Play@YSDC

‘Look, I’ve got no idea what Hirt got mixed up in. I thought he was just nuts. Then I started getting threats. Like these.”

[The notes are crudely lettered in pencil on cheap lined paper.]

HIRT IS DEAD MAN AND SO TO
HIS FRIENDS BURN ANY NOTES
+ LETTERS FROM HIM FORGET
EVERYTHING HE TOLD YOU
FORGET HE EVER EXIST MAYBE
YOU ARE SPARED HIS FATE

DO NOT THINK WE ARE JOKE
DO NOT THINK WE ARE NOT
REAL OUR HANDS IS AT YOUR
THROAT BURN HIRTS NOTES
+ DENY YOU EVER KNEW HIM
IF YOU PUBLISH ANYTHING
WE WILL KILL WE ARE WATCH

“And I keep seeing foreigners – you know, guys with whattya-call-em, turbans! - on the streets, and they stare at me! And…the dogs, I hear them every night, growling and scraping at my door. One night, I swear they were inside my apartment!”

He covers his face with his hands and shivers for a moment.

“So I burned everything he’d given me. It was just the first few pages of an introduction, talking about Mormo, some Greek goddess or something, but she’s just a mask for ‘Nilototem’ or some such. I don’t know where he got it. Maybe those books he was always showing me about Yezadee and Mesopotamia and all. He got them from some bookstore here in Brooklyn, a Turkish place, over on Washington Avenue, I think.

“That’s it. That’s all I can tell you. I swear.”

Delores has no reason to doubt Grenville's word - the guy looks like he was about to have a heart attack. Delores wasn't sure she felt any better herself - death threats? Foreigners in turbans? If she hadn't seen what she'd seen in Hirt's department, she would have dismissed it out of hand.

"Look," she says, holding up the notes, "Do you mind if I take these with me? I mean, I don't know if we can find out who sent them, but... ..." She pauses, not sure what else to say.

"Yeah, yeah, you can take 'em. I'll be glad to see the end of this. I don't even care who those people are, I just want out. I been thinkin' I might go away for awhile until all this blows over, y'know? Philly, maybe. Or San Francisco. Don't tell anybody, okay?"

Assess Honesty confirms that Grenville seems to be telling the truth.

Assess Honesty one-point spend,[color=#FF8000]Grenville is grateful to be having this conversation, to get all his fears off his corpulent chest.[/color]

"Your secret's safe with me," she assures him, tucking the notes into her bag. She fishes out her notebook and jots down her name and desk number. "I shouldn't think you'll hear from Hirt, but if you do..." she tears off the sheet and puts its on his desk where he can see it.

She puts her notebook away and raises her hand in an almost apologetic goodbye. She makes her way out of the office and down the stairs, heading for the front door. She runs over Grenville has told her in her mind, knowing she needs to get this down on paper before she forgets all the details.

Lester Pierce is less than thrilled with your story on the centenarian, but he accepts it.

You've just sat down with your notes from Grenville when the phone rings. It's Dex. He and Langdon are on their way to the gallery. They'll swing by and pick you up out front.

OOC: