Pulp Era Mini Campaign - A Solo Game
Act 1
Carlotta stood leaning her weight against the heavy wooden desk in her office... and looked out through the greasy, dirt smudged window at the cars below her as they rolled back and forth along Fifth Street. 'They look like black beetles with shining white and yellow eyes'. She thought to herself. The gloom had this effect on her mind, which always ran in macabre overdrive once the light clocked out from the routine day shift workers with whom she shared the old damp office building.
She inhaled deeply on her ju-ju stick, sucking in the noxious substance like it was a meal and a delicious sedative rolled into one. Perhaps it was. Part of her felt nourished by the addictive oils of the illegal substance... another part of her enjoyed the mind numbing coldness of the muggle, anesthetizing her worries into oblivion for that oh so brief a time.
Through the gloom and the light of car headlamps, Carlotta noticed the distance between herself and the life outside. How many of those cars contained dutiful husbands returning home after a hard day's work in the office to their wives and children? Carlotta stared down at a tram moving with pre-ordained regularity, sounding it's beetle horn to warn the happy shoppers of the next approaching stop... tired, contented women returning home to their domestic felicity, laden with arm loads of shopping... returning to make their perfect men their perfect dinners, to end yet another oh so perfect day in happysville. The Depression obviously was only a word to such people.
Carlotta pulled her jacket closer about her shoulders, and dragged deeply on her self roll until the miniature furnace on the end glowed a hellish red, exaggerated by the fact there was no light on in the office... what was the point. There was only Carlotta in the building, alone and cold: no swell gee to cook for, no dream home to return to at the end of her daily grind, and certainly no family to dote upon and to cherish.
Carlotta Wynn was alone.
She could see the sign outside the window, high above the ground, still winking on and off intermittently 'Carlotta Wynn: Private Investigator'; the wiring fizzed badly: half the strip bulb burned out and streaming currents of mirage air, as the chilly fog like rain cast dimpsy dusk cinders like hot neon into the sky.
Time to go home! Lock the office, walk the spiraling stairs to the ground floor, head out into the trepidicious evening, and hurry to the corner store to purchase a brain fix... a bottle of Jack Daniels and a file of aspirin for the ensuing headache in the morning. Then home to her two room dive by the waterfront. What a life.
Such was Carlotta's life.
It hadn't always been so. Oh no, once she had been Mort's girl... gun moll to one of the hottest rods this side of Cheap Side, all the way to Dime Avenue at the end of Pinkalou Boulevard. Things had been swell back then. She had been one of the main faces midst a sea of punks, and had enjoyed the notoriety of the Gang's ill-repute across twelve whole city blocks. She had been Mort's frau, his right hand, his confidant... and then everything had gone Dutch.
Set up and ambushed in a crossfire by the Thompson brothers hot muzzled finger men, the whole gang had gone down biting lead. All except Carlotta... absent and playing chippy to the tramp sailors down at Peeky's Palace.
For the thousandth time she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying not to feel the gut wrenching guilt. She had lived, the rest had bitten dust... hard. Chance had spared her, and now she must go on.... or die. Neither option particularly suited her, and so the bottom of the liquor bottle or the inhaled puff of a dope stick sufficed as her personal slice of the rotten apple she called 'life'.
Carlotta stayed leaning against her empty desk, smoked marijuana cigarettes... and generally put off returning to her cheap rented abode above the fishmongers on the corner of Dock Street, and instead stood stared out at other peoples' lives as they meandered their way hither the thither to and from their nice comfortable homes.
... truth to tell; she didn't have anything of her own to return to any more.
After Mort's demise: Smiley, Charlie Z, Mel and Sandy Dee.... the whole mob had died that day, caught between the waterfront warehouses by a hail slugs from three Tommy guns - Widow Makers as they called them on the streets.
Carlotta had, at first, lain low, but over time, then the name Mort became nothing more than a half forgotten street legend, she had crawled back to her old haunts; only to find her home turf was changed. With Mort gone, the streets were torn wide open and carved apart as the new immigrant wave of hoods to hit the street: the Irish O Hares and the Chinese Ku Tong, who faced off in an uneasy truce as they worked to tame the vacant slice that had once been Mort and Carlotta's haven.
So what else can a girl do when the chips are down? Carlotta turned straight, learned a new trade, and used her wits and knowledge of the streets to dig a dime for her services... coffee cakes... barely enough to pay her lease on the P.I. joint on the third floor of Fifth. But at least it
was honest work. A "gumshoe" paid for her services, used and abused as she sorted out other people's complicated and sordid problems. But the rent on her pad on Dock Street was a snatch, and her personal needs were small, save the occasional bottle of whisky and a wad of dope now and again, to ease the pain of living.
So she made her way in the world without having to fawn on anybody's charity. She was her own woman... and a bright one at that. If she could only keep her head straight and her mind focused long enough to keep a
client.
Truth to tell, she hadn't had a decent sniff of a case in almost a month, and she was beginning to feel this bum job was soon to go the way of the do-do if she didn't pick up something sweet - and fast.
And so it was that Carlotta Wynn stood looking out over the suburbs of the West Hills district and wondering what exactly she was going to do with the mess she was in... when she heard the bell chug lazily on the small deck behind her.
It was late, and everyone else in the shared office building was long gone. For a moment Carlotta felt a pang of panic; half forgotten baggage from a former life kept her wits constantly on edge.
The buzzer sounded again. Someone was at the front door.
Peering out of her window she tried to discern who it was calling at this late hour, but the grime caked to the glass made it impossible to see anything other than a dark shape standing in the door archway on the
pavement below.
Carlotta stood leaning her weight against the heavy wooden desk in her office... and looked out through the greasy, dirt smudged window at the cars below her as they rolled back and forth along Fifth Street. 'They look like black beetles with shining white and yellow eyes'. She thought to herself. The gloom had this effect on her mind, which always ran in macabre overdrive once the light clocked out from the routine day shift workers with whom she shared the old damp office building.
She inhaled deeply on her ju-ju stick, sucking in the noxious substance like it was a meal and a delicious sedative rolled into one. Perhaps it was. Part of her felt nourished by the addictive oils of the illegal substance... another part of her enjoyed the mind numbing coldness of the muggle, anesthetizing her worries into oblivion for that oh so brief a time.
Through the gloom and the light of car headlamps, Carlotta noticed the distance between herself and the life outside. How many of those cars contained dutiful husbands returning home after a hard day's work in the office to their wives and children? Carlotta stared down at a tram moving with pre-ordained regularity, sounding it's beetle horn to warn the happy shoppers of the next approaching stop... tired, contented women returning home to their domestic felicity, laden with arm loads of shopping... returning to make their perfect men their perfect dinners, to end yet another oh so perfect day in happysville. The Depression obviously was only a word to such people.
Carlotta pulled her jacket closer about her shoulders, and dragged deeply on her self roll until the miniature furnace on the end glowed a hellish red, exaggerated by the fact there was no light on in the office... what was the point. There was only Carlotta in the building, alone and cold: no swell gee to cook for, no dream home to return to at the end of her daily grind, and certainly no family to dote upon and to cherish.
Carlotta Wynn was alone.
She could see the sign outside the window, high above the ground, still winking on and off intermittently 'Carlotta Wynn: Private Investigator'; the wiring fizzed badly: half the strip bulb burned out and streaming currents of mirage air, as the chilly fog like rain cast dimpsy dusk cinders like hot neon into the sky.
Time to go home! Lock the office, walk the spiraling stairs to the ground floor, head out into the trepidicious evening, and hurry to the corner store to purchase a brain fix... a bottle of Jack Daniels and a file of aspirin for the ensuing headache in the morning. Then home to her two room dive by the waterfront. What a life.
Such was Carlotta's life.
It hadn't always been so. Oh no, once she had been Mort's girl... gun moll to one of the hottest rods this side of Cheap Side, all the way to Dime Avenue at the end of Pinkalou Boulevard. Things had been swell back then. She had been one of the main faces midst a sea of punks, and had enjoyed the notoriety of the Gang's ill-repute across twelve whole city blocks. She had been Mort's frau, his right hand, his confidant... and then everything had gone Dutch.
Set up and ambushed in a crossfire by the Thompson brothers hot muzzled finger men, the whole gang had gone down biting lead. All except Carlotta... absent and playing chippy to the tramp sailors down at Peeky's Palace.
For the thousandth time she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, trying not to feel the gut wrenching guilt. She had lived, the rest had bitten dust... hard. Chance had spared her, and now she must go on.... or die. Neither option particularly suited her, and so the bottom of the liquor bottle or the inhaled puff of a dope stick sufficed as her personal slice of the rotten apple she called 'life'.
Carlotta stayed leaning against her empty desk, smoked marijuana cigarettes... and generally put off returning to her cheap rented abode above the fishmongers on the corner of Dock Street, and instead stood stared out at other peoples' lives as they meandered their way hither the thither to and from their nice comfortable homes.
... truth to tell; she didn't have anything of her own to return to any more.
After Mort's demise: Smiley, Charlie Z, Mel and Sandy Dee.... the whole mob had died that day, caught between the waterfront warehouses by a hail slugs from three Tommy guns - Widow Makers as they called them on the streets.
Carlotta had, at first, lain low, but over time, then the name Mort became nothing more than a half forgotten street legend, she had crawled back to her old haunts; only to find her home turf was changed. With Mort gone, the streets were torn wide open and carved apart as the new immigrant wave of hoods to hit the street: the Irish O Hares and the Chinese Ku Tong, who faced off in an uneasy truce as they worked to tame the vacant slice that had once been Mort and Carlotta's haven.
So what else can a girl do when the chips are down? Carlotta turned straight, learned a new trade, and used her wits and knowledge of the streets to dig a dime for her services... coffee cakes... barely enough to pay her lease on the P.I. joint on the third floor of Fifth. But at least it
was honest work. A "gumshoe" paid for her services, used and abused as she sorted out other people's complicated and sordid problems. But the rent on her pad on Dock Street was a snatch, and her personal needs were small, save the occasional bottle of whisky and a wad of dope now and again, to ease the pain of living.
So she made her way in the world without having to fawn on anybody's charity. She was her own woman... and a bright one at that. If she could only keep her head straight and her mind focused long enough to keep a
client.
Truth to tell, she hadn't had a decent sniff of a case in almost a month, and she was beginning to feel this bum job was soon to go the way of the do-do if she didn't pick up something sweet - and fast.
And so it was that Carlotta Wynn stood looking out over the suburbs of the West Hills district and wondering what exactly she was going to do with the mess she was in... when she heard the bell chug lazily on the small deck behind her.
It was late, and everyone else in the shared office building was long gone. For a moment Carlotta felt a pang of panic; half forgotten baggage from a former life kept her wits constantly on edge.
The buzzer sounded again. Someone was at the front door.
Peering out of her window she tried to discern who it was calling at this late hour, but the grime caked to the glass made it impossible to see anything other than a dark shape standing in the door archway on the
pavement below.
It had started raining hard, like an invisible tap had been turned full on, and heavy precipitation flooded the sidewalk like a hail of gunfire.
Moving slowly to the desk, Carlotta pressed the intercom button.
"Who's there?" she enquired in a half whisper, suddenly kicking herself for sounding like a lame dame. The fiery streak of her natural redhead demeanour was always one jump away from rising to the surface... despite a layer of peroxide and flowing locks of false golden hue.
A female voice answered... sounding nervous and uncertain.
"I..Is this the Private Investigator, Miss Wynn?"
Carlotta rested her hand over the intercom, and for a second she nearly severed the link and determined to ignore the stranger entirely. But her curiosity; the need to know the riddle, overcame her natural caution and she replied: "Yeah, Carlotta here. What do ya want?"
"Miss Wynn"....silence from the other end: "Miss Wynn?"
"Yeah, I'm here?"
The voice suddenly sounded more confident: "Miss Wynn, I'm in trouble and I need your help. I was told you might be the person to come to for assistance."
Carlotta paused, drew deeply on the last quarter inch of her smoke, and exhaled a cloud of fumes into the office. She pressed another button,and with a slight click the door downstairs unlocked: "Okay, you'd better come up... make sure the door closes behind you, it sticks sometimes."
Moving slowly to the desk, Carlotta pressed the intercom button.
"Who's there?" she enquired in a half whisper, suddenly kicking herself for sounding like a lame dame. The fiery streak of her natural redhead demeanour was always one jump away from rising to the surface... despite a layer of peroxide and flowing locks of false golden hue.
A female voice answered... sounding nervous and uncertain.
"I..Is this the Private Investigator, Miss Wynn?"
Carlotta rested her hand over the intercom, and for a second she nearly severed the link and determined to ignore the stranger entirely. But her curiosity; the need to know the riddle, overcame her natural caution and she replied: "Yeah, Carlotta here. What do ya want?"
"Miss Wynn"....silence from the other end: "Miss Wynn?"
"Yeah, I'm here?"
The voice suddenly sounded more confident: "Miss Wynn, I'm in trouble and I need your help. I was told you might be the person to come to for assistance."
Carlotta paused, drew deeply on the last quarter inch of her smoke, and exhaled a cloud of fumes into the office. She pressed another button,and with a slight click the door downstairs unlocked: "Okay, you'd better come up... make sure the door closes behind you, it sticks sometimes."
Act 2
Carlotta Wynn switches on the light, closes the blinds, then pushes the button on her desk which will allow her mystery female client to open the down stairs door and let herself in and up the stairs to her first floor office.
When the woman knocks on the P.I. window and slips quietly into the room, Carlotta carefully observes her potential client. Her first impression of the stranger (heard over the intercom) is quite correct; she proves not only to be well spoken but attractive, elegantly dressed and positively oozing wealth and breeding.
The stranger hastily introduces herself as Mrs Darlana Winslow... and again Carlotta observes, the woman almost instinctively pulls a packet of cigarettes from her purse and lights one immediately - the cigarette is Russian and smells strong and ugly.
Carlotta Wynn switches on the light, closes the blinds, then pushes the button on her desk which will allow her mystery female client to open the down stairs door and let herself in and up the stairs to her first floor office.
When the woman knocks on the P.I. window and slips quietly into the room, Carlotta carefully observes her potential client. Her first impression of the stranger (heard over the intercom) is quite correct; she proves not only to be well spoken but attractive, elegantly dressed and positively oozing wealth and breeding.
The stranger hastily introduces herself as Mrs Darlana Winslow... and again Carlotta observes, the woman almost instinctively pulls a packet of cigarettes from her purse and lights one immediately - the cigarette is Russian and smells strong and ugly.
Over the next half an hour, Carlotta ascertains (in fits and starts) that the Mrs Winslow is being pursued by a group of extremely unsavoury types who seems intent on acquiring a certain sheaf of valuable papers her late husband had hidden away in his private safe. She will not tell
Carlotta what is in the papers, but hints they are to do with legal land ownership rights to property in Jiangsu province, East China.
Apparently, the ownership rights were in dispute at the time of her husband's death, and when the other interested party's attempted bribes to get Mrs Winslow to part with the claim without any fuss met with stubborn refusal... things started to turn nasty.
It appears that Mrs Winslow (who claims she is being followed by hired thugs, simply waiting for her to make her next move in the game of cat and mouse) would like Carlotta Wynn to procure a one way ticket to Shanghai on a Blue Star Passenger Steamer due to leave A.C. on the afternoon tide the following day. Mrs Winslow offers Carlotta $500... out of which she is to purchase a berth for one person. The woman will then return to the office at first light – pick up her ticket, and pay Carlotta the balance of an additional $400 for her kind services.
...sounds a snatch. But where has to be a snag?
Carlotta can see the logic of the situation; this woman, tired and harassed, upset over the death of her husband (which seems to have been natural causes), simply wishes to slip away undetected before the 'persuasion mob' even notices she is gone. Once clear of danger, she will be free to start her life over again in a new country. A fresh start, and a new beginning.
Hmmmmm, Carlotta can empathize with this; but she smells a rat. Something doesn't add up and she feels sure the stranger is being more than conservative with the truth. Yet the money is good, and if the story stinks – is it any business of hers what her client's real reason are? The
woman will be out of her hair within a day, and Carlotta's bank balance will be in the green.
Carlotta accepts the case... more of a shopping trip than a proper case; but she agrees to help none the less.
By the time the conversation is over, Darlana Winslow has smoked the best part of half a packet of cigarettes, something Carlotta is not slow to notice; the nervous energy of a highly strung nicotine addict, or a sign of genuine fear?
Money passes hands, the woman shakes Carlotta's hand, then slips out the door as quietly as she came in.
Carlotta watches Mrs Winslow leave, peering out of the grease smudged window (courtesy of the fat fans from "Al Chino's Speakeasy Bar & Restaurant" situated opposite), but suddenly she notices a greasy looking rod standing in a doorway half hidden except for a nearby street light.
The suit is obviously a gun toting hire hand, and when he turns up his collar against the rain and starts following Carlotta's client... the P.I. rushes downstairs and out the front door of the building, intent on following them both to see what develops.
Carlotta what is in the papers, but hints they are to do with legal land ownership rights to property in Jiangsu province, East China.
Apparently, the ownership rights were in dispute at the time of her husband's death, and when the other interested party's attempted bribes to get Mrs Winslow to part with the claim without any fuss met with stubborn refusal... things started to turn nasty.
It appears that Mrs Winslow (who claims she is being followed by hired thugs, simply waiting for her to make her next move in the game of cat and mouse) would like Carlotta Wynn to procure a one way ticket to Shanghai on a Blue Star Passenger Steamer due to leave A.C. on the afternoon tide the following day. Mrs Winslow offers Carlotta $500... out of which she is to purchase a berth for one person. The woman will then return to the office at first light – pick up her ticket, and pay Carlotta the balance of an additional $400 for her kind services.
...sounds a snatch. But where has to be a snag?
Carlotta can see the logic of the situation; this woman, tired and harassed, upset over the death of her husband (which seems to have been natural causes), simply wishes to slip away undetected before the 'persuasion mob' even notices she is gone. Once clear of danger, she will be free to start her life over again in a new country. A fresh start, and a new beginning.
Hmmmmm, Carlotta can empathize with this; but she smells a rat. Something doesn't add up and she feels sure the stranger is being more than conservative with the truth. Yet the money is good, and if the story stinks – is it any business of hers what her client's real reason are? The
woman will be out of her hair within a day, and Carlotta's bank balance will be in the green.
Carlotta accepts the case... more of a shopping trip than a proper case; but she agrees to help none the less.
By the time the conversation is over, Darlana Winslow has smoked the best part of half a packet of cigarettes, something Carlotta is not slow to notice; the nervous energy of a highly strung nicotine addict, or a sign of genuine fear?
Money passes hands, the woman shakes Carlotta's hand, then slips out the door as quietly as she came in.
