The Extended Steam Salon

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

The pretty blonde brushes past T.E. on her way to the door, and as she exits another windy gust sweeps in. He's thinking this might be a good time for him to blow, too...he's still on a case, after all, when his trained eye notices something, amidst the seaweed and the fish, which are now gasping and flopping around on the floor. Mrs. Cross and the soggy guy are making short work of the chain with the hacksaw, and T.E. gets off the stool and kneels down to inspect the weight attached to the other end. It's the only familiar thing in this whole bizarre situation. An airship ballast weight. Brushing away a strand of seaweed, Tommy sees the letters L A C C scribed into the lead surface. "Huh!" he thinks, "Shoulda known...Lipschitz Airship Cargo Company." Lippy's goons are known to be fond of deep-sixing problematic people, and a few miles out to sea is a good spot to drop a problem from an airship. "OK," he thinks,"so there's a tie-in here..well, the enemy of my enemy is my friend..." Standing, he offers his left hand (again, old habit...always keep your gun hand free) to the man to help him up, as the chain finally yields to the hacksaw blade. "Ahhh...you wouldn't be Mr. Cross, wouldja?"

[The Abiliegh]

"Heavens no!" She chuckled while she stood. "I'm a widow, Tommy dear. Mr. Cross, may he rest in peace, has been dead and gone now for several years." She accepted a drink form Clark, and took a sip to calm her frazzled nerves, well controlled as they may be.

[MWBailey]

MW stood outside on the corner , watching the comings and goings of the patrons of the Salon; "quite an eclectic bunch of folks in there," he thought, as he chewed on the match that he held in his teeth.The tweed tam o' shanter, the brown leather airman's trenchcoat with the extra-high military collar, and the pommel of the broomhandle mauser (model 1895) in its shoulder holster, that showed sometimes from under the coat when he shifted from one foot to the other, marked him as somebody who'd spent most of his life in and around the big silver fish that schooled in the sky and delivered the world's goods. A former customs man, he had struck off on his own to work by the hour for people willing to pay a man to find those lost cargoes, hijacked steamcars, and long-lost relatives who stepped out for a carton o' milk, took a steam zeppelin to Chicago and never made it back...

He saw the blonde leave the establishment, and ducked his head and pretended to give a rodents posterior about the contents of the newspaper section in his hands. When she had stepped aboard the vehicle she was to ride in to wherever she was going, he took the trouble to write the number on the margin of the paper, with an old barrel pencil with the words  "Elmo Shipping and Storage Company, Galveston, Texas. printed on the side. Ironic, he often thought, that the company had fired him after he'd lost his eye, refused to help him with the medical bills, and then promptly folded -- but the pencil still worked.

MW folded the newspaper and stuck it in the inside glove pocket of the trenchcoat, adjusted the shoulder holster (he'd been wearing it for ten hours this time, and it was beginning to chafe through the broadcloth shirt and undershirt he wore. having situated everything where he wanted it, he made his way to the door of the establishment, hearing the neon sign going "Bzzsht! Bzzsht! Bzzsht!"
as he drew near. On the street, a vehicle suddenly veered , tires screeching, horn blaring, and MW half-crouched down and his hand reached for teh mauser, but luckily it was just some yahoo with an attitude driving home from work--he hoped. HE quickly turned back around and entered the Salon, the wind chasing him through the door, and kicking up a smell of wet seaweed and dying fish.

Seeing the artfully-arranged mess on the floor, he steps gingerly over , around, and finally is forced to walk through it to get to the bar. "Barkeep, three fingers of Bushmills, or whatever you've got that's that strong, he drawled in what was left of his Texas accent and fumbled in his pocket for the cash to back it up.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

