The barber, his hair neatly parted on one side, smiles and nods in understanding. ”Heat in the city’s near unbearable this time of year,” he replies as he begins Sully’s trim.

”One thing I might suggest, sir. Last time you visited us, you left your coat behind. You might want to fetch it from the closet.” He nods toward a hallway at the rear of the shop. ”If someone back there asks, make sure you tell ‘em it was a trenchcoat.”

Arthur had earnestly hoped that Sully would mention a speak-easy, if there was one to find, since he could not really participate in this interview Wells was to engage in.

But, of course, he failed to mention this to Sully.

Wells greeted the man politely then asked him a few questions.

[Language unknown: "O lar latourvir timiri holl ers onarng tracmo avepronce uren us k fihesi aveainnde e iona Tromatil olta strersill u o atfori. K etitck fornc earmenore he oer? Tatio hiort day set er ilriiv thck'etar ei areratave latoercom entillugh k evle ere?"]
This message was last edited by the player at 13:23, Wed 12 Jan 2022.

His hair trimmed, Sully rises from the chair and pays the man, including a generous tip. He gives Arthur and Luke a grin and nods his head toward the back of the shop. He opens the closet door and steps inside.

As it turns out, the “closet” door at the end of the short hallway is made from thick oak with a narrow slit cut into it at roughly eye level. As the three investigators approach, Sully can see someone peering out through the opening.

”What’s the password?” a muffled voice inquires.

"I'm looking for my trenchcoat," says Sully.

The door swings open and a broad shouldered man in a black jacket waves the three investigators inside with a smile.

Beyond the door is cozy barroom. On the right side of the somewhat narrow space is the bar itself, fronted by a neat row of leather upholstered stools. A large mirror adorns the wall behind the bar, along with shelves which hold several bottles of liquor and a selection of cigars. To the left are a row of booths, a few of which are occupied by customers. The speakeasy is dimly lit and most of the furnishings, including the bar, are crafted from polished black walnut, lending an air of warm sophistication to the establishment. The scent of tobacco hangs in the air.

A neatly dressed bartender nods at the investigators. ”You can have a seat at the bar, or at one of the open tables,” the doorman tells them, ”If you want a table, Greta will be along shortly to take your order.”

Sully smiles at the cozy establishment and walks to the bar, ordering a cigar and a round of drinks for his copanions.

Having followed Sully in, Arthur leaned in. "What did you make of that fellow? There's something suspicious about him, I'm not sure what it is."

He bartender is quick to fill Sully’s order, offering the reporter a light for his cigar. From a stool at the end of the bar, a silver haired man in a fedora begins to play a winding, slow paced jazz tune on a clarinet.

In reply to Arthur G. Flatt (msg # 80):

“In my experience,” Sully opines, blowing a stream of smoke at the grimy ceiling, “You get some odd ducks in the funerary trades, undertakers and morticians and morgue attendants and medical examiners and such. They’re either the mournful and lugubrious sort or chortling backslappers. On the whole I prefer the former to the latter.

"But most of them seem a little hinky, y'know?”
This message was last edited by the player at 02:17, Wed 19 Jan 2022.

Having been directed by one of the barbers where his companions had disappeared to, along with the password that would provide him entrance, Professor Wells steps inside the dimly lit speakeasy, joining his fellow investigators at the bar.

"Gentlemen," he said, joining them with a libation of his own.

"The groundskeeper, Mr. Cortes, is under a sincerely held belief that the cemetery is haunted. He used to work late into the evenings and says that he hears strange noises coming from some of the crypts and the mausoleum - and that he switched his shift to the morning as he was afraid to be there at night. He said that on the occasions when he has to work late, he still hears those noises."

After that sank in, he continued:

"He said that one when he had to work late, he saw a figure wearing a hooded black robe prowling around the headstones. He left before he could be spotted by the figure. He also indicated that Mr. Bishop seems quite well heeled, personally owning four luxury automobiles."

He paused a moment. "He couldn't explain why, but he believed that Mr. Bishop was...well the word translates to sorceror or witch. I know some of the details he shared with me seem far fetched, but gentlemen, I've been confronted with hundreds of students with all manner of lies and excuses in their careers and I'm extremely confident that he at least sincerely believed the things he was saying. His fears of Nathaniel Bishop and of whatever might be found on the grounds of the Stanton Street Cemetery after sunset are entirely sincere."