Carlotta watches Mrs Winslow leave, peering out of the grease smudged window (courtesy of the fat fans from "Al Chino's Speakeasy Bar & Restaurant" situated opposite), but suddenly she notices a greasy looking rod standing in a doorway half hidden except for a nearby street light.
The suit is obviously a gun toting hire hand, and when he turns up his collar against the rain and starts following Carlotta's client... the P.I. rushes downstairs and out the front door of the building, intent on following them both to see what develops.
Act 3
Carlotta Wynn keeps pace with the hood following Mrs Winslow... remaining a steady fifty paces behind and mingling into the night with the experience of a cat. In no time at all she is soaked to the skin, and wishes she had thought of pulling on a coat before leaving her office hot trod in pursuit of the couple now half a block in front of her.
Suddenly, Carlotta's client turns down a narrow side turning... and for a full half a minute Carlotta loses sight of both Mrs Winslow and the two bit hood... who in turn follows the strange woman down the alleyway.
There is a scream! Followed by the sound of hurriedly running footsteps echoing in the night.
Carlotta quickly retrieves a small hand gun tucked discretely under the hem at the back of her skirt, and moves like the wind towards the commotion to see what evil thing has transpired. Her footsteps splash in the puddles and her heart pounds like a bass drum deep within her chest.
When Carlotta turns the corner and rushes down the alley, she is just in time to see Mrs Winslow's attacker vanish from view round a corner some distance ahead. But Carlotta's client is lying face up in a gathering pool of blood.
Carlotta Wynn keeps pace with the hood following Mrs Winslow... remaining a steady fifty paces behind and mingling into the night with the experience of a cat. In no time at all she is soaked to the skin, and wishes she had thought of pulling on a coat before leaving her office hot trod in pursuit of the couple now half a block in front of her.
Suddenly, Carlotta's client turns down a narrow side turning... and for a full half a minute Carlotta loses sight of both Mrs Winslow and the two bit hood... who in turn follows the strange woman down the alleyway.
There is a scream! Followed by the sound of hurriedly running footsteps echoing in the night.
Carlotta quickly retrieves a small hand gun tucked discretely under the hem at the back of her skirt, and moves like the wind towards the commotion to see what evil thing has transpired. Her footsteps splash in the puddles and her heart pounds like a bass drum deep within her chest.
When Carlotta turns the corner and rushes down the alley, she is just in time to see Mrs Winslow's attacker vanish from view round a corner some distance ahead. But Carlotta's client is lying face up in a gathering pool of blood.
When Carlotta reaches the body of the prone woman, she notices she has been fumblingly searched and her handbag has been snatched. Blood is pouring from a knife wound in Mrs Winslow's chest, and she is very obviously dead.
Somewhere in the distance, a police whistle is heard, and Carlotta knows it is only a matter of minutes before law enforcers arrive on the scene. Better not to be present when that happens, and the P.I. knows she needs to make a quick exit.
Thinking quickly and with female instinct, she checks the one place she knows another woman would hide anything valuable... fastened in her stocking top, or thrust down the inside her blouse.
She comes up trumps!
A thin sheaf of papers is lodged inside the dead woman's undergarments. Carlotta extracts the papers, careful not to get any blood on herself... pauses for a moment, removes the woman's wedding ring and prepares to vanish into the gloom of the alley.
'The money from that ring will fetch a pretty penny, and she won't be needing it any more, will she?'
Carlotta reasons; having enough of a conscience to feel a slight pang of guilt at her roguish actions.
Hurrying away from the crime scene, by a series of twists and turns Carlotta winds her way through the back streets and alleyways until finally, some thirty minutes later, she finds herself standing safely outside her private apartment on the corner of Dock Street. Before slipping inside, she looks left and right up the road to make sure she is alone, fumbles with a key in the lock, then closes the front door behind her.
Once inside her scruffy and dishevelled pad, she moves over to the cupboard in the kitchen, removes a quarter full bottle of whisky, pours herself a stiff drink (which she swallows in a single gulp) then sits down at a table and places the small bundle of papers in front of her; the stolen ring next to them.
Opening the folder carefully, she notices a small splodge of drying blood has soaked into one corner of the sheaf of papers.
Carlotta quickly sees that these are indeed the papers her client was so eager to protect, and just like she said, they were deeds to land in the Jiangsu province.
But what makes her start, inhale with shock, throw her hand to her mouth and cry out 'oh my... no' isn't the realization that the woman had (apparently) been telling the truth; but was caused by a single name which was repeatedly written on the papers:
'Mr. Charles Ray Mortimer'
Signed witness and executor of the deeds.
Mort, her dead lover!
She pours herself another drink, emptying the bottle into her glass in one go, and continues reading.
Mort had mentioned in passing that he once had bad dealings with a heavy mob over on Cash Side... the rather select and upper crust district of L.A. heights where the rich and influential lived. But he had never elucidated much beyond the fact that he had been a 'gofer'... a middle man for a notorious crime lord who expected and extracted loyalty in blood - other peoples.
She carries on reading, way into the night, just a tiny lamp casting a small circle of light around her.
Somewhere in the distance, a police whistle is heard, and Carlotta knows it is only a matter of minutes before law enforcers arrive on the scene. Better not to be present when that happens, and the P.I. knows she needs to make a quick exit.
Thinking quickly and with female instinct, she checks the one place she knows another woman would hide anything valuable... fastened in her stocking top, or thrust down the inside her blouse.
She comes up trumps!
A thin sheaf of papers is lodged inside the dead woman's undergarments. Carlotta extracts the papers, careful not to get any blood on herself... pauses for a moment, removes the woman's wedding ring and prepares to vanish into the gloom of the alley.
'The money from that ring will fetch a pretty penny, and she won't be needing it any more, will she?'
Carlotta reasons; having enough of a conscience to feel a slight pang of guilt at her roguish actions.
Hurrying away from the crime scene, by a series of twists and turns Carlotta winds her way through the back streets and alleyways until finally, some thirty minutes later, she finds herself standing safely outside her private apartment on the corner of Dock Street. Before slipping inside, she looks left and right up the road to make sure she is alone, fumbles with a key in the lock, then closes the front door behind her.
Once inside her scruffy and dishevelled pad, she moves over to the cupboard in the kitchen, removes a quarter full bottle of whisky, pours herself a stiff drink (which she swallows in a single gulp) then sits down at a table and places the small bundle of papers in front of her; the stolen ring next to them.
Opening the folder carefully, she notices a small splodge of drying blood has soaked into one corner of the sheaf of papers.
Carlotta quickly sees that these are indeed the papers her client was so eager to protect, and just like she said, they were deeds to land in the Jiangsu province.
But what makes her start, inhale with shock, throw her hand to her mouth and cry out 'oh my... no' isn't the realization that the woman had (apparently) been telling the truth; but was caused by a single name which was repeatedly written on the papers:
'Mr. Charles Ray Mortimer'
Signed witness and executor of the deeds.
Mort, her dead lover!
She pours herself another drink, emptying the bottle into her glass in one go, and continues reading.
Mort had mentioned in passing that he once had bad dealings with a heavy mob over on Cash Side... the rather select and upper crust district of L.A. heights where the rich and influential lived. But he had never elucidated much beyond the fact that he had been a 'gofer'... a middle man for a notorious crime lord who expected and extracted loyalty in blood - other peoples.
She carries on reading, way into the night, just a tiny lamp casting a small circle of light around her.
Act 4
Let's see, the last episode of the campaign saw Carlotta Wynn struggling with self doubt and confusion over the secrecy of her recently deceased lover and partner.
In fact, at the end of the last gripping episode, our intrepid bad girl turned heroine discovers that her now dead client is carrying valuable papers which apparently prove the ownership rights to a large territory of land in Jiangsu province, East China. Reading further, Carlotta is shocked to discover the signature of her long dead lover on the documents. The notorious street mobster known as 'Mort' was obviously once tied up with the plot in some way, and Carlotta is determined to get to the bottom of it all.
Reading long in to the night, Carlotta manages to ascertain three valuable clues:
Why hadn't Mort spoken of this to Carlotta?
Mort shared everything with his woman... or so she thought.
This is all too much, and Carlotta who finds herself weeping openly with grief, frustration and bitter disappointment that the man she had loved so dearly would have kept such a devastating secret from her - even taking the mystery to the grave with him.
But Carlotta is no sap. Quickly pulling herself together, she formulates a bold and daring plan.
Let's see, the last episode of the campaign saw Carlotta Wynn struggling with self doubt and confusion over the secrecy of her recently deceased lover and partner.
In fact, at the end of the last gripping episode, our intrepid bad girl turned heroine discovers that her now dead client is carrying valuable papers which apparently prove the ownership rights to a large territory of land in Jiangsu province, East China. Reading further, Carlotta is shocked to discover the signature of her long dead lover on the documents. The notorious street mobster known as 'Mort' was obviously once tied up with the plot in some way, and Carlotta is determined to get to the bottom of it all.
Reading long in to the night, Carlotta manages to ascertain three valuable clues:
- Mort was a close associate and confidant of Professor Winslow... the late husband of the now deceased Mrs Winslow - Carlotta's murdered client.
- Carlotta's lover Mort, who was gunned down in the streets like a dog just over a year ago, according to the deeds had a 10% land share claim on the Winslow estate in Jiangsu. The page legalizing this part of the deal remains unsigned by a lawyer, so Carlotta concludes this unfinished legal claim was obviously meant to be Mort's payment from Professor Winslow upon completion of... some unknown service?
- The papers speak of one remaining living relative of the Winslow family living in the Jiangsu province of East China... an estranged archaeologist cousin by the name of Dr. Justin Fabien Johannes.
Why hadn't Mort spoken of this to Carlotta?
Mort shared everything with his woman... or so she thought.
This is all too much, and Carlotta who finds herself weeping openly with grief, frustration and bitter disappointment that the man she had loved so dearly would have kept such a devastating secret from her - even taking the mystery to the grave with him.
But Carlotta is no sap. Quickly pulling herself together, she formulates a bold and daring plan.
She will purchase the ticket to China originally intended for her client Mrs Winslow - using the initial half payment originally given Carlotta only hours earlier. But she will not take the next boat to China. Oh no. Her ticket will be pre-purchased for a passage one month from now. First she will go to ground in Angel City... something she is good at doing... and then she will dig up as much dirt as she can uncover on the mysterious upper crust mob working the fine boulevards of Cash Side; the same white gloved rods Mort had been so heavily embroiled with.
Once Carlotta manages to fit the pieces together, she will tear this city slicker gang apart and smile as she sets the match herself and watches everything burn up. One month from now, the fireworks will light the sky, the shit will hit the proverbial fan, and heads will roll.... Just one
month for Carlotta to scheme, and plan, and insinuate her way into position, so that when she is ready, she will uncoil like an elegant spider... and her bite will be very poisonous.
Then she will vanish into the smoke, and arise like a mythical phoenix rising from the ashes of her own destruction. Carlotta will BECOME Mrs Darlina Winslow in name... for a while at least, using the alias as a cover while she seeks further truth about this strange and dangerous mystery - in China.
A part of Carlotta... deep inside... rejoices at the opportunity she will soon have, to get away from A.C. and to start again some place new; just as it seems the real Mrs Darlina Winslow had originally intended to do.
Meanwhile...
Once Carlotta manages to fit the pieces together, she will tear this city slicker gang apart and smile as she sets the match herself and watches everything burn up. One month from now, the fireworks will light the sky, the shit will hit the proverbial fan, and heads will roll.... Just one
month for Carlotta to scheme, and plan, and insinuate her way into position, so that when she is ready, she will uncoil like an elegant spider... and her bite will be very poisonous.
Then she will vanish into the smoke, and arise like a mythical phoenix rising from the ashes of her own destruction. Carlotta will BECOME Mrs Darlina Winslow in name... for a while at least, using the alias as a cover while she seeks further truth about this strange and dangerous mystery - in China.
A part of Carlotta... deep inside... rejoices at the opportunity she will soon have, to get away from A.C. and to start again some place new; just as it seems the real Mrs Darlina Winslow had originally intended to do.
Meanwhile...
In the Jiangsu province: intrepid adventurer Dr. Justin Fabien Johannes... unaware of events transpiring on the other side of the globe back in Angel City USA... oblivious to the fact he is now the last remaining living member of the Winslow estate... has an entirely different set of problems of his own to deal with.
South African born Dr Johannes is a remarkable man. With a doctorate in Palaeontology; post graduate degrees in Ancient Languages and Lost Civilisations, World Religions, Tropical Botany, and another in Exotic Zoology, he is a man totally in tune with his chosen surroundings, and 'a man of the times' in his professional endeavours. Though he shuns the glamour, the bright lights, and his well deserved celebrity status, he is never-the-less, very much aware of his expertise in his field, and is not one to suffer fools gladly... though it has been remarked by some (mostly jealous of his success), that his weakness for the ladies will one day be his downfall.
Presently, Dr Johannes is engrossed on finding the legendary ancient tomb of Qui Chi Men, rumoured, but never substantiated by fact, to exist somewhere deep within the Yangzi Jungle...somewhere amidst the vast masses of wilderness between Wuhan and Xi'an.
Dr. Johannes is fortunate, and the scraps of old maps, and clues buried elusively in ancient Chinese manuscripts have led him faithfully, and he feels sure the culmination of his quest lies nearby. But the closer the doctor comes to attaining confirmation of the tomb's existence, the more certain he is that he is not alone in his search.... Recently used camp fires, discarded stubs of cigarette, and the occasional muddy footprint in the soft soil of the jungle floor, all indicate he has been 'beaten to it' by some other mysterious interloper.
***
So, having set the scene for our story, we come to the game itself.
As a change of pace, I decided to play this solo affair using my new (and very simple) IN-RADIC (In Game Random Action Decision Indicative Calculator) rules; which in turn is heavily influenced by Tom Pigeons Mythic RPG and Wargames system.
The IN-RADIC rules plus the updated Undiscovered Wilderness Plot Aid Card Deck have been included in the rules section of this website for anyone wishing to enjoy these for themselves... with my compliments.
First of all, I decided to use the Uncovered Wilderness Plot Deck to determine a few factors surrounding the story line... to flesh out the imminent encounter I was about to play, and to add an additional layer of depth to the whole episode. So I drew three times from a pack of ordinary playing cards, and read the descriptions carefully to help me formulate a few sub-plots to the weave.
First card I drew was Queen of Hearts. This card represents SELF. The game sees a woman take centre stage: fair, loving and lovable, domesticated, prudent, and faithful. The second card was a Two of Hearts. It represents INFLUENCE and recent events leading up to the present. Unlooked for (short term) success... maybe a new venture, a lucrative pay packet, the discovery of an ancient and previously unknown site.
Third card pulled from the pack was a Jack of Clubs, which represents MANOUVRES and current events. A New friend or ally.
So, putting on my thinking cap for a moment, I quickly determined our hero Dr. Justin Johannes was soon to meet an attractive woman who would win his trust and possibly even capture his heart.
Obviously, the SELF card was telling me the intrepid doctor was on the verge of finding his ancient lost tomb... good, this fitted my plans nicely.
The Jack of Clubs was the cherry on top of the cake. Our hero was about to make a new friend and ally. Again, this fitted nicely with my plot line, and so perusing my shelves for female miniatures.
I soon found the perfect model to use; the blonde haired beauty Lady Jane Emileen (the entrusted ward of the famous Big Game Hunter Sir Milo Piecrust).
South African born Dr Johannes is a remarkable man. With a doctorate in Palaeontology; post graduate degrees in Ancient Languages and Lost Civilisations, World Religions, Tropical Botany, and another in Exotic Zoology, he is a man totally in tune with his chosen surroundings, and 'a man of the times' in his professional endeavours. Though he shuns the glamour, the bright lights, and his well deserved celebrity status, he is never-the-less, very much aware of his expertise in his field, and is not one to suffer fools gladly... though it has been remarked by some (mostly jealous of his success), that his weakness for the ladies will one day be his downfall.
Presently, Dr Johannes is engrossed on finding the legendary ancient tomb of Qui Chi Men, rumoured, but never substantiated by fact, to exist somewhere deep within the Yangzi Jungle...somewhere amidst the vast masses of wilderness between Wuhan and Xi'an.
Dr. Johannes is fortunate, and the scraps of old maps, and clues buried elusively in ancient Chinese manuscripts have led him faithfully, and he feels sure the culmination of his quest lies nearby. But the closer the doctor comes to attaining confirmation of the tomb's existence, the more certain he is that he is not alone in his search.... Recently used camp fires, discarded stubs of cigarette, and the occasional muddy footprint in the soft soil of the jungle floor, all indicate he has been 'beaten to it' by some other mysterious interloper.
***
So, having set the scene for our story, we come to the game itself.
As a change of pace, I decided to play this solo affair using my new (and very simple) IN-RADIC (In Game Random Action Decision Indicative Calculator) rules; which in turn is heavily influenced by Tom Pigeons Mythic RPG and Wargames system.
The IN-RADIC rules plus the updated Undiscovered Wilderness Plot Aid Card Deck have been included in the rules section of this website for anyone wishing to enjoy these for themselves... with my compliments.
First of all, I decided to use the Uncovered Wilderness Plot Deck to determine a few factors surrounding the story line... to flesh out the imminent encounter I was about to play, and to add an additional layer of depth to the whole episode. So I drew three times from a pack of ordinary playing cards, and read the descriptions carefully to help me formulate a few sub-plots to the weave.
First card I drew was Queen of Hearts. This card represents SELF. The game sees a woman take centre stage: fair, loving and lovable, domesticated, prudent, and faithful. The second card was a Two of Hearts. It represents INFLUENCE and recent events leading up to the present. Unlooked for (short term) success... maybe a new venture, a lucrative pay packet, the discovery of an ancient and previously unknown site.
Third card pulled from the pack was a Jack of Clubs, which represents MANOUVRES and current events. A New friend or ally.
So, putting on my thinking cap for a moment, I quickly determined our hero Dr. Justin Johannes was soon to meet an attractive woman who would win his trust and possibly even capture his heart.
Obviously, the SELF card was telling me the intrepid doctor was on the verge of finding his ancient lost tomb... good, this fitted my plans nicely.
The Jack of Clubs was the cherry on top of the cake. Our hero was about to make a new friend and ally. Again, this fitted nicely with my plot line, and so perusing my shelves for female miniatures.
I soon found the perfect model to use; the blonde haired beauty Lady Jane Emileen (the entrusted ward of the famous Big Game Hunter Sir Milo Piecrust).
Good! The stage was set. Now I could concentrate on the 'film set' (playing area) and my 'actors' (the miniatures themselves).
I decided the playing area didn't need to be very big at all, and so a 26'' by 24'' table would suffice nicely. Mid way, along the far (north) edge of the board I would place my home made Chinese Pyramid/Tomb model, and the rest of the battle board would see my home made Jungle trees make their debut appearance in a game. I've been waiting to use these for a long time.
