Bullets&Booze: A prohibition RP



Original poster
This is a Jump-In RP however I would like it if people sent their Character sheet to the OOC before posting, so myself and others know who is who and the RP can flow smoothly. : 3 Thank you!!
The rain pitter pattered silently on the Speakeasy, creating a calm drum to the night. It spoke in tongues, a strange gibberish that meant nothing to Lola. But she enjoyed listening to its sories, anyway. She sat in the far corner, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her skirt while wearing nothing else but her brassiere and a shawl to keep her shoulders from getting cold. Nonchallantly, she smoked a cigarette, watching it swirl around her black bob that was put in disarray. On the table was a small glass of gin filled to the top next to a silver flask. It was closing hours, no one in their right mind would have been awake; but she was. The night was long in planning, and... in necessary discourse. Tomorrow Lola would have to make another trip to the Canadian boarder, and then afterwards make a visit to "Doc." Her meds were getting low.... and by meds, her own personal stash of alcohol. Ah, it was easy to get the things you wanted with just a wave of a leg and a smile these days. Her thoughts wandered towards the Ricardos. They were starting to encroach on the Giomi's part of the town. Gunshots were firing outside, and like a good little girl, Lola waited patiently for them all to come back smiling and half drunk, smothering their selves with false happiness. This was war. This was life. This was.... Prohibition.
Viola pet the fur of her coat absentmindedly as the driver took her to the speakeasy, the rain outside making it hard for them to go as fast as she would like. She had business to attend to, or at least she hoped she did. She was tired of sitting at home with her mother, waiting for another job from her step father or a quick fling that would only last a minute or two. No she needed to find herself something to do, and she knew no better place than the speakeasy. If she was lucky, her friend Lola would be around to talk with, maybe share a smoke and a drink if she could.

She could hear some gunshots out in the distance, far enough where her car could drive by safely but close enough to tell her that the mafia was having another fight. She gave a small sigh before she noticed they had arrived, looking at the building for a moment before silently stepping out. She knew she was up at some ungodly hour, wanting to see her friend for some reason. She just couldn't sit in bed when she couldn't sleep. She wandered in, noting that the place was empty though the doors were still open. She caught sight of Lola and smiled a bit before wandering over to her, her heels clicking across the dace floor before she stopped next to her.

"Evening Lola...Or should I say morning?" She asked lightly as she looked down at the woman. "I know you're closed but I couldn't sleep...I brought a gift though if you'd like it." She said, pulling out a container of Lola's favorite cigarettes.

The rain fell in steady drizzle, it muffled the street lights and the sounds of a Chicago night. He loved the rain, combined with the cover of darkness; it made moving his cargo so much easier. The truck pulled to a stop at the intersection across from the speakeasy, as the light changed the truck shifted gears and rolled across, hanging a right into an alley, it's tail lights disappearing as the truck shifted gears again and reversed into the opposite alley, the red brake lights illuminating the bare brick walls as it came to a stop. Holding his hat he stepped down out of the truck, a group of four men jumped out of the back, beneath their trench coats the butt end of Thompson machine guns were barely visible as they spread out, two moved passed him to the end of the alley while the other two stood between the back of the truck and the back door.

Waiting for a nod from the guard nearest him at the end of the alley, he approached the back door and knocked a series of five times. Behind him, two additional men were pulling crates out the back of the truck.
Lola gave a simper towards the other lady as she took the pack of cigarettes off the table, flicking the flask of booze towards her. The smile dissipated though, as she took another drag and ousted it on the table top before blowing a fresh cloud of smoke into the air. Her eyelids flickered at the commotion going on outside, before she rolled them.

"It's alright. I couldn't sleep either. Geeze. Those boys sure are loud out there, and I ain't talkin' just about their pillow talk either." Her accent was thick, just like that of a true Chicago-goer; one who's lived in the city all her life. "I'm expectin' a shipment tonight, and then tomorrow I'm headin' up to them Canadians. Afterwards, I'll be visiting ol' dickery Doc and seeing what he's got for me. What about you?"

The woman reached down to her garter, and pulled out her pack of cigs and slowly pulled one out in offering for Viola. Morning was slowly on the horizon, and soon she'd have to get herself dressed up to do the one thing she as good at, and that was smuggling booze across the boarder. With her figure, and her sassy charm, why would anyone suspect anything from her? She's a good lady, a good part of society.

Or so she'd like to think.

