(Author's Note: Warning, the following story contains sex, drugs, gambling, murder, rape, and mild to extreme language. Read at your own risk. Oh, and by the way, if you haven't read the first Al Capone and Duncan Malone story, read it on my profile before reading Al Capone and Duncan Malone 2.)

Courtney was in the kitchen, wearing a short black skirt and tight white cotton shirt. She had the sleeves rolled up, just below her elbows. And, of course, the Log Cabin signature black tie dangled loosely from her neck. She lifted a medium-sized wine glass to her lips, and the tart liquid immediately filled her mouth. With no other breakfast foods in the apartment, Courtney had been starting each day with a glowing glass of wine.

"Hey, princess. You're up early," Duncan comments, walking into the kitchen. He slides his arm around her waist and gently kisses her temple before going over to the fridge and rustling through it. Courtney turns around to face him and she leans against the counter, absentmindedly tapping her glittering engagement ring against the wine glass.

"It's my first day working at the Day N' Night bar. I just wanted to be early so I can, you know, be on time and stuff," she replies casually, rolling her eyes. The Day N' Night bar was the bar where Damien had arranged for Courtney and Duncan to finally meet again, after a disagreement where Duncan had wanted to break up with Courtney, but only for her safety from gangster life. But that plan backfired when Courtney ran away after he practically ran away from her, just because he still didn't want her to be put in danger because of him. But all that was fixed now, because Courtney promised that there would be no way of keeping her out of danger even if he left her. And besides, she loved him and he loved her. They both knew it.

Duncan shuts the refrigerator door with a bottle of vodka in his hand and a tiny shot glass in the other. He sits down in a bar stool across the counter from his fiancée and pours himself a shot. "Ah. You're still the overachieving perfectionist that you were when I first met you," he teases, tilting his head back to send the vodka burning down his throat.

"You love it," Courtney points out with a smirk. She downs the rest of her wine and puts the glass on the edge of the counter, walking around the bar counter to where Duncan was sitting. "Well, I got to go. I don't want to be late. Maybe I could see you sometime after work?" she asks suggestively.

"Anything you want, sweetheart," he replies with a wink. Courtney leans in and kisses him, softly biting his bottom lip as she pulls away. He pours more vodka into his shot glass and Courtney grabs her small purse from the sagging couch.

"Hey, Damien," she greets her friend, as he opens his bedroom door and sleepily stumbles into the hallway. His dirty-blonde hair was sticking up at awkward angles, and he was scratching at the crotch of his boxers. He just nods at her and continues on down the hallway. He was never a morning person.

Courtney smirks to herself and walks down the winding staircase. The click-clacking of her high heels echoes throughout the staircase, and a stupid moth thrust itself repeatedly against the bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. She opens the heavy oak front door and slams it shut behind her. She walks down the concrete steps and onto the sidewalk leading behind the Log Cabin apartment.

And there it was.

Her Ford Model A car, that Duncan had bought her a few weeks ago. It had a shiny red body and bright gold rims. The plump tires were a deep chocolate color, and the roof of the car was shiny black. The front grills of the car was a bright reflective silver, and it practically hurt her eyes to just look at it.

Courtney slid into the driver's seat and twisted the car keys in the ignition, making the car roar to life. Her insides turned to Jello. She loved having her own car, especially now that she knew how to run red lights, go hill-topping, and spin around sharp corners without worrying about crashing. As she pulls out into the street, she smiles just thinking about how Duncan had taught her how to drive like a true gangster.

"Just drive. Don't worry about red lights or stop signs or construction sites or anything. Just hit the gas, watch for cars, and drive," he had told her. Courtney had slammed on the gas, and the wind whipped her hair back because of the roofless car. "Damn, you're gorgeous." Duncan had reached over and run a hand through her hair, making her laugh.

When Courtney blinked out of her flashback, she found that she was already parked against the curb one block from Day N' Night. She grabs her purse, locks the door, and walks down the sidewalk. She had basically all the names of the streets and alleys of downtown Chicago memorized. If somebody blindfolded her and asked her to draw a map of it all, she could do it in less than three minutes.

