Two months had passed since Garrett Rasmin arrived with his prisoner at the San Francisco terminus of the Central Pacific Railroad.

The train, having suffered delays that February night in Sacramento, had pulled into the station just before midnight. The men had had to wait even longer at the terminus, as the unloading of Bonny Red Bess took another thirty minutes because of some clerk's incompetence. Most of the other passengers had departed into the evening fog by the time the kid was released to Trayne and Rasmin. Several days ago, at the battlefield with the Comanche, Cole Trayne had told Jack to go with the Trautman girl, Johanna, back to The Flat. The traumatized girl had taken a shine to the wrangler's pooch, and Jack had reciprocated. It was clear to Cole that the girl needed Jack more than he did. On the other hand keeping Bess, who had been a gift from the wrangler's pard Meriwether, was clearly a necessity and so Trayne had elected to pay for the kid's passage on the transcontinental route to the coast. Richardson, Beauregard, Oldman and Rojas had decided otherwise, following Rasmin's lead and opting to sell their mounts rather pay the freight on the animals as well as purchasing their own tickets west. Selling their mounts had enabled them to pocket some coins for the journey, at minimum, and perhaps a start in San Francisco.

The journey had worn on the men. Sitting on a train for hours on end, even with the regular depot stops that allowed the travelers to get out and stretch their legs, was nothing like relaxation. Preoccupied with the delayed unloading of Bess and thinking about the comfort of a hotel bed, the men had no idea of the events awaiting them near the terminus.

The boo how doy converged on the group as if they had been waiting for Rasmin and his charge. Broad-brimmed black hats drooped to cover faces of the figures that emerged from the shadows and banks of fog. Black garments concealed their weapons, until the black hats had pressed into close quarters, with strong hands producing hatchets and knives from within fabric's folds. Rather than splitting skulls, the numerous attackers struck with precision, at limbs and torsos. The element of surprise, which enabled the boo how doy to acheive proximity in a matter of seconds, combined with the hatchet-mens' superior numbers (Rasmin had later estimated three dozen or more), making the use of firearms next to impossible for the heroes. It became a brawl, one that had all the markings of a fixed fight.

Oldman and Beauregard had lasted the longest, despite the poison that coated the hatchets wielded by the highbinders. Not to mention the venom-soaked needles from unseen blow-guns. Rojas and Trayne had fallen almost immediately. Jake and Rasmin fought for what seemed like a fortnight, but the poison overtook both of them. Finally, even the cigar-chomping lawman from Missouri, and the pugilist from the No Buffalo Outfit--who had knocked out several of the attackers, at least a few of which permanently--swooned from the cumulative effects of the poison.

The men woke up to find themselves in a strange room. As Randy Oldman came-to, taking in the familiar confines of the opium den, he had thought for a moment that he had dreamed a fantastic tale since his last dose, beginning with a rough spell down in Texas and culminating in a wicked brawl at the train station here in Frisco. No one else had spent the kind of time that Randy had spent in one of these places, so their awakenings proved less dramatic. They simply wondered how they had ended up in a small, fetid cube of space, piled on top of each other and their own belongings as if they were tossed in. In the few blinks of his eyes, Randy registered his companions in the den. He knew it was anything but a dream,  also realizing almost as quickly that this was one of the damnable tourist lures. Not a real den at all but a place where hucksters relieved rubes of their coppers and silvers--rubes who wanted to see the underbelly of the Barbary Coast but knew no better.

Oldman, Richardson, Beauregard and Rasmin forced their heads to clear. In a heartbeat, all four of the men realized that Cole Trayne and Senor Rojas were not among them.

-------------------------------

OOC: The Judge will post follow-up messages every day or so this week, for a serial start-up to this adventure. Please continue to read but hold posts until the Judge indicates the time is right. The Judge will bring in all the PCs during the course of the narrative.

EDIT: A point of fact that somehow (user error) got left out of this post.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:33, Tue 30 June 2015.

By the time the four men had taken stock of themselves and their belongings, the ramshackle door enclosing the ersatz den was opening. The men had already determined that they were not being held as prisoners. After all, what captor in his right mind would leave all of a prisoner's weapons intact and at hand? It had taken only a matter of seconds to suss out that fact, with each of the men putting hands on his nearby saddlebags, haversack or whatever means of conveying his items that he had chosen before boarding the train back in Omaha Wichita. And then tucked neatly underneath those items, his longarms, revolvers, knives and other instruments of destruction, er, defense on his person when the celestials-in-black had dry-gulched Rasmin's party.

If the door hadn't opened just then, the men might have had a speculative conversation as to the circumstances that landed them here. And if that man had been someone other than Charles Conway, any of the four might have skinned one of those weapons and demanded answers. As it happened, Richardson recognized the man immediately and had the gumption to make a quick explanation to his pards well-met in Texas . . . he knew this man and they ought to hear him out, presently.

Conway was a well-spoken and neatly (but not ostentatiously) dressed man. He listened more than he talked, asking Jake first to explain how they had ended up at the terminus (the night before as they all learned) and then offering important bits of information about what had happened after the boo how doy had attacked. Through the conversation, it became clear that Conway had rescued them--from the police or the Tongs or huddle'ems they would never know--because he recognized the past acquaintance of Jake Richardson. Conway's concise explanation lacked some details, such as why he was at the train depot at that time of night. There was no time for long explanations, the man had asserted with quiet confidence. To which Jake had agreed; it was enough that they knew each other and that by the grace of the almighty or some odd twist of fate Conway was there when the man from Wells Fargo had needed him. To boot, such trivia mattered not when it came to the part of the story where Cole Trayne was dragged off by the highbinders while the Mexican bled out in the avenue.

Rojas was dead. It had stunned Randy, and caused the others to reflect for a moment at their relative good fortune. Stiil, the matter at hand was Cole Trayne.

Oldman, Rasmin, and Beauregard put their trust in Richardson's vouching for Conway. It further became clear that the man might be able to help them find their pard Trayne. A single question he asked of the men put to rest any doubts that they might have had as to his acumen . . . or sincerity.

"Were you by chance expecting others at this rendezvous? Perhaps a Professor Ringgenberg?" he had asked.

The answer being affirmative, and the additional information being passed in regard to the expected arrival of the man called Sunday, Conway suggested that the men stay here in the den, doing their best to act the part of the morphine addict, while he made contact with the Professor and did some other leg work. Randy Oldman assured Conway that he was up to the present task; the others offered the only reply that made any sense: a tired shrug of their shoulders.

EDIT: Another factual error found when re-reading the text.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:50, Mon 03 Aug 2015.

Knowing that Travis Sunday would not linger long in the area, ENS attempted to arrange his affairs with haste once he and Winters had arrived back in The Flat. It didn't take long to realize he would need much of a day's business to make all the arrangements. Fortunately, he had Pete Haverty's assistance in the matter, but the chances of chasing down Sunday seemed to fade with every step on the streets.

After all, the gunslinger had stated clearly his intention. He would ride west, rotating the horses to maintain best speed. A single-minded goal: reach San Francisco before Rasmin arrived with Trayne.

Winters and his granddaughters also had accepted the advice of Pete Haverty, establishing contacts with people who would give them fair prices for their remaining goods. Haverty himself offered a job to Lorelei as the caretaker of another stable on the outskirts of The Flat, which he had recently acquired and hoped to install as an expansion of his business. Both of the young women could live in the loft. Old Man Winters was grateful. It helped the way that the liveryman had expressed his propositions, in talking of the young women's future as separate from that of the old wanderer himself. Lorelei seemed to understand her grandfather's yen for the trail. She did not argue; instead, she convinced her younger sister of the advantages of the arrangement with Haverty. Her independence had never been devoid of pragmatic inclinations. She made Winters proud, even as he felt sadness and guilt at leaving his granddaughters. They would be safe and Winters would be able to help the professor reach the coast in a effort to ensure Cole Trayne's safety.

Counting their respective income from the sale of various goods, ENS and Winters made arrangements for their journey. Winters gave all of the income from the sales to Lorelei, save for the fare to the coast and a few dollars for meals. Neither men had mounts. The professor had sold Amadeus and Winters had sold the Trautman party's horses, except for one that Johanna insisted on keeping. With help from his acquaintance Jet Keenan, the professor lined up passage by stagecoach to Dallas, whereupon the duo would embark on a journey that involved a number of trains zig-zagging a route to Omaha before boarding on the transcontinental route to San Francisco.

The two men had become fast friends along the way. They found a common bond in their use of German. It gave them a sort of secret code to use as they wended their way westward. The old timer had traveled far and wide, but usually in a wagon, or on the back of a mule or a pony. Rarely in the confined space of a railway car. ENS had been in trains often enough, but the frontier had already introduced a number of surprises and challenges for the easterner. It proved much more enjoyable--and comforting at times--to travel with someone who knew something about the frontier. Winters knew enough--about current events and how to get by while in the towns and cities that they passed through--to smooth things out. He guided them around a couple of incidents that could have turned sour, including at a train depot in the heart of Arkansas. His folksy german accent seemed to appeal to people of all persuasions.

Finally, the two men had arrived at the San Francisco terminus. Their early afternoon arrival suffered no complications. ENS retrieved his freight, hiring a local conveyance to move the two large containers. A recommendation by the wagon-driver took them to the Palace Hotel, an impressive structure featuring seven stories. Of course, the next order of business was to determine whether Rasmin had arrived with Cole Trayne. The men began to ask around, as discreetly as was practicable while still obtaining results. An attempt to learn anything through official channels proved fruitless. The bureaucracy at the police station and courthouse alike had a pungency that hung heavy in the air. That evening, having begrudgingly accepted the fact that they would need to inquire elsewhere, the men found themselves at the famous Bella Union, at the corner of Washington and Kearney.

What they had not understood until the next morning, when they were introduced by the clerk at the front desk of the hotel to a man named Conway, was that their inquiries had been heard by someone who could help them find their pards. Having no other leads, and having heard Conway's abbreviated story, they agreed to follow him to the place where the four men who had survived the ambush were laying low.

Cole Trayne regained consciousness. It had lasted only five seconds, thankfully. The pain had become more than he thought he could bear. Somehow, he continued to endure it.

The wrangler had awakened two or three more times before the first ordeal had ended. Three. Definitely three. The counting helped him put aside the agony. The fourth time, he had found himself in a closet, on a hard-packed floor. His tormentors were gone. Or was he somewhere else? Hard to tell. Still, it was definitely the first time he awoke here.

The second time, Trayne stared at the low ceiling of the closet. He took inventory. Two broken fingers on his left hand. One eye shut. He remembered the pepper and his stomach convulsed.

The third time he awoke in the cell, Cole's mind registered fully his situation. They had taken their revenge, whoever they were. Probably, they weren't done. Else, why had they kept him alive, he thought, staring at the tray of mush that had been slid under the heavy door. No utensils.

The counting wasn't helping anymore.

Coop had wasted no time when Conway woke him that morning. He had listened to the man's instructions and took to following them without delay. Conway went on to the Palace.

A tense moment had passed when Coop--someone that none of the four men had seen before--entered the den, boldly. Most folks would give Richardson and the others a pass for being a mite jumpy, having trusted Conway but not quite sure whether all was as it seemed. Coop handled it well, though. He gave the air of a man that you wouldn't want to kick up a row against, unless you had no choice. Sure of himself, but probably not a braggart. He spoke quickly and confidently.

"Conway sent me." A hint of accent could be heard in the few words. That fact that Coop had produced a sack with foodstuffs spoke well of him, too.

The four men hadn't overcome the effects of the poison, or the hatchets. They had barely healed from the Comanche battle. Laying low made sense now. Nourishment could not be argued against.

Conway escorted Winters and the Professor from the hotel to the district called the Barbary Coast. At this hour of the morning, the streets were relatively quiet. Nonetheless, the saloons--and there were many of them--had patrons who had begun (or perhaps continued) their revelry. Sailors, miners and others who had come to claim the riches of the land. Brothels and saloons, it seemed, alternated throughout the streets. Conway passed by a row of cribs housing soiled doves who were visible through the windows from the street. ENS could not help but notice that one of them was engaged in her trade, in plain sight.

A moment later and Conway showed them down a flight of stairs to a bottom floor entrance. He ushered them through a small door and shut it behind him. A bitter odor filled the men's nostrils. Two turns down hallways, past dens of opium addicts by all appearances, Conway pushed open the door, staying true to his word to re-unite the men who had traveled from Texas.

Coop and Conway whispered a few words while the pards greeted each other. When the two parties from Texas recounted their tales to each other, Coop and Conway listened to the conversation. When asked, Conway assented to doing additional leg work. He knew the area and could locate Sunday if he had arrived. A few well-placed inquiries might buy him an idea of which Tong had taken Trayne. And time was of the essence. He would need funds to grease a few palms. A collection had been taken.

Having advised that the Professor and Mr. Winters return to the hotel or the Bella Union and continue their own efforts, Conway had led the two men back toward the Palace. He had given Coop a fact-finding task as well. They would meet at 3 p.m. at the Union, taking a seat at a faro table.

Meanwhile, the four men who had been ambushed would stay in the den until the others had some actionable information.

EDIT: added a phrase for clarity upon re-reading. And another typo found many months later!
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:24, Wed 21 June 2017.

Having ridden a trio of mounts some 1700 miles, Travis Sunday felt his heart swell once San Francisco came into view that February afternoon.

His journey had taken him through the New Mexico and Arizona territories, through Apache lands and difficult terrain. The pace through California had worn down his horses. Of course, two of them were not the same as those he taken from the Comanche a fortnight ago. He rode two shifts a day, sleeping only a handful of hours each night. He had calculated that it was the only way to reach his destination in time. Doing his best to spare Horse, Sunday rode the Comanche ponies hard until he had reached Mesilla.

That was his second stop for supplies, having passed through Lincoln already. In Mesilla, he found traders willing to swap horses, for a small fee. No choice, really, as he knew; nonetheless he managed to drive a decent bargain. Sunday had been alone on the trail before. He preferred having pards around, but he knew how to travel solo. Still, the times he had done it in the past never had the urgency of this journey. He reminded himself of that fact, often. Fresh mounts improved his chances of making it through the Apache lands, over the mesas and through the desert basins; worth every dollar.

Barring a near mishap with one of the kids in tow while passing through a shale basin, the trip through New Mexico went smoothly. He had seen Apache; they had seen him and yet they let him pass. He had considered offering one of the mounts in tribute if needed, but that need had not materialized.

That had changed soon after Sunday happened upon a scouting expedition against the Chiricahua, in the Arizona territory. The gunslinger had seen signs of Indian activity, and he recognized that the white men were looking for the same. He joined them for a day's ride, spending some of the time speaking with a feller named Ed Schieffelin, before the expedition's path parted from his as they returned to a camp they called the Huachuca. That night, on his own again, Travis heard a band of Apache attempting to sneak up on his camp. He had gunned down four of them before they withdrew. He mounted Horse and rode out after the Apache had retreated, putting ground between him and the Indians, but losing a heap of sleep that night.

In Yuma, Travis had traded horses again. He had the good sense to check at the telegraph office, and fortunately, his pards JEB and ENS had had the good sense to send a telegram informing him that they were boarding trains to the coast. As desperately as Travis wanted to spend a night in a hotel bed, to have a hot meal, or to take a bath, he knew he could not spare the time for any of those luxuries. Stops like the one in Yuma he made solely to re-supply and procure fresh mounts. Sunday could not afford to dawdle even for an hour. He did his best to hide his urgency, but the horse trader in this town saw through Sunday's veneer. Although Travis got two good mounts in trade, he had to pay twice as much here as he had back in Mesilla. For a moment, the gunslinger had thought to haggle, or just wait until he reached the border towns in California to make a trade. Finally, he took the deal, placing his bet on these new kids making it all the way to Frisco.

The bet had been at least a push, he figured, as he approached the city on the coast with sunlight to spare on the fourteenth day. The horses had survived the march from Yuma. Unfortunately, a toll had been taken on Horse, despite Sunday's efforts to give him extra rest in the rotation. Even if the sturdy mount had been spared the weight of his master, he had walked the 1700 miles and his frame showed the stress. The trader in Yuma had offered a deal that would include Horse--and it would have saved Sunday a stack of gold coins--but the gunslinger could not bring himself to part with the kid. He hoped that rest and a healthy feed bag would bring Horse back around in San Francisco.

He had headed straight for one of the stables he remembered from a few years ago. Luckily, it was a still a barn and it was still taking kids. Travis arranged for all three before heading to the telegraph office. When the clerk asked him the destination for the telegrams, the gunslinger said, simply, "Here."

When Travis had given the clerk his name, he found a telegram in his own name being placed in his hand.

"Bella Union afternoon."
"Palace Hotel sunset til noon."
"ENS"

And so Travis Sunday, being less than an hour late to the gathering (and a day late to the party), entered the Bella Union and located his pards Ringgenberg and Winters. He found them with a neatly-dressed fellow and other faro players at one of the place's best tables. Sunday was introduced to Charles Conway and his associate Coop.

The hairs on the back of Sunday's neck had bristled when Conway lead them through the small door. Places like this on the Barbary Coast, or in Chinatown, or damned-well anyplace always put him on alert. This time, it proved unnecessary, seeing his pards assembled in the den as promised.

Sunday had taken ENS's word, and then Jake's word, on Conway. The gunslinger had to admit that the man knew of which he spoke. The combination of Sunday's and Conway's knowledge of Chinatown quickly led to a plan. They had ruled out several Tongs. And Sunday knew that this was no two-bit Tommy Cho business. The Tongs had grown in strength during the gunslinger's absence. Sunday and Conway finally agreed on the three Tongs that it might be: Sum Yop, Hop Sing or Suey Sing.

Their task for the night became clear. Work the streets of Chinatown and learn which Tong had taken Cole.

--------------

OOC: The Judge still has further posts to make, resolving Cole's situation and setting the adventure that will follow. Please hold PC posts as previously noted.

Cole Trayne had stared at the bed of watery mush on the tin tray. He had faced plenty of hard choices in his days. None had matched this one.

His stubborn defiance told him he would never eat their food. He would starve before giving in. His contemplative practicality told him he would need to eat if he were to maintain any hope of surviving this ordeal. By now, the wrangler 's thoughts drifted to his pards. Cole hoped that they had survived the highbinders' ambush. It occurred to him that they might be held in similar cells, pondering their own tray of mush.

