UnBooks:Chicago Justice
Chicago Justice was created by Criscomedia in August 2005, and tells the story of the re-emergence of gang war in 1930's Chicago after the murder of Al Capone. It tells the story of prominent figures in the re-emergence of the Chicago Gangs; from the gang members themselves, to the city officials who try to bring them down, right to the soldiers who are guarding against the 'leftist threat'.
Chicago Justice has undergone numerous changes during its history. During the first week, each scene was its own chapter or episode. This was then changed to include five scenes in every episode. Recently, with the addition of new characters, the format was once again changed.
Chicago Justice can be seen every Tuesday night at 8 PM Eastern, only on Othertimelines.com, and will be added to this article later that night (or sometimes, even before the official release. Keep your eyes open).
Season One[edit | edit source]
Prologue and Episode One[edit | edit source]
Al Capone, whos balls of steel were sensing a guilty verdict on its way in his tax evasion trial, decided that desperate action needed to be taken. He got word out to his balls in his pants, and within a matter of days, jurors found an unusual co-incidence of destruction occurring to property that they owned. It proved to be enough.
On October 17, 1931, Al Capone was found not guilty of income tax evasion. praise his steel balls!
However, the Attorney General and officials in the state of Illinois, and even some members of the Supreme Court and Justice Department, could not stand for Al Capone slipping away from justice yet again. By the end of the month, hundreds upon hundreds of the citizens of Chicago were charged with tax evasion, espionage, smuggling, pornography, or anything else that was likely to land annoyances to the state in jail. In fact, the fishnet was so large that it managed to wipe out several smaller gangs entirely. But for hundreds of innocent people, it served only to wipe a smear on their name that forced them underground and into the gangs that they tried to avoid in the first place. Eventually, the problem got so bad that the remnants of the Chicago Outfit, fearing their own survival, decided to get rid of the problem that had started the manhunt. On November 7, 1931, the police car carrying Al Capone back to the Chicago Police Headquarters was ambushed by members of the Chicago Outfit, and although the two officers were allowed to leave, Al Capone was shot, execution-style, in the streets of downtown Chicago, by members of his own gang.
Deciding that since Al Capone had been “offed”, the problem no longer existed, the authorities decided to relent, fearing possibly for their own re-election chances. However, it proved to be not enough for Chicago’s mayor, who was un-ceremoniously kicked out of City Hall on his ass , receiving a record-low 14% of the vote, and was replaced by the underdog nominee Chuck Noris, who was an un-known until only a few weeks after he round house kicks Bush
However, beneath the glossy surface of a de-ganged Chicago, the remnants of the Prohibition Warfare remained, growing stronger day by day, and reaching their slimy tentacles back across the city. Leading the Chicago Outfit after Capone was the man who fired the final bullet himself, after Gerald Bernstein. On the other side of town, the lucky few who remained of the North Side Gang after the double-hit of the Valentine’s Day Massacre and the manhunt rallied under the flag of newcomer Matthew Saunders, who most people believed had the guts and the ruthlessness to lead them to glory. The Chicago Crime Syndicate, one of the small gangs to miraculously survive the manhunt, was led by Dan Pack, who had been a rum-runner and part-time owner of a speakeasy before the opportunity for glory came about. Finally, the vacuum in Chicago caused by the manhunt had opened paths for others to come in, and one of the most successful infiltrators was the Russian Mafia, whose leader in Chicago was so new that, except to his closest confidents, he was only known by the name ‘Ivan.’ Not only did these four factions strive to outwit each other, but the police services as well. After the capture and execution of Capone from a police car, the Chicago Police had been disgraced. The Police Chief was fired by Mayor Perritt in his first move in office, and replaced him with Paul Xavier, known universally by the nickname Morgoth, who vowed tight control on any gang activities. Despite the recent manhunt, most people supported this move, as word of Morgoth’s un-canny abilities at detecting true gangsters from false ones spread around town. Finally, the Attorney General, Wendell Cohen, managed to find just enough support to keep his job, and showed no signs of going soft to appease the public…
Originally Aired as Chapters One to Three: 08/30/05
“You have insulted my balls for the last time,” Chris Durham shouted at the bloody mass lying on the floor. “Let this knowledge haunt you for the rest of your life,” continued Durham, as he looked towards the two bodyguards standing at the other side of the darkened room. “Both seconds of it. Joe, Sarnath,” he dished out orders to the bodyguards before turning and leaving the room, “do with him as you please.”
Durham heard faints screams and pleads from inside the room as he closed the door behind him. Too bad for his balls, he thought. Should set a fine example for anyone else who tries to cheat my balls out of his money. He thought he heard two muffled gunshots from the room below as he climbed the stairs, but tried to put those out of his mind. The less I know, the less I can say, he thought.
He took his time climbing up from the basement to the third story of the downtown Chicago meat shop, no rush to get upstairs, he thought; the Godfather would know that the problem was taken care of. As he knocked on the door to the third-floor apartment, he was certain he heard a warehouse door closing, this time certain that it was the Godfather’s faithful subjects disposing of the unfortunate soul who thought he could pull a fast one on Capone’s successor. A loud “Come in” from the interior of the room shook him from his thoughts and back to reality. Best not to keep the Godfather waiting, unless you wanted to leave the warehouse in a garbage bag too. He was about to turn the door handle when the door opened of its own accord; or so he thought, until the guilty party appeared from behind it and strolled across his path. The woman in her mid-twenties was often seen around the Godfather’s personal territory, although no one (apart from the Godfather and his preferred mistress, and a healthy imagination) knew what went on inside, it was best to stay on her good side, if you knew what was good for you. She briefly waved to him as she was going down the stairs, after he greeted her with a cheerful “Nice to see you, Adi”.
As he walked into the apartment, he smelled the definitive odour of Cuban cigars. He walked from the hall into the main room, and saw the Godfather sitting on his plush beanbag chair in front of the wireless set. “Gerry, it’s great to see you.”
“Can the crap,” Gerry replied. “How’d the murder go? Everything go according to plan?”
“Of course, your Godfatherness,” Durham replied. “Although Joe and Sarnath did make quite a bit of noise closing the warehouse door. You heard it, I expect?”
“No, I was rather busy with other things at the time,” Gerry replied.
Before Gerry could continue, Durham cut him off. “Well that’s expected with Adi in here and all.”
At once, Durham wished he hadn’t said it. Gerry’s face went red as he glared at Durham. “If you ever say anything like that again, my gun rack behind me would like to make your acquaintance.” Durham’s eyes swung to the wall covered with the most deadly weapons money could buy. “You stupid fool, stop taking me so god damned seriously. Idiot. Anyways, have you talked to Footy at all?”
“Who?” Durham replied questioningly.
“Steve, you moron. You know, the guy that goes by the initials FTB?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know you wanted to talk to him.”
“Of course I did. The Yankees are in town this weekend for Opening Night, and Footy’s starting. I’ve got a whole pile of money on this game, and I don’t intend to lose it. He could certainly increase the odds in my favour, if you catch my drift.”
Having Footy throw baseball games as the pitcher for the White Sox had its dangers, but Gerry evidently wasn’t too concerned. “Yes sir, I’ll manage to get word to him. Anything else?”
“No. Now get out of here before my trigger-finger starts acting up again.”
Later, Durham thought he had scuttled out of the apartment far too fast; a fact backed up by the evil Prussian laughter coming from inside.
Paul Xavier looked down at the body that had washed up on the shores on Lake Michigan. It had all the markings of a Chicago Outfit attack, right down to the trademark knife slash going down the back of the neck. Dangerous people we’re dealing with, he thought. Too bad we couldn’t root them all out. Damned elections.
“Got some damn fuckers screwing with each other again, don’t we Morg?” asked Tex. Tex had been his right-hand man at his previous posting, and brought him along to deal with the trouble.
“Yes, but unfortunately, too many innocents get wrapped up in the matter,” Morgoth responded.
“Eh, not like the guvment here before us was much better,” Tex responded.
“Well, we can’t change that now. History is immovable and can’t take alternate routes. We can just follow the path set out for us,” Morgoth said back to him. “But I’ve got to head back to HQ to meet with that civil rights fellow, the stupid git. Wanna come?”
“Sure,” Tex said as the both piled into the police cruiser, “but I still think history can be changed. Just imagine it,” he continued as Morgoth started driving, “what if that Serb patriot hadn’t shot that Austrian royal bastard? No Great War. Imagine if we didn’t have prohibition, and Capone hadn’t knocked this shit city flat on its ass. And just think…”
Morgoth wondered why he had been dreading the civil rights meeting after all.
---
Statichaos was on the verge of tearing the Police Chief to bits. Once again, he had blatantly stepped over every law in the book in his endless bid to bring down the Chicago underworld, and Statichaos aimed to make him pay. The fact that his deputy kept referring to Chicago as a shit city wasn’t helping.
“Once again, sir, I’ve been given orders by Mayor Perritt to use whatever means necessary to stop this violence,” Chief Morgoth answered, wondering how the man had acquired the nickname Statichaos in the first place. All he could assume was that it referred to static chaos, which was what he always seemed to cause in his office. Maybe the guess wasn’t that far off the mark. “If you have a problem with it,” he concluded, “take it up with him. Good day, sir.”
Statichaos, taking the hint, turned and walked out of the office, taking no care for manners of any sort. As he walked past the prison cells, one of the female prisoners desperately motioned for him to come closer. He decided to take a chance, and went over to see what he could do.
“Christ, man, you’ve got to help me,” the prisoner pleaded. “They’ve got me in here for homosexuality charges! Like it’s any of their business. You’re the civil rights guy, can’t you do something?”
“Look miss, if I had any pull with the Chief, I’d use it. I feel for you. But any argument I try to make with His Holiness back there is liable to make things worse for you. Hell, he’d get me on treason charges if he could.” Once again, the prisoner motioned for him to come closer, which he did.
Suddenly, he didn’t know what hit him. She lashed out from between the bars, completely covering his arms. A second later, a sharp piece of jagged metal was at his throat.
“Listen all of you,” the prisoner screamed, “y’all better let me out of here or civil rights boy gets it, and you get to clean some blood off the nice new carpets in here.”
Silence roared throughout the building. Chief Morgoth opened the door to his office at the commotion. Considering the Chief’s feelings for him, Statichaos didn’t feel like he had much of a chance.
Suddenly, he felt like God was smiling on him. “Let her go,” Morgoth ordered. A constable came over with the keys and let opened the cell door. Somehow, she managed never to lose her hold on him. Slowly, she backed out of Police Headquarters, jagged knife still threateningly close to Statichaos’ neck, and onto the street.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tex muttered to Morgoth. “Who the fuck was that?”
Morgoth let out a heavy sigh. “Ellie Dackis,” he responded. Tex was as confused as ever.
“Take that, you filthy crapeater,” Matt Xavier shouted as his steel-toed boot drove into his latest victim’s chest. “This should teach you a thing or two about how to act around here.”
“That’s quite enough,” came a calm voice from across the room. Matt Saunders, Xavier’s boss, stepped out of the shadow just into the prisoner’s range of vision. “Take it easy on him Proma,” Saunders continued, using his minion’s commonly used nickname. “I’m sure our crap-eating friend over here didn’t mean to try and rat us out to Bernstein. I’m sure it was just a great mis-understanding. Just like this,” he exclaimed as his own boot connected with a bruised stomach.
