Play@YSDC

Alan Gains's Law Office, Rittenhouse Square - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
2:00 PM - Wednesday, July 16, 1969
Alan Gains was sitting behind his desk going over his paperwork when there was a light rapping on his door. When he looked up, he saw his secretary, Betty Florio, open it. "Mr. Gains?" said the tall brunette. "Your new client, Miss Emily Simmons, is here."

Alan remembered what he had read about the case. Emily Simmons was an 18-year-old freshman at the Universiry of Pennsylvania who was arrested after plowing her car through a storefront. Nobody was injured, but she had been ranting and raving about monsters chasing her and she was believed to be high on hallucinogenic drugs at the time. She had no prior record and was from all accounts an upstanding student who never had anything to do with drugs.

Alan was, in his heart, relieved at the arrival of this strange new case. It allowed him to put aside the paperwork, which he absolutely despised. He had become a lawyer to put protect the innocent and punish the wicked, to fight those delightful mental battles as he struggled to uncover the truth. He had not done it to sit at his desk and go over wills and such. And it seemed like he'd been doing that more and more these days.

But THIS case...this was interesting. He briefly reviewed the information the case presented.

No history of drugs.

Claimed to be chased by monsters.

Possibility of mental illness?

Take careful note of her, and question her about these "monsters."

After a moment of organizing his mind, and carefully setting the hated paperwork where he could find it later, he smiled at his secretary.

"Thank you, Betty. Please send Miss Simmons in, would you?"

"Right away, Mr. Gains," said Betty. She ducked out into the waiting room and came back a minute later with a young lady more than a head shorter than her. The girl, apparently Emily Simmons, had long blonde hair and was dressed conservatively in a long, black skirt and a blue blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck. She entered the office hesitantly and then sat down in a chair across from Alan's desk, looking at her feet and fidgeting awkwardly, rubbing the hem of her skirt between her fingers. "I'll be outside if you need me," said Betty before leaving the office and closing the door behind her.

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Psychology to get an impression of [b]Emily[/b].

OOC,Rolled a 93. As I recall, that's an almost epic failure. I must still have my mind in the land of paperwork.

Alan flashed the girl one of his "winning" smiles. He'd practiced it for years; it general helped in winning people over. Made them feel like they could trust him, somewhat. At least, that's how it usually worked.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Ms. Simmons. Thank you for coming. Now, just to make sure I have all the facts, could you please tell me what happened?"

"Um, okay, Mr. Gains," said Emily. "It happened last Friday night, around 9:00. I was driving home when I saw something in my rear view mirror. It was dark out and I couldn't see it clearly at first. It was very indistinct, but it seemed to be flying above and behind my car, following me. There was no other traffic on the road nearby at the time. I didn't know what to think, I was so scared. I tried to lose it, but it got ahead of me by flying over city blocks while I had to stick to the streets, so it could take shortcuts when I turned corners. It swooped down towards me and I got a clear look at it. It looked kind of like a dragon, with scaly skin and huge wings. When I saw it up close, I just panicked and tried to swerve to avoid it, but I'm a terrible driver. I crashed through that store's plate-glass window. Luckily it was closed and nobody was in there, and I was wearing my seatbelt so I wasn't hurt, but the car was damaged. I thought the monster was going to get me when a second one showed up. It was black and hard to see in the darkness, but it looked different than the dragon-thing, and much smaller. It had wings and a tail, but I couldn't make out any details. The dragon flew away fast, and then the second monster flew after it. I was so shaken I didn't know what to do, and then the police arrived a few minutes later. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what happened."

Yes, if she's not on something, she's insane, were the words that occurred to him when she finished her story. But he kept the smile on his face, and made sure none of his immediate thoughts showed. There were still a few questions to ask.

"Tell me, Ms. Simmons, have you been getting enough sleep recently? And have you been involved in any stressful activity lately? Not that I don't believe you, mind, but I have to ask this, just to cover all the angles."

"Well, I have been getting enough sleep most nights," said Emily. "It's summer session, so it's not as stressful as it normally is. Funny that you mention sleep, though. I took part in this psych experiment a couple weeks ago about sleep and dreams. There was a flyer on the bulletin board asking for undergraduate and graduate students to volunteer. They paid us fifty dollars and we slept overnight in this lab a few nights in a row while they monitored our brain activity. Before we went to sleep, they gave each of us a drink. Half of us were the control group and just got chocolate milk, but the other half got some herbal concoction that was supposed to induce lucid dreams - that's where you can control what you dream about. Then as we lay with our eyes closed, the psychiatrist in charge talked to us while we fell asleep and told us what to try to dream about. They never told us who was part of the control group and who wasn't. I can't remember the details of my dreams any more, but they were pretty weird. They had us go to the moon on the last night, I remember that."

He filed away a mental note.

Look into 'lucid dreaming' experiment. Determine effects of this herbal concoction. Possibly dangerous? Could be cause of hallucinations; brain damage?

