Match 22834 Tony Zucco vs. Mr. Big

[JohnnyChany]

THE GANGLAND WARS: Part 9

 

CONTINUED FROM PART 8

 

By the time dawn crept through the stained-glass windows of Madam Masque's headquarters, I'd already been awake for an hour. Sleep had been difficult. Not because I was afraid. Well... maybe a little. Mostly because my mind kept replaying Whitney's words from the night before.

"I really need you to arrive in East Island in one piece."

It wasn't exactly the kind of sentence that helped a man relax. I stood in front of the full-length mirror inside one of Melvin Potter's tailoring rooms. Calling it a tailoring room hardly did it justice. It looked like the backstage wardrobe department for a Broadway production crossed with an armory. Rows of immaculate suits lined one wall, military uniforms occupied another. Masks, hats, gloves, shoes and fabrics filled shelves from floor to ceiling. If someone wanted to become an entirely different person, Melvin Potter could make it happen. Today, that someone was me.

I slowly adjusted the charcoal tweed vest over my white dress shirt before buttoning the matching jacket. The suit fit perfectly. The material felt expensive. Far more expensive than anything I'd ever worn working for Big Boy. The charcoal-colored newsboy cap completed the outfit. 

I tilted the cap slightly, then frowned. The glasses still bothered me; they were perfectly ordinary round wire-rimmed spectacles.  Melvin insisted they completely changed the shape of my face. I wasn't convinced. I leaned closer to the mirror. The biggest difference wasn't the glasses; it was my hair. Or rather the lack of it. The night before, Melvin and Whitney had insisted I shave almost all of it off. Looking at myself now, I barely recognized the man staring back. 

Melvin Potter entered first and smiled immediately. "There he is."

Whitney followed him into the room with her gold mask already covering her face despite the early hour. She stopped in front of me and studied me quietly.

She smiled. "I think it works."

Melvin circled me like an artist admiring a finished sculpture.

"I knew it would." He straightened my tie. "Turn." I slowly turned. "Again." I did.

Finally, he nodded with satisfaction. "You look good."

Whitney folded her arms. "I wonder what Lark would think."

I couldn't help smiling. "I'm not sure she'd recognize me."

Whitney laughed softly. "That's the idea."

Melvin reached toward my chest. Instead of adjusting my tie this time, he tapped the vest beneath my jacket.

"You feel that?" he questioned.

I nodded. "Barely."

"The best Kevlar I could make." He sounded almost proud. "It'll stop a handgun."

"This thing's armored?"

"And doesn't it look natural?" he asked with pride.

I had to admit, it really did. No bulky outline or awkward stiffness. Just another well-tailored vest.

"Most people would never know," Melvin insisted.

Whitney looked toward Melvin. "You've spoiled him."

Melvin laughed.

"I'll tell you something." He looked back at me. "Whitney usually doesn't let me spend this much time on one of her men's clothes. Not unless they're protecting her personally. I think you must be special."

Whitney immediately interjected. "I simply need him to reach East Island alive."

Melvin chuckled. "Well. that too."

Whitney reached into her handbag. She withdrew a thick cream-colored envelope sealed with black wax. No name appeared on the outside, only an embossed crest. She handed it to me.

"This stays on your person,” she ordered.

I accepted it carefully. "Who am I delivering it to?"

"A man named Tommy Shelby."

The name meant absolutely nothing to me. Whitney noticed.

"You've never heard of the Peaky Blinders."

I shook my head. "No."

She walked toward the window overlooking the Theater District. "They're a street gang. They operate in East Island, just across the bridge from Little Italy. I need this delivered directly to Tommy Shelby."

I tucked the envelope safely inside my jacket. "What exactly am I walking into?"

"A potentially explosive situation,” Whitney responded as she leaned lightly against the windowsill. "You know Little Italy belongs to Ma Gnucci."

"I do."

 

 

"What you don't know is that people are beginning to question whether she'll keep it. Big Boy's attack against Hammerhead changed everything. Then Tombstone overthrew Big Boy. Now Goldfinger's district is collapsing into chaos because of Benedict. When enough dominoes fall everyone begins wondering who's next."

I listened intently.

Whitney continued. "I've received word that Sal Maroni intends to make a play for Little Italy."

That name I knew.

"With Falcone backing him,” Whitney stated.  "Carmine believes Maroni provides stability. His argument is simple. If Maroni controls Little Italy, he can better defend it against Rugal Bernstein."

I frowned. "I know the name, but not much about him."

