In reply to Yoland Thomas Scott (msg # 5):

An older man walked out of the garage. He had the look of someone who had seen to much of the horrors of this world. Most likely a war veteran. Many, to many, men had the light of goodness get snuffed out of their hearts in that storm of blood and tears.

"Names Franks. Bill Franks. It's my station." The man said offering a greasy hand to shake. "Want we should take a look under the hood. Seems like you have a bit of trouble brewing."

Dai swiped the hair out of his eyes and used the window with the sign to try and make himself look somewhat more presentable. Brushing the worst of the road-dust off his jacket, he squared his shoulders; there was no time like the present and having a job, even a temporary one, would certainly help him secure decent lodgings. With nary a backward glance nor hesitation, he entered the building and looked out for a cashier, teller or proprietor. "Hello there." he introduced himself in his broad Welsh accent, to whichever he saw first. "Dai Morgan; that's me. I'm looking to speak with someone about your help wanted sign?" he made the statement a question.

An old man stepped up and looked Dafydd over. He nodded, as if he had figured something out that others had missed.

"Pay is a dollar fifty per day, paid at the end of the week on friday evenings." The man began. He was taller, broader of chest, fuller of belly, and much older than Dafydd. But he still looked like he could knock fella's teeth right out. "I'm Hal Morgan. We work here. From eight in the morning to five in the evening. You take your lunch at noon, be back at one. And never late. You'll load logs, lumber, bricks, and boxes into a wagon, drive it to where it needs to go, and then you'll unload it. And you'll do this without wasting my time. I pay in cash. I don't give handouts. But, there is a room in the attic with an outside door. Your welcome to one of the beds there. You'll share with two others if you do, so no heavy drinking, no fighting, and no whores. Gambling is alright so long as there is no cheating. Still interested?"

Dai could scarce believe his luck. "Still interested?" he repeated, only a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice. "Every word you just said was music to my ears Mr.Morgan, sir. I'd be glad of the bed and the pay and I don't slack, you'll see. I rise early, so if there's aught else you need doing around the place, I'm a dab hand with a wrench and I'm not one to put off doing whatever needs doing; all's needed is the asking." He shifted the weight of his sea bag so he could offer his hand to seal the deal, a genuine and honest smile on his face. "Now, if you've a horse trough I can splash off some of this road dust in and show me where to go, I'll set to working immediately, sir. If it pleases? You can show me the barn when the work is done; there's no rush to be settling in and the sun waits on no man."

Bas wiped the sweat from his forehead and gave Charlie a nod.  "Yup, hate to see people abusing a beautiful machine like that," he said.  His eyes seemed to lift to the sky and glaze over a bit as he thought about the skies of France...which only led him to think about Sybille and his child.  He coughed to cover the oncoming emotions.  Charlie just kept his head down as he knew Bas well enough to know what was going through his mind.

"Well, guess I better wash up before heading in to town.  You need me to pick up anything else for you or do you want to come with.  I am sure they have some peach cobbler ready," he said as he walked away. "Meet me at the car if you're coming," he finished.

Bas cleaned up a bit and headed to his fairly new Hispano Suiza H6b...



OOC: leaving the end open to see if he comes with or not.  Either way, I/we will drive in to town to order the part or two or three lol, and maybe get a bite to eat.

"Hey, Beatrice," Jake says, as he enters the office. He listens, nodding appropriately, to her explanation and responds, "Ohkay, Bea, buh-bye now."

He checks out the rest of the rooms to sind if Ham or any of the boys are around, not surprised when he finds nobody. He hangs his hat on the coat stand and sits at Bea's desk, picks up the stack of wanted circulars and pulls open the bottom drawer to use as a footrest. He leans back in the chair and pages through the handbills, half his mind musing on whether to invite Lucia or Cleone to the movies Friday night.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:39, Tue 12 Apr 2022.

In reply to Dafydd Taliesin Morgan (msg # 12):

"Come on." Old Morgan said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded order form and handed the yellow paper to Dafydd. "Throw you things behind the counter. Fill this order, find the items by their lot numbers. Each item is in a place identified by its number. Place it all in the wagon out back. That door over there. Be quick, but be careful too. Then go to this address and drop it off. County map is under the seat with a rain coat and a flashlight."

He took a step away as dafydd opened the paper and then looked back at he man while stretched out a hand to give Dafydd a pair of quarters.

"On the way out of town stop off and grab you some sandwiches for the day. And a big jug of water. It's gonna be a hot one." With Morgan went on about his business.

