As Mr. Parks turned down the busy throughway, he admired the smooth and responsive power of the boss’s new car. He felt that he could really get used to the sleek, smooth lines and winning style. Mr. Parks pulled up to the side entrance of the Drake Hotel. He could see the boss just stepping out as the door man held the door for him. Bob was dressed in a grey pin stripe suite, red tie with matching Fedora hat, sporting his thick black cane. The oversized collar of his camel hair top coat was flipped up around the neck. Bob admired his own choice in cars as the Fleetwood Imperial pulled up and stopped. Quick to respond, the doorman opened the rear passenger door of the impressive Cadillac Limousine as Bob ducked into the back seat. Bob rested himself on the plush leather interior as the car pulled away.

“Boss, there’s a package for you in the next seat”. Mr. Parks said with his thick East Side accent. Bob looked idly over at the package. A thin piece of twine held the brown paper wrapping to the box. Removing his gloves, Bob picked it up and tugged at the slip knot holding the twine in place. Peeling the thick brown paper from the box he discarded it out of the window. In Bobs hands he held a brand-new box of Caracol Habana Cigars. Bob took a quick look inside to find the crisp twenty-dollar bills neatly stacked inside with a few spare cigars. Selecting one of the cigars, Bob closed the box and set it back on the seat next to him. He pulled out a small round disk stamped with the name Dunhill. He placed the disk at the end of the cigar. Deftly working the mechanism, Bob cut off the tip of the cigar. He replaced the disk while removing a matching gold Dunhill lighter. Sitting back with the cigar firmly in his teeth he puffed life into it.

The cool air of the fall day circled around in the rear compartment of the Cadillac as it passed the people moving along the crowded street. The distant sky was a little brown from the factories to the west belching out the days inventory. Bob pulled out his pocket watch, 11:43. Snapping it shut he popped it into his pocket.

Mr. Parks steered the Fleetwood down South State Street. Bob could see the army of ragged, starving men assembled beside a storefront. FREE SOUP COFFEE & DOUGHNUTS FOR THE UNEMPLOYED the large sign over the storefront read. It was the latest of Al Capone’s soup kitchens that Bob had opened. Bob now had six such kitchens across Chicago. Mr. Capone gave Bob the task of opening and running these kitchens in an effort to improve their public image. The Soup kitchens had the added benefit of fronting several operations where large amounts of traffic could go unnoticed. The Fleetwood continued to roll past.

“It looks like another good turnout today Boss”, Mr. Parks declared as he glanced at Bob in the rearview mirror.

Bob turned his attention from the crowd outside his window. Looking at Mr. Parks in the rearview mirror Bob said, “Yes, yes it does. This should be an excellent day.”

Leaning back with his hands propped onto his cane, Bob smiled at the thought of the upcoming event. It won’t be like last time, he thought. That day ended very badly. Especially for Ted. Last year, opening day for the first Soup Kitchen was planned for the very next day. A meal for every jobless man that came in. Of course, after the unfortunate mistake Frank Nitti made, the opening was delayed.

This all came about because of some earlier issues in the area predicated by Mr. Bugs Moran. One of Mr. Capones most frustrating competitors. Mr. Capone had made it quite clear to all in that neighborhood to be watchful for anyone moving into his territory. Unfortunately, Bob’s good friend Ted, a longtime manager of Mr. Capones from the South Side, was trying to collect on a personal Book just down the street from the soup kitchen. It seems a young boy had seen the exchange between Ted and the store owner and became frightened by the display. Unfortunately, because of the youngster’s indiscretion, the word had gotten out that someone was putting the arm on the local shops. This prompted Mr. Capone to send Frank out to “take care of it”. They say Ted danced that day like a Marionette as the Tommy Gun ripped through him.

Bob looked at his watch again, 11:52. Bob looked up to see Mr. Parks turning into the open garage entrance of the Lexington. A few moments later Bob and Mr. Parks were in Mr. Capones private elevator headed to the fourth floor. At 12:00 on the button, Bob stood outside of room 430, Mr. Capones Executive Office. Louie "little New York" Campagna, sporting to automatics under his pin stripe coat, opened the door for Bob.

