Mr Black 2

I never thought I would be standing outside a place like that once again. I thought those days were behind me. I was at the corner of Huron and Orleans, right across the dinner of the same name. The Huron-Orleans Italian Kitchen, or “The Orleans” as everyone used to call it, was a small restaurant on the North side of Chicago. But what it really was, was a front for a speakeasy. I knew that. Half the Chicagoans knew that. I’ve seen my full of such places and I wasn't thrilled to go into one again. This was Bugs Moran’s territory and the Orleans was crawling with his thugs.

I have been standing there since the sun took a fall in the west. A few hours ago I saw Jade, my client, the lady who came to my office a couple of days ago, go into this restaurant. I followed her inside but she was no where to be seen. I realized she was down at the bar. If she wanted me to look for her sister then I needed more information. But what I really wanted was another chance to see her again, so I decided to go in. One can stand in the rain for so long.

Locating the entrance to an illegal bar was as easy as finding a drink in this city. Just look for the green door. “Behind every green door is a speakeasy,” everyone in Chicago knew that. To make it even more obvious the entire facade of the Orleans was being painted green. I even heard the  Giacomoni brothers were planning on changing the name of their father's restaurant to the “Green Door Tavern.” Now wouldn't that be an irony! After so many years of alcohol being illegal in this country everyone was tired of the Prohibition. It simply didn't work. It only led to crime, a waste of time and more crime. Besides, everyone wants to drink but what they are mostly tired off were all those gangs running around on the streets, killing people over a few barrels of whisky and beer.

“Knock”
“Knock. Knock”
“Knock. Knock. Knock.”

And the green door swung wide open. They didn't even bother to change the secret knock! I don't believe it! That's how lax everything has been of late. Now that Al Capone is finally in jail, the other gangs are all but scattering. Even Bugs Moran’s North Side cronies are seeping into the woodwork. The cops are also tired of enforcing a law they don't believe in anymore. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole prohibition law gets scrapped very soon and booze is sold back in the streets like bread.

I walked downstairs to the speakeasy. It was dark and I could barely see the tables and chairs scattered around the bustling damp room. This place was relatively small for its reputation but it was almost fully packed. Pictures of dames and dancers were painted on the walls, racks of whisky, bottles of beer and every kind of conceivable alcoholic beverages were stacked on the walls behind the bar where I stepped to have a drink. I usually don't like to drink but what else would I be doing down there!

I ordered, “a whisky.”

Before the bartender handed me my glass he asked, “Do I know you?” He must have. “Your face looks darn familiar,” he added.

“I always get that,” trying to brush that off, “it's one of those faces.” Shaving that mustache and wearing glasses for the past two years didn’t help.

I was glad of the distraction when the lights suddenly blinked bright and she walked up the stage. I couldn't miss her. Those greens were daunting as she started to sing.

Are you lonesome tonight?
do you miss me tonight
Are you sorry we drifted apart.
Does your memory stray,
to a bright summer day?
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart.
Do the chairs in your parlor,
seem empty and bare?
Do you gaze at your doorstep,
and picture me there?
Is your heart filled with pain?
Shall I come back again?
Tell me dear,
are you lonesome tonight?

I've always liked that song since the first time I heard it a few years ago. She even sounded better than Vaughn De Leath, the First Lady of the Radio, herself. I guess hearing it in person does sound better than hearing it from the box. But that's not why I was here for.

“Who’s that broad singing?” I asked the bartender.

“Out of your league Mr,” he replied “better stay away.” And so I did.
 
I took my drink and retreated to a far corner of the room, where it was dark, I could watch, wait, and pretend I am not interested. And what better way to pretend you’re not interested in a woman is to talk to another.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked the oldest looking one in the room. I figured experience does come with age and I needed her experience to tell me what was going on. Besides, she looked like an old fixture in this place and she wasn't bad looking either. A little bit of wrinkles around the eyes, a few white strings here and there, but overall not a bad catch. Waking up with her in the morning wasn't going to be so bad.

“I don't mind,” she replied, “I haven't seen you in here before,” she added, “are you from around here?”

True. I am not from around here, but Chicago has always been my town. I’ve moved here since I was a kid. Thirty years in the windy city does make a dent on you.

“I am,” I replied, “but I’ve been away for some time.” True again. I haven't been north of the loop for years.

“So what brings you back now?”

I raised my drink and said, “I missed this.”

She raised hers and said, “Here's to this.”

“Not a bad voice,” nodding towards my green eyed client, singing, and dancing on the small wooden stage. “Who is she?” trying to fish for information as I took a sip of my drink.

Daisy smiled and said, “I wouldn't think of it,” she read right through me. “She's Nello Giacomoni’s property.” Experience and brain, I liked this one. Nello was Jack Giacomoni younger brother. They owned this place and a few others like it. Messing with the brothers brought the wrath of the North Side Mob on you. Bad for your health.

“So do you have a bottle of this stuff at home or should I get one before we leave?”

Daisy smiled again showing more of her wrinkles and a nice little gap between her front teeth. She knew she made good tonight. Standing up she took my hand and we walked out of the speakeasy toward her little room a few blocks east of the Orleans.

As I said, waking up with Daisy wasn't that bad of an experience especially when you open your eyes to her sucking your cock before breakfast. I've always admired those with that kind of dedication. They knew what I wanted and how to give it. A good job with all the extra sucking formalities one would expect from an experienced working lady was a blast. She was also making sure I didn't leave without giving her her dues and a tip on top. And that's what I did. First I tipped her on her back and dived on top to get a little cunnilingus treat myself to get me going. After that fabulous indulgence I gave her what she wanted. A few shoves and a strokes and she started responding or at least pretending that she did. It didn't really matter because I did. With another flip she was on her hands and knees and I was behind her reminding her why we came to her place last night. This was the position that I liked the most. Firmly standing on my feet as I pummeled deep inside while she gripped the sheets, breathing heavily with her head resting on the bed. With an, “oohhhh fuuuuck…” she finally burst her surrender to her lust as I did to mine.

It was a lovely night and we both took what we wanted out of it. I gave her an extra ten dollar bill and I managed to get some information on Jade, which basically was nothing. The only thing I managed to know was that she was Nello’s girl and that he was a very possessive man.

I knew I shouldn't have taken that job. But those eyes…


 
———-

Some historical notes:


The Green Door Tavern is in North Side of Chicago and it is still operating today. It was originally the Huron-Orleans restaurant, opened by Vito Giacomoni then operated by his sons Jack and Nello as a speakeasy (illegal place that served alcohol) during the height of Prohibition (the time when alcohol was banned in the USA 1920-1933). It was also common knowledge that behind a green door was a speakeasy.

In 1932 Al Capone (leader of the Italian mob on the South Side and a rival of Bugs Moran of the North side Mob) started serving his 11-year sentence for tax evasion.

Vaughn De Leath was a singer who was popular in the 1920s, known as  "The Original Radio Girl" and the "First Lady of Radio." One of her hit songs, “ Are you Lonesome Tonight?” recorded in 1927, achieved fame even before it became a hit for Elvis Presley in 1960.