Mosca Syndrome

CHANTRY/PORTER:

Skyler is keeping quiet, apparently content to let you guys do the thinking. He's got his back pressed to the East wall of the room. It's warmer in here, but still well cold enough to see your breath.

CHANTRY:

If there's anybody on the ground floor, they're probably going to notice Porter being alley-ooped up onto the upper balcony, which is directly above the one just outside the door.

The Stones song begins to wind out, with the guitar soloing and the "woo-woo" bits...

OZ:

You practically give yourself a hernia doing it, but you manage to gently put the ladder in position. The door does indeed open inward, and anybody running into the ladder will probably be bleeding for days from their shins.

The lock is a high-quality key type, designed to be hardened against pick attacks. It's not impossible, though. You have some skill in doing so, but that same knowledge also tips you to the fact that if these guys have half a brain in their head, they've also got a police bar or at least one stout deadbolt that only opens from the inside--something they can lock when they're home. Of course, if nobody could find Milner, he probably hasn't been here very long.

The lock on the overhead door is similar, but this door is much less likely to have a deadbolt. It's also much less likely to quiet when opened.

PORTER:

It occurs to you that the western wall of this room looks like plain old wallboard, and probably a little rotten to boot. If the next song is loud, you could probably cut your way into the next room (if you have a knife) without drawing much attention. Its doorway might offer Chantry a better vantage point.

OOC: Okay, this is how I understand it. If this isn't it, speak now or forever hold your peace:

1. CHANTRY, PORTER, SKYLER: In a small dishevelled office, about 3.5m square, on the second floor. There is a window on the north side, and a door with frosted glass on the south side.

2. OZ: Out on the sidewalk in front of the building, covering the front door. The ladder is very treacherous without someone below to hold onto it. If you want to climb up, let me know, because it's going to be a roll. If you stay downstairs, let me know what your plans are for the ladder, because it's probably going to fall over the moment you stop holding it.

The presence of windows along the sides of the building at the very top implied an open floor plan, but the presence of second- and third-story windows on the front raise the possibility of rooms at the front (north) end of the building, a possibility which is apparently turning out to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ALL UPSTAIRS:

The light coming from beyond the frosted glass seems to be coming from below, as if the area beyond this door is indeed an open plan.

Just as every cop is a criminal...and all the sinners saints...

CHANTRY:

The door is stiff but pops open (inward), so far just enough for you to eyeball the area beyond it through the crack. Unfortunately, it opens in such a manner as to only allow sight toward the wall to your left.

It would seem that there is a balcony running east-to-west outside this office, overlooking the main floor of the warehouse. The railing, once rich and ornate, is now cracked, broken and rotten. The balcony is strewn with papers and trash, much like the office you're in now.

You can see the gleaming white roof of what appears to be an ambulance van immediately below the balcony (where it would be behind the large vehicle door on the front of the building). It's obvious that the stereo is down there somewhere. The stairs, assuming they still exist, must be on the other end of the balcony, since they're not on this end.

There seems also to be another balcony immediately above you, probably for the rooms on the third story.

(Ok, thanks...I couldn't tell if Porter had climbed up yet and was referring to the frosted glass door or the front door of the building itself. Since the situation seems likely to get tactical soon, I just needed to be sure. Wilphe, you stated Oz was waiting for Porter to climb up--since Porter seems to want to wait, are you climbing up or waiting out on the sidewalk? If you are both waiting, what are you doing with the ladder in the meantime?)

CHANTRY (who is on the second floor in a derelict office with SKYLER):

Skyler's hand disappears back into his coat with the knife. He glances back at the window to see if anyone else is coming up, and shrugs his shoulders in a sort of "Now what?" gesture.

The guy downstairs is singing nonsense symbols along notes of the guitar solo..."Beedeeleeedeee! Beedeeleedee!" and such. It sounds like an angry muppet, or some kind of tropical bird with a throat infection.

CHANTRY:

There is a smaller, tighter racking sound from under Skyler's coat at about the level of his right thigh. His left hand snakes out, palm up. He mouths the word "KNIFE," in an exaggerated manner.

Let me please introduce myself...I'm a man of wealth and taste...And I lay traps for troubadours...who get killed before they reach Bombay...

