Page 5 Annotated

Impassively, she starts to carry out her nightly routine. As she is removing her jewelry, she notices the latch of her necklace is sticking. After a minute of struggle, her husband moves to help her. His strong hands brush the back of her neck as he tries to work the clasp. Mae suddenly has an irresistible impulse. “I saw the evening paper,” she says curtly. Her husband’s hands hesitate. “Oh?” “There was a horrible attack in Chicago, a garage on the North Side.” She turns around, his hands still on her necklace. Their faces were less than a foot apart, and Mae was watching his eyes carefully. “Six men died.” She states. “Mowed down by machine guns. There were pictures and everythi-” “Seven.” He interrupts, then immediately winces. Mae stares at him. “Seven? The paper said…” she trailed off, her worst suspicions confirmed. “How could you… I don’t…” His face is blank, just for a moment, but then he laughs, saying smugly, “The only man who kills like that is Bugs Moran.” Mae scowls at her husband. “How can you live with yourself? Six men whose children are going to be without their father, and you just-” “Mae, be reasonable,” he says, trying to appease her. “I wasn’t even there. I only heard about the seventh man from Goldstein. You know those lawyer types, they all have better sources than the papers could hope for. And besides,” he says, glancing away for a moment, “Can’t you see what this will do for our family?” His left hand lowers to touch her arm lightly. Mae rips her arm away. “Have you lost your mind?” she asks aghast, and pulls away from him sharply in a spray of pearls as her necklace snaps in his fingers. Her eyes follow them as they bounce and scatter across the spotless bedroom floor. “Now, Mae, listen,” he says, his voice rising with irritation. He pauses, then, more gently, “I’m making our family richer. I’m making our family safer. What more could you want from me?” Florence’s words ring in Mae’s head, buzzing in her ears and raising her voice to a shout. “But what if I don’t want riches and fame, not if this is what it takes! We don’t have to, we don’t need…” Mae spots the expensive vase on the nightstand. “I don’t need these things to be happy!” she snaps, and picks up the vase and throws it to the floor. Shards of pottery, water, and flower petals join the pearls strewn across the bedroom floor. “Now, Mae, listen,” he says, his voice rising with irritation. He pauses, then, more gently, “I’m making our family richer. I’m making our family safer. What more could you want from me?” Florence’s words ring in Mae’s head, buzzing in her ears and raising her voice to a shout. “But what if I don’t want riches and fame, not if this is what it takes! We don’t have to, we don’t need…” Mae spots the expensive vase on the nightstand. “I don’t need these things to be happy!” she snaps, and picks up the vase and throws it to the floor. Shards of pottery, water, and flower petals join the pearls strewn across the floorboards in one giant crash. Mae’s back hits the wall as she backs herself into the corner of the room, the rush of what she just did rolling over her. She slides down to a crouch and buries her face in her hands. “I don’t need them, I just need us!” she sobs through her hands. Her husband stays where he is, standing amidst the shards. “My darling Mae, don’t you see?” he insists. “This is it! This is the end of the hiding, of the bullet-proof cars, of coming home in the middle of the night. We’ve got Walker’s support. From now on, I’m going to be running a legitimate business.” He pauses. “I’m going to run Chicago, without facing opposition. The city’s mine. Do you understand?” His face is without remorse. Mae takes a deep breath and raises her head, tears running down her face. “At what cost? Your soul?” she asks hoarsely. She stands up and skirts around the room, always staying as far from her husband as possible. Stepping carefully through the shattered pieces, Mae climbs into bed and turns her back on him. The man turns and walks out the room, through the dark house and out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean. Leaning on the railing, he pulls out a cigar from his front pocket and lights it. The cold shine of the crescent moon on the water and the softer, warmer glow of his cigar tip illuminate the man’s face as smoke curls upwards into the night. Although things didn’t go completely according to plan, Al decides it was a successful St. Valentine’s Day.

