Generic Mobster Story
The old Ford drove slowly down the road, accompanied by four others surrounding it. The middle car contained the mayor of Chicago. With the rising number of rival mobs, he felt it safer to take the country route. Or so he thought. Neither his bodyguards nor he saw the twenty or so men hiding in the ditch alongside the road. Of the five cars, the lead was the first to realize it was an ambush; a grenade flew through the window. A few seconds later, the vehicles on the left and at the rear received a grenade. When the driver of the mayor’s car saw the explosion of the lead car he swerved to the right and pushed the car on the right into the ten foot drainage ditch. The impact killed its driver instantly. The Mayor’s car came to a screeching halt.
“What’s going on?” the mayor asked his driver.
The driver chuckled, turned around, and said, with an old revolver pointed at the Mayor’s head, “I think it would be wiser for you ta shud up and git outta da car.” The mayor was speechless, not thirty seconds ago he was getting ready for a press conference. Now his bodyguards and hope of winning the re-election were dead. His driver got out of the car and opened the door to the back seat, “Mayor,” he said sarcastically. The Mayor, now pale white, got out of the car and stood there.
The largest man, obviously the boss, stepped forward and said, “Mistuh Mayuh, what a… coincidence… we both just happened to be here at the same time.” He poked the mayor’s stomach with his Magnum, “Don’t ya think?” The mayor nodded nervously; sweat rolling from under his hat. “Now, us Columbians aren’t getting our fair share of attention. I mean, Cubans make the most dangerous mobsters? Everyone in Chicago’s underworld knew about this trip. Do you see any Cubans coming after you? I don’t think so. Unfortunately for you, we have a different favorite for mayor. Melvin Harris, I believe he is your number one threat, politically. Eh? Hey I’m talking to you! You look at me!”
The mayor was busy watching the men walk from the cornfield slit the throats of the Columbian gangsters. “Now, the way I see it, there is no way Mr. Harris can lose if his only major competition is dead.” They mayor fell to the ground and covered his head. “What? You so weak you can’t even listen to my monologue?” The Columbian’s face stiffened. The reloading of forty or so machine guns will do that to a person. The Columbian turned around and saw the men from the cornfield standing there with all their guns aimed at him. “s**t.” The men fired all their bullets in the Columbian boss’s body. When they were out of ammo the five-foot-ten man in the middle raised a hand.
“That’s enough boys. Search the bodies; take any weapons you find,” he said as he walked to the mayor, “Mr. Mayor,” he said as nodded his head as held out a hand to help the mayor up, “Need a hand?” The mayor, still pale-faced, accepted the hand. “There you go. You look alright.” He puts his arm around the mayor. “Now, the way I see it, you owe us a favor, several at that.” He pats the mayor on the back a couple times to let it sink in.
He steps back and heads for the cornfield. “Come along.” The rest of the mobsters followed him into the cornfield. The leader stopped just short and turned to the mayor. “And don’t underestimate the Cubans. I had to kill three different gangs on the way here. You’ve a very special head, Mr. Mayor.” At that he left the mayor standing alone in the middle of the country with only the dead Columbians for company.
The mayor walked to the nearest major road. He finally got someone to stop and give him a ride into town. ‘Italians,’ he thought to himself, ‘are definitely higher up than Cubans.’