Saunders walked over to one of his bodyguards, leaving the unfortunate victim groaning in pain. “Hey Saint,” Saunders said, “What would you do with this guy?”
“Me, boss?” Saint sounded confused. “Uh, I guess I’d go after him with something rusty. Lots of pain.” A kick from Proma ended a scream of terror from across the room.
Saunders grinned with evil malice. “My thought exactly Saint. Go get me my rusty spoon collection,” Saunders ordered as Saint walked off.
Proma questioned him from across the room. “Are you sure you want to go full out on this guy? Was it really that bad?”
Saunders glared back at Proma. “Of course it’s that bad. If it had been up to this crapeater, Bernstein would be doing the same to me right now.”
“Yes, but shouldn’t we end it quickly for him? Do we really need all this pain?”
“Hell yes!” Saunders shouted. “It’s more bloody fun this way.”
“Ooooh, good point boss,” Proma returned, as another kick ended another scream.
“Here’s the rusty spoons, boss,” Saint said as he came back in the room. “I also brought down this marvellous sample from our beloved German Sheppard upstairs,” Saint continued as he presented a bowl with dog feces on it. “What do you say we make this crapeater take some of his own medicine?”
“Damn boy, I like the way you think,” Saunders remarked. He turned to the prisoner on the ground. “What do you say, shitface?” A sole groan answered his question. “Both, you say? Marvelous!” Saunders took the bowl and rubbed it in his face. “Teach you to mess with us, now won’t it? Saint, gimme the spoons, and stand back…”
Episode Two[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired as Chapters Four and Five: 09/06/05
“Christ Doc, what do I have to do to get ahead in this town,” Ivan asked while staring at the empty beer in front of him. “I should just act like you, own a bar and get bootlegging. It’s as good as I’m bound to get around here.”
The bartender, Doc, leaned back over the counter and responded in a low whisper. “You know, Ivan, just because the Russian Mafia hasn’t taken off in Chicago doesn’t mean you can’t make a go of it. You just need to get some outside help. Have you heard who escaped from Police HQ the other day?”
“Who knows, some other jackass out to get the better of me?” Ivan responded.
“Could be, but she just might be able to help you before that.”
“She?” Ivan retorted. “What the hell kind of woman could possibly help me?”
“Surely you’ve heard of Ellie Dackis”
Silence suddenly gripped the bar, despite the whisper. Ivan looked once around the room and continued. “Da, of course, but she’s locked up. Unless…you can’t possibly mean…”
“Oh yes,” Doc continued. ‘She’s out. She took a hostage and got away last week.”
“Oh for the Rodina, I never would have thought it.”
“Thought what?” asked Conrad, as he sat down beside Ivan. “Hey Doc, make yourself useful and get me a shot already.”
“Of course Comrade Conrad, anything you say,” Doc responded as he rolled his eyes, walking away muttering something inaudible.
Ivan turned towards Conrad. “Ellie Dackis is free.”
“Holy shit!” Conrad screamed.
“You stupid moron,” Doc said as he came back with the beer, “stop screaming.”
“Yes yes,” Conrad continued. “But if she is free…”
“She’s working for a price,” Doc interrupted. “And it’s a higher price than most women will ask of you.”
“I have a greater chance of sleeping with the Tzar before Ellie will give you a price for that kind of work,” Ivan said.
“Ha, there’s a greater chance of me marrying his daughter and being proclaimed the Crown Prince of Russia before that happens,” Conrad replied.
“I don’t know,” Doc responded, “your daddy was pretty high up with the Tzar, wasn’t he? I’m sure you could find a way.”
“Yes, of course,” Conrad said, “if only they hadn’t been overthrown and killed 15 years ago.”
“Good point,” responded Ivan. “Back to business. Doc, can you get her on our side?”
“Maybe, I have many contacts,” the bartender replied, “but you must realise, this does not come cheap.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Ivan replied. “Frankly, we need her, or we’re dead shit. If you can get her, we’ll pay. Got it Doc?”
“Well first, pay for your bar tab, and then I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do it Conrad,” Ivan said.
“But…but…but…”
“Oh just shut up and pay.”
“I’ll get you one of these days,” Conrad responded, as he set down the money and walked out of the bar.
“Come back in a week,” Doc shouted behind them as Ivan followed Conrad out onto the street. “Stupid morons,” he said to himself as he went back to clean a glass for the next customer. “Complete idiots.”
“Remember, my son, there are always those which will seek to hurt you. But through the strength of God, my child, you can defeat them.”
“Yes, Father,” JW replied. “I shall do my best.”
“I am glad to hear it, my child. I shall see you on Sunday, of course?”
“Of course, Father. Good day,” JW said as he got up to leave the church.
A man in a dark suit came up to JW as soon as he left the church. “All went well, Mikey?” he said.
JW spun around on the spot. “For the last time, Dan,” he said in an urgent whisper, “don’t call me Mike! Do you want people to find out who I am?”
“Hey, whatever you say…Mikey,” Dan replied, which earned him another vengeful glare. “You got what we were looking for from the good priest Ace, I assume?”
“Of course, Dan, eternal salvation and the love of God, what else would Ace give me,” JW replied, pulling three large bottles from his backpack. “And a couple bottles of the best hooch in town that someone must have dropped around there,” JW continued, and got a pair of rolled eyes as he went on, “so I guess they won’t miss it now will they?”
Dan and JW walked up to an old two-story house and went inside, faintly noticing the aroma from the fish market a couple of blocks down. JW took out a key and opened the door, letting Dan in ahead of him. They walked up the small set of stairs up to the flat above the shoe shop down below. “Coffee for either of you?” another man said as they both walked inside.
“Oh Christ,” JW groaned, “What are we coming to? The man who calls himself Chaos offers the big wigs of the Chicago Crime Syndicate coffee. Almost makes me think that we’ll soon be graced by the glories of anarchy.”
“Oh shut up with the anarchy bullshit,” Chaos replied. “Do you honestly know how many people you piss off with that?”
Dan jumped in before JW could reply. “Oh, I’m betting that it’s less than that Sox pitcher did after mutilating the Opener against the Yankees last weekend.”
Chaos laughed. “Which wouldn’t be saying a hell of a lot.”
“Oh shut up both of you,” JW said back to them. “We all know that baseball is just a way for the government to distract the masses from the revolution,” earning a laugh from both Dan and Chaos.
“Man, you are hopeless,” Dan shot back at him. “Here, why don’t you help the revolution by making our delivery to our great friend El Johnson down at the pub? We’ve got to have enough of the finest stacked up by now.”
“Don’t you both realise that booze the key to advancing the revolution?” JW responded. “It’s why they tried to take it away from us! Stupid morons, we advanced the revolution right under their noses.”
“Yes, JW, because if we all get drunk at the same time, the government will fall, and anarchy will rule,” Dan chuckled. “Just get down there,” he ordered, as JW left.
“Some people…” Chaos replied, holding out the cup again. “Coffee?”
Episode Three[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired as Episode One, Scenes One to Three: 09/13/05)
Saunders walked into the downstairs basement below the waterfront supermarket only to find his number two man, Proma Victor, hard at work.
“Ah, I’m glad you could make it, boss,” Proma remarked as Saunders entered the room. “We’ve just gotten this letter from the Russian Mafia. Didn’t even know they were in Chicago, but these days, who knows anymore?”
“What do they need from us?” Saunders said back to him. “How the hell did they even find us in the first place?”
“That’s what I was wondering too. We’ll have to look into that,” Saunders replied, beginning to read the letter. “From a guy named Ivan,” Saunders went on, giving a small chuckle. “What an imaginative name for the head of the Russian Mafia. Probably not even his real name. Oh well, have you read it already?”
“I only got here a few minutes before you did, but, ya, I have,” Proma responded. “They need us to take care of some guy who’s been poking his nose into their stuff a little too closely.”
“So they want to chop off the nose to save the face, I take it,” Saunders said. “Not to say we haven’t done that a few times, but it’s dirty business. Stuff like that is only good for ratings on the wireless. Besides, you off too many people and eventually the cops start taking a nice close look at you, and you can’t chop off a few noses then unless you’re willing to go down. If it’s anything like a few years ago, man, we’re in trouble.”
“Hard to disagree with you, boss,” Proma responded, “but when you’ve got the reputation for evil that we have…”
Saunders gave another chuckle. “Indeed. Not to say we don’t deserve it. There’s some people these days that have thrown out all the rusty spoons they own just in case we come by.”
“Well, it’s what you have to do to make a name for yourself in this town,” Proma said.
“Of course, if you make too big of a splash, you get caught,” Saunders responded. “Back to business, what are these guys willing to give?”
Proma pointed over to the corner. “See that pile of bootlegged premium over in the corner?”
Saunders looked at it and raised an eyebrow. “That’s not that much, especially for this kind of job. Barely enough to start haggling with them over.”
“Boss, that there is only one-fifth of the shipment,” Proma replied. “They say we get the rest when the job’s done.”
“For the love of God,” Saunders replied. “Even if they give us half of what they promise, that’s a good deal. Give Saint and PJY the letter, and have them take care of it as soon as they can.”
“Close the warehouse door, he says,” Doom complained. “Is that all I’m good for? Closing warehouse doors? For Christ’s sake, can’t there be more to my life than closing warehouse doors?”
“There’s obviously more to your life than closing warehouse doors,” Morphy said back to him.
“Ya,” Joe continued, “you also complain about closing warehouse doors,” earning a chuckle from Morphy.
“Oh shut the hell up,” Doom retorted, glaring at Joe.
“If they ever put warehouse doors on aeroplanes, you’ll be the one who gets the job,” Morphy continued, ignoring another glare from Doom. “A warehouse entrance security engineer.”
“Oh please, you’re just jealous because Durham always tells me to close the warehouse door,” Doom responded. “If he told you to close the warehouse door, I bet you’d wet your pants trying not to screw up.”
“Ya, well at least it’s better than how you wet your pants, staring at Gerry’s mistress Adi all the time,” Morphy shot back at him, ignoring Joe’s hysterical laughter beside him. “If he ever finds out about that…”
“Oh please, do you really believe he’d believe a lie like that?” Doom mocked him.
“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Morphy challenged.
“If you had told him already,” Doom responded, “he would take a gun to my head and…”
A loud, sudden noise echoed from the street below, stopping Doom in his tracks. “Holy shit, for a second there I thought you were telling the truth,” Doom said, as he rushed over to the window along with everyone else.
“Well, it looks like Gerry mistook you for someone else then,” Morphy said, as a car sped down the street. “Poor idiot down there looks like he just had half his brains blown out his ass.”
“Just goes to show what happens to people who think they can encroach on my warehouse entrance security engineering monopoly,” Doom responded, earning blank stares from both Joe and Morphy. “Just don’t wet your pants thinking that you’re next, Morphy.”
“Oh you little idiot,” Morphy yelled, as he began to chase Doom around the room. “Go hide behind a bloody warehouse door!”
“Oh boy, this is not going to make me a popular man,” Police Chief Morgoth complained to no one in particular, looking down at the body on the street.
“I don’t need an autopsy to confirm that this guy’s dead,” the City Coroner, Crisco, replied back to him. “Hell, half his brains are floating in the sewer system.”
Another man came up to them. “Good afternoon, Chief, Crisco. My name is John Harris, and I’m the Councilman for Ward 8 in Chicago…this part of town, that is. Any idea on what happened here?”
