The ambulance arrived and the paramedics took over for Tom and the other man. After twice using the defibrillator on Ashley, they declared they had a pulse. She was breathing again, but it was very slow and irregular. They quickly loaded her into the ambulance to head for the hospital. A couple of police cars showed up as the ambulance was preparing to leave. One policeman offered to drive Ashley's sister to the hospital, while the other stayed behind to talk to witnesses.

Jack stretched his fingers then gripped the steering wheel again. Flashing blue lights in the rear view mirror caught his attention.

"Great! Now what did I do?." Jack pulled over to the side of the road and slowed down, but before he could stop, the police car zipped past him, followed quickly by a second one. Pleased that it wasn't him they wanted, Jack pulled back into traffic.  "If they don't want to talk to me, maybe I want to talk to them", he said. Always on the lookout for a good story, Jack followed the police cars as best he could.

Jack lost sight of the blue lights once, but an educated guess put him back on track. An ambulance whizzed toward him with lights flashing and siren wailing, confirming his guess. He pulled up to "the scene" just as one of the police cars left, chasing after the ambulance. A young woman was seated in the front seat with the cop. "Family or friend of the victim, not the perp."

Jack parked and got out. "Corbin's favorite hangout. I knew it." The other policeman had just moved away from talking to a small group, two men and a woman. Jack approached the same group, pad of paper in one hand, the other extended to shake their hands in turn.

"Hi guys. Jack Jennings, INS. Can you tell me what just happened here?"
This message was last edited by the player at 20:54, Fri 12 July 2013.

"Ben." The twenty-something young man shook Jack's hand as if it was an automatic muscle response. "A girl got sick." He was still looking in the direction the ambulance had gone. "I hope she'll be ok." Ben was tall and lanky, with brown hair that looked like it had been combed by his fingers, instead of an actual comb.
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:33, Sat 13 July 2013.

"I see." Jack pulled the pen from the spiral binding of the notebook. "Do you know if she had an exotic drink? Maybe with something she was allergic to?

"It didn't look like an allergic reaction, but I don't know what she may have had to drink. I didn't see her until after she collapsed." Ben's cellphone went off. He dug it out of his pocket and quickly glanced at the message. He sighed heavily as he returned the phone to his pocket.

"So, am I to understand you, don't actually know the girl? You were just trying to help?" Jack said to Ben.

Jack turned and faced the couple, pen poised to write but so far the page was blank. "What about you two? Do you know her name, what she was doing just before she became ill? I can keep your names out of the story, if you want."

Krystal didn't want to talk to the cops. She'd had a few bad experiences with them not believing that she had a dream about someone in danger, and not that she wasn't involved just looking to play the hero. Anyone who knew Krystal would agree, she was no 'hero'.

A thought click in her mind as she saw Jack Jennings of INS. She would often read his articles, looking for events she'd been involved in and making sure wasn't mentioned. As much as she didn't want to talk to the press either she suddenly remembered Tom's card in Ashley's pocket. It was only a matter of time before the cops found it, then came to their/her apartment to rule Tom out as a suspect. If they questioned him for too long he might have to go back into cat form and that would just bring up more questions. "Oh Shit!" she balled up her hands and clamped her eyes shut as if it could block out the world.

Grabbing Tom by the hand she pulled him toward Jack Jennings. They needed protection and that would have to come in the form of freedom of the press. "Here name was Ashley!" Krystal called out, hoping to draw Jack's attention. "My friend Tom was talking to her. Cute girl. She was going to call him later and everything." Krystal almost shoved Tom forward hoping she'd planted enough seeds to cover the clues the cops would find in Ashley's pocket and draw the attention of the reporter.

Tom didn't like the press much, but he picked up Krystal's intentions - spend enough time talking to somebody mind to mind, and it becomes hard to tell the difference between telepathy and intuition: "I still hope she will give me a call, actually... Though I don't know how long it will take her to recover. It looked like she was having a stroke."

Jack jotted notes onto his pad. Vic = Ashley, cute. Possibly stroke?    Witness = Ben, Tom + girl = couple? Tom & Ashley-hookup later?

"A stroke you say? Very odd for a young woman to have a stroke. Worth looking into."

Jack looked at each in turn. "It seems to me that none of you knew Ashley well, would that be correct? I'm fairly sure I could talk my editor into a short article here. 'Good Samaritans assist girl in need at club.' The public likes to get a bit of good news now and then. Could I please have your full names?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:59, Sat 20 July 2013.

