Luck was no lady to Harry

Ah, the carefree life of a gambler. All you need is a suitcase and a trunk and in the case of Chicago gambler Harry Teuber, eyes in the back of the head would have come in handy. For it was eighty-three years ago today that Harry was seated at a table in a barbershop getting a manicure. While a young lady polished his digits another, named Annette, who polished other parts of Harry, waited in a barber's chair.

Through the back door of the barber shop crept a man with gun and a grudge, or, possibly just orders from above to remove Harry from Chicago's underworld. The gunman slunk through the rear of the shop, stuck his pistol through a partition and fired four shots into Harry's noggin. Slump went Harry across the table. The manicurist jumped up horrified, Harry's girlfriend jumped up and skedaddled. The gunman escaped out the back.

Harry's wife, who wasn't named Annette, identified him at the morgue. Police found the apartment he shared with his other significant other, the aforementioned Annette, and there they learned that her father worked at an upscale gambling joint called the 225 Club. The owner of which went the way of Harry the previous month. That seemed to be enough for the cops to chalk the murder up to "gamblers feud".