Chapter Text
It was another night at the 21 and J.J. Hunsecker was unbearable.
“Settle down, Sidney,” he barked in that voice, like pressing a glass of iced liquor to your cheek, “and don’t waste my time if you have nothing for me. I’ve no use for a horse with a broken leg.”
Sidney didn't react for a few seconds. The nerve of that man, he thought, wordlessly rising from the table. Of all the no-good, immoral bastards in this town, he was stuck in the honey trap of the worst of them.
He choked down the bile and pushed himself out of the club.
Sometimes, Sidney didn't know why he kept coming back. He could leave this job as J.J.'s glorified lackey anytime and be rid of him. Sure, he'd be out of a job for a while but it wasn't like J.J. had a gun to the head of every single columnist in New York. It was more trouble than it was worth to stay with that man anyways. What's stopping him?
Sidney took uneven breaths under the bright neon of the '21' sign, feeling the late evening chill nip into his jacket. He forgot to bring a coat that night, too nervous about missing the usual time with J.J.
What a mess. He lit a cigarette and hailed a cab.
---
As expected, he didn't sleep very well that night.
"Morning, princess," Sidney yawned, "How're things?"
"Hi, Sid. Nothing but bills and no messages from Mr. Hunsecker."
Sally sat at her desk with a pencil tucked behind her ear, doing one thing or another. Probably her job because she was just a nice girl like that. Beside her stack of papers were two cups of coffee; one with a light smudge of lipstick on the rim and one untouched.
Sidney straightened his tie in the mirror and tried to tamp down his hair. Jesus, he looked a tired mess. "His royal highness is in a mood."
"I thought so. You're in one too," she said, "Will you see him today?"
"I don't have a choice. Else he starts tying the noose for the both of us." Sidney sighed, feeling his head spin from the residual hangover.
"Mr. Hunsecker won't be any nicer.”
"Yeah well, I'll deal with him. Hold the calls for today and sort out the Guy Thompson story before evening, won't cha?"
"Okay-y, Sid. Good luck. Oh, and drink your coffee." Sidney took a large gulp of lukewarm coffee and half-heartedly waved goodbye on the way out.
In the cab to the Globe's office, Sidney chewed on the filter of his cigarette and felt his stomach churn. More from the strain of the past week than the morning cigarette. It was one thing for J.J. to be moody for a few days and another for him to be outright hostile for a whole week. Sidney wasn't sure how much more of this hot and cold game he could play.
"Thanks, pal. Just right here."
Entering J.J.'s domain, Sidney didn't need to get two words out before the lady at the front pointed upstairs. "He's in. Not in good spirits though."
This place just made Sidney nervous. All the quiet in an office this big gave all the wrong signals of a place of work. It was spotless and cold, with the only noise being the quiet efficiency of the type-girls, more machine than people. It reminded him of a hospital or a funeral home. Too cold and empty. Sidney knew it was because J.J. didn't do well in the heat but any client who passed through would be mildly intimidated by the high ceiling and expensive-smelling smoke.
J.J. was really just picky for smoking only one brand. Filterless too.
"Hello, beautiful." He grinned, closing the door behind him.
"Sidney," Mary muttered between her cigarette, "You always manage to show up at the worst times, don't you?"
"You wound me, Mary. Maybe I'm here to save you?"
"Big chance, Falco. And before you ask, J.J. doesn't want any visitors. Especially you," She shrugged, "his orders."
"He singled me out?"
"Be grateful he didn't put a bounty on your head."
"That bastard. What's got him in a mood anyway?" Sidney ran a hand through his hair. The stiff strands didn't comfort him.
"I'm his secretary, not his psychologist."
"Sometimes, I wish he would just say what's wrong instead of hanging me out to dry. It hurts a man's ego to be berated like a little boy."
"He always says what's bothering him, Sidney. He gets strict with you because you put yourself at the barrel of the gun."
"And I'll pull the trigger myself if he keeps being like this! Does it kill him to cut a guy some slack?" Sidney tapped the last cigarette out of his crumpled pack.