"Thank you for telling me this, Ms. Simmons. This could be very important. Where did these experiments take place? And are you sure you cannot remember any details, however small, of the dreams? I think that they could be instrumental in helping you."

"It was in a lab in the Psychiatry Department," said Emily. "It's part of the School of Medicine." She thought for a moment. "Yes, I remember, it was in Room 110 in John Morgan Hall. The guy in charge was a Dr. Anderson. They had these six cots set up in the lab for us to lie down on. I was interested in the experiment because I'm a psychology major, and it was right up my alley - plus I could also use the money." She lowered her head. "Especially now, huh? I can't really remember much about my dreams. Most people can't, you know. That's why Dr. Anderson and his assistants interviewed us as soon as we woke up, so we could describe our dreams to them before we forgot them. The experiment was three nights long. It started on Thursday - the third, that is - and ended Sunday morning. I remember that they told us to try to dream about being on the moon on the third night, and I was able to do it. I vaguely recall a couple of the other students in the experiment being in my dream too." She closed her eyes for a minute and tried to remember more. "I think...I think I saw flying monsters on the moon in that dream too. And just before I woke up, one of them saw me! It was really scary. At the time the dream felt so real. When that thing chased my car, I thought maybe it was a dream too. I kept trying to wake up after I crashed, but I soon realized I was already awake. When the cops came, I told them what happened. They looked at me like I was high or nuts, but what else was I supposed to tell them? I can't lie to the police."

Again, he mentally jotted down the details. He'd have to look into Dr. Anderson and his associates. Perhaps there was something going on here...

"Of course not, Ms. Simmons. I understand completely. You did the right thing. And thank you very much for sharing this information with me. I don't have any more questions for you, and unless that's all, I'd like to end the meeting here. I think I've got all the information I need for now. Unless you have something else to add, I'd like you to go home, rest, relax as well as you can, and calm down a little. If you can think of anything else I need to know later, tell my secretary, and she'll get it back to me. Does that sound alright to you?"

"Okay, thanks," said Emily. She stood up and shook Alan's hand nervously. "Um, I'm not going to go to jail, am I?"

The handshake he gave her was firm, confident, and as with the rest of the interview, intended to leave her with a little assurance that all would be well.

"Of course not, Ms. Simmons. Even if they have no proof that there really were creatures after you, the police also can't prove you were drunk or under the influence of illegal drugs. At the most, you'll have to pay for the property destruction and maybe face charges for reckless endangerment. And, if my suspicions are correct, we can probably even get you out of those. You have absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Trust me."

After showing the girl from the office, he instructed Betty to inform anyone who asked that he was out on business, then left. He didn't have any other meetings scheduled for today, just more paperwork. And, all things considered, he'd much rather be out looking into this. Alan did not trust private investigators, and endeavored to do as much of his own legwork as he could manage. The walking got him a little badly-needed exercise, anyway, and the investigation kept his mind sharp.

With the information Emily had given him, Alan departed to learn more of these strange experiments. Without a first name or other such information, he couldn't find much information about this Dr. Anderson fellow, who could have been anyone, if Alan's suspicions were correct. He decided to go straight to the School.

John Morgan Hall, School of Medicine, University of Pennyslvania
2:45 PM - Wednesday, July 16, 1969
Penn's campus was a couple of miles west of Alan's office. He crossed the South Street bridge to get to the other side of the Schuylkill River and soon reached the university. After looking at a campus map, he found John Morgan Hall without much difficulty. Entering through the building's high double oak doors, he found himself in the lobby. Stairs led up to the upper floors, and a hallway led back toward classrooms and labs on this floor. A bulletin board was posted on the wall on the left side of the lobby, with notices and flyers stuck to it with pushpins and thumbtacks. A few students and faculty members were walking through the lobby on their way in and out, but it wasn't too busy.

Alan began his investigation at the bulletin board, hoping maybe to find a leftover handout or flier advertising the experiment.

Alan spent a few minutes looking through the papers tacked to the bulletin board before he found what he was looking for.

Undergraduate and Graduate Volunteers Needed for Psychology Experiment
Earn $50.00 For Your Participation

We are seeking undergraduate and graduate students for a psychological experiment about sleep and dreams. The study will last three consecutive nights, and volunteers will need to sleep in the lab overnight. Participants will need to arrive at John Morgan Hall, Room 110 at 8:00 PM and will stay until approximately 8 to 10 AM the morning after, depending upon when they awaken. Snacks will be provided in the evenings, and breakfast in the mornings. The study will be conducted twice, from Thursday, July 3 through Sunday, July 6 and from Friday, July 18 through Monday, July 21. To volunteer, please contact Dr. Gregory Anderson, either in person at his office in Room 322 during normal office hours or by telephone at 5-2009.

Interestingly, the experiment was scheduled to run again this weekend. The phone number must have only had five digits because the first two digits for the University's exchange have been assumed.

Alan carefully looked over the paper.

