#and that fact remains true even in a universe where he’s a scary mobster | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

padfootastic · 2 years ago

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so, for s&h sarurday, we’ve got outsider pov of mob boss sirius and a bunch of scary looking mafia underlings showing up to a school play with inconspicuous weapons to see kiddie harry dressed as a tree. confusion & ‘oh my god the boss has a what?’ ensues. slightly crack-y.

Clark Forrest hadn’t planned on going into this line of work, not when he’d graduated with an honours degree in Business Administration. But the economy was…not doing great, bills had to be paid, and he knew someone who knew someone who had very enthusiastically hooked him up with this job so here he was.

Applying his hard earned education to being the accountant for a mob boss.

If only his poor mum, may the Lord bless her soul, could see him now. She’d faint right back into her grave.

To his boss—Mr. Black’s—credit, he wasn’t that kind of mafia, the one with the indiscriminate killing and plucking toenails off and kidnapping children. Clark was sure there was some kind of…illicit activity going on - he wouldn’t be a mob boss if there wasn’t, would he? - but he hadn’t seen anything of the sort as of now, so he could happily go on believing nothing was amiss.

Well, unless you counted the occasional blood on the rug.

That - was clearly one of the more, uh, colourful activities Mr. Black engaged in. He tried not to think hard about it. It could always be red wine?

Was it really a surprise then, that Clark thought it would be something similar, when almost the entire, er, gang was called in for an important meeting?

“Alright, this one’s important so listen up,” Mr. Black ordered.

Now, here’s the thing. For those who hadn’t seen the man, it would’ve been very hard to picture the kind of—aura he had. Outwardly, he was attractive, almost unnaturally so, with high cheekbones, a sculpted nose, grey eyes that were known to inject terror into the hearts of the toughest of men. His hair was cropped close to his head, and he had jewellery pierced through his entire right ear. Tattoos ran down the length of his arms, creeping up the hem of his shirt to skirt around his jaw, peeks of ink around the ankle when he walked.

He looked dangerous, yes. No one would dispute that.

But he didn’t—feel dangerous. Not at first.

Because Sirius Black had an accent as posh as the Queen, with a pleasant smile adorning his face, like he’d just gotten back from a walk. Clark had been under the mistaken impression that the man wasn’t fit to hold the position he did - maybe he’d just gotten it through inheritance? a placeholder, perhaps? - because someone who drank their tea with more milk than tea in it, who sniffed delicately into handkerchiefs and said ‘excuse me’ when he burped—that didn’t seem like a mob moss, never mind that Clark’s only experience with the underworld had been in the form of smuggled DVDs and pirated clips.

It wasn’t until he’d seen what happened when someone defaulted on a payment that he realised exactly how deadly the man was. The screams from behind closed doors still rang in his ears sometimes. The unbothered expression of neutrality on Mr. Black’s face as he exited the room even more haunting.

Coming back to the situation at hand, though, Clark’s back had automatically straightened at Mr. Black’s tone. His brows were furrowed in a deep frown, lips pressed into a line, and he was looking at all the assembled members intently.

“Tomorrow, 9am sharp, not a minute before and not one after—You’ll be outside Collingswood Primary. I want all of you dressed casual. Jeans, jumpers, t shirts, you get it. If I see a single obvious sign that you’re packing, I’ll have you strung upside down from the London Bridge quicker than you can turn the safety off, get it?”

It took a second for Clark to realise he was actually expecting a verbal answer and he hastily added his agreement to the chorus of ‘yes, sir’ and ‘affirmative’ ringing around the room. Mr. Black stared at them for a few seconds longer—seconds that felt like they were stretched into hours. Clark could feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck, not even daring to blink as Mr. Black’s gaze skimmed over the room, only stopping on his for a millisecond. Finally, he nodded and gestured to his right.

“Lupin will give you the address and be your point man for the event tomorrow. We’re going to be undercover in public, which means subtlety and respectability. I expect everyone to show it.” With one final nod, he swept out of the room without a glance backward.