Krystal leaned over Tom's shoulder to add, "Her sister was talking to Corbin. Ash went to get her sister and that's when we stepped outside for a smoke." she slipped back and move to the other side of time as if that would mask her presence somehow. Nervously she began to open and close the Zippo.
Clink? Click. Clink? Click.

Tom lifted a hand to his earlobe in thought - human ears were not prone to twitching - and said: "Mr. Jennings. My friend and I, we are a bit... Camera shy, you could say."

"We could certainly give you our contacts-" He stopped and looked over at Krystal, then continued: "We will certainly give you our contacts, but we will also probably ask you to keep our names private."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:59, Mon 22 July 2013.

Corbin. I could have guessed his name would come up connected to this in some fashion. Jack thought as he nodded to the group. "Of course, I fully understand. I promise your names will not make it into the light of the internet. I would like to be able to contact you if I have any questions once I sit down to write the article. What about you Ben? Want to see your name in print?"

Jack slid the pen into the spiral binding and slipped his hand into his pocket. Jack produced a sampling of Independent News Service business cards with his name and contact information.  "Please take one. It has my name, email, and an office phone number. The office can reach me anytime, day or night." He fanned them out like a hand of poker and held them out to the trio.

If I answer the call, especially late night, that's another matter.  He kept his face neutral at that passing thought.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:12, Mon 22 July 2013.

Krystal takes the card, her hand clenching into a fist as she stares at the small 3x2" tile. "Look at that subtle off-white coloring. The tasteful thickness of it. Oh my God, it even has a watermark." She closes her eyes to steady her breath and hands the card to Tom.

Her thoughts started to spin as she hummed and tapped her foot. Finally she looked to Tom, then back to Jack as if on the verge of saying something. Taking a moment she started to fish through her purse for her own card. It was solid black with white lettering and a detailed back and white picture of the girl on the far left hand side.
Krystal O'Connor
555-867-5309
krystal[at]krystaloconnor.com

"My name's Caulfield, Ben Caulfield." He winced as he realized that statement sounded like a bad James Bond impression. "I uh, I don't have a card," Ben said as he glanced at Krystal's card in Jack's hand. "And, I may be moving. Very soon. But, I work at Cook County Morgue. Night shift, usually, if you have any more questions. Not that I think I've got much more to add."

Tom took the business card Krystal handed him, and smiled briefly at his friend. "Well, I don't have a business card either. I could just simply text you my details..."

Jack recorded the personal information and made a note to keep names out of the article. He flipped the pad closed and reinserted the pen into the binding. "Thank you very much for your cander. I think that is all I need from you three at this time. I'm going to see if anyone saw anything regarding Ashley in the club. Then I'll check to see how she is doing at the hospital. This seems pretty straight-forward right now. Thanks again for your time."

Jack shook their hands again and turned toward the entrance of the club.

"They say there's a heaven for those who will wait
Some say it's better but I say it ain't
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints
Sinners are much more fun...

You know that only the good die young"

Only The Good Die Young ~ Billy Joel

The presence of police and ambulance had dampened the mood at Tabú but, the party was just getting started at another Lincoln Park watering hole. The Liar's Club was an unapologetic dive bar where everyone got along, stereotypes were checked at the door, and the only thing anyone gave a damn about was having a good time.

The facade of the bar was as inviting as a slaughterhouse with its fifties-style yellow brick, glass blocks, weathered sign, and a battered metal door. The interior could politely be described as dark and ramshackle, with a fine haze of cigarette smoke hovering over every surface.

On the first floor, there was a crowded bar to the left and tables on the right. As with any asylum, the walls were padded. Behind the bar were Kiss figurines, velour icons of Elvis, and a rotating lamp that showcased couples engaged in acts that could get them arrested in several Southeastern states. A few televisions were showing Kiss videos and vintage porn. Hanging above the tables were lights with fez hats as shades.

The tiny, crowded dance floor had a mirror ball and pulsating lights that blinked under the crowd's feet. This was a great place to dirty dance with strangers. On the right of the dance floor was a carpeted bench, located in front of the mirrored walls. On the other side was a lounge area complete with red velvet drapes and faux leopard skin seats.

To the left of the bar were rickety wooden stairs that lead to the second floor. The upstairs lounge had black stucco walls, a small bar, Kiss posters, a small pool table, ripped leather seats, red track lighting, and a Kiss pinball machine. The centerpiece of the room was a round, upholstered seat with a giant lighted fez hat in the middle that would make any Shriner proud.

