Play@YSDC

Professor Johns's Office, Claudia Cohen Hall, University of Pennsylvania - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
4:30 PM - Thursday, July 16th, 2009
Professor Bill Johns returned to his office in Claudia Cohen Hall after his final lecture for the day. There were fewer lectures in the summer session than in the fall and spring semesters, but there was still plenty to do. Even so, it was less busy, and he had more time for research and for himself these days. The office was just as he had left it. On his desk sat his computer and digital telephone, as well as a copy of the latest issue of the university's own Expedition Magazine. The display on the phone showed that he had two messages in his voicemail.

OOC,Feel free to further describe your office. I've specifically left out the details so that you can decide what it's like.

Bill looked around his office for a space to dump the pile of papers he was carrying and sighed. Bonnie, his secretary, had taken a week off to visit her sick mother and already things were getting on top of him. He hooked a foot around the visitor's chair and pulled it out from under the spare desk far enough to drop the papers.

Promising himself to deal with those later (and to speak to Bonnie and see how things were) he sat down at his desk and tapped the keyboard to bring the screen to life. He quickly scanned the list of emails - requests from students for clarification of assignments, requests for more time and an update from Barbara about events she had planned for the weekend - before turning his attention to the phone.

He picked up his phone and keyed the voicemail. He cradled it against his shoulder, shuffling the speaker so it sat snugly against his ear, and started replying to his emails as he listened for his messages.

The emails were just routine business, and Bill was easily able to respond to them while listening to his phone messages. The first one was from his son, Fred, and it had come in at 12:15 PM. He recognized the phone number on Caller ID even before he heard him speak: "Yo, Dad, it's Freddie. How are things going? Listen, I managed to score two tickets to a Phillies game next week, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. Give me a call when you get a chance. Bye." Fred was a die-hard Phillies fan, and nobody had rejoiced more exuberantly than he had when the Phillies finally won the World Series last fall for the first time since 1980, ending the city's drought of professional sports championships that had lasted a quarter-century - unless one counted the Philadelphia Soul, which had won the Arena League Football championship earlier last year. Fred had just been a boy the last time the Phillies had claimed the pennant, and his excitement at it happening again made it seem as though he had recaptured his childhood. They had been at the victory parade on Broad Street together at the end of October, which had been packed with cheering fans lining the route.

The second call's number was unavailable, and it had been received at 3:40 PM, less than an hour ago. "Professor Bill Johns," said an unfamiliar voice. It sounded like that of an older man, close to his own age or maybe a little older. "We need to talk. We need to talk about what you did back in the day. Meet me in the men's room at Lenny's Bar on South Street tonight at 7:00. You know the place." Then the call disconnected.

Lenny's Bar was familiar, but Bill hadn't thought about it in many years. It was located downtown, a couple of miles east of the campus. Back in the 1960s and 70s, it had been a gathering place for the counterculture, and he had been there on a number of occasions back then. All sorts of people had hung out at Lenny's: hippies, anti-war activists, drunks, druggies, radicals, and anyone who had an axe to grind with the Establishment. Lenny, the owner of the place, had catered to the young and rebellious crowd.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Psychology to see what you can determine about the man who left the second message.

Bill could tell from the strange man's tone of voice that he seemed somewhat nervous and agitated, but he couldn't learn anything beyond that without being in the man's physical presence and being able to read his body language.

The smile on Bill's face brought on by the news of the Phillies tickets faded as he listened to the second call. Who the hell was that? he thought to himself, and what does he mean by 'back in the day?'

Bill sat back in his chair and wracked his brains. He couldn't think what the caller meant - he'd joined a couple of protest marches and helped to hand out flyers for some fundraising gigs but that was it. As for Lenny's Bar, he'd not been there since the night Herbie Yates' girlfriend had been hitting on him...

He smiled wistfully. Herbie was one of the kids who'd hung out at Lenny's - a bored, middle-class white kid looking for some action - huh, weren't they all - and he turned up with this cute Chinese girl one night. Herbie was a dweeb so she'd soon lost interest and latched onto Bill. Herb had taken it badly and tried to punch him out. Bill wasn't having any of it and decked him. Some of the vegan-pacifist types had taken it badly so Bill told them exactly what he thought about them and their ideals before he left. He hadn't been back since.

Bill's thoughts drifted back to the message. He played it again. There was something in the speaker's tone that got to him, it didn't sound like someone was going for a wind-up. He glanced at the clock - 4.50pm. Barbara was out with a girlfriend tonight so he was getting his own supper anyway, so he decided to run down to South Street, grab a bite to eat and visit Lenny's.

OOC,The reason I said you could describe your office was because it's yours, and your character could have decorated and arranged it however he wanted. The same would apply to his home. However, I didn't mean that you could describe every location. I'll describe other locations you visit in the game, especially places that I introduce that are significant to the plot like Lenny's Bar. There's no harm done, but please remember this from now on.

Lenny's Bar, South Street
7:00 PM - Thursday, July 16, 2009
With the nearest bridge across the Schuylkill River closed down, it took a little longer than it otherwise would have to get downtown. Finding parking on South Street was even worse than usual. Lenny's Bar had taken a turn for the worse since the last time Bill had seen it. The storefronts on either side were vacant, victims of the lousy economy. The bar itself was still open, but it had become somewhat of a dive. When he pushed open the door, he could see and smell the decay even in the dimly lit interior. There was a faint odor of mold mixed with the scent of liquor. The bartender was young and unfamiliar, and there was no sign of Lenny himself. The guy would have to be in his seventies by now, if he was even still alive. There were a few people sitting on stools with peeling fake leather in front of the bar or in booths getting an early start on getting drunk. Most of the crowd looked to be unemployed, though some of them were probably only recently so judging by their relatively decent attire. The TV up in a corner behind the bar was an old model from the early 1990s, and it was showing a baseball game. Sunlight filtered in through the dirt-encrusted front windows. At the height of summer, there was still some time before it would get dark.

Time seemed to pass with inexorable slowness as Bill waited for the appointed hour. A few people came, a few others left. At 7:00, Bill stood up and went down the hall at the back to the bathrooms. A payphone rested against the left wall, with a post-it note saying it was out of order. There was a back door at the rear of the narrow hallway, which was closed. On the right were two doors with faded signs, one that said "Ladies" and one that said "Gentlemen." Bill went into the men's room.

The bathroom was grimy and not very clean. A mirror along the right-hand wall was smeared with dirt and other unidentifiable substances. A row of dingy sinks was beneath it, along with soap dispensers that likely didn't see much use. On the left were a few urinals in equally unsavory condition, and beyond them were a row of four open toilet stalls. If Licenses and Inspections ever set foot in this place, they could certainly find numerous health code violations and impose a heavy fine. Nobody else was in the men's room.

Bill turned to face the door leading back out when he heard it open, and a tall white-haired man about sixty years old slipped inside, closing the door behind him. His face was wrinkled and pale, and his brown eyes darted around the room. He wore a rumpled brown jacket and faded blue jeans, and he had his hands in his pockets. He stood in front of the door, glancing nervously from side to side and refusing to make eye contact. He seemed even more anxious than he had over the phone. Bill recognized him from earlier this evening. The man had entered the bar at 6:45 and sat in a booth by himself. He didn't recall ever having seen him before this evening, however.

"It is you," he said, nodding to himself. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

OOC,OK - no probs. Just got carried away! ;) Do you want me to edit the post?

"You've got me at bit of a disadavantage," said Bill. "You seem to know who I am, but I don't know who the hell you are." The nerves he'd been feeling were giving way to anger and he took a step forward, "So why don't you tell me who you are buddy, and why you've got me meeting you in this dive?"

OOC,You can edit it if you want, but it's not necessary. Good writing, by the way! Sorry for the confusion. It varies from Keeper to Keeper how much leeway players have to describe things, and it's good to get it straightened out early.

"Maybe you don't know who I am," said the stranger, "but I remember you, Willie." Nobody had called Bill by that name in decades. "My name is Brian Anderson. Your wife, Mary - she knows who I am. My father was a big shot way back when, and everything was looking good for me too, but then it all fell apart." He looked down at his shoes, which were black and scuffed. Bill couldn't remember Brian, nor did his name ring a bell.

OOC,Cheers. I've edited my earlier post to tie in to yours.

Bill poked a finger in the older man's direction. "I don't know who you are but if you know Mary, why the hell aren't you talking to her and not me?"

Brian glared back at Bill, meeting his gaze for the first time. "Don't you point your finger at me!" he growled. "I don't like that!" He averted his eyes again. "You haven't changed, you haven't changed a bit. You really don't know why I'm talking to you? Ground Control to Major Tom!" He started to shake a little. "I'm not talking to Mary because she doesn't want to talk to me any more, not after what happened. And it was your fault!"

Bill had no idea what he was talking about. He'd never even met this man before as far as he could recall.

"I don't like being hauled halfway across the city to meet some jerk in a men's room who's talking about stuff I know nothing about!" snarled Bill in return. "Now you either tell me what this is all about or I'm outa here."

Something in Brian seemed to snap. "You've got it all, and I've got nothing!" he growled, twitching. "Everything you have should have been mine, but my life is ruined. I've got nothing left to lose!" With that, he withdrew his hands from his pockets. In his left hand he clutched a round object which he held behind his back, but Bill didn't get a good look at it. His attention was fully captured by the object Brian had in his right hand - a .38 revolver. He pointed it at Bill with a trembling hand, and Bill found himself staring down its barrel.

