You wake from bizarre dreams of M&M's shooting each other with toy popguns, only to feel a faint, cold drizzle draping you, and collecting to run down the back of your neck, and to hear shots fired.

The alley is dark, near pitch black, and the bricks in the narrow pathway are slick, and chill.  The faint honk of a horn, and the smell of pollution in the air....

PT

I check myself over.  I'm in pretty good shape.  I haven't had a lot of practice at this 'serial reincarnation' thing, but this transition didn't seem too painful.  It was almost as if I had some help.  I shake my head to clear the remaining cobwebs from my brain.

First order of business, keep low.  The gunshots have to go somewhere, and I just got here.  I'm not ready to leave yet.  Next, find my backpack.  I just got a really big payday to help finance my 'journeys' and I need to grab a few of them to try to sell for local currency.  Third, swap out some gear in order to stash the weapon harness, switch to a shoulder rig and my Glock, and get a jacket on to cover the rig until I can determine the local laws and customs.

As the drizzle soaked through me, I realized that I really needed to replace the poncho I gave to the barbarian.

Despite the gloom, you find your backpack a few feet up the alley, and indeed, its well loaded down with gems.

It takes you a minute to change over, and then you're not so obviously armed.  You slip out of the alleyway, and look left and right.

Dim lights contest with the rain and dark, and reveal mountainous shapes of parked, black cars near the curb.  You hear no more gunshots, and down the street you see the gleam of neon lights and a railway car diner.

Its lit, but dimmer than you'd expect.

PT

This time of night, it looks as if the diner is my best shot at getting out of the weather.  As I walk toward the diner, I look at the cars outlined by dim light in an attempt to get an idea of the decade where I landed.

I must have been in the alley for a while before waking.  Either that or the drizzle has taked a special dislike to me.  I'm soaked to the skin as I reach for the door of the diner.  At least the place is open.

I know places like this.  Here is where you find the people who have no place better to go.  You see the drifters, the grifters, the hookers, and the beat cop all huddled around their cups of coffee, enjoying the warmth of the building and the tired smile of the all-knowing, tired waitress who has seen them come and go.  She knows their names sometimes, but she never knows their hidden dreams and secrets.  Secrets are what has driven them to this place.  Dreams are what might set them free from this place.  Yeah, I've been here before.

I open the door and go home.

The cars are all black, slab-sided, and tall.  They look antique, and you see one with the name of Packard.

You step into the diner, and the waitress looks over at you, as does everyone else in the diner.  Then they blink.  You hear a murmur sweep the room.

One word stands out.  "Trousers".  But then it fades, and they wait expectantly.

The waitress works her bubblegum over to the side of her mouth. And then escorts you to a booth.

"Whatly'ye'have, dearie?"

The menu, a paper sheet lists prices.

"Coffee....5 cents. Cream....Add a penny."

The room is warm, and Big Band music is playing on a jukebox, but low, and the rain hits the tin roof with a growing staccatto.

PT

Listening to Count Basie's "April in Paris" was relaxing.  Given the cars and the music, I figured that I was somewhere in the 1940's or 50's.  I smiled inwardly.  I'm sitting here with a bag full of gems and can't even afford to buy a cuppa joe.  I looked at the menu a while longer than I wanted to, trying to think of what to tell the waitress.

I smiled wistfully at the waitress.  I'm a little between jobs right now.  I just got to town and I don't have any money.  I'd be willing to wash some dishes for a cup of coffee and a sandwich.  Or maybe I can pay you back in a couple of days when I get some money... I'm good for it... Really.

She studies you, and then leaves. A couple minutes later she comes back with some coffee and a ham and egg sandwhich.

"When you finish up, go on back. George could use some help."

You eat the food, which is plain, but good, and down the coffee even as the music shifts to another song.

In the back, clouds of steam rise from the porcelain sinks, and you can see a blonde-haired young giant with his long sleeves rolled up past his elbows is steadily working on white ceramic plates and coffee mugs.

You join him, and he nods politely.  Its very relaxing in a mind-numbing sort of way.  Hot water, soap, dish, rinse, repeat...

After a bit, George says.

"You work hard. I'm glad for the help. Our regular dishwasher gave notice this morning. I'm supposed to be the cook, but I've been demoted."  He shrugs genially.

PT

Either that was the best ham and egg sandwich I've ever had, or I was hungrier than I thought.  There really wasn't a lot of time before I left Lily to grab a bite to eat.

George seemed like a nice guy who needed a little help.  I needed some food and a place to get out of the rain.  It seemed like a fair trade to me.

I couldn't really take off my jacket while wearing my shoulder rig, so I rolled up the sleeves and got to work.  As I washed dishes, I let my mind wander a bit.  Lily...  Lilith...  The names had a lot in common.  I wondered if...  Well, there's no way to go back and check it out, so why wonder about it.  I did wonder, though, if there would someday be a mention of a bodyguard sacrificing herself in the New Testament section of the Book of Lilith.

As I worked, I chatted a bit with George.  I gave him my "drifter going from nowhere to somewhere else" story.  It was as close to the truth as I wanted to go.

I also wondered just how many washed dishes would equal the cost of a cup of coffee and a ham and egg sandwich.

"Well, we could certainly use a dishwasher. Can't pay much, but I know a girl who is looking for someone to split the price of her walk-up with.  Get you back on your feet."  George says, and then pulls up another suds-bedecked plate.

Later, once you've done way more, in your opinion plates than your meal deserved, the waitress comes back.

"Closing time. Yay."  She looks bone-weary.

She has two plates of sandwhiches along with a pie slice on each, and after you both dry off, she escorts you out to a table in the now empty diner.  A pot of coffee is steaming on the table, and cream is set out.

The sandwhiches are the unused leftovers, but there's five halves on your plate, and three on hers, and eight on George's, plus a single slice of cherry pie for each.

Its two fifteen in the morning by the clock on the wall.

The she slides four dimes over to you from her purse.

"Good <big yawn>working with you."

PT

Between bites of these wonderful sandwiches, I realize that I can't stay here.  When I saw the place, I was hoping that this was an all-night eatery.  Well, at least I'm dry and not hungry.  And I even had some local currency in my pockets.  I smiled to myself.  It might only be forty cents, but it was something.

Thank you for the food and the money.  It's more than I expected.  I do still have this problem, though.  I don't know of anywhere to stay the rest of tonight.  I just got into town.  Is there anyplace you could suggest?  I played with the four dimes on the table, pushing them around with my right index finger as my left palm was busy holding my chin up off of the table.  I'm not what you would call rolling in dough.

"You could sleep on my couch. Its got a couple springs loose in the middle, and it'd be just for a day or two, but...?"  The waitress says as the door swings open.

She turns to tell the four suit-coated men to leave, and then gags a bit.

"Hullo, Millie, no sweet words for me?"  The youngest, and handsomest in a flashy kind of way smirks at her.  "You owe what was it Charlie?"

