Graphite, New York
February 2nd, 1932

It was a drizzling gray afternoon full of lingering ghosts. The sleet came down in occasional flurries, but most of the time it remained suspended in the air as mist that the newspapers next day were to call “the thickest fog within memory.” Road traffic was almost at a standstill, and only a few drivers who were foolhardy, or those pressed by absolute necessity, were out.  The wind whipped up into occasional gusts that Mickey and Doc wondered if this was the day, the day that would bring ghosts from their past riding a pale steed of vengeance.

Six weeks ago Doc and Mickey were in the employ of Gentleman Jack, also known as Jack "Legs" Diamond.  Jack was an entrepreneur, who risked his freedom to ensure hard working people could have a drink at the end of the day.  It was hazardous business, as Mickey had known for most of his life.  If it wasn't Revenuers on your tale, it was the local Constabulary or worse yet the kingpins of the business, the Outfit, the Commission, Murder, Inc.  Mickey grew up in the gangs in Chicago, met Doc there.  When the Big Outfit was taking over, Mickey and Doc got the feeling they'd be walking on the wrong side of the grass soon in the Windy City, so they left.  Managed to get work with Gentleman Jack.

The Sicilians that controlled New York with the 'Commission' had it out for Gentleman Jack, they weren't about to let a Philly Irishman in on a cut of their action; making the last couple years exciting and dangerous. Jack loved to live it up too, drinking and dancing, and that Irishman could cut a rug.  That's how he got his nickname 'Legs'.

Gentleman Jack survived any number of assassination attempts, sometimes with Mickey his wheel man avoiding them, sometimes by Doc patching him up.  Mickey remembers a time back in '30 when Doc pulled 5 bullets out of Jack in Manhattan.

Gentleman Jacks Legs fell still in the wee hours of December 18th, 1931.  Jack had been up on charges for kidnapping in Troy, NY.  It was bullshit, but the Commission had it out for him and had every DA and police force in New York dropping charges on Gentleman Jack.  Jack had beaten the wrap on bootlegging and assault 3 times already in '31.  Again, he beat the charges with the help of his attorney, Abbott Jones.  The crew celebrated that night.  Having drinks and dancing in Albany.  But it would all erupt as Doc and Mickey slept in a room down the hall from Jack and his mistress Kiki.


Shots rang out after 1 in the morning.  Mickey grabbed his Tommy and ran into the hallway in his drawers, Doc on his heels.  Mickey got off once burst into the men leaving Jack's room...…….. Albany Police.  The Thompson bucked and ripped a half dozen rounds in the copper from upper thigh to opposite shoulder.  The man thudded to the floor eyes agape.  The other copper jumped down the stairwell crumpling into a howling ball at the bottom 2 stories down.  Rushing into the room, it didn't take Doc to know that both Kiki and Gentleman Jack had cut a rug for the last time.  The two rapidly went back to the room, grabbed their pants and coat and hustled down the stairs as sirens could be heard closing in.  Doc hit the bottom of the stairs first, then hit the exit.  As Mickey hit the bottom of the stairs the copper roared, Mickey turned to see him raise his Police model Smith and Wesson, Mickey saw the flash, felt a jolt to his right hand and raised his chopper.  The Thompson didn't fire, jammed he guessed.  So he dove through the open exit onto hard cobbles, scraping his face.  He picked himself up and hopped in the drivers seat of his Flying cloud.  The car roared to life and lurched down the street.  When Doc said, your bleeding.


Mickey looked down, saw his hand was gushing blood. Doc would later pull a bullet fragment from his hand, after Mickey had put the slip on 3 cruisers closing in on them.  What neither Doc nor Mickey could fix is the bullet that hit the bolt of his Thompson and broke it.  The Thompson is inoperable and needed a decent gun smith and probably parts.


The tiny roadside cabin, just 8' x 10' in nowhere Graphite, NY was where Mickey would heal up, and the two would lay low.  Nothing here but 3 small cabins and tiny fuel station that also provided postal service and groceries for a few local miners.  Doc managed to pay the toothless granny with booze from the Flying Clouds Trunk.  It was enough to buy their lodging, meals and the old gummers silence for 6 weeks. The old gummer even gave them a smoked ham hock for Christmas and some blackberry jam.


Mickey's hand was now fully healed, the bullet damage to the brake master cylinder had been fixed with the master cylinder from a wrecked Stutz Touring car sitting behind the fuel station.


