Trying to look as innocuous as possible Tommy ducked into a shadowy doorway as his troublesome friend went to work. While Milly watched the road he looked up toward the Windows and offices overlooking the place for any sign of twitching curtains.

"for Christ sakes Vincent, I thought we were only walking past the place!". He grinned devilishly, relishing the excitement. Vincent was a do-er. "You sure the place is empty? If we believe Zubaida, whoever works there is a murderer. We might not get a better shot at this.".

Moretti grinned at Cotton's excitement. "After having a look at the windows, I took a long listen at the back door. Silent as a tomb in there." He paused, considering. "I couldn't get the door open. Out of practice, I guess. But you might. You got us inside the shop in Harlem. And you're right, we might not get another chance."

He looked to O'Connor. "Miss O'Connor, if you happen to see someone coming, I'd be obliged if you whistled a few bars of 'Everybody Loves My Baby' before you depart. That will give Mr. Cotton and I fair warning that trouble's brewing."

As he and Cotton moved back to rear of the store, Moretti said in a hushed voice. "One thing I need you to promise me, Mr. Cotton. If the law somehow does show up, you've got to swear that if there's a way for you to make an escape, you'll take it. If I can make a run for it, I will. But if anyone gets pinched for this, it needs to be me."

"I'm the guy you expect this sort of thing from. I get tossed in jail here in London and someone sends a telegram to the D.A. in New York, that office is going to send one back saying, 'Yeah, Moretti's a thug.' I work for Joe the Boss, Mr. Cotton. The only time anyone is going to admit they know me is when they have a problem only my people can solve. Capisce? I end up under arrest, Leo and everyone can point to my record and deny they knew what the hell I was up to."

His expression becomes serious. "You see, you may not fully understand it, Tommy, but the Eliases need you to help unravel what happened to Jackson. You say 'The New York Times', even over in Africa, and I imagine it opens doors. Your paper, your profession, it's respected, paisan. You can get people to talk to you that the rest of us can't. Look at what happened with Zubaida. We wouldn't know what we know now if she hadn't opened up to you. And she did it because of what you do for a living. So the last thing you need to be is locked up in a cell."

"The cops show up, you run. Like the wind. Find your way back to the Savoy. Someone comes asking, I was drunk and insisted on going off into Soho on my own.  You have no damn idea what I did. We clear?"

He clapped Cotton on the shoulder. He could have said more, about how much respect he had for the reporter for risking his safety and leaving his life behind to help them solve this mystery, but that was for another time. When they reached the back door, Moretti lit a match, cupping it in his hand to hide the glare, but holding it over the lock so Cotton would have light to work by. He hoped the reporter could succeed where he failed.

"Ain't no one getting caught today buddy.".
Taking a swift breath Tommy followed Vincent and vanished from the Main Street. Above them clouds rolled accross the moon, and as he stooped to examine the lock he began to feel luck was against them.

Carefully he knelt before the door, taking a pick offered by Moretti and trying to massage the lock open.

09:54, Today: Thomas Cotton rolled 77 using 1d100 with rolls of 77.  Lock vs 57.

 Millicent looked a bit bemused, "You mean you're still going to try this? Saints preserve us, you two are going to be the death of me. Fine," she relented, "I'll watch and try to keep you two out of trouble tonight."

  As the two men got to work, Milly did her part watching for anyone that might stumble upon them.

OOC: any roll i need to make?

After a few minutes of struggling with the lock pick, the lock on the back door doesn't show any signs of giving. At times, Tommy felt something push as if he was almost there, but never managed to actually hear the longed-for click that would signify the unlocking of the door. .

Moretti could see that Cotton came close to success once or twice with the stubborn lock, but ultimately couldn't get it open. The difficulty they were encountering made him earnestly wonder if there was something within the shop that someone had worked hard to keep secure.

When Cotton was finished, Moretti knelt in front of the door, to see if he could build on the progress the reporter had made, but to no avail. No matter how diligently he tried, the lock simply wouldn't yield.

Frowning, Moretti stood, taking a quick look back down the narrow corridor to the street. All seemed quiet. Returning his attention to the door, he weighed their options, earnestly wondering if breaking it down might prove worth the risk.

21:48, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 85 using 1d100 with rolls of 85.  Locksmith - Locksmith 70%.