"Twenty-five bucks, Johnny, err boss."

"Every week. Twenty-five bucks. Me, I think you don't have the money. Lucky for you, I am willing to negotiate..."

"Leave her be." George says.  You can see Johnny in his expensive suit sidling up to him followed by his pack, and George getting out of his booth seat, but not fast enough, too tired from a long day of work, and he's about to get clobbered...

PT

I smelled trouble the moment the goon and his muscle entered the joint.  I'm glad that my natural paranoia got me to sit on the outside seat in the booth.  I'm not sure what the hourly wage is right now, but I'm betting that twenty-five dollars a week is a hefty "insurance payment".

As the boss makes his move at George, I kick out with my foot as hard as I can and attempt to strike Johnny on the side of the knee.  If he lives long enough, he'll end up with the street name of Gimpy.  No one has invented replacement knees yet.  Once I have his attention, I plan on diving out of the booth to get myself some room to work.  I planned on doing a little negotiation of my own.

OOC:  I'm figuring that Millie is sitting with George, leaving backpack and me across from them.

You make a creditable lunge out at his knee, and he skips back with a dancer's grace.

"Well, a lady that likes to play rough.  I like."

He blows you an exzaggerated kiss from about six feet away.

"Sweets, I gotta tell you I like your style, and the legs, but I'm Jonny Two-Tone, and I do get my way."

His goon has a short club out behind him.

PT

As he dances away from the kick, I use the opportunity to get out of the booth and get some room to work.  Your way with what?  Dancing with your three goon flunkies?  I backed up just a bit to get some distance.  If he wanted to take it as fear, that worked, too.  I'll bet that the boys all line up to dance with you.  You let them lead?

By this time, George has stood up, and he growls at them.

"Hey big boy, siddown, and shaddup." A goon growls past his cigarette.

George lunges with wide arms in a strangling move so clumsy it has you wincing.  The first goon jabs him in the ribs with a punch, the second goon, the clubber connects behind his ear.

George is down.

"Dance attendance on my every little whim, why yes, yes they do.  Its good to be the Prince."  He pulls out a cigar and lights it with a matchstick.

"See, Misty, I didn't recognize you in that getup, but here's teh way I figure it. You come on down to the Stork Club tommorrow, looking special, because Johnny has class, no ugly dames at his table, and we'll talk.  Otherwise, an accident might happen to someone or something."

He kicks George in the ribs.  And Johnny grins. Apparently the sadist has a gift for empathy which makes him much more dangerous, and he saw how you were affected by the giant's fall.

Only problem...how does he know your name?

PT

Sure, Johnny, the Stork Club.  I can think of no place I'd rather be than slumming with a smart mouth cheap hood like you.  Don't order me a drink tomorrow, Sport, 'cause I'm just flat out not going to be there.  I decided to push the issue.  He knows me somehow.  And somehow, I feel that I'd rather not let that fact get around just now.  Besides, I owed him for George.  You got something to say about that, Sparky?  I watched them carefully.  If any one of them made a move which I didn't like, it would be Glock time.

He just grins.

"Still a smart mouth, Misty.  You'll be there."  He smirks at you like you both know a secret.  The he opens up the pie container on the bar, and makes a smile.

"Oooh, cherry pie, my favorite."

He and his goons help themselves to the rest of the pie, and then he struts out.

Before he leaves, he launches one more shot.

"With dancing shoes on, the red ones, you know I liked those."

And then the door swings open and the room is still in the wake of a storm.

PT

That didn't go at all well.  I knelt down to examine George.  He was going to have a good sized knot on his head, but he was breathing regularly and his chest was bruised but not caved in.  As I examined George, I spoke to Millie.  I guess you need to know why I came to this city.  I've been looking for my twin sister.  We were separated at birth, when our parents died.  I learned that she is supposed to live here.  I guess that fact is true.  Maybe you can help me.  Tell me about this Johnny Two-Tone.  He seems to know my sister.

"Oh, that explains it.  I thought you were her come to check us out, in secret like, to see how we were doing.  Your twin sister doesn't live here. Well she used to, back when she attended St. Catherine's, but she got married to a big steel exec which made all the St. Catherine girls happy because it proved one of them could get out."

She helps George up to his seat, where he rests with his elbows on the table cradling his aching head.

While she gets first aid, she explains further.

"Johnny is local mafia.  His father's big in the Mob, and Johnny took after him.  Johnny got his name from the fact that he always wears dark brown and light brown dancing shoes when he dances, and boy howdy, can he dance.  More than a few girls who are supposed to be good girls went dancing with him..."  She sounds a bit happy talking about him, a bit too happy.

"He's the guy that all the girls like, but all the guys want to spit on." George mumbles.

"Yeah, he's the guy your mother warned you of."  She adds.

PT

I know how George felt.  I could waste a little spit in Johnny's direction myself.  I popped a couple of 200mg ibuprofen tablets from my original first aid kit and offered them to George.  Take these with some water.  They will help your aches and pains.

I looked at Millie when she returned with the first aid kit.  So, I missed her again.  Do you know the name of the guy she married?  And about this Johnny guy.  What is your connection to him?  Are you paying him twenty-five a week as protection money?  Is it paying back a loan of some type?  Also, if I don't show up at this club place, are you two in danger?  I already knew the answer to that last question, but I wanted her take on it.

Your ibuprofen hits him hard, and works wonders.  He's almost cheerful. And only winces a bit when he stands up too quickly.

"James uh, Hall, yes, James Hall."

She explains as she goes about turning out the lights.

"You see, Michael Thornton, Misty's great-uncle, and I guess yours as well, not by blood, but he owned this place. Real old guy, but very energetic. Well he died two months ago, and willed this place to Misty.  There's a picture of him on the wall."

You'd casually noted a picture of a man dressed in a suit, with all white hair standing straight up, and a mischievous smile on his face.  He looked to be seventy or eighty, but still in good health.  Now you examine the picture more.  It shows him walking a dog on some farmland, and it is inscribed.

"Mr. Michael Thornton, age seventy-nine, with Bones, age three, May 19,1936 at Thornton Farms."

Millie comes back in, and nods at you.

"Yep, thats him.  He always used to tell me he needed a fourth wife, and was I interested. Anyways, about two weeks after he died, Johnny came in here claiming he had lent some money to Mr. Thornton, and he needed to be paid back.  Twenty-five dollars a week was the fee, or something bad would happen."

Millie just nods at your last question, while George protests that they will be fine.  But he doesn't sound convincing even to himself.

PT

I doubted that they actually owed anything to Johnny.  Either way, punks like that always got on my bad side.  Just how much does Mister Fancy-Shoes say that you owe him?  I doubted that Johnny was just shaking these two down.  And I'll bet my forty cents that Johnny shakes down other shops in the area, as well.  He might call it insurance or protection money, but it's still extortion.

