Great Gatsby FanFic Write

 Note: I chose a derivation of the Canon Fic. This is the events after the Great Gatsby, from the POV of a  gangster, in 1920s Chicago.

My pops always used to tell me that the quietest cub in the pack, is the most ferocious one. I never understood what he meant, even to this day. Maybe I should've taken note of the beer bottles next to him, every time he said one of his stupid little aphorisms. Man, the theater can get you in a pensive mood. I walked out of that new theater: The Chicago Theater. I have a soft corner for that building, because it was my gang, that financed that building. We took a 100 million dollars from Big Bill Thompson, when the project cost only 50 million. Sneaky, amirite? Now, you may be wondering what we did with that money. We used it to build that pipeline to Canada.

"Hey Babyface."

"Hey, BabyToes! How've you been?"

"Good, Good. Didja hear about old 1000 Lakes in New York? Someone offed him!"

1000 Lakes was a good friend of mine, from my childhood in Minnesota. He went by the name James Gatz, though I heard he changed it to something stupid, like Gatsby or something like that. "How did you hear about it?"

"I got a telegram from the Wolf."

My blood ran cold as he said that. The Wolf, or Meyer Wolfshiem was a notorious gambler, who rigged the 1919 World Series. How on earth he got the Sox to throw the series, I'll never know. If he told BabyToes, then it must be true.

"Turns out, 1000 Lakes had a sidepiece. The sidepiece drove over some poor broad in the street, and 1000 Lakes took the fall. The broad's husband got a fake tip from the sidepiece's husband, and he offed 1000 Lakes." 

My blood boiled as he said that. Not only did that chatter-mag get my best friend killed, he also shut down the our biggest facet of business to New York. "Who was the sidepiece's husband?"

"You're going to laugh at this. I swear. Tom Buchanan." 

You've got to be kidding me. Tom Buchanan was a member of the Chicago's KKK branch. We run dealings with the KKK all the time. A revenge plot formulated in my head. "I've got to go. I'll see you around BabyToes."

I hurried off to the Bert King Jazz Stable. There, I demanded an audience with my boss. I explained the situation to him, and my plan. I got his permission, an then dialed the secret number that the KKK business dealers gave us. 

A few days later, that chatter-mag had the stones to darken my doorstep. I talked with him for 20 mins, negotiating a potential deal, until I had had enough. I motioned for my bodyguards to enter. They each sauntered forward with a Louisville Slugger in hand. I nodded, and a shadow fell over Buchanan's face. As the first blow landed, I exclaimed, "That's for Gatsby!". I closed the door, and smiled, as the sounds of pain filled the air.