"Woah!" Bill stepped back quickly, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "Just take it easy," he spluttered, "I really don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you calm down and tell me what it is you came here to tell me?"

Brian relaxed a little, though he remained jittery. "You don't even remember, do you?" he said. "Maybe you didn't even realize what you did. I lost everything. I lost Mary. Funny how she never even told you about me. Maybe I still mean something to her. I wish...I wish I could go back and change it..." He closed his eyes, lost in thought for a moment, though he remained blocking the exit and grasping his gun in his quivering hand.

"As I told you," said Bill trying to keep his voice level, "You're going to have to tell me what this is all about if you want me to help."

Brian took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "Help me?" he said. "You didn't help me then, why would you help now?" He stared at the gun in his quivering hand. "I'm finished anyway. You still don't get it, do you?" He began to sing. "Ground Control to Major Tom. Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong. Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you hear me, Major Tom? Can you..." His arms sagged and his muscles unclenched. Then the object he was holding in his left hand dropped to the floor, bouncing and rolling under the barrier into the first toilet stall in a flash of green. A look of abject horror crossed Brian's face, and he turned and bolted from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Spot Hidden. If you succeed, wait until I describe what you noticed before acting. If you fail, go ahead and act.

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2019379/]Spot Hidden roll. (1d100=84) against Bill's skill of 25.[/url]

Bill shook his head. "What a dick," he muttered to himself as he pushed open the exit door carefully to make sure Brian wasn't there and made to leave the building.

The warped wooden bathroom door had gotten stuck in the frame when Brian had slammed it shut, and Bill's gentle push was not enough to force it open. Just as he was about to put his shoulder into it, there was a loud explosion from behind him. The shock wave slammed him hard against the door and the wall adjacent to it, and he fell to the tiled bathroom floor. Everything went black.

Strangely, Bill felt no pain. He could feel his ears ringing from the blast, and a jumble of images flashed before his eyes.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Idea.

Bill was able to make sense of the flashing images as he recalled what had happened in the last few seconds - were they the last few seconds of his life? He saw Brian's snarling face, the dark barrel of the gun, and the small, green, round object that fell from his hand, bouncing and rolling across the bathroom floor. The small, green, vaguely pineapple-shaped object. In retrospect, he was able to identify it as a hand grenade - a hand grenade missing its pin.

From seemingly nowhere, Bill could hear music:

Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

Ground Control to Major Tom
Commencing countdown,
engines on
Check ignition
and may God's love be with you.

He could hear a soft voice counting down from ten during the song. After "One" it said "Liftoff," and Bill could see at the farthest edge of his vision a white light. At first it was only a bright pinprick, but it started to widen as the music continued.

This is Ground Control
to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule
if you dare

Bill had a feeling of floating weightlessly. At the same time, he somehow knew that he could will himself to move.

Bill couldn't feel his limbs. It was like nothing existed except his consciousness. He floated for what seemed like an age, trying to remember who he was and where he was but thoughts just drifted away like smoke in the wind.

After a while, he started to take more notice of the light out of the corner of his eye. No matter which way he turned, it seemed like it was drawing him in, and he felt as if he was accelerating, slowly but perceptibly, towards the source. As he got closer, the light got brighter and brighter and even closing his eyelids ... he had eyelids, where did they come from... did little to diminish the luminosity.

Bill seemed to be moving faster and faster, a rushing, roaring noise enveloping him, filling his head, as he fell towards the piercing, all encompassing light...

OOC,Don't worry if you were confused earlier. The situation is supposed to be confusing. ;)

As Bill moved toward the light, the strains of the song continued:

This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating
in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today

The light expanded as Bill got closer, until it was so intense that it was blinding and he was forced to close his eyes.

For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do

Though I'm past
one hundred thousand miles
I'm feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much
she knows

As Bill heard that last verse, he thought of Mary: her face, the sound of her voice, her scent. Suddenly, the light level decreased to normal, and Bill opened his eyes with an involuntary gasp. He was lying on the bathroom floor, right in front of the door where he had fallen. As far as he could tell, he was unharmed, but something was wrong here and he was disoriented. It took him a second to realize that there was no sign of any damage that would result from a grenade exploding. Had one really gone off? He could still hear the music, coming from the bar area.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], you've lost 1 Sanity point. Roll Spot Hidden to see if you notice anything else about your surroundings.

Bill pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking around wildly. 'What the hell just happened?' he thought, 'Was that a grenade?!'

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2026859/]Spot Hidden Roll - Bill wakes up in the bathroom - so what else is new? (1d100=73)[/url] - Should have gone to Specsavers... :(

Bill couldn't see anything unusual about the bathroom, other than the fact that there was no evidence of a grenade having detonated in it. He couldn't account for what had happened or for his feeling of disorientation.

The music from the bar continued:
Ground Control to Major Tom
Your circuit's dead,
there's something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?

Bill grabbed ahold of one of the washhandbasins and pulled himself to his feet. As he stood up, his head swam and he closed his eyes as the room spun about him. He had to grit his teeth to stop himself being sick.

He stood with head bowed over the sink, waiting for the moment to pass. Eyes still closed, he fumbled the taps open and splashed water on his face. After a minute he opened his eyes and turned around to examine the cubicles. He could still see the flash of green and hear the metallic click as it had bounced off the tiles but there was no sign of any damage. He pushed open the cubicle door but there was just a grubby toilet inside.

Bill let the cubicle door swing closed and turned back to the sink. He splashed more water on his face and dried himself on a paper towel. He looked around the room again, shook his head and pushed open the door to the bar.

This time the door offered no resistance. Bill pushed it open, turn left, and walked back into the main area of the bar as the song playing on the radio behind the bar concluded:

Can you...

Here am I floating
round my tin can
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do.

The bar seemed different somehow to Bill, more like he remembered it. A cluster of young men and women with long hair sat in a booth in one corner. In another booth were two women eating dinner and holding hands. One of them was a lovely young redhead with a sad look in her eyes. The other was about forty years old, taller and with short black hair. A black man in his thirties stood behind the bar, polishing it with a dishrag. He looked uncannily like Lenny - his grandson, maybe? An aging biker with a gruesome scar where one of his eyes should be sat by himself. And in another corner booth, a handsome young man with long brown hair sat with another young man, about twenty years old. This second man was tall, with blond hair and a brown jacket, and he had an open backpack on the table. He looked oddly familiar.

"Maybe," said the older woman to the redhead. She peered at the man with long brown hair over the top of her sunglasses. "He sure is a looker."

The brown-haired man nodded and smiled at her and her friend, but he didn't appear to have heard what she said. He then turned his attention to the backpack. "Let's see Lucy," he said.

The blond man nodded and withdrew a small tinfoil packet from the backpack. He placed it on the table and unwrapped it to reveal several blotters.

"You're a man who knows what he wants," said the blond. "I like that."

"That's the real deal all right."

"And it can be yours at a very reasonable price. How much do you want?"

At that moment, two men in suits and ties barged in through the front door. "How about five to ten?" said the taller of the two, an imposing figure of a man in his mid-forties with receding black hair. He and the other man, a strong brown-haired man in his thirties with a mustache, whipped out leather wallets and flashed their badges. A uniformed policeman followed them inside and took up a post blocking the front door.

"Police!" said the mustachioed man.

His partner, the balding man, placed a firm hand on the blond guy's shoulder. "You," he said, poking a finger at his face, "are under arrest!"

"Don't you point your finger at me!" he growled. "I don't like that!"

Bill did a double take. The blond drug dealer's resemblance suddenly became clear. He looked like a much younger version of Brian Anderson!

Bill stared about the bar, unsure about what was going on. It looked like Lenny's did thirty years ago, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

He looked again at the blond man and the image of the grenade flashed through his mind. Whatever else was going on, he knew he had to say something. He pointed at Brian and said "Officer, that man has just tried to kill me."

"I love it when these things just drop in our laps, Lou," said the cop with the mustache.

The other cop grinned wide. "This day just keeps getting better and better, Charlie." he said.

The radio behind the bar started playing "Jailhouse Rock," sung by Elvis Presley:
The warden threw a party in the county jail.
The prison band was there and they began to wail.

Brian, if that's who he was, stared back at Bill in shock. "Who the hell are you?" he snarled. "I've never seen you before in my life!" Cogs seemed to turn inside his head. "You're the one that narced on me! This whole thing is a setup!" He looked back at the cops. "You'll never make this stick! I'll be out of jail so fast your heads will spin! Don't you know who my father is?"

"No, but I'll be sure to ask your mother the next time I'm doing her," said the tall cop.

The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing.
You should've heard those knocked out jailbirds sing.

"Why, you-" Brian took a swing at him, his fist on a collision course with the cop's nose. But he was ready for it and blocked the punch effortlessly. Then he seized him and pinned his arms behind his back, thwarting his feeble efforts to break free. Charlie took a swing at Brian, but his fist punched only air.

The music continued from the radio during the fight:
Let's rock, everybody let's rock.
Everybody in the whole cell block
was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock.

Despite everything, Bill wasn't the sort to let someone be beaten whilst he was being held. He stepped forward quickly, putting his hand on the policeman's arm. "Officer, you have this man under arrest. There's no need for any further problems, is there?"

