The town hall is in session, and the doors are locked. Nobody leaves until the mafia is gone for good... Sheriff Rastley is dead, and nobody knows who knows what, suspicion is thick in the air. Your best friend may want to stab you in the back, and the man you hate may be your greatest ally. This is what the mafia want, for you to be suspicious. But what choices do you have? You must be suspicious... or dead.
"Reet calm heads must prevail, lest we all lose ours." Dan stands up. His hands rasping across his chin, fingers twitching with apprehension. He looks around to the nervous townsfolk knowing one of them may want him dead.
He hadn't felt this way since the Great War, but he didn't have an obvious enemy this time.
Clarence nods slowly at the baker's words, his gaze moving around the room as he silently gauges the attitudes and expressions of those around him.
2 detectives
2 blood brothers
2 vigilantes
5 town
1 butcher
1 crime boss
2 mafia
These are the current proportions. Assume your character has some kind of intel that lets them know this is the case, you can make up what that is, but using this list is fair game and not considered meta at all.
Hamish Cunningham is covered in scars. Never the less, his trademark physical feature is still his wild orange hair. Appearances aside, Hamish is well mannered, well spoken and a sharp dresser with slightly elitist views.
"What would you say is the best way to go about it then?" Hamish questions the baker. "The doors are locked and we cant leave until we have irrefutable evidence that all Mafia have been picked out of the lot. Forgive my saying so, but people in my tax bracket are usually the ones hiring others to do this sort of work. I'm clueless in this situation."
Geoffrey Jacks sits in the corner and pulls his hat down. He whittles out a figurine that resembles a cat wearing some kind of...helmet? Maybe something like what the Jerries wore in the Great War...
"Easiest way...kill everybody..." he mumbles barely audible. "Good citizens...gotta make sacrifi..." He trails off unintelligibly.
Clara sighs and hitches up her overalls. "Whatever we do, let's make it quick-like. I got work that ain't gettin' done by us settin' here. If y'all think Heck can take care of my business while I'm gone, why, you're thicker'n the skin on mama's puddin'." She looks around the room. "So, how c'n we tell these mafia fellers from us decent citizens, huh? I gotta say I can't get on board with that 'kill em all and let God sort em out' talk."
Geoffrey starts at Clara's comment to "kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out". The fact that it's a paraphrase of his own words doesn't seem to register in his alarm. He eyes Clara from under his hat and hunches his shoulders.
"Didn't think anyone heard me..." the introverted young man mumbles.
"Hard not to hear a fella say them words, Mister. My Pa'd mighty upset about these here proceedin's were he still 'live. 'Course he'd probably only think that 'cause Rastley'd be 'round these parts to fix it fer him." Thadius strokes his chin and fiddles his pocket, the polished stem of a flask sticking just above the lip.
Thadius continues, "Ways I sees it, ya'll better fess up if it' you. G'lord is watchin' now, ya hear?"
Geoffrey shudders at Thadius' call for the conviction of the Lord on the evil men and women's hearts. It reminded him of Pastor Ingstrom's sermons on sin and guilt. Geoffrey had always felt that God was trying to reaffirm all the talks of good citizenry his papa had laid on him with the strap.
The quiet boy sets the helmeted cat figurine on the floor beside him and begins working on another small piece of wood he pulls out of his apron's pocket.
Clarence looks over at the youngster, sitting there carving with no respect for present company, and frowns. "Faith an' ye'd better learn to watch your tongue, laddie, or in a crowd like this one ye'll find yerself losing friends fast."
"Elder right. We all gotta stick together be fin'in' out who be them criminals. Ain't like we just dealin' with some good ol' boy shiners up in the hills. 'Least they shoot to letchu know dey's dere." Thadius sucks his tongue across his teeth. "Reckon God has it rain on the sinners and the jus' both."
Clara plops down into a chair and pushes a sweaty lock behind one ear.
"Wish we'da knowed about this lockup earlier. Hildy done threw a shoe and I need Clarence ta take a look at 'er. Now she'll be limpin' somethin' fierce, pore thing."
