1930s Chicago. Notorious gangster Tom "Tommy Gun" Holland has been storming his way through Cook County, robbing banks and breaking hearts. One day you find yourself in the wrong place, at the wrong time when he makes a hit on your bank. There's...
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"You see the thing is, Tommy, you two have been drawing a lot of heat," Capone said. "You rob some banks, shoot off some guns and before you know it, you've got a caravan a coppers on your tail, chasing you all over Illinois."
Capone, ashed his cigar on the floor and glanced over at Tommy.
"I can't have you and your broad hindering any of my business."
Tommy's knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of the chair. His nostrils flared with quiet rage at Capone's disrespect, but you could tell he was doing his damnedest to keep composed.
"That's my wife you're calling 'broad'," he seethed through gritted teeth. His eyes shone with contempt, but a soothing pat of his hand, seemed to cool him off.
Tommy's tone didn't go unnoticed, though. Capone smirked and gave a disingenuous apology. "Of course," he shrugged glancing over at you, "My apologies, Mrs. Holland," he said with emphasis.
You narrowed your eyes with a huff. "What kinda business you into anyway?" you asked.
"The kind that makes me money," he replied, sticking his fat cigar between his teeth again.
"This is a whorehouse," Tommy said to you. His voice was low and gravely. You could feel his breath dance across your cheek as he leaned in to speak. If only this whole exchange could be over with and you two could get back to riding and robbing and smooching.
"A brothel," Capone corrected him, "The most exquisite ladies for an equally expensive price."
"My mistake," Tommy said sarcastically. His fingers started tapping on the arm of the chair in annoyance. He was clearly bothered by Capone's insolence, but if any of the stories were true, Tommy needed to keep his cool. Capone's body count was swelling bigger than the Mississippi after a storm.
Capone studied Tommy silently, pursing his smirking lips against the stogie. Tommy glared right back at him. The air in the room seemed to change. You suddenly felt very claustrophobic and uneasy about your situation. Suppose that was the whole point. Suppose when you're locked in a room and surrounded by men with guns, the intention is to be imposing and threatening. It was working.
After an excruciating moment of their silent stare down, Capone shifted on the desk and cut his eyes over to you. "I'd wager you'd fetch a pretty price here, Mrs. Holland," he said with a chubby grin.
Tommy vaulted out of his seat, fists clenched. The room echoed with the click of guns being cocked and the shoveling of shiny shoes on tile. Your heart leapt into your throat.
"Tommy!" you shouted, jumping out of your seat as well. He at least had the wits to stop himself, standing there, chest heaving with fury. His brow was peppered with beads of sweat and in his eyes, you saw that quiet rage was now a rolling inferno.
All the while, Capone didn't so much as flinch. He smiled at Tommy and sucked on his cigar deliberately. His men held their position, ready to plug you both full of lead at the first sign fromtheir boss.
You stood in front of Tommy, hands resting on his shoulders. He continued to look past you, those big brown eyes of his locked on Capone. "Don't blow your wig, Handsome," you purred in the most smoothest voice you could muster, "We still have a lot more fun ahead of us."
Tommy's eyes shifted back to yours. He took a deep breath and slowly that scowl started to soften. You nodded then turned to Capone, arms crossed. He eyed you up and down, then with a slight shake of his head, signaled his men to lower their guns.
"What do you want...Al?" you asked with full on sass. You hoped some playfulness would diffuse the situation entirely. You also wanted to get down to business. The clock was always one tick away from coppers and if he wasn't going to kill you, then he must've wanted something from you.
Capone seemed amused by you and finally stood up, stubbing out his cigar.
"I want you to do a job for me, then we'll be square," he proposed, buttoning his jacket.
"What kind of job?" Tommy interjected. You were happy to see his composure returned.
"Oh this will be right up your alley. It's a big one but I have complete faith that you can pull it off," Capone smiled.
"Where?" Tommy gruffed.
"The Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago," Capone answered.
Tommy stiffened next to you and a slight groan escaped his lips. You turned to him questioningly.
"Chicago Fed," he said almost sadly, "Sammy's bank."