The redheaded woman muttered something to her companion. "Just play it cool," she replied, nodding.

"That's entirely up to him, isn't it?" said the cop with the receding hairline. He held Brian tight, and the prisoner was unable to move. "Cuffs!"

"It's Sergeant, actually," said Charlie. "The guy just tried to kill you. I'd have thought you'd want to get in a few good licks yourself."

The uniformed cop at the door moved in and hancuffed Brian's hands behind his back while "Jailhouse Rock" kept playing on the radio. The young man glowered at all four of them, but was powerless to do anything.

"Brian Anderson, you're under arrest for attempted murder, possession and sale of illegal drugs, assaulting a police officer, resisting arrest, and generally being a complete dick. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you by the court."

"That was one smooth collar, Lou," said Charlie.

"Yeah, it's just too bad he didn't keep resisting. Let's take him in. Grab the goods, Charlie."

"Right, boss." Charlie wrapped the blotters back up in the foil and put the packet in the backpack, zipped it up, and slung it on his back. "Come on, pal," he said to the young man who had been sitting with Brian, hauling him to his feet.

The other cop turned to Bill and extended his hand. "Lieutenant John Yeager," he said. "This is Sergeant Charlie Rawlings." He indicated his partner to Bill. "We'll need you to come back to headquarters with us to make a statement."

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Listen to overhear what the redhead was muttering.

Bill had been able to hear the redheaded girl fairly well from where he stood. She had said "See the revolution will not come to pass as long as we have narcs spread in our ranks like pepper flakes in pure salt." He also was able to see his reflection in the large mirror behind the bar. He looked the same age as he had been before, though his clothes appeared different somehow. He wore a tweed jacket with leather patches over his suit, and the clothes were of a rather old-fashioned cut.

"The revolution?" muttered Bill to himself, "What sort of 60's communist crap is that?"

As he made his way towards the door, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He stopped and looked closer. "What the hell have I got on?" he said, looking down at the pullover and flared trousers he was wearing. Why would anyone take his clothes and leave him in this get-up? It didn't make sense.

Bill turned back to the two Policemen. "Lieutenant Yeager? I think you'd better add theft to the list of charges. Somehow, Brian here has stolen my suit and left me looking like a refugee from a 70's night."

"Think we can get a game of draw poker going in here?" the redhead asked her friend.

"Not as long as the fuzz is here," she answered.

"A what night?" said Yeager, confused.

"What the hell are you talking about, old man?" said Brian. "You're crazy! Or high..."

Rawlings made a fist and glared, and Brian stopped talking. "Boy, when it rains, it pours," he said. "By the time you get out of jail, you'll be an old man."

"Okay, let's get this show on the road and let these pinkos enjoy their drink-os," said Yeager. He nodded to Bill. "We'll sort this all out back at HQ. You can ride with us in the Mustang. Officer Stevens, give the scene a good going over and see if you can find this man's suit."

"Sure thing, sir," said the uniformed cop. He turned to Bill. "Can you please describe your suit, sir?"

"It's just a plain grey two-piece. I picked up from George at Walmart - you know that English designer they've got working for them?" replied Bill. "Good value at eighty dollars. It wasn't expensive but I'd like it back."

Not waiting for a reply, Bill headed out of the door after Lieutenant Yeager.

Lieutenant Yeager pulled Brian Anderson out through the front door, and Bill followed him outside. Sergeant Rawlings took the other young man by the arm and went out the door after them. A man in his mid-thirties wearing a suit and tie stood outside the bar's window. Like his own clothes and those of the police, it was of a cut that would have been more at home in 1970. He had apparently been watching events unfold.

"Walmart?" said Yeager. "Never heard of it, but it must be pretty hoity-toity. An English designer and everything, huh? Maybe eighty bucks isn't expensive for a rich guy like you, but I have to live on a cop's salary. I got mine at Fleet's for half that."

When Bill got outside, he could see that the street was lined with classic cars. Closest to the bar, there were a cobalt blue 1968 Volkswagen Beetle, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, and finally an orange 1967 Ford Mustang parked right outside. This must have been the car that Yeager had been talking about, and he started walking toward it.

"You can ride up front with the Lou," said Rawlings. "I'll sit in the back with these guys."

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Spot Hidden to see what else you notice.

OOC,Nah,can't see for looking! :( [url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2037435/]Spot Hidden roll outside the bar. (1d100=87)[/url]

"Walmart's huge," replied Bill uncertainly, they've got places everywhere. There's one just down the block from here..." He looked down the street, a puzzled look on his face.

He waited until Sergeant Rawlings unlocked the car then climbed into the passenger seat. "Nice car, Sergeant," he said, "these are becoming real classics. Did you restore it yourself?"

"How did you know about the accident?" asked Rawlings, opening the back door of the Mustang and ushering the brown-haired young man inside.

"That wasn't my fault," said Yeager. "That other car made an illegal left turn. The driver was drunk too." He unlocked the passenger door for Bill, who climbed into the shotgun seat.

"You'd had a few yourself, boss." Rawlings took Brian by the scruff of the neck and pushed him into the rear of the car after the other man, bumping his head against the ceiling. "Watch your head," he smirked as Brian scowled at him.

"I had two drinks." Yeager closed the door and went around to the driver's side, unlocking the door and getting in. "And I damn well know how to drive, unlike that idiot who clipped my baby."

Rawlings got into the back seat last of all, closing the door behind him. "It's the Lou's car, anyway, not mine. He won't let anyone else drive it."

"And don't you forget it!" Yeager emphasized this by slamming his door. He put the key in the ignition and turned it, and the engine roared into life. He grinned at Bill. "No, I didn't fix it myself. I know a guy who takes real good care of it. You can't even see the dents or scratches any more. You're right, it is a real sweet ride." With that, he pulled out of his parking spot and headed east down South Street with a screech of tires.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Spot Hidden again. Hey, you never know...

"Umm, accident?" replied Bill uncertainly, "What I meant was that these things are 40 years old, so to find one in such good condition is pretty remarkable."

OOC,Got it this time - [url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2043362/]Spot Hidden Roll - Let's give it another go... (1d100=2)[/url]

"What are you talking about?" said Yeager as he steered aggressively through traffic. "They only started making Mustangs five years ago, and this particular one is just a couple years old. If you mean Fords in general, they've been making 'em a lot more than 40 years, and this sure as hell ain't your daddy's Model T." He pressed down the accelerator as he said this, and the powerful V-8 engine roared louder.

Glancing back, Bill noticed that the man in the suit and tie he had seen standing outside the bar was watching the Mustang drive off intently. He then hailed a taxicab, one in the style of the 1960's that had been traveling east on South Street a short distance behind them, which stopped and picked him up before continuing in the same direction. He could see many odd things while looking out the windows. Everyone's clothing and hairstyles was far more appropriate to the late 1960's or early 1970's than to the modern day, and all of the cars on the street were as well. And when the Mustang reached Broad Street and made a sharp left turn as the traffic light was turning yellow, he got a good look at the Center City landscape to the north. City Hall stood tall and proud as always, with the statue of William Penn atop it - but nothing stood higher. Where was Liberty Place? Where was the Comcast Center?

His thoughts were distracted when he saw the taxicab follow the Mustang around the corner onto Broad, even though the light was turning red. Yeager noticed it too. "That yellow cab's been tailing us ever since we left Lenny's Bar," he said. "Hang on, I'm gonna lose the bastard!" As Pine Street loomed ahead, he made a sudden high speed right turn from the left lane, but a brown pickup truck on his right was in his way, and he was unable to make the turn. The Mustang continued straight through the intersection. "Dammit!" He flipped the bird to the pickup's driver.

Behind the Mustang, the taxi continued its pursuit, only swerving to the right after it was too late. The driver had been faked out by the maneuver, and it would have worked had Yeager been able to make it onto Pine Street.

Before he could reply, Bill had been thrust back into the seat by the car's sudden acceleration. Hanging on grimly while the car pitched about, his mind whirled with the possibilities of what was happening to him. It couldn't just be some sort of parade - everyone was dressed like they were from the 70's - and he'd have heard about it from the students.

Something was very wrong but he wasn't going to leap to conclusions so he hung on and kept quiet.

Rawlings glanced through the rear windshield as he was thrown back into his seat by the lurch. "He's still on us, boss," he said. "I like a good car chase as much as the next guy, but this is just wrong. We should be the ones doing the chasing!"

Yeager grunted. "Let's see him beat this!" he said. Upon reaching Spruce Street, he jerked the wheel hard to the left while braking, attempting a U-Turn. Unfortunately, the Mustang went into a skid and across the flat central divider, nearly crashing into the taxicab. Only the cabbie's expert driving averted a collision, and then it tried the same move. It successfully performed the U-Turn and was now following the car southbound on Broad Street. The cab was on the right side of the road, but the Mustang was now heading down the left side of the road into oncoming traffic.

The young man in the back seat with long brown hair laughed. "That was wild!" he said. Beside him, Brian sat petrified.

"DId you mean to do that, Lou?" asked Rawlings.

"Course I did," said Yeager, completely unflappable.

"Err, Lieutenant," said Bill, trying to keep his voice level, "On the whole, I'd like to get there in one piece."

"Keep your shirt on," said Yeager, utterly calm. "I know what I'm doing." He easily jumped the central divider and the trolley tracks that ran over it. When he reached Pine Street again, he turned hard to the left, darting between the cars going the other way and rounding the corner. The taxicab behind him was unable to make the turn, as there was too much traffic, and then the light turned red and it was forced to stop at the intersection.