“From what we can tell,” Morgoth replied, ignoring a sarcastic “He got half his brains blown out” from the coroner, “two men got out of a car, started talking to him, shot him, and then drove off.”
“Apart from that,” Crisco continued, “they didn’t take anything from him at all. His wallet, jewellery, even his watch is still there.”
“Meaning what exactly?” Harris asked. “Why would two men bother to mug someone, and then drive away without taking anything?”
“Why would they come up in a car in the first place?” Morgoth responded. “It seems almost like he was specifically picked for this punishment.”
“So this is gang related?” Harris asked, and waited for a nod from Morgoth before going on. “I thought we got rid of them all a year or so ago. What are they doing back in Chicago?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Harris,” Morgoth responded. “My only guess is that we didn’t get all of them, no matter how hard we tried. Maybe we tried too hard, and ended up pushing some underground. Maybe they came over from New York. It’s tough to tell at this point.”
“Any idea who they guy was?” Harris asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Morgoth replied. “He was Statichaos, a civil rights worker who was taken hostage last week.” Another police officer called for Morgoth from across the road. “Sorry boys, but duty calls,” Morgoth finished and walked off, hearing words of “Indeed” from Harris and “Cause of death: Half of brain missing” from Crisco behind him.
“Any word yet of Dackis?” Cow asked as Morgoth came up to him. “If it wasn’t her who did this, who did? Where is she, and how did she get someone to kill this guy?”
“Unfortunately, that’s our job to figure out,” Morgoth responded. “If gangs are back on the rise in Chicago, it’s going to get far worse than this.”
“Wonderful, another round of this is just what I wanted,” Cow replied. “I’m getting sick of this. Let’s head over to Seb’s for some Edo.”
Episode Four[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired as Episode Three, Scenes Four and Five: 09/20/05
“Gentlemen,” JW proclaimed, “let me introduce you to our newest member, who I hereby dub ‘Confederate Okie’.”
“Confederate Okie?” Chaos asked sarcastically. “What kind of name is that? Honestly, we’ve got someone named JW whose real name is Mike, we’ve got my name as Chaos, for some reason, and now this?”
“Yes, deal with it,” JW shot back, “or we’ll have you on poop and scoop duty for the rest of the baseball season. You understand?”
“Ummm…yes sir,” Chaos responded.
“Good,” Dan cut in, “let’s get down to business. What’s the latest news on the baseball ticket scam?”
“So far, our wonderful contacts at the stadium have managed to hush up any rumours that may have started,” Chaos reported. “We’ve managed to…”
“Honestly, that’s not important anymore,” JW cut in. “Baseball tickets, bootlegging, it’s all small town stuff now.”
“And what is your grand idea, great JW,” Chaos asked sarcastically.
“Heads up, men,” the bartender said. “Four beers coming through.”
“Great, thanks El Johnson,” Dan replied. “What were you talking about earlier, JW?”
“Oh, yes,” JW began once again. “Anyways, thanks to our new recruit,” he said, motioning over to Okie, “we’ve been able to procure some very, well, let me say…enticing medicinal substances from several contacts in South America. With this depression and all, people will want any lift they can get, and this stuff is very addictive, so it brings in a continual chunk of money for us.”
“Well it sounds very interesting,” Dan replied, “but how easy is it to get up here? Do we have to continue buying it from South America, or can we make it here? If we can’t get our own, we’re as hooked as the suckers on the street.”
“Well, getting it up here is a slight problem,” Okie said, “but due to the weather up this way, we have no hope of growing it, unless we could make a giant steam bath to grow the stuff in.” A curious look from Chaos made him clarify “not that it’s that easy.”
“How much can we get out of this?” Dan asked.
“Well, if it’s as addictive as they say it is, a good amount,” JW responded.
“Ok then, see what we can cook up,” Dan decided, as he ordered another round of beer.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Ivan screamed at Conrad. “Why the hell did you tell Ellie to bring the hostage with her? Now the cops are swarming everywhere, and sooner or later they’ll find our trail.”
“Now Ivan, don’t worry,” Ellie came to Conrad’s defence. “The people I contacted won’t let themselves be found. They’re professionals, and they’re ruthless. They won’t bring trouble.”
“For Christ’s Sake, I know that,” Doc responded, “but do you know how much I lost because of you, Conrad?”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Conrad said glumly, “and now you’re having me write more story until three weeks after Judgment Day.”
“And they had better be good as well,” Doc shot back, “or Judgment Day will come a lot sooner for you than you think.”
“Yes, more story,” Conrad responded. “I shall write more story. Much more story. I will write many more story.”
“Why do you keep obsessing about more story, Conrad?” Ivan asked.
“Frankly, because the author of this story wants MORE STORY,” Conrad responded, “and he’s trying to make it painfully obvious that I should write MORE STORY!”
“Well then why don’t you write MORE STORY?” Doc asked.
“Oh, well I should,” Conrad replied. “But I’m too lazy. If I could go forward in time to talk to myself, I’d make sure to convince myself to write MORE STORY!”
‘Alright, Crisco, that’s enough,” Ivan said.
“Crisco?” Conrad asked. “I’m Conrad.”
“Yes, I know,” Ivan clarified. “I’m talking to the author.”
“Oh, alright, sorry,” Conrad said. “Ok then, I shall never make such a stupid mistake again. Next time, the hostage stays behind, and I write MORE STORY!”
“CRISCO!” Ivan screamed.
Suddenly, a God-like voice appeared throughout Doc’s fine bar and gambling establishment, and boomed out “Sorry Ivan.”
“Good, that’s better,” Ivan finished.
“Alright, now that we’ve gotten that sorted out,” Ellie began, “let’s put me to work. I’m not doing this for free you know.”
“Oh yes,” Doc said, “my near-empty shelves can bear witness to that.”
“Sorry, but it had to be done,” Ivan explained. “Anyways, now that we have the plan set, we can put it into action.”
“Yes,” Conrad agreed. “We attack Police Headquarters Sunday night…”
Episode Five[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired as Episode Two, Scenes One to Three: 09/27/05
Gangs Responsible for City Worker Murder, Police Chief Says. The headline screamed out at Dan from the front cover of the newspaper. “Shit,” he grumbled to himself, before opening up the latest edition of the Chicago Tribune to see the details inside. He flipped past a few stories – Military Coup in Chile, New Tax on Petrol, Praise for Amelia Earhart – until he reached the rest of the story on page 5. Chief Paul Xavier of the Chicago Police Department confirmed today that the murder of Chicago Civil Rights worker Statichaos was carried out by members of an underground criminal organization. “This murder, perpetrated in cold blood on our streets, can only have been organized and implemented by members of lawless gangs which have once again found their way into our city,” Xavier said in a press conference yesterday. Attorney-General Wendell Cohen, at a later press conference, assured the public that “…we will find ways to track down those responsible for this, and bring them to proper justice. It may well be that gangs have re-surfaced in Chicago, but God willing, we shall bring them down, and end their reign of terror in this city once and for all.”
“The world’s going to shit, isn’t it?” Chaos said as he stepped into the room. “What’s the newest propaganda that the Tribune’s dishing out?”
“Bad news actually, Chaos. Here, take a look for yourself,” Dan replied, as he motioned Chaos over to look at the newspaper. “They’re going to be swarming all over us again, soon enough.”
“Isn’t that the god awful truth?” Chaos responded. “Look at this bit here,” he continued while pointing at a few of the lines in the newspaper. “Says here that they’ll be cracking down on – what the hell is subversive? – Anyways, subversive activity is shot, whatever that means.”
“Better it than us,” Dan responded with a laugh. “It means that it gives them another excuse to kick the veterans in the balls if they try to get more money and jobs.”
“Ooooh, that should make them nice and happy,” Chaos replied sarcastically.
“Well doesn’t everyone love being broke, unemployed, and homeless?” Dan said, as Chaos took another look at the front page.
“Shit Dan, look at this,” Chaos blurted out without responding. “Says here that the police found a whole pile of beer stocked up in a warehouse somewhere downtown.”
“Well, someone’s going to be screaming about that one tonight,” Dan replied. “And a fair amount of police officers are going to get drunk, I imagine.”
“As long as JW’s plan goes through, it will make life even easier for us, right Dan?” Chaos asked.
“Of course, Chaos,” Dan replied confidently. He paused, and then added, “Do you think we can trust his new friend, Okie?”
“You’re the boss here, aren’t you?” Chaos asked. “If you didn’t trust him, would he be here?”
“Well, maybe,” Dan replied once again. “But then again, he’s supposed to make us rich by bringing up his drug from Colombia. The problem is that, since it’s his idea, he may want to go too far with it, and end up getting us caught. Especially with this murder, we have to watch ourselves.”
“True enough,” Chaos agreed. “We’ll keep an eye on it, and it shouldn’t turn into anything we can’t handle.”
“Of course they don’t suspect me,” Sebastian bragged. “If they suspected me, would the cops come in here for Edo all the time? I don’t bloody well think so!”
“Well then, master Seb,” Proma responded sarcastically, “why don’t you tell us what you suspect about them?”
“Whatever do you mean good sir?” Seb said back to him. “I have no clue about what you could be speaking.”
“You know very well what I’m talking about, Proma replied. “What have they said about the Statichaos investigation?”
“Well honestly, they suspect the Crime Syndacate.”
“They suspect Dan?” Proma cried out in amazement. “Why the hell do they think a thing such as that?”
“Well, the only leader that the police took down from the gangs back in the 20’s was that of the CCS,” Seb explained. “Therefore, they believe that the Syndicate is doing whatever they can to avenge that death, and are doing so by killing city workers.”
“So they don’t suspect us at all?” Proma questioned.
“Ha!” Seb laughed. “Of course not, they don’t even know you exist, as sad as that might make you to hear it.”
“Believe me,” Proma responded, “I really don’t mind having someone else’s head on the line instead of mine. If I had the choice, I’d just as soon keep my life, thank you very much.”
“Hell, who wouldn’t?” Seb responded, “but just because they’ve got brains made of Edo doesn’t mean you should treat them like fools. I can only give you a heads up so quickly, and I can only get so much information. If it comes down to it, I want your head off instead of mine.”
“I’d accuse you of lying if you said anything else,” Proma replied. “This was dangerous, but it was worth it.”
“Well, I’m just glad I’m here making Edo instead of in your shoes,” Seb said. “Just try not to get shot.”
“Always,” Proma responded, as he turned and walked out of Seb’s store and onto the dark streets of Chicago.
“Chris,” FTB pleaded, “how do you expect me to throw games for you all the time? If I lose too much, it becomes obvious, people get suspicious, and then bad things tend to happen. Besides, they’ll take me out of the starter’s line-up, and then you won’t be able to make any money at all.”
“Don’t you think the great Gerry has already thought this through?” Durham replied. “If he didn’t think it completely safe and necessary, do you think he would ask you to do it?”
“No, of course not, Mr. Durham,” FTB responded, “but I still wonder whether it is completely necessary.”
Fast as lightning, Durham pulled out a pistol from God knows where, and pointed it straight at FTB. “If people begin to question the will of Gerry, bad things tend to happen,” he glared at FTB. “Now, you wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would we?”
