[IC Chap 1 - The Alameda Kono All Star Team]

[Basketvector]

Back in their compartment, Max takes his shoes off and puts his dirty smelly feet on the seat across from him.

Nearby is a classy leather-bound attache case with an embossed plate reading "J.C.". In the case is the sports section of Monday's Tribune. Joe Louis knocked out that bum Braddock at Comiskey Park last night and Max plans to read about it later on the shitter.

There is also a collection of literature he stole from the Chicago Public Library: an anthology called Witches of the Sea, a volume of poems called People of the Monolith, and a booked called Nameless Cults. He had only briefly thumbed through the first two, but had spent the last several days studying the book of cults. A man like Max easily confuses existential dread with hunger. He turns an empty bag of pretzels over and salt dusts the cabin floor. Max returns to his book.

Before he left Chicago, he had asked Helen to track down the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. All he has is one of their pamphlets written by a H. T. Gunn. Helen aint no sleuth though. Not a bad looker, but she couldnt use her gams to save her life. Jack hired her for her typing, of all things. At least she can keep her mouth shut.

There is also a collection of pencil drawings Max made of an ancient ornate cross which occupies his thoughts nightly. Each day he grows less sure whether he actually saw it at the Union Theater or only dreamt about it afterwards.

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie returns to his seat just as Max puts his feet up.

He winces and sits down a couple seats away. Not cuz of the smell. Eddie was used to the stink of Gluttony by now. Between his time spent with the Black Socks, his partner Max and stewing in his own junk, Eddie was used to stink. Eddie didn't like it when Max's fat touched his throwing arm. Bad.. Bad Hoodoo.

Eddie pulled out a smoked meat sandwich on sourdough all wrapped up nice and oily-like in red and white checkered wax paper. His fingers glistened with the fat dripping through the wrappings. He hands it to Max before the waitress arrives with three double gin and tonics. Eddie had his Vices but so did Max. Eddie learned a long time ago that the Fatman didn't bother him about the booze when his face was stuffed with pastrami. Kind of like the pot calling the kettle black he always thought. Whatever in the name of shit holy Christ that meant.

One Pastrami on Sourdough your royal Fatness!!

Eddie bows low.. something he'd been practicing quite a bit to impress the big time slopes in China once he started chukin' again.

Eddie leans over and takes a gander at Max's doodle.

What yah doodlin' Max old pal?

Eddie's eyes suddenly collide with the "JC" emblem on Max's attaché case and he doesn't give Max a chance to answer. His mood suddenly shifts to a sickly dark shade of eggplant.

That Jack's case?

[Basketvector]

Previously said:   One Pastrami on Sourdough your royal Fatness!!

Thanks Eddie, it's just want I wanted! Gee I didn't get you anything.

He unwraps it and pauses for a moment. Guess we're going to be eating Chinese for a while, huh Eddie?

Max isn't too cautious about his study materials. They're strewn about. Mustard quickly gets in the pages. He starts telling Eddie about some Babylonian cult but it's difficult to make out because he's eating.

Previously said:   That Jack's case?

Listen Eddie, there's too many ghosts on this train already. The only J.C. you need to concern yourself with is Johnny Collins and sweet little baby Jesus. You understand what I'm saying? This ain't no comeback, and this ain't no chance at redemption. That invitation you got wasn't from no slant-eyed baseball commission. And it wasn't from Johnny Collins either. It was from Beezelbub himself, and you and I just RSVP'd.

Max looks around. A few faces seem to to be watching him. Sure as eggs is eggs, Johnny's got people on this train. He seems to want us alive for some reason.

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie's eyes teared up for a fraction of a second and a flash of anger crosses Eddie's face so twisted he'd give that devil Max was yammering about a run for his money. He looked like he was just about to strike Max... at least a dozen times. Then follow up with his Louisville Slugger. A snarl began to form on his lips as his one eye narrowed and he glared intently at his fat friend. His hands balled into fists and Eddie leaned closer to Max with a predatory stare Max had never seen before in the happy go lucky drunk.

