Mosca Syndrome

ALL:

The Chevy oozes through traffic under Oz's command. There is an intangible air of security when a good wheelman is driving, as though every movement of the steering wheel is measure in practiced economy.

The Industrial area around Milner's hideout is poorly patrolled and it's difficult to keep track of which small-time gang is calling it their "turf" this week. Traffic is light at night. Milner may be an addict and completely without mores, but he can at least pick a good area for a hideout.

Still, a pitched gun battle in the streets is always risky within the city limits.

The pawn shop is simply called "PAWN SHOP"...it probably has some name or other registered with the beaurocrats downtown, but it's not displayed on any of the signs. A few dark-skinned kids on skateboards stunt around on the sidewalk outside. They seem more engrossed in mastering tricks than anything else. This particular street is cluttered with small businesses--used car lots, surplus electronic parts stores, a couple of rental storage warehouses, and fuel stations. A few mediatronic billboards on high-rise poles beckon you to smoke Laramie cigarettes, eat a Cap'n Snarly's Fish Cube, or try Sextacular brand "living latex" condoms (available in "Huge," "Enormous," and "Highly Improbable" sizes).

PORTER:

The pawnbroker, an older fellow named Nazir, is a swarthy, humorless man from one side or other of the Turkish/Macedonian border. Southeastern Europe is currently being torn into shreds by a semi-hot "war" between a crazy quilt of Christian and Muslim factions and the politically hamstrung attempts of the UN to keep some kind of peace. You're not really sure what, if any, side of the fence Nazir is on as far as that quagmire goes, but he seems perfectly willing to not speak a word about it. He's not unpleasant, really--he just doesn't seem to think anything is really that funny. He's about five-nine and built like a fireplug, with a tuft of dark hair visible just where it pokes out the collar of his white button-down shirt. Ever since he got the new bulletproof partitions installed in his store, he's stopped wearing the kevlar, at least as a general policy. The partitions have pass-through boxes that allow objects to be moved from one side to the other, though there is a window he can open if he's feeling personable.

From the car, you can see him inside PAWN SHOP in his "fish tank," drinking that sludgy sinus-clearing coffee of his from a tiny china cup and watching something on a battered 5" flatscreen TV. There are no customers present at the moment.

ALL:

You're now back together again at the Chevy. Let me know who's sitting where (Oz is in the driver's seat).

OZ:

The lighting here is poor, but their clothes have a somewhat wet or slickened look to them, and both of them look somewhat dissheveled. You're not sure why.

PORTER:

Skyler chuckles malevolently.

"They're payin' me more than I'm worth. But it's personal and the client is a civilian, so what do they know? Anyway, your plan sounds good to me. I'll be waiting just around the corner off Avenue F on Mudgett Street. Look for a white Acura sedan, and no funny stuff. I'll have a couple of angels watching over me, and they won't be some refu trolls I pulled off the street this time. But I don't want a little war any more than you do, so maybe we can be friends for a night, huh?"

PORTER:

"Look, I don't want the guy's stuff or your two hundred. I need the guy dead on film. The ghoul's got a lot of people upset. Considering the guy who hired me and what you just said about salary, I just don't believe you and I are working the same contract. If we're not, then what's the problem with both of us succeeding and going our separate ways? It's win-win, and we can watch each other's backs going in!"

OOC:

Well, I think the writing's on the wall for this one.

Chalkie and Wilphe,

Do we want to continue as is with me NPCing Porter?

Alternately, we can try something else. I'm thinking a little bit over-the-top--Cinematic and Whacky. Also, I bet I can scare up another player or two.

Let me know here (my messenger is stuffed up).

PORTER and CHANTRY:

"So what do you want Milner for?"

It's Skyler. You can instantly narrow it down to two, maybe three people he might have called to get your number. You probably could have done the same thing to get his if you wanted to talk to him.