"Rugal is..." Whitney searched for the right word. "...exceptional. Exceptionally wealthy. Exceptionally ruthless. And exceptionally interested in things most sensible people stay away from. Occult rituals. Ancient artifacts. Mystical power."

She looked me directly in the eyes. "The Maggia has no desire to see Rugal gain another inch of territory."

I found myself asking the obvious question. "So wouldn't a war between Ma Gnucci and Maroni make Little Italy easier to invade?"

Whitney chuckled. "A very good observation."

She slowly walked back toward me.

"I have opinions, very strong opinions." She folded her arms. "But I also have longstanding business relationships with everyone involved."

"So, you can't interfere." I guessed.

"I can't interfere..." She paused. "...openly."

I considered that, then looked down at the envelope as realization struck me. 

"The Peaky Blinders."

Whitney nodded. "They possess access I don't."

"And?"

"I'm making them an offer." said Whitney. "I can't very well visit East Island myself. Especially now. far too many eyes because of what is about to go down in Little Italy. Representation of the Theater District suddenly appearing in East Island would raise questions."

I slowly began piecing it together. “That’s why you chose me."

"Exactly, outside this district, nobody associates you with me,” Whitney responded.  

I looked down at my new clothes, the haircut, the glasses. Everything suddenly made sense. The disguise wasn't just intended to get me through the districts of Penguin and Tombstone, It was also meant to make sure nobody ever connected me back to Madam Masque.

"Come on." Melvin said. He patted my shoulder. "Tony's crew is waiting outside"

Whitney gave me one final instruction. "When you meet Tommy Shelby, listen more than you speak."

I nodded.

"I've found..." She smiled beneath the golden mask. "...that's one of your better qualities."

A cold mist hung over the Theater District as Tony Zucco's convoy waited outside Madam Masque's headquarters. Two black Packards idled along the curb. Neither one was particularly flashy. That wasn't Tony's style. He wasn't interested in drawing attention. He was interested in surviving long enough to enjoy the money.

The first Packard would be driven by me. Tony insisted on that. He believed the more they tried to hide me the more attention it would bring so it would be better to have me up front like some new hooligan transplant to Gangland trying to get in good with Harvey Dent.

I settled into the driver's seat, adjusting the newsboy cap over my nearly shaved head. The glasses still felt unnatural on my face. Every few seconds I caught myself trying to push them farther up my nose.

The passenger door opened. Tony Zucco slid into the back seat instead. One of his lieutenants climbed into the passenger seat beside me. Another squeezed in next to Tony. Outside, four more of Zucco's men climbed into the second Packard. All of them looked like they'd happily bury somebody in fresh concrete before lunch.

Tony leaned forward. "Well, I'll give Potter this. You don't look like the same guy."

I smiled nervously.

He settled back. "Drive."

I eased the Packard away from the curb. The second car pulled out in front of us. Within minutes we were leaving the bright marquees of the Theater District behind.

Tony watched the buildings disappear through his window.

"When I first heard what happened at the Iceberg Lounge, I was impressed," he said. 

I looked at him through the rearview mirror.

 "I heard some nobody from Big Boy's crew kidnapped Penguin's three favorite birds." He whistled. "That's bold."

My eyes returned to the road.

"I figured there had to be a bigger play." Tony leaned forward again. "I thought, this kid's either a complete idiot or he's about to become somebody."

He then shrugged. 

"Turns out you were mostly just another cog in Whitney's machine." Tony’s grin returned. "I was kinda disappointed."

The city slowly changed around us. The ornate theaters disappeared, so did the expensive restaurants. The streets grew colder, literally. Ice sculptures decorated intersections. Massive stone penguins stood atop rooftops. Blue-and-white banners hung between buildings, and art deco towers were trimmed with icy marble.

The closer we drove toward the Iceberg Lounge, the more everyone on the sidewalks seemed to be wearing darker coats. It was still one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Gangland. It just happened to feel like winter all year long.

Tony noticed me looking around. "You've become something of a celebrity in this area."

I groaned. "Not the good kind."

"No." He laughed. "The profitable kind."

He leaned toward me. "Penguin still wants your head."

"You’ve told me."

"He wants the girls more, but your head will do."

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. Tony looked down at the Jin Scroll in his possession.

“Lucky for you, Harvey really wants these scrolls.”

I remained quiet. After a few minutes, Tony continued to needle me.

"You know, Influence is still there."

I glanced into the rearview mirror. "What?"

"The Iceberg Lounge. He keeps him in the back office." Tony smiled. "Frozen solid."

