Chicago Soirée

August 15, 1923

"So Mr. Dever, what are we gonna do about this Scarface guy? I mean, he's getting lockdown on the whole city! You really gonna take him on?" Lieutenant Jefferson's concerned face queried the new Mayor.

"Scarface? He's just one of a number of flies to be swatted. I'm gonna clean up this whole town. Force him and the rest of his kind out of Chicago. Period. I'm going to mobilize the police into full force. I'm going to call in the FBI to root out their corrupt and illegal businesses. They're going to regret the day they stepped foot into this town. It won't be easy Jefferson. There will be probably be losses. Maybe even me. But I swear this before God Himself: Scarface, Bugs, the whole lot of them will be locked up or dead when I'm finished with my job. Jefferson looked on in awe before the new mayor; nobody, ever, had made a serious effort to stand up to the mob. Didn't matter that everyone knew they existed. Didn't matter that everyone knew what they were up to. They were that feared.

The next morning...

Jefferson stood at the door of a used furniture shop on the south side of Chicago. He rapped the door twice, before the door was opened. A tall, dark man dressed in a casual suit peered behind a pair of glasses at Jefferson for a second, before motioning for him to come in. Jefferson took the cue. The man led Jefferson through the oddly vacant shop to a back door which was labeled "supplies". The man knocked twice on the door before speaking.

"Hey boss. Got your buddy here."

A voice from behind sounded in a noticeable Italian accent, "Well it’s about time. Come in." The door clicked from inside as it was unlocked. The tall man leaned his shoulder against the door, twisted the knob, and opened the door, leading Jefferson inside.

The room inside immediately pronounced its presence with the pungent smell of cigar smoke. Inside, sat a well-dressed, olive-skinned, baby faced man behind a desk, cigar in hand.

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Four more men, each as imposing as the next, stood astride the olive-skinned man, two on each side. The only source of light for the room was a single, small lamp which stood upon the desk, though little of the light could actually pierce far through the dense fog of smoke.

"So Mr. Jefferson, I trust you've got word for me on the new guy?" the baby faced man queried with a nonplussed look upon his face. "I trust things won't have to get ugly?"

Jefferson responded with a growing nervousness about his person. "Well, uh, sir, actually, um, well he, Dever, wants to take you out. You and Bugs and the rest of the mob. He says he's, he's gonna call in the FBI, and police..."

A displeased facade overcame Mr. Capone's face. "What, you think this is really a threat? You think Dever will actually back up his bark? You think he's more powerful than me? Huh!?"

"Uh... uh... of course I d-don't think he's more powerful than you! I'm just s-saying, you might wanna get outta town for a little bit to let him cool down... I mean, no reason to take unnecessary risks, r-r-right boss?"

Mr. Capone's face re-arranged itself once more, but this time into thoughtfulness rather than rage or contempt, much to Jefferson's relief.

"Actually, Jefferson, I think you might have a point. We can get out of Chicago for a little while... Set up a new base. Outside of city limits, but close enough to keep tabs on things here. Nice little town of Cicero is just out of city limits, and they got a mayoral election next year." A smirk overcame Capone's face. "Ya know what, Jefferson, you keep up this kinda smart thinkin' and you might get a promotion sometime. Ya, I like this. Cicero can be our new base of operations, it’s perfect. Good job, Jefferson. Now get outta here, I got plannin' to do." Relief flooded Jefferson's face as he was ushered out the door.

Two weeks later, in the town of Cicero, Illinois...

A young man in casual attire stumbled into the police station, out of breath and visibly shaken.

"Mr. Vonken, Mr. Vonken!" Police chief Vonken scrambled from his desk to the young man. "Mr. Vonken, I just saw a murder. T-t-two guys, they just broke into the Hamilton's and I heard gunshots...and and.... uh... they're DEAD!" The young man began sobbing in Chief Vonken's arms.

"Hey, hey, c'mon. Its gonna be alright, we'll get the men. Did you see them? What'd they look like? What were they wearing? The young man ceased sobbing, but his chest was still heaving and his face still wet with tears.

"I c-couldn't really tell what they looked like... they wore pretty nice suits... and they were wearing a fedora. I don't think they were from around here. I bet if I saw them alongside everyone else in town I could pick them out though..."

"Alongside everyone else in town..." Chief Vonken thought to himself. Then it hit him. That was it! "Alright kid, do this for me. I need you to run around to every person in town's house and tell them to be at the station at nine tonight, alright? Tell them they're in big trouble with me if they don't. If they aren't there, leave a note.

That Night...

A large crowd stood gathered around the entrance to the police station. A quiet roar of murmuring emanated from the populace, whom had all heard of the murdered Hamilton family by now. Finally, as the stroke of nine, Chief Vonken emerged from the doors of the station, and took his place atop a small carriage to use as a platform.

"EVERYONE QUIET DOWN!" Chief Vonken's voice boomed over the murmuring crowd. "As you have probably all heard by now, the Hamilton's were murdered in their house, in cold blood. What we know now is that the people who killed them probably aren't from around these parts. We don't know if they're here to pick a fight with Cicero, or if they're a passing occurrence. Regardless, you have my assurance the police are looking into it. But if the murders keep occurring, we need to look amongst ourselves to figure out who's hiding in our midst. Tomorrow, at Six o'clock in the evening, if the murders continue, I'm going to start a town lynching. It’s the only way to stamp out some newcoming murderer! I know you good townspeople will be able to pick out the murderers hiding in our midst. But let us remember, this is America! We are democratic! Hence, I want a vote on whom the town thinks is a killer, and I will execute the dog myself! But let us hope we need not resort to this and that the murders stop tonight. But if not, come ready tomorrow!"

With that, Chief Vonken stepped down from the carriage, and back into the station without even a single more word, presumably to comb over more evidence from the Hamilton murder. The crowd erupted into murmur, though two faces stayed silent, giving the other a curt, but knowing look. The crowd, very gradually, dispersed themselves to their homes, with vigilance on their minds...

Looking for some good ol' fashioned thuggery and psychological warfare? Then look no further than the Chicago Soiree! I can't promise you a free cookie, but I can promise a jolly ol' time complete with murder and mayhem if you but give it a chance!