FTB stared at the gun for a brief moment before replying. “Well obviously not,” he said with a laugh that seemed completely out of what the situation called for. “Not many people go around wanting to get their brains blown out, do they?”
“Well, that ones that do only asked for it because they questioned Mr. Bernstein,” Durham responded, without moving a muscle.
Suddenly, the door behind Durham smashed open. FTB, fearing the worst, saw his life flash before his eyes. Then, he heard a voice say sarcastically, “For Christ’s Sake Durham, you take this far too seriously. The great Gerry? Oh please,” Gerry said with a grin, “I’m not some sort of God-like Being you know.”
“Well obviously,” Durham responded with equal sarcasm. “It should be quite obvious that you’re far above a God-like Being. You’re clearly an All-Powerful Jerseyite,” Durham laughed.
FTB, getting over the initial shock, finally came back in the conversation. “So, I’m not getting shot, right?”
Gerry laughed again. “Of course not. You’re far too valuable to us. Do you know how much money we’ve made off you?”
“Erm,” FTB stuttered, “no…”
“Good,” Durham replied quickly, “or there’d be trouble.”
“Even then, maybe no,” Gerry responded. “But this particular game means a lot to me. I assure you, your manager can be convinced that he should take no action against you, even if he does suspect something.”
“Well, if you say that, sure,” FTB replied happily. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Episode Six[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired as Episode Two, Scenes Four and Five: 10/04/05
“More Edo?” Tex screamed. “If I have to eat one more bite of Edo, I swear I’ll explode!”
“Oh, calm down,” Cow replied. “You’re too skinny to explode. Besides, what’s so bad about more Edo? It’s better than more sig, isn’t it?”
“More what?” Tex questioned.
“More signature!” Cow exclaimed, receiving a blank look from Tex. “You know…all the signatures we have to get on the police forms? You’re yelling and screaming about them all the time, aren’t you?”
“Oh that,” Tex clued in. “Less sig, of course.”
“Good, now let’s go get Edo!” Cow cheered.
“Jesus Christ Cow,” Morgoth chimed into the conversation, “you act like you’re some young punk kid from the west coast. Don’t you ever get tired of acting like that?”
“Yes, of course,” Cow responded, “but only when I’m on duty. C’mon Tex, let’s go.”
“Oh fine, you’re impossible,” Tex rolled his eyes as Cow walked towards the door. He turned to Morgoth and said, “Don’t stay here the whole night you know. I imagine your wife would like to see you every now and then.”
Morgoth laughed, and then responded, “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a few minutes. “Have fun stuffing your face with Edo,” he called out to Tex as he left the building, received a glare as the glass door closed.
“Oh well, guess I had better get going too,” Morgoth said to no one in particular, as he got up from his desk and left the building, arriving in the parking lot just as Cow and Tex were driving away. The electric street lamps were going full force during the dark night; the sun had set more than three hours ago. While he was walking to his car, Morgoth saw some movement out of the corner of his eye. After doing a double take, he saw a couple kissing against the side of the headquarters. He thought about reprimanding them, or doing something mean like a police officer should do to a young couple, but then, since he decided he was in a good mood, thought better of it.
Ellie pushed the man away from the side of the wall with such force that he almost smashed another wall 15 feet away, as the last car pulled out of Chicago’s Police Headquarters. “If you ever even think about doing something like that ever again!” she yelled with such loudness, that in the back of her mind she wondered why half the city hadn’t come to see what was happening. “You won’t have the chance to fucking live to regret it!”
“Wo, hold up, Ellie,” Ivan said in a desperate attempt to calm her down. “If I hadn’t done that, the cop would’ve come over, and we would’ve been utterly screwed,” he explained, “and the whole plan would have gone down the sewer.”
Ellie glared through him, and if someone could’ve harnessed the energy behind that glare, Ivan thought it would power the whole city of Chicago for the next 40 years. She went on without even listening to his words. “Ever touch me ever again…EVER!” she screamed, “your balls will be the last meal you ever eat, and Conrad will generously provide the liquid with you will wash it down.”
“Wo, what do you guys need?” Conrad asked as he walked around from behind a corner, oblivious to their entire conversation.
With one last menacing glare at Ivan, Ellie responded with a simple “never mind, Conrad. Let’s get to work.”
“Alright,” Ivan responded, still amazed that he was in one piece. “Conrad, you’ve got everything worked out?”
“Of course.” Conrad responded with slight indignation in his voice. You think they ever secure the second floor on these buildings? Easier to get into than a whore’s…”
“Yes, point taken,” Ivan said quickly, as he moved with similar speed so that Conrad was now between himself and Ellie. “You can get us in?”
“Door’s already open, boss.”
“Good, let’s go.”
Ellie, Conrad, and Ivan walked into the darkened police headquarters, relying solely on the light coming from the glass windows and the door they had just opened. Conrad knocked his shin once in a desk, but other than that, they managed to get through unharmed.
“Here’s the Chief’s desk,” Ellie explained. “Conrad, do your work.”
“Yes ma’am,” he saluted in the darkness, as he picked the lock on the file cabinet, and opened it for Ivan.
“Good work,” Ivan whispered, as he went through the files, relying once again on the light coming from the electric street lamps. He sorted through the files for about a minute, and then found the one he wanted; Leon Trotsky, he read, and then closed the door. “Conrad, lock up now,” he ordered, as Conrad immediately went to work once again, and after a short while all three walked out of the back door of Police Headquarters, and disappeared into the dark night.
Episode Seven[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 10/11/05
Michael Pacholek looked across the Anacostia River towards the city of Hoovervilles built up on the Anacostia Flats outside of Washington. 25,000 protestors had gathered there to protest veterans’ salaries, and now, they refused to be moved.
“They still don’t fancy leaving, do they, Colonel?” Major General Smedley Butler asked him, looking over the river beside him.
“No, sir,” Pacholek responded. “Word is that they attacked a few police officers yesterday as well.”
“Not only is that true, Colonel,” the Major General explained, “but the President has been informed that the police can no longer keep the peace in the area, so Mr. Hoover has ordered us to move in and get them out by any means possible.”
“Any means possible, sir? What if they resist? Are we going to start killing our own people?”
“Haven’t you been keeping up with the news, man?” Butler questioned him again. “The Communists in Germany killed more than 20 people at a political rally. Even over here, the Commies are getting out of control. They gunned down a city worker in Chicago and stole important information about their leaders from the Chicago Police Headquarters. General MacArthur is coming down later today to oversee the operation, and he has the President’s full support.”
Pacholek stood shocked for a while. “The President is worried about these people being communists?” he gaped.
“Not only that, but MacArthur, Eisenhower, and Hoover are convinced of it, especially because of what’s happening in Chicago,” Butler explained. “They don’t want to risk the Communists gaining power anywhere in America, and with a force of this strength here, they’re not willing to risk them overthrowing the government either.”
Just then, a black automobile came chugging up to Butler and Pacholek, who both saluted as a man stepped out of the rear seat. “General MacArthur, sir,” Butler saluted, “it’s an honour to meet you.”
“Under the circumstances,” MacArthur said as he returned the salute, “I’d rather not be here. Facing a Communist uprising here in our own country is something out of my worst nightmares.”
“I completely agree, sir.” Butler concurred. “Should we give them an advance warning to clear out or be forced out?”
“Depends on whether we’re ready or not,” MacArthur explained. “Are we ready to disperse the reds?”
“We’ve been ready since the call came down from the President,” Butler answered.
“Very good,” MacArthur said. “Send the word that we attack in one hour,” he ordered, and MacArthur and Butler walked back towards, leaving Pacholek to look once more across the river at the place that, in one hour, would be the greatest massacre of civilians in the nation’s history…
Gerry ran through the streets of downtown Chicago, towards Navy Pier. He was still blocks away when the shouts of angry protestors reached his ears. By the time he got there, he knew he had caused permanent damage to his ears.
“DOWN WITH THE OPPRESSORS!” one protestor called. “FREEDOM!” called another, who seemed to be leading the black faction of the protest. Gerry found it amazing that blacks and whites would treat each other as equals in an era like this, but then found himself wondering if the whites didn’t feel just like blacks after what the government had done in Washington. In fact, he was amazed the entire city, the entire country hadn’t exploded. As it was, red flags adorned the pier, and he was surprised that the army hadn’t lost some bullets in the confusion. Off to his right, a man was handing our pamphlets of some sort. He had no doubt that the government wouldn’t be too happy if they saw them. Hell, he wasn’t too happy to see them either. He had to suppress an urge to pull out his handgun and start practicing his shot. Then he was reminded of the mob around him, and decided against it. Communism gave people a way out of depression, and then they drank less. Overall, bad for business.
The roar raised in pitch even more. Objects started flying through the air; a brick, a stone, a woman’s bra, a few bullets too. He was a bit worried about the Reds having guns too, but figured he couldn’t really do that much about it, not unless he wanted those objects to fly into him.
Then he saw what had raised the protestors to a new level. Off to the west, a squad of riot police moved in, just short of the range at which people could throw. Despite this, objects still rained down out of the air towards them, even if they did fall short.
He heard two more shots fired. He looked behind him to see who shot them, and not locating anyone with a gun poking out of the crowd, he turned and looked back towards the riot police. Then he saw it. One police officer down on the ground, blood quite clearly pouring out of him, and another one clutching his left shoulder, also with blood coming from him. He saw frantic movement behind the police lines. The crowd started moving him northward.
Soon, more bullets started flying through the air, these however, coming from the west. The slow, cautious movement of the crowd turned into a stampede of frantic people trying to find any way to escape the imminent death approaching from behind. Gerry saw someone topple over beside him, and pitied the poor soul, because the bottom of some other poor soul’s shoe was likely to be the last he ever saw. In something like this, you could only have a great deal of luck on your side if you got trampled and survived.
The crowd slowed as they approached a bottleneck in the road. The crowd split into two; one half taking a smaller road, and speeding up yet again. Gerry himself got pulled into the smaller road, at the complete whim of the crowd. Gunfire was still behind them, but seemed to be farther away then it had been. Gerry took relief in the fact that the police weren’t pursuing, and, feeling the danger had passed, began to slow down.
It would turn out to be one of the worst decisions of his life. As he slowed, the person behind him stepped on the back of his shoe. Off balance, Gerry fell over, bringing him and the guy behind him both down. A third man to his right fell as well before the crowd began storming over them, the way Jesus would walk over water. To Gerry, it seemed more like Jesus walking over the Gulf of Mexico during hurricane season, but it was soon off his mind. The pain of numerous feet using him as pavement began to set in. The guy to his right began screaming. He imagined he might too, until someone decided that Gerry’s head would make a good place to walk on. He no longer needed to worry about screaming; he could feel the whole world going black…
Matthew Saunders ran through the streets of Chicago, desperate to stay ahead of the raging bulls behind him. Thirty feet up ahead, three men disappeared from the crowd. Fearing for his life, Saunders had no time to worry about them, until his foot made contact with one of their faces. All he had time for then was a quick sensation of the contact, and then his mind was full out on running again. Thirty seconds later, the crowd began to fan out. The stampede gradually dispersed, everyone simply glad that they hadn’t been trampled. Some, like the person whose head Saunders had used as a soccer ball, weren’t so lucky. Reaching inside his coat, Saunders took the last of the pamphlets and threw them up into the air. Hammers and sickles rained down upon the streets around him. Getting his bearings, Saunders took a five-minute walk back to the butcher’s shop above which the North Side Gang co-ordinated their activities.