There was an evil in his tone as he whispered softly though gritted teeth.

What did you just say?

The train whistled....

Then just as fast, that Eddie Cicotte shit eat grin suddenly plasters his face from cheek to cheek. Eddie leans back with his Gin and Tonic and chuckles, perhaps a bit too forced.

You gotta learn to relax Fatman! We're on easy street here. You gotta have faith pal.

Eddie taps his drinking arm twice.

Once this heater get's warmed up we ain't gonna want for nuthin!!

Eddie looks out the window of the train and Max can see the shadow of that deadly serious, twisted man he just witnessed in his reflection.

For nuthin!!

[Basketvector]

Max doesn't flinch but he's relieved when Eddie finally calms down.
All right, all right. Save it for game time Knuckles.

Max cautiously takes his greasy mitt off the heater in his pocket.

[coffee demon]

1:20 AM Wednesday June 26, 1937 - Denver Zephyr, En Route to Denver

Nameless Cults is a thick tome. It looks like it's never been opened. Printed in 1909, and claims to be a "Faithful revision clarification of the Bridewell Octavio Edition" which was published in 1845. And apparently that version was a translation of "Unassprechlichen Kulten", a four-part book printed in Germany sometime in the early 1800's.

The book reads like part-journal, part encyclopedia, written by a man named Friedrich Wilhelm von Junzt, who apparently spent a great deal of time researching and also attending the ceremonies of various secret societies and cults. In many instances, it is implied that Junzt is also participating in the ceremonies, and doing quite awful things. He writes about these events in a disturbingly matter-of-fact way - a drunken orgy in the Dark Forest of Germany, including human sacrifice, is written about in such a plain way that it's hard to imagine Junzt had his head on straight.

The sheer volume of such events is hard to accept - why does no one talk about these things, if they truly happen with such frequency?

Spoiler:

Cam, mark that Max has read Unspeakable Cults for 4 out of 120 days before he gets it. 116 to go.

4:06 AM Thursday, June 27, 1937 - Denver Zephyr, En Route to Denver

The steward knocks loudly on your door and rings a large bell.

"DENVER COLORAAAADDOOOOO! Thirty Minutes! Rise and Shine!"

It's still pitch black outside. The sky is clear.

4:35 AM Thursday, June 27, 1937 - Union Station, Denver, Colorado


Union Station - Denver, Colorado.

Halfway to San Fran. The sun is just starting to light the sky in the east. It's damn cold up here in the mountains at night, even in the middle of the summer.



You've found the platform where you're supposed to wait for the next train. Your bags are leaned up beside you. The Denver Zephyr is two platforms over, now empty - and no other trains are on the platform right now.

You have 25 minutes before the train to San Francisco arrives. At 4:30 AM transfer doesn't afford much sleep - if any.

Moths flap against the two pitiful lights that illuminate the platform. Virtually everyone has dispersed from the platform - it seems that only the train to San Francisco is leaving soon enough to justify waiting outside.

You recognize several groups of people from the Chicago-Denver train, who have also moved to this platform and are waiting with you. But one pair stands out like a sore thumb. Even if the big guy didn't keep looking your way, they'd still stand out:

Two men in Big City Suits. One fits the business part - a thin english-looking blonde guy, so thin you can see shadows under his cheekbones. Tight little suitcase. Round spectacles. Probably couldn't hammer a nail to save his life. Reading a newspaper so he can look busy.

The other guy though. Straight Italian. Smoking a cigarette in the way you do when your past is haunting you. When you can't forget. You know the feeling.

He's tapping his foot, impatient. Keeps looking your way - no eye contact, though. Just enough to confirm that you're still around. Broad shoulders, pouty lips. Might as well be hanging off the side of a Model T with a Tommy Gun. That's the type. He's the right age, too. Years back when Collins was running gangs, this guy would have been young and ready. Now he has a bit of a belly, but it still looks like he could crack skulls, and might still enjoy it too. He has two suitcases. He might be taking a longer trip than Office Boy.

