Yeah, I'd get a ride... a one way trip to my next verse.

   I took a couple of steps back.  I want some room to work in case they push the issue and I'm pretty sure they are very pushy types.  "Ummm... that's all right.  I don't need any money.  I was just doing my civic duty.  I'll be on my way now and you can go back to having your meeting."

   I know what the boss looks like to be able to describe him to authorities.  That's enough for now.  I want our next meeting to be on my terms... when I'm holding a blaster pistol.

From over by the car, Boar snaps his fingers with an audible crack, and Rat nods.

"You're coming with us.  We can do this the hard way or the easy way."  He takes a step toward you, holding out a hand.  You're sure he's going to grab you if you let him get close, but he's still moving slow.

Boar dumps Mouse into the trunk of the car.  You think you hear an audible klunk that sounds like a skull striking metal.  Boar turns back your way.

   Since Rat is closer, I draw my constant traveling companion and double tap two nine millimeter semi-jacketed hollow points toward Rat's chest.  "The hard way it is then."  Once Rat is no longer a threat, I'm covering Boar with my Glock.  I'd rather have a howitzer to cover Boar, but I'll make do with what I have.

   I'd like to ask Boar a few questions, but somehow, I feel that just isn't going to happen.

Rat's been exterminated.

You cover Boar.  He grins mockingly.

"So, you're not who you were pretending to be.  And you have an illegal gun.  Who are you?"

   I start monitoring Boar's surface thoughts.  I'm not expecting any problems.  I've been in sewers before.  "Why?  Is the Old Man going to invite me over to his house for Sunday dinner?  What is your connection to the Lady DeWitt murder?"

You push through something a lot like your psi bubble.  And you get a weak connection that won't last long.

::Outatowner?::  He looks baffled, and a bit apprehensive.

::Not me, 'twas BB.;; There's more, but you can't grab it.

"All right, I'll let you live." He turns to his car. "You can dump the body." He says with relish.

   Boar knows what I look like and being on a mob hit list isn't on today's to do list.  Even though he isn't a part of the DeWitt hit, Boar is a major bad guy.  This won't be murder, this is just his bad karma catching up with him.

   "Bodies."  I put several more rounds into Boar's back.  I make sure that Mouse, Rat, and Boar are all dead, then help myself to the remaining wallets and weapons.  If there's time, I'll carefully put Rat and Boar into their vehicle.  I don't want to get any blood on me before I head back to the bar.  I'll probably have to boost to get Boar tucked away.  He's a really big guy.

Your first shot hits him in the back of the right shoulder, you think, and he roars in surprise and pain.  Your next shot nearly misfires.

Boar's turned to you, and he's coming at  you in a heavy-footed run.

You shoot again, and he's swerving a half-step, and you miss.

Another shot, right in the heart, and he grimaces. Stops, takes a half step forward, and then looks back up at you with fury in his eyes.

You realize to your shock that he's not going down, not yet anyways.

   Great...  I've just pissed off the Incredible Bulk.  Maybe I should have held off and located a howitzer.  This is probably going to get messy.

   I pull the pack release tab on my left pack strap to let the backpack fall to the ground.  Unfortunately, the right pack strap snagged my Glock as it slid down my arm.  I released my grip on the pistol and let it fall to the ground with my pack.   I boosted as I smiled.  Let's see how mad I can make him.  "Bring it, Fat Boy."

   With any luck, I'll be able to use Boar's momentum against him to throw him past me to the ground.  Then maybe I can recover my pistol and fire it into Boar's skull enough times for him to realize that he's actually dead.

"Rip your arm off." He growls, and comes in intending to do just that. You catch his arm, drop to your back, and flip him.  He's stronger than you expected.

His hand closes on your arm, and you feel your ulna twinge.

And then he's airborne, and flying, and his feet hit the brick townhouse wall behind you before he collapses in the grass.