"My condolences, Ma'am," says T.E. to Mrs. Cross. He was married, once, but it ended in a divorce a decade ago, the all -too-common outcome of too many nights pounding a beat while a cold supper waited on the table at home. One day she just up and left with a Fuller Brush salesman, and Tommy got the papers in the mail a month later. He'd had a lot of dames come and go in his life since then, but was never tempted to tie the knot again. Providentially, there were no kids, and it'd been years since he'd heard from her. There's a screech of tires and the blare of a horn from the street, then the sound of an engine fading off towards the docks, and a moment later the door opens again and a gent in a trenchcoat and a tweed hat steps in, pushing the door closed against the blustering wind outside. T.E. swivels around and gives the guy a quick assessment...bottom to top...wet shoes, leather airshipman's coat, tell-tale bulge and the glimpse of a rounded handle that T.E. instantly identifies as a Mauser. Finally, his eyes move to the man's face, and he realizes he knows this mug, though not well. "He used to work Customs," thinks Tommy, "back when I had the Waterfront District." The newcomer orders a drink, which Clark efficiently delivers. The clockwork barkeep then resumes cleaning up the seawater on the floorboards with a mop and pail, and, as he moves the ballast out of the way with steel pincer like fingers of one hand clamped on the remaining chain, Tommy has reason to be impressed again..airship weights are standardized, and this one is a 200-pounder. Clark picks it up and sets it aside with no more effort than as if it were made of feathers. "Note," thinks Tommy, " If this tinman's got a bad side, stay off of it!"
As the man in the tweed hat turns around with his tumbler in his hand, Tommy nods to him. "M.W., ain't it?...How've ya been?"

[fireheart storm]

"nnn, what did I sleep through?"  She sits up, rubbing her eyes.  it was a nice nap but....Damn, how did she sleep for so long?!  She tried to stand but oh man, that was her back, and it hurt.
"Sorry for fallin' asleep like that in your Salon Ma'am," she smoothed, or tired to smooth out, one of the creases in her work dress.  "Some times you just shutdown when you've done to much..." she stretches, flinching.  Her back again.  She looks around her eyes brightening as she wakes up.

"I miss much?"

[MWBailey]

MW looks up from his whiskey,a certain level of civility returning to his brain after the paranoid episode outside the salon; ever since he'd helped bust up that russian stolen-goods export ring, the Kafka mafia had him on their short list -- the bad short list.

"Well, by my stars n' garters! MW exclaimed, the ends of his handlebar moustache lifting up to nearly meet his eyes atop a rare grin in the craggy massiff of his face, as he hopped off of the bar stool and walked over, right hand extended to shake hello, drink in his left. Is that you, T.E.? it's been ages! I've been down the pike, and back up it, lost an eye but gained a profession. You? What've you been doin' all this time?

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

T.E. grins. "Thought that was you. I been workin' as a P.I. "New Brooms" down at City Hall decided that rubber hosin' a guy to get 'im ta sing didn't jive with departmental policy anymore...even if ya knew dead certain he was dirty." The big detective takes a swallow of his whiskey, then continues, "That, an' I started nosin' around in Lipschitz's business, an' he's got th' new Mayor in his pocket. I've about got 'im nailed on an insurance fraud beef, though, if I can tie this rummy I been casin' to a torch job last week." Tommy takes a drag on the Camel, drops the butt and stubs it as he exhales. "So...how'd ya lose the peeper?"

[MWBailey]

"It was that job with Aunt Sally's agency, you remember the one, called itself "Elmo Shipping And Storage? The one that was always tryin' to hide the fact that it was a customs investigation unit? Well, I had stumbled on this export ring, connected with the Kafka Syndicate, that was shippin' stolen goods from Chicago to Minsk, over in Russia, and shippin' the money it made off of 'em back to Chicago...Well, the whole story's long as the arm o' the law, but to make it short, me an' about fifty boys in blue finally had 'em pinned down" he took a short sip of teh bushmills in his left hand, "inside that ol' Kafka warehouse they used to have over on the waterfront in Chicago; we got tired of waitin' for 'em to come out, so we rushed the place. We got 'em , too, except some powder-happy Kafka wiseguy decides to start throwin/ grenades, only he didnt know not to throw 'em on top of a crate..."

"The grenade blew the crate apart over the top of me, and I jumped out quick and shot the guy before he could throw any more; but my aim was off and I killed him, 'stead of disarming him. found out about five minutes later when the rush wore off and the pain started off in my left eye, the reason my aim was off was that crate blowin' apart had stuck a piece o' wood in the eyball. They never could get it to work again, and it finally just dried up, along with my bank account. Sally's boss didnt pay the bills, see, 'cause I killed the wseguy. But it got me started in the PI biz too, so here I am followin' wives and girlfriends and findin' missing persons. Oddly enough, I'm on a case for the Lippschitz bunch. Tryin' to find the old man's accountant's cousin, Lenore. seems she went out to buy a pack of cigs last tuesday and ain't been seen since" MW finished tha last of teh bushmills, turning the glass upside down on the bar.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

"Jeez...so you're workin' for Lipschitz an' I'm tryin' ta nail 'im....crazy friggin' world, ain't it?" Tommy holds up a finger. "Hey, Clark..set us up again, eh, sport? On me."

