The basketball court is outside, there is a sort of hill in the background, they are leaning against the wall I think? One of them might have a bottle of vodka or something in their hand?
There are 3 people in the video. They are dressed as stereotypical white gangsters, bandana, wifebeater, etc?
One guy is making crazy sounds/jokes, I think he had ridiculous, possibly bird name nicknames or sounds that he gave the others. I think he kept making an eagle sound?
Super vague description, I hope it rings a bell for one of you guys!

[TITLE] Im trying to remember this certain manhwa that I read like a looooooong time ago and wanted to go check it there are new updates published. My explanation about the ml may be confusing since my memory of this is quite blurry but please bare with me
So like this genre scooches more to the adventure + comedy side. In the beginning, after the ml finished reading a manhwa—he was unsatisfied with the ending and I think he complained in the comments to which the author saw and texted him. After that he suddenly teleported into THAT same manhwa [that he complained to] where then he becomes the side character. He has to do like missions to increase his familiarity and become popular to the readers or else the author will erase/make him die. Moving forward, he met companions: 1 is a blonde girl where looks like a tween blondie and has the knack on stealing + a dwarf boy that is addicted to gabbling. And a former gangster looking green haired guy.
I remember that his [ml] signature look was how long and large his chin was to which, the characters in the story call him ugly and has a nickname connected to it.
Now for the main character of the manhwa that the mi was in—had blonde hair + blue eyes and has the personality of Gon. That characters also had companions of a red hair looking cowboy dude and a spicy looking milf black hair lady. Those are all the main points that I remember and the last chapter I read to.

Synopsis :
In the year 1928, the Chinese warlord era has been ranging on for more than a decade. Tearing the nation apart in to multiple fiefdoms ruled over by local warlords. Who fought each other more times than not.
China is being threatened by foreign powers, China can move forward is if united.
Reunification has been attempted many times in this era, but so far all have failed.
But a radical solution was proposed, that the most influential warlords will sponsor a fighter on their behalf. To fight in a brutal tournament, with the last fighter left standing determines who rules.
The 16 major Chinese warlords have agreed with these terms.
Roster :
IP Man - a well known & accomplished Wing Chun master from Guangdong province. Teaching his fighting style to those within his home city. His skill attracts challenges from other martial artists, that he has a tendency to accept.
Shi Jianqiao - daughter of a killed military officer turned assassin for hire. After her father was killed by a rival warlord, she trained and dedicated herself to revenge. Leaving a trail of death until she can kill the one who took her father.
Konstantin Petrovich Nechaev - former officer in imperial Russia, during the civil war he sided with the whites. After the Bolsheviks won, he like many others took up mercenary work in China. Where he became highly sought after for his combat experience, working for various warlords.
Du Yuesheng - notorious gangster, enforcer, and drug lord in the Shanghai triads. More than willing to get his own hands dirty, if it guarantees he ends up on top. While he does have experience taste, he still enjoy the occasional simple bloodshed.
Gao Shuxun - loyal elite soldier serving under the infamous Shi Yousan, played a role in burning down & desecration of ancient Shaolin monasteries on Shi orders. Though in secret Gao saved a few ancient shaolin martial manuscripts for later use.
Ma Zhongying - born to the infamous Ma family clique in China northwest, practically raised on the battlefield since he was teenager. Made a name for himself by leading massacres and hunting bandits on west China frontier.
Morris Abraham Cohen - the personal British bodyguard of Sun Yat Sen himself. Fought off multiple assassination attempts on Sun’s life. Nicknamed "Two gun" because he is skilled enough to duel wield pistols in combat.
zhang xueliang - son of the warlord of Manchuria, a natural born strategist. Unlike his father, he is pragmatic enough to learn from non Chinese tactics and training methods. Gaining him notable victories, he is also a practicing swordsman.
A/N:
only 8 fighters on the roster for now .
Like my other tenkaichi AUs, they all take place in the same very violent timeline.
In this universe after the original Oda Nobunaga's tenkaichi in 1600, it set a precedent for future tournaments of a similar nature to settle domestic disputes. Inspiring future tournaments both in & out of Japan through the centuries.
Japan would eventually have another tenkaichi in the mid 1800s.
From Josen era Korea & post revolution France, to Victorian England, ect.
America would have at least one per century, starting in 1787.
Basically instead of outright rejecting what Oda did, a few others thought Oda might have been on to something. Seeing it as a high risk yet valid political strategy.
The 1928 Chinese tenkaichi in-universe is considered by most as the first "major" tournament of the 20th century.
The American tournament occurring just 5 years later, in 1933
And the Soviet Union tournament in 1953.

The adventure of Andrew Blake ( les aventures de Andrew Blake) is a serie of eight novels written by me , i published them of wattpad , I will post english versions of these episodes so the people on this subreddit understand more easily that if I have posted these episodes in their original french versions ( i am french )
Episode 1 : The case of the Hitman
In a cemetery, private detective Andrew Blake stands in front of the grave of his deceased brother, Dwight Blake.
Andrew Blake's point of view:
Here I am, Dwight, in front of your grave, I've been coming to see her here every Friday for 4 years, we were brothers and we were partners in our private detective firm, it's been 4 years since I swore to discover the identity of the scum who killed you, Eddie Vaillant from the film Who framed Roger Rabbit would sympathize with me except that he discovered the identity of his brother's killer, I'm not sure that I would ever solve this case. I remember it, the crime lord nicknamed Mr.Shadows sent a hitman to commit a series of murders, one of his victims was an innocent person, others were gangsters.
4 years earlier, in the house of gangster Jack Russoti, his body collapsed on the ground, shot in the head. Andrew Blake and his brother Dwight Blake were at the crime scene.

• I don't see what I should notice that's interesting, said Dwight Blake

Andrew Blake begins to say:

• look, Dwight that bullet was probably fired outside, there's a hole in that window over there.
  
• Good observation, detective says Inspector Joseph Wilson who walks towards them.
  
• Inspector Wilson, it's always surprising to have someone from the police as an ally wanting our help said Andrew Blake
  
• Commissioner Brandon doesn't even want you to investigate criminal cases, but I have a different opinion, I think that your particular talents for deduction make you someone very useful for solving criminal cases, not Everyone makes the deductions you make, says Inspector Wilson.
  

Two police officers, Sergeant Arthur Meadows and Sergeant Harrington, both wearing police uniforms, advance towards them.

• what is this guy doing here, the commissioner doesn't want him to get involved in criminal cases anymore says Sergeant Meadows
  
• Sergeant Meadows, if anyone is able to help us solve cases more easily, let them help us, said Inspector Wilson.
  

Sergeant Meadows and Sergeant Harrington walk away from them.

• I'm really not liked by other members of the police, aren't I, says Andrew Blake
  
• please excuse Sergeant Meadows, he and his teammate that you saw, they were in their car in front of the house of this man whose body you see the night of his death, Jack Russoti, they apparently wanted to find evidence that he was definitely involved, that's why they wanted to monitor him and ultimately when he died, any chance of proving that Jack Russoti and his family were gangsters was lost says Detective Wilson
  

Later, in the Russoti mansion belonging to the Russoti crime family as well as the crime lord head of this family, Victorio Russoti who has a meeting with his gangsters, they are all sitting around a table on chairs .

• what happened to my brother Jack is regrettable but I guarantee we will find out who killed him says Victorio Russoti
  
• We all know that it's Mr. Shadows who is behind his death, so why don't we go to the shadow mafia lair to... one of the gangsters starts to say
  
• you don't think I didn't already suspect that, he was already quite clear about that with his threat the last time he called me said Victorio Russoti
  

Suddenly Victorio's phone rings on this table, he picks up and has a conversation on the phone with the mysterious individual who calls him with a doctored voice:

• Hello Mr. Russoti, it's Mr.Shadows who is calling you but you already suspect it, you have already found out about your brother Jack, haven't you
  
• If I find out who you are, I will….started to say Victorio Russoti.
  
• I bet you were wondering how I got your phone number, my threat to you and your entire crime family to start being executed eventually, I regret not killing Jack Russoti myself said Mr.Shadows at phone with his voice altered.
  
• so who did this, answer me says Victorio Russoti
  
• the one who killed Jack Russoti is just a hitman I paid to kill, but under my orders, he will soon take down the rest of your crime family in 1, 2, 3 begins to say Mr.Shadows before hanging up.
  

Suddenly, bullets shot several holes in their windows, causing the death of several gangsters, including all members of the Russoti family except Victorio who fled.
Later, Victorio Russoti came out of his mansion and said:

• I have to call Arthur, I have to get rid of this madman at all costs.

Later, at Greenstone police station, Commissioner Arthur Brandon said to Inspector Wilson:

• my old friend Victorio Russoti called me with the phone number I gave him, someone killed his entire family, he is putting pressure on us to get this investigation resolved quickly.
  
• you have a mafia boss as a friend now, says Inspector Wilson
  
• Calm down, yes, I have his phone number and he has mine but there is no proof that he is a crime lord or a mafia boss, these are just rumors said Commissioner Arthur Brandon.
  
• If you get along so well, you should tell him to see us so that he can be questioned, says private detective Andrew Blake who walks towards them.
  
• What are you doing there, Mr. Blake said Commissioner Brandon.
  
• I'm helping to solve this investigation, whether you like it or not, you should call Victorio Russoti, tell him in this call to go to the police station so he can be questioned, he probably knows why Jack Russoti and all the other members of his family were shot dead, says Andrew Blake.
  

Later at the police station, Victorio Russoti enters.

• Welcome Mr. Russoti, you will tell us everything you know, I hope said Inspector Wilson.

Later, in the interrogation room, sitting in a chair behind a gray table, he is questioned by Detective Andrew Blake and Inspector Joseph Wilson.

• The rumors that you are a mafia boss are true, aren't they, said Andrew Blake.
  
• Yes, they are, I have nothing left to lose by confessing, I have already lost everything, the mastermind behind the murder of Jack Russoti as well as the massacre of the rest of my family is a crime lord nicknamed Mr.Shadows, he admitted to me in my telephone conversation with him that he had hired a hitman to commit all these murders, says Victorio Russoti
  
• Mr. Shadows, I don't think I've heard of that one, said Inspector Wilson
  
• few people know of his existence, no one knows who he is, not even me, he runs the shadow mafia says Victorio Russoti
  
• that I heard about said Andrew Blake
  
• he managed to get my phone number, I don't know how but he managed, before my brother, Jack was killed, during a meeting with all the other crime lords Mr.Shadows gave me a phone call and in that call he threatened to orchestrate the deaths of all the members of my criminal family says Victorio Russoti
  

Later during the night at the police station in his office, Sergeant Harrington has put photos of suspects on a board, his teammate, Sergeant Arthur Meadows enters his office.

• What are you doing, Garry asks Sergeant Meadows.
  
• I have an informant who has just made some shocking revelations to me, this Mr. Shadows whose existence we have just discovered, this informant has just revealed to me that he has several members of the police controlled by him, judges and even police officers who are probably some of our colleagues, the photos that I put on this board are photos of my list of suspects for the identity of Mr.Shadows said Sergeant Harrington.
  

Sergeant Meadows comes out of his office.
Later that night alone in his office, Sergeant Harrington continues to tape photos of suspects to his board when suddenly a mysterious individual wearing a police uniform wearing a black fabric hood with only two holes for the eyes to see appears. begins to enter his office, he shoots Sergeant Harrington in the head with his revolver killing him, Sergeant Harrington collapses on the floor.
The next day in the office of the late Sergeant Harrington, Andrew Blake and Inspector Wilson interrogate Sergeant Meadows near his corpse on the floor.
-At the police station, he told me in his office yesterday that after discovering something from his informant, he was making a list of suspects for the identity of Mr. Shadows said Sergeant Meadows

• he must have gotten too close to the truth, here is my phone number if you remember anything that could help us said Andrew Blake giving a torn part of a sheet of paper with his phone number on it to Sergeant Meadows who he took out of his pants pocket.

Later, at a restaurant, Andrew Blake and his brother Dwight Blake are seated around a table on chairs.

• still concerned about the hit man case, Andrew aka Dwight
  
• yes, I can't stop thinking about it said Andrew
  
• I have to tell you something, I invited you to this restaurant to tell you that I have decided to leave to start my own solo private detective agency when this hitman case has been solved said Dwight
  
• but we are partners, why said Andrew
  
• you have always been the more talented of the two of us, but I want to be able to prove that I am talented in solving cases too, you have always been the one who solved the cases said Dwight.
  
• sorry but it makes me sad, I'm going to miss you, Dwight but I hope things go well for you said Andrew
  

Suddenly, Andrew Blake's phone rings, he takes it out of his pants pocket and picks it up and he has a conversation on the phone with the mysterious individual with a doctored voice.

• hi, Mr. Blake, let me introduce myself, I'm Mr.Shadows, surprised that I have your phone number.
  
• it was your hitman who murdered Sergeant Harrington, asks Andrew Blake
  
• yes, he revealed to me what Sergeant Harrington discovered and the list of suspects he made about my identity, so I sent this hitman, the same one who killed Jack Russoti and the rest of his family except this Victorio, kill Sergeant Harrington, if I call you, it's to give you a warning, abandon your investigation or you and your brother will be my next victims said Mr. Shadows on the phone with his doctored voice.
  
• never shouts Andrew Blake who hangs up and gets up and he says:
  
• Sorry, Dwight but I have to go visit someone, I deduced the identity of the hitman, I know who the culprit is now.
  

Andrew Blake runs away from his brother Dwight.
Later, in the police station, Andrew Blake walks towards Sergeant Arthur Meadows.

• Sergeant Meadows, I have good news, I know who killed your teammate said Andrew Blake

Later in Sergeant Meadows' office, he speaks with Andrew Blake.

• So what you're telling me is that the hitman working for Mr.Shadows is a police officer working here, so who do you think it's among my colleagues or maybe you think it's the commissioner Brandon says Sergeant Meadows
  
• no, I suspected him, I admit, he wasn't really trustworthy after I found out he was friends with a mafia boss even if we could give him the benefit of the doubt on the fact that he didn't know and really thought Victorio Russoti was a good man but no, it's really not him but I looked at the surveillance camera in Sergeant Harrington's office and... Andrew started Blake
  
• you discovered that the murderer was wearing a police uniform and a black hood when he killed my teammate, I know because I checked what was filmed by this surveillance camera said Sergeant Meadows
  

Andrew starts to smile and says:

• Except that you lied, there was no surveillance camera in your teammate's office, I checked myself, I invented this to trap you, you are the hitman of Mr. .Shadows.
  