I stared. "Seriously?"

Tony spread his hands. "Oh yeah. Great big block of ice. Penguin says he's making an example."

I thought about the last time I’d seen him, walking into Penguin's office with Raven. I remembered hearing Penguin threaten to break my legs. Then everything with Nora, who was really Whitney, Madam Masque. Then the fake kidnapping. I'd never actually seen what happened afterward.

Tony laughed "Funny thing, there's still room in that block. Right beside him. My guess is it is reserved for you."

Nobody laughed. Not even Tony's own men.

He noticed. "What?" You boys got no sense of humor?"

There was silence for a moment.

“If you had the balls, you'd stop by the Lounge before we leave the district. Pay your respects to the man you left high and dry."

I didn't answer. I couldn’t tell if Tony was serious or trying to get a rise out of me or what his goal was.  The silence stretched for several blocks.

Finally, Tony laughed again. “Truth is, I don't blame you. At the end of the day all of us are expendable. Get yours while you can."

There wasn't much I could say to that because he wasn't wrong.

Slowly, the neighborhood began changing again as we exited Penguin’s territory.  The immaculate stone buildings gave way to brick warehouses. Loading cranes stretched toward the cloudy sky. cargo containers lined the streets. Rail lines crossed intersections.

I knew these streets, or I thought I did. This had once been Big Boy's district. The first place I'd ever truly called home in Gangland. Now, it belonged to Tombstone.

 At first glance, very little had changed. The warehouses were still there, the loading docks, the shipping offices, and the old diners. Even the apartment building where I'd rented my tiny room still stood.

But then, the differences became impossible to ignore. Big Boy's men had favored loud suits, colorful storefronts, and flashy signs. Everything under Tombstone felt quieter. The colorful banners were gone. Black sedans replaced flashy luxury cars. Men in dark suits occupied nearly every street corner. Small groups gathered beneath loading cranes doing quick exchanges.

It was narcotics, open-air deals. Big Boy would've never allowed that. Not openly. Big Boy Caprice preferred gambling, smuggling, and protection rackets. Tombstone clearly had different priorities.

Tony noticed me staring. "Quite the quick renovation."

"I noticed."

He nodded toward one corner.

"Tombstone's bringing in new revenue."

"Looks that way."

The streets I'd once walked without much concern now felt like enemy territory. I doubted anyone would recognize me beneath the shaved head and glasses. Still, I found myself slouching lower in my seat at every traffic stop.

“Relax,” said Tony. He pointed toward the windshield. "Drive like you belong."

I remembered what he'd told me earlier. The best disguise wasn't acting invisible; it was acting ordinary.

The warehouses gradually thinned. Ahead, the southern highway curved toward the bridge leading into Divided District. Home of Harvey Dent, Two-Face, and west of East Island. I could almost see the bridge in the distance.

Then, with a loud bang, the front Packard exploded sideways, its left front tire disintegrated. Rubber flew through the air. The car lurched violently into a warehouse loading dock.

Before I could even process what I'd seen, there was another bang, our own front tire erupted. The steering wheel jerked hard enough to nearly tear itself from my hands. I fought it with everything I had. The Packard fishtailed, spun, and then slammed sideways into a stack of shipping crates. Glass exploded around us.

Tony was already moving. "OUT!"

He kicked open the rear door before the car had completely stopped. The moment his shoes hit pavement, gunfire erupted. His two men that had traveled with us poured out after him. The passenger beside me practically dove through his own door.

I followed. Bullets slammed into the Packard. Glass exploded behind me. The windshield shattered into glittering fragments.

"Behind the car!" Tony shouted.

We all dove. I slid across the asphalt until my shoulder slammed into the rear wheel. Tony crouched beside the trunk. The two other Zucco gunmen huddled nearby, both gripping Thompson submachine guns.

Across the street, motorcycles roared. Half a dozen of them. The riders wore chains, fingerless gloves, and denim jackets decorated with snarling wildcat insignias. They were the Neo Black Cats, a small-time biker gang connected to Geese Howard through one of his top lieutenants, Mr. Big.

One the Black Cats opened fire before the motorcycle had even stopped moving. The bullets chewed through the hood of Tony's disabled Packard.

The biggest man amongst them, stepped out from between the motorcycles. He was the leader of the gang. His broad shoulders stretched the seams of his denim vest. He didn't carry a firearm; he didn't need one. The grin on his face told me he'd rather use his hands anyway.

Tony peeked over the trunk. "Jack Turner."

