Outside Cook County Jail in Chicago, five luxury cars were parked across the street. In one of them, Dix sat leisurely inside, smoking a cigarette and waiting for the prison gates to open.
Today was a rather special day for him.
For two reasons. One: today was the day his good friend, Goss Minnis, was getting out of prison.
Goss Minnis was once a member of Dix' small crew, and one of the main participants in the jewelry heist.
After that case, with arrangements from Josh and coordination by Sheriff Dietrich, Goss Minnis voluntarily took full responsibility for the fatal beating of Tony Wendis. As a result, unlike Dix and Lyndon Schneider who were exonerated or released on bail, he was sentenced to five years for manslaughter.
But Dix had never forgotten this good brother of his.
With the power of money, various sentence reductions and parole were arranged, and after only half a year, Goss was now free to leave prison.
As the metal gates of the prison creaked open, a slightly hunched figure walked out under the escort of prison guards.
Don't misunderstand—the hunch wasn't from any mistreatment in prison. Goss had always had a bit of a stoop.
In fact, over the past six months, he lived in a private cell, had special meals, didn't have to work like other inmates, and Dix even occasionally sent in a few girls for him. His days were anything but harsh.
This is the land of capitalism—if you have money and connections, even prison life can be quite luxurious.
Only those with neither wealth nor power suffer through hard labor and rough treatment.
When Dix saw Goss, he immediately stubbed out his cigarette and got out of the car to greet him.
On the other side, Goss beamed with joy when he saw the imposing Dix—no jealousy in sight.
This wasn't his first time in prison, so he knew clearly that without Dix, he could never have lived so comfortably in there, let alone gotten out this early.
And now, to be welcomed in such a grand way by Dix upon release, he felt that taking the fall had been well worth it.
"Hahaha, welcome back, man!" Dix gave Goss a big bear hug.
But with his slight hunch and height of less than 1.7 meters, Goss looked rather comical next to the nearly two-meter-tall Dix.
"What's with all the spectacle? Must've cost a fortune, huh? People might think some mob boss just got out." Goss joked. After six months inside, he only knew that Dix had started working for a rich boss—nothing more—so he assumed all this was just an extravagant welcome.
"Hahaha, who else would the big boss be? It's me, of course! Come on, let me introduce myself—boss of the Irish Blackwater Gang, Dix Handley!" Dix thumped his chest proudly as he spoke.
"Dude, have you been drinking?" Goss was stunned for a second, thinking Dix must be drunk and rambling, so he leaned in to sniff—but there was no smell of alcohol.
"Get outta here! I'm serious. Enough talking—today's your big day. I'm gonna show you the real deal." Seeing the disbelief on Goss' face, Dix rolled his eyes, threw an arm around his shoulder, and dragged him into the car.
But as soon as he got in, Goss sensed something was off.
Unlike the other four vehicles—high-end but relatively affordable Ford V8s—Dix' car was a Cadillac Fleetwood Series 75 luxury limousine.
Back in the day, even President Roosevelt, a certain leader across the ocean, and many heads of state had cars like this.
Naturally, this luxury ride was also favored by business elites, politicians, and mob bosses alike in the U.S.
In The Godfather movie, the Don's ride was a car just like this.
The vehicle was over five meters long, offering an incredibly spacious interior.
But that wasn't what caught Goss' attention. What did was the additional small seat by the rear right door, and an object on the floor in front of the back seat covered by a tarpaulin.
"Dix, what the hell are you up to?" Goss swallowed nervously. Even with the tarp, the shape underneath clearly suggested it was some kind of deadly weapon.
"Heh. Like I said—I'm taking you to see the real world." A sinister grin spread across Dix' face.
At his command, the convoy began to move.
Goss sat obediently in his seat, staring at the deadly weapon under the tarp, not daring to make a move.
By now, he realized that in just six short months, his old buddy wasn't the petty thug robbing people on the streets anymore—he'd become a true underworld boss.
The convoy drove for an unknown amount of time before finally stopping in a small alley.
When the window rolled down, a lackey who had been waiting rushed over.
"What's the situation?" Dix asked him.
"They went in fifteen minutes ago," the lackey replied.
Dix checked his watch and said, "Keep a close eye."
The lackey nodded and ran out of the alley.
Dix leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes to rest.
Goss, watching this former companion of his, didn't dare ask or say anything.
But he already had a pretty good guess as to what Dix was planning.
Unlike Dix, who had come to Chicago halfway through life, Goss had grown up here and knew the area well.
This place was part of the territory of one of Chicago's biggest gangs—the Jewish Mob.
About half an hour later, the same lackey came running back in a rush.
"Boss, they're coming out now!" he shouted, panting.
"Move out! Now!" Dix opened his eyes and shouted toward the front and rear.
The convoy roared to life and drove out of the alley, stopping two blocks away.
Across the street stood a luxury hotel and a group of sharply dressed men was walking out of the hotel.
They were leaders of the Jewish Mob, here for a meeting.
As seasoned gangsters used to living on the edge, they instantly sensed something was wrong when they saw the convoy stop across the street. Instinctively, they reached for their guns and began to retreat but it was already too late.
Windows of the four surrounding cars rolled down, and several Thompson guns appeared, spitting fire.
In the Cadillac, a panicked Goss, prompted by Dix, opened the door.
At the same time, Dix sat on the small seat by the door, pulled off the tarp, and revealed the hidden weapon beneath: a Colt M1895 light machine gun!
The next second, the roar of the machine gun echoed through the streets. Goss instinctively covered his ears as spent shell casings rained down, some landing on him and burning through his clothes, making him flinch from the heat.