Chicago, March, 1930
Prohibition was secondary news when the stock market crashed. I’d headed north after St. Louis, made my way through Philadelphia and New York, taking out trash. The last five years, I’d made my home in Chicago, where the underworld had gotten out of control and the city crawled with gangsters. New York, St. Louis, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, Miami, all the big cities, were wallowing in the shit these gangsters were wielding. All us Hunters were sitting tight until we were told otherwise.
Not used to being in one place for so long, I was uncomfortable at first. Then my instincts kicked in and I decided to make some money. Using the Hunter network, its money and connections, I opened a speakeasy. No swill liquor here. I didn’t allow any gangsters inside, but everyone assumed that I was one. No reason to disabuse them of that notion.
Pretty much every day I headed down to work through the streets of Chicago, sidestepping the kids panhandling and the businessmen who took the easy way out.
A bookstore fronted my establishment. I nodded to the little old lady who ran the place for me. She narrowed her eyes at me, especially when I blew a stream of smoke throughout the store. Even though she knew I was her boss, she didn’t care. She didn’t like me. The only thing keeping her from ratting us out was the money I was paying to help her son, still shell shocked from the war, stay in the hospital.
I went into the office and opened the floor to ceiling wall safe. It wasn’t a real safe, but a hidden door to get from the bookstore to the speakeasy.
A couple women were cleaning up and the bartender restocked the shelves as I came down the stairs. We bought our liquor at top dollar, and truth be told, it tasted like ass. Good thing I used to be the god of wine. One touch to that muck and it flowed like fucking ambrosia. We were making money hand over fist.
Helped us keep the lady upstairs’ son well, helped us with the kids panhandling outside. Kept a few families of those coward businessmen in their homes a little longer.
I went behind the bar and nodded to the bartender, a young guy named Deats. His father committed suicide the night the stock market crashed. After shooting his wife, Deats, and Deats’ younger brother and sister. Plucked him out of the hospital and put him to work. Tried to help him through the loss of his whole family.
“Hey, Angelo.”
“Busy last night?” I grabbed an ashtray and put my cigarette out, then dumped the tray’s contents in the trash.
“Yeah. Big night. They’re counting in the back.”
“Any trouble?”
Trouble for us came in a lot of forms: police, fights, other gangsters. Anything really. We had the best liquor around. Granted, I didn’t touch every barrel, but we were still known for good shit.
Deats shook his head. “Couple scuffles, but the twins took care of it.”
The twins. Freakishly big, we called the brothers One and Two. They showed up at our back door one morning and never left. Never told us their names, either. Some bad shit surely followed them. But they were the best bouncers in Chicago.
I nodded to the two ladies cleaning up. “They good?”
Deats looked over at the women cleaning. “Yeah. No one touched them.”
We have a motley crew around here, but we all look after the girls. Neither of them were whores, but some patrons assume that all the girls in speakeasies were. Dottie came to Chicago with her husband, a cop, and now she was a young widow with a five-year-old son. Fern didn’t talk about her life so much, but from what she had said, it hadn’t been pretty. Both girls lived upstairs, two floors above the bookstore, one floor above One and Two.
There are other girls, too. Ones that don’t live here. Ones that we hire that need easy money and have already made their choices. But Dottie and Fern weren’t ever going to be two of those girls.
“All right,” I told him. “I’m gonna go help the guys.”
When you’re trying to outsmart gangsters, it helps to employ gangsters. My guys had been chosen carefully, all were trustworthy, and all thought I was the shit. Worked for me.
They knew I had a soft spot for people who were weaker or couldn’t handle their lives. They all had that same soft spot. Not to mention they were paid well and knew the nitty-gritty of this work.
I heard them laughing long before I made it to the counting room.
“She took her damn time, man. Last time I promise a woman I’m getting her off before I do myself.”
I let myself in and whistled low. “Marty, you know how to get a woman off?”
Marty Mangenello looked over his shoulder at me as I came through the door. “Fuck off, Angelo.”
I grinned and took my hat then jacket off. “Who’s this new broad?”
“What makes you think it’s a new broad?” Joe Carrier asked.
“Who’d fuck him twice?” I asked.
They laughed uproariously as I rolled up my sleeves. The table they sat around was piled high with money. Each had a glass of clear amber liquid at their elbow. Smoke billowed over their heads as each puffed on a cigar. I took my place at the table and nodded over to Mick O’Brian. “Hand me a glass, would ya?”
“For your information, Angelo, I’ve been with this one for two months,” Marty told me.
“Two whole months?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a record.”
The other guys laughed. “Maybe,” Marty acknowledged. “But she might be the one.”
“There is no ‘One,’” Joe responded. “Unless you’re talking about the bouncer.”
Marty whipped his hand back, feigning a backhand hit to Joe’s face. More laughter. Marty turned to me, though, and lowered his voice. “So I got a favor for you, Angelo.”
I took a swig. Ah, the good stuff. “Yeah? What is it?”
“My girl….” He glanced at the other guys, but only sighed noisily and kept going. “My girl’s got a new roommate.”
“Yeah, and?”
Marty rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, she’s straight off the train from Nebraska….”
“She a farm girl?” Joe asked.
“Yeah,” Marty nodded. “My girl says she’s not doing so well here.”
“Why not?” Mick asked.
“Green,” Marty answered with a shake of his head. “My girl got her a job and she ain’t pulling her weight, if you know what I mean.”
I looked at Mick, then Joe, then Marty. Marty had his arms crossed and leaned on the table. Both Mick and Joe had paused like I had.
“She like Dottie and Fern?”
“No, no, nothing like that. My girl thinks that she didn’t know what she was getting into, that’s all. The whole idea was for her to come here, make money, and then send it home.” Marty shrugged. “She didn’t expect extracurricular activities.”
I pulled out my cigarettes and put one to my lips. “How’s that not like Dottie and Fern?”
“Well….” Marty trailed off. “Maybe it is.”
I struck a match. “So this favor?”
Marty nodded at me, then glanced at Joe and Mick. “Yeah. She doesn’t work with my girl. She works at Ebby’s.”
I lowered the match, my cigarette barely touched. I stared at Marty as he fiddled with a pencil now, not meeting my eyes. “Ebby’s?” I asked.
“Well, shit,” Joe responded.
I looked at my guys. “Who wants to come?”
“I do,” all three said.
I slapped Marty on the back. “We’ll go tonight.”