I had just washed dishes for food.  I'm not a dishwasher by trade, I'm a detective.  It looks like I've just taken on a case for a forty cent retainer.  I looked at them both.  Maybe I can help...

"He says we owe him five hundred.  And that we have to pay at least twenty-five a week, of which ten goes to the principal, or something.  Its confusing."  Millie says.

George agrees with you.  He thinks Johnny has others around here.

"He was afraid of Old Man Thornton. Afraid the man would beat him with a cane.  And Thornton, I remember, called him a 'cheap, candy-stealing freak'."

"Help? How?"

PT

I let my jacket fall open to expose my shoulder holster and smiled my best "cat-eyeing-mice" smile at them.  I'm not my sister.  Let me worry about the how.  I let my jacket fall closed again.  If you would introduce me to some of the other merchants in the morning, that would help me a great deal.  In the mean time, is that offer of a couch for the night still open?

Millie nods with her eyes a bit wide, and then the two of you help George back to his apartment, and have to yell at him a little bit to get him to go to bed rather than walk you two home.

The couch is...well miserable. She's not lying when she has springs coming up through it, and after sleeping in the Presidential Cottage which had mattresses that probably cost more than a floor of the apartment building, or close...

The next morning, Millie makes black coffee and eggs, and then takes you out to see the local merchants.

"Lets go see Lou first. He runs a five and dime for Woolworths."

You walk in, and ask the clerk to see the manager.

Lou meets with you in his office.  He's a hard-looking man, his skin looks faded like he's been out in the sun a lot, and his eyes are cold, even as his words and tone are polite.

"Ma'am. Its not like I like forking out fifteen a week to the little twerp, but he has a lot of big friends, and I can't be here all the time. Despite what my wife says, I don't live here. And no offense, but you're a woman. I don't think you understand just how rough the Mob plays if you got in their way.  You could end up being tossed off a bridge with a pair of cement galoshes, no kidding here."

PT

I look at Lou.  I've seen him many times before.  He's a decent guy jammed up my some lowlifes who use threats and fear as weapons.  He wants to fight back, but his wife or kids or business will suffer.  I understand what you're trying to say, Lou, and I appreciate your concern.  That being said, I'm still going to see what I can do to get these criminals off the street and out of your life.

The rest of the visits went about the same.  The grocer had several cases of produce ruined when he was a little short one week and was worried about more "accidents".  The hardware store owner's kid "fell down a flight of stairs".  I could read the fear on these peoples faces and I didn't like the story.  These people needed someone to write them a happy ending.

After a couple more visits, I had seen enough.  Millie, I'll meet you back at the restaurant later on tonight.  I've got to do a few things.  I had gotten a chance to check out the neighborhood while Millie was showing me around.  I saw a shop with a display of nice rings and watches in the window.  It was time to see what I could get for operating capital by selling a couple of these transdimensional gems in my pocket.

You walk into Schneider's Fine Jewelry, and see a balding, pudgy man behind the glass counter.  He moves slow, but with a definite precision, and a keeness to his gaze.

He greets you as you come in in a low-key manner with a soft, but definite voice.

"Ma'am, I'm Albert Schneider, Junior.  The current proprietor as my father rocks a chair and listens to baseball more than works these days.  How can I help you?"

You pull out your gems, and at first, he looks a bit disapointed.

"Ah, times are hard..."  But then he pauses as he looks at your ruby and diamond, you pulled out.

"Well. I see.  May I?"

He begins to examine them.

"You bought some very fine stones here, miss, I assume you knew that already.  A blood ruby, with some flaws, and a nearly flawless diamond. Well, most impressive."

He takes a small notebook out, and writes down in spidery script a number.

PT
OOC: Going to have to go to the OOC thread for this.

I'm impressed with this guy.  I like his style.  I smiled when I heard him talking about his Father.  Yeah, I've always liked Houston...  When his eyebrows curled up into furry question marks, I realize that I screwed up again.  ...  I hope they get a team someday.  The weather down there would be great for games.  Note to self... Don't ever talk about sports.

I needed to change the subject quickly.  Actually, I wanted to trade them for an engagement ring and wedding band set and a heavy silver chain so that I can wear them around my neck.  I fished around in my jacket pocket and pulled out two more gems.  I looked at them.  One was blue, while the other was pink.  I laid them next to the others.  Could you make the blue one into a pendant?  I have a fancy date tonight.  I need to sell the pink one for cash.  I smiled hopefully.

OOC:  Need some help with gems?   http://www.gemstone.org/index.html

He nods thoughtfully, and then begins to pull out a few items to let you look over them.  They are the more expensive ones in his shoppe.

He's willing to go as high as $1200 on trade-in value which is 50% more than the figure he quoted you.

He writes down some figures, doing some calculations, and then tells you he can buy the pink stone for $600, and give you the pendant as a rush job for a total of a hundred.

So you'd be walking out with $500 in pocket.

PT
OOC: Well, the trade-in makes it a much better deal for him.  The ladyfaire told me how they used to mark up silver to be sold at conventions a 1000%.

I looked at him.  I know that I had just gotten in town, but I wasn't born yesterday.  Even given the difference in decades, I figured that the gems were worth more than that.  Perhaps it's time to haggle, a bit.  Maybe do a little name dropping.  Is that the best that you can do?  I've got a date tonight with Johnny Two-Tone and I would really hate to disappoint him.  I picked up the four gems, looking at them in the palm of my hand.  I sighed.  I guess that I'll just have to go somewhere else...

You're able to talk him up to your walking out with seven hundred, but after that he refuses to budge.

He points out that your pink stone and the other are not as valuable as the two initial stones.

PT

I put the engagement ring and wedding band together, then thread them through the heavy silver chain.  I slip the chain around my neck and tuck the rings and chain under my t-shirt for safekeeping.  I figured that since I'm supposed to be married, I'd need some rings.  The blue stone should look good in a pendant.  I take the seven hundred folding money.  As I'm leaving, I ask what time he closes.  I really do need the pendant for tonight.

Next, a stop by the diner might be in order.  I could use some food and the address of the friend looking for a roommate.  After that?  Shopping.

OOC:  Need help with 1930's dresses?  http://www.sensibility.com/vintageimages/1930s/

You walk into the diner, and Millie comes up to you with her face practically ready to split from the repressed grin, and tears in her eyes, and she takes you by the hand, and draws you over to a lady sitting in a corner booth by herself.

Furs, black velvet gloves, a hair style strange, but...

She looks up, and you see yourself.

She hasn't seen you yet, but that will change in a few seconds.

PT
OOC: I looked at the site, and saw the evening gown, and the gold dress with the red buttons up the front which were nice, but the organza bows or frills on the Greta Garbo picture...yecch.

Crap!  Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap!  This wasn't supposed to happen.  I guess that no good deed ever goes unpunished.  I looked at Millie.  She seemed so happy.  I didn't want to let her down, not to mention letting her find out that I'm not this woman's twin sister.  At least LilithMisty stayed in New York.  Millie, I don't know what to say.  Could you give us a few minutes alone?

