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"The fuck is in my office?"
Eli turns away from the fella he'd been relaying instructions to and finds himself looking at an irritated Mickey, sans cane, which he must've left in his hurry to confront Eli over whatever it is he's pissed off about.
"It's not just your office," Eli tells him, as he has dozens of times before. He lets Mickey think he'd got control here, and that's generous enough of him, but he's not letting him think the entire office is his.
"The fuck'd you put those damn birds in there for? Their chirpin's drivin' me crazy!"
"June said I couldn't have them at home," is Eli's simple response.
"Well, I'm sayin' you can't have 'em here."
"They're just birds, Doyle."
"Exactly, so set 'em free or somethin'. I don't wanna listen to them squawk all day, I already hear enough of that."
"Only one squawking here is you, Mick."
"Hey! I don't squawk." Mickey grabs someone going by the sleeve and pulls him in. Eli doesn't recall his name, but he spoke to him once and remembers him as the man who claims to have a hundred and two year old great-grandmother. "Ey, pal - do I 'squawk'?"
"No, boss."
"See?" Mickey lets go of the guy and looks pointedly at Eli.
"He works for you, 'course he's gonna say that."
"You doubt the integrity of our employees?" Mickey keeps his face serious for a moment before cracking a smile and giggling a bit. Then he sobers. "Seriously, Eli. I can't do business with birds in my ear."
"I can't do business with you in mine, but I make do, don't I?"
Mickey's eyes narrow. "You're not gonna budge, huh? Fine. Don't be surprised if they're at the bottom of their cage come morning." With that, he turns on his heel and marches away - but, notably, not towards the office.
Eli can't help but snort at the ridiculousness of Mickey threatening to kill his birds. Only fuckin' Doyle. "Touch my birds and I'll kick your ass!" he calls.
Mickey ignores him, of course.
His vague worries are for naught, though. Two days later he finds Mickey in the office, feet kicked up on the desk, hands behind his head, eyes closed, smiling to himself. The birds are chirping away, dancing around their cage, and there's food in their food bowl that Eli didn't put there. He looks away from the cage, over at Mickey. "Glad to see you made friends."
"Lovely little creatures," Mickey says merrily, not opening his eyes. "They're singin' to me. That means they like me."
"Yeah, they do that." Eli makes sure he closed the door behind him, then unlocks the cage and sticks his hand inside. One of the birds, the one with the spot on its head, immediately hops up on his finger.
"Would you look at that!" Mickey's got his eyes open, now, and he looks some semblance of impressed. "Królewna Śnieżka!"
"The fuck is that?" Mickey doesn't lapse into Polish often, but Eli hates when he does. Hates feeling like he's not in on the joke.
"Fuckin' Snow White." His usual grin appears, and then, of course, the signature giggle.
"What?"
Mickey frowns. "Goddamn - fairy tale, didn't you have those growin' up?"
"You've heard about my dad, you think he read us fuckin' fairy tales?"
"Your ma, then, I don't fucking know."
Actually, his mother did love to read to him and Nuck. He doesn't recall any fairy tales, though. He doubted Pop would allow the mention of fairies in his house. "So what's it mean, then?"
"She talked to birds or some shit, I don't know." Mickey nods at him and his feathery friend, his amused smirk back on his face. "Look at you. Former Sheriff Eli Thompson, friend to the goddamn birds. This is why you're the sensitive Thompson."
Eli instantly bristles. "The fuck's that 'sposed to mean?"
"You think Nucky would be wasting his time playing with some stupid birds?"
Eli's jaw tightens. He puts the finch back in its cage and latches the lock, then shoots a glare over to the Prattling Polack. "Thought they were lovely creatures."
"They are. But I like fuckin' with you." Mickey smiles at him.
"I'm gonna train 'em to attack you," Eli replies, opting to joke, but Mickey's barb is nagging at him. He is the sensitive Thompson. That's why no one respects him. They see him as a pansy. A pussy.
The birds are gone the next day.
