The Darkest of Rivers...

[The Abiliegh]

OOC made it in safly to Alb. 1030pm Tuesday night. wiill try to log on and catch up every night bout this time

OOC: We're pretty much waiting for MW at this point. Glad you got in safely, enjoy New Mexico, and have a proper hatch in my honor! Normally I go camping in the Ruidoso area every summer, but it's not happening this year. I did get to drive through a minute of NM when going to and from Trinidad for my yearly Colorado camp last month, but the pass was on fire, so it wasn't nearly the experience it should have been.

[MWBailey]

(OOC: Rushing to complete artwork on deadline for donation to a local OldTime Music festival (Bayou City Oldtime Music and Dulcimer Festival; 2 small paintings for the raffle table, and delivering them this afternoon - in about ten minutes, more or less - to the dulcimer society's monthly mtg). I'll try to have a reply and plot development up this evening (maybe/probably latenight).

I'll also be posting pics of the artwork (mainly the riverboat pic) in the 2nd Art Thread as soon as I figure out how to get my personal record pics onto the new conundrum computer. Sorry for the wait(s) everybody.

[MWBailey]

"There's been a Native element since just before that Matabele fiasco decades ago, all over the African continent, to 'throw off the yokes of the European powers,'" Bass answered to Miles' query. "That bit of a tizzy with the Germans, Russians an' Belgians almost goin' to war back about twenty years ago threw gasoline on that fire, and it's still roaring back to life in places, usually at the worst possible moment for whatever's become the regular thing in those places. It does look like that's part of the labor problem in  at least the Canyon areas." He thought hard for a few minutes.

"Yeah, I'd say there's a push there from both natives and outsiders to get the Belgians out, but woe betide the Native revolutionaries who throw in with the Germans or one of the shady companies; They'll just get put under a different yoke." He took a long drag on his cheroot , a sip of his drink, and swallowed.

"So, in answer to your question, Ms. Cross, I think it's a bit o' both. Also, some of the De Beers crowd's been snoopin' around the river deltas and other sediment deposits, not to mention the old Volcanic sites, and even th' Baron's mines in th' canyons." He dropped his voice tone and volume to a level which would not be heard outside of the room, and added, "The Baron's cargo on the Simba included a few million in high-grade diamonds," He returned to a more normal tone. "Whole crates of the stuff, so it ain't just copper an' politics these blokes are after."

"The shooting expedition sounds like a good idea," Bass continued. "The Lounge downstairs, and Kiley's Bar over in the Brit quarter (they've got real refrigerated air in that joint, by the way, which is why the dandies fresh from the Knob Farm all crowd in there) is lately crawling of a morning with every Knob and Dandy with a title, from all four Great Powers, all come to 'See the Elephant,' as my ol Dad used to say. Most  grab the first guide or bearer they can latch onto and head for the hinterland for teh day. Bloody useless bunch, for the most part, but they would probably give relatively good cover for the rest of us; If we take a few such on, though, we'd do well to protect an' keep 'em from gettin' trampled, at least initially; political trouble often comes in small, apparently useless packages that turn out to have big chompin' teeth later on."

Bearers and such? Yes, I know a couple of local folk who owe me an' can get a few such. Mousa would be best for that, I'd reckon." he said, referencing the somewhat-famous mountain of an Arab who was said to be the best expedition ramrod, guide, and all around entrepreneur in the Congo.

"Just give me a number for how many the ship'll haul, so I can give the same to Mousa; it'll also help us determine how many Knobs to acquire."

[Miles (a sailor)Martin]

Miles says " As currently configured she has two first class staterooms, four second class, and folding berths for fourteen more but that cuts the cargo volume in half,and internal payload to seven tons.
  the staterooms each hold two and 100 lbs per, bunks are allowed 100lbs baggage as well,at 200lbs per cubic yardin the cargo/(bomb) bay.
  If running pure cargo ,i can, with a crew of six, move 14 tons internal plus 20 tons  on a sling load though top speed and range really goes to shit then. rapid unloading is at a rate of 2 tons every fur minutes though the cargo may suffer damage
as of right now one of the large and one of the small staterooms is spoken for ,that leaves one large and two or three small depending on how you think it would look  if you and Mousa were to share a small statroom or bunk with the bearers?  With a couple of days to do some reconfiguring i could set up another pair of small staterooms but it would cut the cargo space to thirty cubic yards or three tons.  I am assuming that you and Mousa are on good terms,and these arraingments are not out of the ordinary for Africa?

