Damn, It Feels Good to Be a Gangster

So I'm on the lunch committee for this month's employee lunch, and our group has decided to go with a Chicago Mafia theme, Prohibition style. We're thinking jazz club, we're thinking speakeasy, we're thinking 'we wish we were allowed to serve beer in the downstairs conference room midday.' We've all got our gangster names (I'm Racketeer Roni) and we're going to be ordering deep dish pizzas and bringing in O'Doul's and faux cigars for the kids. I'm in charge of the invite, and I'm going through all my favorite spots (Getty, istock) looking for mafia-esque, speakeasy images and I can't find a THING that I like. All of the pictures are of scrawny guys with hats tilted rakishly, cigarettes dangling from their molesterstached lips. I want bulbous noses! Cigars! In fact, I don't even want to see your face through the smoke and the haze! I want a machine gun on the table! I want blue and black and brick! THIS IS WHAT I WANT FROM MY IMAGE, PEOPLE.

I should just set up my OWN gangster photo shoot. Surely it's not too hard finding plastic guns in the Bayview. In fact, for the right price, I could probably get a REAL one across the street at the beat-and-rim shop...