Viola smiled only back for a slight moment before sitting down as well, accepting the flask and taking a drink before setting it down on the table again. She rolled her shoulder a bit as she took of her fur coat, revealing the fine dress she wore underneath, it may be some ungodly hour but she wasn't going to sacrifice good looks just because of it. After crossing her legs and settling at the table she sighed again, trying to ignore the gunfire.

"I've got nothing, nothing from the boss or my pops for that matter. It seems like I'm wasting away here...." She paused for a moment to accept the offer of the cigarette, putting it to her painted lips before lighting it quickly with her lighter. She took a long needed drag and blew the smoke out slowly, savoring taste of it like a fine wine. "The real problem is lack of stuff for me to do...pops doesn't want me near the dirty work and my ma just doesn't want me to leave the house...If you need some help with those Canadians I'll gladly help ya, anything to stop the boredom."

She took another drag, waiting for an answer as she looked at the other woman, almost an exact opposite of herself and yet they were as close as anyone could get when they were in the mafia. She did respect Lola greatly though, it took a lot in a woman to stick with these men, giving up the only real thing she had to survive. With one more drag she smiled again, a little softer and maybe even a bit playful, something one would expect this early in the morning.

"If you let me go, I'll make sure to stock you up on those cigarettes, you've been going through them pretty fast lately." She said, knowing full well that not even Lola could say no to that offer.
In between the cries of pain came the dulled sound of gunfire. It wasn't an easy thing to pick up on in a room like the one Ren was currently occupying. Sounds rarely infiltrated this special room at the back of his speakeasy, nor did they ever really escape. Except for times like these of course, when he opened the door to leave his 'friend' to rot in his own blood and filth and weigh his options.

Out into the club Ren emerged, wiping blood off of his knuckles with a rather stained towel. He paused, turning his cool gaze on Lola and her visitor for a moment before continuing on behind the bar. This place of his had once belonged to his pop, and although Ren wasn't much one to converse with the customers who came here to dance and drink, he had enough common sense to know how to keep the place appealing. Good beverage and women like Lola were the key. Throw in a good band and the money would flow.

Plucking a dark bottle off of the shelf, Ren made his way across the floor to the two ladies currently in conversation, setting down a clean glass in front of Viola, filling it as well as topping off Lola's. Then he sank down into a free chair and sighed, pausing a moment before filling his own glass and thunking the bottle down in the middle of the table.

It wasn't that he was upset with his job for the Giomi Family, just that he hated having to tear himself away from said job in order to keep himself from going too far. "Shouldn't be too long now," he muttered, taking a generous gulp of his drink. Whether he was talking about the Giomi boys heading back or the Ricardo made-man finally spilling his guts was uncertain. Knowing Ren, probably the latter.
The back door creaked open, as cigarette smoke billowed out into the alley. Pulling his hat up he extended a hand to the now nervous and shivering older gentleman standing at the back door. "Mr. Roman! How are you this morning" he asked him quietly, "Here's your product..." he nodded to the 4 crates and 3 casks now piled up behind him. "Of course we discussed the mild price increase last time right?" He paused and looked at the mans still healing broken arm, "So there won't be any issues I hope?" The man nodded silently and pulled out a folded up stack of bills, handing them over, he motioned to the guards to put the product in the cellar to the right of the back door. As the men shuffled and grunted, hauling it downstairs; he pocketed the bills and gave the man a tip of his hat. "Have a good morning Mr Roman." He looked at the dusty gray dawn, then pulled his pocket watch from within his vest pocket.

"Time to move gentlemen, we still have Ren's place". The deal done, the men climbed back into the truck and shortly after a cloud of exhaust filled the alley as it roared out and into the streets. Five minutes later, the truck pulled up behind Rens speakeasy. In similar motion as the one before, the men took their places as the remainders of the shipment were brought to the edge of the truck. He again knocked, with a similar 5 knock pattern on the back door and waited. Leaning against the railing he took a deep breath of the Chicago morning air.
As Viola waited for an answer from Lola she turned her gaze toward the sound of someone entering. Upon noticing it was just Ren she glanced away again and continued to smoke and relax. It seemed Ren was dealing with another..."problem" in the back this morning, if she had known that she would have stayed at home. Not that she had problems with Ren or what he did, she just didn't like to get blood on her nice clothing. It was nearly impossible to get out and even harder to explain to people. She looked at Lola a little longer before looking at Ren once more, noticing he had a bottle in hand.