• you already know it was me, how Sergeant Meadows said
  
• I had to put together the necessary clues to deduce that you were the murderer, you and your teammate were in your car in front of Jack Russoti's house the evening he was killed, you were one of the people present at the police station yesterday the night your teammate Sergeant Harrington was killed, Mr.Shadows also called me and told me that the hitman working for him revealed to him what Sergeant Harrington discovered as well as the list of suspects he made, you knew that because Harrington told you, Mr.Shadows also had my phone number and I remember I gave it to you, you gave the phone number I gave you to Mr.Shadows so he could call me said Andrew Blake
  

Sergeant Arthur Meadows pulls a revolver from his pants pocket and points it at Andrew.

• you understood everything except the identity of Mr.Shadows, I am one of the biggest members of the shadow mafia, I have killed so many people under his orders, and I will happily tell you kill too, it will prevent my secret from being exposed, before you die, you must know that your brother will die too, you refused to abandon this investigation, so to punish you, he planted a bomb which he taped up under your brother's car but don't worry, you will join him very soon says Sergeant Arthur Meadows before being knocked out from behind by Inspector Wilson who enters this office, he hit him from behind at the head, Arthur Meadows collapses on the ground.
  
• I heard everything, go and save your brother said Inspector Wilson.
  

Andrew Blake runs out of the office.
Later, outside Andrew runs towards the car driven by his brother Dwight which stops in front of their private detective firm.

• Dwight, get out of the car, there's a... Andrew started running towards this car.

Suddenly Dwight Blake's car explodes, killing him.

• Dwight, No said Andrew crying.

4 years later, private detective Andrew Blake is still in front of the grave of his brother, Dwight Blake in the cemetery, he says:
Don't worry, Dwight, I will find out who Mr.Shadows is and I will avenge you, I promise you, my brother.
END

Vanderpump Rules is a hilarious comedy about what happens when attractive people are accidentally ensnared in Lisa Vanderpump’s tacky trap, and drown under the weight of her cast-off pink flowers. The first season was basically perfect reality tv, and after endless rounds of weird slap-fights and short-term marriages, it appeared to be down to its dying embers, until an unscheduled cheating scandal allowed the show to rise like the phoenix tattoo from Ben Affleck’s back.
“Look, I had a problem with alcohol,” Ben wishes we’d quit reminding him.
With the scandal a hot headline, Bravo scrambled to grab their cameras while everyone was still bleeding in the street, and when it came time to edit, they knew this season wouldn’t be rage-bait unless they anchored it in misogyny.
“I thought we were going to be like the Spice Girls,” Ariana frets. “I was hoping I’d get to zigga-zig-ah.”
“Ha! Turning women against each other is why I wake up in the morning,” Andy Cohen pauses eating a baby long enough to sip from a glass of drunk housewife tears.
April kicks off with Ariana still adjusting to the opportunity and income upgrades birthed from total life upheaval, while the vultures in her network circle the sky for scraps and squawk their way into the narrative. Her ex Sandoval shuffles in platform shoes to embrace his Charlie Brown remorseless redemption arc. This is tricky to sell, since he can’t even perform giving a shit, so he comes off more sociopathic than a serial monogamist who can’t exit a relationship without a lady-in-waiting.
“I feel like I should mention Burning Man again,” Sandoval sighs, promising this isn’t a ten-year midlife crisis, and you don’t need to see his driver’s license to check his age.
Sandoval’s hoping Schaena’s obsessive jealousy over Ariana’s turn on Dancing with the Stars will be enough to derail whatever flimsy loyalty she previously assigned to their friendship, which is a safe bet, since there’s no woman Schaena won’t assign a burning bear suit for a tendril of male approval. So begins her full transformation into Gretchen from Mean Girls, storing everyone’s tea in the location tracker on her phone, and reading off receipts whenever the attention-fairy fails to flap under her chin until she sniffs out the chorus for her next chart-missing autotune monstrosity. This is how she makes fetch happen, and tattoos it onto her arm.
“It’s all happening. It is. IT IS!” Schaena gestures violently at her pop culture initiation ink.
In the past Sandoval recommended that the cheating partner in a relationshit be the one to exit the household, but now that he’s in the village stocks that policy needs a rewrite, and like his last romantic implosion, he refuses to be the one to leave.
“This is why I tell people I wasn’t crazy, I was REACTING!” Kristin reminds everyone this is her Monica Lewinsky year.
So Ariana and Sandoval still occupy the same address, with personal assistant Ann tasked with playing a boring game of telephone. Ann’s duties include tidying the floor’s wayward hair extensions, stuffing laundry into biohazard bags, and marveling at the contents of the litterbox while Tom tracks his reflection during slow treadmill meditations on nailpolish and facial hair. Ariana has been very busy while Sandoval has just been very, so when Ariana asks Ann if she knows anyone looking for assistant work, the person Ann recommends is…herself.
“I’d really really really really like to work for someone who does stuff!” Ann squees.
“Well I’m probably going to get depressed soon, since everyone’s disparaging me for my success, and my best friends kinda aren’t…” Ariana tries to get Ann to calm down.
“I really want to work for you. Really.” Ann can’t be calmed. “I just put an enema bag in the trash. Help me.”
The next day Ann shows up in business casual attire, and quickly checks in on Tom to make sure he hasn’t lost his balance during mandatory mirror-flexing. She tells him Ariana is eager to tap her assistant network, without noting it’s a network of one, and makes haste for the kitchen. With nothing better to do than linger in the doorway of Ariana’s advancement, Sandoval learns THE TRUTH about Ann’s ambitions.
“I won’t fire her exactly, but I’ll humiliate her, and start seeing another assistant on the side,” Tom has one solution for all things.
Once Ann is crying in the kitchen, Sandoval takes his woe-is-me tour outside of the house, for more conversations about how unreasonable Ariana is for stealing the assistant that helps him wrangle the tasks of buying batteries and neglecting animals.
“Those aren’t my pets and I shouldn’t have to take care of them,” Sandoval self-awares. “Still, Ariana shouldn’t say they’re hers just because she adopted them, pays their expenses, and feeds them.”
“You locked my dog in my room for three hours, and it ate my garbage monument,” Ariana scowls.
Tom swears he shoved the litterbox full of feces in the room first, so the dog had a variety of things to snack on. That’s right, we’re given not one but two litterbox reveals, when zero would have been just fine, and it’s hard to believe the presented trough is the product of a single cat’s anal efforts, even over the stretch of a week.
“Grandma, I don’t think a cat would poop on top of poop like that, grandma,” Pogue Bun-Bun can’t believe his pink toes and nose. “I would just stand in front of it and say ‘Grandma’ over and over again while tapping the wall with my beans. Don’t they listen, Grandma?”
“Apparently not, Pogue Pierogi,” Fractalfay says, getting back to the business of doing whatever her toxoplasmosis directs.
All the same, the ASPCA needs to do a wellness check on all animals affiliated with this cast, including the frequently-biting dog working out a name-change, the cat who poops like a 41 year-old narcissist, the post-operative dog recovering from skewer-eating, and anything Schaena’s glued to her eyes.
“It’s mink!” Schaena snaps, reminding us about the time Tom saved her from financial ruin. “That’s just like a weasel or something, it’s not like it was doing anything.”
“Why are you looking at me?” Brock looks up, excited to be included.
Schaena reports she’s wrestling OCD brought on by post-baby hormones and the man-baby she shares a house with. Brock thinks the solution to this anxiety is more nannies, so there’s always someone on hand to pat makeup onto a toddler’s face while he’s busy shopping for budgie smugglers.
“I don’t see why we should parent when we don’t have to parent,” Brock’s done this before.
“I feel like this is your second chance at being a dad though,” Schaena fries.
“Doesn’t everyone get three chances?” Brock checks his notes, but all he’s written down is BECOME SANDOVAL STEP ONE: SHOES.
Schaena needs a hobby to distract herself, so she reveals she’s tracking dozens of people on her phone and knows who hooked up with who. Schaena’s big scoop is that Katie slept with Max, her former stalking victim/one-sided relationshit, and apparently Schwartz’s best friend this season. No one gives a shit in the slightest, despite Lala’s efforts to mountain-up this molehill, so the cast gets back to what they do best: chasing Ariana from scene to scene, asking if she’s gotten over her ten year relationship’s implosion yet. Now? How bout now? Now? How bout now?
This fails to trigger Ariana’s get-over-it reflex, and instead she finds herself at a beach picnic with last season’s trash and only Katie to trade side-eyes with.
“Basically I’m right professionally,” Katie reads. “On Bravo, this guarantees a villain edit.”
Schaena sits by gamely while Brock scrambles for screen time by reminding Ariana of the recent relationship crimes that lubricated her star ascension, before Schaena pivots to the once-upon-a-time everyone on the planet flirted with her even if no one else remembers.
“Tell me I’m pretty,” Schaena, always. “No, again! Tell me again!”
Only 10 of those admirers got a restraining order to halt proceedings, and since two of those were John Mayer, it technically only counts as one.
“It’s two,” John Mayer interrupts. “I had to make sure she couldn’t reach me by land or sea.”
“That still leaves air!” Schaena shouts, quickly scrawling down the name of her next song.
Sandoval and Schwartz disappear to discuss the injustice of consequences for actions, while Ariana tries to explain for the hundredth time that the manipulation window has been closed, and if her ex wants to keep smashing into it like a lost bird, that’s on him.
“Stop shoving him on me,” Ariana snaps.
“We’re leaving,” Katie calls Schwartz to let him know he should get his stuff.
“Could you just grab it?” Schwartz asks, assuming Katie is still his mommy replacement.
“Bye!” Katie is retired.
Katie and Schwartz then attempt to have a conversation about Katie’s mattress snacks with lost cast member Max, and for the first time Schwartz looks damaged.
“Maybe we could get dinner sometime,” Schwartz is not over it.
“I don’t want to get dinner sometime,” Katie is over it.
If Schwartz is going to pursue Katie all over again he’s going to need to slough off roommate and sometimes-girlfriend Jo first, which is going to be a challenge since she describes him as her “favorite person ever” thanks to a shared love of robot-noises and rubberface expressions. Jo’s not equipped to deal with the cast’s level of toxicity without a juice cleanse, so she opts for sabotage and bleaches the high holy fuck out of Schwartz’s hair instead.
“Joseph!” Schwartz always has a dumb nickname at the ready.
“Ha!” Jo’s revenge-do succeeds in failing.
This look carries him into some kind of speed-dating swingers’ party, where he courts multiple women while Jo hates herself in the bathroom. The cast’s kryptonite is direct confrontation, but Jo chooses it anyway, and asks WTF is up with dating her for months, living with her, and professing love before going lady-shopping.
“Have you seen Seeking Sister Wife?” Schwartz asks. “How about From Couple to Throuple? That one is on Peacock, so…”
Jo tabulates that she’s been played by someone who speaks in moop-moop voice when he doesn’t want to be the bad guy, then feigns ignorance when the tears start falling. Schwartz stays in character, while she retreats to privately process her failed romance with someone who seemed so perfect when they were chicken-clucking gesturing and bleeping together over burritos.
With Jo on the ropes production is desperate for more awkward Katie and Schwartz time, so we’re asked to believe they’re pursuing the same romantic lede, which is so contrived it’s not worth acknowledging beyond this. Where Katie truly shines is when she’s forced to engage with Sandoval’s scripted faux-apology tour.
“I just wanted to say I’m really sorry—“
“Let me stop you right there,” Katie retorts, every single time.
What’s Lala up to? Nothing, but she has imported her entire extended family for an assist, while proceeding to plan a second child via sperm donation, so it can be “hers” exclusively. Since this isn’t gross enough, she invites all the ladies to weigh in on the potential donor at a party at Lisa’s pink palace, where everything tacky happens, and women instantly become girls.
“Who cares!” Lala toasts with sparkling water, which is like, her thing now that she needs a thing.
“We choose Kyle!” Ariana shouts, and somewhere on Love in Paradise Kyle pauses mid-crunch.
Meanwhile, James is thriving, after giving up drinking, getting a house with Ally, and celebrating a happy reunion with long-lost dog Graham aka Hippie. He’s booking big arenas and major dates with his DJ work, but on VPR his steady gigs still happen at SUR, and he’s forced to entertain opening for Sandoval’s karaoke cover band. Sandoval starts going off on a tangent about his heartbreak over Raquel’s false imprisonment at some deprogramming camp for troubled teens, but James shuts it down with reminders that for years he claimed to be fully in-love with Ariana, and his heartbreak should be assigned to the disintegration of that union — not the side piece.
“Go push buttons on a laptop,” Sandoval whines.
“In Vegas?” James is not going to suffer a self-esteem drop from a worm with a mustache.
Ally tries to sell herself as a reformed Swiftie and an aspiring astrologer, which is more believable than Rachel’s pageant lines about helping children, so go off. She smartly keeps her distance from Lala and Schaena, who spiral further down the jealousy toilet with each passing episode, as they scramble for reasons to welcome Sandoval back to the fray and gloss over their own historic hypocrisy.
Schaena and Lala bond over their lack of understanding about real estate law, and Ariana’s unwillingness to accept a low-ball buyout offer from someone who used her good credit to fund a bar and second mortgage. Sandoval insists he will buy her out, so Ariana’s lawyers say that’s fine, and true to form, Sandoval has none of the money for this, since he already squandered his mother’s retirement.
This is still somehow branded as Ariana being unreasonable, while LVP tut-tuts about a supposed mental health crisis Sandoval experienced while he was mocking other people’s mental health.
“I think it should be obvious I’m team misogyny by now,” LVP clucks, adrift without someone to infantilize.
If that wasn’t convincing enough, LVP shows up at the shell of a sandwich shop, and is disappointed that her forced relationship between Ariana and Katie and her grifter friend Penny isn’t working.
“Here’s all the delays we haven’t enjoyed while working with your recommended COO,” Katie isn’t dumb.
“We have her contract with our lawyers,” Ariana adds, because she’s really come to appreciate the role legal experts play in her life.
“But if you have lawyers, how will you trust someone else to profit from promoting your likeness?” LVP thinks it should be clear why she picked the Toms by now.
Contracts stipulate that Kyle Chan has to perpetually resurface on this series like herpes, and a planned store opening in San Francisco means it’s time to dust off the 25th version of “Good as Gold” for whoever wants to hear it. Sandoval is tapped to manage the logistics of this opening, which he’s eager to do, and volunteers the services of his sound guy.
“I’ve never done a sound check ever,” Schaena doesn’t have to say this, but does anyway.
This also creates another opening for Schaena to fully forget that Ariana’s breakup isn’t something that happened to her.
“You’re the only person who has always had my back from day one,” Schaena actually says to the guy who called her ridiculous for ever thinking they were friends.
Lala calls while Sandoval and Schaena are playing nice-nice, to make sure Sandy knows not to come to her 33rd birthday burlesque party.
“You’re only 33?” Sandoval’s as shocked as everyone at home.
“Whatever, eternal 40,” Lala counters.
“It’s PREVENTATIVE,” Schaena snaps from the tippity top of plastic surgery mountain.
The whole team is bound for San Francisco for Kyle Chan’s opening, and Brock wants to plan a “roaring twenties” party where everyone dresses like gangsters from the 30s. Ariana’s new boyfriend Dan also plans to attend, but before they board a flight with the riff raff they go out on a cute dinner where both seem genuinely smitten with each other. Dan’s got a firm NYC vibe, and stiffens when Ariana suggests relocation to the superficial capital of the country. He’s not keen, and all I see is an opportunity for an NYC-based show and future interaction between Ariana and the Summer House crew.
“How is it possible I haven’t been engaged to him yet?” Lindsey scans her instagram followers for any possible overlap.
Meanwhile, Sandoval readies to wow no one with his band-of-sorts, and the person writing the closed captions delivers by describing his bid at trumpet playing as *plays discordant notes*. James shows up to watch the gig, and Tom’s mom is already on deck, and stares at the stage like she’s captivated by her favorite televangelist and is going to be seized by the holy spirit, as soon as the lithium wears off.
“Yike,” Vy’s go-to line really works here.
Before the show is even over the venue scrambles to take his name off the marque, and Jo and Schwartz assemble outside to revisit their separation. Jo demonstrates the moves she learned at her latest improv class, and Schwartz asks to perform his one man wishy-washy act. Jo consents, and he says he feels weird with the distance between them, but wants their status as friends to be clear, but also doesn’t want to rule out getting married in eight years.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about,” protests Jo, who has too many receipts reflecting his habit of professing undying love and then taking it back.
Dan seems to know his presence on the show will inspire speculation that he’s a screen-chaser, so he opts out of a planned group boat outing in favor of working out and getting a massage. Everyone else heads to pier 39, where Lala uses her laser-sharp people reading skills to hone in on everything she overlooks in herself. Schwartz attempts to hold Katie’s hand for the first time in 15 years, and Katie tests the battery on her taser in case she needs to use it. Brock reminds everyone that Schaena recommended warm clothes but no one paid attention, so maybe folks should go on a spending spree at local shops before they board the SS Minnow for a three hour tour.
Schwartz tells Sandoval he’s been thinking about his proposal that they live together and collectively pay a $12K a month mortgage, and his mind is telling him no, but his body is telling him yeah.
“So I’m saying yes,” Schwartz announces, and Sandoval is super relieved he’s that much closer to still not being able to buy Ariana out.
On board the boat the weather starts getting tough, and the tiny ship is tossed, which ups the opportunity for a rogue wave to knock someone’s cell phone into the sea. All that build up has no delivery, but James does find the fire for a few random swings around a pole.
“Whee! I’m fun!” James is an army of one.
After the trip Sandoval dares the sea lions to attack, but they think they’ve already had their fill of microplastics, and some tragic twist of fate leaves Ariana trapped in conversation with Brock.
“Have you considered getting over your breakup for my wife’s benefit?” Holy shit Brock.
“So she can be buddies with the guy who screamed at her last week?” Ariana hasn’t sniffed glue since high school.
“Here’s a bland statement about forgiveness…” Brock says things.
“You don’t have to forgive anyone,” Ariana with the truth. “Gray rocking and going no contact is the only way to avoid manipulation. That’s me. I’m a grey rock.”
“I am the walrus!” a sea lion with an identity crisis retorts.
“I’m Schaena’s rock,” Brock tries. “And people have always said I’ve got rocks in my head, so I get it.”
“Not really,” Ariana’s familiar with how men on this show work. “I’m retired from diapering my man-baby. There’s power in female rage. And there never seems to be any issue with male rage.”
“Male rage whaaaa…” Brock’s sniffing glue habit is active, as the editors provide a little montage of all the mantrums that have tied the show together since this season’s premiere.
Brock derps away to get a haircut from the wrong era, and everyone gets ready for the historically inaccurate theme party, and Lala knocks on the door of Ariana’s room for a chance to spot Dan in a towel.
“I’m not mad,” Lala’s eyes keep going up and down, while Dan seems to immediately identify the bullshit before him.
Dan passes on the group dinner in favor of a private dinner with one of Ariana’s best friends, but he does iron all of Ariana’s clothes and lay them out for her, so Ann should know the personal assistant competition is heating up. It’s hard to tell if Dan is defensive about the coming interrogation, if he’s yucked out about sharing airspace with Sandoval, or if he just wants nothing to do with all of this.
“He (Sandoval) hasn’t done anything to me,” Dan explains. “But I know what he’s done.”
“I need to go before my lady-boner shows,” Lala excuses herself.
James splish splashes balls-deep in the bathtub with a rubber duck, while Ally tries to puzzle out Dan’s reluctance to attend dinner.
“Have you met us?” James asks, before humming a few bars of Rubber Ducky. “He might not even be able to stand being in the room with Sandoval. And not just because of the smell. Did you hear he’s moving in with his loser best friend so they can go nowhere together? Swan dive into bubbles!”
Everyone arrives at a bar or something, with James looking Peaky Blinders, Schwartz in a brown suit with snaps down the sides, Lala playing flapper, and Brock looking like a bouncer at a Berlin sex club. Someone notes Ariana and Sandoval wear similar shoes, and Ariana seems hypnotized by her phone as a means of avoiding looking up for too long.
Wing-woman Katie is ever at the ready, so she and Ariana take in the view until Schwartz saunters over to announce they look like a duo.
“We’re the new Tom-Tom,” Katie smirks.
Schwartz admits he’s still subservient, and is eager to hit on his ex-wife.
“You like me again,” he tries.
“No I don’t,” Katie retorts.
Schwartz goes on to propose a one-night stand of binge-eating snack food and scrolling in silence, but Katie isn’t nostalgic for her mistakes. She thinks in a few years Schwartz will brand her the one who got away, and she’s going to stay away just to make sure that happens.
Schaena finds a secluded spot to go outside with Sandoval to talk logistics, while Ariana paces alone, texting Dan that she’s got leftovers for him. He responds he’s stuffed and a little drunk, and his pushing away is getting distracting. Sandoval insists to Schaena that he feels good about Dan’s presence, because that way someone is there for Ariana. Schaena tries to get him to apologize for weaponizing her mental health, and Sandy admits that he does feel bad about that, and this almost seems sincere, so they indulge in an extended hug.
“I helped Ariana clean her house too,” Schaena reminds everyone at home, just in case we were landing too hard on her being awful.
“Oh, I’m still just here to rage bait,” Lala interjects, eager to resume instigation duties once her sparkling water hangover subsides.
Thank you, Patreon supporters! The rest of the season will be recapped in May! patreon.com/fractalfay