The two of them are as far down the platform as they can get from you. Another dozen people are also on the platform, and more are arriving from the station.

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie watches the two men through his peripherals with perfect clarity. A trick he'd gotten quite good at on the mound keeping a close eye on some assholes taking a big lead on first base. Eddie takes out a cigarette of his own and fumbles clumsily through his jacket. His hand presses firmly on the zippo in his left inside pocket. Eddie shakes his head and smiles wryly at Max

Well what d'ya know fats. I left my torch on the train.

With a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips, Eddie strolls over to the intense looking Italian fellow smoking across the platform. Upon reaching him, Eddie takes a nip from his flask and smiles warmly.

You got a light Mac? Mine's out... Too many fags on the train. You know what I mean?


Eddie takes a quick look up and down the Italian to check him out. Not to suspicious. But enough to see if the WOP was packing.

[Basketvector]

"No, Eddie... Eddie."
Max tries impotently to stop this disaster from unfolding.

[DSIGFUSS]

ooc- Spot Hidden toll was 28. - Pass.

[coffee demon]

4:38 AM Thursday, June 27, 1937 - Union Station, Denver, Colorado



The big guy purses his lips and gives a little chuckle at your comments. He cups his hands around the lit match, holds it carefully to the tip of your cigarette. Big hands, thick fingers. The smell of cologne. Smells pretty good - probably expensive stuff, but he wears too much of it.

He looks you in the eye as you draw in the smoke.

"That's pretty funny stuff. You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere? I swear... I swear you look like someone I know. Here, listen, buddy. Let me do you a favour. You look like shit and you smell like shit. Here."

He flicks the match away and reaches into his jacket pocket.

As he does so, you see a strap over his rumpled shirt and under the jacket. A holster, tight to the body. Yeah, he's packing heat all right.

He draws out a fold of bills, and fingers through them. Probably about a hundred bucks in there.

"Here's a dollar. Do yourself a favour. Maybe do everyone a favour. You got time - go into the station and buy some soap. Wash yourself. Get a razor too. Here."

He pulls out another dollar from the wad of money.

"Get something for your friend there too. Jesus Christ, he's big, isn't he? Isn't he a big guy, David?"

'David' shakes his head and looks at Max apologetically. He looks flustered and obviously does not want to see an escalation.

[ooc - Okay, I marked a Check by your Spot Hidden, Dan. Can you two give me a Sense Motive check as well?]

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie grins wide and accepts the dollar bill.

Thanks Mac!! That's some solid sage advice you got there big fella!

There is an obvious sarcasm to his voice. Eddie likes this guy a lot. So obviously he wants to kill him.

Eddie fumbles purposefully for the dollar bill as he puts it in his pocket. He sighs and shrugs as he drops it.

Whoopsy!!

He meets the Italians eye as he steps on the bill, secretly not wanting it to blow away. He does need the cash.

Or should I say WOP-sy!! emphasizing the word WOP sharply in WOP-sy very clearly. I'm not just not so sure anymore.

Eddie quickly snatches the bill up off the ground and presents it with a short wave.

Got it!! I'm gonna go buy my fat friend a cheeseburger and think long and hard about such sage advice.

Eddie looks at the Italian with his wry crooked smile before nodding to his friend David and tipping his cap.

See yah in the funny papers David!

ooc- sense motive roll is 09.

Eddie will walk back to Max if there is no further trouble.

[Basketvector]

C'mon pal, let's go get that cheeseburger and leave these gentlemen to their business.

Max ushers Eddie away, and gives the both of them a look over, especially david.
Sense motive 14

[coffee demon]

OC: You two both rolled pretty low on Psychology (Dan rolled 9 needed 5, Cam rolled 14 needed 5). You could spend Luck to Pass....

