Play@YSDC

Friday, Sept. 1, 1933 [partly cloudy, seasonably warm, three-quarter moon]

Please post a brief description of your day until mid-afternoon. It should end with your reason for being at the Hudson Street Police Station, Hudson & Vandam Streets, Greenwich Village, Manhattan at 3:00 p.m.

Like many days in the grimy city, the heat of summer lingers on, and Dex wipes his brow with a handkerchief before turning to face the slowly growling fan on the corner of his desk. The air flow wasn't much cooler, but at least it was...flowing. Dex chuckled as he banged the machine and the sound changed to a different pitch, but it seemed like it would survive another day. His partner, Joe, was out handling a case, so Dex has desk duty today from 9 until he had to head over to the police station for an appointment with Captain Boyd about 2 or so. Watching the clock wasn't going to get the paperwork done on his desk nor would it have a ringing phone be answered.

Normally all that would have been done by the new secretary they hired. Business was going well enough that they finally needed some office support and someone who could do some real clerical work. The secretary they hired a few weeks ago, Mrs. Porter, was off dealing with her sick son, a 2 year old tyke who is a handful and a half. Usually the lady down the hall in Mrs. Porter's building, whose name Dex forgot, handles the neighborhood kids for a few bucks a week. However, the lady down the hall is sick as well, something about eating meat that didn't sit well. Dex sighs and looks over some old case files that needed to be put away and had been collecting a fine layer of dust. Even with the current economic woes gripping the rest of the country, business for good PIs never went away.

Nothing much would happen until noon when lunch time decided Dex would call it an early day. Dex got his hat, coat, and slid his revolver into his shoulder holster, locking up the office before he headed to Flannigan's, the local "diner" down the street. It used to be a neighborhood bar before Prohibition started, but it had turned out a decent meal for a fair price and had picked up some of the local lunchtime crowd to keep it going through the "dry times" as locals happened to call the last few years. It was quieter at night, and Dex was pretty sure they had a speakeasy on premises, but he never dug too deep now that he was no longer a Prohibition Agent. A quick sandwich and a cup of coffee, and Dex was hopping the subway down to the Hudson Street police station for his "conversation" with Captain Boyd, his usual contact on the force.

They rehashed some cases Dex was working on, and it was about 3 pm when he was saying his goodbyes. Shaking Boyd's hand, they made a promise to get together in a couple days for dinner with their gals in tow. Dex knew Lila was in-between shows at the moment and itching to do some more dinners out, and even a bit of dancing, the latter of course being something Dex could do without.

Delores sighed heavily as she walked in the direction of Hudson Street Police Station. She'd spent the day chasing a bunch of no-hope stories of petty domestic squabbles, lost pets and toothless septuagenarians celebrating lives of wedded bliss. The latter would have been better if the old guy hadn't been trying to slide his hand up her skirt as his short-sighted wife rattled on about how in love they still were and how they only had eyes for each other. Her husband had an eye for something, that was for sure.

She came to the station and walked up the steps, ignoring the lecherous stares of the cops coming in and out of the building. She'd had plenty of offers, but turned them all down flat - no way was she becoming the talk of the cops' locker room. It was hard enough to get them to share information as it was; it would be far worse if they thought she'd put out in return.

Delores heard the town hall clock chime three 'o' clock as she pushed open the door and walked into the station. She saw Captain Boyd saying goodbye to a PI type out of the corner of her eye as she approached the main desk where the watch sergeant sat. The desk was tall, and Delores always felt like she was back at school when she approached it. "Hey Sarge," she said, "Got anything for me?"

OOC,Character sheet to follow tomorrow night (hopefully) - just wanted to get the ball rolling :). Btw, what tense are we using? I've written the intro in past tense - is that ok?

Early morning in the Big Apple. Brooklyn is starting to stir and so am I. Siobhan doesn't wake up as I pull myself away from her, our sweat long-since dried. Is she the best thing that's ever happened to me or just one habit among many? I tend not to dwell on that question. I tend not to dwell on many questions. I stand in the doorway for a minute and watch her sleep; her red hair seems to glow in the moonlight. She hates it when I tell her she's beautiful. I tend to not dwell on that, either.

I'm up early because it's that day. Can it really have been ten years? The calendar isn't convincing, but the creak in my left knee never lies. Not about things like this, anyway. September first. Again.