Rawlings guffawed. "Nice one, Lou," he said. He clapped Brian on the shoulder hard, but the young man was sitting stock still next to him, staring straight ahead. A wet stain had formed in his pants. "Oh, for crying out loud!" He shuffled to the edge of the car.

Yeager looked back and glared at Brian. "You better not get anything on the upholstery, or there'll be hell to pay!" He faced front again and turned left on 13th Street, driving past Spruce and then turning right on Locust. "Well, we lost 'em. We'll be at the Roundhouse soon enough."

"You don't seem too concerned that the cab was following us, Lieutenant," said Bill absentmindedly as he glanced out of the window. The more he saw, the more concerned he was becoming.

"That's the Lou, all right," said Rawlings. "Never flinched once, not in all the years I've known him."

"Of course I'm concerned," said Yeager as he drove eastward, "but I got a good look at the guy who hailed the cab. Man in his mid-thirties, suit, tie." He glanced back at Brian again. "Friend of yours? Or maybe of your big shot father?"

"N-n-no," stuttered Brian, still in shock.

"Why don't I believe you?" said Yeager, watching the road once more. "So who is this father of yours anyway? Whoever he is, he did a piss-poor job of raising you. Maybe he'll have some answers."

"I'm not saying another word. I want a lawyer."

"That's nice. I want Raquel Welch." He turned to Bill. "If the guy who was tailing us isn't a minder sent by his daddy, he's probably a federal agent trying to muscle in on our investigation. That's all we need." He turned left on 7th Street, heading north.

"Will we be much longer getting to the station?" asked Bill, "My wife will be wondering where I am." He glanced out of the window as he spoke, reminding himself that he didn't appear to be in 2009 any more. "If I've still got a wife, that is..." he murmured.

"Hang on, we're almost there," said Yeager. "If you want to get there faster, you're in the right car." He grinned as he pressed down the accelerator further, and everyone was pressed back into the seats as the Mustang roared northward. "I know what you mean about your wife. Mine thinks I'm married to the job sometimes."

"Women!" said Rawlings. "You'll never catch me getting hitched to some chick, that's for sure. Better dead than wed, that's what I say."

Before long the Mustang sped past Market Street, and then Arch. Finally Race Street was visible ahead, and Bill got his first sight of Police Headquarters.


Police Headquarters, Franklin Square - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
7:30 PM

The Mustang screeched to a halt in the parking lot oustide the Roundhouse, and Bill could see where it got its name. The walls were all curved, with round towers on the east and west sides connected to a central oval. Yeager pulled into a spot and shut down the mighty engine, pocketing the keys and getting out while Bill emerged from the passenger side. Rawlings opened the back door and hauled Brian Anderson out, making sure nothing dripped onto the seat. The other young man got out on the other side and went around to the front of the car, walking alongside Rawlings.

The group of five walked through the main entrance into a vestibule area with glass doors on the west and east sides. A window was in the north wall near the west door, and behind it sat a uniformed sergeant. Yeager flashed his badge and nodded to the man. "Got another guest, Sergeant," he said. "Afraid he's not housebroken."

The sergeant frowned when he saw Brian's stained pants and pressed a button. A buzzing sound followed, and Yeager opened the west door before it stopped. The others followed him inside.

The lobby of police headquarters was huge, with brown wood paneling. To the right was the security desk, behind which the sergeant who had buzzed them in and a couple of police officers sat. On the left was a memorial with many photos of officers who had fallen in the line of duty. Most of them were black and white, but the later ones were in color. Straight ahead and at the back were a pair of elevators with rounded walls, one on either side. Yeager led the way there, pressing the up and down call buttons with two fingers. Between the elevators was a window that looked out on Race Street, and in front of it was a large board with a portrait of a man who was familiar to Bill, though far younger than he remembered him. He wore a finely tailored dress uniform with four stars on each shoulder, and a nameplate at the bottom said "Commissioner Frank Rizzo."

One of the officers behind the desk came over, and Rawlings handed Brian off to him.

"Get him processed and clean him up," said Yeager. "Once he's presentable, I'll want to question him."

"Yes, sir," said the cop. The west elevator dinged and the door slid open, an indicator above it showing that it was heading down. The officer took Brian inside and pressed a button, and the doors slid shut. That elevator descended to the basement.

The young man with long brown hair reached up and removed it, showing short black hair underneath. "About time I got to take that off," he said. "Damn thing itches like crazy."

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll History to see what you know about Frank Rizzo. Even if you fail, you'll still know something.

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2059604/]Rizzo...? That sounds familiar... (1d100=61)[/url]

Bill looked around him at the decor. "Tasteful," he said, "Have you had it done this way for a while?" He shook his head and looked at the younger man, "Long hair really suited you. Didn't you have time to grow your own?"

OOC,It's actually the previously unidentified young man who had been wearing the wig, not [b]Rawlings[/b].

Anyone who had lived in Philadelphia as long as Bill had couldn't help knowing about Frank Rizzo, and as a student and teacher of modern history, as well as someone who had lived through much of it, he knew more than most. Rizzo had joined the Police Department back in the 1940s and risen through the ranks all the way up to Commissioner, in which capacity he served from 1967 to 1971. If Bill really was in the past, that narrowed down the timeframe. In 1971 Rizzo resigned to run for mayor, winning a four-way race in the Democratic primary and then the general election to replace Mayor James Tate, who was finishing his second term and was ineligible to run again. He served as mayor from 1972 to 1980. He had tried to get the law changed to run for a third consecutive term in 1979, but overwhelming opposition prevented his plan. William Green, one of his primary opponents in 1971, replaced him. He did run again in 1983, as a loophole in the law allowed a third term if it was non-consecutive, but he lost to Wilson Goode. In the mid-1980s he switched parties and became a Republican, and he continued his attempts to run for mayor in 1987 and 1991. He died of a heart attack in 1991, just after he had won the Republican primary. In fact, today was the anniversary of his death, or at least it had been before Bill's strange journey had begun.

Frank Rizzo was known for his tough policing methods, and for raids on the Black Panther Party in 1970 during which the arrestees were strip searched in front of news cameras. While he had not ordered the raids personally, he did support the officers who carried them out - he often stood up for the officers under his command. He also recalled from his time with radical groups that they feared and reviled Rizzo. Sometimes they would scrawl grafitti of his name with swastikas replacing the Zs. Rizzo's personality and style of policing did remind Bill of John Yeager in some ways, so what he said next was not very surprising.

"Thanks," said Yeager gruffly. "Yup, the lobby has been decorated like this for a long time." He noticed Bill's interest in the portrait of Frank Rizzo. "God bless Commissioner Rizzo. Man after my own heart." He then looked at the young man who had just taken off his wig. "No, Harry here didn't have time to grow his own. This undercover operation was time sensitive, and he needed to look like a drugged out, slightly effeminate freak in a hurry."

"Slightly effeminate?" asked Rawlings with a chuckle.

"Oh, lay off, Charlie," said Harry. "I needed to look the part, like the Lou said. " He nodded to Bill. "And he's right, you know. Chicks dig long hair, yeah?"

"I guess some introductions are in order," said Yeager. "This is Detective Harry Sawyer. He's a bit young, but I'll make a real cop out of him yet."

"Hello." Harry extended his hand.

Yeager tapped his foot. "I swear it seems like these elevators are slower than you, Harry." Finally the west elevator arrived with a ding, the upward-pointing arrow above the door indicating its direction. The doors slid open and the same officer who had escorted Brian downstairs was inside, alone. He emerged and returned to the security desk. "Finally!" said Yeager. "Right, let's head up."

"Ladies first," said Rawlings to Harry Sawyer, standing aside and gesturing dramatically with his arm.

OOC,Amended my cock up - should have checked really! ;)

"Hi Harry," said Bill, shaking the young man's hand. He looked at Rizzo's photograph on the wall, "I remember the flak he caught for some of those stunts he pulled with the Panthers, who'd have thought he'd run for... ..." Bill paused - he really had no idea what day, what year it was. "Umm... has anyone got today's newspaper?" he asked.

"When did we move on the Panthers, and why the hell wasn't I invited to the party?" asked Yeager.

"Somebody ought to tear them a new one, that's for sure," said Rawlings.

Yeager nodded. "It's only a matter of time before they ignite a powder keg. Better to stomp out that fuse and nip it in the bud before it blows up in everyone's face." He turned to Bill. "I'm sure there's a copy of today's Inquirer upstairs. Let's go."

The four men got into the elevator, and Yeager pressed the 1 button. The doors closed, and the elevator slowly rose a short distance before it stopped. The doors opened and let them out into a hallway. A row of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Race Street on the north side of a hallway that stretched the length of the building. Yeager led the way to the right and around the curve of the eastern elevator shaft. A small hall curved back that way with the door to a bathroom at the end of it. On the left was a straight hall going deeper inside. Bill followed them down the hall until they reached a door labeled "Detective Headquarters." Inside were several desks, most of which were occupied, as well as some doors leading off to smaller rooms. A pretty woman with black curly hair who was seated at the desk nearest the entrance stood up. She wore a knee-length navy blue skirt and a lighter blue uniform blouse, and a police cap was on her head. "Welcome back, sir," she said to Yeager.

