Al Capone, Johnny Torrio and Virginia

On August 17, 1896, an Angel was born – a dangerous Angel

Today when people talk about Al Capone and look back at this incredible gangster’s catastrophic career, it is often difficult to differentiate between truth and fiction. The descriptions that are available about his wild life deviate from the actual events, which do not at all reflect the romantic picture that the legends like to portray. The book Al Capone, Johnny Torrio and Virginia blends facts with fiction. Even so, it is my hope that it will be perceived as an honest attempt to create a true reality, to filter away all of the legends and, at least, to fashion a stepmotherly truth. In the final event, it is up to the reader to decide what is true and what is not.

PROLOGUE

Gabriele and Teresina were two of more than 40,000 Italians who had emigrated to New York. It was 1894. Gabriele was twenty-nine years old and would be thirty in December. Teresina was twenty-six and would be twenty-seven the same month. Gabriele was a barber by trade and came from the small village of Castellammare di Stabia, more than 10 miles south of Naples. Teresina was a seamstress, born in Angri in the province of Salerno in southwestern Italy.

At this time, the future looked bleak for the Italian people, with a few exceptions. Italy had big economic problems, or rather gigantic ones – without even mentioning the social and political problems, which were quite simply immeasurable. And without the necessary money which was kept in the hands of the rich landowners and the powerful illegal organizations, hope for change was in vain. This was the kind of situation that creates revolutions.

Gabriele and Teresina were both young and daring, and after mature consideration and mutual understanding, they had decided to emigrate to America. Now they had finally arrived in the country of the future – in the city of New York – after a long and treacherous trip. Teresina, who had already given Gabriele two sons, Vicenzo and Raffaele, was pregnant again, and all four members of the family were both tired and perplexed upon arriving in the New World. Finally they ended up in the slums of Brooklyn, at 95 Navy Street, in an apartment with only cold water and a common bathroom for all tenants.

Unlike many other immigrants, Gabriele and Teresina had saved for the trip themselves. They were completely debt-free and even had a small initial capital that was not to be touched. In addition, Gabriele was one of the few who could both read and write, and even if that was only in Italian, it was a great advantage when he went looking for work.

Gabriele was an appealing, exciting man. He had a polite manner, even if he would rather observe than hold forth, and maybe this was the reason he attracted curiosity. He carried within him a reserved portion of both optimism and belief in himself, and the young, newly arrived Italian got a job almost immediately at a grocer’s while Teresina sewed small orders and had babies.

In January of 1895, Salvatore came into the world, and Gabriele and Teresina could rejoice in three sons. And just one year later, Gabriele opened his own barber shop at 69 Park Avenue in Brooklyn, where after a couple years he was able to get the apartment above the salon as well, and the future began to look more and more like what Gabriele and Teresina had imagined in their dreams. The young family had to work hard, and they were sometimes forced to live under difficult conditions, but together they were a promising and harmonious family, representing in every way the perfect, law-abiding, new American family.

On January 17, 1899, Teresina bore her fourth son, Alphonse. This was a date like any other, but in the long run, it would mean the starting point for a career that no one had ever even dreamed about. About twenty years later, gangster rule beyond all proportions began.

Gabriele and Teresina Capone had given America Al Capone, and the merciless wheel of fortune had been put into motion.

Excerpt 1

European emigration to America had started on a small scale just before the middle of the 1800’s but accelerated at the end of the century. And it wasn’t just Europeans from Italy who found their way westward. Comparatively speaking, there were just as many Scandinavians, Germans and Irish as Italians and other European nationalities that left their homeland to start a new life. Most of them chose the rapidly growing cities of New York and Chicago, while a smaller but not insignificant number of immigrants, primarily from Scandinavia, chose the countryside in Minnesota over the big cities.

All had their own reasons for moving, of course, but for the most part it was a result of economic and social problems – or political or religious ones.

Chicago was a town on its way up. It was one of the fastest growing cities in the United States. In the year 1870, it had advanced from 92nd place to 5th place, which in turn required an extensive infrastructure – which it didn’t have. Chicago wasn’t really a shantytown in the true sense of the word, even if those less fortunate lived in old rickety wooden houses without much of anything. The city center was made up of ancient brick buildings that were crumbling to pieces, and the sewage and rainwater pipes leaked into the drinking water, leading to sanitation issues. Just about everything was in substandard condition, and Chicago was crying out for renovation and new construction.

At the same time as everything was collapsing, there was an enormous “hidden” internal potential, a source of energy in the form of a people’s vital power, a movement which was as hard to stop as a hurtling train.

It was a question of rearranging priorities for the resources at hand. But before this was done, the inevitable had to be tackled: Chicago needed to be rebuilt from the ground up. Chicago needed complete renovation ...

The turning point came in 1871 when the problem solved itself. One of the worst catastrophes to befall young America – and to ever happen to the city of Chicago – would instead of decadence and listless depression create an entirely opposite effect.

On Sunday, October 8, 1871, at nine o’clock in the evening, a seemingly minor fire began on De Koven Street in the barn of the Irish family Patrick and Catherine O´Leary. According to legend, it was one of the O’Leary cows that kicked over a kerosene lamp in the straw. Regardless of the cause – whether the fire was the cow’s fault or not – it would probably have not developed into anything more serious than a normal fire if the fire department had reacted according to the book. But such was not the case this time. The dispatch was delayed because the firemen were exhausted after a larger fire in the same area the night before, and when the company finally arrived, the blaze was out of control.

Conditions for a conflagration in Chicago were excellent. The summer had been extremely dry – less than six millimeters of rain – and when all was said and done, within the space of 36 hours, more than a third of Chicago would be destroyed by the flames.

While the O’Leary’s barn was burning down, the violent fire took hold of the West Side, and an increasing west wind poured a wave of flames toward the central parts of the city, which just as quickly were transformed into a matchbook that burned up. What finally stilled the hunger of the flames was a steady rain that moved in from the southwest. But by then, the fire had already reached Lake Michigan, and a total catastrophe was tallied up in an incomprehensible cluster of numbers: 18,000 buildings had been consumed, 3,000 people had lost their lives, and a third of Chicago’s population – 100,000 people – were homeless. The fire had begun in one side of the city and ended in the other. Chicago was destroyed – but not for long.

There is always a point when terror loosens its grasp on a person, when the body is no longer capable of being afraid, when the power to resist against danger has vanished from one’s consciousness. And at precisely that moment, a kind of encapsulated will to do battle, to stand up and fight back, emerges.

There were plenty of reasons to move elsewhere, but the residents of Chicago stayed put. There were still 300,000 Chicago residents with pioneering in their blood, and it is precisely this kind of fighting spirit that provides an unassailable and unbeatable internal power. Despite the tragedies of the hour and the pain that individual humans would never surmount – personal sorrows and losses were incomprehensible stabs in the heart – the golden phoenix rose from the ashes.

x

Karl and Rut Crona and Einar and Augusta Emanuelsson had a long journey behind them when they landed in New York in fall of 1872. They had travelled from Dalarna in Sweden, from the tiny village of Mora. They were young and in love and had been married for a couple of years. All four were under thirty and childless, but Rut was three or four months pregnant.

Although the trip they had just completed had been a strain on them, the four newly arrived Swedes would stay no longer than two nights in New York before they continued their travels toward Chicago, their final destination. Their plan was to start their new life somewhere in the 22nd District.

Chicago’s 22nd District had become something of an arrival center for immigrants from Northern Europe, primarily from Scandinavia. Here, a temporary meeting point for immigrants with special talents had been organized in order to attract help in rebuilding the city. Above all they were looking for people in construction, and this had been one of the reasons that weighed most heavily in the Crona and Emanuelson families’ decision to emigrate to America. Both Karl and Einar were talented craftsmen, and considering the situation at the time in Chicago, the two carpenters were certain to be highly desirable. Only one year had passed since the fire, and people here were still in a sort of chaos with memories from the past, but also determined to erase the dismay and to believe in the future. There was a positive spirit that surpassed the hell they found themselves living in but had not yet succeeded in removing themselves from. People were sharing storms and sunny days, years of famine and abundant harvests alike. Temporary living quarters had been erected, and there were no signs that immigration had tapered off despite the disastrous fire.

It would soon be seen that it paid to think positively.

