Capítulo 24: Chapter 24: A Stroll Into Harlem
Author's Note: I know I haven't really shown much confrontation between races since people back then usually stuck to their own group, like the italians, but this is a warning since back then when Jim Crow was still in effect it was just a regular thing to be so open about your distaste so don't come at me with pitchforks for my interpretation of the 1930s.
A week later,
"Extra! Extra! Detective commits suicide in shame after arresting an innocent kid!" A newspaper salesman roared at the bustling traffic of brooklyn.
"Here." Thomas gave him one nickel as the paperboy tipped his hat before continuing to shout out.
Thomas scanned the paper briefly before crumpling it and tossing it aside, a newfound determination shining on his face.
It dangled in the oncoming wind as the newspaper slowly unraveled itself from being crumpled seconds before as it revealed the headline..
'Detective Albert commits suicide after arresting innocent kid!'
Meanwhile In Lucky's Office,
"So that's how you're gonna fill up the hole that is bootlegging?" Ricky took a sip of rum, asking as Lucky nodded his head.
Every mob within the commission was already scrabbling around trying to find out a way to fill the massive profit machine that was bootlegging.
During this time, bootlegging and rum running were highly profitable ventures, with even the lowest earning families in the commission making at least 35% in profits from its area.
All the families had plans for their newfound focus, and Lucky eagerly took over the prostitution racket, which had been left rather untouched since his old boss died.
"Now with no other crime boss to stop us and their attention divided as it is already, our family is gonna take over all the small scale prostitutes rings which will not only fill the gap of bootlegging, but also elevate us even higher." Lucky smirked proudly, telling Ricky his plans without hesitation.
Now that he was officially part of the Luciano family, Ricky inherited all of his predecessor's thoughts and plans. However, this role also came with a new perk that he hadn't been entitled to before.
Ricky actually got a voice in the decisions.
"How are you gonna move all this new money cause our small businessness won't be able to clean all this dirty cash flow?" Ricky questioned, unable to figure out how Lucky was going to move all this new dirty money, only to see Lucky smirk while playing with a card.
"That's where you come in Ricky, I'm going to hand part of this problem to you." Lucky choice made Ricky stand up in shock.
"Wait, but-"
"No buts, being a leader doesn't require being just strong but smart, figure it out, WITHOUT help from your boys." Lucky waved Ricky off, who frowned but nodded, rubbing his temple as he headed to the door.
"Good luck." Lucky shouted right as Ricky was about to leave before halting his steps.
"Luck is for fools." Ricky smirked while repeating the thing that Lucky always said.
"That's my boy."
Ricky decided to take a walk through the streets, receiving nods and respectful gazes throughout the territory since his position within the family had been completely solidified, seemingly demanding respect from those around him.
It wasn't an entirely new feeling for him; over the five years of being Lucky's son, he had grown accustomed to the respect. However, this newfound level of notoriety was still a little strange to him.
With the notoriety came responsibility, an entirely new challenge for him as Ricky found this far more difficult than the prospect of reincarnating with a system.
Honestly, Ricky didn't know how to process his father's sudden announcement and struggled to make sense of what to do next.
An hour passed, and without realizing it, Ricky ended up in the heart of Harlem, letting out a haggard sigh.
"I need a drink." Ricky muttered to himself, noticing the weird and scared looks from everyone around him.
It took him a couple of seconds to realize that he was the only white guy in these streets, which were filled to the brim with African Americans.
Harlem, originally a white-only neighborhood, had undergone a transformation as New York slowly became a hub for all walks of life.
On orders from the local government, African Americans were basically pushed into residing in this controlled district that made up Harlem, and soon after, all the white folks moved out.
Feeling the weight of being unwanted in these streets, Ricky's eyes darted around until they landed on a club with big, bold letters.
'The Cotton Club.'
Looking around, Ricky saw that the front entrance was closed, however right as he was about to kick rocks, he saw a back door.
"Let's hope they'll serve minors." Ricky smiled while strolling into the club which was completely desolate since it was still mid day.
The only people here were two old day drinkers sitting at the bar and a lone bartender to serve him.
"A-Ah, are you here for Owney Mad-" The bartender suddenly asked, thinking this young white gentleman was here for business.
"Nope, here for a drink." Ricky plopped onto the seat right between the two old black men who raised wary glances at him.
It wasn't hostility but rather slight fear, wriggling around in their seats in an uncomfortable manner at Ricky's forthright attitude.
"S-Sir the w-white section is over there." The bartender tried to inform Ricky as he turned to see a white waiter waving at him though no one was in the seats.
'I ain't that depressed to drink alone.' Ricky thought, thinking he was in too good of a mood to simply sit at the bar and drink, wanting to chat with someone as he gained a buzz.
"I'm good." Ricky shook his head before slapping a hundred on the bar, startling the bartender since that had to be the biggest bill he'd ever seen in his life.
