Rated T for mild violence and consumption of alcohol (Tom Joad has a penchant for whiskey, remember?)

Gatsby

Gatsby was inside his store, taking inventory of everything he had. He was occasionally confused for a regular staff member, instead of the owner, but he didn't mind directing the patrons to the relevant isles. As he was doing the inventory for the painkiller medicine section, he felt a tap on his shoulder. There was a forty-something man behind him, with short black hair and clothing that seemed to suggest that he could do just about anything and get away with it. He cleared his throat, and asked "You wouldn't happen to have anything to help my toothache, would you?"

He was actually just counting up the medicine that would be perfect for that kind of problem, and gestured to it. "Right here, actually."

"Oh, that's funny. Sorry to be a bother, my eyes aren't so good anymore. What's your name, chap? I'm Meyer Wolfshiem." He reached over to grab a bottle, and Gatsby noticed his cuff-links. They were adorned with small red jewels.

"I'm James- I mean Jay Gatsby. I like your cuff-links, by the way."

"Thank you. They're made of the finest specimen of ruby crystals."

"Well, they're very nice." His eyes were drawn to the newspaper that the man had in his hand. There was a poem written on the cover.

Still, it really doesn't matter,
After all, who wins the flag.
Good clean sport is what we're after,
And we aim to make our brag
To each near or distant nation
Whereon shines the sporting sun
That of all our games gymnastic
Base ball is the cleanest one!

A small silence passed, and Gatsby glanced at the paper again. "Do you follow the baseball games?"

"Oh no, too many of them are fixed. I might go to the world series they're having here."

"Oh, I'm sure these ones won't be fixed."

"I'd be surprised if they were. Though now that I think of it, that would be a nice trick to pull off." He paused, thinking about it. "And the players are paid so little it just might work."

Gatsby was surprised he seemed to be taking it seriously. If you got all the way to the national series, you obviously wouldn't throw the game just to make some money. "Oh, I'm sure none of them would agree to that. I know one of the players on our side, the Cincinnatti's. I'm sure he wouldn't lose on purpose."

Wolfshiem thought about it for a couple seconds, his eyes seeming deep in thought. "Well, I'd like to meet him. Do you think we could arrange a dinner, the three of us? I know just the place."

"You're not considering trying to throw the game, are you?"

"Oh, I just want to talk to him and see where it goes."

Joad

The 17 year old farmer's boy was walking into what looked like a fancy restaurant. He was still getting used to seeing so many people in the same place. In one busy square there might have been more people than lived in his entire hometown.

He was pretty sure that the food in here would be way too expensive for his meager budget, but he just wanted to look at the fancy decorations. He looked around, amazed at how much money seemed to have been spent on just the chandelier, when a familiar face caught his eye. He recognized him from a poster he had seen a hundred times in the city, he was a famous baseball player!

He rushed over to the table, happy that he had a piece of paper with him. He was going to use it to write down everything interesting that he saw in the big city, but he knew a much better use for it. He approached the table, and the conversation slowed. All he heard was one of the three men say something like "lose intentionally?"

He held out the piece of paper and his pencil. "If it 'aint no trouble, you maybe think I could get an autograph?"

"Of course!" the baseball player said. He scribbled something illegible, wrote the date and said "who should I make it out to?"

"Tom Joad, please."

As he wrote that, Tom wondered about what he had heard. But he saw one of the men's smile, a smile that seemed to have a reassurance about it, and he just projected vitality and optimism. He remembered the stories he's heard of people hearing only part of a conversation, jumping to conclusions, and decided that he wouldn't be a character in one of those stories by not jumping to conclusions and thinking things through.

The player finished writing his name and handed the paper back to them. "You take care, kid."

He walked away, and the conversation resumed. He caught the words "-much will you pay me," but the rest he couldn't grab.

He walked out of the restaurant, lost in thought about what he had heard. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, and he bumped into someone.

"Oh, sorry about that sir," he said before the other man could speak.

"That's fine. Is there something on your mind, you seem distracted?"

"Well, I got an autograph from a famous baseball player, but I thought I heard him talking about fixing the game that's coming up."

"Oh, you probably just misunderstood."