Three days later, Mickey and him are driving to meet up with a contact over in Trenton, with an additional stop in Philly for Mick, when the bastard says, "I miss the birds."
Eli's lip twists. "They were a distraction," he says, but he's thinking, They're gone 'cause of you, you Polish prick.
"A nice one," Mickey replies, sighing, tapping his acquired cane idly against his knee. The light sound of it has been driving Eli mad, and he's thinking he finally has an excuse to snap about it when Mickey goes on. "I think I'm gonna get me a budgie or two. You ever seen those? They're the blue and green ones. Well, one or the other. Hey, you think they're called lovebirds 'cause they fuck a lot?"
Eli shakes his head. Fuckin' Nucky, schmoozing with wealthy assholes in Florida while he's stuck here with this jabbering idiot.
That's harsh, though, really. He's come to like Mickey a little more in the last year. Does he respect him now? No, not in the slightest. But he's amusing. An annoying shit, for sure, but he provides some levity on the bad days. Sometimes, anyway. There's been other times where he's gotten a real stick up his ass over something gone wrong, and Eli's gotten the pleasure of fucking with him for once. Mickey's the kind of fella who could use the occasional knock-down, and Eli's the kind of fella who enjoys the hell out of it when it happens.
Mickey giggles, then. "I'm fucking with you. I know why they're called that."
"Why's that?"
"They mate for life. Romantic, ain't it?"
"Yeah. S'like me and June."
"Adorable," Mickey deadpans. "Meanwhile I never met a broad I could handle for more than a night."
"Might say more about you than them, Mick."
Mickey frowns. "You implyin' I'm hard to get along with? I ain't ever been told that before."
"I'm implyin' you should stick to your budgies."
"They ain't mine yet. I gotta find some." Mickey looks thoughtful. "It's a good thing I don't wanna get married. Otherwise I might take some offense to you thinkin' I can't find someone. 'Cause I could, y'know. If I wanted."
"Sure, Mick."
"You think I can't?"
Eli keeps his eyes trained on the road. He can't help from smiling a little, pleased to have found a pressure point.
Mickey turns to look at him fully. "Thompson, don't fuck with me. You think I can't find me a broad?"
He doesn't think that, actually. Mickey can be charming when he wants. That's how he's made it this far. He wouldn't be alive if he couldn't charm his way out of the shit he gets himself into. Eli's sure it'd go the same way with a woman. Surely he could weasel his way into a marriage as easily as he weasels his way out of problems.
He decides to offer Mickey that. "Nah, you could if you wanted. I don't doubt that."
Mickey smiles, looking satisfied. "Aw, thanks for the vote of confidence, pal! Means the world. Tell ya what - if I ever tie the knot, you can be the best man."
"That just tells me how few friends you got, Mick."
His smile disappears. "Hey," he says, and he actually sounds hurt. "I got plenty. I just like you best. But you wounded me just now, Eli. You wounded me good. I think I retract my offer." He sits back in his seat, and stretches his arms - one crosses across Eli's face, partially obstructing his view of the road. He scoffs and bats it away. Mickey chuckles.
They drive in silence for a moment. Eli's pondering what kind of gal could possibly tolerate Mickey when the other man decides to break the quiet. "Hell, maybe I'll ask Nucky to."
Eli laughs curtly. "That's funny, Doyle. Real funny."
"Well, I'm a funny guy." He yawns. "Damn, this drive feels longer than normal." He's quiet for a moment - a real first. Then: "Now you got me in a romantic mood. Mmm. I've never been one for broads, y'know. Well, chasing 'em, anyway. But I don't turn down opportunities when they walk right up to me."
"Not one for broads, huh?" Eli teases.
"I'm not a fuckin' fag, if that's what you're joking about. Broads just kinda... piss me off. I don't get on good with 'em." Mick's thoughtful again. "June's nice, though. You got lucky with her. She's a doll."
"Yeah, she really is."
"You got swell kids, too, y'know. I dunno if I ever told you that."