[The Abiliegh]

Mrs Cross let Clark continue cleaning, and served the drinks requested herself. She listened to the men as they spoke, uninterruptive as she busied herself behind the bar.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

"Thanks, Mrs. Cross," says Tommy. The fiver having been spent by now, T.E. takes out another and places it on the bar. Resuming his conversation with M.W. he says," Lippy's a real piece of work, M.W., but I guess his cash is as green as anybody else's. You just be sure and watch yer back, and if ya shake his hand, count yer fingers." He takes a pull off his whiskey, and lets his eyes drift over to Mrs. Cross as she goes about her business behind the bar. Her clothing is cut to show off her lush figure to full advantage, and as she stretches to put a bottle on a high shelf, Tommy gets a flash of her legs. "Whoo!,"he thinks to himself,"What a set of pins this gal's got!" He briefly entertains the idea of asking her out, but grins a little inwardly, "Face it, boyo, this dame's out o' yer league. Whattaya gonna do, invite her back to that crummy third floor walk-up ya call an office?" A few blocks away, towards the low rent district, Tommy has his office, two rooms on the third floor of a crumbling Victorian brownstone. The cold water flat doubles as his living quarters. He grabs 40 winks on the divan most nights, keeps odd hours, and the place is a jumble of files, dust, old newspapers, and empty whiskey bottles. He shakes his head ruefully, " Oh yeah, I can just see me invitin' a classy dame like her back to that rathole..." He takes another slug of the smoky whiskey, and thumbs another Camel out of the pack. He's still glad he found this place...it's interesting, to say the least. He already knows he's probably going to be a regular.

[fireheart storm]

"Pardon me ma'am"  Ms. Storm says, waving her hand from her seat  "A pint of ale please, to, help me wake up" she looked over at the two men, her head tilted to the side.  she finally forced her self to stand and stretch, despite the complaint of her muscles, would teach her to fall asleep at the bar!  Digging in her pocket for her money, she placed the appropriate amount for a pint on the counter.

[Captain Brandsson]

"Mr. Cross?  Oh no, pal!  The only ball and chain in my life just got hacksawed."
Free of the weight, I heaved my aching bones onto a bar stool.

[The Abiliegh]

She smiled to the woman, and put the machine to work pouring an ale certain to liven her up. After that, she put in for another bourbon, letting it pour while delivering the ale.

"Enoy, love. It's certain to put a jump in your step."

She then took the bourbon and slid it down to Captain Brandsson. "And you, drink this, go to the back, and change out of them soppin clothes. I've got a few bits of Mr. Cross's garments layin about. I trust you know where to find them, and they ought to fit well enough."

She let her eyes dart towards the P.I. for a moment, offering him a smile. She noticed him lookin at her earlier, and she couldn't say she complained.

[steampunkgrrrl]

Walking up to the bar cautiously, the young girl literally hops onto a barstool. She sits there and lights a cigarette, trembling slightly from the cold. Looking around nervously, her gaze stops at the door. She looks at her watch, then the door. Watch, door, watch door. This continues for nigh on 10 minutes until she gets up the nerve to speak. "Excuse me," she says squeakily, "can I have a hot toddy please?" She digs in her purse for her wallet, and places the amount on the table, along with a tip.

[The Abiliegh]

Walking up to the bar cautiously, the young girl literally hops onto a barstool. She sits there and lights a cigarette, trembling slightly from the cold. Looking around nervously, her gaze stops at the door. She looks at her watch, then the door. Watch, door, watch door. This continues for nigh on 10 minutes until she gets up the nerve to speak. "Excuse me," she says squeakily, "can I have a hot toddy please?" She digs in her purse for her wallet, and places the amount on the table, along with a tip.

Starting up the machine to make the drink, she turns back to the woman. "You seem a bit nervous, dear. What's got you troubled?" She keeps her eyes on the woman as she pulls the warm drink from the tray, and places it on the bar.

[steampunkgrrrl]

The young girl fingers her purse and stares at the counter. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone...but he seems a bit late. Y'see we were going to..." Her voice stops midsentence, and she stares out the window, blushing. "We were going to meet here to talk, but I'm afraid he may have someone else on his mind." The girl feels her face flush hot and her stomach wrench with loneliness. "That and I've never been in an establishment like this. I come from out in the country...if my mother could see me now." The girl's thoughts switch to home, and a smile releases itself.