"You're right, that's probably illegal anyway."

"Well, it's actually not, but it can get you banned for life from baseball."

"Well gosh, how do you know so much about the law? Are you a baseball fanatic or something?"

"Haha, no. I'm a lawyer."

"You are? Sorry, mister, I hadn't known. My name's Tom."

"I'm Atticus, nice to meet you Tom. But you piqued my curiosity. What do you say we go back in that restaurant and listen to a bit of what they're saying, just to be sure?"

"Well I'd love to! Let's pretend you're taking me there if anyone asks." They walked inside, and took a seat. They listened to a bit more of the conversation, and there was no doubt.

"So, what do you say we meet up again here in two days? Then we can discuss payment."

"I'm still not sure I'll do it, I don't like cheating in games, but I really do hate the owner of my team."

"Well, we can discuss it further when we meet next. You'll bring some of your teammates?"

"Yeah, sure. But..."

The conversation continued, but Tom and Atticus left.

"You were right, Tom. Can you meet me here in two days, like he said?"

"Sure thing."

Two days later.

Tom walked into the fancy restaurant, and saw Atticus already sitting in the booth adjacent to one with a bunch of people he recognized from posters, and the two men from yesterday.

"Well, I do really hate the boss."

"I would do it, but it'd take a lot."

"Oh I assure you, there's a lot to be gained. Gamblers like me tend to place quite large bets on the outcome if we already know who's going to win." The man was quickly writing down what everyone was saying, and he was quickly switching between his right and left hand.

"Well, I don't like it, and I can't believe any of you are actually considering it."

"Now, now old sport, I don't want anyone to get riled up. Let's just talk about it."

"No, I'm through talking about it."

"You know old sport, you may be right." The man glanced at Tom, seeming to notice him. "Let's meet again somewhere else. I'll send you the address."

They said goodbyes, and walked away. Tom hurried to talk to Atticus outside the building, and said "Did you notice he was ambidextrous?"

"Now that you mention it, I remember. I really need to catch things like that."

"Let's get out of here though. I have a weird feeling."

They both went in separate directions, and he heard the two men talking. "He's going to be a threat, let's get rid of him."

5 days later

Tom was at the bar, getting something to drink. He'd asked for some whiskey, the first he'd ever had, but he couldn't enjoy it because of the weight on his mind. He was having no luck whatsoever finding their new meeting location, and he didn't have any place to look. He had tried asking around restaurants to see if they had seen a bunch of baseball players chatting, but none had seen anything. He was missing home, and constantly amazed at how expensive everything was, from a drink to his hotel stay. He fingered the folded up autograph in his pocket, and half wished he had never found it.

He didn't expect to see anyone he knew, which is why he was very surprised when Herb Turnwald walked in. He spotted Tom, and gestured for him to follow him outside.

When they were both standing in the cold night air, Tom asked "Why are you here, Herb? What brings you?"

"I'm sorry, but my family really needs the money."

"What are you talking about?"

"The harvests are getting worse and worse. Pretty soon we'll have to borrow from the bank."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm sorry, Tom," he said. Then he took out a knife, and shoved it into Tom's stomach. Herb stepped away from Tom with his hands up, and a tear going down his cheek. Tom suppressed a scream, looking around for a way to escape. There was a shovel leaning on the wall. He grabbed it and smashed it onto Herb's head, who fell to the ground, clutching his head.

Tom went down on one knee, and tried to suppress the blood flowing out of Herb's skull, but the crack was too large. Herb turned his head to him, and weakly pushed his hand away. "You have to be fast, they're at the drugstore."

He turned his head back over, and closed his eyes. "Go, Tom."

Tom slowly, painfully, pulled the knife out of his torso, took off his shirt, and bound it around the bleeding. Fortunately, the wound didn't seem serious. He ran inside, asked if he could use the phone, and after many protests to get him to the hospital he was finally able to call Atticus.

"It's me, they're at the drugstore on Daisy Street. Make haste!"

Before he could say anything, Tom had already hung up and was on his way. It was a decent run to get there, and he arrived just as Atticus pulled up in his car.

