Pendragon
05-30-2007, 11:12 AM
The Three Wishes
The North side of Chicago has a rather nasty reputation. In the days when prohibition was the law, men like Al Capone and “Bugs” Moran, playing to the vices of their fellowmen, ruled the city with iron fists. Smuggling, drug trafficking, prostitution, protection rackets, and gambling dens—they brought these kings of crime millions of dollars per year.
Capone was not happy to have the competition, and on St. Valentine’s Day in 1929, he sent “Bugs” Malone an unmistakable message. Seven members of the Malone gang were gunned down mercilessly as they stood disarmed and facing the wall, inside the S.M.C. Cartage Co. Garage at 2122 Clark Street. Men pretending to be policemen had raided the garage, and when the men cooperated and were disarmed, two plain-clothes men entered with Thompson machine guns and wiped them out. An unfeared raid became a bloody ten-minute walk into eternity.
When Tony Rico hit town, he thought little about these things. He was in a bar on La Salle Street, only a block over from the infamous Clark Street, and would only have a short cab ride, should he be morbid enough to wish to view the scene of the crime. Rico wasn’t having those kinds of thoughts at the moment.
At the moment, Rico was into his third beer, and nursing a grudge rapidly towards growth into full-fledged anger. He had spent the last eight years damning Frankie Bonzel’s soul into every hell he had ever heard of, or could dream up and populate with the most horrible demons imaginable. The miserable snitch had sold him out for a plea bargain to time served in the county jail, sending Tony Rico up to the penitentiary for manslaughter. And now Tony couldn’t find the little weasel.
Well, now that he was finally out of that hell hole of a prison, he lived for one reason: find Frankie Bonzel and kill Mr. Civic Mind, Do My Duty and all that crap once and for all. Then, if they caught him, go out in a blaze of guts and glory. It might have been a good plan if Rico wasn’t such a pathetic looser.
He’d been a high-school dropout that had decided to make a living selling weed. His first sale was to an undercover cop, and Tony Rico landed in Juvenile Hall. Upon getting out, he tried a little breaking and entering. That house had an alarm system to rival Fort Knox, and Rico was in Jail before his ears quit ringing. The botched bank robbery with Frankie Bonzel had lead to the manslaughter charge when the getaway car struck a pedestrian as the two unsuccessful robbers fled. Rico hadn’t even had the sense to take the plea bargain they had offered him, since Bonzel was driving. As criminals were concerned, Rico was a three-time loser.
The bartender approached Tony, with a small bat in hand. “You planning on paying for your brewskis anytime tonight, Mac?”
Rico, broke as usual, tried to bluff it out. “What’s up with you? I gave you a double-sawbuck when I sat down. This is only my third beer. I better have some change comin’, man!”
“Look, Mac, I got a perfect memory. You didn’t give me a slug nickel. Now—“
Rico broke the beer bottle and started to get up when the top of his head exploded. Very dimly, he felt hands run over his pockets.
“Well, I guess this knife will pay for the beer. Come on, you” He was dragged to a back door, and thrown heavily into the alley near the dumpster. “Put the trash where it belongs!” The bartender laughed. Everything went black.
When Rico came to, he fumbled around in the dark trying to get back to his feet. It was then that his hand touched a container. It was one of the strangest bottles the small time hood had ever held, he knew that from the touch. Well, at least the bartender had left him his lighter. By its flame he examined his find. It was very old, of a type of glass—no, stone—jade was a stone, not glass. There was a shop down in Chinatown where Rico used to buy opium. He’d seen the stone there. Maybe Wang Li would pay for this, um, object. But, first, Rico thought, see what is in it.
When the lid came off there was a sudden gust of air and a flash of light. A large giant of a man stood before him. The man spoke, and his voice was like thunder.
“Greetings my Master. I am a Genie, a spirit of great power. I have been bound in this bottle for more than three centuries. As you are not of the race that imprisoned me, you must have managed to take the sacred prison from its watchful guardians. I fear a Samurai will die for failing in his duty to keep his guard.
“But know, oh Master, that to you, I will grant three wishes before I take my freedom. To prove my good will, I perceive that the owner of this establishment behind us has harmed you. Watch, and know my power!”
The Genie turned and raised a finger and the bar vanished in a cloud of fire and smoke. The bartender stood there, unharmed. The Genie glared at the man. “How shall he die?”
Rico touched his tender head as the bartender began to stammer. “Crush his skull.” He said coldly. The Genie closed one fist. There was a sickening crunch, and a wet plop.