Dr. Gregory Anderson, phone number (University exchange)5-2009

He had most of the information he needed to come up with a plan. For the next few nights, he would look into Dr. Gregory Anderson. Then, he needed a way to spy on Anderson's investigation.

At the moment, the plan was only half-formed. But it was a start. With a smirk, Alan departed to gain more information on Anderson.

OOC,I'm thinking maybe a Library Use roll for looking up information that way, and a Luck roll, one for getting info out of the students and faculty. I'll just have to come up with a better plan and I'm all set.

Alan flagged down a student who was passing through the lobby and asked him about Dr. Gregory Anderson.

"Yeah," said the young man, "he's a professor here. He's got an office upstairs on the third floor. He just joined Penn's faculty last fall. Specializes in neurology. Sorry, but I have to go now. Got a lecture to attend." With that, the student departed.

Alan next left the building looking for a suitable library. The nearest campus map showed him that the Biomedical Library was located close to John Morgan Hall, next to the Robert Wood Johnson Pavilion. It sounded like it would have the information he needed, so he went there next. It took him a while, but after looking through the catalog and searching the stacks he was able to find a good deal of information on Dr. Gregory Anderson.

The man had been born on July 4, 1921 in Washington, D.C. to Brian and Charlotte Anderson. His father had been a respected brain surgeon, and Dr. Anderson had followed in his father's footsteps. After graduating from Johns Hopkins in 1942 with a bachelor's degree in biology, he interrupted his studies and volunteered in the Army in World War II, where he served as a medic in North Africa, and later Italy, France, the Low Countries, and Germany. At some point in 1943 he was recruited by the fledgling OSS, the precursor to the CIA. His military record was one of distinction, and he received two Bronze Stars and a Silver Star for bravery under fire. After the war he was stationed in West Berlin. He returned to America in 1948 after receiving an honorable discharge, and he attended medical school at Johns Hopkins, earning his M.D. in 1952. After that he took a teaching position at George Washington University, where he remained on the faculty until 1968, at which point he took a job offer from the University of Pennsylvania, where he currently taught. He had a wife, Susan, who he married in 1948. They had a son named Brian (after his grandfather, apparently), who was born in 1949.

Dr. Anderson had published numerous papers throughout his academic career. His thesis subject was "An Analysis of Human Volition in Differing States of Consciousness." Alan was able to find a copy of the thesis in the library, but the subject matter was way beyond him. There were also copies of some of Dr. Anderson's other published works in the library, but again he did not know enough about biology and medicine to get a deep understanding of them. From what Alan could gather, they were heavily focused on sleep and dreaming, and about measuring and influencing neural activity in differing stages of sleep. One paper dealt with neural activity and REM sleep in patients in prolonged comas.

By the time Alan had finished, it was nearly 7:00 PM. It was still light outside due to it being early summer, but Betty would have closed up his office and gone home by now. He was starting to feel hungry, as it had been some time since he had eaten lunch.

When Alan finally broke free of the paper's hypnosis, he realized just what time it was, and just how hungry he was. After a moment's debate, he decided to return the books he had been reading and head home for the night. He had learned just enough about the man to dispel his doubts about him. After all, he was a military man, who served with great distinction and honor. How could someone like that possibly be involved in something as shady as he had previously suspected? But still, it might be worth checking out. He had heard tales in the news and even from some cases about how drugs could be slipped into things. Maybe one of the assistants was involved?

He decided to return home for the day, make himself supper, then turn in for the night. Tomorrow, if he had any free time, maybe he could pay a visit to Dr. Anderson, and talk to him about his experiences in the War. Even if he hadn't been strictly a fighting man, it would certainly be interesting to hear the stories he could tell. And maybe, just maybe, he could get into the experiment, to finish disproving his original hypothesis.

Alan walked back to the east and across the South Street bridge once more, back toward his home near Rittenhouse Square, conveniently located near his law office. He was only a few blocks away, still on South Street, when he saw two men in suits and ties sitting in an orange 1967 Ford Mustang parked outside one of the bars that dotted the busy street a short distance ahead, a place called Lenny's. The taller of the two was 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, suddenly threw open their car doors, sprang out, and slammed them shut. The balding man waved to a uniformed policeman who had been standing on the nearby street corner. Then the two of them barged into Lenny's Bar, and the cop in uniform raced after them.

Alan paused, watching the men rush about. A kind of horrid fascination froze his feet; the force that makes men watch deadly accidents and simply stare at the most horrid brutalities demanded that the lawyer remain where he was, watching what he could already guess to be a police raid.

As Alan watched, he could tell there was some sort of commotion going on inside the bar. The uniformed cop blocked his view through the door, but he tried to peer through the window.

OOC,Roll Spot Hidden and Listen to see how much you can discern from here.

