THE CITY BENEATH THE LAW by GIC
Chapter 2: THE HIDDEN AGENDA
Chapter 1: THE MOURNING AND THE MISSION
Nova Loncastre, February 1925
“That’ll never work,” Harlow said, his voice tight. “The bosses trusted me because Kearns trusted me. I was his man. I’d never cross them.”
That’s the part where I’d usually say that Harvey Turpin is the quintessential 1920s detective who lives by his mantra: Drink. Investigate. Solve. Rinse and repeat. I’d also introduce myself as the omniscient narrator. But since this is chapter two and not a standalone story, that seems redundant. So here’s a recap of what happened in chapter one: Harvey woke up to a pounding headache and an urgent plea from Ernie Harlow, who’s on the run from the bosses with a midnight deadline hanging over them. Holed up in the hidden tunnels beneath Nova Loncastre, Harvey dismissed Harlow’s panic, confident the city’s power players—Mayor Langston, Judhe Hawthorne, and the crime bosses—are locked in a game where no one can afford to lose. As the weight of O’Keeffe’s death lingers, Harvey mourns the fallen, but only for a moment—because mourning’s over, and it’s time to investigate. With Nova Loncastre at a crossroads, Prohibition fading, and old alliances shifting, Harvey knows survival isn’t just about hiding—it’s about solving the case.
Harvey let out a chuckle that made a man feel like the punchline of a bad joke. “Trust? That walked out the door the second you stole their money,” he said, letting the words settle like dust in a room gone still. “Hell, maybe they never trusted you at all. Maybe it was Kearns they trusted,” he took a drag, exhaled, and watched Harlow squirm. “Selling the idea you’re working with out-of-town boys? That’s easy. You know why? Because that’s what they already think.”
Harlow huffed out a humourless laugh. “And you believe Bill? He works for the Rat. Maybe they’re both playing you.”
Harvey’s eyes darkened. “No one plays me. I’m Harvey Turpin.”
Harlow didn’t miss a beat. “Kearns did.”
Harvey smiled. Slowly. Sharply. “The bosses ain’t on his level. Besides, working for a man doesn’t mean he owns you,” he added, levelling Harlow with a look. “Not if you got any guts,” Harvey winked.
Harlow swallowed. Message received.
“Bill likes me more than he likes the Rat,” Harvey continued. “He’s no fool. He knows what the Rat is. More importantly, he knows me.”
Harlow knew numbers, but people were a different story. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
“The Rat would sell Bill out in a second. Hell, he’d cut his throat if it meant crawling another inch up the ladder,” Harvey took another drag, letting the smoke coil around his words. “Bill knows what happened to the Tiger. He knows the Rat can’t be trusted.”
Curious? THE BLIND TIGER.
Harlow stared at him, then nodded. “But he can trust you,” he muttered. “You’re a bastard, but you solve the case. And you’ve got your own twisted brand of loyalty.”
Harvey exhaled through his nose, letting the smoke curl past his face. “Ain’t twisted. It’s just the way things work.”
Harlow wanted to argue. Instead, he kept quiet. Because somehow, Harvey was right.
Harvey leaned in, voice dropping just enough to turn the room colder. “Bill told me two things. One: the bosses think you’re in bed with outsiders, trying to burn them down. And two…” he crushed out his cigarette and lit another in the same motion “…someone’s skimming from the pool.”
“The pool?” Harlow echoed—suspicion and confusion in his voice.
Harvey settled into his chair. “Yeah. Ironclad and, in part, the Rat, too, know the mayor and the judge need them to turn Nova Loncastre into a paradise the second Prohibition croaks. But they also know they need cash to go legit,” he exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl. “The bosses were counting on your stash to grease the wheels. But Kearns got clipped, instructing you to disappear if anything happened to him. Suddenly, the well’s dry.”
Harlow frowned, chewing that over.
“But they’re still businessmen… entrepreneurs,” Harvey’s voice went on, smooth, measured. “They know how to keep the gears turning. So, they get together and decide to skim off the top—setting aside a cut of everything they make. A little here, a little there. Call it a nest egg for when the laws change.”
“The bosses are losing money?” Harlow asked.
Harvey shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe their take’s a little lighter these days, but they ain’t hurting. And once they find you?” he let the question hang, let the implication sink in. “Let’s just say their profits ain’t their biggest concern right now.”
Harlow sat back, blinking. He’d spent years thinking of these men as thick-headed brutes, all muscle and no math. But here they were, planning three moves ahead. Adapting.
