"That sounds fine to me, Fly Boy. And when we do visit Mister N'Kwayne, we may want to have some..." Spencer pauses and sips his whiskey, then flaps his hand. "You know. Protection. It helped us today."
I'll bring my .44. It's always been enough to back down pretty much everyone.
Jake grinned at Hank's comment and
nodded.
"I think you're right Hank. You know, I have my 'Jake Durango' costume in my trunk at my hotel. Comes with a gunbelt. And gun. I may borrow it for a bit, just for security's sake."
The smile ran away from his face.
"I never did intend ta kill that fake delivery man you know." He muttered quietly.
"But when that guy knifed Guthrie I remembered what happened to Jackson and I just got mad and I..."
He choked off.
"Never did anything like that before.." He mumbled; perhaps a bit drunker than he intended. "Always just... movie acting before..."
Hank, for once the most sober individual in the room, places a hand on Jake's shoulder.
Jake, you play heroes on the silver screen all the time. Today you found out what it means to be one in real life.
Kwan with his inability to follow the conversation well, again decides to serve as informal guard. He finds a good spot to watch the area around the group as they find a place to stay.
"I hesitate to ask, but find myself without funds". Would one of you gentlemen allow me to sleep on the floor by your door. I can be a good watcher".
Notice
WD
|
Fr. Murphy nods sagely as Hank comforts the actor, and finds no need to add anything.
As their newly found Oriental friend speaks of hardship, Connor puts a compashionate hand around his shoulder and says, "I'll be spending the night in my room at the church. We always have a guest room made up for those in need. I'm sure you'll find it quite comfortable."
The next morning finds the 6 investigators gathered for a communal breakfast at a greasy spoon diner only a few blocks from Harlem. Bright sunshine lights the morning sky and reflects off the mounds of snow that fell overnight. Vehicles slowly make their way through the slushy streets and on street corners newsboys call out the morning headlines as they compete to sell their newspapers. From inside the diner you can hear their shouts...MASSACRE IN MANHATTAN, READ ALL ABOUT IT! calls one..another shouts MADMEN LOOSE IN CITY, MAYOR CALLS FOR CALM! and yet another MANY DEAD, GROUP OF UNKNOWN MEN SUSPECTED!
A sense of unease permeates the diner as the patrons flip through their papers looking at the lurid photographs. Men in heavy coats give each other considering stares and women huddle together in groups for protection.
When asked, the waitress a middle aged black women, shakes her head Ain't never heard of a place called Emerson House Imports, what's the address?
Hank looks expectantly at the group, except for Fr. Murphy.
Nobody got the address?
Turning to the waitress, he asks
You got a phone I can borrow, darlin'? Or a payphone nearby?
Spencer looks at Hank and blinks. "Ah, horsefeathers. No, we didn't."
"K only mentioned Emerson in passing and no address appears in J's notes, Wilson says, semi-cryptically referring to personal names with just the initial. "But if the girls at Bell don't know an address, I'm sure the local police know the place."
Hank looks expectantly at the group, except for Fr. Murphy.
Nobody got the address?
Turning to the waitress, he asks
You got a phone I can borrow, darlin'? Or a payphone nearby?
Yeah, yeah...we got a phone book...hold on...and I ain't your darlin...my darlin is that man, she says pointing to the extremely large black man working the grill with expertise. She saunters back a few minutes later with a phone book which unfortunately doesn't have a listing for Emerson Imports. A quick trip to the phone booth outside reveals that according to the operator there is no telephone number listed for Emerson imports. While you're in the booth, you see a newsboy holding up a paper with a large banner headline MASSACRE LINKED TO MURDER OF WRITER
While Hank is busying himself with his newfangled 'tele-phone' (a passing fad if ever he saw one) Father Murphy will get a newspaper and pour over it...just in case.
Grabbing a copy of the New York Daily Tribune for a nickel, Murphy sits down in the booth and begins to scan the newspaper. The story of the 3 killings at the publishing house dominate the news. A black and white picture of the scene outside the publishing company with police cars and ambulances parked around the entrance is shown on the front page while inside on page 5 there are several more pictures of bodies covered with white sheets laying in either the building or the alley outside. In addition of picture of your friend Elias smiling with Kensington is featured on page 4.
The stories describe in broad outlines what happened at the publishers and identify Kensington and Edna as the only witnesses. According to confidential sources in the department, both are claiming to have no knowledge of what happened as they came out of Kensington's office when the power failed in the building and discovered the bodies. An eyewitness from across the street saw a gang of men exit the building and she thinks they may have be foreigners. I swear I saw a Chinaman the witness is quoted as saying. She also said that they had a woman with them and they all got into a car and drove off together. With the heavy snowfall she was unable to make out more details.
Another story links the murders with the murder of Jackson Elias the day before. That story lists all of your names as witnesses to the escape of the murderers, give the description of the car and its license plate number and the fact that there were 3 men. A hotel employee is quoted that there was a white man with black men with foreign accents that had asked for Jackson's hotel room number shortly before his murder. The story also mentions that a Chinaman that worked at the hotel has disappeared.