Karl and Einar got jobs as carpenters immediately in the state’s Department of Reconstruction, and thus the question of living quarters was solved in the blink of an eye as well. In the so-called immigration reception central, the four Swedes had finally gotten to meet “Iris”, the woman behind all the letters sent between Sweden and Chicago. And Iris had accepted their friendship immediately, just as in their letters. They had written copiously, and all of them seemed to feel the same way: that they already knew each other and had a firm trust in each other.

Iris was born in Sweden, but right before she started school, she and her parents and a younger sister had emigrated to Chicago. That was more than twenty years ago. Just one year ago, her parents and sister had met their deaths in the merciless fire which she herself had miraculously survived.

Iris had just turned thirty, and you could see signs that she had experienced quite a few things – you could see that she had had to take care of herself. But she was still an attractive woman who seemed down-to-earth although life had treated her so badly. She was a Scandinavian blonde, shapely with a large bust and curvy thighs, but what you noticed above everything else was the warm and always accommodating attitude she radiated. She was a person who seemed to think more of others than of herself, and she had an amazing ability to always find people’s good sides.

Iris had been around since the beginning and possessed the inner strength that distinguished Chicago’s population and made each resident an ambassador for their own town – which had grown out of nothing into a city of 300,000 and was still on the upswing. And Iris believed that she had played a part in this fact.

For five years she had been married to Joseph Benedict, an Italian from Sicily. Their marriage had been childless to that point, although Joseph had a ten-year-old son, Fausto, who had followed his father to America after the death of his mother. Now there were three people in the family, and their marriage was happy.

At the moment, Iris was spending the greater part of her energy on helping immigrants from Scandinavia to get settled in their new homeland. And that’s the way it had been for the last five years. Iris was the primary reason the four Swedes now found themselves in the 22nd District.

In the spring of 1873, Rut gave birth to a son, who was baptized Robert, and the following year, Augusta gave birth to a daughter, Elisabeth. Both of the families were still in the 22nd District, where they had been allotted two serviceable but old-fashioned apartments next to each other. They weren’t exactly living a life of luxury, but they hadn’t expected to either. They were neighbors again, though in a different part of the world, and part of the group of other Scandinavians that had also settled in Chicago’s 22nd District, which would later be called “Little Sicily” – and then “Little Hell”.

Not too far south of Chicago’s 22nd District was the 19th District, called “Little Italy.” There was already a Little Italy in New York, and the small districts with Italian connections would soon win a special form of notoriety in other American cities as well.

Chicago’s “Little Italy” belonged to the city’s Near West Side and consisted of twelve blocks with apartments that stretched down Taylor Street, occupied primarily by European immigrants – Italians, Irishmen, Germans and Scandinavians.

The name Little Italy did not necessarily mean that the majority of the residents were from Italy, but rather that the Italian immigrants centered their culture there – above all, their culinary culture. Here you could find most of what Italian cuisine had to offer in the form of taverns and restaurants, and even a generous assortment of all kinds of Italian shops and other businesses.

Iris, Joseph and Fausto lived in Little Italy a couple blocks from Taylor Street. So far, the 19th District was still a somewhat peaceful neighborhood. People were entirely focused on building a new Chicago, and they had neither the energy nor the time to devote to any other activities. Iris worked at the Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization with her Scandinavian immigrants in the 22nd District, Joseph helped the Italian immigrants, and Fausto went to school.

Five years after the fire, Chicago had risen from the ashes, and after another five years, Chicago’s population had increased to more than a half million residents, of which 4,000 were immigrants from Italy. A lot of things had changed: the population structure within the seventy-two different districts had become organized and, by their own volition, had crystallized out into smaller colonies, and in general, things were going better for everyone. The hard work had paid off. The stream of immigrants that kept flooding in was employed primarily in construction and with the railroad or in one of the large factories.

Little Italy was still the twelve blocks along Taylor Street, and most of its residents lived according to the calendar – they had children, they died and they had children. But alongside all of this, there was a kind of unspoken, restrained tension in the air. It was as if people were waiting for something they knew nothing about, but which they knew would come sooner or later. There was an unpleasant sense that something that could not be controlled had been set in motion, something that would have an unprecedented effect on their lives. It “felt” as though there was an atmosphere of evil.

But up to this point, the citizens of Little Italy knew very little about unlimited power, ruthless violence and constant fear. They knew fear of catastrophes, of course, for the recent one had taught them the power of fire and its merciless progress. But fear of those immigrants who they worked with daily and struggled together with, that would have been unthinkable. After all, everyone was here to build a common future.

It would soon be time to reconsider.

x

Fifteen year later – 1896 – “Little Sicily” began to take shape. “Little Sicily” was considered part of Chicago’s Near North Side, the 22nd District, where Karl and Rut Crona and Einar and August Emanuelsson had landed in 1872 and lived ever since. At that time, the 22nd District had been the center of Scandinavian immigration, but the explosion-like immigration from everywhere had caused many of the district’s original residents to flee, and the district had quickly changed character. Now the 22nd District was commonly called “Little Sicily”. The once peaceful, well-mannered and enthusiastic immigrants had been taken completely by surprise and the district had been overpopulated by immigrants with the most multi-faceted, multi-cultural, many-colored and multi-lingual background. And all of a sudden, disorder bordering on chaos was at the door, which in turn created fertile soil for the complete confusion which would eventually open the gates for the Italian “new order” which would completely dominate the 22nd District – which in the not-too-distant future would be called “Little Hell”.

However, nobody knew anything about that at this point. So far, the 22nd District was simply called Little Sicily, but the Crona and Emanuelsson families disliked their neighborhood more and more, though they were unfortunately not to get out of it. Both Karl and Einar were still working as carpenters although their work hours were not as long or as demanding as they had been during the reconstruction, when all they did was work and sleep. Now they were able to enjoy a bit of free time, which for the most part was spent at a beer bar together with other carpenters from Sweden who had followed in their footsteps and emigrated to Chicago. The greater part of Chicago’s carpenters were actually still from Sweden, a sort of remnant from the time after the fire when large groups of Swedish woodworkers poured into Chicago. And there was a lot of truth to the statement “it was the Swedes that built Chicago”.

While Karl and Einar were at work doing carpentry outside the home, their wives Rut and Augusta were constantly occupied inside with the usual household tasks, but also with handiwork. They had more free time for their side occupations since their only children, Robert and Elisabeth, no longer lived at home.

Robert Crona, who had changed his last name to “Crown” in order to better fit into American society, was now twenty-three years old and Elisabeth twenty-two. Robert had followed in his father’s footsteps to become a carpenter in a private company, Grover Construction, and Elisabeth worked in the kitchen in an Italian restaurant. Two years ago, the young couple had gotten married after spending their entire childhood and teenage years together. They had followed each other everywhere, and finally they had also gone hand in hand to the altar.

Both of them were attractive and full of life. Robert was slender and well above average in height. He looked boyish with a blond shock of hair, a blinding smile and a pair of hazel eyes. He was charming and extroverted, and he drew people to himself easily.

Elisabeth had developed into a Scandinavian beauty with cornflower blue eyes and the same milky-white teeth as her husband. Her golden blond hair curled down over her shoulders and caused the observer’s eyes to continue their journey down over her well-formed, sensuous body. In contrast to Robert, Elisabeth was more down to earth than extroverted, but she was pleasant in her reserved way and radiated both warmth and kindness in equal portions.

Elisabeth was pregnant, and she was due in the middle of August. It would be a Leo, if the calculations were correct, and both Robert and Elisabeth were looking forward to this date. One year ago, they had gotten an apartment on the same block as their parents, and Robert had worked hard to improve its standard before the child’s arrival. But both of them were more than tired of Little Sicily and the prevailing lack of order that seemed to have taken root for good.
On August 17, 1896, their little angel, Virginia, was born. This was a day like any other, but in the long run, it would mean the starting point for a career that nobody had ever dared to fantasize about. Some twenty years later, a desire for a life beyond all dreams would be put to a practical test in an experiment that was just as fateful as it was insane.

Giovanni Torrio would give the word “gangster” new meaning. He would become a successful “gentleman gangster”, but it would take a while.

Before it was time to become a gentleman gangster, it was necessary to know how the gangster world ranked and evaluated its members. It wasn’t like in the military, from corporal to general. And it wasn’t as it was in real life, either, from slimy local politician to irreproachable head of state. Nevertheless, the same things were at stake: to skillfully garner for oneself a pleasant existence without the outside world considering all the requisite, unavoidable crimes and dishonest actions to be anything but childish pranks. And Giovanni Torrio would avail himself of all “childish pranks” there were to be had before he was a fully trained gentleman gangster. His motto was that everything he did had to be for a purpose – his own purpose.

