Far Away Joes

Ethan Cole has had a busy night. A steamy, long-legged redhead he doesn't know and a busty waitress he does know (at least twice) have both tried to get a rise out of him. And succeeded. Below the waist anyway. And then two thugs grab him by the collar and frog-walk him outa da joint.
He's taken to see Mama George, who makes Ma Barker look like Lauren Bacall. She wants answers and her stolen jewels returned pronto. Says her daughter stole them. Wants Ethan to retrieve the jewels in exchange for a) keeping his own family jewels and b) a nice payday.
Mama G's daughter is none other than, you guessed it, the steamy redhead. Red also wants the jewels and will bump up Mama G's reward money twofold or bump off a certain PI. And Ethan is fairly certain that PI is him.

Back at the club, Ethan mulls over his options and the waitress Gigi's ample attributes. And then Red calls back.

"Chicago's a great city, but I wouldn't wanna die there. Be careful you don't get lead poisoning, Mr. Ethan Cole."
And then Red hung up the phone. Ethan tapped on the receiver a few times to try to get the connection back, but no dice. Gigi came by with another whiskey. She was looking good. And available. He gave her the once-over. A couple times. Nah, that was trouble Ethan didn't need.

He walked out of the club, took a look around to get the lay of the land, hailed a taxi, and headed south out of the city.
45 minutes later he steps out of the cab, throws the cabbie a double sawbuck for the fare and to forget he ever saw Ethan, and steps into Far Away Joes. A tavern so far away from civilization it makes a great meeting place for guys who don't wanna be seen. Or heard.
Owner and bartender is Joe "Corky" McGonigal. Funny story how he got that name. It was 10-12 years ago, New Year's Eve it was. The place was packed. The war was over and the time to celebrate was now.
GI's home from overseas and their female companions ordering Budweisers by the bucket and Canadian Club by the bottle. Well, some wise guy has a few too many, stands at the bar, claims Joe wasn't taking his drink order quick enough. He's got a table a few feet away with a couple other guys and a few ladies and he's gettin' steamed. Starts backtalkin' Joe, which, even amongst this crowd, was considered rude. Joe's tellin' him "hang on Frankie, I'll be right witcha, just hang on." Frankie don't wanna hang on, he wants his order and he wants it now. Pulls out a '45, also considered a major feax pau, starts waving it around. Well, Joe was busy opening bottles of champaign to celebrate midnight just a few minutes away. But not too busy to walk down the bar, hand by his side, and outa nowhere slams one of them T-shaped corkscrews into Frankie's hand. His gun-wavin' hand. Takes the 45, points it at Frankie's forehead. Tells Frankie, in the most polite manner a southside bartender could muster, that he is persona non grata from now on and he's gonna leave this establishment right now and it was Frankie's choice if that was upright or horizontal. The room is now deathly quiet. Quiet enough to hear the piss leaving the bottom of Frankie's trousers, splashin' on his Florsheims. Frankie left vertical that night, still sporting a corkscrew pinkie ring!

Yeah, great place that Far Away Joes. Famous for their cold beer, hot dames, and, get this, their Strawberry Shortcake.