In reply to Albert Darlington (msg #22):
It was dusk and darkness was falling, falling hard in the thickening fog. The news-seller paused in closing up shop, and gave the imposing detective a nervous smile. You know, the kind of smile you give Old Bill when you're a guilty cunt.
After dark, Soho became a much livelier place indeed. The sputtering snow stopped but the fog thickened.
The advertising men went home (or at least closed up the office) and the streets filled with Londoners looking for cheap "foreign" places to eat. Young swells in suits and boater hats with their flapper girlfriends looking for a bite before hitting the dance parlours, older folks on the way to the many nearby Soho theatres and music halls, even a few darker skinned inhabitants from the reaches of the Empire and farther afield looking for a taste of home in the damp mist.
Among the glow of streetlamps in the fog floated smells of delicious cooking and exotic food. Along many side-streets and corners clustered young (and not so young) women, dressed just short of scandalous in the chill night air, calling out to passing men, asking if they needed some company or wanted a swell time. Live and recorded jazz music was heard coming from elsewhere over the Soho rooftops. Taxis and buses crowded the wet cobbled streets, honking and trying to avoid the many pedestrians that spilled off the narrow sidewalks.
Inside the Blue Pyramid Club
The burly mustachioed doorman recognised something about Darlington. Maybe how he walked or his confidence, and he knew this was one bloke not to be trifled with. He immediately stepped aside and opened the door with a flourish.
"His peace be upon you, effendi."
Inside was crowded and poorly lit. The decor was what you'd expect to see somewhere in the Orient. Low candle-lit tables, back-less chairs, fabric-hung roof, stucco walls, tables to the right and middle, bar and private rooms off to the right and kitchen to the rear. There was some kind of terrible music wailing from a phongraph playing in the corner. Tables were piled with spicy food, people were eating. A small space to the right of the door was cleared and slightly raised as a dance floor.
(These pictures are from the Souk Bar|Medina tea room and restaurant on Litchfield.
It's coincidentally almost where I located the Blue Pyramid. Awesome!
OOC: Time-wise, this takes place some time between 7pm and 9pm when the investigators arrive, up to you. I actually found a Cockney-English translator on line! "Old Bill" seems to be more recent usage than the 20's but what the hell! I don't see a real need to re-title the thread at this time. Everyone knows where the BP club is, and hey, they still are doing a recce.
As well, there is Al-Sayid's warehouse located elsewhere in Soho just off Oxford St., not too far from the Penhew Institute on Tottenham Court Rd. Tewfik Al-Sayid was interviewed in relation to the Egyptian Murders as he is a frequent club patron but was not considered a suspect. Al-Sayid once guided Sir Penhew on an earlier expedition to Egypt.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:42, Fri 07 Oct 2011.