some water on your face and become presentable.
There's a knock on your door. "Knock-knock, Doc. Time's a-wastin'." Well, so much for making yourself presentable. At least you fell asleep in your clothes.
Moses
It's late afternoon when you're down by the wharf. It's been a busy, if entirely ordinary day. Abner's been doing the books all day and quizzed you for legitimate sounding phraseology to cover up your less legal business ventures. The two of you like to make a game of it, finding increasingly absurd yet technically legal, language for the books. Eventually, Abner's pleased with what he's got, telling you to call it a day. He can handle the rest from here. And a good thing. The heat in the office was getting to be too much. So, you're down by your trusty boat, enjoying the peace and quiet.
"Permission to come aboard, captain?" You know that nasal whine, mixed with a thick Boston accent. It can only be Harold Rothenstein, aka Hank the Fixer. Hank's got his fingers in all manner of pies, and he's been your go-between with Mr A. Giovanni.
Isabella
It's in the evening by the time you make it to the Flamingo. It's been a dull day of working on your essay, hammering keys on your typewriter and wiping the sweat from your brow. You'd rather have been outside than cooped up in your little fief, but deadlines are deadlines. Finally, when you felt your conscience was clean enough, you took a shower, put on your best suit and made it to the Flamingo, hoping for a night of swing dancing and drinking. The Flimflam is double jeopardy - not only is it a speakeasy, but also a place for Boston's queer underground to hang out and be themselves.
By the time you make it to the bar you've made all of the familiar faces. The one seating himself down next to your stool is not a regular but you recognize him instantly. Hank the Fixer. A friend of the family. Hank's a short, stout, man with traditional Semitic features. He's wearing unnecessarily thick glasses and a clearly expensive suit that he doesn't look quite right in. His face splits into a big, mischievous grin. "Izzy! What's shaking? Fancy meeting you a place like this."
[spoilers]Here we go, gang! Tell us a little bit about your character: how they look, how they dress, their surroundings, how they feel about Hank. Any mistakes on my part about your character I apologize for in advance. This scene is here to establish who you are, so I'm not against making minor edits during this scene to fit the narrative.
Have fun![/spoilers]
Everyone
Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter on fine stationery with black corners. Greeting each of you by name, the message read:
It is my extreme pleasure to invite you to a midnight
Mass this Thursday, August the 16th. It is to be held at
St. Leonard’s Church. Please come alone, and do not be
late, as no one will be admitted once the Mass begins.
After the Mass, it would please me for you to remain, as
we have something of mutual import to discuss.
Yours Sincerely,
Andreas Giovanni
Hank remained seated, offering no commentary.