The Dead Sleep Easy (Freewood)

It was 1929, and the Prohibition movement in Chicago was going strong; then again, so was the underground trade.

With the outlaw of alcohol in full effect, it had inadvertently spawned an entirely new creation. Hidden speakeasies and secret clubs formed throughout the country, and with it came a severe increase in gang violence. Territory was fought over, informants and bodyguards were hired, buildings were destroyed and trade was sabotaged as the demand for high-quality alcohol rose.

On the top of all of this was Al Capone with his fingers around the most popular speakeasy in all of Chicago, the Green Mill Cocktail Lounge (or ‘The Green’ for short).

He entrusted the running of The Green to no one but his right-hand man, Jack ‘Machine Gun’ Pattillo, a burly man with a ginger beard and a calm exterior; but his nickname wasn’t for naught. He knew his stuff and only hired the best, which is why Ryan Haywood, the gun for hire, was a little more than honored when asked to help with a job.

He was a simple man, strong, silent, and incredibly intelligent, and he wore no suit jacket over his vest and shirt, choosing functionality over style. His sandy blond hair was slicked back, and cold blue eyes held history that would impress Al Capone himself.

He slid into the back alley, dark and dank, walking casually towards a plain-looking door; a few carefully placed knocks had the door cracked open, and he whispered the password to an unseen face. The corridors leading to the speakeasy were dimly-lit, and stairs brought Ryan down far below the basement of the simple laundry cleaner it was hidden under. But once the heavy door was opened, the grandeur of the establishment was unmatched by any he’d ever seen before.

Smooth jazz played by a live band filled the air along with joyful chattering and the air smelled of liquor and sweat. Lights of a soft orange hue illuminated the smoke-clogged space, and golden trimming laced intricate designs carved into the foundation. The place was packed with people of high esteem, laughing and sipping clear and amber-colored liquids without a care in the world of the war that waged silently above them. It made Ryan want to grit his teeth, but he supposed it was his business to keep the rich as ignorant as they were before.

He slipped through the crowd easily, customers off-put by his tough demeanor and recognizing business when they saw it. He tilted his hat at the bartender, a young man with freckles and curly red hair, as he took a seat, rapping his knuckles on the hard, varnished wood lightly.

"And how can I help you, sir?" The man asked, grinning charismatically at him as he hand-dried a shot class.

"I’m here to see the Machine Gun." Ryan said simply, his voice low and deep.

The man nodded knowingly, waving for a young flapper girl with red hair to take his place. “You’re the gun for hire. M’name’s Michael. I’ll go get Mr. Pattillo. In the meantime, let my lovely fiance Lindsay get you a drink.” He flashed another smirk before disappearing into the fray as the girl poured whiskey into a glass. Ryan muttered a thanks as he took it, swallowing it down in one gulp and cringing at the burn; surprisingly enough, he wasn’t much of a drinker.

His eyes roamed the open space as he waited, noting several exits and suspicious-looking characters (with a job like his, he was always on the lookout for enemies he’d made along the way) until he was jolted forward as a hand patted his shoulder fondly.

"Ryan Haywood! Long time, no see!" Ryan froze at the voice, gaze snapping up to meet grey eyes sunken into a pale face framed with dark hair and a curly black mustache. "How long has it been? Two years? Three?"

"Geoff Ramsey, as I live and breathe." Ryan let out a chuckle, shaking the older man’s hand firmly. "I see you’ve got some new tattoos." He gestured teasingly at Geoff’s arms, completely inked with the art.