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

"Waitaminnit, back it up!" says Tommy, a little animated, he makes the classic "time out" signal with his hands. "Mr. Bass...you say there were diamonds on Thistlewaite's shipment? Somethings definitely hinky, then, because my Uncle has no reason to ship 'em...he can make 'em! His internals are..unusual, ya know. In the early days, before he met the Curies and they fixed him up with that miniature atomic pile he's got in him now, he had some kind of burner arrangement. He actually ingested anthracite coal...hence the titanium teeth...and, ...uh....produced, shall we say, diamonds as a sort of side effect. Since his upgrade, he hasn't had to eat coal anymore, but he duplicated and scaled up the processor...he can make diamonds any time he wants to, he just doesn't...says it would be irresponsible, upset the natural balance of the world economy. He makes scads off th' Furnace nowadays anyway...but most people think he started out his fortune with diamonds...man-made diamonds. There's no good reason he'd be shipping 'em! Ergo....sumpthin's hinky!"

[MWBailey]

"My understanding is that the diamonds were discoverd in exploratory operations in the canyon mines; people've always been findin' small stakes of natural precious aqnd semiprecious metal veins, and semiprecious and precious gem crevices in the hinterland rock formations both in the canyons and just in the hills around Walinga, not to mention the whole upper reach of the Congo; the whole area's been like that, all the way back to King Nut, they say. I think maybe its a case of 'finders keepers an' sells 'em to the Capetown Market."

"The Baron wouldn't be the first to do that. That kind've thing is common in these parts, almost every body does it, what with the complex geology of the region an' all. There's even a coal mine back in the hills above Stanleyville what has a goldbearing dike on the company property (truth be told, it's rumored it's the only thing what's kept 'em in the black some years; they stope it out, so the rumor goes). Th' local natives're always findin' sapphires and rubies in the sandbars, placer gold, too, but not as much o' that as back in the early colony."

Rafe paused a minute before continuing, as though considering Tommy's possible reaction to what he was about to say, then pressed on. "I'll have to say as I don't see anything out of th' ordinary about making a profit off of something like the diamonds; what's Ol' Ironsides supposed to do, go back in and bury 'em again? They'd be gone in the workers' pockets in a trice, I can assure you, and the old fellow was in the military, seen th' ellyphant,and dealt with th' troops long  enough to've come hard up against the baser side of human nature, so that's a connection he'd have made for 'imself, I'll wager.

(OOC: 'stoping' is a process of proceeding either vertically or horizontally by carving out steps or terraces (stopes) in the country rock to get at the vein or formation sought, in country formations that are likely to be able to support the strain of voids being carved in such a fashion, although ceiling supports of varying kinds are still used for safety's sake. It's not an open pit method, despite the use of terraces. It's common in coal mining, not sure if its so in gold mining).

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

"Huh! Well, could be, I reckon...Thistlewaite plays his cards pretty close ta th' vest...still, I'm surprised." Tommy lights another cigarette, inhales and blows out a plume. "Doesn't take a lot of diamonds to change the dynamics of a situation, I'd wager. If they've hit a major deposit and they're keeping it on the QT, there'd be a lot of people interested in that info."

[The Abiliegh]

Her lips pursed in a slight frown. "So, what you're sayin' is we either got nuthin' or everythin' to go on. We've got a downed ship and lost diamonds, which could be th'work of pirates, or th'work of politicos, or the work of pirates workin' for politicos. We've got a mine that can't get manned even though theres a'chance it's full of diamonds, and that could be th'work of a curse, or of politicos, or of politicos mockin' up a curse. What it boils down to, a'least to me, is this is either a huge amount of bad-luck for th'Baron, or there is a massive conspiracy and uprising prepin' to blow...." She paused, looking from man to man.

"In any case, we've got to get to those mines first. Its th'older of the problems, and once we get a fix on whats happenin' there, the losin' of the Simba will likely make more sense, yeah? So, we get a couple'a ritzy folk to sail with us for an over nighter, get as close as we can, and make plans from there, far'as I see it.... Say, lets check the file for whose in charge o'the minin' outfit. There's bound t'be someone facny enough on the payroll that you can invite, Tommy, to talk social business with on behalf of the Baron. That way we can cover the political end and the first-hand angle in one shot, and arrange a tour o'the mine in the process."