"Heya, Brock," Courtney greets the buff bodyguard who she'd first met when Damien planned on her meeting Duncan here a whole year ago.

"What's up, Courtney? First day on the job?" he replies. Brock had the deepest voice anybody could ever have; it reverberated through your chest and felt like heartburn. But he was the nicest guy Courtney had ever met, despite his threatening appearance. His biceps were practically the same circumference as her waist.

"Sort of. I have training today and then my actual first day starts tomorrow night." Brock holds the door open for her and Courtney stepped into the familiar nightclub. It looked strange in the morning, with the lights on and not one person on the dancefloor. However, there were two other girls in the bar, who would probably be the bartenders who would give her the necessary training for the job.

"Hi, you must be Courtney Malone," the busty redhead said as she approached the bar. The redhead reached a freckled arm across the counter and Courtney shook her head with a nod.

"Yes, I am. And you are…?" Even though she was technically a gangster now, Courtney still had manners.

"I'm Bethany. And this is my friend-slash-coworker, Susan," Bethany introduces, motioning to the blonde who was buffing the shot glasses with a white cloth. Susan gave Courtney a single nod before returning to the glasses.

"Here. Put this on first, then meet me in the supply room for more instructions," Bethany commands, tossing Courtney a white apron and disappearing through the wooden door of the supply room. Courtney ties the apron around her waist and follows after Bethany.

Her mentor was sitting on a wooden crate in the middle of a large warehouse room with concrete floors. There were dozens of shelves holding more crates, barrels, and jugs of different kinds of liquor. Bethany had a glass bottle of hard vodka in her hand, and she takes a sip. "Pop a squat," she says, patting the crate in front of her.

Courtney sits on the crate and accepts the vodka when Bethany holds it out to her. She takes a sip, grimaces, and hands it back, "Dang, that stuff is strong."

"I know, right?" Bethany agrees, taking another swig and holding the bottle in the air. She swirls the liquid around in the bottle and peers at it through the light coming from the lightbulbs high on the ceiling. "We only trade top-quality shit here. It's the best of the best. Which is why we're hiring you. You're linked to Log Cabin, right?"

"Definitely. I'm Duncan's fiancée." Courtney grins to herself, knowing that Duncan's first name alone can strike both fear and respect in the hearts of Chicago's underground.

"Good. Good. So I trust we'll be able to increase our shipment from Log Cabin, then?" Bethany asks. She offers the vodka bottle to Courtney, who swiftly denies it. Straight vodka wasn't her favorite, and she had no idea how Bethany could keep drinking it like that.

"Most likely. I'll talk to Duncan and see about it. But as for training…?" Courtney asks, getting to the point of why she was supposed to be there.

"Oh! Yes! I'll be teaching you how to take inventory. Now, we have ten major different kinds of liquor here. They are tequila, rum, vodka, whiskey, bourbon, moonshine, brandy, gin, scotch, and wine. Moonshine is the rarest, though, since we have to get it all the way from the Midwest instead of Canada. They all come in separately labeled crates, meaning one crate per type of liquor. I'm not so good at explaining things, so… here," Bethany says, lifting a centimeter-thick packet from the floor and handing it to Courtney. "Now that there has everything you'll ever need to know about taking inventory."

There is a lapse in the conversation, in which Bethany looks expectantly at Courtney. "Now, get back to the bar, will ya!" Bethany exclaims, waving one hand in the air and nearly knocking herself off balance, which probably had to do with the amount of straight vodka she's already consumed. "Susan will show you the basics of handling the bar."

"O…kay. Thank you," Courtney replies graciously, standing up from the crate. With the packet in hand, she walks tentatively over to the counter, though the loud steps of her high heels kindof blew her cover. Susan was on to buffing champagne flutes now, instead of shot glasses.

"So, Courtney, I'd assume you aren't that new to pouring liquor and cleaning glasses and all, what with you being one of the head leaders or whatever of Log Cabin, am I right?" Susan asks, not once looking up from the champagne flute.

"You'd be correct," Courtney replies. She leans against the counter and watches her mentor.

