Play@YSDC

The investigators make their way to Leonard Court and the speakeasy. Leonard Court is a small cul-de-sac, so it isn’t difficult to locate the blue door. Knocking on it results in a peephole in the door being opened. A practiced eye regards the companions for a moment, and then a voice says, “Whatchoo want?”

Stating that they were sent by Mitch Wester is the key to the door opening. The interior however, is about as far from the Blue Heaven as it’s possible to get. The building is old and dingy, with sawdust strewn on the floor, and is poorly lit. The denizens are mostly black and working class. Several pairs of eyes turn to stare at the newcomers, but most however are concerned with their drinks, and many seem to be on their way to drunken oblivion. There won’t be much hope of some quality booze here though.

There is a bar against the far wall, tended by a surly looking man, who glares at the heroes suspiciously. Leroy Turner can be seen by himself at a table, staring into his drink with a faraway expression on his face. His trumpet lays on the table next to him.

Ron walks over and leans on the bar and orders himself a drink.

"And one for that gentleman too," he says, nodding in Leroy's direction. "By the way, I like the door on this place. Is there a story behind it?"

The Barman stares blankly at Ron.

“It’s a door Mister. That’s it.”

He pours two ‘whiskies’.

Isadora Carmichael

"...and one for me too, please," says Isadora, stepping up to the bar. Self-medicating with alcohol is a bad thing... but she needs a drink to steady her nerves after the funeral.

"Just let's be careful when talking to Turner," she says to Ron. "We don't want to scare him or anything."

She takes her drink, and walks over to Turner's table.

"I'm sorry, may we sit down with you?"

Turner looks up as Isadora speaks to him. His expression doesn’t change, although he visibly tenses. He is obviously wondering what this is about.

“Well, go ahead” he says, with a noticeable Louisiana accent.

"Thank you," says Alice, taking a seat. "Mitch Wester and the rest of the band went down to the hospital after the funeral. I must say, you're a very good trumpeter. Our friend Dr. Balzac here plays the trumpet too, but you're better at it than he is." She gives Dr. Balzac a shrug and a smile. "I'm sorry, Dr. Balzac, but it's true."

“You were at the funeral? Weren’t that something? Ain’t never seen anything like that before.”

Turner looks at Henry and obviously recognizes him from the night before.

“You folks was at the Blue Heaven too, weren’t you? Trouble must follow you around”. He chuckles, then suddenly looks wary.

“Is there something I can help y’all with? You be needing a horn player?”

Henry Glynn

"I'm not sure if trouble is following us or if we're following trouble." Henry replies.

Turner gives Henry a quizzical look, unsure of how to take his statement. He knocks back his drink and lays the glass on the table.

"Well, it was nice seeing you folks, but I gotta get."

He starts to rise from his chair.

"We have seen something like what happened at the funeral before," says Alice. "It happened last night, at the Blue Heaven. You couldn't see it from where you were, but we could. The man who was shot, he got back up again too."

That's real interesting Miss" says Turner, after a slight pause. "But I don't know why you're telling me. That shooting was nothin' to do with me". He picks up his horn.

Isadora Carmichael

"Please, Mr. Turner... This is not about the shooting. I'm afraid that trouble is following you... Please, let us help."

Turner stops and stares at Isadora.

“How do you mean Miss?” he asks. “What kind of trouble?”

Isadora Carmichael

"The strange kind," Isadora says, struggling to translate her vision into words. And she is still slightly shocked by the funeral. "Do you ever feel... unusual? Like something weird is following you around, destroying your life, like a curse?"

Turner looks amused. “Well, apart from losing my girl, nope, I can’t say that I do”.

He sits back down abruptly. “Look, if you wanna ask me strange questions, you’d best get me another drink.”

Henry Glynn

Henry gets Turner a drink.

"Say, I'm real interested in who taught you to play and where your got that trumpet of yours?"

Turner eagerly takes a gulp of his drink. “I bin playing since I could walk. My daddy showed me how.” He sits back down in the chair. As he does so, he raises up his trumpet.

“This beauty!” he exclaims. “Such a sweet sound. It was given to me by Mr. Louis Armstrong, no less. Last week I was playing in South Boston with a scratch band. I went outside for a smoke, and Mr. Armstrong, he walks up to me and says “Leroy, you’re such a good player, I want you to have one of my horns.” And he gave it to me, right there.”

Everyone,You can roll Psychology.

Isadora Carmichael
Psychology 20%
[dice]0[/dice]

Isadora misses the subtle undertones.

"Well, the instrument is only worth as much as the player... But say, is Mr. Armstrong your teacher, or mentor of sorts?"

Ron takes a large swig of his drink and rather enjoys it.
We should ask what happened to his girl he thinks to himself.