Along the bottom... of the table from one of the southern edge corners... our brave hero plus a couple of hired Chinese baggage carriers and a native rifleman scout would enter play crossing an old stone bridge (a fish aquarium ornament bought from my local pet store).
The objective of the game is quite simple: Dr. Johannes and his small team feel they are close to discovering a lost tomb somewhere deep in the jungles of East China, and must push onto the game board and through the trees to see what they might discover. However, unbeknownst to them they are (potentially) about to walk straight into another group of explorers, whose interest in the ancient tomb, and nefarious intents are quite different from our heroes; and utterly unfriendly. The 'bad guys' placement on the table will be guided by the following:
At the beginning of each turn before the hero & his Chinese natives take any actions throw a six sided die and read from the following table:
How to roll 1D3 on a six sided die: if the roll is 1 or 2 the actual result will be a 1. If the roll is a 3 or 4 the actual result will be a 2. If the roll is a 5 or 6 the actual result will be a 3.
Like Dr Justin Johannes, Baron Luger Von Kiel is a renowned archaeologist adventurer. But unlike our intrepid hero, Von Kiel has an evil dark master who funds his explorations and supplies him with the 'muscle' he needs to protect his (often nefarious) dealings. Quite what Von Kiel's interest is in the lost tomb of Qui Chi Men, as of yet - is totally unknown.
German Seebataillon - 1st Strafkolinie (Penal Colony Battalion): In total, the bad guys can muster 16 German (henchman) soldiers and the big boss himself Das Baron Luger Von Kiel. Incidentally, this arch villain will only enter play when/if our hero moves within 4 inches of the prisoner; at which point place the Von Kiel miniature anywhere on the board within 4 inches of Dr. Johannes.
The Game
I decided the playing area didn't need to be very big at all, and so a 26'' by 24'' table would suffice nicely. Mid way, along the far (north) edge of the board I would place my home made Chinese Pyramid/Tomb model, and the rest of the battle board would see my home made Jungle trees make their debut appearance in a game. I've been waiting to use these for a long time.
Along the bottom... of the table from one of the southern edge corners... our brave hero plus a couple of hired Chinese baggage carriers and a native rifleman scout would enter play crossing an old stone bridge (a fish aquarium ornament bought from my local pet store).
The objective of the game is quite simple: Dr. Johannes and his small team feel they are close to discovering a lost tomb somewhere deep in the jungles of East China, and must push onto the game board and through the trees to see what they might discover. However, unbeknownst to them they are (potentially) about to walk straight into another group of explorers, whose interest in the ancient tomb, and nefarious intents are quite different from our heroes; and utterly unfriendly. The 'bad guys' placement on the table will be guided by the following:
At the beginning of each turn before the hero & his Chinese natives take any actions throw a six sided die and read from the following table:
- If it is the start of the game, the good guys will be entering play from the old stone bridge. Before they get to move, if a 1, 2, 3 or 4 is rolled, 1D3 enemies are placed in the jungle exactly 8 inches away from them.
- If the good guys are moving through the Jungle and a 1, 2 or 3 is thrown: 1D3 enemies are placed anywhere within the jungle terrain exactly 8 inches away from them.
- If any of the good guys make it through the jungle to the tomb clearing, 2D6 worth of remaining bad guys will be placed nonchalantly around the tomb... two of these enemies must be flanking a female prisoner thrown roughly to the ground between them.
How to roll 1D3 on a six sided die: if the roll is 1 or 2 the actual result will be a 1. If the roll is a 3 or 4 the actual result will be a 2. If the roll is a 5 or 6 the actual result will be a 3.
Like Dr Justin Johannes, Baron Luger Von Kiel is a renowned archaeologist adventurer. But unlike our intrepid hero, Von Kiel has an evil dark master who funds his explorations and supplies him with the 'muscle' he needs to protect his (often nefarious) dealings. Quite what Von Kiel's interest is in the lost tomb of Qui Chi Men, as of yet - is totally unknown.
German Seebataillon - 1st Strafkolinie (Penal Colony Battalion): In total, the bad guys can muster 16 German (henchman) soldiers and the big boss himself Das Baron Luger Von Kiel. Incidentally, this arch villain will only enter play when/if our hero moves within 4 inches of the prisoner; at which point place the Von Kiel miniature anywhere on the board within 4 inches of Dr. Johannes.
The Game
Justin stands in the middle of the ancient stone bridge, and then for the first time, he spots a large pyramid shaped stone... smooth, gray, and obviously very large, jutting out above the tree line like a shark's fin rising up out of the water. Has he finally found the lost tomb of Qui Chi
Men? Over the bridge, an old and overgrown trail winds its way towards his goal, and the conclusion of months of hard work.
But then, suddenly! From along the path on the far side of the bridge, several shots ring out and bullets ping off the stones all around the doctor like jumping jacks striking the ground.
Peering through the gloomy canopy of trees, Justin can vaguely make out the figure of a pale green uniform clad rifleman standing in the middle of the path ahead of them.
Men? Over the bridge, an old and overgrown trail winds its way towards his goal, and the conclusion of months of hard work.
But then, suddenly! From along the path on the far side of the bridge, several shots ring out and bullets ping off the stones all around the doctor like jumping jacks striking the ground.
Peering through the gloomy canopy of trees, Justin can vaguely make out the figure of a pale green uniform clad rifleman standing in the middle of the path ahead of them.
Drawing his trusty pistol from his side holster, the brave doctor fires a rapid succession of shots towards the unknown enemy. The range is extreme, yet his aim is good, and he is rewarded by seeing the distant figure spin and drop to the forest floor. The figure lies unmoving where he falls.
Rule Mechanics: Our Hero's team pulled two cards from the pack, using the highest number (which is a 7) to determine both move initiative and action points for the turn. The enemy only draws a 5, so goes second during this game segment.
However, the enemy throws a 3 at the beginning of the turn before our hero even has a chance to do anything... followed by a 2, which means he can place a single German Seebataillon soldier eight inches away. The figure is placed on the path ahead of the hero party; and immediately un-slings his rifle and takes a few snap shots at the intruders approaching over the bridge.
He draws three cards from the deck for firing a rifle, but the cards are hearts and diamonds, and he needs a clubs card to achieve a hit. He would have been better to have run back through the trees to sound "alarm" at the top of his lungs. As it is, the thick trees swallow the sound of gunfire entirely; and when the lead most figure on the bridge (Dr. Johannes) returns fire.... the German soldier is hit and drops to the ground like a stone.
Using 2 action points (7 total this move, due to drawing a seven at the start of the turn), Dr. Johannes fires then darts over the bridge and takes cover amongst the trees on the far side. The rest of his team move up and onto the bridge, bravely following their intrepid leader. I make no morale roll this turn as they have just seen their 'boss' dispatch the
lone enemy with relative ease.
Rule Mechanics: Our Hero's team pulled two cards from the pack, using the highest number (which is a 7) to determine both move initiative and action points for the turn. The enemy only draws a 5, so goes second during this game segment.
However, the enemy throws a 3 at the beginning of the turn before our hero even has a chance to do anything... followed by a 2, which means he can place a single German Seebataillon soldier eight inches away. The figure is placed on the path ahead of the hero party; and immediately un-slings his rifle and takes a few snap shots at the intruders approaching over the bridge.
He draws three cards from the deck for firing a rifle, but the cards are hearts and diamonds, and he needs a clubs card to achieve a hit. He would have been better to have run back through the trees to sound "alarm" at the top of his lungs. As it is, the thick trees swallow the sound of gunfire entirely; and when the lead most figure on the bridge (Dr. Johannes) returns fire.... the German soldier is hit and drops to the ground like a stone.
Using 2 action points (7 total this move, due to drawing a seven at the start of the turn), Dr. Johannes fires then darts over the bridge and takes cover amongst the trees on the far side. The rest of his team move up and onto the bridge, bravely following their intrepid leader. I make no morale roll this turn as they have just seen their 'boss' dispatch the
lone enemy with relative ease.
Draws a King and a Queen (save cards), but the 1 of Diamonds is lower than the 'to hit' card, so the German takes a wound. As he is only a secondary (minion) character, this is enough to remove him from play.
Our heroes move over the bridge and into the jungle on the far side.
As Justin slips quietly into the undergrowth, he sees two move uniformed soldiers creeping forward along the path. Over his shoulder he spots his own team moving up over the bridge and realizes they will be sitting ducks to second the enemy notices them. Doing what any true hero would do under the circumstances, he charges towards the enemy with pistol blazing as he goes.... and misses with all three shots!
As the distance between them closes, Justin notices the enemy he is bearing down upon are wearing colours which bear a striking resemblance to the legendary German Sea Battalions, but the watery hue is that of Penal colours, and suddenly our hero knows he is facing the feared and detested Colonial Expeditionary force rumored to have been lurking mysteriously in the Jiangsu Province for a while now. One of Dr.Johannes's most trusted contacts back at Wu Port, British Police Chief Inspector Mr. Hercule Jon Perry strongly believes the Germans are gun-running in the area, yet to date, is utterly unable to bear further light on his suspicions.
As Justin slips quietly into the undergrowth, he sees two move uniformed soldiers creeping forward along the path. Over his shoulder he spots his own team moving up over the bridge and realizes they will be sitting ducks to second the enemy notices them. Doing what any true hero would do under the circumstances, he charges towards the enemy with pistol blazing as he goes.... and misses with all three shots!
As the distance between them closes, Justin notices the enemy he is bearing down upon are wearing colours which bear a striking resemblance to the legendary German Sea Battalions, but the watery hue is that of Penal colours, and suddenly our hero knows he is facing the feared and detested Colonial Expeditionary force rumored to have been lurking mysteriously in the Jiangsu Province for a while now. One of Dr.Johannes's most trusted contacts back at Wu Port, British Police Chief Inspector Mr. Hercule Jon Perry strongly believes the Germans are gun-running in the area, yet to date, is utterly unable to bear further light on his suspicions.
The two German soldiers see the stranger advancing towards them, hearing the shots buzz harmlessly over their heads... look at one another, silently raise their own rifles, and blast the trees all around their charging assailant. One bullet rips through the shoulder of their target (1 of his 6 wounds used up), but the rest fly into the jungle, skimming and ricocheting off tree trunks with dull whines of protest.
The Chinese rifleman in the employ of Dr. Johannes raises his own primitive rifle... shoots over the charging Justin's head... and drops
one of the Germans where he stands.
Rule Mechanics: I decide it's about time for the last standing German to take a morale check. He has just seen one of his friends shot to the ground by enemy gun fire, and another lies a little further up the path; but these German lads are a tough lot, so I assign the soldier a fifty/fifty chance of failing his IN-RADIC morale check.
He rolls a 5, and checking along the Average column: a number which falls between a Perfect and Okay result represents a non result... or in other words this is a turn delay which is neither a success or a failure. So for this turn (and I decree the next as well) he will be rooted to the spot, unsure what to do.
Failing to roll the required number on the die for fresh reinforcements on the next turn, the lone German can do nothing except wait inert for the charging wild man to make contact with him.
The action cards drawn for the hero and team are a 3 and a 3. So their choices of actions will be somewhat limited this turn.
The Chinese rifleman in the employ of Dr. Johannes raises his own primitive rifle... shoots over the charging Justin's head... and drops
one of the Germans where he stands.
Rule Mechanics: I decide it's about time for the last standing German to take a morale check. He has just seen one of his friends shot to the ground by enemy gun fire, and another lies a little further up the path; but these German lads are a tough lot, so I assign the soldier a fifty/fifty chance of failing his IN-RADIC morale check.
He rolls a 5, and checking along the Average column: a number which falls between a Perfect and Okay result represents a non result... or in other words this is a turn delay which is neither a success or a failure. So for this turn (and I decree the next as well) he will be rooted to the spot, unsure what to do.
Failing to roll the required number on the die for fresh reinforcements on the next turn, the lone German can do nothing except wait inert for the charging wild man to make contact with him.
The action cards drawn for the hero and team are a 3 and a 3. So their choices of actions will be somewhat limited this turn.
Our hero moves (1 card point) and makes a melee attack (another card point), and draws two hits with his four attack cards. The German soldier successfully wards off one of the hits, but fails to block the other, and falls senseless to the ground beside his companion.
The Chinese rifle bearer on the bridge moves forward into the jungle, which completes the heroes' available actions for this turn.
Dr. Justin Fabien Johannes moves through the jungle overgrowth, parting the exotic leaves of various trees and multi hued bushes, intent on reaching his goal, the lost tomb of Qui Chi Men. He can feel he is close, and a nervous excitement courses through his veins and his heart pumps loudly in his ears like a wild and erratic drum beat. Behind him, crashing through the new trail he is blazing through the foliage, his small native contingent follows closely in his footsteps...
...and suddenly, he is standing on the tree line at the edge of a clearing in the jungle. Justin allows a silent whistle to escape his lips as his eyes hungrily take in the sight before him.
Standing tall and proud in the middle of the clearing is an amazing sight to behold. An obelisk of stone jutting straight out of the ground; and even though just the tip is showing... a three-sided, tapering monument, ending in a pyramidal like top... the smooth chiselled stone still dominates the landscape, and would have been a marvel for all eyes to see if it hadn't been buried, lost to time in the deepest jungle terrain of the Jiangsu.
But the temple tomb is not the only thing Justin has spotted. All around the base of the pyramid structure are rifle armed men in pale green uniforms, all standing sentry in a porcupine line of defence.
But more noticeable to Justin is the fact that two of the men stand flanking a semi clothed blonde haired woman who has been thrown carelessly to the ground, half lying and half sitting in a cowered pose as though she fears for her very life. Through her tears even across the distance, Justin can make out her pleas for mercy, but the response is cruel laughter from the two assigned captors closest to her.
The Chinese rifle bearer on the bridge moves forward into the jungle, which completes the heroes' available actions for this turn.
Dr. Justin Fabien Johannes moves through the jungle overgrowth, parting the exotic leaves of various trees and multi hued bushes, intent on reaching his goal, the lost tomb of Qui Chi Men. He can feel he is close, and a nervous excitement courses through his veins and his heart pumps loudly in his ears like a wild and erratic drum beat. Behind him, crashing through the new trail he is blazing through the foliage, his small native contingent follows closely in his footsteps...
...and suddenly, he is standing on the tree line at the edge of a clearing in the jungle. Justin allows a silent whistle to escape his lips as his eyes hungrily take in the sight before him.
Standing tall and proud in the middle of the clearing is an amazing sight to behold. An obelisk of stone jutting straight out of the ground; and even though just the tip is showing... a three-sided, tapering monument, ending in a pyramidal like top... the smooth chiselled stone still dominates the landscape, and would have been a marvel for all eyes to see if it hadn't been buried, lost to time in the deepest jungle terrain of the Jiangsu.
But the temple tomb is not the only thing Justin has spotted. All around the base of the pyramid structure are rifle armed men in pale green uniforms, all standing sentry in a porcupine line of defence.
But more noticeable to Justin is the fact that two of the men stand flanking a semi clothed blonde haired woman who has been thrown carelessly to the ground, half lying and half sitting in a cowered pose as though she fears for her very life. Through her tears even across the distance, Justin can make out her pleas for mercy, but the response is cruel laughter from the two assigned captors closest to her.
The woman does not look indigenous to the area, and her uncombed blonde hair lying straggled and wild about her face gives her the defiant air of a mythical Amazon, for although she looks beaten and dejected, the defiant slant of her head and the intelligence burning through her fiery blue eyes betrays anything other than humble defeat.
Hearing his team approaching quietly through the undergrowth behind him, Justin knows he needs to think and act fast. He counts six armed men in the clearing around the triangular stone.
Rule Mechanics: The second our hero stepped to the edge of the clearing, I threw 2 six sided dice to determine how many enemies I would place to guard the tomb... and prisoner.
Making a snap decision, Justin looks over his shoulder, sees his trusty rifle armed team member (I think we'll call him 'Woo' from now on), and nods once towards him, a slight flicker of doubt showing on his face. But comprehending of his master's thoughts, brave resolve shines clearly in the young native boy's eyes. Justin is suddenly more confident his plan might work. Justin quickly reloads his weapon, and when he is ready, he raises a hand to the boy, signalling his intent. The native, now with a clear bead on the nearest target, merely nods, but he gives his master a shiny white teeth filled smile of acknowledgement.
Hearing his team approaching quietly through the undergrowth behind him, Justin knows he needs to think and act fast. He counts six armed men in the clearing around the triangular stone.
Rule Mechanics: The second our hero stepped to the edge of the clearing, I threw 2 six sided dice to determine how many enemies I would place to guard the tomb... and prisoner.
Making a snap decision, Justin looks over his shoulder, sees his trusty rifle armed team member (I think we'll call him 'Woo' from now on), and nods once towards him, a slight flicker of doubt showing on his face. But comprehending of his master's thoughts, brave resolve shines clearly in the young native boy's eyes. Justin is suddenly more confident his plan might work. Justin quickly reloads his weapon, and when he is ready, he raises a hand to the boy, signalling his intent. The native, now with a clear bead on the nearest target, merely nods, but he gives his master a shiny white teeth filled smile of acknowledgement.
Then our hero makes a dash into the open and rushes towards his foes, raising his pistol as he goes. Initiative and fate are both on his side, and he covers several seconds of ground before the German soldiers ever realize they are being attacked.
But Justin fires a few rounds from his pistol... dropping one of the guards standing near the captive woman before the man even knows what hit him.
The second is preparing to raise a rifle towards the charging intruder, but the loud crack of a rifle shot from the edge of the clearing fells the soldier like a tree trunk.... Woo's aim as ever, proves to be good.
Justin charges headlong into another soldier, and after a quick interchange of blows the German is overpowered and dispatched with skilful efficiency.
But Justin fires a few rounds from his pistol... dropping one of the guards standing near the captive woman before the man even knows what hit him.
The second is preparing to raise a rifle towards the charging intruder, but the loud crack of a rifle shot from the edge of the clearing fells the soldier like a tree trunk.... Woo's aim as ever, proves to be good.
Justin charges headlong into another soldier, and after a quick interchange of blows the German is overpowered and dispatched with skilful efficiency.
"Aaah, doctor Johannes, so ve meet again!"
A high pitched and heavily accented voice appears from nowhere... and suddenly, standing in the clearing is a huge, muscular man in a white jacket, blue shirt, and mismatching purple striped trousers. Justin immediately recognizes the rogue as none other than the notorious Baron Luger Von Kiel.
A high pitched and heavily accented voice appears from nowhere... and suddenly, standing in the clearing is a huge, muscular man in a white jacket, blue shirt, and mismatching purple striped trousers. Justin immediately recognizes the rogue as none other than the notorious Baron Luger Von Kiel.
