[legendsport]

Chicago, IL: March 26, 1929:

Jack Barrell was in his undershirt, wrench in hand and a scowl on his face. He was kneeling on the floor of the front room of his house in Chicago. Behind him stood a hot-and-weary-looking Marie.

"This thing is busted," Jack said, banging the wrench on the balky cast-iron radiator. "I'm going to have to turn the boiler off and replace the valve, it's stuck open."

Marie sighed, and Jack shrugged and continued, "At least it's spring, technically, so maybe we won't freeze to death while the boiler's off and I fix the valve."

Jack had only been home for a week. His first season as a member of the Quebec Champlains had been a good one. Teaming with Dad Weller, Jack had been moved to centerman, scored 20 goals (two behind Weller for the team lead) and with star defenseman Elmer Morey anchoring the blueline, the Champs had enjoyed a good season, earning a playoff berth (where they were quickly dumped by the Montreal Valiants). He and Marie had decided to keep the family in Chicago as Jack would be back to play football for the Wildcats and they could avoid uprooting Agnes and Jean, who were happy at their school.

A knock on the door startled them. As Jack stood up, his sore right knee causing a slight wince along the way, they heard pounding feet and Agnes ran to the door, shouting "I'll get it!"

"Find out who it is before you open that door, young lady!" Jack called out. He heard an exasperated "Oui, Papa!" in response and grinned despite himself. Agnes often spoke French when she wanted to avoid emotional outbursts, a trick Marie had taught her as she did it with English - using the language you're less comfortable in made you think about what you were saying before blurting it out.

Jack heard her ask the question, but didn't catch the response. The mystery was quickly solved: "It's Uncle Joe!" Agnes called out and opened the door.

Joe, in his typical full-steam-ahead manner, burst into the entry hall, scooped Agnes up with a grin and a "Hey gorgeous!" then planted a kiss on her cheek and put her down.

"Your whiskers are scratchy," Agnes said and rubbed her cheek. Joe just laughed in response. Jean, who had suddenly appeared in the hall, looked on with wide eyes while Joe rushed over, then squirmed and giggled as Joe repeated the performance with her.

Jack walked into the entry hall, swinging his suspender over his right shoulder as he did so. Joe eyed the wrench in Jack's left hand. "You're not going to whack me with that, are you?" he asked with a smile.

"Naw, the stupid radiator's busted," Jack said and slapped Joe on the shoulder with his right hand. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm thinking about selling my share in the Wildcats. Gonna talk to Carl about it, but... figured I might ask you first and see if maybe you want to join the ownership ranks."

Jack frowned. "Why you selling out?" he asked, avoiding the larger question of buying into the Wildcats.

"I'm going to invest in Bill Whitney's studio," Joe replied.

"Hmm," was all Jack said in reply.

Joe noticed that his brother looked uneasy. "Something tells me you think this is a bad idea," Joe said.

"Well... I don't know anything about motion picture making. Sports? Yeah, I know about that," Jack rubbed his chin, then asked, "You talk to Rollie about this?"

Joe shook his head. "Rollie's in Brooklyn. I did try to get him on the phone but he was out." Joe looked thoughtful and added, "I spoke with his secretary and she sounded... I don't know... worried about something."

Jack shrugged. "I haven't heard anything, but I hope Rollie's not having some kind of problem. I do know the basketball team hasn't done as well as he'd hoped."

"You ever been to one of those games?" Joe asked with a smirk.

"No. With the season overlapping with hockey, I really don't have the time," Jack replied.

"Well, I have. It's kind of a circus. You know they call the players cagers, right?"

Jack nodded.

"That's because they literally play in a cage. The fans are unruly... they throw stuff at the court and they put these wire cages around it to keep the players safe."

Joe grinned a little, then continued, "Of course, the players are pretty rough too. They bounce each other off the wire, guys get cut. Sometimes it makes hockey and football look tame, to be honest," he finished and shook his head.

Jack was silent as he digested this, and Joe went on, "Last I spoke with Rollie, he was saying they needed to figure out how to clean it up. Pop said it was worse than the early days of baseball when fans would come on the field and fight with the umpires, players, and so on. You know, the stuff Grampa Joe talks about..."

"Huh, who would've thought," Jack muttered. "And Bobby and Harry... they play this game, too, right?" Jack asked.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, but I don't think they beat on each other like these pro guys do."

Jack gave a brisk shake of his head as if knocking the thought away and then said, "Well, we got off topic there for a bit. I meant had you asked for Rollie's financial advice. He is the only accountant in the family, remember?"

Joe nodded, "Yeah, I remember. I was going to ask his advice. Hopefully I can get in touch before I meet with Carl tomorrow."

Jack rubbed his chin again and asked, "You heard about our old 'friend' Bugs Moran, right?"

"No. I haven't talked to that guy since before I left town."

Bugs Moran had taken control of the North Side Gang in Chicago after the previous heads of the gang had been killed in the on-and-off turf war with Al Capone's South Siders. Jack, glad to be past his brief employment as a cash mule, had kept an eye on the news, especially after he and his family had moved to Chicago.

"Well, he's in charge of the North Side now. Last month, Capone's guys lined up seven of Moran's boys in a garage and gunned them down. Called it the St. Valentine's Day Massacre."

"Hmph. I guess I should be glad I'm out west then," Joe said.

Neither brother said anything. While they were lost in their own thoughts, Marie ushered both girls into the kitchen.

"How are things, Joe? I mean really?" Jack asked quietly once they were alone.

"Oh, well, you know, things are good," Joe said unconvincingly.

"You having money trouble?"

"No... not really," Joe said, then added with a sigh, "Well, there was a big sell-off on Wall Street yesterday. I have some stocks that Rollie recommended. Took a bath on it, but I think it'll bounce back. This whole decade's been nothing but gangbusters."

Jack was dubious and it showed on his face.

"You really should have gotten into the market, Jack," Joe said firmly.

"Seems too much like gambling to me," Jack replied. "I'm more the cautious type, like Pop."

Joe laughed. "True. I think the old man keeps his money stuffed under the mattress."

"But really, why sell out?" Jack asked, pushing the conversation back on point.

"Well, my new wife... she has expensive tastes. So with a lot of my money tied up in stocks, I could use some cash, you know?" Joe looked unsure for the first time since he'd arrived. "And I do want to invest in the studio. It takes money to make a talkie, even more than it did the silent films. But you can make a lot too."

"I'm sure," Jack said, sounding anything but. "You can also lose money, too."

"Well, I guess if you're going to be a wet blanket about this, that you're not interested in buying me out?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm a little short myself, to be honest. Being 'just' a player isn't all that lucrative, you know?"

Joe shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do know. Never really had to worry about it, though."

Jack pushed an index finger into Joe's chest. "Consider yourself lucky. And think twice about selling out of the Wildcats. I think pro football is going to be big and you'll end up regretting it if you bail out now."

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