Finally on the editorial page the paper's editor wrote an opinion piece blaming the murders on the lax immigration policies of the Coolidge adminstration and calls for more police and stopping immigration.
Bah! Don't get me started on Coolidge. That man's a menace! You ever hear of Herbert Hoover? He was Secretary of Commerce under Harding. I know 'cause I got a cousin who was his secretary for a while a few years back.
Herbert Hoover. Now there's a man that can turn this economy around!
"No phone number, eh? That's a bit of a surprise, but I think we can still find it. There are a few people who have to know the streets so that even a hole-in-the-wall place without a phone can be found."
Wilson sets out to hail a cab and see if a local cabbie knows the place. Cover story for the cabbie: need to pick up a consignment at Emerson Imports, know it's uptown in Harlem, but don't know address.
If that fails, Wilson needs to find a local precinct cop o ask at the desk if no beat cops can be found. Same basic story.
Hank looks around for anything like waybills, posters, etc., mentioning Emerson Imports, and for anyone looking out of place.
The increasingly frustrated investigators continue to strike out as they search for the mysterious import company. After expending considerable shoe leather, the team walks back into the diner for some hot coffee and to brainstorm for ideas. As the waitress pours your cups, she listens in as Hank grouses that they will never find SIlas N'Kwayne at Emerson Imports. She gives Hank a mocking smile Why didn't you say that you were looking for N'Kwayne, darlin? Everybody knows him round here. He's got that weird African shop not 5 blocks from here...it's called, she pauses as she thinks, the Ju-Ju House or something. Stupid name if you ask me, ain't nobody know what a Ju-Ju is. She laughs, You'se better be tippin' good white boy she says with a chuckle looking at Hank.
Hank takes a skeptical look at the small handful of coins in his pocket, then an even more skeptical look at the waitress' rather large and menacing boyfriend, and decides to leave a good tip for once.
African Jews? Now I've heard everything.
Let's go, boys. I've got a sudden need for some African yarmulkes.
I think it's an uncomfortable hat. I always see 'em wearing these little head-protector pads to protect 'em from their yarmulkes when they're going into their church for services. Prob'ly got sharp pointy spikes inside to keep ya properly penitent.
Spencer blinks several times and chuckles to himself at Hank's commentary, but can't offer any argument. His own family is still Catholic, although they don't advertise. "Why didn't we just ask for the man to begin with?" He shakes his head and looks to Guthrie. "I'm glad you're with us, Dick. I'm not used to researching living people and looking into where to find them now."
It's late afternoon by the time the investigators navigate the streets of Harlam to the address provided at the diner. Your group of 5 white men and an oriental man attract quite a few stares as you proceed towards your destination. Some of the stares are hostile but most are just curious as you all definitely look a bit out of place.
The Ju-Ju House is located at 1 Ransom Court—a dirty alley off of 137th street, east of Lenox Avenue. This short alley opens into a 20-foot-square court. The only doors from the court are those of Ju-Ju House, and of the back door of an abandoned pawn shop (which fronts on 138th Street).
Crumbling tenements surround the court and many windows overlook the court. A trio of old black men sit on the steps of one of the tenement buildings sharing drinks out of something concealed in a brown paper bag. They give you dead eyed looks.
The shop-front of the Ju-Ju House consists of a display window and a glass door. Both are curtained, so that the interior of the shop cannot be seen. In the display window are pieces of African art. A sign hanging in the door says OPEN.
Hank whispers,
Let's go in before we get murdered. Or worse.
Jake looked at the display window silently for a moment, then pasted on his movie star smile.
"Looks like its open." He said to the others. He boldly approached the door and swept it open to go in.
The shop interior is a mere fifteen by twenty feet, and only one old, black man tends it. The place is dirty, dusty, and piled with African tribal artifacts and bric-a-brac: devil masks, leather-headed drums, stuffed model giraffes, carved wildebeasts, dull hand weapons intended for display, ivory warthogs, and so on. The shop has an oppressive, uneasy feel to it. He looks up when the door opens and frowns as the 6 investigators pile into the small shop. There is no one else visible within the store.
Spencer looks around the store, wide-eyed with wonder, and has to fight an urge to begin examining and writing down details about each of the items to catch his eye. He does, however, pull out his notebook with the intent of getting down more information from this encounter. "Mister N'Kwayne?" Spencer asks the elderly black man. Hope I didn't botch the pronunciation...
Spencer looks around the store, wide-eyed with wonder, and has to fight an urge to begin examining and writing down details about each of the items to catch his eye. He does, however, pull out his notebook with the intent of getting down more information from this encounter. "Mister N'Kwayne?" Spencer asks the elderly black man. Hope I didn't botch the pronunciation...
Yes the elderly man says as he looks at the odd group that has made its way into his store. The frown has disappeared from his face which now shows no emotion except wariness.
Kwan keeps an eye on the door, positioning himself so he would have the drop on any who enter with ill intent, as the others speak.