Alan couldn't hear what was going on inside, but he was able to see events unfolding through the window. Two young men were sitting in a booth, one with long brown hair and the other with blond hair. The two plainclothes cops flashed their badges and approached them, and the taller one put a hand on the blond man's shoulder while pointing at him with his other hand. The two of them exchanged words, and then the blond man's attention was temporarily diverted by something further back in the bar, out of view. He turned back to the cop and more words went back and forth. The young man had an angry expression, and he took a swing at the cop who had him by the shoulder. The cop easily blocked the punch, grabbing the man's arm in the same motion. He then wrenched the guy's arms behind his back while the cop with the mustache tried to punch the young man in the gut, missing badly.

Alan, as nonchalantly as possible, made his way towards the bar door, keeping his eye on the fight going on inside. He wouldn't kid himself into thinking he was in any way a good fighter...but if the cops were in trouble, he couldn't just leave him. He had a kind of respect for law enforcement; they were just one step down from the Army, weren't they?

As Alan approached the door, he could see that the police had matters well in hand. The old man put a hand on the mustachioed cop's arm and said something to him, but he wasn't quite close enough to make out the words at that point.

"That's entirely up to him, isn't it?" said the cop with the receding hairline. Alan was just able to hear what he was saying at this point. He held the blond man tight, and the prisoner was unable to move. "Cuffs!"

"It's Sergeant, actually," said his partner. "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 the suspect's hands behind his back while "Jailhouse Rock" played on the bar's radio. The young man glowered at the three cops and the old man, but was powerless to do anything. Now that the cop had moved away from the door, the entrance was no longer blocked.

"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 the sergeant.

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

"Right, boss." Charlie reached for a tinfoil sheet with several blotters on it on the table, wrapped the blotters back up in the foil and put the packet in a backpack next to it, zipped it up, and slung it on his back. "Come on, pal," he said to the young man with long brown hair, hauling him to his feet.

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

Alan, realizing vaguely sadly that it was over already, decided to wait until the officers were out of sight, then finish his trip home. There wasn't much else he could do here.

Something at the back of Alan's mind slowly came to the forefront. The cop who had arrested the young man called him by name: Brian Anderson. Dr. Gregory Anderson, the man in charge of the experiment, had the same surname. Not only that, but he recalled from his research that Dr. Anderson has a son named Brian who was born in 1949. This man was about the right age.

Thoughts of food and sleep suddenly fled from Alan's mind as his memory caught up with him. This was Dr. Anderson's son! And he was being arrested...

Deciding that he could stand a little hunger, Alan quickly made up a plan. He would follow after Brian Anderson, and offer his services to the young man. His schedule was not so full as to make this impossible, and he might even make a little money off the arrangement, while at the same time having a good reason to speak to Anderson, and maybe even look into his staff...

The old man muttered something to himself before peering at his reflection in the mirror. "What the hell have I got on?" he said, looking down at his clothes. "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."

"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 the old man. "Can you please describe your suit, sir?"

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Listen to overhear what the old man was muttering.

"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 the old man. "Good value at eighty dollars. It wasn't expensive but I'd like it back."

Lieutenant Yeager pulled Brian Anderson out through the front door, and the old man followed him outside. Sergeant Rawlings took the other young man by the arm and went out the door after them.

"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." He started walking to the orange Mustang.

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

Alan briefly considered immediately trying to pass himself off as the young man's lawyer, than decided against the rather stupid plan. Instead, he would follow them back to their station, as best he could. There, he could probably bluff his way into the young man's room, and there continue with his plan.

He also wanted to look into the old man. What would a man of his age, who was apparently well-off, be doing at a place like this? There was something fishy there...

"Walmart's huge," replied the old man 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. "Nice car, Sergeant, 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 the old man, 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 the old man. "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. Though Alan was on foot, South Street was heavily trafficked and there would be no problem finding a taxicab in the early evening. In fact, one was approaching from the west at the moment.

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Psychology about the old man.

Alan could tell that the old man, while he thought he knew where he was, seemed lost, confused, and disoriented. He did not seem drunk or on drugs, however. Alan had seen people impaired by chemical substances before plenty of times, and he wasn't acting like them. Was he mentally ill? He didn't seem completely stable, and he kept using odd turns of phrase. Alan had no idea what a "70's night" was. As for a store called Walmart, he'd never seen one in Philadelphia.

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Know.

Alan realized that he had heard of a store called Wal-Mart. He had seen it in Little Rock, Arkansas a couple of years ago when he had gone there to interview someone for a case he had been working on.

As the information flashed through Alan's mind, he became even more interested. Yes, he would definitely follow them...