Undaunted by the sudden appearance of this new foe, or the way time seems to slow to a standstill by his dominant presence, Justin decides to buy for time, allowing him to think of a plan to save them all. The remaining German guards around the pyramid grin with evil dire intent, and start to move in closer.
Our hero is aware the sudden standoff might explode into new action any second.
Rule Mechanics: I decide now is the perfect time to use the Secondary Traits Table from my Pulp Fiction rules. I already know (having pre-rolled the stats for Justin Johannes, using these rules) that our hero has at his disposal Automatic Success: and Conversation Taunt; so I decide over the next few moves to put these into operation.... hopefully at level 5 Justin can pull it off smoothly.
"I see your dress sense hasn't improved, Herr Kiel. You were wearing that suit at the World Peace Conference in Praag last year weren't you?" Justin taunts... successfully, he notices. The sudden flash of anger makes the nefarious villain's face flush red for a second, but he quickly
recovers his composure, laughing off the insult with a chuckle.
"Aaah Mr Johannes, surely you jest; everyone knows your indomitable reputation for trivial banter. It might work with the ladies you so delight in making your nocturnal conquests... but not with me."
But Justin knows he has his hook into the worm, and starts expand upon his taunts; all the time aware that Von Luger and his men have advanced just far enough away from the girl to have left her unobserved and unguarded.... completely forgotten for the time being. From the corner of his eye, Justin spots Woo creeping closer round the side of the pyramid, and ever closer to the rope tied woman.
"Well at least I possess the charm and wit to entertain in that way.
Must be hard for you to comprehend, dear Baron... however, you might try taking a bath every once in a while I suppose, but I can't guarantee even that would remove your notorious rank aroma."
Our hero is aware the sudden standoff might explode into new action any second.
Rule Mechanics: I decide now is the perfect time to use the Secondary Traits Table from my Pulp Fiction rules. I already know (having pre-rolled the stats for Justin Johannes, using these rules) that our hero has at his disposal Automatic Success: and Conversation Taunt; so I decide over the next few moves to put these into operation.... hopefully at level 5 Justin can pull it off smoothly.
"I see your dress sense hasn't improved, Herr Kiel. You were wearing that suit at the World Peace Conference in Praag last year weren't you?" Justin taunts... successfully, he notices. The sudden flash of anger makes the nefarious villain's face flush red for a second, but he quickly
recovers his composure, laughing off the insult with a chuckle.
"Aaah Mr Johannes, surely you jest; everyone knows your indomitable reputation for trivial banter. It might work with the ladies you so delight in making your nocturnal conquests... but not with me."
But Justin knows he has his hook into the worm, and starts expand upon his taunts; all the time aware that Von Luger and his men have advanced just far enough away from the girl to have left her unobserved and unguarded.... completely forgotten for the time being. From the corner of his eye, Justin spots Woo creeping closer round the side of the pyramid, and ever closer to the rope tied woman.
"Well at least I possess the charm and wit to entertain in that way.
Must be hard for you to comprehend, dear Baron... however, you might try taking a bath every once in a while I suppose, but I can't guarantee even that would remove your notorious rank aroma."
Woo reaches the woman... puts a hand to his lips, cautioning her to stay quiet, and starts cutting the bonds around her feet.
"Mr. Johannes, I know you like to hear the sound of your own voice, but I'm afraid I don't have time to listen to this pathetic banter. I have you where I want you, and if I were you I'd be choosing my next words a little more cautiously, because they will be your last."
Woo cuts the rope binding blonde haired woman's hands... and they begin to move away, silently melting into the jungle.
Justin knows his moment to make his own escape has come.
"I believe it's customary for a condemned man to be granted a final wish. I thought you Nazi types were big on all that honour and pride stuff ?" Justin toys with the pistol magazine clip carefully concealed in his hand.
"Quite right. Watching you cling to life for a few more seconds will be most delightful. So, what is it you van't Mr. Johannes?"
"One of those Cuban Cigars you're puffing on now, if you please."
"Really...? I didn't know you smoked." The Baron chuckles.
"Well, I try not to make it common knowledge I have any vices, but under the circumstances...." Justin lies.
Handing a cigar from his top pocket to one of his men, the soldier came forward and hands it to the prisoner, barely suppressing the sneer of contempt from his hair stubbled face. Lighting the cigar for the doctor, the soldier moved away to allow him to smoke in peace for a few seconds.
"You know, Mr Johannes, I will miss you, you know." The Baron toys.
"Oh, why's that?" Justin plays for just a little more time.
"Oh because with you gone, things will be quiet in the academic field. I've dreamed of this day for so long you see... finally dispatching the infamous doctor Johannes, without even a final epitaph or a grave to mark his passing. Best of all, you failed to find the tomb of Qui Chi Men before me, indeed you failed to recognize its importance at all. Yes, I shall miss you when you are gone, because I will have to set myself a new dream."
Justin desperately wants to taunt the Baron longer, to find out what his enemy has discovered about the tomb, but he knows he must move now, or lose everything. Luck has been with him so far, but it wouldn't last forever.
Moving in a sudden whirl of motion, Justin stubs the lighted cigar down onto the bullet filled cylinder in his hand. The heat of the burning tobacco ignites some of the powder, but before it can spread and explode, our hero throws the whole thing into the middle of the enemy... turns tail and runs as fast as he can back towards edge of the jungle where he first entered the clearing.
Behind him, there is a small explosion of flame and smoke... shards of metal fly in all directions; and there are a few screams of pain, but Justin does not have time to look around to witness his handiwork.
"Mr. Johannes, I know you like to hear the sound of your own voice, but I'm afraid I don't have time to listen to this pathetic banter. I have you where I want you, and if I were you I'd be choosing my next words a little more cautiously, because they will be your last."
Woo cuts the rope binding blonde haired woman's hands... and they begin to move away, silently melting into the jungle.
Justin knows his moment to make his own escape has come.
"I believe it's customary for a condemned man to be granted a final wish. I thought you Nazi types were big on all that honour and pride stuff ?" Justin toys with the pistol magazine clip carefully concealed in his hand.
"Quite right. Watching you cling to life for a few more seconds will be most delightful. So, what is it you van't Mr. Johannes?"
"One of those Cuban Cigars you're puffing on now, if you please."
"Really...? I didn't know you smoked." The Baron chuckles.
"Well, I try not to make it common knowledge I have any vices, but under the circumstances...." Justin lies.
Handing a cigar from his top pocket to one of his men, the soldier came forward and hands it to the prisoner, barely suppressing the sneer of contempt from his hair stubbled face. Lighting the cigar for the doctor, the soldier moved away to allow him to smoke in peace for a few seconds.
"You know, Mr Johannes, I will miss you, you know." The Baron toys.
"Oh, why's that?" Justin plays for just a little more time.
"Oh because with you gone, things will be quiet in the academic field. I've dreamed of this day for so long you see... finally dispatching the infamous doctor Johannes, without even a final epitaph or a grave to mark his passing. Best of all, you failed to find the tomb of Qui Chi Men before me, indeed you failed to recognize its importance at all. Yes, I shall miss you when you are gone, because I will have to set myself a new dream."
Justin desperately wants to taunt the Baron longer, to find out what his enemy has discovered about the tomb, but he knows he must move now, or lose everything. Luck has been with him so far, but it wouldn't last forever.
Moving in a sudden whirl of motion, Justin stubs the lighted cigar down onto the bullet filled cylinder in his hand. The heat of the burning tobacco ignites some of the powder, but before it can spread and explode, our hero throws the whole thing into the middle of the enemy... turns tail and runs as fast as he can back towards edge of the jungle where he first entered the clearing.
Behind him, there is a small explosion of flame and smoke... shards of metal fly in all directions; and there are a few screams of pain, but Justin does not have time to look around to witness his handiwork.
Diving into the trees, Justin moves as fast as he can away from the threat behind him.
The voice of the enraged Baron calls after him.
"We will meet again Mr. Johannes, that I promise you!"
***
The voice of the enraged Baron calls after him.
"We will meet again Mr. Johannes, that I promise you!"
***
Act 5
Meanwhile!
Back in Angel City...
Carlotta Wynn took one long last look around her small apartment dive. It wasn't much to look at, even less to speak of; but it had been her home for the last year, and for a brief moment a womanly pang of nostalgia... or was it fear of the unknown future... chilled her bones to the core, and she shivered as she stood in the door way.
Pursing her lips with sudden determination and steeling herself with a new strength of purpose, she closed the warped and paint-cracked door behind her, turned the lock and pocketed the key.
A small duffle bag hung off her shoulder... the contents of her entire life contained within, and she descended the rickety old stairs to the ground floor, opened the outer portal leading into the alley at the side of the house, and walked out into the wet precipitous night.
Puddles of water soaked her feet before she even reached the road at the end of the narrow lane. Her tights clung to her ankles and made them itch, but she resisted the temptation to stop and take them off. No time now. She needed to be away from here, and night was her friend and ally.
Stopping briefly at the corner connection where Dock and Anchor Street met, she ran her hands through her dripping hair and with a forced expression of confidence, she walked into the small drug store secreted between two tall warehouses on either side.
"Evening Licksy" She called over to the scruffy looking, string vested individual leaning on the counter and pouring over the racing pages in Miller's Gazette. She reached over her head and she dexterously numbed the ancient brass door bell as she entered the disorganized and half empty 24 hour convenience store. "Don't you ever sleep?" She bantered airily.
"Why good evening to you, missy" Licksy's usual lilting American/Irish brogue tinkled like running water in a clear mountain brook. "and er... no. Why pay someone decent money to do a job only half as well as I could do it myself in the first place. I can sleep all I want when I'm dead."
He bantered back, a wide smile on his rosy flushed face.
"Aah, Jeeeise, yer soaked through to the skin. Look, why don't yer come through into the back room with me and share a noggin o' the good stuff. All the way from the old country itself?"
Licksy moved over to the door and threw a couple of bolts across, and turned the sign in the window to CLOSED. He moved with an agility which defied his middle aged set, and his eyes were ever darting into the darkest corners seeking out potential trouble.
He opened a door behind the grimy wooden counter and led them both along a narrow passage which in turn took them to a wide storeroom at the back of the building. It was an open planned warehouse, and contained a myriad of stacked boxes of sundry goods... all things the rest of his legitimate business didn't normally make available to the public.
Licksy was a supplier. A procurer of merchandise; magically able to find the most hard to come by items which sometimes fell into his grasp from the dockland wharfs... for those with the money to afford them.
The back warehouse smelled of paraffin lamps, cigarette smoke, and whisky. A few misfit looking goons sat around a large table playing cards and gambling with piles of loose coin for fun, and a lifetime's habit.
When they spotted the newcomer, they stiffened instinctively. A few reached inside their jackets for rods, others fingered blades secreted in boot and belt. But when they realized who it was, toothy grins and a few happy winks quickly followed, accompanied by welcome words and the offer to sit in and join them in their game. Everybody liked the intelligent and headstrong woman and were genuinely delighted whenever she honoured them with her presence - which sadly, wasn't nearly often enough for their liking.
"Sorry boys, not tonight, I can't stop." Carlotta purred. But she gratefully accepted a glass of golden hued malt thrust into her hand and the Lucky Strike which was lit for her in the other.
Yes, Carly was a swell dame, and not one of the ugly mugs assembled wouldn't have given his right arm, dried out for a month, and taken a perfume bath if they thought they had an outside chance of winning her affections. But, in truth, each knew they could never aspire to catching the eye of the likes of this smoldering lady, and were content just to have her near... inhaling her Opium perfume and basking in her presence - falling over themselves to please her in any way they could.
Meanwhile!
Back in Angel City...
Carlotta Wynn took one long last look around her small apartment dive. It wasn't much to look at, even less to speak of; but it had been her home for the last year, and for a brief moment a womanly pang of nostalgia... or was it fear of the unknown future... chilled her bones to the core, and she shivered as she stood in the door way.
Pursing her lips with sudden determination and steeling herself with a new strength of purpose, she closed the warped and paint-cracked door behind her, turned the lock and pocketed the key.
A small duffle bag hung off her shoulder... the contents of her entire life contained within, and she descended the rickety old stairs to the ground floor, opened the outer portal leading into the alley at the side of the house, and walked out into the wet precipitous night.
Puddles of water soaked her feet before she even reached the road at the end of the narrow lane. Her tights clung to her ankles and made them itch, but she resisted the temptation to stop and take them off. No time now. She needed to be away from here, and night was her friend and ally.
Stopping briefly at the corner connection where Dock and Anchor Street met, she ran her hands through her dripping hair and with a forced expression of confidence, she walked into the small drug store secreted between two tall warehouses on either side.
"Evening Licksy" She called over to the scruffy looking, string vested individual leaning on the counter and pouring over the racing pages in Miller's Gazette. She reached over her head and she dexterously numbed the ancient brass door bell as she entered the disorganized and half empty 24 hour convenience store. "Don't you ever sleep?" She bantered airily.
"Why good evening to you, missy" Licksy's usual lilting American/Irish brogue tinkled like running water in a clear mountain brook. "and er... no. Why pay someone decent money to do a job only half as well as I could do it myself in the first place. I can sleep all I want when I'm dead."
He bantered back, a wide smile on his rosy flushed face.
"Aah, Jeeeise, yer soaked through to the skin. Look, why don't yer come through into the back room with me and share a noggin o' the good stuff. All the way from the old country itself?"
Licksy moved over to the door and threw a couple of bolts across, and turned the sign in the window to CLOSED. He moved with an agility which defied his middle aged set, and his eyes were ever darting into the darkest corners seeking out potential trouble.
He opened a door behind the grimy wooden counter and led them both along a narrow passage which in turn took them to a wide storeroom at the back of the building. It was an open planned warehouse, and contained a myriad of stacked boxes of sundry goods... all things the rest of his legitimate business didn't normally make available to the public.
Licksy was a supplier. A procurer of merchandise; magically able to find the most hard to come by items which sometimes fell into his grasp from the dockland wharfs... for those with the money to afford them.
The back warehouse smelled of paraffin lamps, cigarette smoke, and whisky. A few misfit looking goons sat around a large table playing cards and gambling with piles of loose coin for fun, and a lifetime's habit.
When they spotted the newcomer, they stiffened instinctively. A few reached inside their jackets for rods, others fingered blades secreted in boot and belt. But when they realized who it was, toothy grins and a few happy winks quickly followed, accompanied by welcome words and the offer to sit in and join them in their game. Everybody liked the intelligent and headstrong woman and were genuinely delighted whenever she honoured them with her presence - which sadly, wasn't nearly often enough for their liking.
"Sorry boys, not tonight, I can't stop." Carlotta purred. But she gratefully accepted a glass of golden hued malt thrust into her hand and the Lucky Strike which was lit for her in the other.
Yes, Carly was a swell dame, and not one of the ugly mugs assembled wouldn't have given his right arm, dried out for a month, and taken a perfume bath if they thought they had an outside chance of winning her affections. But, in truth, each knew they could never aspire to catching the eye of the likes of this smoldering lady, and were content just to have her near... inhaling her Opium perfume and basking in her presence - falling over themselves to please her in any way they could.
"Aaah, give the lady some air now, will ya fellas." Licksy interjected amongst the clamber of happy voices. Mockingly brushing them off with friendly slaps and punches.
Carlotta took in the tall pile of boxes sitting at the back of the warehouse, near the wide double doors leading out into the back lane. Obviously Licksy's boys had just received a fresh assignment of 'wares' and excitement was running high in everyone tonight.
Licksy led Carlotta over to the kitchen camper stove in the makeshift dining area, and sat her down at a private table.
"Licksy, I have to go away."
The man sighed gently, and a sad smile appeared on his face. "Well I didn't think it was fer your health that you were walking the lonely streets at this time of the night, missy... are yer in trouble?"
"Kinda, yes." Carlotta conceded.
"Then you'll be needing my help, like as not." The man smiled more widely. "I... I can't pay you much, Licksy." Carlotta looked up into his eyes with genuine nervousness.
"Heaven preserve us... I don't want yer money, missy. You should know better than to insult me like that. We're friends, and if you need my help," he slammed his hand down on the table: "Then by all the saints what kind of a man would I be if I ignored a friend in need."
"Thanks Licksy." Carlotta's face softened, and leaning forward for a moment, she squeezed his hand in gratitude.
"So, shoot?" Licksy leaned back in his chair, suddenly putting on an exaggeratedly business like face, which made Carlotta smile, then a small burst of laughter escaped from her lips. Licksy was glad, he liked to see this woman smile... she didn't do nearly enough of that lately.
Carlotta's momentary outburst soon vanished, however, and was quickly replaced by her usual serious porcelain stare.
"I'll need a 9mm Luger and two spare centre-fire autoloader cartridges."
"So you're finally tired of that old Winchester I let you have back along?" Licksy teased. He had always thought the rod was altogether too clumsy for a refined woman to handle.
"No, I'll still be needing that for back up... and a few more slugs for it too please, Licksy."
Licksy looked slightly worried, and a frown appeared on his forehead. "You're expecting some fierce shenanigans then. Carly, what sort of trouble are you...?"
"Please, don't Licksy." Carlotta cut him off abruptly. But Licksy merely put his hands up in a placatory gesture, then shook his head even more sadly.
"And I need them now I'm afraid. I... I have to lie low for a while, and I don't think I'll be able to come back later for any of this."
"Jeeeise woman, you're not planning coming back at all are you?" His shrewd eyes narrowed with wise comprehension, and when Carlotta's silent stare was all the answer he received, he knew for sure he was right.
"Here's the key to my flat, it's paid up for a while as you know, but you can rent it out again at once if you want to, I won't mind." Carlotta drank deeply from her glass of law prohibited whisky and her hands shook slightly.
"No, no... nooo Carly, this isn't the way at all. Let me help, I'm sure together we can...."
"...NO, Licksy!" Carlotta's eyes flashed with fire. But she sighed, and calmed down immediately when she saw her old friend's hurt expression.
"Licksy, I have to do this alone. Please try and understand." She smiled weakly. But conviction was in her voice as she spoke; and her hands had stopped shaking altogether.
Carlotta took in the tall pile of boxes sitting at the back of the warehouse, near the wide double doors leading out into the back lane. Obviously Licksy's boys had just received a fresh assignment of 'wares' and excitement was running high in everyone tonight.
Licksy led Carlotta over to the kitchen camper stove in the makeshift dining area, and sat her down at a private table.
"Licksy, I have to go away."
The man sighed gently, and a sad smile appeared on his face. "Well I didn't think it was fer your health that you were walking the lonely streets at this time of the night, missy... are yer in trouble?"
"Kinda, yes." Carlotta conceded.
"Then you'll be needing my help, like as not." The man smiled more widely. "I... I can't pay you much, Licksy." Carlotta looked up into his eyes with genuine nervousness.