The two of find yourself in what used to be a loading area for the underground mall. Clusters of winos and crazies and other deros crowd around fifty-five gallon drums containing small bonfires, warming their hands and muttering. These are the alpha deros. The beta deros wander around, hunched against the cold, and looking for an opening at the firedrums. The area is littered with broken glass and "cardboard condos", and the two exits (the door you came out of seems not to be equipped with an external opening mechanism) are dark alleys crowded with boxes and trash. You assume that one winds back toward Claude street, though not too directly for this little community to not be rousted by the high police presence out on the main drag. It's a sobering reminder of just how hard the cops have to push to keep the dregs out of sight.

The other alley leads off to parts unknown.

OZ:

OOC: I would say the chances of us having to rewind are very high. Be prepared to be snapped out of the daydream you were having about catching some guy planting bombs on the vehicles. Sorry about that...

...further, if anyone reading this game is thinking about running their own, please note the continuity dangers of parallel time streams!

OOC:

Yeah, I've managed to paint myself into a GMing corner by letting the time streams get too far separated!

I'll try to fix it with some cleverness, but I'm not sure I can pull this off...suggestions are welcome. We may be faced with the ugly possibility of "rewinding" Oz. I'd rather not, but if it un-screws the game...

I'm off for a couple of days...should be back before the weekend is up, though.

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

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

As Porter and Chantry step out into the alley, Porter's phone (his personal one, not the one Larry gave him) begins to ring/vibrate (whichever he had it set on). It is ringing/pulsing in the manner that indicates that someone he does not normally talk to or is not listed in his phone's memory list. This doesn't happen very often.

PORTER and CHANTRY:

"Hey, if you can get rid of Milner and make sure everybody knows it, I'd be glad to call that a finder's fee. That guy is toxic waste. Here, I have a card..."

He digs in his pockets and turns up a card. It simply says "Bobby" and has a phone number on it.

"...it goes through a couple of proxies, so you'll hear clicks if you call. Don't worry about 'em..."

"You hit Digby? That's not good. Well, I can probably help you guys get out of here through the back. I've got some friends backstage. I'm headed that way anyway. Let's go."

Bobby is more than willing to lead the way, though he seems to make an effort to stay out of arm's reach of Chantry.

(Chalkline is out of hand for the next 10 days or so...something about poking people with swords. I will NPC him for the time being.)

Chantry is doing his best to straighten his suit and brush foam off before heading out.

As you walk back into the club proper, Bobby runs into two bouncer types who were headed for the bathrooms. He has to yell into their ear to be heard over the music, which has gone instrumental and seems to be picking up even more speed as Mona leads dozens of freaky patrons in a "snake dance," circling around the club. Bobby waves at her, but her eyes are closed--her head lulling back and forth in a near-orgasmic haze. She seems to have the whole crowd at her command. The walls and cieling stream multicolored, amorphous blobs and tribal shapes from the stage to the back of the club, the speed of the images rising with the music. You're not entirely certain, but it looks as though a few people are engaging in an impromptu orgy near the stage. The other musicians are paying more attention to each other than anything else.

Bobby motions for you to follow him, and proceeds to a door near the stage, with one of the bouncers accompanying him. He has to yell in the ear of another bouncer, but the guy relents and allows him, his escort, and the two of you to pass.

Walking backstage is like stepping into another dimension. It's quiet--no doubt a sophisticated wave-inverter is cancelling the sound from the band, and masking what it couldn't cancel with a low-key white noise. You can feel the rumbling through the floor, but the sensation is like that band is three blocks away, when it's really no more than fifty feet from you.

A few people are bustling around back here. Bobby speaks to the bouncer that was accompanying them.

"...so these guys kicked the ass of the other guys, but they want to get out the back so they don't get jumped in the club or out front. Is that cool?"

"It's cool"

Bobby motions toward a short hallway with an "EXIT" sign. At the end of the hallway is an stairwell leading up.

"That goes to the old loading dock out back. There's some old crazies and winos out there. Nothing scary."