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Impassively, she starts to carry out her nightly routine. As she is removing her jewelry, she notices the latch of her necklace is sticking. After a minute of struggle, her husband moves to help her. His strong hands brush the back of her neck as he tries to work the clasp. Mae suddenly has an irresistible impulse. “I saw the evening paper,” she says curtly. Her husband’s hands hesitate. “Oh?” “There was a horrible attack in Chicago, a garage on the North Side.” She turns around, his hands still on her necklace. Their faces were less than a foot apart, and Mae was watching his eyes carefully. “Six men died.” She states. “Mowed down by machine guns. There were pictures and everythi-” “Seven.” He interrupts, then immediately winces. Mae stares at him. “Seven? The paper said…” she trailed off, her worst suspicions confirmed. “How could you… I don’t…” His face is blank, just for a moment, but then he laughs, saying smugly, “The only man who kills like that is Bugs Moran.” Mae scowls at her husband. “How can you live with yourself? Six men whose children are going to be without their father, and you just-” “Mae, be reasonable,” he says, trying to appease her. “I wasn’t even there. I only heard about the seventh man from Goldstein. You know those lawyer types, they all have better sources than the papers could hope for. And besides,” he says, glancing away for a moment, “Can’t you see what this will do for our family?” His left hand lowers to touch her arm lightly. Mae rips her arm away. “Have you lost your mind?” she asks aghast, and pulls away from him sharply in a spray of pearls as her necklace snaps in his fingers. Her eyes follow them as they bounce and scatter across the spotless bedroom floor. “Now, Mae, listen,” he says, his voice rising with irritation. He pauses, then, more gently, “I’m making our family richer. I’m making our family safer. What more could you want from me?” Florence’s words ring in Mae’s head, buzzing in her ears and raising her voice to a shout. “But what if I don’t want riches and fame, not if this is what it takes! We don’t have to, we don’t need…” Mae spots the expensive vase on the nightstand. “I don’t need these things to be happy!” she snaps, and picks up the vase and throws it to the floor. Shards of pottery, water, and flower petals join the pearls strewn across the bedroom floor. “Now, Mae, listen,” he says, his voice rising with irritation. He pauses, then, more gently, “I’m making our family richer. I’m making our family safer. What more could you want from me?” Florence’s words ring in Mae’s head, buzzing in her ears and raising her voice to a shout. “But what if I don’t want riches and fame, not if this is what it takes! We don’t have to, we don’t need…” Mae spots the expensive vase on the nightstand. “I don’t need these things to be happy!” she snaps, and picks up the vase and throws it to the floor. Shards of pottery, water, and flower petals join the pearls strewn across the floorboards in one giant crash. Mae’s back hits the wall as she backs herself into the corner of the room, the rush of what she just did rolling over her. She slides down to a crouch and buries her face in her hands. “I don’t need them, I just need us!” she sobs through her hands. Her husband stays where he is, standing amidst the shards. “My darling Mae, don’t you see?” he insists. “This is it! This is the end of the hiding, of the bullet-proof cars, of coming home in the middle of the night. We’ve got Walker’s support. From now on, I’m going to be running a legitimate business.” He pauses. “I’m going to run Chicago, without facing opposition. The city’s mine. Do you understand?” His face is without remorse. Mae takes a deep breath and raises her head, tears running down her face. “At what cost? Your soul?” she asks hoarsely. She stands up and skirts around the room, always staying as far from her husband as possible. Stepping carefully through the shattered pieces, Mae climbs into bed and turns her back on him. The man turns and walks out the room, through the dark house and out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean. Leaning on the railing, he pulls out a cigar from his front pocket and lights it. The cold shine of the crescent moon on the water and the softer, warmer glow of his cigar tip illuminate the man’s face as smoke curls upwards into the night. Although things didn’t go completely according to plan, Al decides it was a successful St. Valentine’s Day.

Impassively, she starts to carry out her nightly routine. As she is removing her jewelry, she notices the latch of her necklace is sticking. After a minute of struggle, her husband moves to help her. His strong hands brush the back of her neck as he tries to work the clasp. Mae suddenly has an irresistible impulse. “I saw the evening paper,” she says curtly. Her husband’s hands hesitate. “Oh?” “There was a horrible attack in Chicago, a garage on the North Side.” She turns around, his hands still on her necklace. Their faces were less than a foot apart, and Mae was watching his eyes carefully. “Six men died.” She states. “Mowed down by machine guns. There were pictures and everythi-” “Seven.” He interrupts, then immediately winces. Mae stares at him. “Seven? The paper said…” she trailed off, her worst suspicions confirmed. “How could you… I don’t…” His face is blank, just for a moment, but then he laughs, saying smugly, “The only man who kills like that is Bugs Moran.” Mae scowls at her husband. “How can you live with yourself? Six men whose children are going to be without their father, and you just-” “Mae, be reasonable,” he says, trying to appease her. “I wasn’t even there. I only heard about the seventh man from Goldstein. You know those lawyer types, they all have better sources than the papers could hope for. And besides,” he says, glancing away for a moment, “Can’t you see what this will do for our family?” His left hand lowers to touch her arm lightly. Mae rips her arm away. “Have you lost your mind?” she asks aghast, and pulls away from him sharply in a spray of pearls as her necklace snaps in his fingers. Her eyes follow them as they bounce and scatter across the spotless bedroom floor. “Now, Mae, listen,” he says, his voice rising with irritation. He pauses, then, more gently, “I’m making our family richer. I’m making our family safer. What more could you want from me?” Florence’s words ring in Mae’s head, buzzing in her ears and raising her voice to a shout. “But what if I don’t want riches and fame, not if this is what it takes! We don’t have to, we don’t need…” Mae spots the expensive vase on the nightstand. “I don’t need these things to be happy!” she snaps, and picks up the vase and throws it to the floor. Shards of pottery, water, and flower petals join the pearls strewn across the bedroom floor. “Now, Mae, listen,” he says, his voice rising with irritation. He pauses, then, more gently, “I’m making our family richer. I’m making our family safer. What more could you want from me?” Florence’s words ring in Mae’s head, buzzing in her ears and raising her voice to a shout. “But what if I don’t want riches and fame, not if this is what it takes! We don’t have to, we don’t need…” Mae spots the expensive vase on the nightstand. “I don’t need these things to be happy!” she snaps, and picks up the vase and throws it to the floor. Shards of pottery, water, and flower petals join the pearls strewn across the floorboards in one giant crash. Mae’s back hits the wall as she backs herself into the corner of the room, the rush of what she just did rolling over her. She slides down to a crouch and buries her face in her hands. “I don’t need them, I just need us!” she sobs through her hands. Her husband stays where he is, standing amidst the shards. “My darling Mae, don’t you see?” he insists. “This is it! This is the end of the hiding, of the bullet-proof cars, of coming home in the middle of the night. We’ve got Walker’s support. From now on, I’m going to be running a legitimate business.” He pauses. “I’m going to run Chicago, without facing opposition. The city’s mine. Do you understand?” His face is without remorse. Mae takes a deep breath and raises her head, tears running down her face. “At what cost? Your soul?” she asks hoarsely. She stands up and skirts around the room, always staying as far from her husband as possible. Stepping carefully through the shattered pieces, Mae climbs into bed and turns her back on him. The man turns and walks out the room, through the dark house and out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean. Leaning on the railing, he pulls out a cigar from his front pocket and lights it. The cold shine of the crescent moon on the water and the softer, warmer glow of his cigar tip illuminate the man’s face as smoke curls upwards into the night. Although things didn’t go completely according to plan, Al decides it was a successful St. Valentine’s Day.