E
Exvind
Guest
Original poster
Daybreak. When the shadows hide in the alleyways, and the nocturnal crowds nestle into their varied dens and clubs to wait until the light dies out. It was that crisp, wet twilight that signaled discretion for all of those who called the Underworld home. The day belonged to the semblance of order. The illusion that the police and government ran the world. The myth that control was theirs, and the laws were serving their intended purpose. It was the unspoken duality of Chicago: The day was a time for lies, and the truth would make itself known at night. Only the insane or suicidal would dare break this unspoken compact, by operating in daylight unless absolutely necessary. But, once in a while, when things became too complacent, the masses had to be reminded that the city's masters held sway no matter what hour it was.
The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon when the car pulled up in front of Delwort's Dime a Dozen, a pseudo-department store that was quite openly a Giomi owned-and-operated establishment. Inside, dozens of workers and clerks filed back and forth, preparing the day's shipments and products. Anywhere between 40 to 60% of the store's profits funded the Giomi operations, but it was a large, public front. There was bound to be a good number of civilians under their employ as well. It was basically harmless, but large. A declaration of power, and a nice public face. While only the insane would operate in daylight, only a monster would even think of the establishment as a target for more than simple robbery.
Three men stepped out of the Model T, which lingered for only a moment before pulling away, circling around to the back alleys behind Delwort's. All three were sizable men, though the rear two were veritable behemoths in comparison to the more slender man leading them. All were dressed in black long coats and fedoras, and they moved with a purpose to the doors of the store. The thugs lingered behind while their leader, the slender man, crossed to the door proper, and rapped twice. Two, sharp, practically tolling knocks that caught the attention of one of the floor managers. The shop was not scheduled to open for a good two hours.
His name was William Jones. Aged 47. Married to Janet Kay Jones. Three children: Cassandra, Lucy, and Trevor. He had worked as the floor manager for a number of years, and had helped operate Delwort's for the Giomi Family happily and loyalty, reaping the benefits as any shrewd businessman would. It was a safe job. No real crises. So he thought nothing of going to the door to tell the gentlemen that they would open in a few hours. There were always the early birds, and townies who did not understand basic operating hours. He had only opened the door to dismiss the men when he saw the lead man. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and his face became devoid of all blood, paling rapidly.
"Oh Lord Jesus save me, you're -!"
William Jones was silenced with a bullet to the brain. There were some screams, at first, as the three men strode into the store, locking the door behind them. They all had Thompsons, and mowed through Delwort's smoothly, efficiently, every bullet either tearing into an employee, or expensive good for sale. Some attempted to escape through the back, but the driver of the car from out front was waiting there with a Tommy Gun of his own. There was never a lull in movement or firing, save for a brief pause as the slender leader wiped some blood from his glasses from the initial dispatching of Mr. William Jones. The entire massacre took only five minutes, and ended with 32 corpses, untold capital losses, and the three men calmly settling into their car for a smooth escape. The police would not arrive until a good two minutes after they had driven off, and well away from the scene. Several blocks away, they stopped, and changed vehicles, and made towards the South Side, where they changed vehicles once more, before finally heading home.
Two hours later, Isaac Ricardo sat in his Family's living room, enjoying a cup of coffee while reading the Morning Edition of the Tribune. His weapons were being cleaned, as were his boots. He was lucky enough to have been relatively spared from the bloodspray that his clothes would not need any serious tending to. Certainly enough, he had made the front page headline.
"MAFIA MASSACRE - 32 DEAD"
There were, of course, no witnesses. The perpetrators were only vaguely described, though early estimates placed between 6-7 gunmen, as it was highly unlikely any fewer would be able to execute such carnage. What was not printed, but certainly was passed on to all in the Giomi Family was that one employee had not died immediately. When the Enforcers arrived (before the police, of course), one had gasped out the word, "Boogeyman" before expiring. So the word was spread...
...Bloody Isaac had struck.
Day had settled on Chicago. The average citizens were again acutely terrified of an unknown something perhaps waiting in the alleys. The Ricardo affiliates celebrated amidst triple checking their security, and a message had most certainly been delivered.
The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon when the car pulled up in front of Delwort's Dime a Dozen, a pseudo-department store that was quite openly a Giomi owned-and-operated establishment. Inside, dozens of workers and clerks filed back and forth, preparing the day's shipments and products. Anywhere between 40 to 60% of the store's profits funded the Giomi operations, but it was a large, public front. There was bound to be a good number of civilians under their employ as well. It was basically harmless, but large. A declaration of power, and a nice public face. While only the insane would operate in daylight, only a monster would even think of the establishment as a target for more than simple robbery.
Three men stepped out of the Model T, which lingered for only a moment before pulling away, circling around to the back alleys behind Delwort's. All three were sizable men, though the rear two were veritable behemoths in comparison to the more slender man leading them. All were dressed in black long coats and fedoras, and they moved with a purpose to the doors of the store. The thugs lingered behind while their leader, the slender man, crossed to the door proper, and rapped twice. Two, sharp, practically tolling knocks that caught the attention of one of the floor managers. The shop was not scheduled to open for a good two hours.
His name was William Jones. Aged 47. Married to Janet Kay Jones. Three children: Cassandra, Lucy, and Trevor. He had worked as the floor manager for a number of years, and had helped operate Delwort's for the Giomi Family happily and loyalty, reaping the benefits as any shrewd businessman would. It was a safe job. No real crises. So he thought nothing of going to the door to tell the gentlemen that they would open in a few hours. There were always the early birds, and townies who did not understand basic operating hours. He had only opened the door to dismiss the men when he saw the lead man. His heart plummeted into his stomach, and his face became devoid of all blood, paling rapidly.
"Oh Lord Jesus save me, you're -!"
William Jones was silenced with a bullet to the brain. There were some screams, at first, as the three men strode into the store, locking the door behind them. They all had Thompsons, and mowed through Delwort's smoothly, efficiently, every bullet either tearing into an employee, or expensive good for sale. Some attempted to escape through the back, but the driver of the car from out front was waiting there with a Tommy Gun of his own. There was never a lull in movement or firing, save for a brief pause as the slender leader wiped some blood from his glasses from the initial dispatching of Mr. William Jones. The entire massacre took only five minutes, and ended with 32 corpses, untold capital losses, and the three men calmly settling into their car for a smooth escape. The police would not arrive until a good two minutes after they had driven off, and well away from the scene. Several blocks away, they stopped, and changed vehicles, and made towards the South Side, where they changed vehicles once more, before finally heading home.
Two hours later, Isaac Ricardo sat in his Family's living room, enjoying a cup of coffee while reading the Morning Edition of the Tribune. His weapons were being cleaned, as were his boots. He was lucky enough to have been relatively spared from the bloodspray that his clothes would not need any serious tending to. Certainly enough, he had made the front page headline.
"MAFIA MASSACRE - 32 DEAD"
There were, of course, no witnesses. The perpetrators were only vaguely described, though early estimates placed between 6-7 gunmen, as it was highly unlikely any fewer would be able to execute such carnage. What was not printed, but certainly was passed on to all in the Giomi Family was that one employee had not died immediately. When the Enforcers arrived (before the police, of course), one had gasped out the word, "Boogeyman" before expiring. So the word was spread...
...Bloody Isaac had struck.
Day had settled on Chicago. The average citizens were again acutely terrified of an unknown something perhaps waiting in the alleys. The Ricardo affiliates celebrated amidst triple checking their security, and a message had most certainly been delivered.