It's a long ride up to Queens. I should be sleeping but my body won't let me. The drunk in the back of the car has no such problem. I don't have the heart to roust him out of there. Not my job anyway.

I find a street vendor selling "fresh" flowers and pay him too much money for a few. He's disappointed that I don't want to haggle over the price. No time for that today, bud. It's a yearly tradition, part of the September 1st ritual. She has to know who leaves them but she never lets on. When I get to the cemetery it's still early. I sit for a moment, thinking of ghosts, thinking of things best left unseen. Thinking of Vinnie and carefully not thinking of how he wound up here. I leave just as the sun starts to come up, knowing that she'll be here soon and not wanting to be in the way. Not wanting to dredge up old emotions, things best left buried. I stop by the apartment, slide the envelope under her door. It's not much, but it's all I can afford.

The cool morning quickly gives way to one of those rare New York days you have to feel to believe. Try to tell someone how blue and alive the Hudson is, how the grass in Central Park feels under your feet, what the laughter of the women on Park Avenue sounds like, or how the sunlight gleaming on the Chrysler building can make you catch your breath. Nobody -- except maybe another New Yorker -- will believe you. I live this day -- like every first of September -- for a dead man. Vincenzo Catalano loved this city in ways that just weren't natural, and taught me how to love it, too. It's a poor excuse, a lame ritual, a pale and sad tribute to the man. But it's better than drinking all day.

But even a day like this one must pass. At two, reluctantly, I put away the dregs of my impromptu luncheon on the grass, brush off my clothes, and head downtown. I've got some paperwork to do, then another day of protecting and serving, if that's what it is that I do.

Dex

OOC,Nice post! Two details I wanted to note, though the post needs no editing. Beer can be sold openly, so Dex can get a beer at Flanagan's, if he wants. And although people still need detectives, I'd prefer if Morton & Ford was a bit hungrier; maybe they've had to cut their rates a bit or are having trouble collecting their fees from a large customer.

Delores

OOC,Good post! I'm eager to get Delores's character sheet, but we won't be doing any spends right away, so there's plenty of time. I think I said present tense would be good, but I don't mind past tense for this Prelude. And if you're just more comfortable using past tense, go ahead.

Franky

OOC,Nice post! [Didn't want you to feel neglected :) ]

The intercom buzzes softly, then Gladys' voice chimes in, "Mr. Vilas? Mr. Unger to see you." She's quite nice, Gladys. I'm lucky to have such good help.

"Send him in, Gladys." The doorknob clicks and turns before I finish speaking. I push the sigh to the back of my mind and put on my best, most professional smile. Only one man I've ever met is at the door before being invited in, and that's my boss, Mr. Unger. I stand, smiling, looking like a million-dollar man ready for promotion.

"Mr. Vilas." He says flatly. He's too terse. No, don't think like that. He's excited, that's it. Eager to get down to business! That's him. Always wanting to... "We have a problem, Mr. Vilas, and I need you to take care of it."

"A problem, Sir?" Dammit! I sounded worried, not curious. He can tell!

"Yes. Albertson, on 6, was supposed to conduct a lunch meeting at the police station over lunch, but he's just phoned to say he's ill. You're familiar with the neighborhood organizations, right? Fill in for him."

It's not a question. And it's not exactly the golden opportunity to show my political skills, but it'll do. I'll take it. Mr. Unger and I walk up to Albertson's office and he hands me the speech notes. I read a few lines here and there, "Collaboration between police officials and neighborhood leaders is the key to..." Damn! Albertson writes better tha-- no! What you think about you bring about. I can write something like this.

It's only 10 in the morning. The meeting's not for another two hours. I've got time to write my own version of the speech. That'll show them what I can do! Make this into that golden opportunity!

Langdon worked hard, diligently, studied Albertson's speech carefully and assembled a short stack of note cards from which to speak. The meeting wasn't as full as he'd hoped. But his speech was well received. And better than Albertson's, for sure! It was 2.47pm, and Langdon stood around with various neighborhood leaders, mid- to lower-upper-level police, and their spouses sipping watery punch. He felt good. Accomplished.

Langdon

Private,Ten minutes later Lieutenant Masterson, assigned to community affairs, is walking you out of the conference room when you see Dex Ford (that P.I. you've heard well spoken of) leaving Captain Boyd's office, both men chuckling. You'd been told that Boyd had an important meeting uptown. You're still somewhat disgruntled as you enter the front desk area, wading into the usual damp sea of humanity.