It was like a collective breath was released in that moment because Clark could feel his chest deflating, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to understand what just happened.

Did the big boss just tell them to go incognito at a…primary school? One where actual, real kids went to study? Clark was confused because—he could’ve sworn they didn’t do that. Mr. Black hadn’t said it out loud but Clark had always gotten the impression that children were off limits. But that was clearly not the case here.

Maybe he needed to rethink his earlier ‘no kidnapping children’ conviction, and also his employment while he was at it.

Speaking of which, why was he there anyway? He was an accountant, had never been ‘out in the field’ so to speak a day in his life. He couldn’t even identify the parts of a gun if his life depended on it, for Christ’s sake.

Really, the only thing they all had in common was that they looked like they could blend into a crowd—as opposed to Mr. Black and a couple others who looked like they’d stepped off a biker gang catalogue at any given moment—which is, perhaps, why they’d been selected. All the better for going incognito.

“Alright lads, you heard the boss,” Lupin said, before rattling off the address for somewhere in Chelsea. Jesus. “Be there at 9 on the dot, you hear me? That’s when entry starts and it’s first-come-first-serve. Obviously, we want the best seats available. No excuses for being late because if you are, then that’s shop cleanup duty for a week. Alone.”

“But that’s a three man job, at least,” one of the others cried and the almost-sadistic smirk that flitted on the man’s face reminded Clark why, despite his mild mannered looks, he was one of Mr. Black’s main enforcers.

“Guess you won’t be late then, huh?” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Clark hastily swallowed all the questions he had at that.

The next morning, the sun was shining bright, the sky was blue without a single cloud and Clark was standing in front of Collingswood Primary—a large, sprawling brick structure with faculty members dotted around the grounds—at eight fifty seven, feeling exceptionally awkward in his polo shirt and khaki trousers.

He tugged at the collar as he surveyed the place. It was a posh neighbourhood, no disputing that. He couldn’t remember ever stepping foot in the area before today and it almost felt like even the air here was too expensive for him to breathe. It was making him even more nervous, then, to imagine what they could possibly be here for. Clark had spotted almost every single person from yesterday’s meeting scattered around the place.

McKinnon was leaning against a tree, phone in hand, and he was slightly envious at how comfortable she looked, while he was sweating in his loafers. Lupin, Meadowes and Longbottom were gathered around the far end of the lane, coffee cups in hand and periodically glancing around. Pettigrew was stuffing a bagel in his mouth, hunched over like he didn’t realise everyone could see him. Clark’s lip curled instinctively at the sight.

Another look around and he realised the man himself, Mr. Black, wasn’t here. Did that mean they had to do…whatever it was…on their own? He wasn’t prepared for this. He was just an accountant who’d taken a wrong turn in life and ended up in this position, both employment-wise and existentially, no matter how cushy the pay was or how many free coffees he got from the communal Keurig.

It was as he was spiralling in the thoughts of what could have been (what if he’d gone into trade school like his da wanted? what if he hadn’t failed third semester corporate finance and had gone into a different kind of cutthroat sector? what if he hadn’t thought a call centre was beneath him? what if—) that he heard a voice call out.

“Mr. Black! Welcome, welcome.”

His head snapped up just in time to look at the tall frame of Sirius Black standing beside a lady who was almost half his height—literally, the top of her blonde bun barely reached his chest—at the front gate. Mr. Black was dressed…differently. His usual leather-jacket-distressed-skinny-jeans look was switched out for a very respectable button down shirt and trouser, still skinny fit of course, and he looked—normal? Not like he was the head of the most terrifying organisation this side of the Thames, not even with the tattoos that were visible all the way from where Clark was standing. He could see him taking the old lady’s hand in a handshake.

“Headmistress Martin, you look lovely as always. I trust you’ve been well?”

