“So you’re a reporter,” says the bartender, apparently slow on the uptake.
“Did you tell him that Walter was in here yesterday morning,” asks a man sitting nearby, suddenly interested in the conversation. The man lifts a nacho chip to his mouth and chews noisely.
“Yeah, I told him. He wanted to know about Walter’s family.”
“Didn’t have no family,” says the other, his mouth still full of chip “And just one friend, ‘sides his crew.”
“I guarantee you it was Walter that done it,” says the bartender to Kenny, “You should have seen him yesterday, all nervous and such. Probably half snapped then.”
“At least he didn’t go all crazy while he was in here,” interjects the chip eater
Harvey
Spoiler:
The old man waits for Harvey to say something and when he does not, he continues, “Old Walter’s parents died when he was young and he never did go to church and then a few years back he goes around calling himself a pagan. Out and out like he was proud of the fact.”
“He ain’t the only one,” says the man in the red ball cap, “You ever hear of such a thing? Shameful is what it is. Him and old Sally Grip’s boy are real close. Sally Grip is a good christian woman, she is. Boy must take after his father.”
The female officer looks quizzically at Katja, taking in her camera, "Are you with a newspaper?"
Regardless, she continues, "The divers should be here in about an hour. They're getting their gear together. We think the bodies must have been weighted or else they would be floating on the water."
The divers, it appears, are getting ready at a spot about five miles away from the actual docks. They will then take a boat down and dive from their boat.
Katja can make a listen check and a gather information check.
“Walter used to haul stuff, up and down the coast,” answers the Bartender, “He said he was up in Boston, though I heard tell he came back empty. Always was a little strange, but truth be told, I never thought he was going to go off the deep end like this. But yesterday morning, he comes in, all shaky, looked pale. Said he needed a strong shot of something. I remember that. Had his drink and then left without talking much. He never was much of a talker but he was really quiet yesterday. Kept looking back over his shoulder. Feel sorry for the guys that worked for him though. They was a good bunch.”
The first two men Katja tries to ‘flirt’ with get a little gruff and profane and Katja instinctively moves on. It is clear they aren’t too pleased to be interrupted.
The third however is more amiable. He doesn’t seem exactly ‘smitten’ with her, but he answers her questions without cursing at her.
“General consensus seems to be that the Captain went crazy and murdered the crew,” says the man, “Police will probably find the bodies when they send down the divers.”
He doesn’t seem to know much more. But it is clear that no one who is not a member of an official investigative force is being allowed aboard.
KENNY and HARVEY
The bar is dimly lit, with an ocean motif. Stuffed fish, fishing poles and oars line the walls. Inside, a dozen or so men, singly and in groups, sit at tables, drinking and talking. The discussion stops for a moment as each of the customers inspect the two men that just walked in. Slowly, curiosity satisfied, the talk slowly resumes. Kenny orders his drink and the barkeeper’s sullen face softens somewhat
KENNY
Spoiler:
Harvey takes his drink and walks over, asking questions of the patrons. When Kenny mentions the bouncing skipper, the bartender shakes his head gloomily.
“I knew all the men on board,” he says, “They all was in here at one time or another. Two to One will get you that it was Walter, finally snapped. He was in here yesterday morning after the Bouncing Skipper got into port. There was a man who did not look well.”
HARVEY
Spoiler:
”You a reporter?” asks one man genially as Harvey starts asking questions, “I ain’t never talked to a reporter before. Have a seat son.”
The old man seems to like the look of Harvey for he smiles pleasantly as he talks. His mate at the table, another old man with a wrinkled face and a red ball-cap, nods affably.
“I knew Walter, sure, we went to school together. Same class. He was always a weird one, even back then. Always knew he’d come to no good. Ain’t much of a secret he weren’t a christian man.”