“Now, your wishes. And think clearly before you speak, oh, Master, for once spoken, the words cannot be taken back.”
“OK. Yeah. Um. First one and make sure I get it right. Um, yeah, I want to be the world’s richest man, with all the extras, like the mansion, the servants, the limos, the Lear jets, the yachts, uh, maybe a private island getaway, all stuff like that. Can you do that?”
Immediately, they stood on a hilltop overlooking Lake Michigan. Below, a yacht was docked at a private boathouse. Rico turned to see the castle he had had in his mind. A freestanding garage held a fleet of cars and motorcycles. A helicopter stood on a lighted pad nearby. A butler in full livery approached. “Nice to have you home, Master Rico. Will you be wanting dinner soon?”
“Not just yet, Matthews. I will be in shortly.”
“Very good then, Sir. I’ll have your usual margarita ready.”
Rico turned to the Genie in some confusion. “How’d did I—how did he—motorcycles—castle—?”
“Genie’s are very wise, Master. Your second wish.”
“Um, yeah. Well, I never really had an education, and people are always saying that I’m dumb. They’re probably right at that. And it don’t help none that I’m just out of the big house. What I need is fresh start, this time with some brains. Yeah. That’s my wish.”
“Granted, as you spoke.”
Rico stopped for a moment. Suddenly, he knew the entire history of Chicago! And not just Chicago—the world! And the Genie: this time he had spoke in Arabic, yet Rico had not only understood, but replied in the same tongue! There was something to this brains stuff. He felt invincible. Except for—
“I know what I want for that third wish, Genie.” Rico spoke in Chinese slowly, amazed at the ease with which he could do so.
“Yes, Master?”
“I want you to kill my worst enemy.”
The Genie turned and looked down at Tony Rico. “I told you that the words once said could not be taken back.”
“So? I want that guy in a coffin. Promptly!”
The Genie drew into himself, changed shape, and flew into the coming dawn over Lake Michigan. The Castle sat on the rise, with the garage full of vehicles, the helicopter on its pad, and the yacht at the dock. A certain Edward Paul Matthews was now the owner, with a new butler named Arthur Cutler. Matthews was making a phone call to a mortuary to come and pick up a nice new coffin on the lawn—the coffin of Tony Rico.
After all is said and done, every man is his own worst enemy…
The North side of Chicago has a rather nasty reputation. In the days when prohibition was the law, men like Al Capone and “Bugs” Moran, playing to the vices of their fellowmen, ruled the city with iron fists. Smuggling, drug trafficking, prostitution, protection rackets, and gambling dens—they brought these kings of crime millions of dollars per year.
Capone was not happy to have the competition, and on St. Valentine’s Day in 1929, he sent “Bugs” Malone an unmistakable message. Seven members of the Malone gang were gunned down mercilessly as they stood disarmed and facing the wall, inside the S.M.C. Cartage Co. Garage at 2122 Clark Street. Men pretending to be policemen had raided the garage, and when the men cooperated and were disarmed, two plain-clothes men entered with Thompson machine guns and wiped them out. An unfeared raid became a bloody ten-minute walk into eternity.
When Tony Rico hit town, he thought little about these things. He was in a bar on La Salle Street, only a block over from the infamous Clark Street, and would only have a short cab ride, should he be morbid enough to wish to view the scene of the crime. Rico wasn’t having those kinds of thoughts at the moment.
At the moment, Rico was into his third beer, and nursing a grudge rapidly towards growth into full-fledged anger. He had spent the last eight years damning Frankie Bonzel’s soul into every hell he had ever heard of, or could dream up and populate with the most horrible demons imaginable. The miserable snitch had sold him out for a plea bargain to time served in the county jail, sending Tony Rico up to the penitentiary for manslaughter. And now Tony couldn’t find the little weasel.
Well, now that he was finally out of that hell hole of a prison, he lived for one reason: find Frankie Bonzel and kill Mr. Civic Mind, Do My Duty and all that crap once and for all. Then, if they caught him, go out in a blaze of guts and glory. It might have been a good plan if Rico wasn’t such a pathetic looser.
He’d been a high-school dropout that had decided to make a living selling weed. His first sale was to an undercover cop, and Tony Rico landed in Juvenile Hall. Upon getting out, he tried a little breaking and entering. That house had an alarm system to rival Fort Knox, and Rico was in Jail before his ears quit ringing. The botched bank robbery with Frankie Bonzel had lead to the manslaughter charge when the getaway car struck a pedestrian as the two unsuccessful robbers fled. Rico hadn’t even had the sense to take the plea bargain they had offered him, since Bonzel was driving. As criminals were concerned, Rico was a three-time loser.
