Chapter Text
Chicago, Illinois, September, 1930
In the city of Chicago, the residents were in a mood to be ready for the winter that was a few months away. At Union Station on the West Side, the local train rolled in and stopped. Coming off the train were a group of people from the state of California, bringing with them some horses too. Their names were William "Billy" Hill, Fortuna "Lucky" Prescott, Prudence "Pru" Granger, and Abigail Stone. The horses were Thunder, Athena, Chico Linda, Boomerang, and two of them were named Spirit, one belonging to Hill and the other to Lucky. When they left the station, they were greeted by their friend from New York, Joseph "Joe" Jones.
"Hey, Joe," Hill said as he hugged his friend. "It's been a long time."
"Not that long, Billy," Jones said. "So, you no longer need a cane."
"Yeah, but it hurts whenever I try to run, so I let Spirit handle the running part for me."
Hill's Spirit neighed, which sounded like he was laughing.
"Hey, Billy," Lucky said. "The girls and I are going to the hotel. We'll see you there."
"Yes, ma'am," Hill said with a smile as he waved.
When the PALs left, Jones grunted with curiosity.
"What?" Hill asked.
"Spirit?" Jones asked.
Spirit leaned his head toward Jones and listened.
"I do believe someone is smitten."
Spirit nodded in agreement.
"What- I- No!" Hill exclaimed. "Lucky is my friend."
Jones chuckled. "Billy, we are friends. That, my friend, was something more than friendship."
"Joe, we are just friends. Nothing more."
"Yes, I'm sure Abraham Lincoln said the same thing about Mary Todd before they married."
Hill grunted, but there was a side of him that made him wonder if he really thought that or that was just what he wanted to believe.
***
Lexington Hotel, Chicago
On the other side of the city was a grand hotel called the Lexington Hotel. Within the walls of the hotel were reporters asking questions to a man who was having a shave from a barber. The man, Alphonse "Al" Capone, that was being interviewed had some scars on the left side of his face, like he was cut by a knife and left a permanent mark on him.
"An article, which I believe appeared in a newspaper," said a reporter. "Asked why, since you are, or it would seem that you are in effect, the mayor of Chicago, you've not simply been appointed to that position."
The other reporters in the room chuckled.
"Well, I'll tell you," Capone said. "You know, it's touching. Like a lot of things in life, we laugh because it's funny, and we laugh because it's true. Some people say, reformers here say, 'put that man in jail, what does he think he is doing'? Well, what I hope I'm doing, and here's where your English paper's got a point, is I'm responding to the will of the people."
The reporters chuckled at the his answer.
"People are going to drink," he continued. "You know that, I know that, we all know that. And all I do is act on that. And all this talk of bootlegging. What is bootlegging? On a boat, it's bootlegging. On Lake Shore Drive, it's hospitality."
The reporters chuckled again.
"I'm a businessman," Capone finished off.
"And what of your reputation?" asked a reporter. "That you control your business through violence? That those that don't purchase your products are dealt violently?"
Capone turned his head slightly, but because the barber was working, he cut himself on the razer. He flinched, placed his fingers where the razer cut him, and saw blood on the fingertips.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Capone," the barber said in fear.
Capone raised his hand and calmly said, "It's all right."
He turned to the reporter.
"I grew up in a tough neighborhood," he replied. "And we use to say, 'you can get further with a kind word and a gun than you can with just a kind word'. And in that neighborhood, it might've been true. And sometimes a reputation follows you. There is violence in Chicago, of course, but not by me and not by anybody I employ, and I'll tell you why. Because it is not good business."
***
The PALs were nearing the hotel that were to lodge for their time in Chicago.
"Why did we agree to lodge in the rough parts of the city?" Pru asked.
"Because it's cheaper in this area," Lucky said.
"But we still have most of the silver that we took from the island three years ago. We can afford the more expensive hotels here."
"We agreed that the silver was only going to be used for financial things back in Miradero, Pru. We all agreed on it."
"Still, I'm with Pru on this one, Lucky," Abigail said. "This area gives me the chills for some reason."
Lucky heard what sounded like a young girl shouting. She noticed a man in a white suit leave a parlor and a girl standing at the entrance with a briefcase in her hands.
"Mister, wait!" the little girl shouted. "You forgot your brief-"
Suddenly, the entire parlor burst into flames and exploded. The explosion sent the PALs of their horses and onto the ground. When they got up, there was smoke all over the place.
"What was that?" Pru asked. "A gas leak?"
Lucky watched as a automobile drove away, seeing the white-suited man inside the passenger side of the vehicle.
"I'm not sure it was a gas leak," she said.
"Lucky, Pru," Abigail said in a panic. "It's Athena."
Athena was laying on the ground with small pieces of wood and glass in her left side, which was in the direction of the explosion.
"What about Thunder?" Lucky asked.
"He's all right," Pru said. "He was being shielded by Athena when the explosion went off."
Athena neighed loudly.
***
Spirit heard something in the distance and then heard a horse crying for help. It was Athena. He neighed frantically.
"What is it, boy?" Hill asked.
"Billy, look," Jones said.
Hill noticed a trail of smoke going up into the air.
"Oh, no," he said with a gasp.
Hill got on Spirit's back.
"Joe, get on."
Jones hoped on and Spirit ran in the direction of the smoke, fearing the worst.