Walking upstairs, he almost collided as Saint as the younger man came shooting down the stairs, two barrels of alcohol under his arms. “Damn it, move Saunders,” Saint exclaimed. “We need to get this stuff into hiding, before the cops come searching. They’re piling around the whole city, looking for any protestors. This is going to be ugly.”
PJY came down the stairs behind Saint, almost sending the two men below him flying. “Damn it, move it Saint, we’ve got to hide this stuff!”
Proma called down from the room upstairs. “What the hell’s going on down there?”
Before Saunders could say anything, Saint replied, “That bastard Saunders is holding up traffic down here.”
“Damn it Saunders, we thought you got bloody trampled out there,” Proma screamed down. “Now get out of the way and help out.”
“Yes, sir!” Saunders said with a crisp military salute. “Did we have a coup around here? When did you take command?”
“Ever since you tried to get your ass trampled and showed yourself to be unfit for command,” Proma responded, with a hint of laughter in his voice. “Now listen or you’ll get put on trench duty.”
“Ya, move it, idiot,” Saint laughed as he checked Saunders out of the way, and continued down the stairs, followed closely by PJY, who gave Saunders a glare so fierce that Saunders was sure that the French would be recruiting him once their next war with Germany came.
Proma came down the stairs, carrying another barrel of alcohol. “Yes, there’s two more up there. Take them, I’ll give you your command back.”
“You’re lucky I take it lightly,” Saunders replied, giving Proma a punch on the arm, and continued upstairs.
Episode Eight[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 10/18/05
Chief Paul Xavier stepped out of the stairwell in Chicago’s Memorial Hospital onto the third floor of the new building. Coming the other way along the hallway was Father Ace, who had just finished preaching in the hospital’s chapel. After a brief hello, Morgoth ducked into room 304 to interrogate the patient in there.
As he walked in, the smell of a typical hospital room greeted him. He looked down at the man on the hospital bed. He had a bandage wrapped around his bald head, and looked like he had broken his nose. He had tubes wrapped all around him, into his arms, down his throat, into his leg; Morgoth’s first thought that he looked like a gigantic wireless machine. It was also his chief reason for surprise when a wireless sitting in the corner started crackling the news out into the room. Riots in Los Angeles amid the Olympics had been forcibly put down by US troops, it said. The death toll from the Chicago Riots had been pegged at over a hundred. “Shit,” Morgoth complained, as the report continued. “Bloody lies, all of them.” Entire sections of Detroit have been isolated from the rest of the city to control the rioting, the wireless went on. New York had been placed under martial law, and the National Guard has been deployed to keep order.
Tex came in just as the newscast ended. Cursing the state of the world, Morgoth pulled up a chair beside the patient, and Tex did the same. The patient on the bed groaned as he regained consciousness. “I’m Chief Paul Xavier of the Chicago Police Department,” Morgoth began.
The patient groaned again. “Hi,” he said weakly, “what can I do for you?”
“We need you to answer a few questions about the riot,” Tex cut in. “Why were you there in the first place?”
“Hold up, Tex, simple stuff first,” Morgoth cut in. “For starters, what’s your name?” Morg asked, pulling out a notebook.
“The name,” the patient said with a bit more strength, “is Gerry Bernstein.”
“And what were you doing at the riot?” Texan demanded yet again, with a reproachful glare from Morgoth.
“I was just going down to check it out,” Gerry replied. “I only got there just before the stampede started.”
“We also happened to find this when you were brought in here,” Morgoth said, holding up a pistol. “You wouldn’t happen to be the one who was shooting at us, would you?”
“Of course not,” Gerry replied, “although I didn’t see who shot it, but I did see the gun. Looked like a shotgun to me.”
At this point, a doctor came charging into the room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he screamed. “This patient has barely regained consciousness: this is no time to be questioning him!”
“If I may remind you,” Texan instructed him, “the city has been placed under Martial Law. That means we can do anything we want.”
Before he could go on, Morgoth decided to take the peaceful route. “It’s ok, Doctor M, “he said, cutting off Texan, “we were just leaving.” He got out of his chair, and carrying Gerry’s pistol, left the room.
“Yes, nice meeting you, Mr. Bernstein,” Tex added. “Oh, and by the way,” he continued, looking back at Gerry, “they found your wallet too. I suppose you’ll be wanting it back.” He took the cash out of it, and threw the pillaged remains back on Gerry’s bed. “Y’all have a nice day now.”
“What do you mean, we won’t be able to get the supplies?” JW yelled at Dan. “We were supposed to get them a month ago!”
“Woah, calm down,” Dan said in a calming manner. “What do you expect me to do? Just declare Martial Law over and done with? How do you expect us to get the drugs into the city, when the cops are checking every car coming in here for Communist propaganda?”
“Since when are drugs Communist propaganda?” JW asked sarcastically. “Do you honestly think that we couldn’t get them in if you tried hard enough?”
“Ok, JW, take it easy,” Dan said, anger rising in his voice as well. “You know perfectly well that if we make rash decisions, we’re going to get caught. If you want to get caught, go ahead, but don’t count me in it.”
“Well what the hell kind of leader are you?” JW started screaming again. “In the kind of business we run, you have to be willing to take risks! If you want to play it safe all the time, why do you bother pretending to do anything!”
“It’s far too dangerous to try anything!”
“That’s why we must try everything!”
Dan had to hold back an extreme urge to beat the crap out of JW. JW had to hold back an extreme urge to beat the crap out of Dan. Both just stood there, glaring at each other, fists clenched, for at least a few minutes. Breaking the tension, Chaos came barging into the room, whistling a tune from some song. From what JW could tell, it had something to do with psychic dominance.
“Hey, have any of you seen the Sports section?” Chaos asked, oblivious to the scene around him. A cat came bounding onto the table, and laid down on the fresh sheet on newsprint.
“No!” Dan yelled. “Bad cor! Shoo Kitty!”
“Yes, God damn it,” Chaos yelled. “Don’t you dare piss on that or I will snap your neck in two!” He lunged at the cat, scaring it away, and recovered the un-soiled Sports Section.
“Dan, you’re a bloody idiot. You don’t want to take risks? Fine, I’ll do it my way,” JW sneered, before turning and walking out of the room.
“Erm, that was weird,” Chaos remarked, looking absently at where JW had been. He then looked at cor, who suddenly began running from wall to wall. “Heh heh,” Chaos said, smiling evilly. “Stupid cat.”
Conrad, who had busily been cleaning his shotgun, hastily stashed it away as Ivan came in the room. “Hey, Conrad,” Ivan greeted him. “What are you doing?”
“Er, nothing,” Conrad replied, aware that the shotgun was not completely hidden. Fortunately, Ivan seemed too concerned with matching various colours around the room to his shirt, and was completely ignorant of the fact.
Finding now satisfactory colours within a 0.02% margin of error, Ivan made a new suggestion. “Hey, let’s head over to El Johnson’s and find out what he’s out to?”
“Uh, sounds good,” Conrad replied, anxious about Ivan finding the true extent of his activities.
“Good!” Ivan said cheerfully, as he turned and left the room. “Hurry up Conrad,” he called, as he got out on to the street. Conrad quickly followed, briefly knocking some papers off his desk. Unaware of this, Conrad kept walking, and only later would he find the red and golden-starred pamphlets that fell to the ground.
“Ah, it’s a beautiful day,” Ivan said, twirling around in the street.
“Oh, and why is that?” Conrad asked suspiciously. “Ellie let you have your way with her this time?” A passing police officer looked at Ivan like he was crazy.
“Shut up, you idiot,” Ivan shot at Conrad. “That was done out of necessity. I’m just so happy that the government is finally cracking down on the Commies. It’s about bloody time, too.” Ivan went over to the cop, and shook his hand as he read his nametag. “Thank you, Officer Jonah Holstein, for getting rid of the Communists,” Ivan praised, as he walked on. “Ah, dead Commies, is there anything better?” he asked to no one particular.
Conrad looked down at his hands as he entered El Johnson’s, and saw that they were ghost white. “Aren’t we supposed to be the Russian Mafia?” he asked Ivan casually. “And isn’t Russia communist?”
“Sadly, yes,” Ivan returned, “but we can pretend it is not so. You find a table, I’ll get some drinks,” he said to Conrad, and went towards the bar. Meanwhile, Conrad saw a shadowed figure in the corner wave him over. “Ah, Matthew,” Conrad said, recognising the man. “It is good to see you again. I hope you have what we need to continue the fight?”
Episode Nine[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 10/25/05
FTB paced back and forth across the hotel room under the intense gaze of Hailen, his manager on the Chicago White Sox. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve last won the World Series?” Hailen pleaded with him. “Fifteen God damned years! And with the way you’re playing, it could be another, hell, 72 years before we win another one!”
“Boss,” FTB responded, “there’s a lot more riding on this than just some stupid championship.”
Hailen started choking on his own tongue. “Stupid championship?” he stuttered. “Just some stupid championship? What the hell kind of ball-player are you?”
“Hailen, it’s just that I have a lot higher potential than the World Series. There’s more to gain than just a championship.”
“What the hell are you saying, Footy?” Hailen asked, with anger rising in his voice. “Sounds like you’re admitting to throwing games for money. If that were the case, I’d drag you down so far you wouldn’t know what hit you…”
A quick knock on the door halted the conversation in its tracks. FTB reached over to open the door, and before Hailen could say anything, four men in dark black suits came striding into the room. “And what can I do for you gentlemen?” Hailen asked sarcastically. “Come to take this trash pitcher off the team? By my guests.”
“Actually,” FTB responded, “they’re here for you.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Hailen demanded.
“It means,” said Durham, stepping forward, “that you’ve been giving our associate here a bit too much of a hard time, and we’d really like to see it stopped.”
“For the love of God,” Hailen exclaimed. “You are throwing games aren’t you?”
“Well, there’s a hell of a lot of money to be made out of it,” FTB replied.
“I’ll kick you off the team, I’ll ruin your career,” Hailen shouted. “You’ll never play for any team ever again!”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Durham asked, brandishing a pistol.
“What the hell are you going to do?” Hailen spat at him. “Actually shoot me? You wouldn’t dare to actually do it!” Durham responded by levelling his pistol at Hailen. Hailen dove at Durham, knocking the gun out of his hand, and the two began fighting on the ground. Hailen was about to reach for the fallen pistol, when two shots ripped through his chest, killing him instantly.
Everyone looked around in amazement, wondering who had done it. Finally, everyone was looking straight at Doom, who himself was looking down into the smoking pistol in his hands. “Dude,” he said, “that was so much cooler than closing a warehouse door.”
“Good work, Doom,” Durham said. “You’ve proven yourself worthy. You’re officially off warehouse closing duty. Morphy,” he directed, “go close the warehouse door.”
“But…but…” Morphy complained.
“No arguing,” Durham commanded. “Go close the warehouse door.” Morphy turned around and walked grudgingly out of the room. “Joe,” Durham said again. “Clean up this body. Doom, help him. Then make sure the warehouse door is closed.”
“Aye sir,” they both said. “It’s a shame though,” Doom continued, “that we had to shoot such a young woman.”
Suddenly, Hailen popped back to life. “I’m a man, god damn it!” he shouted, and then fell dead again.
