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"Sir, were you looking for me?" In the luxurious private room of the brothel, Joe, with a bruised and swollen face, cautiously looked at Tony Wendis, who was sitting with two beautiful women in his arms, and asked.
Indeed, the one who had been beaten up in the alley earlier was none other than Joe Barbaro—the same guy who had previously stolen Josh's car.
By now, it had been two days since the deadline given by Mafia boss Scarpa had passed.
These past two days, Joe hadn't been idle.
He had been planning a bank robbery because that was the fastest way he could think of to get the money but banks aren't that easy to rob.
It hadn't been long since the Great Depression ended.
The Chicago police, having gone through the chaos of that period, were extremely well prepared in terms of firepower.
While they might not use submachine guns or automatic weapons, shotguns and rifles were standard issue in nearly every police car—you'd know this if you've seen Public Enemies with John Dillinger. Without four or five people, enough firepower, and a getaway vehicle, trying to rob a bank was practically suicide.
And not just the police—most bank security guards were also armed with shotguns.
What did Joe have? Besides an M1911, he had nothing.
Sure, he could steal a car—he used to do that often to make some spare change—so he was pretty skilled at it.
But weapons and manpower? That was a problem. Good weapons had to be bought with real cash, and trustworthy people were hard to come by.
None of this could be prepared in a short time—it would take serious planning.
There were people who'd just heat up, grab a gun, and rush into a bank with no prep but 99% of them ended up dead on the street.
Joe's goal was to get the money—not to die, so he couldn't act that quickly.
Today, he had originally come to the West Side to find an old friend, hoping to rope him in.
But as soon as he brought it up, the guy flatly refused. He had just gotten in with the Irish Mob and found a decent source of income—nothing huge, but stable and low-risk.
Given the situation, he wasn't about to throw all that away to rob a bank with Joe.
He even unceremoniously kicked Joe out.
Back in the day, they'd only hung out on the street during rough times—no deep bond there, so he wasn't going to cut Joe any slack.
Joe was dejected after being turned down. Wandering aimlessly, he drifted over to the brothel.
In a moment of impulsiveness, he decided to splurge, despite not having a dime in his pocket.
He had been here a few times when he actually had money, so the doorman and girls inside didn't suspect that he was planning to skip out on the bill.
He even almost got away with it—claiming he was going to the bathroom after the deed was done.
But the moment he stepped out the door, he was cornered by some of Scarpa's men…Scarpa had kept people tailing him to make sure he didn't run.
The tail had seen Joe enter the brothel and assumed he had gotten money from his friend and was out blowing it instead of paying his debt. So they called a few others to block him.
They hadn't expected Joe to actually be trying to dine and dash.
That put them in a bad spot—they didn't get the money and nearly caused trouble with the Irish Mob who ran the place.
Fortunately, the brothel's enforcer, Brian, didn't want a conflict with the Italians. Once he found out the Italians were only trying to pressure Joe for payment and Joe was already planning a bank robbery, he agreed to let Joe go—on the condition he repay triple today's expenses once he got the money.
Otherwise, by Brian's usual methods, he wouldn't have let Joe leave without at least three broken legs.
As for if Joe failed in his robbery attempt…that didn't need explaining.
He'd either die at the hands of the cops or bank security—or be killed by the Italians.
The Irish didn't need to do a thing.
Still, even though Joe avoided a beating from the Irish, the Italians needed to let off steam so Joe was dragged into the alley and given a solid thrashing.
Which was when Tony Wendis happened to show up and see it all.
Then, still totally confused, Joe was brought by a staff member into the presence of this big shot… While Tony Wendis was "just" a tennis player, being married to a high-society heiress like Margot gave him real status in the eyes of regular gangsters—especially someone like Joe, a street thug.
"Ladies, why don't you step outside for a bit? I've got some business to discuss with this gentleman." After giving Joe a once-over, Tony Wendis waved at the two beauties beside him.
The two women immediately got the hint, rubbed flirtatiously against Tony, then obediently left the room.
"Sit down. Want a drink?" Tony gestured for Joe to sit.
"Whiskey's fine." Joe glanced at the whiskey in front of Tony, licked his lips, and said. After that beating, he badly needed a drink to dull the pain.
Tony nodded, picked up the bottle, and poured Joe a glass.
"I heard you owe quite a bit of money?" Tony asked after Joe took a sip.
"Yes, sir," Joe answered cautiously after putting down the glass.
"How much?"
"Four thousand dollars." Joe answered directly. It wasn't some big secret.
"Four thousand...Heh. Want to make money? A lot of money?" Tony smiled.
"Sir, I don't quite understand what you mean…" Joe blinked, unsure of Tony's angle—but one thing was for sure: there's no such thing as a free lunch.
"Just answer me. Do you want to make that money or not?" Tony said.
"But sir, I at least need to know what you want me to do!" Joe couldn't help but ask.
"Joe Barbaro, I know your situation. I know if you don't pay back that money within a week, the Mafia won't let you off. I even know you're planning a bank robbery," Tony said. "You're desperate."
"…Then sir, you should also know that sometimes kidnapping pays even better than robbing banks!" Joe, clearly annoyed by Tony's condescending tone, threatened back.
"Oh? Is that so? I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Aside from my wife, I have no family. And to be honest, my relationship with my wife is pretty awful. So even if you kidnapped me, no one would pay up. Also, I have a good relationship with Brian. Even if you got money out of me, how likely do you think it is you'd live to spend it?" Tony replied, unfazed.
"…Fair enough. Then sir, what exactly do you want me to do? And this 'big' money you're talking about—how big are we talking?" Joe asked, sounding a little deflated.
"Ten thousand dollars." Seeing the moment was right, Tony enunciated clearly.
"How much?" Joe immediately looked up, shocked.
"Ten thousand," Tony repeated.
"I'm in!" Joe made his decision on the spot.
Ten thousand dollars was no small sum.
At this time, even professional Mafia hitmen usually charged between two to four thousand per job.
He still didn't know exactly what Tony wanted, but Joe figured—how bad could it be? Surely not worse than murder, right?