"This is Officer Amy Cooper," Yeager told Bill. He nodded to the policewoman. "We had a good day today. Caught a scumbag red-handed and had an exciting ride back here. This fellow's a witness I'll be interviewing soon. Make him comfortable, get him some coffee...oh, and a copy of today's paper. I'll be in my office."

"Right away, sir," she said. She smiled at Bill. "This way, sir." She led him to an empty desk, with only a old-fashioned rotary telephone and a typewriter on its clean surface. A wooden chair was behind it. "We're expecting a new man to be transferred in soon, but he hasn't arrived yet, so you can use his desk. How do you like your coffee?"

Yeager walked into one of the smaller offices and closed the door behind him. The nameplate on it read "Lieutenant John Yeager." Meanwhile, Charlie Rawlings and Harry Sawyer went over to a pair of desks that were back to back. Rawlings took off the backpack he had confiscated from Brian Anderson and placed it on the desktop. Then the two men sat facing each other. "Let's see what he had," said Rawlings, unzipping the pack.

Bill glanced around the room but there was no sign of the ubiquitous Starbucks cups that littered his own office. "Can I have a coffee, milk no sugar?" he said to Officer Cooper. As the young officer left to fetch his drink he looked around, trying to spot a calendar or a desk diary which would tell him the date.

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2063154/]Looking around the office for a calendar or desk diary. (1d100=77)[/url] Applying a blinfold and putting on his crash helmet back to front, Bill set off to search the office... :(

"Sure thing, sir," said Amy Cooper with a smile. She went over to the coffee machine to pour Bill a cup. While she was busy, he looked around. The desk he sat at was bare, and while he was sure that the other desks had calendars, he couldn't read them from where he sat. While he waited, he heard a distant-sounding beeping at regular intervals, about once per second, but he couldn't tell where the sound originated. After about five seconds, it stopped. He was about to get up to get a closer look at a desk calendar when the policewoman returned, a steaming ceramic mug of coffee in one hand and a folded up newspaper in the other. "Here you go, sir. If you need anything else, just let me know." She put both down on his desk and returned to her own.

Harry Sawyer removed a tinfoil packet from the backpack and placed it on the desk. "Here's the LSD he tried to sell me," he said.

Charlie Rawlings rummaged through the pack as well, pulling out several clear plastic baggies containing marijuana. "There must be a few pounds of this in here," he said. "It's not all for his personal use, that's for sure."

The top of the front page of the newspaper was visible. It was the Philadelphia Inquirer, and the date at the top said July 16, 1969. Forty years ago, to the day. The banner headline at the top was about the morning's launch of Apollo 11, the first manned moon mission. He remembered that it would land in four days, on July 20. His memory was fuzzy due to all the bizarre things going on, but he recalled that it was around this time when he first met Mary. The words of the song that he had heard earlier came back to him:

Tell my wife I love her very much
She knows

What was happening here? Had he truly gone back in time? Bill felt more lost and bewildered than ever, but at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that he belonged here, now. How was any of this possible? Could this be real? What was real?

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Sanity. Sanity loss is 0/1d4. Also roll Listen to try to identify the source of the beeping noise.

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2069240/]Here's Bill on the old Sane-o-meter! Let's see how he measures up... (1d10=1)[/url] - Cool as a cucumber! 8-) [url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2069244/]So where's that infernal beeping noise coming from? (1d100=86)[/url] - Damn! Sane, but profoundly deaf... :(

Bill looked at the headline, struggling to take it in. He looked around the office and everything looked real. It wasn't a practical joke - changing a room was one thing, but a whole city?

He tried to think it through rationally. Last thing he could remember was being in the gents when Brian turned up. He'd been threatened with a gun, then Brian had said something about Mary knowing what was going on. Brian had left, dropping the grenade - he was sure of that now - as he went. There was the explosion, then... ... ... Bill looked around again, it certainly looked like 1969.

The beeping noise that was in the background seemed to be getting more insistent. Bill looked around the office but couldn't see the digital clock that he assumed was making the noise. "Sergeant Rawlings," he said, "Can you do something about that clock? It's driving me nuts."

OOC,You accidentally rolled 1d10 instead of 1d100. Since your roll times ten is still less than or equal to your Sanity, I'll count that as a pass. Also, the beeping sound did stop after about five seconds.

"What, that clock?" asked Charlie Rawlings, looking up at the good old analog clock high on the wall near the door. "What's wrong with it?" He checked his wristwatch. "The time looks right. 7:40."

"It is a little crooked," said Harry. "Maybe he's - what's it called? Obsequious? No, that's not it. Obsolete?"

"Obsessive-compulsive?" said Amy Cooper.

"Yeah, that's it!" He returned to pawing through the pack's contents. "Let's see what else is in here."

Charlie pulled another plastic bag out of the backpack, this one containing mushrooms. "Shrooms, too," he said. "This guy's a walking drug store!"

Harry took a thermos out of the pack and set it down on his desk. "Now this looks like it doesn't belong."

"Probably just booze."

Harry unscrewed the top and looked inside. "It's chocolate milk. I love chocolate milk!"

The phone on Bill's desk began to ring.

OOC,Oops, my bad! :oops:

"No, it wasn't that," frowned Bill, irritated that they were talking about him as if he wasn't there, "There was a beeping noise. Didn't you hear it?"

OOC,Don't worry about it.

Harry shrugged. "Sorry, didn't hear a thing," he said. "Never known a clock to beep anyway."

"You must have better ears than I do," said Amy. "I didn't hear it either."

"Could've been a truck backing up out on Race Street, maybe," said Charlie.

Harry returned his attention to the thermos. Picking it up in both hands, he began to drink its contents.

The phone on the desk where Bill sat continued to ring. Nobody else seemed to be paying any attention to it.

Bill looked at the three officers. He'd clearly heard the sound of a digital clock. That said, they didn't seem to be able to hear the phone ringing either. Bill started to get the strange feeling that the phone was ringing for him. Glancing up to make sure no one was watching him, he picked up the phone receiver and tentatively said, "Hello?"

"Bill, can you hear me?" said an unfamiliar woman's voice on the other end of the line. "We need you to be strong for us. We're trying to bring you back, but you have to keep fighting."

Harry continued to drain the thermos until it was empty. He set it down on the desk and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That was good stuff," he said, stifling a yawn.

"Back? Back where?" blurted Bill, his voice starting to rise. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

The woman on the phone gave no sign of having heard Bill. "I think we're losing him!" she said, apparently to someone else. The lights overhead dimmed. "Get me 20 cc's of epi, stat! Bill, you hang in there! Don't you die on us!"

Harry yawned again, louder this time. Slumping forward, he folded his arms on his desk and rested his head on them.

Charlie turned when he heard Bill's voice rise. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.

Bill started to panic. "I'm not dying!" he yelled into the phone, "I'M NOT DYING!" He looked up as the lights dimmed and saw Charlie staring at him. Hands trembling he slowly replaced the receiver on the cradle. "I need some fresh air," he said, wiping his hand across this forehead as he stood up and headed for the door.

Amy Cooper stood up and took Bill's arm. "I'll go with him," she told Charlie. She walked Bill out into the hall, concern evident on her face. "Are you all right, sir?" she asked, guiding him back to the central hall outside the elevators. Nobody else was around right now. He felt weak, his breathing was shallow, and his limbs were heavy. The lights in the hall were just as dim as those in the office. "I don't know what you've been through, but I gather that you recently witnessed a crime, and that kind of experience can be very traumatic. Would you like to talk about it?"

A moment later, the lights returned to full intensity. Bill felt normal once again. What in the world was happening to him?

Bill glanced around, a haunted look on his face. "Did you see that?" he said to Officer Cooper, "Did you see the lights?"

"Yes, they went dim for a few seconds," said Amy. "They do that sometimes. Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor? It looked like you were have palpitations or something back there. Do you have any heart trouble?"

"No, well not that I know of," replied Bill. "I think I'll be ok, if I sit down for a few moments." He looked down the corridor to see a bench against the wall. He lowered himself gently ontothe bench and sighed heavily. "What do you think will happen to the guy who attacked me?" he asked Officer Cooper.

Amy Cooper smiled and sat beside him. "I don't know the specifics of the case," she said, "but I think he's going to go to jail for a long, long time. The drugs he was caught with alone will add years to his sentence. Lieutenant Yeager made a good, solid bust by the sound of it. You can always depend on him. If that guy ever gets out, he'll be older than you are now. I don't think you have a thing to worry about."

"Older than me..." muttered Bill, thinking of the older version of Brian who had attacked him, "Perhaps that's what he was talking about?"

He thought about it but realised that there must be more to it than that. Brian had said Mary knew about it. Perhaps he needed to speak to her and tried to think where he'd first met her.

OOC,Does Bill remember where he met Mary or is it lost to the mists of time?

Bill recalled vaguely how he met Mary. They had both taken part in a psychological experiment about sleep and dreams over a weekend in July 1969 at the University of Pennsylvania, where they were both students. The exact dates eluded him, at least for now. Her maiden name was Walters, which was the name she would be going by now - she wouldn't marry him for a few years yet.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Idea to see what other details you can remember.

