F*** You, pay me.

Eighty-nine years ago today Joseph Storch learned a fatal lesson about bootleggers. You see Joe made the mistake that they were like any other retailer and, well, heres what happened- Not all the facts are in and all we have is what Mrs. Storch knew as the bootleggers didn't bother giving their side of the story. It all started when Joe made a deal for some booze. The suppliers came to Joe demanding payment. Joe told them that he never received the product. The bootleggers insisted that the delivery had been made and they told Joe that they would be back in two hours and if he didn't pony up the dough it would be just to bad. Was the delivery made? Perhaps. Maybe since Joe was a greenhorn he told them to deliver it to a certain locale and he himself wasn't on hand. Perhaps the bootleggers took advantage of Joe's naivety and stole back the booze. We don't know. All we know is that Joe never saw the stuff. Back to Joe's apartment, a friend stopped by and he, Joe and Joe's better half were discussing the deal when the obligatory dark sedan pulled up in front of Joe's apartment building. Two guys got out leaving the driver and two others inside. They went to Joe's door and sent a tenant up to tell Joe a couple of "friends" wanted to see him. The neighbor went up and told Joe about the guys. Mrs. Joe pleaded with her husband not to go down stairs but he said, "It all right. 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." Assuming that the bootleggers shared the same business practices of, say, Sears, Joe went down stairs. He informed the gangsters that they would not be receiving monies owed and they responded by sending a bullets into Joe's forehead and neck. At the sound of the shots the sedan started drifting down the street and the gunmen jumped on the running boards and made their getaway. Mrs. Storch and the friend ran down and found Joe in the vestibule dying, but a little wiser.