Friday, Sept. 1, 1933 3:00 pm

The Hudson Street Police Station on the corner of Vandam and Hudson, though smaller than most stations in the borough of Manhattan, is still a busy place late on Friday afternoon – the Friday before the Labor Day holiday. Cops come and go, either bringing in collars to get them locked up before end-of-shift or heading back to their beats in Chinatown or around the New York University campus or among the narrow streets where artists and poets find cheap rent.

Lawyers clamor for access to their clients, waving writs and bond assurances. Wives and Mothers alternately berate or weep over wayward sons and husbands, while petty thieves, conmen and hookers scoff as they await booking. Citizens from all walks of life wait, patiently or fuming, for a chance to tell their story or make their complaint.

Desk Sergeant Homer Zann is being surprisingly patient with a woman who’s taking up too much of his time. Not that he’s a patient man by nature, but this dame certainly merits extra attention. Taller than average in a dark-red dress from a tailor that knows how to make the most of a voluptuous figure without being showy. Her dark complexion and flashing dark eyes are set off by a silver necklace and earrings with a stunning little hat perched amid her mane of night-black hair.

Private Dex Ford,You notice three things about the woman: she looks troubled, she looks beautiful, and she looks wealthy.

Even the miscreant husbands can’t resist a lingering glance, earning them extra venom from their long-suffering wives.

Not that the beauty is without venom of her own, her eyes glaring as Zann tries to placate her.

“Listen, Miss Hirt, I tell ya for the last time, the NYPD doesn’t have enough officers to go looking in alleys and parks for every guy who takes off. Times is tough and a lotta guys do the skip. I know, I know your brother’s different and you are very worried. But he’s a grown man who can make his own decisions. And you say there’s no evidence of foul play, so...”

[quote/Delores Brown]"Hey Sarge, got anything for me?" [/quote]
Zann turns to answer Delores Brown’s interruption with a stern look.

“Miss Brown, please, I am busy trying to help this young lady. In my station house, reporters gotta wait their turn just like everbody else.” He turns back to Miss Hirt, but she interrupts him.

“I think it is come to a pretty pass, Sergeant,” the acid drips from her words, “When the authorities of this city will not put forth any effort to help people of good family, even when we are not, I suppose, Lindberghs. Where can I turn?” her voice throbs and the flashing eyes glitter with unshed tears, “Who can help me, if not the police for which I pay good taxes every year? You are a reporter, yes?” she turns to Delores Brown, “Why does your newspaper not bring such failures to light?”

Private Delores Brown,Your reportorial instincts quiver—a brother mysteriously missing, the police powerless to help a desperate woman.

“Aw, listen, Miss,” Zann says, not unkindly, “It’s not that we don’t wanta help, just that we’re kinda thin on the ground, y’know? Have ya tried the hospitals? Maybe he had a accident.”

“Oh, Sergeant,” she answers, her breath catching in her throat, “I have tried not to think it. I don’t know that I could bear it.”

Private Langdon Vilas,You are struck by the throb in her voice as well as her beauty. Here is someone who needs help, yet the police do nothing!

OOC Franky Esposito,I’m going to bring you into the scene after the other three post again. Right now, you’re coming up the marble steps outside.

Dex shakes Captain Boyd's hand, then catches the small drama at the front desk with the pretty woman and the desk sergeant. It's hard not to overhear Sergeant Zann's booming voice since it seems pitched at a variety of people who seem to be standing about. Dex notices that Delores Brown is by the desk. Though he hadn't ever met the reporter face-to-face, her byline had stuck out in the paper and he had seen her about the station house before. When the woman seemed in need of his services, Dex stepped forward.

"Miss Hirt? My name is Dexter Ford, of the Ford and Morton Detective Agency. If the police can't help you, perhaps I can. If I can't, at least I might be able to offer some help."

"Dexter Ford!" I emphasize each syllable with my charming, shy, smile. "Young miss, if you don't mind my intrusion, why I'd say you've just been offered the assistance of one of the best officers in the borough. In the borough, young lady!"

I stand tall, smiling broadly, if not confidently. My motives aren't selfish. Here's a beautiful lady who needs help finding her brother. I just hope she's telling the truth: that it really is her brother and not a boyfriend or husband. If I help Dexter and Dexter solves the case it's a win-win-win-win situation! Miss Hirt gets her brother back. Delores gets a juicy story. Dexter gets his name in the paper as a hero. I become the public servant who's willing to step in when no one else can or will. And maybe Miss Hirt will see that, too.