"Put this on my credit, get me and my fellow drunkards three of your finest whiskeys on the rocks." Ricky laughed while nudging the two men who were coldly gazing at him before they turned to surprise.
"R-Right away!" The man eagerly took the bill and started filling it up with illegal liquor.
"Ya got a name boy?" The old man smirked after setting down his empty glass.
"Ricky, but just call me Slick."
3 hours later,
"L-Looky here~" In the bar, a drunken Ricky found himself surrounded by around thirty black folks.
Ricky had managed to find his buzz and further it into a drunken state quite fast, inciting laughs from his fellow drunkards.
Word spread fast and more people started to trickle into the wild antics of the random white boy causing a riot within the club.
Holding up a trumpet he stumbled upon, Ricky proceeded to play the most god-awful tune, showcasing his lack of rhythm as the group burst out laughing at the discordant sounds emanating from the instrument.
"Hey Booker, what did ya think of my tune!" Ricky boisterously laughed to his new friend, the bartender known as Booker Rhodes who served in this state.
"God awful." Booker laughed as the surrounding people roared in agreement with their laughs echoing through the bar.
"Oh what, can you do better?" Ricky wobbled on the table, holding out the trumpet yet Booker hesitated.
"I ain't all that-"
"Oh come on, don't be such a pussy and show me how it's done." Ricky slurred his words as the crowd excitedly urged him into it, but Booker continued to shake his head.
"I'm not getting on the counter-"
"Booooooooooo!" The crowd booed with Ricky leading the mob, the peer pressure mounting until he finally climbed onto the counter and grabbed the trumpet from Ricky's hands.
He took a deep breath, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders and as he began to play, the room fell silent, captivated by the raw emotion pouring from his instrument.
Booker Rhodes unleashed a passionate melody, a soulful rhyme clouded in the blues of a man who had known heartache.
His music painted a vivid picture of the struggles of a black man supporting not only his parents but also his wife and two kids.
Booker bared his soul to anyone who would listen, pouring his heart out through his music and the crowd was in awe, including Ricky.
In that moment without even knowing it, Ricky unknowingly changed the course of Booker's life.
Booker, who was destined to be a 9-5 bartender, found his wings through Ricky's encouragement.
"WHY THE F*CK IS THE FIRST THING I SEE IS A BUNCH OF NEGRO'S GATHERED AROUND A DIRTY F*CKING NI-"
"HEY DIPSH*T, I'M TRYING TO LISTEN SO WILL YA SHUT THE F*CK UP!" Ricky jerked his head around to a fat drunk white guy, frustrated at the sudden interruption when wanting to relish his buzz in Booker's tune.
"If it isn't an actual ni***** lover in the flesh, haven't seen one of you in a while but it makes since that cotton picker lovers hang out in the cotton club!" The drunken fat man roared in laughter at his own words as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen, slamming his hand on the counter repeatedly.
"What the f*ck did you just say-" Ricky's eyebrow twitched, about to drunkenly bash his face in only for a hand to appear on his shoulder.
"Wait, Slick." Booker stopped Ricky since after talking for an hour, Ricky finally managed to convince him it was alright to call him by his nickname.
"That's Owney's brother in law, you know, the owner of this club, Owney Madden?" Booker tried to persuade Ricky who scoffed with a scorn riddled laughter.
"It's best to leave him be and besides Slick, ima strong fella who can take a little slack-" Booker patted his shoulder, thinking that Ricky was sticking up for him.
"Huh, when did this become about you?" Ricky asked with a confused expression, about to beat the crap about him for talking sh*t to him rather than being racist to Booker.
"This is about him disrespecting me and the name I represent." Ricky tapped his chest, keenly aware that any insult aimed at him was also a slight against the family, because he's a Luciano.
"What name, Slick?" Booker asked weirdly, thinking Ricky was far off his rocker.
"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you Booker but guess what my last name is?" Ricky suddenly realized, seeing Booker confused at his question.
"Ricky?" Booker asked, thinking all he knew was Ricky's first name.
"Not only that but the one and only, Ricky motherf*cking Luciano." Ricky patted his chest, almost falling off the table at his own gesture.
"L-Luciano!!!!" Booker didn't realize until the last name registered.
Despite living far from Brooklyn, he had heard of the Luciano family through the various second handed stories he'd encountered as a bartender.
"But even then, it'd be best to not pick a fight with him-"
"Yeah f*ggot, you best listen to yer little boyfriend and f*ck off!" The drunkard spouted off, the already drunken and easily influenced Ricky snapping at this lackluster provocation.
He pushed Booker off of him and lunged off the table, dropping onto the ground with a thud before sprinting at him.
*BAM*
The drunken man couldn't react as Ricky's fist plunged into his greasy cheek, pushing him backwards and disrupting his balance.
The man stumbled back, trying to regain his balance, but before he could, Ricky gripped the hair on the back of his head and slammed it down onto the whites-only counter.