Alan hailed the yellow cab, and it stopped to let him into the back seat. The cabbie was an overweight Irishman of about fifty years, with a ragged, flat cap covering his bald head. The identification posted in the cab said his name was Tommy O'Malley. "Where to, buddy?" he asked. When Alan asked him to follow the Mustang, he gave a gap-toothed grin. "Mac, I've been waiting years for someone to say that!" He started the meter and sped off east along South Street in the wake of the Mustang, which was driving aggressively through traffic. They were approaching Broad Street, and the Mustang made a left turn when the light turned yellow. O'Malley sped up and rounded the corner just as the light was turning red. The Mustang continued straight down Broad to the north in the left lane, only to attempt a sudden, sharp right turn at Pine Street. A brown pickup truck in the right lane got too close, however, and it was forced to abort the turn. O'Malley reflexively swerved to the right in response, but only after it was already too late. He would not have been able to make the turn either. If the Mustang had managed to turn right onto Pine, the taxi would have been unable to follow it. "Looks like he's made us," said the cab driver.

Though it was somewhat out of character, Alan swore underneath his breath. He quickly regained his composure and smiled at Tommy. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of (moderately large) bills, and place them in the front passenger's seat.

"Keep on them, friend."

"You got it, pal," said O'Malley. He held the wheel with one hand while making the money disappear into his pocket with the other. Spruce Street was coming up ahead, and the cabbie was ready for anything. The Mustang braked and swerved around to the left, apparently attempting a U-Turn, but it skidded across the flat central divider in the middle of Broad and right into the taxicab's path. O'Malley expertly avoided a collision and then tried the same move when he reached Spruce, this time with more success. "That guy's a maniac! Who the hell is he, anyway?"

The taxicab was now heading southbound on Broad, on the right side of the road. The Mustang was a short distance ahead, on the left side and heading into oncoming traffic.

"Hey, I asked you a question, buddy!" said O'Malley. "If I'm gonna risk my neck following this lunatic, I got a right to know."

The Mustang easily jumped the central divider and the trolley tracks that ran over it. When it reached Pine Street again, it turned hard to the left, darting between the cars going the other way and rounding the corner. O'Malley was unable to make the turn, as there was too much traffic, and then the light turned red and he was forced to stop at the intersection.

"Guess that's that, then," said the cabbie. "Where to now? You got any idea where he was going? It'll be a lot safer just heading there instead of trying to tail him, especially since he already made us."

OOC,You haven't posted in several days, though I've seen you online, so I went ahead and advanced the thread anyway. [b]Alan[/b], roll Idea.

OOC,My apologies. Roll(1d100)+0: 62,+0 Total:62

Alan shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. The instant he was done here, he NEEDED to get to sleep.

"Apologies, friend; it's been a hard day. They're police officers. They've got a couple of my clients in the back of their car; I needed to get to them before their captors made them say something stupid."

Alan's mind was working full-tilt, trying to figure out his next move.

OOC,That's okay, no harm done.

"You had me chasing cops?!" said O'Malley. "Geez...Well, do you know where they're taking 'em? I can drop you off there."

Alan thought for a moment and realized that, while the arrest had happened in the north part of South Division, they would not have turned north on Broad Street if they were taking him to the divisional headquarters, which would be further south. They were probably heading for the Roundhouse, the police headquarters for the entire city, located on Race Street between 7th and 8th. It wasn't far.

Alan gave the man a tired smile.

"Like I said, it was a long day." He told O'Malley to take him to the Roundhouse, then settled back into his seat. "Besides, didn't you say you'd waited for years for something like that? Something interesting to remember when you look back on life, at the least."

"That presumes I'm gonna live long enough to look back on it," said O'Malley, "but yeah. Though I had in mind just following someone, not actually chasing him and nearly getting killed. Man, that cop is a nutter!" The light turned green, and he turned left on Pine. "I'll have us at the Roundhouse in about five minutes. What'd your clients do, anyway?"

"One of them got caught in the act selling drugs. Kind of got roped into taking that one as a personal favor...not that I mind the money, of course. The other one was in the wrong place at the right time; they just took him along for the ride."

O'Malley shrugged. He drove east on Pine Street, turning left when he reached 7th Street. "You know who the cops were? I'd like to avoid them if I can."

Alan thought back to his first sight of the officers at the bar.

"...Lieutenant John Yeager, and Sergeant Charlie Rawlings, if memory serves."

"Oh, yeah," said O'Malley. "Those guys. I heard they were in a car crash a couple weeks back. Can't say I'm surprised, the way they drive."

Before long the taxi passed Market Street, and then Arch. Finally Race Street was visible ahead, and Alan got his first sight of Police Headquarters.


Police Headquarters, Franklin Square - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
7:32 PM - Wednesday, July 16, 1969

The taxi pulled up in the parking lot oustide the Roundhouse, and Alan 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. "Okay, buddy, we're here," said O'Malley. "That'll be three bucks."

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

Alan saw a familiar-looking orange 1967 Ford Mustang parked in the lot, confirming that his instinct had been correct. They were definitely here.

Alan handed O'Malley a fiver, then hurried into the building. Even if trying to represent the young man was just a cover, Alan was a professional at heart, and it'd nag at him if he didn't handle this like any lawyer would. He had to get in there before the cops could pump Brian for information.

And there was that odd old man as well. It might be worth it to try to speak to him as well. There was something...odd...about him.