"Good. Now, I actually have a better memory than that alcoholic," Susan begins, nodding towards the supply room, where Bethany was probably finishing off the bottle of vodka, "So I won't just give you a packet like that and make you read it in just one day. Take a seat and let me tell you how to entertain the customers while still serving them their drinks…"

Forty-five minutes later, Courtney knew practically everything about working at the bar. From carrying drinks through the dancefloor, sliding shot glasses down the bar counter without spilling, pouring the perfect amount of their really strong moonshine where too much could kill a man, and everything else in between. "Thank you both!" Courtney tells Susan and Bethany, who had come out of the supply room ten minutes prior to the end of her training.

"See you tomorrow night, Courtney," Brock says in his extremely deep voice while holding the door open for her.

"Bye, Brock," she replies. As soon as Courtney steps out the door, however, she nearly collides right into Duncan's chest. He wraps his arms around her waist, trapping her against him. Courtney cranes her head up to make eye contact, since even in her highest heels, she only came up to about his chin.

"What's the rush, Princess?" Duncan asks in his smooth-as-velvet voice of his.

"No rush, just walking out the door," she answers in a teasing tone. "The real question is, though, what are you doing here?"

"Can't a guy meet his fiancée at work?" Duncan asks innocently. The sparkle in his sea-green eyes said otherwise.

"Sure, if that would be normal for a drug lord like you," Courtney responds. She manages to wiggle out of Duncan's grasp and they start walking for the car at the end of the alley. Duncan sits in the driver's seat and Courtney obediently sits in the passenger's seat. "Now what's really going on?"

Instead of answering, Duncan hands her a red envelope from his jacket pocket. He starts the car, does a U-turn, and starts heading towards the even poorer part of town. Courtney knew what a red envelope meant; of course she did. It meant somebody wasn't paying their share of the drugs or liquor they got from Log Cabin, and now it was time for their "reimbursements."

Usually red letters didn't end on the most pleasant of terms. The very first red-letter incident Courtney had seen was of a guy who was a drug dealer, yet such a junkie that he had no money left to pay the drugs he had intended to trade but ended up using himself. Duncan and a few other men tied him up in a chair in an alleyway. They doused the man in gasoline and lit him on fire. The only thing Duncan had to tell her afterwards was, "He should have paid up."

Duncan parks her car in front of a run-down tenement buildings, occupied by African Americans. Wordlessly, they climb out of the car. Courtney goes to the front door of the apartment building while Duncan gets a sledge hammer from the trunk of the car. Though she'd been on countless red-letter encounters, she still got shaken up a bit. She tried to calm herself down by telling herself it would probably be an eventless encounter, since it was only her and Duncan. And he'd never put her in danger. Ever.

They walk into the foyer of the tenement building. Little kids suddenly stopped running around and stared at the newcomers. Duncan led the way up the stairs. The stairwell was dark and narrow and smelled of mold. He walks into a hallway and tells Courtney the room number, "Three-twelve."

Courtney nods and slips around him to go first down the hallway. She was familiar with the routine. She would knock on the door and explain the situation, hopefully even giving them the red letter if they were calm enough about it, since she was less intimidating than any other man from Log Cabin. If they put up a fight, Duncan would step in and intimidate them to hand over the money. And if they still resisted… well, there was only one thing to do then.

Up and down the hallway, women who had been doing the wash suddenly disappear behind the rooms to their door. Children were called inside, and the hallway was slowly deserted. Everybody knew Duncan, and almost everyone knew Courtney by now, too. They knew what was going to happen.

Finally, room 312 comes up on their right. Courtney knocks on the door five times, each of them hard raps that echoed down the hall. Everybody knew three knocks was the police; five knocks was a red letter. Usually. But apparently this guy was oblivious, or was just too high to remember. The door opened as far as the gold chain-lock would let it.

The man's eyes widened in fear when he saw who it was, and as Courtney noticed he was about to shut the door, she quickly tosses the red letter into his apartment before it slams shut. Duncan brushes Courtney aside and raises the sledgehammer high. One hard slam on the doorknob snaps it right off, and the door swings open a few inches before the chain catches it.

Duncan kicks the door in, snapping off the cheap chain-lock. Courtney reaches for the gun she always kept strapped high on her thigh. She reaches under her skirt and takes it out before following Duncan inside. They walk cautiously through the dingy living quarters. There was one sagging sofa, a stained mini-fridge, and a coffee table. On the coffee table, there was a razorblade and a few un-sniffed lines of coke lined up on a mirror.

