“You come in for chops. You leave with silence. And if you're lucky, you leave at all.”
Description - Exterior
McGurry’s Meat Market sits on a grimy corner just west of Ashland, its painted signage faded under decades of smoke and rain. The front window is cluttered with butcher paper, discount cuts, and a fly-swirled string of sausages. A blood-streaked apron always hangs in the door, and the bell above it jingles just a little too late. Locals know not to linger—unless they’re buying, or being bought.Description - Interior
Inside, it's colder than it should be. Hooks sway from the ceiling even when the air is still. Meat cases are stocked, but nothing’s labeled. In the back, the cutting floor is scrubbed daily, but never quite clean. There’s a drain no one talks about, a reinforced walk-in that locks from the outside, and a rear room where deals—and people—get broken down. The smell of iron lingers long after the bleach.History
McGurry’s has been ICB property since before the war. Originally a real butcher shop, it went sour sometime in the '30s, when the old owner vanished and his apprentice took over without a name. Now it’s a front for ICB operations—money drops, forced disappearances, intimidation sessions, and the occasional cleanup job. People say it still runs a legitimate butcher operation on the books, but no one remembers seeing a delivery truck.Owned By
ICB– enforced directly by mid-level crew members.Run By
Mason "Grin" Hall, a broad-shouldered butcher with dead eyes and a permanent smirk. Nobody’s ever seen him raise his voice—but he never has to. Long time friend of Curly's, he has earned the man's respect.Employees
- "Cleo" – young runner who handles cash, bets, and bagged meat with equal indifference
- Slick Benny – aging cleaner who sharpens knives more often than he speaks; said to be ex-Outfit
- Eli – massive ex-con with who is far too handy with a cleaver for someone who isn't a butcher
Regulars
- ICB muscle coming to pick up drops or settle debts
- Local shopkeepers paying a little extra to keep their windows intact
- A CPD detective who always takes his steak raw and never asks for a receipt
- The occasional preacher picking up bones for Sunday soup—and something darker
Notes
- One of the meat hooks in the back swings and creaks when a lie is told near it
- The drain in the cutting room sometimes leaks into the dreams of people who’ve visited
- There’s a mural in the walk-in freezer scratched under the frost: it shows Chicago burning, upside down
- A secret ledger is hidden inside a gutted hog hung near the rear exit
- Some of the sausage links twitch when touched. Grin says it’s just nerves
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