You think you can hear someone inside singing along, horribly off-key in a kind of screeching falsetto, and not quite having the words right.

Skyler must hear it, too, because he mouths the words "WHAT THE F#CK?" in an exaggerated manner as you hear Porter's words buzz over the comlink.

(OOC: not sure who is where at this point. Is Porter upstairs yet, or saying this from the ladder, or the sidewalk?)

Skyler siezes the opportunity to be the second up the ladder (or at least not to be the last) and squeezes through the window. Pausing to look around, he too steps to the side of the room and begins to work his way around toward where Chantry is standing.

While this is happening, the song climaxes and ends, segueing seamlessly (probably via a jukebox-type stereo with the "auto-dj shuffle" mode activated) into a somewhat quieter number that seems vaguely familiar. It starts with a slightly off-kilter latin drumming, a few tense-sounding instruments, and then a male vocalist starts in:

Please allow me to introduce myself...I'm a man of wealth and taste...

The volume is still thunderous, but the song is less "dense" musically--it leaves more holes for noises to be heard.

CHANTRY:

Short of busting through the wall, cieling, or floor, the only ways into or out of this office are the window and the frosted glass door. From the state of the room, it doesn't look like it gets much, if any, use.

Skyler says "I've got one," and passes a stout folding knife to you. It's got a thick steel tanto-style blade about 11-12cm long and a thumb stud for easy one-handed opening.

The music seems to have broken from its melody and is building toward one of those dizzying climaxes that band seems to be so fond of...

You mugs haul the ladder around to the front of the building. There are two windows--one that's boarded up and one that's intact.

It's easy to hoist the ladder to the window, but it needs to be held by someone on the ground to stabilize it. It occurs to Porter that such a ladder would probably be a phenomenal hand-to-hand weapon in the hands of someone like Crazy Ivan.

Whichever one of you goes up to have a look (please let me know who) will have to take a moment to wipe away at the layer of urban grime to see inside. Unfortunately, if that person doesn't have any see-in-the-dark gear, they won't really be able to make out anything behind the window.

Since I assume that the next step would be to have someone who can see get up there, I'll go ahead and describe it, though. If the person climbing up has any kind of see-in-the-dark vision, he'll see that the window apparently looks into what was probably an office, but is now littered with refuse and bits of broken furniture. An decaying inspirational poster curling on one wall depicts a kitten clinging desperately to a clothesline, and the ragged lower portion reads "HANG IN T---".

The floor bows downward at the middle of the room, and there's a frosted glass door at the opposite side of the room that seems dimly illuminated from behind.

The window itself is a typical doublehung window (the bottom part slides upward and would be well big enough for someone to crawl into if it were opened or the glass broken). It's dirty, the sill is covered with pigeon excrement, and it's either stuck fast or locked or both.

The music is still pounding away at this point, probably WAY too loudly to hear breaking glass or splintering wood, should anyone decide to go that route.

(OOC: Wilphe is out all week, so I'll NPC OZ for the moment. Hope he doesn't mind...)

Skyler sees the bolt cutters and laughs:

"Or, that might work, too!"

Oz steps into the rubble and to the fire escape and takes the bolt cutters from Porter. Skyler's right--the ladder is mounted on a track, and likely was counterweighted with a cable and a pulley arrangement that kept the ladder out of reach to those on the ground in the alley, but made it easy to lower when people were coming down the fire escape.

Oz easily nips the cable in a couple of places, and between him and Porter and Skyler, the ladder is removed with minimal fuss save for a bit of creaking and metal-on-metal scraping. It's a little bent, very heavy, and freezing cold, but is without a doubt solid enough to get someone to the second-floor windows on the front of the building.

He hands the cutters back to Porter.

scratching his chin, Skyler steps carefully into the rubble, checking out the fire escape.

"...the ladders' on a track, like a drawer. If we can break this cable, I think we can lift it right out of the rest of this mess...anybody got a minitorch, or a gun with a silencer on it?"

OZ:

No visible side doors. Checking for a back door would involve picking your way through the rubbled building next door.

The side windows, as mentioned, are way out of reach. The front windows on the second story could easily be reached if you fellows were a team of trained circus acrobats.