Giovanni Torrio was born in February of 1882 in the small village of Irsina, not far from the city of Matera in Italy. Two years later his father died, and his mother emigrated with her son to America, where they were shuffled off to the slums of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, New York’s “Little Italy”.

Opportunities for Giovanni, or John, as he was now called, to become anything other than a gangster were non-existent, so it was just as well to begin at once. Already as a young teenager, he got to help out in his stepfather’s grocery store, a front for an illegal home distillation operation. Furthermore, he became a member of a youth gang, the James Street Gang, whose leader he later became, and it wasn’t long before he was given the nickname “Terrible Johnny” because of his cruelty. At the same time, he was most effective and invested his money in a pool hall, which he turned into an illegal gambling parlor, also including a loan sharking operation as well as other shady activities.

Johnny Torrio’s progress did not go unnoticed. His obvious talent for business had been picked up by Paul Kelly, the leader of the feared Five Points Gang, and a few years later, Johnny Torrio’s James Street Gang was incorporated into the Five Points Juniors, a kind of preschool before membership in the Five Points Gang.

Johnny Torrio was a great admirer of Paul Kelly, who taught him “sense and manners”. The idea was to hide the gangster within – to not be seen, to remain hidden to the public. Enjoying one’s own company, avoiding the spotlight and being content with one’s own applause. Dressing correctly, minding one’s language and always having a legal activity as a cover. In short, it meant to build up a façade with two entrances – an open entryway and a back door that was shut. Securely shut! With this good advice from Paul Kelly, which Johnny Torrio would follow his whole life and which would transform him from “Terrible Johnny” to “The Fox” because of his cunning and diplomatic behavior, he passed his final examination as a gentleman gangster.

x

Francesco Ioele would also become a successful gangster. But in contrast to Johnny Torrio, he was uneducated and his manner boorish, and he remained so his entire life, with few exceptions.

The Ioele family came from Calabria in Italy and emigrated to New York 1901, where they settled in Brooklyn. Francesco was eight at the time. A couple of years later, he changed his name to Frankie Yale, and a few years after that he was sucked up into life on the street. He was comparatively small and chubby, but that didn’t seem to matter. Living in Brooklyn meant a wealth of experience with street violence, and Frankie Yale soon became extremely dangerous to meet when it was time to “settle up”. He was just as ferociously brutal towards his enemies as he was extremely generous to his friends, and he liked being called “The Prince of Pals”.

Frankie Yale was and remained a roughneck – an unkempt, ruthless gangster – and being pleasant wasn’t his strong suit, but he had special merits and possessed talents that Johnny Torrio noticed. And since Johnny Torrio was careful to make sure that every action he performed served a purpose – his own – he scooped up Frankie Yale into the Five Points Gang in order to train him for future tasks that might require his abilities.

It would soon be seen that Frankie Yale lived up to Torrio’s expectations, and then some.

x

Johnny Torrio had a well-developed intuition for knowing when something could go wrong, which proved to be a big advantage when aiming for the halls of power. And the halls of power were Johnny Torrio’s target.

Johnny Torrio was physically a small man, and even though he was extremely tough, his physical being wasn’t good enough to get him into a top position. If he wanted to be number one, he had to be able to use his brain, which he had instead of muscles. He had to be sharp and create alliances with men who were more gifted physically – and Frankie Yale was more than enough in that regard. You could always buy muscles. Brains too, for that matter, but here the selection was limited, and you were constantly running the risk of being outmaneuvered by people with ambitions greater than your own. Unlike his rivals, Johnny Torrio had an extraordinary ability to grasp opportunity in flight and to skillfully administer shady dealings when they cropped up without the world seeing the violence they required as anything but humble. And precisely this unique “humility”, which wasn’t humility at all except when it suited him, would eventually penetrate all of mafia boss Johnny Torrio’s affairs. He was a hypocrite of the highest order understanding the significance of acting so that people’s sense of propriety was satisfied …

Johnny Torrio worked purposefully, and before long he started a business in Brooklyn’s port area with a perfect façade as a cover for his actual activities, which consisted of all kinds of illegal gaming, including bookmaking. In addition, there were blackmail, usury and protection services, kidnapping, prostitution, drug dealing and murder; these last four were under the direction of Torrio’s new business partner, the wild youngster Frankie Yale, who moved his headquarters to his pub, the Harvard Inn on Coney Island.

At about the same time Johnny Torrio was contacted by an older relative, Victoria Moresco, who was married to Chicago’s mafia boss, “Big Jim” Colosimo. Big Jim needed some good advice and above all help. “The Black Hand Gang” had been threatening him for some time, but this time it was serious.

The Black Hand Gang, whose members were primarily Italian immigrants, had started their activity in New York, where Ignazio Lupo was one of the main players. A Sicilian gangster who had fled to New York as a twelve-year-old after killing a man. Eventually Lupo “the Wolf”, as he became known, ended up in Little Italy in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, where he built up his “Murder Stall”, an execution center plain and simple, where he killed those who threatened his march to power without compunction and without embarrassment. In his office he had big meat hooks installed, where his victims were impaled alive and were left to hang, struggling, with a rag stuffed in their mouths. Down in his specially built basement he burned up the disobedient ones who had escaped the meat hooks. Just before the end of the century he declared himself the “Boss of Bosses” and nobody was about to challenge this decision.

Originally, The Black Hand Gang had been called simply “The Black Hand” and was involved mostly in blackmailing wealthy families for money. If their demands weren’t met, the victims were threatened through letters, which were signed with a black hand.

The Black Hand Gang’s work methods produced unimagined successes, and the organization grew quickly in scope. Before long, it put down roots in Chicago, and by this point, their activities had been expanded to prostitution, loan sharking, home distillation, drug dealing, robbery, kidnapping and murder.

Chicago was perfectly vulnerable to becoming the city of crime. It was a noisy, messy, pugnacious city, full of gambling dens, speakeasies and quarrelsome wills. It was a city where prostitution flourished and alcohol flowed – open to everyone who had the money to pay for a few moments of happiness.

And James “Big Jim” Colosimo served up the joys and merriment. Together with his considerably older wife, Victoria Moresco, he had created a whore’s empire in Chicago whose bordellos took in about $50,000 a month.

Big Jim, born Giacomo Colosimo in 1877 in the town of Cosenza in Calabria, moved to Chicago in 1895. He began his career there as a pimp and general small-time gangster. For a brief time he was also a member of the Black Hand Gang, but he broke out on his own and became his own love distributor.

In 1902, he married Johnny Torrio’s relative, Victoria Moresco, a striking, successful woman who was already established in Chicago and knew how to grease the wheels. Hand in hand, Jim and Victoria took over one bordello after the other and could soon count over two hundred houses of pleasure, which also served as gambling dens as well as centers for blackmail and other criminal activities. Parallel to all this, they conducted white slavery with young women who were lured to Chicago by the promise of well-paid work, but were instead drugged, raped and placed in one of the whorehouses or sold to a competitor. The going price was around $400.

Big Jim loved the glamorous life and everything connected with it. He loved to hold court and to be overly generous. But he had no intention of paying protection money to the Black Hand. Hell, he had been a member of the Black Hand Gang himself once upon a time, and done his part. No, being made a victim of his own gangster ways was too much for Big Jim, who at the same time was aware of what could happen to him if he didn’t toe the line. On the other hand, he was Boss in Chicago, although that didn’t usually have any effect in cases such as this. Finishing his life with a bullet hole in his skull was the last thing Big Jim wanted to experience. For this reason he sent a message to Johnny Torrio – “The Fox”.

x

Johnny Torrio wasn’t one to avoid getting his hands dirty. The fact that he preferred diplomatic solutions nowadays didn’t mean that he had a diplomatic mind. If you didn’t know Johnny Torrio, you could probably get the impression that he was kind and good-natured, which he could certainly live up to, but Johnny Torrio also knew when it was time to be ruthless. He possessed an imperceptible ability to shoulder the mood that the situation demanded and to do what was necessary to be properly effective. You could say that everything Johnny Torrio set out to do was done after thoughtful consideration. And after thoughtful consideration, he decided that Chicago’s “Black Hand” would have the protection money they demanded from Uncle Jim, and the parties involved agreed that the money would be dropped off at the corner of Dearborn and Acher Avenue.