I sat down across from the me of this timeline.  The mink was nice.  I bet she got her mink the way other minks get mink.  Hello, it's so nice to finially meet you.

Millie nods, and leaves to go behind the counter.  You slip in, and the other you stares in utter shock.

"I, I, the waitress here, she told me when I came in to inspect the place that someone wanted to talk to me, but, I never imagined..."  Her words are coming out slow, but with precision.  She's obviously had the benefit of speech training.

"Who are you? I mean, you're, you're so..."  She reaches out a gloved hand as if she wanted to feel your face.

PT

I've read too many stories of people meeting their other selves.  I didn't think we would disolve into a huge city destroying fireball if she touched me.  I also didn't think that I would gain massive powers by killing my other-dimensional selves.  Actually, I never ever planned on meeting my other "me".

This was strange for me and I've had some time to get used to the idea.  I really could imagine what she/me was thinking.  After all, I was her.  ...  so you?  Go ahead and touch, if it will help.  I told Millie that I was your lost twin sister.  The truth is a bit stranger than that.  I took a deep breath and offered my hand to the familiar stranger across from me.

Hello, my name is Misty.

"That's, thats my name. Which means..you're a doppleganger at least if the folk tales are true, and you want to kill me."

She studies you.

"I find not that madness in your eyes, and I'm afraid I'm a little too familiar with it to be mistaken."

She pauses, and tears well up in her eyes, which are quickly dispatched with a delicate hankerchief, and a stern look.

"Here to warn me of my folly like the Ghost of Christmas Future?  I would that yo uhad come years earlier."

PT

She looked as if life had sucker punched her once too often.  If I had to guess, I'd say that her marrage to Mister Bucks Deluxe wasn't working out.  It happens.

I'm not a doppleganger.  I'm you and you are me.  I'm just the you from somewhere else...  Way out there else.  What I'm doing here is a little complicated to just explain right now...  Because I have no idea myself of what I'm doing here.  But, I can say that I'm not in the folly-warning business.  My line of work is more along the lines of helping someone pick up the pieces.  I smiled as I tried to change the subject.

There's a goon named Johnny Two-Tone who's been extorting money from the businesses in the area, including this one.  He thinks that I'm you and wants me to wear a pair of red shoes tonight when I meet him at the Stork Club.  You two have a history.  I took her hands to comfort her.  You can tell me about it.  It will be just between us.  And if there's anything else troubling you...

She listens closely, and you can tell she's filed it under 'Totally Unexplainable Weirdness.'

"What precisely is your line of work? You seem to feel that I have need of it, which I'm not saying, I don't."

There's a textured grace to her, precisely right manners that you don't have.

"Ah yes, Johnny, he likes...extortion."

She blushes when you mention the red shoes.  And then she takes  a hurried sip of water.

After that you hold her hands, and you can tell she's doing a good job of hiding her trembling.

"I've danced a few times with Johnny way back, not exactly the best thing for a girl's reputation, but then everyone else in my graduating class was saying they were planning on doing it, going down to the Stork Club.  Turned out that I was the only 'good girl' that did, the rest were just telling tales of imagined braveries."

You know there's a lie somewhere, somehow but also you hear much truth.

PT

I heard her part of the Johnny story and I could fill in some of the blanks myself.  A slick guy and an inexperienced girl...  A guy who plays on the weaknesses of others and someone tricked by her peers into doing something dangerous...  I didn't need a map to get to this destination.

I took out my laminated, miniaturized, investigator license and my badge, then offered them to her.  At the same time, I intentionally let my jacket fall open to display my shoulder holstered autopistol.  I'm a gumshoe, a shamus.  People come to me with their problems and I resolve them for a fee.

I gave her a few moments to examine the license and badge.  When she saw the issue date, I expected a question or two.  Now, do you want to tell me the rest of what is bothering you?

Her eyes widen at the pistol, and a puzzled look comes over her face.

"I've heard of a few female detectives.  Weird that my doppleganger is one, but then I guess, I always liked to stick my nose in other people's business."  She murmurs to herself.

She looks over the card, is impressed, and is about to hand it back, when she jerks it up to her face, and studies the date carefully.

"Its 1938.  You can't have ..." She pauses. "Oh. Well, I guess one more impossible thing is not too much.  You have to know that I want an explanation, very dearly.  And yet, I can't, I simply can't tell..."

She looks to her left, out the window of the diner, and you see two people. A short, red-headed man, and a woman, with her hair pinned up, who somehow seems familiar, the woman, that is.  You look back, and your other is fleeing into the kitchen.  And the couple is coming up to the front door of the diner.

PT

I pick up my card from where she dropped it in her haste to leave.  I slip the card back into the flip case with the badge, then place the case back into my pocket.  Johnny caught me sitting down last time.  I wasn't making the same error twice.  My jacket has fallen back into place to cover my Glock.  I'm not sure who these people are, but my other self does.  It would have been nice to at least have gotten names before she left.

I donned my backpack and moved toward a seat at the counter.  I still needed some food and this was still a diner.  Even if these two were trouble, maybe they wouldn't mind waiting until after lunch.

They step in, and the woman, who you still feel you should recognize, drifts behind you to a seat which may have coincidentally cut off your retreat.

"Hey, there you are, I've been trying to track you down. Why'd you give us the slip?"

His voice is pure Southern, a soft tenor.  He's probably one hundred forty pounds soaking wet, but all the same he walks like a much bigger man, or someone with no fear.  His bright blue eyes are studying you.

"You're Misty, right?"

Seeing him standing there, you begin to count the weapons hidden under his loose leather jacket, the knife and pistol along his calves, the knives along his forearms (hidden to a normal person's view, but you can see the bulge under his sleeves), and you stop at seven, but you're pretty sure there are more.  Plus, he has a large backpack, and if you're not mistaken, the flap is pushed up by some other longer weapon.

PT

Those bright blue eyes sent a shiver down my spine.  This was a stone cold killer here.  The way the woman moved to cut off any escape told me that these two had worked together often.  She was probably almost as deadly as he was.  Great.  Since they hadn't shot me yet, I decided to see what they wanted.  Assuming that I'm the person you think I am, what do you want?  Would you like to discuss it over lunch?  I'll even pick up the tab.

"Great. Because I haven't gotten any gold changed out yet, and thats always a bother.  I'm Captain Chris, and this is my wife, Annie."  He points to her, and you really feel like you should know her, but you can't remember meeting anyone named Annie who looks like her.  Especially not anyone who curtsies so gracefully, and yet has stone steady hands, and walks like drifting smoke.

The clamber up alongside you at the counter, one on both sides, which causes a frown from Annie who seems distressed a bit to not be sitting next to her husband.

"We've been tracking you ever since we arrived yesterday.  And we saw you, you disappear, appear in another store, makes us think there is a tunnel under the street or something, and finally we catch up to you.  Most elusive."