KATJA
Spoiler:
After what seems like an eternity of waiting, though it was in fact only weeks, Katja finally gets the phone-call she has been waiting for. Hugh Rogers has been ignoring her text messages forever and none of her forays into the “underworld” have produced anything worth snapping. But finally Mary, who works for Rogers, calls and tells her there’s a chance to take a few pictures that Roger’s might be willing to pay for.
“Two new reporters are going to be down in your neck of the woods,” explained Mary, “I don’t think either of them are photographers. There’s a ship in Cape Truman. The crew’s disappeared. They’re supposed to be coming up with a story or two from it. Get some pictures and I’ll make sure Roger’s sees them. Get something good. Something no one else gets. Preferably from inside the ship. I got you a room at a local hotel there for two nights, the Hotel Renard.”
Some two hours later and she’s at the docks in Cape Truman. There’s only two ships in dock but there are a ton of new crews, including other photographers, all eagerly snapping pictures.
“The Bouncing Skipper, a local ship, pulled into dock yesterday, over a dozen men aboard. This morning not a one remains. Police suspect foul play.” A blonde news-woman nearbye talks into a camera.
Katja looks around but she doesn’t see any two men together that match the description Mary gave her.
"Yeah,... let me think about that," says the driver.
After Pete is dropped off at a fast food restaurant on the edge of town, the taxi turns towards the ocean.
"The place to ask," says the driver, "is near the docks. There's a little place there were some of the dock workers hang out. Everyone knows Walter, but they'll know him the best."
"You can ask around there."
The taxi drives near the docks and Kenny and Harvey can see a large crowd of people, tv camera trucks and even two helicopters flying overhead. Just beyond the crowd, floating in the ocean water, is a ship, looking well used and sea-worn.
A corner is turned and the scene is out of sight. The vehicle goes down a narrow one way street makes a right and then swings around into a small parking lot.
A sign on the front of the building displays a pepsi logo with the words, Crane's Roost, just above it.
"This is the place," says the taxi-driver and he waits for his fare and tip.
If the two want to ask around inside, go ahead and make a gather information roll when you post what you do. I'll modify it according to various factors but it will be a good starting point to go from.
“No problem dropping you off wherever you want,” says the driver, a hulking man with dark skin and a shaved head. He wears a red t-shirt with the sleeves ripped out and there is a tattoo of a skull on his left arm.
“Everyone’s heard about the Bouncing Skipper,” says the driver amiably, “been ferrying you news guys all day. There’s television cameras all over the place down there. You’re the first that asked me about it though.”
“Old Walter Matthias owned the ship, a weird guy, had funny ideas you know. It’s a small town. Just ask around about Walter, you’ll see what I mean. The way I see it, Walter finally snapped and killed all his crew and threw them overboard last night. That’s all. But it makes a good story don’t it. Twelve men all gone without a trace. Blood everywhere. At least that’s what I heard. But you’ll see, they’ll send down some divers and there they’ll all be on the bottom of the sea.”
Pete quickly gets the two men into the yellow plane and within minutes they are airborne. The flight is at times choppy but otherwise uneventful. Both land and ocean at times pass underneath them. About two hours after the flight beginsn, Pete is taxiing the plane onto a narrow runway at a small airfield outside the town of Cape Truman, Virginia.
Soon after they land, Kenny’s cell phone rings. It is Mary, calling from the offices of the Sunlight Scoop.
“There should be a taxi there for you shortly,” she informs Kenny, “And I’ve already paid for rooms for you at a Hotel, a place called Hotel Renard. It should be near the waterfront. If you need something paid for, call me, don’t bother Mr. Rogers.”
“Hey boys,” says Pete, as Kenny hangs up the phone, “You two don’t mind if I hitch a ride with you into town do you? I need to grab a bite to eat before flying back.”
"Are you fellows Harvey and Kenny?" The man asks, walking towards the two. He has a pronounced southern accent, a slow, pleasant drawl.