Once the three collectors had arrived, they were shot down immediately by Torrio’s men, who had been brought in from the Five Points Gang in New York.

Uncle Jim was happy, of course, but just temporarily relieved, and he asked Johnny Torrio to stay in Chicago and bide his time. “You can stay half the time in Chicago to start with,” he suggested. And when Johnny Torrio accepted the suggestion, Big Jim named him his right-hand man on the spot. About six months later, the main headquarters were moved to Big Jim’s newly opened nightclub, “Colosimo´s Cafe”, at 2126 South Wabash Avenue, which final design was thanks to Torrio as well. He exchanged the vulgar whores and brought in fresh teenagers. At the same time, he delegated the management of his own activities in New York to the violent Frankie Yale, still a youth.

Before long Colosimo’s Cafe was one of Chicago’s most frequented nightclubs. The fact that Big Jim was Chicago’s number one don didn’t seem to bother anyone particularly. It didn’t prevent him in any way from rubbing elbows with the world’s upper class. Enrico Caruso was a regular at Colosimo’s Café along with Al Jolson and John Barrymore. And Sophie Tucker and Charles Lindberg, among others, were happy to be entertained at the nightclub.

Big Jim lived in a way that matched his wealth. He absolutely reveled in luxury and vanity, enjoying his role as Chicago’s Maharaja. He looked like a glittering Christmas tree, usually dressed in a chalk-white suit with huge diamonds on each of his fat fingers and with his belt and shoes encrusted with sparkling jewels. His collar buttons, cuff links and tie clips were also studded with diamonds. Hence he got the nickname “Diamond Jim.”

All of this and more made “Diamond Jim” popular with the women. And Big Jim loved women as much as they loved him, and so both parties got their fill of each other.

One fine day, Johnny Torrio received a new threat letter from the Black Hand which asked him to pay $10,000 himself or to look forward to dying together with his boss. Johnny Torrio didn’t find either of these choices attractive. There was a third alternative which he thought was better and so he found out who had sent the letter. The sender was the small hood “Sunny Jim” Cosmano, whom Torrio decided to call on in person, and he arrived at their meeting place with a shotgun in his hand. Instead of money, Sunny got a spray of bullets in his belly, and Big Jim, who was deeply impressed with his friend’s convenient solutions to all of his problems – problems which were constantly cropping up – gave him a red Cadillac as an extra bonus.

Big Jim’s next serious worry had to do with his white slave trade, which had become the subject of an investigation. The police had succeeded in tracking down a witness who was willing to reveal the truth about the inhuman treatment of the women, treatment that was comparable to cattle trading. Just before the trial was to begin, the witness, Joe Bovo, had a visit from two members of the Five Pointers, now led by Frankie Yale. Once they explained to Joe Bovo that it would be hazardous to his health to testify, the case was dropped.

But try and try again! Before Big Jim’s next encounter with the law, the police had succeeded in convincing one of the young hookers to testify about the attacks she and her friends had suffered, and she was immediately sent to Bridgeport, Connecticut, where she was hidden. But the police force was well bribed, and Johnny Torrio had no trouble finding “the little whore.” Once again, he asked Frankie Yale to take care of matters, upon which Yale disguised two of his Five Pointers as federal agents. They then took the trusting, well-meaning girl to a more secure hiding place, where she was raped, split open, shot with twelve bullets and finally tossed into a cemetery.

News of this kind spread faster than wildfire, and Big Jim was never again inconvenienced by such annoyances.

Recruiting Johnny Torrio as administrator for his shady dealings was the best thing Big Jim could have done, since he was only interested in pleasure, and he came to appreciate Johnny Torrio’s considerable talents more and more. Torrio build up and expanded business a little at a time without attracting any more attention to himself, and since Johnny Torrio was very alert in every way, it was pretty clear that Big Jim commanded almost exclusive control of activities in Chicago. And that wasn’t really that strange since there was only one Boss in Chicago.

But then again, conditions have a chilling tendency to change…

Excerpt 3

Virginia’s birthday party lasted well into the evening, and finally it was bedtime. Virginia and Emmett had shared a room ever since they were small, and now they lay in their beds in the twilight, chatting until darkness enveloped them completely.

“I have an idea, Emmett.”

“Oh? And what might that idea be?”

“Have you slept with a girl yet?”

“What a question!”

“I want an honest answer.”

“I’m always honest with you, Virginia. You know that.”

“I know. But this time I want you to be especially honest. Have you slept with a girl?”

“No, I haven’t. Why are you asking?”

“I can’t tell you yet. But I want you to trust my idea!”

“Which I don’t know anything about.”

“I would never do anything to hurt either you or Dad or any of our relatives. But I think I’ve figured out how to get us out of this hell. Because Little Sicily is a hell, Emmett!”

“You don’t have to tell me that. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing just yet besides continuing in school for the year you have left, and then letting Dad teach you the carpentry trade. And make sure you don’t go to jail! You can’t allow yourself to land on the police register!”

“I’m already on it.”

“Because you were fighting, but nothing else, right?”

Without being conscious of it, Virginia tensed up, but Emmett’s answer soothed her.

“No, not that I know of.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. What are you getting at, Virginia?”

“I don’t want you to sleep with any of the girls you meet.”

“What you do mean by that?”

“What I said. No matter what you do, no matter what your friends say, don’t sleep with anyone! In any case, not until you’ve told me about it. I want you to promise me that!”

Emmett always listened to his sister. He never did anything she told him not to do, for the simple reason that she had never made such a request before. He wasn’t afraid of his sister. He wasn’t afraid of her or of anything, but he had great respect for her. She had a kind of unspoken power over him, which didn’t depend on the fact that she was older – but she seemed to have a kind of power over everything. Even so, she accepted everything he did – up until now. Now he was supposed to promise her not to have his first fuck without knowing why. He had already had a few close calls, although the girls hadn’t dared to go all the way. And now the girls would have to wait because of a crazy idea his sister had cooked up. But she was sure to have a valid reason for her request. Virginia was good, and he knew he could rely on her. Emmett loved his sister more than anything else on earth, so there was no reason he shouldn’t please her. And she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. How much did he actually love her?

“Emmett?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to promise me!”

“I promise.”

“Good night, my darling!”

Virginia had big plans – wild plans.

Emmett dozed off. Virginia lay awake listening to her brother’s gentle snoring and wished that she too could fall asleep soon – and that she would be able to dream something beautiful. Dreams were always beautiful visitations that gave her the power to recreate them in real life. Now she lay waiting for a new, beautiful dream to begin that could rub out the sickening truth that never left her: the fact that she had killed a human being. For a little over a year now, she had been a murderer …

Virginia closed her eyes and saw Mr. Martino’s friendly smile before her eyes, standing ready as always to serve her behind the large glass counter in his deli in Little Sicily. He was always happy and solicitous, and proud of his heritage – of being an Italian. He had been born in Naples and emigrated to Chicago as a young boy. He was short and had balding hair, fiftyish and unmarried, and he flirted with anything in a skirt – although in a humorous way and with no ill intent. Everyone in Little Sicily loved Mr. Martino. Virginia bought almost all her food from his shop, and it was only rarely that she went anywhere else.

“Good morning, my dear Virginia! I hope everything is going well this wonderful morning?”

“Good morning, Mr. Martino! Everything is fine. I hope you're well, too?”

“Of course. A sunny morning like this means no clouds of any kind. I see you’re carrying a concealed knife, Virginia. How many people have you killed with it?”

Virginia reacted immediately, but she tried to look casual. How could Mr Martino know that she was carrying a knife, let alone the place where she was carrying it? Mr Martino laughed out loud.

“I saw it two days ago when you opened the door and the wind blew your skirt up.”

Virginia smiled, embarrassed. Emmett had given her the knife to defend herself, and she had fastened it to her thigh with a small special leather strap.

“My dear, I’m not scolding you at all,” said Mr Martino, understanding her before she had the time to say anything. “If you live in Little Sicily, you have every reason to be careful,” he explained.

“Actually, I don’t know why I have to have it on me during the day like this,” she said, almost defensively. “It’s my brother who insists …”

“Even during the day, you have to be on your guard,” Mr Martino interrupted in a way that implied that honesty wasn’t taken seriously in Little Sicily. “If you have time, I’ll show you something interesting – what can really happen. Do you have a couple of minutes? I won’t bite …”

Virginia said yes, and Mr Martino walked around the counter and then over to the door to the shop, which he locked. Then he discreetly flipped over the sign that said “Welcome” and the store hours so that it read “Back soon”.