She took a drag of her cigarette slowly as he poured her another glass, taking it with her free hand as he stepped back. She blew out the smoke out at the ground, not wanting to get it into Ren eyes as he sat down with them at the table, pouring himself a glass before setting the bottle in the middle.

"Morning Ren...Long night?" She asked kindly, taking another drag as she looked at the usually silent man.
He was pretty much on the verge of sleeping, sitting up with his eyes open but sleeping nonetheless. Viola's voice gently coaxed Ren out of his daze though and he automatically took another sip of his drink before answering. "No longer than usual," he muttered, gazing absent-mindedly at his glass as he swirled the clear liquid around and around inside.

Since the club was a nighttime one, Ren often slept during the day. He was tired from a long night's work, topped off with the extra job that was more stubborn than anyone Ren had encountered in months. However, there was no rush on the information needed, so sleep was a very appealing thought at the moment. All he had to do was wait for Tony's shipment to arrive. And just like that came the knock, easy to hear since the club was so quiet at this time of the morning.

Breathing deeply through his nose, Ren gathered up his energy again and pushed himself to his feet. "Miss Viola. Miss Lola." He gave each woman a respectful nod before striding away again through the back. In the hallway, he paused to dig a cigarette and a thick envelope from the pocket of his jacket which hung on a hook just outside the so-called 'interogation room'. Ciggy lit and loosely tucked between his frowning lips, he strode on, unlatching the lock and opening wide the back door.

Dark eyes flicking from Tony to his goons, chin lifted, hands in his pockets, cigarette smoke dancing sideways with the breeze, the end burning orange-red in the dim morning light. Ren gestured with his head toward the door. "Put it in the usual spot boys," he said and held the envelope of money out to Tony to take. However, his grip on the bundle was strong, disallowing the man to take it right away. "If it tastes like the last shipment, better learn to write with your feet," he murmured. He let go of the envelope then, casting an icy look on the booze runner.
His gaze turned cold at Rens words as he eyed the mob interrogator, "If the last shipment was not up to your specifications then you should voice your opinion to the boss, I run this shit across the border, I don't make it" he gestured to the men who began pulling the last of the crates and barrels out of the truck, hauling them to the specified storage room. "I am not responsible for the process that makes it, nor will I be held responsible if your patrons don't like it." He returned a hard look as his hand clamped down on the envelope. "The boss specifies the price, I negotiate with the supplier, that's it."

"Are we done now?" his voice lowered as his eyes darkened. Around them the sun was almost up and the sounds of a waking city were beginning to fill the streets. They both knew that broad daylight was not the time for a deal to be wrapping up.
View attachment 5910As the rain gently fell on the roof of the abandoned warehouse, A member of Chicago's finest sat bound to a chair inside.

"Danny boy.....Wake up Danny." Rocko's words were laced with hatred, venomous and frustrated. For 12 hours straight he, along with two other made men from the Giomi family, had beat Sargent Danny O'riley within inches of his life. He had pissed his pants on hour 4, they were coming up on hour 13.

Rocko leaned in towards Sargent O'riley, inches from his face now. He could smell a mixture of sweat, urine and blood. It took everything he had not to gag.

"Look asshole, it's either you tell us where you are setting up guards on the border or you won't live to see the morning, got it?"

It was essential for them to know where the cops were gonna be. They were expecting a huge shipment of Canadian whiskey in less than a week, and the last thing the Giomi family needed was interference from the local authorities.

His fellow mafioso voiced their respective opinions on the situation.

"Rocko, let's just do him and be done with it…"

"This prick in gonna die before…."

Rocko raised his hand, silencing them both. He had an idea. He went across the street where an old phone sat, just inside the lobby of a hotel. He made a call to an associate of the family, a man who reputation as a mad man fell short of his reputation of a person who was able to extract information.

"I need a favor…" Rocko discreetly revealed his location, hoping that Ren would make it to the warehouse while Sargent O'riley could still speak.

So much whining and passing blame. Ren stood very still, his cigarette slowly burning, smoke trickling out his nostrils as he listened to Tony. When the guy finally clammed up, Ren lifted a hand lazily to pluck the ciggy from his mouth. He sighed, blowing smoke to the side as he took a step forward and pivoted, drapping his arm around Tony's shoulders.

"Do me a favor then?" he asked, tone unnaturally soft and warm. "Next time you do a run..." He paused, pressing the lit end of his cigarette against Tony's neck. "Make sure you pass my message along?"