One of his men muttered. "I thought he worked for Geese. What does he think he’s doing."

Jack cracked his neck, then started walking like bullets simply weren't worth worrying about. The second Packard sat thirty yards ahead of us. Tony's remaining crew inside hadn't even managed to fully escape. One terrified thug stumbled from the rear passenger door. Jack reached him in three strides. The poor man swung wildly with his pistol. Jack caught his wrist, then drove his forehead straight into the man's face. The sound carried all the way to us. The thug collapsed instantly. Jack grabbed him by the front of his suit and hurled him bodily into another man climbing from the opposite side of the vehicle. Both disappeared beneath the wrecked Packard.

Jack laughed a deep booming laugh, then reached inside the car. Another Zucco thug screamed. Jack literally dragged him through the broken window. The gangster barely had time to regain his footing before Jack's fist slammed into his ribs. The man's body folded. After another punch, the thug hit the ground, and didn’t get back up/

"Jesus..." I whispered.

Tony grimaced. "I told Harvey I should've brought more men."

The gunfire between our car and the Black Cat gang intensified O

One of Tony's gunmen beside me suddenly stood. "I got him!"

He leveled his Tommy gun and fired wildly at the biker gang. Bullets tore through several motorcycles. Two Neo Black Cats spun backwards. A third collapsed over his handlebars.  Several rounds struck Jack’s shoulder. He staggered backward.

"I got the bastard!" the gunman exclaimed.

Before anyone else could speak, a black luxury sedan slid around the corner. Its windows rolled down and muzzle flashes erupted from inside. The Thompson gunner never saw it coming. Three rounds punched into his chest, and a fourth struck his throat. He dropped without making another sound. His gun skidded across the pavement.

Tony cursed.

"There’s more of them!"

More bullets rained down. We scattered instinctively. The remaining Zucco thug sprinted toward a stack of shipping containers, Tony rolled behind a rusting forklift, I moved slightly but stayed behind the disabled Packard. Bullets punched through the driver's side door inches above my head. Splinters flew from nearby crates. Someone screamed. Someone else didn't get the chance. 

I risked another glance. The black sedan's rear door opened. A sharply dressed man stepped calmly onto the street. Unlike Jack, this man wore dark sunglasses, an immaculate blue overcoat, and expensive shoes. He carried an ornate walking cane capped with polished silver.

Tony immediately recognized him. “Mr. Big.”

 

 

"Tony." The new man on the scene called out. His voice carried effortlessly across the battlefield. “I’ve come for the Jin Scrolls.”

Mr. Big smiled as though he'd just walked into a neighborhood poker game instead of an active firefight. Behind him, the black sedan idled with both rear doors open while a pair of his men took up firing positions behind it.  Jack Turner slowly walked backward toward Mr. Big, still rubbing the shoulder where the Tommy gun rounds had clipped him. Blood stained the denim of his vest.

Mr. Big looked over the battlefield. Many of Tony's men already lay motionless. Several of the Neo Black Cats weren't getting back up either.

“About what I expected,” he stated.

Tony leaned around the rusted forklift just long enough to shout. "You've lost your damn mind."

Mr. Big chuckled. "I've heard that before."

Another member of Tony's convoy got closer to Mr. Big and tried to open fire but then tried using Tommy gun like a club after it jammed. Mr. Big simply caught the weapon and ripped it away. He smacked Tony’s man with his cane and then drove his shoulder into the gangster's chest hard enough to launch him backwards across the pavement. The man didn’t move afterward. Mr. Big appeared to be stronger and more ruthless than even Jack. 

"I'll make this simple,” Mr. Big declared as he pointed the cane in the direction of Tony. “Give me the Jin Scrolls.”

“You impatient moron,” Tony shot back. “You honestly think Geese is going to thank you for this stunt? Even if by some miracle you survive today., you've just started a war between Harvey Dent and Geese Howard."

"I think you're looking at this the wrong way," Mr. Big replied. “I know all about Harvey’s plan. He believes handing Geese the Jin Scrolls earns him East Island. But I have a better idea.  If Geese receives the scrolls they should come from me."

Mr. Big tapped his own chest. "I've served him faithfully, "I've built his businesses, I've spilled blood for him."

He looked toward the direction of East Island. “Perhaps getting these myself will convince Geese to let me run East Island. I believe he'll reward initiative."

“You sound like Big Boy Caprice before he lost everything,” said Tony.

