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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"But I don't like tomatoes and Samuel didn't eat his either," Harry whined.
"Tomatoes are rubbish," Tommy muttered.
"Tommy!" Nicola snapped at him. Tommy shot her a apologetic look.
"Sorry, Nik," he said guiltily then scooped a heaping forkful of tomatoes in his mouth. Nicola narrowed her eyes at him and turned back to the stove. Tommy turned to the twins and flashed a gory grin of oozing tomato juice and laughed sinisterly. The boys squealed with giggles at the sight.
Nicola spun around and sighed loudly. Tommy gulped down the mess and wiped his chin with his napkin, clearing his throat.
"They're delicious and umm...will make you big and strong," he said, cutting his eyes back to Nicola. She rolled hers then he shot the twins a wink when she wasn't looking.
"You know the deal, Harry," Sam said, coming into the kitchen. He was straightening his tie as he approached the table. "Anything you don't eat gets packed up and delivered to the Hummels."
"I know, daddy," Harry sighed.
"Now," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at Harry who begrudgingly slipped out of his chair, depositing his food in a tin. Nicola handed him a bag full of more food to take with him.
"Don't you have enough to worry about with your own family?" Tommy asked after Harry slipped through the back door, donations in tow.
Sam set his cup of coffee down with a frown. "The Hummels have five children and an infirm father who's unable to provide for them," he said poignantly.
Tommy stood and took his dirty plate over to the sink, shrugging, "I just don't see why it's your responsibility, Sammy."
"It's all of our responsibility, Tommy. If someone's in need, and there's something we can do to help, why shouldn't we?" Sam asked.
Tommy leaned against the sink, arms crossed. "Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach him to fish and feed him for a lifetime," he said sensibly.
"And what if the river's run dry?" Sam countered. He walked his own plate over to the sink, leaning in to speak.
"Things are unraveling," he said, keeping his voice low, "My contacts in New York...they're preparing for the worst. They say it's going to bottom out...and when it does..." Sam glanced back at the boys and Nicola.
"When it does...?" Tommy prodded him with a nudge. Sam looked back at him and said somberly.
"When it does, we'll be lucky if there's any fish at all." Tommy frowned at Sam's prophetic tone. The profound worry in his brother's eyes bothered him. Sammy always took an optimistic approach to life, something Tommy admired, but could never seem to do himself. Working the beat on Chicago streets can sour a man. Hope and ideology aren't welcome when you're interviewing the wife of a slain citizen who happened to end up on the wrong side of some thug's bullet.