“Damn it all to hell,” Chuck yelled at the top of his lungs, as Chief Morgoth gave him the bad news. “Who did it? I want them found and arrested immediately.”
“Sir, it’s not that easy,” Morgoth told him. “There’s no easy way to find who did this. The body was dumped in the water, so any markings will have been distorted.”
“I don’t care!” Chuck bellowed. “I am not going to have the manager of the god damn White Sox killed and have his murderers go free!”
“But there’s not a whole lot we can…”
“Throw anyone in jail that you need to,” Chuck ordered. “Anyone! We’re under a state of martial law, so do whatever you have to!”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily the best course of…”
“Remind me, Chief, who’s the one giving orders around here?”
“But Mayor Perritt…”
“Don’t ‘Mayor Perritt’ me, Morgoth,” Chuck screamed. “I brought you in here to get rid of the gangs, but now they’re back and they’re killing more rampantly than they ever did before. If you ask me, you can’t do you job for shit!”
“What the hell do you expect me to do?” Morgoth finally yelled back at Chuck, anger rising in himself as well.
“Do whatever the hell you have to!” Chuck yelled. “Anyone you suspect, throw them in jail. Don’t worry about bail, don’t worry about judges. And the more communists the better. I want this stopped, at all costs. If you need to break a few rules to get this city back under control, then do it.” Morgoth opened his mouth to speak, but Chuck cut him off. “Any and all things you need to do. Period. Now get back to work,” he ordered, as Morgoth turned around and walked out of the Mayor’s office, cursing all the way.
Matt Saunders hit the ground as soon as the policemen smashed through the door. He ducked behind an overturned table and watched the action unfold around him. Proma was grappling with an officer, but Saint was already being held on the ground, Johnson was being held behind the bar, and PJY already had cuffs on him.
“Damn good-for-nothing Limeys,” Saunders complained, as another police officer rushed towards him. He got up just as he approached, and checked the man into the wall just as he hit. Another two rushed towards him, and soon, Saunders was being piled on by three or four officers. He saw Proma get tackled to the ground, just before he did as well.
“You guys are such losers,” one police officer mocked them as Saunders was being held on the ground. “You fight about as well as those homosexual freaks. Pathetic, utterly…”
The police officer went crashing down to the ground, as the full force of Ellie’s fist hit him square in the jaw. Teeth went rattling across the floor. Saunders threw off his guard, and a kick shot to the gut knocked him out of action. Likewise, Proma escaped his captor, and quickly knocked him out of action. Saunders and Ellie took on the other four policemen, while Proma went over to free Saint and PJY.
“Thanks, man,” Saint said as Proma unlocked his handcuffs. “Quick,” he yelled, “Saunders, catch!” He threw Saunder’s box of rusty spoons towards him, and Matt caught them with expert precision. He took out two spoons, and lunged towards the officers. One of them cut an arm, but the other one missed. Confused, the officers backed up, but Johnson and PJY jumped them from behind. PJY knocked one out, but the remaining three panicked and ran towards the door.
“I don’t bloody think so,” Saint yelled as they ran towards him. They momentarily froze, and this gave the other four enough time to subdue the remaining three police officers. “Please, don’t,” one of them pleaded, just before he was tackled to the ground by Proma and Ellie.
“Phew, that was tough,” Ellie said after all the police officers were either unconscious or tied up. “Hey Matt, you fight almost as well as a lesbian,” she complemented him.
“Er, thanks,” Matt said. “Proma, they’re going to send back-up soon, and it ain’t going to be pretty. Let’s get these guys out of here, and then give them a ransom call from this location. Hopefully, by the time they get here, we’ll be far far away…”
Episode Ten[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 11/01/05
“Come out with your hands up,” Colonel Michael Pacholek yelled towards the double-story brick building where seven Chicago Police Officers were currently being held hostage in a busted sting operation. And of course, he had been relegated to saving the asses of the Chicago PD yet again. Such a wonderful job he had.
Meanwhile, Proma and Saunders were frantically rushing around inside, trying to buy enough time to get away. Ellie, it appeared, had already taken the smart way out and had escaped the night before. The others hadn’t been so smart, it appeared, and were trying to make up for it now. PJY was standing guard over the six prisoners – the one who Ellie had hit had died during the night after choking on his own blood, and Saint was watching through the window at the growing force of soldiers gathering to oppose them.
“By Jesus, it’s got to be at least 20 now,” Saint reported to Proma and Saunders without taking his eyes away from the scene unfolding below.
“Fine then,” Saunders said as he turned towards PJY. “Pigeon, get over here; we need some help with this bomb.” One of the police officers let out a muffled squeal, which was quickly rewarded with a meeting from Proma’s boot.
“Uh, a bomb?” PJY asked. “Isn’t that a little bit extreme?”
“Why would it be?” Saunders asked, without a hint of understanding in his voice. “We’ve got the full weight of the US Army about to come down on us; we’ve got to do whatever it takes to stay alive, and if possible, escape.”
“How is that going to help?” PJY asked yet again. “I don’t see them going easy on us because we threaten to bomb them. It would probably make it worse. Besides, where’d we even get a bomb in the first place?”
Proma had had enough. Stepping between Saunders and PJY, he let loose an intense glare at the latter. “That’s more than enough questions. You can either go along with us, and trust us completely, or you can end up with those guys on the ground,” he said, motioning to the six officers gagged and tied on the ground. “Besides, they’re missing one, and I think they’ll want some repayment for that.”
“Ummm, yes sir?” PJY said hesitantly.
“Proma, let up on him,” Saunders said, letting out a laugh.
Suddenly, Saint let out a scream. “Shit guys, they’re moving in,” he yelled, and jumped back from the window, just as a spray of bullets came through the window.
“Run!” Proma yelled, as Saunders reached down to turn on the bomb. “Quick, through here,” Proma ordered everyone, as he opened a hidden passage leading to the next building. PJY ducked through, as did Saint, but as Saunders went running towards the door, a stream of soldiers came running up the stairs, firing blindly. Desperate, Proma laid down covering fire as Saunders ran up and kicked the ticking bomb toward the advancing soldiers. Proma and Saunders barely had time to find cover before Hell arrived on Earth, and with a bang. A severed arm flew past Proma’s head, covering his face in blood. Screaming could be heard from the vicinity of the stairs, along with the disorderly cries of soldiers screaming out orders. One soldier who had landed near Saunders was completely intact with the sole exception of being unconscious. Thinking quickly, Saunders dragged the fallen soldier over towards their escape route, and himself and Proma pulled him through.
Down on the street, Colonel Michael Pacholek could only look up in disbelief as a cloud of black smoke rose into the sky.
“Conrad!” Ivan said rushing into the room. “Guess what!”
“Errr, what?” Conrad said hesitantly.
“We’re going to strike a major blow for the Russian people!”
“Errr, how so?”
“Leon Trotsky!”
“Excuse me?” Conrad said bewildered.
“Leon Trotsky is sneaking into Chicago to help the Communists co-ordinate their attacks!” Ivan exclaimed.
A flash of concern went across Conrad’s mind. “And what are we doing exactly?”
“We’re going to kill him, of course.”
“How will that help the Russian people?”
“It will help to liberate them from Communism!” Ivan explained, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “If we kill Trotsky, then Communism will die in America, and the Russian people will be free from the Soviet menace once again!”
“Well,” Conrad said slowly, picking his words with care and trying to put on the best act he could, “just tell me when we begin.” Conrad was more than willing to tag along with Ivan, but he suspected that their reasons for tracking down Trotsky were entirely different. And if Ivan went through with his plan, it would be very bad indeed.
“So you see, Okie,” JW explained, “I’ve managed to get the drugs smuggled into the city without a hitch. Just goes to show what Dan knows.”
“Too true,” Okie replied. “He just didn’t like your idea because it wasn’t his.”
“Probably,” JW said, “or maybe because he just didn’t like the idea. But it no longer matters. Now that we have the resources, the connections, and the means to do this by ourselves, Dan has become surplus, and will just hold us back.”
“And after this,” Okie said, “he isn’t going to be impressed. It’s either him or us, it appears.”
Just then, Chaos came and walked into the room. “Uhhh, I’m not disturbing anything, am I?” he said cautiously.
Okie looked at JW for instructions, but JW simply made a motion for Chaos to sit down. “We’ve run into a potential problem,” JW explained.
“Oh, and what would that be?” Chaos asked innocently.
“We’ve managed to get the drugs through from South America,” JW said flatly.
Chaos took a moment to clue in. “Ooooh,” he said finally. “Why didn’t Dan tell us?” he asked.
Okie took the initiative. “That’s because Dan didn’t do it,” he explained.
Chaos took yet another moment to clue in. “I see,” he said thoughtfully. “This could be bad.”
“For Dan,” JW said, cutting right in. “We need to get rid of him, because he’s just holding us back now. We’re far better off without him, and with him we’re sure to fail.”
“And by ‘get rid of,’ you mean kill him?” Chaos clarified.
“Absolutely,” JW stated. “Are you in?” he demanded.
“Absolutely,” Chaos copied JW. “Just tell me when and where, and you can count on me,” he said. “But I’ve got to run; I’ll talk to you later,” he finished as he got up and left the room.
Outside, Dan was waiting. Chaos told him what he had just been told, and the two of them went downstairs to plan a defence.
Episode Eleven[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 11/08/05
Dan strode down the alley, a few paces ahead of JW, Okie, and Chaos. A small group of soldiers walked by on the road ahead of them. They stopped for a short time, but continued on after the soldiers had passed. A slight movement in a doorway beside them was no danger.
“You ready?” JW quietly asked Okie as he glanced to his right. “We only get one shot.”
“Of course boss,” Okie responded. “We’ve planned it out, he has no allies. It can’t go wrong.”
“You with us, Chaos,” JW asked the man to his left.
“It would be a bit stupid of me to say no right about no, wouldn’t it?” Chaos laughed a bit too loudly, followed by a coughing fit.
Ahead of them, Dan swung around. “You alright back there Chaos? We wouldn’t want you dropping down dead or anything.”
“No, none of that, I’m not ready to die,” Chaos responded.
As Dan turned around to continue walking forward, JW pulled out his pistol. “You, on the other hand, our dear leader…”
Dan turned around and faced three pistols aimed directly at him. “What the hell do you three think you’re doing?” he demanded.
JW sighed and explained the situation the way a parent explains a basic concept to a three-year-old kid. “Well you see Dan, you’re just not fit to be our leader anymore. You do nothing, and are trying to keep us from taking advantage of the situations around us. The glorious drug plan that we have already brought to life right under your very nose has already earned us thousands of dollars. Meanwhile, you make excuses about not being able to get shipments from South America. Your leadership is weak, and it needs to be changed around here. It means that you are no longer needed. Goodbye.”
“It also means, my dear friend,” Dan responded to JW, “that your disloyalty has been shown once and for all.” Chaos swung around with his pistol and aimed it towards JW and Okie. “Don’t either of you think of moving,” Dan continued on. “Now, it appears that the tide has turned, hasn’t it? The fact is that I knew of this plan – I knew of your disloyalty from the start, and have been running the drug runs for months. Thanks for the idea by the way.”
“Chaos,” JW turned, “what do you think you’re doing? You’re getting a cut out of this.”
“It helps when his offer is bigger,” Chaos explained.