You're up, fast, metallic taste in your mouth...guns in hand...braced with other in a crouched Weaver stance....BAM...Miss....you're still shaky....BAM....Miss....and your shooter's skills tell you to stop beating yourself up over your misses, and just be in the moment....BAM....It hits him in the head....Incredulous, you watch him stagger wildly to his feet.....BAM....you realize you've stepped up to him, and shot him point blank....his head's not there....and yeah its messy.....his arms flail one last time....one just grazes you, and knocks you on your back.

Boar is dead.

You get up and finish the job.  Oddly, you have plenty of time.  No cops have come to investigate.

And your right arm, the ulna bone, is increasingly painful.  And going back to the bar in your current clothes is not on the agenda.

You have one .17, one .22, and one double .30 pistol.  Three wallets with ID cards and a variety of oddments are included, as is 382 pounds, and some change in pennies.  There are two knives, one switchblade, one which was Boar's or Liam Muerte's is more  a short machete.

Inside the car is a phone system that looks massive, maybe fifty pounds weight of phone gear.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:11, Sun 01 May 2016.

   That went... well enough since I'm still here.  I wiped the blood off of my hands with a bandana before popping a couple of ibuprofen tablets from my dwindling supply and washing them down with a swig of water from my canteen.  I don't think Boar broke the ulna completely, since I can still sort of use my arm a little.  This might be a greenstick fracture.  I've had enough things broken to know there is a difference.  Things worked well enough for me to swap out my used mag for a fresh one in my Glock.

   Since there doesn't appear to be any one else around, I take a few moments to wash the blood off of my hands with canteen water before changing into my one backup set of clothing.  It's taking a bit longer than normal.  I'm forced to favor my injured arm.  I try not to wonder how badly it would hurt without the onboards I picked up on the Yankee.  I checked the glove compartment of the car.  There might be some spare ammo or other useful things in it.  I put everything from this encounter into my pack.  It all fit, but just barely.  I'll have to sort it out later when I have someplace quiet to relax.  I reset the quick release tab on my pack strap and shrugged into my pack.  I had to put it on the hood of the limo to raise it to the right height to get into it, though.

   I started walking back toward the bar with my one hand tucked into my jacket pocket.  My arm hurt a little less that way.  I hope no one at the bar notices that I went from a blue denim jacket and jeans with a black t-shirt to a black denim jacket and jeans with a dark blue t-shirt.  Yeah, I know that I have no imagination when it comes to clothing.  I go with what works for me.

You have to work quite a bit getting clean.  And it does seem like  a greenstick fracture.

Inside the glove compartment is a small metal box with a dozen doses of Ruby; another holder for the double .30's ammo, and small notebook with phone numbers and initials in it.

The roads have cleared out even more.  You walk into the bar, and Bill gives you a puzzled glance.  The man who is drawing looks up startled by you, and gives you a long stare before returning to his chalking.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:14, Mon 02 May 2016.

   I can't help what the artistic man is thinking.  I sit on the bar stool and ask for another glass of whatever he served me the first time.  "...I'd order it by name, but I forgot to ask what it was called.  Do you know what else I forgot?  I forgot to get directions to that nearby hotel.  I walked around a while, but I didn't see any possibilities.  I came back here because I didn't know anywhere else to go."

   After a few minutes, I headed over to the Ladies Room.  I alleviated some biological distress and poured the doses of Ruby into the toilet.  I buried the box and the emptied vials under some trash in the waste basket.  I washed my face and hands very thoroughly.  Then I took a five pound note from the pack and added it to my nineteen pounds in my pocket before heading back to my seat.

   I looked around the bar.  Most bars sell some kind of clothing, t-shirts, sweatshirts, baseball caps, whatever, with the establishment's logo on them.  I looked around to see of Bill had any such items for sale.  I also ordered another sampler platter.  I had worked up an appetite this evening.

Bill shakes his head, and tells you he will draw you a map.

"Its a stout from the Green Isle. Dublin Special."

The Ruby is flakes, and when it hits the water, it stains the water red as blood.

The sampler comes out, and its doubled up on a few things, firerfingers and chips as they are out of egg rolls and beanie fritters. It is about an hour from the bar closing, and there are fewer people, but they make up for it by being louder.