"May I call you Dex? You have the full," I pause for effect, repeating myself again, I've heard it's a way of making your speeches more effective "the full support of city hall. Anything you need to help find young Miss Hirt's brother, you name it. We at city hall value the lives of our citizens. When they suffer, we suffer. When they lose a loved one..." I sneak a small smile to Miss Hirt "... we lose a loved one."

Turning back to everyone around the desk, preparing to speak as though I were atop a presidential campaign stage, talking to hundreds of adoring supporters...

"If there's anything I can do to help, Mr. Ford, Miss Hirt, don't hesitate to ask." I reach into my jacket and hand everyone in arm's reach my calling card.

"Back off, boys!" snaps Delores, "Give the lady some room. Besides, this is my story..." She smiles at Miss Hirt, winningly, "I'd be happy to cover your story. Perhaps we can find somewhere private where I can get some background information?"

OOC,I'll get there with the character sheet - eventually! :( Been a tad busy of late and away the last couple of weekends, so time's been at a premium.

Miss Hirt looks a bit overwhelmed at all these offers of help, smiling through misty eyes (though she also darts a look of triumph at Sergeant Zann).

Zann bristles at civilians usurping police authority: “Hold on there,” he says and beckons to a man in a rumpled suit, just coming in the door, “Say, Detective Esposito, you don’t look busy, maybe you can help Miss Hirt here. You and these other folks can use Interview Room One.”

Private Franky Esposito,You know you really [b]don’t[/b] have anything much waiting on your desk because your general unreliability makes Captain Boyd reluctant to put you in the regular case rotation, letting you catch this sort of nothing call instead of more meaty beefs. Although you're a detective, Zann is a sergeant and technically outranks you.

I shake my head and look from Zann to the stack of case files in my hands to the assembled crew. A politician, a society dame, a fluff reporter, and a private dick. Seeing as there's no bar around and they're lacking an Irishman anyway, I hustle them into the interview room. "I'll be right with you folks."

Once they're settled I make my way back out to Zann's desk. "So, Sarge, am I supposed to investigate Miss Hirt's complaint? Or just ring-lead the circus in there?"

"Well, Detective," says Zann, nodding toward the interview room door you left open, "the city pays your salary to provide assistance to citizens in need. So I want you to assist those citizens, as needed." He drops his voice, leaning forward so only Franky can hear: "And keep your little circus outta my station, ka-peesh?"

Then he turns to the next person in line, "Attorney Durant, to what do I owe the pleasure of today's visit?"

In the interview room, Marlene Hirt has waited for one of the gentlemen to pull out a chair for her and the other to light the cigarette she inserts into a short ivory holder. When the detective returns and joins the group around the table, the lady begins her story.

“I am Marlene Hirt. My brother Alphonse is a writer and journalist. Not that you’ll recognize his name, he is an amateur, always one pointless scheme after another one.” She pauses and pulls a hanky from her purse which she twists in her hands as she talks.

“I think the police think me a fool. He is a grown man, as they say. But only... He is missing for a week now, and I cannot think where he is gone. Last Thursday he doesn’t come home. And I fear...” She sobs a bit and wipes at her eyes.

“Alphonse has been talking nonsense about moon-men and monsters in Brooklyn, and I worry that he has become unbalanced. What if he is lost or injured or locked away somewhere? I am desperate, you see. Desperate enough not to care about scandal. But I cannot inquire myself at the hospitals or the... the morgues. My nerves will not allow it."

"Moon men, Miss Hirt? Well I can personally attest for the absence of such tomfoolery in my neighborhoods. Why just last week we completed a full censu-- err... Look, Miss Hirt, I'm sure your brother wasn't 'unhinged' as you put it." I cast a pleading eye at Dolores, asking her to play along, "See, journalists, well their job is to make everyday seem fantastical," he grimaces at his poor word choice, "That is to say, they make the regular world more exciting. Don't you think he could have just been making up stories for the papers?"

I do my best trying to reassure her, but it's not something I've ever been terribly good at. Weeping women just shut me down. Make it hard to think straight.

Making up stories? Who is this guy? He's enough to get me seeing moon-men.