He was an Associate, but a valuable one. No one else quite had technique like he did and he knew exactly what he could and couldn't get away with. Respect was a must for him, his Japanese blood had gained him hell in his younger years, treated like a 'dirty immigrant' regardless of being born and raised in the city. Only when he started keeping company with the Giomi Family did people realize he wasn't a man to be messed with.

Glancing up at the sky, the gray curtain was being drawn back, steadily declining into a brighter, cheerier color. Time was running short for both of them. "Now we're done," he said, tossing his cig to the ground, snuffing it out with his shoe. The last of his shipment was unloaded into the building and he saw the men out. "Catch you later, Tony."

He shut and bolted the door again. And then the phone rang.

Really? Was he going to do without sleep again today? Ren sighed for what felt like the millionth time that morning. If he waited long enough, Lola would answer. However, he was much closer to the phone, so he quickly made his way to the end of the hallway and picked up the ear piece off of its hook.

No sleep today.

"Lola. I'm going out. Lock up for me when you leave," Ren said as he passed by the two ladies at their table, a bag in hand. But not just any bag. The bag, and upon seeing Ren with it, anyone who knew what he did for the Giomis knew exactly why he was 'going out'.

It wasn't too far of a walk thankfully, arriving at the warehouse just as the sun rose over the horizon, though the rain refused to let up. If anything, it was pounding down harder, and Ren looked like he'd fallen into the river as he followed one of Rocko's lackeys.
Silently, Lola sat in her chair staring out at nothing in particular, simply letting her gaze wander where it wants. She mused with the idea of allowing Viola to come with her. Would it be fun? Maybe. But would it be more intrusive? Maybe.

As much as she liked Viola, admired her ability to dress in fine clothing, have a life of her own rather than a resort, she could not help but feel that if anything happened to the pretty princess, it'd be her hand in exchane. She started to speak in protest, quietly, but demurred and pursed her lips on her cigarette for another drag. She leaned onto the table towards Viola's direction, showing a bit of cleavage as she did so-- didn't matter that it was a woman. The hand that flicked the cigarette sent ash flying to the floor, and Lola dicretely put it out with her shoe.

"I don't know, Viola. As much as cigs are a treat an' all, I can't help but feel like some shit's gonna come down if I let you come. I hear where you're comin' from and all, Just not sure how your Pop is gonna deal with all this." She sighed and uncrossed her legs, pulled herself up and started walking towards the speakeasy stage. She began formulating who would entertain the men tomorrow, as a slight detterant from the current talk.
He winced slightly at the press of the burnt cigarette against his neck, "Go to hell you bastard". As the door shut he made a motion with his hand, after all the men had rounded up the truck started up again and disappeared into the streets. The coming week was supposed to be a big one, and he was still waiting on information he needed to work out the best route for the next shipment.
Viola frowned and sighed, it seemed that she was stuck in the city for another day and night with only booze and cigs to numb her mind so the boredom passed quickly. She continued to smoke quietly, watching her friend get up and wander over to the stage. She wasn't mad, far from it since the woman was smart enough to think things through, she was just tired of being stuck in one spot. Her pops was becoming less and less willing to let her hang around the guys and make deals like she had when she was but a teen. He knew he was just being over protective, she was the closest thing he had to and heir since her mother could no longer have kids.

"It's alright, I don't blame you for worrying about my pops...He doesn't have the best reputation for keeping his anger in line. I'll just have to find something else to busy myself." She commented as she finished off her cigarette and tossed it to the floor, stepping on it quickly as she made a move to stand up.

She took her glass and finished her drink in one gulp, grabbing the bottle that Ren left behind to pour herself some more. She looked over the empty speakeasy before she walked slowly over to the stage as well, taking a seat on the edge as she sipped her drink quietly.

"Who's playing tonight? I might stop buy and dance awhile." She asked, turning toward Lola's direction as she waited for an answer.
Nonchallantly, Lola shrugged, unsure of which girl would want to dance, and who would rather caddoodle with the men and earn her weight in sex, booze, and sometimes even cash. "Not sure. I'll leave you in charge of who dances, and who will pleasure them ol' boys. Keep 'em in line. I don't need to come back to a mess, ya hear?"

She sighed, taking one last drag of her cigarette, in which had the ash hanging precariously to the stub of the cigarette. In a swift flick, it fell to the ground and the red glow died without any further aid from Lola's foot. With her right hand, the woman pinched the end together and shoved it down her cleavage to prevent any sort of dirt on the ground near her stage.