“Bob!” Mike Larson declared from behind Mr. Capones desk. “On time as usual I see.” Standing up from Mr. Capones chair, Mike walked across the carpeted floor to take Bobs hand. Shaking it, he said, “How’ve you been Bob. It’s been a while.”

Mike Larson was one of Mr. Capones south side lawyers. Bob had run into him from time to time during a card game Mr. Capone would frequent. “I’m doing fine Mr. Larson, I was expecting to meet Mr. Capone.” Bob said with a hint of suspicion.

“Yes, yes. Well let me explain that. Here, take a seat.” Larson offered a chair at the front of Mr. Capones desk. Bob walked over to it but didn’t sit down. Larson walked behind the desk and sat down in Mr. Capones chair. Gesturing at the seat again he said “Sit! Sit!”

Reluctantly Bob sat down. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” Bob asked.

“Ahhh, yes, yes.” Larson began as he pulled out a cigar. “As you know, Al and I play cards from time to time. Nothing big, just a little rummy. Anyways, on one of the nights we play, we got to talking about how the FBI and Judge Wilkerson is breathing down Al’s neck. So, I told him what we need to do is make him just a little Untouchable.” Larson laughed, “If you get my meaning.” As Larson began to describe the intricacies of his plans, he bit off the tip of his cigar and fired it up. “So, I started this campaign to improve Al’s image. First, I started with several charities. Nice ones you know, for the homeless and orphaned children. Then whenever he went to a ball game, I bought everyone a beer and a dog. I even got some shills to chant his name. Some free tickets for the kids playing baseball in the streets and empty lots. Giving away money right on the street. And of course, his Soup kitchens. He just loves his soup kitchens. With Chicago’s staggering forty percent unemployment rate, what better message then FOOD FOR THE UNEMPLOYED.” Larson said as he moved his left arm across the air simulating a banner. “A little more of this, and I’m going to have him running for Mayor!” Larson laughed again. Bob was becoming a little annoyed at how comfortable Larson was in Mr. Capones chair. He looked at his watch, 12:12.

“So, why am I here?” Bob asked annoyed.

“Oh, right. Well as you know, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.” Larson said.

“I’m aware, yes.”

“Well, we had purchased 100 live turkeys for an event last night.” Larson said with some glee.

“And you need a butcher? I suppose I can give you a few names.” Bob said lightly.

“No, no, no.” Larson laughed, and then said with excitement, “You see, my original plan was to take them up to the top of the new Chicago Board of Trade building,” and with far less enthusiasm Larson said, “and you know, give them away.”

Bob furrowed his brow; the Chicago Board of Trade building is brand new. So new in fact they don’t even have any occupants yet. “Give them away? To who?” Bob asked.

“Well, you know, the public.” Bob continued to stare. Larson jumped up out of his seat and started forward a couple of steps before turning around and saying, “I thought they could fly! I know, I know. I really thought they could fly.” Larson plopped down in Mr. Capone’s chair. “I threw seven or eight over the side before I realized they were just dropping. Like bags of wet cement.” Larson finally admitted.

Bob felt something odd, low in his belly, as he listened to this tale. Slowly it rose and soon made itself known in a tremendously loud, rolling belly laugh. Bob was laughing so hard and loud Mr. Parks and Mr. Campagna burst in to the room, guns drawn at the commotion.

“Boss, are you okay?” Mr. Parks demanded. Bob could hardly catch his breath to reply, so he simply waved his hand at the two men signaling them to go. They put their guns away and backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. After a few minutes of laughter, Bobs fit finally subsided.

“Was anyone hurt?” Bob snickered as he wiped at the tears of his laughter.

Larson looked at Bob shyly and said, “Just a parked truck. A fifty-dollar note covered it.” He chuckled.

Bob rubbed his eyes, “So, I’m guessing now that you’ve discovered corporate marketing to be a pretty tough racket, and that you’re now stuck with… ninety-three turkeys, you feel that the soup kitchen would be a better idea.”

Larson, fully embracing his embarrassment admitted, “Yes.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea, but before I agree, get out of Mr. Capones chair… NOW.” Bob demanded.

The End.