Inexplicably, the lady (which—headmistress??), who must be as old as Clark’s grandmum, blushed. “I appreciate that, Mr. Black. You know, I’m glad to catch you here today, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.”

“As if there’s any way I can miss…” their voices trailed away as they made their way inside and Clark cursed the missed opportunity. He still didn’t know what was happening, and at this rate, his head was hurting because the most recent interaction was telling him there was something else at play here. It didn’t quite seem like they were here to kidnap kids for ransom or blackmail now.

Just as he’d shifted his worldview for the third time in so long, Lupin walked over the entrance and made a signal for the others to follow. Clark, being the closest, ended up directly behind him, which gave him the chance to…subtly listen—not eavesdrop, not his fault people talked too loud these days—to the man’s conversation with the teacher at the gate.

“Six for Harry Potter,” he said, handing over…tickets?

“I just saw Mr. Black go in too,” the teacher replied after writing it down in her clipboard. “Quite a popular kid, that one, isn’t he?”

“We’d like to think so.” Lupin smiled and walked in, seemingly familiar with the building and leading them like a line of ducklings to a door marked ‘Auditorium’. At this point, Clark was—yet again—calibrating his entire worldview. They were here for a��show? A kid’s show, at that? Were they going to drag a kid straight off the stage? Or, was he wrong, and were they here for a parent?

That would actually make more sense. Maybe they had a…client or someone who was hiding, but even cowards could be good parents, right?

He kept telling himself that as they took their seats somewhere down the middle, all in one row. He ended up squished in between Lupin and Longbottom, which was great, really. He could get all the inside gossip without any of the work.

“So when’s the kid coming up?” Longbottom asked, looking around curiously. “And where’s the boss sitting, anyway?”

“Sirius would be somewhere in the front row there. See.” Lupin pointed a finger towards the center of the auditorium, where a fancier set of couches were laid out. Mr. Black was sitting on one of them like he owned the whole place, with the Headmistress and some other distinguished looking officials in conversation beside him. “The lucky bastard, gets the good stuff while we’re stuck on these bloody chairs.”

Sometimes, Clark forgets that these two men went way back—no one else could dream of referring to the boss man like that.

“As for Harry, there’s some sort of a—choir, I believe? Then the play. Shouldnt take too long, it is primary school, at the end of the day.”

“Speaking of primary schools, do you know why we needed to bring our…pieces to one?” Longbottom questioned. Clark barely swallowed down the squeak that followed that line of query. He’d almost forgotten they were…packing. “Does Black think we’ll get attacked out here or something?”

“You know he doesn’t,” Lupin rolled his eyes. “But he’s not taking any chances when it’s coming to Harry. If you think you’re armed, you should’ve seen the assortment he strapped to himself today. If I didn’t know him, I would’ve had him chucked straight into a facility, I’m telling ya.”

“Mate, I know him and still feel the urge sometimes.” Both of them snort in unison at that and Clark is just sitting there, slightly terrified and mostly confused, at the turn of the conversation.

As the—program commenced, Clark keeps a tight grip on the handles of his seat, watching each child and member of the audience carefully. He doesn’t knew what he’d be asked to recount later, and he has no wish to make things harder for himself by losing himself in the spiral of wondering what the fuck was going on. His time at this particular…organisation had taught him two things, if nothing else: head down and no questions. It was how he’d skirted past everyone’s radar so far and he wanted to keep it that way.

The choir came up on stage and performed an—interesting variation on pop songs he’d heard on the radio. Lupin and Longbottom clapped politely when it ended and Clark joined in until the host on stage announced ‘Annual Play! Our little actors have put their heart and soul into this, so please, show them all the love you can’ which led to another round of applause, slightly more raucous this time. He could see Mr. Black was one of the more enthusiastic ones in the audience. Huh. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile so big before.

Just as he’s focused on now unnaturally white the man’s teeth were, Lupin leant forward to face their entire row.

“The boss’ kid is coming up now and he expects maximum participation from all of you.”

