Imagine it's late in the morning on February 14th, 1929. You're an officer in the Chicago

Police Department, and you're sitting in the passenger

seat of a telephone repair truck as it drives down a snowy street of the north side neighborhood.

You shouldn't need to hitch rides like this, but both of the station's patrol cars were in

use when an urgent call came in about half an hour ago. So you had to ask a workman who was

repairing a phone at the station

to drive you over. The repairman pulls in front of a brick building with a name SMC cartage

company painted across a blacked out window. You hopped down from the truck and land directly in a

pile of dirty snow. As icy water seeps into your shoe,

you look over at the garage. There's no obvious sign that anything's a miss. But just then,

one of the station's patrol cars screeches to a stop nearby. A beat cop jumped out.

Hey, good timing. I heard the call on the radio to report here, but then the the reception cut out. What's going on?' "'Some lady called the station hysterical, "'insisted that the garage was full of death and destruction. "'The serge said she sounded nuts, so it's probably nothing. "'I bet she heard some car backfiring "'and assumed it was gunshots. "'ens all the time. You and the other officer

approached the door of the garage. He shoves his hands into his pockets. So you got any plans

tonight? Me for Valentine's Day? No, I'm a bachelor, remember? Hey, hold on. You hear that?

You bring your finger to your lips to tell your buddy to stay quiet. A surge of adrenaline runs through your chest.

You unholster your gun and push through the open door squinting into the dark.

You immediately flinch as you're hit by the acidic, coppery smell of fresh blood.

The only light in the garage comes from a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling.

A few feet away, you see a man lying on the ground, a revolver next to him.

He doesn't appear to be breathing.

A troll officer next to you gags.

Oh, Lord have mercy.

...