Annie's chair creaks under her, even though she can't be more than 125 pounds, and the both of them order hearty from the menu, although you notice Annie is quite deferential to her husband who in turn dotes on her.  Its almost funny, the way they smile at each other, at least until Chris calls her

"Lovie."

"I don't like that name."  Her voice comes out cold, controlled.

"I thought, I still think it was funny."  Chris defends himself.

PT

Ohhh... Kay.  At least they're friendly psychotic killers.  I ordered the blue plate special and coffee.  So, why have you been tracking me?  The thought occured to me that maybe they really were after me.  I only got here yesterday myself.  Maybe there was some sort of universal police organization who keep tabs on people like me with serial existances.

I discounted that thought, though.  My other me seemed very jumpy, so these people must have arrived from somewhere else in this world to track her.  Still, having to get local currency was why I washed dishes last night.  And how many normal people carry around quantities of gold, but no currency.  (I've never admitted to being normal.)  Maybe these people were dopplegangers of some people that Misty knows from here and these people are really after me.  Or maybe...  my head would just melt down because I was making myself crazy.

I took a sip of coffee.  Annie weighs a lot more that you would think.  It doesn't look like armored clothing, so assuming that they're not from around here like I'm not from around here, Annie could be borged or robotic or...  I think I need a vacation.

I took another sip of coffee.

Chris pauses in their arguement.

"Oh, we just wanted to say hi, meet the other verser, have dinner, trade stories, magic spells, that type of thing."

"Besides, Misty, it seemed polite, you were here before us, so we didn't want to step on your toes." Annie says.

"Okay, back to the discussion." Chris says, and Annie rolls her eyes, but bites her lip to keep in a smile.  He grins.

"Is there anything wrong with being called Loviatar?"

"I was trying to witness the Gospel of Christ to the savages, and they insisted on worshipping me as some sort of goddess..."

"The Maiden of Hurt."  Chris interjects.

"Yes, my husband, you already said that."

"Its not politically correct to call them 'savages'.  Indigenous is the term."

"They hunted heads, and cooked their dead relatives in stew pots.  Besides, I'm not from your over-sensitive world.  Where was I?"

PT

Other...  verser...?

"Verser. Worldwalker. Gatesman. You know, someone who lives, and dies, and lives again in another universe."  Chris explains, gradually going into more depth as he realizes you don't know what he's talking about.  His voice slows, and seems kinder, less jocular, but still smooth and sweet.

"Is this your first universe?" Annie asks.

PT

There are others like me?  There are others like me!  It's called versing?  I'm called a verser?  I've never met another verser.  For lack of anything better, I called it serial reincarnation.  The words stumbled out of my mouth like a drunk at closing time.  I wasn't alone.  I've been a couple of other places before here.  You guys really are versers.  I was halfway between glee and shock.  How did you know what... who... I was?

Chris laughs.

"Slow down. Slow down, if you can. I understand, its a wild trip thats for sure.  Look, serial reincarnation is as good a name as any.  I've hear it called worldwalking, and gaters, and the ones falling between dimensions, but most I've met call us versers, and that comes from 'universe' or 'multiverse'."

"Misty." Annie captures your attention. "Have you found you are able to track your own items by merely feeling for them?  Or at least, you never lose anything of yours, its always easy to find?  Well, the same applies to other versers.  We can sense your presence if we try.  I could track Chris over an icy windswept glacier blindfolded."

"Give me a quarter, or a penny, or something of yours from a previous world." Chris says.  You doubtfully do, and with a flicker of his hands worthy of a stage magician.  Its gone.

Then he holds out two closed hands, and tells you to relax..and you feel a sense in the pit of your stomach, a knowing...and yet at the same time you feel the same sense, but at a different 'octave' so to speak behind you and in front of you.

PT

It's actually pretty easy to find the one peso coin from my last world.  I had never thought of it as a talent, more like a feeling.  It was kind of strange, but then what hasn't been strange lately?

They helped me, so I thought I'd help them.  If you're looking to trade some gold here, you might have a problem.  This is 1938.  Im my world, private posession of gold bullion was outlawed several years ago.  It is probably the same way here.  I could offer to trade you some of your gold for this.  I reached into my shirt pocket and held out the last loose gem I'd taken from my stash.  It was blue, so I figured that it was a sapphire.  There's a jeweler in the neighborhood who will buy loose gems.

I had a thousand more questions for them, but I just asked the one.  As versers, what are we supposed to be doing?  I mean... why us...?

Somewhere while we were talking, the food arrived.  I must have been eating it, but I couldn't tell you what it was.

They look at each other, shrug, and then Annie reaches into her dress and pulls out a pair of small bags.  She slides them to you, and they clink.

"If thats not enough, then tell me, and we will make it good on this world, or on another."

You open one bag, and its filled with eight gold coins of various lineages.  You see a Roman coin, and a Spanish doubloon, and a coin with "Federated Spaceways" inscribed on the side along with a spaceship that looks nothing like your Yankee.

"We're versers, and basically that means you've been touched or infected by something we call 'scriff'.  Now, you're immortal.  You live forever until you die, and then its on to somewhere else.  As to why?  Every verser has his own answer.  The Alchemist wants to help humanity as God leads.  Tadeusz judges the wicked.  Morrie wonders about finding stories to write in his book.  Lots of reasons, lots of theories.  Me, I have a hobby. I kill bad people."

He shrugs.

PT

I wasn't sure what their gold was worth, but I worked out using values which I knew that I was taking a loss.  I didn't care.  It was worth it just to learn that there were others like me, just making it up as they went along.  Don't worry about the difference.  It's worth it just to be able to talk with you.

I placed the two bags of gold in the waistpack stashed in my backpack then fished around until I found my least scruffy business card.  I handed it to Chris.  I was a security specialist on a starship, a scout on an alien world, and a bodyguard to the grand daughter of the ruler of a South American superpower.  I've just been working, doing what I know.  You know... Misty the P.I., Private Immortal for hire.  What am I doing!!  They've probably been to a lot more places than I have.

When Chris mentioned that his hobby was killing bad people, I smiled.  It wasn't really my hobby, just an occupational hazard.  I had this fleeting thought wondering if Chris did extortionists.

Did you two get "scriffed" at the same time?  Is that how you are able to travel together?

They smile at each other with a grin that lets you know your supposition is indeed correct, but Annie is a Well Brought Up Young Lady, and Chris is just naturally smooth so neither makes you feel bad about it.  Instead, they are encouraging.

"Yes, its quite a rush those first worlds, seeing what you can do, and seeinng some measure of the oddities of the Multiverse. The limits of what you can do are far wider than I ever realized before I versed out. I'm glad we've met, Misty.  I think we can chalk you up as one of the good guys."

He shrugs and looks at Annie for your next question.

"I shouldn't answer this one, makes me look even more the raging egomaniac than I already do."

Annie blushes, and looks directly at you.

