Prohibition had been in effect for several years, but on Chicago’s Southside, bathtub gin and Joliet rotgut flowed readily into every speakeasy and back room gambling hole that wanted it. Organized crime was rampant, and no two figures loomed larger than a pair of rough-and-tumble feline enforcers with a reputation for malice.

Their rap sheets — which were lengthy, to be sure — identified them as Maddy and Leia, but on the streets of Cicero, every shopkeep and rum runner knew the duo as Hairball and Claws, respectively. They were hard-nosed street soldiers patrolling the territory under control of mob boss Alfonse “Fur Baby” Ceviche.

On this particular Tuesday, the first stop on their rounds was Flannigan’s Furniture, a mom-and-pop joint run out of small corner shop. The gangly and weathered human who owned the store stood silent as the no-nonsense felines burst through the door.

“Nice place ya got here,” Hairball deadpanned, breaking the awkward silence. “Be a shame if someone were to come in and scratch up all these beauty-ful sofas, know what I mean?

“Yeah,” Claws interjected, eagerly showing off her namesake feature. “That’d be a real shame, wouldn’t it, Hairball? And not a scratchin’ post in sight. This place is just beggin’ for a good ol’ Schaumburg shreddin’.

As Claws cackled manically, the human knew what he had to do. This wasn’t the first time these gatto goons had prowled onto his premises and it wouldn’t be the last. He grabbed a thick envelope from under the counter and, without hesitation, handed it over.

“I don’t want no trouble, see,” he stammered as the transaction took place. “Go ahead and count it. It’s all there.”

“I trust you,” Hairball smirked as she passed off the package to her partner-in-crime. “If, per chance, there’s an unintended error, my associate here will gladly return and help you ‘settle up.’”

The human wasn’t worried, the money was all there. He was just relieved to see these minacious miscreants exit his shop.

Two doors down, the duo strolled into Aunt Abigail’s Fine Antiquities, an esoteric shop cluttered from wall to wall with high-priced vases and statuettes. A dour, matronly human slowly pushed herself off her stool as Hairball proceeded with her familiar refrain.

“Nice place ya got here.”

It was an opening salvo this particular biped had heard several times before.

“Be a shame if someone were to climb up on a shelf and carelessly bat one of these marvelous works of art onto the floor.”

“Yeah, that’d be a real shame,” Claws interjected, hopping up and slinking into the aforementioned position. “Boy, there ain’t much room up here, is there?

As Claws placed her battin’ paw precariously close to a “priceless Ming vase,” the small, hunched-over human pulled an envelope from her vendor’s apron and handed it over.

“You two are breaking me,” she politely complained. “How’s an old woman like me supposed to survive when you’re taking all my income?”

Hairball shot her a glance, flashing a Chesire-esque grin.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

The final stop was Salvatore’s Doughnuts & Coffee,” a cozy countertop joint known for its apple fritters and the “best cup’a Joe in Cicero!” A portly, mustachioed human greeted the goons as they sauntered inside.

“Hey’a! If it isn’t my two favotite’a customers!”

He quickly brought out a pair of strawberry jelly and tuna-filled doughnuts, placing them neatly on the counter along with two saucers of milk.

“I make’a this’a specially! No charge’a for you, a’course!

Hairball thanked the human while placing four bits on the counter. It was more than enough to cover the cost of the meal.

“You’re generosity is appreciated, but not necessary,” she said. “Besides, it can’t be cheap having tuna shipped in for just two customers.”

It wasn’t, but it made the human happy to see his specialty-for-two appreciated. Hairball and Claws made quick work of their meal and headed back to the “office.”

By now you’re probably wondering how these two grimalkins could be so heartless in one scenario yet thoughtful and respectable in another. Well, this dichotomy really isn’t any different from what you see among humans — both straddle an ultra-fine line between decent and deplorable, often erring on the side of adversity.

But make no mistake, despite being ruffians, Hairball and Claws live by a code. They steal, pressure and cheat only those who deserve it. Remember those sofas back at Flannigan’s? They were stuffed with Tommy guns and Colt semi-automatics ready to be sold on the street. And those “antique” vases at Aunt Abigale’s were nothing more than shipping vessels packed full of raw opium. Seems the owners of those shops were running their own unsavory side businesses, and that comes with a price on Fur Baby’s turf.

As it turns out, there are no heroes in this story. None. Not one. Not even that nice human at the doughnut shop.

You see, a few nights ago he bludgeoned his wife to death with a bag of frozen batter — a weapon of convenience — and he’s spent the past two days back in the kitchen, carefully cutting up her body.

So…. that may not have been tuna in those doughnuts.