The Alienist - Mahogany is an Alienist's Best Friend

Chapter 2: What Moore is to come?

Blinking his eyes rapidly trying to adjust to the light John Moore found himself in a damp cellar surrounded by wooden barrels. The smell of cheap ale filled the air. "Am I in a brewery?" He thought, trying to remember if he had committed any acts of depravity whilst drunk the night before. "No, no I didn't, I merely read a review of that new Oscar Wilde play while I had a glass or two of whiskey. Christ, he is manly," John thought to himself. John looked down and saw his hands and feet were tired up and his suit was a little tattered though after a night of drinking this was a more common occurrence for John Moore than many would think, he just hoped he hadn't gone to that boy whore place again. The last time he had gone he ended up smoking more opium that he cared to admit whilst in the company of his friends. John felt a tightness in his throat, the ache of being sober. He shifted, grunting as he did so in an attempt to crawl towards one of the knocked over barrels. With great difficulty he edged himself towards one of the barrels, pulling out the cork and beginning to drink. Warm foamy ale splashed on his face, it wasn't great, but it was better than being sober in this city.

After several minutes of drinking John's shaking stopped, alcohol was the only thing that stopped the shakes now. "Hello?" He called, wondering if he had paid for some elaborate roleplay with one of the local whores he enjoyed so much. "Dammit, John! You've got a case to solve," he reminded himself in frustration, he needed to help Miss Howard, Roosevelt and most importantly Laszlo. There was a shuffling from upstairs, John turned his head towards the cellar stairs as light swarmed in. A silhouette of a man, bulky, almost fat. "Hello? Are you a whore I paid to dominate me? You look awfully too big; I prefer a smaller woman myself. Look, if I did pay for this service let me assure you I was very drunk and would like a refund, if possible? Does your pimp do that?" There was no answer from the silhouette above, "No I suppose he doesn't offer refunds then," John muttered. The silhouette began to move, the wooden steps of the cellar creaked.

"I'm no filthy degenerate, Moore." Said a thick Irish accent.

John startled backwards, retreating as fast as his tied-drunk body would allow him to. "Connor! Get away from me you soulless ginger bastard!" As John shouted this, he felt the stinging pain of a baton hit his face, Connor had swung at full power, cutting John's cheek and causing a heavy nosebleed. "Ah! You bastard that hurt! I swear to God old boy if you've damaged my good looks Laszlo may never-" He trailed off; Connor could never know of his dark secret.

"Oh, don't you worry laddy, I already know your secret. I already know of you're a filthy..."

Connor couldn't finish his sentence as some noise occurred upstairs but John knew he would possibly call him a sissy man whore, Connor always went for such uncouth words. Connor suspiciously looked at John, pulling a mahogany gun out of his pocket! That son of a bitch, thought John, he was now trying to imitate Laszlo's exquisite taste. Next thing you know, he will be wearing his dashing mink fur!

"If you'll try to escape, the first person whom I'm going to skin alive will be Dr Laszlo Kreizler, so you better be a good lad and stay here quiet!" said Connor with a smirk. Before leaving John, he gave him a last disgusted look and spat on the floor.

John knew that the Irish bastard was not joking when he said he would hurt Laszlo. He couldn't even bare to think about a world without seeing Laszlo's tired smile whilst they were drinking whiskey together in those winter, cold nights, under one quilt. John drunken by the alcohol and Laszlo's laugher coquettishly stroked his weak and lazy arm even though he knew Laszlo couldn't feel it much. It brought him comfort that he was there for him although Laszlo was in the habit of snatching the alcohol from him and offering him Mary's tea instead for "his own good". Everyone knew that Mary's tea tasted like dog faeces. But this wasn't the right time to think about these happy moments. Somehow, he needed to find his way out of this filthy cellar without Connor hurting Laszlo, but how should he solve this impossible task...?

***

"You filthy little boy whore!" shouted Connor in rage while throwing his fluffy slipper out of his window at a little laughing boy, who was running away from his house. These filthy degenerates are going to cost me my life, thought Connor to himself. Recently, these whore boys have been causing a lot of trouble not only in their boy whore brothels but also in the whole city of New York. This said naughty boy was knocking on his window, trying to sell a particular item of used clothing to other dirty degenerates similar to John Moore but Connor wasn't like them. He needs to clean this city of these perverse beasts. He's been planning and plotting this for months and now the sweet victory over them seems so close. This purge will start with someone who is patiently waiting in his cellar. It will start with John Moore.