There is what looks like a recently purchased intercom box permaglued to the wall right next to the personnel door at about eye level. It's quite likely that there's a camera of sorts in that thing, but these modules are usually designed to transmit to a control box within a couple meters, meaning its counterpart is probably just inside the door. Whether or not somebody is sitting there watching, you don't know. It would be an awfully tedious job to do so.

The door itself is a pretty solid-looking metal affair, with a shiny new commercial grade key lock. Not exactly easy kicking or picking. The vehicle door seems no more inviting.

PORTER:

You're not certain, but what you're hearing sure sounds similar to what was being played at that club. You and Skyler are still hanging back, though.

You notice, in the wreckage of the building next to the organ warehouse, the slightly twisted and rusty remains of a fire escape stair/ladder combo. The ladder part, if you can separate it, might work to get someone to one of the front windows.

Skyler is moving his lips, but no words are coming out.

CHANTRY:

As close as you are, the "music" definitely sounds very similar to what was going on in that dreadful nightclub. You can hear the same voice faintly through the walls. Of course, all of that sort of thing may well sound the same to you.

PORTER:

"Suits me fine."

Skyler drops the cigarette and grinds it out with his foot. He mutters something inaudible (but you hear the phrase "outta sight" in it) as the two of you proceed some distance back from Oz and Chantry. He walks with his hands jammed into the pockets of his bulky coat.

ALL:

Avenue F is deserted, dark and quiet, at least compared to most of the city. The general ambient sounds of the metropolis are distant and muted. About the closest identifiable sound is that of the metal recoveries business (typically a factory that takes old electronic equipment and breaks it down to get the valuable metals out of it) and some dogs howling in the auto graveyard at the end of the street, which does nothing to cut through the spaghetti-western vibe of this whole job.

The approach to the building in question is remarkably uneventful. Nobody sees any cameras, though in these times a camera can be nothing more than a 0.5mm fiberoptic lens set in a tiny hole drilled in a wall, backed up by about any option that can be fitted to a cyberoptic or set of smartgoggles. About the only time you see a camera is when somebody wants you to know the area's being watched.

Nobody spots any evidence of Skyler's backup this time.

OZ and CHANTRY:

As you draw closer to the building (about 30m away), you can both hear, or perhaps feel, the sound of what must be a powerful sound system thrashing away within. The music isn't indentifiable, but has a heavy, simplistic beat and must be nearly deafening inside that building.

To Porter's mention of the origin of the explosives, Skyler shrugs:

"Hey, I'm playing in the big leagues...I could probably line some work up for you if you want..."

He closes the trunk as Oz and Chantry move by. He spins around to Porter with an uptight look on his face.

(OOC: In the interest of moving onward, I'm going to assume that Chantry will go with Oz, as reconnoitering was his idea initially.)

"Wait a minute--I don't like this. If these two are reconnoiterin' and see an opportunity to grab him, I don't wanna be left holdin' the bag. I say we all go."

Skyler takes the hat, pausing to make sure the yellow card is still in there.

"Thanks. You know, you're not as much of an a**hole as people on the street say, Porter...I'm gonna go toss this in my trunk..."

He strolls toward the white Acura, and speaks around the cigarette:

"I've got some entry charges...shaped Semtex IIIa with remote dets...if you think it would help..."

Skyler shrugs again. "All quiet on the Western front."

He turns around, facing away from you, gesturing vaguely at the surroundings.

"Of course, I don't even know what building he's in..."

The smoke he exhales is stolen quickly by the wind. He turns back to face you.

"..you got my hat, Porter?"

CHANTRY:

Skyler nods perfunctorily at you. You very briefly see something black hanging at about knee level inside his long coat. Most likely a weapon, typically a short shotgun or SMG, on a rig that hangs down around waist level. The typical application of this type of rig involves a cut-out pocket in the overcoat, allowing the shooter to go from (apparently) standing there with his hands in his pockets to "guns blazing" very quickly.

The surroundings are pretty "urban stark" at the moment. There's a biting cold wind. You can see Skyler's white car, the rusty pickup, and the various buildings, but no other people seem to be lurking around.

There isn't much here in the way of parking that isn't on the street. It's easy to find a spot near Skyler, though, that would at least facilitate a quick getaway.