The bouncer adds, "But please don't let them in the club..."

CHANTRY:

The guy has a wallet. The wallet has $40 in it, along with the guy's IM/NAT (Immigration/Naturalization) card and some other random business cards. His name is long, polysyllabic, and irrelevent.

He has a pack of cheap cigarettes and a disposable lighter adorned with an animated picture of a topless dancer grinding her hips ad infinitum...

He has an empty shoulder holster--a cheap generic one for some kind of large handgun or other. Taking that would involve half-undressing him, and I'm assuming you're more interested in getting rid of him than anything else. If I'm wrong, let me know. For that matter, please specify if you're keeping any of this stuff.

He heeds your warning and beats a hasty, but unsteady retreat from the scene, holding one hand to his head in the classic "I've got a concussion" gesture.

The music is still pounding away outside. Considering that now three foamy people have come running/staggering out of the hallway, it's only a matter of time before some member(s) of the club staff, probably security, comes to have a look, or some patron comes to have a leak.

PORTER:

Bobby seems more angry than scared at the revelation about Milner's new "occupation":

"Ghoul? F*ck, I shoulda known...look, I got nothing on him except where he is. I had this kid I know follow Milner after the last deal because he's gotten real uptight lately--moved out of his old place and won't tell anybody anything. I can tell you everything I know right here, but between this crazy sh*t--"

He waves his hands to indicate the foam-slathered room.

"--and him threatening to maim me, I like my odds of survival here better than I do with two legbreakers I don't even know. I know people here that'll watch my back now that I know what the score is. I want Milner gone as much as you do now, maybe more."

The room is filled with noise as Chantry kicks the goon out. The door closes, and Bobby continues:

"He's on Avenue F in the old warehouse district. That other guy knows that much. I don't have the exact address, but it's a building that used to be a factory or warehouse for someone who makes organs--like for churches? I guess it's Milner's idea of a joke or something. The building he's in has a faded painting of a woman playing an organ painted on the side. Avenue F is only six or seven blocks long, so it should be easy to find. That's all I know..."

You know that the area he's talking about is right next to a huge auto wrecking yard, and that a number of streets dead end at the high sheetmetal walls of that yard, limiting them to only a few blocks like Bobby said.

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

"Piss off, Twitchy!" Bobby snarls, pointing at Baldine.

Baldine (who is either named "Twitchy" or is simply being described as such), still laughing poisonously, steps back into the hall and lets the door close, thankfully providing some barrier to the music. She certainly seems to think she's gotten someone else's moneys' worth of entertainment this evening.

Bobby speaks:

"I don't know much, but I'll tell you where Doc Milner is--or where I think he is. I had told that guy with the hat--"

He points to the foamy fedora in Porter's hand.

"--what street he was on but you two busted in before I said anything else...I'll tell you everything I know right now...

The shock is wearing off, and his dealer's cool seems to be making a rallying comeback.

"...but I'm not leaving this club with you. I don't know what Milner's into but all I've done is sell him some sh*t. I don't even like him."

It's pretty obvious to both of you exactly how he's playing the ugly hand he's been dealt. One group of toughs has already put the squeeze on him, and Chantry threatened to maim him just a few moments ago. He figures that his chances of being found dead in a dumpster somewhere skyrocket the moment he steps out of Club Terranea (arguably his "home turf") with you two thugs. He probably figures your chances of forcibly dragging him out of the place without a great deal of trouble are pretty slim, and although you could probably kill him right now with no trouble (or even track him down later to do it), he knows that if you do, then he never would have stood a chance had he left with you in the first place.

On the plus side, this all means he's probably interested in seeing the Milner issue resolved as quickly as humanly possible. Even a lucrative client isn't worth this...

The goon lying over in the corner starts to stir slightly.

PORTER and CHANTRY:

As you start for the bathroom door, he begins to speak quickly:

"Wh-What? You want Milner, too? I'll tell you where Milner is. I don't know what he did, but after tonight I don't want anything to do with him!" shrills D'Angelo as he cradles his swelling wrist.