“Big Boy isn’t the only one who has been proactive,” countered Mr. Big. “Tombstone acted and he won. And yesterday someone was bold enough to send some woman to eliminate Silvermane’s son."

That was the first time I’d heard about the fate of Joseph Manfredi from when he left his father’s meeting.

"The city's changing. Everyone can feel it. Everyone's making bold moves," Mr. Big continued. “So am I.”

Tony spat onto the pavement. "You know what your problem is? You think you're some main character, but you’re not. You're just another idiot about to get himself killed."

Mr. Big's smile disappeared. "I'd like to tell you this isn't personal, but you just reminded me that I've never liked you."

"The feeling's mutual."

Gunfire erupted again. Tony squeezed off several quick shots from behind the forklift. Mr. Big ducked behind his sedan. 

Tony shouted. "Keep him from getting any closer!"

Another exchange erupted. The remaining Zucco thug leaned around a stack of pallets and fired three quick bursts. One Neo Black Cat spun backwards, and another collapsed behind a motorcycle.

Tony looked over to me, our eyes met.

"Kid!" He shouted. “"There!"

I looked over to where he pointed.  Lying less than six feet from me, half beneath the shattered driver's door. was the dropped Thompson submachine gun. Right beside it, wrapped carefully in oilcloth lay the Jin Scroll. It must have been thrown clear when the car spun into the crates.

Tony's voice rose above the gunfire. "Grab the Tommy! They can't shoot forever!"

He fired twice more toward Mr. Big. "If Big gets close, he'll break every bone we've got. Hurry!"

I stared at the Thompson, then at the scroll. My hands wouldn't move, not yet.

Because suddenly, the situation wasn't nearly as simple as surviving. Tony was right. No matter the result of this fight, war between Two-Face and Geese was inevitable now. If I fought on Tony’s side, there is no way I would be allowed on East Island as long as Geese was still standing. Whitney certainly wouldn't want that, would she? I needed to reach East Island, Tommy Shelby, and the Peaky Blinders. 

Then again, Whitney had negotiated this entire arrangement herself. She had shaken Tony's hand. She had helped Goldfinger to get the scrolls to Two-Face. She expected this scroll to reach Harvey. Didn't she?

Unless she'd anticipated something like this all along. How else would Mr. Big even know about the deal?  I hated that thought. Mostly because with Whitney, it wasn't impossible.

I looked again toward Mr. Big. If I simply didn't help Tony, Mr. Big might win. The scroll would go to Geese. Tony would probably die. And with him, the only man outside the Theater District who knew exactly who I was. Tony had joked about turning me over to Penguin. He'd mentioned Tombstone collecting my head. Jokes always contained a little truth. I had a prevailing thought; dead men couldn't reveal secrets.

Was I really considering letting him die because it benefited me personally?  Was that just the Gangland way?

Another possibility occurred to me: What if Geese wasn’t aware of this? What if Mr. Big had truly gone into business for himself? That could change everything. Helping him could mean siding against Geese without realizing it, or it could earn Geese's respect if Mr. Big succeeded.

There were too many unknowns, too many moving pieces, and too many consequences. My thoughts drifted to Whitney.

"You make smart decisions."

She'd said that several times since I started working for her. But every decision before today suddenly seemed laughably easy. Don't start a fight. Don't interfere with Oddjob. Go along with Nora's plan. Deliver the envelope. Those weren't impossible choices.

This was different. This was choosing who lived and who died. Who became an ally, and who became an enemy.

I thought about what Lark told me before they left.  "Don't get dead."

Did I just need to make the easiest choice to ensure my survival? Would I be labeled a deserter again? Would anyone trust me? Could I spin it if I did go against Tony? What was the smart decision?

Whatever the decision, I needed to make it fast as Tony stared and shouted at me for backup.

[Callisto]

Learn More About
Tony Zucco
Read more about Tony Zucco at Wikipedia
Official Site: DC Comics Links: Wikipedia DC AU Wiki Comicvine

Mr. Big
Read more about Mr. Big at Wikipedia
Official Site: SNK Links: Wikipedia

[leroypowell3]

Go with the winning side.

Mr. Big.

[Venom 2009]

Good match. Mr. Big gets my vote.

[Boratz]

Awesome job and great addition to the Gangland arc 

[Callisto]

Match Final Results

Member Ratings:
5.00 - Boratz
5.00 - Venom 2009

FPA Calculation:
2 Total Votes cast
10.00 Total Combined Score
10.00 / 2 = 5.00 Final Rating on the match

MATCH SCORE
Tony Zucco: 0
Mr. Big: 5