The bartender approached Tony, with a small bat in hand. “You planning on paying for your brewskis anytime tonight, Mac?”
Rico, broke as usual, tried to bluff it out. “What’s up with you? I gave you a double-sawbuck when I sat down. This is only my third beer. I better have some change comin’, man!”
“Look, Mac, I got a perfect memory. You didn’t give me a slug nickel. Now—“
Rico broke the beer bottle and started to get up when the top of his head exploded. Very dimly, he felt hands run over his pockets.
“Well, I guess this knife will pay for the beer. Come on, you” He was dragged to a back door, and thrown heavily into the alley near the dumpster. “Put the trash where it belongs!” The bartender laughed. Everything went black.
When Rico came to, he fumbled around in the dark trying to get back to his feet. It was then that his hand touched a container. It was one of the strangest bottles the small time hood had ever held, he knew that from the touch. Well, at least the bartender had left him his lighter. By its flame he examined his find. It was very old, of a type of glass—no, stone—jade was a stone, not glass. There was a shop down in Chinatown where Rico used to buy opium. He’d seen the stone there. Maybe Wang Li would pay for this, um, object. But, first, Rico thought, see what is in it.
When the lid came off there was a sudden gust of air and a flash of light. A large giant of a man stood before him. The man spoke, and his voice was like thunder.
“Greetings my Master. I am a Genie, a spirit of great power. I have been bound in this bottle for more than three centuries. As you are not of the race that imprisoned me, you must have managed to take the sacred prison from its watchful guardians. I fear a Samurai will die for failing in his duty to keep his guard.
“But know, oh Master, that to you, I will grant three wishes before I take my freedom. To prove my good will, I perceive that the owner of this establishment behind us has harmed you. Watch, and know my power!”
The Genie turned and raised a finger and the bar vanished in a cloud of fire and smoke. The bartender stood there, unharmed. The Genie glared at the man. “How shall he die?”
Rico touched his tender head as the bartender began to stammer. “Crush his skull.” He said coldly. The Genie closed one fist. There was a sickening crunch, and a wet plop.
“Now, your wishes. And think clearly before you speak, oh, Master, for once spoken, the words cannot be taken back.”
“OK. Yeah. Um. First one and make sure I get it right. Um, yeah, I want to be the world’s richest man, with all the extras, like the mansion, the servants, the limos, the Lear jets, the yachts, uh, maybe a private island getaway, all stuff like that. Can you do that?”
Immediately, they stood on a hilltop overlooking Lake Michigan. Below, a yacht was docked at a private boathouse. Rico turned to see the castle he had had in his mind. A freestanding garage held a fleet of cars and motorcycles. A helicopter stood on a lighted pad nearby. A butler in full livery approached. “Nice to have you home, Master Rico. Will you be wanting dinner soon?”
“Not just yet, Matthews. I will be in shortly.”
“Very good then, Sir. I’ll have your usual margarita ready.”
Rico turned to the Genie in some confusion. “How’d did I—how did he—motorcycles—castle—?”
“Genie’s are very wise, Master. Your second wish.”
“Um, yeah. Well, I never really had an education, and people are always saying that I’m dumb. They’re probably right at that. And it don’t help none that I’m just out of the big house. What I need is fresh start, this time with some brains. Yeah. That’s my wish.”
“Granted, as you spoke.”
Rico stopped for a moment. Suddenly, he knew the entire history of Chicago! And not just Chicago—the world! And the Genie: this time he had spoke in Arabic, yet Rico had not only understood, but replied in the same tongue! There was something to this brains stuff. He felt invincible. Except for—
“I know what I want for that third wish, Genie.” Rico spoke in Chinese slowly, amazed at the ease with which he could do so.
“Yes, Master?”
“I want you to kill my worst enemy.”
The Genie turned and looked down at Tony Rico. “I told you that the words once said could not be taken back.”
“So? I want that guy in a coffin. Promptly!”
The Genie drew into himself, changed shape, and flew into the coming dawn over Lake Michigan. The Castle sat on the rise, with the garage full of vehicles, the helicopter on its pad, and the yacht at the dock. A certain Edward Paul Matthews was now the owner, with a new butler named Arthur Cutler. Matthews was making a phone call to a mortuary to come and pick up a nice new coffin on the lawn—the coffin of Tony Rico.
After all is said and done, every man is his own worst enemy…