"I wasn't supposed to fly you, but the girl that was supposed to be here is a no show. I'm Pete. Pete Jones. Not a lot of luggage huh? Make sure you lock your doors. Mary said to take good care of you, being new and all. She's a real sweet girl, she is."
Even as the car stops, a man exits from the plane hangars small door and waving in a friendly fashion at the two men in the car, he begins to push open the large hangar doors. There is a much newer plane sitting within the door, apparently ready to go. The plane is painted a bright yellow.
The airfield is indeed about an hour north of the city. If Mary’s directions had not been so detailed, Harvey and Kenny would have been certain they were lost as they bounced along on narrow roads past farms. Finally, just past a large pond, they see a faded wooden sign which reads, “Sunlight Airfield.” A large red arrow, its paint flaking, points them down a dirt lane filled with holes and puddles.
There is a single large tin building, a plane hangar, at the end of the lane and a long air strip. The air strip is in much better condition than the rest of the place. In point of fact, the air strip looks to have been recently paved.
The only airplane in sight is an old plane, a relic of the Great War perhaps, with one flat tire. There are perhaps other planes in the hangar.
I am hoping that Shenzoe’s character is in the hangar. If not it will be a different pilot and I’ll have to figure out another way to get the character into the story :)
"It has it's moment's," answers Mary, without bothering to elaborate as to whether those moments are good or bad.
Another burst of laughter erupts from the hall and Mary looks towards the hall for a moment before turning.
"Well you boys had better get going then," she says.
Unless either Kenny or Harvey need to do anything momentous in New York City before packing some clothes and leaving, we'll do a fade out when they exit the building.
As a Public Service Announcement, the Managers would like everyone to know that opinions expressed by NPCs in the game do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Management and sometimes may not even reflect a firm grasp of reality. This is not to disclaim all opinions expressed by NPCs but Management cannot be held responsible for errors in judgment which are made based upon the opinions of our employees.
Hugh Rogers escorts both Harvey and Kenny back out of his office, determined that they should be on their way. He speaks briefly to Mary about what to write down for "the boys," and then retreats once more into his sanctum.
Mary smiles the whole time Rogers is out of his office then sighs when he leaves, her smile gone. Sitting at her desk, she begins typing on her keyboard.
A loud laugh erupts from somewhere down the hallway out of the front office. Mary ignores it and keeps typing. Finally with a whir, her printer spits out directions to the airfield and her e-mail address.
"So did you ask him about the fourteenth floor," Mary asks as she hands over the paper.
You observe as you open the door that the plate upon it reads, “We’re Not a Newspaper! – Hugh Rogers, Publisher.”
The well furnished office beyond, with its expensive scarlet carpeting, bookcases and chandelier, is almost gaudy. Velvet curtains hang over the two windows and the whole back wall is dominated by a larger than life size portrait. The man in the portrait stands nobly, attired in a period suit, left hand perched atop a golden globe. The artist’s subject, somewhat diminished in real life, sits at the huge desk in the center of the room. He is poring over rough copies of what you assume to be the latest issue of the Sunlight Scoop.
“Have a seat,” he says without looking up, motioning to the sturdy mahogany chairs across the desk from him. There are four of them, all upholstered in red leather.
Reaching for a button atop his desk he pushes it and says into the air, “Mary, are you sure that Steve is tied up in Alaska.”
“That’s what he said in his last transmission, Mr. Rogers” answers Mary’s voice from a speaker on the wall. “He sounded a little sketchy to me anyway. He was babbling.”
The young woman smiles a tight, forced smile, almost as if pained, “It is called the fourteenth floor because everyone knows that it’s bad luck to be on the thirteenth floor. And I don’t know why Mr. Roger’s puts up the police tape every month. I try not to ask too many questions as the answers rarely seem to make sense.”
“He’s been expecting you,” she continues, her smile softening a little bit, “I’m Mary. I was expecting a few more, but I’ll let him know you’re here.”
