Capo: Information Summary Thread

[Sasaki Kojiro]

https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showt...02#post1395102

Night Two Summary

It was not to be a restful night in Fatlington. Despite the mists and rain there were far too many people moving quietly about, watching, and carefully avoiding any prolonged contact. Darkness, in Fatlington, could be a palpable feeling and not simply a trick of the light….


Stig returned home to his fashionable bachelor’s town home as darkness closed in, the sun withdrawing what little support its gray light gave through gaps in the clouds and rain to brighten the beleaguered town of Fatlington. The evening meeting had unnerved him, and he was glad to be back at home.

While racking his coat away in the closet, he noticed a dim light coming from the kitchen, and heard the gentle <> of silverware on china. Perplexed, he strode around the corner…only to see a stranger sitting at his table, a trio of lit candles at table center illuminating the scene, calmly eating a rare-cooked steak.

“Ah, my good friend, so glad you came.” the man said, putting down his silverware. He was wearing a broad fedora that concealed his features, save for a hint of “five o’clock shadow along his jaw. The man was dressed as though he had just come in from the cold.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded an irate Stig, taking a step forward. Stig stopped abruptly as he spotted the pistol next to the stranger’s hand, the bulbous gray silencer contrasting poorly with the maroon of one of Stig’s best napkins. In the pause that followed Stig noticed other shadows behind him and to his left in the darkest corner of the room. Faint shadows that didn’t “fit” and made his eyes – catching only glimpses peripherally – long to twitch. Stig's heart skipped a beat.

“Ah, yes”, the stranger said, cleaning the remains of the meal from his face with the napkin from his lap, “You see now that I am not here merely for pleasure. I am here to, ah, correct the unpleasantness that has begun to consume this town. I do not delight in what must be done.”

“How can you...” Stig started demanding, but the stranger picked up the pistol and shot him neatly between the eyes. The pistol was of relatively small caliber and the round soft-tipped; a messy exit wound would have been…distasteful. The stranger pocketed the weapon, picked up his fork, and ate a last bite of the steak.

“He had good taste in steak, though,” the stranger said. “I don’t know where he purchased the béarnaise, but it was quite excellent.” Standing, he nodded to the others in the room that it was time to go and walked quietly out, pausing briefly to drop a single white glove on Stig’s body.


Redleg too was having a bite of dinner. With all the turmoil, he’d decided on a rack of lamb at Iron Felix’s on Lubyanka Street – it had been a tough couple of days and he found himself craving their sauce béarnaise. He’d start with the asparagus soup, have the steak with a LaTour ’36, and finish things off with some of their Port Salut and an Armagnac. Life is short, he thought – especially these days – so I shall revel in the stuff of life.

There were only a few people at the nearby tables, a pair of well-dressed men engaged in a discussion about Dewey’s loss in the recent elections and a fellow sitting with a rather pretty auburn-haired woman, sipping wine and looking at each other a little dreamily. Sensing no threat, Redleg relaxed a bit, sat down, and began to order his desired meal from Vlad, his favorite waiter.

Shortly thereafter, the sous-waiter came with the steaming soup – – setting it on the table as another wait staff member – also a new face – brought over the wine, uncorked it and left it to breathe on the table. Redleg was disappointed, but it wouldn’t matter long. His nostrils drew in the rich scent of the asparagus soup – a scent that completely masked the odor of the poison with which it was laced – while his eyes looked at the bottle across the table, noting its rich color even through the greenish glass of the back of the bottle. Unfortunately for Redleg the rich aroma of the wine would mask the nutty aroma of the cyanide dosing it.

As he reached for his soupspoon, two men from the nearby tables on either side stood and walked by his table – both accidentally brushing into him. Apologizing profusely the gentleman on his right brushed some non-existent lint from Redleg’s lapel with one hand…as the other dropped a counter-agent into the soup. The second man, his table companion staring at him with a look of mild embarrassment, just stood back a bit, repeatedly apologizing and asking if Redleg was all right.

“I’m fine, really...”

“Again, I’m sorry to for any inconvenience,” said the soup-saver, extending his hand.
Ever the gentleman himself, Redleg stood and half turned to shake the man’s hand – giving the overly apologetic second man the opportunity to switch the wine bottle with a freshly-opened red from his coat. The first man withdrew, joined his companion and left as did the second following a polite handclasp of his own. Within moments, Redleg had this wing of the restaurant to himself.

Shrugging, Redleg sat down to eat the rest of his sumptuous meal in peace, assisted in his pursuit of gustatory delight by familiar members of the staff at Iron Felix’s. Only one moment gave him pause. The new ones – whoever they were – had apparently made a mistake…

“Iosef,” Redleg said to his sommelier “This red is fantastic but it’s not the LaTour I ordered…”

Both men were perplexed to find a bottle of Lafitte-Rothschild 1918 on the far side of Redleg’s table. Redleg was quite happy about it…the sommelier was not.

Redleg went home in a blissful glow to a sound sleep and surprisingly pleasant dreams.


The morning meeting was surprisingly business-like given the events of the preceding evening’s lynch effort. The faces were somber, and more than a few showed signs of little or no sleep, but they were attentive as Chief Seamus recounted what they knew of Stig’s murder with its calling card, assured them his investigators would learn what they could and then told them what some anonymous tipsters said had been done to save Redleg – Redleg had looked a little green at that point in the briefing. Some even took notes as Seamus related the doings of the police to counter the riot threat and what little Seamus could provide in the way of investigation results. Seamus continued.

“Oh, and I have a report from the squad that was investigating GeneralHankerchief’s house and effects following his murder. He had quite a private photo collection – bank robbers holding up newspapers with headlines of their crimes and escapes, photos of known gangsters murdered at various locales – and not the photos that were published in the press. He even had a framed letter from someone thanking him for being his “guardian angel” in the mob conflict in Bayonne 2 years ago, regrettably unsigned…in short, GeneralHankerchief was what these mobsters call a “Luca” the special bodyguard of one of their leaders. He was no loss to Fatlington.”

Seamus paused, seemingly discomfited by what he must say next. He cleared his throat.

“I knocked a few heads together and got my officers to look through things properly for a change and they came up with the lost note from Hankerchief’s murder scene. It reads: Sorry, for the inconvenience, my haberdasher was fresh out, so you’ll have to take this promissory note. It didn’t make any sense at first, but then Mort came up from the morgue to tell me that he’d found a white cotton glove on Hankerchief’s corpse on the slab this morning – in the locked morgue in the basement of police headquarters.”

Seamus shook his head wearily, clearly disturbed.

“There really is more than one gang involved in this war…and we’re all right in the middle. I’ll let you all go to think over your votes for this evening.”

“Mr. Beirut? Anything to add?”

Beirut shook his head quietly. It would be a long day.



OOC:

The Specifics Thus Far:

Murdered: GeneralHankerchief (N1), Stig (N2)

Attacked: Proletariat (N1), Sasaki Kojiro (N1), Redleg (N2)

Lynched: Kralizec (D2)

Suicided: Ichigo, (D2), Tribesman (D2)

WoGged: Nobody, and please keep it that way.


Voting begins for Day 3. All votes must be made no later than 0200 EST 1/22/7.

Remember, there are 2 votes:

Select a director for days 4 & 5, and

Vote for who you want to be lynched day 3.


Investigation and Action results will follow by PM at the usual times.