“You bastards, you’ll pay for this!” JW screamed as he swung his pistol back towards Dan. Before anyone could react, a shot rang out from behind JW, who fell to the ground. The wasted shot from JW’s pistol embedded itself in a wall to Dan’s left.
Stepping out of the darkness, Ellie strode up and kicked JW’s lifeless body. “Treasonous bastard,” she said as she spat on the ground in front of him. Her gaze swung towards Okie. “And what should we do with this one?” she asked cunningly.
Dan glared at Okie for several moments before delivering his verdict. “Get out of here,” he said. “Run as far away as you possibly can, and hope that I never see your disgusting face ever again.” Okie stood still for several seconds. “NOW!” Dan screamed, and Okie turned around, and stumbling, ran off down the alley.
“For Christ’s sake Dan, you never let me kill as many as we should,” Ellie responded sharply as she turned and walked off down the street.
Colonel Michael Pacholek looked up from his desk as two soldiers walked into his office. “What seems to be the problem, boys?” he asked as the two men approached his desk.
“Sir,” one of them responded, “we’ve captured one of the men who was involved in the kidnapping.”
“Well, that’s astounding news, Lieutenant, errr…sorry, I don’t remember your name,” Colonel Pacholek said.
“Lieutenant Keivn Thompson, sir,” he responded.
“Thompson, eh?” Pacholek asked. “Afraid I don’t recognise the name. You guy up here lately?”
“Yes sir, just got shipped up here from Adamsville, Tennessee,” Thompson responded.
“Adamsville, you say?” Pacholek asked. “I think I passed through there once. In fact, I think I visited the high school. What was the mascot? Some kind of bird, I recall.”
“A cardinal, sir,” Thompson clarified.
“Yes, of course, a cardinal,” Pacholek said. “Back to business, Cardinal, what were you saying?”
“Oh yes, sir,” Cardinal went on. “We captured one of the men responsible for the kidnapping the other day. All we’ve been able to find out is that his initials are PJY. Other than that, we haven’t been able to get anything out of him.”
“The interrogation will start soon, I take it?” Pacholek asked.
“Well there’s not much more we can do right now sir,” Cardinal reported. “Under the Constitution…”
“Constiution be damned, son,” Pacholek exploded. “If we don’t get the information we need, we may lose to the filthy Reds! If we need to take some liberties in gathering information, then so be it.”
“But sir…”Cardinal began.
“No excuses,” Pacholek ordered. “Start the interrogation immediately. Use whatever means are necessary.”
“Another victim of gang violence,” Cow said as he reported to Morgoth. “Doesn’t look like anything Communist related.”
“Well that’s a step on the bright side, at least,” Morgoth sighed. “Mayor Perritt has been on my case lately about cracking down on the reds. At least he’s been a bit less aggressive about the gangs.”
“Yup, definitely caused by the gunshot wound to the head,” Crisco, Chicago’s Coroner, said as he came up to Morgoth. “Although,” he said looking back at the body, “you really didn’t need me to tell you that. The bullet hole in the back of his skull definitely gave it away.”
“Chief, over here,” Texan shouted. Morgoth came over and looked where Tex was pointing. “Bullet stuck in the wall. Might have come from the gun.”
“It’s possible. Shouldn’t count it out at the very least,” Morgoth responded. “Good work Tex.”
“I certainly hope you’re finding everything you need,” a voice asked from behind Morgoth. Spinning around quickly, Morgoth was relieved to see the face of John Harris, Councilman for this part of the city.
“Oh thank God,” Morgoth said. “For a moment there I thought you were Perritt ready to give me hell for this.”
“No, not that bad,” Harris chuckled. “But I doubt he’ll be happy to hear about this. I just want to make sure that there’s going to be a stop to this. The people around here are giving me hell about it, and they’re not under the microscope of public opinion.”
“Mayor Perritt has conveyed the same feelings to me, trust me,” Morgoth said. “And if I want to say on his good side, and end this as well, I think I’ve got to start taking his advice. At this point, I don’t think bending a few Constitutional rules will cause any more harm than this stuff can.”
Episode Twelve[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 11/15/05
“Come on, you filthy bastard,” Saunders ordered their captive. “We don’t have all day, and we need to get rid of you.”
“Slow down man, “Lt. Straha replied. “Where are you taking me anyway?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, and you won’t like it,” Saunders replied. “I’ll guarantee that.”
With those final words, Saunders stopped talking and walked down the deserted streets in the outskirts of Chicago. Straha followed ten paces behind him, flanked by Proma and Saint. For miles they walked, with no clear direction, although Saunders would sometimes make abrupt turns of double back on his earlier path. Finally, they saw a flickering red-orange light down one of the streets.
“Ah, perfect,” Saunders said, and started walking straight towards it.
“Guys, what are you doing with me?” Straha exclaimed.
Saunders flung around and belted him right in the stomach. As Straha fell to the ground, Saunders shouted at him. “When I tell you to shut up, you listen to me. Understand, scum?”
“Yes sir,” Straha meekly responded.
Saunders kicked him full force in the kidney. “I told you not to fucking say anything. Can you understand that much?”
Fearful of another attack, Straha merely nodded his head. Saunders glared at him for a moment before turning to Proma and Saint. “Pick him up,” Saunders ordered. “We’re going to be late.”
Approaching the fire, Saunders saw three men stand up from their makeshift chairs. “Ah, Dr. What, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How are things going at AlternateHistory.com? You guys are still co-ordinating the Communist revolution, I assume?”
Dr. What responded in a gruff voice. “Yes, things are going very well. This is the prisoner, I assume?”
Behind him, the two bodyguards spoke up. “What do you say, Kazin, I bet he’s a Canadian. Let’s turn him into fertilizer.”
“Howery, you’re insane, he’s clearly a Frenchman. Let’s send him to Germany and watch him surrender,” the other one said.
“Both of you, quiet,” Dr. What responded. “He’s one of ours.”
“What?” Saunders, Howery, and Kazin all replied at once.
“You’ve got it, he’s one of our spies on the inside of the US Army,” Dr. What explained. “And I’ll thank you for screwing it up,” he added, throwing a glare at Saunders. “Come on, Straha, let’s go.”
“Adi, you’ve got to leave,” Gerry begged.
“Honestly Gerry,” she responded, “there are plenty of people still in Chicago, and they’re not running away, are they?”
“Adi, listen to me…”
“Gerry, that’s enough, I’m not leaving.”
“Adi, trust me, it’s safer this way…”
“Gerald Wilhelm Bernstein the Third, I am not leaving, and that is my final word!” Adi exploded at Gerry.
They stood there for a few moments before Gerry broke the silence. “Adi, I’ve got to come clean with you.”
She looked at him, stunned for a second, before responding. “About what?” she asked.
“What I’ve been doing these past few years,” he responded.
She exploded at him again. “You were going behind my back with Pierre’s wife, weren’t you? I always knew there was something between you two!”
“Adi, you’ve got it all wrong,” he assured her. “I’ve been running one of the gangs for the past two years. Al Capone’s old one, to tell you the truth. And I can’t risk you staying around here, because they might try to hurt you.”
“You’re a ganglord?” she asked bewildered. “Well, you know,” she said coyly, “I find that quite intriguing. When does the train leave again?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Gerry responded.
“Excellent.”
“Come Conrad,” Ivan exclaimed, like a knight leading a crusade, “let’s go and hunt down some Commies! For the Rodina!” he yelled.
“Ivan, what are you doing?” Conrad asked, as Ivan rushed towards the door.
“Going out to hunt some Commies, why else?” Ivan looked bewildered.
“Why the vendetta against the Reds, Ivan?” Conrad asked.
“First of all, they aren’t the ‘Reds’,” Ivan explained. “They’re the Dark Red/Burgundies. And to answer your question, they over-ran our proud and glorious Rodina, isn’t it obvious?” Ivan responded. “Now, are you coming with me?”
“Of course I am.”
“Good,” Ivan said as he grabbed his jacket. “Honestly, kids like you, forgetting why we hate the Commies. I can remember the exact day when…” Ivan said as he walked out the door. Grabbing his pistol, Conrad followed him.
They walked down the street for a few moments before Conrad finally halted in his tracks. “Ivan, we need to talk.”
“I really tried to make it work, I really did, Conrad,” Ivan exclaimed.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, ummm, nothing,” Ivan muttered. “What did you need to talk to me about, Conrad? Tactics for killing the Communists, I –.”
He stopped in mid-sentence as Conrad shot him from point-blank range. Three bullets slammed into Ivan’s chest as he fell. Looking down at his body, he could only mutter a few final words. “My blood…it’s red…but it’s not blood red,” he sounded shocked. “It’s more like a mix between burgundy and brick red, with a little hint of dark pink. But it’s not blood red, that’s–.” Another bullet slammed into his chest, killing him instantly.
“Bourgeois bastard,” Conrad spat at the body, before turning and walking back down the street.
Episode Thirteen[edit | edit source]
Originally Aired: 11/22/05
Gerry was at the head of his gang as they ran from at least a dozen communists. “Durham, take Morphy and give us some cover fire,” Gerry ordered.
“Aye aye, captain,” Durham responded as he and Morphy veered off towards an alley. “Morphy, take the far side and hit them as soon as they come into range.”
Morphy and Durham took up defensive positions as the rest ran onward. A few seconds later, three communists came into view. Three communists went down in a spray of bullets. The rest wisely chose to pull back.
Suddenly, a spray of bullets came from where Gerry and the rest had run. Peering out of the alley, Morphy saw Gerry waving them forward. Seeing the same thing, Durham motioned to Morphy, and the both ran out under the cover fire.
“Run, run, run,” Gerry yelled at them as they ran past. “Doom, Joe, follow them,” he said as they broke off covering fire and ran after Morphy and Durham. Soon after, Gerry followed.
They ran for about another half-minute before finally arriving at the warehouse, bullets landing all around them. As they neared the building, Gerry started yelling out orders. “Durham, Joe, Morphy, take up defensive positions, Doom, open the warehouse door,” he yelled.
“Why the hell do I always have to open the warehouse door?” Doom complained. “Make someone else do…” he continued before more bullets landed around him. With a high-pitched girlie scream, Doom ran to the warehouse door and began opening it. The other four began shooting back at the communists. “Get in,” Doom yelled as soon as the warehouse door was open. Gerry and Joe ran inside, followed by Durham and Morphy.
“Doom, close the door,” Gerry yelled, but at that exact moment, a bullet slammed right into Doom’s leg, and he went down with a scream of pain.
Thinking quickly, Morphy ran across the threshold of the door to wear Doom was standing, and hit the button to close the door. However, with this final act of heroism, four bullets slammed into Morphy – one into his shoulder, and three dead-center on his chest. Morphy hit the ground at the same instant the warehouse door did, and neither made a sound.
A stunned silence washed through the room as blood flowed from Morphy’s body. Gerry was the first to speak. “Doom, what’s he look like from over there?”
It took a few seconds for Doom to respond. “He’s got three bullet-holes through his chest, what do you think he looks like?”
“Check his pulse,” Durham said.
Doom pressed his fingers on Morphy’s neck for a few seconds before turning to Durham and giving his final prognosis. “He’s dead Jim,” he reported.
“Uh, my name’s Chris…” Durham told him.
“Ya, and I’m Gerry, not Jim,” Gerry said.