Tommy swore under his breath as the pin slipped back in to place. So close!
Easing aside he switched places with Moretti, straining to listen for any hint they might have been found. Quickly it became clear that his crouched companion was struggling too.

"Come on, leave it. We've been out here too long. Aint no sense pushing our luck when we can try again tomorrow night.". His voice was low, and his eyes continued to scan the windows above.
Christ it was tempting to have one last go.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:50, Tue 19 July 2016.

As the pair started to pull away from the shadows of the door, Tommy gave a frustrated growl and swore. "Damn it, we are so close. I'm sure I can do this sucker.".
His adrenaline beating faster Tommy knelt against the lock again. He knew they should be moving on, he knew it was a mistake to linger. And yet, those wide dark eyes of Zubaida begged him to try. Or was it the subconscious desire to impress someone else on the scene?

Almost holding his breath he slid the needle of the pick into the lock and tried again...


Yay!
23:21, Today: Thomas Cotton rolled 23 using 1d100 with rolls of 23.  One last go at that darn lock (vs 57).

Moretti grinned as he heard the tell-tale click of the lock. Gently clapping Cotton on the back, he spoke in a hushed tone, "Tommy, you ever want to give up reporting for a less honest career, I can promise you some gainful employment."

Narrowing his eyes against the gloom, he turned the doorknob slowly and quietly pushed the door open.

OOC: Outstanding work, sir!

With a soft 'click,' Tommy managed to pry the lock open, and the door knob would finally turn and allow them entrance into a dark, fragrant room. The scant light from the outside showed that it was some kind of storage room, with shelves filled with large bins, boxes, and jars.

---

What sort of light sources are you guys working with?

After pulling the door closed behind them, Moretti withdrew a small flashlight from his coat pocket. Cupping his hand over the top, he switched it on, slowly guiding the beam across the storeroom in a slow arc, trying to get a better sense of the room and its contents.

The light of Vincent's flashlight revealed that they appeared to be in a storage room of some kind. The shelves were lined with crates, barrels, and jars that were labeled as spices of different sorts. Some of the lettering was in English, while others appeared to be in curving foreign scripts of various sorts. He could make out cinnamon, cassia, cardamom, ginger, pepper, and turmeric among other names, and the smell in the room was singularly unidentifiable but exotically perfumed. For a moment, it recalled the spice traders of Arabia in the days of old, conveying spices from India and beyond to Europe via the Levant. Even in the modern day, spices that sent explorers the world round were still being sold here in the West.

The room ran the width of the building as observed from the outside, some eighteen feet wide, and six feet in. On the opposing wall, there was a gap between shelves for another door.

Letting Moretti take the lead the reporter poked his head around the corner to hiss toward Millicent. "Pssst! We're in.".

Adrenaline was flowing now and Tommy hurried to slip into the waiting darkness of the shop, quietly closing the door behind them. Fingers crossed no one would know they were inside.
Door closing after Milly enters if she chooses to.

The scent of the spice hung heavy in the air. The alien smells were distracting, unexpected, starkly warm compared to the cold London street air. When Vincent plucked a flashlight from his jacket Tommy muttered under his breath "I'm glad someone is planning ahead.". Cotton glanced to the walls of the building to make sure there we no windows, and to ensure that if there were, the curtains were pulled snug and tight. There was little more suspicious than a flickering torch inside a dark building. As he scanned the place he look out for a gas lamp, or whatever the proprietor would use for light.

With the first sweep complete he hurried to make sure the place was secure. Deftly he tip-toed to the internal door and knelt to listen carefully.

Tommy couldn't hear anything from the other side of the door.

The silence was at the same time reassuring and unsettling, unknown. Still, it meant they had time to explore further.
Turning his attentions back to the store room he scanned the names of the spices, prodding the sacks with scoops that sat beside to check there was not some other hidden content. Remembering the Juju house he looked down at the floor for any hint of a cellar or trap door, before nodding to Vincent that he'd follow his lead.

Keeping the beam of his flashlight low, Moretti circulated through the crates and shelves, examining the stencils on the shipping containers, curious where all of the imported spices had come from. He naturally imagined that many originated in Egypt, but wondered if other countries in Africa were represented here as well. For a moment, he regretted that neither Bo nor Rosalie were with them. Both were far better traveled than he and would have a greater understanding of the exotic inventory.