"I doubt he would be any less like himself even sick and bedridden," Mary mused, offering a wry smile, "Probably would settle him down though."
The match Sidney held stilled in the air. He didn't feel the flame inching closer and closer. He didn't feel it until it flickered and burned an ash mark into the soft skin near the tip of his finger. He flinched at the pain and dropped the burned-up match.
The tapping of the typewriter stopped.
"Sidney?"
"I'm alright, I'm alright. Just thinkin'." A beat.
"Right." Mary didn't look convinced.
"Well, I'll drop by the 21 tonight. If he asks."
"He won't. Bye, Mr. Falco."
"See ya around, Ms. Atwater."
Sidney absently wandered out the lobby, toying with his unlit cigarette.
---
When he was around nine or ten, something banged against the tiny bedroom window next to his bed one night. He startled at the noise and groggily peered out into the winter night. Maybe he would see the neighborhood kids beckoning him to sneak out and play kickball in the empty streets. Or to be a pest to somebody's older brother who just got a new switchblade. It was like that most nights in Brooklyn.
It wasn't the rowdy grins of young boys that he saw. There on the edge of the sill, and he remembered it clearly, was the struggling body of a sparrow. Limp on its back. The crooked feathers of its wings twitched every second that passed.
He hurriedly lifted the window open, faltering a little when the cold air brushed his bare arms, and carefully scooped the shivering bird into his hand. It was so small in his palm, it looked like a toy. The beak gasped for breath as if begging him to help. He felt pity for the poor thing and a flicker of love.
Staying uncommonly silent, he tiptoed out of his room, cradling the little bird to his chest. His pa and ma were probably asleep and he didn't want to bother them after their long day at work. He knocked on his uncle's instead. It wasn't too late so a long, sleepy face answered within a few seconds.
"Oh hey, Siddy. Why're you up, kiddo?" His uncle said kindly, without a trace of annoyance in the eyes that were the same color as his own.
"This bird hit my window real hard, Unc' Danny. So hard, I woke up. I think it's hurt."
"Ah, jeez. He's real messed up, huh? C'mon, help me get him fixed up."
He allowed his uncle to take the bird gently into his bigger, rougher hands with a little bit of regret. He had liked holding the bird but he knew his uncle could help it better than he could for now.
They walked softly across the apartment, both being mindful of the noise. He switched on the light and watched, entranced, while his uncle moved in a way that was unlike him. Being entrusted with such a sick thing made him more graceful and controlled. Not like the clumsy and awkward Uncle Dante he knew.
The bird was too tired to struggle as it was placed into an empty box, lined with an old kitchen towel. They sat watching it for a moment.
"Look. It's not so cold anymore. You can pet it now so our hands'll warm it." His uncle whispered, holding him close by his too-skinny shoulder.
The sparrow breathed shallowly as he stroked the feathers of its wings with the back of his finger. He smiled and felt the brittle bones under the softness.
"Will it get better?"
"Of course it will, Siddy. Let's let him rest. I gotta tuck you back in before your ma gets on my back."
That night, Sidney dreamt of the bird thanking him.
---
Through the smoke-hazy air of the 21, he spotted the dark blond of J.J. Hunsecker from across the room. The man sat in his usual booth, turned slightly away from him, his broad back hunched over his work. He was alone.
Sidney ran his finger on the smooth paper of the new pack of cigarettes for what was probably the sixth time since he got out of the cab. The maître d' watched him warily.
Weaving through the sea of tables, he smiled at the looks his way from bored wives and closet cases. This place wasn't a place for someone like him. His suit wasn't fitted enough, his hair too wild, his shoes unpolished and scuffed from running around New York. Worse of all was his face. Pretty but not high-class. Easy to pick out and the lilt in his words didn't help either. It was only because of J.J. that he was even allowed past the door.
He came to a stop next to the man, smiling because he knew it showed in his voice.
"Sidney, you're late." J.J. scribbled into his notepad, not looking up nor inviting him to sit.