"I gotta get dressed. Mornin's about to come up, and I don't need to give the Bulls any excuse to toss me in jail. You know... you should find yourself a daddy, Viola. A nice doll like yourself should find one in no time, eh?"

The lady walked out from the speak easy, waving over her shoulder leaving Viola to her own devices while she went and got herself taken care of the next day.
"Me? In charge of the Hoofers?! You gotta be balled up Lola...I'll do it though, I'll round up the dolls and throw 'em on stage...Worked last time I did it." She said with a smirk on her lips, remembering the first time she was told to assign certain girls to the stage.

It had been a strange success for just a random toss up of women that were employed there, she ended up getting four of the family's boys to walk down the middle aisle because of that set up. She turned to look at the younger woman, flicking off the ash of her cigarette onto the ground before pinching it and shoving it down her cleavage to keep the floor clean. When Lola talked about getting a daddy she almost laughed out loud...almost. She did have a point though, being who she was and her position in the family she could easily have her pick of the men...They just never seemed interested, that or her pops scared them to no end. She stood up from the stage as Lola left, calling to the woman as she went to cather her coat.

"I'll be by later tonight before you open the joint to help out. I'll bring you some more ciggy's as well." She said, slipping into her fur coat before walking out of the shop.

The driver was still there, sitting in the car and waiting for her. The rain seemed to have lightened up, not by much but enough to be noticed. In the sky she could see the light getting bright as day appeared, she better hurry back home before her parent's woke up. Her mother would have a fit if she knew she ran out to go hand at the joint so early in the morning. As she slipped into the car, the driving having opened the door for her, her mind went back to the thought of getting a daddy...It wouldn't hurt her to try. Who knows, maybe she'll find herself a Sheik.
View attachment 6811Rocko took a long pull from his hip flash, grimacing slightly as the cheap booze insulted his taste buds. They needed a new shipment, not only for the money it would bring in off the streets, but so Rocko wouldn't have to drink this cheap 'bath tub' gin.

He spat on the ground, sending obscenities into the dark, rainy night as he did so.

Things had been weighing heavy on the up and coming Mafioso's mind as of late. Battling with the rival family, the cops, distribution problems. Everything, it seemed, was out to get him. Sometimes Rocko wanted to drink himself into a stupor, forget everything, like the drunks that hung out at the brothels all day. He took another sip from his flask and swallowed hard.

"Rocko, he's here."

Ren. One of the few men that struck a cord of fear in the hearts of hardened gangsters and squares alike. He was, bottom line, a madman. A fucking madman.

This was a good thing, because A madman is just what Rocko needed to get Danny the cop to talk.

He sized Ren up, so as not to appear in the least bit intimidated, although his body language might have said differently.

"Ren, so nice of you to come out tonight on such short notice. As you can see we have hit a brick wall with officer O'Reilly here."

Rocko flicked his head towards the barely conscious O'reilly, who's mouth was agape and a thick strand of blood sank from his lips to the floor.

"We need to know the location of the guard posts for tomorrow nights import of Canadian Whiskey. Can't have Danny's friends there to spoil our fun" Rocko took a step closer to Ren, this time looking as strong and focused as a brick wall. He stuck out his thumb, and jerked it across his own neck, a gesture that said one thing and one thing only: Kill him when you are done.

Rocko's two accomplices headed for the door.

"Aren't you coming, Rock?"

Rocko took another hit from his hip flask.

"No, I like to watch."
It was nice to see that his reputation was still intact, obvious from the way his escorts kept offering him nervous glances. Though Ren's build wasn't in the slightest intimidating, he supposed it was his stare, his wild and murderous stare, that made the toughest of men uncomfortable. It gave him just the slightest bit of satisfaction and though it wasn't enough to show on his face, it had certainly warmed him up a little.

When he came face to face with Rocko, he had to tilt his head upward a little in order for their eyes to meet, though the mention of the cop had Ren turn away at once. Still listening to the other's words, he strolled across the filthy cement floor to where the victim was bound, bending his knees slightly to set his bag of tricks down by his feet. He took his time discarding his coat, giving himself a few good seconds to survey his project before stepping in for a closer look.

Officer O'Riley was bound to a chair so tightly that the restraints had already begun cutting into the man's skin, causing these wounds not only to bleed but to ooze a sickly pus. Surely the good officer was thinking this injury was the worst, even more so than the number Rocko and his men had done to his face. Busted lip, a few teeth missing even. One eyelid was swollen shut, his face a colorful collage of purple, yellow, and red bruises.