“Oooh, oooh, my name’s Joe!” Joe said, checking his underwear. “Either that, or I stole his underwear…”
Durham and Gerry looked at him blankly until Doom broke the silence. “I always told him he wasn’t ready to close the warehouse door,” Doom said. “I thought he was ready, but apparently he wasn’t. I should never have told him to close the door.”
“Uhhh, you didn’t,” Gerry said, “you were shot in the leg.”
“I was?” Doom asked, looking at his leg. “Holy shit, I was shot in the leg!” he cried out before fainting.
Suddenly, the ghost of Hailen walked through the warehouse door. “Ha, that should teach you for calling me a girl,” he said, kicking the unconscious Doom in the side.
“Uhhh, Hailen, that was Chaos,” Gerry explained.
“Damn it!” Hailen yelled, and popped out of existence.
“You’re sure he’s the right one to be closing warehouse doors?” Durham asked Gerry sarcastically, as Joe once again let everyone know the name on his underwear.
“I shot the French bastard!” Kazin hollered.
“Ya, well I shot a Canadian!” Dave Howery gloated.
“No, I did!”
“No you Canuck bastard, I shot him!”
“You calling me Canuck you frog?”
“Oh, you’re on!” Howery yelled as he tackled Kazin to the ground.
“Are they always such idiots?” another communist asked their leader.
MBarry looked slightly annoyed as he glanced Howery and Kazin still fighting. “Oh yes, you’d think they’d have it out of their system by now. Maybe I should bust their kneecaps. You on the other hand,” he rounded on the new communist. “You, nice shot to take out the guy closing the door. If you were lucky, you got him in the kneecap. Comrade Ian will be very happy to hear of your success. What did you say your name was again?”
“My name?” the newb asked. “Conrad. Comrade Conrad.”
Cardinal delivered a swift kick to the prisoner’s side. “What do ya know, you damned Commie?”
On the floor, the man could only groan. “I don’t know anything, for the fiftieth time, I don’t know anything.”
Cardinal gave him another kick in the kidneys as Colonel Pacholek walked in the room. Ignoring the bruised and battered man on the ground, he started talking to Cardinal. “The prisoner, is he talking? Pacholek asked.
Cardinal looked disappointed. “All he’s told us so far is his name – Paul James Young – and that he’s from England.”
“Good-for-nothing English,” Pacholek muttered. “We bailed them out in the Great War, and if there’s ever anything like it, I’ll bet you that we’ll have to bail them out again.”
“Probably true, sir,” Cardinal agreed. “But other than what I just told you, he hasn’t said a word.”
“My my,” Pacholek said, “that’s rather unfortunate. Maybe I’ll have to go back in time and prevent him from existing…”
“Sir?” Cardinal asked.
“Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it,” Pacholek explained. “It’s just that if I ever get the chance, I’ll go back in time and prevent my enemies from ever existing.”
“That sounds very interesting, sir,” Cardinal said cautiously.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Pacholek agreed. “You’re doing good work with the prisoner, Cardinal. Just keep up what you’re doing, and remember, if anyone asks, you’ve never touched him. Got it?”
“Absolutely sir,” Cardinal said.
“Very well, carry on soldier,” Pacholek ordered as he stepped out of the room. Cardinal launched another kick into PJY’s kidneys.
Confederate Okie walked into the army recruiting office on the edge of town. After his near death experience at the hands of Dan, Chaos, and Ellie, he was more than happy to walk into the nice air-conditioned building. He was even happier to talk to the attractive-looking secretary at the desk.
“I’d like to enlist in the army,” he said she pulled some papers out of the desk.
“I just need you to fill out these papers and return them when you’re done,” she explained. “Pens are on the side table over there.”
“Thank you,” Okie responded, and took a seat to fill out the forms.
‘Name’, he thought. “Damn it,” he thought to himself, “I forgot my name again.” He quickly checked his underwear. “Ah, it’s Fruit of the Loom, of course.” He was just about to start filling out the forms when he saw four vegetables dance through the room holding up pairs of underwear. He quickly regained his senses and wrote down ‘Confederate Okie’ on the page. He felt very proud of himself. He took a look at the next question: ‘Address’. Thinking for a while, he took the pen and quickly wrote ‘http://www.othertimelines.com/msgboard.’ He continued down the page; ‘Place of Birth’ received an answer of ‘Confederate States of America,’ Date of Birth received an answer of July 14, 2005 – his date of registration on OTL. He looked down at the last question, ‘Previous military experience (if applicable), and knew his answer immediately. He signed the form and took it back to the secretary, who looked at his responses sarcastically.
“Sir, do you have a zip code for your address at,” she took another look at the form, “http://www.othertimelines.com/msgboard, Mr. Confederate Okie?” And how could you have been born in 2005, that’s more than 70 years from now. And your previous military experience…” she trailed off, studying the form closely. “I apologise sir, the Colonel will see you immediately.” She quickly ran into a side-room and a few minutes later, directed Okie inside.
“Please, sit down, Mr. Confederate Okie,” Colonel Pacholek said. Nervously, Okie took a seat, worried if he had seriously screwed up on his form. However, his worries quickly disappeared. “Okie,” Pacholek said, “for someone with your credentials, I’m willing to let you into the army automatically, without a physical, and promote you to the rank of major.”
“Why thank you sir,” Okie said, taken aback. “I also happen to have information regarding several communist spies…”
“Please Okie, your country needs you, and I need that information.”
“There are two men who run a gang – the Chicago Crime Syndicate – they’re actively participating with the communists. They go by the name of Dan Pack and Chaos Theory,” Okie said.
“Chaos Theory, eh?” Pacholek said. “Sounds awfully Atheist to me…a lot like Commie talk. I’m inclined to believe you. Personally, I believe in ‘Intelligent Destruction,’ so anyone else is a commie. And for someone of your credentials…” he trailed off. “I wouldn’t have thought that anyone could EVER beat Texan in a Wargame…”
“Comrade Ian,” Saunders said as he knelt on one knee, “we’re proud to offer ourselves to your command…for the glory of communism and for the benefit of the people.”
Ian and his two chief henchmen, Dr. What and Grimm Reaper, started laughing hysterically. “Benefit of the people,” Ian laughed. “You don’t honestly believe that rhetoric, do you?” Dr. What said, as Grimm kept laughing.
“Ah, no, of course not,” Proma said quickly, knocking Proma out of the way. “We’re here to help you take power and install a brutal dictatorship.”
“I like the way this man thinks,” Grimm said. “He actually understands communism.”
“So, what can you offer us in terms of being able to terrorize the local population?” Ian asked.
“Well, I can attack people with rusty spoons, and kill kittens,” Saunders exclaimed.
Grimm looked at Saunders with a mischievous grin. “Me and this kid are gonna get along great,” he said. “What’s your favourite method for killing people with rusty spoons?” he asked Saunders.
“Well, personally, I like the method of scooping out their eyeballs, replacing their eyes with ice cream, and forcing them to eat it,” Saunders explained.
“Ohhh, I like that one,” Grimm said. “Personally, I’m a fan of Chinese Spoon Torture.”
“Chinese Spoon Torture?” Saint piped up.
“Trust me, Saint,” Saunders said. “You don’t want to hear about it.”
“Ummm, ok then,” Saint said.
“Well, it is my pleasure to welcome you to the ranks of the Communist Revolutionary Army,” Ian said. “Remember, we fight for the people!” he shouted.
“I thought you just said…” Saunders trailed off.
“We fight so the people can serve us, what else?” Ian said. “The revolution begins tonight…”
Colonel Michael Pacholek stormed in the office of Mayor Chuck Perritt. “…And that is how you can determine the air-speed velocity of an un-laden swallow,” Police Chief Morgoth was telling the mayor as Pacholek cut him off.
“Mayor Perritt,” Pacholek bellowed, “do you intend to keep any control over this city at all, or are you content to let Communists take over?”
“Colonel,” Chuck responded, “I’m currently discussing important matters with my Chief of Police, if you would mind waiting outside until I’m done…”
“No, Mayor, I’m not interested,” Pacholek continued. “We’re on the verge of open rebellion in this city, and you’re doing nothing to stop it. And you, Morgoth,” he turned his attention towards the Police Chief, “you’re not helping either. Are your officers anywhere to be seen?”
“What do you honestly expect us to do, Pacholek?” Chuck responded flatly. “We’re nowhere near capable to handle a crisis like this, which is exactly why you’re here.”
“Mayor Perritt, we’re facing open rebellions in New York, Washington, Philadelphia, Seattle, Los Angeles, and a dozen more cities I didn’t know existed. Even the Canadians are rebelling in Toronto, although you’d expect them to be commies by now anyway,” Pacholek described the current situation, “and there is no way in hell I intend to let Chicago join that list. If you don’t intend to help, then I don’t think I can let you stay in this office.”
Morgoth stepped between them. “Colonel, you have no authority under any law to do anything near what you’re suggesting.”
Pacholek let out a smirk. “On the contrary,” he said arrogantly, “I hold in my hand an emergency piece of legislation signed today by the President, authorizing the military to take control of cities which are prone to rebellion.” He gave the transcript to Chuck, who began reading it. “Considering the recent events in this city,” Pacholek continued, “I am hereby taking formal control of the city of Chicago under the parameters set out by the legislation.”
“This wasn’t even put before Congress,” Chuck cried out.
“The President has declared a state of national emergency,” Pacholek explained. “He has taken the authority to create any legislation he wishes, independently of Congress or the Senate.”
“Our President is a dictator,” Chuck stated angrily.
Pacholek looked back at Chuck. “I think it’s time you let me take control of the situation, Mr. Perritt.”
“On what grounds?” Chuck retorted angrily.
“On the grounds that I hold the superior military force in this city,” Pacholek told him. “And the grounds that I’m telling you to get out.”
“You have absolutely no authority to give orders to the elected officials of this city,” Morgoth shouted in Pacholek’s face.
“On the contrary, I hold every authority.”
“What you’re doing here is launching a coup – a revolution against democracy, against our rights, against our freedom – everything our nation stands for,” Chuck said.
“History will decide that,” Pacholek said calmly.
“You’re doing the exact same thing the communists are doing,” Chuck said.
“At lease I’m on your side.”
“At least they don’t pretend to be on our side.”
A sharp scowl placed itself on Pacholek’s face. “Mr. Perritt, I think it’s time you took a vacation. A long vacation. Very far away. Let me suggest Wyoming, it’s nice and isolated from everything else. Or do I have to call my troops in to enforce my authority?”
“History will remember you as the man who killed democracy,” Chuck said.
“History will remember me as the man who killed communism,” Pacholek said. “Now, do you intend to leave peacefully?”
With a quick glance at Morgoth, Chuck got up from his chair. “You many remove me,” he sighed, “but you will never remove the flame of democracy that burns in this city. This, Colonel,” Chuck looked Pacholek straight in the eyes, “this is what will lead to your downfall.” He walked towards the doors at the end of his office. “I’ll be out of town by morning,” he said, and walked out the door.
Pacholek’s gaze swung to Morgoth. “Can I count on the support of your officers to help me save this city?” he asked.
“My officers will safeguard this city from everything that opposes it, our nation, and our Consitution. They will save this city, but they will save it from you,” Morgoth responded.
“I take that as a no then?”
“You can kiss my ass if you think you’ll get any support from me,” Morgoth spat at Pacholek’s feet, and walked out behind Chuck, leaving Pacholek standing alone with his new-found power.