"I know, Jay. I had some errands run."
"Hm. Have you brought something for me or are we having a repeat of last night?"
"Baby, you know I wouldn't do that to you. I wrapped up the Guy Thompson affair just now." Sidney let his words go sweetened, like the caramel sugar his ma used to make.
J.J. didn't reply but from the subtle, hardly noticeable tip of his head to one side, Sidney knew he was listening. You notice stuff about the guy if you've been with him as long as Sidney had.
"He made it with some imported Vegas showgirl behind his wife's back. In the Rainbow’s VIP suite."
J.J. stopped his writing and finally looked up at Sidney. The blue of his eyes was unchanged from the last time he had seen it. Like the East River in January.
Sidney ripped a page from his notepad and folded it. He extended the piece of paper with it pinched between his index and middle finger.
With a slow, deliberate hand, J.J. withdrew the note, grazing his hand in the process just as he intended. This song and dance they played thrilled Sidney like nothing else.
“Night, Sidney.”
“Still sulking, baby?”
J.J. hadn’t even blinked the wrong way. It was irritating.
“Goodbye.”
Before the finality of the dismissal set in, Sidney reached back into his pocket for the new pack of Lucky Strikes he’d spent too much money on and shook the first one out.
“Smoke?”
Somewhere along the way, even this had become routine. Sidney Falco and offerings. J.J. didn’t hesitate, just dipped his head down and drew the cigarette out of the carton with his teeth. Sidney’s hands went through the practiced movement of striking a match and holding it to the tip, watching the tobacco catch into an orange ember. This was the only time Sidney could ever have Hunsecker of the Globe by the soft back of his neck if he wanted. He never moved.
Instead, he watched J.J. 's eyes lower the way they always did after his first drag.
Sidney shook out the match. His eyes lingered on J.J.’s lips and the streak of white of the cigarette before turning away. Without a goodbye, he strolled out of the 21 and dropped the pack of luckies into the gutter.
---
It took some time for the bird to get well.
The first few days were filled with gentle prodding and childish curiosity. He had never been near something so fragile and helpless. Even his little sister was full of baby fat and cried as loud as the sirens.
The sparrow was almost lifeless. At first, it just lied there with its broken wings and breathed. He watched it for hours, just listening to the quiet whistle of air and the rise and fall of the rib cage. He begged his uncle to let him feed the bird with little drops of crushed seeds in water through a makeshift syringe. Swearing that he’d watched him do it enough and that he wouldn’t hurt it.
On the third day, his uncle finally caved in and let him feed it as a test. He remembered the way the sparrow yielded in his hand and let itself be fed. It filled him with a feeling he couldn’t name.
His uncle clapped him on the back after he laid it down once again.
“I take it back, kid. You’re a natural! How about I make you a deal?”
“What’s it, Unc’ Danny?”
“You take care of the bird and I let you free it when it’s better.”
The feeling in his chest grew and he found himself nodding eagerly. His uncle grinned that signature Falco grin and ruffled his hair.
“You’re a good kid, Siddy.”
So, the bird became the center of his world.
He came back from school early and brushed off his friends’ invitation to baseball to rush home and wash his hands thoroughly. He’d mix water with finely crushed bird seeds and prepare them in the syringe. The bird would be cradled in his boy-sized hand and slowly fed the mixture. He did this every day like clockwork, carefully and gently nursing the sparrow back to health.
His parents had even commented on his change. He’d become calmer, more centered. Where he used to run his mouth like a Falco, he had replaced it with quiet observation and petting of the bird. His mother joked that he would be a wonderful parent with more softness in her voice than a joke would usually warrant. His father only looked at him with stoic, pale eyes that held that flicker of love that was enough.
A month into it, he sat shocked as the bird happily rose onto its feet at his appearance and jumped onto his hand. He held still for a minute, or five, or ten, until his uncle showed up.
“That bird’s finally up and about! You just might be gifted, Sidney. You sure you don’t want to be a doctor or somethin’?”