"I ain't never had fancy schoolin' like some folk here, but seems to me the mafia types'll be livin' large and not workin' too much fer it. So, maybe we take a look at callouses, huh?" She holds up her own horny palms for public view. "Some folk here work hard, I know, like Clarence. What about the rest of y'all?"
As people keep talking to him, Geoffrey seems to shrink more and more. He leans over his latest whittling project and says nothing to the admonitions he receives for his muttered answer to Hamish Cunningham's question regarding the "best way to go about it".
He seems to watch everyone's feet as they shuffle around the room, if the slight movements of his head when someone's stride enters his line of sight are any indication. Geoffrey definitely seems to be very melancholy. But then ever since his father had been a innocent casualty of a mafia gun fight with the police, Geoffrey had been even more reclusive than ever.
With a little shake of his head, Dan realises this may end up being another class war. 'Well there's only one loser in that, everyone'
"In some ways I agree with Ms Cheeseworthy, we gotta be careful like, with those that don't get their hands mucky." he lifts think fingered paw up, pointing at the ceiling.
"But we hafta remember each other is human, had enough of that in the war where the Leaders thought of us only as numbers - not people." his words are pensive, filled with doubt for him the war was filled with horror.
He turns to Clara; "Even if our betters do sit around on their arses, they may not be the only criminals."
Clarence looks concerned. "Did ye put 'er in yer south pasture like I told y' last time, lass? The grass there'll keep 'er hooves from splittin' until I can get over an' see 'er."
"Ah hell, I don't do squat and ya'll know it. Ain't no reason for a mafia type to just live easy like that. Some of us got inheritance, ya know? Them mafia types, they probably gon' have some big farm out o' town where dey can hides theys activities." Thadius peers back at Clara. "See, ain't so fun, be it?"
Listening to the discussions and ides of how to ferret out mafia members Clara talking about a horse throwing a shoe and being locked in together "I agree Clara I would have liked some warning to prepare for this lockup. There's nobody to look after the shop with me inhere, and what about Momma? she's all alone, who's going to take care of her if I'm stuck here?"
The young shoemaker considers the idea of checking callouses to determine who's a part of the mafia and shakes her head "I'd like to agree with you Clara, most of you are wearing shoes I made myself, and if not I've done work on them. So you know I work hard... but so did daddy, and, I'm sure some of you heard, he was involved with those mafia types. I was too young to realise what he was doing... I know he wasn't the nicest daddy... but it's still hard to believe he was helping them."
"Really? I'd of thought activities could be hid anywhere. In an old manor house, near a bakery, at someone's still. Or owt." Dan stands up tapping the top of his chair.
"Inheritance?" the gruff man wonders. "Like a position in your Gramps 'firm'."
"Did ye put 'er in yer south pasture like I told y' last time, lass? The grass there'll keep 'er hooves from splittin' until I can get over an' see 'er."
Hamish mumbles to himself in deep thought.
"So tall grass keeps one's hooves from splitting. It's so obvious! I never had the chance to test a pasture environment. It was all metal floors and zero gravity aboard that ship!"
Hamish looks up and realized he was speaking out loud.
"What we need is some good old fashion detective work. Why don't we all state where we were and what we were doing when the murder happened. We can then cross reference our alibi's with each other and look for holes. Based on those assumptions we can then begin determining who is who."
Geoffrey shakes his head possibly unseen at Hamish's words. He had been out fishing...alone. Already he knew if Hamish's plan was put into place, he would have no corroboration of his location.
Oh bother, he thought. Why can't everyone just stop trying to be sneaky and do the things that make them happy?
Geoffrey sets down his latest small carving which is of a cricket with a badge on its chest next to the helmeted kitty carving. The way he set them down seems to have them staring at each other suspiciously.
"Inheritance?" the gruff man wonders. "Like a position in your Gramps 'firm'."
"Whatcha talkin'bout Dan?" Thadius looks at him puzzled.
"When I was a kid down t' mill, they 'usta say that he had a 'firm'. Tho' come to think about it, they ne'er really said what he did." Dan ponders, remembering his time first few years - working in the heavy industries.
"But the mafia was ages ago. I can't imagine anyone I know involved as something as shady." Coraline looks baffled and a bit bewildered.
