The night that follows is full of laughter and joy, liquor and live music, all to celebrate Joe avoiding the big house yet again. But this particular speakeasy was exclusive, Pete bought the place out at least every weekend just for him and the gang to drink how they wanted without being swarmed by curious cops looking for an easy bust. But he knew the right places to go and the right people to pay, money could get someone like Pete a lot in this city.

The whole place is already in full swing by the time Pete arrives with the guest of honor, an entire flood of familiar faces and black suits cheered as they walked in. Joe couldn't hide his excitement, grinning ear to ear as Pete stood beside him with a look of pride. He wanted his guys to be comfortable and happy, he was seen as a threat by most but everyone in the room knew he cared about the people in his corner. He had their back as long as they had his.

The two begin to step through the crowd, receiving many welcoming smiles and drinks held up in Joe's honor as they made their way to the bar. The stools were all taken up but Pete wasn't planning on drinking at the bar anyway. During celebrations like these Pete tends to drink until his blood resembles a Bloody Mary and then dance with the closest and first person he sees. It was nearly impossible for him to sit still, both from his excitement and the booze, but it was hard for him to be still on a normal day so this wasn't much different.

“Andy! Good to see ya!” He greets the nicely dressed barkeeper, hair parted and slicked ever so neatly. When Pete first met him he was hesitant to serve him, considering his reputation and what Andy's heard around the block. But a little bit of green could persuade anyone to do almost anything, and also certain curly-haired, blue eyed criminals with a love for cocktails. “A bottle of your finest Club Whiskey and a Gin Rickey for my boy here. Make it as pretty as you, he'll love it.”

The smallest glimpse of pink dusted across both of their faces just before Andy turns away to get their drinks ready and Joe buries his face in his hands. It physically hurts to be Pete's friend sometimes.

“Pete. Why?” The blush on his cheeks turned into a full face of cherry. Pete didn't even attempt to conceal his amusement.

“‘Cause it's fun.” He shrugs and it's no surprise that Joe rolls his eyes and nearly goes back to face planting his palms. “Oh, come on. You've seen how he looks at you, and I've seen how you look at him. Just show him your bedroom already.”

Andy returns with their beverages before Joe could even get his mouth open. He wanted to say so many things to Pete at that moment but Andy was there so he figured it could wait. He kindly accepted his cocktail as the barkeeper carefully set the drink in front of him and then handed over a clear bottle full of liquid bronze to Pete along with a small glass.

“All I ask is that you keep most of it in the bottle and away from the stage. We had to get a new singer for your shindig tonight and I don't need you spilling my good liquor all over this one.”

Pete thinks back to that night maybe three weeks prior. He got a little carried away and tried to swing dance with a full glass in his hand, front and center of the whole speakeasy. The main one affected by the incident was indeed the singer who practically just quit on the spot.

“The last one was shit, she needed to be fired anyway.” He replies, grabbing his whiskey bottle by the neck and prepared to make it his date tonight. Andy gives him a disapproving look. “Okay, okay. For you, Andy, I'll try to be good tonight. Don't wanna waste good hooch on another singer, that's for sure.”

He tries to escape to a table before Andy gives him another glare almost as bad as the ones his mother used to give him. But halfway there and he hears, “Stay away from the stage!” Pete raises his bottle to indicate he heard the man's words, but it doesn't mean he'll listen to them though.

He picks a booth somewhere close to the back of the room, away from the stage just like Andy asked him. But once the whiskey starts pouring down his throat he can't promise that he won't migrate to the front and do something stupid. Andy should know this, he's been around Pete long enough to witness his habits during drinking hours.

For a while he keeps his word, he stays out of trouble and lounges comfortably at his table as he sips straight from the bottle. Andy gave him a glass but he and Joe were busy making heart eyes at each other and Pete didn't want to intrude. And also because he'd rather drink from the bottle anyway.

Apart from prohibition in this time and age, another thing this world had a distaste for was homosexuality and anything else that resembled such. Pete hated how the law tried to prevent people from being themselves, and how some other hateful individuals attempted to express their dislike by killing or beating anyone they deemed a ‘fairy’. So he created a safe space for his gang and associates to do just that - be themselves, both at his mansion and in public places. And nothing made him happier than shoving a giant middle finger in hate’s face, or anyone's face for that matter.

For the next half hour Pete simply sits and watches the crowd drink and dance the night away as the band on stage played a swinging tune. Joe actually convinced Andy to take a break from the bar and had him on the dancefloor, the two of them smiling as they did the Lindy Hop together. He could definitely tell they were having a great time and he's glad his friend finally got the balls to make some kind of move.