“Come with me and I’ll show you!” he said kindly and continued on down a small hall behind the counter and opened the door to a private room, furnished with a desk and a bed. “Sit down,” he directed her in a gentle tone of voice as if in passing, pointing to the bed, and then went to the desk and pulled out one of the drawers.

Virginia seated herself like a good little dog.

“Here’s something for you,” he continued, and began to move his hand around in the drawer as if he was searching for something important. Where had he put his own knife? At the same time, he remembered that he had hidden it in the light fixture after the most recent incident. How could he have neglected such an important detail before he went to work? Now he’d have to pay for it! Although this was all so damned spontaneous from the beginning – usually he had prepared everything down to the last detail. But his feelings had been set in motion, and that meant he had to improvise. Who could have predicted a situation like this? That the opportunity he had thought about planning for such a long time would come up completely without warning, at the same time giving him the possibility of seeing his dreams made real?

“I don’t seem to be finding what I’m looking for. May I see your knife?” he said casually.

Virginia hesitated but pulled up her skirt and exposed the inside of her left thigh where the flat knife was anchored in its holder, strapped in so securely that only its owner could undo it.

When Mr Martino got a glimpse of the beginning of paradise, the inviting inside of her white thighs, which he followed with his eyes to what he knew lay inside her panties, he could no longer restrain himself. He started by grasping greedily at the knife, but it was only a gesture, and when he didn’t succeed in loosening the weapon, he found his hand inside her panties, and he became aware of the small triangle with sparse hair. At the same time, his right hand found its way in under the white sweater and began to caress her young, mature breasts. By this stage he had completely lost his head. He had never before experienced anything as exquisite. Virginia was an angel whom he could not possibly kill – she represented eternity in all its glory. Eternal beauty …

“I love you, Virginia!” he gasped, and for a moment he forgot the untenable situation. “I will give you everything!” he continued, panting, and was amazed that she didn’t scream her distress at what he was doing – and what he was about to do to her – like all the other women did. At the same time, with what little sense he had at this point, he realized that he should have murdered her before all of this started.

Virginia had good presence of mind. Little Sicily had its advantages. Of course she needed sex. In her dreams, she made love over and over again with brave knights and handsome princes, but never with idiots like this one. But they had to be treated in the same way. Her only chance to survive now was Emmett’s foresight – the knife.

“I love you too!” she said and pressed one hand against his erection, which she caressed outside of his pants. “Let’s make love, darling!” she said passionately.

Mr Martino swallowed all of his remaining good sense and freed himself of his apron. Just as quickly, he removed his belt and was about to undo his fly, when Virginia got up from the bed and with a violent thrust ran her long knife right into the satanic Mr Martino, into the atrium of his heart and through its ventricles. He only had time to look surprised before it was all over. Mr Martino died where he stood.

For a moment, Virginia froze. She stared down at the horrible person whose chest was bleeding where her knife stuck out. If she pulled out her knife, his life juices would run out of his body faster. But that really didn’t matter. She bent down and pulled out the knife, which she wiped off carefully with her handkerchief and then put back in its sheath. If this was a nightmare, that represented reality. But it was no nightmare, and Virginia was not one to shy away from reality. She would be sure to get out of a situation like this in one piece if she ran directly to the police and reported the truth. That would be a normal reaction. But what was to be earned from that? Nothing! Just a big unnecessary uproar for no reason. No, there was nothing to be gained by going to the police, who in any case were overworked. But she had to get out of here, now! She didn’t plan to arrange the scene in any way. The only thing she’d done in here was to sit on the bed. The door to the little hall that lead out into the shop was still open. Once out in the shop, she had to be on her guard. She had to make sure that nobody saw her through the shop window or the outer door, which was also made of glass. Before this she had to unlock the door and replace the sign with the shop hours. The latter she had to do with her handkerchief, which had to be tossed in the right place when everything was done. Afterwards all she had to do was to stand waiting in front of the counter until another customer, her first witness, showed up, and together with that person remark about what was taking Mr. Martino so long, since the sign “back shortly” was no longer hanging on the door.

It would be foolish of Virginia to leave before that. There was certainly some customer on their way to Mr. Martino who would then observe that she had left the shop. No, she had to be the first one in the shop after the “back shortly” sign was swapped for the one that said “welcome” and gave the shop’s hours. And the longer time she had to wait, the better.

After five minutes, Mrs. Nolan came into the shop, a short overweight woman with a double chin and hair streaked with gray. Virginia knew her from before, and they always said polite hellos to each other.

“Good morning, Virginia! It’s going to be a hot day today, too,” said the chubby Mrs. Nolan, heaving a sigh.

“Good morning, Mrs. Nolan! I think you’re right!”

At the same time, Mr. Davis opened the door to the shop. He was an elderly, friendly gentleman with a cloud of white hair and long muttonchops. A short, slight man, who offered his smile to all he met.

“Good morning, beautiful ladies!”

Virginia and Mrs. Nolan said “Good morning” at the same time, and then yet another opinion about the warm weather was exchanged.

“Where is Mr. Martino?” Mrs. Nolan asked after a little while, looking at Virginia.

“I don’t know. There wasn’t anyone here when I arrived. You came right after me.”

“I was here earlier, but there was a sign that said ‘back shortly’,” Mr. Davis informed them.

“Then Mr. Martino is sure to be here soon,” said Mrs. Nolan.

After ten minutes, the shop was full of people, and Virginia turned to Mrs. Nolan: “I’m afraid I have to leave soon. This seems to be taking a long time.”

“Then we can leave together, Virginia. Let’s go to Verrico’s – they have things that are just as good. We can’t stand here forever.”

Most of the people were saying similar things, and Virginia and Mrs. Nolan and a few other customers went together out into the street to continue on to Mr. and Mrs. Verrico’s grocery shop a couple of blocks away. And a half hour later, Virginia was back in the apartment, where both her father and brother were waiting. Emmett was off from school and Robert had vacation. Before she got home, Virginia had torn her slightly bloodied handkerchief into tiny pieces with the help of her knife and strewn them here and there. And as soon as she got home, she went into the bathroom and rinsed the dagger and its sheath over and over until absolutely no traces of blood were left. After that she hid her knife in a safe place.

“What are you doing, Virginia?”

“I’m putting away some things in the bathroom. I bought a little more than usual. Mr. Martino never came, so I went to Verrico’s instead, and they had a few other things we need. They have a bigger selection.”

“Was Mr. Martino’s shop closed?”

“No, it was open, but he wasn’t there. I didn’t want to wait, so I left.”

“What are we having for lunch?” asked Emmett.

“What do you want?”

“Meatballs.”

“You’ll eat what Virginia serves!” said Robert.

“I have tons of meatballs, Dad. Grandma made meatballs yesterday and gave us a whole pot. I just have to boil some potatoes and make a little more sauce…”

Virginia was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Emmett went to open. Two policemen were standing outside, and they were bringing a lot of questions. A half hour later they left with perfect answers and without any suspicions.

“Poor devil!” said Robert. “I liked Mr. Martino.”

“Everyone did, Dad.”

“Thank God you didn’t get to the shop earlier than you did. Murdered in cold blood! Mowed down with a knife through his warm heart. In this damned hole you can’t even be safe in daylight any longer.”

“You’ve got on you what you’re supposed to have on you, don’t you?” Emmett asked, and Virginia nodded discreetly.

“What do you mean, have on you? You’re not talking about that damned knife, are you?”

“Oh yes I am, Dad. And she’s to have it on her at all times!”

“Are you nuts? And what is she supposed to do with it, if I may ask?”

“She needs a knife to defend herself with, Dad. If you didn’t understand that before, maybe you do now. Little Sicily, or Little Hell, whatever you want to call it, has more loony tunes that any other district in Chicago.”

One month after Mr. Martino’s death, the police had cleared up five unsolved murders on women, and that was just the beginning. They had come back to visit Virginia several times and asked how she had experienced the situation in the shop on the day of the murder, but they never suspected her of any kind of complicity in what had happened. In this regard, Emmett was more suspicious, although he didn’t say a word. When Mr. Martino’s evil deeds were finally totaled up, they could check off twelve unsolved rapes and murders with certainty.