A door slams in the corner of the apartment, and Duncan heads for it. Courtney stays right behind him. He knocks the doorknob right off, again, and the door swings open. The man on the other side lunges to hold the door shut, and Duncan jumps to keep the door open. The man slams the door shut, but not all the way, since half of Duncan's body and both arms were already through the opening.

Duncan grunts as he's pinned between the woodwork. He raises his arms to choke the guy, but the man manages to bite down hard enough on one of Duncan's hands to draw blood. Courtney tries to shove the door open, too, and with their combine weight, manage to open the door. The guy falls to the floor and scrambles for the screen door that led from the bathroom to the porch, though the porch was a dead end.

Duncan steps out on the porch, too, and pulls his gun from his belt loop and holds it to the guy's forehead. "D-Don't shoot," the man pleads with him.

"Give me one good reason," Duncan sneers, "Besides the fact if you just give me the money, I just might let you go without a scratch." When he gets into it, Duncan can get as cold as it comes. The only thing, or person, that really seems to let out the nicer side of him is Courtney, who was watching what was going on from the door of the bathroom.

"Okay, listen… I don't have the money at the moment, but there are too many witnesses if you kill me. You wouldn't dare," the man challenges. Courtney bites her lip; that was the wrong thing for him to say in his position.

"You don't know what I'm capable of," Duncan replies, stone-faced, referring to the fact that Duncan Malone is never caught by the police. He's untouchable. Duncan pulls the trigger, blasting a bullet right into the guy's forehead. A crunch sound is heard as the bullet shoots through his skull, killing him instantly. The man crumples to the ground, and blood starts to flow from the gunshot wound.

"You got no business? Fuck you, pay me.
You got fired? Fuck you, pay me.
The place got hit by lightning? Fuck you, pay me."
- Henry Hill

Duncan crouches down and roots through the dead man's pockets, withdrawing a wad of cash he'd probably been saving up to score more cocaine from someone he wasn't already in debt with. His fingers flip through the bills, and he tosses one-fourth of the bills onto the man's unmoving chest. "Twenty-five percent," Duncan murmurs, pocketing the rest of the money.

As a dealer, you immediately get seventy-five percent of the buyer's profits. The buyer in turn only keeps twenty-five percent. This ominous action of equality snaps Courtney out of her reverie and she gently pulls on Duncan's arm. "C'mon, we have to go now," she says softly.

Duncan stands up and they leave the apartment as if nothing happened. The hallway was still deserted; the tenants knew that if they got involved, there would be little chance of coming out of it unharmed. Courtney replaces her gun around the strap on her thigh and puts an arm around Duncan's waist. He puts one arm gently around her shoulders and carries the gun and sledgehammer in his other hand.

In the middle of the empty stairwell, Courtney decides to voice her opinions. "It doesn't bother you?" she asks, "Killing people?"

Not that she hasn't ever killed anybody, because she has. Several, in fact. But only for good reasons. And she's felt guilty about it, for about a whole week after killing them. But Duncan seems unfazed by it all.

He doesn't answer until they were out of the apartment building. He tosses the sledgehammer in the trunk, climbs into the front seat, and faces Courtney in the passenger seat. "I wouldn't be very good at my job if it did," Duncan finally replies. Courtney nods and they start driving back to Log Cabin.

After a few minutes of silence, Courtney blurts, "I bet it bothers you at least a little bit." She faces Duncan to guess his reaction, which was just a faint flicker of a smirk.

"Oh, yeah?" he counters. "And why do you say that?"

"I know you," Courtney answers simply as they park the car in front of the warehouse. "And you aren't as cold-hearted as everybody thinks you are. At least, you aren't that way most of the time."

Duncan still doesn't say anything. He just turns off the engine and looks at Courtney with an amused look on his face; his eyes were twinkling with curiosity, he was smirking, and one pierced eyebrow was raised. So Courtney continues, "Sometimes I even think I know you better than yourself."

Suddenly a thought strikes her: Was Duncan getting closer, or was it just her imagination playing tricks on her?