You hear one guy arguing with a few others about politics.  He's trying to convince them of the greatness of a republic.  They're laughing at him.

Bill hands you the map, and you finally realize why it looks like he is sliding behind the bar.  There is an inbuilt slideway, probably power assist under his feet.

Bill has dish towels and straw hats for sale.

   So much for upgrading my wardrobe with a souvenir t-shirt.  I avoided the aptly named firefingers.  I did eat everything else on the tray.  I kept my arm resting on the top of the bar.  With my not using it, my onboards, the ibuprofen, and the beer all working on the pain, my arm didn't bother me all that much.

   I waited until I could catch Bill's attention for a refill.  "Bill, why did you call me Ladyship?  Is that a customary greeting here in Philly?"  I probably have another me somewhere in this world.  It was time to go for broke.  "Do I look like someone you have seen before?"

Bill slides you another stout, a dark, heavy beer, and takes a moment to rest his arms on the bar.

"No, I don't think so, its just you came in with all that..." His voice drops. "...silver....I figured you were a back country noblewoman who's manor house had a hole in the roof or something.  Dug thru the ancestral jewelry, and got what you could easily part with and headed toward Philly to get rid of it on the down low."

He shrugged.

"Got your money purse pickpocketed, and made up a likely story.  I'm okay with that.  I've had a lord in here in his cups tell me how in order to afford the ancestral feast, he had to eat beans for a whole month before it. One thing I've learned as a bar keep, everyone has a story."

   If Bill the Barkeep collects stories, I just might have one for him.  "Bill, I'm not a Lady, backwoods or otherwise.  I really was mugged and dumped here.  They got my money and identification, but they couldn't get my backpack.  They injured my arm in the process."  I slid my jean jacket sleeve up my arm to expose the area which took the major hit from Boar.  I managed to not make a sound, but I know that I winced from the pain.

   "There should be a really big bruise tomorrow.  I just hope it isn't fractured."  I tried to smile bravely.  I don't think that it worked, though.  "I took something for the pain earlier, but it's starting to wear off."  I took a long pull from the stout.  "This helps."

"Philly can be a rough town, if you get off the main roads, and out of groups."  He gently touches your arm, and you flinch.  "You need to go to the emergency room.  St. Sarah's is nearest."

He gets you an ice pak which helps.

"You want me to call a taxi for you?  Five minutes, and you'll be in the ER, and they can give you something better than stout for the pain.  And once its wrapped up, it really will feel better.  I know.  I got my arms busted thrice. Once by falling, and twice by the stupid Martinis."

He gives you a concerned look.

A nearby drunk opens a salt canister, and starts pouring circling lines on the bar.
"This'll help."
"No, you're doing it wrong." His current girlfriend grabs him by the arm.

   I raised an eyebrow.  "There's something better than stout?  For anything?"  I tried to crack a smile, but the crack in my ulna made it difficult.  "St. Sarah sounds like a nice place, but I still have two problems, no Identification and little money."

   I decided not to mention the unlicensed pistol under my left arm and the goodies in my pack.  There's no need to overly complicate things at this point.  "It's probably just bruised.  It should be all right in a couple of days."

   It was time to change the subject.  "I understand falling.  Accidents happen.  Why would the Martinis break your arm twice?  Did you notify the authorities?"

"Silly of me." He grins, and draws you another.

"There is the Grain Woman Free Clinic, word is, they don't care if you fake a name, and it is free.  Course you might end up sitting in the waiting room for five hours before they can see you."

"I got behind in my protection money.  And yeah, I went to the police.  That's why they broke the other arm.  The police told me that was just how things were in the big city for bars and restaraunts, and even some of the other small businesses.  i'd considered moving next to St. Sarah's, they say the Martinis are not as strong there.  I used to be a small town boy, grew up in Pikesville, with all of forty thousand souls. We had criminals there, but it wasn't this system with a five percent 'tax' and audits by Family accountants."