[MWBailey]

(OOC:
1. How do we handle 'the nobs?' should each of us take one or more and play them as secondary characters? I'll already have Mousa and one or two bearers (everybody else is welcome to move a bearer or more as far as I'm concerned, as long as Mousa stays relatively dominant in that sphere, buuut...).
2. I was thinking maybe a mutiny amongst the bearers related to the curse or something might happen once we're on the ground in the jungle).
3. I was also considering having a few explosions happen in Pointe Noir to up the action a bit, maybe its an attack by an evil-corporation-funded nationalist uprising or something...? )

[The Abiliegh]

OOC: I figure people can control the ritzies as they are talking to them, that way, we can kinda build a more beliveable pile of "hear-say". And lets save the explosions for when we're actually on to something. Thats how these mysteries build, yeah? "Someone just shot me.... Guess I'm gettin' close."

I agree with the needing of a little action, though. So, how I see it,  we can either do a quick note about the mingling and the hob-nobbing and get to departing of the safari, or maybe there can be a riot of locals or something that tears through town while we're recruiting... (nothing outright attacking the characters, but definately settingthe danger stage). Personally, I'm all for some gloss over and getting on with the jungle, once Rafe and Tommy and Abi and Miles get the plan hammered out, but I'll go what the majority, naturally

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

Tommy checks his watch. "Hmm...gettin' close t' happy hour....think I'll go back down t' the bar....solo, sweetie, just fer a bit....this hotel's got one o' th' better watering holes in town, I'm willin' ta bet some o' the swells we're lookin' for may just wander in..."
He rises, finishes his drink, bends to kiss Abi, puts the "Gentleman's Safari Special" back on his head, and with a mock flourish, exits and heads down the stairs.
Once in the bar, he seats himself in the second stool from the wall near the end of the long bar, a good place for watching the room, orders a bourbon, and lights a Sullivan-Powell. This part of the job he understands....watching and waiting. 90% of being a good P.I. is being good at watching and waiting.
He sips the bourbon. Considering that he's in Africa, it's better than he expected. Looking without looking like he's looking, he notes that the shady gent behind the newspaper has exited the bar. Business is picking up, and the stools at the bar start to fill up. Shortly, a noisy party of five, three guys and two dames, blow into the bar and take a table. Their collective wardrobe, Tommy has to admit, out does their own if "silly rich" is the impression one is most likely to convey. A lot of feathers on the frails, a lot of pockets, straps, and buttons on the fellows. Tommy, without changing his stance or attitude, focuses his attention, and his hearing, on their table. It's not a challenge, really...they came in loud, and, once seated, they got louder. They also came in drunk, and were obviously intent on getting drunker. "Waiter!!!" cries one of the fops, a skinny fellow with a prominent adam's apple and a straw boater on his noggin. "Absinthe!" One of the girls then emits a high pitched squeal that makes Tommy wish he actually had a little more distance between them. Eavesdropping on these mugs is gonna be a piece of cake...the whole bar is going to have no choice, it seems.

[MWBailey]

A sergeant of the local gendarmerie sits in a darkened alcove, noticing the noisy revelers as he sips a drink that is more water and ice than alcohol. His shift being over, he's off-duty, but still in uniform. He's a regular who gets free water-iced drinks like the one in front of him in exchange for being on the premises as a sort of visual deterrent for trouble...

Who's the eagle-eyed monsieur at the bar? He wonders to himself...

[The Abiliegh]

"I don't think we need to re-appropriate all your space, MasterChief. We'll be setting up pavillons on the ground, naturally, and unless you think the trip out to the general area around the mines will take long enough to warrant an overnight stay, then all we should need to give proper weight to our journey would be making sure that a larger stateroom is outfitted to a sitting room, with a well-stocked bar."

After Tommy leaves, she goes for the file about the mining operation and brings it back to the solar. Once she finds the payroll, she peruses over the names towards the top, and reads a few likely sounding ones off to Rafe. Some are not in the area, some weren't like to have any information, and some just weren't suitable for invitation on such a trip.

And then, they found him, name tucked onto the bottom of the page. The paymaster was well-off enough that she could call on him, but involved intimately enough with the operation and it's people that he would likely have a good deal of insight into the problem, even if he didn't know it. She had no doubts that Tommy could use talking to the man. Best of all, he kept rooms over in the British quarter.

"Mr. Miles, Mr. Bass, if you'd excuse me, I do believe I need to call on Mr. Vermaak."

