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Subscribe to The World, wherever you get your podcasts. February 14th, 1929, Valentine's Day.

Around 10 in the morning, a Cadillac pulls up to a garage on the north side of Chicago.

Four guys jump out of the car.

Two are dressed in police uniforms.

Inside the garage, they find seven men, six of whom are members of a gang led by George Bugs Moran,

who runs things on the north side.

Cops come around all the time looking for a bribe,

just the cost of doing business.

Moran's men do as they're told,

hand over their guns, line up against the wall.

But then, suddenly, Thompson machine guns appear from under the coats of the cops, and they start

firing.

Seventy rounds later, Moran's men lie slumped on the ground, in a pool of their own blood.

The shooters get back in the Cadillac and drive away.

It turns out they weren't cops, and when the actual police arrive on the scene,

they find one man barely still alive.

When asked who had him shot, he replies,

No one shot me.

...