*BAM*
"THE F*CK YOU CALL ME? SAY IT AGAIN!" Ricky drunkenly roared, the alcohol clouding his reasoning as he held the man's face up, blood trickling from his nose.
*BAM*
"C'MON, WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
*BAM*
"F*CKING ANSWER ME!"
Ricky mercilessly slammed the man's head into the table, blood and teeth staining its surface until he then threw him to the ground, revealing his battered face.
It was excessive, but to uphold his reputation within the Luciano family, Ricky had to confront anyone who spoke ill of it, whether indirectly or directly.
Some of the surrounding witnesses flinched, but most showed smiles since this old drunkard was hated around these parts.
The man's name was Sammy O'Conel, and he had only come to the Cotton Club for the free drinks.
However, for the entirety of his stay, Sammy had heckled any and all men and women who would listen.
Spewing constant badmouthing and racial slurs, he would even go far with the woman as well while fondling them and beating up any man who tried to stand up for them, knowing he could get away untouched.
Sammy was the type of person who found satisfaction in making others' days as miserable as his own life.
However, Owney always brushed it off as harmless, citing Sammy's First Amendment right to free speech.
And why punish him for exercising that right?
Over time, the regulars at the Cotton Club got used to Sammy's antics, until one day, he tried to heckle someone who should never have been heckled in the first place.
*BAM*
*BAM*
*BAM*
Ricky didn't stop there; his anger flared when he saw his opponent's face, and he began stomping on him, his heel digging into his body.
"WHAT IN TARNATION IS GOING ON HERE!" Owney strolled into his own establishment before screeching at the sight of his brother-in-law being stomped into oblivion.
"GET YOUR HANDS-by the hands of mother mary." Owney was about to pull Ricky off of him until he recognized just who his hands laid on.
*BAM*
Ricky, without batting an eye, sent a right hook right at Owney's throat as the Irish gangster gripped his neck.
"KUERK!" Owney let out a gargled air of breath as Ricky sent another punch into his gullet.
*GASP*
"You want some too, huh?" Ricky grabbed Owney's hair as he desperately tried to shake his head only for a knee to be thrusted into his face.
"Of course you do." Ricky spoke for him while throwing Owney to the ground before grabbing the glass that was recently poured for Owney's brother in law and downed it.
"Ah, that's good stuff~" Ricky wiped his mouth while looking at Booker who was frozen in shock.
"Aye Booker." Ricky wobbled while pointing at Booker still holding the trumpet as he flinched almost immediately.
"Where is this owner you spoke of, I've decided to make a very reckless decision." Ricky spoke words which made Booker wary though pointed at the down man.
"Right there, Slick." Booker pointed as the other nodded in response as Ricky scratched his head.
"No sh*t." Ricky looked down in surprise at the unconscious Owney before nodding his head.
"Well whatever." Ricky shrugged before taking Owney's collar and dragging him away.
"Where is this guy's office?" Ricky drunkenly asked Booker who anxiously scratched his head.
"It's in the main establishment, Slick." Booker informed as the crowd looked down instinctively.
"Then come over here and help me take him to his office so I can have a proper word with him." Ricky tried to lug him though he was too heavy as Booker bit his lip.
"I can't enter, it's a white only-"
"Jesus f*cking christ Booker, get your ass over here before I pull out a gun and make you do it!" Ricky yelled, unwilling to engage in a heartfelt moment about his apparent uncaring attitude towards Booker's return into the white only establishment.
All he wanted was to get to the unconscious guy's office and Booker did as his name suggested and quickly made his way over to Ricky, helping carry his boss towards the main area of the Cotton Club.
The club revealed itself to a drunken Ricky, who couldn't care less if the stage was made of gold as his sole focus was on carrying the unconscious Owney to his office.
"Phew~" Ricky and Booker let out almost at the same time once they set him on a chair.
*BURP*
"Cewel desssk." Ricky slurred his words, reaching new heights of drunkenness as he sat at the pristine wooden desk, only for Booker to misinterpret his words.
"Slick, it's not 'jeweled' it's wooden." Booker instinctively corrected Ricky before flinching as his face beamed pale at what he had just done.
Never in his life did he ever correct a white man since if he did, a beating would surely come afterwards causing him to prepare for the worst.
*PFFFT*
"Did I say Jeweled?" Ricky let out a drunken laugh while clutching his belly while leaning back in Oweny's chair.
"N-N-N-No I m-m-m-m-misheard-"
"Oh relax Booker, I'm not gonna lynch you." Ricky joked only to see that it clearly didn't make Booker laugh but instead terrified.
*Sigh*
"Listen Booker, I really don't give a f*ck if you were purple. The only thing that matters is if you're annoying or not, and you're pretty cool." Ricky tried to calm the visibly shaking Booker since he knew all too well what happened to people who spoke their mind.
In this era, Jim Crow laws enforced rampant segregation between whites and blacks however unlike in the south, the north was a little more tolerant.