"Heaven preserve us... I don't want yer money, missy. You should know better than to insult me like that. We're friends, and if you need my help," he slammed his hand down on the table: "Then by all the saints what kind of a man would I be if I ignored a friend in need."
"Thanks Licksy." Carlotta's face softened, and leaning forward for a moment, she squeezed his hand in gratitude.
"So, shoot?" Licksy leaned back in his chair, suddenly putting on an exaggeratedly business like face, which made Carlotta smile, then a small burst of laughter escaped from her lips. Licksy was glad, he liked to see this woman smile... she didn't do nearly enough of that lately.
Carlotta's momentary outburst soon vanished, however, and was quickly replaced by her usual serious porcelain stare.
"I'll need a 9mm Luger and two spare centre-fire autoloader cartridges."
"So you're finally tired of that old Winchester I let you have back along?" Licksy teased. He had always thought the rod was altogether too clumsy for a refined woman to handle.
"No, I'll still be needing that for back up... and a few more slugs for it too please, Licksy."
Licksy looked slightly worried, and a frown appeared on his forehead. "You're expecting some fierce shenanigans then. Carly, what sort of trouble are you...?"
"Please, don't Licksy." Carlotta cut him off abruptly. But Licksy merely put his hands up in a placatory gesture, then shook his head even more sadly.
"And I need them now I'm afraid. I... I have to lie low for a while, and I don't think I'll be able to come back later for any of this."
"Jeeeise woman, you're not planning coming back at all are you?" His shrewd eyes narrowed with wise comprehension, and when Carlotta's silent stare was all the answer he received, he knew for sure he was right.
"Here's the key to my flat, it's paid up for a while as you know, but you can rent it out again at once if you want to, I won't mind." Carlotta drank deeply from her glass of law prohibited whisky and her hands shook slightly.
"No, no... nooo Carly, this isn't the way at all. Let me help, I'm sure together we can...."
"...NO, Licksy!" Carlotta's eyes flashed with fire. But she sighed, and calmed down immediately when she saw her old friend's hurt expression.
"Licksy, I have to do this alone. Please try and understand." She smiled weakly. But conviction was in her voice as she spoke; and her hands had stopped shaking altogether.
Act 6
Now fully armed and ready to enter the dark and secret side of A.C's sleazy underbelly, Carlotta made her way cautiously through the nocturnal streets and alleyways of the criminally inclined Dockland Wharfs.
Her next port of call was an old speakeasy she used to frequent in her former glory days when she had been Mort's Girl and an influential member of the gang. The place was hidden along the key-side of the East End, posing as a maritime hardware store; but the back of the building held a small, dingy snug and bar with its own concealed distillery out back.
This was where Carlotta's friend and street associate Maria Whitely used to hang out when she wasn't busy pulling tricks for punters among the derelict warehouses along Waterside Lane. Maria had always been a good friend to Carlotta, and when she herself had been forced onto the streets to make ends meet, it had been Maria who had shown her the ropes, made sure she was safe... well, as safe as anyone could be when playing chippie for the foreign sailors and dockland labourers who liked to frequent this twilight world of degradation, drug abuse, and frequent murder.
Maria was the same age as Carlotta, and like herself, had been raised in one of the city's decrepit orphanages... rejected by her mother, and rejected by society. Carlotta had been lucky, she had caught the eye of Mort when still young and the way out for her was secured; but Maria was stuck in the eternal nightmare squalor, filth, humiliation, and sinful abuse... though truth to tell, Carlotta knew all too well that in this game, after a while, you simply stopped caring too much about anything anymore, accepting your lot in life like a master whipped curr.
No, Maria was all right: if you could catch her sober between her numerous clients. Carlotta had tried to help her in the past. Maria was fortunate in that she was very pretty and wore her clothes handsomely; which made her a popular favourite on the street corners where she plied her wares. Carlotta knew Maria could earn enough money in a single year to drag herself out of the hole she was in... maybe not enough to set herself up in some other kind of business, but certainly enough to give her a fresh start. But truth to tell, as was so common in this lifestyle, the drink, the dope, and the forceful pimps kept you in a permanent state of apathy and semi sober awareness.
Hell! How else could anyone remain sane without daily ritual 'pick me ups' which helped those trapped in the cycle to endure the nightmare and ease the pain of existence? So despite Carlotta's best efforts, her old friend remained forever a pleasure girl of Angel City's often dangerous
and unsavoury oldest ever profession.
Now fully armed and ready to enter the dark and secret side of A.C's sleazy underbelly, Carlotta made her way cautiously through the nocturnal streets and alleyways of the criminally inclined Dockland Wharfs.
Her next port of call was an old speakeasy she used to frequent in her former glory days when she had been Mort's Girl and an influential member of the gang. The place was hidden along the key-side of the East End, posing as a maritime hardware store; but the back of the building held a small, dingy snug and bar with its own concealed distillery out back.
This was where Carlotta's friend and street associate Maria Whitely used to hang out when she wasn't busy pulling tricks for punters among the derelict warehouses along Waterside Lane. Maria had always been a good friend to Carlotta, and when she herself had been forced onto the streets to make ends meet, it had been Maria who had shown her the ropes, made sure she was safe... well, as safe as anyone could be when playing chippie for the foreign sailors and dockland labourers who liked to frequent this twilight world of degradation, drug abuse, and frequent murder.
Maria was the same age as Carlotta, and like herself, had been raised in one of the city's decrepit orphanages... rejected by her mother, and rejected by society. Carlotta had been lucky, she had caught the eye of Mort when still young and the way out for her was secured; but Maria was stuck in the eternal nightmare squalor, filth, humiliation, and sinful abuse... though truth to tell, Carlotta knew all too well that in this game, after a while, you simply stopped caring too much about anything anymore, accepting your lot in life like a master whipped curr.
No, Maria was all right: if you could catch her sober between her numerous clients. Carlotta had tried to help her in the past. Maria was fortunate in that she was very pretty and wore her clothes handsomely; which made her a popular favourite on the street corners where she plied her wares. Carlotta knew Maria could earn enough money in a single year to drag herself out of the hole she was in... maybe not enough to set herself up in some other kind of business, but certainly enough to give her a fresh start. But truth to tell, as was so common in this lifestyle, the drink, the dope, and the forceful pimps kept you in a permanent state of apathy and semi sober awareness.
Hell! How else could anyone remain sane without daily ritual 'pick me ups' which helped those trapped in the cycle to endure the nightmare and ease the pain of existence? So despite Carlotta's best efforts, her old friend remained forever a pleasure girl of Angel City's often dangerous
and unsavoury oldest ever profession.
Carlotta found her friend in the Speakeasy.
"Hello Frenchie"
A slim, good looking young woman squinted over her glass for a second, trying to focus properly. For a moment, she thought a punter wanted her services, and she was about to decline. The night had been long, and all she wanted now was to lose herself in oblivion and forget about the last eight hour stint.
When her vision adjusted to the light, she saw the person standing next to her was not another 'John' as she had expected, but someone she had never thought to see ever again in this lifetime.
"Why Carly, oh my God, is that you?"
Carlotta smiled affectionately, and slid easily into a stool beside her old friend.
"I don't believe it. I... I thought you were dead. I thought you went down with the rest of the gang?"
Carlotta shrugged her shoulders.
"I got lucky I guess. I wasn't caught in the set up."
Maria gave a sudden gasp, then looked lazily over her shoulder to make sure no one else was listening.
"So you do know it was a set up then. I always thought it was; and I have my suspicions who arranged it too."
Carlotta's mouth narrowed slightly.
"That's what I need to talk to you about Frenchie."
"Hello Frenchie"
A slim, good looking young woman squinted over her glass for a second, trying to focus properly. For a moment, she thought a punter wanted her services, and she was about to decline. The night had been long, and all she wanted now was to lose herself in oblivion and forget about the last eight hour stint.
When her vision adjusted to the light, she saw the person standing next to her was not another 'John' as she had expected, but someone she had never thought to see ever again in this lifetime.
"Why Carly, oh my God, is that you?"
Carlotta smiled affectionately, and slid easily into a stool beside her old friend.
"I don't believe it. I... I thought you were dead. I thought you went down with the rest of the gang?"
Carlotta shrugged her shoulders.
"I got lucky I guess. I wasn't caught in the set up."
Maria gave a sudden gasp, then looked lazily over her shoulder to make sure no one else was listening.
"So you do know it was a set up then. I always thought it was; and I have my suspicions who arranged it too."
Carlotta's mouth narrowed slightly.
"That's what I need to talk to you about Frenchie."
It was as she always expected; Nancy Drew was the no-good-cheap-bit-of-fluff who had lured Mort to his death. One of Mort's major failings in life had always been his weakness for a good looking dame, and this hook had played him like a fish.
Frenchie had explained it all to Carlotta, filling in the missing blanks she herself had failed to comprehend all this time. Staying low had dulled her senses and going into hiding for so long meant she could no longer hold her ear to the ground for reliable news... not even street gossip.
Nancy was a Gun Moll. The Drew gang were a small time street mob... known to some as 'The Amazons' because Nancy only recruited women into her employ. Drug pushing, brothel running, and protection rackets were her game, and maiming, scarring, and occasionally killing were more pastime pleasure activities to her than absolute necessities.
Frenchie had explained it all to Carlotta, filling in the missing blanks she herself had failed to comprehend all this time. Staying low had dulled her senses and going into hiding for so long meant she could no longer hold her ear to the ground for reliable news... not even street gossip.
Nancy was a Gun Moll. The Drew gang were a small time street mob... known to some as 'The Amazons' because Nancy only recruited women into her employ. Drug pushing, brothel running, and protection rackets were her game, and maiming, scarring, and occasionally killing were more pastime pleasure activities to her than absolute necessities.
Nancy was also the frau of 'The German'. The German was a top dollar King-Pin working Cash Side; too slick, too smart ever to lower his standards and deal personally with the slum-lands, but his henchmen were known to have their nefarious hooks into various quarters within the Waterfront and Cheap Side regions.
Frenchie believed The German had persuaded Nancy to seduce Mort, using both her feminine charms and the tantalising bate of a safe and sure thing B&E job over at Miller’s Crossing, where he was subsequently gunned down.
Frenchie also believed Nancy had made sure Carlotta was out of the way during all this because she was afraid Carlotta would recognise her - from the past! Frenchie had assumed Nancy had subsequently managed to bump Carlotta off along with the rest of the gang on the night which had later become known on the streets as 'Mort's Last Dance.'
Frenchie didn't know any more about Nancy other than these snippets of common gossip, and as neither she nor Carlotta had ever personally seen any of the Drew Gang close up, the lead ended here.
Frenchie believed The German had persuaded Nancy to seduce Mort, using both her feminine charms and the tantalising bate of a safe and sure thing B&E job over at Miller’s Crossing, where he was subsequently gunned down.
Frenchie also believed Nancy had made sure Carlotta was out of the way during all this because she was afraid Carlotta would recognise her - from the past! Frenchie had assumed Nancy had subsequently managed to bump Carlotta off along with the rest of the gang on the night which had later become known on the streets as 'Mort's Last Dance.'
Frenchie didn't know any more about Nancy other than these snippets of common gossip, and as neither she nor Carlotta had ever personally seen any of the Drew Gang close up, the lead ended here.
The Drew Gang - in an action shoot out over on the East Side.
However, Carlotta's friend Frenchie did know that at least a few of the Drew gang liked to hang out in a joint called The De Winter's Club.
"Look for a singer at the club called 'Betty Lee Jones'" Frenchie had advised.
"I hear she has no love for Nancy Drew... or her sidekicks".
Act 7
Yvette - pouring drinks at a The De Winter Club. Yvette Lonergan stood behind the bar at The De Winter Club and wished for the thousandth time she were somewhere else entirely.
"If my sister saw me now." She snorted to herself. "She'd never let me live it down."
Yvette had long past dropped the assumed Wynn surname, and had opted for a more Irish sounding pseudonym. This somehow seemed more interesting and mysterious than the name her sister had adopted, especially (she hoped) if she was ever to be picked up for the 'silver screen' as an actress... besides, the more she could disassociate herself from Carlotta's legacy the better.
Carlotta had taken her own unique path in life, one which the ever hopeful and somewhat aloof Yvette could never bring herself to forgive her sister for. Yvette was a 'would be' social climber and shallow part time chorus girl for anyone who would hire her; she chased her eternal dreams of one day being noticed by a rich film director, whisked romantically off her feet, and delivered into the bosom of an adoring fan club of high society admirers... the allure of stardom and the neon lights of stage and film never quite seemed to get chased away by the stark reality of her actual hopeless situation. Even when (eventually, after years of struggling to be noticed) Yvette ended up working bars, acting as part time chorus girl for some of the cheaper amateur acts, and taking small tips for waiting on tables, she held onto the spark of her fantasy that maybe - just maybe, soon all her dreams would come to pass.
When the crowd clapped and cheered the singers onto the stage at The De Winter Club, in her head, they were cheering her, throwing roses at her feet, and offering her champagne and candle lit dinners for the pleasure of her treasured company. And so one such night, as she carelessly cleaned glasses behind the long bar of the De Winter main hall, she was so lost watching Betty Lee Jones run through her song list, she failed to notice a familiar figure slip into the nightclub and take a seat quite close to the stage.
"If my sister saw me now." She snorted to herself. "She'd never let me live it down."
Yvette had long past dropped the assumed Wynn surname, and had opted for a more Irish sounding pseudonym. This somehow seemed more interesting and mysterious than the name her sister had adopted, especially (she hoped) if she was ever to be picked up for the 'silver screen' as an actress... besides, the more she could disassociate herself from Carlotta's legacy the better.
Carlotta had taken her own unique path in life, one which the ever hopeful and somewhat aloof Yvette could never bring herself to forgive her sister for. Yvette was a 'would be' social climber and shallow part time chorus girl for anyone who would hire her; she chased her eternal dreams of one day being noticed by a rich film director, whisked romantically off her feet, and delivered into the bosom of an adoring fan club of high society admirers... the allure of stardom and the neon lights of stage and film never quite seemed to get chased away by the stark reality of her actual hopeless situation. Even when (eventually, after years of struggling to be noticed) Yvette ended up working bars, acting as part time chorus girl for some of the cheaper amateur acts, and taking small tips for waiting on tables, she held onto the spark of her fantasy that maybe - just maybe, soon all her dreams would come to pass.
When the crowd clapped and cheered the singers onto the stage at The De Winter Club, in her head, they were cheering her, throwing roses at her feet, and offering her champagne and candle lit dinners for the pleasure of her treasured company. And so one such night, as she carelessly cleaned glasses behind the long bar of the De Winter main hall, she was so lost watching Betty Lee Jones run through her song list, she failed to notice a familiar figure slip into the nightclub and take a seat quite close to the stage.
Betty Lee Jones.
Carlotta slipped quietly into The De Winter Club and took a table and chair in the shadows to the side of the wide stage. As luck would have it, from the description Frenchie had given her of the singer she was looking for, Betty Lee Jones was the one presently doing her jazz routine in front of the microphone.
'Good! This might be easier than I thought', Carlotta relaxed inwardly.
The singer had some talent, Carlotta noticed, but no amount of makeup could hide the scar Frenchie had indicated could be seen etched into the woman's neck, just above the dress shoulder line. Carlotta stiffened as a distant memory came flooding into her mind.
Frenchie had said,"Nancy Drew made sure you was out of the way during Mort's set up... because she was afraid you would recognise her - from the past!"
No, it couldn't be. That was ages ago, and surely the evil woman who had similarly branded Carlotta had long since moved on. Surely? Carlotta inadvertently scratched at an old scar on her right shoulder - a branding iron mark she had some time ago had removed; inflicted on her by a sadistic monster who enjoyed inflicting pain on others.
'No, surely not. Could Nancy Drew and Vivian Carroll be one and the same person? '
Yvette stood daydreaming as she listened to Betty sing. That was her up on the stage, amongst all the wolf whistles and cheers. She smeared grease around the glass in her hand, and paid no attention to the ugly hateful mug moving in on her from the doorway behind the bar.
"Any time you feel like serving the customers, please, just let me know." The smooth nasal voiced individual whispered in her ear.
The sudden proximity of this newcomer made Yvette jump nervously, and she started apologising instantly at the sound. Her hands shook with fright, and she dropped the glass she was cleaning onto the cold black stone floor. The shattering of glass was drowned out by the noise of the audience cheering and clapping as Betty finished one number and immediately began to sing another.
"That will come out of your wages, just like all the other little mistakes." The man smiled wickedly, and took her cruelly by the arm and twisted sadistically. Yvetta cried out for a second, then stifled her pain; she knew it would only make him hurt her more if she resisted or revealed how much her agony she was in.
"I'm sorry Greko." She kept her voice as steady as she could.
"Good.... goooood, now go clean up the tables and let's try not to break anything else tonight, shall we, hmmmm?" The man let go of her arm just as suddenly as he had grabbed it. As she stood shivering in fear, he nestled his head in her hair for a moment, breathing in her scent. Then he whispered in her ear,"I may call you to my room later, for some further.... personal tuition."
The woman tore herself away from the voice, as much to hide the look of sheer horror on her face as to place some distance between herself and this evil man. Yvette picked up a tray and prepared to tidy up the empties from the tables. She hated doing table work because occasionally the male clients would try getting fresh with her, and she knew it was expected of the working girls to smile and look happy at these advances.
She hated her job, and she loathed her employers... that acid faced De Winter woman and her toad faced partner Greko. Yvette withdrew into her dreams and almost dazedly attended to her duties. But as she moved about the midnight black painted and silver furbished hall she was not so lost in her misery that she failed to notice the lone figure sitting at a table to the left of the stage, staring fixedly up at the entertainment.
For the second time that night she jumped nervously.
Moving round along the edges of the hall, she worked her way into a position where she could better spy the woman sitting in the shadows sipping a soft drink.
"Carlotta?", Yvette mouthed silently, and a hand inadvertently went to her mouth to cover her shock and discomfort.
But the slime ball Greko was not slow to notice all that was transpiring. As Yvette had moved away from him to begin her floor work, the ever sadistic part of him had followed on her heels, hoping she would screw up again and give him a chance for some further tuition in the art of pain.
Moving in silently behind her, he grabbed her by the same arm as before and began squeezing. He pulled her towards him, all the time smiling to cover his sinister actions from the clients assembled all around. The singing continued to ring out and all eyes were firmly fixed on Betty Lee Jones as she sang Only My Man.
"Who is she?" Greko whispered in Yvette's ear, nodding his head towards the woman sitting near the stage. "And don't even begin to t-h-i-n-k about lying to me."
Next Part - The Running Gunfight (an IN-RADIC Battle Report)
***
Carlotta slipped quietly into The De Winter Club and took a table and chair in the shadows to the side of the wide stage. As luck would have it, from the description Frenchie had given her of the singer she was looking for, Betty Lee Jones was the one presently doing her jazz routine in front of the microphone.