Arthur considered the professor's words carefully before speaking. "Well, that's the issue with superstitious types, isn't it? They'll sincerely believe anything. Still, I believe as is that there's something very odd going on there. Sully was just saying the fellow seemed a little hinky, but I'm certain it's more than that. I've a bad sense about that Mr. Bishop after speaking to him--he wasn't up front with us."

Having ordered his drink and lit his cigarette, he resumed his thought. "I very much hope that it's merely a matter of bad business practice, these feelings I've had about those at the cemetery." Pausing again for a second to drink, he quickly corrected himself: "Mr. Cortes excepted, of course, he seems like a good sort of fellow."

"Did he say what king of strange noises? And why's he keep working there if he's so unsettled? Groundskeeper jobs can't be that hard to find, or some kind of pick and shovel work.

"I'll see if I can get a line on Bishop from the back files at the paper. Should be able to get a home address anyway.

"Jake, you might ask your contacts about him too. If needs be, we can ask around the vicinity about him, but we won't want anything to get back to him.  Maybe you should shadow him for a couple days, see where he goes.

This message was deleted by the player at 21:20, Sat 22 Jan 2022.

"He didn't say much to identify the particular sort of noise," he said.

"As to why he keeps working there, you're welcome to ask him yourself if you consider that important. I assumed it was for the usual reasons that most people don't constantly improve their lot in life: there is a cost to employment searches that he is unable or unwilling to pay at this time, and perhaps the market for an unskilled laborer with a poor command of English isn't as high as you might think. That said, if you should come upon any employment opportunities for Mr. Cortes, I would certainly be happy to pass them on to him."

Jake gives a nod and a shrug in a fairly non-commital gesture. He's itching to get a key made from the wax pressing he has, and he's only half focused on what's going on in the speakeasy. He's also majorly distracted by an internal struggle not to get a drink with the others. So far he's managing to keep his thirst in check, but he knows if they settle in for a smoke and a few shorts, he'll succumb.

"OK," he grates, lighting another in an endless stream of Luckies. "We got more witnesses saying weird stuff is happening in the tombs at night. But me? I ain't one for ghosts. More likely rum runners moving barrels around when no one is paying attention. Or some other kind of low life who don't give a tinker's cuss about disturbing the dead.

"Seems like we should come back when it gets dark and sneak about a bit inside the cemetery, see if we can hear anything ourselves."

OOC: Does Jake know a likely place to get the key made? There's no real Connections roll to make, but he has 50% in Locksmith -- maybe that includes some knowledge of likely sources? Happy to roll if you wish.

OOC: I wouldn’t require a roll from you for that, Jake. I would presume that based on the contacts that you developed during your time on the police force, as well as afterward, you would be able to find a friendly locksmith who could produce a key from the impression within a few hours. In time for a late night return to the cemetery, if that’s what the group elects to pursue.

"Rum runners? Well, it must be a longstanding tradition of runners if it's been going on this long. Anyways, why would a bunch of rum runners be out there victimizing young women just passing through? I don't know--I don't think any of our theories are holding up, and I don't like that even a little bit."

He was winding down already, himself, and called it on the drinking after the first. He did, however, light up a second cigarette. He had, of course, heard that smoking was healthy. "I mean, obviously it's not ghosts or goblins, but there's got to be something, right?"

Sully tosses his cigar butt in the spittoon and drinks off the last of his glass. He shrugs.

"Why he stays isn't that important, I guess. I'm game for a midnight creep through the cemetery."

"As to his residence, I don't think you'll have to dig too hard to come across it. The two story Colonial style building to the right of his house looked like a residence, and I'd wager that is where Bishop lives," he said, hoping to add some clarity and save them additional searching.

"Well, anyways, it sounds like we've got an idea for where we're headed tonight. I think we could stand to take a look at the crime scene altogether, and maybe talk to the old-timer somewhere 'round here that shoe-shine boy mentioned to me before--his grandfather, I mean."

Jake will go and get a copy of the key made and set a place and time to meet up with the others later that evening. While he is at the locksmiths, he will ask about tools that might improve his chances of picking a lock of the kind this key would fit -- maybe even get some practice in.

Arthur will inquire after the shoe shine boy and his grandpa, looking to find out anything that the old man might have to say about that area or the cemetery.