[legendsport]

New York, NY: July 13, 1920:

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my business manager," Joe Barrell said with a grin before he stood up and grabbed his brother Rollie in a bear-hug.

"Oof, not so tight, eh?" Rollie groaned. "I have a tournament this weekend and don't need my spine snapped, you big galoot."

They were standing in the lobby of the Bigbsy Manhattanite Hotel and drawing looks from the relatively wealthy clientele wandering through the lobby.

Joe released Rollie and slapped him on the back. "I saw Jack the other day. He's miserable playing baseball. Told him he should try football," Joe said.

Rollie snorted and replied, "Football? Jack's too smart for that."

"We'll see, Roland, we'll see." Joe said before a serious look crossed his face.

"I'm glad you've agreed to help me out here, Rollie," he said. "You being a college-educated financial whiz and all..."

Rollie shook his head. "Well, I needed to be in New York anyway. Francie's playing out at Sheepshead Bay and I've got the New Haven tournament next week. The stars aligned for this one, Joe."

Joe frowned and asked, "Meaning what? This is a one-shot deal?"

Rollie shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Could be. I'm officially a professional golfer now, Joe. That has to be my primary focus."

Joe's frown deepened but it relaxed as Rollie continued, "But, I'll always be there for you when you need me, you know that."

Joe slapped him on the back again and nodded firmly. "Ha! I knew it. You've always been the reliable one, Rollie. That's why Jimmy always took advantage of you."

Rollie's mouth turned up in a half-grin and he said, "Yeah, me and everyone else." Then he sighed and said, "I still miss him though."

"Me too."

Rollie took a deep breath and said, "OK. Down to business. I did some checking and Mike Bigsby's got a... umm, somewhat unsavory reputation. So he might try to muscle us."

Joe chuckled, "I'm not easy to muscle."

Rollie nodded, "True, but he's got a lot of money behind him. Our family does okay, thanks to Dad, but the Bigsbys are in a whole other league."

Joe muttered, "Speak of the devil," as the revolving door spit out a series of three extremely well-dressed men, who headed directly towards the brothers.

"Mr. Barrell," said the leader, presumably Michael Bigsby.

"Mr. Bigsby, nice to meet you." Joe said as he shook hands. Bigsby had a firm grip, as Joe assumed he would. "This is my brother, Roland."

Rollie shook hands. Bigsby didn't bother to introduce the two men with him. Joe assumed they were his bodyguards. They had that particular look about them that all-but-screamed "goon."

"Follow me, gentlemen," Bigsby said and he led Joe & Rollie through a non-descript door on the right side of the lobby.

"Nice hotel you've got here, Mr. Bigsby," Rollie said as they entered a long, dimly-lit hallway.

Bigsby glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Rollie discovered what the phrase "shark-like grin" meant as Bigsby said, "Thank you. I run the family's real estate ventures."

Rollie knew this, but nodded appreciatively nonetheless. Beside him, Joe was glancing over his own shoulder at Bigsby's "associates" as they followed them down the hallway.

Bigsby reached a door, unlabeled as was the first, and pulled a key from his pocket. He glanced at Joe and smiled that same shark-like grin as he pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

"This is one of our private clubs, gentlemen," he said as he swung the door open, entered and held it for them, extending his right arm in a welcoming motion.

Joe and Rollie stepped into a large and opulently decorated room, half-full of well-dressed men and, Rollie immediately noticed, a group of attactive young women in flapper dress, sashaying around the room. A jazz trio was on a small bandstand in the back of the room and there was a well-appointed - and since January, highly-illegal - bar with a pair of bartenders making drinks.

"Cocktail, anyone?" Bigsby said as he led them towards the bar.

Joe looked at Rollie and raised his eyebrows. He'd heard of these "speakeasys" but he'd never been in one before. Rollie had already concluded that this had been a ballroom, and was now cordoned off from the rest of the hotel to keep prying eyes - and the police - out.

Rollie tapped Joe on the shoulder and pointed at a young man sitting at one of the small, round tables, a glass of a dusky liquid in hand, with a flapper girl sitting on his lap, an arm draped over his shoulder.

Joe whispered, "Yeah, so? Who's that?"

Rollie shook his head and softly replied, "I forgot you don't follow baseball. That's Pete Scanlon."

Joe was about to reply when Bigsby stopped at Scanlon's table. "Pete? Aren't you pitching today?"

Scanlon smirked and nodded. Bigsby chuckled and patted the girl on the shoulder. "Helping him, relax, Betty?"

The girl tittered. Bigsby looked at Joe and Rollie and said, "Scanlon's a regular. Since he's on the Stars, we let him drink here whenever he wants. If he was on the Gothams, I'd have my father breathing down my neck about it and I don't need that."