He just laughed and stroked the wings that were regaining their strength. The pretty sparrow chirped under his fingers.
---
It was midnight when the call came. He picked up on the fourth ring.
“Whoever this is, it better be good.”
“Sidney?” He sat upright in his bed, his sleepiness forgotten. His hands already started shaking.
“Susan?”
“Something’s wrong with J.J. He’s very ill,” the girl sounded close to tears even through the speaker, “I called the doctor but-”
He heard indistinct words from beyond the receiver and was already halfway into his clothes. His fingers twitched for a cigarette as he carelessly did his tie.
“He asked for you, Sidney.” Click.
---
“Oh, Sidney, thank god you’re here!”
The door was barely closed before Sidney found himself with an armful of a young girl. A brotherly feeling from deep inside his ribs that had gone unpracticed for years came to the surface.
“Hey there, chickie. It’s alright.” He patted her shoulder the way he remembered his older brother had when he was too young to even remember it clearly.
“It's not." She buried her face into the fabric of his jacket, gripping the lapel enough to crinkle it.
“He’s just sick, Susan. He’ll be fine.”
“He hadn’t been sick his whole life.”
“It was bound to happen someday. Even to a man like your brother.”
He let her rest for a minute and slowly guided her to the couch. Setting her down gently and offering a handkerchief. He did know a thing or two about treating young ladies. After a minute, the girl composed herself.
“How is he?” He said gently.
“The doctor’s with him. He’d been pale the whole night but then he just broke down and almost fainted. It was terrible.” Susan sighed heavily. There was too much burden on her shoulder for a teenager, he thought with something like sympathy.
“Okay, chickie. I’ll check on him. How about you splash some water on your face?”
She nodded gratefully and smiled her pretty smile. "Thanks, Sidney.”
The door to J.J.’s room was closed. Before he could knock though, an old-looking man pushed through and startled.
“Oh! I wasn’t expecting another person to visit. Are you here for Mr. Hunsecker?"
“Yes, how is he?”
The old man hummed. “Well, I’m afraid Mr. Hunsecker isn’t fit for any work right now. He's a very ill man.”
“I’m a friend of his,” a half-truth, “He asked for me?”
"Ah! Sidney, am I right? Yes, he’s been calling for you for a while now. You see, he’s in a delirious state. He has a temperature and had gotten rid of his meal before I arrived.”
“Can I see him?”
“It won’t do any harm, I suppose. Try not to agitate him and I’ll allow it."
“Thanks, doc. And check up on Susan too, won’t cha? She’s a bit shaken.” He said impatiently before closing the door.
On the bed, and so uncharacteristically small he’d almost missed him, was the form of the great J.J. Hunsecker. He was lying curled on his side as if trying to shrink himself from the world and its sensations. His shallow breaths could be seen from the door and as Sidney drew closer, he could make out that J.J. was out of his suit and in sleep clothes. Pity and warmth grew in his chest. J.J. in his right mind would've never allowed himself to be seen like this by anybody besides family.
Sidney knelt by the bedside and put himself at eye level with the man. The bravado had melted away and replacing the cold, calculating look was discomfort and the smell of sweat. He watched the face of cruelty furrow with pain and the air that usually exhaled into threats rattle shakily. J.J. was still out of it.
Before he could talk himself out of it, the back of his hand moved to rest on the forehead that was flushed with a burning fever. Seeing the eyes flutter but not open, he trailed the hand down to clean the sweat off J.J.'s cheek in some imitation of the comfort he remembered from his childhood and felt the hot skin push back.
Something small and awful in his chest clenched.
This wasn’t the J.J. Hunsecker he knew. The cold, untouchable statue that the world knew. This was the J.J. who got sick and leaned into touch. Who was pliant and tender and open.
“Sidney, are you...” J.J. murmured, hazy and unfocused. Without the screen of the horn-rimmed glasses, the blue shocked the breath out of him.
“I’m here, sweetheart," Sidney soothed, stroking the hot skin under his half-lidded eyes, "Right here with you."