"Miss Hirt, I'm Detective Esposito. We're going to find your brother, but we need a little help from you. What's your brother's address? Can you give us a list of his friends, places that he frequents, that sort of thing? And a recent photograph would be very helpful."

Dex follows the others into the room, holding out the chair for Miss Hirt and for Delores if she decided to take a seat, seeing the others have not done so.

Miss Brown, if you want to pursue the journalistic angle for this case go right ahead. However, I am sure everyone here could offer some assistance, even Mr. Vilas has his connections at City Hall.

Dex simply nods his head at Langdon's request to call him Dex. Once in the interview room, he leans against one wall, listening to Miss Hirt talk about her brother and his odd obsessions. Perhaps the kid has some issues, but before he could ask any more questions, Detective Esposito asked the key questions.

Dex pulls out a small notebook, unsnapping the band around keeping it closed, and a well worn pencil and begins to jot some preliminary notes into the notebook.

Delores scribbles furiously, taking notes as the three men fire questions at Miss Hirt, pausing only to raising a questioning eyebrow at Langdon when he uses the word 'fantastical' to describe the journalist trade.

"Miss Hirt," she pipes up, "You said your brother is a journalist. Do you know which paper he writes for? And could I see his writing? He may have left a clue as to his thinking."

Private Langdon Vilas,As you lit her cigarette, you noticed [b](Art History)[/b]that Miss Hirt’s necklace is of Middle Eastern design, depicting the moon’s phases.

“I cannot think where he would be all this time. We have no family any more, except for our Uncle Jacob who we have not seen since father’s death fifteen years ago. Mother had died some time before. I know none of his friends these days; we move in different circles, you understand."

Turning to Delores, she replies to her question, "As I say, he fancied himself a journalist and historian, but to the best of my knowledge he never held a paid position. I am not certain about his writings, I had not thought to look for them. Alphonse was not the tidiest person.

“Find him, please. If you would make enquiry of the most likely places? Here is his card,” she finds it in her handbag and hands it to Esposito. “Of course, a photo, yes – I will try to find one. Here is one hundred dollars for your expenses and trouble, Mr. Ford. I will, naturally, pay any customary fees as well. I will be at Alphonse’s apartment Monday afternoon, anxious to hear anything that has been learned.”

OOC,I deleted the earlier post, amended it to include a response to Delores and re-posted.

"Well it seems to me a good place to start would be with amateur journalists and historians! Dolores, do you know of any groups or places an aspiring amateur journalist like Mr. uh," I turn to Miss Hirt, "I don't believe I caught your brother's name."

I straighten, walking around the room. Kinetic energy helps the mind work.

"You say you have little contact with your Uncle Jacob? Suppose your brother were to have received a letter from this uncle. Is it possible he may have gone to visit him without telling you?"

OOC,I'll make note of the decoration, but it doesn't seem worth mentioning to the others at the moment.

"You're mistakenly assuming I'm a mere 'aspiring, amateur journalist' are you, and that we'd move in the same circles?" says Delores dryly. She doesn't wait for Langdon to answer. "I'll ask around and see if anyone's heard of him and where he worked."

Dex pockets the $100 dollars, though he will make sure to give the bills a thorough going over at a later date. He nods his head and then responds as the others offer their two cents.

Miss Hirt, I am sure the four of us, since the police seem to think the case is not their top priority, can head off to do some digging around on your behalf. But with Detective Esposito on the case, perhaps the police will do some official footwork. I do know some people who might be able to dig around in places the police don't like to stick their noses if it comes to that.

Dex copies down the information on the business card in his notebook. As he is standing next to Delores, he hands her a folded and palmed $20 dollar bill and says sotto vocce. "Just spreading the wealth. I will bill her properly when we find out what happened to her brother."

Miss Hirt, do you have key to your brother's apartment or do you know who the landlord is? Have you stopped by his apartment since you last spoke to him?

Private Langdon Vilas,You recall the name Hirt – a Palatine Hirt died of Spanish flu in 1918, leaving his fortune to his two young children. The incident was memorable because of a lawsuit involving Palatine’s brother, Jacob, who attempted to have the will overturned.

“It is possible that Alphonse might go to see Uncle Jacob without mentioning it to me, Mr. Vilas, but I cannot imagine what could heal that breach. I do have the key to my brother’s apartment, Mr. Ford, and I have been there quite a bit lately.