Alan hurried 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. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked.

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Credit Rating if you want to try to get the sergeant to let you inside.

OOC,Many apologies once again.

Alan attempted to give the sergeant manning the window a disarming grin.

"Ah yes. My name is Alan Gains, lawyer. I'm here to meet a client of mine who was brought here."

OOC,That's okay.

"Uh huh," said the sergeant, sounding bored. "What's your client's name?"

"A young man named Brian Anderson. I understand that he was brought in here quite recently. By Lieutenant Yeager and Sergeant Rawlings, if my memory doesn't fail me entirely."

"Quite recently?" said the sergeant. "They just walked in here a few minutes ago. How is it that you got here so quickly?"

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Fast Talk.

OOC,Roll(1d100)+0: 29,+0 Total:29. Phew.

Alan's quick mind hit upon an idea.

"I know. Believe me, I know. But that kid's nothing but trouble. He's so bad that his father's hired a permanent representative for him. The guy before me had a nervous breakdown before the end. So, I figured I'd nip that one in the bud, check in on the kid every so often. I was just lucky enough to be there when the officers nabbed him." Alan gave a practiced sigh and let his shoulders slump a little. "They've even got good evidence, too. Probably going to get fired for this, but I figure I might as well give it my best shot, eh?"

Alan said all this as rapidly as he could while still remaining casual. He'd found that it was a good tactic in situations like these. Even if it hadn't worked on the last recruiter...

The sergeant nodded. "Okay, I'll buzz you in," he said. He pressed a button at his desk and a buzzing sound came from the west door. "Come around to the security desk."

Alan opened the door and walked through before the buzzing stopped. The door closed automatically when he released it. 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 him 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. Between the elevators was a large floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on Race Street, and in front of it was a large board with a portrait of Commissioner Frank Rizzo.

"Here's a visitor's pass," said the sergeant, handing Alan a laminated card with a clip on the reverse side. "Just clip that onto your lapel. Officer Jackson, would you please escort Mr. Gains down to the cells to see the prisoner?"

"Yes, sergeant," said one of the cops behind the desk. He stood up and led Alan to the elevators, where he pressed the down call button. "These elevators are slow as molasses. Don't suppose it matters, though. They won't be finished processing your client and cleaning him up yet, so you'd have to wait anyway. I took him down there myself just a few minutes ago."

Alan gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief at that.

"You should see what my old office was like. I swear, you could wait for hours for the damned things." While chatting up the officer, Alan was tying up the last steps of his plan. He would enter into the room and take charge before the young man could call his bluff (and, if the kid was half as bad as Alan believed, he might not even try to do that). He'd offer to represent him, then use that link to get to Dr. Anderson and pursue the Emily Simmons case.

And maybe he'd talk to the old man as well. Alan still could not shake the feeling that there was something...different about the man. Was he crazy, drunk, high on something? If for no other reason, Alan would speak to him because his curiosity was just too great to contain.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and Alan and Officer Jackson got in. Jackson pressed the B button, and the elevator slowly descended to the basement. When it arrived, the doors slid open to let them out.

A hall led to a large metal door with a barred window. In front of this door sat another sergeant at a desk. "Sarge, this is Mr. Gains," said Jackson. "He's representing Brian Anderson, and he'd like to see his client."

"Let me see if they're done processing him yet," said the sergeant. "That was quick. They only brought him in like ten minutes ago." He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number. "This is Sergeant Hastings," he said. "There's a Mr. Gains here to see his client, Brian Anderson. Is he...presentable yet?" He paused for a response. "Uh huh. Okay, I'll let him know." He hung up the phone. "They cleaned him up and changed him into a prison uniform. Right now he's making his phone call, but he should be done in a minute."

"Thank you very much, Sergeant." Alan walked towards an out-of-the-way corner to wait for the young man to finish his call.

A minute later, the phone on the desk rang again, and Sergeant Hastings answered it. "Uh huh," he said. "Thanks." He hung up. "Your client's done his phone call. You can go on in." He pressed a switch, and the metal door slid open with a rumbling sound. The hallway continued beyond it.

"This way," said Officer Jackson. He led Alan through the door and down the hall, into a guard room. Two uniformed policemen stood guard there, one a young black man about six feet tall, the other one pasty-faced, chubby, and a head shorter. The hallway continued beyond the guard room into a cell block. Several wooden doors lined the sides of the guard room, and a payphone was in one corner. "We're looking for Brian Anderson," said Jackson.

"Over there," said the black cop, pointing at one of the doors.

Jackson nodded and led the way, opening the door for Alan. Inside was a small, square room. The only furniture was a wooden table and two matching chairs, one in front of it and one behind it. Brian Anderson sat dejectedly on the chair behind the table, wearing a gray prison uniform. He looked up when Alan entered.

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Jackson. "Let me know when you're done." He shut the door.

"Who the hell are you?" said Brian.

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Psychology.

