Character Introduction: Dan Swagger is a former police officer turned private investigator. He is more cunning than brawn, but certainly isn’t one to be bullied. This is fortunate for him, because his quick wit and no nonsense attitude tends to get him into trouble. In his mid-forties, he wears ruggedly handsome features and is of medium build, but carries himself in manner more fitting of a giant without fear.
Setting: Chicago - 1927, during the heart of prohibition and at the height of gangland activity from the likes of Al “Scarface” Capone, "Bugs" Moran, and "Lucky" Luciano to name a few. With prohibition in full swing, gangs fought viciously for control over being the bootlegger of choice. With the Great Depression and Black Tuesday (stock crash of 1929) just around the corner, times were tough, making people even tougher.
Booze was not the only vice of choice of the day, there was illegal gambling, drugs, horse racing, prostitution, sports, and street fighting. Babe Ruth was at the peak of his career during this time, while Ty Cobb was in the twilight of his. In 1927, Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs, a record that stood until 1961. In football you had Red Grange, Jim Thorpe, and of course George Halas. Boxing, next to baseball, was the most popular sport of the time. This is the year famous boxer Jack “The Manassa Mauler” Dempsey, former heavyweight champion, is defeated for the second time by up and coming star named Gene Tunney.
Even with World War I still fresh in the minds of many Americans, the “Roaring Twenties,” was not all doom and gloom. It was also the “golden age” of industrialization, thanks in part to Henry Ford, who invented the modern assembly line and by 1927 produced over 15 million cars.
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1927 - Chicago – West Side – Late Evening
The Chic Lounge, a name that would normally conjure up images of style, class, and sophistication, could never be mistaken for any of those things…least not anymore. The Lounge, as the regulars simply called it, was nestled in the blue-collar district of Melrose Park, just north of the rail yard. It was dimly lit and for good reason. The walls were draped with dark-green-pin-striped wallpaper that was old and pealing back upon itself, with stains from water damage caused by a leaky roof. At first glance it looked as if they were textured, but closer inspection revealed a caked layer of railroad dust and tobacco tar. To complete the high class ensemble, the walls were littered with bullet holes and patches where many a man's boot, fist, and skull had caused it to mysteriously cave in - it was my kind of joint.
The air was damp and heavy, and clung to you like a warm-wet blanket. When first entering
the Lounge the smell punched you in the mouth like a drunken sailor, but after awhile, after a drink or three, you could hardly notice it. It was the kind of place where a man could come and escape from his troubles, and I had plenty of those. Speakeasies like the Lounge were hard to find after Uncle Sam had taken away a man's only true sanctuary from the real world; the solace that only a good bottle of hooch could provide.
The smoke from my gasper slowly danced skyward, diffusing with the rest of the smoke in the room, as I sat at the bar contemplating my next move. The landlord from the Beverly Manor was riding my ass hard, and the bills were piling up faster than a broad removing her nightie on her honeymoon.
Then there was Mary. Poor Mary. I hadn't had the dough to pay her in weeks. She was a good woman and deserved better. I would have been lost without her, and counted myself lucky to have her as my assistant. Times were tough; people were on the nut and just weren't letting go of their money. They held on to it like it was the last goddamn bit of breathable air. Who could blame them, but sympathy wasn't paying the bills.
