Title: Speakeasy
Rating: NC-17 for violence, language, mature themes, strong sexual content, & illegal activities.
Characters:
The Spot
Big D – Dave Batista
Johnny Boy- John Cena
Smiley Copeland – Edge
KO- Randy Orton
Candy Kane – Kane
Enigmatic – Jeff Hardy
Classics
Lucky Layfeild – JBL
Sneaky Shetlon - Shelton Benjamin
Taker – Undertaker
Moves Hardy- Matt Hardy
The All-Nighter - Johnny Nitro
Babyface Moore – Shannon Moore
The Feds
Hunter "The Headhunter" Helmsely - Triple H
"The Bishop" Shawn Michaels - Shawn Michaels
Cap - Teddy Long
The Dons
Double V - Vince McMahon
Bugsy Jarrett - Jeff Jarrett
The Muscle
The Show - Big Show
Big Kev - Kevin Nash
Summary: Two rival clubs, a missing shipment and a boat full of dead smugglers. In 1925 prohibition either made you rich or made you cry. Blood, guns, booze, and women...God I love the Speakeasy.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the talent from either WWE or TNA wrestling, nor do I haver permission to use them in my story. The characters are very loosely based on their TV personas. I do not intend any disrespect or slander by this story. The only thing I own is this story...it is meant as a form of flatery. Thank you for not sueing.
Prologue
The Shipment
It was pitch black outside, but the waters were calm. There was no reason to suspect anything would go wrong. This was routine for Smackdown Shipping lines and the Mysterio distillery in Mexico. All the boat and crew had to do was make the trip from Mexico to Boston, following the same route they always did. The boat, Jefe, which meant the boss, had already made this trip three times in the last six months.
The crew sat around playing cards, not giving a crap about anything, but unloading. Once the package was dropped and the money changed hands, the crew would enjoy a show and maybe find comforts in a few of those broads that hung out at the club. This shipment was going to be a piece of cake.
The crates of hooch were hidden in the underbelly of the ship. To any Fed sticking his big nose below the deck, it looked like Jefe was merely delivering fishing gear to the Americas. They even had an explanation for why they didn't just dock in California. Everyone knew how big of a battle the Smackdowns Lines had with the TNA Stevedores in California. Boston was a friendlier port. Plus, everyone knows that the best ice fishermen always came out of Massachusetts.
With the dock in sight, the bell started to ring. The crew laid down their hands and started the task of uncovering the barrels that laid beneath the floor boards. One hundred cases of Tequila, fifty cases of Vodka, forty cases of Bourbon, and twenty of Scotch were all neatly stacked under the ship. This was a big order, but then again, the orders had increased in size lately. Prohibition was making everybody rich; everyone from the distilleries around the world, to the steam lines that illegally transported it, to club owners who sold bombers, to the mafia that backed them; there wasn't one pocket in the booze business that didn't get a little fatter, thanks to Uncle Sam.
"Veo a alguien." I see somebody. The Captain called over the loudspeaker to stop the crew from uncovering anymore cases. The anchor had already been dropped and the ramp lowered to the dock's floor. He had to make sure this was on the up and up before they all got popped by the coppers. "Tomar tus posiciones hasta que consigo detrás." Take your positions until I get back. The Captain grabbed his hat and started down the ramp, heading toward the three parked cars and six men that waited.
There were no streetlight, they couldn't be. This was about as illegal as it got in 1925. The mobs ran these streets, they controlled everything. They controlled the ports, the cops, the clubs, and the liquor. There were only a few Goodfellas that were recognizable but even if you weren't in a family, to be in this business, you had to be protected by one. The mobs didn't have fear, but still, there was always a Fed or two who wanted to move up in the ranks. Someone was always watching. Deals like these were always made in darkness.