Virginia still lay awake, unable to sleep. During the year that had passed, she had endured even more of the unreliability of life, and her experiences and thoughts seemed to be planning her future on their own. In her subconscious, a new facade had formed to meet the evil world – a facade which would say “welcome” but which would be mortally dangerous to cross. The memory of Mr. Martino had faded into the past although he cropped up in her thoughts constantly. Virginia closed her eyes in order to find some kind of comfort in sleep, which refused to come. Finally it overcame her before a new day – a very important day.

x

At eight thirty in the morning, just a few hours after falling asleep running through her plans for the future, Virginia treated her family to an enormous breakfast, and then it was time for each of them to go to their day’s activities. Robert was still working as a carpenter for Grover Construction and Emmett went to school.

“Dad, it really is time for me to do something else besides stay at home cooking, cleaning and washing.”

“Oh really? And what did you have in mind? Little Sicily isn’t exactly the kind of place you’d chose to work in.”

Now she’s going to talk about her idea, Emmett thought, but said nothing.

“I’m not planning to work in Little Sicily, Dad.”

“You don’t have any education, my little girl. In order to get a good-paying job outside Little Sicily, you have to have an education. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to give you one. You are very beautiful, Virginia, and soon you’ll find a man you love and can have a family with. We’ll hope that he’s a little better off than we are.”

“So I’m supposed to find a man with a lot of money and then marry him and get pregnant. Those are your plans for your little Virginia?”

“My plans for my little Virginia are that she’ll live in a castle as far away from Little Sicily as possible, and that with her princely fiancé she’ll live happily ever after. I remember that we toasted to your one hundred years!”

Virginia understood that it was meaningless to discuss the issue any longer.

“You’re hopeless, Dad” was all she said.

And with those words of farewell ringing in his ears, Robert Crown went to work and Emmett to school, where the fall term waited for its pupils. Virginia went into the bedroom she shared with Emmett and stood in front of the big mirror that reached from the floor to just a little above her head.

The mirror was her best friend. Here she spent a good part of the day, either dressed, half-dressed or without a stitch on. Here she practiced, getting ready for her task. She was well aware of her beauty and that she became even lovelier each passing day. The turning point didn’t bother her at all – it was so far off in the future.

She caressed her body and let her hands linger on her full breasts, which she stroked particularly sensually, and tossed her head so her blond hair rained down over her shoulders. She had removed all her clothes and let one hand glide down over her stomach to the small triangle of soft, golden hair. She spread her legs a little and let her fingers play a bit on the skin of her inner thigh and then slip up towards the little triangle again, which was slightly open now. She was still a virgin, but in her dreams in front of the mirror, she made love again and again with her lover, whom she had already chosen. And she stroked herself to an orgasm. Sometimes she almost fell down when she reached her climax. Good God, she was so horny!

Virginia went out into the bathroom and washed herself carefully, and then she returned to the bedroom and put on a pair of clean cotton panties, a light blue summer skirt and a white blouse, with just enough buttons left undone. She didn’t bother to put on a bra, because she didn’t need one – her breasts were so firm and exquisite. And no war paint! Her coloring was so strong and beautiful that she didn’t even need lipstick. Damn you’re fine, Virginia! she said to the mirror. Then she went out into the hall, slipped her tiny feet into a pair of canvas shoes, and left for Colosimo’s Café.

Ten minutes later she was sitting in the trolley, wondering what on earth she was doing. If someone had asked her what her plans were, she would not have been able to answer. She knew of course what she wanted to achieve, but had no idea how the adventure would end. Everything was highly uncertain. How she went about putting her plans into action would have to be adapted to how things developed, she reasoned. Her asset was her beauty, and she had it in abundance. She knew she was incredibly beautiful – everywhere she went she was hit on or touched. She had almost had to pay with her life for her beauty. Now it was payback time – with interest.

There were two kinds of people – the rich ones with power, and the others who had neither money nor power. Virginia had no intention of ending her days in an unmarked grave, a wasted life with dreams that had failed to come to fruition. For some people, their main occupation was getting money. Others tried to get money to fulfill their wishes. Virginia had her own rooted wish, but in order to achieve it, both money and power were essential ingredients. It wouldn’t be the first time in the history that an attractive woman had taken advantage of lustful men. And since she was lustful herself, she understood their hunger.

Virginia was not in a rush, she had her whole life ahead of her – one hundred years! Even so, she had to watch the time so she wasn’t cheated by its ruthlessness. At some point, she had to get the ball rolling, and after listening to the conversation at her birthday party, her plans had taken on a more definite form. She decided that it was time to put them into action. From now on, she would make use of every second of her life. It was time to take the first step, and beauty was the asset she intended to use in order to reach the goal – a goal which was set high. Her weapon was called Desire – the weakness that all men harbored would be her strength! There was not one single man who didn’t react in a special way at the sight of her. No sooner had she gotten on the trolley, they stopped reading their newspapers and just stared, as if she was a vision. Heads were turned in her wake …

Virginia got off at South Wabash Avenue. She didn’t know exactly where Colosimo’s Cafe was, only that it was at 2126 South Wabash Avenue, at 22nd Street. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to find, now that she had come this far?

It turned out to be no problem, but it was only ten thirty and most things looked closed. Apparently it wasn’t called Colosimo’s Cafe any longer. Several signs said Colosimo’s Restaurant. On a couple of them, the letters had different colored bulbs that probably blinked at night to draw attention and welcome the guests. There were two gigantic doors that were closed up and a smaller door. Virginia went up to the small door and knocked. Nothing happened. Joseph had said that Johnny Torrio’s headquarters were at Colosimo’s Café, and she was here to introduce herself. She knocked again, harder, and pushed on the door handle. Everything seemed to be locked, but suddenly she heard steps coming from the other side of the door, and she assumed one of the poses that she had practiced in front of her mirror.

The door was opened by a young Italian-looking man who was intending to close the door as soon as he opened it. But after opening, his plans changed. He didn’t have a chance to take in all that beauty at once, but he gathered that she must be here for a special reason – and that was the case.

“Madam, you’re looking for Mr. Colosimo, right? He isn’t …”

“I’m looking for Mr. Torrio.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, would I?” Virginia lied, with a hint of arrogance.

Lying came to Virginia naturally – it was all part of the performance she had rehearsed in front of the mirror – intended to give her the advantage she needed to stick to her role and give her the upper hand in conversations. She wasn’t any good at leading a discussion yet, but she was good at delivering the right answers – or at least she thought so.

“One moment, Madam.”

The young Italian disappeared down a long corridor, and Virginia wondered why she wasn’t nervous. She felt she was up to the challenge she had set for herself, and closed the door, stepping down the corridor with quick, purposeful steps. She certainly hadn’t come here to stand outside the entrance and wait.

She entered a larger hall with several doors, all of which were closed. A second later, one of the doors opened, and she collided with the young Italian, who was on his way back to the entrance. He was startled, but he asked for her name.

“My name is Virginia.”

At the same time, Jonny Torrio made his entrance. Johnny Torrio was now at the age of 31 and had been around the block a time or two, and despite being a newly married man was taken aback with the vision that stood before him. There was a pause whilst he gathered his focus, but his curiosity and indeed his interest had been aroused. And this was precisely the effect Virginia had hoped for.

“I know you aren’t lost,” he said, “but I would be grateful for some kind of explanation for your visit. I suggest we go in here,” he continued, holding the door he had just come in from, and led Virginia into a room that seemed to be an office. “That’s all for now, Rocco,” he added, and the young Italian, who was Johnny’s cousin, disappeared through another door.

Johnny Torrio offered Virginia a seat and pointed to one of the giant armchairs in front of an equally gigantic desk, behind which he sat down in an even more massive armchair. Then he let his glance once again wander over his divinely beautiful visitor, who remained silent. Virginia had nothing to say – she was completely focused on answering. But the unusual questions that were about to come her way would throw her completely.

Nobody said anything for a long time – an eternity, it seemed. It was as if time stood still. But Virginia was good at this. She had learned that what wasn’t said couldn’t be used against you. In any case, she was now in the presence of the gangster king.

“You are a very beautiful young girl. I’m sure you’re aware of it, too. But you’re entirely too young to be here,” Torrio began.

“How old do you have to be to be here?” Virginia asked innocently, without thinking that it was a stupid question.

Johnny Torrio was a bit taken aback, but chose to ignore his visitor’s lack of understanding and continued:

“I want to know why you’re here. I don’t care about your name, because it could be made up. But I want to know why you’re here.”