I've been struggling with the ASD diagnosis I got over a month ago. I've been reading an unmasking book to see how much of it applies to me and how much I don't associate with. It's really a 50/50 endeavor. I was diagnosed ADHD over 35 years ago and that is something I've never disagreed with. The marks of that have been very observable over my whole life and I've always seen that in myself. The ASD... I am still struggling with that. Some of it seems to apply to me perfectly while other parts are completely unrelatable.
Just found out yesterday that palilalia is a common stim in autistic people. Remember that scene in Goodfellas where they're introducing all the guys in the various crews? One of them was Jimmy "Two Times". If you go to the 38-second mark of the linked YouTube video, there ya go.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=caCA0rUMR6U
I used to do this ALL THE TIME as a kid. I STILL do it today but less frequently because, as I aged, I was more aware of it and people told me it was weird so I made an effort to quash it. It was so frequent in childhood that, after this movie came out, my brothers used to call me, "Two Times". There was no malice in that, it was just funny so yeah... that was my nickname for awhile. I figured being named after a tough gangster was cool. Hell... I think it still is.
Anyway, that whole behavior makes so much more sense now. Wow...

Barron, Laird. “Hand of Glory”. The Book of Chthulhu II. Night Shade Books (2012).
Write-up courtesy of u/ChickenDragon123
Johnny Cope is a gun for hire in the roaring twenties. After a hotel ambush nearly kills him, he intends to exact retribution, only to find himself dragged into the occult.

Summary

Johnny Cope is a man with a reputation. His father started it, serving as the preferred troubleshooter for a gangster until his heart gave out. Johnny stepped right into his father's shoes, breaking heads and pulling triggers as necessary to fuel his vices and pay his creditors. The inciting incident is a hotel room ambush by a pair of hit men nicknamed "the long and the short." Johnny manages to turn the ambush around, but he's almost killed in the process, barely making it home before bleeding out. When he wakes he is under the "protective custody" of gangster Mylon Arden. The Long and the Short, while not exactly popular, were useful, and Johnny's fate is in limbo until things can be worked out.
Johnny asks politely if he can take his "bodyguards" along on a little investigation to find out who wants him dead, and Arden agrees. Enter Phil Wary (Helios Augustus), While Johnny was down and out, Augustus paid him a call, claiming to know about a man named Conrad Paxton, who allegedly killed Cope's father and now is trying to finish the job on his son. Johnny has questions, so drives into Olympia for a little chat. Augustus' evidence isn't strong, but he's persuasive enough, and shows Cope a film reel by the late auteur Eadweard Muybridge that depicts some rather unpleasant images, and ends with a young Paxton, Muybridge’s stepson, skittering about like a spider. Johnny is unnerved but determined to follow through, so Augustus points him toward Ransom Hollow and the Corning sisters, who originated the claim that Paxton killed Cope Sr.
The sisters are a creepy bunch. Upon the approach to the house a naked man is seen slipping between the hedges, before disappearing. Inside the house, is filled with the sounds of a child crying despite the fact that the women claim to be spinsters without children. Apparently, it's the darkening of the moon, and they are doing some kind of ritual to prolong their lives. The chosen ambassador, Carling Corning, tells Johnny their side of the story: Paxton sucked the soul out of Cope's father through ritualistic photography. Cope writes it off as insanity but is quick to take the talisman that Carling offers him as protection, and leaves behind one of his "bodyguards" in exchange.
In town, he debates the merits of proceeding with his revenge as he finds his way to a dive called Satan's Bung. Soon a "band" of sorts takes the stage, led by Daniel Blackwood. The Blackwood gang expresses their interest in Cope, and invites him out into the boondocks, where Cope assumes he's about to be murdered. Instead, Blackwood asks him to whack Paxton for him at a party Paxton is throwing the next day. Blackwood’s hands are tied, since he swore an oath not to harm Paxton, but the time for their arrangement is coming to a close and Cope has a reputation. Cope is hesitant, and Blackwood draws in close before noticing the talisman and flinching away. Cope agrees to think about it, and is sent on his way alongside his bodyguards.
At this point it’s clear that black magic of some sort is being practiced by almost everyone in Ransoms Hollow and Johnny's initial instincts are to get out of there, but an appearance by the Blackwoods makes it clear that the only path forward is through. Johnny goes to the Paxton’s shindig, gets there early and is surprised when, despite his threats, Paxton is quite welcoming and dismisses his guards. Johnny leaves his own men outside, speaking privately with Paxton as guests arrive. Paxton it seems is something of a failed anti-Christ figure for many in the hollow. He claims to believe in black magic and Satan only so far as it follows natural law. Satan, he claims, isn't interested in us. He says the Copes’ evil is of the lower-case variety, while his is proper Evil. Alas, the Crones, the Blackwoods, they had hopes for him, and he can't live up to them.
Paxton also claims that Helios Augustus is the one who killed Cope's father. Augustus was a friend of Conrad's father, and put him on the path to dark magic, and disturbing imagery in the first place. Then when Muybridge died Augustus wanted his remaining film reels and Paxton refused to give them up. Ever since, Augustus has been trying to kill Conrad and now he has at last succeeded. Conrad’s tired now, and just wants it over with. (I am greatly summarizing, and the details here are fascinating. Really worth reading the story for yourself if you haven't).
Despite himself, Cope believes the man but kills him anyway. Paxton is after all upper-case Evil by his own admission, and even if he didn't kill Cope's father, Cope wants to be sure. Shortly after, Helios Augustus enters and, upon seeing Johnny, deploys the titular hand of glory taken from the late Cope Sr. Johnny finds himself paralyzed as Helios gloats, largely confirming Paxton's account and looting the room for occult treasure. Then he leaves, mentioning that the Blackwoods have claim to Johnny, though he leaves the lit hand close enough for Johnny to blow it out, freeing himself from paralysis. From there Johnny makes his escape, mowing down a number of Blackwood thugs and setting fire to the manor before fleeing the burning estate.
When he gets home, all is forgiven. He's back in the good graces of Mr. Arden, and even needed in a fight with a rival crime boss. Johnny is glad to hear it, though he’s now developed higher aspirations than to merely be like his father. When he searches for Augustus at the Broadsword Hotel, the proprietor informs him that Helios has left for parts unknown. Johnny half expected it, and the story closes with him musing on how he'll get his vengeance.

