Paul's brows furrowed. "You mean get rid of Joe?" he asked, his voice laden with doubt. Joe was dangerous—he commanded a larger group and had far more brutal methods than Paul could match. Though Paul had considered the idea before, it was a fleeting thought, never something he had seriously contemplated.
Joe wasn't just a nickname. His full name, Tony Alcado, had been one of the names William Dever mentioned when Charlie Lee first arrived in Chicago. As Al Capone's most trusted private bodyguard, Joe's loyalty was unquestionable. If anyone dared to suggest betrayal, Joe would be the first to strike them down, often with the infamous baseball bat that had earned him the moniker "Batter Joe."
"Of course," Charlie Lee said, sinking deeper into the soft velvet sofa, his demeanor relaxed. "But that's up to you. I'll lend you my support."
Paul hesitated, his mind racing. "How much support are we talking about? Joe won't be easy to handle, especially now. With Frank and McGuin gone, both he and Capone are on edge. Security around them has doubled."
Paul wasn't exaggerating. Capone's private villa was now a fortress with over 80 bodyguards. It was a testament to Charlie Lee's skills that he and Paul had managed to break in silently, their conversation uninterrupted by guards or barking hounds.
Paul cast a wary glance at Charlie Lee, his unease growing. This man had an aura of calm power that unnerved him. It wasn't just the two successful break-ins—it was the sense that if Charlie wanted, Paul could already be dead. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and Paul reflexively touched his neck, as if to reassure himself it was still intact.
"I'll need 100 men," Charlie Lee said, his tone even. "You provide the weapons and ammunition. I'll handle the manpower, including someone who can match Joe's skills." Charlie had already considered this scenario. He planned to send Wang Dagou, one of his top men, to lead the operation. It wasn't just to help Paul—it was also a display of strength to consolidate his growing influence.
"Fine. When will your men arrive?" Paul asked, his resolve hardening. Once he decided to betray Capone, he knew it had to be swift.
"They're stationed nearby. They can move at a moment's notice."
"Good. Tomorrow night, then. Have them ready," Paul said, his eyes gleaming with cold determination as he outlined the plan.
Charlie Lee nodded, listening attentively. When Paul finished, he stood and headed for the back door. Paul watched him go, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. The temptation to ambush Charlie and eliminate the threat crossed his mind, but fear and uncertainty held him back. Minutes passed in silence, and when no alarms or gunfire erupted, Paul let out a weary sigh, sinking into the sofa. He remained there until dawn.
The housekeeper found Paul early the next morning, still in the same spot, looking haggard and lost in thought. Startled, the housekeeper rushed over.
"Sir, are you alright?"
Paul blinked, his mind snapping back to reality. "Prepare everything for the day. I'm going to shower. Get Joe on the phone by 8 o'clock and invite him to Hans Bar this evening. Tell him I want to discuss something important."
"Yes, sir," the housekeeper replied, hurrying off.
As Paul ascended the stairs, he mulled over the events to come. He knew that by the end of the night, his name would be synonymous with treachery. Yet, when faced with Charlie Lee, Paul had felt an oppressive force, something he couldn't resist. The man's calm confidence was unnerving, and the memory of his silent departure the previous night still haunted him.
By the time Paul finished his morning routine, his mind was clearer. After breakfast, he headed to Hans Bar—his new headquarters—to oversee the day's operations. He dealt with business matters, addressed the issue of rival gangs encroaching on his territory, and made preparations for the evening.
As the day wore on, Paul gathered his trusted men. "Blair, bring the team. We're leaving," he said, signaling the start of his plan.
Two blocks behind Hans Bar, in an inconspicuous building, crates of Chicago Typewriters—Tommy guns—were distributed to Charlie Lee's men. Teams of a hundred were stationed in the shadows, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
In one of the cars parked nearby, Wang Dagou sat in the passenger seat, nervously chain-smoking. The anticipation of the night's events had him both excited and anxious.
"Cigar?" Blair, the driver, asked, holding one up.
"No," Wang Dagou replied, waving the cigarette in his hand. He couldn't help but recall Charlie Lee's words about cigars.
"Cigars? They're made with workers' saliva. Are you sure you're smoking tobacco and not someone else's spit?" Charlie had once said, his expression of disgust etched into Wang's memory. The thought had killed any interest Wang had in cigars.
Blair shrugged and lit his cigar. "It's almost time," he muttered, glancing at his watch.
Just then, three flashes of light from a second-floor window signaled the beginning of the operation. Blair's face lit up with excitement. "Here we go!" he said, tossing the cigar to the ground and pulling out a Tommy gun from the back seat.
Wang Dagou whistled sharply, and the men hidden in the shadows began moving like predators in the night. They crept toward the back entrance of Hans Bar, weapons at the ready.
At the back door, Joe's men stood guard. Jim, one of the guards, thought he saw something move behind the fence. "Hey, Jimmy, did you see that?" he asked nervously.
"What?" Jimmy replied, feigning ignorance.
Jim turned to investigate, but before he could react, a massive figure loomed over him. The last thing he saw was a fist barreling toward his face.
Jimmy smirked as Jim crumpled to the ground. "Nice work," he said to Wang Dagou, who had delivered the knockout punch.
"Keep an eye on him," Wang said, motioning to Jim. "If he wakes up, knock him out again."
Jimmy chuckled. "No problem. There's a lot of action upstairs."
Wang signaled his men to advance. Two shooters positioned themselves by the back door, while others surrounded the building. When Wang opened the door, the sound of gunfire erupted as the team stormed the bar.
Upstairs, chaos reigned. Paul and Joe were locked in a brutal struggle. Joe's strength was overwhelming, and Paul was barely holding his own. Blood streamed from Paul's nose as he dodged another swing from Joe.
"Joe, you're finished tonight!" Paul shouted, trying to catch his breath.
Joe's face twisted in rage. "You think you can betray Capone and live? I'll kill you and every last one of your men!"
The room shook with the sound of approaching footsteps. Joe hesitated, his focus shifting to the door. It was all the opening Paul needed. With a desperate lunge, he grabbed a nearby chair and swung it at Joe.
The door burst open, and Wang Dagou's men poured in, guns drawn. Joe turned to face them, his fists clenched, but even he couldn't take on an entire squad.
"Drop him," Wang ordered.
Joe sneered but didn't resist. He knew when he was outmatched.
As Paul caught his breath, he looked at Wang and muttered, "About time you showed up."
The night ended with Joe in chains and Paul standing amidst the wreckage of his betrayal. As dawn broke, Charlie Lee arrived to survey the aftermath, his calm demeanor unchanged.
"Congratulations," he said to Paul, his voice steady. "You've taken the first step."
Paul nodded, though he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a deal with the devil.