The scales in his mind seesawed. As if to tip the balance, like a corrupt merchant weighing down the scale, Trayne put his right thumb into the edge of the mush. He touched something solid. Not the tray itself, something in the mush. Instinctively, he pulled his hand back. His weary mind focused and his heart pounded. Using his thumb again, he explored the mush, pushing around the object, which he judged to be some kind of metal. A key.

The wrangler's thoughts whirled. Somehow, he had an ally here. One of his pards? It did not matter. Either he had help and perhaps a chance to escape, or this was a cruel trick played by his captors. Or something his pain-wracked mind could not fathom. It did not matter. He pulled his legs underneath him. Attempted to stand. Wobbling, he had made it to one knee, steadied by his good hand against a wall. Taking breaths, he believed he could stand. They had broken his fingers, beaten and cut his head and torso, swelled shut his eye--which still burned--with the dried red pepper. His feet were bare; he remembered his boots being removed. They had threatened to cut off his toes, but he counted ten now, still. He remembered needles in his left leg, which sent waves of pain through through his innards. And yet, his legs felt sturdy enough to carry him.

Still on one knee. Cole reached into the mush to take the key. He wiped it on his torn shirt. Inspecting the door, he found no keyhole.  He pulled himself to his feet. holding the key in his good hand, now using his left forearm to steady himself against the wall while protecting his broken fingers. He listened, heard nothing. Deliberately, Cole pushed his shoulder against the cell door. It budged. He pushed again and it opened, creaking. He found himself in a small hallway, with three other similar doors. Surprisingly, he heard a beleaguered voice from behind one of the doors.

"Up stairs," was all the unrecognizable voice said. As if the voice had directed his vision, Cole looked to his left and saw a short staircase.

The gathering of information had pointed the men in two possible directions.

They had ruled out the Hop Sing, according to the report from a shúrén of Sunday. Meanwhile, the pairs who went out to investigate all got wind of a disagreement between the Suey Sing and the Sum Yop. ENS, Conway, Sunday, they all heard the same. Rasmin and JEB, too, who ventured out from the den despite the possibility of being recognized by agents of their enemies, had heard of the trouble. Each of the Tong's boo how doy had been seen on the streets in Chinatown, around the Barbary Coast and even in the hills in recent nights. Someone had seen two highbinders carrying a sack the night before . . . a sack that dripped blood down an alleyway. To which Tong they belonged was an item of disagreement among sources.

The matter of Rasmin's part in all this had been resolved without much discussion. He had been attacked and poisoned just like Cole's pards. Moreover, he had been robbed of his prey and probably his payday. After Travis Sunday had buried the hatchet back on the Texas plains, an acceptance settled in among the men that Rasmin was not a bad egg after all. No one approved of the bounty hunter's decision to follow-through with Cole's arrest, but no one could say that Rasmin had not acted in a forthright and professional manner. And seeing as Cole had acquiesced to the journey, no one blamed Rasmin for the attack. Nor did anyone have reason to suspect him of having any foreknowledge of the events at the train terminus, although the notion to jab Rasmin with an "I told you so" had likely ruminated in at least one of the men's thoughts. At least until he pledged to help find Cole and to hell with the bounty.

Given their common circumstances, Rasmin and Beauregard formed a pair, as the group had agreed that none of Cole's pards should walk the streets alone, nor all at the same time. Likewise, Jake had joined Sunday for stint on the prowl, while ENS and Winters continued their efforts from their base at the Palace Hotel. Conway had gone his own way, leaving Coop to spend the time with Oldman in the den, as Mr. Big'un's ability to go incognito seemed less likely to succeed than anyone else.

"Besides," Travis had said to the big man--in a pleased-you-are-on-our-side manner--"We will need you fully rested for whatever comes next."

Rasmin had contacts in town and he knew how to keep a low profile; JEB's quiet demeanor allowed him to tag along without drawing much attention while still leveraging his skills learned as a lawman. Together, in addition to hearing about the activity among the two Tongs, they had discovered that the charges against Trayne had been dropped just hours before their arrival at the San Francisco terminus. Powerful convenient, that fact.

As Randy polished off a mountainous dinner, Coop wondered what all of this might come to. Conway had always treated him fair in their dealings. Coop had pocketed enough to make a living and hoped for even better prospects ahead. Still, this business sounded like difficulty. Coop had no inclination to go on the shoot just now. Having heard these men talk; however, he figured they all had sand. If anyone could rescue a prisoner of the Tongs, it was these men. So he did as Conway asked, and figured it was a better bet than the faro table. Coop and the big man got to know each other in those hours, the former learning more of the story about Cole Trayne's extradition and even something of the No Buffalo Outfit, a topic that seemed to calm the big man's mind.

When the last pair had returned to the den--that being Jake and Travis at roughly 1 a.m.--the men spoke of plans. A likely house for each of the two Tongs, that was the best information they could wrangle. Toss a gold eagle. And yet, the time for taking of risks had come. They had given themselves the remainder of the day to learn what they could. They had used up all of their favors, placed all of their checks on the table, and greased every palm worth grasping. Although another day might bring more information, it might on the other hand . . . .

The consensus was for action. They would rest until 4 a.m., whereupon pairs of men would use the cover of night to take positions near the each of the two buildings. From there, gain entry and find Cole. Or die trying.

EDIT: Minor formatting.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:00, Tue 07 July 2015.

Two groups had assembled, departing the den separately before sunrise.

Rasmin, Oldman, Richardson and Ringgenberg. The Suey Sing

Sunday, Winters, Beauregard and Coopwood. The Sum Yop.

Conway's role took him away from the action. He had secured a safe house for Cole's return--a residence where all of the men could lay low and recuperate after the rescue--and he would need to be there to ensure all was prepared. Some discussion had arisen over whether the professor should go with Conway, as well as what Coop's role in all of this might be. To his credit, Conway's man had expressed his reservations about this affair without beating the devil round the stump. He had known these men only for nigh two days. . . and besides, tangling with the Tongs seemed like a way to end a man's livelihood, not extend it. Nonetheless, as the plan developed, including the idea to assign one man in each group to serve as a lookout and a runner, the men found common ground in regard to Coop rounding out their numbers. And of the professor taking his place on the front lines, as it were, although after much debate they landed on the notion that Jake would be the best lookout for his group. The rifleman's sharpshooting with the carbine would serve as a last resort should this endeavor go south and spill into the streets. The other men had already deposited their longarms at the stable, where both Bess and Horse were put up, expecting that any outbreak of combat was likely to happen in close quarters.

The plan, far from perfect, had risks. It counted on a modicum of luck. The men who would attempt to enter each of the Tong strongholds had to acknowledge full well that they had placed their checks on the table, and that the turn of a card could change the outcome of the bet.

Light fog in the darkness gave them an initial advantage. Each group went its own way. A tactic proposed by JEB--backed by Winters and Rasmin--guided them. They would travel in two pairs of two men, with each of the lookouts and another pard lingering behind an advance pair, which would scout the building up close. When the two men made their move to enter the building, the third man would take their place while the lookout would take cover and observe.

Most of the rest of the plan had never materialized, although the planning had served its purpose. No more than ten minutes after Mr. Big'un and Rasmin had taken their positions, watching the Suey Sing house to measure the signs of activity before attempting to break down the back door, that door itself had swung open with a creak and a thunk. A stumbling figure appeared in the doorframe. He looked drunk. No, he looked like a man beaten. Broken. Not expecting such a fortunate happenstance, it took both Rasmin and Oldman several heartbeats to realize the man was Cole Trayne.

Randy rushed toward the small wooden platform where Cole stood looking side-to-side as if to get his bearings in the world. The wrangler registered someone running toward him and the instinct for flight took hold. Nonetheless, Oldman reached the platform in a few bounds before Cole had taken more than two painful steps. Randy grabbed the wounded cowboy, then steadied the fellow Buffalo. Unfortunately, the big man's landing and lunging on the wood deck had engendered a short series of rhythmic thuds, accompanying Cole’s clumsy exit from the cellar. Rasmin had given the hand signal to ENS and then rushed forward to join Oldman and Trayne.

"Gets him to the Bangtail," Randy had ordered the bounty hunter. "I means it. Run." The pugilist had no time for other words, as he heard what he assumed were the Tong's hatchetmen moving about after the sounds of Cole's escape had interrupted the relative quiet of the early morning hours.

Rasmin obeyed, glancing back over his shoulder as he helped the barefoot, bloodied wrangler move away from the building. The professor ran towards the Suey Sing house as instructed, while Jake deliberately whistled the tune that was meant to alert the other group should either of them have found Trayne.

Even in his weakened state, still suffering from the hatchet wounds of less than 48 hours past (as were three of his pards), Mr. Big'Un fought like a bear. His massive, bare paws clubbed and lacerated the boo how doy that streamed from the building. He fought with a two-handed expertise equaled by none of the highbinders.

Watching from his post, Jake saw everything: The professor running toward Rasmin, who dragged a ragged Cole Trayne. ENS stopping as if to examine the wounded man, while Rasmin had nearly lifted Cole's dead weight and barreled directly past the easterner. The professor, turning in his tracks and running after Rasmin, caught up to the now-burdened bounty hunter. Now, two men dragging Trayne towards the rifleman, while a ring of hatchetmen had surrounded Mr. Big'un and a few others scouted the perimeter.

Richardson had good cover; he had watched for several seconds, aiming his carbine, while Oldman fought. Jake wanted to squeeze off a round, but he did not want to hit his pard. And while the boo how doy had enjoined battle, they and Oldman had remained mostly silent. A battle of the old ways; with fists and knives. Jake understood. The big man was giving them time to escape before all of Chinatown had been alerted. The Texan clenched his teeth and continued to aim while Randy dropped a handful of the black hat warriors. The two men carrying Cole finally reached his position.

ENS had insisted that they stop right there. Rasmin, gasping, had relented. Jake whispered that they needed to stick to the plan. He urged them to run, much like the big man had just done. He would back Oldman’s gambit.

Moments later, as two more highbinders fell to Randy’s fists, Jake heard a shot ring out. Waal damn, he thought. So much for a quiet escape. When he heard the second shot, the rifleman discharged a round from his Spencer, taking out one of the black hats, and then chambered the next cartridge.

Several streets away, Travis, JEB, Winters and Coop had heard Jake’s whistle. More precisely, two of them had heard it, and they convinced the other two of the same. The four moved with a purpose toward the Suey Sing, still in their pairs and making haste without breaking into a run. They needed to remain in the shadows themselves, as long as possible. Almost there, all four of them heard the weapon reports. The gunfire changed their minds; the men broke into a run and approached Jake’s position.

The rifleman had squeezed off another round, wounding one of the highbinders when he saw Randy Oldman crumple. The mountain of a man had fallen to one knee, then disappeared inside the ring of the highbinders. Around Oldman, Jake saw, lay several immobile bodies in black garb. The survivors, only a few by that time, began dragging the bodies of their brethren into the building.

Jake thought to plug another of the black hats, but a police whistle pierced the fog in Chinatown. They could not be far away. Travis and JEB raced past the rifleman’s perch, closing the distance to the boo how doy. Jake covered his pards, ready to shoot if needed, but holding his fire so as to avoid the attention of the nearby constabulary--until he had no choice.

The highbinders efficiently rid the back-alley of their fallen brothers. Richardson counted maybe a dozen of the black hats had succumbed to Oldman's ferocious fists.They were gone by the time JEB and Travis had arrived. Meanwhile, Winters and Coop had joined the rifleman at his post. Jake offered no explanation of the situation. Like he had told the others, he told these two to make a beeline for the safe house. He would cover Sunday and Beauregard. Neither Coop nor Winters had been up to his neck in this sort of difficulty before. They listened to Richardson, high-tailing it out of Chinatown.

Travis and JEB came upon Randy’s motionless body. The police whistle sounded again, much closer now. No time for examinations or ruminations. The two old pards grabbed the big man from the No Buffalo Outfit, lifting and dragging his hulking frame from the scene and over to Jake’s cover. With Jake still keeping his vigil, the other two men had hoisted Oldman in a manner such that they could carry him and move more quickly. Jake remained behind to provide cover for as long he thought practicable. When the police entered the alley, he crept away quietly, confident that JEB and Travis had put enough distance between themselves and the Suey Sing house to avoid any of the policemen.

In waves, the men had made it back to the safe house. When JEB, Travis and Jake had arrived, carrying the dead body of Randy Oldman, a solemn mood fell over the place and its new inhabitants. Cole had been rescued, but at a terrible price.

---------------

OOC: One more narrative post and then the PCs can begin.
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:13, Thu 09 July 2015.

Two months had passed since Garrett Rasmin arrived with his prisoner at the San Francisco terminus of the Central Pacific Railroad.

Two months since the ambush by the highbinders and the death of Rojas. Two months since they buried Mr. Big'un. They had stopped calling him that, as they convalesced in the safe house. It seemed disrespectful to call him by other than the name given to him by Fair Mary. They referred to him as Randy. Nobody could remember exactly how that happened, but the men were in unison. When they performed the burial up in the hills. When they contemplated what to do with his belongings. When they reminisced.

For the first month, all of the men except for Conway and Coop stayed in, or near, the safe house. The exception was Randy's early morning burial. Trayne needed all of that month to recover. The men who had been dry-gulched by the boo how doy needed time to rest, too. Towards the end of that month, the men started to venture out into town, in pairs, occasionally. The two-room space was cramped and a group of fellers can only take so much togetherness. Conway had informed them that the buzz on the streets had died down. The police had never figured out who had murdered the Mexican. Apparently, they had little knowledge, or interest, in what happened that morning in Chinatown, having found only pools of blood and no bodies at the scene. Of course, the Suey Sing would not forget or forgive, but their activities indicated that they had considered the matter closed with the death of one of Cole Trayne's trail mates. So the laying low for a time had accomplished its goal. Cole had remained safe; the men--and Horse--had healed physically, and the group had avoided confrontation until Cole Trayne was himself again.

Garrett Rasmin had departed around that time. He had apologized to Cole. Clearly, he was embarrassed at being duped into bringing in the wrangler. He told the men he had a score to settle, but he would accept no help in the matter.  He had apologized to Travis Sunday for not having the chance to sip whiskey in a fine leather armchair. He offered a handshake nevertheless.

Cole still needed more time to recuperate. His vision in the one eye had not yet returned to normal. So the other pards who had made the trip from Texas continued to lay low, even if they had come out of hiding. Conway had given them a good deal on this apartment. The men had taken up another collection for the two months rent and supplies. Spreading out the cost made it easy to bear for each of the men.

In the second month, towards the end of March, the men had had more than their share of apartment living. They all moved about town regularly, all except Cole, whose vision was improving at a slow pace. They stayed clear of the Barbary Coast and Chinatown as much as possible.

Conway found the professor and Cole at the apartment a few days ago. He told them that he had been approached by a man who wanted an audience with the group. He wanted to hire them for a job. Conway said that the man, a Chinese named Xu Jie Jing, wanted to speak for himself. Conway said he could vouch for the man's authenticity; he was a respected merchant in Chinatown. Mr. Xu would come alone (escorted by Conway).

The men had talked and agreed to hear the man out. The meeting would happen tonight.

------------------

OOC: PC's should feel free to begin posting now, moving forward with RP from the morning of the day when Conway will be bringing Mr. Xu for the meeting (that evening). As the Judge has skipped time from the point of Randy's death to the start of this adventure, the PCs should also feel free to post follow-ups in the form of past-tense storytelling whenever needed (for example, if a PC had something in mind to take care of in town, or follow-up re: Randy's belongings, or wanted to share the PCs thoughts/perspective about past events, or what-have-you). In other words, the Judge is open to the PCs filling in gaps in the narrative. Please ask questions in the OOC forum, or in PM, anytime you want to discuss ideas about filling the gaps.

PCs need to deduct between $10 and $20 from whatever funds that they had upon arriving in San Francisco, depending on their means. The Judge leaves the amount to each individual, as he expects that some PCs would have kicked in a few extra gold coins to cover costs that might be a burden for other of their pards. The Judge will inform PCs individually in PM if there are other cost considerations or loose ends to tie up with the characters and their roles in the narrative.

The Queen of Spades . . . Jake had turned over yet another card whilst playing yet another game of Solitaire.  In the months that had passed since everyone's arrival in Frisco, the Texan had gotten a bellyful of cards, and of Solitaire in particular. Yet at the same time he had stuck to solitary pursuits, declining a seat at his pards' poker games whenever one was offered him.

For most of the time since the fight on the night of Cole's escape, Jake had worn a hang-dog expression, and had communicated with his pards using as few words as possible, resorting to grunts and hand gestures when they would suffice to get his message across. Clearly, the Texan was in a blue funk.

It was also clear enough what was eating at him. "I let Randy down," he had murmured to anyone who was interested, speaking in a voice so low that his listeners had to strain to hear his words.

"It ain't like I froze up," he had said more than once, his eyes getting that thousand-yard stare that told that he was replaying the events of that night in his head . . . again. Mayhaps he was trying to convince his listeners, or mayhaps himself . . . or mayhaps both.

"Hell, no . . . I seen the elephant too many damned times to freeze up. But it was just . . . so damned dark -- an' that fog didn't help none."

"It's just . . . I'm used to pickin' my mark, an' hittin' it -- or else comin' mighty damned close," he explained, staring down at the floor instead of meeting his listeners' eyes.

"An' that night . . . I couldn't see good enough to pick no targets to hit. All's I saw was a big, swirlin' mass of dark. I knowed Randy was in thaere somewhaeres, an' I was afeared of hittin' him if'n I fired blind."

"Waal . . . that warn't quite right -- I could see Randy's head an' shoulders, stickin' up above all them Chinks. But to fire low enough to hit any Chinks -- all's I could see was dark. An' I could tell how ever'body was movin' so damned fast -- that dark mass o' bodies warn't standin' still, not a bit -- 'twas movin' about an' writhin' like a passel o' snakes."

"Like I said, I could see Randy's head an' shoulders, towerin' up above the writhin' mass. An' I'm here to tell you, that big man was mighty damned fast -- like a greased-lightnin' bear . . . or, mayhaps a half-bear, half-painter."

"But Randy was countin' on me to back his play, an' when push came to shove, I didn't do enough. I reckon I dropped a couple o' them yaller bastards, but Randy had a lot more'n that on him."

"Guess I shoulda jest fired into the dark, an' took my chances. It mighta been enough for Randy to fight his way free . . ."

"Hell . . . I don't see as how it couldn't a' turned out no worse that it did, no damned how," Jake muttered quietly, shaking his head.