She ushered the gentlemen to the door of her and Tommy's rooms, took a moment to freshen up and once again returned to the lobby. She saw Tommy at the bar, and not wanting to disturb him, she instead went to the consierge behind a large front desk.

"If you please, send a card to Mr. Gunn at the bar. Let him know that I've a social call to make, and that I'll be at Kiley's Bar after that to take a drink."

"Of course, Mrs. Cross." The man scribbled the message and sent a runner into the bar with it as she turned to exit the bar.

[MWBailey]

The Gendarme sergeant finally made an eye at the barkeep, got a wave in return, and sauntered out of the Lounge, bound for his flop and a night's sleep, if it ever cooled down enough.

Rafe turned to Miles once they were out in the hallway, and said, "I'm off for Mousa's digs, he'll be up still and willing to listen to business. Are you bound for your room or the ship?"

------
Alfar Mogheden stood at the long, red porphyry bar of his and Mousa's drinking establishment (one of many such dotted throughout the settled areas of the colony) in Pointe Noir's Airman's Row neighborhood, an area where the airmen of many nations, the factors of many companies of those many nations, and the dockworkers of the aerodrome mingled with the less-well-to-do knobs who were unable to afford Kiley's or the  Hotel Aerodrome, but still wanted a night out in an 'authentic' African airport bar. Alfar was keeping an uneasy, careful eye on the somewhat-rowdy common room. Something appeared to be up with either the local situation of something, or some political conflict, that made eerybody seem to want a little more to drink and a little more woo to pitch than usual. in one corner, om a small cement stage, the house band played a swing tune, something French called Dragons*, of all things, that had the half of the room not given over to drunken boasting and storytelling swaying in their seats. two couples did some kind of Jazz step on the spead of tiles that served as a dance floor.

A small mob of Belgian Colonial Air Marines in particular were whooping it up, whilst across the room a small contingent of German Luftkriegers seemed to be determined to match the Belgians whoop for whoop -- while all the while, the Emirateurs and the Moslem factors and their muscle fingered their daggers and carressed their concealed guns. A small spark without Mousa or Alfar to snuff it out, and a real problem could catch fire here, and expolode out into the neighborhood. It was intpo this tinderbox atop an open powderkeg of a situation that Bass strode off of the street...

*(OOC:Sorry, reference to a RL tune, by the group Caravan Palace.

Spoiler: ShowHide

Caravan Palace - Dragons

[The Abiliegh]

She took a cab, or what best passed for one, to the rise of apartments boasting Vermaak's address. They weren't the most luxurious of accomdations, but being in the right neighborhood afforded them a bit of forgiveness.

She rang his buzzer, and after a brief moment of introduction she found herself not only inside the joint, but being served coffee as she was seated in a richly furnished den. She was told that Mr. Vermaak wouldn't be long, and was then left alone. She toured about the room, falling into movement with the jazz playing from the corner.

"Mrs. Cross, sorry to have kept you waiting." Her host spoke with a trace of local acent, which she was pleased to hear.

She watched him walk across the room. "Nonsense, Mr. Vermaak. I came unannounced." She offered him a gloved hand.

"Please, call me Charlie." He paused a moment before deciding that a handshake was more appropriate. It was strong and concise. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I do hope so, Charlie. Firstly, Mr. Gunn and I are going on safari, and we'd just love for you to accompany us. I can only imagine that the best place t'talk a little shop is over killin things, yeah? And secondly, I wish to spend my evening and Kiley's, and I need an escort." She smiled up at him through her lashes. Normally, she wouldn't make so many presumptions on a man she'd just met, but the part was the part.

He stammered, but he agreed to her demands. He excused himself to dress, and came back looking dapper in a white dinner jacket and black bow tie. After donning a boater, he offered her his arm.

It was cooling, as with the approach of evening came a refreshing ocean breeze, and the two decided to walk to the bar. She'd intended to take the time to learn just how involved with the mine he was, but as soon as they started moving towards the social districs, her head grew heavy. There was a dangerous buzz in the air and a weight to the thoughts of Pointe Noir's most affluent that she couldn't block out. Something was happening, or was about to.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

The ice water carafe is on their table, and as Skinny starts drizzling water over his sugar cube, he says to his compatriots, "No, I'm telling you..I know this fellow who knows a fellow.." and here he lowers his voice to a stage whisper still easily audible..."he can take us to a place where..*upp!* beg pahdon...where diamonds are just strewn about, lying on the ground." The little redhead on his port side giggles. "I adore diamonds, Nicky!"
"Huhn!" Tommy chuckles to himself, "Never met a dame who didn't!" His brief grin flicks momentarily across his face, "Ner many guys either, fer that matter!" He signals the bartender, and says "Do you have Kubler absinthe?" The bartender nods an affirmative. "Please send a bottle to that table, with my compliments." Might as well loosen' 'em up as much as possible.