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie chuckles to himself as Max ushers Eddie away from the growing conflict and whispers to Max.

I just called that dirty Mook a WOP... Heh! Heh!! I bet you're doing a god damn jig over your pot of gold now eh Fatman? You fuckin' Mik you!

Eddie straightens himself out, smiling at his friend and straightens his collar. He was slipping alright.

Let's spend that dollar!! I'm starving over here.


ooc - Eddie will spend the luck to make his Psychology roll.

[Basketvector]

6:15 AM Thursday, June 27, 1937. Somewhere West of Union Station.

Max waits until David and the greasy wop are at breakfast.

He tries to get away from Eddie for a few minutes.
"I gotta drop a deuce." He exits the cabin abruptly with a newspaper under his arm. He heads to the diner car. No time to shit.

He approaches David and the greasy wop at their table and sits down. His massive heft presses David against the wall in the cramped space.

"Gentlemen, I just wanted to apologize for the behaviour of my friend earlier. You see, he's an asshole. But we have a long trip ahead of us and I do believe in mending fences. Let's say this piece of toast is a fence that got broke because of some careless words. Max takes a bite of it to illustrate the point. Now there's no putting that fence back together. You simply need another piece.... so lets start over.

"The name's O'Malley."

[he tries to discretely pass David a folded up piece of paper. Sleight of hand (10%): 49]
It has a detailed pencil drawing of an ornate cross. Underneath is written. "You seen this?"
On the back is a few cock and balls, sketched quickly.

[coffee demon]

Back in time for a sec:

4:38 AM Thursday, June 27, 1937 - Union Station, Denver, Colorado

Eddie spent 4 Luck to pass Sense Motive on the big mook. I marked that on your sheet - Eddie has 66 Luck now. Note that spending Luck to pass a roll doesn't let you check off a success on it.

This guy is tough, no doubt. But the blood-shot whites of his eyes and the dark bags of skin underneath are from more than just one rough night of sleep. What keeps this guy up at night?

What's really unsettling, though, is that the big guy is staring right back at your face, and scowling a bit. Looking a little nervous. You can't help but think he's thinking the same thing, or worse, looking back at you.

And for an instant, you feel like you both realize this at the same time.

This guy looks like he's seen something no one wants to see.

Union Station, the fire, the thing in the stars looking down. You can see it in his face. He sees it in yours.

He looks away quickly, as you also turn.

"Fuckin greaseball," he mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear.


Back to the present...

6:15 AM Thursday, June 27, 1937. The California Zephyr - two hours out of Denver, en route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29

I just looked - it takes 33 hours to train from Denver to SF right now! I'm calling it ~48 hours in 1937. We can speed through this for sure. Cam, you can choose to do this on Friday morning instead, if you'd like. But it'll move you way forward on reading your book, at least!

David gives Max a quizzical look over his glasses, like a disapproving schoolteacher, and looks down at the note. The big guy leans over too. [OC: Failed sleight of hand.]

He flips the paper over (sees the cock and balls), and flips it back again.

"What is this? Looks like a cross, with... something crawling on it? I don't understand, what's this all about?"

The mook snatches the sheet out of his hand, gives the cross a quick glance, then flips the paper over and snorts. "We got a' comedian here." He does look genuinely amused, and snorts again. The cock and balls is obviously more interesting to the mook than the cross.

Eddie, feel free to let me know what you're up to on the train, generally. You're not in this scene with Max. Max, please roll Sense Motive.

[Basketvector]

Max sighs and leans back. Outside the window the Chicago skyline recedes into a sea of corn.
"Shit. You two are just a couple of mooks ain't ya? You don't know who you work for. You don't know what you're in."

"Do me a favor. You see Johnny, you tell him, no one puts the bag on Max O'Malley.
"No one." He takes a last glance out East.

"Well.. " Max tucks the newspaper under his arm. "I gotta pinch a loaf".
He struggles to get out of the booth.