"It terrible to think it, but there must be. Someone having killed the Sheriff." he replies to the cheesemonger cautiously.
"But I think that Mr Cunningham's plan is a cunning one. Though most I guess would have no alibi, how were we to guess such a vile act could occur in our peaceful town." he adds, trying to recall his own footsteps.
"Oh Thadius, south pasture ain't mine. I lease it from Jin so's I kin let my horses loose. And it's right on the edge of town. Ain't like people want my horses livin' next to their bakeries and restaurants. Whar else I gonna put 'em?"
She wanders over to the whittler and picks up the little statues, examining them casually. "Well, them'r right purty, ain't they? You're a talented lil' thing, bless your heart," she says softly to Geoffrey.
"Cora, honey, it warn't all that long ago. Our parents' time, p'raps, and someuv us are gittin' close to their age when they was taken from us, one way or anuther."
"As for where we was? Not likely any mafier person's gonna tell the truth anyway, or they'll back up one another on their fairy stories. An while we're locked up, cain't check things out nohow."
He looks forlornly to Clara; "It were one time, and only cause old Henri got loose. I could hardly sell t' buns after he got through with them." his eyes flick towards regular customer The General.
Clarence grunts. "An' what, y'think they'd just up an' disappear one day, Ms. Baker? If only it were so!"
Shaking his head at Clara, he tsks. "I can't say as I know why she puts up with y', if y'won't care for her as y'should. Still, I'll come on over first thing after this business is done."
Clara stands before Clarence, fists on hips. "Now don't you fuss at me none, Clarence McFadden! Ain't my fault her shoe warn't set right in the first place. And I sure don't have that kind of problem with my new horseless wagon, do I now?" She sniffs angrily. "Seems like somebody whose job is goin' the way of the caveman might need quick, easy money, don't it?"
The Irishman blinks in surprise at Clara. "Faith an' yer touchy t'day, lassie! Y'know I've no need of anythin' more than I've got. An' as t'yer horseless wagon..." He makes a dismissive noise.
"Look at this bickering rabble," the General tilts his glass towards the Duke, "Proof right there that Eugenics is sound practice."
"You, girl", waggling his glass at Clara, "I've had callouses that had callouses, you ever had those, eh?"
"Sorry, Clarence, sorry... it's just... you say I don't take care of my horses and it hurts, ya know?" Clara rubs her arms as if cold. "Them's my livelihood and damn near my sisters and brothers! Then bein' stuck in here, it's gettin' my nerves all atwitter."
She turns to the military men, drawing herself up with dignity and speaking calmly. "I been here all my life; you know me. I worked purt near soon's I was outta mama's womb. And drink's what done her in, so I don't take none myself. You know that. Seems to me like the mafia'd be most likely ta be good customers of those that make hooch. Or the makers. Good money in that nowadays."
Geoffrey completely freezes when Clara picks up his carvings. He leans his head back far enough so one eye peers up at her from under the brim of his hat. When she compliments him, a slight blush colors his complexion and he smiles ever so slightly, just the upturning of his closed lips.
He looks away from her, but when she responds to Cora, Geoffrey peeks up at her when her attention is diverted. He had always liked Clara. She spoke her mind the way he wished he could. Such a strong woman. Just like her horses, he mused.
When Dan agrees with Hamish's plan, Geoffrey sighs and says in a muted tone, "I was...out fishin' when the good man was mur-der-ed." Geoffrey's speech pattern emphasizes the final word. A defeated shrug follows.
"Don't 'spect a body can vouch fer me...swhy I go. Not a body fer miles where I fish...s'mtimes, not e'en fish." Geoffrey's voice becomes somewhat wistful as he imagines the sun on his face and the air blowing off the creek while he whittles away, his fishing pole lodged in the rocks and a toe dabbling the water.
The old trapper sat alone and silent in the room. He had been 'cross both sides of the Mississippi and Rocky Mountains and was not comfortable with the dealings of civ'lized folk and all their problems.
I jus' want me a drink; mafia can solve their own troubles.
"Wonder what that Badgerman and Chicken are gonna do 'bout this? Sheriff used to signal them with the Badger-signal. If'n anybody can figure this out, it's them." Thadius nods approvingly about them.
