Stereotypical 30's ganster hitman. Have fun with it.
Things hadn’t gone quite as well as I had hoped. I was sitting in a small concrete room hidden in the back of the police station. There were some very suspicious stains around the room and the walls were soundproofed though I don’t know why. I don’t think anyone would even pause if they heard me screaming.
A cop was standing in front of me and the only thing stopping me from cleaning his ugly mug was jail time and the fact that my hands were handcuffed together behind the back of my chair. I must be getting sloppy if I had screwed up on such a simple hit job bad enough to end up in interrogation.
The cop was finished pacing and was getting ready to start asking some questions. A lot of the NYPD were corrupt and as such bribe able but a few of them were so mean that they’d rather have a go on someone than any amount of cash. I had to keep my answers short because as far as I knew the only reason I was here was because of my connections and they didn’t have a measly scrap of evidence against me.
“Where were you on the night of July 7th 1933?” This guy was definitely for the record, by the book, honest. Crap I think I got one of the mean ones.
“Yous mean yesterday officer? I was just visiting a friend of mine at his apartment.” In reality I had no such friends but I had been visiting a business associate.
I had arrived at nine o’clock sharp. One thing about being in the mob is you learned to be timely with your appointments. Apartment 128 belonging to Mr. Irwin Kelly was the destination of the night. I climbed up the stairs to his floor and checked the hallway for potential witnesses. Clear, no point in wasting time.
I knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked harder. Still no answer. “Mr. Kelly, I’m here on behalf of our mutual friends now yous wouldn’t want to disappoint our friends would you?” If he didn’t open the door I would open it for him. Apartment doors were cheap and breaking one wasn’t hard.