Bill thought back some more, and finally he remembered that the experiment began on the evening of July 18. How many times had Mary chided him for not remembering the anniversary of the day they met? She had drummed it into him in the end, for he recalled it now. Since the newspaper had said that today was Wednesday, July 16, that meant that the experiment would begin two nights from now. It had lasted three nights, and all of the students who had taken part had slept in the lab overnight while hooked up to electronic equipment to monitor their brainwaves while they were asleep. After they woke up, they were immediately interviewed as to the contents of their dreams. The moon landing had been on July 20, this coming Sunday, and they had watched Neil Armstrong step out of the Apollo 11 capsule and walk on the moon on TV the final night of the experiment. Another detail came back to him now. The professor in charge of the experiment was a Dr. Gregory Anderson. He had the same last name as Brian Anderson. Now that Bill thought about it, he did resemble Brian somewhat.

Bill knew he had to meet up with Mary somehow and wondered how to get in touch with her. If he was due to meet her at the experiment then that's where he needed to be. If he'd been in his office, it would have been a simple matter of looking up a map or some contact details for the university online, but here? He looked at Officer Cooper thoughtfully. "Do you have a phone directory?" he asked.

"Of course," said Amy. "We've got some back in the office." She helped Bill to his feet and led him back inside. Harry was still leaning over the desk, his face buried in his arms. Every so often he snored. Charlie was seated opposite him, leaning back in his chair and reading a magazine. Amy picked up a copy of the Yellow Pages from Harry's desk and took it over to the empty desk where Bill had been sitting earlier, placing it down on the surface. "Here you go. You need to dial 9 first for an outside line."

The door to the lieutenant's office opened, and John Yeager emerged and began to make his way over. Charlie suddenly sat up straight. He rolled up his magazine and flung it across the desks at Harry. It bounced off the young detective, but he didn't even seem to notice. "Wake up!" he hissed. "The Lou's coming back!" There was no response other than another snore.

"Having fun playing with the evidence, Charlie?" said Yeager as he arrived. "Harry, get your ass back up! If you want to sleep on the job, join the Fire Department." Again, Harry just snored in reply.

Trying to ignore the noise made by the others in the office, Bill flicked through the Yellow Pages, looking for the listing for the university. He quickly found it and noted down the number, not wanting to call from the busy office - not even sure what he would say. He decided to collect his thoughts before he called. "Officer Cooper," he asked, "Do you have a pen and paper?"

OOC,I presume that Yellow Pages is the same as in the UK i.e. business listings only?

OOC,Yes, it is. The White Pages contain everyone's phone numbers (except unlisted ones), and you can ask for a copy of that if you like.

"Sure," said Amy. She fetched a notepad and a pen while Bill flipped through the book. There were several phone numbers for the University of Pennsylvania, but the Registrar's Office was probably the one he'd be interested in. She placed the pen and paper on the desk.

Yeager shook Harry's shoulders vigorously, but there was no response. "What's wrong with him?" asked Charlie.

"I ask myself that same question every damn day," said Yeager. He shook harder. "Hey! Get up!" Harry still didn't move.

"Is he ok?" asked Bill, beginning to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with Harry. He tried to remember a long-ago first aid course he'd taken at the university but the details were vague. "Have you checked his pupils?" he asked.

"Good thinking!" said Amy, rushing over to Harry's side. She gently tilted his head back, cradling it in her arm, and lifted his eyelids with her fingers. Harry's eyes were darting quickly from side to side, not apparently focused on anything in the room.

"Why's he all cockeyed?" asked Charlie.

"REM," she said, nodding. She checked his pulse.

"You mean that band from Illinois he likes? REM Speedwagon?"

"That's REO Speedwagon. REM stands for Rapid Eye Movement."

"I can see where it gets the name," said John Yeager. "He's like a cat watching a goddamn tennis match. Why?"

"It just means he's dreaming," said Amy. "Everybody's eyes do that when they dream. Although he just fell asleep a few minutes ago, so he shouldn't have entered REM sleep so fast. Other than that he seems okay, but I have no idea why this happening."

"So how do we wake him up?" asked Charlie.

"Bucket of ice water over the head should do the trick," said Yeager. "How'd he get this way to begin with? He hasn't been sampling the wares, has he?"

"No, of course not! All he had was that chocolate milk from that thermos."

"You might wanna check him out before you wake him," said Bill, "And you should start with that", pointing at the flask.

OOC,Can Bill try his own First Aid check?

"Call for a doctor," said John Yeager to Charlie, who picked up his phone and started dialing. Yeager sniffed the thermos. "And how do you know it was chocolate milk?"

"Well, it looked like chocolate milk, Lou," he answered.

"I see. So if I took some crap and baked it to look like a pie, would you eat it?"

"No, but he might." Charlie put the receiver to his mouth. "Yes, we need a doctor down at Police HQ. Detective Headquarters, first floor."

Yeager just shook his head. "What were you thinking, Harry? That thermos was in a backpack full of drugs! There could've been anything in it! Probably have to pump your stomach now."

"We've got a man unconscious. He may need a stomach pump. Drank something he shouldn't have." Charlie covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "He can't hear you, boss."

"Actually, maybe he can," said Amy. "They say that sometimes when you're unconscious you can still hear what's going on around you. There have been patients in hospitals who reported it. Even people in comas who have awakened have said that they heard sounds in the background: beeping machines, ringing telephones, doctors and nurses talking, that sort of thing."

Bill started at Officer Cooper's comment. "Yeah, that's what I heard," he said. He paused, "Well, I mean, I heard that's what people have said." 'This is getting more and more bizarre,' he thought to himself, 'It's like my subconscious is trying to tell me what's going on.'

"I need to make a call," Bill said, "Is there a phone somewhere private I can use?"

"Sure, you can use the one in my office," said John Yeager. He peered into the thermos. "He drank the whole thing. Maybe there's a few drops left, but I doubt it's enough for forensics to get anything useful from. If we want to know what this stuff was, we'll have to find out by squeezing Brian."

"Hang in there, Harry," said Amy Cooper, squeezing his hand. "The doctor's coming. You're going to be all right."

"Okay, thanks," said Charlie Rawlings into the phone's mouthpiece. He hung up. "The doc should arrive in a few minutes." He began packing the drugs back into the backpack.

Yeager led Bill to his office and opened the door for him. Inside was a desk with neatly stacked papers, a blotter, an ashtray, a rotary phone, and various office supplies on top of it. A comfortable-looking leather chair was behind it, and another chair, this one wooden, was in front of the desk. There was a set of shelves lined with books as well as a few bowling trophies. Hanging on one wall was a 1969 calendar open to July, graced by a beautiful bikini-clad young blonde above the actual rows of days, the first 15 of which had been crossed out with a diagonal red line. A movie poster for Coogan's Bluff was on the wall next to the calendar.



"All yours," said Yeager, walking away.

Bill waited until Yeagar had left the office and closed the door. He took a close look at the calendar - it certainly looked like it was genuine so he could only presume he was back in 1969. He glanced at the poster and shook his head. He remembered seeing the film in some fleapit moviehouse downtown when it first came out.

Sitting behind the desk, he pulled out the piece of paper which he'd written the phone numbers on. Picking up the phone, Bill dialled the number for the university and asked to be put through to the secretary for Dr. Gregory Anderson.

OOC,Though Coogan's Bluff came out in October 1968, it's 1969 now. The poster is several months old.

Bill dialed the university's number, and the phone began to ring...and ring...and ring. Nobody was answering.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Idea.

Bill's disorientation over the era in which he seemed to find himself had also made him forget the time of day. It was nearly 8:00 PM, and the University's offices would all be closed. They would reopen tomorrow morning, probably around 8:00 AM.

Bill glanced at the clock mentally kicked himself. Working until 9.00pm or later was commonplace to him, but he guessed that the things were - are - different in the 1960's. He replaced the handset in the cradle and sighed.

Wondering what he was going to do next, it occurred to Bill that he didn't know where he lived - had he just been swapped for his past self - or if he had anywhere else to go. And what about money? If he didn't have any current currency, he'd better find a park bench. He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and tentatively opened it, unsure as to what he might find.

OOC,Individual professors would probably be working in their own offices late, but [b]Bill[/b] doesn't have their numbers. Departmental offices and the main registrar's office would close around 5:00 PM. It's also summertime, so office hours would be even more limited than during the spring or fall semesters.

Bill found not one but two wallets out of his pocket, in addition to a ring of keys. The first wallet was made of brown leather, somewhat different from the one he had had before all of this started. Inside of it was about $100.00 in cash, mostly notes but also some change. They were almost all dated in the 1950s and 60s, and none were dated later than 1969. The wallet did not have any credit cards or ATM cards, but it did have a Pennsylvania driver's license. There was a small photo of his face in black and white in the corner, looking his current age or perhaps a couple of years younger. The card's expiration date was March 1971, and his date of birth was listed as March 4, 1911. The name on it was William Johns, and it listed his address as an apartment near Rittenhouse Square, a little over a mile to the southwest. It wasn't all that far from Lenny's Bar, in fact. There was also a Social Security card in the same name, as well as a voter registration card and a Selective Service registration card - not that he was in any danger of being drafted at his age.

The second wallet was black and thin. When he unfolded it, he was astonished to see that it contained police identification. On the right side was a gold badge with the number 716, and on the left was a card identifying him as Sergeant Bill Johns of the Philadelphia Police Department.

Bill examined the shield carefully, not sure if it was for real or not. 'A cop?' he thought to himself, 'Why the hell would I be a cop?'