"Use a little wine for thy stomach's sake. Timothy 5:23" Coraline said very quietly. "Both cheese and wine are excellent for the red blood and the digestion" she said more firmly. "Aren't criminals impatient people? Wine requires dedication and time."
"You're forgetting a fresh slice of wholemeal? To go with the cheese." Dan remarks.
With a sad shake of his head, he approaches Thadius placing a hand gently upon the man's shoulder; "Badgerman, my dear Thad, that was when the Detective had a might of a drop too much. He was sharp as a tack, I remember he beat me at many a game of checkers." Dan smiles fondly at the memory, despite the loss of coin.
"Wish we could put up the Badger-signal now. 'Cept they might be right in this room already. Protectin' folks like they do at night. I believe in 'em, Dan. I seen 'em once, like shadders in the night." Clara's shrewd eyes scan the room. "As for mafia, seems like we got rid of all of 'em once. Where'd they come from, huh? Mebbe they came back from that big war overseas and are gettin' back together now."
Clara drifts slowly to the front window, looking out to where the early spring sun shines weakly on the town square and its tall, spreading elms.
"Good thing it ain't summer. It'd be stiflin' in here. Can't hardly breathe as it is, all these folks in one room. I'm used to fresh air and lots of it. And that's whar I was when poor Rastley was done in: out on the road, haulin' Cora's latest batch of cheese over to Greencreek, and pickin' up flour for Dan, leather for Tina, and a new pickle barrel for Gustav. I don't rightly know when they done for the Sheriff, but that's whar I was at that day."
He whispers a brief sentence to Thadius and before turning back to Clara with some incredulity. "Pshaw, I didn't believe in t' vigilante's when Rastley said they grabbed that sneak-thief and I don't really believe it now."
"What sort of man...or woman, would go round with such an ego that they think they could do the Sheriff's job. It's enough to put a man off his breakfast." Dan denounces.
"Badgerman and Chicken, eh?" Willard murmurs, tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen. The writer had mostly been keeping to himself, huddled in a corner seat of the town hall. With a scritch scritch scritch of his fountain pen, he transcribes every last detail he could gather about the peppy pair. It was perfect. "Yes, yes that will do nicely. But something is missing..."
Peeking up from his notes, Willard stands and saunters over to the other townsfolk, listening in on their conversation. He needed more! Hearing Dan's question, he clears his throat before speaking. "Surely this 'Badgerman' would have to be someone rather wealthy, no?" he suggests plaintively, "How else would he afford all of those wonderful toys? I mean, assuming he has some."
"Who knows, right? He's gotta be smart enough to make em too. 'course it ain't too expensive to just buy a rope and grapplin' hook. What kin' toys you see that badger got?" Thadius rubs his chin in curiosity, "I heard he got his own triplane all pain'ed up. Think them jerries was the one who flew dem back in the Great War."
After listening to the discussion of alcohol, the Duke's view of the alcohol control seems a bit off to her "Mr. Atredies I believe it is the authorities that are trying to control the alcohol. They've outlawed it... so actually it is the people who produce their own that are the criminal types. It doesn't necessarily make them a member of the mafia of course, but they're already going against the law."
The talk of this Badgerman and Chicken confuse the young shoemaker somewhat, she wasn't familiar with these people, she'd heard some rumours for sure, but didn't pay them much attention, she was too busy fixing shoes. "Who are these Badger people? And what do they have to do with the mafia, and the dead sheriff?" She gasps and covers her mouth "You don't think they're responsible do you?"
"Well, I can't say I ever encountered either badgermen or chicken people in all of my campaigns, but I'd have to think they wouldn't get along too well. Maybe the sheriff was working with one of them groups and the other got wind of it, maybe his murder had nothing to do with being a sheriff and everything to do with the impending badgermen and chicken people war! We better start preparing, war is all about preparation." Though the General talks big, he doesn't put down his drink, or even lean forward in his chair.
"Tennessee do make it right, I reckon." Thadius eyes the drink in the General's hand like a parched man in the desert. "Whassat you say 'bout diplomacy?" His eyes flick to the Duke.