Shit Porky, said Joe They know we're here! Grab the money and lets' get the hell out before they find out who we really are!
Give me a few more minutes. Frankie will have our asses if we get caught, replied Porky. Wait; is this a baseball bat under the counter?
Joe replies, You idiot, it's not a baseball bat, it's a ticking time bomb. Forget the money let's leave! Now Por
But, it was too late. Porky Grimes and Joe Grimes got blown to pieces by a time bomb. Only fragments of limbs were left of them. But, this was no accident. Someone knew the two would be at that exact store at that exact time, to send a message to The Family. There were other ways to send a message, but that was just monstrous. My two sons didn't deserve to go out like this. They died the night of January 31, 1923. Avenging their deaths was then our top priority.
I am Frankie Grimes, the boss of the largest Italian mob on the eastern seaboard, otherwise known as The Family. Everywhere you look and turn, I have inside connections feeding me details about all business I pertain to. I started by going to the police station to talk to my informant Leo, to shed some light on the murder. I needed to know everything the cops were able to find before I send out my own people.
I walk in to Leo's office and say, Ayyyye Leoooooo.
Ayyyyyyyye, replies Leo. How can I assist your needs?
I need all the information you've got on the monsters that killed my sons.
Apparently eye witnesses report seeing an Irish thug with an orange clover tattoo on his shoulder going into the store right before closing. He was carrying a doctor's bag, but left a few minutes later without the bag.
It's those Raider bastards again.
Thank you for your time Leo. Now I have business to attend to.
Good luck, Frankie.
The only people in town with orange clover tattoos are the Irish Raiders, led by Micheal McHeart. His gang and The Family have been on bad terms ever since the Probhition started three years ago, and I began outselling McHeart in the illegal alcohol industry, taking over the city in the process. I couldn't let my sons' deaths put a damper on The Family making money, so that night, even with the risks of another attack, I gave the go ahead to send out the trucks to deliver to speakeasies. I even put guards on every truck so we could stop the thugs before any funny business continues. I went to bed that night knowing that everything would be okay. Unfortunately I was wrong; I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of my door being kicked in and gun shots going on throughout my house. Those thugs were coming straight for me now. They barged in my room and I was ready with a shotgun.
Knock knock, assholes, I said with shotgun in hand. You need to learn some god damn manners next time you come for a visit.
We're not here to visit, replied an Irish thug. Our boss sent us to end The Familys affairs. You people have been dominating everything around here since the prohibition, and now it comes to an end.
Well you can tell your boss I'll see him in hell when he gets there in a few hours.
At that moment my wife comes out from behind them with a loaded revolver, shoots both of them point blank in the back of head, ending their crusade to kill me. I thanked her with my life and promise to get her a new puppy. I promptly got dressed in a dark suit and head to my office to plan the death of the Irish Raiders. Briefly, I talked with my top leaders and informants to strike that night. McHeart was going to be in the backroom of the Jazz Club on downtown 8th street. If we took out McHeart, the Raiders wouldn't have had any leadership and would collapse. I arranged so that McHeart is thinking he is meeting with representatives of the Monster Moving Company to ship his illegal liquor to different places around the state, but instead it will be my brother Louie and I to ship his soul straight to hell. With pistols in our trench coats, Louie and I walked in just as the band began to play.
We walked in the backroom and to our surprise he was alone. Even children who roam the streets know it's not safe to be alone. As long as I live, I'll never forget this moment. McHeart had on an orange suit covered with orange clovers. His bright orange beard stuck out like a midnight fire. Not even 4 steps in the door and he stood up to greet us.
Gentlemen, stated Mcheart, welcome! I suppose you are here to talk about distributing my liquor?
In a harsh tone I reply, Not exactly you Irish prick, I'm here to avenge the deaths of my sons.
So you're the mob boss Frankie. replied McHeart. I see you lived my assassination attempt.
You're damn right I lived! Your little gnus didn't stand much of a match for my wife's revolver. But why come after me? It's not my fault you don't know how this business works.
You and your gang have been screwing with our prosperity for much too long. I'm tired of being treated like a pile of crap by your thugs and everyone you associate with. All the disrespect to my organization was criminal. So I decided to take it upon myself to make a statement, but now that you're here, I can make this much easier.
Mcheart reached in his jacket and grabbed his Colt 1911. Unfortunately for him it was too late. By the time his gun was out of his jacket, he already had five or so bullets lodged in his chest, staining his white jacket with blood instantly. McHeart fell with a giant thud, staining the hardwood floor. The ordeal was finally over and I got my revenge.
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