“My name is Virginia, and that is my real name. Can’t we use first names with each other?”

Johnny Torrio began to be a little confused, which didn’t show on his face outside of a couple of wrinkles in his forehead, and his eyes fastened on the delightful, angelic face and the clear blue eyes.

“Sure, we can use first names,” he said calmly. “You can say Johnny and I’ll say Virginia. Why are you here, Virginia?”

“I want to work here.”

“You want to work here?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you think you could do here?”

“I thought I could let you decide that.”

Johnny Torrio realized that he was about to be saddled with a problem. Virginia was a purebred beauty. There was no feminine being he had yet met who could be compared with this young lady, no one that came anywhere close to radiating her kind of beauty. Of course she knew this herself, but what she apparently didn’t understand was what could happen to her in such a unique situation, especially at her tender age. Her beauty was the same as a death sentence if she played her cards into the hands of the wrong person. Johnny Torrio had decided that he would not be that person – at least for now. He must not fall prey to conflicting feelings! But why was she sitting here? Was this some new ploy from the police, intended to detect trafficking? That wasn’t probable, but he decided he would find out after this meeting. In any case, this was no idiot sitting on the other side of his desk.

“What is your last name?” he asked in a friendly manner.

“Crown. Virginia Crown.”

“And where do you live?”

“In Little Hell,” she answered right away. “I mean, Little Sicily,” she added, without showing any embarrassment.

Torrio’s face didn’t reveal his thoughts, but it was clear to him that he had a very special person in front of him, who despite her young age had the appearance of purposefulness and inner strength. Although the reason for her intrusion was becoming more and more difficult to understand as each minute passed.

“How old are you?” he asked, doing his best to hide his curiosity behind a feigned nonchalance.

“I turned seventeen yesterday.”

“We don’t have any work for you here, Virginia,” he said, but even so, he wished deep in his heart that things would go well for her in the future. However, he was under the impression that unless he helped her she would probably wind up in trouble – whoever she was.

She had come here on urgent business, he was sure of that. Otherwise she wouldn’t be sitting here, whether on her own initiative or for another reason. Somehow, she gave the impression of needing to be protected. Well, sooner or later she would be forced to reveal the reason for her sudden appearance.

“I’m sorry to have to disappoint you,” he added, and studied Virginia with the discreet eyes of a humble gangster in order to read her reaction to the negative decision.

It didn’t turn out the way he predicted. She got up from the armchair and walked around the desk, then she bent down, hugged him, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“I think you’re handsome, Johnny – that’s what I wanted to make sure of for myself,” she said and walked towards the door.

Johnny Torrio was speechless – what did she mean by this performance? For a few seconds he had had this wonderful little being around his neck, and now, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was on her way out of his life … after just one brief visit for some unknown reason? But saying goodbye to Virginia Crown wasn’t something Johnny Torrio was interested in. “I think you’re handsome, Johnny – that’s what I wanted to make sure of for myself.” Was that really all this little dream angel really wanted to know?

“Virginia!”

Virginia had already opened the door half way, but understood that she had been called back to take her place – for good.

Excerpt 4

Organized crime was a new phenomenon which most people didn’t take seriously since they didn’t know what it was about – but they were soon to learn. A kind of threatening shadow hung over the newborn century. People had a constant feeling of being pulled mercilessly towards something that for the time being remained unknown. And while waiting for the inevitable, a strange reality was given free rein into the future … Not even Al Capone himself ever had any insight about how he became the super gangster he was to become. All of a sudden the gangster empire appeared at the threshold – a gangster empire that the history of America had never before experienced …

Alphonse Capone had arrived! The greatest gangster of all time lay in his cradle – a plump, smiling baby with black curls, a cherub’s cheeks and small, half-closed, unstained hands. And here it all started …

At the age of fourteen Al Capone’s family moved from 69 Park Avenue to 21 Garfield Place in Park Slope, which was also in Brooklyn. If something far beyond the normal course of events is to take place, the setting must be established. And the new address was perfect when one thought about the final goal, which was set up by fate.

Just a stone’s throw from Capone’s new home on Garfield Place was a small, modest building, which was Johnny Torrio’s headquarters in New York. At this time, Al Capone was well acquainted with Johnny Torrio’s activities as well as with Johnny Torrio in person. When he was an eight-year-old boy, Capone had run errands for the Navy Street Boys, and as a good errand boy, he was quickly taken up into the James Street Gang, led by Jonny Torrio, who soon became Capone’s second father. A new father who commuted between his headquarters in New York and Chicago, and who represented a different kind of gangster, a sort of humble murderer.

Johnny Torrio had become something of a pioneer apostle, criminal to the bone, but with a special gift for discreet distribution of his criminality. He considered himself a serious businessman and prophet who eschewed nearly all worldly pleasures. Johnny Torrio neither smoked nor drank alcohol, and he never went to his bordellos any more than necessary.

Eventually, Johnny Torrio became an increasingly powerful man. At the same time, he recognized that Capone was a head above his contemporaries, and he gave Capone more and more assignments. Al Capone wasn’t only a fighter, with a temperament like a constantly erupting volcano; he also had a well-developed intellect and played a string in Torrio that had been waiting to be plucked, so “The Fox” decided to take the opportunity of cultivating his contact with the talented, ambitious young man with the special qualities.

If Johnny Torrio was the comet in the sky, Al Capone was the tail of the comet. And while Capone followed Torrio’s path towards the stars, he shaped his own personality. After acquiring the necessary skills with the street gangs called the “South Brooklyn Rippers” and the “Forty Thieves Juniors,” Capone ended up in the notorious “Five Points Gang,” which consisted of immigrants from the Sicilian mafia and was lead ruthlessly by Frankie Yale, who had grown into his mafia suit. However, in contrast to Johnny Torrio, he built up his growing empire with the keystones fear and cruelty and played them out in unbridled physical violence. Frankie Yale couldn’t even spell the words “gentleman”, “humility” or “honor.” He was the street gangster personified while Capone’s mentor, Johnny Torrio, displayed other qualities. Their goal, of course, was the same.

Meanwhile, Johnny Torrio’s next plans were to move his business to Chicago permanently, and so Capone had to bide his time in New York without his mentor. But not for long ...

x

In Johnny Torrio’s place, Al Capone accepted Frankie Yale’s rough-hewn work methods and played his cards well. After just a brief period of time, he was the most feared “torpedo” in the Five Points Gang, and Frankie Yale rewarded him with a job as bartender and bouncer at the dance bar Harvard Inn on Coney Island – the base of Yale’s operations. And it was here at Harvard Inn that Al Capone at the tender age of eighteen would get his nickname, “Scarface,” carved into his mug. The etcher, whose name was Frank Gallucio, slit Capone’s left cheek in three places with a stiletto after Capone had bent over his sister Lena and said she had a nice ass. “And I mean that as a compliment,” he had added.

After the knife fight, where only one of the fighters had the implement, Frankie Yale forced the “well-meaning” Capone to apologize. At the same time, Frank Gallucio admitted that his pride had forced him to come to his sister’s defense, and that his knife had been the only thing between him and death. If it hadn’t been for the switchblade, Al would have dispatched him with his bare hands. Al Capone hated his nickname “Scarface”, which he was prepared to kill for and did so as well.

Excerpt 5

A few hours later, Johnny Torrio hugged his little angel welcome. After he locked the door to the office, which he had started to do every time after his uncle’s awkward visit, he once again turned to his breathtaking visitor, whom he had planned to spoil in an extraordinary manner.

“I’ve ordered something a little special today,” he began, after Virginia had settled herself in her gigantic armchair. “Normally I don’t drink alcohol, but I thought we could try a bottle of French champagne that I received as a gift.”

“But what if I get drunk?” said Virginia.

“Of course, we won’t drink the whole bottle, but we shouldn’t get too tipsy from just a couple of glasses. It’s better to party a little today instead of on Sunday, when your brother is coming. Then we have to have clear heads.”

“Have you already made your plans for Emmett? For how you can use him, I mean? Dad says that he’s a talented carpenter. And you’ve known for a long time that he really can fight.”

“I’ll see what we can find. Of course it depends a bit on what your father says. Obviously we have to talk to him too. But now let’s revel, Virginia! I’ve set up everything on the coffee table, just as usual.”

“It’s going to be delicious. But let’s toast first. I’ve never had champagne before.”

“You shouldn’t drink alcohol on an empty stomach, but you’ve had breakfast, right?”

