AHumanMadeMOFO
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Chapter 26: Don’t Drink and Drive!
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 15:19:54 +0000 UTCWarning: There is Racism in this Chapter.
It was another night, and Tony Windis found himself at the chicken farm once again.
“Any news about Joe?” Tony Windis asked the doorman.
“No, sir. He hasn’t come by since that day,” the doorman replied with a shake of his head. He then added, “Looking for Mary and Nancy again tonight?”
Hearing that Joe was still a no-show, Tony Windis frowned. He had made plans with Joe, and the first step of their work was supposed to be completed within three days.
But now it was already the fourth day, and there was still no sign of him.
Could that guy have run off?
It didn’t seem likely. While Tony had already handed over some money—$200 for expenses and another $1,000 to the Moretti family’s Scappa—the full payment had yet to be given. There was no way Joe would flee halfway through.
Unless... something had gone wrong?
Thinking about his wife’s recent behavior, Tony noted that apart from one night when she stayed out and refused to let him into the bedroom, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In fact, she appeared less angry lately and hadn’t brought up divorce again.
That was a good sign—it meant he didn’t need to act in haste.
“Sir? Shall I call Mary and Nancy for you?” The doorman’s reminder pulled Tony Windis out of his thoughts.
“Oh, not now. Is Brian here?” Tony waved his hand dismissively.
“Brian’s in the back,” the doorman replied.
“Prepare the usual private room for me. Get me a bottle of whiskey and ask Brian to come over,” Tony instructed, handing over a $10 tip.
“Of course, right away!” The doorman happily obliged. While this chicken farm was Chicago’s largest, generous customers like Tony Windis were rare. (T/N: Chicken Farm is an Alternative word for Brothels.)
Soon, in the private room, Tony was joined by Brian—a burly Irishman with a somewhat fierce expression.
“Good evening, Tony, my friend! You called for me?” Brian greeted him with a wide grin.
'Who’s your friend? You wish.'
“Yes, Mr. Brian. Do you remember that Joe Barbaro you met a few days ago?” Tony asked, suppressing his disdain.
“Oh, of course, that smelly little Italian fatty! You even vouched for him. What’s up? Did he mess things up? I told you—if you need something done, come to me. Those Italians are unreliable!” Brian’s voice was loud, and his words were filled with contempt for Italians.
“Maybe you’re right. But this matter can’t be left unresolved. He’s gone missing, and I need you to find him. Consider this your fee.” Tony placed an envelope on the table, forcing a calm demeanor despite his disgust.
As a true Englishman, Tony disliked Italians, but he loathed the Irish even more.
Equality? That was just a slogan. This country had never truly known equality.
The English looked down on the Irish.
The Germans looked down on the French.
The French looked down on the Italians.
Everyone looked down on someone. And all whites collectively discriminated against people of color.
“Hahaha! Mr. Windis, you’re too kind! I’ll make arrangements immediately. Once I find that fatty, I’ll deliver him to you,” Brian said, taking the envelope. After checking its contents, his smile grew even broader, though the scars on his face made his expression more menacing.
“Go.” Tony waved him off impatiently.
Brian didn’t mind. People like him grew up in environments filled with discrimination, so small acts of disrespect didn’t bother them—as long as they got paid.
Once Brian left, Tony finally called for the two women and indulged himself until the early morning hours.
He didn’t stay the night, though he could have. As a somewhat prominent figure, it wouldn’t look good if he were seen leaving during the day.
Unknown to him, his predictable movements played right into the hands of Josh, who had been tailing him for two days.
Unlike his last target, Joe Barbaro, Tony hadn’t shown any intention of leaving the city. Margaret’s estate was in the quiet North Side, which was still part of Chicago, unlike Evanston, which required traversing desolate outskirts.
Moreover, as a wealthy area, police patrols were frequent. Any action taken during normal hours would risk detection, making a clean getaway difficult.
But early morning was different.
At that hour, with the cold biting hard, unless there was an emergency, nobody—including the underpaid Chicago police—would venture out to freeze themselves.
In Chicago, the wee hours were dominated by organized crime groups—be it the Italian Mafia or other gangs.
Tony Windis, as drunk as a skunk, had no idea he was being followed.
The doorman noticed a car trailing Tony but thought little of it—coincidences happen. In his line of work, it was best not to meddle; curiosity often ended with a swim in Lake Michigan.
As Josh trailed Tony’s car, he waited for the perfect spot to strike—a deserted park ahead. But before they got there, something unexpected happened.
At an intersection, Josh watched as Tony’s car swerved and crashed into a parked vehicle.
Josh: ...
See? That’s what happens when you drink and drive.
Of course, the DUI laws wouldn’t exist until the 1970s, so technically, Tony wasn’t breaking any rules.
This crash, however, thwarted Josh’s plans—until he noticed something in his rearview mirror.
Four men in shabby suits emerged from the parked car, swearing loudly.
Clearly, they weren’t there by accident but had been staking out the area.
Josh quickly pieced it together. At this hour, parked and waiting? They were likely planning something illegal.
He parked his car at a nearby corner, donned a mask and gloves, and stashed his vehicle in his system storage before quietly coming back.
By the time he returned, Tony had been dragged out of his car and was being beaten mercilessly on the roadside.
After venting their anger, the four men rifled through Tony’s belongings, taking his wallet and watch, before returning to their car.
But when they tried to start it, the car wouldn’t budge. Furious, they turned their attention to Tony’s car, only to find it unusable too.
Enraged, they gave Tony another beating before retrieving some items—guns—from their trunk.
Looking around, Josh spotted a high-end jewelry store nearby.
Ah, so that’s the target.
Tony’s luck couldn’t have been worse. These men had been planning a heist, only to have him ruin it.
With their getaway vehicle out of commission, the gang had no choice but to abandon their plan.
Once the men left, and the street was deserted, Josh approached the battered Tony.
Though unconscious, Tony was still breathing.
Without hesitation, Josh grabbed Tony’s head and smashed it against the ground.
The sound of his skull hitting the pavement echoed through the cold, quiet night.
With that, Josh walked away, leaving the scene. Once far enough, he retrieved his car and disappeared into the darkness.
While Tony’s disappearance wasn’t complete, Josh doubted the police could trace anything back to him. No witnesses, no fingerprints, no weapon, and no evidence—this wasn’t a solvable case, especially in 1940s Chicago.
The four men, with their criminal intentions, were perfect scapegoats.
Later, Margaret could apply pressure as a grieving widow, ensuring the case quietly closed.
Josh couldn’t help but reflect: never drink and drive. It had saved him a lot of trouble this time.