"Gentlemen, can I help you?" Captain Eddie Guerrero spoke to the men as he approached. His orders were simple, drop off the supply. And though this was Captain Guerrero's first run to Boston, he knew that these guys would have to prove to him that they were in fact the rightful owners of the shipment. Captain Guerrero approached the cars and tried to make out a face. He was told that when he found the buyers, they would give him a password. "You caballeros need something?"
There were a few chuckles from the crowd, but no one moved. "I believe you got something of ours." A voice rang out. They made no attempts to walk forward, or turn on their head lights so the Captain could see. Instead, they leaned up against the cars, making sure the Gatlin guns that they were holding were visible in the shadows casting on the ground.
Captain Guerrero looked confused. He knew these men were going to be armed, but not that they would be pointing their Gats at him. "How do I know you're the right owners?"
"Because my friends say so." A face became slightly visible once the match was struck. The tip of the cigarette between his lips glowed amber and then the light on his face disappeared. "Show 'em." The man with cigarette motioned his head as the circles of smoke dance around his hat.
Captain Guerrero stood still as the briefcase was opened in front of him. There was more money in that briefcase than he had ever seen in his entire life. "Mr.?"
"Moneybags." The smoke came out in jagged form as the man laughed. "You can call me Moneybags."
"Mr. Moneybags, I gotta job to do and if you ain't the right owners, I can't part with what's on my boat." Captain Guerrero knew how it worked. He might take a beating in the US, but it was nothing compared to what he'd get when he got back to Mexico. If the bosses found out that the shipment went to the wrong mugs, there would be hell to pay. The Captain turned around slowly, but turned back when his name was called.
"I gotta deal for ya. How about we say that I showed you my credentials, you take the money and give me my shipment." Mr. Moneybags blew out the last of the smoke in the face of the Captain, before flicking his cigarette against the Captain's jacket.
The Captain looked around, noticing how the shadows seemed to get closer to him. This was going all wrong; it was an ambush. "¡Es una disposición!" It's a setup! The Captain yelled to his crew as he tried to run. He had heard that the relationship between Mysterio's and the buyer was on the rocks, be he had no idea it was this bad. But then again, he knew about the rival buyers. The goons that were standing there could've worked for them. All the Captain knew was he had to get to his boat and get the hell out off that port, before something real bad happened.
There was the faintest sound of the bell from the buoy going off in the distance, the steam seemed to rise from the waters of the Boston Harbor, other than that, it was a still night. The weather was warm, especially for that time of year. The fall in Boston, usually had a chill to the air, but this night, it was almost like summer.
The guys knew there wasn't another person within miles. The local cops had been paid off, so they wouldn't be intervening. The only thing that stood in their way of the booze and their money was this crew; these Mexican sailors, who could go back and tell what really happened. There wasn't any choice.
When the first shot rang out, there was a bright light. The Gatlin had more kick then they thought. But it was amazing how fast the bullet came out of that gun and even more amazing at how big of a hole it blew in the Captain's back. The laughter of the goons could hardly be heard overtop of the kick from the Gat or the shrieking of the crew on the boat. Not that it mattered. There was no one else around.
The six men walked slowly toward the dock, laughing. As soon as they stepped on that ramp, the sky lit up like fireworks. After the last crate was packed into the car, one final thing had to be done. A simple cufflink was dropped on the Captain's body. "Welcome to Boston."
In the calm waters the remained a boat, filled with 25 bodies, stacked neatly inside. No one would notice, not until morning anyway. After all, there was no reason to suspect anything would go wrong with this shipment. It was a routine delivery.
A/N: Now I know I have no business posting another story, when I have 4 unfinished right now. But this story has been keeping me up at night. I love the Roaring 20s and the whole underground Speakeasy life. More than likely this will be a long story. Especially since I started writing things down so I wouldn't forget to do things with this story. And just so you don't get confused, I'm toying with a style of writing that I don't usually do. Each chapter will be in 1st person, but each chapter will a different character narrator.
I hope you like it, enjoy!
Shanny