And now Charles had told them that another damned Chink wanted to talk to them about some job. For old times' sake, as well as all that Charles had done to gain Cole's freedom here in Frisco, Jake was willing to listen. But the Texan was still in a blue funk, and he had a mighty short fuse when it came to even givin' Chinks the time of day, let alone a fair audience . . .

OOC: Deleted a couple of extraneous words, and added a couple of missing ones. No substantive change in content.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:58, Sun 12 July 2015.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 11):

No one blames you for Randy's death.  He made a choice to place a pard's life over his own. It was a good death.  A noble death.

If anyone's to blame it's me.  If Rasmin dies in Texas, none of this happens.  The butcher's bill came due, when my I hesitated to end a life I knew needed ending. I predicted something like this would happen and it did.  You had no idea what was going to happen.  Apparently I did, and did nothing about it.

Regardless, it's time to move on.  Randy had a troubled side of his soul and now it's at rest.  All you can do is define yourself by your actions and not your past.

Travis looks over.

Red Jack on the black queen.

Charles Conway wasn't necessarily a ghost as the six men saw him periodically. He stopped by to check and chat, or more accurately, listen. His engaging smile and genteel presence was never intended as an air of superiority. Conway was neatly dressed and always clean and shaved.

Through the course of the two months, Conway pointed the men in the direction of certain proprietors who were worthy of business, whether for their good work, fine goods, or simply because they didn't converse much while conducting business. In nearly all cases, the young man simply pointed the pards in the direction of the business and said they'll be treated just fine. Perhaps there was a time, maybe two, that Conway himself took whatever complement of men to the shop for whatever reason for the introduction. All in all, it really made sense to know a man who knows the merchants.

Dark-haired with fair skin, Conway was certainly a city boy by all appearances. Only on rainy days did the men see him wear a hat, otherwise, his hair was oiled and combed neatly. He usually wore twill pants, a nice-looking shirt, and a jacket. His boots, not the same as the cowboy-style the men wear yet similarly sturdy, were always neatly polished. On one notable occasion, he was dressed in a very fine, expensive-looking suit; the kind maybe a politician or rail-road executive might wear. He made no-nevermind to his apparel, as if it were any other day of the week, especially Sunday.

Conway addressed each of the men by his title and surname. His diction was impeccable and his grammar was similarly on spot--of course, that is when he spoke. Sometimes he wrote notes in a notebook which he kept in his jacket pocket, other times he simply looked squarely upon the man speaking and absorbed every word.

Charles Conway arrived at the flat prior to evening meal. With him, he brought corked bottles of clean drinking water, a small crate of clean drinking glasses, and a plain wooden tray.

"Gentlemen," Conway speaks plainly to the six friends, "I might recommend tidying yourselves at least a little before I bring our guest this evening. Nothing too much, I don't know what Xu Jie Jing is asking and rough looks might serve his purpose. A washed face and combed hair, however, is a nice sign of respect for this man.

"Mr. Xu is perceived as a respectable businessman in his community, although I, myself, do not have occasion to conduct business with him. I know nothing of what he asks of you men except his description of 'an honorable mission,' in his own words. He knows the names of the two of you," Conway motions to Travis Sunday and JEB Beauregard, "but I know not if he could sight you nor what it is he gleans. He also knows of your departed friend, Mr. Oldman, and the man with whom you traveled, Mr. Rasmin."

The San Franciscan continues with an assessment of the men. "You all have no reason to be trustful of this man whom you only learned of today. I only ask each of you to listen to his proposal with respect; it will be my first hearing of it as well. After such time, you give proper contemplation for the man and the mission."

As he spoke, Conway maneuvered a table to an offset location in the main room. He placed only two chairs at the table, in opposition of each other. One chair was closer to a wall. "Please offer Mr. Xu this chair when he arrives. Another of you, who shall speak on behalf of the venture, should sit opposite him. No one else sits nor speaks. The seated men will conduct the conversation and might ask others to speak in due time. Please do not speak out of turn as it will weaken your negotiation leverage. Should anyone have a question, hold it until the end of the conversation unless you are asked directly. Do not tax him with many queries, certainly no more than four.

"The Chinese culture respects a strong leader, I should speak with that man now."


OOC: Any character who speaks/understands Chinese, please let me know before the meeting. It might be important later.

edit: omissions
This message was last edited by the player at 04:42, Mon 13 July 2015.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 11):

"You did the right thing, Richardson," said the bounty hunter before he had departed the company of the men at the safe house.

"If you had done differently, things could have been much worse. You had the position of cover we needed. Firing from it would have given away that position when we needed it most. Instead of taking Cole to safety, we would have been engaged by the highbinders."

Looking more than a mite blue himself, Rasmin added "If Randy's death is anyone's fault, it's mine."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:26, Tue 14 July 2015.

In reply to Garrett Rasmin (msg # 14):

Even a stranger could see that Cole was in a right foul mood. In barely a whisper, Cole joins the conversation.

I set this whole mess in motion, and because of it, two of my 'pards have died. This is on me.

Cole pauses a moment, a grim look of deadly determination slowly appears on his face.

I mean to find out what this is all about. This ain't over. Don't care how long it takes. This ain't over. I owe Randy and Rojas at least as much.

Jake nodded to Travis, Rasmin, and Cole in turn, grateful for their efforts to pull him out of his doldrums. The Texan looked thoughtful when Cole spoke about still needing to figure things out, for Jake had also been wondering about what had been behind the attack and kidnapping of his pard. From what he could recall, Cole had spoken about killing a white man who had tried to hire him to gun down some Celestials. So, why are the Celestials comin' down hard on Cole now, when he stood up for them afore? he had wondered.

Could be that this last bunch was hired by other big bugs who was in tight with the feller who Cole killed, I reckon. An' who the hell was behind gettin' the charges dismissed against Cole, any damn-how? I think that Travis has been here to Frisco afore. Mayhaps he's got a better grasp on what's goin' on than I do -- I'll have to ask him about it when I git the chance.

The ex-Wells Fargo man had listened quietly when Charles spoke his advice concerning meeting with the Celestial who had requested a meeting with the men. When Charles had finished, Jake glanced around at his assembled companions. "Anyone here among us parlay Celestial? Or know anything 'bout the Celestial way of doin' things?"

"If so, I'd nommynate that person to be our spokesman for the meetin' with this Celestial big bug."

In reply to Garrett Rasmin (msg # 14):

All of us share some responsibility for Randy's death. Randy and me did not see eye to eye on many things, but his sacrifice does not set right with me. It is contingent on all of us to bring down hellfire to his killers.

OOC: unable to edit with orange text.
JM edit: added formatting
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:46, Wed 15 July 2015.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 16):

I'm not knowledgeable of Oriental customs but can hold my own negotiating. A useful trade I acquired when I had a badge.

JM edit: added formatting
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:46, Wed 15 July 2015.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 17):

Continuing to stare at the ground, Cole quietly responds.

Agreed.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 19):

ENS was quite shaken with the death of two of their group in the space of a few days; it was a stark reminder of the danger of the frontier. He hadn't known any of these men that long, but he felt great loss, especially for Randy, who was the first friend he had made at the Flat.

During the ensuing months he became somewhat antsy in the apartment, and when the men started small forays in groups he would join whenever he could. After the legwork of the first few days here, he was interested in continuing the study of the Barbary Coast cultural mix... he was, after all, supposed to be doing field work!

Being trained in pharmaceuticals and aided by the fact that he spoke Mandarin and understood a bit about the Chinese culture, he took a particular interest in the local herbalists. He would steer his companions to one of these shops whenever they allowed it (which wasn't too often as the others found the shops disturbing). Regardless, he was able to make the acquaintance of one of these herbalists, Hai Feng, who seemed intrigued with ENS' many questions and comparisons to western medicines.

ENS had also had a chance to send a telegram to his university in New York, explaining his change of location (without many details), asking if they received the artifacts he had sent from the Flat, and asking about any desired lines of research. When he received their reply he was very pleased that they were interested in him doing a cultural study of the area. He had already made copious notes after each foray and was well on the way to fulfilling their request already!

It seemed that, despite the terrible start, the Barbary Coast held great promise. And he was extremely interested in the proposal that Mr. Conway's 'businessman' would be presenting.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Thu 16 July 2015.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 20):

When Jake finally opened up, ENS also chimed in.

The others are right Jake, Randy was a whirling Dervish within that attacking group... I was much closer than you and I had trouble picking him out!

When the conversation turned to the impending meeting, ENS listened closely to Mr. Conway's advise... nodding as he confirmed items of etiquette that ENS was aware of.

I speak Mandarin, but I wonder if that might better be kept under our hat... you never know what might be revealed if your opponent doesn't think you understand his language! It sounds like this Mr. Xu is no fool, but still, fortune favors the prepared.

Mr. Conway's description of the meeting etiquette sounds right to me, and I believe Sheriff Beauregard is politic enough to conduct the meeting well.

Jake stood with his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed across his chest. After a moment, he spoke up and said, "All's I know is that I ain't in the runnin' in this race. My mind jest ain't presently right for such goin's on . . . if'n it ever was."

Coop pulled on his cigarillo a couple of times and then gradually exhaled grey smoke.  He was dressed as he usually was in rough, worn trousers, a cheap shirt and vest with a longcoat over the top.  The coat was one of his two concessions to style, or rather style as he perceived it.  The other was his pair of Colt Frontier revolvers, matched as such in that they had been bought from the same dealer at the same time, one worn in a holster slung low on the right hip and the other concealed to some degree in a shoulder holster on his left side.  They were more of an affectation than stylish, something distinctive for a man who was trying to avoid sticking out.

After another long puff on his cigarillo Coop spoke up on the subject of Mr. Xu.  "From what I've heard," he said in his slightly odd accent, a mixture of a native of England, somewhere on the south coast if you know your dialects, combined with years of living in America, "this fella Mr. Xu is a businessman of standing in Chinatown.  The sort of fella who has meetings in better places than this.  I can only guess at what he wants to talk to us about but the fact he's comin' here rather than us goin' to see him suggests that it ain't somethin' that he want talked about in public.  That'll be a factor in any bargain."

Coop had spent the last few weeks spending increasingly greater amounts of time hanging around with this group that Conway had introduced him to.  He had been dangerously down on his luck when he had met Conway, considering desperate schemes to liberate sufficient funds to feed himself, but Conway had proved to be a very beneficial man to know and very quickly, without much risk it seemed to Coop, he had earned himself substantial funds for a small amount of effort.  He wasn't about to get rich working with Conway on his schemes but he wasn't going to starve either and that was certainly good enough for the moment.

This group seemed to have the focus of Conway's attention so Coop had decided to stick around and see how it would improve his finances.

---

OOC - Minor edit with text
This message was last edited by the player at 14:00, Fri 17 July 2015.

In reply to Alfred Coopwood (msg # 23):

Travis listened to everyone.  He reminded himself that Rasmin had apparently not departed as mentioned in msg #10 had heard him wish him dead and regretted it immediately.  He had little to say.  He was likable enough but no formal negotiator. He could scare a man or work a fence or an underworld contact pretty well but this seemed different.

I speak Chinese.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 24):

OOC: Rasmin's statement occured before he departed, as clearly stated in msg 14
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:27, Fri 17 July 2015.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 24):

Unless Mr Xu speaks decent English there's no point in me conducting the meeting. I defer to Ringgenberg and Sunday in this matter.

JM Edit: color text, assuming JEB meant it as such
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:41, Fri 17 July 2015.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 26):

"Mr. Beauregard, of course you may defer to another, but you might not need to do so. In fact Mr. Xu doesn't converse well in English, although he speaks enough to conduct himself adequately." Conway speaks in a calm, passive voice to JEB. "Mr. Sunday or Professor Ringgenberg could interpret for you. Our guest certainly has managed other business dealings in this fashion, so I don't believe he will find it distracting in the least. Would still desire to stand and represent the venture?

"Professor Ringgenberg, if you feel strongly about keeping your language skill secret, I will honor your wish.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 27):

ENS looks from one man to the other.

Well, as I said, the man sounds like no fool so I doubt he'd let anything slip either way... So let's go with Sheriff Beauregard as our leader and I will interpret for him. To insure that the sheriff looks important to Mr. Xu, I propose that I stand just behind and to the right of the sheriff and only provide interpretation as needed; and I will ensure that I'm dressed well for the meeting.

The last sentence likely generates a chuckle from as few of his pards as, as soon as things settled down in the apartment, ENS had taken every bit of clothing he had and had them laundered, and has maintained a fairly impeccable visage ever since (though he would have called it 'casual').

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 28):

"Yes sir Professor, an enlightened choice. I, too, shall be dressed for the occasion." Conway looks pleased.

"Mr. Xu will sit here, as I mentioned earlier. I will make all introductions when we arrive. I will offer water to the men at the table, and to you as well Professor Ringgenberg. Once this is concluded, I will step away from the table. Mr. Beauregard and Mr. Xu will likely exchange some cordial greetings in English, but I would not imagine the conversation will continue further in our native tongue.

"He is a businessman. He will expect a counter offer to his for compensation for the task he brings us. Please be mindful that information is as strong a commodity as gold is currency.

"Finally, Mr. Beauregard, think of the specialized skills each man brings into this affair. If you do not feel you have the correct talents to complete his mission, it is always worth the request for him to direct you to the men who can help. If not, and only if he is unable, I might be able. There is no harm in asking when you don't reveal your weakness."

Conway heads for the door. "I have cleared all my thoughts. Would anyone like to make a request?"

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 29):

The Chinese equivalent of a bottle of fine scotch, two glass tumblers and two good cigars for the negotiating table.

JM Edit: Again, changing color formatting, assuming this is JEB's dialogue.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:04, Sat 18 July 2015.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 30):

"Mr. Beauregard, although I understand your intent, I feel that would be too much for this caliber of meeting." Conway responds respectfully. "Additionally, I fear any such merchant from whom you would purchase those items has already concluded their work day. Perhaps one of the melodeons or saloons in the Barbary Coast could provide the items you seek, but I would ill advise a venture there after nightfall."

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 31):

Fair enough. It is my limited understanding that offering gifts was a sign of respect in oriental custom. That was my intent. Respect is the most optimal starting point for any negotiation. If you feel it is too much, so be it.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 32):

Conway nods and says, "Thank you, sir."

The man-in-the-middle explains how other courtesies will be extended to the businessman. Conway gives the example that he has hired a coach to bring the two of them to the meeting. That same coach will stay outside to carry Mr. Xu on his way afterwards. "The greatest gift you can offer the man is to speak in his tongue. I suspect his respect for you will immensely elevate."

The young man stops just before exiting. "We will arrive shortly after evening meal. I am so very excited to learn about this mysterious mission. I sense an adventure is upon us." Despite his words, he remains stoic.

"Until then, gentlemen." Conway leaves.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 33):

JEB nods and asks Ringgenberg, "can you teach me some basic Chinese, such as greetings, yes, no, that sort of thing?"

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 33):

ENS watches Conway depart.

Interesting fellow... well sheriff, if you like I could teach you an appropriate greeting in Chinese?

At the appointed time, Conway returns to the apartment, with the Chinese man he introduces as Xu Jie Jing. As Conway stated earlier, he makes formal introductions all around.

The Chinese man bows to each of the men in the apartment as Conway recites their names. Mr. Xu stands roughly five and one-half feet, with short-cropped hair showing gray at his temples. Unlike many of the celestials in the city, Xu has no queue. He wears a well-tailored, if unadorned, traditional winter gown. Although he treats all of the men with respect as they are introduced to him, Xu seems most interested in the man called Cole Trayne.

Upon the invitation to be seated, Xu takes his place across the table from Beauregard. He waits patiently, his eyes focused on JEB, as if awaiting permission to begin.

------------

OOC: Pausing here to allow PCs to post narrative, if desired, upon meeting Xu. Also allowing Beauregard the opportunity to initiate the conversation.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 36):

Conway arrives wearing one of his lesser suits, though still stylish and nice by modern standards. He serves three glasses of water; one to each man at the table and one to Professor Ringgenberg. Mr. Beauregard, Mr. Xu will make his proposal once you invite him to do so. The young man then slips back with the others in the room; his involvement is likely over.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 37):

ENS, freshly shaved and wearing a clean suit, takes up position behind JEB and waits to be called upon for translation.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 36):

JEB makes the traditional Chinese greeting taught by Ringgenberg, takes the seat across from Mr Xu and says cordially for ENS to translate, "how may we help you today?"

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 39):

Xu Jie Jing bows from his seat. Or more precisely, he bows his head in a deliberate fashion, that seems at once sincere and practiced.

"I am honored," he says in an even tone, in English. After a moment's pause, he continues, switching to his native Mandarin.

"Forgive me for using Mandarin. I believe that Professor Ringennberg will translate." He pauses, allowing ENS to do just that. With every man acknowledging his understanding of the process by a nod or a word or a gesture, and given JEB's approval, Mr. Xu continues in his own tongue, allowing space for Ringgenberg's translation.

"I have come to ask you men to do what I can ask of no one else. A great injustice is being done in this city. Juvenile daughters of my homeland, children, are being sold into slavery as if they were barrels of rice. I ask you," summarizes the Chinaman while meeting the eyes of Beauregard, "to help me save those that might be saved."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 40):

Your request is an honorable one. May I ask you a few questions before I confer with my associates?

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 41):

The Chinese merchant bows his head. "That is why I am here."

Conway has his notebook in hand. He marks in it as quickly as the pencil will glide across the page.

Coop stayed in the background leaning nonchalantly against a wall and listening to the translations from the Professor, watching the meeting unfold in front of him.  He had never seen or experienced anything like this conversation and was fascinated at the interaction between the three men.

He resisted the urge to cough or itch, feeling that such an interruption would be badly looked on by their visitor.  Conway seemed to be writing something and Coop briefly stared at him, wondering what he was noting down, before focusing again on the discussion at the table.

Missing Chinese girls being sold into slavery.  That was confusing as he'd fought in a war that was about removing slavery, or at least that was his recruiter had told him.  The reality of it had been very different though.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 42):

Why are you here? Why bring this to us? I'm a former lawman and this is an issue for the sheriff to resolve.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:34, Thu 23 July 2015.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 45):

The Chinaman maintains his focus on Beauregard.

"I might well say the same about the matter of Cole Trayne. I am here because you men have shown . . . " the Professor pauses for moment at this juncture in the translation before finding the right word, ". . . the capacity to take such matters into your own hands."