Ironically, despite its name, the Cotton Club was inaccessible to black people, who were relegated to a shabby area located to the side of the club where they could only drink for inflated prices.
The only time a black man was ever seen in the Cotton Club was if they were performing there for the white guests.
While segregation in Northern states like New York was not as rigid as in places like the south, it was still present.
Segregation in the North was often economic and informal rather than official.
For example, it wasn't "illegal" for black and white students to attend the same school, but school districts would be drawn so that mostly black students would attend a particular school.
But even then, some white students would attend mostly black schools and vice versa.
When white families found themselves in a black-majority area, they often moved to mostly white suburbs, encouraged by practices like redlining and declining property values, which led to a popularized term called white flight.
This was a primary way racism manifested in Northern states, however, tolerance did not equate to equality, and not everyone considered themselves equal to their fellow man.
"O-Ohhhh~" Owney let out a pained groan as Ricky raised an eyebrow, not at the whining man, but at the object lying under the table.
"Look at this beauty." Ricky admired the pistol in his hand that was found under the desk, waving it around as Booker ducked right when the barrel hovered towards him.
"Jesus Mary and Joseph, I'm gonna be shot by some white boy.'' Booker was scared out of his wits end when Ricky suddenly pulled out a pistol and started waving it around as he grabbed his chest.
"What is-R-RICKY WAIT!" Owney looked up before the memory of his encounter with Ricky was jarred to the forefront of his mind with the sight of him waving around a gun.
"I-I didn't know and Sammy was wrong-"
"Oh shut up, you don't even know what he did." Ricky almost sneezed from being so allergic to his BS, waving the gun in his hand as if to try to dismiss the smell of it.
"Ricky can't we talk-"
*Burp*
"How come you're the only one here that seems to know who I am?" Ricky asked, leaning on his hand while Owney gulped when gazing at his own pistol in Ricky's hand.
"T-The Italian mafia's tend to keep to themselves more than others, but I'd be a fool not to know the son of Lucky Luciano." Owney buttered Ricky up and told him the whole truth.
Unlike the other gangs in terms of notoriety and outward influence, the scars from Silicy ran deep within the Italian mobs which is why they were so insistent on keeping their names on the low outside their own territories.
This was real reason no one truly knew Ricky's appearance since earlier on, Lucky had invested heavily in protecting his identity along with the other members.
Yet, despite these efforts, there were always outliers.
"I know he was wrong." Owney stuck with his words as Ricky let out a dry laugh before pointing the waving gun at him.
"Ya know I feel really insulted, so how are you going to make it up to me?" Ricky raised an eyebrow, speaking as if it wasn't himself that started everything while forcing Owney to bite his lip.
"Anything Slick, I'll do anything to get out of your hair." Owney closed his eyes, praying he could simply get out of this situation while Ricky nodded with a relieved face.
"That's great, real great, then I'll just tell you what I want." Ricky laughed heartily as he gazed at Owney who forced a laugh to join in.
"I want this club."
Capítulo 25: Chapter 25: An Drunken Irish Fender Bender
"I'm sorry Slick can you-"
*BANG*
"JESUS!" Oweny flinched and yelled, throwing his arms over his head as Ricky fired the pistol into the air.
Booker immediately hit the deck, seeking cover from the sudden eruption of noise and chaos.
"There are two ways you're walking out of here and it's either when you're carried out due to extreme blood loss or a new man without ownership of this fine establishment." Ricky laughed out drunkenly, gazing at the pale Owney who slowly let out a furious expression.
"Do you know who you're f*cking with Slick, I'm apart of the Irish Mafia-"
"Oh who cares~" Ricky scoffed, finding that Oweny's reasoning didn't align with his current thought process while Oweny, feeling the tension, bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed.
"Give me the deed or I'm going to shoot you until I get it." Ricky gave him an ultimatum as Owney scoffed while crossing his arms.
"Your bluffing-"
*BANG*
"AHHHHHHH!" Owney let out a pained scream as the bullet from his own gun tore through his shoulder, blood rushing down his arm in a crimson torrent.
"YOU SHOT ME, YOU LUNATIC YOU ACTUALLY SHOT ME!" Owney roared at Ricky without a hint of fear as Ricky looked down at the shaking Booker.
"Hey Booker, where does he keep the deed cause I think only when I know, will he cave in." Ricky asked Booker who looked up only to flinch when he saw Owney's eyes.
"BOOKER, I PAY YOUR SALARY AND-"
*Click*
"How much does he pay you?" Ricky cocked the gun, pointing it at the furious Owney who froze, shutting his yapping mouth in an instant.
"5-5-5-5-50 cent's an hour sir." Booker spoke in a formal tone, bowing his head as Ricky scoffed.
"That's it?"
"Here, you work for me now." Rick rummaged through his pocket and grabbed out a crumbled hundred and threw it in front of Booker's eyes.
Booker froze at the sight of the hundred-dollar bill.
The largest bill he had ever held was a twenty which was safely tucked away in a tube sock at the back of his dresser.