'Good! This might be easier than I thought', Carlotta relaxed inwardly.
The singer had some talent, Carlotta noticed, but no amount of makeup could hide the scar Frenchie had indicated could be seen etched into the woman's neck, just above the dress shoulder line. Carlotta stiffened as a distant memory came flooding into her mind.
Frenchie had said,"Nancy Drew made sure you was out of the way during Mort's set up... because she was afraid you would recognise her - from the past!"
No, it couldn't be. That was ages ago, and surely the evil woman who had similarly branded Carlotta had long since moved on. Surely? Carlotta inadvertently scratched at an old scar on her right shoulder - a branding iron mark she had some time ago had removed; inflicted on her by a sadistic monster who enjoyed inflicting pain on others.
'No, surely not. Could Nancy Drew and Vivian Carroll be one and the same person? '
Yvette stood daydreaming as she listened to Betty sing. That was her up on the stage, amongst all the wolf whistles and cheers. She smeared grease around the glass in her hand, and paid no attention to the ugly hateful mug moving in on her from the doorway behind the bar.
"Any time you feel like serving the customers, please, just let me know." The smooth nasal voiced individual whispered in her ear.
The sudden proximity of this newcomer made Yvette jump nervously, and she started apologising instantly at the sound. Her hands shook with fright, and she dropped the glass she was cleaning onto the cold black stone floor. The shattering of glass was drowned out by the noise of the audience cheering and clapping as Betty finished one number and immediately began to sing another.
"That will come out of your wages, just like all the other little mistakes." The man smiled wickedly, and took her cruelly by the arm and twisted sadistically. Yvetta cried out for a second, then stifled her pain; she knew it would only make him hurt her more if she resisted or revealed how much her agony she was in.
"I'm sorry Greko." She kept her voice as steady as she could.
"Good.... goooood, now go clean up the tables and let's try not to break anything else tonight, shall we, hmmmm?" The man let go of her arm just as suddenly as he had grabbed it. As she stood shivering in fear, he nestled his head in her hair for a moment, breathing in her scent. Then he whispered in her ear,"I may call you to my room later, for some further.... personal tuition."
The woman tore herself away from the voice, as much to hide the look of sheer horror on her face as to place some distance between herself and this evil man. Yvette picked up a tray and prepared to tidy up the empties from the tables. She hated doing table work because occasionally the male clients would try getting fresh with her, and she knew it was expected of the working girls to smile and look happy at these advances.
She hated her job, and she loathed her employers... that acid faced De Winter woman and her toad faced partner Greko. Yvette withdrew into her dreams and almost dazedly attended to her duties. But as she moved about the midnight black painted and silver furbished hall she was not so lost in her misery that she failed to notice the lone figure sitting at a table to the left of the stage, staring fixedly up at the entertainment.
For the second time that night she jumped nervously.
Moving round along the edges of the hall, she worked her way into a position where she could better spy the woman sitting in the shadows sipping a soft drink.
"Carlotta?", Yvette mouthed silently, and a hand inadvertently went to her mouth to cover her shock and discomfort.
But the slime ball Greko was not slow to notice all that was transpiring. As Yvette had moved away from him to begin her floor work, the ever sadistic part of him had followed on her heels, hoping she would screw up again and give him a chance for some further tuition in the art of pain.
Moving in silently behind her, he grabbed her by the same arm as before and began squeezing. He pulled her towards him, all the time smiling to cover his sinister actions from the clients assembled all around. The singing continued to ring out and all eyes were firmly fixed on Betty Lee Jones as she sang Only My Man.
"Who is she?" Greko whispered in Yvette's ear, nodding his head towards the woman sitting near the stage. "And don't even begin to t-h-i-n-k about lying to me."
Next Part - The Running Gunfight (an IN-RADIC Battle Report)
***
Act 8 - The Running Gunfight
Carlotta watched from the candle lit table near the stage as Betty Lee Jones finished her night club routine, retiring through the curtain amidst rapturous applause and whistles from the delighted guests. Before the curtain swished back into place, the intelligent young woman
observing the singer from the shadow enhanced glow of the flickering candles, just had time to spot her depart through a small door at the back of the stage.
Carlotta rose gracefully from her table, and glided swiftly and smoothly over to a set of doors near where the singer had vanished. Miss Jones was probably heading for the back room to change for a later act, and Carlotta was intent on intercepting the club performer if she could... the less fuss the better.
Carlotta watched from the candle lit table near the stage as Betty Lee Jones finished her night club routine, retiring through the curtain amidst rapturous applause and whistles from the delighted guests. Before the curtain swished back into place, the intelligent young woman
observing the singer from the shadow enhanced glow of the flickering candles, just had time to spot her depart through a small door at the back of the stage.
Carlotta rose gracefully from her table, and glided swiftly and smoothly over to a set of doors near where the singer had vanished. Miss Jones was probably heading for the back room to change for a later act, and Carlotta was intent on intercepting the club performer if she could... the less fuss the better.
Carlotta was pleased to find the first door was unlocked, and she quickly slipped through into an adjoining passageway, closing the door behind her. If she'd had time even once to look back over her shoulder, she would have noticed a rather unpleasant, weasel faced looking man moving towards the same door with predatory intent etched menacing on his rough visage.
Carlotta was in luck. As she had suspected, the small door at the back of the stage by which the singer had exited the podium led directly to a series of back stage passages Carlotta had herself just entered. Betty Lee Jones was walking down a set of wooden steps towards her, several paces ahead; but the singer paused on the steps when she spotted Carlotta hurrying towards her, and uncertainty furrowed her brow.
"Um, excuse me.... I don't think you're meant to be here; the ladies rest rooms are actually on the other side of the hall."
"Miss Betty Lee Jones?" Carlotta enquired, still walking towards the woman. A flicker of a smile played across her lips, and she allowed her hands to rest casually at her side to show peaceful intend.
The woman replied cautiously. "Yes... yes that's me."
Carlotta was in luck. As she had suspected, the small door at the back of the stage by which the singer had exited the podium led directly to a series of back stage passages Carlotta had herself just entered. Betty Lee Jones was walking down a set of wooden steps towards her, several paces ahead; but the singer paused on the steps when she spotted Carlotta hurrying towards her, and uncertainty furrowed her brow.
"Um, excuse me.... I don't think you're meant to be here; the ladies rest rooms are actually on the other side of the hall."
"Miss Betty Lee Jones?" Carlotta enquired, still walking towards the woman. A flicker of a smile played across her lips, and she allowed her hands to rest casually at her side to show peaceful intend.
The woman replied cautiously. "Yes... yes that's me."
Comprehension suddenly filled the singer's face, and she added. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm really too tired to sign any autographs this evening, please come back tomo...." But her voice faded to silence and her eyes filled with fear when Carlotta, now almost toe to toe with her, suddenly
grabbed her firmly by the arm and guided them both through another door at the bottom of the stairs.
Carlotta did a complete spot check of the place they had entered, all in less time than it would have taken to blink. Good! They were in a dressing room suite.
"Really, what's the meaning of th..."
Carlotta cut her dead. "Miss Jones, you don't know me, and who I am is not important in any case, but I am someone who has good reason to have no love for your employers, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may."
The singer licked her lips and rubbed her arm where Carlotta had pinched it manhandling her roughly through the door.
"Oh! I'm not sure this is such a good idea, this could be very dangerous to both you and m...."
Again Carlotta cut her off in mid sentence.
"Please, there's no time for this. That brand you bear on your neck, it's similar to one I also carry, though I had the brand mark removed, and now all you can see is an angry scar."
Carlotta unfastened the top buttons on her jacket, momentarily lowered the material enough to reveal a large unpleasant looking welt on her right shoulder.
"I have similar scars running down my right lower leg... acid etched into my skin, courtesy of a certain she-cat who I believe frequents this establishment from time to time."
Betty gasped and a hand flew to her mouth."Oh my God, she did that to you. Why, what did you do to ask for that?"
Carlotta shrugged, re-fastening the buttons on her blouse, and looked the singer square in the eyes for a second. "What did any of us do to wrong that monster...? Me, I double crossed her once; bad mistake I guess. But I intend to make the retribution for all her deeds, something she will deeply regret for a very long time indeed."
The singer walked over to a dresser, opened a draw and removed a bottle of whisky. Carlotta suddenly realised that, as luck would have it, the door she had forced Miss Jones through actually led into part of the singer's own changing room suite.
Good! Less chance of being disturbed.
Betty Lee Jones poured a large measure into an unclean cup at the back of the dresser, clasping it with both hands to reduce the shaking.
"Will you kill her?" Miss Jones enquired, her back was to Carlotta so only her reflection could be seen looking beseechingly into Carlotta's own mirror reflected eyes.
Carlotta saw fear in the singer's face, and a longing, lost expression of hope, as though to her, Carlotta might be her salvation and her personal dark angel of vengeance.
"She's never alone in this place... and watch out for her side kick, Greka... that one's never too far from her side."
Carlotta frowned, not understanding what the singer was
saying to her.
"What do you mean Miss Jones, the woman I'm looking for goes by the name Nancy Drew. And I believe she frequents this place from time to time. I had thought you might be able to fill me in some more about her movements... perhaps explain how you too got embroiled with this hateful creature?"
Betty Lee Jones turned and looked at the stranger in her room with an expression of disbelief on her face.
"You mean to say, you don't know?"
"Know what Miss Jones?"
"Nancy Drew the gun toting gun moll, and the night club owner Miss Edwina De Winter, are one and the same person! The German cleaned up her street act... fell in love with her, they say... then set her up with her very own business. Supposedly legitimate, but actually a front for some of his other less civilised dealings."
Miss Jones poured herself another drink, and swallowed a large gulp.
"Girl, if you're going up against De Winter, you need to know what you're getting yourself into; or you'll going to end up buried up to your neck in this rot."
Carlotta nodded slowly as comprehension flooded her senses.
"How did you get mixed up in all this?" Carlotta asked, looking longingly at the drink in the singer's hand.
The night club entertainer kindly handed the cup to the stranger. "I was foolish. I tried working for someone else... better conditions, better wages. After De Winter and her gang had finished with me, my fiance lay murdered in cold blood, and like so many others here I became her property to use at will."
Suddenly, a door burst open and a white suited individual stepped smoothly inside and closed the portal behind him. He waved a rod menacingly at the two women, obviously enjoying his dramatic entrance and the power he wielded in his hand. The singer gasped in shock.
grabbed her firmly by the arm and guided them both through another door at the bottom of the stairs.
Carlotta did a complete spot check of the place they had entered, all in less time than it would have taken to blink. Good! They were in a dressing room suite.
"Really, what's the meaning of th..."
Carlotta cut her dead. "Miss Jones, you don't know me, and who I am is not important in any case, but I am someone who has good reason to have no love for your employers, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may."
The singer licked her lips and rubbed her arm where Carlotta had pinched it manhandling her roughly through the door.
"Oh! I'm not sure this is such a good idea, this could be very dangerous to both you and m...."
Again Carlotta cut her off in mid sentence.
"Please, there's no time for this. That brand you bear on your neck, it's similar to one I also carry, though I had the brand mark removed, and now all you can see is an angry scar."
Carlotta unfastened the top buttons on her jacket, momentarily lowered the material enough to reveal a large unpleasant looking welt on her right shoulder.
"I have similar scars running down my right lower leg... acid etched into my skin, courtesy of a certain she-cat who I believe frequents this establishment from time to time."
Betty gasped and a hand flew to her mouth."Oh my God, she did that to you. Why, what did you do to ask for that?"
Carlotta shrugged, re-fastening the buttons on her blouse, and looked the singer square in the eyes for a second. "What did any of us do to wrong that monster...? Me, I double crossed her once; bad mistake I guess. But I intend to make the retribution for all her deeds, something she will deeply regret for a very long time indeed."
The singer walked over to a dresser, opened a draw and removed a bottle of whisky. Carlotta suddenly realised that, as luck would have it, the door she had forced Miss Jones through actually led into part of the singer's own changing room suite.
Good! Less chance of being disturbed.
Betty Lee Jones poured a large measure into an unclean cup at the back of the dresser, clasping it with both hands to reduce the shaking.
"Will you kill her?" Miss Jones enquired, her back was to Carlotta so only her reflection could be seen looking beseechingly into Carlotta's own mirror reflected eyes.
Carlotta saw fear in the singer's face, and a longing, lost expression of hope, as though to her, Carlotta might be her salvation and her personal dark angel of vengeance.
"She's never alone in this place... and watch out for her side kick, Greka... that one's never too far from her side."
Carlotta frowned, not understanding what the singer was
saying to her.
"What do you mean Miss Jones, the woman I'm looking for goes by the name Nancy Drew. And I believe she frequents this place from time to time. I had thought you might be able to fill me in some more about her movements... perhaps explain how you too got embroiled with this hateful creature?"
Betty Lee Jones turned and looked at the stranger in her room with an expression of disbelief on her face.
"You mean to say, you don't know?"
"Know what Miss Jones?"
"Nancy Drew the gun toting gun moll, and the night club owner Miss Edwina De Winter, are one and the same person! The German cleaned up her street act... fell in love with her, they say... then set her up with her very own business. Supposedly legitimate, but actually a front for some of his other less civilised dealings."
Miss Jones poured herself another drink, and swallowed a large gulp.
"Girl, if you're going up against De Winter, you need to know what you're getting yourself into; or you'll going to end up buried up to your neck in this rot."
Carlotta nodded slowly as comprehension flooded her senses.
"How did you get mixed up in all this?" Carlotta asked, looking longingly at the drink in the singer's hand.
The night club entertainer kindly handed the cup to the stranger. "I was foolish. I tried working for someone else... better conditions, better wages. After De Winter and her gang had finished with me, my fiance lay murdered in cold blood, and like so many others here I became her property to use at will."
Suddenly, a door burst open and a white suited individual stepped smoothly inside and closed the portal behind him. He waved a rod menacingly at the two women, obviously enjoying his dramatic entrance and the power he wielded in his hand. The singer gasped in shock.
"Greko!"
"Aaaah, I see you have a guest, my dear."
He smiled wickedly at Miss Jones.
But Carlotta was fast, faster than any dame the sadistic little hood was used to dealing with, and with the speed of a striking viper, she hurled the drink she was carrying into the face of the newcomer. The cup caught the man square between the eyes, momentarily blinding him. But this was all the time Carlotta needed.
With a lightning fast series of blows she disarmed the-would-be assailant and knocked him unconscious and lying in a clumsy heap on the floor.
"We have to go... now!" Carlotta insisted urgently to her companion.
"But...!" Miss Jones started to protest.
"No time now, if you stay, they will kill you!" Carlotta reasoned in a level tone.
The singer nodded in silent comprehension, and followed the strange self assured woman out of the changing room without arguing further. As she passed the prone body of Greko, she leaned forward and spat into his unconscious face. Almost as an afterthought, she retrieved the revolver which lay unused at his side and hurried to catch up with her new found saviour.
Together they made their way out the back of the building.
***
The following skirmish battle report was played out using the IN-RADIC solo game system.
My, my, Carlotta was in a scrape this time, and she would need every ounce of her legendary skill to escape unscathed from the dangerous situation she was in. I decided not to use the Plot Aid Card Deck this time, as the situation didn't really seem to call for it. The encounter was cut and dry, a straight forward escape in one piece scenario. So I laid out the appropriate playing area in a way which seemed pleasing to me (the back alleyways leading away from The De Winter club), and away I went - game on.
Leaving quickly and quietly by the back entrance of The De Winter club, Carlotta and Miss Betty Lee Jones run straight into a couple of hoods smoking cigarettes and sharing a private joke with one another. A car engine is running and the pair have obviously been charged with backing the machine into the club's private garage.
"Aaaah, I see you have a guest, my dear."
He smiled wickedly at Miss Jones.
But Carlotta was fast, faster than any dame the sadistic little hood was used to dealing with, and with the speed of a striking viper, she hurled the drink she was carrying into the face of the newcomer. The cup caught the man square between the eyes, momentarily blinding him. But this was all the time Carlotta needed.
With a lightning fast series of blows she disarmed the-would-be assailant and knocked him unconscious and lying in a clumsy heap on the floor.
"We have to go... now!" Carlotta insisted urgently to her companion.
"But...!" Miss Jones started to protest.
"No time now, if you stay, they will kill you!" Carlotta reasoned in a level tone.
The singer nodded in silent comprehension, and followed the strange self assured woman out of the changing room without arguing further. As she passed the prone body of Greko, she leaned forward and spat into his unconscious face. Almost as an afterthought, she retrieved the revolver which lay unused at his side and hurried to catch up with her new found saviour.
Together they made their way out the back of the building.
***
The following skirmish battle report was played out using the IN-RADIC solo game system.
My, my, Carlotta was in a scrape this time, and she would need every ounce of her legendary skill to escape unscathed from the dangerous situation she was in. I decided not to use the Plot Aid Card Deck this time, as the situation didn't really seem to call for it. The encounter was cut and dry, a straight forward escape in one piece scenario. So I laid out the appropriate playing area in a way which seemed pleasing to me (the back alleyways leading away from The De Winter club), and away I went - game on.
Leaving quickly and quietly by the back entrance of The De Winter club, Carlotta and Miss Betty Lee Jones run straight into a couple of hoods smoking cigarettes and sharing a private joke with one another. A car engine is running and the pair have obviously been charged with backing the machine into the club's private garage.
Carlotta is undecided what to do for a moment, unsure whether these are enemies or merely innocent bystanders. But Miss Jones gasps in fright, and in a hoarse whisper calls to Carlotta.
"Look out, they're Greko's boys!"
The two hoods briefly exchange glances, then in unison start to raise their weapons in the direction of the two girls. Darn! A few of Greko's dogs are on the loose.
"Look out, they're Greko's boys!"
The two hoods briefly exchange glances, then in unison start to raise their weapons in the direction of the two girls. Darn! A few of Greko's dogs are on the loose.
Without pausing for a second thought, Carlotta raises her 9mm Luger and fires off a series of shots. One of the De Winter boys goes down in a shower of lead... his weapon clattering noisily to the ground beside him.
But the two bit hood in pin striped suit nearest to Carlotta and Miss Jones presses the trigger of his Tommy Gun and a withering hail of flame and bullets spurts from the barrel of his deadly Widow Maker.
Miss Jones is fortunate, and dives to one side, finding cover amongst a collection of dustbins and empty boxes. But Carlotta Wynn is strafed along the side by a poison wind of flying shards.
She cries out in pain, momentarily aware that at least a couple of dummies have pierced her left side, and another passes clean through her shoulder. But she knows if she tries to hide now, she and her companion are as good as dead and buried.