He seems panicky and tense, like a trapped animal or a damned soul trying to bargain his way out of Hell. Like he might make a scene out in that club if you try to drag him to an exit.

He's got a point, though you can't be sure if it's dawned on him or not. While most of the people in the club are probably paying attention to the show, it is his "home turf," so to speak--full of people who know him and like him. Also, two guys tearing out of the bathroom area covered in pink foam moments ago might have drawn the attention of club employees. Worse, the Wonderful Digby incident may well have predisposed both patrons and employees against you. It's a big chance you're taking.

The bathroom door swings open, sluicing a jetwash of noise into the room. The tempo of the music outside is picking up with a paganesque fervor. Baldine is standing there, holding the door open with one hand and surveying the scene with a look of delight. Well, maybe "look of delight" doesn't quite cover it. Try to imagine sitting in the front row at the funniest movie the world has ever known and waiting until the funniest scene to turn around and look at the rest of the patrons. Any ten of those patrons put together might rival the look on Baldine's face right now.

OZ:

At the time the above was happening, you were strolling back toward the cab company being inconspicuous.

ooc: Eraser, you out dere?

SECONDS TEN THROUGH FIFTEEN

CHANTRY

You succeed in getting a hold of D'Angelo, who cries out in panicked anguish.

"God, no, stop!"

But he doesn't move.

PORTER

"You're a dead man!" Skyler shouts. Then, in a move worthy of French/Canadian circus clown being chased by rabid Dobermans, he somehow manages to roll/slide/scramble through the closing door. He's got an pretty strong head start at this point. You're moving forward but you know you won't catch him before he's in the club proper and you're not even sure about that.

(OOC: Are you going to continue chasing him out into the club or stay in here with Chantry and D'Angelo?)

Chantry seems to have muckled onto the hapless Bobby D'Angelo, who himself seems to be howling for mercy.

Out of the corner of your eye you spot something bright yellow on the inside of the hat.

OZ:

You find no tea, but some of that instant cocoa-in-a-can where you pull the string and little gizmo heats it up in fifteen seconds.

Jen does have a good cry, which is pretty uncharacteristic of her. She has a reputation as a hardcase around the shop. At one point Karl walks into the break-room, sees this, and immediately turns around and leaves as if he's walked in on her in the shower or something.

She throws an endless string of questions at you that all seem to start with the word "why"...they are all rhetorical, and attempting to answer them just winds her up more.

(We really need to slow down or stop altogether so that Porter and Chantry can eventually catch up. You're so far ahead that it's really going to be taxing to keep continuity intact. It's why having the characters split up can be kind of a pain.)

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

SECONDS FIVE THROUGH NINE:

The foamy free-for-all continues as follows.

The goon's temple strikes one of the fixtures on the way down and he lands in a heap on the foamy tiles.

It takes Chantry a couple of moments to reverse his direction, though the collapsed goon does at least provide some platform to push against. By the end of Second Nine, he's just about to lay hands on D'Angelo, who's feebly crawling toward the door.

While this is happening, Skyler manages to slip right out from under Porter as Porter tries to drive his knee up into Skyler's naughty bits. Skyer deftly manages his push against Porter with one foot and, scambling like mad and howling obscenities, makes an alarming amount of headway in the direction of the door. Porter reflexively grabs for Skyler as this happens and comes away holding the pink foam-covered fedora.

During this time period, both of you see the door swing open (with the accompanying rise in music volume) and the other goon (the one who made a trip into the ladies' room courtesy of Chantry Travel Services) standing there. Breifly surveying the situation, he turns and bolts off down the hallway toward the main floor of the club.