He leaned in and said, "Max Morris? He's been in here too. Any time he comes to New York, this is where he comes. This place is for important people, Joe. You can be one of those people."

Rollie frowned and when he glanced at his brother he saw, to his consternation, that Joe looked impressed.

Rollie smirked and asked, "Mr. Bigsby, Joe's got a wife and a couple of young kids. Would your organization help them find a good home in or near the city?"

His words snapped Joe out of his reverie and erased the smile from Bigsby's face - though he quickly brought it back up.

"Of course. As I said, I handle the family's real estate interests. We'd be happy to find Joe and his family a house. Perhaps Westchester?"

Joe smiled and thanked him - then shot Rollie a glance that was part-warning, part-thankful.

They sat at a large table, apparently reserved for Bigsby. His two bodyguards (Joe still thought "goons") took up positions that were obviously designed to prevent anyone disturbing them.

"So... Joe, let's talk turkey. We want you for our football club. We're willing to double whatever Mid-Ohio is paying you to play for Akron. And we won't gussy it up by making you work some factory job on the side. The salary is for football only. You can do whatever you like in the off-season."

Joe whistled and said, "Wow, that's an outstanding offer, Mr. Bigsby."

Rollie jumped in and asked, "What about the Blue Laws? From what I understand, they prevent sporting events from being held on Sunday."

Bigsby smiled and said, "Laws can be changed. My father has friends in Albany and is working to get that law wiped out so the Gothams can play on Sundays. Once it's done, the football club will ride along on those coattails - just like the Stars will. And where New York goes, Pennsylvania will follow. FABL will be a seven-day-a-week concern in no time."

Rollie smirked at the back-handed swipe at the Gothams rivals' - especially the Stars, who played literally right across the street from the Bigsby Oval.

Rollie continued, asking some questions that Joe didn't quite understand. Joe knew his brother had a good head for business, so he tried to nod in the appropriate places and grin occasionally all while hoping he didn't look as lost as he felt.

Discussions were continuing when the door to the speakeasy opened and another man walked in. Joe recognized him immediately - it was Sam Bigsby, Michael's cousin and the man in charge of the Bigsby Oval.

Mike Bigsby frowned, said, "Excuse me, gentlemen," stood up and walked over to his cousin.

Rollie saw Sam talking to Mike, who looked happy at first and then angry. Mike said something with some apparent venom in reply. Sam shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as if whatever his cousin had said was of no consequence.

Rollie leaned over to Joe. "I have a bad feeling about this. I know the money is good, but Joe... this..." he waved a hand around to indicate the illegal club, "it's not something you should get involved in."

Joe narrowed his eyes. "Rollie, I brought you along to handle the money stuff, not to tell me to walk away because the Bigsbys are a little.... shady."

"Hello, Joe," he heard and turned to see Sam Bigsby standing behind him. Mike was behind his cousin, looking angry and, Rollie thought, more than a bit uncomfortable.

"Hello, Sam, nice to see you again," Joe said as he stood and shook hands. "I think you've met my brother Rollie?"

Sam nodded and shook hands with Rollie. "How's your lovely wife, Joe?" Sam asked with a disturbing grin. Rollie's eyes widened - he had heard Edna's story from Francie but as far as he knew, Joe had not.

"Edna? She's fine. She's back in Ohio with our kids." Joe said with a confused look on his face.

"Very nice. She's a lovely woman, is Edna," Sam continued. Rollie felt rather than saw, his brother tense up next to him.

"She tell you about kissing me?"

Joe's mouth dropped open. Michael Bigsby, standing behind Sam, said, "You son of a *****, is this how you're going to scotch my plans?"

Rollie was confused by that statement, but more concerning was the dangerous look that had come into Joe's eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Joe said in a near-growl that Rollie immediately recognized as what he and Jack had always known signified that Joe was about to lose his temper. Jimmy would have said Joe "was clouding up and about to rain all over somebody."

"Oh, back when you fought at the Oval? She kissed me in the tunnel. I had to discourage her, of course. While flattering - she is a beautiful woman, after all - it just wasn't appropriate," Sam said with that leering grin still on his face.

Sam had barely finished his sentence when Joe's right hand pistoned out and there was a sickening crack as he connected with Sam Bigsby's jaw. Sam fell to the floor and Mike Bigsby's eyes widened as he stepped back.

"You'd better get out of here," Mike said, looking down at Sam, who was groaning, semi-conscious on the floor.

Rollie grabbed Joe's shoulder and began pushing him towards the exit. "Let's go, Joe."

"Conlan... escort them out of here. O'Brien? Get Doc Coughlin on the phone." Mike was now all-business again, though Rollie could tell he was furious. At whom, he wasn't sure.

Joe, still fuming, let his brother steer him out the door.

"I think that potential football career in New York just died, Joe," Rollie said, shaking his head.