[Miles (a sailor)Martin]

"Off to the ship,just to check and see how the charging system is coping with the local power grid, then down to Gunny's shop to have a look at what he's got in stock, don't know as i will buy anything but some ammo,but you never know. after supper I will probley head back and catch some Z s. was a hard run and I am a bit short on sleep." Miles says as he shakes out the kinks in his back and legs" definitly can use a good nights sleep" turns off in the direction of the air moorings.

OOC sounds good to me Y'all, will try to check in tomorrow morn as i am fighting to stay coherent right now. Miles

[MWBailey]

Rafe sidled up to Alfar at the bar, and asked sotto voce, "'ello Alfie. Mousa about? I've got an almost immediate opportunity to discuss with 'imself."

"Ah, Rafael Pasha!" Alfar said, "so good to see that those infidels of teh Buluwayo did not gedd you. Yes, mousa pasha is upstairs; he has heard of your troubles with teh Rogue infidels, and has been waqnting to0 strike back for troubles of his own. I think you will find he is receptif. Please to go up at your leisure."

Rafe nods, snags a drink from a passing waiter, and heads toward the bar, just as a Belgian marine gets too close to a Russian airman --or perhaps it was the other way around? No real matter, as both sides began breaking bottles and pulling shivs, shouting imprecations as the two collision-entangled men struggled.

Alfar raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and then led three of the club's bouncers into the fray, all of them brandishing cudgels. Bass saw immediately that the looming brawl could be more than even Mousa's bravos could handle (there were at least forty each of the Belgians and the Russians both), so he gulped down the rather excessively-dry martini, set the glass down, and then turned from the stairwell and waded into the fray as well, arriving just in time to pull the khukri and use the heavy rosewood handle with the full tang of the blade inside it to thump the heads of three Russians who were already moving their shivs toward Alfar's vulnerable back.

All three went down to sleep it off, then five Belgians tried teh ssame with one of the bouncers. Alfar took two, Bass one, and the bouncer took care of the rest, and then the cooler (and less-inebriated) heads from both sides were pulling the fighters apart and shooing them out of the exits as the Gendarmes arrived, the Maria clanging and the coppers' whistles shrieking. There was a nervous moment when Bass was nearly taken for a brawler, but both Alfar and the bouncers stood for him, and the moment passed. He acutrely felt the bulk and weight of the two grenades in his left jacket pocket and the three sticks of dynamite in another, and offered thanks to Jehovah, Allah, and anybody else who might be listening, for his deliverance and his friend's and his bravos solidarity. If the louies had searched me at the staion and found those... he fretted.

Later, he sat in Mousa's office, sharing a small cognac and discussing teh expedition and the logistics.

"As you suggest, Friend Rafael, we will have the fuel, and the bdearers, waiting in Walinga for your arrival. I agree that a Field Kitchen is a good idea, these Europeans are always shooting something and wanting to eat it afterward."

"Let's hope they don't shoot the ship, or that big Moor, what's his name , what's so good with the' lingo end of things.  I think they might be a bit hard to digest," Bass joked.

Both chuckled briefly, then Mousa added, "I will also t'row in an ace to keep in the hole, in case transport becomes problematic."

"Lets make it a steam or a diesel rig this time, Mate, remember how that alkie two-banger went up over Victoria Falls?" Both men shuddered.

[The Abiliegh]

She knew Tommy preferred to watch a room from the bar, but she'd never got the knack of seeming comfortable while her back so exposed. A table along a wall was best, and she was pleased to find one open when she and Mr. Vermaak entered the Kylie.

He checked her wrap for her, making sure that everyone knew just who he had on his arm. It still struck her passing strange, that people knew her name, but she hoped that his agreeableness to escort her about brought him a little bit of lasting standing amongst the Brits in this growing coastal town.

A dark skinned man came up as she waited for Charlie to return. "What can I get for ya, Mrs. Cross? Anything ya like, on the house for a hero like yerself." The manager, then. His accent was thick mash between where ever he'd come here from and that of his patrons. He too had said her name loud enough so that others heard, and in his smile she saw the gleam of profit.