Skyler gets out of his Acura and starts walking your way after setting the car alarm. He's apparently suited up, wearing what looks like a hooded sweater and a pair of grey pants under a bulky matte black overcoat--not the same stuff he was wearing before. A squarish red nylon bag, about 20cm on a side and emblazoned with "CANON" on one face in reflective letters, is slung over his shoulder. A pair of large wraparound goggles covers his eyes. He pauses to light a cigarette.

He stops some distance from the car and shrugs his shoulders, his palms upward, in a universal sort of "What's up?" gesture.

OOC:

Okay...there's only so much information you're going to get just driving by, and we've pretty much covered it. In order to have gotten a good look at the organ building, you have to be well past the building where Oz thinks he saw some movement. So there's not much chance of seeing anything there right now.

At this point Oz must either:

1. Stop the car somewhere.

2. Double back at the end of Mudgett Street and start driving back the other way.

3. Turn left or right at the end of Mudgett Street and continue. Turning right will put you on the proper (South) side of Mudgett Street to come back up behind Skyler again.

4. ???? Something completely different

Whatever it is, please specify.

PORTER:

These guys are probably the best Skyler could do on really short notice.

The Skolnick brothers fancy themselves to be jack-of-all-trades solo types, though few "real" solos would probably want to work with them. They're certainly the sort of guys who would delight in doing some "real" solo work, such as covering someone from a rooftop or window or some other vantage point, but it's anybody's guess as to how good they are at it. If Burt actually was in the military at one point, you can assume that he at least knows how to operate a rifle, and if he has one it wouldn't be too hard to hit at these urban ranges.

As far as flipping goes, they certainly seem like the sort who'd flip for the right price. Hell, they seem like the type to flip just for the perverse joy of it, but if they actually are aspiring toward any professional rep, they might think twice.

OZ:

Assuming you mean the organ warehouse, there is a row of windows running along the sides of the building at the top, and a couple of double-hung windows at the second and third floor levels on the front facade. One of the second floor windows is intact, one is covered with plywood sheeting. Both are graffiti-ed over. The third floor windows look intact and untouched by anything but a layer of grime and soot. The side windows were painted over long ago, but their presence seems to indicate that they were originally designed to allow natural light into a large open area, which implies that most of the warehouse is, or at least was, an open plan.

Chantry has been taking a moment to peer out the rear window of the Chevy. He mentions, in a careful and elegantly-phrased way that I will only attempt to paraphrase rather than do Chalkline wrong by attempting to quote, that he thought he saw someone step out of an alley on the South side of the street a moment ago. He didn't get a good look before that person stepped back in, but he/she seemed to have a longarm of some sort.

The atmosphere around here is starting to take on a forbidding "disputed events leading up to the shootout at the OK Corral" sort of feel.

Oz makes a right on Avenue F, which terminates in one end at Mudgett street and on the other at the high sheetmetal fence of the auto salvage yard after a run of about four blocks.

The place is easy enough to spot. About three stories tall, made of brick, with the painting of a smiling woman playing a parlor organ. The artwork is spalled with chips and the lettering has faded even worse than the picture...

"Lund Organs and Pian..."

"..or the whole family!"

The building sits on the South side of the street. It's in the center of the block closest to the salvage yard between a crumbling mound of concrete blocks, rubbish and half-walls that looks like it was lifted out of an old war film and a lot encircled by cyclone fencing topped with razor wire. In the middle of this latter lot is a large sheetmetal building--a sign on the fence reads "Armbruster's Machine Shop"

The Organ warehouse is faced on the front with a vehicle door big enough to admit a large panel truck, and a small personnel door. Both look to be steel, and a small yellowish light hangs over the personnel door, casting a jaundiced glow. Both doors are heavily graffiti-ed, as is the rest of the facade.

The street, for the most part, looks deserted, but a couple of blocks from the organ warehouse on the North side of the street is a lot surrounded by corrugated sheetmetal fencing. Another sheetmetal building inside this area has quite a bit of steam or smoke coming from several chimneys. An illuminated sign high above fence reads "Metal Recovery Technologies, Inc.," with the "M", "R", and "T" much in large red type to indicate that the business is probably referred to as MRT. The fact of the matter is, if anyone is over there (the factory may well be automated) they could probably hear gunplay if the street got hot.

The rest of the buildings are a random collection of older warehouses and small factories ranging from one to four or five stories in height.