Xu Jie Jing continues. "The law does not concern itself with the plight of the Chinese in San Francisco."

Jake stood off to the side, with his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed across his chest, listening to the conversation. He had on his best poker face, it was difficult to judge what he might be thinking from his expression.

One of the thoughts which crossed his mind was, Slaves, hunh? Well, I'll be. Wonder if Mister Lincoln would've invaded Californy to fix that, if'n he was still around?

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 46):

JEB maintains an impassive expression and continues, "the law seemed to care a great deal about a Chinese citizen Mr. Trayne allegedly killed. Regardless, I will take you at your word since you appear to understand our affiliations. Tell me about the perpetrators responsible for this injustice."

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 48):

The Chinaman listens to JEB and then to ENS when the professor translates. A look of puzzlement hangs on his face.

"I will tell you what I know, and yet, I did not know that Cole Trayne killed a Chinese man. Please explain."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 49):

ENS adds to the end of the translation quickly and in a low voice: Sheriff, didn't Cole kill a white man to save a Chinese family? Or are you speaking of another event?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 50):

The Wrangler, clearly in a mood, betrays little at the mention of his name.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 49):

JEB allows an uncharacteristic look of discomfiture cross his otherwise stoic demeanor but in a brief moment bows his head,
"My apologies for the Misunderstanding. We are here to discuss the plight of young girls. Please continue..."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:21, Sun 26 July 2015.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 52):

The Chinese merchant observes Beauregard, as the lawman pauses to listen to the professor's translation before making his reply. Mr. Xu takes in Ringgenberg's translation, drawing a few breaths and allowing himself a moment to scan the room before he continues.

"Yes. That is why I have come to speak with you." He re-focuses his attention across the table, speaking directly to JEB.

"The perpetrators are many. There are those among the Tongs who support the practice, or at best they turn the other way. The children are smuggled in among the ships, taken to slave markets, and sold into servitude to the highest bidder. The market moves. It is a . . ." ENS pauses in his translation "well-orchestrated and clandestine business."

"I have information that will help to track down the location of the next market, but I cannot act on it myself. I have learned that the ships are expected within the next five days, perhaps as soon as two days. This is the task I ask of you . . . to disrupt the market and rescue as many of the girls as you can. I can ensure their safety once you have done your part."

Mr. Xu pauses for a moment, but everyone can sense he is not done speaking. He allows the professor to translate and then completes his current thought.

"Time is of the essence. I shall require an answer before I leave this apartment. If you have more questions, I will answer them, and I will provide the details that I have learned, but on this point I must be clear . . . I need your word that you will do this, tonight, or I will be forced to attempt another course of action."
EDIT: Minor fix; no change in Mr. Xu's words.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:42, Tue 28 July 2015.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 53):

JEB studies the chinaman carefully.

"How can we be assured your motivations are noble?"

Jake did not move from his position along the wall behind the Missourian, but he cleared his throat.

"Afore you give the gentleman an answer, JEB, we all oughtta palaver," he remarked quietly.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 55):

A look of shock and embarrassment grips Conway's face. Was I unclear on how to treat the guest? He wonders if matters would unwind from this point. Are the hopes of profit now dashed? He does not know if JEB's authority was just compromised? Perhaps that happened when he misspoke.

The dark-haired man turns to a new page in his notebook and waits for what comes next.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 54):

The Chinese merchant shows no indication of taking offense to JEB's inquiry. Nonetheless, his answer goes straight to the point.

"You have no assurances, Mister Beauregard, except for my word."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 57):

JEB nods to affirm Xu's statement.

Pardon me to confer with my associates on your proposal.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 58):

The Celestial merchant bows his head as he stands. He seems content to wait as the men move to the second of the two rooms in the apartment to discuss the matter at hand.

-------------

OOC: The Judge is using the fact that there are two rooms in the apartment to move the plot along, giving the PCs some privacy to talk while Mr. Xu waits.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 59):

I'll open the discussion by affirming that I have no cause to doubt the legitimacy of his proposal. Given our recent conflicts with the Chinese in this city I had suspicion that his offer may be a setup for an ambush of sorts, which is why I asked that last question. Based on his reaction it's my observation that he is forthright.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 60):

"I would like this opportunity to discuss our motivation. Altruism is a fine gesture, like the ultimate sacrifice your dear friend made to save your very lives. However, we have no such vested interest in the people involved." Conway converses in a mild tone. "We will incur expenses, need introductions, encounter violence, and a myriad of other and unforeseen consequences.

"Mr. Beauregard, would you seek expenses and compensation on our behalf. Although I prefer cold hard cash, I've been known to trade in favor, information, and opportunity. I only say so as a way to suggest open-mindedness to negotiate a strong and profitable contract."

"Good thinkin', Charles," Jake said, nodding to his old acquaintance. "I was thinkin' the exact same thing my owndamnself. I feel right sorry for them little yaller girls, but then we all done learned how it's a hard world, an' things is tough all over. My white-knightin' days is over an' done with, by an' large. We need to git paid for this."

The Texan turned to the wrangler. "Howsomever, afore we start treatin' this as a done deal, or nearly so, I'd like to hear what you think on it, Cole. Seems to me that thaere's still some unanswered questions 'bout who done what to whom an' why, concernin' yer own sit-you-aeshunn."

"An' if'n we take this other thing on, I reckon that we're all gonna be harin' off in a diff'rent die-reckshun other'n solvin' them lingerin' questions concernin' you."

"So, then . . . how you feelin' 'bout all this?"

Edit: Fixed minor typo.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:48, Thu 30 July 2015.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 62):

Travis waits for a pause in the conversation.  I'm in.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 62):

Before Cole states his piece I want to make it clear we will not profit from the plight of little girls. I will request expenses reimbursed but no more. Righteousness demands we take up this cause. We need no other incentive..

Cole looks at JEB, pauses a moment, then shrugs.

Subsequently, he turns his gaze upon Jake.

You make a good point, Jake. Running around town trying to fix a new problem, when we don't understand our current problem, seems not so wise to me.

Might be what happened to me is related to this here problem with Chinese girls. Least wise, I surely hope so.

Truth be told, I'm of a mind to have someone answer for what was done to me. And, to Randy and Rojas. There is too much trail between us for me to just walk away from this. But, I gotta say, I don't feel quite right putting my needs above children, either. My need can wait. These kids are out of time. Provided this here gent is telling the truth.

Are we sure about him?

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 64):

"Yes sir. Your position on this matter is clear. I will capitulate." The dark-haired man is courteous and genuine in his words.

Coop had been listening to the discussion unfold before speaking his own piece.  "Right, let me get this clear in me head," he interjected.  "We're being asked to rescue some girls for the Chinaman at much risk to ourselves and we ain't even asking for any reward for doing so?  I ain't a fan of slavery meself but this will make us unpopular with some faction in the city most like and we ain't even gonna profit from it?  You guys have a big score before you come here or somethin' that mean you don't need to work for a living?  You've been holed up here for weeks not earning nothin' so you must be mighty rich to not need a reward."

It was clear that Coop felt that he needed one himself and was surprised that others didn't.

Jake gave JEB a hard look when the Missourian butted in before Cole had an opportunity to respond to the Texan's comments. When Cole began speaking, the rifleman gave him his attention, and nodded his understanding when the wrangler was done.

The Texan also nodded when Coop began speaking, then turned to JEB. "You can come on as high-handed as you want 'bout this, JEB, but yer 'I'll do this an' I won't do that' don't carry no damned water with me."

"Coop, here, has the right of it. Git us some fair compensaehunn for this undertakin', or count me out."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 68):

ENS finally chimes in.

I tend to feel the same as the Sheriff on this endeavor, but the others make a fair point and I have no objection to asking for fair compensation on behalf of the group. I will only accept compensation for expenses since, as Mr. Coopwood inferred, I have other sources of income.

ENS pauses to rub his chin.

As to the matter of Cole's situation, he was attacked by a Chinese gang so we'll certainly be working in the right area... any questioning done could encompass both problems. Since his criminal charges were dropped simultaneously with the attack, it seems certain that the powers in question colluded with the gang to ensure Cole never made trial; and since we know from Cole that these 'powers' already oppress the local Chinese population, it seems fairly likely that they may be involved in the slavery trade as well.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:49, Fri 31 July 2015.

Cole's face darkens as he responds in a low tone.

I surely hope so...

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 68):

JEB returns the Texan's glare with the hard look of a Missouri bushwhacker.

I will pass on your request.

"Glad to hear it," Jake replied to JEB. He now wore an expression of poker-faced neutrality, having elected not to ramp up the staring contest with the Missourian. That kinda stuff is for teen-aged boys who like to think that they're some tough hombres.  I reckon me an' JEB've both seen the elephant way too many times to be affected by such folderol.

"This Celestial is a bizznessman, an' it strikes me that he understands that you don't git sumpthin' for nuthin'. Matter of fact, I 'spect that he'd think us mighty foolish to agree to such a deal. I also think that he's not havin' an' easy time findin' local talent to take on these hard-cases, which is why he's comin' to us -- and that means that we're surely providin' sumpthin' of value to him."

"Now, then -- we need to git down to brass tacks afore we leave this room."

Turning to Coopwood, Jake asked, "Did ye 'ave a number in mind for yerself, Coop?"

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 72):

Seizing the moment, Conway quickly tears a page from the back of his notebook. He writes on the page and folds it.

The dark haired man hands the slip to Mr. Richardson. "A starting point."

Jake unfolded the note that Charles handed him and took a moment to read it. Then he re-folded it, nodded, and handed it back to Charles.

"Gentlemen," Jake said, "Mister Conway's got a solid pro-posal, I do believe."

"I ask that we give him our attenshunn, keepin' in mind that he most likely unnerstands the Celestial mind better'n the rest of us, an' that he's also got a better grasp of what the local market'll bear than the rest of us."

Glancing over at Coopwood, the Texan added, "Charles's got us covered, Coop."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 74):

"But sir," Conway urges, "I only advise these quick figures based on the exceptional risk we will encounter, hush monies needed, supplies, sundries and the unforeseen. The decision is for you to debate--I have already told Mr. Beauregard I will no longer advocate for compensation."

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 75):

Jake grunted and looked a little surprised at Charles's respone. After a moment he shrugged and turned towards JEB.

"All right, then. JEB, our suggested startin' point for neegoesheae-shunns is Sixteen Hundert Dollars compensation, and Two Hundert-Fifty Dollars in expenses."

Glancing over at Coopwood, the Texan asked, "That sound good to you, Coop?"

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 76):

ENS is a bit taken aback by the price Jake states, but he holds his tongue and lets the scene unfold.

Coop looked at Jake with the mild confusion of someone trying to work out in his head, and failing, what his share of a very large amount of money was going to be.  He felt that this job deserved some form of recompense but that figure was so high it made Coop worry that they were pricing themselves out of the market.

"Sounds great to me if we get it," replied Coop finally to Jake, "but I'm worried we're asking for too much.  What'd my share be?  Right now a hundred dollars in me pocket'd be great but I'll take more if we can get it."

He turned to Charles, partly confused why he'd said he'd do this task for free.  Coop presumed that he had another angle on the deal, probably to do with favours as Charles was a shrewd businessman.  "Mr Conway, how d'ya come up with that figure?  It's mighty big and I ain't sure who's sharing it."

In reply to Alfred Coopwood (msg # 78):

Anyone taking a moment to look in Cole's direction can be fairly certain money is not at the top of his current list of priorities.

In reply to Alfred Coopwood (msg # 78):

"The sum represents many aspects of this endeavor. The expenses figure is a simple calculation of fifty dollars per day for the five days Mr. Xu believes it will take for the slavers' ship to arrive. It is an aggregated amount." Conway is comfortable presenting to this room full of people. He is sure of his topic and is demonstrative in his gestures.

The dark haired man pours a glass of water. "The reward amount is a more visceral response to the great risk we will undertake. We each bring specialized talents to this consortium--talents which will come to bear at varying times. But a single truth resides within whatever agreement at which we will arrive--our risks are many. Not only do we have the high likelihood to encounter one or more of the Tongs, but other clandestine elements are at play. Coop and I call this city home. This affair may well affect the lives we have created. We may cross some very powerful people--people we might not want to know our names or faces." Conway casually sips his water.

"So, you ask how I arrive at such a number? Maybe two-hundred dollars is what my life costs right now. So I assigned the same value to each of the seven of you to total sixteen-hundred. But there are three cardinal rules of negotiation to consider: don't be the first to propose an amount, have your counter-offer ready without delay, and know your bottom limit. I propose we take no less than one-hundred fifty dollars per man which translates to twelve-hundred dollar total compensation. The expenses should remain fixed as they are."

Conway crosses the room as he speaks. "Now I understand the trepidation some or all of you may have with asking for such a sum. I truly see the desire to undertake this task without any compensation whatsoever--the altruistic hero who saves the day and gains the admiration of the townsfolk. We don't live in some constructed fantasy. This is real life where real enemies wish us harm.

"What any of us does with the money is that man's private decision. But, it is also the right of each man to be compensated an amount he feels fair."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:13, Tue 04 Aug 2015.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 80):

ENS listens carefully to Conway.

Very well said and sensible Mr. Conway. I accept your premise though I will probably still allow my share to be spread among the group... but perhaps I'll change my mind before this is all done.

...the last is said with one of ENS' typical grins.

Coop nodded in agreement at Charles' explanation but said nothing further.  The fee would be the largest Coop had ever earned for anything, presuming that it was agreed to, but then it was probably the riskiest thing he'd ever undertaken since the end of the war and he had been young and cocky then.

He'd also noted that Charles had given everyone the same share and that pleased Coop as it placed them all as equals.

In reply to Alfred Coopwood (msg # 82):

If we're done discussing compensation I'll deliver our proposal.

JEB pauses for a minute to allow for any more comments and if none rejoins the chinaman in the other room.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 83):

Jake nodded his agreement with JEB's statement.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 84):

Just one thing Sheriff; Mr. Jing mentioned that "The perpetrators are many...". I think we need to press him on whatever details he knows on this; specifically what groups or persons, Chinese or otherwise, are actively involved in this slave trade.

Glancing in JEB's direction, the Wrangler speaks in a grim voice.

Ask him if he knows anything about who killed Rojas and Randy.

The men rejoin their guest in the apartment's front room. Mr. Xu stands near the table, waiting patiently. He retakes his seat when JEB enters and does the same. For the most part, the men gravitate back to the positions they had found themselves in earlier.

The Chinese merchant awaits JEB's words.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 87):

JEB takes out his trademark cigar, bites the cap off and lights the stick. He offers one to the chinaman expecting a polite decline and breaks the silence.

"We accept your request for aid, but there is the matter of compensation for expenses and risk incurred that must be agreed upon before we proceed with the details of the task at hand."

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 88):

"What are your terms?" says the Celestial, through the professor's translation.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 89):

Expenses are fixed costs simple enough to determine - $250 is sufficient. Risk adjusted return is market driven on the other hand. You are familiar with the risks involved. What do you consider fair remuneration for our exposure?

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 90):

The Chinese merchant's expression changes slightly when JEB responds. One would be mistaken to call it a smile. Nonetheless, he appears to approve of JEB's starting point in the negotiations.

"It is true, the expenses can be calculated. The number I had noted in my preparations for this meeting was a smaller sum. This may be concluded in two days time. I believe you will need a certain amount of funds for . . . " the professor pauses, "loosening tongues. The remainder is trivial."

Xu pauses for a moment. "Let us agree to a minimum of one hundred dollars for expenses, which I will pay in advance, with a maximum as you have suggested, should the business require it." The visitor pauses again, just long enough for ENS to complete the translation.

"As for remuneration . . . it is difficult to assess risk when lives are at stake. I would prefer to hear what you require; however, since it is I who have come here seeking your help, I shall start with an offer. Eighty dollars for each man, with one-quarter paid in advance."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 91):

Your conclusion of expenses seems reasonable. However, the sum for a man's life is worth at least twice what you offer with half in advance.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 92):

"You may be correct, Mr. Beauregard. As you were when you said returns are market driven. Assuming all of your men are factors in this calculation," the merchant scans the room as if checking his arithmetic, "it is clear that I cannot afford such a sum. I can extend my offer to one hundred dollars each, with twenty percent delivered in advance . . . before I leave this apartment."

-----------------

OOC: FYI, the Judge prefers to handle this on a "per person" basis because as noted in the OOC, the participation of Winters is uncertain.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 93):

JEB nods his head to express understanding.

I will present your generous offer to my colleagues for consideration.

JEB and company adjourned to the other room as before where tells them of the offer.

Jake waited until all of his pards, old and new, had filed into the room, then he shut the door for the sake of privacy.

"Reckon I'll start the ball rollin'," he said after walking over to a spot along the wall.

"Like I said before, I do believe that Charles's got a better read on local condisshuns an' such than the rest of us. An' this Celestial's offer is less than what he suggested we accept as our bottom line."

"So, has anybody got a read on whether this Celestial is bluffin', or whether this is his best offer?"

"Or . . ." Jake scratched his chin whiskers and thought for a moment, then added, "I reckon that if'n we feel like his offer is satisfac-tory, then it don't much matter if'n he's bluffin' or not."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 95):

"I am confident," Conway chimes, "he is exhausting his resources on this endeavor. Mr. Xu undoubtedly can afford to pay us more, but it would create a hardship on him that would make it difficult to assist the women whom we emancipate. We will not press ourselves out of a job, but instead out of a reputation.

"The true sum I secretly imagined where we would arrive was seventy-five--we are ahead in my estimations and should respond with a calm resolve positively to his final offer."

His final words on the issue ring through the room. "We will have precious little time to rest if this matter is finalized within two days' time. Our wits will be stretched and our errands many. Mr. Beauregard, my faith is in you to coordinate and direct us with level-headedness and urgency."

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 96):

The sum seems more than fair to me; I am more concerned about getting whatever details he can provide on this matter.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 97):

JEB returns to the negotiation table.

Alright, you have your emancipators - at one hundred dollars per man, one-fifth in advance plus expenses as we discussed. Now where and how do we begin?