Pete took another grand sip from his bottle, watching as everything began to blur slightly around the edges with every new thing he made eye contact with; patrons, paintings, the exposed brick of the walls, everything. So he leans his head back and closes his eyes, hoping to avoid all of those dizzying colors. It seems to help and he looks content as all he can hear now is the upbeat music, and gets lost as he blindly takes a messy drink of his whiskey.

That is until the music suddenly changes and turns to something softer, a sweet melody played on a classic Baby Grand. He'd know the sound anywhere, there's one sitting in his office where his mother used to play on special occasions. It's a familiar song, one he remembers his mother singing for his father every year on his birthday. Pete Sr. absolutely loved to hear her sing.

“Another bride
Another June
Another sunny honeymoon
Another season
Another reason
For makin’ whoopee”

But it's not the sultry voice of their usual female singers, it seemed only they knew the best songs to sing for a slow dance. This one, though, was deep and seductive and so smooth that Pete thought he could turn the sound into ribbons. Finally he opens his eyes, an overwhelming need to stare at the stage. The lights have all been dimmed, nothing but a bright spotlight shining directly on the one making beautiful sounds, the dancefloor full of intimate movements.

“A lot of shoes
A lot of rice
The groom is nervous, he answers twice
It's really killin’
That he's so willin’
To make whoopee”

All he can see from his seat is a bright reflection from what looked to be a pair of glasses and what he assumes is just a black suit. It was hard to tell as the slight blur came back to him. He had to get closer, he had to find out who owned this flawless voice and he definitely couldn't do it from the back of the room. But then he remembers Andy and what he said about staying away from the stage, but Pete believes he has a simple solution: just don't take the drink with him. No drink, no spill. Problem solved.

“Now picture a little love nest
Down where the roses cling
Picture the same sweet love nest
Think what a year can bring”

He slips out of the booth and sways slightly on his feet before he feels balanced enough to continue forward. He squeezes between people and maneuvers between full tables and chairs just to get a better look at this siren. There's a table between a decorative plant and another table occupied by his friend and the barkeeper. Andy's just about to ward him away from the stage before Joe stops him and whispers something in his ear. Andy seems to leave it be for now.

“He's washin’ dishes
And baby clothes
He's so ambitious he even sews
But don't forget folks,
That's what you get folks
For makin' whoopee”

Pete's on the edge of his seat, trying to be as close as possible without being on the actual stage. He's in awe when he gets an eyeful of angelic light and he notices that the colors blur a little less if he focuses on one thing at a time. The song sparked memories of his childhood, of his mother and father and how strong their love was. How a young Pete used to dance around while his father watched his mother with such adoration. He's not sure if it's the whiskey or the song itself, but there's a bit of excess moisture building up in his eyes.

“Another year
Maybe less
What's this I hear?
Well, can't you guess?
She feels neglected
And he's suspected
Of makin' whoopee”

“Shit,” He swears to himself as he gets a close look at the singer's face. It could be a number of things that would make him think this, but if he didn't know any better he'd say they looked a lot like that officer he ran into at the courthouse. He didn't have a name to go off of but he's getting some strong ‘Angel’ vibes from the beautiful creature on that stage. It looked so much like the man from the courthouse.

“She sits alone,
Most every night
He doesn't phone
He doesn't write
He says he's busy,
But she says, "Is he?"
He's makin' whoopee”

But all it did was confuse him. Why would he be here, hired to sing at a celebration for a room full of undesirables? Was this a scheme to shut the place down and arrest everyone in the joint? Or does this man just have a genuine love for singing and Pete's just overthinking in his buzzed state? He's left with too many questions swimming around his head and not enough answers to satisfy him. But his voice, it was definitely captivating and Pete couldn't tear his eyes away. He thinks he's beautiful, but that's probably the liquor talking now.

“Now he doesn't make much money
Only five thousand per
Some judge who thinks he's funny
Says, "You'll pay six to her."”

It wasn't like he could get a second opinion from anyone, he was the only one who actually met the man in person. To everyone else he was just the singer for the night. But Pete needed to know why and his awe was turned sour with suspicion. He gets up from the table and goes back to his own near the back, collecting his bottle and taking a long swig before he plops into the booth and goes back to watching from afar. He keeps an eye on the stage as the song comes closer to the end.

“He says, "Now judge, suppose I fail?"
Judge says, "Budge. Right into jail.
You'd better keep her.
I think it's cheaper
Than makin' whoopee."”

The entire room applaud for him and cheers, and rightfully so, some even give him a standing ovation. A crowd of drunken and enthusiastic fools. His voice carried Pete away into a distant memory that felt real enough to touch, he can't think of the last time something like that even came close. But part of him was a little angry, mainly from his acute case of drunken confusion. He felt that there was an intruder in his presence and confrontation seemed like a really good idea to him.