OZ:

You're not certain, but you think you saw movement in one of the gaping black third-story windows of an abandoned cinder-block building about a block West of the organ warehouse on the north side of the street.

PORTER:

It hits you--that rusty truck belongs to the Skolnick brothers. There's four of them, total, but they don't always all work together, especially in cold weather because they can't all fit in the cab of that truck. They're tough, but they're considered unreliable and crazy, and few people want to work with them unless they are desperate for someone better than the average street tough. Skyler, who fits that description pretty well, must have had them meet him out here. After all, his refu goons proved to be seriously outclassed. This just keeps getting better and better.

The oldest, Burt Skolnick, was in the military somehow and is fond of bragging about it. To hear him talk, you'd think he'd singlehandedly held off an entire tribe of Congolese rebels. The other two, who you can't tell apart and may be twins, were bush-league hockey players here in town until they got banned for being too violent. The little one, Dougie, isn't actually related to the others, but they sort of adopted him and he officially started going by "Dougie Skolnick" shortly thereafter. He may be the most dangerous, as he suffers from "little man's disease" and feels he has the most to prove. They do a lot of dirty little jobs around town together in between drinking binges, beating up poor refus, and whoremongering. Not exactly classy fellows, but dangerous enough and almost smart enough to do what Skyler's probably hired them for.

Chantry sneezes, and demonstrates proper use of a handkerchief, a rare thing in this day and age.

The wind outside is picking up, blowing bits of litter along the pavement.

PORTER:

"I wouldn't dream of it." Skyler responds, "My client might even appreciate the idea of this ghoul suffering a little. And I need a few more minutes to figure out how this f*cking camera works."

"But you guys gotta play nice with me, too. I've got some angels watching over me, and if I don't give the appropriate signals and come outta there smiling and waving, this street's gonna get hotter than you can handle...oh, yeah. I need my hat back, too..."

You're not sure whether or not Skyler could have gotten anybody good to cover him in so little time. He could be bluffing. The problem with Skyler is that he always sounds like he's lying, even if he isn't. If he did have backup, they might have come in that old truck. The truck seems vaguely familiar, though.

OZ:

Due to your automotive expertise, you think the rusty pickup truck probably did come here under its own power. From your vantage point, you can see that it's parked next to a Fire Hydrant, so it's probably come here pretty recently. You begin loading the magazines while Porter chats with Skyler.

(OOC: Chalkline injured his arm and isn't likely to post, so for the moment I'm going to assume Chantry is sitting quietly, but will alert the others if he sees something unusual)

Mudgett Street undulates haphazardly through the old industrial district, periodically stopping for a block and picking up on the other other side. Eventually, you end up at the corner of Avenue E and Mudgett, a block south of a White Acura sedan and about 100m West of the supposed Milner hideout.

Skyler's Acura has dark tinted windows, and as such it's impossible to see who's inside. The street seems otherwise deserted with the exception of a rusty pick-up truck of undetermined condition (though the wheels are still on it, so it likely has moved recently). There are narrow sidewalks and the street is bordered by a motley collection of buildings ranging from one-story polebarns to older red brick warehouses and former factories several stories tall. Most of the streetlights are out, but the orange glow of the city does provide ambient light, at least in the middle of the street.

A bit of cloud cover seems to be rolling in.

At Chantry's mention of the vest, Nazir seems about to start shouting expletives, until he sees Oz counting out the money. It rather dulls the nasty edge on his mood and they make the deal. Oz is now lighter by 400 bucks, but heavier by the weight of two good, but illegal handguns, a total of four magazines, and 40 rounds of standard, unserialized ammo. Nazir motions toward the longarms.

"I can interest you in AK-47, huh? Full Auto. Chinese made. Hard to find here, will not last. I had two, just sold other one. For you only Five hundred."

He scowls briefly at Porter, and then turns to Chantry. "Vest is one hundred. No guaranteed Nazir buyback for vests. I have eleven millimeter SouthAm. No twelve gauge today, if I had I would include some with the gun. Box of twenty eleven millimeter fifteen dollars. I have five boxes."

(OOC: You have been paid for the first night already. I don't remember if any of you specified that they were pulling the cash out or just leaving it on the anonymous credit chips Larry gave you. Nazir is able to deal with either option.)