PORTER AND CHANTRY

SECOND FOUR:

Porter charges across the bathroom toward Skyler, who, howling with indignant rage (he looks like a puff of cotton candy, for crying out loud!) is charging across the bathroom toward Porter. Both immediately go off-balance as their feet slip and skip across the soapy floor. They crash into each other with a couple of "oofs" and grunts and fall to the floor.

Chantry, anticipating the lack of friction, gets a couple of steps in before he starts sliding. The goon reacts by bracing a foot in where the wall meets the floor and pushing D'Angelo at Chantry. There is a slight cracking noise and D'Angelo screams as he is thrust away and stumbles over the incoming Chantry.

SECOND FIVE:

Porter and Skyler swap some ineffective blows on the floor. Sklyer tries to stick his thumb in Porter's eye but Porter manages to block it.

Bobby D'Angelo lands on the floor with a grunt.

The goon aims a kick at Chantry and misses completely, leaving himself off balance and wide open to be swept off his feet. At the end of the second he begins to plummet.

The music from the main room seems almost to be soundtracking the chaos--fevered, frantic, and swirling.

OZ:

They gave you a case number for the investigation. It's written on Carter's card.

You find another set of coveralls that fits inside the garage. They've seen better days, but at least they don't have blood all over them.

Jen is not handling this very well. She alternates between frightened and enraged, both states leaning heavily toward the manic.

"I don't want it back. The insurance company'll probably total it out. It's shot to hell..."

"...I don't get it! Why would they do this? The cab bullsh*t was bad enough, but this is personal! What good does this do? Why do they want to kill me? I never hurt anybody! Is it because I fix the stupid cabs? It's not worth it! I'll go work somewhere else, for chrissake! Is it even safe for me to go home? What if there's a bomb on my front door?"

She rants on and on like this.

It does seem like a stupid and pointless escalation, though it does seem to have caused some people to reconsider their choice of employer.

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

SECOND TWO:

The restooms doors swing shut. Chantry mouths "Shall we?"

SECOND THREE:

Several things happen at once:

Porter pushes open the door and steps into the room, his feet slipping treacherously on the foamy floor. The nozzles immediately quit when he lets go of the button, and the panel emits an irritating beep. He pointing at the two goo-covered figures on the right and says, "He's yours, mate--"

Skyler is pointing a pink foam-colored hand at Porter. "You're dead!" He snarls.

The goon adjusts his position so that D'Angelo is shielding him from the direction of the door. They're at the other end of the bathroom, about five feet away. Bobby's feet slide crazily on the floor.

Screams are heard from the ladies' room.

(need an action or intended course of action from Chantry before I can go further)

OZ:

The next three hours or so proceed as follows:

1. At the mention of the bomb, the cops clear everybody out of the parking lot and seal off the street. As a result, huge crowds form to see what's going on, and the area sort of turns into a big street party.

2. The saboteur survives, but is not conscious.

3. Jen arrives and is allowed through the cordon to where the cops are holding everyone back. She has about a million questions, most of which are "What's going on?" and isn't getting much in the way of answers.

4. Lots more cops, the fire department, and the ambulance show up. A teleblimp--a revolting new development of the adblimp, hovers just outside the radius of police control. It is literally a giant flying television playing some horrid sitcom about three gay men who own an art studio. The loudspeakers are off, but the dialog scrolls closed-captioned across the bottom, and other displays proclaim what phone number you can call to hear the dialog through your phone, or what station to tune your radio to for the same reason. There are plenty of commercial breaks.

5. The bomb squad shows up and deploys their robots at the same time the media arrives and shoves their way to the edge of the cordon. Officer Wrinklez is not present. They find bombs attached to no less than four cars in the lot--the Chevy is not one of them, but Karl's was. After the robots diffuse them, the cops impound the vehicles for evidence processing, telling what owners are present that they will be available to pick up within seven days. There are tons of forms to fill out.