Dafydd opened the order form and began reading;
30 2"x4" boards, 8 feet
short barrel of tar
short barrel of wood stain
2 cases of 10 penny nails
case of roofing nails
10 sheets corrugated tin
..................................

He sighed. Time to put in some work.

In reply to Bastion Aric Savege (msg # 13):

Bas pulled the car in the lot between the back of Morgan's Construction Outfitters and Marshall's Corner Parts and Machining. He was glad to have made the drive alone. It let him clear his thoughts on the way in. As he got out of the car he noticed a new man at Morgan's loading the delivery wagon. It reminded him that he needed to go in and pick up some things to fix those steps at the backdoor of the old family house.

As he entered the backdoor of the parts shop he was assailed by the smells of hot oil, scorched metal, and cheap tobacco. Several men were sweating over lathes, drill presses, and band saws as they fabricated plow shears. probably for the farm west of his family's place.

"Hey, Bas, come on in." Pete Melgrove said as he walked into the back. He set a cardboard box off bottle of lubricant to flush filings from the the machines. "Lube came in. Anything you need fellas? Come on up front Bas. I'll get you squared away. Carburetor still giving you trouble?"

In reply to Jake Westley (msg # 14):

Jake had just poured a cup of coffee and sat down to read the paper out of Macon when the phone rang on the tenth word he read. The word was now, of course.

Picking up the phone Jake replied with the usual 'Sheriff's Office, this is' greeting. On the other end of the line Martha at the phone co-op said is was on Melba Hoover, she needed the Sheriff, that her husband was missing. Jake took the call.

Melba Hoover was frantic. Her husband, the notorious caller from earlier in the morning had come into town to look for the Sheriff to report that he had come across the body of a man dead for ten years. But it wasn't dead anymore. According to her husband. She said he was last seen buying rope at Morgan's Construction Outfitters.

Jake lifts the receiver off its hook. "Deerfield County Sheriff's Office, this is Deputy Westley. Afternoon, Miz Hoover." After the caller has spoken a few words, he sets aside the newspaper and sits up straight, his brow furrowing.

"...uh-huh...uh-huh...No, ma'am, I haven't seen Mr. Hoover, but I only just got back from dinner.

"Now who was it exactly buying rope at Morgan's, your husband or this dead man--uhh--formerly dead man. And did your husband recognize him?" He pulls over a notepad and a pencil and begins making notes.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:43, Tue 12 Apr 2022.

Hank grunted as he settled Mrs. Harcourt on the slab.

She had been a wonderful woman but in her 70 plus years had never seen a piece of pie she didn't like.

He rubbed at a sore shoulder and tried to ignore Myrtle's amused smirk. Twenty years ago he'd have flipped a hoss like Mildred Harcourt and downed a beer with the other hand but father time had worn away a lot of that power in recent years.

"I want ya to be extra careful on the makeup this time Myrt. Mrs. Harcourt was a real nice lady and her family will appreciate it."

He didn't add that Mildred had let him hide out in her basement twice. Lied straight to a BOI man once even and never batted an eye.

She wasn't just a friend, Mildred Harcourt was "Owed".

It was one of those odd moments in life that brought men together. Or, in this case, Dafydd was loading the last of the cargo into the Morgan delivery wagon as Bas came walking out of the back door of the machine and parts shop. The two men just happened to look up at one another when Jake entered the back alley on his way to investigate the reports that Mr. Hoover was after a living dead man with his rope. Henry had just entered the back lot to his recently opened mortuary. He needed a moment to clear his thoughts with a bowl of cherry-apple tobacco. Mildred had been a way to avoid of life in a small concrete room.

The men all seemed to be facing in toward one another. Each facing from a cardinal direction, as if that had anything to do with what would happen next. Jake faced south as Henry faced north, a casual nod passed between them. Dafydd was facing east to look at Bas, whom was facing west. Forming something of a small quadrangle of men all facing to center, a superstitious man might had flinched or looked away at the last moment, they were a taken aback when a small, dust covered grate set in the ground suddenly lurched up out of the ground.

A hand, gripped the end of a muddy rope soon followed the grate. Then another hand shot into the sun light to claw at the edge of the opening.

Henry squinted at the grate as it moved out of place.

'What the hell...'

