Politicians took notice of Spinoza's campaign against corruption. Tired of looking like fools -they took notice that they'd been caught in their half-hearted attempts to hide the most brazen corruption, but failed to notice they'd also been skewered because they were too incompetent to manage the city properly - they implemented institutional changes to burnish their image.
Their most prominent change was the replacement of the existing police commissioner.
The city's keepers were keenly aware that the cost in violence for their ignorance of prohibition laws and norms was becoming tiresome to the electorate. From their gilded offices, they unceremoniously dumped the current commissioner (and unceremoniously thanked him for his service by installing him as the new commissioner of the streets and sanitation department, where he could manage his organized crime ties with less visibility and new-found freedom). In his stead, they installed "The Mad Hungarian."
"The Mad Hungarian" was neither mad nor Hungarian. He was born William T. Buttons of Edinburgh and affected a mildly German accent while fighting in World War I for reasons known only to The Mad Hungarian. The German accent layered on top of his Scottish burr provided those not paying enough attention reasonable cause to create a backstory to fit the role they wanted him to play.
While not mad, his methods were ruthless and exaggerated. He took the city's "War on Prohibition" slogan to heart and drastically changed the rules of engagement between cops and bootleggers.
Previously, the two would wink and nod cheerfully at each other while exchanging bulky envelopes or glasses of bathtub gin.
Under the Mad Hungarian's direction, officers were expected to find any charge, however small, to arrest a scofflaw. If the suspect resisted, officers were encouraged to escalate their use of force to exceed the assailant's level of resistance.
Given the city's general historic enthusiasm for embracing modern (read knee-jerk changes following the political winds) tactics, it wasn't long before interactions between police and hoodlums varied somewhere between mild armed skirmishes at best and block to block battles lasting into the wee hours of the morning at worst.
Inevitably, there was the occasional collateral damage - a luckless dog walker here, a misplaced tourist there. Citizens understood that sacrifices were part of a greater cause and first took the effort in stride.
However, when the casualty numbers for non-combatants began to exceed those of combatants, public opinion changed.
City managers and police brass felt they were over a barrel. They only believed they had two options - allow the criminals to run awash over the city and attempt to ameliorate the rampant crime by setting up a stable system of graft to keep the violent crime hidden, but risk excoriation by the press. Or keep up a relentless paramilitary campaign that harmed the populace disproportionately but could be touted as a devoted law and order decision. And be excoriated by the press.
It never occurred to them that they could champion legal reform and lead - with the knowledge that leadership meant potential career suicide for a greater good - thus finding a saner, more humane path that would leave the city in much better shape. They instead continued to follow the law and order path.
It was under these conditions that Tannehill was redeployed from desk duty to lead raids against bootleggers. The department heads felt safe in their self-assurance that having one of their heroes lead efforts against prohibition bootleggers would strike the balance between the public's need for peace and safety, the public's demand for liquor, and the equally important requirement to ensure things ran as before so they, and their political bosses, could continue to profit appropriately from their devotion to public service.
Tannehill's raids were largely devoid of bloody confrontation. Rather than utilize a massive show of force parading through streets with an ominous "thump-thump-thump" of municipality-issued boots that struck a note of dread in the hearts of both criminals as well as civilians (and also giving their adversaries advance warning and a chance to prepare for battle) he chose smaller, more nimble squads.
He often used a small squad of 5-10 uniformed officers to lead the raid with another 5-10 plainclothes officers to scout the raids and confuse the targets. Mobsters often complained that the plainclothed officers were "un-sportsmanlike" because they didn't provide highly visible targets during battle and could be mistaken for their comrades in the booze trade, thus making shootouts much less straightforward.
In Tannehill's raids, an exchange of gunfire wasn't a forgone conclusion, but there were still occasions where someone from either side may wind up in the hospital. Or the morgue. So, Tannehill always approached each raid with an abundance of caution and a sense of apprehension.
This particular night's raid was no different. The streets just outside of the tony back bay neighborhood were slick with recent heavy rain, dampening low-level background noise and accentuating the benign punctuations of sharp, random outbursts common to any city. The rain kept people indoors and cooled the air, which reduced the officers' baseline stress levels.
The operation they were raiding was as straightforward as anyone they'd had in weeks - a cousin of a cousin of someone connected was permitted to make a bourbon barrel or two per week for easy profit with low risk - don't get busted, no problem. Get busted, no problem, it's small potatoes.
From the department's standpoint, the payoff was likely good too - low production meant low security and low likelihood of bloodshed. A successful raid was always a great public relations win, no matter how small. It could be spun as nipping a burgeoning operation in the bud before it grew into something more difficult to exterminate. The bonus of no violence also highlighted the success of modern police methods and meticulous preparation.
The men made their way among the muted, refreshed tones of the city - only the crunch of their soles on the pavement seemed to offer any cadence to the otherwise silent night. They moved from alley to alley, efficiently securing the area and ensuring no bootleggers were waiting in ambush to confound them from their night's duty.
They approached the final alley before the makeshift still that was to be the target of their raid. Alone at the front of the alley stood a single, brand new trashcan - seemingly emanating light through the cloud-covered night. Without warning, the lid clattered cacophonously to the ground. The can followed immediately thereafter, briefly filling the air with an incredible and confusing din.
Tannehill, pistol already primed for the raid, turned in the direction of the garbage can and fired down the alley. Twice.
[Author's Note: So I didn't manage to get a second installment out before the end of May, but with June, I bring an additional 1102 words and a new milestone - 30516 words total.]
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