Following Cotton's wise example, he studied the floor of the storeroom momentarily before moving over to the door. Once he understood that the reporter had heard nothing, he pressed the lamp of the flashlight against his chest, to conceal its beam, then quietly turned the doorknob, pushing the door open.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:30, Thu 21 July 2016.

Neither of them were able to discern any trapdoors in the storage room floor. In Vincent's examination of the spices, he can see shipping labels from as far east as China, but also from India and Persia, as well as Egypt.

He found that the door readily opened before him. The flashlight showed that the walls of this area were lined shelves that were filled with sealed jars of spices in neatly ordered rows. While the storage room was something of a mess, here everything was well in order. In the middle of the room was a counter with a register. To their right, they could see the telltale design of a staircase that sloped downwards towards the front door of the shop.

Mindful of the flashlight's beam, Moretti slipped behind the counter, looking in any shelves or cabinets that were present for ledgers, documents, or other items of interest.

And not seeing a damn thing that might be concealed back there.

22:00, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 78 using 1d100 with rolls of 78.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 60%

Vincent got his hands around a ledger. Turning his flashlight upon its contents, he saw numerous entries for bulk spice purchases, periodic transactions of sales, and deposits. Tucked into the front pocket of the ledger were various purchase orders for different spices.

Well, it looks like the books are in order, Moretti thought, sliding the ledger back in place, At least the ones in the front of the shop.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:18, Fri 22 July 2016.

OOC:

Here's the layout of the spice shop:



At the top is where Tommy, Vincent, and Millicent entered the place - the storage room. The bottom section is the main area of the spice shop.

The staircase isn't going down from this level anywhere. Instead, the staircase is going up, starting from the front of the shop.

With his hand still cupped over the top of his flashlight, Moretti moved from behind the counter to the stairs. Careful to ensure his footfalls made as little noise as possible, he ascended the steps, remaining watchful for any hint of movement in the gloom.

09:58, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 20 using 1d100 with rolls of 20.  Sneak - Sneak 70%.

Vincent quietly ascended up the staircase to find himself in what appeared to be a living room. It was furnished with couches, pillows, incense burners, rugs, low tables, a hookah, and unlit hanging lamps, all in muted shades of yellow and blue. A sizable oil heater kept the room warm. In a prim glass case stood statuettes of Egyptian gods.

Prominently, piously displayed on a table in the living room is an open copy of the Koran. On one wall of the living room is an ornate mirror with a golden frame. The frame is subtly asymmetric, and strange figures have been worked into it.

A large roll-top desk dominated the living room, the flashlight revealing a glint of metal where the desk was locked.

In the back of the room, an opening lead into a short hallway with a door at the other end.

 Millicent jumped slightly as Tommy hissed at her. She gave a doubtful look, hissed, "are you serious?" Then sighed, looked around and hurriedly went in closing the door as to not arouse suspicion.

  Now in the shop, Millicent looked around with the others. The scent of spices tickled her nose and it took a moment to get used to the mix of odd scents. A bit surprised and envious Vincent had brought a flashlight, she watched as it's light played to and fro around the shop. Without some kind of light source, she doubted either her or Tommy were going to be able to see much here. She moved over and whispered to him. "You would think he planned this; how the hell are we supposed to see anything?"

   She saw Vincent going up the stairs and seeing he was the one with the light, followed gingerly behind the man trying not to make noise. She blinked in the dim light trying to focus on the room in the dimness. She glanced down the hallway, bedroom maybe? If so, she really hoped they did not wake the owner up if he was here.

 Going to the mirror, she looked into it at her own reflection and examined the curious carvings.

Moretti paused at the table where the copy of the Koran had been placed. For a moment, his thoughts drifted to Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Harlem and the innumerable times he had knelt in the church in prayer and attended mass and confession there. He examined the book for a moment, certain that it was in a language he couldn't hope to understand, but drawn by the reverence with which it was displayed.

As O'Connor approached the mirror, he glanced at the desk, wondering how quietly he could bypass the lock to get a peek at what was inside. Before he could pursue the idea further, his eyes were drawn to the glass case with the statuettes. He stepped over to it, looking closely at the figures arranged within.