She pushes a button on one of the telephones and says, “Mr. Rogers. Two of the your new field men are here. “
She releases the button and waits a moment.
A hearty, somewhat gruff voice answers through the speakerphone, “Well send them on in girl. Then go tell John that we’re going to have to redo the whole fifth page. The layout’s terrible and the pictures just don’t work.”
Mary somewhat airily waves a hand at the door behind her. “Go on in and good luck.”
The room on the other side of the door is well lit. The wood paneling on the walls is covered with select issues of the Sunlight Scoop, all framed. Various potted plants adorn the corners and select spots on the floor.
A large desk (covered with two phones, a laptop, a desktop monitor, a printer and a large reading lamp) dominates the room. There is an ornate wooden door with a large bronze name plate behind the desk, closed. From a spacious hallway to the left comes the sound of laughter and good natured conversation, though no one is visible along its length.
A young woman with a bright purple hair sits at the desk, reading something off of the desktop monitor. Her right eyebrow is pierced with a ring but against all expectations she is not wearing black lipstick. In fact her hair is tied back in a very neat ponytail and she is wearing a very conservative white blouse.
“Good Morning,” she says looking up, “Can I help you?”
The elevator door closes with a squeak and there is a sudden jerk as the elevator starts up. The machine moves slowly. The lights flicker off and then back on for a moment. The whole car groans as the elevator is lifted and from above come disconcerting groans of machinery. Finally the elevator comes to a stop and the door squeaks open.
The room beyond is a stairwell similar to the one on the first floor. Here too the stairs are cordoned off with police tape. What is different is the red carpet on the floor, the bright lights and the potted tree near the top of the stairs.
There is an oak door on the wall across from the elevator. A red plaque above the u-bar handle says, “Push.”
Almost as soon as the elevator button is pushed there is a creak and a ding and with a squeaking complaint the door glides open. The small elevator car smells of cigarette smoke and disinfectant.
There are two floor buttons. The first bears an “M.” The second has been painted over with bright red enamel paint, nail polish perhaps, and a stark white “14” has been painted atop the red.
The smell of New York City in the spring. The cool of a morning in May. The sound of cars and people. These are the things that surround you as you contemplate the building in front of you. It is a large three-story brick building. The windows of the second floor have been boarded over with plywood and there are iron bars protecting the large first floor window facing the street. Strangely enough the room beyond appears to be a bakery of some sort and, indeed, the ornate red door next to the window declares, with shiny golden letters, the establishment to be “Susan Li’s Chinese Breads.”
Pulling the confirmation letter from your pocket, that piece of paper which declares you to now possess a paying job, you survey the address again to make sure you are at the right place.
The address seems right. 42c North Ditch Street. You notice then that the bright red door bears the number 42a. Looking around once more you spot a second door at the other end of the brick building, just up a short flight of four concrete steps. Walking over and inspecting it you see that it is indeed the door you are looking for. Though the lime green paint of the door is peeling, the bronze sign upon it proudly declares itself to be ”Sunlight Scoop, 14th floor, 42c Ditch St.” Which is the same as the address on the letterhead of the paper in your hand. With a quizzical eye you survey the building again. It remains a three-story building.
The lime green door is unlocked and looking in you see a rather unremarkable room on the other side. The room is in fact a stairwell. The floor is covered with ancient linoleum tiles with a dirty grey marble pattern. Several are missing, revealing a concrete sub-floor. The ceiling and walls are painted white. The stairs going up are cement and iron. The whole thing seems very utilitarian and industrial. Yellow police tape forms a barricade across the entrance to the stairs. There actually appears to be several layers of police tape, some of it very old and faded and some of it bright and fresh. The wall to the left contains an elevator door with a single button on the wall next to it.
You are not alone in the stairwell.
Each PC is here in the stairwell. All have an appointment with Hugh Rogers at 9:05 a.m.. Do what you will but when you are ready to go upstairs just push the button next to the elevator.
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