Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and do not profit from this story.

Warnings: This story has slash. Don't like it, don't read it. It also will contain drugs, violence, and sexual themes. This fic uses 20's slang and while I could make a million footnotes and clutter up the page, it's fairly simple to Google the terms.

A/N: My first attempt at writing a Glee fic. I blame my friend, as she somehow talked me into to playing Blaine in a Tumblr RP. While the RP is also based in the 20's this story was brought on because of my love for the era. The slang, the music, the fashion, etc. Also, if you can guess where the title comes from, bonus points for you. I tend not to use betas since my updating schedule is so sporadic, so I'm sorry if there are any errors. Hope you enjoy it, thanks for reading.


Chapter One


Kurt jumped out of his seat, his paper work scattering all over his desk and onto the floor. "Sir!" he answered, his body standing at attention.

"At ease." Sue growled, her form towering over the young officer in training. "What's this I hear about ya being all balled up, again?"

"I…er… that is." Kurt stuttered, uselessly. Just then another officer entered the room, a cocky smirk settled firmly on his lips.

"Hummel blew our cover at the juice joint."

"You're all wet, Karofsky! I ain't done no such thing." Kurt protested, his eyes crackling with anger. He loathed David Karofsky. Somehow, the over sized goon had managed to get promoted before him and now had the gull to order him around and blame him for mistakes that weren't his fault.

Karofsky rolled his eyes and snorted in disagreement. "This is ab-so-lute-ly your fault, Hummel. You look like an Ethel so tell it to, Sweeney."

"I ain't no Ethel!" Kurt denied. "Besides, that's got nothing to do with our cover being blown! If it wasn't for you and St. James-"

"ENOUGH!" Sue roared. "You're on desk duty for the month, got it, Porcelain?"

Kurt scowled at the nickname and gave a curt nod. "Yes, sir."

Sue stormed out of the office, a tornado of destruction following after her as she tended to shove the nearest Johnny or break anything she could get her hands on. Karofsky gave a chuckle, imitating Kurt's posture before saying, "Yes, sir." in a mocking, high pitched tone.

"Dry up!" Kurt howled in frustration, not noticing a familiar blonde head of hair that came in the room. Karfosky shoved passed the smaller man, knocking him into the nearest wall with grin.

"Watch where yer going you Palooka!" Sam called after the burly man. He faced Kurt with a sigh and began to pick up all the papers from the floor. "Don't let him get to ya, Kurt. Karofsky's regular. He'll be lucky to outsmart a Real McCoy like you."

"Says you." Kurt hummed, pleasantly. "Thanks anyway, Sam."

"So, what did Sylvester say?" Sam asked while setting the newly stacked papers back onto Kurt's desk

Kurt ran his fingers through his hair restlessly. "Desk duty….for a month." he sighed.

"That's rotten luck." Sam commented, sympathetically. "Where did that no good St. James run off to afterwards?"

"Who knows! He needs to learn to know one's onions." Kurt answered, feeling a rant coming on. He chanced a glance at the clock and gasped in surprise. "Rhatz! Is that the time? Sorry, Sam I gotta get a wiggle on."

Kurt speed passed the confused blonde. He had completely forgotten about getting dinner with Rachel Berry. Kurt raced down the bustling streets of Chicago, not even caring that he was still suited up in his uniform. He arrived right on time, albeit out of breath. Scanning the room for the girl, Kurt frowned when he noticed another person sitting with Rachel. The other person looked up at Kurt, shooting him a wink, causing Kurt to see red. 'Ducky', he thought, disparagingly. It was Jesse St. James.

He marched over to the table and glowered at the two patrons before Rachel broke the silence. "Kurt, look who I ran into, isn't that swell?"

"Yeah, it's 'swell' to see ya you no good rube." Kurt said with a false smile. "Thanks for sticking around the other day. I got desk duty because of you."

Jesse flashed Kurt a flirtatious smile, pulling the seat next to him out as a gesture for Kurt to take a seat. "Sorry, bunny. You know how I get when I'm about to be pinched."

Kurt ignored Jesse's invitation and sat next to Rachel. "Go chase yourself, St. James."

"Don't have kittens, I'm going, bunny. Check." Jesses stood, aiming a wink at Rachel…or was it Kurt?

A silenced passed. Kurt waiting until Jesse was out of the diner before asking, "What did that drug-store cowboy want?"

"Nothing! He was just saying hello." Rachel sighed in an annoyed manner. "He may be a cake-eater, but he ain't no drug-store cowboy."

"You're right, Rachel. He's a good for nothing dewdropper. Thanks for reminding me." Kurt quipped as he pulled his menu in front of his face. Rachel sighed, dramatically. This was going to be a long dinner.

Jesse waited for Kurt and Rachel to leave the diner, trailing behind the two until Rachel was safely escorted home. About a block down, when Kurt was by himself, Jesse made his move. Swiftly, he stepped behind him, wrapping his arm around Kurt's shoulders.

"Hello, bunny." he whispered into Kurt's ear. "Don't take any wooden nickels."

Kurt swung around, his fist poised to strike. "Jeepers Creepers, Jesse! Are ya screwy?"

"Like I said, don't take any wooden nickels, bunny." Jesse replied with a smug grin. "What if I told you I could get you outta that desk duty?"

"I'd say you're a sap, but that's nothing new." Kurt sneered, rolling his eyes in disgust.

"Now, bunny-"

"Stop calling me bunny!" Kurt snapped.

Jesse held his hands up, offering a truce. "Easy. I'll get to the point. What if I could get you in with the Warblers?"

Kurt perked up at the name. The Warblers were the most dangerous mafia syndicate in all of Chicago and his precinct had been trying to get evidence on them for years. This wouldn't just get him out of desk duty, but also the promotion he'd been wanting.

"How so? How do I know you ain't feedin' me a line, St. James? You're on thin ice as it is, mister." He warned, not up for Jesse's usually games.

"This ain't no line, Hummel." Jesse replied. "Recently, the boss' son took over and let's just say he doesn't run as tight of a ship as daddy did. Copacetic?"

"Who's the new fella?" Kurt inquired. He was unaware that Anderson had had a son.

Jesse flashed him a knowing smile, pulling a gasper from his pocket. He offered a stick to Kurt, who merely shook his head in disapproval. "His name's Blaine. Bunch of the Warblers, along with Daddy Warbler, were killed not too long back. He's recruiting. So what do you say? We can convince him that you're gonna double cross the bull and before ya know it, he's pinched and you're sittin' pretty!" With that Jesse lit his cigarette and took a long drag, offering his hand out to shake on the deal.

Kurt stared at the open hand in front of him. It was like an open door. He looked at St. James; for once the man's face was serious. Kurt brought his hand to met Jesse's with slight hesitation, but before he could reconsider Jesse firmly grasped his hand.

"Glad we have ourselves a deal, bunny."