T'was just about 6:00a.m. on this date back in 1927 when Richard Lubey
crossed the threshold into his apartment after a long night of managing
his speakeasy. At the ripe old age of six and twenty years Lubey had many a crime attributed to him, crimes like gun possession, robbery and counterfeiting.
Anywho-ville,
his wife who slumbered in the next room, heard him enter and begin to
disrobe. First his coat and then his vest. But before anymore articles
of clothing could be removed there was a rapping, some might say a
gentle tapping, a tapping at the apartment door. "Tis some gangster," Lubey muttered, "tapping at my apartment door. Only this and nothing more."
Mrs. Lubey
heard him answer the door but paid no attention to the conversation he
had with the early morning visitor. Ah, but she would from here on
remember what happened next in that bleak December, when from the
underworld came forth a member who came to settle a bootlegging score. A
bullet lodged above her bed which first passed through her husband's
head, her husband who now lay dead, dead upon the foyer floor.
"He must have done something. They don't kill you for nothing." - Chicago Gangster Ted Newberry. Rubbed out January 7, 1933
2 comments:
The shooter was identified as a man known only as Mr. Grinch. The police refused to make an arrest. They wouldn't touch him with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole.
Apparently he was the City's largest dealer of Who hash as well.
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