This message was last edited by the GM at 03:31, Thu 26 July 2018.

Willowbank, Ontario, Canada
February 2nd, 1932

The tall aboriginal native gave a heavy swing of the prop, the popped, choked ,then sputtered to life on the 1928 Fairchild Float Plane.  The pilot brought the Pratt & Whitney Wasp, 9 cylinder radial engine up to an idle, his eyes scanning the dimly lit gauges of the control panel.  He eyed the oil pressure specifically.  He’d just replaced the oil pump yesterday.  The oil pressure gauge slowly climbed, 10, 20, 30, 45 PSI and holding steady.  He gave exhaled for the first time since hitting the ignition switch.  His eyes wandered to the RPM gauge, 3000 and steady.  The pilot worked through his final pre-flight checks quickly.  It was important get in the air fairly quickly.  It was winter and the isolated bay was starting to get a paper thin crust of ice.  If it continued to chill it could be a big problem in another 30 minutes.

The Pilot checked his passengers, “Everyone buckled in and ready”, it was more of a statement than a question. The aboriginal checked each of them, as he had done throughout the several weeks they had been together.  He checked his buddy the Cowboy who was helping on this trip, he then checked the French Surveyor who was on the plane.  The scout thought he was a strange man, he had odd ways, his nose usually in his note book or a map.  Last he checked the young lady, she was so pretty, and always smelled nice.  She had a lot of radio equipment where she would send messages and the Frenchman would write down records.

  The Pilot got a thumbs up from the tall Aboriginal Native sitting in the jump seat just behind and to the side of the pilot.  The planes engine eased up to 15000 RPM and started pulling the float plane through the bay and toward the St Lawrence River.  The plane shook from the waves, and 180 bottles, packed in 20 wooden cases, stored in the tail cargo bay chattered and tinkled with the vibrations.  The hooch was for Legs Diamond.  A Special Order he had made right after being released from jail.
The tail started to lift slightly as the float plane reached taxi speed.  Taking off at night, especially on a river with floating debris was always risky, but the pilot had done it many times.  These runs were helping to pay for this plane.  But it was always nip and tuck on finances.  He was forced to sell advertising on the plane to help make the payments.  The back two-thirds of the plane was painted a medium dark blue, with the words Milk of Magnesia painted in white. The ad space sold to Royal Drug and Sundry of Kingston, Ontario, Canada.


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:44, Sat 28 July 2018.

"When are we meeting that pilot," Doc asked, checking the magazine on his Walther. He wasn't expecting trouble from the law--this far Upstate, you were basically in the Wild West--but he couldn't be sure if anyone else knew about Legs' deal, and with Mickey's Thompson out of commission, he wanted to be careful. He closed his medical bag in the trunk of the car. He wasn't expecting anyone to get shot, but again, he didn't want to risk it.

Mickey replied, supposed to be 1-2 hours after dark.  We should probably get on the road.  I'll go get the car started and warmed up if you want to start to load the bags.

We were pretty lucky to find this place and the Old gummer kept her mouth shut too.  Do you think Dutch Schultz still has his boys looking for us?





This message was last edited by the GM at 19:47, Sat 28 July 2018.

"You got it," he said, grabbing a few duffel bags from the cabin and loading them alongside his medical gear. "I'd say Dutch might have bigger problems than us to worry about. Albany police isn't going to be happy about one of their own getting killed doing a hit for him. If he is looking, I doubt it's up here. This is the middle of god-damn nowhere."

As his plane soared into the night sky over the bay, so did the heart of Iain MacBay.

The thrill and wonder never got old.

He knew well the land below him from a lifetime of trapping, guiding, canoeing.

And he knew the people that he sought to serve, using his plane to reach his remotely scattered friends to the north during these lean and blustery days, both seasonally and economically.

However, to minister to them, he needed to soar for hire, to keep his own finances from freezing over.

There would be no fancy flying tonight, no barnstorming, no rolls, no loops, no tricks.  Straight up, straight along, straight down.

Still the thrill remained, as the bay fell away, and he soared above the water, above the trees, toward the cold, crisp, winter stars.

He sang quietly, his slight Scottish brogue just discernible above the noise of the engine.

<sup><sub>"The heavens declare Thy glory,
   The firmament Thy power;
Day unto day the story
   Repeats from hour to hour;
Night unto night replying,
   Proclaims in every land,
O Lord, with voice undying,
   The wonders of Thy hand.

