Chapter Text
Just as Sonny was wondering if the day was going to throw anything his way or if he should go out and make trouble on his own to make life interesting, the doorbell rang. He recognised the voice coming from the outside right away, and opened up without hesitation. “Hey there Mr. Roth! Haven’t seen you around in a while, huh?”
“Hello Santino. It’s been a minute indeed.” The man gave him a hearty handshake. “Is your father home?”
“Nah, he’s out with Genco. He said he’d come back before dinner, though. Wanna come in and wait for him?”
“Hmm.” Roth rubbed his chin, considering the option. “In fact, I was hoping to be on my way to Nevada by dinner. Look, you’re a bright kid yourself—would you like to handle it maybe? It’s nothing too big, just that I’ve got someone here who might use some help with his papers.”
He nodded to his left, and only then did Sonny quite make out a blond creature standing there. Not that he, with his killer instincts, had failed to notice the stranger altogether, but the young man was too thin and pale in the face to register as anything close to a threat, and was therefore extremely easy to dismiss.
Sonny wasn’t sure what to make of the sight.
“—As long as it’s not too much trouble. If it is, I wouldn’t dream of bothering you with this. After all, I could always ask Bugsy—”
“Hey!” Sonny was instantly jealous. “It’s no trouble. Is, uh—is this your relative or sum’n?”
Roth chuckled, for whatever reason. “Through Yaakov, if that even counts.”
“Who—? Eh, whatever. I’ll figure something out, I’m telling ya. Do come back for dinner someday, though, I bet Pop and Pete would love to chat with you about all the new things they’ve got cookin’.”
“I won’t miss it, Santino, you have my word. Alright, this is Eli. Eli—this man might not be God, but he’s the next best thing. If he says he’ll help you, he will. Now please excuse me, but I really must be going. Say hello to your mother from me, would you, Sonny?”
“Will do. Say hi to Bugsy, I guess—”
With that, Sonny was left alone with the stranger, and he could be bulky and confident all he wanted, but in reality he hardly knew where to begin. He shuffled from one foot to another, then realised he hadn’t as much as invited the man inside. “So, uh. Come in, why don’tcha? You hungry?”
That shook the stranger out of his stupor for a moment. He blinked, jerked his head to the side for a no, and followed Sonny into the study without a word.
“So,” Sonny said again. He certainly fucking hoped the man wasn’t mute. “You need help with your papers, right? What kind?”
The man cleared his throat, barely daring to look in Sonny’s direction. “I need an American passport,” he said, pronouncing every word carefully, like he was relatively new to the language and trying very hard to blend in.
Alright, that was familiar territory. Santino leaned his rear against the desk and tilted his head, curious. “Hiding from law, eh?”
The stranger wasn’t amused. “Yes and no. I came here illegally— But it’s a long story.”
“I ain’t in a rush. You are, though, because Pop might come back soon, and you’ll have to start it all over again.”
The man chewed his lip, thinking hard. Maybe he was picking his facts, or maybe translating his future speech was taking up every shred of energy his scrawny body could produce.
“I am an undergraduate law student from Germany,” he said eventually, parting with every word like he didn’t know how to live without it, “and I could not finish my degree there. All I need is to be sure I won’t be sent back.” His grey eyes shot up, meeting Sonny’s for the first time. Big eyes they were, and full of fear, like he was scared for his life if he should hop the pond again. Weren't they about the same age? If so, the man must have seen a lot by the age of twenty five. “With a passport, I could get into the law school again and pass the exam, and if you want a lawyer, I will work for you my whole life.”
He was probably taking Sonny’s not-so-pensive silence for a sign of potential rejection, and his voice was getting more quiet. Or maybe he was hungry after all. Sonny was surprised that someone so thin wasn’t falling all over the floor yet.
“If that’s not useful to you,” the man was all but whispering, “I can do anything else you need. Anything. I can drive, cook, clean—I’ll even work Sundays, just—”
Sonny decided to have mercy on him, and put a hand up to stop the babbling. This was getting hilarious. “No need to work Sundays just yet. And yeah, law sounds doable. I mean—unless you've always secretly dreamed of becoming a cook and you were just afraid to tell your parents.”
The young man gulped, his eyes still drilling holes in Sonny’s face. If he hadn’t looked all grey and borderline sick, he would probably be handsome enough, and he already looked smart enough to be a law student; at any rate, those thin arms had certainly never carried much muscle. “I would love to be a lawyer. Just—it’s been months. I'm afraid that I'm starting to forget my education and there will be no use of me if I don't do anything soon. Please, Don Corleone.” His voice broke a little. “You're my only hope.”
