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i speakeasy can exist for fifteen minutes without full knowledge and consent of the police captain in whose precinct it may be lo- cated. And Johnny and Al, great contributors to the administra- tion’s war chest, were in a posi- tion to sell protection. ey soon had the entire city mapped out in a systematic way, with certain definite territories al- loted to the various groups. Pun- ishment came swiftly to those who were unwise enough to vio- late any of the rules, for Johnny and Al established their own en- forcement agencies, and there were skull-cracking crews, beer- Funning contingents, and regular staffs of killers. It was a great system, and when Johnny or Al told you to “laugh that one off” you didn’t laugh. Even when the organization was operating with a maximum of smoothness and order there was always a little killing or beating up job to be taken care of, and Johnny and Al had it done as a routine matter. But despite al) this per- fection of organization the busi- ness was getting tougher every day, and Little Johnny looked upon the tell-tale signs with mis- givings. His booze syndicate was causing him more trouble every day, and he began to wonder if someday these persistent little flares of revolt might not grow into @ consuming conflagration. The booze business had brought him into contact with a different breed of tough guy from the pimp and the pander and the pickpocket associated in the vice business. An occa- sional murder was all right, but the casualties brought on by this new business were too many. Johnny’s weekly payroil, estimated at more than $25,000, included a breed of individual who had personal courage and plenty of it. Burglars, second story men, safe-crackers, sluggers for labor unions, had gone into the liquor business feeling that it afforded them a chance to go straight for the first time in their lives. The obvious rewards lured them to a frenzy comparable to that of the adventurous spirits who jeined the gold rush of 49. Jehnny knew that the money they were making was bad for them, but there could be no salary reductions, A hoodlum with a thousand bucks loose on the community was a dangerous man, especially when he went out to pley. Alas, Johnny saw that conditions were not the same as in the old days, when he could alap a Pimp in the face with his fist and get away with it. Let him try that stuff on such vassals as Dion O'Banion over on the North Side, or Frankie MacEarlane and his barb-wire kid brother, Vincent, or Joe Saltis, or Lefty Koncil, or “Little Hymie” Weiss, or Schemer Drucci or Red Hoban. Oh yes, let him <> 2 Ab of s courtroom “It's The Big Boy doesn't seem to be Aisturbed if yon believe the smile on his face im this picture, It wae snapped down in Miami, Florida, just after he had bounced out persecution, says AL forget himself with those lads! cept for the O'Donnell ng on the South Side, led by e astute “Spike” O’Donnell the underworld realm seemed fairly content under the iron rule of Johnny and Al. Their toughest lieutenant, Dion O’Ban- ion, operating on the North Side, seemed to be a “right guy,” but Little Johnny secretly ex- pected a break with him any day. The powerful Genna broth- ers over in Little Italy were a surly, vain-glorious lot but stil] loyal. Joe Saltis and Frank Mac- Earlane also on the South Side were desperate babies and had already caused Torrio much em- barrassment with the loop poli- ticians with their battles against the O’Donnella. The newspapers had sizzled with accounts of the killing of Jerry O'Connor, one of “Spike’s” boys, which had hap- pened on September 7, 1923. Of course Jerry had to go; he had been raising too much hell with good customers and that waa why Torrio’s tough boys put him in a horizontal position during a surprise affray in the saloon of Joseph Kepka. It was too bad that “Spike” had been missed, for the shooting of Jerry seemed rather to intensify matters. Torrio regretted, for business reasons, the alaying of George Bucher and George Meeghan, who were O’Donnell men, but then it couldn’t be helped. They had been talking too much about re- vealing the slayers of Jerry, so there was more banging and these beys folded up in death after a cloud of lead had cracked into their automobile. That was on September 17, and Torrio had a most uncomfortable time of it when a few weeks later the state’s attorney, Robert E. Crowe, brought about the indictments of Frank MacEarlane, Thomas Hoban and Danny McFali. But the most disturb- ing murder was that of Thomas (Morrie) Keane, on December 1, 1923. “Morrie” and a companion beer-runner William “Shorty” Egan, for “Spike” O’Donnell were re- turning from Joliet with a truck load of beer. “Spike” had been backing his trucks up to the breweries of Frankie Lake and Terry Druggan, both Torrio boys as we have seen, but the $45.00 price was too high, and Keane and Egan, were merrily returning to Chicago with seventy barrels of brew from a brewery which “Spike” was i to purchase when they were hi-jacked. Ordered to get into an automobile, Keane and Egan dutifully did so. They were bound securely and sat m the rear seat for a few minutes as the car speeded down the lonely highway wondering at their fate. Suddenly they got it. One of the men in the front seat, believed to have been Frank Mac- Earlane, turned round, and emptied an automatic into them. <n i not prosecuticn,” POLICE BUILDINGS D0 CHICAGO {8} The New Criminal Court Building. La