August 1, 1930
As Jack Zuta sat in the Chicago Police Department, he must have been wishing that he could turn back time. Some days earlier, he had authorized the murder of Alfred “Jake” Lingle, a definite irritant in his side. Now the double-dealing Lingle was dead, but for some reason the press and public had decided to make a hero of him and the whole situation was getting way out of hand. What the heck was all the fuss about, Zuta must have wondered—Lingle was just a $65 a week legman as far as the public was concerned. To those in the know, of course, Lingle was an extortionist and a rat.
But Lingle had also been in pretty thick with the all-powerful Capone, and now here was Zuta stuck in the middle of Capone territory, enduring a police grilling. What’s more, he had no safe way of making it back to his home turf.
Zuta—mob accountant and greaser that he was—always had his own interests at heart, so he begged for a ride back to the North Side from one of the cops who had picked him up in the first place—Lieutenant George Barker. Barker agreed, after a certain amount of wheedling on Zuta’s part, and Zuta and three pals who had been picked up with him got into the lieutenant’s car, Zuta cowering in the back seat.
Once they were in the car, though, the race was on. As Barker drove, another automobile pulled up beside him and one of the occupants—in true 1930s gangster style—jumped out onto the running board and started blasting away. Bullets hailed through the car windows, and Barker was forced to stop in order to return fire. It was a shoot-out in the street, and several innocent bystanders were wounded or killed. When at last it was all over, the attackers careened off, smoke spewing from an engine that had been specially modified to provide camouflage. Zuta, who had been slightly wounded, hobbled off briskly, losing himself in the crowd. But there was no doubt that Capone was royally upset.
Immediately Zuta made himself scarce and headed for a spa in Wisconsin. Here was a chance for him to relax, at least for a while. He could enjoy the scenery, listen to the music at the local dance palace, and watch the dancers cut a rug, all without the fear of Capone’s goons showing up. Or so he thought.
This blissful period of peace was excruciatingly short-lived, however. At the beginning of August, a witness at the local drugstore later testified that she heard Zuta using the store phone, and demanding that someone had better get up there damn quick to get him out of there—pronto! Later that very night, after the desperate call from the drugstore, Zuta put in an appearance at the local dance hall. Enjoying a drink of ginger beer and sitting next to the self-playing piano, Zuta began listening to music. Just as he dropped a coin into the machine and began to enjoy that jazzy number “Good For You, Bad For Me”, the door to the dance palace burst open.
Later, such names as Dean Stanton and Tony Accardo—Capone men both—would be bandied about in connection with the incident. But that night most of the people in the establishment didn’t know who the men were. All they saw were the guns—a machine gun, a rifle, and a number of pistols. No doubt they also watched as Jack Zuta was shot in the mouth, stood up and tried to run, then was pelleted with more gun blasts and collapsed dead on the floor.
Just as there was fall-out after the murder of Jake Lingle, so there was fall-out after the death of Jack Zuta. Zuta had kept meticulous records of all his mob transactions—everything from notes about bribes to civic officials to compromising photos of millionaires and politicians. The city, in fact, was aghast at the corruption that was uncovered when Zuta died.
But Al Capone? He got what he was after, and he wasn’t going to let anyone forget it. In fact, one time, when he heard a bounty had been placed on his head Capone quipped, “Nobody’s gonna Zuta me.”