Standing her ground, expecting the hard impact of a killer round to smash into her body at any moment, stealing her life away in an agonizing explosion of pain... she pulls her own weapon round to bear on her enemy, and plants three well aimed rounds into her would be assassin - one in the groin, a second in the chest, and the next piece de resistance takes him square between the eyes.
A look of shock and surprise fills his face, and with his finger still fully depressed on the trigger of his machine gun, he slumps slowly to the ground and stops moving. His weapon ceases to spit fire only when the magazine feed is empty.
"Come on, let’s go!" Carlotta screams over to the singer, biting back the piercing pain which threatens to overcome her. She is aware the alley will be teaming with De Winter boys any moment now.
Indeed, no sooner have they begun to run down the nearest side street, when the back doors of the club burst open and a flood of dangerous looking hired hands start to file out of the building and into the Parking Lott... led by a very angry looking Greko, who issues a stream of orders to his men.
As the girls tear down the side street, the foremost hood, hot in pursuit, raises a rod and snaps a few rounds after the girls. Miss Jones falls to the ground - dead before her body even hits the cold hard stone. Carlotta slows down for a moment, looks over her shoulder, instantly sizes up the situation, and with a pang of regret, speeds up and continues to run for her life... leaving a trail of blood splashes on the side walk behind her.
But the two bit hood in pin striped suit nearest to Carlotta and Miss Jones presses the trigger of his Tommy Gun and a withering hail of flame and bullets spurts from the barrel of his deadly Widow Maker.
Miss Jones is fortunate, and dives to one side, finding cover amongst a collection of dustbins and empty boxes. But Carlotta Wynn is strafed along the side by a poison wind of flying shards.
She cries out in pain, momentarily aware that at least a couple of dummies have pierced her left side, and another passes clean through her shoulder. But she knows if she tries to hide now, she and her companion are as good as dead and buried.
Standing her ground, expecting the hard impact of a killer round to smash into her body at any moment, stealing her life away in an agonizing explosion of pain... she pulls her own weapon round to bear on her enemy, and plants three well aimed rounds into her would be assassin - one in the groin, a second in the chest, and the next piece de resistance takes him square between the eyes.
A look of shock and surprise fills his face, and with his finger still fully depressed on the trigger of his machine gun, he slumps slowly to the ground and stops moving. His weapon ceases to spit fire only when the magazine feed is empty.
"Come on, let’s go!" Carlotta screams over to the singer, biting back the piercing pain which threatens to overcome her. She is aware the alley will be teaming with De Winter boys any moment now.
Indeed, no sooner have they begun to run down the nearest side street, when the back doors of the club burst open and a flood of dangerous looking hired hands start to file out of the building and into the Parking Lott... led by a very angry looking Greko, who issues a stream of orders to his men.
As the girls tear down the side street, the foremost hood, hot in pursuit, raises a rod and snaps a few rounds after the girls. Miss Jones falls to the ground - dead before her body even hits the cold hard stone. Carlotta slows down for a moment, looks over her shoulder, instantly sizes up the situation, and with a pang of regret, speeds up and continues to run for her life... leaving a trail of blood splashes on the side walk behind her.
Act 9
Don McLain, script writer for Max Pleasures Productions, stood in front of the cluttered desk and read his latest great magnum opus to Mr. Grantham. "Carlotta and the beautiful singer Mrs. Betty Lee Jones are running through the dark cold streets of Angel City, being pursued
mercilessly by Greko and some of his gang. The night club singer Carlotta had met with earlier that night (with the intention of finding out as much information as she can on the whereabouts of the dreaded and sadistical gang leader Nancy Drew) now lies dead in a pool of her own blood. Shot through the back as the two women run for their lives through the rain filled night, and away from the De Winter Club!"
Don McLain, script writer for Max Pleasures Productions, stood in front of the cluttered desk and read his latest great magnum opus to Mr. Grantham. "Carlotta and the beautiful singer Mrs. Betty Lee Jones are running through the dark cold streets of Angel City, being pursued
mercilessly by Greko and some of his gang. The night club singer Carlotta had met with earlier that night (with the intention of finding out as much information as she can on the whereabouts of the dreaded and sadistical gang leader Nancy Drew) now lies dead in a pool of her own blood. Shot through the back as the two women run for their lives through the rain filled night, and away from the De Winter Club!"
Max Pleasures Productions films a scene from ''Jungle of Death''.
The reader pauses for a moment to look over his sheaf of papers at the cigar puffing movie producer sitting slouched like a sack of corn in his creaking, rickety old chair. He then continues reading breathlessly and passionately. "The night is as cold as an Arctic iceberg, and soon the
precipitation gives way to heavy snow, falling thick and fast like pea broth onto the city streets below. The only sounds that can be heard echoing through the alleys and side streets are the sharp click of stiletto heels as Carlotta fearfully dashes to escape through the concrete jungle. The muffled tread of heavy boots in pursuit are like an irregular beating drum in our heroine's ears."
Max Grantham blows a billowing waft of smoke into the air and interrupts the speaker. "But can you get that dame back to work for us?" Miss Felicity Cava, who played Carlotta Wynn, had left the set a full seven months ago. In mid production of the latest instalment of the drama, and after a rather heated argument had ensued between herself and the former employer and movie producer of the then whimsically named Karl Denton Production Studios. The end result had witnessed the rather drunk and wilful prima donna walk out in mid shoot, never to return... and the continuing tales of Carlotta Wynn had come to a rather abrupt end.
Don McLain blew through his teeth for a moment, and then carefully replied. "Not without a pay rise, better working conditions, and only with a written apology from the company... but she did imply she would consider returning to the shoot if her conditions were properly re-dressed."
precipitation gives way to heavy snow, falling thick and fast like pea broth onto the city streets below. The only sounds that can be heard echoing through the alleys and side streets are the sharp click of stiletto heels as Carlotta fearfully dashes to escape through the concrete jungle. The muffled tread of heavy boots in pursuit are like an irregular beating drum in our heroine's ears."
Max Grantham blows a billowing waft of smoke into the air and interrupts the speaker. "But can you get that dame back to work for us?" Miss Felicity Cava, who played Carlotta Wynn, had left the set a full seven months ago. In mid production of the latest instalment of the drama, and after a rather heated argument had ensued between herself and the former employer and movie producer of the then whimsically named Karl Denton Production Studios. The end result had witnessed the rather drunk and wilful prima donna walk out in mid shoot, never to return... and the continuing tales of Carlotta Wynn had come to a rather abrupt end.
Don McLain blew through his teeth for a moment, and then carefully replied. "Not without a pay rise, better working conditions, and only with a written apology from the company... but she did imply she would consider returning to the shoot if her conditions were properly re-dressed."
And... CUT!!!
"What? The woman's a sap... a drunken has-been, no good bum, who's only acting ability comes to the fore after a lengthy rhetorical conversation with the contents of her eternally half empty glass of wine."
Don McLain raised his hands in a placatory manner and quickly continued. "Yes, yes... but I stole a look at her former contract with Denton, and the doe she was collecting falls a wad short of yourcurrent offer to her. Beef it up a fraction, and the kid will think she's made the movie headlines. As for the conditions she demands, a clean-up here, a few nice new things in her dressing room, the occasional bunch of flowers, and she'll be swell. The apology will be harder to manage - but I'm not above forging Karl's signature myself, if it gets her back to the set."
Max Grantham started to grin, his mouth widened to display a row of pearly white teeth, edged with glee like a tom cat playing with a mouse on a hot tin roof. "See to it Don." Mr. Grantham concluded the conversation by getting up from his overburdened chair, coming over and clapping his script writer on the back with a generous slap from his big meaty palm.
"And the rest of the script Boss, shall I read on?" Don enquired eager to show his employer the latest instalment of the story. He was quite pleased with the way he had picked up the pace again after such a lengthy delay in the original production. "I trust you Donny, no need to tire yourself. Just do me proud and I'll be one hell of a happy guy." Mr. Grantham's smile widened to that of a shark as he walked from the office, intent on searching the kitchens for his next hotdog and fried onion snack.
"What? The woman's a sap... a drunken has-been, no good bum, who's only acting ability comes to the fore after a lengthy rhetorical conversation with the contents of her eternally half empty glass of wine."
Don McLain raised his hands in a placatory manner and quickly continued. "Yes, yes... but I stole a look at her former contract with Denton, and the doe she was collecting falls a wad short of yourcurrent offer to her. Beef it up a fraction, and the kid will think she's made the movie headlines. As for the conditions she demands, a clean-up here, a few nice new things in her dressing room, the occasional bunch of flowers, and she'll be swell. The apology will be harder to manage - but I'm not above forging Karl's signature myself, if it gets her back to the set."
Max Grantham started to grin, his mouth widened to display a row of pearly white teeth, edged with glee like a tom cat playing with a mouse on a hot tin roof. "See to it Don." Mr. Grantham concluded the conversation by getting up from his overburdened chair, coming over and clapping his script writer on the back with a generous slap from his big meaty palm.
"And the rest of the script Boss, shall I read on?" Don enquired eager to show his employer the latest instalment of the story. He was quite pleased with the way he had picked up the pace again after such a lengthy delay in the original production. "I trust you Donny, no need to tire yourself. Just do me proud and I'll be one hell of a happy guy." Mr. Grantham's smile widened to that of a shark as he walked from the office, intent on searching the kitchens for his next hotdog and fried onion snack.
Don forgot all about Mr. Grantham the second he was gone, and read the latest story to himself one more time. Before long he was engrossed in his work once again. "The snow fell heavily on the streets..." Hmmm. He'd have to make sure the artificial snow making machine was up and running properly by next week. The bearings were playing up on the clapped out engine, and asking Mr. Grantham to have it replaced would be as futile as asking him for a two week paid luxury vacation in Key Largo.
Blood from Carlotta's wounds continues to drip onto the pavement beneath her feet in a slow but constant flow. Her need to get off the streets is urgent! But Greko's boys seem to be everywhere, and she is fast running out of time.
Suddenly, a car screeches round a corner and approaches her speedily, its engine whines like a tram at full throttle. Carlotta hesitates for a moment as the headlights blind her eyes. Loss of blood and adrenaline rush are making her dizzy and sluggish. The car skids to a halt beside her, and a balding head appears from an open window. "Get in Missy, and you'd better make it quick, sweetie."
Blood from Carlotta's wounds continues to drip onto the pavement beneath her feet in a slow but constant flow. Her need to get off the streets is urgent! But Greko's boys seem to be everywhere, and she is fast running out of time.
Suddenly, a car screeches round a corner and approaches her speedily, its engine whines like a tram at full throttle. Carlotta hesitates for a moment as the headlights blind her eyes. Loss of blood and adrenaline rush are making her dizzy and sluggish. The car skids to a halt beside her, and a balding head appears from an open window. "Get in Missy, and you'd better make it quick, sweetie."
Carlotta peers woozily at the man driving the old Delamaye saloon, and is surprised and delighted when she discerns Licksy's red faced and toothy grin staring back at her from behind the wheel. His manner, as usual, is light and cheerful, but his eyes are full of concern; and for a moment she sways unsteadily and has to lean hard against a wall to stop from passing out as a wave a nausea hits her in the pit of her stomach like a proverbial punch in the gut.
The next thing she knows is being slumped crookedly in the passenger seat of the speeding car, cruising along the highway towards the suburbs of Angel City, headed east bound towards the LA metropolis... yes that's right. Licksy has contacts there.
Carlotta is safe, for now.
© 2017, Stephen A Gilbert
*** *** ***
The next thing she knows is being slumped crookedly in the passenger seat of the speeding car, cruising along the highway towards the suburbs of Angel City, headed east bound towards the LA metropolis... yes that's right. Licksy has contacts there.
Carlotta is safe, for now.
© 2017, Stephen A Gilbert
*** *** ***
20's & 30's Pulp Fiction
I thought for one of this website`s very first topics, it might be really nice to talk about how to create a new campaign... pretty much from the foundations up. Its always nice to start something new, and Pulp era gaming has a lot to be desired. You only need to invest in a small collection of characters and bad guys to get started. Collecting the terrain needed to set the right tone for a Pulp game can almost become a hobby in its own right, and utterly addictive; and chasing down and watching all those old movies can be stimulating and immersive.
I guess I first got into wanting to do something in the classic American Pulp era due to my absolute love of `film noir`. Then years of stumbling across on line articles, coming across photos of Pulp miniatures... my fate was sealed. I was hooked long before I decided to take it up as a hobby; but once I did decide to take the plunge, it began a love affair from which I have never looked back.
I'll start off by telling you a little bit about myself.
I'm a lifelong gamer... so old (and so maturing, you could market me as a fine vintage) I can remember quite clearly the first Moon landings. I can remember when every town and village street still had a corner shop on it, and a penny bought you a whole bag of sweets.
Maybe this was a gentler age (quick, where's my white stick), maybe it’s just nostalgia talking.
But I can remember a time long before Playstations and X-Boxes, when the most advanced 'toys' out there were the Action Man, electric powered trains and Scalextrix car racing sets. Most kids still played with Lego, and Meccano, and Mouse-Trap was still state of the art. Most houses only had black and white TV's and depending where you lived (in England) you had the option of two or three channels to chose from.
The playing fields and go-cart side streets would empty when the weekly matinee would come on around tea time on a Saturday evening, and the whole family would sit around and watch the telly: War of the Worlds, The Great Escape, or the endless sequels of Dr. Fu Manchu. Aaaah
blissful times.
Out of School hours, if you were fortunate enough to live near a Cinema; there were the Saturday Morning Kids' Penny Matinees: Adventures of the River Boat, The Jungle of Mystery, Dick Tracey, and of course, Tarzan & Jane... mostly all borrowed junk and pulp fiction, borrowed from America's fifties and sixties 'cheap flicks' era. Yeesh!!! These movies were terrible... and I get the distinct feeling all these churned out 'talkies' were probably each made on a slightly smaller budget than an average modern wage packet.
But weren't they wonderful days? And looking back on the Amazing Tales, and Boys Own days of "tuppence a go" comic books... the dire over acting of talentless heroes and femme fatales was legend and all part of the attraction. Is it hardly surprising that these simpler and more innocent
times still hold such intense appeal - especially for the wargamer and role play gamer?
My passion for the hobby overall has, until now, always taken me in a completely different direction, and I never thought my desire to pick up Pulp as a gaming genre would ever amount to anything more than ooo-ing and aaa-ing over the wonderful photos in some of the on line blogs and sites. Pulp gaming seems to be a relatively new phenomena of this and the last decade, but I have lately been noticing an increased general shift of interest towards this era as a whole.
Whereas before, you might rarely glimpse at an easily forgotten wargame magazine article about Dinosaur Hunting, Mobster Wars, or such like, the general gaming public had no real knowledge or interest in the subject as a whole.
Maybe it's a reaction to the endless churned out of same-y games systems and sets of rules which have flooded the market over the last few years, but certainly, hobbyists seem to be looking elsewhere to get their kicks nowadays; and suddenly Victorian Sci-Fi, Steampunk, and a host of similar divergent subjects seem to be gracing many games tables of late; and more and
more Pulp gaming miniatures suppliers are popping up every day.
.... And so, caught up in this new wave of Pulp fervour, I finally decided I wasn't getting any younger, and before my eyes completely fail me with middle age, it was now or never. So I have taken my big plunge into the larger world of 20's and 30's Pulp Fiction.
So, where to start?
Well, I did the obvious thing: I started scouring the computer browser for companies selling the figures. I originally looked into 10mm, soon discovered there was zilch in that scale, and even 15mm yielded a lot of empty slots from the collection I envisaged owning. See, I've always
liked the smaller scales because, only having a limited space upon which to play my games, I find myself drawn to the aesthetic symmetry of being able to field two opposing forces on a dining room size table. However, my search results soon revealed to me that I was out of luck if I wanted to find the types of miniatures I was going to need to create my fait accompli in anything other than 25/28mm. But all was not lost. It also dawned on me that I wouldn't need a large playing area to set up the semi RPG and skirmish campaign games I envisaged taking place in my Pulp Imagi-Nation.
.... And then I discovered the wonderful range of Astounding Amazing Miniatures by Bob Murch, http://www.pulpfigures.com/ and I was soon blow away by them.
So I thought it might be nice to share my thoughts on how (on a limited budget) I initially decided to venture into this intriguing world, and give you a sort of 'gamer's eye view' on how to go about setting up an absorbing new campaign; literally from the ground up.
Over the coming... years, if the articles are actually of interest to anyone other than myself, I plan to create an elaborate film set of skirmish games, all linked into an on going 'soap' opera campaign where the characters live and breath... much like one of those early Saturday Morning Cinema Kid's Matinees I remember with such over indulgent fondness.
So, once again, where to start?
I guess I first got into wanting to do something in the classic American Pulp era due to my absolute love of `film noir`. Then years of stumbling across on line articles, coming across photos of Pulp miniatures... my fate was sealed. I was hooked long before I decided to take it up as a hobby; but once I did decide to take the plunge, it began a love affair from which I have never looked back.
I'll start off by telling you a little bit about myself.
I'm a lifelong gamer... so old (and so maturing, you could market me as a fine vintage) I can remember quite clearly the first Moon landings. I can remember when every town and village street still had a corner shop on it, and a penny bought you a whole bag of sweets.
Maybe this was a gentler age (quick, where's my white stick), maybe it’s just nostalgia talking.
But I can remember a time long before Playstations and X-Boxes, when the most advanced 'toys' out there were the Action Man, electric powered trains and Scalextrix car racing sets. Most kids still played with Lego, and Meccano, and Mouse-Trap was still state of the art. Most houses only had black and white TV's and depending where you lived (in England) you had the option of two or three channels to chose from.
The playing fields and go-cart side streets would empty when the weekly matinee would come on around tea time on a Saturday evening, and the whole family would sit around and watch the telly: War of the Worlds, The Great Escape, or the endless sequels of Dr. Fu Manchu. Aaaah
blissful times.
Out of School hours, if you were fortunate enough to live near a Cinema; there were the Saturday Morning Kids' Penny Matinees: Adventures of the River Boat, The Jungle of Mystery, Dick Tracey, and of course, Tarzan & Jane... mostly all borrowed junk and pulp fiction, borrowed from America's fifties and sixties 'cheap flicks' era. Yeesh!!! These movies were terrible... and I get the distinct feeling all these churned out 'talkies' were probably each made on a slightly smaller budget than an average modern wage packet.
But weren't they wonderful days? And looking back on the Amazing Tales, and Boys Own days of "tuppence a go" comic books... the dire over acting of talentless heroes and femme fatales was legend and all part of the attraction. Is it hardly surprising that these simpler and more innocent
times still hold such intense appeal - especially for the wargamer and role play gamer?