6. Your statement is taken no less than three times. The first is by the officers who arrive on the scene, who seem primarily interested in getting the stories written down. The second is by a Detective Stippleman, Homicide, who is a total jerk. He keeps rephrasing his questions, referring back to earlier answers, and trying to trip you up into admitting this thing to be much more than you're letting on. Luckily, you've dealt with this sort of thing before, and your story fits with Andy's and Karl's. Stippleman seems incredibly angry that he can't get you to confess to something, but eventually relents, telling you he's going to be checking up on you. The third time is by a Detective Carter from the Organized Crime Unit, who is much more easy-going. Carter's focus seems to be putting you at ease. He has pamphlets for counselors who can help you to deal with the emotional trauma of killing someone. He explains that no charges are going to be pressed at this time, but that they will temporarily be taking your gun for evidence processing and will available for you to pick up within seven days. He also says that he will be handling the investigation into this incident and suggests that you don't go on any vacations.

7. The cops don't stop you from making a phone call, though by then Andy has gotten his phone back from you for the same reason. Keep in mind that you are now some ways ahead of Porter and Chantry in the space-time continuum, so don't mention here what you are going to say to them until I tell them that the phone is ringing.

CHANTRY:

SECOND ONE:

The band suddenly kicks in as you attempt your stomp, heavily distorted guitar wailing over a giant organ pedal chord and an uptemo four-in-a-bar pump from the bass and drums. All of this is permeated by a banshee-like, anguished wail, which you assume is emanating from the vocal chords of Ms. Tomorrow. The hallway is strobed with light as a series of black-and-white stripes flow outward from the stage across the electronic walls and ceiling. It's thunderously loud. Too loud for conversation.

Unfortunately, the stomp fails and throws off your timing for the doorframe manuever. The guy's momentum and slipperiness carries him out of your grasp, across the hall and through the ladies' room door.

PORTER:

SECOND ONE:

You flatten yourself against the wall as Chantry deftly (apparently) tosses the creep into the ladies' room. As the mens' room door starts to close, you get a brief glimpse of the scene inside.

It looks like a cotton-candy wonderland. Skyler's at the other end of the room about four meters away. His fedora is piled with pink foam, as is the rest of him, but his face (which is turned toward you with a rather furious look on it) is clear thanks to the hat. Bobby and the other goon, who has Bobby in a chokehold with one arm hammerlocked behind him, seem to be one mass of pink foam next to Skyler.

Nobody is going into that room without getting that crap on them. The nozzles are still spewing it, even.

OZ:

"Yeah, Karl! What if it blows up?" shouts Andy from his vantage point behind the '57 Chevy.

Karl's face takes on the expression of someone who is fed up with being called stupid (however justified) and is about to say something ill-advised when the whole parking lot is washed in light. The source of said glow is a pair of flourescent orange SUVs in the street that are encrusted with red and blue strobe lights.

"EVERYBODY SPREAD OUT AND KEEP YOUR HANDS IN PLAIN SIGHT!" says the modulated voice on the loudspeaker. The voice always sounds the same no matter who is speaking into the microphone on those things.

As if on cue, a small drone chopper swoops out from behind the dilapidated tenement across the street, adding its halogens to the lightbath from five stories up.

The cops have arrived.

OOC: I don't feel like roleplaying every little interaction with the cops, so if you just want to tell me the story Oz wants to give them, I'll run with it. Essentially, they'll start by separating the people present and taking statements, after they're sure the scene is secure.

OZ AND PORTER:

The organ chord suddenly stops, and the speakers fill the room with the sound of someone blowing across a microphone...it's as if some demon has held the whole club over a dark chasm and suddenly let go, and everyone is suspended in midair for that tiny fraction of a second before they fall.

OZ:

"Oh, sh*t! There's a couple more in the bag!" Andy exclaims as he scrambles to his feet and begins to run for the other side of the parking lot.

The guy leaning against the building, Karl, sees Andy running and you dragging the saboteur and croaks, "What are you doing?"

"There's a bomb on the truck!" Yells Andy over the honking cacophony.