Stealth
WD
Kwan keeps an eye on the door, positioning himself so he would have the drop on any who enter with ill intent, as the others speak.
1d8+2 Stealth
1d6 WD
Wilson briefly looks about, scanning for anything that stands out.
"Mr. N'Kwayne, we represent a small firm of underwriters and would like to ask you a question or two. One of our clients has recently passed away and we are trying to track down any creditors he might have before his executor can dispose of his estate. His schedule indicated he was meeting a man named N'Kwayne who worked was an importer. Did you, sir, meet with a man named Jackson Elias recently? And if so, did he arrange a consignment of goods that requires payment?"
Wilson tries to bamboozle the old guy into admitting he saw Jackson or show some other sign of recognition of his name.
+ = 9
Jake nodded at Guthrie's spiel, turning his smile on the old guy.
"It involves a..." He leaned in; "Substantial sum of money."
Kwan keeps an eye on the door, positioning himself so he would have the drop on any who enter with ill intent, as the others speak.
1d8+2 Stealth
1d6 WD
Kwan easily positions himself at the door unnoticed by N'Kwayne who is focused on the other investigators walking directly up to him.
N'Kwayne is momentarily flustered as Guthrie and Jake break into their spiel. When Guthrie mentions Jackson, N'Kwayne's eyes widen in surprise and recognition and he sneers before he gets himself recomposed. After that flash, he immediately reverts to the pose of the simple shopkeeper and answers Guthrie's questions with curt No's.
Guthrie notices a lump under N'Kwayne's shirt over his breastbone that might be something hanging from a necklace.
Hank surreptitiously scans the store, looking for yarmulkes.
Father Murphy tries to be inconspicuous, although he gives Mr. N'Kwayne a once-over, trying to get the measure of the man.
[dice=Notice]d8
[dice=Wild Notice]d6Seeing nothing unusual about him at all, he lets his eyes roam free over the shop's merchandise, allowing his store of knowledge about the odd and unusual weigh and measure it.
[dice=Knowledge Occult]d10
[dice=Wild Knowledge]d6
Murphy recognizes quite a few of the objects on the shelves as fetishes used in traditional African tribal 'magic'.
Hank surreptitiously scans the store, looking for yarmulkes.
[dice=Notice]d6+2
[dice=Wild]d6+2
Hank spots something a bit unusual on the dusty floor...there seems to be different sized shoe prints heading behind the counter and not coming back.
Wilson raises his eyebrows. "So, no money is owed, but you did know Jackson Elias... and didn't like him. Why might that be, Mr. N'Kwayne? What did he do that angered you so?"
Wilson casually leans against the counter a little, keeping his tone conversational.
Wilson raises his eyebrows. "So, no money is owed, but you did know Jackson Elias... and didn't like him. Why might that be, Mr. N'Kwayne? What did he do that angered you so?"
Wilson casually leans against the counter a little, keeping his tone conversational.
It's closing time. Leave, N'Kwayne says to Guthrie as moves to usher you all out of his store. Guthrie's had enough experience questioning people to realize that no amount of persuasion will change the old man's attitude.
Hank wanders over to the counter and peers nonchalantly, seeking where the shoe prints lead.
Hank wanders over to the counter and peers nonchalantly, seeking where the shoe prints lead.
[dice=Notice]d6+2
[dice=Wild]d6+2
The footsteps lead to a 3x3 foot square rug that N'Kwayne is standing on.
"Closing time? It's midday!" Spencer laughs, a little nervously, hoping to ease some of the tension. "Mister N'Kwayne, it would really be a boon if you could give us some help, here. If you could even point us in the right direction..." Spencer trails off and raises his eyebrows hopefully.
And what the hell is Fly Boy doing?
Hank picks a trinket and makes a show of fumbling it behind the counter.
Oops! I'll get that.
Moving quickly before the proprietor has a chance to object (or leaning over, if that's not possible), he expresses surprise.
Mister N'Kwayne, you're standing on a trapdoor! Where does it lead?
|
|
Connor, Feeling that, if he can't do anything smart, he should at least help someone else to do something dumb, takes some trinket and walks over to Mr. N'Kwayne.
"Excuse me, sir, you have some nice pieces but my parish was looking for something really special for it's African Appresiasion display. Do you have anything more special? Oh my! You say he's standing on a trap door? Is that where you keep your rare artifacts? Yes, lets have a look, shall we?"
+ = 9
As Hank presses forward towards the possible trapdoor, N'Kwayne's mask of a simple shopkeeper falls away and his eyes blaze with the inner fire of the true fanatic. He yells at the top of his lungs MUKUNGA! NYEUPE SHETANI!! MUKUNGA KUWAUA WOTE!! as he draws a wicked dagger (that looks very familiar to those that had been in the publishing house fight) and lunges with it at Hank's throat.
|
|
Conner is caught a bit flat-footed by the explosion of violence, and is unable to think of anything to do until after Hank nimbly dodges the blade's first pass. Given a heartbeat to collect himself, he does the thing he does best: gives a sermon.
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.
Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.
And I will strike down upon thee "