“The boss’ what?” Clark’s glad that McKinnon chose to voice what they were all thinking because he didn’t think he was brave enough for it, no matter how much he wanted to know.

“His kid, Harry. Keep up, Marlene,” Lupin sighed, like they were being the ones being unreasonable here and not the fact that an entirely new facet about their…organisation’s head had been revealed to them.

“Since when did Black have a child, what the fuck.”

“That’s not important, what is is the fact that Harry’s about to be on stage right now and if you get caught talking during his part, you bet your arse he’s gonna have you cleaning blood off the rug for the whole month.” With that, he turned back to facing the stage, considered the matter closed—no thought given to the others who were stuck in varying stages of disbelief and shock.

“How, er, how exactly are we supposed to know which one the kid is—and does he have a name?” Pettigrew asked, craning his neck around everyone between him—in the last seat—and Lupin.

“It’s Harry, didn’t you hear, Pettigrew?” McKinnon snarked.

“He’s just coming up, wait…” Lupin mumbled, looking intently at the stage where a bunch of kids dressed in colourful fairy tale costumes had arranged themselves. “There! That one.” He pointed towards the back corner of the stage where a small cluster of children were gathered. Clark squinted, trying to identify what was going on. Surely, Lupin didn’t mean—

“The tree?” Meadowes said, incredulously “That’s what we’re all here to see, a kid dressed as a common garden tree?”

Somehow, he didn’t think he could be more shocked and yet, when Lupin nodded, completely seriously, Clark was. His eyes zeroed in on the tree in question—not a hard task considering there was only one—and could just about make out a bunch of hair escaping the band sitting on his head. There was a pair of spectacles sitting on his nose, a bit too large in Clark’s opinion, and his face was pulled up in a wide smile. He was looking straight at the front row and even sitting as far back as he was, Clark could see the joy radiating off him. Cute kid, really, but did nothing to make sense of the befuddlement he was feeling.

Clark turned to his side, saw the varying expressions of confusion and shock lining everyone else’s face, and felt immediately gratified. At least he wasn’t alone.

He went through the rest of the performance barely registering what was happening, like moving through a fog, clapping when Lupin and Longbottom did—which was apparently whenever the tree, sorry, Harry so much as moved—and sneaking glances at Mr. Black all the other times.

It was astounding—the man was leaning forward, elbows planted on knees, an expression of complete rapture on his face like he didn’t want to be anywhere else except here, watching a kid dance around in a plastic shrubbery costume. He clapped frequently and loudly, even letting out a taxicab whistle one time that made Clark double take most comically. The guests on either side of him only smiled indulgently in his direction and that, more than anything, drove home how much of a regular Mr. Black must be among them.

An indeterminate amount of time later, the kids bowed, the host announced the end of the show, and everyone clapped harder than they had so far. Which was really saying something considering how much their group had contributed to the cumulative applause. And that’s not to even mention Mr. Black. But now, everyone was on their feet, and Clark could feel his palms stinging under the onslaught of his enthusiasm. Better that than be reprimanded later, though.

Once the cheers had died down and the host was finished with their closing credits, Lupin turned to them. “We’re going backstage, let’s go.” And promptly got up, walking down the aisle towards the stage. Clark blinked at his abruptness, used to it by now but still not quite, before turning to his other side where Longbottom was flapping his hand in a ‘well, go on then’ motion. He decided to listen and scurried away after Lupin, absently wondering if they looked like a bunch of ducklings following after mama duck. And wasn’t that a thought—the mighty thugs of the London underworld, relegated to animal metaphors.

“Wonderful event, Mr. Smith.” Lupin shook hands with an average white guy at a side entrance. “We’ll just go in here to see our boy, yes?”

“All…of you?” The guy asked, eyeing their procession dubiously.