Miss Hirt breaks off and looks at a clock on the wall.

“Is that the time? Oh dear, I must go,” She begins to gather things into her handbag, “I have an engagement this evening and will be away over the week-end. Perhaps you will find nothing. Perhaps it is true what I have been telling myself, that he is just staying with friends, or has embarked on a boat for Europe, all without a thought for his sister’s concern. He can be quite unreliable. Sometimes I despair of him ever making anything of himself.”

Private Delores Brown,Miss Hirt extends a well-manicured, soft and warm hand to you, gazing earnestly into your eyes, [color=#0000FF]“I am most grateful. Most grateful.”[/color]

Private Langdon Vilas,Miss Hirt extends a well-manicured, soft and warm hand to you, gazing earnestly into your eyes, [color=#0000FF]“I am most grateful. Most grateful.”[/color]

Private Dex Ford,Miss Hirt extends a well-manicured, soft and warm hand to you, gazing earnestly into your eyes, [color=#0000FF]“I am most grateful. Most grateful.”[/color]

Private Franky Esposito,Miss Hirt extends a well-manicured, soft and warm hand to you, gazing earnestly into your eyes, [color=#0000FF]“I am most grateful. Most grateful.”[/color]

She swirls her coat over her shoulders, tucks her handbag under her arm and quickly exits the room, sweeping through the waiting room and out of the station. Out front, she takes one of the cabs that wait there for fares.

Delores says nothing as she pockets the money from Ford. She makes a mental note to speak to him later about the missing $5.

Having shaken Miss Hirt's hand, Delores watches as she leaves the police station. "What do you make of that?" she says to the three men standing around her.

"What a fascinating young lady. She is clearly very worried about her brother. Admirable. The bonds of the family. It is, truly, through these bonds that our socie-- ahem. Oh! I just remembered something. Hirt, the name. It came up a few years ago during the epidemic. If I recall correctly, the Hirt patriarch, Mr. Palatine Hirt, passed away from the disease. Now, this would be irrelevant except that it seems this Uncle Jacob filed a lawsuit attempting to override the will."

Turning the others, "Well, Dex, Dolores, Mr. Esposito, I am stumped. But you three have the skills and experience sleuthing around for these sorts of things. I'll defer to your judgment."

OOC,Did she give us the key to his apartment?

I have half a mind to give old Dex a dressing down for his "this case is not their top priority" remark. I may not be the cop I was 10 years ago but I'm not exactly chopped liver, either. I take an extra breath and let it slide. Strike one, Mr. Ford.

"I feel compelled to point out that this is a police investigation. I understand that each of you has your reasons to be involved in this and I intend to cooperate fully with you. Given your fine reputations I am sure that each of you will conduct yourselves appropriately." I smile a little, hoping to take just a little of the edge off of my words. I don't want any grief from Zann, but I don't want them stepping all over evidence, either.

"Alright, there are a few places we need to check right off the bat. Hospitals. Morgues. I need to call around to a few other precincts, see if they have any John Does that might be Mr. Hirt. This "Uncle Jacob" character bears looking into. Mr. Vilas, do you think you could track down some more information on Jacob and the lawsuit? That might be very informative. Miss Brown, please do ask around and see if anyone in your circle has ever heard of Alphonse Hirt. Mr. Ford, you might look into what you can dig up on Mr. Hirt. See if he owed anyone money or had any enemies."

FrankyEsposito wrote:
"I feel compelled to point out that this is a police investigation. I understand that each of you has your reasons to be involved in this and I intend to cooperate fully with you. Given your fine reputations I am sure that each of you will conduct yourselves appropriately." I smile a little, hoping to take just a little of the edge off of my words. I don't want any grief from Zann, but I don't want them stepping all over evidence, either.

"Alright, there are a few places we need to check right off the bat. Hospitals. Morgues. I need to call around to a few other precincts, see if they have any John Does that might be Mr. Hirt. This "Uncle Jacob" character bears looking into. Mr. Vilas, do you think you could track down some more information on Jacob and the lawsuit? That might be very informative. Miss Brown, please do ask around and see if anyone in your circle has ever heard of Alphonse Hirt. Mr. Ford, you might look into what you can dig up on Mr. Hirt. See if he owed anyone money or had any enemies."

