THE NIGHT WAS SLIPPING INTO INSANITY
AND I WAS AWARE OF IT.
As demons, we’re in higher regards to ourselves. We do not pity, we do not sympathize. We only gloat and flash our power.
Flash back to the 1920’s. Roaring with drunks, rebellion, drugs, booze, and blood. Tables were turned when immigrants were overtaking the populations. People needed to be put in their place. Asians were limited to their South Side China Town and the Germans had their Adams Street. The only ones that had true reign were those without fear. The Mafia. The Gangsters. The nightlife. Night life…darkness only lasted so long…
“He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse…”
“Say hello to my little friend!”
Gunshots jetted past State Street as the women screamed and children cried. Older women fell to their knees praying for their God to save them all. They needed a savior, someone to bring back the piece and take away the drunken nights as well as the massive killing that were painted red on all newspapers. Tilted fedoras and gun sheaths ripped from their sides, the Italians were ready for vengeance. Carson Russo was dead. Whistles blew into the rising sun as the sparks and booming shots echoed as bodies fell onto the damp rubble that rolled with each step closer. Smoke wisped through the cold air like a new knife ready for penetration. Irish Catholics. For every five placed into the big house, ten more appear. The young boy took something very special to the Irish Boss. Yes, something too special. Sentimental these Irish fellows are.
“Pop him right in the kisser…”
“This isn’t over…”
And it wasn’t. Police raids occurred every single night. Sunday was the only day peace settle in Chicago. Church. The Italian Catholics ran the rules there, but the Irish complied in the eyes of their God. Simple. No blood is to be shed on holy ground. All people followed this law. The only law that was obeyed. That is until the murder of Carson Russo. The drive by shooting occurred right on in front of San Rocco Church. Tires screeched to a halt and Russo’s limp body was hanging out of the passenger window. Dead. He was only seven years old and the nephew of the Italian Boss. No one ever found out why he was killed. What crime he committed that was so bad to be slaughtered as an “offering” to God, but Chicago has never been so scared.
“You’ll pay for this!”
“The payment has only begun…”
Ever since that fateful day, the streets of Chicago have never been silent. This is the Roaring 20’s. Even in Pure Sunshine, no one is safe.
PLOT.