Thematic Analysis

The Beautiful Thing that Awaits Us All is a very different collection from Occultation or Imago Sequence. Imago was (at least in my view) about snapshots of different worlds. Different lives. Different viewpoints. Occultation is about relationships. How they can be eaten away and manipulated. The Beautiful Thing, though, is about Death. It's about the Cycle. The ring. "Hand of Glory" is similar to a lot of Laird's other work. The archetypes are the same. Cope is a "poet-barbarian" with a lot more intellect than most will credit him, and a mean sense of honor. His failure in education is more due to lack of interest than lack of intellect. Cope moves through the world with a kind of fatalism. When he dies it will be at the end of a gun barrel, and he knows it. If he's ever asked for last words they'll probably be along the lines of a shrug and a "Fate's a bitch. What can you do?"
Cope's foils are interesting then. The antagonist of the story, Helios Augustus, is a man of flash and style, wholly at odds with Cope's earthy demeanor. Augustus is a deceiver, a Lucifer far more effective than Conrad Paxton, the failed antichrist. He's a dark Gandalf, kicking Cope out the door in an attempt to claim the dragon's hoard. This is at odds with Cope who, though a criminal, is a fairly honest man, a Ronin of the Roaring Twenties. He displays a bizarre sort of honor almost as much as his violent tendencies. He shoos call girl Pearl out of the way when the Long and the Short come gunning, and he expresses remorse over the fate of a prostitute his father brained in his defense years ago.
It's that honor that separates Cope from the other foil of the story: Conrad Paxton. Paxton may be genial, but he's also clear that he is a monster. Murdering another schoolboy, for reasons unknown, and his sister for reasons that are hinted at. He willingly allies himself with the forces of darkness. His geniality is born of exhaustion rather than empathy. Paxton is a monster, capital-E Evil, but apathetic towards his own existence. In some ways it's an apathy that Cope shares. For a large chunk of the story, Cope is resigned to his fate. What separates him from Paxton (apart from the practice of black magic) is that Cope will still fight it. It's also interesting that Paxton lacks faith and understanding in his chosen field of Darkness. Paxton is a man of reason. He believes in Satan with the same tired understanding as most Christians. Sure, the arch-devil is out there but his interest in this plane has long waned. Despite this lack of faith, he still flinches from the talisman Cope was given by Carling Corning, only to decry it as fake a moment later. It's interesting that mere moments after his death there is a hellish miracle in the form of the Hand of Glory. I think the reason Paxton is a failed antichrist is he doesn't believe in what he's preaching. He's apathetic. There is the disappointment. Blackwood, the Crones, and Augustus are enthusiastic about the darkness. Zealots in Lucifer’s army, if you will. In comparison, Paxton is dead weight.
It's also important to note that Paxton and Cope both live in the shadow of a father’s legacy. Both men live in their father’s homes and carry on their occupations. Paxton apparently has some talent like his father did (though whether this is in black magic or photography is left somewhat vague and it could go either way.) In the same way, Cope has his father's gifts. He works for the same mob boss, doing the same work. Paxton is a mirror for Cope. More refined, but also drained of anything to live for. He is less passionate, less empathetic, and less honorable. He is (I suspect) what Cope would be in ten years’ time if the events of the story hadn't pushed him to want to be more than his father's son. When faced with death, Paxton is fine with it. Cope, though, finds that there is more life, and more fight in him.

Thematic elements that didn't fit in this essay:

Cope is bookended by Helios and Paxton. Paxton, who died young, and Helios, who seems to have unnaturally long life. Cope, to the best of my knowledge, hasn't appeared again, and any revenge he might have attempted against Helios probably went poorly.
It's interesting to view “Hand of Glory” as the opposite of John Lanagan's “Technicolor” in how it was composed. See Historical Notes below.

Historical Notes

Holy Bleep. This one has some interesting stuff in it. So, I'll be honest, out of the ones I asked Greg for, “Hand of Glory” was the one I was least interested in. I thought it was a well-written but ultimately well-worn story. Now, though, I’m really excited to share my thoughts on this one. This story is insane, and the historical context is fascinating. So, Eadweard Muybridge is a real person, and almost everything about him in the story is true as far as I can tell. The only exceptions are the last reel with Conrad Paxton, and Conrad Paxton in general. Both are fictional. However, there are some fascinating insights here.

1. The opening lines, presumably written by Paxton, are in reference to Muybridge's "Buffalo Running across the plains." You can find it on his Wikipedia page. It's either a dream version or maybe some updated darker version of Muybridge’s actual work.
2. Muybridge's filming of people doing everyday things naked actually happened. Again, see Wikipedia. It's bizarre, and the story is actively bleeping with my brain.
3. Muybridge had a son in real life (Florado who is briefly referenced in “Hand of Glory”). He also had a photography company. Both had the name Helios. It was Florado's middle name and the name of the company. Clearly Laird is emphasizing how close Muybridge and Helios Augustus actually were. I had to double check that both Helios and Paxton were fictional people after this.

Basically, everything mentioned about Muybridge is accurate as far as I can tell. It’s fascinating that with just a couple of pieces Laird was able to tack on so much fiction. It's sort of the opposite of what John Langan did for the story “Technicolor.” In that tale of horror, Langan makes up a whole fictional story tacked onto Poe's “The Masque of the Red Death,” but it is presented with such authority that it feels real. “Hand of Glory” goes the other way, tacking fiction onto real life, and using the connection to greatly deepen the story.

Discussion

1. In terms of genre, how do you categorize “Hand of Glory”? Horror? Dark fantasy? Noir fantastic?
2. Is there a significance - thematic or otherwise - to the hand of glory being the hand of Johnny Cope’s late father?
3. Of all the characters in this story, who do you consider to be the most dangerous?

