Chicago had arctic weather on Dec. 9, 1932; when big, red-faced Traffic Police man William D. Lundy went off duty in mid-afternoon it was 11° below zero in the drab Southwest Side. Shivering, he headed for Vera Walush's delicatessen, a cheap speakeasy, and stamped through into the dark kitchen in the rear.
As he stood beside the coal range, a trucker named John Zagata came in.
Blond, blowzy Vera Walush poured out two shots of raw moonshine, served them.
Then she screamed. Zagata dived for a side door. Two gunmen who had silently appeared in the kitchen entrance killed Policeman Lundy...
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