   I didn't know what to say.  I've never considered that the police would let things like assault and extortion just happen to good people.  Maybe the police get a cut of the proceeds.  Maybe the money trail goes all the way to the mayor's office, or even higher.

   I need to do something to change this.  An entire city is being systematically robbed by a crime family.  I can't walk by this one.  Freeing a city will take time.  Fortunately, time is something I have to invest in this project.  Time, experience, a a bag full of guns and ammunition, and a red and black kevlar/spandex composite costume.

   I took another pull of the stout.  The beer was really good.  I used to celebrate the end of a case with an occasional Carta Blanca, but this stout was a lot different.  "I don't know what to say.  I guess you do what you have to in order to survive.  I will try the Free Clinic tomorrow if the arm doesn't improve.  It looks like you're needed over there.  Can we talk again before closing time?"

He nods, and goes to break up an argument about rugby teams that started friendly and has turned hostile.  After that, he chases an owl eyed guy off telling him to come back next week.  He carries another beer out to a one handed man without a word, and chats with a couple of customers on the way.

You sit there and relax as most of the remaining few customers leave.

There is some news.  The High Temple of Mars is sponsoring a triathlon.  The serial killer named "Pennyman" for his habit of leaving a penny in his victims right hand has killed again.  Noted philanthropist Liam Muerte was brutally murdered by street violence the police say.  A picture of Boar is shown, in a tux, accepting an award for Benevolence.  In rugby, the Engineers beat the Sabers for All City Third Form.  Rumors that the Duke and Duchess of Lancaster might visit America on their world tour continue to spread.  The Duke is quite a fan of nuclear power and Philly has a Type E reactor which makes it the first of its kind.  The Firemen's Union and the Lord Mayor are again, at odds.

And then just like in your home timeline you hear the song 'You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here', and Bill comes over to you after topping up a few mugs, and turning the taps off.

   Noted philanthropist?  Maybe...  If I were looting the city, it would be good press for me to be publicly seen giving back a tiny fraction of my loot to help the people I stole it from.

   It is also obvious who owns the media here.  I don't know if it is because the Martinis own the media or just has it running scared.  Either way, I can't count on the media for any public support.  Of course, I don't know what I'm going to do yet.  But, I have to do something.

   "After you close up, do you think you could drop me off at that hotel?" 

You notice of the few watching, no one seems terribly broken up about Boar's passing.  The Sabers loss is greeted with more enthusiasm,  as is the news about the nobles.

Bill nods, calls a cab for one sleeping fellow, and ushers the rest out.  It takes him and his two waitresses and two cooks about thirty minutes to clean the place in a well practised routine.

A policeman steps in, and the two waitresses go with him as he escorts them home.  Bill then walks over to you, and lets you out while he closes the bar.  A fluorescent green taxi is waiting for you two.

"My apartment is just three blocks over." Bill explains.  The taxi takes you ten blocks with one turn at four blocks, and pulls up in front of Windrose Arms Hotel.  It has a large awning, and an attentive doorman who gets your door.

The lobby is small, but splendid with carved wooden pillars with gold paint, and yellow paisely wallpaper.  The uniformed clerk leaves the other two behind the desk, takes your moneyu, which is eight pounds, does not ask for ID, and leads you to your room, and waits to see if it is acceptable.

Its solidly constructed, and small.  The TV is like older TV's.  There is no remote.

"Checkout is at two in the afternoon, Lady."

   I gave the place a quick once over.  It didn't take all that long.  I handed the clerk a pound note for a tip to get the room key as I told him that the room would be fine.  "There's one thing before you go.  Do you have a weekly rate?"

   I locked the door once the clerk left.  I dropped the pack on the bed, then went over to close the drapes.  This was the first bit of privacy I'd had in quite a while.  I figured out the plumbing in the bathroom without too much trouble.  I did remember to make sure to leave a wake up call for eight A.M. before I dry swallowed three ibuprofen.  I was a little too buzzed to do much else, so I pulled my pack over enough to be able to lay down.  I fell sleep atop the covers almost immediately, totally dressed and partly wasted.