"It's most likely those bootleggers. There'll be no trouble. They didn't deliver the stuff and they can't expect me to pay for it." Now that attitude may have been sound if Joseph Storch was dealing with the neighborhood butcher, baker or candlestick maker. But he wasn't he was dealing with hoodlums.
Storch had ordered some whiskey, how much wasn't reported anyways a large touring sedan pulled up to his house around 9:00 p.m. or so Eighty-eight years ago tonight. It was the bootleggers and they wanted their dough. Storch said he never got the stuff. The response was "We'll be back in a couple of hours. You'd better have the kale." Or something to that effect.
At around 11:00p.m. the large touring sedan pulled up and two guys got out leaving three in the car. The mugs entered the building and sent a tenant up to Storch's apartment to tell him a "friend" was waiting downstairs.
Storch, his wife and a friend were discussing the the bootleggers when the neighbor arrived with the message. His wife pleaded with him not to go down but Storch made the previously mentioned statement and headed downstairs while his wife and friend stood at the top of the stairwell.
Once in the vestibule Storch informed the bootleggers that in commerce one does not pay for something that one doesn't receive. He received two answers, one in the forehead and one in the throat.
At the sound of the shots the sedan started cruising down the street and the two bootleggers chased it for the length of a building before jumping onto the running boards in true gangster fashion.
Meanwhile Storch lay in the vestibule, his blood pooling around him, planning his critique for Angieslist.com