None of this was making any sense to him. If he got back to more familiar surroundings, he might start to make sense of it all. He quickly checked the papers on the desk surface then the desk drawers, looking for an internal phone directory that might give him some clue as to where he was based.

The shield certainly looked authentic, though to Bill it looked old-fashioned, just like everything else in this strange place. The desk drawers were all locked, but there was plenty of paperwork stacked on the desk and in Yeager's In and Out boxes. He started to look through it.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Spot Hidden.

Bill spent a few minutes going through the paperwork on the desk. There did not seem to be any organizational method to any of it, and all of it looked like the boring minutiae of police paper work to him. There were memos, incident reports, and arrest reports, but nothing that had anything to do with Brian Anderson and nothing resembling a phone directory that he could see.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b], roll Listen.

As he leafed through the stacks of papers, Bill could hear footsteps and voices in the main room.

"Good evening," said an older male voice. "I'm Dr. Howarth. Is this the fellow?"

"Yes, this is Detective Harry Sawyer," said Amy Cooper. "He drank an unknown liquid that he thought was chocolate milk. It was in this thermos."

"Knocked him out cold," said Charlie Rawlings.

"If it wasn't chocolate milk, do you have any idea what it could be?" asked the doctor.

"Well, it was found in a backpack full of drugs," said John Yeager. "Maybe this is a huge speculative leap, but it just might have contained a drug. We've got a man in custody we took it off, so I'm betting he'll know."

"Hmm." Howarth paused. "Can you hear me? I need you to listen carefully. We're trying to wake you up, but it may take some time and we need you to help us. You've got to be strong." There was another pause. "We'd better get him down to Jefferson Hospital and pump his stomach right away. If you can find out what this substance was, that might help with finding a way to counteract it."

"I can sweat it out of that scum, Lou," said Charlie.

"Okay, you do that, Charlie," said John. "I'm going with Harry. Just let me get my coat."

"I'm coming too," said Amy.

Bill heard Yeager's footsteps approaching the door, and he quickly replaced all of the paperwork where he found it. Yeager rapped his knuckles on the door and opened it a second later. "You done with the phone?" he asked, breezing inside. "We're off to the hospital with Harry." He whisked his coat off of a wooden coatrack in a corner of the office and swept it over his shoulders. "If you want to come with, we can talk more."

OOC,[b]Sergeant Charlie Rawlings[/b] is moving to the thread linked below. Please stop reading the current thread at this point, and do not read the posts above the one that the link points to in the new thread. Everyone else remains in the current thread.

Law

"Umm, yeah," said Bill, "I'll come with you."

"Good, let's go," said Yeager, already leading the way back out the door. When Bill followed him into the main office, he saw a white-haired man in his sixties wearing a white coat examining Harry. Amy was standing with him, looking concerned. Charlie had already left the room, and the other detectives were seated at their desks watching with interest. "I'll give you a hand, doc." With Dr. Howarth's assistance, he was easily able to carry the sleeping detective. Amy and Bill went along behind them.

"Keep him horizontal," said the doctor. "I'm sure the substance has already entered his bloodstream by this point, but there's no sense in making it easier for more of it to pass into his intestines. We'd better wait until we get him to the hospital before we can pump his stomach. Since he's unconscious, he'll need to be intubated."

The group retraced its way back into the hall by the elevators. Amy pressed the down button, and before too long one of the elevators arrived and they all got in. They returned to the lobby on ground level and left the building, entering the parking lot. An ambulance was parked out front, near the entrance, and the driver was sitting behind the wheel with the engine running. Amy opened up the back door, and the two men carried Harry inside and laid him down on a narrow gurney. Bill and Amy climbed in after them and closed the door. The ambulance pulled out, turning left onto 8th Street as the siren started wailing.

John Yeager turned to Bill. "Anything you can tell me about Brian Anderson might help us crack him," he said. "Why don't you start by telling me how you know him and what happened when he tried to kill you."

"To be honest, I don't know that I do know him," replied Bill. "I went to the john, minding my own business and he came in. He was shooting his mouth off about me... ... y'know, I still don't know what his beef was... ... but he threatened me with a gun then left. I made to leave and it felt like there was an explosion and the next thing I know... ... you're coming into the bar and arresting him." Bill shook his head. He couldn't tell the full story, he'd be locked up. If he told Yeager he was from 2009 and that Brian had been talking about events that happened 30 years ago before the grenade went off and he woke up back in time... ....

Bill put his head in his hands. Brian had said that Mary knew all about it - perhaps he needed to speak to her and find out what she knew about him.

John looks up at Bill "So do you remember what he was ranting to you about at all? Any little scrap of info could help nail him"

John glances over to Harry inert body with a sour look on his face"As for you Harry Sawyer, when you wake up from your little holiday we're going to have a nice chat about drinking from a thermos you just pulled out of a pushers KIT!"

OOC,I hope this is ok

"He said something about everything going wrong," replied Bill, "And that it was all my fault. But I never met the guy in my life before then so I don't know what he's talking about."

OOC,Hi Sean! :)

"Ok, lets get dopey," John glances in Harry's direction "over there stable" John looks over at Bill

"You and I will head back once I know Harry is in the clear." John then glances over to Amy

"Once he is, Amy stay with him for a couple of hours then head back to the office."

"I wan't to ask our walking drug store a few questions of my own!" John says in a distracted voice as he stares out the back of the ambulance.

OOC,I'm wondering if I should query the timing of Bills episode in the toilet. John and Chris were listening to harry's conversation with Brian. Is Bill stating that it happened during the conversation? or should I just ignore that bit of timing. Because I'm assuming the conversation went on for awhile before they stormed in. Or am I making a mountain out of a mole hill?

OOC,Actually, the conversation between [b]Harry[/b] and [b]Brian[/b] was only a minute or so. It was pretty much all in that post to which I gave you the link.

"Of course, sir," said Amy. She held Harry's hand. "Hang in there, Harry. You're in good hands." Harry just snored in response.


Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, 10th and Chestnut Streets - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
8:15 PM - Wednesday, July 16, 1969

A moment later the ambulance pulled up in front of Thomas Jefferson University Hospital's main emergency entrance at 10th and Chestnut. Dr. Howarth opened up the rear door and lowered the ramp. Then he and John Yeager wheeled the gurney down the ramp, followed by Amy and Bill. One of the rear wheels squeaked every so often as they wheeled it along. They reached the front doors, which Amy opened so that they could push the gurney inside. The lobby was large, with a hall leading back into the hospital. A harried-looking blonde woman sat behind the front desk, talking on the phone. "Uh-huh," she said, looking up at the group that had entered. "I think he just walked in." She lowered the receiver and addressed John. "Are you Lieutenant John Yeager? There's a Sergeant Charlie Rawlings on the phone for you."

John quickly grabs the phone from the attendant "I hope you're about to tell me what was in that thermos Charlie"

OOC,The following spoiler button is only for [b]John Yeager[/b] to read. [b]Bill[/b] cannot hear the other end of the conversation.

Lieutenant John Yeager,"I sure am, Lou," answered [b]Charlie[/b] cheerfully. "[b]Candyman[/b] said it's called Morpheus, and that [b]Harry[/b] will be fine - that it'll just put him to sleep for a few hours and give him some freaky dreams. Now I've never heard of this Morpheus junk before, but he told me his old man cooked it up from some herbs. Get this: the guy's a professor at the University of Pennsylvania's School of Medicine named [b]Dr. Gregory Anderson[/b]. Apparently he's testing it on student volunteers as part of some psych experiment. The little scumbag sang like a canary, and I didn't even have to lay a finger on him." [b]Charlie[/b] sounded a little disappointed when he said this. "He already had a lawyer in there with him, along with some priest. Guess who the lawyer was? It was that guy that who followed us from Lenny's Bar in the taxicab!"

"A priest? What the hell, the man aint dying, whats he need a priest there for. Hang on a sec Charlie" Lowering the phone John looks towards Dr. Howarth

"Hey doc, looks like its made from herbal stuff, something called Morpheus. It should only make him sleep for a few hours. But I think you should still pump him, and when he wakes up it might be a good idea to give him that nasty drink that OD'ers get when they come in? Whats it called again doc? You know that horrible grey stuff?" John puts the phone back to his ear.

"Charlie are all three still there?" John's voice had an intense quality to it.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Dr. Howarth. "I've never heard of this substance before, but you're right, it's best to get it out of him." He and Amy wheeled the gurney into the hall and around the corner, the noise of the squeaky wheel fading into the distance. John and Bill remained in the lobby.

OOC,[b]Bill[/b] and [b]John[/b], both of you roll History to see what you know about the name Morpheus.

Lieutenant John Yeager,"Yeah, they're still here, Lou," said [b]Charlie[/b]. "[b]Brian[/b] stole this stuff from his dad, and he's real desperate not to let him find out, too. That gives us more leverage on him."

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2138075/]History to see what John knows about the name Morpheus[/url]

"Charlie, Make sure you keep them there till I get back, that damn lawyer is not! getting our boy out of there. Oh and See if you can find out why the priest is there." John went to hand the phone over when he pulled it back to his ear. "Charlie send a squad car round to pick us up we'll be at the emergancy entrance." John doesn't wait for a reply as he hands the phone back over to the attendant.

OOC,Not sure if its OK to get one of Johns guys to order a squad car to do that?