“But that ain’t the interesting part,” Harvey said, a slow grin tugging at his lips. The kind that made a man’s stomach knot. “What’s interesting—what nobody else knows, at least not yet—is that the Runaway’s been skimming from the pool.”
Harlow’s eyes narrowed. “Bill told you that?”
Harvey scoffed, shaking his head. “If Bill told me, I wouldn’t have said ‘nobody else knows.’” His voice had enough bite to shut Harlow up. He took another drag, the ember glowing in the dim light. “The Runaway’s got his hands in the till. Why? That’s the real question. Maybe he figures he can take Reynold’s old seat. Maybe he’d got something else cooking. Either way. I aim to find out.”
Harlow lowered himself into a chair, still processing. “And that helps us how?”
“The bosses ain’t stupid… least of all Ironclad,” Harvey leaned back, letting the chair creak beneath him. “He knows something’s off. By now, that pool oughta be overflowing, but they’re still standing on dry ground. Means somebody’s looking out for himself instead of the collective. And Ironclad? He doesn’t take kindly to that.”
Harlow’s face stayed blank. Harvey could tell he was still lost in the fog.
“The bosses don’t know you,” Harvey continued. “They don’t know what you’re capable of. And that scares ’em. For years, they pegged you as a gutless number-cruncher, too yellow to even show your face. But what if you’re something worse? What if you’re a greedy son of a bitch?” he took a slow drag. “Greedy bastards like to run with their kind. So, what if the one skimming from the pool is working with you? What if you two got bigger ideas—like taking the whole damn city?”
Harvey propped his feet on the table, picked up the morning’s stale coffee, and took a sip to spite himself.
“That… that…” Harlow’s mouth moved, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Go on, say it.”
“That makes no damn sense.”
Harvey chuckled.
“I’m either a coward or a greedy bastard—I can’t be both,” Harlow shot to his feet, pacing like a wind-up toy with too much tension in the springs. “If I were greedy, I’d’ve skipped town years ago. And if I’m a coward, how the hell am I supposed to be plotting with multiple bosses to take over Nova Loncastre?”
Harvey watched him go, amused at the way his mind worked—so damn logical, so damn naïve.
“Harlow, Harlow, Harlow,” Harvey shook his head. “You’re right. It’s dumb.”
That stopped Harlow cold.
“But it doesn’t matter,” Harvey explained. “Because it’ll work. Outside of Ironcald—and maybe the Rat—the bosses are a jumpy bunch. Suspicious. Cowardly. Needle, Ledger, and the Runaway? They ain’t the sharpest knives in the drawer, but they know enough to be scared when they oughta be. And if they’re scared, they’ll spook the Rat. And if all four are chasin’ ghosts, Ironclad’s gotta turn his attention to them. That leaves me free to move how I need to.”
Harlow stared, hands still twitching at his sides.
Harvey took another drag, savouring the bitter edge. “Sometimes, kid, the best lies ain’t the ones that make sense. They’re the ones that make a man panic. Panic will free me to do what I need to do.”
“Which is?”
Harvey tipped his cigarette, watching the ember flare before grinding it in the ashtray. “Figuring out how Langston and Al plan to lock in their power.”
Harlow frowned. “We already know. The monopoly. The end of Prohibition.”
“That’s the how,” Harvey said. “But not the how.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“They’ll use the bosses for the liquor. That part’s easy. But how do they make the bosses legit?” Harvey leaned forward. “Right now, the bosses run on fear. To the public, they’re scum. The mayor and the judge built their careers on swearing to bring ’em down. So how the hell do they justify climbing into bed with ’em?”
Harlow opened his mouth, then shut it again. His mind was running, trying to keep up.
“Yeah,” Harvey said. “You see it now.”
Harlow sank into his chair while Harvey struck a match, lighting a fresh cigarette. The flame flickered, casting sharp shadows across his face.
They’re timing it,” Harvey said. “I’d bet my last dime that the Prime Minister kills Prohibition a few days after the new chief of police takes his oath. And the next morning, like magic, the city’s got liquor stores, pubs, and bars on every street corner. No blood, no chaos—because the bosses will give up every bastard they don’t need to the cops. Neat. Clean. Tied up with a bow.”
Harlow rubbed his temples. “And you need to know the terms of the deal?”
“Nah. That deal’s made behind doors to which I don’t have the key—and it’d take me too long to find ’em. What I need to know is who they’re putting in the chief’s seat. And who they’re setting up to take the fall,” he took a drag, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “A lot of people are gonna get locked up. Don’t know how many’ll stay there, but for a brief moment, the bosses will be weak. Their muscle, their enforcers? All behind bars.”