“Well, of course, Harry’s our favorite little guy,” Lupin replied in the same pleasant voice. Clark didn’t bother to clarify that none of them even knew there was a little guy until an hour ago. If the boss wanted them to say his kid was their favorite, then that’s what they’ll say. It didn’t take long after that for them to be let in. Clark would be more worried about the school’s safety if he hadn’t seen Lupin walk circles around the smartest people he’d ever seen. School cops were no match.

“An’ an’ an’ did ya see the whole t’ing?” An excited voice was saying as they turned the corner. Clark craned his neck and felt his brows creeping up when he assigned it to their favorite little guy—Harry. Who was currently being cuddled—there was no other word for it—by Mr. Black. Harry had his arms wrapped around the man’s neck as he talked and Mr. Black was looking at him with a kind of laser focus Clark had never seen before. And considering he looked after their entire operation’s accounts, that was really saying something.

“I saw the whole thing, baby,” Mr. Black replied, voice soft. Clark and the rest of their entourage were frozen in their positions, not wanting to disturb their conversation. “You were beautiful.”

Harry bit his lip at that, eyes gaze falling to rest on Mr. Black’s collarbone rather than his eyes. “I was jus’ a tree, though, Siri.”

Mr. Black’s eyebrows turned down. “And you were the most perfect tree I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“But it—that’s—trees are boring. Anyone can be one,” Harry’s lower lip looked a bit wobbly there and Clark had just a second to despair, no matter that he was standing too far away to be expected to do anything, before Mr. Black took over, swift and practiced.

“Harry, my love, if anyone can be a tree, and yet it was you that was chosen, then what does that say about you?” Personally, Clark thought that bit of philosophy, while profound, was a bit too complicated for a child.

“But—“

“And,” Mr. Black gently cut in, “If you were boring, then I wouldn’t have cheered as hard as I did, would I? It’s a matter of pride for me that my godson makes such a lovely tree.” He tweaked the kid’s nose, making him let out a wet giggle. But, even Clark, inexperienced as he was around children, could see they weren’t out of the danger zone yet. The kid was still looking a bit troubled there. Clearly, Mr. Black had picked up on it as well because he turned to their little association with an expectant look on his face. Clark hadn’t even realised he’s noticed them but of course he did.

“And if that’s not good enough for you,” he continued teasingly, turning Harry towards them. “Then you can ask any of them and they’d say the same.” Mr. Black’s raised eyebrow was sufficient warning.

Harry, on the other hand, was unaware of the looming danger because he burrowed into his…parent? guardian? uncle? (Seriously, what was the relation here?) as he noticed the bunch of strangers standing there like idiots.

“Who’s they, Siri?” he whispered loudly.

“They’re my friends from work.” Clark pushed down the hysterical snort that wanted to emerge at that statement. “And they came here just for you!”

“Really?” Harry’s eyes—a bright emerald, now that Clark was closer—opened wide in surprise. “All for me?”

“All for you, baby,” Mr. Black reassured him before clearing his throat pointedly. Clearly that was the cue for Lupin, who’d been standing just as quietly, to jump in for he strode forward until he was right in front of the pair.

“Hello, Mr. Harry,” he offered a hand to the kid, who returned the solemn handshake with a grin tugging his lips. “I see you’re well.”

“You too, Mr. Loo-pin,” Harry giggled before leaning forward in Mr. Black’s arms. “Did ya see me pre-pef-peform?”

“I did, you were really quite something, kiddo,” Lupin ruffled his black hair, showing a level of familiarity Clark should’ve come to expect by now. “Thank you for letting me come.”

“But I din’t—“ Harry said, eyebrows furrowed adorably.

“We wouldn’t have seen such a great show if you weren’t acting in it, now, would we?”

“Hm.” While Harry seemed to consider that, Clark and the others had managed to get over their shock to make their way to their boss and his kid.

“Hello, Harry,” Meadowes grinned, bright and friendly, taking the lead. “You were so cool up there!”