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 98):

OOC: Judge appreciates that JEB is trying to keep this moving; however, it is not clear to the Judge that everyone is agreeing to the deal, or at least agreeing to have JEB continue without further comment. It was a mite less than 24 hours between JEB's posts. Although the Judge prefers a 24-hour login/post cycle, players often need slightly more time to follow-up, so that 24 regularly stretches to 48. In this case, the Judge is waiting roughly another 24 before posting a response from Mr. Xu, allowing for other players to voice any further thoughts, objections, support, etc.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 96):

Coop simply nodded in agreement at Charles' summary.  He was pleased with the proposed reward and wasn't sure whether the man could be pushed further as Jake had suggested.  He didn't want to risk losing the deal though so nodded his acceptance to Beauregard.

A hundred dollars was a hell of a lot of money to Coop.

"I'm good with it, too," Jake spoke up from his position along the wall.

"That was ackshually the amount I had in my mind afore we started the back-an'-forth with the Celestial."

"An' I killed good men for lots less, back durin' the war," the Texan added with a shrug.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 98):

I'd have done it for free.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 98):

The Chinese merchant speaks in English. "I am much obliged." Mr. Xu stands and bows to the men. He then reaches into the fold of his heavy robes, extracting a pouch that jangles faintly with the sound of coins. He stacks carefully five gold coins, then builds a second stack to match the number of the men in the room.

Returning to Mandarin he continues with the aid of the professor's translation.

"You must begin by determining the location of the market. Or, the time of arrival for the ships. As I have already said, the children are brought into harbor and then moved swiftly to the market. One fact will lead to the other, which will enable you to devise a plan to rescue the children. Whether that happens before, during, or after the market is all the same to me."

He pauses briefly, before establishing the following information.

The Suey Sing are involved in the slave trade.

The Kwong Dock aren't involved but they do little to fight the practice.

Other Tongs, such as the Sum Yop, are known to support (possibly own) some of the Chinese brothels to which the girls are sold. Mr Xu is not certain of the extent of other lesser Tong involvement, but it is clear that none of them care to put an end to the practice.

The slave market caters almost completely to brothel owners; Chinese and White. Those merchants of flesh are the most likely to know the location of the next market. They are unlikely to know the day or time, until a few hours before it happens.

Fact: there are very few Chinese women in San Francisco, almost all of them are "working women" (ENS' translation); a scant few are wives or consorts of powerful men.

The next ship or ships will arrive, followed soon thereafter by the market; within the next five days. Xu believes it will be sooner, perhaps as soon as two days.

Xu believes, but doesn't have proof, that there are forces within the Harbor Commissioners that help to facilitate the smuggling of the girls from ship to port to market. Or, if they are not materially involved in the trade, they have no interest in stopping it. Likewise, the police will do nothing unless the crime is happening right in front of their eyes.

The Wharfs are dangerous and corrupt. Information can be bought, but not without risk. If word reaches the wrong ears, success will be compromised.

The Celestial concludes by saying: "I will await word from you in regard to our next meeting, once you have rescued the children. It is growing late, I must depart soon."

------------------

OOC: The information imparted by Mr. Xu is considered at least partially a "back-and-forth" between JEB and the Chinaman, with assistance from the professor. The Judge doesn't believe there is a need for IC "Q&A" on these topics with Mr. Xu. Background can be filled in during gameplay, as the PCs follow-up on this information using their own skills, contacts, and ideas. If there is something herein that makes no sense because I made an error or something like that, we can clarify accordingly.

Jake silently nodded in response to the Celestial's bow. Then he proceeded to listen as the merchant gave his opinions on various things that had to do with the task that they had just agreed to undertake.

To hear the Celes-tial tell it, we need to de-termine two things, first off -- the locaeshunn of the slave market, an' the arrival time for the ships bringin' in the girls . . . an' not necessar-ilee in that order.

The Celestial went on to give lots of other facts, at least as he perceived them to be -- some more interesting than others to the Texan.

Waal, I ain't so sure how much 'elp I'll be in ferretin' out this informaeshunn that we need -- other'n doin' some leg-work, mayhaps.

Sounds like the deep thinkers in our group -- meanin' the Perfesser an' Charles, most likely -- oughtta put their 'eads together an' work out how we oughtta pro-ceed to gain the informaeshunn that we need. Then we shall see what we shall see, as that old sayin' goes.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 104):

 I May know a guy who can point us in the right direction

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 102):

JEB, tell him that i will return my share of the fee if he can help me find any information on why I was taken for saving a Chinaman, and his family, from a white man.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 106):

"Mr. Trayne, and all of you for that matter, now is as good of time as any to tell you of a topic Mr. Xu and I discussed as we traveled here this evening." The dark-haired man addresses in measured tones. "I told him you would have great interest in the happenings that resulted in the abduction of yourself and the deaths of your companions. His response was simple and sincere--he would share anything he knows, which might amount to very little, provided our interest to assist is genuine. I feel we have met his criterion."

Changing the discussion to the matter of the mission, Conway again speaks plainly, "I am not your man in scuffle, though I'll not abandon you should it arise. My expertise might best be used for information, cajoling, and interception. I work especially well on my own or with a trusted man such as Coop or Mr. Richardson.

"And as Mr. Sunday said, 'I may know a guy.' Indeed, my associates are many. I should have half the expense money to ply the information we'll need."


edit: typo
This message was last edited by the player at 12:58, Sun 16 Aug 2015.

Mr. Xu had turned his ear to Cole Trayne when the wrangler spoke to JEB. The Chinaman now listens to Conway, although it is not clear to the men how much he might be understanding. It seems he understands English to some extent, perhaps enough to grasp that it is not yet time to depart as evidenced by the fact that he re-takes his seat at the negotiating table and speaks in English.

"I stay more, if Cole Trayne tells story."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 108):

I think we would all like to hear Cole's story if he is willing to tell it.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 109):

OOC: For all those who want to read the entire story, please refer to message #44 in Chapter 8: The Five Year Plan. To summarize.

Without looking up, Cole sighs...

I worked as a supervisor for a rail boss. He didn't rightly appreciate the level of effort his Chinese workers gave him. So, he ordered me to kill a few Chinese families, to motivate the others. Children included. 

The Wrangler takes a moment, looks up slowly, and gazes steadily at the Chinese man.

The rail boss needed to die. I obliged, resigned, then figuring I just wore out my welcome, left town.

Cole's gaze silently returns to an intense study of his boots.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 110):

ENS clears his throat.

Sorry to pry Cole, but perhaps it would be helpful if Mr. Xu knew the name of this "rail boss"...

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 111):

Seeing no immediate reply from Cole, who continues to inspect his footwear, the Chinese merchant breaks the silence. In English, he says, "His name Magee."

Xu then switches back to Mandarin, as interpreted by the professor.

"I have heard versions of Trayne's story before. Never in his own words. I know of two essential versions of the events. One is as Cole Trayne tells it. The other is not. Either way, the result was bad for the Coolies. They were beaten, a few killed, and all lost their work on the railroad. New foreman brought in new workers. Cole Trayne was blamed for all of it. As the word spread, the facts did not matter, whatever they are. Perception mattered, and it still does. The Suey Sing sent men to find Trayne. Word returned that Trayne had killed those men. The Suey Sing do not forget."

The chinaman lets the last words hang. ENS does his best to reflect the nuance. The men grasp the implications, having had their own run-ins with the Tong since arriving in San Francisco.

-------------

OOC: As Cole noted, players should go back and read chapter 8; however, the Judge would suggest that players START with #44 and then read the rest of the story as told in collaboration with other players.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 112):

Well that's an unfortunate set of circumstances.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 112):

Without looking up from his shoes, Cole responds in a low voice.

They did indeed send men after me. I did indeed end them.



 I also do not forget

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 114):

Mr. Xu responds directly to Cole Trayne, in English. "Now is time. Save children, hurt Suey Sing."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 115):

"Mr. Xu," Conway addresses the venerable businessman in well spoken Mandarin, "please forgive my impudence, but how can we confirm the Suey Sing is dually responsible for Mr. Trayne's predicament and your quest. I hope you understand that it is an easy assumption that one circumstance could incentivize the other." Since the Chinese language has no such word as 'incentivize', Conway's construction of the intention is awkward and out of character for the polished man. Nevertheless, he maintains his practiced demeanor.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 116):

The professor continues to translate, both Conway's words and Xu's.

The Chinese merchant responds to Conway's inquiry. He seems to take no umbrage at the question, but his answer is succinct.  "That is for you to determine. I have told you that I know the Suey Sing are involved in the slave trade. Unless you chose not to believe me, then you may consider that fact confirmed."

Mr. Xu glances at Cole Trayne. "And I have told you that the Suey Sing sent men to find Cole Trayne. Again, you may choose to accept my word, or you may explore ways to confirm my information."

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 117):

Cole looks up from studying his boots.

Reckon the Suey's are as good a place to start as any. Let's get a move on...

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 118):

Cole Trayne's statement brings an end to the conversation with Mr. Xu. The merchant reiterates the need to depart, glancing at Conway, who had made the arrangements for this meeting and procured the carriage for the Chinaman's transport.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 119):

ENS bows to Mr. Xu.

Thank you Mr. Xu, we shall be in contact with you soon on this matter.

In reply to Xu Jie Jing (msg # 119):

Xu Jie Jing stands from the table in the two room storage floor made apartment. Conway steps to the man. "Xièxiè xú xiānshēng."

The dark-haired man escorts the businessman to the still waiting carriage. In the guest's native tongue, Conway explains the conveyance is hired to take him to his next destination--no further monies need exchange hands.

After bidding Xu a good evening, Conway returns upstairs.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 121):

ENS looks curiously at Conway when he speaks to Mr. Xu, but shakes it off as they leave the room. He turns to the others.

Well gentlemen, I'm sure we need to discuss plans, but I'd like to quickly discuss another matter that's been weighing on me...

Well, now. That was right int'restin', Jake thought to himself as Charles escorted the Celestial from the room.

When ENS spoke up and said that he had a matter that he would like to discuss before they began making their plans, the Texan nodded. "Fine by me. What you got, Perfesser?"

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 123):

Gentleman, if we'd like to coordinate our efforts I'm amenable.  If we'd prefer those who may have a lead to follow them on their own, then I'm good with that as well.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:48, Wed 26 Aug 2015.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 124):

Travis had interrupted the professor as he had reentered the room.

I'm sorry ENS. The floor is yours.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:10, Wed 26 Aug 2015.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 125):

ENS nods at Travis.

No harm Travis. Anyhow, I'm reminded that while we have dealt with Randy, we have not dealt with his belongings... I have looked through the items and there is money among the items. I also found a bank ledger from San Antonio with a note inside stating Randy's wish that the money go to orphans.

ENS pauses to sigh.

I propose you gentlemen decide which of Randy's items you might want for practical or sentimental reasons, then we sell anything unclaimed and give that money and the money he had with him to an orphanage per his wishes. The money in the bank is a long-term matter and we may never be able to do with it as he wished.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 126):

I have no claim to, desire for, or need of Randy's belongings.  If I may be of service  in their disposition, please let me know.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 126):

"Professor Ringgenberg, I find it fortuitous you address your fallen friend at this particular moment." Conway is cautious how he proceeds. "I have never lost a companion to violence, thank the Blessed Mary, as you men have--I dare not say two. I beg of you all please, temper your anger and desire for frontier justice with a mind toward our goal; the ultimate emancipation of the young Chinese women.

"I don't know any of you well enough to gauge if you may act rashly. I am uncertain if you can calmly pass up the singular opportunity to enact vengeance on your ultimate foe in order to complete the primary task. Can you withhold that one pistol shot to prevent revealing the stealthy operation?" The dark-haired man continues to tread a very narrow margin. "I place my life, livelihood, any reputation I hold into each of your hands. I do this based on the relationship my father had, and consequently my own, with the upstanding Mr. Richardson.

"If your Mr. Oldman was passionate about assisting orphans, I would imagine he would be at least equally passionate about saving the lives of these women. I might further imagine he would place that function above his own personal desires.

"My sincerest apologies if my characterization of him is wrong."

Broadening his margin, Conway continues. "Hurting the Suey Sing, as Mr. Xu requests, is more of the long game--a pleasure left for a later day with better planning and a mind for the destruction of their businesses. Our short-term objective, and highest priority, is the women.

"Mr. Beauregard, I know a major influence at the docks. I can speak with him first thing in the morning, if you approve. How do you propose we coordinate our information as we gather it?"

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 128):

Well Mr. Conway, I didn't know Randy that long and I had no idea he had a soft spot for orphans, but I did learn that he was a passionate man and had a strong sense of justice... I have no doubt he would have thrown into this venture whole-heartedly! Now I understand your concern about sticking to the task at hand, and you can ask these men, his close friends, what you did, but you can hardly blame them if they take a measure of revenge given the opportunity!

ENS looks at the men in the room.

But back to my original point, if no one objects, I can take charge of his belongings to sell and make sure the monies are distributed as he wished. Keep in mind that there are a number of fine weapons in case anyone feels under-armed for this venture... I'm sure Randy would not object to that usage of his goods.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 128):

Before we seek random information we should formulate a plan to maximize the limited time available. I propose setting up a classic sting operation. We represent ourselves as unscrupulous businessmen interested in illegal human trafficking in order to gain access. Mr. Conway appears as though he can make the introduction. If not, then I have a contact that may prove useful. Are there any other ideas to consider?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 129):

I concur with Travis regarding Randy's monetary possessions, but I'd like to take a look at his firearms.

"I agree with JEB," Jake said with a nod.

"I don't see no reason to try an' sell Randy's weapons for what'll most likely be a fraction o' what thaey're worth, if'n thaere are any that might be of use to us in an undertaekin' that, as Charles says, I feel purty sure that Randy would be in favor of."

"Now, I'll admit that I didn't know Randy as long or as well as some of you did, but I don't think that he'd begrudge us that."

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 130):

"Yes sir, I believe you have a good idea we may act on.

"From the scuffle those months ago, I fear most of you are quite recognizable to the Suey Sing. Myself and Coop are assuredly safe from association, but you gentlemen who once resided in this city are at greater risk. Mr. Trayne, your visage is as blatant as were you a dancing bear at a saloon." Conway is focused and doesn't crack a smile.

"I can alter my appearance significantly to protect my identity and my associations. I volunteer to be the primary contact with the smugglers."

OOC: Since PCs have expressed interest in Randy's firearms and all men have the same access to inspect them, here is the short list of firearms and related materials. The Judge sees no need for ENS or anyone else to have to describe these items IC, therefore this list; however, PCs should discuss IC whether/how to distribute these items.

Webley RIC x2
Holster, shoulder
Holster, shoulder
.45 caliber rim fire [39] Webley
Spencer Carbine
Scabbard, rifle
.52 caliber rim fire [13] Spencer
Gun cleaning kit

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 133):

Thank you for volunteering. I should go with you as I am skilled at diplomacy and I can alter my appearance as well. To clarify my earlier question to the group, I think we should have more than one plan in play in case the sting operation fails. Either a two pronged attacked or flanking maneuver to borrow jargon from my days with battlefield tactics. Any ideas are welcome.

"You make some good points, Charles," Jake replies with a nod of assent. "I believe that Travis said that he has some contacts that he can use to our ad-vantage, as well."

"JEB, since you was the first to speak up concernin' Randy's weapons, I'll de-fer to you respectin' any that you might wish to claim."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 136):

I have managed to make a few contacts as well... perhaps I should see what they can tell us? We should be a bit careful though, a sudden increase in inquiries may alert the target.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 137):

"Hunh," Jake grunted in response to ENS's comments.

"Seems like I'm nearabout the only one amongst us who don't have a contact of some sort 'ere in 'Frisco -- waal, not includin' Charles, in my case."

The Texan hesitated for a moment, and scratched his chin-whiskers thoughtfully. "I don't mean no offense, Perfesser, but since I'm kinda at loose ends anydamnway, what do ye think 'bout me comin' along with ye?"

"Not to im-ply that ye cain't taeke good care of yerself, mind you, but in addishunn to these Sooey Sing bastards, I'm suspectin' that 'Frisco can be a right dangerous place if'n ye happen to poke yer nose down the wrong alleyway -- ye know, wrong place, wrong time. An' sometimes havin' a ugly-lookin' cuss like me along, who looks a mite gun-handy, can 'ead off poe-ten-shull trubble . . . or haelp with the extrycaetin', if'n it starts."

Conway releases an uncharacteristic grin. The otherwise serious young man sees the irony in the single linking relationship between himself and the group is the only one the older man holds to this town--virtually all the others have ties in one fashion or another. Otherwise, he muses, the rifleman would be relegated to a supporting character in this play. The dark-haired man continues with his thoughts of irony. Mr. Trayne is perhaps one of the most central man to these affairs and he can ill-afford to be seen until destruction is due.

"Gentlemen, I have some very import errands to attend to before morning comes. I need to take my leave.

"Mr. Beauregard, what is your preference for disguise: to play the cur or man-of-means? And sir, have you what you need to enact your change to the appearance of your choice? If not, I invite you to come with me now."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 136):

I'll take one of the Webley's.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 139):

I'll defer to your judgment on what role is best for me but I reckon the man of means will be the talker, so that depends on who you want front and center. Either way, I do not have a disguise handy.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 141):

"Very well then sir, shall we away.

"Coop, I could use your assistance, if you're willing."

Conway steps to the door with urgency, hoping his organizer will do the same.

edit: Coop needs work too.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:59, Tue 01 Sept 2015.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 138):

ENS breaks out one of his characteristic grins, which have been in short supply of late.

Jake, it would be my honor to have you along! Does anyone else wish to join us?

OOC: By my count everyone has a task in mind except Cole... but is it safe for him to leave right now? Can we disguise him?

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 140):

"Waal, as you know, I'm partial to longarms -- an' to Spencer carbines, 'specially. I'll taeke it, the shells, an' the rifle scabbard."

"Be good to have two such weapons handy."

OOC: Edited to fix an OOC misunderstanding on my part.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:03, Wed 02 Sept 2015.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 143):

A small smile played about at the corners of Jake's mouth and he nodded to ENS, but made no further comment.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 142):

Coop nodded to Charles. He had no reason to disagree with the man's plan. So far, his dealings with the businessman had been favourable. "Sounds fine, Mr Conway, ya know I'm willing, and able."

He took his leave from the other men, ready to depart with Conway and Beauregard.

Once a momentum built concerning the action of others, Travis tipped his hat and departed.

The smell of saltwater struck him as he approached the piers.  The walk did him some good. His legs ached a bit and he intentionally lengthened his stride to stretch them out.  Seagulls floating on the breeze called hoping to pick some for some fish guts or crab remains as the mongers prepped the day's catch for sale.

