The voice on the phone said, "I understand that you are a friend of my son, James. He has gone missing. I require your assistance in bringing him home again...”
A university student has gone missing. Can his friends find out what has happened to James Frazer in 1920s Massachusetts?
"Something to research, no doubt. I wonder if any of the Hopi still live in the area? It may be worth trying to track one down, or at least an expert of their people. We should be cautious though; we don't know if they're in league with this snake cult."
“Certainly, sirs. We have a range of hunting rifles to choose from - local bylaws prohibit hunting alligators with shotguns, if you weren’t already aware. Personally, I think that’s just a result of lobbying by the catering trade who got fed up digging out buckshot from the steaks they were selling,” he laughed politely at his own joke.
He looked at the guns displayed on the wall behind him. “You have a choice of .30 lever-action, .45 Martini Henry - good stopping power but a trifle slow or the 30.06. Oh, and will you be requiring your permits as well?”
Continuing their research, they found that the Hopi were mainly located in Arizona but it was believed that a sub-tribe, the Tochine, had settled in Louisiana following a schism with the main tribe. It seemed they had refused any attempts to move them onto a reservation but there was no further information as to what happened to them. Nor was there any information about the cause of the schism between the Hopi and the Tochine.
Alex frowns at learning this. "Seems unlikely we'll be able to speak to any Hopi, but the Tochine might still be around. We may have more luck speaking to someone at the university, provided we can convince someone to let us. Hopefully it has a professor who specializes in these Tochine or can point us to someone who knows more. But if you have any other ideas I'd be glad to hear them," he suggests.
"Thank you, we would," says William. "We're from up north, if you couldn't tell by our accents, so we don't have permits here. Speed is important. So is stopping power, but if the first shot misses, I think it's more important to get another one off fast. I'm interested in the .30 lever-action."
“We could ask the librarian,” Ivy muses. “The university was hardly welcoming, but perhaps she could recommend a historian we could approach privately.”
“Failing that, do you think visiting the town hall would be profitable?”
"The lever-action ought to do for me, as well. Martini-Henry's a nice gun, but I wouldn't want to be a sitting duck against something that can tear me apart like wet paper..."Lawrence comments, not quite imagining alligators as he trails off near the end. "And the permit, too, yes! I'd hate to get in any trouble with the law. Law is what separates us from the animals we hunt, you know."
“An excellent choice, sirs,” said Latil as he unlocked a gun cabinet and placed two of the weapons on the counter. Next to them, he placed two boxes of ammunition and two gun bags. Finally, he picked up a carbon copy book of licences and slid it over to them.
“The rifle, accessories and permit will come to a total of $35 each. If you could just complete the permit and you can be on your way.”
The rifle stats (in the unlikely event that you will ever need them) are: Range - 50 yards, Shots per Round - 1, Magazine - 6, Damage - 2D6, Malfunction - 98 or above.
Sounds good. Alex lets Ivy take the lead, confident these two no nonsense women share a language which allows them to easily communicate with one another.
Tuesday March 10th, 1931 11.15am
Baton Rouge Police Department, North Boulevard, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Having finished at Latil’s gunsmiths, Oscar drove Lawrence and William over to the police station. Dropping them off at the kerb, he said, “Assumin’ ah don’ just get moved on, ah’ll find somewhere to park ma car, then wait for yous over dere.” He pointed to a park on the opposite side of the road.
Inside, they were greeted by the desk sergeant, an older man with close-cropped hair but with a luxuriously anachronistic moustache. “What can we do for you gentlemen today?” he asked.
”Did you find everything you were looking for?” asked the librarian as they approached her desk.
Apologies for the delay in posting, I’ve been away visiting friends. And next week, my only night in is Sunday so I might be a bit delayed then as well…
"Thank you, my name is William Preston," says William, using his real name, which the Sheriff already knew (though he couldn't recall ever actually telling him). Besides, it wouldn't do to give him a false name anyway. "I spoke to the Sheriff a few days ago on the telephone, and he asked me to come down and see him. He's expecting me. I brought a friend who's also a witness."
The sergeant made a note of their names, his moustache twitching as he wrote. Then he said, “I believe Sheriff DuPont is expecting you. Let me show you through,” and he lead the way to a second storey corner office, with windows overlooking the park opposite the the station.
A tall man with brown hair starting to fade to grey at the temples stood frowning as he looked out of the window. He turned as they entered and nodded a greeting as the desk sergeant introduced them. He bade them take a seat as he took his own seat behind his desk. He thanked the sergeant for seeing them upstairs, then said, ”Thank you again for making the journey down here. Now what can you tell us of events when you were last here?”
The librarian pursed her lips as she considered Ivy’s question. ”If you’re concerned about Indian affairs then the best person to speak to would be an Indian Agent. They’ve not been around for decades but there may be some of them still alive. Let me make a quick telephone call… …”
The librarian returned a few minutes later, with a name and address on a piece of paper. ”You’re in luck, my friend Amy knows of such a person,” and she pushed the piece of paper across the desk. On it, written in neat copperplate, were a name and address which read, Charlie Banyacya, 102 de Jean Charles Blvd., Baton Rouge.