Werner operated an antiques store there in the 1940s. At first they knew nothing of its history and were mystified by the steady stream of crime buffs eager to gaze at the building’s back wall. “They came from all over the world,” Mrs. Werner said, “even New Zealand.”

The building was demolished in 1967. The site is now the grassy lawn and parking lot of a nursing home. But the rest of the mixed residential block is intact, including the houses across the street, at 2135 and 2119 North Clark, where for days lookouts tracked Moran’s movements.

Not too far away, at 2221 North Lincoln Avenue, is the building that was the Drake-Braithwaite Funeral Home, from which the victims of the St. Valentine’s Day carnage were buried. The two widows of the bigamist Frank Gusenberg appeared at the wake and provided a bit of comic relief. The Tribune reported that they vied with each other in singing Frank’s praises.

Gangland slaughter was nothing new, but on St. Valentine’s Day the number of victims reached a critical mass. The affair instantly became a massacre. Suddenly the criminal infestation of the city seemed out of control. Citizens suggested that the U.S. Marines, who’d been occupying Nicaragua for three years, would be better employed patrolling Cook County. The who and why of the operation continues to inspire debate among crime buffs. Did Capone, who was soaking up the sun at his Miami estate that February, order it? Was it rogue police officers with a grudge against Moran? A Frederick R. Burke from St. Louis was later caught with the machine guns used in the massacre, but even his participation in the killing is uncertain.

The consensus is that “Machine Gun” Jack McGurn organized the killings for Capone. LeVell even suspects McGurn to have been one of the shooters. He points out that McGurn had been spotted in nearby Lincoln Park and that at least one witness claimed to have seen him outside S.M.C. Cartage that morning.

“McGurn was the epitome of the gangster,” he says. “He drove a roadster, he was a playboy, and he was probably the most dangerous gunman who ever walked the streets of Chicago.”

For years McGurn played Lancelot to Capone’s King Arthur. A true “Jazz Age sheik,” he dressed to the nines, could tear up a dance floor, and played a skillful game of golf. His companion was a striking blonde named Louise Rolfe, herself a tournament-level golfer. If McGurn’s good looks were more Latin than Celtic, it was because he was in fact Sicilian, born Vincenzo Gibaldi. He acquired the Irish moniker during a brief boxing career. In 1929 he was still only twenty-six.

“He was a hit man who hit hit men,” LeVell explains. “He took care of guys who were gunning for Capone, guys who were armed and on their guard.” McGurn may have killed twenty-two men, as the police stated, or he may

have killed twice that many. Once pulled in for questioning about a mob rubout, he was asked if he knew the victim was dead. “Dead?” he replied. “I didn’t even know he was sick.”

McGurn claimed he’d spent St. Valentine’s Day in an appropriate manner: in bed with Louise at the Stevens Hotel on South Michigan—one of the swankiest addresses in the city, now the Chicago Hilton. The papers christened Louise “The Blonde Alibi” and quoted her as saying, “When you’re with Tack, you’re never bored.”

Seven years later, his glory days over, McGurn went bowling at 805 North Milwaukee Avenue. It was St. Valentine’s Day. Shortly after midnight unknown gunmen surrounded him and shot him dead. They left a comic Valentine with the body. The bowling alley is now an office-furniture store.