This was the heart of the city.  Each ethnic group, each industry, all commerce, each journey eventually came to the wharves. Crime was no exception, and the player who maneuvered the pieces of San Francisco's criminal chessboard made his bones in these piers and never left.  Travis noted the gunmen blending into the street, invisible to all but the professionals.  They guarded the entrance of the busiest watering hole in town, a place where all the business worth conducting was conducted; the blue parrot.

Travis entered and was immediately blocked from preceding further. His hardware was not hidden and possibly unwelcome.  As a courtesy no hand was laid upon him.

Tell Henri I'm here to see the fat man. 

Travis stood easy and waited for his old acquaintance, Sydney "the Emerald" Lane to welcome him to his presence.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 145):

ENS watched Travis depart and the others prepare to depart. He stands up and claps his hands together as he steps over to Jake.

Well sir, we may as well get to it as well. I suggest we go to the Palace Hotel first... unless you have some other destination in mind?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 148):

Jake shook his head and replied, "Nope, I ain't got nowhaere else in mind. Ye're callin' the shots for us twain, an' I'm backin' yer play."

It came time for the three men themselves to leave--as Conway was the first to suggest it minutes before and others left in the meanwhile.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 147):

The Blue Parrot didn't offer many places for a man to sit down. Packed with sailors, fishermen, and tradesmen, most patrons were happy to find a spot at the bar to rest a foot on the rail. Failing that, a wall, ledge or post to lean against. The place reeked of the wharf, although most of the men there didn't seem to notice.

It had been some time since Sunday's last appearance at the Parrot. He had pursued other leads when looking for Cole Trayne. The current business, now this was something that called for an audience with the fat man.

Of course, Lane was never corpulent. Far from it. Those that could get his ear knew how to speak the right words. And so Sunday found one of the strong arms clearing a path to one of two tables in an alcove just past the bar, where Sydney Lane sat with a man who had the look of a functionary. The Emerald nods to Travis as he approaches.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 149):

Once the destination is settled, ENS and Jake begin to make their way to the Palace. On the way, ENS expresses a concern to Jake.

Well Jake, the young porter we are about to see has a good knowledge of the city, but I must admit that I am not sure how to broach this subject with him... I'm of a mind to claim that I am doing research for a paper, which is not entirely untrue, what do you think?

"Makes good sense to me, Perfesser. That prob'ly falls in line with the impreshunns that this porter already has concernin' you."

Jake paused for a moment, then asked, "If'n ye don't mind my askin', 'zackly what are you gonna be hopin' to learn from this lad?"

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 151):

Looks like business is doing well.  Thanks for taking a moment to see me.

Travis settles in and is not surprised when a generous glass of bourbon is offered.  Not Travis' usual bourbon, but what would be his usual if he could afford it.  Travis always respected Lane's enterprise.  There were never any betrayals, or broken deals. Handshakes were sufficient and no terms were altered at the last minute. Travis attributed Lane's success to his ability to deal fairly with everyone and anyone.  Sometimes the more nefarious or wild at heart would mistake honesty for weakness.  That's when Travis would be engaged.  Travis would shake Lane's hand and consequently a broken deal would be repaired, a delinquency made right or a "fine" imposed.

Travis brought the brown liquid to his lips.  He let the smell of caramel with a hint of vanilla fill him before he sipped gently.  He savored the taste and the warmth of the drink.  It was remarkable, so he remarked.

You've always poured a fine whiskey. One of your many admirable qualities.  Another, the one most important to me today, was you never once, to my knowledge, participated in or profited from the buying and selling of people. It is the only exception to your otherwise full service enterprise.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:48, Sun 06 Sept 2015.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 154):

Sydney Lane liked Travis Sunday because the gunslinger always got the job done. They weren't "pards," as the men who made their living as cowpokes liked to say. That never stopped Lane from holding himself to his standards, and Sunday hit the nail on the head with the compliment about pouring a fine whiskey for a respected visitor.

Nonetheless, Lane's reply to Sunday's banter seemed a mite circumspect. Not rude, just concise. The man had something on his mind, that much could not be hidden.

"Is this a friendly snort, Sunday, or is there business to discuss?"

In reply to Sydney Lane (msg # 155):

Strictly business.

Travis waited for Henri to draw the curtains, the standard practice for discussions of these sort.

I have made it my personal affair to liberate the next group of young ladies headed to the brothels via the slave market. I know the next ship will arrive in the next two to five days. I know the market will open hours after arrival.  I do not know what ship or ships will be delivering the women and children nor when and where the market will operate.

Travis takes a quick sip, indicating his narrative is yet incomplete.

The way I see it your brothels are all run by volunteers. Were I and my compatriots to disrupt the next market, the Suey Sing and Sum Yop would pay a price for their disreputable practice and an honest man such as yourself may profit.  I normally wouldn't come to you for such a trivial matter but most everyone from the police to the harbor masters seem to profit from this market or at least looking the other way.  At best they won't talk; at worst they'd sell me out.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 18:13, Sun 06 Sept 2015.

Cole changes into a set of clothes that is as different as possible from what he wore during his captivity. He draws his hat down over his brow to conceal his face as much as possible.

Once satisfied that he is as nondescript as possible, he heads to Kate's store. While walking through the streets, he makes sure he keeps himself as close to public areas crowds as possible, doing his very best to blend into the pedestrian traffic.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 153):

Well, I imagine the hotel clientele ask about various services including brothels specializing in the women we are trying to help... I'm hoping he can give us the name of such places, then perhaps we can ascertain which gangs run them.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 156):

Having listened to Sunday's reason for his visit to the Parrot, the Emerald shrugs. Sunday's streetwise instincts tell him that Lane's shrug is not a dismissal, rather, it offers an indication that the so-called fat man has deigned to consider Sunday's words.

Lane sips from a ceramic mug--that hides its contents--before responding. His gaze, for a few moments, falls upon the curtain. Just as Sunday had skillfully avoided making a direct request, Lane avoids giving a direct reply.

"The demand for the young celestials means nothing to the success of my houses. Those who engage in such trade are meeting a specific demand. Removing that demand does naught for my concerns."

The Emerald sips again. This time, his eyes meet Sunday's.

"Of course, I hear things. And sometimes I need things done."

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 157):

Despite the various thoughts expressed by his companions about the wrangler being seen in public, Cole Trayne had waited for all of the men to leave the apartment before taking to the streets on his own. Although he had no particular skill in remaining incognito, he did his best to avoid attention.

The hour was past 10 p.m. Kate had certainly closed her uncle's establishment by now, but Cole reckons the chances remained favorable that she continued her work into the night, or, in accordance with her daily habit, read passages from the good book by a kerosene flame before turning in. This district of the city, adequately removed from the Barbary Coast and Chinatown, fell quiet after sunset. Some passersby came close enough to identify the wrangler, iffin' they had knowledge of him or any reason to care.

Nonetheless, by the time he reaches the clothier's, Cole has no reason to suspect that anyone has taken more than a passing notice of his excursion. Kate's place proved shuttered; however, as he expected, lamp light flickered through the ground floor window slats.

In reply to Sydney Lane (msg # 159):

The verbal exchange was nothing new it had been repeated many times before. Whomever had the greater need always endeavored to let the other make the first bid.

Any information may prove to be redundant. My associates are working the docks and following up with their people as well. Confirmation though has some value, so....

Travis places the glass to his lips and washes what remains down.

... I'm listening.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 158):

"Reckon that'd be a piece of the puzzle," Jake replied.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 160):

Before approaching the building, the wrangler takes a careful look around to see if anyone might be watching him.

Spot:12 (AP: 2) Total:14

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 162):

ENS and Jake approach the Palace hotel.

Well, here we are.

They enter and ENS looks about the lobby for young Horatio.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 161):

The Emerald listens, too. He sips again from his beverage. The pause extends for several seconds, the relative quiet behind the curtain in contrast to the sounds of the men of the wharf drinking and talking on the other side.

"You came to my place to ask me for something, yes?"
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 12:42, Tue 08 Sept 2015.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 163):

Trayne halts in the street, taking in the row houses and intermittent stand alone structures. The street remains mostly quiet. Lamp light flickers from within a few other establishments. A solitary figure a few doors along squats on a porch, doing something by the light of an oil lamp. A group of three men passes by on a side street. In those several seconds, the wrangler finds no one in the shadows, or otherwise hidden in an attempt to watch his person. He cannot be certain that the man on the porch is minding his own business, but the man gives no reason to believe otherwise.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:54, Tue 08 Sept 2015.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 164):

The professor and the rifleman reach the Grand Court entrance of the Palace Hotel. Richardson had passed by the Palace during his time here in San Francisco, but he had never ventured to step foot in the place. The size of the entryway, big enough to serve carriages, struck him immediately but he was more impressed by the cleanliness and decoration.

While the Texan takes in the place, ENS finds Horatio Johnson sitting on a low stone pedestal, sketch book in hand. When the wiry young man with the sandy brown hair looks up and sees the professor approaching, with the rugged rifleman on his shoulder, he stands.

"Professor, is there something I can do for you?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 13:09, Tue 08 Sept 2015.

In reply to Sydney Lane (msg # 165):

The game concluded.  Travis lays it out.

Will you please tell me or find out what ship or ships the next group of Chinese slaves will come in on and where they will offload them.  I would also like you to tell me or find out the location and time of the auction they are to be be sold at. Also if you learn or know anything else of interest concerning the delivery or market I would like to know that as well .

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 167):

Mighty fine lodgin's -- mighty fine, Jake thought to himself as he surveyed the extravagant interior of the Palace. Reckon that the Perfesser might be accustomed to such finery -- but me, I gotta ad-mit that I feel a mite small an' outta place in such grand surroundin's.

Jake stood a little off to ENS's side, and slightly behind the easterner. He was wearing his leather duster, with his own carbine being carried diagonally across his back in its custom-made leather sling. Under his duster he wore his Colt Peacemaker in its holster.

This 'ere Spencer seems to be fetchin' me some glances. Reckon I'll need to speak with ENS 'bout it afore we leave this place, just in case he wants me to leave it behind in his room.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 166):

Cole pauses a moment, and gives another discrete glance at the folks near him. Subsequently, he glances at the store and walks away. Patting his holstered Colt, he sighs. In barely a whisper, he says to himself.

It'll keep...

The wrangler then makes his way back to where he came from. This time taking an alternative return path, being sure to pass by a saloon or two on the way.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 168):

"That is a tall task, Sunday. I will learn what can be learned. In the meantime, mayhaps you can take care of a pressing matter for me."

Lane takes a final drink from his mug before continuing.

"A rat has taken up residence in one my houses. A large and annoysome rat. I need this pest removed. I need a professional. Someone who can get the job done without any commotion."

Conway leads the two men through broad streets where many eyes could track their movement. It is far safer to be in the open on these streets than to sneak around any perceived dangers by shadow.

It was not true the three were to pass through the bawdy stretch of the Barbary Coast. Instead, they skirted the blocks by a couple of roads. Until, that is, they were just a breath from Pacific Street.

Yet Conway led them a step more until they reached midway between Stockton and Dupont Streets on Jackson Street. JEB likely wouldn't have recalled the Chinese herbal shop that fronted this opium den. It was such a weak disguise one would wonder why the effort was even taken. But, with law enforcement spread so thinly across the city, and all but absent from the Barbary Coast and Chinatown nearby, who would worry terribly over a raid.

The acrid dust and musty mold of never sold merchandise barely disrupted the odor of the opium pipes that smoldered beyond.

Conway stopped at the counter and spoke to the unfortunate looking young girl there. In her own tongue, he said, "Your uncle, is he available for me to speak with him?"

In reply to Sydney Lane (msg # 171):

I would be pleased assist you in this matter.

Travis was confident information would be forthcoming. Lane would not want to go into debt.  Their relationship was long and mutually beneficial but the Emerald never liked to be on the wrong side of the ledger. The cost would be fair but it would be balanced.

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 167):

ENS steps up to the young man and smiles; he speaks plainly, but not too loud.

Yes Horatio, there is... I have taken up a study for my university and I was hoping your thorough knowledge of the city could get me started. I am interested in brothels within the city run by the local gangs, including rivalries. I've also heard that some of them use Chinese slaves... could this be true?

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 172):

The Chinese girl with the haggard look answers Conway, with a practiced subservience learned in her time at this establishment. Recognizing the man from previous dealings, her response sounds favorable.

"The hour is late, but uncle may wish to receive you. With your permission, I will fetch him." She bows, awaiting Conway's word.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:21, Thu 10 Sept 2015.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 175):

An optimistic man might say that Lane smiled at Sunday's response, but anyone who knew him would find a genuine smile unnerving. The look was one that Sunday had seen before; acknowledgement of a deal settled.

"Henri will give you the details." He glances at the gunslinger's empty glass. "Have another at the bar on your way out, if you wish."

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 174):

The porter, known to guests of the hotel as a man who knows how to arrange things on their behalf, leans in to listen to the professor's words.

Horatio nods, knowingly, before replying in hushed tones to match ENS. "Say no more, professor, I understand. I can set you up. Whatever your pleasure might be. I know just the place," he adds, his cupped hand easily falling into the professor's field of vision, barely visible to anyone else.

Even Jake, who had been paying attention to the low conversation even as he became aware that he was being watched by a man in black suit with a thin string tie, failed to notice the porter's subtle gesture. The rifleman's attention focuses on the string tie, who now takes a few measured strides across the Grand Court towards the Texan.

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 177):

His expression neutral and his posture casual, with his hands down at his side, Jake turned towards the approaching man in the black suit.

As the man came nearer Jake took a couple of steps in his direction, interposing himself between the newcomer and the Perfesser.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 178):

The black suit continues his deliberate approach. Seeing Jake's posture and movement, he continues his measured pace, coming within two steps of the rifleman before stopping.

Getting a better look, Jake sees that the man is roughly his own age, clean-shaven except for a handlebar moustache.

In a measured tone, as ENS continues to speak with the porter, the man addresses Richardson.

"Begging your pardon, sir, are you a guest at the hotel?" he asks, in a polite, but straight to the point manner.

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 177):

Not realizing the confrontation going on behind him, ENS soldiers on through the implication of the porters words.

You misunderstand, I am truly doing research... I'd like a list of such establishments and their gang affiliations if you can provide that. Perhaps we can go sit down somewhere so that I can take notes; I will make it worth your while.

In reply to Sydney Lane (msg # 176):

Here's to plain speaking and clear understanding.

Travis tips his hat, stands, turns and moves to the bar.

15 minutes later

Having committed to memory Henri's information and having finished his drink, Travis departs the Blue Parrot.

"Thank you Wei Li. It would be best if we meet him privately." Conway set a gold dollar coin on the counter just for her. "We are patient and will wait for his convenience."

When the girl leaves with the message, Conway turns to JEB and explains, "If you don't recall, this is the den to where Coop and I spirited you and your men after the boo how doy attack at the train station. I dare say you were in no condition to be carried any further. The law is not enforced very well around here. I felt it best to keep you near the Coast--where fewer questions are asked."

After a small delay, the Chinese girl returned and instructed the dark-haired man and his companions to proceed onward.

Conway had been to this establishment many times before, introducing peach-faced East Coast visitors to Mr. Qián for the grand opium den tour. Conway was the man with the secret word and the exact coinage to get the people through the door, the rest was up to the sly and skilled celestial.

Upstairs, the compartments close to the entrance were the finest quality therein. There were men or women, sometimes both, playing the role of the wealthier dream-dosed drug addicts who sat in lavish velvet-covered chaise lounges draped with bear pelts and other fineries set about. These small apartments were somewhat well lit. Next, the lighting wasn't quite as good. The cubicles were not as well decorated, but still gave the impression of comfort and class. One lounge was available should a tour guest wish to partake in the opium at this point, otherwise, the tour continued. The next two compartments were strictly working-class. The men on the beds here were visible by the light of oil lamps. At this point in the tour, Mr. Qián would say they had reached the end, although it was obvious they had not. The large, heavy curtain behind him sang a siren song to the tourists. They would ask what was beyond, he would say he should not show, they would offer more and more money still--this was a practiced routine--until the old Chinese man relented. The tour moved beyond the curtain. The hallway was dark for a number of steps until it opened to a small number of cots. The lighting in this room was poor, but visable on each bed was a creature, half man and half reptile, puffing on pipes fed by an attendant. Without fail, the women would scream, turn, and run out the way they came. Any man in these pre-Victorian times who stayed behind to reveal any ruse, would often be shamed by Charles Conway, or worse, lose the woman to his wiles.

Since this is not a tour, the actors are sitting upright or mulling about with abandon. It is readily apparent that every person, although dressed in western-culture attire, is Chinese with make-up to create Anglo-like features.

Conway leads the two men to a small door between two compartments. He raps on the door gently and pauses to be allowed in.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 179):

Since the black-suited man had spoken politely to him, Jake decided to respond in kind.

"No sir, I ain't," he replied.

"But the gentleman behind me is. I'm with him."

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 170):

Cole Trayne wends his way to the Barbary Coast, finding himself on Pacific Street. He had passed a couple of saloons, randomly choosing a third. Perhaps he chose this one because of the low lighting. Activity in this district proved much busier than the area where Kate's shop stood. Easier to blend in with a crowd, but at same time incurring an increased risk of being recognized. Lots of eyes and ears.

Nothing special about this place, Cole thinks, as he enters. No place to sit, but he sees a space at the edge of the bar, vacated by a sodden patron.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 182):

Mr. Qián calls for Conway to enter. Seeing the man's two companions, the Chinese entrepreneur rises and bows. His eyes inspect the visitors; after a few moments a light of recognition flashes in his eyes. He speaks in broken english, addressing the group at large before his eyes land on Conway's visage.

"How I do for you?"

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 180) and Jake Richardson (msg # 183):

Horatio, noticing the man in the black suit speaking to Richardson, simply nods at the professor's clarification. His attention focuses on the suit and the words being exchanged.

The young man's timing is astounding, as the suit addresses him after hearing Richardson's answer, asking the porter if everything here was in apple pie order.

"Yes sir, Mr. Hodder. I know these men," says Horatio.

With that, the suit named Hodder takes his leave, but not before he informs Richardson that he will need to check his weapons at the front desk if he intends to remain in the hotel for more than a few words with Horatio. That, or take it outside, he states, clearly and with authority.