The sun with royal splendor
   Goes forth to chant Thy praise;
And moonbeams soft and tender
   Their gentler anthem raise;
O'er every tribe and nation
   That music strange is poured,
The song of all creation,
   To Thee, creation's Lord.

How perfect, just, and holy
   The precepts Thou hast given;
Still making wise the lowly,
   They lift the thoughts to heaven;
How pure, how soul restoring
   Thy gospel's heavenly ray,
A brighter radiance pouring
   Than noon of brightest day.

All heaven on high rejoices
   To do its Maker's will;
The stars with solemn voices
   Resound Thy praises still;
So let my whole behavior,
   Thoughts, words, and actions be,
O Lord, my Strength, my Savior,
   One ceaseless song to Thee."</sub></sup>

The plane leveled off, and the Pilot called back to the others.

"We are up and away, me lads and lass, thanks be to God.  Is everything all right back there?"

    Pushing the brim of his Stetson up and Leaning  back, he folded the  Map up carefully   and  slipped it into the leather  Pouch,  calling forward,


 so  far, we are fine... no pine tree  sticking through the wings this time....

 Grabbing his  rifle and  sliding over his pack, he pulled out an oil-smelling   cloth from a side pouch  and  Began  to  wipe  down the  wood  of his  scoped  rifle , his hair hung  down below  his  ears, under the  Brim of the beaten hat., his green eyes  belied the reddish tint  to his  skin

The float plane flew east over the St Lawrence, it was cold in the aircraft, below freezing, and noisy, too noisy to really carry on a conversation or sleep.  The plane pushed on through the dark, Northeast 32 degrees for 58 minutes, then Southeast 140 degrees for 22 minutes, then due East 90 degrees for 46 minutes.


The flight could have been shorter, but this was the route that allowed him to stay out of government patrols looking for boats and planes bringing in booze.  The route once again payed off, no sign of being spotted.  There was enough moonlight to see Point Au Roche and the bay just south of it.


He brought the plane down gently, the water was slick as glass.  The floats touched, bounced and then settled into the cold water.  From the shore, the Native American spotted a set of headlights flash...…… the signal.


The pilot idled the plane to a wooden dock jutting into the lake.  On the dock was a red and black sedan, with two men standing outside it.  The scout hops out onto the float, and throws a tie up rope to the men by the car.

   Si looked up at the  dock  as   He   shoot the   loped   Rope out to the   Men...Lend a hand, if you want this to go faster... He holds  of  securing the flaot until they  make an effort to  secure thier  end.

Amelia Farrington snuggled deeper into her overcoat as the door of the aircraft opened and what little still-air there was (one could hardly say 'warm') was exchanged for an icy blast. She tried to bury her nose into her collar, and buried her gloved hands even deeper into the hand muff in her lap. She would leave the loading and unloading to the men.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:11, Tue 31 July 2018.

Doc got a few duffel bags out of the trunk of the sedan before striding up to the end of the dock and tying off the other end of the rope.“Name’s Vito, you can call me Doc. You got the merchandise?”

  Si Nodded   thanks  for the tie off,..I  Don't know, Sir, I'm  Just here  to  making  sure  folks don't  try to hurt no one....

  He  Walks    along the  pontoon to the Door    reaches  in for his rifle  as he calls in, Man named Vito, Doc...... what's to know  if  we have  the  merchandise...

 she  steps  backs  a bit  toward the aft of the plane,  holding  his  rifle , His eyes  look around  the area, watching  for  anything  comign from the  water... or down range from  the  plane.

Lake Champlain, New York
2015 Hrs, February 2nd, 1932



A young cowboy with a big hat and wooly chaps stands up, tips his hat to Amelia and says,
just sit there 'n be comfortable little lady, we'll have this straightened out quicker then a skeeter bite.


The cowboy steps out onto the pontoon, then hops onto the dock, spurs jingling
Yeah, we got merchandise................................... you got money ?
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:42, Mon 30 July 2018.

 Darkshadow, still keeps his wits but   his  rifle Bolt slides, giving one  cold  stare to the  fellow   named  Doc, but so fare the ridle is  still pointed  downwards.

 ..nights like this....the alpha  hunters will come, with the moon..seeking food for the pack...or...keeping  those  from thier  territory...to waste   Time.. is to shorten a life...