Dex notices the odd choice of words, but he simply listens to what is said by the police officer and the others. When Detective Esposito offers up the assignments, Dex shrugs his shoulders. "Alright, Detective, since the police are officially on the case, I don't want to step on any toes. However, if Langdon isn't busy, I think I could use his help on my assignment you have handed out on the case. I think if anyone discovers anything of importance, we should try to get together for dinner this evening to discuss our findings. If anything more important comes up, here is my card." He reaches into his jacket and hands out a business card to each of those in the room. He slips a twenty to Langdon with the card as his portion of the funds passed to Dex by Miss Hirt. "Shouldnt be too hard to find out if Mr. Hirt had any significant enemies. Doesn't seem like the type. What exactly are you going to do Detective?"

<I'll just interject that it's now almost four o'clock on the Friday before Labor Day. City offices (and businesses, including newspapers) will close at six and only be open from nine until noon on Saturday; closed Sunday, of course, and on Monday for the holiday. I doubt anyone will be able to find out much using official channels tonight.>

Dexter Ford wrote:"What exactly are you going to do Detective?"

"Me? I'm going to start calling local precincts and checking for John Does. After that it's hospitals and morgues. Don't want to let that wait until Monday -- you know how it is over holiday weekends."

"I'd be glad to help, Dex. The good Miss Hirt put her trust in us and it is therefore up to us to find her brother. First thing tomorrow morning I will check into her brother's... well, did any of you catch his name? I seem to have missed it... into her family's financial background and the lawsuit surrounding the will. Perhaps when we have this Uncle Jacob's address we can ask him about it as well."

"I don't mean to be rude, Dex, Mr. Esposito, but you seem to presume that I have experience 'digging up dirt' on someone. Now, I will put the full backing of the city behind you, as much as I can, but I want it understood that I'll be doing no kicking down of doors, or participating in any 'interrogations' or shadowing unsavory characters down a back alley.," I pause as imagery from pulp detective novels - the ones I pretend not to read - swells in my head. I'm no coward, but I have a reputation to think of, a career future working in the upper branches of city politics. I can't afford to be seen as a vigilante.

"Besides, you two," I pat Dex and Mr. Esposito on the shoulders, "Are professionals. You're good at this. Not like me and Dolores."

Langdon wrote:"I'd be glad to help, Dex. The good Miss Hirt put her trust in us and it is therefore up to us to find her brother. First thing tomorrow morning I will check into her brother's... well, did any of you catch his name? I seem to have missed it... into her family's financial background and the lawsuit surrounding the will. Perhaps when we have this Uncle Jacob's address we can ask him about it as well."

"I don't mean to be rude, Dex, Mr. Esposito, but you seem to presume that I have experience 'digging up dirt' on someone. Now, I will put the full backing of the city behind you, as much as I can, but I want it understood that I'll be doing no kicking down of doors, or participating in any 'interrogations' or shadowing unsavory characters down a back alley.," I pause as imagery from pulp detective novels - the ones I pretend not to read - swells in my head. I'm no coward, but I have a reputation to think of, a career future working in the upper branches of city politics. I can't afford to be seen as a vigilante.

"Besides, you two," I pat Dex and Mr. Esposito on the shoulders, "Are professionals. You're good at this. Not like me and Dolores."

I show Mr. Hirt's card to Langdon and anyone else who didn't get a look at it.

"Mr. Vilas, you and I are in complete agreement about the wisdom of you kicking down doors and skulking around back alleys." I chuckle a little at the thought. "Likewise, I hope you'll agree that navigating City Hall is a task much better suited to you than to yours truly."

Finding Mr. Esposito much more agreeable and amiable than earlier, I extend my hand with a broad smile and firm handshake.

"Mr. Esposito, you are absolutely correct."

Langdon wrote:"I'd be glad to help, Dex. The good Miss Hirt put her trust in us and it is therefore up to us to find her brother. First thing tomorrow morning I will check into her brother's... well, did any of you catch his name? I seem to have missed it... into her family's financial background and the lawsuit surrounding the will. Perhaps when we have this Uncle Jacob's address we can ask him about it as well."

"I don't mean to be rude, Dex, Mr. Esposito, but you seem to presume that I have experience 'digging up dirt' on someone. Now, I will put the full backing of the city behind you, as much as I can, but I want it understood that I'll be doing no kicking down of doors, or participating in any 'interrogations' or shadowing unsavory characters down a back alley.," I pause as imagery from pulp detective novels - the ones I pretend not to read - swells in my head. I'm no coward, but I have a reputation to think of, a career future working in the upper branches of city politics. I can't afford to be seen as a vigilante.