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 186):

Hunh, Jake thought to himself as Black-Suit -- whose name was Hodder, apparently -- informed him of the hotel's rule about firearms. Reckon this place is kinda like a little Dodge City within these four walls . . . waal, respectin' a man's firearms, any waey.

Jake had never been to Dodge City, but he had spoken to men who had, who had told him of that place's restrictive firearms requirements.

The Texan nodded to Hodder as the man turned to leave, then stepped back to stand beside ENS once again.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 187) and E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 180):

Watching Mr. Hodder stride back to his usual spot, Horatio returns to the professor's last statement.

"I do not think I can give you exactly what you ask for, professor, but I can put you on a helpful path. Problem is, I am on duty right now. Perhaps we could meet after my shift . . . that's midnight . . . or on the morrow."

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 188):

Very well then Horatio, we'll see you tomorrow.

ENS slips him a dollar coin for his trouble. Then he and Jake exit the hotel and he turns to Jake.

Well we'll have to wait for that thread... but we can go to see a Chinese merchant, perhaps he can give us some information.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 184):

Unable to resist to opportunity for a drink, Cole approaches the spot at the bar recently vacated. He patiently awaits the barkeep.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 190):

Cole doesn't need to wait for long. The bartender approaches and asks him what he is drinking. Looking down the bar, Cole sees that bottled beer seems to be the drink of choice, with a few shot glasses of liquor here and there.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:09, Sun 13 Sept 2015.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 189):

Jake walked shoulder to shoulder with ENS as the easterner left the hotel. When the Perfesser spoke of their going to see a Chinese merchant, the Texan replied, "Afore we go thaere, I reckon that thaere's a dee-tail that I want to mennchunn."

"As you prob'ly know by now, the Spencer that I'm wearin' accrost my back is my weapon of choice. But I'm also wearin' a sidearm underneath my duster."

"The point o' my bringin' this up is that I do bee-lieve that the carbine is fetchin' us some attenchunn. I think that some folks are more likely to noetice us to begin with, an' mayhaps to remember us. You saw how that Hodder feller just now picked me out an' made a bee-line for me back yonder in the hoe-tell. I won't say that thaere ain't nobody else in 'Frisco carryin' a longarm when thaey're out an' about, but they seem few an' far between."

"So, it seem to me that the questchunn arises . . . should I leave the carbine up in your room, an' just go ahead with the sidearm -- which'll dee-crease our firepower iff'n we hit a snag somewhaere along the line, but mayhaps bring us less attenchunn -- or taeke it along?"

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 192):

ENS checks his watch and sighs.

Well, it's too late for the merchant tonight anyway... But you do seem to be right that the longarm draws undue attention, but I didn't keep a room here after we all moved to the apartment. Who wants to pay for that?

The last is said with a grin.

I guess we should just head back the apartment for the evening... unless you have any other suggestions?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 193):

Jake chuckled upon hearing ENS remark that he didn't care to pay for an unnecessary room at the Palace Hotel. "This place does seem a mite high-falutin'. An' I 'spect that the room-rates reflect that."

The Texan shook his head when the Perfesser asked if he had any suggestions other than heading back to the apartment, given the lateness of the hour. "Nope. Other'n Charles, I ain't got no contacts 'ere in 'Frisco as is worth a bucket o' warm spit. I'm pretty much just backin' yer play at this point."

In reply to Mr. Qian (msg # 185):

Speaking in Mandarin, Conway addresses the Chinese entrepreneur with a moderated mixture of formality and casual conversation. "Mr. Qián, I know the hour is not customary and your time is better spent than with my trifles, so I thank you.

"I believe you have had occasion to meet my man, Coop. It is with honor I also present Mr. Beauregard. We come seeking information. This is not a capital venture, otherwise I would invite your participation. Instead, we are engaged on a humanitarian effort to emancipate young Chinese women who will be sold at market.

"We ultimately seek to disrupt or devastate the dealings that would further enslave these women. Our initial source claims a ship carrying the women will dock between two to five days from now. The flesh market will convene shortly thereafter.

"I am in need of any information regarding the ship and the market. It would be beneficial for us to know who runs either or both businesses.

"Will you share any knowledge with us?"

Pausing only a moment, Conway ensures he has the venerable businessman's attention. "Not only will I be indebted to you, but you will have the gratitude of all the men I represent."

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 195):

Unlike Mr. Xu, the frame of the Chinese entrepreneur known as Qian displays a degree of prosperity. He wears a plain gown, padded for cold weather. It fits him snugly, as if his girth had expanded during the winter months. While Xu was thin, perhaps even frail, Qian's full face presents a contrast.

Like Mr. Xu, he listens with care to Conway's words. Momentarily, he shows a look of surprise during the white man's speech. Coop and JEB both noticed the Chinaman's reaction at that moment, although they did not understand the communication that caused Qian's reaction.

Qian replies in Mandarin. "Our business has always been mutually beneficial, Mr. Conway. As always, you are welcome here, customary hour or otherwise." He bows to the two men accompanying Conway, giving every indication that as guests of the man, they are also welcome.

"Your request is . . . unusual. As I suspect you must already know, such an undertaking will prove to be a travail. Prudent men would avoid such talk, altogether. And yet, when a friend asks for a favor, it should not be refused. I do not know anything about ships, but I will share what I know about those who would engage in such business. It is, a first step."

He pauses, glancing at JEB and Coop again. "By coincidence, I also have a request for you. Your arrival at his uncustomary hour is fortuitous."

In reply to Mr. Qian (msg # 196):

"Yes, Mr. Qián, please allow me to provide whatever assistance you need. In fact, often I find the chores enjoyable." Conway leans in for the details of the request.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 191):

Cole acknowledges the barkeep

I'll have one of them there bottled beers. Much obliged.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 197):

Qian speaks rapidly in Chinese. Although Conway has paused from time to time to translate the gist of the conversation for the two white men in his company, he pauses a little longer this time as he takes time to consider the Celestial entrepreneur's hastily-made request.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 198):

The bartender pulls a bottle from a crate under the bartop, placing the dark glass with the wired cork stopper in front of Trayne. "Ten cents," he says, before turning to serve other customers.

Pulling the cork, Trayne inhales the brew's aroma. His first two sips speak well of the beer. As he kills time at the edge of the bar, drinking what he learns is a called a porter, Cole notices that the bottle itself has embossed lettering worked into its surface: "Albion Brewery . . . San Francisco."

In reply to Mr. Qian (msg # 199):

After hearing the quest Mr. Qián has in store for Conway and his companions, the dark-haired man responds, "Of course, I will speak with him. As I said before, I find many of your chores enjoyable--this will no doubt be the same."

Once he obtains the particulars, Conways tells the businessman that when they complete the  task, they will return for the information requested.

Conway tells Coop and JEB the gist of the plot--a legitimate herbalist has taken it upon himself to disparage Qián. Since no self-respecting Chinese person needing remedies would dare seek one outside of Chinatown, much less in the Barbary Coast, this shop is an obvious ruse. However, since this Mr. Hai has started his campaign of slander, the wrong sorts of attention could turn toward the false business and the proprietor. Conway needs to address the issue and realign the disparager's thinking.

"Gentlemen, would you mind accompanying me on this task? I dare say it won't take an hour to sort out.?

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 201):

If it's accretive to our task, I will go along.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 194):

ENS rubs his chin.

On second thought, it is after 10 and we're already here, perhaps we should just wait in the Palace bar for the end of Horatio's shift... Are you up for a beer Jake? You'll probably have to check your spencer as Mr. Adder said.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 200):

The Wrangler puts ten cents on the bar and casually glances around the saloon, taking in the patrons.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 202):

"Then we'll attend the matter first thing in the morning."

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 203):

Jake grinned at ENS's suggestion. "You know, Perfesser, that just con-firms my thinkin' that ye're a mighty smart feller. A beer'd truly hit the spot right about now."

"An' ye're right that I'll need to check my weapons -- both the Spencer an' the sidearm, I'm thinkin'. But I don't reckon that we'll run into no prob'lems requirin' firepower in a high-brow place like this."

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 204):

For the most part, the saloon's patrons seem to take little notice of Cole Trayne. Unlike the wrangler, it appears that most of the men here are in the company of pards, or at least acquaintances. A few glances find their way to Cole's direction, much as his survey lands his own gaze temporarily upon others; however, the wrangler sees and hears nothing of particular interest while he drinks the Albion.

Before he has taken the final draught from the bottle, the barkeep returns, asking if Cole fancies another.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 206):

ENS grins.

Very well then, I'll get first round!

The two men re-enter to Palace and go to the front desk to check their weapons; ENS nods to Mr. Hodder as they pass.

Once done, they head to the hotel bar. On the way ENS steps over to Horatio.

Horatio, we've decided to wait for your shift end instead... we'll be in the bar.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 208):

Jake accompanied ENS as the easterner walked back to the front desk. The Texan unbuckled both the across-the-back sling for his carbine and the holster for his Colt, and silently handed both weapons to the hotel's front-desk man.

Then he kept pace with the Perfesser as the twosome walked over to the bar.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 207):

Cole nods at the bartender and places another dime on the bar.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:52, Fri 18 Sept 2015.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 209) and E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 208):

Hodder acknowledges the men as they approach the front desk. In actuality, as Jake notices, the hotel's man eyes the two visitors all the way to the front desk. Hodder maintains his watchful presence as the professor speaks to Horatio--who confirms his understanding of the change in plans--glancing away only after the two men enter the Palace's drinkery.

The barkeep addresses the men directly. He wears a suit much like Hodder's, although his neck is adorned by a bow tie. With a practiced and professional manner, he introduces himself as Berns and asks what the men would care to drink.

The bar appears well-stocked. Bottles of spirits line the low shelf behind the barkeep and in front of an etched mirror. Dim lamplight reveals a few areas with armchairs and low tables. Several groups of patrons line the bar, or rest their bodies in the comfortable seating.

Hearing the order of two beers, Berns promptly pulls two bottles from under the bar. Jake and ENS hear the clink as he sets in front of them two dark embossed glass bottles with wire-fitted corks. "Two-bits, gentlemen," he adds. "Are you guests here at the Palace?"

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 210):

Placing another bottle in front of Trayne, the bartender picks up the two total coins left on the bar top by Cole Trayne. He lingers for a moment, allowing Cole Trayne to engage in conversation if desired. Sensing that the wrangler shows no inclination towards verbosity, the bartender returns his attention to other patrons.

EDIT: added missing word which changed the intended meaning when it was inadvertantly omitted.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:10, Sun 20 Sept 2015.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 211):

ENS places a quarter on the bartop.

I have been a guest here before, but not currently.

ENS looks around to asses the patronage.

Is your evening going well?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 213):

The professor looks around the room and sees the several groups of men gathered along the bar or in the various armchair alcoves. He recognizes none of them--waal, as Jake might say, none with whom he is acquainted. In fact, ENS does recognize a character or two from his short stay here at the Palace and his one previous visit to this bar, although he knows not who they might be. Important men, in some fashion, knowing what he knows about this hotel.

The barkeep answers simply. "About the same as usual."

The way that the beer was bottled reinforced Jake's impression of the Palace as a high-falutin' place. He picked the bottle up and studied it curiously, then popped the top off.

Turning to ENS, he lifted the bottle in salute and said, "To yer health, Perfesser."

Travis finds himself on Jackson Street. He walks the avenue and close by side streets refamiliarizing himself with the area. He settles down the block from a house of ill repute. He watches the comings and goings around him as he remains as innocuos as possible.

Continuing his conversation with the bartender, Cole adds...

My 'pard Luke works on a ranch a few miles outside of town. Or, at least, he did not too long ago. If memory serves, it is the Simmons spread. I know he comes into town, from time to time, to drink the dust off. This isn't his normal watering hole, but as I recall, he used to drop in here every once in a while.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 215):

ENS nods to the barkeep then turns to Jake, lifting his bottle as well.

...and to yours my friend!
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Tue 22 Sept 2015.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 217):

The second porter starts to loosen the screws at the back of Cole Trayne's tongue. The wrangler had gotten the barkeep's attention and asked about his pard Luke Hadden. The curly-haired young man tending the bar had told Trayne that he wasn't good with names, seein' as the number of men who put their foot on the rail in this saloon every night.

Now that Cole elaborates, a look of recognition appears on the barkeep's face.

"I s'pose I know who you speak of. A couple of the boys from the Simmons place come in here from time to time. One of 'em named Luke, I think. Don't recollect seeing 'em this fortnight. Don't mean to chase you out of here, but I s'pect they are mostly likely to be found at the Cowhide. You know the place?"

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 218):

Jake and ENS passed the time at the Palace, first standing by the bar for a spell, where they made small talk with Berns until they had finished the first round. The professor ponied up for a second round of what they learned was the product of a local establishment, the Albion Ale and Porter Brewery located along the India Basin. The first had been a sweet ale; the barkeep suggests they try Albion porter next. A darker, heartier brew, it also pleases the palate. This style seemed unusual the Texan, but he couldn't deny its appeal. ENS left an extra coin for Berns' recommendation and service.

The men took to the armchairs to savor their second beers, while they waited for Horatio Johnson. Just after midnight, the hotel porter appears shortly after the professor and the rifle-less rifleman drain their own porters. Horatio nods to Berns as he strides toward the alcove.

"Professor," he says, with a slight bow. He glances around at the patrons, the volume of which has remained steady over the past two hours. A number of men in small groups, drinking and talking in civil tones. A contrast to perhaps every saloon in the Barbary Coast. Horatio waits patiently for Ringgenberg's lead.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 15:21, Tue 22 Sept 2015.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 216):

With all manner of men walking the streets in the Barbary Coast, on their way to or from a saloon or a soiled dove's crib, it is no great feat for a man who knows the streets to maintain a low profile and blend in. However, Travis Sunday's rig draws attention, and so he finds himself taking extra care to locate a suitable place to watch the row of cribs on Jackson Street.

On the other hand, the rig discourages the crimps known to prey on the drunkard and the fool. Sunday sees them operating as he maintains his vigil. Despite the recent laws against the practice, the Barbary Coast still had its fill of the men who would shanghai a dullard with a poisoned drink or other device.

Time passes. Women beckon to the men in the streets, through half-blinded windows in the rowhouse a block away.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 221):

Travis waits. Patiently.

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 220):

ENS smiles up at the young man.

Ahh, Horatio! Please have a seat. This is my associate, Mr. Richardson.

ENS takes a quick look around to ensure a reasonably low conversation will be private.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 223):

Privacy is a highly subjective term, as a man of the professor's education well knows. Nonetheless, ENS ascertains a reasonable safety in regard to not being heard. As reasonable as a man might expect in a public venue.

Horatio sits.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 219):

The wrangler nods and shrugs his shoulders.

Yup, he and I have spent some time at The Cowhide. But I know every once in a while he might drop in other places, just for a change of pace. I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I might get lucky and find him here.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 225):

"The night has only begun," says the barkeep. He picks up the empty Albion bottle. "Another?"

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 223):

Jake nodded silently to the young man named Horatio, and turned his attention to scanning the nearby men, attempting to notice if any of them seemed to be paying particular attention to what was being discussed on in the threesome's alcove.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 226):

In agreement, Cole inclines his head...

Reckon I could use another...

An hour passes.  Travis settles in for what could be a spell.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 205):

"Mr. Beauregard, we have a couple of options to consider regarding the acquisition of your apparel. We might wait until tomorrow and be the first in the door of my tailor shop. We can have you sized and fitted for a suit. They will need time to construct your clothing, even under the enhanced cost of expedited work. I fear the suit will not be completed in time.

"The next option is less savory to the gentle soul. We are on the skirt of the Barbary Coast were good men ought not go. I am confident we can find a man of similar frame as yours and is wearing a fine enough suit. I'm sure we can discover a way the liberate the man from his clothing--we have options. In the interest of the young women we endeavor to rescue, I believe we can sacrifice this one moral constraint.

"The decision is yours. I will abide."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 227):

Once Horatio is settled, ENS pulls out his notebook and pencil and turns to the young man.

Now then, as I said before, I am conducting research on brothels in the area and their gang associations. Seeing as you are so knowledgeable about the city, I thought you would be the perfect man to ask first.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 228):

The barkeep sets a third bottle in front of the wrangler. "You know where to find me if you need anything else," he quips.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 231):

"Like I said earlier, I cannot give you everything you want. I do know some things that will help." The young man speaks in a practiced tone, indicating that conversions of this ilk are not unknown to him.

"Here are the names of three houses known to cater to customers who prefer the service that you mentioned earlier." Horatio passes a folded slip of paper to the professor. It is a thick stock, like that from an artist's sketchbook. He proffers the sketch paper with a cupped hand, the signal that the professor knows well from previous encounters. After an appropriate pause, he continues.

"As for the tongs . . . there can be no doubt that these places have their support. They could not operate, otherwise. Speculating on which supports which is beyond my ken. Digging too deep into such things can bring only difficulty." He pauses. "A word of advice, if I may," he adds, "do not push forward with your research with only a lick and a promise."

In reply to Horatio Johnson (msg # 233):

ENS takes the paper and pockets it.

I assure you Horatio, we are not taking this research lightly... thank you for your assistance.

He slips Horatio two more $1 coins.

Thank you Horatio; I think we're done here Jake.

ENS prepares to leave.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 16:10, Sat 26 Sept 2015.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 234):

Horatio steals a glance at the coins given by ENS. His face displays a clear sense of disappointment. Nonetheless, he thanks the professor before departing.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 234):

"If'n ye saey so, Perfesser. Yer call," Jake replied.

"We ready to mosey on over an' claim our weapons, then?"

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 232):

Cole nods at the retreating barkeep, and picks up his drink.

Staring at it for a long moment, the wrangler is clearly thinking about things.

Setting his drink down, he settles up his tab being sure to add a healthy tip.

Cole heads for the exit.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 236):

Let's do so.

The two men head to the front desk to claim their firearms.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 230):

We have little time to waste. I'll take your lead.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 229):

Sunday's legs had cramped during his wait. He knew he had no choice but to move about from time-to-time, even to squat for a spell now and again. Nonetheless, he stayed on the fringes of the Barbary Coast's nightlife all the while. And he kept the row of cribs in sight no matter where he moved.

Now, as the hour passes 1:30 a.m., Travis notices that the general activity hereabouts has come upon a lull. A number of men have recently exited the cribs and found their way home or to the next saloon. Few have come to replace the men leaving the cribs. The saloons remain occupied, but not with the intensity of an hour or two ago.