OOC,Roll(1d100)+0: 7,+0 Total:7. My program loves me this game. It's usually far worse than this...

"I'm your lawyer, Brian. I'm here to try to get you out of your little mess."

Alan could tell that while Brian carried himself with an air of bravado, it was just a mask. Inside, he was confused, desperate, and downright terrified. His eyes showed that he knew that his life was ruined, and that nothing would ever be the same for him again. And behind them there burned an intense thirst for revenge on whoever it was he believed had wronged him.

"Little mess?" said Brian incredulously. "I'm being charged with attempted murder, among other things!" He paused. "Wait a minute, how can you be my lawyer? I only just got here ten minutes ago!"

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Fast Talk.

OOC,Roll(1d100)+0: 97,+0 Total:97 His skills are failing him now, it seems.

Alan tried to affect a calming tone, hoping to wind the boy down a little, but he was not entirely sure he'd done a good enough job of it.

"True, and now you've got someone offering you help. Do you want to rot in here, or would you rather accept what I'm offering? Do you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars...or, perhaps, do you want to help me put some real bad guys away?"

OOC,In place of fast-talk, could I try a Persuade roll instead? It seems appropriate for here.

Brian scowled. "This is a trick!" he shouted. "You're one of the cops, trying to get me to talk! Well, it won't work!"

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], in order to get [b]Brian[/b] to open up, you'll need to talk to him for a while longer and roll Persuade.

Alan sighed, fighting off the urge to get angry at the young man. Looking back, he had moved in a little too quickly. "Look before you leap" had never been an saying he'd kept close to his heart. Still, he needed to give it another go.

"Brian, might I point something out? Were I with the cops, would I honestly show up ten minutes after you'd been brought in, claiming to be your lawyer? You gotta admit, it'd be kind of stupid of them."

"Maybe you would," said Brian. "The cops are kinda stupid. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than some guy I've never seen before walking in out of the blue ten minutes after I get here really being my lawyer."

Alan chuckled at that.

"Yeah, I know. To be honest, I can't really blame you. Again, honestly, I wouldn't even be here if a girl called Emily Simmons hadn't walked into my office today. You know her? She asked me for my help."

"Emily Simmons?" said Brian, thinking. "No, doesn't ring a bell. How the hell could you possibly be my lawyer anyway? You can't be a public defender. You wouldn't have been assigned this quick."

Mr. Handy wrote:"Emily Simmons?" said Brian, thinking. "No, doesn't ring a bell. How the hell could you possibly be my lawyer anyway? You can't be a public defender. You wouldn't have been assigned this quick."

"I'm getting to that. Anyway, this young woman came into my office today and told me something interesting. She'd been involved in an experiment someone's doing. They had her take something. Now, she's convinced that something's trying to kill her; got in a bad car accident a little while ago. I don't trust private investigators, so I did some of my own legwork. And I was pondering just how I could get close to this man, when I saw you get arrested. I thought you could help me. So, here I am, offering to help you in exchange. Sounds stupid, I know, but..." he paused, taking a moment to run a hand through his hair, trying to give off the impression of a desperate man, "...but I don't think I have any other option. Please."

"You just happened to be there when I was getting arrested?" said Brian skeptically.

OOC,[b]Alan[/b], roll Persuade.

OOC,Roll(1d100)+0: 5,+0 Total:5. I want to dedicate this roll to God, because THAT is the only possible explaination. :P

Alan nodded.

"Honestly. I was walking back from doing some work and I saw what was happening. I don't think you're a bad guy, and I think you can help me with my current case. I know, it sounds crazy, but it's the honest-to-God truth."

OOC,Nice one! 8-)

"Okay, I believe you," said Brian at last. "If you can get me out of here, I'll do whatever you want. I don't want anyone to even find out I was in here, especially my dad. I don't remember any chick named Emily Simmons, but I know about the experiments you're talking about. My dad's running them. His name is Dr. Gregory Anderson, and he's a professor at the University of Pennsylvania. He's developed this new drug he calls Morpheus, and the experiment involves giving it to the students and seeing if it allows them to control their dreams. This morning, I did a very stupid thing. I stole a dose of it from the lab. Poured the flask out into a thermos, rinsed out the flask, and put the flask in a storage cabinet with a bunch of empty ones. I figured it would be worth a fortune. Later I realized that he'd still notice it was missing eventually. That thermos was in my backpack, and the cops have it now. I've got to get it back! Maybe my dad won't be too pissed with me if I can put it back."

Alan thanks every god he could think of, then returned to business.

The drug is called "Morpheus".

"I'll see what I can do about the thermos. It's evidence in a criminal trial, though, so it'll be tough to get immediately. Do you know anything about the effects of this 'Morpheus'?"

OOC,Thanks.