The poor kid looked at her with rapidly reddening cheeks. Clearly he wasn’t immune to her charms either. Figures. “T’ank you, miss.” Clark could see Meadowes biting down on her lip, eyes softening in adoration.

“I thought you were the best one on stage, Harry,” Clark added, keeping one eye on his boss who was staring at all of them intently and another on Harry who couldn’t see to stop blushing. As he received another stammered thanks in reply, the others stepped up for their turn at congratulating the kid.

When all of them had finished their round of pleasantries, not that it was much of a chore—while a tree was certainly a forgettable role, Harry was adorable enough to win all of them over—Mr. Black smoothly stepped into the conversation. He ran a gentle hand over the boy’s unruly hair, smoothening it fruitlessly before tucking a few strands behind one ear.

“Will you believe your poor godfather now? Or do I need to shout from the rooftops?”

Harry swatted at his chest feebly, making a face at the gentle teasing. Despite knowing that this was just a kid—the boss’ godson at that—Clark held his breath in anticipation of how such an action would be perceived. Surprisingly (or perhaps not) the boss only grinned, a shocking display of emotions Clark hadn’t ever seen before today.

“So, ice cream in celebration then?” he asked. Clark, still stuck on the relationship reveal, almost replied in the affirmative before realising that would’ve been a supremely awkward thing to do. Clearly he wasn’t the one being asked here.

“Yes, please, Siri!” Harry chirped, bouncing a little in excitement. “Will—will your friends come too?”

“Will they, now?” Mr. Black repeated, looking at them with a raised eyebrow that communicated very well his feelings on the matter. The four of them, Longbottom and Lupin not included, immediately fell over themselves trying to communicate a variety of reasons for why they ‘couldn’t come, so sorry kid, maybe next time?’ in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings or get themselves strung upside down.

“Oh, otay then,” Harry blinked, looking a bit overwhelmed at the sudden onslaught directed at him. “T’ank you for comin’!”

Meadowes was unable to stop herself from cooing this time. Mr. Black snorted softly before inclining his head in their direction, saying ‘thank you’ and dismissing them in one smooth move.

Longbottom and Lupin stayed back, engaging Harry in conversation, while the others slowly walked away, trying to wrap their heads around the events of the day. He could hear snippets of Meadowes and McKinnon conversation, speculating on why they needed to be armed if they were just here to watch a kid’s play, and immediately increased his pace so he didn’t have to hear about things like that again. He really did not want to think about the unsavoury aspects of his job right now, not when he was equally baffled by everything.

Instead, he wondered if he should go job hunting again. All this stress surely wasn’t worth it, was it? Not if he wanted a place right next to his mother in the near future. Maybe he should think of going into the call center industry he’d written off earlier. It didn’t make use of his degree but it also didn’t have guns, the pay was decent, and there was no definitely no blood to clean up on the rug.

#sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #good godfather sirius black #sirius and harry saturday #mob boss sirius black #an oc with the stupidest name on earth #literally used it as a placeholder but i can’t find anything better lol #outsider pov #look i finished it! a bit disjointed but the spirit is there i think #i started this like two months ago bc of this mental image of a bunch of scary thugs showing up to the school #for harry dressed in the most mundane outfit because sirius is a PTA Parent #and that fact remains true even in a universe where he’s a scary mobster #the ending is kind of meh but we’ve established i’m not good at those #but yeah. big terrifying man who’s super soft for his kid.#a+ concept. love to see it.#tumblr works #pen’s writing

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trendingnewsb · 7 years ago

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Fighting Al Capones Beer Wars

Red: BLOODY TRAIL

Hed: Fighting Al Capones Beer Wars

Dek: John J. Binder is an assiduousand often contrarianhistorian of the gang wars that plagued Chicago, and in a new book he sets the record straight on just who shot whom and why.