It was just another usual night, same routine; go to raymond’s club, get changed, practice my typical routine, preform, go home. easy right? easier said then done.
my name is carla mabey-carpenter
it’s the good ol’ 50s, and i’m a showgirl.
i’ve been a showgirl for quite some time, not years like my coworkers, but long enough to make decent pay. now i know what’s goin’ on in ya noggin’. “oh carla why would you become a show girl? you coulda been a nice housewife.” everyone i knew thought that about me, but what’s even more irritating? that they didn’t even have to say it. it’d be written all over their dumb faces.
i get out of my teal car and waltz into raymond’s club, and i’m one inch ahead of the door before i’m stopped, and who is it? raymond. i already knew his shtick, he was gonna ramble on about me being late and yadda yadda. i’m tired of hearing it and tune it out if i could without all his shouting and yapping.
“you are 30 minutes late! don’t you wanna make a quick buck? have a hot meal? a roof over your empty head?”
he said in his raspy voice from yelling. i roll my blue eyes at him, ready-ing my script in my head,
“yes i do raymond, you’re right it won’t happen again, i’m sorry.” i say blankly. “yeah, yeah, just get on stage…”
raymond said pushing my back towards the dressing rooms.
“big oaf..”
i thought to myself, i open the light adorned door west of the main stage and greet my coworkers.
“evening ladies.” i say while hanging up my coat.
“heya carla!”
said a pale woman in a southern accent, who i knew as victoria “vicky” vicky was the type of person who left a lasting impression on you, she was a looker, you could tell she was gonna have her name in lights one day.
“let me guess? was it crazy ray?” she said while fluffing her blonde hair.
“ding ding ding! we have a winner!” i said in a jokey tone.
“we’ll you betta’ get ready soon red, shows starting in 10.” vicky informed.
she called me red from my hair, i called her blondie. i walk over to my vanity and put on my blonde wig, raymond told me to wear it since i started, he said it because it was “unsexy” don’t know why, don’t wanna. i put on my makeup and outfit and sit in my chair, hoping by tomorrow i’ll make ends meet and pay my rent. theirs no way no how i’ll move back in with my mother. as i’m lost in space, my other coworker strolls in with 3 coffees, dotty. dotty was about as sweet as pie, your mind rushes to “now why would a sweet girl like that work here?” it was a unspoken rule here not to ask though. “how are you girls?” she grinned while placing the coffees on our tables. “ain’t complaining.” vicky answers. dotty and vicky make small talk while i stare at myself in the mirror. it had the name “Claire” ingrained on the bottom, we were allowed to choose fake names for ourselves, but raymond chose for me. he said because it meant famous in french. yeah right. me famous? who would want me in a movie- i’m back from space thanks to vicky snapping her fingers in my face. “red! come back from dreamland, we’re on.” her and dotty and the other girls walk out, leaving me in my seat. i sigh. i cross my arms while standing up. “gotta give these bozos a show.” i thought. me and the girls are behind the pink velvet curtain, i’m behind a girl whose real name i didn’t know but was called paige’s. i didn’t know her that well but from watching her she’s real two faced. always pretending to be everyone’s friend, (especially raymond’s) but mutters insults under her breath. i didn’t want to stand next to her. she was the type to tell you you’re messing up and make fun of you, and mess you up even more. i inched closer to an acquaintance dahlia. she was a closed book. she never said much and was always doing her own thing. i could tell this job wasn’t for her, heck it wasn’t for everybody. it took guts. it was the last resort kinda job, if you didn’t make it in a news outlet, a restaurant, babysitting, you’d be here. i glance down at my costume, then at the others, this weeks getup is a little better then prior, pink playsuit with cream colored accents and silver sequins going up the middle. i take a deep breath. inhaling how much i don’t wanna do this forever, exhaling that i’m a whirlin’ twirlin’ tramp. i know I’m never gonna get a serious job ever again. maybe when- my thoughts were put off when the curtains rise. i scan the ground floor to if theirs customers, it’s just two tipsy men sitting at the tables and the bar is full. “buncha wasted freeloaders” i grumble lowly. the music cuts on and me and the girls do our routine; we take turns singing the lyrics to the song, we kick our legs in the air, we spin. we finish and take our bows. it was crickets out there, not even a pity clap from raymond or the bartender. “we did good out there girls, i’m proud of y’all.” vicky encouraged. they were just bein’ sour grapes she joked. the group walked down the stage and i peeked through the curtains, not even a wink or grab. man we sucked tonight, raymond’s not gonna like this. i stroll to the dressing room trying to decide whether to get changed the fastest to leave, or the slowest so raymond can’t scold me. i wasn’t scared of raymond, i was scared of what he might do. he wasn’t very from reasonable, stubborn, and when you got fired, he made you regret it. i decide the slower option and dillydally. i drink the coffee dotty got me and go outside to get a paper from the stand. front page:
“the local mob and gangs are out of control here in the big apple, but are picky when it comes to territory. disputes are still ongoing and are just as messy and inhumane. stay safe out their folks!”
i look up from the newspaper.
“i just hope they don’t take this part of town.” i pray.
i head back inside to some kind of commotion, it’s that dahlia having a fit of some sorts? i stand front of the door perplexed, dahlia never made so much as a peep since i known her, maybe someone grabbed her and it got to her? i scan the room, all of the patrons have gone. maybe they got caught and ran out?
“Just shut up!” dahlia shouts violently out of the dressing room,
Raymond follows behind her.
“aw cmon doll face, you’re getting worked up over nothing.” he fake-reassures.
“Ugh! you don’t understand anything! Don’t you get i’ve had enough!”
“Hey YOU signed up for this!” raymond snaps back.
“i didn’t wanna be in this gig forever!”
she stretched her arm out facing the stage.
“You know it’s a big surprise that all this complaining and bossing is coming out of you Ann!”
i eventually go to vicky to ask what led up to this.
“what’s all this about blondie?” i whispered. “i’m not even sure, one minute she’s sitting at her table and the next she hits her fist on the table and storms out!”
i look at her then dahlia or “ann” i never seen so much anger on her face, she was always so silent and timid.
“complaining?! look who’s talking cheeky bastard! the only one bossy around here is you!”
“you’ve got a smart-mouth don’t’cha? since when did you grow a pair?”
“before i met you!” dahlia slapped raymond in a quick motion. he quickly brushes it off, unfazed.
“you can’t hit me!”
“sure i can, i don’t work here anymore. you’re not my boss!”
she growled. “you’re quitting? just like that? you’ll regret this and come crawling back.”
before she can spit another insult she grabs her coat and left in a huff. Raymond runs his hand through his hair while inhaling behind his teeth and turns to the bar and leaned on it. we all just stood there silent, waiting for something. finally vicky spoke. “let’s…go change girls…” they follow. i stay staring at raymond. after what felt like an hour i go up to him and see he poured himself a scotch.
“raymond…” i say softly he signed before he answers
“look…i just need a minute…i left your paycheck in my office, take it and go home …”
i wasn’t in the mood to linger much longer so i did as he said. only 15 bucks…that’s not even enough for half of my rent. the drive home was silent, and as soon as i open the door to my room i shift towards my bedroom and collapse onto my bed. glad that’s over with.
Tuesday•1955•morning
i laid in bed thinking about yesterday’s screaming contest, i wonder if raymond gonna be hard on us now for dahlia quitting, guess i just have to grin and bare it if so. i got ready for the day and locked my apartment door, i scanned my view from my balcony, “this city’s turning filthier going and coming.” i thought. since i didn’t have groceries i went to the diner next to my complex, it was shabby like the rest of the buildings round’ here but in a comforting way. i order bacon and eggs with pancakes, wasn’t the best but i ain’t hard to please, i pay my check and pick up some groceries as well decide to sit in the park. it was best to go there early morning since all the mobsters would hangout there at night and nobody wanted to be mixed up in their business, most of all me. who would willingly shoot people in middle of the street just cuz they looked at ya funny? i swear those men have no regard for other people’s lives. i sit on the park bench and pull out the book i’m reading; “the talented mr. ripely” it’s not a bad read so far, he has some traits i see in myself, we both live in manhattan, and he always felt different…like he didn’t belong. as i’m lost in my book, i see a boy walking his bike and a paper in hand. he sees me and gave me the newspaper. “free paper for the pretty lady.” i thank him and he continued walking. i guess it wouldn’t hurt to take take a break. FRONT PAGE:
“local mob boss fallon luciano claimed fifth avenue as territory, him and his crew is armed and dangerous, you don’t wanna ruffle this guys feathers, when will the gang wars end?”
i made a disgusted sigh, these cheap crooks are claiming areas where normal citizens live, and can shoot anyone they felt like right outside someone’s window. truly selfish people. i roll up the paper and rested it on the bench, before i take a deep breath, and get up and go home. i finish my house chores sit down in front of the couch, i scope out the living room and am proud of the work i did. damn…i’m so good at cleaning. although i wish i was good at other things. growing up i didn’t have many hobbies, i have a talent for singing raymond told me, but overtime i lost the passion for it. i’m just gonna get tonight over with, hopefully by friday i’ll have enough for rent. maybe with my savings i’ll go on vacation…oh…who am i kidding? my savings are enough for a 2 day trip to jersey. it’s not like i’ll go to hawaii anytime soon. i sigh, and turn on the television. maybe it’ll take my mind off things. after watching a tv movie i check the clock; 8:16 pm “shit.” i breath lowly i grab my coat and lock my door and drove off to work. i do the same routine once more, but i could tell the tension was still there from yesterday. some part of me was waiting to see dahlia, thinking she was exaggerating, that she’d be in the back of the dressing room with us, but she was a no show. i wave to red, she smiled softly at me then applied her lipstick. raymond’s not hovering around the dressing room or bar, so before i changed i went into his office. admittedly, i was curious to know the history between him and dahlia. i knock on the dark mahogany door “come in!” i heard before opening the door widely. “can i help you miss claire?” he asked. his feet on his desk smoking a cigar. “yes…” i answer while folding my hands. screw it just ask him popped into my head and i wasn’t one to sugarcoat anything. “you know what, i’m just gonna cut to the chase.” i say assertively. raymond raised an eyebrow. “how do you know dahlia? what’s your relationship?” i said crossing my arms.
he scaled me up and down “what’s it to you?” he said in a tired voice breaking eye contact.
“you obviously knew her before she worked here, she definitely knows you.” his eyes darted to me.
“it’s nothing worth to you paige…” his eyes drifted away from me, i pouted. after realizing raymond isn’t gonna dump his regrets on me, i’ll just give in for now.
“go on get ready now, it’s a big night tonight.” he shooed me.
big night? on a tuesday? hardly anyone came in cept’ your casual drunkard.
“oh, i expensed some fancier clothes for ya, shut the door on your way out.”
i nodded and left. i go over to the dressing room and see the girls taking extra time on their hair and makeup, considering how more put-together they look then usual. i am curious what raymond meant buy “expensed” for our costumes, i unzip the cover of one of the clothes on the rack and i’m stunned. i never seen such a beautiful ensemble before. i couldn’t tell what it looked like in full but it definitely looked expensive, a white tuft soft white feathers adorned with lace patterns all around, small white ribbons, and covered of glitter. it was incredibly gorgeous. it obviously wasn’t for me though, me being a backup dancesinger i wore similar clothes to the main dancer but lackluster. this definitely suited vicky more. i remembed to get ready at my table. and finished when raymond knocks and comes in
“hey, you girls look great, show starts in 5-“
he said in a cutoff he darted to me. “hey, why you wearing the wrong getup?”
“wrong?” i question, slightly cocking my head.
“your outfit was for vicky, and hers was yours, switch.”
my heart fluttered a bit in my chest, i got the beautiful outfit?
“break a leg, and don’t mess up.”
raymond said while shutting the door. i asked vicky “i’m the main dancer?” i said unsure of myself.
“yeah! raymond didn’t tell you? he commissioned that outfit just for you red!”
she said beaming, the beauty mark on her cheek moved upward. she looked really excited for me surprisingly, i’d thought she’d be a tad jealous. that’s what was so good about vicky, she was always so kind and genuine to everyone, even to those who didn’t deserve it. we changed and get on stage,
wow it looked even better on. red was right, it was made for me.
i’m feeling excited being the lead, not sure why but i am. suddenly i hear alot of chattering from the customers, i peek through the curtain and see a table of men in expensive looking suits smoking fat smelly cigars, they looked old, late 60s to be specific, and were shooting back whisky and bourbon like it was water. they were definitely gangsters. the loud talking, silver locks, heavy eyebags with faded scars. i decide i’ve seen enough. i knew i’d get good pay though, so that was something. i keep checking myself in the mirror, i start to sweat a little, if i look sexy enough and give these crooks a good time, i’ll make great pay. i was having the preshow jitters, i quit smoking 2 years ago, but i’d die for a cigarette right now. my train of thought was derailed by a even louder chatter, oh what now? did the queen herself waltz in? i didn’t even see who it was, nor did i want to. more then anything i wanted to do the show, get my riches, go home and pay my rent. hopefully i’d have some leftover and buy myself something nice. i caught myself daydreaming then felt a tap on my shoulder,
“claire, c’mon sweetie we’re up.” said dotty motherly.
i hear our heels clack on the wood floor in unison as we got to the wall of red velvet in front of us. the curtains raised; the lights dimmed and a spotlight hit us as the music cut on, i posed waiting for my chorus, i bounced my hips with one hand and the other in the air. i sang loud and it carried through the room, the girls harmonizing with me. i raised my arms like a ballerina, tilted my head back, rolled my shoulders. i looked at the entrance for a while til i heard a clink of glasses coming from the table in front of the stage, in front of me. i see a man sitting in the middle who is visibly younger then his company, downing a glass of beer, he Stares at me while sipping his glass, his eyes were small and serious, almost squinting. a strand of his black hair fell on his forehead, i felt like he was staring at something behind me. i broke my stare and flashed a huge smile like i was taking a family photo towards the crowd. “just smile and look pretty” i thought to myself, all to make better pay. i swayed my hips to the beat and tilt my head upwards singing the lyrics. the song ends, the lights dim. Few other patrons clapped, not the table in front. during the applause one of the older gangster men burst into a hearty laugh, the young one continued drinking despite watching me the whole time.
they didn’t see me at all. except…that one.
i bow whilst taking in some deep breaths, i thought about addressing the men, but after i got the spotlight and they didn’t so much as hear me, i didn’t wanna give them a share.
after i returned back stage, vicky congratulated me. she seemed genuinely proud of me, like i was training for this for years. too bad i didn’t think of it that way
“Red you did it! you couldn’t have done it better, you looked great out there.”
she says with her hands close to her chest.
“thanks vicky, your the best.”
i replied with a half smile. after she goes change, i couldn’t think of anything to relieve my pent up emotions, i was angry that i didn’t get more viewers, stressed about the stupid bills! having second thoughts about getting evicted, moving back home.
No. i won’t let that get to me, how can i relax before going home? a drink? no they mostly serve old fashions and beers here, not to be miss picky but is a simple glass of red so hard to get? then i remember one of the girls smokes here. i know, i know, going back to my old habits is bad, but i just needed a break, a smoke break to put it. i scan my surroundings for one of my coworkers who i knew had a pack, why i couldn’t just buy one? i know myself, i used to love-i love smoking, and if i had a whole pack in my possession i’d smoke it all in 2 hours. so just one is all i need to take the edge off.
i knew i seen dahlia smoke a few times, maybe she left some in her vanity, i go over to it and see it was decorated with some of her fiery personality, photographs of her and some of her friends it looks like, pearls strung around the mirror in a messy manner, makeup stains on the mirror and desk top. we all had the same vanity’s backstage so i knew there was a drawer, i opened it to see 3 cigarettes scattered around with some of her odds and ends. i take just the one and tell vicky i’m taking a smoke break, almost doing a double take at me.
“red! i thought you quit? isn’t it better to let old habits die?” she said in a whiny tone.
“hey it’s just one cigarette, it’s not like it’s gonna kill me.” i say defensively
“you know, i read in a magazine that it actually leads to lung cancer! you better know what your doing red!” she said like a apprehensive mother.
i decide to reply as a child “yes mom…i promise.” i respond in a sarcastic complaint.
she pouts at me while holding back some laughs.
“see you tomorrow red, love you.”
she waved goodbye while grabbing her purse, i wave back. now, all i need is a lighter, i knew the bartender had some matches so i asked him and he gave me some no questions, i go to the back of the building and open the employees only door and it’s another midday rain, thankfully theirs an overhang above me, “perfect.” i thought. i put the cigarette between my lips, (god i missed that feeling) i flicked the matches and it sparked but died out, i did a another one, then another one, then another, i’m on the second to last one, maybe the world is telling me i shouldn’t.
i hear the door open next to me, one of the girls came to smoke as well i assume. striking, striking, striking, no fire, last one. 3, 2, 1, nothing. then i hear a metal lighter click and light a cigarette, i hear a harsh deep inhale, oh it’s just raymond, he’ll light it for me. i turn to face him “hey ray, you wouldn’t mind-“ i’m taken aback, it was the young man with the gangsters.
i’ve heard the stories. the cold blooded, ruthless, brutal stories. he had a towering presence. i didn’t know what to do, my flight or fight senses kicked in, i thought about whether to run back inside, or reprimand him for being somewhere he shouldn’t. that’d probably get me killed. even if i wanted to get away, i felt like my feet were trapped in glue. people often forget the third option. Freeze.
i stand like a stiff statue and stare blankly ahead of me, hoping he didn’t hear what i said. a minute goes by and all you hear is the pitter patter of the rain above us from the overhang. and all i see is his huge puffs of smoke dissipate in the misty air. a shiver goes up my back as i realize i forgot to change. i facepalm myself in my head. i didn’t even notice my teeth had been chattering for a while. i felt a pair of eyes piercing me like pin pricks. i shift my eyes at him quickly, god he’s looking at me!
what now? i look away, was i being too noisy? oh god let this end well for me. just then i felt a brush of fabric against my right shoulder. is he…nudging me? i turn my head see to something you’d probably only see in romance films. he’s holding his suit jacket out…for me?
i don’t know what to do, do i take it? is this some sort of tactic? i stare and him in a white button down and the jacket for a little longer, until he finally spoke. “aren’t you cold blondie?” a deep husky voice.
vicky’s nickname i gave her…still i don’t understand, why would this “infamous” mobster give some showgirl his jacket? after he probably killed a man and threatened his family.
i decide to let whatever’s going to happen, happen. i look down at the ground while i grab it, it’s a good material. i hold it looking at it, it’s cream colored, well tailored, i feel like i’m waiting to see a blood stain or something or other to get a hint of what he does to his victims. is any of his goons gonna snatch me up? perfect opportunity; it’s raining. nobody else is back here besides me and him. i continue holding it while staring away. suddenly i felt a presence behind me, oh god! he’s gonna snap my neck or strangle me isn’t he? i close my eyes. hoping it doesn’t end for me in a split second, you’ve had a good run carla. maybe it was all—i felt him take the jacket and place it over my shoulders. i open my eyes widely
Did he just…do that?
i gazed up at him, he had a intense stare paired with denim colored eyes. i couldn’t tell if he was angry or disappointed in something, was it something i did? something i didn’t do? i knew i had to say something, he fidgeted like he was waiting in a long line, i had to think my words very…carefully.
“than-thank you…”
he nodded as he registered it and turned to the door to go back inside, i had to say something else, i wanted to figure him out.
“why’d-why’d you call me blondie?…”
his head turns to me while the doors ajar.
“you are blonde, aren’t you?” he said sarcastically
i wanted to say “no, this is a wig. my friends the real blondie here!” but what was more like a eep than a yes
“ye-yep…”
he turn to face me again, stepping closer, oh god he’s really close. i was hit with a gust of expensive wine and cologne, what’s he up to now?
he reached for his pocket and pulled out the lighter he used and lit my cigarette, i completely forgot about the cigarette. i don’t even inhale it just then, when he grinned before saying;
“i wouldn’t mind lighting it for you…” he said low and slow.
then walked back inside, i felt the warmth and loud music from the inside flowing out…and felt the warmth on my face from his presence lingering. i finally inhaled that longed for cigarette, the sensation fills your chest. the rain slowing down to a light drizzle, with that “after the rain stops” smell. his jacket still clinging to my shoulders, this mysterious cologne combined with the rain is a scent i don’t wanna forget and bottle up.
that was some smoke break…

On August 6, Nikolay Zykov, nicknamed Yakutenok, known to the police as the head of the Perm mafia, appealed what he considered an unjust court verdict: two years for "resisting representatives of police authority."
The representatives of the authority are also dissatisfied with the verdict. However, the local police cannot find other reasons to imprison Yakutenok.
According to the verdict, in February 1990, Yakutenok (named after his mentor, a thief-in-law nicknamed Yakut) tried to force a police patrol to pull his car out of a snowdrift, where he had driven in a drunken state.
The police officers refused to obey and brought the mafia boss to the sobering-up station. Upon arrival, he struck an officer in the face, for which he was humiliated by being tied to a special chair equipped with straps for restraining limbs.
The road incident only gained momentum in May 1991. According to the official version, the delay occurred because the released offender allegedly fled the city and successfully evaded the police. According to unofficial sources, Yakutenok was deliberately released, hoping to catch him red-handed in a major case. They bet on drugs, which, according to operational data, the mafia leader consumes. However, the operational data turned out to be greatly exaggerated—during the search, only three sleeping pills were found on Yakutenok, which led to a 10-day administrative arrest for possession of narcotics. And Yakutenok had to be imprisoned for a traffic accident and an attack on a sobering-up station employee.
Yakutenok himself believes that the police constantly hassle him with such trifles (he has already served five times for petty theft and hooliganism), unjustly mistaking him for the head of the Perm mafia. Although he does not hide the fact of his solemn initiation into the thieves-in-law, which took place in a Saratov prison.
According to experts from the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Perm mafia has a reputation as one of the most serious in the country. The regional police department insists that Yakutenok is indeed the leader. According to operational data, he commands not just ordinary thugs, but heads of groups, collecting tribute from them. He also allegedly controls the entire Perm criminal fund and acts as a mediator among the gangsters (there are about 200 serious professional criminals in the city, plus 50 leaders of the middle-level criminal hierarchy). Since Yakutenok, as an Thief in Law "authority," does not engage in criminal activities himself, the police have little hope to imprison him on serious charges.
According to reliable information, at one of the seminars at the Perm Higher School of Police, a scenario for a business game was proposed: instead of imprisoning Yakutenok, make him the mayor of the city. Some listeners believed that this would solve the crime problem, improve the economy by merging with the thriving shadow economy, and establish discipline.
Yakutenok modestly commented to the correspondent during a personal conversation in the detention center: "The position is not for me—a person in a position should create inconvenience for another person, deprive him of freedom, make him follow instructions." However, Yakutenok said that he could make a good businessman: he learned to fight against socialist legality from prominent dissident Vladimir Bukovsky in Vladimir prison.
One of the leaders of the sixth department of the regional police department, who asked not to be named, refuted Zykov's statement about his business qualities: "He's got nothing left in the common fund except lice. Lately, Kolya liked to live well." In addition, a lot of money had to be spent from the common fund for its intended purpose: when eight people from Yakutenok's inner circle were imprisoned for racketeering last year, their lawyers were paid 200 thousand rubles.