"Just a G&T for now, and one for my escort, if you'd be so kind."

The drinks arrived just as Charlie did. And after that, the socialites started to posture for their attentions. She played a bit coy, allowing her time to judge, but eventually she settled on a small handfull that she invited to sit. By the nervous bounce of Charlie's leg beneath the table, she assumed she'd either chosen her company very well, or very very poorly.

[MWBailey]

(OOC: It's the Morning After, here. The Bayou City Festival's over, good time had by all, etc. They loved the paintings; three or maybe more people were apparently all vying for the riverboat painting; As far as I know it all ended amicably (I hope... ). Still working on a few other works (vignettes on an instrument case, a couple of custom Go and chess/checker boards, that sort of thing), but no really pressing deadline. How're we doing here?).

[MWBailey]

Plans were made and set in motion. Allotments of fuel and replacement provisions would be available, with with rescue/support supplies in place, at both Stanleyville and Walinga, along with "emergency equipment," including a relatively small blimp just in case such were needed. The principal four bearers, including  The Moorish cook, along with Mousa, accompanied Bass to the berth where the Miles's ship was moored, thus bringing in the supplies that they would be bringing along.

Bass whistled, Mousa breathed a prayer to Allah, and the bearers made stupefied comments in the native dialect at he sight of the Aireon. "Mother o' Mercy," Rafe said, "a ship wit' wings!"  Military aeroplanes had been in use for several years, but airships were still the preferred form of air vessel, so a large, obviously-winged craft that was not a totally-dependent glider was quite a rare sight. Bass had been expecting something like one of the the break-tether fast-response gliders he had commanded in the Kush and later in North Africa, but a motorized...sailplane... The idea defied belief, yet here it was in front of him!  

"Friend Rafe," Mousa said in his molasses-thick accent, reaching out and shaking the Villar Perosa (slung its case on Bass's back), as they picked their jaws up off of the pavement of the aerodrome and headed onward to the berth, "I think we need to work on our definitions of the word 'airship.'"

(OOC: Have I killed this?)

[The Abiliegh]

OOC: No, I'm just less than creative right now. I'm moving this weekend, so all my energy has gone into packing.

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

Tommy listens as the fop and his companions talk, drink, and laugh, becoming louder and more foolish as the night wears on. Finally, as the night turns to early morning, they decamp, and leave. Tommy leaves some cash on the bar, and follows at a discreet distance of half a block. The quintet ends up, finally, at the Belgian Embassy, where the fop signals a cab, and his four friends depart, still raucous. As he turns to enter the Embassy, Gunn materializes from the shadows, and, from behind, gently taps the mug over his right ear with the barrel of his .45. Predictably, he folds like a house of cards, and catching him neatly under the arms, the big detective eases backwards into a narrow, dark alley with his burden, well-heeled heels making twin trails in the dust of the street. As the hapless fellow groggily awakens, Tommy whispers in his ear from behind him, "Awright, mister..let's talk about this "fella that knows a fella...."

[Sgt.Major Thistlewaite]

Skinny sputters a moment, then says, "What? Who are you? Do you know who my father is?" Tommy, still gripping him by the upper arms from behind, growls, "Don't care, Nicky"...the broad called him Nicky at the bar..."Just gimme a name...ya said a fella who knows a fella, diamonds on th' ground...c'mon, spill it, pal, I ain't got all night." "If it's money you want..." the fop whines, " I can get you all you want." Tommy tightens his grip on the skinny arms, and the fop lets out a girlish squeak. "I don't want yer damn money...gimme a name." "Joseph Matuba! His name is Joseph Matuba!" "Where can I find this Matuba, Nicky?" "He runs a fish shop, down in the Market district...he didn't tell me the other guy's name! Owwwwww!! You're hurting my arms!" Tommy releases his arms and, reaching up quickly, grasps both sides of the straw boater and forcefully pulls it down hard, forcing the top of Skinny's head through the straw, and leaving the brim at the level of his nose, the sides of the hat covering his eyes, then dumps him into the dust of the alley. By the time the thoroughly cowed Nicky reaches up to remove his ruined hat, Tommy is long gone. Nicky never got so much as a glimpse.

[MWBailey]

(OOC: Interesting Occurrence, Jim. I'm not sure how to contribute, though; Mousa, the bearers and Rafe are all at the Airport. Should Nicky run into anybody else?)