Ren sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Beating the living hell out of a man was no way to get him to say anything. Those tacts were best left for insuring a man kept his mouth shut tight. Standing straight again, his one hand searched around in his pockets for a ciggy and a book of matches. Only when the sweet relief of tobacco flooded his lungs did he set to work, opening up the bag he'd brought with him and fishing out a vial of clear liquid. Cigarette tucked between his lips, he tugged out the stopper and held the vial under the cop's nose until the battered man regained a little more consciousness.

"Welcome back," Ren muttered, plucking the cigarette from his lips once he'd tucked the vial back in the bag. It was vital that his victims be awake and aware in order for his techniques to be the slightest effective. "I'm going to give you several chances in the next hour to tell that man what he wants to know," he said, his voice calm and soft, as if reasoning with a child. Crouching by the bag, he pulled out a collection of intruments and lined them up on the floor in front of the cop. "However," he continued, picking up a box cutter. The tictictic sound of the blade extending echoed across the abandoned warehouse but Ren's cold gaze remained locked onto O'Riley. "For each time you refuse, I get to play doctor. Sound good?"

The look on O'Riley's face was far more satisfying than the ones Ren had received from Rocko's goons. Those boys had been intimidated. But the good officer right there in front of him had a look of realization of just what Ren was going to do. He moved like a cat, slinking around the cop so he could stand behind him and whisper in his ear. "Tell him."

O'Riley hesitated...then refused.

Mouth still hovering by the cop's ear, Ren's eyes flicked up to meet Rocko's as a sadistic little smile crept onto his lips. Gaze shooting back down, he inched around to the cop's side and gently held one of the victim's fingers. "Look at this. You've cut your nails too short, Officer... Doc can fix that." Gripping the finger tightly, Ren slid the box cutter blade underneath O'Riley's fingernail, cutting away at a quarter of the skin attaching. Of course the sergeant yelled in pain and thrashed at his bindings but it really was no use. The man was securely bound and Ren's grip was strong as he moved on to the other fingers.

"There, there~" he cooed once he'd finished, stroking the cop's cheek with a smile. "Do you want to tell him now?" Another refusal, though Ren could see the fear in those bloodshot eyes. The sarge was about to crack. "Hmm... Those fingernails look like they might get infected, but don't worry. Doc can fix that too."

Ren stooped to pick up a set of pliers and tested them for a moment just to mess with the cop's head a little more. "P-ple-ase!" the man cried but it fell on deaf ears. Ren gripped the officer's hand tightly and held it still. Nudging the fingernail with the pliers, he got a good grip on it and slowly, mercilessly began to peel it away. Pinhead sized droplets of blood flicked this way and that as the skin tore, leaving the uncovered spot looking like ground beef. If any of that process had made a sound, it wasn't be heard over Danny O'Riley's screaming.

By the fourth finger, the cop had cracked, practically vomiting out the information Rocko needed, sobbing and whimpering like a child. How pathetic, Ren thought as he rolled a bottle from hand to hand, the pills inside rattling. Popping the top open, he shook out one and held it in front of the cop's face. "This'll take the pain away..." he muttered. Only after the pill was swallowed did he add, "Of course, it'll take more than just the pain."

While Sergeant Danny O'Riley met his unfortunate, poisonous end, Ren cleaned his tools with a rag and tucked them back into the bag. The only thing on his mind now was sleep.
View attachment 6915As the rain continued to beat against the metal roof of the warehouse, Sergent Danny O'riley died. He was a family man, as well as a trusted member of the police force, but he was also in business for himself, often times selling information to the mafia in exchange for money or a night, all expenses paid, at the local brothel. He made the unfortunate mistake of thinking he could with hold information from the mob, now his lifeless body sat, beat to a pulp and unmoving. Just another victim caught in the cross fire of prohibition.

Very much impressed by Ren's work, Rocko smiled as he slipped him a wad of cash.

"It's been a pleasure, as always. I don't know about you, but I'm gonna get the hell out of this rain" Rocko left the building and headed for his car, and from there, he would return home.

Rocko knew the consequences of killing a cop, but he also knew what his boss, the father of the Giomi family, would say if he came up empty handed during the next alcohol shipment. Already things were way out of hand. That Canadian whiskey was their life line in the bullet ridden streets of Chicago, and when that shipment came across the border next week, he planned to be there, gun in hand.