"Besides, you two," I pat Dex and Mr. Esposito on the shoulders, "Are professionals. You're good at this. Not like me and Dolores."

"I beg your pardon?!" snaps Delores, her voice rising. "Professional?! How dare you?! Who do you think you're talking to? I don't know what you do for a living but I work for mine! If you just plan to sit behind a desk and take the credit then I suggest you drop out right now - we don't need you!" Her eyes blazing, she stabs her finger into Langdon's chest to underline the point.

Indignant, I shout, "Excuse me, Miss!" and grab Miss Brown by the wrists. "I meant no insult or slight against you. What I meant was that Dex and Mr. Esposito are paid to pursue and tail and shadow and track and sneak and snoop and pry." I let her go, taking on a calmer tone, "My business, for which I am endebted to the public, is to help our communities prosper and grow. Yours, Dolores, is to find and report the facts, yes?"

I adjust my suit coat and bow tie.

"It has been my experience that few news reporters - well, those not involved in the yellow journals and muck raking and what have you - lie in wait in back alleys digging for a story. I am sure that you are a professional journalist."

Dex lets the other have their brief tiff, then pipes up after a polite cough. "Mr. Vilas, I know you aren't a professional detective, but I could use some records from City Hall or from the City Manager's Office about who owns the building, whether taxes have been paid, etc. Maybe see if our missing author has a business license or something along those lines."

He rolls his eyes after his brief suggestion for Langdon, but then smiles at Delores. "I think you, Miss Brown, might have the best connections in the journalism and literary fields to find out if our missing young man was at all successful. If you would like to come "skulking" at the scene of the crime, I could use someone with a photographer's eye to see what might not be right about his apartment. And the keen nose of a true investigator."

He looks at the detective, and very calmly states what he is going to do. "I am going to go to the missing man's apartment and look around the neighborhood and make inquiries with others in the building who might know his actions and whereabouts better than the man's sister." He snaps his fingers. "This sort of just came to me, but we are taking a lot on faith that Miss Hirt is the missing boy's sister. What if she isn't some dame who has had her knickers put in a twist? Maybe one of us could do a bit of digging into our erstwhile employer?"

Dexter Ford wrote:"Maybe one of us could do a bit of digging into our erstwhile employer?"

"Well, Dex, my employer is the city of New York. And they don't care for such snooping." I raise my eyebrows to let him know I'm not busting his chops. Much. "Good idea for you to take a look at the apartment. Or, I could give the precinct a call, have them send a patrol over to have a look?"

<I'm going to jump in here and call Scene. It seems like you've divided up the next tasks, so I'm going to set up a separate thread for each of you to cover Friday evening to Saturday morning. You can re-convene at the Carnegie Deli at 55th & 7th Avenue for lunch to share information. If anyone has unfinished business in the interrogation room, go ahead and post more in this thread.>

Gaffer wrote:<I'm going to jump in here and call Scene.>

<Good move. I'll have to keep that in mind when I'm running a game IRL>

<It came up in the Y-SdC forums and I thought I'd use it.>

*Part of the reason for the delay in my post was that I was waiting on Delores' answer to Dex's inquiry. However, for the sake of progress, I went ahead and posted in the Dex thread.*

That's fine.

Langdon wrote:Indignant, I shout, "Excuse me, Miss!" and grab Miss Brown by the wrists. "I meant no insult or slight against you. What I meant was that Dex and Mr. Esposito are paid to pursue and tail and shadow and track and sneak and snoop and pry." I let her go, taking on a calmer tone, "My business, for which I am endebted to the public, is to help our communities prosper and grow. Yours, Dolores, is to find and report the facts, yes?"

I adjust my suit coat and bow tie.

"It has been my experience that few news reporters - well, those not involved in the yellow journals and muck raking and what have you - lie in wait in back alleys digging for a story. I am sure that you are a professional journalist."

Delores shook herself free from Langdon's grip. "Do you mind?!" she snapped. "My business, as you say, is to find and report the facts. Facts that some in office seem to think we shouldn't report." She pulled her jacket straight and looked around at the people in the room as if daring them to say something. In a quieter, albeit strained tone, she continued, "I'll do my research and report the facts I find."