On August 6, Nikolay Zykov, nicknamed Yakutenok, known to the police as the head of the Perm mafia, appealed what he considered an unjust court verdict: two years for "resisting representatives of police authority."
The representatives of the authority are also dissatisfied with the verdict. However, the local police cannot find other reasons to imprison Yakutenok.
According to the verdict, in February 1990, Yakutenok (named after his mentor, a thief-in-law nicknamed Yakut) tried to force a police patrol to pull his car out of a snowdrift, where he had driven in a drunken state.
The police officers refused to obey and brought the mafia boss to the sobering-up station. Upon arrival, he struck an officer in the face, for which he was humiliated by being tied to a special chair equipped with straps for restraining limbs.
The road incident only gained momentum in May 1991. According to the official version, the delay occurred because the released offender allegedly fled the city and successfully evaded the police. According to unofficial sources, Yakutenok was deliberately released, hoping to catch him red-handed in a major case. They bet on drugs, which, according to operational data, the mafia leader consumes. However, the operational data turned out to be greatly exaggerated—during the search, only three sleeping pills were found on Yakutenok, which led to a 10-day administrative arrest for possession of narcotics. And Yakutenok had to be imprisoned for a traffic accident and an attack on a sobering-up station employee.
Yakutenok himself believes that the police constantly hassle him with such trifles (he has already served five times for petty theft and hooliganism), unjustly mistaking him for the head of the Perm mafia. Although he does not hide the fact of his solemn initiation into the thieves-in-law, which took place in a Saratov prison.
According to experts from the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Perm mafia has a reputation as one of the most serious in the country. The regional police department insists that Yakutenok is indeed the leader. According to operational data, he commands not just ordinary thugs, but heads of groups, collecting tribute from them. He also allegedly controls the entire Perm criminal fund and acts as a mediator among the gangsters (there are about 200 serious professional criminals in the city, plus 50 leaders of the middle-level criminal hierarchy). Since Yakutenok, as an Thief in Law "authority," does not engage in criminal activities himself, the police have little hope to imprison him on serious charges.
According to reliable information, at one of the seminars at the Perm Higher School of Police, a scenario for a business game was proposed: instead of imprisoning Yakutenok, make him the mayor of the city. Some listeners believed that this would solve the crime problem, improve the economy by merging with the thriving shadow economy, and establish discipline.
Yakutenok modestly commented to the correspondent during a personal conversation in the detention center: "The position is not for me—a person in a position should create inconvenience for another person, deprive him of freedom, make him follow instructions." However, Yakutenok said that he could make a good businessman: he learned to fight against socialist legality from prominent dissident Vladimir Bukovsky in Vladimir prison.
One of the leaders of the sixth department of the regional police department, who asked not to be named, refuted Zykov's statement about his business qualities: "He's got nothing left in the common fund except lice. Lately, Kolya liked to live well." In addition, a lot of money had to be spent from the common fund for its intended purpose: when eight people from Yakutenok's inner circle were imprisoned for racketeering last year, their lawyers were paid 200 thousand rubles.

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**Boss: Richard J. Daley of Chicago.** By Mike Royko. 216 Pages.
**American Pharaoh: Mayor Richard J. Daley - His Battle for Chicago and the Nation.** By Adam Cohen and Elizabeth Taylor. 624 Pages.
Richard J. Daley was perhaps the most powerful local politician America has ever produced. The second most powerful politician in America after the president, he personally selected every Democratic candidate running in Illinois, from Governor to Alderman. In addition to the elected positions, Daley controlled forty thousand patronage jobs, from judgeships down to the ditch diggers; he personally selected who got those jobs. Beyond the borders of Chicago, Daley played kingmaker for the Democratic nomination for president; his ability to control the Illinois delegation made and broke presidential candidates.
What were Daley's goals? First and foremost, to amass and maintain his personal political power. When it came to ideology, he had a sort of flinty conservatism: he liked authority and hated protestors. He was a devout Catholic, going to mass every day. He regarded the newspapers and reporters as the enemy, always criticizing, always asking questions. He believed in racial segregation and that people should pull themselves up by their bootstraps. But good politics came before ideology with Daley; his concern was always what would be best for him and the machine. Daley did not like John F. Kennedy's liberalism, but he did like that an Irish Catholic presidential candidate would turn out the machine base on election day. And so he backed him for president.
Daley was not an articulate man, known for malapropisms such as "The policeman isn’t there to create disorder; the policeman is there to preserve disorder." and “Today the real problem is the future.”. When questioned by reporters or opponents he was known to fly into fits of rage, and rant at them:

If provoked, he’ll break into a rambling, ranting speech, waving his arms, shaking his fists, defending his judgment, defending his administration, always with the familiar “It is easy to criticize . . . to find fault . . . but where are your programs . . . where are your ideas . . .”

Arrogant and ruthless, he always got what he wanted - and if he didn't, he would make sure you would never hold an office or job in Chicago again. And yet for all his flaws, Daley saved Chicago from going the way of other declining rust belt cities, like Detroit or St. Louis. Historians have ranked him amongst the greatest American mayors of all time.
This is the story of the last of the big machine bosses.
*American Pharaoh* is a 600 page tome on the life and times of Richard J. Daley. It's impressively researched, but a bit dry at times. The book takes it's title from the African-American nickname for Daley: "Pharaoh". To them he was an oppressor, demanding much of his subjects but offering little in return.
*Boss* is the much more fun read, written by Chicago Tribune humorist Mike Royko. While it is not as impressively researched, I like the style it is written in more, peppered with observations such as:

Daley didn’t come from a big family but he married into one, and so Eleanor Guilfoyle’s parents might well have said that they did not lose a daughter, they gained an employment agency. Mrs. Daley’s nephew has been in several key jobs. Her sister’s husband became a police captain. A brother is an engineer in the school system. Stories about the number of Guilfoyles, and cousins and in-laws of Guilfoyles, in the patronage army have taken on legendary tones.

A City of Neighborhoods

Early 20th century Chicago was a “City of Neighborhoods”, each with its own ethnic group: Germans on the North Side, Irish on the South Side, and Jews on the West Side. People kept to their own kind, and outsiders entered other neighborhoods at their peril.
Richard Joseph Daley was born in the Irish neighborhood of Bridgeport in 1902. Bridgeport was Chicago’s original slum, a grim place even by the standards of early Chicago. Irish laborers settled it in the early 1830s, digging the Illinois & Michigan Canal. After the canal was finished, the neighborhood turned to animal slaughter. By the time Daley was born, the Irish were prospering and no longer treated with the discrimination their parents and grandparents encountered upon arriving in America. But Daley was raised with stories of the famine and discrimination, and that would be his common refrain when civil rights groups asked him for change: “The Irish were discriminated against, and we pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps. Why can’t the Blacks do the same?“.
Daley spent his free time at the clubhouse of the Hamburg Athletic Club, which was part social club, part intramural sports team, and part street gang. Youths in the Hamburg Athletic Club policed the borders of the neighborhood, ensuring no outsiders entered, especially African-Americans living in the encroaching ghetto east of Wentworth Avenue. Poet Langston Hughes made the mistake of crossing the invisible boundary his first weekend in Chicago and was beaten by an unknown Irish street gang.
The Hamburg Athletic Club became infamous for its role in instigating the 1919 Chicago race riot. Started when an African-American swimmer drifted into the white beach area, the riot lasted for a week and killed 38 people. Later, gangs such as the Hamburg Athletic Club were found to have spent the entire summer trying to start a riot and actively attacked black neighborhoods when clashes started. Daley was always shifty about his memories of the riots, refusing to say if he participated or not. This was political calculation; Daley needed both white and black votes, and saying nothing allowed them both to believe he was on their side in 1919. But it should be noted that the youths of the club thought highly enough of Daley that they elected him their president at the age of 22, a position he retained for fifteen years.

A House for All Peoples

The Hamburg Athletic Club was also Daley's introduction to politics. Chicago's athletic clubs were sponsored by local ward bosses, and members often served as political workers, getting out the vote in campaign season. The 11th Ward Alderman and Ward Committeeman, Joseph (“Big Joe”) McDonough took an interest in Daley, and made him his personal assistant in the 11th Ward Organization. Daley had been inducted into Machine politics.
The Chicago Machine - formally known as the Cook County Democratic Organization - dominated Chicago politics. While ultimate authority rested with the County Chairman, it was the Ward bosses (Committeemen) who did the day-to-day work of slating candidates for office, distributing patronage and dispensing favors. Daley was one of three thousand precinct captains spread out over Chicago's fifty wards. Precinct captains were responsible for forming personal relationships with four to five hundred voters, and were expected to predict vote totals within ten votes. Ward bosses and captains who failed to deliver on election day were "vised" and replaced with someone who would do better.
The Machine ethic could be summarized in ten rules, according to one academic:

1. Be faithful to those above you in the hierarchy, and repay those who are faithful to you.

1. Back the whole machine slate, not individual candidates or programs.
   
2. Be respectful of elected officials and party leaders.
   
3. Never be ashamed of the party, and defend it proudly.
   
4. Don’t ask questions.
   
5. Stay on your own turf, and keep out of conflicts that don’t concern you.
   
6. Never be first, since innovation brings with it risk.
   
7. Don’t get caught.
   
8. Don't repeat what you see and hear, or someone might get indicted.
   
9. Deliver the votes, or we will find someone who will.
   

The political machine that Daley would one day inherit was an invention of Czech leader Anton Cermak. Cermak had wrested control of the machine from the Irish by uniting the various immigrant groups in Chicago under one issue: Prohibition. Protestant native-born Americans tended to favor Prohibition, and immigrants saw the attacks on alcohol as an attack on them. The Irish initially resented this Bohemian upstart, but by creating the pan-ethnic ticket, he had strengthened the machine enough to take on the current mayor, Republican William "Big Bill" Thompson. Cermak won the mayorship, but for only a short time: in 1933 he was slain by a bullet meant for FDR while vacationing in Florida.
Daley's patron, Alderman McDonough, had been slated for County Treasurer by Cermak, who brought Daley along as his deputy. McDonough was not a man given to hard work or details, and he left the job to his deputy. However, Daley was not satisfied with running the Treasury and wanted to move up in the world. The trouble was, all of the slots Daley could conceivably move into were taken. Worse, McDonough's power had waned with the assassination of Cermak. The Irish had reasserted their dominance, and the former allies of Cermak were being pushed out. Patrick Nash took over the machine and slated Edward Kelly as mayor.
McDonough unexpectedly died in 1934. While having your political patron die was usually a death knell for your career, Daley was known as a bright star in the machine. He quickly allied with the Kelly-Nash faction and stayed in his role as deputy County Treasurer, but was not slated for 11th ward boss, much to his disappointment. However, Daley's lucky streak continued - politicians continued to die at a young age, and one of the three state representatives for Bridgeport died. This man was a republican, elected as part of a deal to send two Democrats and one Republican to Springfield. The Republicans attempted to select their own man, but the Democratic-controlled state election board ruled it was too late to reprint the ballots. The machine organized a write-in campaign for Daley, who was duly elected as state representative. Daley had won his first office, but as a Republican.

Springfield

The Springfield that Daley arrived at in 1936 was corrupt, even by the standards of early 20th century America. Most legislators were there for "girls, games, and graft". The most common kind of bill was a "fetcher" bill, a bill designed to harm the many special interests that sent lobbyists to Springfield. Lobbyists came over with envelopes of cash, and the bill was quietly dropped. If directly taking money from lobbyists was too much for a legislator, lobbyists hosted card games guaranteeing winnings of up to one thousand dollars. Daley personally was never on the take, never drank, and never cheated on his wife. He instead holed up in his hotel room with draft bills and budget documents.
Even if he wasn't corrupt, Daley was a machine man, and considered his primary job to do the bidding of his masters in Chicago. However, he was also a surprisingly progressive force: he attempted to create income and corporate taxes to replace the regressive sales tax, introduced bills to strengthen tenant protections, and was an early supporter of the school lunch program. His greatest accomplishment in Springfield was creating the Chicago Transit Authority out of the ashes of the bankrupt transit companies. Of course, many of the bills were designed to promote the machine's interests:

One Daley tax reform, which he tried to pass four times, would have allowed Cook County residents to appeal their tax bills directly to the county assessor, rather than proceed through the court system. It might have made appeals simpler for taxpayers, but its greatest beneficiary would have been the ward committeemen and aldermen who could then use their ties to the highly political county assessor’s office to reduce the taxes of their friends and supporters. Daley was also doing the machine’s bidding when he crusaded to revise the state’s divorce laws to make the state’s attorney part of every divorce. The change would have given the state’s attorney’s office a five-dollar fee for every divorce action filed in Cook County, generating revenue and work for an office that was usually filled by the machine and that employed an army of Democratic patronage workers.

Daley acquired a reputation as an expert in budgetary matters and was promoted to State Senator, then elected the youngest Senate Minority Leader in Illinois history. In the Chicago tradition of double-dipping, he was given the job of Cook County Comptroller. In addition to giving Daley another salary, this was a particularly sensitive post since he could see the books of the entire county. Daley knew which contractors were favored, which contracts that were "lowest bid" were secretly loaded with extras, and who was given what job. A person who drove a politician around might be employed as an engineer for the Highway Department. Anyone who could read the figures knew where the bodies were buried.
After a decade in Springfield, Daley was ready to return to Chicago. At the same time, MayoBoss Edward Kelly was in trouble. He had proved too corrupt even for Chicago, and voters were ready to throw the machine out. Worse for his political prospects was his support for racial integration. Kelly needed a slate of candidates who seemed reform-minded but could be counted on to advance the machine's interests in office. Daley seemed the perfect choice: he had a reputation for honesty and hard work, but completely loyal to to the machine. Kelly slated him for Cook County Sheriff.
If the office of sheriff was good for the machine, it was hard to see it as good for Daley. The sheriff's office was the most corrupt of offices, and considered a career-ender. The Sheriff's office patrolled unincorporated Cook County, and was empowered to enter Chicago and the suburbs if the municipal police weren't doing their jobs. In reality, they spent most of their time shaking down motorists, suburban bars, and brothels. A journalist remarked that if a Sheriff hadn't cleared $1 million ($18.5 million in 2024 dollars) in his four years in office, he wasn't trying. Few left without being the subject of scandal, and most simply tried to clear as much money as possible before ignominious retirement. Daley's mother remarked "I didn’t raise my son to be a policeman”.
Unfortunately (or rather, fortunately) for Daley, the 1946 elections were a disaster for Democrats. President Truman's approval ratings had slid to 32% amid high inflation and shortages. The Democrats were trounced in the elections, and Daley lost to his Republican opponent. The loss wasn't held against him because the entire slate had been defeated. Daley never had to tempt his ethics.