However, this hundred-dollar bill lay right in front of him, tempting him with the possibility of taking it for himself.
"In his walls safe in the back." Booker's greed to support his family far outweighed his fear of Owney.
The average black resident within Harlem made around 1,300 dollars a year and this was about one tenth of his yearly salary.
"YOU SON OF A B*TCH-"
"Thank you Booker, and now please give me the deed." Ricky gestured to Oweny who bit his lip while looking at his arm then back to Ricky.
"If you think your Daddy can protect you after this stunt, then you're dead wrong." Owney let out a hiss while walking over to the safe.
Owney started opening the wall safe but when he turned around he saw Ricky on the phone, he raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, put me through to the Luciano residence." Ricky said to the operator as the phone clicked.
"How the f*ck did you get this line."
"Pops, it's me."
"Slick?"
"Do you by chance know Owney Madden?"
"The killer? Yeah I know that f*cker, he and his gang offload our bootlegging shipments sometimes."
"You're kidding."
"Yeah, but that bugger never leaves that cesspool of Harlem, much less his cotton club and don't get me started with that police station."
This whole conversation made Owney Madden's face pale since his gang was able to profit so much due to hijacking shipments from the Italian mafia.
"He even has a bounty of 50,000 bounty put up for his head-"
"Wait Slick, I was only joshing ya-"
*BANG*
*THUMP*
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"Slick, what was that!?" Lucky shouted from the other side of the phone as Ricky shot Owney again before clicking his tongue.
"Dang it, I was aiming for your head." Ricky grimaced as Owney started to whine out in pain as Booker crawled away from the scene.
"You were totally bluffing Owney, what do you have to say about yourself?" Ricky mocked a crying Owney as he slid down while leaving a trail of blood on the wall.
"P-Please don't kill me-"
*BANG*
*BANG*
"Aye pops, I got him." Ricky spoke on the phone as a maddening laugh was let out by Lucky.
"Can you send a couple boys over here to help clean up?" Ricky spoke at Lucky who started hitting his desk.
"Yeah champ, I'll send some guys over there but I think I have a way to squash that pesky Irish mob once and for all."
"Oh yeah, what's that?" Ricky asked him and on the other end, Lucky's face slowly turned up a cold ruthless smile.
"Let your old pops handle this one, just sit back and relax my boy."
4 hours later,
"Owney where are you at!" A man with a thick irish accent yelled out as men gathered in the cotton club.
This was Owney Madden's partner, Bill Dwyer, and he faithfully ran the Irish mob along with Owney Madden.
"That scamp always does this." Another man walked with a drink in his hand before taking a seat at the table.
This man was Owney's and Bill's right hand man who did all the dirty work that they didn't have time for, George 'Big Frenchy' DeMange.
The Irish mob usually held meetings or met up for important discussions at the cotton club and after hearing from some of the workers here that Owney was calling a meeting, they all came.
*Sigh*
"I swear, the night life is really getting to him." Bill plopped down on a chair as the other remembers started laughing at this.
Then without any greetings, the Luciano family burst into the Cotton Club, Tommy guns in hand, catching the Irish mob completely off guard.
Not hesitating, the Luciano family's fingers clenched the triggers as the bullets screamed out from the guns, creating an ear deafening symphony of gunfire.
The once lively Cotton Club was now a gruesome one sided slaughter, its elegant decor marred by the grotesque scene unfolding within.
The Irish mobsters stood no chance against the merciless ambush, they were simply torn apart by the hail of bullets, their bodies jerking and convulsing with each impact.
Blood sprayed from their wounds, painting the walls and floors crimson. Their limbs were torn from bodies, and screams of agony filled the air, only to be drowned out by the relentless gunfire.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. The floor became slick with gore, making every step treacherous.
The once vibrant music was now drowned out by the symphony of violence, the clatter of gunfire and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.
When the gunfire finally ceased, the only sound that remained was the soft moaning of the wounded and the harsh gasps of the dying.
The Cotton Club, once a symbol of glamor and entertainment, was now a macabre tableau of death and destruction.
This gruesome point in history would later be coined the 'Great Irish Massacre' which would be a bloody affair that would forever change the landscape of Harlem in the future.
The Luciano family's ruthless efficiency in eliminating their rivals ensured that they would dominate the criminal underworld in Harlem as Ricky had accidently secured it.
The only reason for this being his appearance wasn't notorious to be easily recognized like his other family members which allowed for the scene to unfold, if he had entered the underworld maybe even a year or two earlier then he would easily have been clean out.
However, by sheer luck mixed with his lack of notoriety, he managed to unknowingly accomplish his single goal, all in one day.
Walking out from the side, Ricky looked at the only survivor, Bill, one of the few Irish mobsters still clinging to life, looked at him with a hint of defiance.
But that hint of life was extinguished as Ricky took a swig of a nearby bottle of rum before pointing his tommy gun at him.