PORTER:

The two of you haggle. You get the deal, but Nazir seems angrier than normal now. It's not like it's hard to piss this guy off, but he seems especially annoyed at the moment, slamming the first pistol case shut and putting it on the floor in his cubicle. He begins to re-wrap the longarms.

OZ:

The scratches seem to only be superficial damage. The guns are really clean, with very little wear. Likely plucked off the corpses of a couple of rookie cops or security guards somewhere.

OZ:

The Avengers are both in good working order, though one has a lot of scratches on the slide, probably from being dropped. Both of them have the serial numbers melted off the plastic frames.

"Avengers two hundred each. You finish up with them, I buy back for one hundred each good condition."

PORTER:

Nazir grunts as you compliment this strange arsenal. He passes the fat little .44 through. It's at least thirty years old, but it seems to be in excellent shape, and actually appears to have never had a serial number engraved on it.

"Revolver One-fifty. You finish up, I buy back for seventy-five good condition."

The armor and goggles are unregistered items he can sell legitimately. They are all legal to own, but still not the sort of thing you'd want to be seen sneaking around the street in.

He has a set of NeoSoviet nightvision goggles, styled much like a set of ski-goggles, equipped with anti-dazzle. He wants $300 for it.

He's got a half-dozen of the vests. He must have gotten them as a package deal, as all are dark grey with the word "SECURITY" emblazoned on the back and over the breast pocket. These letters can be turned luminous green by squeezing a flat metal button on the collar. They're all used and all stink of sweat, but they seem unmolested by actual bullets, and Nazir has them priced to sell at a hundred each.

(Nazir had to press a button to "buzz you in" to PAWN SHOP)

Nazir puts down his cup and flips a couple switches on his console when he sees Porter. The most noticeable effect of this is that the steel shutters over the front windows whisk down, preventing anyone from seeing inside.

There is a selection of pistols and shotguns on display, some of which are nice pieces, but these are legitimate weapons that Nazir is required to account for.

He doesn't respond to Porter's greeting at all. This is normal. He gets up and walks into a back room (the door to which is behind his "fish tank") and returns with a couple of large briefcases.

"I have lots today. More than usual. You look, you decide."

He sets the cases on the counter, opens them, and rotates them to face the three of you and steps back into the back room.

The first case, lined with grey egg-crate foam contains three older weapons:

1. A 5-shot, .44 Special revolver of South American manufacture in stainless steel, with a box of 25 standard cartridges labelled in Spanish (these imported loads do not contain the microscopic "identifier" tags that allow the cops to identify what lot of ammo a particular slug came from).

2. A polymer-framed .380 automatic with two magazines and a plain white plastic box of 20 cartridges labeled "Teflon-coated AP" in black handwritten ink.

3. A gold-plated .50 Desert Eagle with leopard-print crushed velvet grip panels and images of nude women laser-etched into the slide. It comes with one matching plated magazine and ten rounds of standard ammunition that are currently stored in a plastic baggie.

The second case contains 2 9mm Militech avengers and an 11mm Budgetarms 3. All three seem to have spare magazines and 20-round boxes of that same Spanish-labelled ammunition (colliquially known as "SouthAmmo").

As you get through checking out the handguns, Nazir returns with three long cloth-wrapped bundles. He sets them down gently and begins unwinding the preservative-imbued cloth to reveal a selection of older longarms. He has:

1. What appears to be some ancient relic of a bolt-action rifle fitted with a modern plastic stock and a telescopic sight. In another plastic baggie zip-tied to the trigger guard is a handful of brass-cased cartridges.

2. A semi-automatic 12-guage shotgun. The stock is there, but the barrel is sawn down to the point that it barely goes beyond the fore-end. Somebody has used a soldering iron to burn the phrase "F*ck the Police" into the wooden stock. You don't see any ammo.

3. A full-auto capable AK-47 with one 30-round ammunition clip that seems to be topped off with AP rounds of unknown origin. Not only a 10-year sentence for the gun, but an enterprising prosecutor can make 10 more years stick for each round of ammo. The gun does look relatively clean, and the reddish wooden stock is in good shape.

"All work well." says Nazir. "I test. Good guns. You like one, I pass through for you to look at. No funny stuff. I have gas. You suffer and die."

Cheerful fellow, that Nazir. And it is a lot more than he usually has.