"A bomb? F%ck this! I'm going home!" yells Karl. Karl fumbles around in his pocket and pulls out a key ring. A brief look of recognition crosses his face and he thumbs a little black device.

The honking stops. It's remarkably quiet. You think you can faintly hear sirens. If there is a bomb on the truck, they're gonna seal off half the block waiting for the bomb squad and their little robots and perhaps Officer Wrinklez, that famous explosive-and-cordite-sniffing basset hound you remember seeing on the news once.

Karl, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, slumps toward his noisy and somewhat bullet-pocked car, which is parked next to Jen's truck. His posture is that of someone who always loses, gets fed up, but eventually always comes back for more. Which probably makes him a popular poker buddy.

OZ:

"Oz? My truck? Aw, jeez. I'm coming! Don't go anywhere!" She hangs up.

While you work at tying off the leg, Andy (the guy who handed you the phone--you remember his name now that Jen said it. Which means the other guy must be Karl.) crouches down, carefully avoiding the pool of blood, and peers up under the truck with an LED penlight he apparently had in the breast pocket of his coveralls.

You notice at this point a pair of goggles hanging down around the sabotuer's neck, a faint glow from the inside highlighting his throat as he makes shallow, spastic breaths.

Between car honks, you can hear someone over by the building wretching.

"Oz," Andy says from underneath the truck, "Is this a bomb?"

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

The control panel beeps. A pink light marked "Sani-Foam" is now illuminated. There is the sound of a loud buzzer from the men's room, and slight mechanical whir followed by a rushing noise, which is met with cries of surprise. The door pulls open abruptly to reveal a thick-faced goon apparently bent on getting away from the clouds of pink foam being sprayed around the room by several ceiling-mounted extendable rotating nozzles.

OOC:

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

Not sure if you're waiting on me, but I need for the two of you to decide who is going to hold down the override button.

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

PORTER AND CHANTRY:

You both think you hear somebody (with an American accent) say very loudly, "Don't f%ck with me, sh*tbag! Where's Milner?" from the mens' room.

OZ:

This guy is a mess. It looks like one bullet entered low on the buttock and caromed off the pelvic bone, ripping out the front of his belly below the navel at an upward angle before being stopped by the inside of his light armorjacket. The other slug struck the meat of the the thigh and severed some big blood vessel or other. If the fool had bothered to wear something heavier than jeans he might have been salvageable, but "live and learn" doesn't quite cover the situation very well. Your attempts to administer first aid don't seem to be helping much.

The guy who came out with the revolver comes back out with a coil of nylon clothesline. He doesn't seem to be carrying the gun now.

"Hello?" Shouts Jen into your ear. You can hear the greasy squeal of a slide blues guitar in the background. "Andy, izzat you?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick..." says the other guy, who turns around, walking unsteadily back toward the building.

One of the other car alarms shuts off. That one with the randomly honking horn is still going.

OZ:

"Here...she's in my phone!" the guy offers you his phone.

Whether or not you take it, he yells, "I'll go get something!" in response to the tourniquet query and dashes off toward the garage.

One of the car alarms stops. Two more are still going. The first guy (without the revolver) who went back inside comes out with a large white plastic box emblazoned with a red cross. He stops about 4 meters away from you and extends the box toward you as if there's an invisible fence there he doesn't want to cross. Real grace under pressure, this guy.

You'd think the cops from Claude Street would come running to the scene, but it's really not clear. It's likely that a "multiple shots fired" incident is going to be the sort of thing supervisors demand that they get plenty of backup on before they approach. Still, a "cowboy" cop might decide to do something stupid, but "cowboys" aren't usually working the Claude, except for maybe those bicycle clowns. You're just not sure.

The problem is that once the cops are here, they're going to be here for at least a a couple of hours checking out the scene, taking statements, and trying to decide whether or not to haul anybody in on charges. While your case looks like a classic example of self-defense, this could really throw a wrench in the works as far as Larry's job is concerned.