[The Abiliegh]

The young girl fingers her purse and stares at the counter. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone...but he seems a bit late. Y'see we were going to..." Her voice stops midsentence, and she stares out the window, blushing. "We were going to meet here to talk, but I'm afraid he may have someone else on his mind." The girl feels her face flush hot and her stomach wrench with loneliness. "That and I've never been in an establishment like this. I come from out in the country...if my mother could see me now." The girl's thoughts switch to home, and a smile releases itself.

"Any man to do that ain't worth your time, regardless dear. And don't wory, this joint throws off city-types as well." Her winning smile played with mischief at the corners, her pride in the slaon obvious. "Enjoy your drink. If the joe doesn't show, the next one's on me." She looked to see Clark nod his understanding, in case here were at the bar should the offer be taken up on.

[steampunkgrrrl]

The girl looks up, her wide eyes grateful. "Th-thank you." She sips her drink and winces at the afterburn. "Maybe he's just runnning late...." She turns on the barstool to look at the door. "Please just let him be late," the girl mutters under her breath.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

T.E. finishes his drink. Outside, the rain has finally let up, and the first pale streaks of dawn are showing in the eastern sky. Rising, he says to M.W., "See ya in church..heh." As he shrugs into his trenchcoat, he tells Mrs. Cross, "I gotta go feed the bulldog, ma'am...thanks for an interestin' evening. I'll be back." He'll go back to his office, nap for awhile, then head down to Chinatown to pick up his laundry from his friend and tailor, Hao Bao Chu. He's had a friendship with the bald smoothfaced little Chinaman since he bought his first suit from him back when he made Detective. Tommy keeps a locker at Slugger's Gym, on the edge of the Chinese district. He'll ask Hao Bao if he's got time for a workout today. Though the little yellow man is half Tommy's size, he can throw the big P.I. around like a rag doll, and he's been teaching some of this kind of fighting to Tommy. "Jew Jitsu" Hao Bao Chu calls it...when he first showed it to Tommy, the big man was surprised. "Sure didn't know Jews could fight like that," he opined. The little Chinaman just smiled his inscrutable smile and bounced Tommy off the mat again. After his workout, he'll get a shower, put on the clean clothes, and resume tailing the rummy he's pretty sure torched Lippy's warehouse. A former boxer, the rum-soaked pug has a perpetually red nose and a bald head with a fringe of wild red hair. Not surprisingly, his nickname is "Bozo." Billy "Bozo" Collins was never too good in the ring, and after a dismal career mostly financed by taking dives, he drifted into doing odd jobs for the Lipschitz gang. Tommy knows if he tails him long enough, he'll get something he can use to put the squeeze on the punchy boozehound, and maybe find out something solid enough to pin on Lippy.
Stepping outside, Tommy yawns, and takes a deep breath. The all night rain has almost left a clean smell in the air...almost. "It could rain for a hundred years, and never really get this city clean," thinks Tommy.
He fires up another Camel as he steps off down the sidewalk towards his office.

[The Abiliegh]

She nods a smile at Mr. Gunn as he exits, hoping he does come back. She liked having his type around.

Eyes back to the girl, a bit of sympathy can be seen. "Of course, dear. Now quit your frettin. You don't want to put wrinkles in your pretty face."

[steampunkgrrrl]

The girl, already dizzy, decides to swallow the rest of the toddy. "Who am I kidding? We both came here to the city to get away from home. It was a pact, y'see. He promised he would look after me...and we became closer." The girl shakes her head, then lays it on the counter. "I'd like to think that I'd be worth his time....that he would stay away from the tables and dice games for me...for us, but I suppose not." The girl gets up, angry at herself, and nods to the owner. "Thank you for the drink and the encouragement." She adds tearfully "I hope you have a good night ma'am." She begins to walk out of the bar and stumbles a little...she gathers herself again, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

[The Abiliegh]

She watches the girl leave with a little shake of her head. "Shame that." She speaks to no one in particular.

[MWBailey]

MW watches the girl walk out, mutters to himself, "so young..." he takes the second-to-last sip in his glass, holds his hand over the top when it looks as if Mr. Windsorclock is coming close for a refill, adn says, "She seems awful young, to be out like that, on a night like this. Any boy'd stand up a girl like that..."

[The Abiliegh]

"Agreed, darlin." She inclined her head towards the machine behind the bar. "Need another?"