Play@YSDC

Sunday, March 2nd, 1930 12.00noon.
South Central Station, Dewey Square, Boston, Mass.

It already felt like a long day by the time the four men reached South Central Station. They had arisen, packed, and met at the offices of E.E. Saltonstall promptly at 10.30am. Without ceremony, the contract drafted by William was inspected, signed, and an envelope handed over. Inside it was the original $200, plus another $75 for incidental expenses, with a notebook so such expenses could be recorded.

Half an hour later, they were back on the street again, and a cab was hailed to take them to the station. When they arrived, the midday train was already stood ready at the platform, smoke rising from the smokestack as the crew stoked the engine and prepared to leave. A porter took their cases from the cab and stacked them onto a trolley, before following the four men onto the platform.

First port of call was the guard’s van where their gun cases were handed over and locked away. The porter then showed them to their carriage - second class - and helped them stow their cases on the overhead luggage rack.

As the whistle sounded and the carriage shuffled on its buffers as the train edged forward, the train conductor checked their tickets and explained the arrangements for the buffet car.

The men were sat in a small, wooden backed cubicle that afforded them some privacy if they wished to talk.

OOC - Travel Arrangements,As previously mentioned, the journey will take three days. It will be a mix of local and long-distance trains. Let me know if there is anything you wish to do en route.

"Where shall we start?" asks Howard.

"Public records," says William. "We know the last name they're using, and we know they've opened a hotel somewhere in Louisiana sometime between the end of October and the end of February. There has to be a record of their purchase of the property and probably of them registering as a business."

"But will the records office in Baton Rouge cover the whole state?" asks Howard. He has a thought.

"Maybe there's some kind of hotel licensing register."

"Failing all else, we could just ask around the city." says Lawrence, "Though it's best we keep that as a last resort. We haven't got all of eternity to find James. Now that I think of it, if I recall correctly, you found a flyer for the new hotel over at Squatter's Lake. There might be some information on it, but I could just be wrong."

Howard looks out of the window.

"It just had the name of the new place, Brown's. I think we can assume it's next to a lake somewhere, but to my knowledge, Louisiana isn't exactly short of lakes."

"The way I see it, checking the records is the best plan we have at the moment. We're looking for a needle in a haystack, at best, and we'll need whatever effective plan we can think of." states Lawrence, "We'll also need a plan of what we'll do when we actually find the hotel, but I think we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Howard shrugs his shoulders.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's just make sure we get paid" he says, without removing his gaze from the window.

OOC:   Shall we move on to our destination?

"Baton Rouge is Louisiana's capital," says William, "so they should have records for the whole state."

OOC,Yes, I'm ready.

Wednesday March 5th, 1930 10.45am
Baton Rouge Train Station, 100 South River Road, Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Three uneventful days have passed since the four men left Boston, punctuated only by the need to change trains and, for the last 12 hours at least, the lack of any real comfort.

Although early in the year, they noticed as they climbed from the train that Louisiana was considerably warmer than Boston and they are soon perspiring in their winter clothes. As they loosened ties and removed jackets, a porter helped them to retrieve their luggage and guided them to the front of the station, where he whistled up a cab to take them into town.

An old but clean automobile rolled to a stop in front of them, almost as soon as the porter’s whistle had died away. A young black man hopped out of the car and started bustling about, putting cases in the boot. “Ma name is Oscar,” he said by of introduction. “Where you gennelmen at? Have y’all got somewhere to stay?”

Howard is used to the dry desert heat of his native Arizona, not this humidity. He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

Regarding their would-be helper with some trepidation, he answers “I take it you have somewhere in mind, Mr. Oscar?”

Oscar laughed. “Ah’m sure you gennelmen would think that ah was failing in ma duties if ah didn’t!”

“Now, depending what you wants to do while you’re here, ah’ve got a whole range o’ places that might suit you. Ah can take you to some fine God-fearing, Christian-worshipping establishments with prayers said afore meals and bedtime, or ah can take you to some more ‘down to earth’ places, where everyone’s a bit more relaxed and friendly-like? ”

He finished putting their cases in the trunk and stood waiting for an answer.

"How much are you asking for your services, Mr. Oscar?" asks Howard.

”Well, your cab fare is a city-mandated 30c per mile,” replied Oscar, ”But what you pays for accommodation is entirely up to you. Ah guess you ain’t looking for a flophouse and by the looks of you, you ain’t just here for an overnight stay. Ah knows of a boarding house run by a missus Sykes, she’s got rooms available and she don’t charge anymore than two dollars a night.”

“How does that suit you?”

"Sounds okay, I guess" Howard replies. "Would you be offering your services as a driver too?"

”How does five dollars per day, plus mileage, sound to you gennelmen?” said Oskar, after a moment’s thought. ”Ah can run you around just about anywheres you want to go for that.”

He looked at the four men. ”Do we have a deal?” he asked.

"That does sound like a lot," says William, "but I think I can afford it, and your services are worth paying for."