"So Bill, what were you up to in a dive like Lenny's? Only low lifes hang out in there. I wouldn't have a watered down beer in there even if you payed for it!" John asks Bill while they wait for their ride.

OOC,[url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2142038/]History roll - what does Bill know about Morpheus? (1d100=1)[/url] Cool! 8-)

Bill looked at Yeager carefully, unsure about what to say, not sure how far he could trust him. He took a deep breath and said, "Look Lieutenant, I haven't told you the full story." He pulled out the badge he'd found in his pocket and showed it to Yeager. "I took a call at the office. Someone told me to meet them at Lenny's. I didn't know who it was but sometime you gotta take a chance, yeah? Anderson approached me in the john and I told you the rest."

Bill looked at the Lieutenant. "He's obviously got an axe to grind with me, but I've never met the guy before."

John steps close to Bill, anger barely contained "You bastards, there's no way in HELL! you're stepping in and taking my case, my team...." John moves in even closer his voice seething with rage "My team has done all the groundwork, made all the sacrifices. You..." John emphasizes each word with a jab of his finger in Bill's chest "Are....not... taking this case off my team." John pauses cleary pulling himself back from the brink of something hes fighting to controll. "So tell me Bill what department are you from?"

OOC,At this point I think you get the idea that John thinks Bill is from a federal level department and has pulled his badge to commandeer the case. Hope this is ok.

"Back off," growled Bill, equally angry at Yeager's reaction. "I can't tell you which department I work for but I'm not here to take your case. You can cover your ass in glory if you want, I just wanna know is why Anderson wanted me dead."

OOC,That might be [b]Yeager[/b]'s first instinct, but once he takes a good look at the badge he'll come to another realization. There are spoiler buttons below for each of you. Remember to only read the one with your character's name.

The receptionist was alarmed when the two men confronted each other with raised voices. She paused with her hand halfway to the receiver of the phone on her desk, watching the exchange like someone looking at a train wreck. When John Yeager looked more carefully at the badge, he recognized it at once. It was not a federal agent's badge as he had thought at first. Instead, it was a standard issue badge from the Philadelphia Police Department, and a new one at that. The name on it was Sergeant William Johns, and the badge number was 716.

Bill Johns,[b]Bill[/b] knew all about Morpheus, having actually written a research paper about the subject as an undergraduate for Introduction to Western Civilization, taught by a [b]Professor Calvin Sheridan[/b]. He had taken the class in the Fall semester of 1969, in fact, and had received an A. Morpheus was the god of dreams in the Greek pantheon. According to Greek mythology, he had the ability to change his appearance to look like anyone, and he often appeared in dreams. His parents were Hypnos, the god of sleep, and Nyx, the goddess of night. He may have been married to Iris, the personifcation of the rainbow. He had two brothers that were also involved with dreams: Phobetor, who caused nightmares, and Phantasos, who caused bizarre and fantastical dreams (and was the source of the word "fantasy"). All three brothers had wings on their backs, but their parents did not. Either they were born with wings, or they were given them by their uncle Thanatos, the god of death and half-brother of Hypnos. The myths also state that Morpheus is always in one's dreams as a shadow, and that he uses his wings to travel and to carry his wingless father. Morpheus was said to have his own dream world. The entrance, the Gates of Morpheus, was guarded by two monsters that had the ability to become what one feared the most to keep out unwanted visitors - only Olympians were allowed entry. Morpheus and his family lived in this dream world, as his family was exiled from Mount Olympus. Among the features of this world were two rivers, the River of Forgetfulness (also called Lethe) and the River of Oblivion. Morpheus kept his father Hypnos safe in a cave near the River Lethe. Morpheus was mentioned in Greek literature, in Ovid's [i]Metamorphosis[/i] and possibly in Homer's [i]Iliad[/i] as "Dream." He slept in a cave, on an ebony bed surrounded by poppies. According to Ovid, Morpheus was responsible for all human figures that appear in dreams, while Phobetor handled animals and Phantasos created inanimate objects. The drug morphine, an opiate made from poppies, derived its name from Morpheus because of the dreams it inspires. The character Morpheus in the Matrix trilogy of movies also got his name from the same source, but nobody in 1969 would get the reference.

Lieutenant John Yeager,[b]Sergeant William Johns[/b] was the name of the new sergeant who was due to join [b]Yeager[/b]'s platoon, and 716 is his correct badge number. [b]Yeager[/b] recalled from the paperwork that [b]Captain Fox[/b] had sent him that [b]Johns[/b] was a retired cop from the suburb of Chester who had applied for a job with the Philadelphia Police Department and had just been hired with the rank of Sergeant. Roll Idea.

OOC,Lol only just made this! [url=http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/2143025/]Idea roll[/url]

Johns eyes glance at Bill's badge again, he looks up at Bill, then back at the badge "716..." John pauses briefly "You're William Johns our new sergent. Bill - William" John looks Bill in the eyes "Christ, sorry Bill I've been so focused on this case that I've missed the arrival of our new member." John slaps Bill heartily on the shoulder "You make a hell of an entrance though Bill!" A wry expression spreads its self across John's face "As I said, sorry about the whole accusing thing I've had a case taken off me before so I'm a bit.... edgy you might say. Welcome aboard Sergent William Johns, at lease I don't have to bring you up to spead with the case!" John says with a rare smile on his face.

Bill sighed with relief, the tension draining from him. Whatever else, he felt that he belonged somewhere at least. "Sorry Lieutenant, I should have told you sooner. Guess I was all shook up with what happened," he said.

"You mentioned Morpheus, right? I read about him back in... ... well, when I was a kid. He's Greek god of dreams - do you think that's a clue to what's in the flask?"

“God of dreams? Well when Harry wakes up he’s going to wish he were with the god of dreams” Scowling John turns around to scan up and down the street .

“Where’s that damn squad car...” He quickly looks back at his new sergeant

“Charlie said a lawyer and priest were already there when he got there and the lawyer was the one tailing us from Lenny's, now our Brian aint no altar boy, do you think the priest is there because of this god stuff? Brian’s farther is some doc at the University of Pennsylvania's School of Medicine, Dr. Gregory Anderson. Does that name ring any bells for you Bill?” He shakes his head saying "Apparently Brian’s old man like to test his own medicine on the students, gives them free samples! I think you and I will have to have a chat with this Dr. Anderson" John suddenly stops his rambling.

"I must already trust you Bill, I wouldn't be babbling like this in front of my detectives." He says laughing to himself.

The receptionist visibly relaxed and leaned back in her chair now that the two men were speaking on friendly terms. When John looked outside, he saw a police car driving south down 10th Street. It pulled into the hospital's driveway, underneath an overhang, and stopped outside the main entrance. The driver, a young black policeman with short brown hair, honked the horn briefly and waved.

"Bout damn time!" John walks out the emergency entrance and heads to the drivers side of the patrol car

"In the back, I'm in a hurry" He opens the door to let the officer out.

"C'mon Sergeant the clock is ticking!" John gives the accelerator a couple of taps to emphasise.

"What do you know about the doc?" asked Bill as he climbed into the squad car. "Is he one of the guys who likes to sample his own stuff?"

"Yes, sir," said the uniformed officer, sliding into the back seat quickly and closing his door. He hurried to buckle his seatbelt.

OOC,LOL oops.... Now there's a slip up for John, "Hello Sugar" oh dears. Note to self must [i]READ[/i] more carefully, policeman dose [i]NOT[/i] equate to sexy young woman - policeman = MAN!!! ..../sigh.......

"After what I told you Bill, you now know as much as I do" John comments as he squeals out of the hospital drive way "I think we need to put the squeeze on our Brian and find out exactly what his old man is up to. We need to get him away from his lawyer and priest buddies before we do that. Any ideas on how to do that would be good right now."

"Well, if he ain't dying, he doesn't have any rights to see a priest right now. We'll tell him to sling his hook," said Bill. "As for the lawyer, if we can find out who it is, I'm sure we can deal with him. We just need a bit of leverage." Bill mentally reviewed what he'd just said and smiled wryly. He'd been a cop for about an hour and he was already trying to work around the system. He'd watched too much Dirty Harry.

John peeled out and sped down 10th Street until he reached Locust, where he turned left. A few blocks later he reached 7th Street and made another left. The Roundhouse wasn't far. The radio patrol car didn't handle as well as his Mustang, but it would get him there nicely enough.

John heads right for the office after they arrive with Bill in tow "Bill you need to handle the priest and get him outa here, see if you can find out why he's here while I have a chat to Brain, I need to put the squeeze on and see how loud he squeals. But first I need to catch up with Chris."

"OK," replied Bill, heading in the direction of the cells where he presumed that Brian was being held. He pulled his badge from pocket, flashing it to the watch officer and asking which cell Brian was in.

John peals off in search of Chris

After John Yeager pulled up in front of Police Headquarters and got out with Bill, the officer climbed out of the back seat, got back behind the wheel, and drove off to resume his patrol. The two men went back into the lobby and called the elevators. One arrived heading down, and Bill got in that one. Shortly after it left, the other one arrived. John got in that one and went back up to the first floor to return to the office.

OOC,[b]Bill Johns[/b] is moving to the following thread.

Changes

OOC,[b]Lt. John Yeager[/b] is moving to the post linked in the following thread. Do not read the posts above the one in the link. I think you mean [b]Charlie[/b], not Chris. [b]Charlie[/b] isn't Chris anyway, he's Ray - sort of. ;)

Law