The Young cowboy took out a cigarette paper, a pouch of tobacco and started rolling a smoke.  He looked up with raised eyebrows from his work toward the two men near the red and black sedan.

You heard 'im boys, lets see yur Frogskins er were gonna have a little disagreement round these parts

“Now hold on just a minute,” Doc said, edging his hand towards the bulge in his coat pocket.“It seems like we might have something of a disagreement already. You see, Legs Diamond already paid for that liquor. So either start unloading the booze, or you better rustle up the money he paid for it.”

  The  Halfbreed didn't  seem like he was lookign at them, hard to tell  with the Moonlight shadow,   but the Rifle   came up more quickly  then one  would think.

  ..now?.. You can keep reaching... You might even pull it.... but you'll never  shoot it....

  He   has the rifle up. he didn't need the scope at that range,  so he  could watch both men.....HEY!...  TREETRIMMER.... these slickers... take us  for  too much backwoods..eh?...we've been around....don't treat us, like  Housers or Keeners..

“I don’t take you and the cowboy for anything other than would-be thieves at the moment. Like I said, the liquor’s been paid for.” Doc walked calmly up to the Indian man, and gently pushed the barrel of the rifle to the side. “I don’t want this ending bloody any more than you do.

Click

The cowboy dropped his half rolled smoke and pulled his revolver.

Whoa, there mister................
you callin be some kind a midnight bandit ?
If we'd of gotten the cash, you'd be sittin pretty with 20 cases of Canada's best right now.

The driver of the car reached through the drivers seat and pulled out a Thompson Sub-Machine gun and leveled it at the cowboy.

HOP-ALONG,
you met Mr Thompson yet ?

Legs told us specifically he'd paid for the hooch.

This message was last edited by the GM at 01:37, Tue 31 July 2018.

  The Hlafreed's  eyes   twinkled in  the  moonshade of his  hat,wel , Sir, My  job is to protect the folks on this plane..and.. the business end of  which  out Treehopper there   keeps us   working...

 Now, Since you saw it  all nice    and  cozy, he stop down her on the pontoon with me... what do you think is gonna happen to you  if the guy hidin' in the car. wants  to  chew up my friend there?

   There's three  out  comes.. none of them havign you beign around to see them... Cowboy? well.. he dies  in two of them.. but if  Mr  car guy doesn't get out?.. I'm afraid that gun won't  do him too  much good.. and I gotta  figure  Cowboy is a  Much better shot, an' he'll be able ta move.........

 ..no.. our   friend...in that cockpit?... he'll tell us right square,  if  you owe us money or not.... if you do?.. and yhou don't have it..well... you best be on your way.. if its  paid  for..  Me and Cowboy  will make sure the  cases  are on the docks... BUt that  Tommy?..not  gonna do him a damn bit  of  good from that range, and me and you on this here  Pontoon.

“You’ve never seen one of this things go, have you? They’ll kill a man at a hundred feet through a brick wall. He’s maybe fifty feet away, so he’s got plenty of range. He could take out everyone in this plane in, oh, about four seconds. Maybe I’ll die. That’s not too big a problem for me. I don’t got much going on besides this business.” Doc looked to the cockpit and raised his voice. “Legs gave the money to Paul. You should already have the first half. If Paul’s playing games with you, we’ll be happy to help you track him down. But we need that liquor.”

A little man comes to the door dressed in a wool coat that is worn and soiled.

Excusez-moi, messieurs

The probability of a good outcome for everyone is to work together, sell the alco-ol,
Which I understand to be in great demand in this country.  In the mean time we can investigate what happened to the money and make a resonable and fair division of the assets attained from the sale of said goods.

  Si  shrugged with a tilt of his head.....we  saw some of those in  Hollywood... he's  got that little window to shoot out of?...if  he  don't  get Cowboy  before  Cowboy gets  off the dock?. well......

  When the Doc  fellow   calls into the plane,  The Halfbreed  says,..sounds like   you get Half of it.... 'casue   Pilto took half.. if  we didn't get the other half.. neither  do you...right?.. can't expect us to give you somethimg   that we didn't get paid for..Again?.. it just comes   to what Pilot says...but we've been to the stampede more then  a few times...

“Then Cowboy’s in the water and can’t shoot back. Those Hollywood props aren’t the real thing, and they’re loaded with blanks. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll let the flyboy speak for himself. He had an arrangement with Legs Diamond. Legs held up his end of the deal. You’re the one trying to bilk is out money that’s already been paid.”