"Oh, really?" Duncan murmurs. Courtney can feel his breath on her cheek and she knows for sure he was definitely moving closer. Unable to form any words, all she does is nod. Everything about Duncan made her body feel like it was on overdrive. They've kissed an uncountable amount of times, yet she was always left breathless. They've had sex practically every other day, and in every place imaginable -- on the bed, in the shower, on the floor, in a random alleyway, on a desk, in the car, etc, etc -- yet she was always amazed and excited every time. How Duncan still had this effect on Courtney after being with him for over a year, she didn't know.

With their lips only being maybe an inch apart, Courtney's eyes flutter closed. Duncan's warm lips press down on hers barely a second after she closes her eyes. As his hands roam her body and his tongue glides over hers, Courtney is surprised with the amount of urgency he has. Duncan pulls her onto his lap so she was now straddling him in the driver's seat.

Duncan's hands wander down to her butt, and his tongue goes deeper into her mouth to deepen the kiss. Courtney cradles his head in her hands, and pulls away. "Slower," she whispers, her eyes still closed. She leans in and takes her time exploring the familiar insides of his mouth. Courtney slowly pulls away, gently biting his lip as she pauses for a breath. Then she leans in again and makes a game of avoiding his tongue and teasing him with little flicks of her tongue.

A groan comes from the far back of his throat and Courtney smiles, but keeps kissing him. She knew Duncan hated it when he teased him like that, but she also knew that it made him really horny at the same time. Again, Courtney often knew him better than he knew himself.

This time, Duncan pulls away and makes eye contact with her with a sizzling gaze full of lust. "I want you. Now," he commands, his voice low and husky. Courtney nearly melts at the sounds of his voice, but keeps herself under control. With them, love was a contest to see who could push the other the farthest.

"No. Not yet," Courtney concides, leaning in for another kiss, but Duncan ducks and avoids it. He shoves the car door open and pulls her out. He tosses her over his shoulder like a sac of potatoes, and once again Courtney is amazed by his strength. But at the same time, she nearly laughs out loud at how predictable he was. She had him wrapped around her little finger.

"No, now," Duncan growls. He carries her into the apartment and up the stairs, ignoring the wolf whistles of the Log Cabin guys. They knew that whenever Duncan carried Courtney into their room over his shoulder, they were going to have sex, or she was in trouble, they were going to argue, then they were going to have sex. Either way, it was the same result.

In Duncan's bedroom, which actually belonged to both of them now, he sets Courtney on the ground and backs her into a corner. His hands immediately run all along her body, giving her chills. Duncan kisses her again and simultaneously starts unbuttoning her shirt, causing a strange thought to enter her mind: the image of the dead drug dealer on the porch.

Courtney suddenly pulls away from him and lets out a giddy laugh, though she just had that very disturbing thought. It was just the effect he had on her. "You know what, Duncan?" she asks.

"What?" he replies, his breath ragged and his hands steadily pulling clothes off her at a faster and faster rate.

"Just a half hour ago you killed a man. Now I'm practically half-naked, and you're hand is bleeding from where he bit you," Courtney points out, looking down at the red crescent moon of dried blood on Duncan's hand, which was on her hips.

"Why so surprised? I thought you were used to this kind of stuff by now… Or aren't you ready to live life in the bad lane, Princess?" Duncan teases with his trademark smirk.

"Oh, I've been ready for a long time," Courtney replies, earning a chuckle from Duncan. "But I have to say, if you're going to fuck me, you need to at least get a bandage on your hand."

Duncan backs away and starts rifling through a drawer of the dresser in the corner of the room. He slowly shakes his head with an amused grin on his face while he finds gauze and starts wrapping up his wound like an expert. "There, Princess," he exclaims, holding out his bandaged palm. "Are we good to go now?"

"More than good," Courtney whisper-replies, threading her arms around Duncan's neck. With another smirk, he picks her up and tosses her on top of their bed.

And thus was the life of a gangster.

(Author's Note: I must say, though I've been neglecting my other stories, I am ecstatic to begin writing Al Capone and Duncan Malone 2 due to all my loyal fans who have been absolutely