*BANG*
A hole appeared in Bill's head, that hatred solidifying himself on his face for eternity as he went limp against the bloody floor.
"Give up to Slick, the one who was able to wipe out those pesky Irish wannabe's!" Lucky roared, sticking up Slick's arm as the other mobsters cheered.
"You did it Slick, and in one goddamn day!" Lucky patted Ricky's back as he nodded, still completely sh*t faced.
"Now we can move all that money through the night clubs previously under the irish mob." Lucky smiled viciously.
He'd had his eyes on Harlem's nightlife for a while, but Owney, that slippery rat, always managed to hide where he felt safe.
Now, though, it was all about to fall under the Luciano family's control after some well-placed coercion and a few strategic payoffs.
"From today onward, you're gonna be in charge of these nightclubs ya here?" Lucky patted Ricky's shoulder as he nodded before holding up his bottle of booze.
"LET'S PARTY!" Ricky roared, ignoring the terrifying responsibility for another day only to see laughs resound as Lucky joined in.
"Let's clean up this mess first then party, alright?" Lucky spoke as Ricky fist pumped before taking a long swig of the bottle of rum.
"What do you need, pops?" Ricky asked only for an address to be shoved into his chest and the rum bottle taken out of his hand.
"We're gonna take Harlem in one fell swoop and that means any other operations need to burn down in the aftermath." Lucky nodded to the side, the ones not busy cleaning up the bodies hurried out.
"You're side lining me, what the f*ck?" Ricky frowned, knowing full well he was being purposely put out of the raids.
*Smack*
"Don't bad mouth me, this is important." Lucky smacked the back of his head, Ricky rubbing it with an even heavier frown.
"Round up ya boys and go take care of these operations, you're the only one I can trust with this." Lucky grabbed both his shoulders with Ricky sighed, grabbing back his bottle of rum and walking out of the club.
"Fine, but next time I'm leading the charge!" Ricky yelled, Lucky nodding with Meyer walking up to his side.
"Aye Lucky, can I talk to you for a sec?" Meyer asked, gesturing to the side before they went a little ways away.
"This is about the jewish mob, correct?" Lucky could already tell, Meyer ducking his head slightly since they both knew how important his faith is to him.
"Listen, I get you're afraid of retaliation from the jewish mob, but we'll pin the blame on the irish mob and make good with them with a hefty pay out." Lucky patted his shoulder, pulling out a cigar and lighting it.
"I don't know Lucky, the jewish mob has been acting weird lately and-" Meyer was about to ramble until he saw Lucky's deadpan expression.
"SIGH*
"No you're right, I just gotta calm down and see the bigger picture." Meyer understood immediately and Lucky laughed, putting his arm around him and leading him to the office.
"Come on, let's go cheer you up by checking Owney's books."
20 minutes later,
"This is stupid." Rocco kicked rocks while getting some gasoline, filling it up before getting another one.
"Preach." Ricky, on top of the hood, drank the rum and Jake shook his head.
"Slick Lucky's right on this one, it will look bad to the other guys if you keep getting handed every opportunity." Jake became the voice of reason but Edward stopped munching on his snacks.
"I don't know, everyone I talk to likes Slick." Edward shrugged but Rocco was the one to scoff at this one.
"They ain't gonna tell Slick's buddies they got a problem, doofus." Rocco shook his head, looking at Edward as if he was an idiot.
"All I'm saying is that we do these tedious jobs and overtime when we get handed better roles, no one will argue making our lives easier." Jake came to the conclusion, Ricky throwing the bottle into the trash.
"Whatever the case is, let's get it over with so we can get wasted and party." Ricky helped Rocco get the gasoline tankers in the trunk before getting in the passenger seat.
As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, dusk settled over Harlem as the streets gradually emptied, the residents having heard whispers of an impending takeover.
"Hurry up." Ricky yelled as he watched the sun slowly set, its fading light casting long shadows.
Watching Rocco dousing the sides of an Irish mob operation with gasoline, the pungent scent filling the air.
Looking at the note, Ricky saw all the addresses they needed to burn into smithereens but at the very top of the list was the signal for the family to start their takeover.
This plan was designed to draw the fire department to the outskirts of town, while Lucky's bribes ensured they were kept busy containing the blazes, unable to interfere with the real operation.
"Alright do it Slick." Rocco threw the gas container at the wall, running while Ricky tucked a cloth into a bottle of vodka.
Ricky set the ragged end of the makeshift Molotov cocktail aflame and hurled it at the wall.
It exploded in an orange blaze, the flames greedily consuming every gasoline-soaked surface before spreading hungrily to the rest of its surroundings.
Flames erupted in a terrifying blaze as the four young mobsters quickly hurried back into their car.
"Holy sh*t!" Rocco said what everyone was thinking, seeing the flames tower of the warehouse.
*BOOM*
They all flinched as the warehouse roof exploded, sending a large cloud of smoke billowing into the air, mingling with the fiery blaze below.