They both ran inside the drugstore, which was luckily still open. They could hear hushed voices coming out of a room in the back.

"You see gentlemen, there's only one way to make sure you lose the world series without anyone suspecting you and you getting caught. You have to lose the second game, or preferably the third game, but not both. Also lose the sixth game and the seventh game, or if you absolutely can't lose the seventh for some reason you lose the eighth game. If you stray from that, there's a good chance we'll get caught, and you shouldn't because we know you can beat the White Sox pretty easily if you're trying to."

Atticus was jotting this all down

Finch

As Atticus listened, more voices came from inside the room. "You know, Jay, I really appreciate you helping me with this. I'm not nearly charismatic enough to do this on my own." Then, another voice. "You flatter me, I'm sure you'd be able to do most of this without me." "Well, I don't want to argue with you, so could you get me some more of that stuff you got me for my teeth? They're killing me, I might have to get a couple of the back ones extracted."

"Sure thing, old sport. In fact, a new shipment came in today."

The voice called back "That's great, Gatsby!" but atticus wasn't paying to close attention to what seemed to be idle chitchat. What he needed was some kind of proof in order to expose them. Cheating at baseball was wrong, and if they did that they were effectively stealing from the other gamblers. Not that Atticus approved of gambling, of course.

Still it seemed impossible to expose them. He had to consider things from the conspirator's point of view, climb into their skin and walk around in it. He was pretty sure he was licked, but he had to see it through.

He had assumed that this Gatsby person would be getting the medication from inside the room, but the door opened Atticus saw him walk out.

He looked confused for a moment, but then recognized them. "Hey, what are you doing here?" Then, he glanced at the paper on the card table they were sitting next to, and seemed to come to a realization.

It seemed almost as if knowing there was a solution made it easier to find, and suddenly it was obvious. If he told anyone else in advance what games they would lose, then they would have to believe that they were being fixed. It was the only explanation for someone knowing the outcomes of the matches in advance.

While Atticus was putting that together, Tom grabbed a bottle off the shelf next to him, wound his arm up, and threw it as hard as he could at Gatsby's face. Gatsby moved out of the way before it hit him, but Tom was already running out the door and was heading to the forest across the street. Gatsby yelled "Wolfshiem, help!" and made a lunge for the paper.

Atticus was faster and closer than he was, and put his hand on top of the paper to keep Gatsby from getting it. But suddenly he felt a powerful kick in the legs, fell over, and knew it was Wolfshiem. Gatsby grabbed the paper, looked at it, and cursed.

He dropped it to the ground, and it landed in front of Atticus. It was the autograph the baseball player had given Tom. That kid had switched the papers when Gatsby was distracted by the bottle he threw.

Atticus got on his feet and ran out the door, following Tom, and Wolfshiem ran back into the room he came from. "When this is all over, I'm moving back to peaceful Makim," he thought. Atticus faintly heard him emerge from the room, and there was a deafening "boom". He risked a look behind him, and the gambler was holding a rifle. A few paces ahead of him, a mockingbird fell over, hit by the bullet.

Epilogue

A few years later, Tom turned himself in to the authorities for killing Herb, and told everyone it was nothing more than a drunk fight. Wolfshiem made a ton of money, and was never connected to the operation, but all the players that participated were permanently banned from baseball. Gatsby got a generous donation from Wolfshiem, and used it to kickstart his drugstore business (and he maybe did a little bootlegging on the side, too).

Notes

I had the idea to do this when I read the line about Wolfshiem fixing the world series (which actually was fixed in 1919, by the way) and thought "that sounds way more interesting than this book." So through a chain of events that started with me realizing that these three books took place in about the same timeframe and jokingly mentioning that it would actually be possible, I ended spending a good portion of my weekend writing crossover fanfiction about books I don't like, that involves sports (please don't take my geek card). And did you know that FFN doesn't let you use more than two sources in a crossover? Seems kind of silly, as 3+ way crossovers are the most fun. The poem at the beginning of the story wasn't written by me, it was published in a newspaper some time before the world series that this story is about.

Atticus Finch was taken from To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee. Tom Joad was taken from The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Gatsby and Meyer Wolfshiem were taken from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.