The music played could range from Sinatra to the Beastie Boys to the Beatles to the Ramones, depending on which DJ was working. On weekdays the place would be full of steel-livered regulars, whose hobbies centered on the decoration of their bodies. Since it was a Saturday night, the crowd was a bit more mainstream but, still had an offbeat edge.

No matter what the night, the crowd at Liar's could be a lot of fun, and never took itself too seriously. They welcomed anyone in the mood for some hard dancing as well as hard drinking, and that included humans and paranormals. Relations between the two groups might be tense, and even strained in other parts of the city, but at Liar's, they seemed to mix well.

Among the growing crowd of people stood Zoey in her, now, sweaty tank-top and jeans with her trusted laptop as she prepared the tunes. She'd been DJing at Liar's for about 2-3 years now and she enjoyed every minute of it. "Alright, time to plug my own mixes" she spoke to no one in particular as she setup the next song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNzrwh2Z2hQ

As the mashup played, she removed her headphones and pulled her hair off her back to tie it into a messy ponytail, showing off just the red wing tips of her most recent tattoo on her back right shoulder. While her playlist went on it's own she bounced between the people to the bar. When a few regulars saw her approach, they graciously opened a little room for her as she leaned over to be heard, "Hey Frank, got my usual caffeine boost?" she said with a warm smile.

Frank Wayland was an intimidating character, standing over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. He was in his mid-sixties, but could probably kick the ass of men one-third his age. His shoulder-length hair was gray, just like his beard. He was dressed in jeans and a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt. He was the owner of the Liar's Club, and had been for well over a decade. There were rumors that he had won the bar in a wild bet, but no one knew if that was really true.

"What's with all the KISS stuff?" asked a twenty-something man seated at the bar.

Frank's dark eyes gave the man a cold stare. "You gotta problem with KISS?" His voice was rough and gravely, and carried a challenging tone.

The man looked back at Frank, and seemed to get smaller. "Ummm no, they're great." He attempted a weak smile. He looked like a puppy backing down to the alpha dog.

Frank gave a slight nod, as if the man had passed a test and would be allowed to stay. Frank then turned his attention to his young, energetic employee. He poured Zoey a tall, cold Mt. Dew and handed it to her. "Not a bad mix. Makes some of this stuff almost bearable to listen to."

Zoey took a big gulp of her Mt. Dew, "Ahh, I don't know how people function without this stuff. I'm glad you like it, y'know you're the only reason I make these mixes, just so that you can feel hip and 'bear' the new stuff 'those dang kids play these days'" she added that last part with an obvious mocking tone before she shot him a humorous look.

Frank opened a PBR and slid it across the bar. "Just don't ever make John Lennon sound auto-tuned," he said, as he grabbed two more bottles of beer. "I fired the last DJ that did that."

Jack stepped up behind Zoey and briefly put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Hey Zoey! Just make it loud enough so I don't hear the Yuppies whine about their nearly perfect lives."

Jack leaned into the bar and set a old, crumpled and re-flattened $20.00 on it. "Hi Frank. Give me a Shotgun and a cold beer." He twisted so that he faced both Zoey and Frank. "Hope you both have had a good day. I know my night is already looking better then my day was," he said.

Zoey turned and smiled upon seeing Jack, "My day has been pretty much the normal good. Why is your night looking better than your day? Bad day just gotten better by being here with the obvious good company? Or did something else actually worth noting happen?" Zoey asked before she took another long sip of her drink.

Frank opened a bottle of beer and slid it toward Jack, and then he grabbed three bottles of whiskey and a glass. First he poured some Jack Daniels into the glass, followed by an equal amount of Jim Beam. For the final touch, he floated Wild Turkey whiskey on top, and then set the glass in front of Jack. "You're payin' with cash," Frank said as he picked up the twenty. "That's usually a good sign."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:50, Mon 05 Aug 2013.

"Being snarky won't earn you a big tip, Frank." Jack smiled and lifted the poured concoction gave it a hearty whiff.  "Nectar of the Gods," he said as he drank the glass half down. Jack's face grimaced, one eye shut tight as he slapped the bar with his free hand.

"Whew! And that is why the night is better then the day, Zoey.  If I drank like that during the day, I'd be an alcoholic, which I am not. Besides, the company here is a lot better."

Jack switched to the beer and took a swig. "Work is, well work. I might have a lead on a story, or it is another dead end tale of human tragedy. I got to call the hospital later to see which way this one will go. Till then, I chill." He lifted the glass for another swig of the brew.