"In order for someone to go with you, as I did with Chris on his fifteenth world, you have to be willing, at least, and desirous better to dare death to be at their side.  In other words, I loved Chris so when the panther got him despite my pistol shooting...well, I wound up in a valley with some Parakeet Men along with Chris."

"And don't freak when she says fifteen...I'd gotten there after a year of my time travelling.  Killing bad guys tends to be dangerous, and besides, I get bored easily."

PT

Actually, I didn't freak when she said fifteen.  It only made sense that being immortal would tend to give you time to check out a lot of different places.  If I wasn't already an immortal, I might have freaked.  OK, I would have freaked.

This was wonderful, and I learned a lot, but I was still technically on the clock.  I had just lost my primary source of information on what was going on around here.  And, to make it even better, I had a dancing engagement tonight with a sadistic mob enforcer.

Meeting you both has given me insight to what I am now.  Thank you.  Can I offer you a few dollars to help tide you over until you sell the gem?  You see, I really have to be going.  I'm working for the people in the neighborhood to try to stop a protection racket and I'm meeting with the mid-level mob slimeball this evening.

I motioned for Millie to bring the bill.  The smallest bill that I had was a twenty.  I had seen the menu last night and I knew that the twenty would cover the three meals, no matter how well Chris ate.  I also knew that Millie would be asking where the money came from, considering that I was working for food less than twenty-four hours ago.

I looked at Chris and Annie.  The way those two worked together, anyone could tell that they were in love...  Maybe some time...  Some place...  I would have the time to find someone I could spend an eternity with, too.

They take a twenty, a bit uncomfortably, and Millie raises her eyebrows high at your twenty before she gets you change.  You can tell from her look of wide-eyed, and full face that she expects an explanation later, but she's not going to quiz you in front of your companions.

"If you need help zapping someone, we like target practise." Chris says. "We probably will be gone in a couple days.  No offense, Misty, but except for you, this verse is pretty dull.  No alien monsters, no pschyotic superhumans...."

In other words, they have a liking for crazy situations.  Whereas a normal person would probably enjoy 1938 in a cafe a lot better than Tokyo with Godzilla stomping into downtown, they are the opposite.

You walk out with them bending their heads together, and quietly chatting about proper tactics for shooting down space fighters with a Winchester.  It yanks your brain around, and twists your heart at the same time, for different reasons.

Once out in the busy street, you don't see your dop, which is as you expected.

PT

As we walk, I tell my verser companions what I've learned about Johnny Two-Tone's operation.  I explain how he mistook me for this world's version of me and about the dancing invitation for tonight.  We know where he is going to be.  We know when he is going to be there.  I can't think of a better time to take out some trash.

I focus on the job ahead.  It's a little strange to know that these people take the loss of their own lives so casually.  But then, I also took my own life once I did all that I could for Lily during my last existance, or maybe I should say versing.  I wasn't that fond of the idea of just killing Johnny and his crew, but sometimes the best way to fight fire is with fire.

There are a couple of ways to do this.  I could lead him out of the club or we could all go in after him.  I've never been to the Stork Club before, so I'd prefer doing it on the outside.  The plan is simple.  Try to kill everyone in my group who isn't me.

"Sounds like fun, Misty." Chris says, and Annie smiles a touch grimly.  You and them clarify a few details, and they skip out to go get a jewel changed, and do the tourist thing, and get some target practise in.

You head on downtown to the clothing merchants, and begin to make a small dent in your monies.  Not happy, you buy a pair of red shoes.  You can decide later if you're going to wear them or not, you think as you frown at the innocent shoes.

An evening gown of gauzy fabric, draped in folds across you, looks simply smashing says the sales clerks as you stand atop a pedestal and survey how it hangs in a tri-fold mirror they carry over to you, and then they proceed to the fitting of the garment.

After an hour, they are done, but you realize you won't be getting a whole lot of gowns bought today, because each one will likely be custom-fitted.

PT

Call me crazy, but I don't want to walk into the Stork Club unarmed.  As part of my shopping expedition, I stop by the hardware store to see what they have in the way of concealable pistols.  I settled on a .41 rimfire Remington Double Derringer, a .25 ACP Colt Model N Pocket, and a box of shells for each pistol.  This time zone does have some good things going for it.

Since I'm paying for this custom dress, I tell the designer that I want them to incorporate a holster for a well concealed double barreled derringer into the dress.  When I get the expected strange looks, I smile and shrug, saying that a girl needs to be able to take care of herself.

As I was getting "The Dress" fitted, I made plans for my last stops.  I needed to head over to the jeweler to pick up my blue stone pendant.  I had to find a place to sleep.  I also needed some wheels, maybe a used Chrysler or Plymouth coupe from the early thirty's.  I needed some wheels with a trunk that I could afford.

Oww, watch it with those pins, honey.

OOC:  Cars.  http://cars-on-line.com/mp_30-39.html
This message was last edited by the player at 05:34, Thu 23 Feb 2006.

Once you've loaded up with weapons, and the owner, a wrinkled up old man with coolly intelligent eyes has made sure you know how to use them, he gives you a burlap bag to hold them in, and winks at you.

"No need to spook the children."

It takes another hour for the in-dress holster because the first effort hangs wrong once a gun is in it, so they have to tear it out again, and start over.  The second try goes better, but it still needs some fussing to get it right.

Finally, two hours and ten minutes after you started you're equipped to make guys drop dead in two ways....

You leave the dress with them for some final clipping of strings, and hunt out a reputable car salesman.  To your surprise, you find yourself leaning toward a one-year-old car rather than a brand-new one.

Its a 1937 Dodge Coupe.

The sale is made by the guy in the porkpie hat, after you beat him down a bit, and he realizes you're not a 'clueless dame' according to him, 'ripe for the plucking'.

PT
OOC: The green car in the listing, sold from Washington for 33,000 in your list...of course, that pic is what it looks like heavily modified, and this is the unmodified version.

I smile and thank the car salesman.  After a quick stop at a Sinclair gas station for fuel, I headed over to the jeweler.

I can't help but smile.  I have real wheels again.  It isn't my Classic Mustang, but it will more than do.  The solar crawler was nice for what it was, but this was made for city streets.  I love this car.  It doesn't have all the smog control devices.  This is what cars were meant to be...  A wide open motor on a wide open road.

Of course, I'm stuck in what passes for traffic.  I'm glad that gridlock won't be invented for a while.  There is actually a cop in the street directing traffic without there being an accident nearby.  It's a little strange, but then... what isn't?  I pull up to the jewelers.

The jeweler is just finishing up, and fifteen minutes you're heading out of the door with him looking sadly after you.

Its getting toward nightfall, and you're definitely hungry.

Did you want to go by the Stork Club early, or fashionably late?  Get a bite to eat now, or depend on Jimmy's good graces...cancel that.