"Where to next?" Ricky asked, everyone looking at each other then letting out maddening pyromaniacal laughs.
Upon the smoke signal, Harlem began to rage in gunfire with Irish screams dousing the ears of the fearful residents.
Those who understood what was happening watched attentively as the new invaders moved, while the unaware panicked and scrambled desperately to avoid any unjustified wrath.
Slowly, Harlem night sky was cloudy in black smoke with subtle hints of ash sprinkling down as a result of Ricky's actions until they made their way to one place.
"Whoa wait, we can't be here." Jake suddenly stopped the other three, seeing the sign of David the jewish mob painted on their buildings as a marker.
"Why not?" Rocco asked with a scoff, walking forward only for Jake to hold him back.
"Cause dipsh*t, that isn't a part of the Irish mob but the jewish one." Jake pushed him back, Rocco flinched and Ricky was also surprised.
"No, it clearly says here this is the address." Ricky looked at the sign while Jake shook his head, going over to his side.
"It can't be?" Jake grabbed the paper, Ricky looking at both Rocco and Edward who shrugged.
"Maybe we should back off-" Edward tried to be the bridge of peace but Ricky shook his head.
"We can't, my pops wouldn't make such a big mistake like this, it needs to be done." Ricky grabbed some of the gasoline and walked to the side.
"But Slick-" Rocco tried to counter only to see Ricky's cold gaze.
"It needs to be done." Ricky's face showed there wasn't any room for reason, shutting up both Edward and Rocco in a second.
Ricky started dumping the contents of the last remaining contents of gasoline onto the side of the building, the smell coursing into a nearby window which entered the nose of three guys on watch that night.
"What's that smell?" One of them looked at the other two before they looked at each other.
*PFFFT*
"Not like that you numbskulls, I mean it smells like gas." He countered but his words only made his friends laugh even harder.
"Screw you guys, I'll go check it out myself." He scoffed, pushing one of his friends who was hollering at his poor choice of words.
The young man marched to the rear side door, opening it and about to pull out a cigarette only to freeze.
Ricky, currently pouring a thing of gasoline, also froze in place as they looked at each other for a brief second.
The man immediately went to scream but Ricky dove at him, covering his mouth as muffled sounds resounded from the back.
"Aye did you hear that?" One of them said, looking at the one picking up some of his cards.
"It's probably gas." The man said in a straight face, looking at him before they snickered out laughter once more.
"Bring me some rope!" Ricky yelled in a whisper, Rocco and Edward flinching before grabbing some rope from the trunk.
"Petey?" Jake widened his eyes, letting out a fearful whisper as he watched Ricky cover his mouth while Rocco and Edward swiftly tied him up.
Putting one of the rags in Petey's mouth, Ricky stood up only to see Jake frozen in place as he sighed.
"I'm going to take care of the ones inside, you all stay here until I get back." Ricky pulled out his pistol, knowing that it would be easier for him to do it himself.
Walking inside, Ricky slowly dipped around from corner to corner, checking them though this entire operation seemed to be desolate of people.
"You f*cker!" One of the jewish mobsters yelled out with a laugh, Ricky turning his head and slowly making his way over to where it stemmed from.
"What's taking Petey so long-"
"Oh who cares, that drama queen is probably pissing and sh*tting outside for all I know." One of them interrupted as Ricky looked around the corner to see them playing cards.
Ricky wasted no time. As he clicked his gun, readying the revolver before suddenly turned the corner on the unsuspecting mobsters.
*BANG*
*BANG*
The first bullet pierced the back of the nearest mobster, causing his body to arch instinctively.
Before he could scream in pain, the second bullet tore through his head, splattering brain matter onto his friend.
"YOU BASTARD-"
*BANG*
*BANG*
*CLICK*
Two more bullets shot out before Owney's revolver signaled it had been completely emptied, the bullets tearing through the mobsters stomach and arm.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The man let out a piercing wail, stumbling to the ground as blood poured from his fresh wounds, pooling on the ground beneath him.
"Tsk, I'm such a lousy shot." Ricky sighed when looking at the gun, looking around for a knife or something similar to end this once and for all.
"YOU BASTARD, THIS IS FOR ELI!" The man, knowing he was about to die, pulled out a pistol of his own and pointed it at Ricky.
Unloading the entire clip into Ricky, the man screeched out a warcry with tears for his fallen brother only for the gun to click.
*Click*
For a brief second after the gun stopped firing, time stood still as a look of horror eclipsed his face when gazing upon the six bullets he fired stopping mid air.
"Full Counter." Ricky waved his empty pistol at the bullets, their trajectories altering with twice the explosive power, causing the man's breath to stutter in fear.
"Mommy-"
*SPLAT*
Ricky showed a look of disgust, still unable to get used to the side of a man's body seemingly popping like a flesh balloon.
Meanwhile when Ricky was killing the only two guys within the warehouse, Jake was outside facing a conundrum.
