Re: Blood and Iron

The New York mob boss known simply as “Mr. Fritz” instantly recognized Bruno the moment the man sat across from him. To say he damn near soiled himself upon contact was not an understatement.

His eyes betrayed the fear he felt crawling up into his throat, suffocating him as he struggled to breathe.

Bruno however, was cold, indifferent. He knew exactly what he had done to this man back in Germany, and those like him. And his gesture of looking around the room betrayed this very sentiment.

“Your kind never really change do you? I mean, you were one of the lucky ones… The others, like those who I snatched this ring from? Well, they’re either serving multiple life sentences, or are resting peacefully in our graveyards, are they not? Yet here you are, same shit, different dump. Despicable…”

Bruno removed his glove and displayed the ring. Not his own—a trophy. One taken from the man Mr. Fritz had once bowed to back in Berlin.

The Feldgendarmerie had removed it and the finger in a brutal arrest. Whether it was police brutality or just a “mishap” during the takedown was irrelevant. It simply did not matter to Bruno.

But to Mr. Fritz, he was looking at a relic that belonged to a ghost. One he was close friends with. And one whose execution prompted him to cross the Atlantic.

When he received those submachine guns from the fatherland, he had never thought once that he was buying straight from the man who had destroyed his home, his life. He could only sit there silently, knowing that the man in front of him was truly untouchable.

In fact, he suspected Bruno was actually here to put a bullet in his brain. But instead, Bruno motioned towards one of the girls tending the bar.

“Be a doll, and fetch me and my ring brother here two fingers, will you, sweetheart?”

Despite looking down on this entire establishment and everyone inside of it, Bruno still played the role he was given, and because of this, his speech did not reflect his true emotions.

Rather, his façade was masterfully crafted, his dialect? Pure New York as he spoke in a way that amazed even Mr. Fritz. After receiving their drinks, Fritz sent the bartender on her way as well.

“Dorothy, go look after the others, will you? I’ll handle the rest…”

The bartender didn’t seem to notice the anxiety in her employer’s eyes and was quick to do as she was told. And as she walked away, Fritz couldn’t help but sigh and shake his head as he let what the thought would be his last thoughts escape his mouth.

“I’m going to miss looking at that ass…”

Bruno scoffed as he heard these words, drinking the entirety of his whiskey in one go.

“You think I’m here to kill you, and these? These are your last words? You’re shit at dying you know that?”

Fritz said nothing, wanted to let his statement stand for the record, and when Bruno reached into his jacket, he thought it was coming, until however, Bruno did not pull out a piece, but rather a photograph.

The man’s finger pointed at the portrait and then tapped it repeatedly.

“You have expanded into Chicago, right?”

Bruno’s question was shocking, as was the face on the pamphlet in front of him. But Mr. Fritz did not stutter as he spoke.

“Yeah, of course I do. Why… Do you want Capone dead?”

It was 1924… A year too early for a man like Al Capone to truly make his name known to the world. But Bruno? He remembered. And because of this, he wouldn’t let the man carve his path to infamy.

“Your words, not mine…”

It was clear by the way Bruno was talking that this was not a rejection of the proposal, but rather a confirmation. And because of this, Mr. Fritz couldn’t help but ask for more information regarding the task he was being given.

“I don’t understand… You want this man… Retired… But not me? Have you had a change of heart related to our way of life?”

Bruno sighed and rolled his eyes, before enlightening the man on the reality of his situation.

“What you do here across the Atlantic is little of my concern. But a friend of mine requested help to deal with your types. Now, this isn’t the fatherland. Where weaponizing the military to deal with dissident and criminal elements is well within my powers. Especially during a state of war.”

Bruno then leaned back in his seat, still staring down the Mob Boss as he continued with his words.

“No, the United States is not a civilized country. It is… Chaotic. And because of this, if you want to restore the illusion of security in an inherently unstable society, you have to make deals with the devil.

You wonder why I gave you such overwhelming firepower? I want you to annihilate your rivals from coast to coast, and consolidate power in America’s criminal underworld. And then? Be quiet…

The civilians, they don’t need to know you, or your little organization exists after there’s nobody left to get in your way. Keep it clean and keep crime among yourselves. The only thing worse than organized crime is unorganized crime. So keep it organized, you understand? “

Mr. Fritz immediately understood what Bruno was saying. In the United States there were too many protections for criminals. The government couldn’t just weaponized the army and the police to exterminate mobsters.

But they could unofficially consolidate the German Mob as the only major player in the game and use them as a bludgeon against would be criminals within the communities they operated in.

And when Mr. Fritz realized this, he began to fear Bruno far more than he had moments before. He grabbed the photo and slid it out of Bruno’s hands, taking a solid and long look at the target, before lighting the pamphlet on fire with his cigar.

“Alright… Tell your friend he’s got a deal. We’ll take care of the competition, and from now on, we’ll do it quietly. You have my word.”

Bruno did not wait for another word. He stood up and grabbed his fedora, placing it on his head, as he walked out of the Bordello. The sooner he left such a place the behind, and had a hot shower, the sooner he would feel comfortable again.

In doing so, Bruno and his bodyguards left Mr. Frtiz behind who immediately sunk in his chair and covered his face with his own hat. Almost as if he was trying to drown his voice with it.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

—

That night, Bruno called the President of the United States from his hotel room. It took a while, as it was far later in the night that President Hughes was used to. But eventually Bruno heard the familiar voice answer the other end of the line, where he was quick to take control of the conversation.

“Mr. President… I am a man of my word… The last piece of the puzzle is set in motion. Your little problem will be dealt with in time. Be patient, and you will see results soon enough.

As for the other matter, if I were you? I would consider this election an opportunity to reflect, and perhaps even retire from politics altogether with pride.

It has been a pleasure to work with you these last few years, and if you do surprise me this November, I look forward to extending further cooperation when you require it. Until then, have a good night…”

Bruno then hung up the phone and rested his head fully on the pillow below. He would sleep without the slightest trace of restlessness, despite knowing what was about to go down in Chicago.

—

Word had come over the wire, and people were contacted. Capone was as good as dead, but neither he nor his gang the South Side Outfit were aware of it. Currently, Capone was number two, the lieutenant to Johnny Torrio.

But in reality, he was the one really running things behind the scenes, even if the papers didn’t say his name quite yet. Still, on a night like this? There was only one place the man would be.

He was at a local brothel visiting his favorite girl. She climbed on top of him. And as he smiled, distracted and unaware, she reached into her stocking and drove a knife into his throat.

Al Capone died bleeding out like a stuck pig, naked and covered in his own blood. His expression was one of complete and total shock. Death had come for him in the most unexpected form.

Killed by a prostitute who owed Fritz and his gang a lot of money. One of the most feared mob bosses in United States history, snuffed out before he ever had a chance to become truly memorable.

And the worst part was, the papers wouldn’t even cover the matter. Just another nameless corpse in the gutters of Chicago.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!