SEO: Fighting Al Capones Beer Wars

Byline: Ronald K. Fried

Vertical: arts/culture

Tags: Al Capone, prohibition, gangsters, organized crime, Chicago, Beer Wars

Its surprisingly difficult to get at the facts behind the history of organized crime. The topic doesnt typically attract the attention of Ivy League history departments. And most of the key witnesses to significant eventsrub-outs and the likeare either dead, because theyre the victims of organized crime, or are themselves criminals, and thus professional liars. Then theres the challenge of penetrating the fog of sentimentality perpetuated by films from The Godfather on down.

Yet, as is proven by countless volumes lousy with hearsayand an astonishing number of websites catering to a curious breed of mafia hobbyistit can be fun and profitable to romanticize old-school sociopaths.

John J. Binder is not in that business.

Anyone whos watched a documentary about the Chicago Outfitas Chi-towns mob has come to be knownhas likely seen Binder with his walrus mustache and thick mop of salt-and-pepper hair as he supplies expert commentary in his splendid Chicago accent.

Binder may now be able to claim the title of leading scholar of organized crime in Chicago thanks to Al Capones Beer Wars, his new 400-plus-page book about what really happened in the vice-ridden Windy City between 1920 and 1933. This, of course, is when Prohibition kicked in. And all students of mob history agree that Americas disastrous experiment in outlawing booze was the greatest gift the bad guys ever received.

Binder approaches his topic with the academic rigor youd expect from a retired professor with a Ph.D. in finance and economics from the University of Chicago. A diligentif not obsessiveinvestigator, he ferrets out untapped primary sources and submits them to statistical analysis.

Based on a meticulous examination of 729 Prohibition-era gangland murders documented in a Chicago Crime Commission study, for example, he argues that there were far fewer bootlegging-related killings in Chicago than had been believed.

Everyone has seen the numbered list, Binder told me when I interviewed him in

Chicago. But no one studied the victims case by case to determine who they werethe what, where, and how they died.

Binder and an equally indefatigable colleague, Mars Eghigian Jr., the author of a biography of Capones successor Frank Nitti, did just that. Their study was published in an academic journal.

If you go and look at each individual case and study the weapons used and the motives, Binder said, the evidence suggests that virtually every conclusion about gangland killings in Chicago during Prohibition is wrong.

Of the 729 killings, just 41 percent were related to bootlegging, and only 140 of the victims were members of an established bootlegging mob, according to Binder.

Binder also tackles the conventional wisdom that the Tommy gun was the weapon of choice for mob hits. Not so, he said, because automatic weapons are very inaccurate.

If youre trying to not hit bystanders, and youre trying to just hit the target, that becomes a bit of a problem, he said. In terms of gangland killings, which are essentially assassinations, quite often a pistol or a shotgun is sufficient. If you cant kill the victim or victims with a pistol or a shotgun, youre in the wrong profession.

None of which is to say that Chicago wasnt a pretty dangerous place back in the day, as Binder reminds us in his book by quoting from a 1932 newspaper advertisement: Bullet Holes Rewoven Perfectly in Damaged ClothesLow Price.

Among Binders other findings: The Beer Wars were not simply a conflict between the Italian Capone South Side gang and the Irish North Side gang. Nor were these gangs by any means the only gangs involved in bootlegging. At the start of 1924, there were 12 major bootlegging gangs in Chicago. By 1932, 11 major bootlegging mobs remained inside the city limits.

This Irish North Side vs. all Italian South Side, thats a laughable description of the ethnic development of the city of Chicago, he said.

Capones gang was admirably inclusive. His chief lieutenants included Jake the Greasy Thumb Guzik, who was Jewish, and Murray Humphries, a Welshman.

And the nominally Irish North Side gangs were not exclusively Irish.

If you look at the leaders of the North Side gang from Dean OBanion to Bugs Moran, Binder said, only one of them was Irish and that was OBanion.

Bugs Moran, the intended target of the Saint Valentines Day Massacre, was actually the child of French immigrants who arrived in Chicago via Canada. And his predecessor, the not-very-Irish-sounding Hymie Weiss, was not, as his name suggests, Jewish.