"You know this guy?" Rocco asked Jake, gazing at Petey who pleaded with him.
"Y-Yeah, we go to the same temple." Jake rubbed his forehead in distress, knowing Petey since they were boys.
"Well, we can't let him go or-"
"I know, DAMMIT I KNOW!" Jake paced back and forth, knowing that this would start a full scale war that the Luciano family didn't need right now.
Jake could understand why they were doing this, pinning the blame on the Irish mob or some other gangs but if they were told directly by one of their own, it would lead to a lot of needless trouble.
"I'll take him around back and-"
"No, I'll do it." Jake interrupted Edward who became a little surprised at this declaration.
"But Jake, this-"
"We all need to prove that we're a part of the Luciano family, I need to prove that just cause I'm a jew don't mean I can't be in the family." Jake thumped his chest, Rocco and Edward looking at each other but nodding.
"Alright." Rocco understood a little where Jake was coming from, handing the tied up Petey to him.
"Aye Jake, you can't let him go." Edward became serious at this moment, looking into Jake's eyes as the latter nodded slowly.
"I know Eddy." Jake unholstered his pistol and pulled Petey aside, tears streaming down his face as he confronted his looming fate.
Throwing him into the alleyway, Petey begged through muffled words as Jake gnawed on his lip while pointing the pistol at him.
"Any last words Petey." Jake undid his gag, hoping and praying that Petey would yell hateful words only to see him bow his head.
"D-Don't do this Jake, w-we go way back!" Petey pleaded, begging Jake not to pull the trigger as his gun violently started to shake.
"I-I-I went to your bar mitzvah for the lord's sake, PLEASE JAKE! Petey screeched out, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I-I can't Petey, I'm sorry." Jake gritted his teeth, his own eyes getting teary as the gun shook violently in his hands.
"I'm sorry."
*BANG*
*BANG*
*BANG*
The shots were heard from the alley, Jake coming out from the side and wiping his eyes though Edward still went to check.
But as he turned the corner, he saw three shots in Petey's head, forever freezing a look of horror on his face.
"Alright let's-woah, what happened here." Ricky waltzed out of the warehouse, seeing the gloomy atmosphere only to realize that the other guy was gone.
"Jake did you-"
"I don't want to talk about it right now Slick." Jake walked back towards the car, Ricky nodding and looking over to Rocco who understood.
Rocco grabbed the Molotov, lighting the ends as the orange hue slowly consumed the cloth before throwing it at the side.
The fire greedily started to spread all around the operation yet none of the boys paid it any regards.
"Here-" Ricky handed Jake a bottle of rum though he didn't have to finish his words since Jake had immediately swiped it.
*GULP*
*GULP*
*GULP*
Ricky was surprised but started laughing out, patting Jake's shoulder until he put it down and started immediately throwing it back up.
*BLERGH*
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Ricky laughed, Jake falling into the car afterwards while Edward got into the driver's seat.
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Ricky yelled out from the passenger side window, holding the bottle of rum in his hands amidst the chaos going on all around him.
"I'M GONNA LIVE FOREVER!"
43 hours later,
"Oh god, my head~"
Meanwhile In Downtown Manhattan,
*BAM*
"HOW IS THIS HAPPENING!" A man with a Star of David necklace dangling from his neck screeched, gripping his hair in distress.
Other gangsters, similarly adorned, gathered around with nervous expressions.
This scene of anger and unease was the result of a message received by the Jewish mafia regarding one of their operations in Harlem.
At the center of this turmoil stood Harry "Pep" Strauss, the leader of the Jewish mafia, and his underboss, Bugsy Goldstein.
"And sure Dutch's reports were correct?" One of his men carefully asked as Pep had a deadpan expression on his face while gazing at this man.
Sweat trickled from all the surrounding members as they gazed at their boss's unmoving body as his hollow eyes stared at the man.
*BANG*
*THUMP*
Then in the next second, a bullet was delicately placed between the man's eyebrows as the adult body hit the ground with a loud thud.
"EVERYONE GET OUT!" Pep roared while tossing the table situated in front of him on its legs as all members rushed out of the premises.
*HUFF*
*HUFF*
*HUFF*
"Fits of rage will only show your incompetence." Bugsy elegantly spoke as his aura was that of a nobleman while Pep's bloodshot eyes turned to him.
"YOU-"
"What." Bugsy eyes were cold as Pep took a step back since his supposed underboss stood up while his form slowly started to morph.
Every step he took, Buggsy human vestige slowly changed into that of a cold blooded monster before the former Buggsy stood in front of Pep with an entirely new appearance.
"You'd do best to understand your place in the food chain." The man's deep voice hissed as two canines showed from his mouth.
"M-My apologies, Lord Dracula." Pep got on one knee while bowing his head down in subservience as the infamous self proclaimed Dracula gazed at him with a scowl.
"Find it, and I'll give you what I promised." Dracula's words finished and as Pep looked up, his master was completely gone without a trace.
"As you wish."
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