“Oh, yes.”

The champagne bottle was already open and Torrio poured the bubbling drink carefully into two tall glasses.

“What a party!”

“Cheers, Virginia!”

“Cheers, Johnny!”

Virginia drank half her glass right away, and she felt how the bubbles rushed to her head. All of a sudden, she saw a new life revealed to her, a life she would be happy to get used to.

“So apparently it tasted good.”

“It was delicious. You are so kind to me, Johnny. Everything feels so secure with you.”

“And what if I’m not so secure, after all? If this security is just a façade?”

Johnny Torrio set down his champagne glass and Virginia set hers right next to it.

“Sometimes you’re so trusting, Virginia. How can you be sure that I won’t use your wonderful body for my own pleasure someday?”

“Of course I can’t be sure. I can only hope for the best.”

Virginia tossed her head so that her hair rippled. Then she laughed and smiled. She knew that she could melt Johnny with her bubbling, contagious laugh, especially when she formed her mouth into a special smile right afterwards. It was a kind of power that she enjoyed, and she used it from time to time.

“You’re counting on my protecting you from everyone else. But how can I protect you from myself?”

“So you really want to fuck me, Johnny?”

“Yes, I do, though I’d feel terrible afterwards. I’ve always been faithful to my wife. But I have a hard time imagining anything I’d rather do than that. And that’s true for every single guy who lays eyes on you.”

“Do you want me to take off some of my clothes? I’m horny too.”

There was a brief pause. Johnny Torrio couldn’t believe his ears for a moment.

“You’re a virgin, Virginia. I’m not the man to change that,” he said, without believing it himself.

“I’ll let you touch my breasts if you want. You can kiss them.”

Virginia undid the few buttons of her white blouse that were still fastened and let it fall to the floor.

“Do you think they’re beautiful?”

Johnny no longer knew how to act. He wasn’t much taller than Virginia, and she took his head between her small hands and kissed his lips, which she carefully opened with her tongue. Then she gradually moved one of her hands down towards his groin and began to slowly undo the buttons of his fly. She felt him growing inside his pants and pulled out his member, which was hard, and held it, pulling on it lovingly. She saw how it grew even bigger and she became even hornier.

“I want you to take my virginity, Johnny.”

“Now I can’t resist you any longer, Virginia. My God, forgive me!”

Johnny’s hands caressed her lovely breasts, which were even more perfect than what her half-buttoned blouse had allowed him to guess, and kissed them passionately. Meanwhile one of his hands slid up her naked thigh and then found its way up under her wide skirt. Virginia wasn’t wearing any panties! She had left them at home … Johnny grew wild with desire.

“Come, my darling. You can cum inside me. I’m going to have my period soon, so it’s safe. Come, my love!”

Johnny carried her over to the couch and began to kiss her from top to toe until his tongue found her little triangle, which had become entirely wet. His tongue licked her tenderly, then harder and with intensity, and he felt that she was about to have an orgasm.

“I have to have you inside me now, Johnny, before it’s too late!” she panted.

And that’s when he first penetrated her and filled her with everything he had. My dear God, he had never experienced anything so wonderful…

“That wasn’t your first time,” Johnny said after they had caught their breath, still intertwined.

“Of course it was, my darling.”

“How can that have been your first time?”

“I know what you mean. But I masturbate every day as soon as Dad and Emmett leave for work. And when I do, I fantasize about you and me, about what I think you want me to do, and what you do to me. There’s nobody else I think about but you, Johnny. And this time we made love for real, and it didn’t hurt at all even though it was my first time. It was just beautiful and felt so good. I love you Johnny – I’m so in love!”

“I love you too, Virginia. My darling little child of nature!”

The desire of the flesh had killed common sense. Johnny Torrio couldn’t say that he didn’t care, because he did. But just now he didn’t want to think about how she might be more actress than child of nature. His heart gave him no choice.

Excerpt 6

The day before New Year’s Eve 1918, Al Capone broke the rules of Italian community and married an Irishwoman, Mae Josephine Coughlin. She was a warm-hearted, enchanting beauty he had been seeing the past year, and just before the wedding she bore him a son, Albert Francis Capone, who was nicknamed “Sonny”. Capone was still working as a bartender and bouncer at Frankie Yale’s Harvard Inn, but things started to get hot for him and his job at Harvard Inn was too exposed a position. By now he had advanced to double murderer, and even if he was his own best bodyguard, Capone was ripe for bigger tasks. While awaiting his promotion, he moved with his wife to Amityville on Long Island.

In this phase – at precisely this point in time – the mechanism for the horrible continuation was set in motion, a chain of events that began as an innocent double-dealing for no real reason. Al Capone was a well-behaved boy at heart, who respected and cared for his father and mother in an honorable way. What eventually caused the transformation from a normal kid into the super gangster “Big Al” may never be known, but it is clear that Frankie Yale played the main role as catalyst. And the fox, Johnny Torrio, who could appreciate the man behind the talent, was cunningly pulling the strings behind the curtain.

Any way you look at it, it became more and more difficult for “Scarface Al” to stay in New York. He had become a desirable bull’s eye, and because of his talent for killing, he was involved in a trial for murder. So at this point, Frankie Yale had no choice but to contact Johnny Torrio and ask him to arrange Al Capone’s temporary transfer to Chicago while waiting for things to calm down a bit.

It had the opposite effect.

Excerpt 7

May 8, 1924.
Hymie Jacobs’ saloon was a noticeably long bar. Farthest in were a few wooden tables in case someone wanted to eat, and in one corner an electric fan was humming, trying to create something like a draft. To the right after entering the place, a narrow stairway led to the second floor, a few rooms with spartan furnishings and a shower. Hymie Jacobs’ saloon was a cheap place.

“Hey handsome, my name is Blondie!”

Al Capone was greeted by a well-endowed blonde who looked like a wandering stack of hay. Her blond hair stood out at all angles, and she did everything she could to accentuate her advantages. Blondie’s buttocks begged to be squeezed and her breasts to be fondled.

“If you go ahead of me up the stairs, Blondie, I’ll be there in ten minutes,” said Capone. “Make things a little cosy.”

Capone peeled off a twenty-dollar bill from a roll of twenties and the note disappeared quickly into the haystack.

“See you in ten minutes, good-looking!”

Blondie blew him a sensual kiss, turned and set her buttocks wiggling…

Capone smiled contentedly and sat at the bar. He ordered a glass of red wine, and by means of a discreet nod from the bartender, he learned that the person sitting alone on a stool at the end of the bar, sipping a whiskey, was Joe Howard. Capone took the glass of red wine with him and went over to the man. He pushed his white summer hat back on his head and allowed his friendly face to show underneath the brim.

“My name is Al Capone.”

“I know who you are.”

“That’s good then. It will make everything easier, Joe. You want to borrow some money, I heard.”

“Apparently your Jewish friend likes to talk too much,” said Joe Howard.

“You threatened my Jewish friend, Joe.”

“And now you’re standing here threatening me, you fucking spaghetti eater …!”

These were Joe’s last words on this earth. Al Capone’s face froze and all the friendliness left it. Long before his arrival at Hymie Jacobs’ saloon, Capone had determined Joe Howard’s fate. The revolver was already in his hand, and he aimed four shots straight into the surprised man’s face and two shots into his right shoulder. This man had insulted and threatened his friend, Jack Guzik.

At the same time as the shots rang out, four of the bar guests got up to leave the place as quickly as possible. At times like this, people first attended to their own needs. Only two people were sitting in the the small dining room, and they studied the scene with equal fear, but understood that it was probably best to stay put and not move too obviously. All of them were in different stages of shock. Al Capone beat them all. This was daily fare for Capone.

“Sit down! Don’t let me disturb you,” he said in a soft, charming tone. “Sit down!” he commanded again in a harder voice, and waved his 38 threateningly, for a couple of bar guests still seemed to be planning an escape. “Sit down!” he repeated a third time, now returning to his friendly tone of voice. “I’m buying the next round!” he added magnanimously. At the same moment, Frank Nitti and Frank Rio stepped inside the door with their guns drawn; Capone just as quickly made a sign for them to put their pistols away. Then he turned to the bartender and gave him the rest of the roll of twenties, intended for the cleaning staff and the guests’ bar tabs. After this he made his exit, followed by his two bodyguards.

What Capone did in situations like these never tortured his conscience. Johnny Torrio’s humble policy fell even further into obscurity.