He was buried in a Catholic cemetery, Binder reports. He carried a Bible around with him every day.

Binder spends nine pages refuting the claim in a recent Capone biography that

Capone did not order the Saint Valentines Day Massacre. And he disputes the theory promulgated by a prominent Chicago newspaper columnist that Capone was a figurehead who took the heat for the true Outfit leader, Paul The Waiter Ricca.

Binder also challenges the widely accepted notion that the execution of seven of Bugs Morans men in the garage on North Clark Street on Valentines Day in 1929 promptly ended the Irish North Side Gang.

Theres this myth that starts the day after [the massacre], Binder says. You have headlines in at least two papers, Moran Gang Wiped Out. I have no idea who conjured that up. Because its easy to name 15 top guys, major guys, in the North Side Gang who were still alive, plus the probably 200-plus gunmen who were in that gang.

Capone, with his roly-poly figure and comic book face, was a curious mix of pop-culture anti-hero and brutal killer, a gangster who couldnt resist speaking to the pressalways a bad idea for a mob boss. He is often referred to as both an organizational geniusand something of a clown. So how smart was Capone?

I dont think Capone was stupid by any means, Binder said. He had the two major skills required of a gang leader, especially a gang leader during gang wars. One, he had the military ability. He could lead a gang effectively and fight his enemies during the Beer Wars.

The second talent was, of course, his business savvy.

An army, regardless of how big it is, runs on something. There has to be an economy it runs on, Binder said. And Capone effectively ran a multi-million-dollar business empire.

Given Binders deep knowledge of Capone and the Outfit leaders who succeeded him, I found it hard to resist running a few other mob legends past him.

First, Binder doesnt believe the stories that Capone had squirreled away millions, money that he could not locate after his release from prison once syphilis-related dementia had set in.

Its nonsense to think theres a lost Capone fortune, Binder said. Capone spent it as fast as he got it. He kept thinking that theres always going to be more.

What about Chicago mob boss Sam Giancanas widely cited claim that the Outfit swung the 1960 election in favor of JFK?

Theres no convincing evidence, and some of the assertions are worse than empty, Binder said.

In 1960, certain Democratic wards in Chicago were entirely controlled by the Outfit. They called the shots. They appointed the political leaders of the ward. They appointed the alderman, he said, adding that these were wards that regularly voted 85, 90 percent Democratic. Therefore, Jack Kennedy, an Irish American Catholic, was especially popular in some of those wards and got a very large plurality.

The districts hardly needed the Outfits strong arm to sway them. But after Kennedys overwhelming victory in Chicago, Giancana shot his mouth off and took credit for it, Binder said.

Is it true the mob stayed out of the narcotics business?

Not really, according to Binder.

Even during Prohibition, there are a number of references to Capone being involved in narcotics. Its a myth that the Chicago mob didnt touch narcotics, said Binder. As a friend of mine says, they did everything else. Why would they shy away from narcotics?

Did the mob kill JFK?

No evidence whatsoever. Lots of innuendo and assertions. Because on this side of the Atlantic, if you want to concoct a good conspiracy theory, it must involve the mob and the Kennedys. This is what people do to sell books.

Binder, though, is not averse to earning a buck from his expertise. Along with a partner, he owns a huge collection of photos of Chicago mobsters and mob hits, which he routinely licenses to the producers of TV mob documentaries.

Binders book, naturally, is sprinkled with 114 photos from his archives. Its a gruesome gallery of scary-looking dudes and grotesque murders, and I for one am grateful that the photos are in black and white.

I have some mob hits, color photos, from the 60s and 70s, and those can be quite vivid with the red, Binder said, especially when they put the shotgun right up to someones head and take off parts of the anatomy. You tend to bleed out quite a bit.

Binders collection now includes about 2,500 photos.

It began as a hobby, he told me with a smile, and got totally out of control.