"Push David. David, push."

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie winks at Max and grins his lopsided grin as his partner excuses himself to the lavatory. The booze was starting to get on top of him once again.

Measure Twice... Cut Once there fats!!

Eddie stretches his legs once Max exits the cabin and imagines briefly the deuce that dumpster of a man must be battling in the can.

He laughs out loud for a moment and then drifts off to sleep.

As always , he dreams of Rose and the kids...

ooc- Eddie will remain in the cabin unless disturbed.

[coffee demon]

9:00 PM Friday, June 28, 1937. Sleeping Car of The California Zephyr En route to San Fransisco. ETA 3 AM Saturday June 29

(Two days later)

...So you see, Nature itself is not a stable thing, nor is it neat and without controversy. Knowing this, is knowing that there is no kind God, nor a righteousness that his angels would seek to preserve. And so we come to understand that the true creativity of the World is premised on its deep-seated monstrosity. The closer we lean into the bloated and entropic nature of the World, the more we are inspired to sympathize with the Demon Lilith, and her abandonment of things-as-they-should be...

Max looks up from People of the Monolith, and stares back at the reflection of himself in the window of their sleeping-car. Pasty skin, evil-looking purple crescents under his bloodshot eyes.

Sitting across from him, Eddie looks no better. Monstrosities, indeed.

Normally, four people would be assigned to each sleeping car, but the previous passengers took a look at you two, and politely asked for another berth. So you have the car to yourself. The sliding door from your berth to the hallway of the train car is closed, but small windows show you that the lights in the hallway have been turned off. The bar is closed, no more food service until morning.

It's been three days on a train, and you're finally six hours out from San Fran.

You haven't seen David and the goon since Max passed them the note, early the day before. Maybe you just keep missing them in the dining car, or maybe they got off, and weren't headed to San Francisco after all.

KNOCK KNOCK

There is a sharp rap on your door. (Let's assume you haven't locked it. Though the train staff all have keys).

"Complimentary Service!"

A tired-looking train Steward - a young guy, short blonde hair, no doubt at the tail end of a grueling shift on a scorching summer California day - enters with a tray. A full bottle of Scotch Whiskey, two glasses, a jar of ice, two white paper napkins.

"Mister Eddie Ciccone? Ciccote. I'm sorry, sir. And congratulations are in order as well, it seems? This is a complimentary service, it will not go on your tab. From the..." He glances down at a piece of note paper. "...From the Alameda-Kono All-Star Team. I guess this is a new job, is it? Well, I'm sure this is well-deserved! Remember, the train arrives at 3 AM. Don't drink it all, ha ha!"

The steward opens a fold-down table from the wall, and places the tray between the two of you.

Only now does the steward allow himself a good look at Max. The reaction is not uncommon - a deep discomfort, a desire to look away, but a darker desire that wins over, so that he keeps staring at you.

To lean into the bloated Nature of the World. Monstrosities, indeed.

"Food service is closed for the night, but is there anything more I can do for you two?"

I added 2 more days of reading People of the Monolith, and put your books on your Character Sheet, Cam. 6/120 days on that

[DSIGFUSS]

Eddie brightens immediately. His heart fills with an energy only the great Shoeless Joe Jackson could muster in dark time such as these.

Eddie Cicotte clenched his fist at the mere metal mention of his old friend from left field and pushes him away before things started to get strange.

Not now Joe....

Eddie claps his hands and rubs them quickly together like two pieces of kindling. His eyes lingering on the expensive Scotch.

You see Fats! Everything is coming up Aces!! I toldja there was nothin to worry bout. Old Eddie Ciccote is back baby. Me and you Fats!!! We're gonna live like kings I tells yah. Like gad damn celebrities.


Eddie begins filling two glasses with ice. Rolling the cubes expertly in each glass. Before the attendant had left, Eddie was handing a four fingered glass to max and was filling a healthy glass for himself, taking in the fine aroma as the amber liquid poured.