Dai was about to nod a round of friendly 'hellos' before getting on with his chores when the grate lifted. Not one to stand idly by when somebody might be in trouble, he moved forward to help. "Hold on there boy, let's get you out of that hole. Rope or no, a body can always use a hand." he said cheerily as he stepped forward and looked down, bracing his legs in preparation to haul whoever it was up and out.

"Hey Pete," Bas said and then nodded a greeting to the others in the shop.  "Yup, that carburetor is just no good.  Charlie wants me to order a whole set of them..."

He was just beginning to make a little small talk with Pete when...time seemed to freeze.

That moment when the four men faced each other seemed to touch something within Bas...so much so that he was a little slow in reacting.

"Aye, here now," he said, "Let me give you a hand hauling him out."

Jake is just opening his mouth to say 'Hey' to Mr. Savage and Hank Clark when the grate clangs back int the dust and the hands reach out. As the others step forward, his mouth still hangs open until he says, "What th' Sam Hill..."

Reflexively, his right hand drops to the butt of the revolver strapped around his waist.

The opening for the drain was small, almost to small to slip the man through. He was older, covered in mud and sewage, and smelled to high heavens. He only used one of his arms to help pull himself along as the others lifted him from the hole. His other arm was busily yanking on a rope that wrapped several rounds along his hand, wrist, and forearm. One he was on his feet it was obvious he was wearing overalls and work boots, that the man was a farmer. But was the rope tethered to to make it tug at the older man so?

Scott has been explaining the funny noises he has heard from the engine of the car, and the proprietor is making understanding grunts, tossing in technical terms every now and then that Scott just knows are adding five dollars to the bill with each utterance.

But it's not his car, and he has an expense account. His primary need is to get it fixed.

"Do what you can!" he adds brightly at the end of their discussion. "I'll go get some lunch and come back in an hour two, see how things are going. Thanks."

Wandering out into the street, he catches sight of a group of men pulling a skinny old fellow out of a sewer grate. Now that he's well away from the petrol pumps, he takes out a pack of Luckies and lights up, blowing out a thin stream of grey smoke with a contented sigh.

"Hey, fellas, what's up?" he calls as he approaches the group. Though he stops well back as soon as he gets a whiff of the bedraggled man.

"Well now, there we are sir." Dai said in the slightly louder tone reserved for the infirm, elderly and very young, politely ignoring the stench of the waste pipe. He said it with a smile on his face to take the sting out of any unintended insult. "Let's see about getting you cleaned up, aye?" The Welshman turned to the others gathered, still having not introduced himself. "What do you say boys? Anyone know where the hose is? I'm still learning my way around." Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the older man and looked down at the rope entangled around his arm. "Well, then, what's that you've got there? You want me to help with that?"

Hank took his hand out of his sweater pocket and stepped out on to the sidewalk.

"Watch it fellas, he's tied off to somethin' that's still down there, mind you don't hurt his arm."

Jake takes a step forward and peers at the man, trying to destermine his identity. He knows pretty much everyone in Marshall's Corner and most of the surrounding county, but the caked on filth makes it a challenge.

"What are you staring at boy? Been calling the Sheriff all morning." The older man said. "Bought time one of you fellas came along. Here, take this here rope. Mind you, don't let go of it or Earl Lancing will get away."

It wasn't lost on anyone that Earl Lancing had died of a heart last Tuesday and had been buried out by the Methodist church last Thursday. So, why was he up and walking around in some underground drain today?

"GodA'mighty, Hoover, what you been doin' down th' sewers? Melba's about crazy worryin' over you," Jake says as he reaches for the rope. The rope's filth doesn't faze this farmboy.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:27, Thu 21 Apr 2022.

This heat.
It was killing him.
Never experienced something like it in the Netherlands or South Germany.
Yes, Munich could be a hot place in the summer but THIS heat plus the humidity....

Old Wilhelm sweated all over, thick pearls running down his neck and back, gathering at a place where a doctor might take a look at but no one else.

He was constantly wiping his forehead with a handkerchief but for no use.

He looked back, then marching forward.
Yes, he travelled on foot.
Looking back.
Wiping his forehead.

Was someone following him?
An observer could come to this conclusion.
But there was no one.

Marching.
Wiping.
Looking back.

"Marshall's town. Good God, a place to rest, maybe for a short while, getting out of the heat."
He told himself.

Wilhelm entered the small town without further hesitation, looking for a place for having a drink and what not.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:56, Fri 22 Apr 2022.

It seemed the man had plenty of support from the others. Bas reached his hands out and grabbed the rope and gave it a pull.

"What are you on about.  He's dead and buried..."