Boss

Daley also had his eyes on the 11th Ward Committeeman position. After McDonough passed, the 11th Ward Alderman and Committeeman seats passed to Daley's new patron, Hugh “Babe” Connelly. However, Connelly's health was failing, and he lost his alderman seat to a Republican in the 1946 disaster. Daley convened a meeting that Connelly was too ill to attend and struck a deal with the Poles moving into Bridgeport. They would support Daley for Ward Boss, and he would support a Pole for the aldermanic seat.
Daley now had a seat in the Cook County Democratic Central Committee, the politburo of the machine. The Central Committee is a collection of all the committeemen from the Chicago wards and Cook County suburbs. However, it is not a committee of equals; each member votes in accordance with how strong the Democratic vote was in the last election in their ward. Daley, coming from the heavily Democratic 11th ward, was one of the most powerful members on the committee.
Meanwhile, Kelley had resigned as party boss, but Irish factions in the machine were divided on who to replace him with. They settled on Jacob Arvey, committeeman from the Jewish 24th Ward. Arvey was an ideal caretaker because the Jewish vote was relatively powerless, and he would not be able to seize control of the machine. He, however made some clever slating decisions and over-performed expectations. His first decision was to slate Martin Kennelly, a reform-minded Democrat, for mayor. While there was a risk in slating a reformer for a city-wide office, where they might actually do something, it was better to have a Democrat they could remove than a Republican they couldn't. More importantly, he was opposed to racial integration. Arvey next slated Adlai Stevenson for governor and Paul Douglas for US Senator, other great reformers. Having reformers at the top of the ticket boosted down-ballot races, but at the same time these offices controlled less patronage and could not do much damage to the machine. The strategy worked brilliantly, and Arvey was kept on as caretaker. However, Arvey's luck ran out when he slated police Captain Daniel “Tubbo” Gilbert for Sheriff. Gilbert had claimed to a Senate crime committee that he had accumulated a fortune of $360,000 ($4.6 million in 2024 dollars) by being a successful gambler, and when asked if his gambling was legal, replied “Well, no. No, it is not legal.”. The testimony was leaked to the *Chicago Sun-Times* days before the election, and headlines proclaimed the "World's Richest Cop". The Democratic ticket went down in flames, and Arvey was blamed:

Chairman Arvey, hailed as the genius who saved the Machine by slating Kennelly, Douglas, and Stevenson, was now the idiot who slated Tubbo Gilbert. In the silence of the Morrison Hotel headquarters, Arvey waited for somebody, anybody, to tell him it was just one of those bad breaks and not to worry about it. Arvey, knowing he was being blamed, was hoping for a vote of confidence. Nobody offered it, so he finally said, “I think I’m going to resign.” Then he went to California to take a vacation and wait for somebody to call and ask him to change his mind—Joe Gill, Al Horan, Daley. Nobody called, so that was it; he was out.

Daley headed up the Arvey faction now, but when the votes were tallied, neither he nor his rival, 14th Ward Committeeman Clarence Wagner, had enough votes to secure the chairmanship. The two factions were less divided by policy than personality: Daley's faction was the richer Irish, referred to as the "lace-curtain" Irish and resented by Wagner's faction for looking down at their less-successful brethren. The two sides settled on Joseph Gill as interim chairman until 1952. Both sides regarded him as neutral, and as the oldest member of the committee, unlikely to stay on long. 1952 came to pass, and Daley had accumulated barely enough in patronage and votes to take the chairmanship. Hover, Wagner was not ready to concede, and proposed the committee break for two weeks to stall for time and consolidate his position. Wagner took a group of influential politicians up to Canada on a fishing trip, where he died in an automobile accident. Even for a career built on well-timed deaths, no death in Daley's life had been more convenient than this. He had the chairmanship; The next step was the mayorship.

Kennelly

Kennelly was shaping up to be a mediocre mayor, content mostly to attend ceremonial functions and do little else. Unfortunately for the machine, the one issue he took on with gusto was civil service reform. While Chicago, in theory, had civil service protections, the machine had ways of getting around it. Exams were held so infrequently or made so difficult that nobody was available to be hired the honest way. The city could then hire political flunkies as "temporary" employees, many of whom spent their entire careers as temporary hires. Kennelly started running exams again and consolidated titles so that they fell under civil service protection. The ward bosses lost 12,000 jobs over Kennelly's mayorship and were ready to remove him.
Kennelly also went too far on the race issue. While he was slated because he was against integration, a careful balance needed to be struck. One of the innovations of the Kelley-Nash machine was to bring in the black vote. African-Americans had traditionally voted Republican, the party of emancipation, but this changed with the advent of the depression and FDR's New Deal. Kelley eagerly took up federal funding the New Deal, and distributed patronage and welfare to a black sub-machine controlled by Congressman William Levi Dawson.
Like most politicians, Dawson's main concern was his own political power and was a loyal machine man. He opposed integration because spreading out the black vote would dilute his power, and the machine was against it. In exchange, he promoted welfare politics for his constituents. While he didn't get as much patronage as white politicians, he got his share of jobs and favors and was an influential power player in Cook County.

during the 1960 presidential campaign, Dawson served on the civil rights issues committee of John F. Kennedy’s presidential campaign — known as the Civil Rights Section. The first thing Dawson tried to do was get the name changed. “Let’s not use words that offend our good Southern friends, like ‘civil rights,’” he told the group’s first meeting. His office in the campaign headquarters was quickly dubbed “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Dawson’s primary loyalty was to his political organization, not his race — and when the two were in conflict, the Democratic machine always won. “You would not expect Willie Mays to drop the ball just because Jackie Robinson hit it,” Dawson liked to say.

Dawson's ability to deliver 70 percent of the vote in his three wards was critical to the machine's lopsided victories. Kennelly, however, had forgotten who had elected him and began a moralistic crusade against two black institutions: "policy wheels" and "jitney cabs". "Policy" was a popular gambling game, similar to the modern day lottery. Thousands of policy stations were spread throughout the South Side. While technically illegal, Dawson personally selected the police officers who served in his fief and ensured they did not prosecute the policy wheels. When the Chicago Outfit attempted to bribe a police captain into letting them muscle in on the action, Dawson had him replaced.
"Jitney Cabs" was the Chicago term for unlicensed taxis that operated in the South Side Black Belt. Licensed taxis were exclusively controlled by white operators and only traveled to white neighborhoods. Jitney cabs were a lifeline for the African-American community, which was not served by public transportation. Dawson was therefore shocked when police officers from downtown started arresting policy wheel operators and jitney drivers. Dawson was traditionally given a free hand to determine what illegal activities were allowed in his neighborhoods. Many blacks saw it as thinly-veiled attempt to let the white Outfit profit from their communities. And Kennelly wasn't improving welfare or leaning on slumlords to clean up their properties; - just attacking the things they liked and needed.
Dawson went to Kennelly, and explained the situation. Kennelly, however refused to do anything, and insulted Dawson at the same time. Dawson didn't ask again, and instead plotted his revenge. When it came time to re-slate Kennelly, Dawson made a surprise appearance from Washington and dressed Kennelly down:

“Who do you think you are? I bring in the votes. I elect you. You are not needed, but the votes are needed. I deliver the votes to you, but you won’t talk to me?”

After the tirade and Kennelly was thoroughly chastised, the party admitted that Kennelly's civil service reforms made him too popular; the machine would be forced to run him again. But he would not get another term after this one. This deal was made in the backrooms of the Central Committee, and Kennelly was unaware such a deal had taken place. Daley began quietly building a case for him to take over as mayor and freezing out Mayor Kennelly from the organization. Daley stopped inviting Kennelly to party functions or asking his opinion about slating decisions. Kennelly, however failed to get the message and was shocked when he was not re-slated in 1954. The slating committee instead picked Daley, who pretended to be surprised. The official line was that Daley had been drafted, not seeking the office.

The Primary

Despite not getting the Democratic endorsement, Kennelly was not going to let go of city hall without a fight. He entered the primary determined to win a third term in office, showing a fire he had never exhibited as mayor. Kennelly fired all of the ward leaders who had voted against him from their patronage positions, and also vowed to fire any city employee who campaigned against him. He received the backing of Chicago's business community, who made sizable campaign contributions. Most importantly, he was more popular than Daley, who looked exactly the image of a corrupt machine boss. Complicating the primary further was the entrance of Daley's future arch-nemesis, Benjamin Adamowski, into the primary on a anti-machine platform. Adamowski hoped Kennelly would drop out of the race, and that his reform credentials, combined with the Polish vote, would put him over.
But Daley had the machine on his side. When the candidates applied for the ballot, Daley showed exactly the kind of dirty tricks the machine afforded him. In Chicago, candidates are listed on the ballot in the order they apply. Since voters often pulled the lever on the first recognizable name, having top billing was a coveted position in Chicago elections. Kennelly arrived early, hoping to be first when the city clerk’s office opened at 8:30 a.m. However, Daley’s man entered through a side door early and got his petition stamped first. Daley would be first on the ballot.
Daley may not have had the business establishment backing him, but he had his source of campaign funds. Patronage workers were required to kick back 2% of their salary back to the ward organization, and attend $25-a-plate fundraisers. In addition, contractors who did business with the city and county kicked back money to the machine, knowing that Daley losing would mean the end of their contracts. Organized crime also backed the machine: an anonymous man appeared on TV to say that 10% of the city's gambling revenue went to politicians. Come election day, there would be plenty of "walk-around" money.
Daley spent very little time directly appealing to voters or taking stands on important issues. Instead, he practiced good old-fashioned machine politics. Daley spent most of his time firing up his precinct captains, trusting them to deliver the votes on election day. He made sure to develop a relationship with as many of them as possible, talking with the men about the White Sox, and the women about their children. The precinct workers in turn, devoted themselves to Daley, knowing their jobs were on the line. Kennelly, in contrast, thought politics was about taking the right stands on the issues. If voters were simply told about his principles, they would naturally support him. “Television is our precinct captain” was Kennelly's motto, which Daley dismissed. “Can you ask your television set for a favor?” he said.
Kennelly also tried to make the campaign about bossism and corruption. Daley, in response, promised to resign his position as chairman if elected and responded with a theme he would use throughout his career: populism. He insisted the divisions were not between the machine and reformers but between business elites and working class people. “What we must do is have a city not for State Street, not for LaSalle Street, but a city for all Chicago,” Daley told his backers, and defended the party proudly:

“The party permits ordinary people to get ahead. Without the party, I couldn’t be mayor. The rich guys can get elected on their money, but somebody like me, an ordinary person, needs the party. Without the party, only the rich would be elected to office.”

On race, Daley played both sides. He cultivated Dawson as an ally, and made sure to defend him in front of black audiences. Kennelly attacked Dawson, calling him a political boss: “I can understand why Dawson passed the word that he couldn’t stand for Kennelly. I haven’t been interested in building up his power. Without power to dispense privilege, protection and patronage to preferred people, bossism has no stock in trade.” Daley, at the same time, made sure to insinuate upon white audiences that he did not support integration, though he made every effort to dodge a direct question about the issue.
As the primary approached, it seemed that Kennelly had an insurmountable lead: polling indicated the population preferred him 2:1. These of course, were not reliable voters. Kennelly figured that the machine could turn out 400,000 votes in the primary, so if turnout was more than 900,000, he would comfortably win. In the end, turnout was only 750,000 and Daley carried the day with 49% of the vote. Adamowski had split the anti-machine vote as well. When looking at the ward totals however, it became clear how the machine had delivered Daley's victory. In most wards, Kennelly and Daley ran neck-and-neck, but in the "Automatic Eleven" wards, the machine's base, Daley had won by Assad-level margins.
While Daley had won the primary, he had not won the mayorship yet. The Republicans had decided to nominate a reform Democrat, Robert Merriam, to run for them, and he promised to be a challenging opponent. Merriam represented the liberal 5th ward and had made a name for himself as a crime fighter by broadcasting actual cases of corruption and crime on his TV show, *Spotlight on Chicago*. Many Republicans were not enthusiastic about nominating a Democrat as their candidate. The leading national conservative paper, the *Chicago Tribune* called him a RINO. But Republican Governor William Stratton wanted to breathe life into the Chicago Republican Party, and a fusion ticket between independent Democrats and Republicans was the best promise of that.
The issues ended up being a repeat of the primary, with Daley sticking to platitudes, promising to hire more policemen and to do more for the neighborhoods, though he was vague about exactly what he would do. Merriam attacked Daley for his ties to the machine and promised to continue the civil service reforms Kennelly had started. Daley hit back, mocking Merriam for not being a loyal member of either party. Daley, once again, adopted a populist tone, making the campaign between blue-collar workers and blue-bloods on the lakefront. Merriam, he said, was not a man of the people, unlike Daley, who continued to live in a Bridgeport bungalow with his seven children. Daley promised to put union members on city boards in transit, schools, parks, and health and racked up plenty of union endorsements.

How to Win an Election, Chicago Style

Merriam was concerned that Daley would try to steal the election, or at the very least, inflate his vote totals. This was completely justified. The machine had a number of tactics to steal votes. It began on registration day. Not only would precinct captains make every effort to register voters in their neighborhoods (preferably as Democrats), they would go to flophouses, scan the guest list, and register everyone on it. Since they were transients unlikely to vote, the precinct captains could safely vote for them. The *Chicago Tribune*, in a 1972 exposé, would create fake voters in the guest lists and watch precinct captains put guests such as "James Joyce" or "Elmer Fudd" on the voter rolls. In addition to flophouse voters, there were ghost voters. Merriam sent 30,000 letters to registered voters in machine strongholds. 3,000 came back as unclaimed, moved, or dead. Merriam claimed that the machine may have as many as 100,000 ghost voters on the voter rolls. The *Tribune* would later confirm that the machine was indeed voting for ghost voters. Merriam also sent a spy into a west side polling place and caught on camera "Short Pencil" Louie erasing Kennelly votes and replacing them with Daley votes.
The machine had other tactics, such as "four-legged voting," where the precinct captain would go into the booth with the voter and ensure they pulled the lever for the Democratic ticket. While it served well to ensure voters with a poor command of English voted correctly, it also ensured voters who had been bribed with cash or alcohol kept up their end of the bargain. And when regular voters weren't available, the machine simply stuffed the ballot box, with precinct captains and election judges alike pulling the lever multiple times. Later investigations would show that there were more votes in some precincts than voters who requested ballots.
According to state law, Republican and Democratic election judges were supposed to be at all polling places to blow the whistle on these sort of tactics. However, the machine had its way of co-opting them. Often ward bosses selected both the Democratic and Republican judges, who were often machine workers who had switched parties. When legitimate Republicans tried to register, the city mysteriously "lost" their applications. If a real Republican did somehow become a judge, they were intimidated into silence. Gangsters would arrive and threaten them if they didn't leave the polling site. Another judge was arrested when he asked to see the voting records, and released at the end of the day without charges. Another had their dog poisoned. If, on the other hand they looked the other way, they would be treated to breakfast, lunch, and dinner by the precinct captain, along with something extra beyond the $25 they nominally received for judging.
Beyond cheating, the machine had other tactics to convince voters to vote the way they wanted. Before the primary, voters in the Automatic Eleven received a dollar bill in the mail, accompanied by the message, "This is your lucky day. Stay lucky with Daley.”. Voters in public housing and on welfare were told that they would lose their benefits if they didn't vote for the machine. The machine would appeal to racial prejudices by circulating a fake letter in white neighborhoods saying Merriam's wife was black (she was not). In Catholic neighborhoods, campaigners never tired of reminding voters that Merriam was divorced and raising two children that were not his own.
Like the primary, Merriam staked his victory on voter turnout. The machine was thought to control 600,000 votes in the general election, and so Merriam needed 1.2 million votes to overcome Daley's lead. Daley won 708,000 votes on a turnout of 1.3 million, 55% of the vote. Again, the Automatic Eleven had proved critical, especially the African-American wards. In the 1st ward, dominated by the Chicago Outfit, Daley won by 90%. Daley was now mayor, and he would rule the city with an iron fist for the rest of his life.