"I don't think the cops even know what they've got," said Brian. "Like I said, they're pretty dumb. It looks just like chocolate milk, so they're not going to know it's anything special. In fact, chocolate milk is what dad gives to the control group. Morpheus causes whoever takes it to fall asleep pretty soon and stay asleep for hours. While sleeping, they have really vivid dreams, but their memories of the dream may be fuzzy. Supposedly, it's possible for them to control what they dream about too. I don't know exactly how my father makes it, but there's a bunch of different herbs involved and he keeps the formula very secret."

Causes vivid, if non-memorable, dreams.

"That makes it much simpler. If they don't know what it is, I think I can get it back to your father. Thanks. Now, let's get to your case. Aside from the Morpheus, which they'll probably think is just some milk, what else did you have on you? I came in at the end, you'll recall. Anything more well-known?"

"Drugs of various kinds," said Brian. "I had them in my backpack, where the thermos was. A few pounds of marijuana, some blotters of LSD, some shrooms, that sort of thing."

No use in trying to save Brian.

Alan nodded, then stood up.

"Thank you for your information. I think I've got everything I need for now. Can you think of anything else I might need to know?"

"Wait a minute!" said Brian, standing. "I helped you, now you gotta help me! I didn't even get to tell you about what happened to me! Okay, I had the drugs, but this attempted murder charge is completely trumped up! I never met that crazy old man before in my life, and I've never tried to kill anyone!"

Mr. Handy wrote:"Wait a minute!" said Brian, standing. "I helped you, now you gotta help me! I didn't even get to tell you about what happened to me! Okay, I had the drugs, but this attempted murder charge is completely trumped up! I never met that crazy old man before in my life, and I've never tried to kill anyone!"

Alan paused.

"They have you on attempted murder?" He sat down again, his professional interest once again sparking. "What happened?"

"I came into Lenny's Bar and ordered a beer, like I usually do," said Brian. also retaking his seat. "This guy Harry was interested in buying some LSD, so I sat with him and showed him my stuff. That's when those two cops burst in and arrested me. That Lieutenant Yeager then said something insulting about my mother, and I just snapped. I tried to smack him one, but he was ready and managed to restrain me. The other cop tried to hit me, but he missed. That's when that crazy old man came out of the bathroom and claimed I just tried to kill him!" Brian described both Harry and the old man, and Alan recognized them as the two men who had gotten into Yeager's car with him after leaving the bar. "I don't know who this wacko is, but he must've been deranged or on some bad trip, but the cops just swallowed his story. The really strange thing is that he intervened when the cops were about to give me a beating and told them not to. He was going on about all this crazy stuff that didn't make no sense."

Brian Case: Strange old man. Find him soon.

\

Alan sat there, trying to puzzle it out, and found that it was next to impossible.

"Does this old man have a name? Do you know him at all?"

Brian shook his head. "No, I've never seen him before in my life!" he said. "He never said his name either. He's probably talking to the cops right now."

"Alright. Assuming he really is nuts, I can definitely get you off of the attempted murder charge. The drugs probably won't be a problem. And I might even be able to get your thermos back. Unless something goes dreadfully wrong, I might be able to get you cleared of all charges."

"Really?" said Brian, looking hopeful for the first time. "That would be great! How soon do you think you can get me bailed out of here? I don't want to stay locked up any longer than I have to."

"Without evidence of said crime, they can't hold you here for more than three days. If they try to pick you up for anything illegal you were carrying, I can get it thrown out in a second. If we can make bail, you can be out of here in a blink. I don't know if you want to call your father; you know anyone else who can post bail for you?"

"I don't want my dad to know about this," said Brian. "I already used my phone call. I called this priest that I talked to earlier today because I felt guilty about taking the Morpheus. He said he's on his way here. His name is Father Levington. Maybe he can bail me out. I'm sure the cops are going to question me soon, and I need you there when they do."

Alan was barely concealing a grin. He hadn't even been sure that this would work.

"He should be here about now, I think, if you used your call now. Do you want me around when you talk to him, or should I give you a little privacy, if he's shown up now?"

"Yeah, you can be there when we talk," said Brian. "I've already told it all to you anyway. He'll probably be here soon."

"Alright. I'll go tell the office boys that the conclusion of our legal matters requires a chat with your priest. That should let him in without giving them an opening to take you away first."

"Okay, I'll wait here," said Brian. "I'm not going anywhere."

Alan knocked on the door to be let out of the interview room, and the cops on the other side opened the door for him, closing it behind him. When he explained that the priest was to be let in, the black cop nodded and went over to the desk. He picked up the phone and dialed. "This is Officer Thomas in Detention," he said after a moment. "One of the prisoners, Brian Anderson, is expecting a visitor that he called. A priest. Can you send him down when he arrives?" He waited again. "Okay, thanks Sergeant." He hung up the phone. "The priest has already arrived, sir. He's on his way down."

"Thank you very much, Officer."

Alan walked back to the interview room. He didn't enter it immediately; he wanted to see this priest when he arrived.

Alan did not have long to wait before the priest arrived.

OOC,Please move to the following thread:

Law