[legendsport]

Brooklyn, NY: January 3, 1930:

"Keep your voice down!" Rollie whisper-shouted.

Jack Barrell scowled at his brother but when he spoke next, it was also in a whisper: "What do you mean, wiped out?"

Rollie let out a huffing breath and the severe strain on his face nearly broke Jack's heart.

"I mean just that... I am essentially wiped out."

"And Francie doesn't know?"

Rollie shook his head and buried his face in his hands. Jack put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

It took a few moments for Rollie to gather himself. Then he said, again in a whisper, "How can I tell her? The baby is due soon and the doctor's told us again and again that stress could put both Francie and the baby in danger."

Rollie lowered his hands and there were tears in his eyes as he looked at Jack. "After losing everything... I can't lose Francie too, Jack."

"You're not going to lose Francie," Jack whispered back fiercely. "She's way too stubborn to go anywhere," he continued, and forced a grin onto his face.

Rollie's laugh was grim but he smiled when he said, "When you're right, you're right."

Jack sat down across from his brother, who slumped in his chair at the kitchen table. It was late, nearly ten o'clock and thankfully Marty was asleep... as was, presumably Francie who was on bed rest until the baby's arrival. That was expected to be at least another week.

Jack watched his brother sob silently for a moment then said, "This is when you really wish there was no Prohibition. This is a situation that definitely calls for a stiff drink."

Rollie muttered something unintelligible. Jack briefly considered and then discarded, the idea of asking him to repeat himself. Rollie stood up suddenly and, standing in front of the ice box, reached up and pulled open a cabinet. "Get some glasses," he muttered as he pulled out a brown bottle.

"For medicinal purposes," he said softly.

Jack raised his eyebrows but hustled over near the sink and retrieved a pair of glasses, setting them on the table as Rollie returned to his seat. Jack watched as Rollie uncorked the bottle and shakily poured a couple of fingers of... Jack wasn't quite sure what it was... into the glass.

The brothers silently clinked their glasses together and both downed their drinks in a single gulp.

Jack grimaced. Whiskey, he thought as he felt the burn. And not rot gut either.

"Where'd you get this?" he croaked as Rollie poured another measure into both glasses.

Rollie smirked. "Believe it or not, I got this from Dan Prescott."

Jack's eyebrows rose. "Prescott? Really?"

Rollie clinked his glass against Jack's and downed his drink. "Yep," he replied after wiping the back of his hand across his lips. "He gave it to me when we partnered up on the basketball team," he explained.

Jack's eyes brightened. "The teams... you're not wiped out, Rollie... you still have the teams!" Jack whispreed fiercely and slapped the table with an open palm - doing so lightly to keep the noise down.

Rollie shook his head. "That's true, but I'm going to have to sell out on one of them." He paused and shakily poured another drink before finishing, "Maybe both."

Jack shook his head and asked, "So what happened?"

Rollie's mirthless laugh returned before he replied, "Gene Weston's bank failed on New Year's Eve. He had all my money." He gulped a third drink and added, "Wiped out. The idiot had used his depositor's money buying stocks on margin."

Jack groaned and said, "A lot of that going around."

Rollie nodded and gave another cold laugh before saying, "They say misery loves company." He shook his head and added, "Me? Knowing that a lot of other people are in the same boat? Doesn't make me feel any better."

Jack took a deep breath and then said, "Speaking of misery loving company..." He placed a hand on Rollie's before continuing, "Joe's wiped out too. He's selling his share of the Wildcats. And I heard Billy Whitney is going to shutter the film studio."

Rollie raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Sometimes it seems like the whole world is just falling apart, you know?"

Jack grabbed his brother by the shoulder and squeezed. Tears of pain appeared in Rollie's eyes and he locked gazes with Jack.

"Don't forget, you have a wife and daughter who love you, Roland. This is not the end of the world."

Rollie bowed his head and was silent for a long time. When he raised his head some of the old fire was back in his eyes. "You're right, Jack," he said.

Jack was glad to see Rollie come out of his funk, at least enough to talk things over. Weston was done, the bank gone and with it the fortune that Malcolm and Reginald Presley had built over fifty years. Sad as it was, it was also common in the aftermath of October's market crash. Weston had been forced to sell the baseball team too. Rollie's partner Daniel Prescott had bought the Brooklyn Kings. Prescott was one of the few who seemed well positioned to ride out this... whatever it was (some were already calling it a depression). When Jack pushed, Rollie admitted he would probably sell out of the basketball team. The football team was the more profitable of the two operations. Plus, if anyone could shepherd that team through these tough times, it was Dan Prescott.

"I suppose that means you'll be moving back to Detroit, then," Jack said.

Rollie shrugged. "I suppose so." He grimaced and said, "Even if I sell out here in Brooklyn... I might need to take on investors in Detroit. The Maroons aren't cheap to run. And finding people with cash they can sink into a business? Not going to be easy."

Jack gave his brother's shoulder another squeeze. "Doesn't Pop always say that nothing worth having ever comes easy?"

Rollie poured them both another drink. Jack's head was already spinning, but he gamely downed his drink.

"Good ol' Pop. He's always been able to put a positive spin on things, hasn't he?"

Jack nodded and smiled. This time it was he who poured the next round. He raised his glass and said, "To Pop and the wisdom of age."

Rollie clinked his glass against his brother's and said, "To Pop."