You go out to a local burger joint, and get some a burger, fries, a Coke, and some peach pie ala mode.  A couple guys swing past your table, asking you if you had anything planned for the night.  Its that type of place, filled with guys and girls flirting and with music playing, and the help behind the counter yelling out incomprehensible codes back and forth.

You do recognize "Two fingers of java."  But what does "Time Machine." mean?

And do you go with the red or the black shoes?

PT

Red.  I'm in no hurry to get to the Stork Club.  Besides, I needed to give my team time to get in place.  I swung by the diner and even managed to find a place to park right in front.  I needed a place to change clothes.  I took a deep breath and went in to face Millie.  This was not going to be fun.

Its half-busy in there with eight customers crowding the tables near the counter, and filling up most of the counter spaces.  Millie keeps herself busy serving coffee, and refills, and taking orders.

She seems to be ignoring you.

So you get an order of coffee, and try to talk to her as she pours.  She keeps her eyes fixed elsewhere.

PT

I had to talk fast.  Millie, I know you're upset and you want an explanation.  I'll tell you anything you want to know.  At least she didn't throw the coffee at me... yet.

Millie, last night when I came in, I really had just arrived in town and didn't have any money.  Remember that I said that I was good for the price of a sandwich and coffee?  I meant it.  I sold some stuff from my pack and that's how I got the cash.

Her hand trembles on the handle of a full coffee cup, and she turns and looks at you, with her lip bitten, and her eyes with tears in them.

She studies you.

"Okay."

And then she spins around, and rushes in the back, using her apron to wipe and shield her eyes.

PT

I follow her into the back.  We're not done talking yet.  Millie?

She's there, washing her face in the sink.

"I said, okay. Its just hard, y'know?  I thought..."  Her hands flounder about in the air, sprinkling water on the walls.

PT

I'm a lot better at shooting people than comforting them.  Millie, I know that we just met last night, but I need to tell you something.  I'm a private detective.  I'm going to help you get out from under Two-Tone's thumb, one way or another.

"I-I thought you were slumming.  Hanging out with the poor people for a laugh, to go tell your rich friends."

She sighs, and wipes her eyes.

"Johnny is, well Johnny.  You don't fight City Hall, you don't fight the Mob.  You just hope they don't notice you."

You feel a presence behind you, and you see the cook staring with concerned eyes at Millie.  His fists are doubled up.

"Johnny ain't nobody special. If he didn't catch me off guard, adn with his goons, I'd just grab him, all I need is one good grab, and drop him in the soup. It wouldn't matter how many times he punched me.  He's just a little punk.  He'd be Soup de Johnny."

"Yeah, well, he's bigger than me." Millie says going back to crying.

PT

Millie is still crying.  As Misty, the concerned and supportive friend, I'm not doing all that well.  Now George is making macho noises.  Great.

Look, you two, I'm very good at what I do.  I'm going to have a short chat with Johnny tonight at the Stork Club.  It isn't my idea.  You both heard him threaten you and your place if I didn't show.  I'm going to try to convince him that leaving you alone would be a really good idea.

I took off my jacket in preparation for changing into my working clothes.  I knew that I was exposing my Glock/double mag pouch rig but I trusted these people.  I also doubted that they knew enough about weapons to tell that mine was not from this time period.

The sight of your guns and the chill look in your face seems to sober them up.  Millie gives you a measuring glance, and George looks wistfully at your guns.

"Wish I could afford some like that.  Those are beautiful.  My .38 ain't much, and its way old."

You can tell George has decided you know more, and are much better armed than he is.

"Come on, Millie, lets let the lady detective work, and I'll make you a cherry cheesecake pie okay, your favorite."

Millie snuffles a bit, and nods.

"Got customers waiting."

They leave to go back to work.

PT

That went... well.  I took my purchases and set them aside in the pantry.  I loaded six rounds of .25 ACP into the diminuitive Colt autoloader, chambered a round, then topped off the magazine before I placed the Colt into my clutch purse.  I trusted that the grip safety would keep me from embarassing myself.  I also dropped a couple of .41's into the double barreled derringer, then slid it into the concealed holster of my evening gown.  Now that the hardware part of my wardrobe was ready, I needed to get myself organized.

I cleaned myself up in the bathroom just off the kitchen.  My hair was fine from having washed it this morning, so the process wasn't as severe of a task as you might have thought.  At times like this, I was very glad that my hair had a natural curl.  I shuddered when I imagined what horrors could be found at the local beauty shoppe.

It was about that time.  I wriggled into my silk hose.  I slipped into my dress, adjusting it so that all of my weaponry remained hidden until needed.  I placed the pendant around my neck.  I slid my feet into the red shoes.  I was as dressed as I was going to get tonight.

I looked wistfully at my Glock.  I had to remind myself once again that there really was no place to wear the rig.  I did get the second Glock from Lily's timeline from my pack, however.  I made sure that it was locked, cocked, and topped.  I had plans to stash it with a spare mag in the glove compartment, for emergencies.

I returned everything else to my pack and secured the straps.  I opened the pack back up to get out my car keys, some of my remaining folding money and "my" wedding ring set on the silver chain.  I put them in the clutch purse.  I resecured the pack and decided to ask Millie how I looked.  Maybe she would see something I might have missed.

I tucked the pack behind some potato sacks, and went out to talk to Millie.

Millie fusses over you, and gets the last bit just right as the others in the diner get an eyeful.

"Whoa babe."  One guy says as you walk past the counter toward the door. "I'm not rich or cute, but hey, I can pretend to be.  Have a seat."  He waves at an empty seat at the counter.  The others razz him about your being out of his class, and he shrugs agreeing with them.

You drive your Dodge Coupe with the pack stowed in the back down the road a bit, and across town.

And you arrive at the Stork Club.

The cars are nice, okay flashy.  The guys are dressed sharp, too-sharp.  Wide lapels, and just right clothing, and your trained eyes pick out bulge after bulge under armpits, and in coat pockets.  The girls are a little cheap, and loud, and there are way more blondes than statistically possible.

The neon flashing stork over the front entrance is pink, and orange, and blue.

A few solid citizens enter as well, and the doorkeep looks up as you walk up.

"The Lady with the Red Shoes. Sweet. Johnnny's at table nineteen. Welcome to the Stork Club."

PT
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:38, Tue 28 Feb 2006.

Suddenly, I really missed the Glock in my glovebox.  I took a deep breath and dropped my voice an octave.  I haven't been here in a while.  Where's table nineteen, honey?  We wouldn't want to keep Johnny waiting...  I crooked my index finger and stroked the doorman underneath his chin.    ...Would we?

He smiles at you like a lost puppy dog, and takes you with him inside.  Big band is playing, and cigarette smoke wreaths fill the air, and waitresses rush back and forth with small circular trays full of drinks while loud, crude laughter rumbles from the many tables on the upper and lower areas.

The smell of steak and potatoes makes your stomach rumble just a bit, but you forcibly remind it that it had something recently.

You walk down into the pit, near the orchestra, where everyone can see you, and Johnny sits, until one of his friends reminds him with a nudge to pretend to be a gent, and stand.