Eli raises his eyebrows and glances over at him. He doesn't think he's ever heard an earnest compliment out of Mickey's mouth, even with all the talking he's constantly doing. It's a surprise, but he appreciates it nonetheless. "Thanks, Mick."
"I wonder if I could be a dad." Mickey strokes his chin, performative even in his introspection.
"You have a working johnson, don't you? Then you can."
"Nah, I know I can, I'm wonderin' if I could be a good one."
"Mmm." Eli doesn't know the guy in his private life, not enough to offer any opinion. "I dunno. It's hard. Probably the hardest thing I've ever done."
"Well, yeah, you got eight of 'em. 'Course it's hard. I'd probably stop at, I dunno, two, if I could help it." He considers this, then glances over at Eli and raises a brow. "You must fuck a lot, huh?"
"Mick!"
"I mean, everybody thinks it when you tell 'em you got eight!"
"That's not true. Not everyone's a creep like you, Doyle."
"Creep? I just told you, I'm not even a tail chaser! I'm like a fuckin' nun."
"You're a fuckin' joke, is what you are."
"Alright, asshole. That's one too many insults. Pull over, and let's you and me get out and settle this like men."
He's joking, and Eli can't help but grin. "I'd stomp your ass into the mud."
"I can hold my own in a fight, y'know. People don't expect it, but the streets of Philly aren't kind to kids named Mieczysław."
"That's such a fucked up name. Why'd your folks do that to you?"
"Was my grandpa's name," Mickey says, feigning hurt. "Hey, have I ever told you what it means?"
"Can't say you have."
"Glorious sword," Mickey says, sounding proud. "I'm named after a fuckin' weapon. You think I can't fight?"
"I think you hide behind me whenever someone pulls a gun."
"Just 'cause I can fight doesn't mean I go around trying to get my brains blown out. How 'bout you, anyway, then? Elias. Sounds royal or somethin'."
"It's biblical. Like Elijah, I guess. My father was never very religious, but Mom was. She had us pray every night. Very spiritual woman."
Mickey hums, as acknowledgement, but doesn't otherwise speak. Eli looks over, and sees he's pulled his hat down over his eyes. That's the end of that conversation, then.
Except five minutes later, Mickey suddenly reaches up and straightens his hat. "Eli," he says.
"Yeah?"
Silence. Then: "Y'know, in the bible, Enoch was one of the immortal patriachs. God even brought him into heaven alive, without killing him. But later, they took him out of the bible completely. Nobody cared about him no more. All that immortality, gone to waste.
"But Elijah - he was a prophet. He made miracles happen. Hell, he went up into heaven on a chariot of fire. He was practically another Jesus. Everybody knows Elijah."
Eli looks at him curiously. Mickey shrugs. "You're not the only sorry son of a bitch who went to Catholic school."
"Not that," he says, though he certainly hadn't expected such biblical expertise out of Mickey Doyle, of all people. "What exactly are you telling me?"
"Not a damn thing. I'm talking out my ass."
Eli doesn't bother trying to push for an explanation. He's silent as he mulls over his words, searching for an interpretation of his own. "So immortality doesn't mean shit if it's not written down?"
"Sure, if you say it," Mickey replies. "You got the kids on the census papers. What's he got?"
"A hell of a lot more money than me." Eli's often tried to convince himself money doesn't buy happiness, as his brother's misery has evidenced, but really, eight kids and a beautiful wife later, Eli's unhappy, too, so maybe happiness is just completely unachievable. At least for the Thompson men. Lord knows their dad was a miserable son of a bitch, too.
He doesn't want to think about himself or his family anymore.
"Speaking of money, Mickey - where the hell does all yours go? You live in a shitty apartment, despite all the cash we make, but you don't spend shit on whores or gambling or anything like that. Where are you burnin' your money?"
Mickey doesn't answer for a while, which makes Eli think he's about to be lied to.
Sure enough, when the answer comes...
"I been spendin' it all on my pet birds, of course."