Lerner is a citizen of three countries simultaneously: the USSR (Russia), Bolivia, and Israel, Employees of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, who wished to remain anonymous, outlined to a correspondent the scheme of Lerner's criminal activities in the country and abroad. According to police data, in 1989, Lerner, who was twice convicted, created a criminal group and placed his accomplices at the head of the following institutions: the cooperative "Theatrical," the cooperative union "Partner," the Soviet-Finnish joint venture "IKPA," the association "LOMOS Consortium," the Moscow cooperative bank "Partner-Bank," and so on.
While working in these positions, group members obtained loans from the USSR Housing Bank amounting to 85 million rubles, and under Lerner's guidance, 35 million of these funds were embezzled. Lerner bought $2 million dollars in the USSR at a rate of 1:15 with the stolen money. According to police information, the organizer of the criminal group transferred part of this currency to the West through the Finnish firm SUOMEN AIMAPO OY, the founder of the Soviet-Finnish joint venture "IKPA."
The publishing and printing enterprise "IKPA" was registered in May 1989. The authorized capital was 2,579 thousand rubles. Of these, 51% was contributed by the Soviet side: the union of cooperatives "Partner" and PO "VAAP-INFORM."
Using the profits from the publishing house, he organized the first cooperative "Partner-Bank" in Moscow. By the summer of 1989, his company obtained the right to engage in foreign economic activity, the first among private structures in Russia. Grigory became not just wealthy, but very wealthy. He exclusively drove Mercedes and BMW cars, paid his employees astronomical salaries, and bought them expensive clothing. And then the well-known criminal authority Sylvester approached him with a demand to contribute a portion of his profits to the common fund, Their conversation unexpectedly lasted for 4 and a half hours, and when it ended, the gangster and the entrepreneur became best friends, with Lerner becoming the Orekhovskaya Bratva Accountant
The police believe that another part of the currency was smuggled abroad by a well-known Moscow criminal authority nicknamed Sylvester, who provided security for Lerner in the USSR. Sylvester's team (Orekhovskaya) was one of the leading criminal groups in Moscow a year and a half ago. After Sylvester's arrest, it fell into decline (Sylvester will be released in 1991-1992 and will come back stronger then ever)
Following the money, Lerner himself left the USSR. There he managed to add two more citizenships to his Soviet one—Bolivian and Israeli. In one of his new homelands, Bolivia, Lerner opened a branch of "LOMOS." After criminal proceedings were initiated in the USSR at the request of the Soviet National Bureau of Interpol, Lerner was arrested in Switzerland, he later would be extradited to the Russia and then he will be released on bail and flee to Israel, Lerner will receive an official amnesty from the Russian government in 1994, however he would find himself paying for his economic schemes in an Israeli prison.

Lerner is a citizen of three countries simultaneously: the USSR (Russia), Bolivia, and Israel, Employees of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, who wished to remain anonymous, outlined to a correspondent the scheme of Lerner's criminal activities in the country and abroad. According to police data, in 1989, Lerner, who was twice convicted, created a criminal group and placed his accomplices at the head of the following institutions: the cooperative "Theatrical," the cooperative union "Partner," the Soviet-Finnish joint venture "IKPA," the association "LOMOS Consortium," the Moscow cooperative bank "Partner-Bank," and so on.
While working in these positions, group members obtained loans from the USSR Housing Bank amounting to 85 million rubles, and under Lerner's guidance, 35 million of these funds were embezzled. Lerner bought $2 million dollars in the USSR at a rate of 1:15 with the stolen money. According to police information, the organizer of the criminal group transferred part of this currency to the West through the Finnish firm SUOMEN AIMAPO OY, the founder of the Soviet-Finnish joint venture "IKPA."
The publishing and printing enterprise "IKPA" was registered in May 1989. The authorized capital was 2,579 thousand rubles. Of these, 51% was contributed by the Soviet side: the union of cooperatives "Partner" and PO "VAAP-INFORM."
Using the profits from the publishing house, he organized the first cooperative "Partner-Bank" in Moscow. By the summer of 1989, his company obtained the right to engage in foreign economic activity, the first among private structures in Russia. Grigory became not just wealthy, but very wealthy. He exclusively drove Mercedes and BMW cars, paid his employees astronomical salaries, and bought them expensive clothing. And then the well-known criminal authority Sylvester approached him with a demand to contribute a portion of his profits to the common fund, Their conversation unexpectedly lasted for 4 and a half hours, and when it ended, the gangster and the entrepreneur became best friends, with Lerner becoming the Orekhovskaya Bratva Accountant
The police believe that another part of the currency was smuggled abroad by a well-known Moscow criminal authority nicknamed Sylvester, who provided security for Lerner in the USSR. Sylvester's team (Orekhovskaya) was one of the leading criminal groups in Moscow a year and a half ago. After Sylvester's arrest, it fell into decline (Sylvester will be released in 1991-1992 and will come back stronger then ever)
Following the money, Lerner himself left the USSR. There he managed to add two more citizenships to his Soviet one—Bolivian and Israeli. In one of his new homelands, Bolivia, Lerner opened a branch of "LOMOS." After criminal proceedings were initiated in the USSR at the request of the Soviet National Bureau of Interpol, Lerner was arrested in Switzerland, he later would be extradited to the Russia and then he will be released on bail and flee to Israel, Lerner will receive an official amnesty from the Russian government in 1994, however he would find himself paying for his economic schemes in an Israeli prison.

August 1991 Report - According to information obtained from Moscow gangsters, all criminal groups have decided to unite and collectively destroy the Chechen mafia. However, the gang war expected in Moscow during Easter has not yet begun.
The reason for the delay, according to informants from the law enforcement department, is primarily because the forces necessary for a lightning and devastating strike against the Chechen group have not been able to gather in the capital.
The unconfirmed forecast, nonetheless, cannot be explained by a change of plans. According to unofficial information from the Main Directorate of Internal Affairs (MVD), the gangsters continue to meticulously prepare their blitzkrieg. By Easter, the organizers had not obtained complete and verified information on the whereabouts of Chechen mafiosi in the capital, as the latter do not have permanent addresses and move around numerous rented apartments. The announcement of the impending war, according to the gangsters, was premature and alerted the Chechens, forcing them not only to prepare more thoroughly for the start of hostilities but also to change addresses once again.
But despite the complications, criminal authorities are not planning to abandon their idea and are determined to drive the Chechen mafia out of Moscow. It has also become known that the operation is led and coordinated by an authoritative gangster nicknamed Sylvester, who is imprisoned in Butyrka (sentenced for 3 years for extortion in 1989, he will be free by the end of 1991). According to criminals, Sylvester issues his orders over the phone from prison.

(In the photos- Sergey "Sylvester" Timofeev) August 1991 Report - According to information obtained from Moscow gangsters, all criminal groups have decided to unite and collectively destroy the Chechen mafia. However, the gang war expected in Moscow during Easter has not yet begun.
The reason for the delay, according to informants from the law enforcement department, is primarily because the forces necessary for a lightning and devastating strike against the Chechen group have not been able to gather in the capital.
The unconfirmed forecast, nonetheless, cannot be explained by a change of plans. According to unofficial information from the Main Directorate of Internal Affairs (MVD), the gangsters continue to meticulously prepare their blitzkrieg. By Easter, the organizers had not obtained complete and verified information on the whereabouts of Chechen mafiosi in the capital, as the latter do not have permanent addresses and move around numerous rented apartments. The announcement of the impending war, according to the gangsters, was premature and alerted the Chechens, forcing them not only to prepare more thoroughly for the start of hostilities but also to change addresses once again.
But despite the complications, criminal authorities are not planning to abandon their idea and are determined to drive the Chechen mafia out of Moscow. It has also become known that the operation is led and coordinated by an authoritative gangster nicknamed Sylvester, who is imprisoned in Butyrka (sentenced for 3 years for extortion in 1989, he will be free by the end of 1991). According to criminals, Sylvester issues his orders over the phone from prison.

Got bored and decided to write about one of my characters to flesh them out a little. A lot of the stuff’s still vague, but here’s a rough outline of who the character will be. Feel free to give suggestions or feedback.
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Context is that the series takes place in the Kingdom of Guirya, loosely inspired by the Holy Roman Empire in the 16th and 17th centuries. It’s about an adventurer’s company called the Pit Vipers, headquartered in some coastal city I haven’t named yet. “The Free City of Such-and-such.”
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One Viper goes by the nickname “Fraymaker.” In Guirya, nicknames are common among professional bounty hunters, as he had been for eight years before joining the Vipers.
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Fraymaker's parents were peasants who, after being forced off their home because of an Enclosure Act, ended up settling in a ghetto inside the Free City. As a child, Fraymaker witnessed his father get severely beaten by two of the city policemen for stealing food to feed their family. The incident left his father paralyzed and Fraymaker with a lifelong disdain for authority figures. He provided for his family as much as could, supporting them with what few copper coins he earned that weren’t extorted at knifepoint by members of the local gang. Of his various jobs, the most stable and consistent one was in an opium den. He often stole a bit of the product, taking it to the degraded knight who squats at the edge of town, in exchange for lessons in wrestling and fencing.
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Young adult men of the Free City undergo two years of mandatory conscription in the city militia. There Fraymaker honed his combat skills. After his service ended, he became a professional bounty hunter, operating in the same ghetto he grew up in, as well as the ones surrounding. With crowbar and battleaxe, he terrorized the gangsters who terrorized him in his childhood. He’d often bait criminals into attacking him, so he legally kill them in “self-defense”. His career ended after realizing that one of his quarries, which Fraymaker killed after provoking them, was actually innocent.
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This probably won’t be incorporated into the story, it’s more of a hypothetical. If confronted with a Dark Lord who’ll do the “we’re not so different, you and I” thing, like most Vipers, Fraymaker will just shoot him the middle of his monologue. But if a corrupt policeman does the same, he’ll stop dead in his track.
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Fraymaker isn’t a worldly person. While he’s literate, unlike ¾ of his comrades, he’s not exactly lettered. Most of his readings are bondsmen contracts and wanted posters. Were a Dark Lord to wax poetic over the nature of evil or about how might makes right, it’ll just go over his head. It’s not that Fraymaker is immune to evil. While he may get the gist of why the Dark Lord should be shot, the evil a Dark Lord represents is too abstract, too foreign for him to understand. The evil he does understand are the mundane ones: poverty and urban decay; police corruption and brutality; criminality and street violence. That’s the evil he understands because that’s what he grew up with.
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Another point is that Fraymaker will find the stereotypical Dark Lord too alien. Deep down, Fraymaker knows he’ll never be anything more than gutter trash. He’ll never lead armies of evil minions or lord over a castle built on top a volcano. Even if those things were to fall on his lap, he knows he’s not cunning enough to survive the machination of politics. He’ll end up getting assassinated or becoming a puppet to some higher authority. Fraymaker never will see himself as the evil overlord, not because he’s pure of heart, but because he’s too incompetent to play that role.
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Things changed since Fraymaker left bounty hunting. While he can’t imagine himself becoming the menace of nations, he can imagine himself becoming the menace of the urban poor he wanted to protect. While he can’t imagine himself executing hundreds of dissident against an evil empire, he can imagine himself bludgeoning a hungry man to death in front of his own child. He’ll heed the corrupt policeman. No one knows the evils he recognizes than the ones committing them. Only the corrupt police can confirm Fraymaker’s deepest fear: that all he’s become is a freelance cop enacting his own brand of police brutality.

Some of it I wrote before in a previous post but with additional info.
Prior to 1994, Curtis Saint Patrick was a happily married man with their son James Saint Patrick. He was nightclub owner in Queens, not rich but doing well for himself. James was motivated by this. At some point Curtis got involved with some gangsters and lost the club which caused him to go into major debt with a known drug kingpin which caused his wife abandon him and her son resulting in Curtis becoming a struggling alcoholic. Curtis and James end up moving in with Curtis’ bestfriend Gabriel while struggling to pay back the drug kingpin.
Set in 1994. While finding ways to pay back the debt, they both came up with an idea to start a jazz club together after seeing the run down Cafe Vous formerly owned by Shirley. Out of desperation and nowhere else to turn to come up with the money, the Curtis and Gabe gamble their lives and decide to take a loan from the drug lord to establish and run the jazz club. While the club is up and running, Curtis and Gabe deal with situations involving the club. This causes more stress to Curtis and pushes him more to drink.
While Curtis is stressed with his situation, he was always heavily verbally abusive to 15 year old James. Always pushing him to study hard in school and not make the same mistakes he made by not getting mixed up with the wrong people, but their on going abusive arguments only pushed James more towards the streets although James always kept his head in the books, motivated to get out of the hood and away from his father. James is completely unaware Curtis has been in debt with gangsters for the time being but as a couple seasons go by, Curtis and Gabe were able to pay off their debt and the jazz club is successful.
Throughout this time, Jamie is in the streets. He already met Breeze and is nicknamed Ghost. Ghost is heavily influenced by Breeze but then he starts to realize how extremely dangerous he is due to his extreme greed for power. Ghost even comes up with little ideas to expand but Breeze refuses and wants to stay straight street. No partnerships. All territory for himself. This is the cause of an ongoing war with enemies which Breeze and his crew have taken out plenty of enemies.
The same drug lord that owned Curtis and Gabe is beefing with Breeze over territory. The war puts pressure on the Antagonist and extort Curtis and Gabe again, but this time Curtis says no although Gabe pleaded him to. This is when Ghost finally finds out that Curtis and Gabe have been working for the Antagonist under his POV which causes things to get more complicated for the Saint Patrick’s.
So with the war continuing, Antagonist wants his cut from Curtis. Curtis continue to refuse and is killed. Ghost heart shatters and runs away to Tommy and Kates home. Ghost becomes a straight savage mode from here: Ghost realize Breezes war is the cause of Curtis death. He, Tommy, and Kanan plot to kill him orchestrated by Ghost himself but a bit of Kanans influence. Breeze gets killed, Ghosts first kill.
The final season would be the beginning stage of Kanan being the new kingpin and Ghost going savage mode dropping bodies and killing the Antagonist.