So he does, and waves you to a seat.

"So, Misty, you came after all. I'm glad.  I've got some important things I want to discuss with you."

PT

I make no move to sit.  I do give him a big smile which doesn't make it to my eyes.  Gee, Johnny, you asked so nicely.  You said that I had to come here or you would hurt my friends.  Is that how you get all your dates?  I took a breath and continued.  Well, I came.  And now, you get to watch me leave.  I don't like places like this.  If you want to stay, thats fine with me.  If you want to leave...

Its an interesting thing, watching someone turn red in the face in the space of two seconds.  He slams the glass down on the table as you get up. He starts to say something. Stops himself.

"Fine." He grinds out. "We'll play it your way. And in the end, you'll wish you had been nicer to Johnny."

He jerks his head toward a couple of his goons as you stand there with a faux sympathetic look on your face, and you turn to go.  Johnny quickly gets up, catches up to you, and out of the corner of your eyes you can see goons in ill-fitting suits flanking you at a distance, trying not to be horribly obvious, but not succeeding.

The whole party makes it to the door with the 'good' citizens averting their eyes from what looks like a crime in progress.

You step out the door, and into the night, and the goons step in close, but suddenly two of them get brushed aside, and you see a handsome man with a smile on his face, step up to you, and then bend down to kiss you.

Its a very good kiss.

"Not the best place to hang out wifey. Lots of ill-mannered people around here."  He looks pointedly around him at the clot of five thugs that surrounds both of you.

PT

It was a nice kiss.  I enjoyed it for a couple of moments longer than I should have.  When he opened his mouth, I knew who he was.  I also knew what he was.

I thought about how sad my version on this world looked in the diner.  Her statement about my comming too late to warn her of her folly led me to believe that the man standing in front of me did not have a loving relationship with his wife.  Besides, these goons moved aside way too easily for someone they didn't know.  I know that Johnny hasn't got the brains to be much more than low level management.  He has to be working for someone.  I'm betting that "hubby" is a part of it.  And hey, even if he isn't, I'm still resolving Her marital difficulties.  That's the nice part about "kill everyone who isn't me".  It can clear up a lot of loose ends...

Especially the ones where a rich loser abuses his wife.

You and your 'husband' step out further into the street, with him giving odd glances to the thugs who are pretending to be leaving at the same time.  You can see that Johnny wants to say something to you, but he's not sure if he should.

And then you hear the faint, whistling strains of "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly." as you walk past the first row of cars into the parking lot, and before the second row of cars you hear off to your right down the clear span of rain-touched asphalt...

"Jon-jon.  I'm here to offer you a chance to walk away.  Not to bother Misty again. Ever."

"Hey you..."  Johnny begins to say to Chris with defiance in his tone.

And suddenly hubby has his hand in Johnny's collar, and is lifting him up to his tiptoes.

"You bothering my wife, punk?"

And someone reaches for a gun to bash hubby on the back of the head.

Boom. He falls on top of you with the top of his head blown off....  You see Annie firing again....  Hubby dropping Johnny, and reaching for a pistol....  A flash of light, and a plonk as hubby's arm falls to the ground....Someone is dead to your right...and you're reaching for your gun....and a flash of a light saber in front of your face as the last person falls....

You hear hubby moaning "Misty, oh it hurts." and you can see he is minus an arm, and bleeding out in gushers.

You can see Johnny is missing both hands.  But he is standing.

"You should have taken my offer." Captain Chris says to him.  "Burn."  And you can see smoke coming from inside Johnny's suit jacket even as you seem to see flames in Chris' bright blue eyes.  He quenches his light saber, and Annie puts up her two pistols, and smooths her hair out.

"Now that was fun." Chris says with bright, blue eyes even as Johnny's sports coat catches on fire.

PT

Oh.....   My......  I wasn't prepared for the sheer ferocity of their attack.  I just laid there with my husband's (sort of) blood soaking my gown, stunned by their attack.  After a moment, I recovered long enough to push the body off of me.

I took off my sapphire pendant and offered it to them.  Thank you.  Maybe this will bring you luck in your next world.  I certainly didn't want it as a keepsake to remind me of this one.  You better get going.  I'm sure that the police or other interested parties will be along all too soon.

And then you hear a car door open like soft thunder, and the click of heels sounding afraid, and you look up even as your other self who had been sitting in a car outside the Stork Club runs up in her high heels.

She pushes past your guarding arms, and crashes down alongside her dying husband.

"Baby, oh, baby, I'm so sorry."  She weeps.

"Whats going on?" Chris asks in the perfectly calm voice he used before bodies started raining down in the street.

PT

I looked at Chris.  My dop and her husband here just tried to set me up with Johnny.  I was supposed to take the fall while she and hubby waltzed off into the darkness.  You two spoiled her plan.

I looked at OtherMisty.  Doll, Johnny was blackmailing you about something.  I don't know what, and I really don't care.  A lot of people saw you in the club with Johnny.  What I do know is that you are going to have a lot of people on both sides of the law asking you a lot of questions.  And, if I were you, Doll, I'd lose the twin sister sob story.  I don't think that will play in Peoria.

I looked back at Chris and Annie.  Can I offer you a ride someplace?

Chris looks at her as she looks at you with a good expression of utter shock on her face.  Inwardly you feel like applauding.

Good acting that.

He looks over at Annie, who sighs, and hands you back your pendant.

"Sometimes we all make mistakes.  I know its little consolation, but its the brutal truth."  You're not sure if he's talking to you or to the other Misty.

"I'm a psi..that is, I'm a telepath, a mindreader."

Annie crouches by the OtherMisty, and begins to assure her that they will handle things.

Chris looks at you.

"I'm not mad at you, but you shouldn't stay here after making such a collossal mess of two mostly innocent people's lives.  I only hope Johnny was as much of a punk as he appeared, and not a nice guy too."

His light saber is in his hand. Snap-hiss....

PT

I don't need this.  If you're that good, then scan me and get it over with.  By the way, if hubby here was so innocent, why was he here, why was he packing, and why did he call me wifey when his real wife was right over there?

"He carried a gun because he had been threatened by mobsters trying to get into his company."  The other Misty shrieks.

"I don't know why he was here.  I suppose because..."

"I've been acting weird. He, I don't know..."

"I think he was spying on her.  I didn't say he was a saint.  But she was doing something worth spying on." Chris finishes after he gets interrupted.

"I came alone.  Someone told me Johnny expected to meet me here." The other Misty says beginning to weep.  "Now, I'm going to stay that way."

"You look like her." Annie says. "The spitting image."

Suddenly you feel heat in your chest.  You look down, and you see the light saber is stabbed at its farthest extension into your heart.  Chris retreats from a fencer's lunge to stand upright.

"We all make mistakes."

=============================================================================

And this game is continued in "Misty and ...." as soon as I figure out a world to send her too.

PT