Some ten minutes later, Travis witnesses the egress of man in a dark, rumpled suit topped-off with a bowler hat. He stops at the threshold, at the end of the row before glancing around and heading in Sunday's direction, towards Kearney Street.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 240):

Travis may have taken the opportunity to notice any convenient alleyways.  Any nearby?

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 238):


After he had holstered his sidearm and long-arm, Jake turned towards the front door.

"Whaere to now, Perfesser?"

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 242):

ENS also holsters his retrieved Colt, checking the load just before.

Let us step outside and talk Jake.

As they make there way to the door, ENS steps up to Horatio as he crosses the lobby and speaks low.

Thank you again for your help Horatio. I'll try to be back around day after next, please keep your ears open for any tidbit related to our 'research'... anything at all.

With that he slips a double-eagle into the man's hand and gives him a nod. ENS then leads Jake out of the hotel and down the road a little way. He takes out the list and gives it a look before passing it to Jake.

Well, should we return to confer with the others? Or go take a look for ourselves?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:23, Tue 29 Sept 2015.

As Cole exits the saloon, he pulls his hat low and heads down the street.

A short while later, he comes upon yet another saloon. This one, however, is a might more familiar to him than the place he just left.

The sign above the entrance proclaims The Cowhide, for all to see. Taking a moment to look at the familiar sign, the wrangler smiles and walks inside.

Scanning the crowd, Cole looks for his old drinking buddy Luke.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 241):

OOC: There are alleyways everywhere in the Barbary Coast, including the immediate environs. Convenience is a matter of circumstance and perspective. In this case, Sunday's mark is headed wherever he is headed and any given alleyway may or may not be convenient for any given purpose.

At present, Travis is half-hidden at the edge of an alleyway on the south side of Jackson, near Kearney. The man in the bowler is walking along the north side of Jackson, towards Kearney. In several seconds, he will pull even with Sunday, on the opposite side of the street, some 10 yards distant.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 244):

Cole hears what sounds like a boisterous night at The Cowhide, while he reads the sign above it. Of course, most of the patrons here couldn't read it. Any feller who might get directed to this watering hole knew to look for the large side of tanned leather into which the name of the saloon had been branded.

The moment the wrangler crosses the threshold, he realizes that looking for Luke Hadden will be easier than falling off a horse.

The squat cowboy from the Simmons ranch dances atop a worn long table.  Waal, as Jake might say, what passes for dancing in this rough and tumble saloon. A crowd of men around the table, having stood up from the long benches, carry on a-hootin' and a-hollerin' a cacophony of encouragement and insults. Luke balances a half-glass of whiskey on his head, affixed there as if it had been stitched to his head.

Trayne had seen this show before. Men were taking bets, some trying to disrupt the squat Scot's routine, others making sure Luke had a fair shake. For a few moments, the wrangler finds that virtually no one had taken notice of his entrance. It gives him a moment to survey the crowd, seeing a few familiar faces even if their names failed him, including the regular bartender that they all called Zed. Cole spies more than one man with whom he could likely arrange a wager . . . iffin' he had the hankerin' to do so.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:33, Tue 29 Sept 2015.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 243):

Feeling the weight of the coin in his palm, Horatio Johnson allows himself a grin. This professor is a good egg after all, he thinks. It clears his momentarily foul mood, which had carried him to a favored spot just outside the palace's grand entryway.

"I will keep my ears open, Professor."

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 243):

Jake took the sheet of paper that ENS handed to him, then tilted his head so that the shadow of his hat-brim would not block out the moonlight.

After a moment, he handed the paper back to ENS. "Waal, Perfesser, if'n that list is coe-rect, we got us three poss-ibil-ities."

"I don't know 'bout you, but I'd prefer workin' with better odds'n one outta three. Since ye're askin', my vote'd be do put our heads together with the others an' see if'n we can narrow things down a smidgeon."

"But like I been saeyin', I'm con-tent to foller yer lead an' back yer play."

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 248):

That sounds fine to me Jake, it's getting late anyway. We'll confer with the others and get some rest; tomorrow I'd like to see the Herbalist, and if that gives us nothing there's one other fellow we can talk to.

As ENS speaks, he starts to walk in the direction of the apartment, pocketing the paper along the way.

In reply to James E. Beauregard (msg # 239):

"It's best we not waste the opportunity as we are just here near the melodeans and saloons."

Conway gives the highlights of his plan. "We encourage a well soused man who nearly matches your frame, to partake in the company of a prostitute in the area. We might need to provide the libations if he is not pliable enough.

"So, shall we proceed to any of a number of establishments?" Without response, Conway leads the men to the Barbary Coast.

Once they arrive on the famous and infamous strip, Conway begins his search for fine clothes on a body like JEB's.

07:41, Today: Charles Conway rolled 11 using 1d20+1 with rolls of 10.  Spot
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Thu 01 Oct 2015.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 246):

Anyone looking in the wrangler's direction would clearly see he was in no mood for fun and games.

Sighing, he speaks under his breath.

Damn...

He slips into the saloon and walks up to the bar, making every attempt to discretely catch Zed's attention.

Cole silently watches events unfold, while staying out of Luke's line of sight.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 251):

Zed sees the wrangler approaching the bar. At first the barkeep had thought only to sell a drink during the lull in demand during Luke's performance. As soon as the spectacle were over, Zed figured the libations would start flowing again but for the moment any customer would command his full attention.

In the meantime he greets Cole with a smile, which quickly turns to a look of recognition. Zed refrains from speech, as he pulls a bottle from beneath the counter and begins to pour two small glasses. Cleary he has recognized Trayne while simultaneously assessing the wrangler's intent to maintain a low profile.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 249):

As he walked alongside ENS, Jake spoke up in a low tone of voice. "Whilst I was lookin' over them notes, I noticed some writin' in Celestial under the names o' them three houses. Did Horaeshee-o write that? An' I'm supposin' that ye savvy what it means."

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 250):

After one-half hour's time, Conway has seen two or three men who nearly met his criteria, but none of them were alone and none was a good enough match to outweigh the risk. A matter of time, for certain.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 253):

ENS had wandered into thought as they walked, when Jake asked his question he shook himself to the present.

Hmmm? Oh yes, they are gang names... one of them was the Tong Mr. Xu mentioned as our main interest... Horatio said he didn't know gang affiliation so I guess these are gangs that he knows are associated with brothels offering slave women.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 245):

Travis lets the mark take another two steps. Then he steps out.

Excuse me sir.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 254):

Conway conetinues a keen observation about the crowds.

07:43, Today: Charles Conway rolled 14.  Spot.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:51, Fri 02 Oct 2015.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 256):

The man in the bowler hat turns his head to his left as he is passing Sunday. "Wot?" he asks in reply, keeping the steady walking pace of a man who is in no hurry even though has a destination in mind.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 257):

Continuing his attempts to identify a man of JEB's build, who also wears a suit that is, well, suitable to the task for which they intend to undertake, Conway remains patient as the men lurk amongst the crowds in the Barbary Coast district.

Coop wanders off now and again, never too far, while Conway observes the many men in the streets, saloons and dance halls.

JEB appears uninterested in the whole affair, willing to let Conway do the work at this time. Like Coop, he wanders off for a time, here and there, while the black-haired man maintains his vigil along Pacific Street.

Finally, Conway spots a fellow that seems ripe for his plan. An average height man in a brown suit stumbles out of a nearby melodeon, bidding farewell to a companion, taking a few deep breaths of the night air, and then wobbling across the thoroughfare. He is roughly twenty yards distant.

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 255):

"Hunh," Jake grunted upon hearing ENS's explanation, "int'restin' that Horaeshee-o would write them names in Celestial, 'stead o' usin' American."

The Texan walked along in silence for a short while, then spoke again. "Ye're a lots deeper thinker than me, Perfesser, so haelp me out on this one, if'n ye please."

"How is knowin' which o' them three houses o' dee-light is the right one gonna haelp us out? I mean, ain't we tryin' to free up them girls afore them Tong-ers git 'em that far? Seems to me that once they git 'em inside the house, it'd be all hell to paey if'n we was try an winkle 'em outta thaere."

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 252):

Smiling Cole accepts the drink, with his left hand. Simultaneously, he reaches out with his opposite hand to shake his friend's hand.

Damn good to see you. It has been a month of sundays...

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 261):

Zed drinks to that.

And all the while, Luke Hadden had persevered. The contest comes to an end by the call of the man the crowd had chosen to serve as the timekeeper. Luke snatches the glass from his pate, downing its contents in a single swallow. Coins change hands. The squat scot turns towards the bar with a pie-eating grin. One step later he stops, his usually steady legs suddenly rooted to the saloon's dirt floor, his eyes shut as if he hoped to dispel some mirage.

Seconds later, his re-opened eyes seeing the truth, Luke's whiskey-reddened face betrays confusion and then anger.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 258):

I need to speak to you. Henri has an assignment for you.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 263):

The bowlered man slows a mite, without stopping. Continuing to observe Sunday out of his periphery, he says "C'mon, then," and continues on his way.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 260):

Well, I think confirming some of Mr. Xu's information is helpful. Additionally, it is very possible that the market may actually occur in a Tong controlled brothel, the hall in the Barbary Coast seems particularly interesting. Regardless, we have some information to discuss with the others.

In reply to Luke Hadden (msg # 262):

Initiative: 23 (natural 20)
Fort save: 9+4AP = 13

Cole raises an eyebrow at his friend's curious reaction, but readies himself for whatever may come.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 266):

Trayne's old pard Luke approaches with resentment in his voice and his teeth bared.

"I heard ye was dead, and noow ye turn up like a bloody ghost."

Cole remembers that Luke is a moody drunk. He could be on top of the world with that pie-eating grin on his face for one minute, and then aggressive as a territorial wolf the next.

EDIT: flavor-enhanced speech edit, no content changed otherwise
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:47, Mon 05 Oct 2015.

In reply to Mick Todd (msg # 264):

O.K. that's where we're heading anyway.

Travis follows.  He stays far enough back to avoid a quick punch.

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 268):

The man in the bowler takes several more strides along Jackson Street, before turning into an alleway to his right. Travis loses sight of the man for a moment.

In reply to Luke Hadden (msg # 267):


Hoping that his drunk friend will notice a subtle gesture, Cole motions for him to take it down a notch...

In a calm tone of voice, Cole tries to preempt his friend.

I need your help....

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 265):

"Reckon that's so," Jake replied to ENS's observations.

"An' I reckon, too, that this sit-u-aeshunn is a mite like trackin'. Now I ain't no expert tracker by no means, but I've spoke to some as is. An' they tell me that sometimes, they find some sign that they cain't quite tell what it means, or how important it might end up bein'."

"So, they kinda stick it awaey in their back pockets 'til they can do some more trackin- -- or in our caese, infor-maeshunn-gatherin' -- an' then they'll bring it back out laeter when they got theirselves a mite more to work with."

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 270):

The cowboy's aggression melts away when Cole Trayne speaks. Luke stops himself inches from Cole's person, the anger in his eyes replaced by some sort of understanding. It looked as if he had intended to shove the wrangler but Cole's words penetrate Hadden's drunkenness.

"Aye. All ye hae to do is ask." Luke glances about and steadies himself with one hand on the bar while waiting for his pard to explain.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 271):

Exactly so Jake! If my years of schooling have taught me anything, it's that you never know when a bit of information will come in handy!

In reply to Luke Hadden (msg # 272):

Cole allows a small sign of relief to momentarily appear on his face. He quickly composes himself and places a firm  hand on his friend's shoulder.

The wrangler looks around the place for a quiet corner where he might have a discrete conversation...

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 273) and Jake Richardson (msg # 271):

Jake and ENS arrive at the apartment, finding themselves the first to return to the two-room den. The time is just past 1 a.m.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 274):

Trayne finds no ideal quiet place in the Cowhide, but with the help of Zed and a man whom Cole doesn't recognize he carves out a spot in the corner near the bar that provides some degree of privacy. Although the wrangler is at sea in regard to the nature of Luke's new pard, it is clear that the man is an ally of the cowboy and also known to Zed, which--under the circumstances--gives Trayne good reason to accept his help.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 275):

"Kinda like when y'all inves-tigaeted the killin' o' that Celestial lass back in The Flat," jake replied to ENS. "Y'all had to kinda gather up evydence along an' along, 'til ye had enough in hand to puzzle it all out."

After the twosome had arrived at their destination, Jake mutters, "Looks like we're the first ones back. Might as well maeke ourselves comfy whilst we wait for the others."

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 259):

Charles Conway notices the brown-suited man stumbling about. Perhaps not as bespoke as he wished, fleecers can't be chooser, as it were.

"My good men," he addresses his companions, "linger back a little and allow me to encourage this poor soul to a more accommodating environment."

Conway shadows the man, raising little attention from the brown-suited man. The dark-haired man lays his concern more in those around--common pick-pockets and ruffians abound in this chilled night air. He poises himself for better trailing of the brown-suited man by way of shadow and glare--trickery to the average eye and even to that of the trained as well.

16:00, Today: Charles Conway rolled 16 using 1d20+13 with rolls of 3.  Hide.
16:00, Today: Charles Conway rolled 9 using 2d6 with rolls of 4,5.  AP on Hide.
ROLL RESULT = 21

He trails the man for only a block until he appears directly beside him. "Sir, your friend, (muffled named), asked if I would look after you and told me to take you inside for a libation?"

16:06, Today: Charles Conway rolled 26 using 1d20+20 with rolls of 6.  Bluff.

In reply to Charles Conway (msg # 278):

The man in the brown suit reacts as if he expected Conway's introduction. "But of coursh, my good man, I shall shample the besht the town hash to offer."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Wed 07 Oct 2015.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 276):

The wrangler looks around to ensure that no one is listening. In a low and neutral tone of voice, he looks at Luke and glances in the direction of the unknown man.

Who's this?

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 280):

Luke appears more than a mite confused by Cole's question. His eyes move side-to-side before they show a flash of understanding.

"That's Fritz. He's German but he's ookay," he says, simply, perhaps failing to grasp the intent of Cole's question.

In reply to Jake Richardson (msg # 277):

It is very much the same as that Jake, but I fear this investigation will have a far rougher ending.

ENS finds a place to sit and takes out his notebook and pencil, he copies the contents of Horatio's note and jots down other observations.

In reply to Luke Hadden (msg # 281):

Cole gives Luke a long look, but then glances at Fritz and nods.

I got a couple of things I need your help with. But, it could be a might dangerous, if word got out. You and me go way back, but Fritz here don't know me. He might not want to get mixed up in this business...

In reply to E.N.S. Ringgenberg (msg # 282):

Jake nodded silently in response to the Perfesser, and took a seat in a chair where he could keep an eye on the front door of the apartment.

He placed his carbine across his knees, with the hammer cocked.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 283):

"Gi'us a minute, Fritz," says Cole's pard. He looks expectantly at Cole.

In reply to Mick Todd (msg # 269):

Waiting for Mick's inevitable betrayal Travis follows cautiously.

I was instructed to wait until you left or dawn. The rest of the crew was not to be brought into Henri's confidence in this matter.

Travis Sunday rolled 27 using 1d20+11.  Initiative.

In reply to Judge Messalen (msg # 279):

Assisting the brown-suited man is easy, especially when it comes to assisting him to surrender his wallet. Young Mr. Conway figures if he's going to treat the man to drinks, why should it be on his own dime.

16:18, Today: Charles Conway rolled 25 using 1d20+11 with rolls of 14.  Sleight of Hand/Pick Pocket

Selecting any nearby saloon, one known more for concerts and vulgar sing-a-longs, Conway guides the man through the batwing doors. He searches for an open table, but in the event one is not available, they will take positions at the bar.

The pungence of cheap cigars and even cheaper tobacco cigarettes is like a wall at the entrance of the Calliope Hall. Dimmly lit except for the gas lights affixed along the down-stage and walls illuminating the band and singer. Spaced at fifty-foot intervals along the 500-foot walls, burned additional lamps. Above hung two gas-burning chandeliers. In the far back of the hall was the stage and some thirty tables set about the floor, each with four chairs. At the front of the hall, just beyond the entrance, sat two bars on either side. Mirrors behind the bar-backs instantly made the hall appear much wider than it was, even though it was an impressive 100-feet wide.

Knowing "the best the town has to offer" is a far way off, Conway settles for the best this place has to offer. He orders two fancy drinks and engages in small talk with the man. They ease into questions of greater importance: his employment, family, and where he lives.

The clientele of any establishment in this section of the city is typically low, at best. However, periodically a tourist will make an appearance--believing themselves to be of more stout stuff than the revelers here about. They are the prey so many here wait to encounter. Conway has indeed been in this district many times before and carries himself with the swagger of a duplicitous, shifty man. In short, he blends in.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Fri 09 Oct 2015.

In reply to Luke Hadden (msg # 285):

After Fritz departs, Cole takes a look about and begins to speak in a low tone of voice.

Two things: First, do you know anything about the Chinese slave trade, here in the city?. Two, do you know anything about why Chinese gangs here would want me dead?

In reply to Travis Sunday (msg # 286):

Sunday is still speaking as he turns the corner, following the bowler into alley. Finishing his words about Henri as he moves cautiously, the gunslinger sees that the man in the bowler has stopped and turned several paces into the alleyway. He faces Sunday, hands extended slightly.

The gunslinger himself has taken only one cautious step into the alley. Having been through here earlier, he knows that beggars and addicts squat here, at least some of the time. Indeed, Sunday catches sight of movement behind the bowler.

"Shut it. It's all manure," says the man in the bowler.

In reply to Cole Trayne (msg # 288):

Luke's eyes widen when Cole speaks of the Chinese slave trade. The Scot almost misses the second question, still digesting the first, and yet a look of comprehension consumes his face once his pard has completed the thought.

"Aye . . . I mean the second part," he says too loudly for Cole's comfort. "They blame ye fer the Coolies losin' their jobs. And killin' their men. Now, I wouldna hae any reason ta know aboot the other."

In reply to Luke Hadden (msg # 290):

The wrangler visibly winces at Luke's overly loud tone of voice. He makes a slight hand gesture signaling his friend to take it down a notch.

Losing jobs? Is that right? How so? The way I see it, another foreman would have stepped in to replace the dead one and there would have been business as usual, right after. They went to a lot of trouble to send someone halfway across the country to drag my ass back here. And, they used the law to do that.

Cole pauses a moment and continues.

As for the other matter, I'll tell you more about it later. But, if you don't have any information on it, there is no point in talking any more about it.