Harvey’s voice dropped, cold and confident. “That’s when we strike.”
Harlow swallowed.
“Not with fists, though,” Harvey said. “But once word gets out that someone’s skimming from the pool and you might be in bed with outsiders? The bosses’ll start smelling blood. That makes ’em paranoid. Makes ’em sloppy. Ironclad won’t see me coming. Hell, if I play this right—and I always play it right—even the mayor and the judge’ll be too busy chasin’ shadows to pay me any mind. I’ll walk through the city like a ghost.”
Across the table, Harlow let out a breath. Then, for the first time in months, he smiled—a real one, not the nervous, tight-lipped kind he’d been wearing since this whole mess started. He’d almost forgotten he had it in him.
Harvey smirked. Cocky. Knowing.
They raised their mugs of cold, stale coffee and clinked them together.
“To walk freely,” Harlow said.
They drank. Immediately regretted it.
Harlow grimaced and set his mug down. “Harvey…”
“No.”
“Harvey, it’s been over two months.”
“I know, Harlow.”
“No, you don’t know,” Harlow snapped, voice raw. “You can leave this place. You can see the sun. Smell fresh air. I sit under this goddamn light all day, breathing the same dead air!”
Harvey flicked his cigarette, eyes unreadable.
“Just five minutes. That’s all I ask.”
Harvey sighed. “We’ve been over this. You can’t leave. Get used to the dark, the stale air. It’s gonna be a long while before you play outside again.”
Harlow shot to his feet, knocking his chair to the ground. “How is it safe for you but not me?” his voice shook, fury and frustration twisting. “They’re looking for you, too! You’re as wanted as I am!”
Harvey met his eyes. “Difference is, if they grab me, I keep my mouth shut,” he let the words hang between them for a moment, letting them sink in, and then shrugged. “And the other thing? I don’t trust you.”
The room went silent.
Harlow wasn’t surprised. Not really. He’d known there was something else keeping him caged, something Harvey hadn’t said outright. Sure, the gumshoe could move freely through the city without a shadow ticking to his heel. But five minutes? Without moving much? With Harvey covering his tracks. That was possible.
No, this wasn’t just about safety.
And, voilà, Harvey finally let it out.
“You’re holding out on me,” Harvey said sharply. “I told you I’m the best, yet you still think you can pull a fast one. I’m out there bustin’ my ass trying to keep you breathing, and all you do is sit in here whining—whining and hiding something,” he leaned in, eyes drilling into Harlow. “So no, I ain’t taking you outside until you spill. For all I know, you’re setting me up to take a bullet.”
The words hit like a slap.
Harlow cracked.
Without a word, he crossed the room, shoved the bed aside, and pried open a loose floorboard. Inside, a thick ledger. He pulled it out, set it on the table, and slid it toward Harvey.
Harvey flipped it open. Numbers. Letters. A maze of codes and ciphers. It was gibberish.
“Kearn’s last secret,” Harlow said, voice tight. “Or maybe his last line of defence,” he shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It was sitting here when I first got to this hideout. Came with a note.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled a folded paper, and passed it to Harvey.
“Harlow, if you’re reading this, I’m dead. This ledger contains information on Langston, Hawthorne, and the bosses. Solve it, and you’re free to go. But you won’t be able to do it alone. Harvey Turpin will find you. Trust him. —Kearns
Harvey didn’t blink. Didn’t let the surprise show. He said, flat as ever, “Yet, you didn’t trust me.”
Harlow looked down at his shoes. Ashamed.
Harvey let the moment stretch. Finally, he picked up the ledger, flipping the pages slowly.
“You cracked yet?” Harvey asked.
Harlow shook his head.
“And yet you still want fresh air,” Harvey’s voice had the weight of a closing door. “Maybe this stale air is rotting your brain. C’mon.”
Maybe Harvey has a heart, after all.
Harlow’s head snapped up as fast as a kid hearing Santa downstairs. He wanted to ask if Harvey was serious, but Harvey was already moving. Harlow scrambled after him.
Outside, the sun felt like an old friend. Harlow tilted his head up, eyes shut, soaking it in.
Ten minutes.
The first real ten minutes in over two months.
Harvey leaned against the wall, watching. Never cared much for the sun himself. Too much brightness. Too many places to get caught. But watching Harlow standing there, eyes closed, face slack with something like peace—it hit him.
Harvey had been missing something. Something human.
Inside, neither of them said a word about it.
They just got back to work.