[oliver foster]

Work wasn’t tedious at a bar, nor was it repetitive, but it was more than definitely tiring. While Oliver certainly would never fall asleep during his shift (even if the loud music wasn’t playing and he wasn’t being jostled every fifty seconds) he was always worn out by the end of it. Tonight had exceeded his expectations. For a Thursday evening it was quite full, not just of mafia men either. Locals seemed to be deciding to take the following day off of work or something of the sort, because he saw numerous men he didn’t recognize completely out on the roof all over the pub. Since he couldn’t see the back rooms from the bar, he could only assume that there had to be many, many more folks back in those areas. Liquor was dandy, but there was a reason they called it a powder room, just like his boss always said. The place was buzzing with a humble din and while it wasn’t as busy as he knew tomorrow evening would be, the numbers were startling. Even worse, was that until about twenty minutes ago, he’d been one of two bartenders on duty. Back-up had been called in and now he was enjoying a comfortable amount of orders coming his way, followed by minutes of sitting and doing nothing. That, truly, was what he loved about his job. The moments where he could do nothing were the moments he treasured, because it was then that he could observe the goings-on of the place he worked at. Oliver was an exceedingly attentive young man, the sort that had been expected to graduate from school and go onto higher learning, become a doctor or something of the sort. So, it was only natural that he’d try his best to understand the comings and goings of the Red Lion.

Enough time in Oliver’s day was spent at the pub for people watching to practically be a side job. He wasn’t being a creep, either. Everybody knew that there was good reason for him to keep tabs on what was happening, how else would he sneak in deals and make plans? Oliver did a large number of side jobs for both sides of the mafia, because he knew how to weasel his way into a situation if he truly wanted to. On top of that, it was in his job description to try and keep the Red Lion running as smoothly as possible. To Oliver, that meant making a way for all the gangs, mobs and citizens to reside in one place without killing each other. In order to do that he had to be in the know constantly. Who was doing drugs, who was supplying them, who knocked who off, who was in a fight. It was a lot of information to process, but being a bartender was very much a socially stimulating job. It was more difficult than just pouring drinks. It took a well formed persona, a stiff and rigid outside, to keep that sort of job up. Oliver, whilst being extraordinarily innocent in some ways, managed to pull off ‘big bad and bossy’ pretty well, especially for a guy his size. His nickname “jailbait” was used more as a sarcastic comment than an actuality. Besides, it had been given to him two years ago when he’d arrived on the bartending scene. Back then, he’d been underage and working on getting his world all sorted out. Now he had a defined standing in society.

Tonight, Oliver’s main focus as a bartender wasn’t making drinks. The sudden influx of people had led him to believe that there must have been something or other going on. Whether it was some sort of mafia trick, a new shipment of drugs or something he couldn’t pinpoint, it was there. His boss very rarely kept him tuned in to these sorts of things, he was expected to find them out himself. Scanning the crowd for familiar faces he found a few, at least those were the ones whose names he knew. There were a lot of people around that he could identify on looks but nothing else, but they were pretty much useless to him. He needed somebody moderately trustworthy and just as chatty to invite on over. He’d give them a free drink in exchange for what he wanted to know and then he’d get himself in on the action. Whilst he wouldn’t call himself curious, he did like to make sure he was safe. Besides, bringing home a little information to Mariano never seemed a bad idea. Having dirt to tell one side of the mafia about the other? Well, that came with unadulterated rewards. It wasn’t for a few moments that he saw Topher. The only signification that he was even around was the slight swerve in a crowd of people or the tip of a head of brown hair walking in a pattern that Oliver had learned to recognize. Leaning back and loosening his topmost shirt button, Oliver took a sip of his jack and coke, preparing himself for some sort of knowledge as he waved what he assumed to be the other over.

[topher costello]

Ten o’ clock. Topher was normally selling a few goods at his shop right in the alleyway next to the Red Lion. Yes, business was good and Topher was always satisfied with how his customers reacted and sometimes taking more than what his customers bargain for. Grace was normally with Topher as well; Grace or June. The three were hitting it off quite well in Topher’s eyes, but Topher bared rose colored shades when it came to the way he looked at life. Everything was simple in Topher Costello’s life and he loved it that way. Granted, lately things had been quite calm. He hadn’t dealt with many people from the mafia as of late. It seemed strange considering Topher was the main dealer in all of Chicago. It was quite the feat for such a young lad. The boy had only began such a business a year ago when he was finally legal to vote, but who the hell voted? Suffrage. Women demanded for it, but people like Topher didn’t give a flying rat’s ass about such a thing. That’s what the 1920’s were all about. Rebellion.

Speaking of rebellion, Topher was rebelling for once. He closed shop early, without Grace or June at his side. It was so out of character for him, but his taste buds were blistering for the sweet taste of alcohol. Liquor was always going to be Topher’s second candy. This was also quite the perk for the Irish lad considering he was right next door to a pub. Rolling his shoulders back and moving his head from side to side slowly, cracking his stiff neck, Topher stuffed his hands into their respective pockets as he headed for the pub. Music was raging, but it was expected in the bar. The music was always the cover for the speakeasies that were lounging around at peak hours while the fuzz slipped by the damp and dark streets. They never bothered the dealer unless they were looking for a fix themselves, but Topher was an equal opportunist kind of fellow so, the popo got n on the action as well. Life was good.

Scratching the back of his left ear, Topher used his right hand to push open the door, seeing the few that were having a nice little snack up above the hidden stairway. A man always stood before it, looking quite shady in appearance, but no one ever truly gave the man notice since he looked as if he were guarding the table in the far left corner. Nodding in acknowledgement, Topher pushed aside the red curtain that matched the walls nicely and headed down the dim stairs, seeing quite a few people gabbing and sipping their giggling juice. The boy was looking forward for a few rounds, but that would only be if his favored bartenders were there. Who was he kidding? Topher loved all the bartenders. All of them gave him the same respect, well, at least that what he assumed. Smirking as his lips smeared over his lips, the boy headed for a seat at the bar, taking a swift glance at the group over on the side wall. Hmmm… His curiosity fled almost instantly as he saw a rather lovely flapper sitting next to him. Leaning over the edge of the counter, Topher turned his attention to the lady and winked at her with a lopsided grin. It only lasted a moment and his head soon turned back to the bartender, Oliver Foster. “Hey, I’m shooting for a Whiskey. And leave the bottle, will ya?” he stated simply at the underaged bartender. “Oh, and a Mint Jelup for the Shirley with the sticks…” Another wink came from Topher toward the flapper. This was going to be a long night.