Sonny blushed a little. “I ain’t the Don, but thank you. Look—did your cousin tell you I’m your only hope or what?”
“He’s not my—” The man bit his tongue mid-word. “He didn’t. But he sounded like you’re the person to talk to if I want to study and not drive a double-tank car for Mr. Siegel.”
“Sounds like something he’d say. So, you just need a passport, right?” Sonny scratched his head, wondering why anyone would be so worried about some bloody papers. “It sounds scary but it ain’t that big of a deal, don’t get yourself all worked up like that. A passport and maybe also— Where’ve you been staying?”
“All over the Bronx. On the street, sometimes.”
“Uh huh. ’Cause I just thought—I could put you through to a family. He’s German, she’s Irish, they have a daughter. I think Pop paid for a ton of doctors back in the day, or the whole family woulda gone blind or something. So, with everyone alive and well, they kinda owe us a favour or ten. You could be a nephew who came to study here, Hagen Junior or somethin’—what does ‘Eli’ stand for, anyway?”
The man took a deep breath. “I would prefer to take a different name instead,” he said in one breath, like he’d had the sentence ready for a while now. “If you don’t mind.”
“Why would I? Just—you don’t like yours or somethin’?”
That made the man crack the smallest smile, making him look much more alive all of a sudden. “Thomas Mann is the greatest writer of the century. I thought naming myself after him would bring me good luck. And I—” The smile was gone. “I really need some good luck after everything.”
Well, now Sonny was grinning. He couldn’t figure out this fellow for shit, but it was fun to try. Pop would probably see right through the nervous determination and know the man’s biography before being told anything, but Sonny, too, knew what it looked like when someone was proud but willing to tame that pride and ask for a favour with all respect.
“Here’s your good luck.” He took a small notebook from the top drawer and flipped through it like he knew exactly what he was looking for. “Lemme write you the address—it’s back in Hell’s Kitchen but nothing too crazy. I’ll give them a call and let them know you’re coming—I mean, fuck me, do they even have a landline? But that’s no worry of yours. They’ll know, period. And one more thing.”
Suddenly inspired, he reached into his pocket; out came a ten dollar bill he’d been planning to bet away anyway. Some people looking for favours would snatch the money and never be heard from again, but he had a feeling that a lawyer named Tom Hagen was going to become a thing one day indeed. And if there was a chance he could get his family a loyal lawyer for just ten bucks, he was willing to bet on that, even if only with himself.
“Here’s how you’re gonna thank them,” he said, holding out the bill. He took note of how slowly the man accepted it, hungry as he must be, and how reverently he put it into the inside pocket of his ratty jacket. “They ain’t rich, so it’d be rude to send you there empty-handed. Get some groceries on your way home and help them make dinner. And—yeah. Guess you’re good to go.”
Tom was cracking a smile again. “Mr. Corleone, I cannot tell you how thankful I am. I—you really—”
“Nah, you’ll thank me when you get through with the bar exam.” Sonny grinned, quite proud of how he was handling things. “One thing though. You didn’t say why you couldn’t study anymore, did you?”
Tom, pale and serious once again, slowly raised a hand and touched his upper lip with two fingers, looking at Sonny like that was going to answer all of his questions. He stayed like that for a moment, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unable to quite suppress a shudder of disgust.
Sonny didn’t know what to make of him.
“Okay, you don’t have to tell.” He rolled his eyes a little, but couldn’t keep his curiosity down for long. “Just—did you kill anyone?”
Tom’s eyes flashed with the very pride Sonny had already taken note of. “I have never in my life done anything against the law. That is, until they changed the law. After that, I— I just—”
His voice died down; further attempts to verbalise his supposed crime were obviously causing him great pain.
Sonny waved him off. “Laws are stupid. As a lawyer, you gotta know them, but what you need more is to know all the holes in the whole mess. Also maybe you should pick up Italian if you want to work for us.”
He was just fucking with the man at this point, and it landed perfectly. Tom’s eyes were round once again, and he was babbling already, “Right away, I swear—”
“Then whatcha waiting for?”
Grinning to himself, Sonny ushered the man out of the door, nodded through another portion of thank yous, watched him trot down the stairs and out of sight, and then rang the bell of the apartment next door where a bunch of buttonmen lived. A messenger was needed to deliver the message to the phoneless family, as well as to see that Tom was going to reach them some time this week. Sonny didn’t really like organising things that had nothing to do with fights, and preferred to be done giving out civil orders as quickly as possible.
Although he had a feeling the man was going to be worth the trouble.