My passion for the hobby overall has, until now, always taken me in a completely different direction, and I never thought my desire to pick up Pulp as a gaming genre would ever amount to anything more than ooo-ing and aaa-ing over the wonderful photos in some of the on line blogs and sites. Pulp gaming seems to be a relatively new phenomena of this and the last decade, but I have lately been noticing an increased general shift of interest towards this era as a whole.
Whereas before, you might rarely glimpse at an easily forgotten wargame magazine article about Dinosaur Hunting, Mobster Wars, or such like, the general gaming public had no real knowledge or interest in the subject as a whole.
Maybe it's a reaction to the endless churned out of same-y games systems and sets of rules which have flooded the market over the last few years, but certainly, hobbyists seem to be looking elsewhere to get their kicks nowadays; and suddenly Victorian Sci-Fi, Steampunk, and a host of similar divergent subjects seem to be gracing many games tables of late; and more and
more Pulp gaming miniatures suppliers are popping up every day.
.... And so, caught up in this new wave of Pulp fervour, I finally decided I wasn't getting any younger, and before my eyes completely fail me with middle age, it was now or never. So I have taken my big plunge into the larger world of 20's and 30's Pulp Fiction.
So, where to start?
Well, I did the obvious thing: I started scouring the computer browser for companies selling the figures. I originally looked into 10mm, soon discovered there was zilch in that scale, and even 15mm yielded a lot of empty slots from the collection I envisaged owning. See, I've always
liked the smaller scales because, only having a limited space upon which to play my games, I find myself drawn to the aesthetic symmetry of being able to field two opposing forces on a dining room size table. However, my search results soon revealed to me that I was out of luck if I wanted to find the types of miniatures I was going to need to create my fait accompli in anything other than 25/28mm. But all was not lost. It also dawned on me that I wouldn't need a large playing area to set up the semi RPG and skirmish campaign games I envisaged taking place in my Pulp Imagi-Nation.
.... And then I discovered the wonderful range of Astounding Amazing Miniatures by Bob Murch, http://www.pulpfigures.com/ and I was soon blow away by them.
So I thought it might be nice to share my thoughts on how (on a limited budget) I initially decided to venture into this intriguing world, and give you a sort of 'gamer's eye view' on how to go about setting up an absorbing new campaign; literally from the ground up.
Over the coming... years, if the articles are actually of interest to anyone other than myself, I plan to create an elaborate film set of skirmish games, all linked into an on going 'soap' opera campaign where the characters live and breath... much like one of those early Saturday Morning Cinema Kid's Matinees I remember with such over indulgent fondness.
So, once again, where to start?
What exactly is Pulp Fiction anyway? Time to turn to the Wikipedia I think :-)
I believe the term originated from the magazines of the first half of the 20th century which were printed on cheap "pulp" paper. The publications were fantastical, escapist fiction for the general entertainment of mass audiences. The pulp fiction era provided a breeding ground for creative
talent which would influence all forms of entertainment for decades to come; and ultimately, the 'hardboiled detective' and science fiction genres were created by the freedom such pulp fiction magazines provided.
Pulp Fiction is a term used to describe a huge amount of creative writing available to the American public in the early nineteen-hundreds. Termed "pulp magazines" because of the low quality paper used between the covers, these publications proliferated in the nineteen-thirties and nineteen-forties to the point where they blanketed news stands in just about every popular fiction genre of the time.
Although the pages in-between the covers were a dingy cheap quality, the covers were beautifully decorated, often with lurid portraits of pretty women in various stages of distress, and handsome square headed and broad shouldered men attempting to rescue them.
By under-paying writers and publishing on in-expensive media, pulp publishers were able to charge 10 cents for an issue containing several stories. Low prices drew in many working class young adults and teenagers, who could not otherwise afford some of the more pricier magazines of the day.
The low price of the pulp magazine, coupled with the skyrocketing literacy rates, all contributed to the success of the medium. Pulps allowed its readers to experience people, places, and action they normally would not have access to.
I believe the term originated from the magazines of the first half of the 20th century which were printed on cheap "pulp" paper. The publications were fantastical, escapist fiction for the general entertainment of mass audiences. The pulp fiction era provided a breeding ground for creative
talent which would influence all forms of entertainment for decades to come; and ultimately, the 'hardboiled detective' and science fiction genres were created by the freedom such pulp fiction magazines provided.
Pulp Fiction is a term used to describe a huge amount of creative writing available to the American public in the early nineteen-hundreds. Termed "pulp magazines" because of the low quality paper used between the covers, these publications proliferated in the nineteen-thirties and nineteen-forties to the point where they blanketed news stands in just about every popular fiction genre of the time.
Although the pages in-between the covers were a dingy cheap quality, the covers were beautifully decorated, often with lurid portraits of pretty women in various stages of distress, and handsome square headed and broad shouldered men attempting to rescue them.
By under-paying writers and publishing on in-expensive media, pulp publishers were able to charge 10 cents for an issue containing several stories. Low prices drew in many working class young adults and teenagers, who could not otherwise afford some of the more pricier magazines of the day.
The low price of the pulp magazine, coupled with the skyrocketing literacy rates, all contributed to the success of the medium. Pulps allowed its readers to experience people, places, and action they normally would not have access to.
Bigger-than-life heroes, pretty girls, exotic places, strange and mysterious villains all stalked the pages of the many issues available to the general public on the magazine stands. And without television widely available, much of the free time of the working literate class was spent pouring through the pages of the pulps.
World War Two brought paper rationing and increased paper prices. Also, some believe that the real horrors of the war replaced the fictional horrors found between the cover of the pulps. The once popular magazines began to lose readership and disappeared from the news stand, and one-by-one, they were replaced by paperbacks, comic books, television and movies.
Today, the short story has changed into a different breed of creative writing, leaving the amazing tales found in the pulp magazines as a unique offering. But, beyond the legacy of entertaining light relief, pulp fiction must be given some credit for the evolution of literature and popular fiction heroes of today. Many authors got their start in the pulp magazines, and developed to become great writers who changed the landscape of popular fiction. Writers such as Carroll John Daly changed the detective fiction story from the staid whodunits popularized in Great Britain to the more "hard-boiled" version where the bad guy was plain bad and the detective was tough and street-smart.
Edgar Rice Burroughs was another pulp writer, who helped to define the science fiction story into what it is today. The other well-known alumnae of the pulps include Max Brand, H.P. Lovecraft, Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and Ray Bradbury. And of course, there were the legions of other authors, less well-known today, who all had an equally important hand in
forming popular fiction.
Even though some details are dated because of social, technological, and historical developments, the stories found in the pulp era are still an entertaining read. They still offer action-packed adventure, on par with any of today's television shows, and heroes who are lively,
entertaining characters.
But what counts as Pulp and what doesn't? I was talking with some friends about this just the other day, and I was very surprised to discover many of their ideas and mine were at completely different ends of the analysis spectrum. For some, Pulp means giant metallic robots, rocket men, and giant ray guns wielded by evil, yet fatally flawed would be megalomaniacs intent on world domination. Whereas my idea of Pulp is low budget stage sets (used over and over again) where heroes, heroines, and arch antagonists (who never seem to die) meet in a seemingly endless charade of postulating speeches and long winded plotlines; a place where the Agents
of Justice, Gumshoes, Femme Fatales, Boys in Blue, and a myriad of supporting cast 'bite the bullet' at regular intervals while the main cast repeatedly survive to act another day. The setting can be in the deep jungles of Burma, South America, or some poorly defined location in Asia... it
doesn't matter.
Equally, the story can be set in some vaguely described part of New York, The Florida Keys, or New Orleans... again, it doesn't matter. Half a dozen indoor sets, and a handful of street locations is usually enough to set the repeated scene of ensuing mayhem and excitement.
For me, the atmosphere needs to be more low key, and subtle. The best 'soaps' go on and on in an endless merry-go-round of character interaction and plot outlining, and the action is planted at appropriate intervals to break the pace from time to time.
Between the two spectrums... the high fantasy route and my own views about what goes to make up an interesting Pulp setting... lies a whole host of similarly valued styles of storytelling. Tarzan
of the Jungle, The Adventures of Indiana Jones, and Dark Nazi Plans to propagate the world with undead Storm Troopers and racial purity.... all these and many more genres all have a place within this fascinating mythos which goes to make up the collective whole; and the beauty of it all is - they can all be used and interlinked: crossing over and interlacing from time to time as and when the gamers' needs and interests merit a change of pace... also as the games themselves grow and mature into imaginary 'living worlds'.
For me, it feels like I was fatefully steered towards my choice of game. First of all, a while ago, I started collecting a lot of pseudo Pulp-y type movies, Indiana Jones, The Mummy, Dick Tracey, Sin City, a load of the Humphrey Bogart classics... and would you believe, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I guess the appeal of nameless dark city streets of America where it always seems to be lashing down with rain, where the women are always naïve suckers for a good looking suit... and always always fall for the wrong man; couple this with an endless supply of stupid side kick villains wearing turned up collars and usually with a hand just hovering inside their breast pocket to reach for a barely concealed handgun, makes (for me) the Gangland riddled streets of the late 20's/early 30's an obvious choice for one of my two initial settings.
Secondly, I recently discovered quite by chance a source of complete black and white classic Pulp serials on DVD's. My favourite ones once again always seem to be the stories based on the nocturnal city streets of America (the streets that never sleep) full of seedy gambling dens, majestic Art Deco Casinos and high rise Hotels... seemingly, always with a liquor store and garage for smuggled goods next door.
My third reason for picking this Gangland style of game as an alternative to the more exotic settings: (i.e. Darkest Africa, the Gokudo gangs of Japan, the Triads of China, and the Qing Dynasty and Manchu rebellions of China and Soviet Asia, etc, etc).... is simply that everybody else seems to be doing that already. Never really one to follows trends, I wanted something different, but equally as exciting; with scope to grow and expand in various new directions as and when I need to add fresh dynamics to the campaign.
I also knew I wanted the frustrating Prohibition period and The Great Depression to feature heavily in my world, and by adjusting the real life historical time line slightly, by tucking the 20's and 30's together into a mouldable whole and bringing Hitler's rise to power forward to a time line slightly earlier than really happened, I would now be able to include the growing rise of Nazi-ism into the mix - give it a slight twist, and include supernatural and occult elements; like adding salt and pepper to your mashed potatoes, and suddenly I was getting somewhere.
Finally, my reason for choosing Bob Murch's Pulp Figures Gangland Justice range is simply because I think they are some of the most excellent Pulp action miniatures I have ever seen, and not to have included at least some of these would have been a real sacrilege and missed opportunity.
As I mentioned just now, in the old black and white movies, and especially in the old Saturday Morning Matinee Specials, the settings were usually limited to no more than half a dozen to a dozen repeated interior 'sets', some of which could be refurnished to create alternative settings in any case; and outdoors scenes often showed the same streets over and over again, filmed from different angles and by taking advantage of various day and night lighting effects. So BINGO! I knew I could recreate a very acceptable facsimile of the real classic Pulp movie and serial classics. In the end, after many painstaking hours browsing the net, I discovered
e-x-a-c-t-l-y what I wanted.
The Virtual Armchair General's cardboard range of "Mean Sets" and "Mean Streets" would do the trick excellently. Room and building interiors for Pulp fiction, gangster, detective, and horror role playing games.
So, I placed my initial order of a few interior sets. I would be buying a lot more of these buildings (both interior and exterior sets) as and when my budget allowed; but for now I was having to make do with bits and pieces of homemade and professionally made terrain pieces... I think it's called winging it hehe. I'd love to have gone mad and splashed out on a number of the much needed indoor/outdoor sets right away, from the very outset of the game; but finances aside, I figured I'd already have my work cut out for a while assembling the few sets I was able to afford and painting the figures which were already growing into a mounting pile on my work desk area..
... And so one half of my initial choices had been made. I had committed to a style of play I felt comfortable I could maintain and 'pull off' in an authentic manner, pretty much in keeping with the classic Pulp fiction of our bygone past.
The only advantage I had over the original movie makers of the time is that... I have the delicious good fortune to live in the early 21st century, where movie making techniques have improved way, way beyond the imaginations or dreams of even the most far sighted classic camera crews and director. Even a novice like me might be able to think up scenes way beyond the capabilities of those early pioneers in the craft.
For the second half of my purchase, I turned once again to Bob Murch's more traditional Pulp figures, and picked Oriental (Yangzee) River Pirates, Warlord Gangers, Jungle Adventurers, Sinister Spies, and personalities type who would be perfectly at home within the film set of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, King Kong, or a typical Fu Manchu movie. The benefits of collecting a crossover style from two separate genres of Pulp was not lost on me.
The Initial Game: The Terrain, The Figures.
I had already pretty much completed writing a set of rules for this new game... but for a long time it sat in files on my lap top, on backs of used envelopes, pieces of paper, and all the usual trimmings that go with my disorganised and dysfunctional brain.
All I had to do was flesh everything out in a neat and orderly (ha) fashion, and add some tasteful artwork; and the whole package was ready. I know there are a lot of very decent game systems out there already which more than adequately cover the period. But I do like creating my own rules for the games I play, especially as I like to play a lot of solo, and my rules contain a lot
of material which allows for this (much like a lot of the rules created by Ed Teixeira in his Two Hour Wargames).
But more on this later, right now I run before my horse to market.
I'd like to go through the terrain and figure choices I made in my initial order(s), and the reasons why I decided to pick these items over all the others in the 'Pulp Figures' and 'The Virtual Armchair General' ranges.
When I pick up a new era to play in, I always like to stick with a single range of minis, simply because I think it's nice to have a unified visual symmetry running throughout my games. This also has the advantage that all the models will be similar size... which sometimes can be a real problem when swapping between the different choices available from company to company. This is just personal choice, and I know many others will prefer to mix and match their purchases across a wide range of available miniature choices. After all, it could be argued that the slight variations in height and build make the 3D appeal that much more realistic. In reality, people are rarely all the same shape and size. However, I personally think the slight variations - a couple of millimetres here or there, actually promotes a slightly visual attitude of overall scruffiness on the games table. Perhaps better to keep faith with just one or even two companies you like to buy from and give credit where due that the sculptors will (if they're good at their work) allow for these variations within their ranges in a more consistent and aesthetic way. I like to feel I have a collection of 'toy soldiers', not just scattered parts of many collections thrown together in an Ad-hoc manner. But again, I state, this is only my personal view and I'm sure others have equally valid reasons to dismiss my claims entirely... which is good. Diversity within the hobby is what makes it so interesting.
As for the terrain (or film sets as I like to call them): ideally, I'd like to have placed one of my core games in the fictitious townscape locale of either Florida Keys (Key Largo area) or some large semi-imaginary town in New Orleans. Why here? Basically because I'm fascinated with the idea of having some completely out of place pin striped or white suited gangsters and hoods rubbing shoulders with country hicks, amidst the steamy, sweaty heat of the tropics for eight months of the year; then dealing with the contrast of heavy storms and monsoons for the remaining four. New Orleans, on the other hand would allow me to include my voodoo zombie masters and dark tribal magic. There's something intensely macabre and utterly terrifying about the vision of zombies walking the streets at night after the sun goes down, controlled by the 'bokor' to do whatever dark bidding is required. My mind's eyes sees the seedy streets emptying of life at night, as people rush to get indoors and bar the doors before the swamp demons begin to wake up and walk amongst them.
Naturally this would suit the gangsters and hoodlums perfectly, allowing them to conduct their nefarious criminal activities practically unchecked by the local law enforcements who would be almost as afraid of the night horrors as the rest of the civilian populace. And if a few hoods went missing from time to time, no doubt caught and dragged back into the swamps by the zombies - well then, it was a small price for the rod wielding dressed up thugs to have to pay to keep their pandered and paranoid egos in check, by providing a cocoon of loose women, cigarettes, Columbian cigars, and cheap whisky... all provided by the indulgent crime lords.
..Enter the heroes; the only individuals tall enough to stand up to the kingpins and take them on, on their own home turf.
However, I also knew that creating a game in either of these locations might prove to be extremely difficult if I was to achieve anything like the terrain settings I so lavishly envisaged in my head. And it soon became clear looking at the Mean Street building sets (my chosen purchases) that there was very little there I could use to create this sort of a film set.
So what do you do when the wonderful things you half imagine in your head don't quite fit the reality of the situation? Well, with skirmish wargaming and my RPG games, I tend to fudge and twist things that don't sit well in my mind until they do work the way I want them to.
The buildings I have ordered are truly wonderful - thanks again to Patrick Wilson, the Virtual Armchair General himself. Yet the fine crafted cardboard models look like they would be far better suited if I used them in a less exotic surrounding: the streets of Chicago, maybe: or the
eclectic harbour fronts of New York? So I decided to compromise and build my game in a generic, totally fictitious urban sprawl... set in a semi undefined part of real life America, and which could be dropped into just about any Pulp action setting the imaginative gamer could possibly desire.
... And just like that, my very own imaginary Angel City was first conceived and born.
World War Two brought paper rationing and increased paper prices. Also, some believe that the real horrors of the war replaced the fictional horrors found between the cover of the pulps. The once popular magazines began to lose readership and disappeared from the news stand, and one-by-one, they were replaced by paperbacks, comic books, television and movies.
Today, the short story has changed into a different breed of creative writing, leaving the amazing tales found in the pulp magazines as a unique offering. But, beyond the legacy of entertaining light relief, pulp fiction must be given some credit for the evolution of literature and popular fiction heroes of today. Many authors got their start in the pulp magazines, and developed to become great writers who changed the landscape of popular fiction. Writers such as Carroll John Daly changed the detective fiction story from the staid whodunits popularized in Great Britain to the more "hard-boiled" version where the bad guy was plain bad and the detective was tough and street-smart.
Edgar Rice Burroughs was another pulp writer, who helped to define the science fiction story into what it is today. The other well-known alumnae of the pulps include Max Brand, H.P. Lovecraft, Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and Ray Bradbury. And of course, there were the legions of other authors, less well-known today, who all had an equally important hand in
forming popular fiction.
Even though some details are dated because of social, technological, and historical developments, the stories found in the pulp era are still an entertaining read. They still offer action-packed adventure, on par with any of today's television shows, and heroes who are lively,
entertaining characters.
But what counts as Pulp and what doesn't? I was talking with some friends about this just the other day, and I was very surprised to discover many of their ideas and mine were at completely different ends of the analysis spectrum. For some, Pulp means giant metallic robots, rocket men, and giant ray guns wielded by evil, yet fatally flawed would be megalomaniacs intent on world domination. Whereas my idea of Pulp is low budget stage sets (used over and over again) where heroes, heroines, and arch antagonists (who never seem to die) meet in a seemingly endless charade of postulating speeches and long winded plotlines; a place where the Agents
of Justice, Gumshoes, Femme Fatales, Boys in Blue, and a myriad of supporting cast 'bite the bullet' at regular intervals while the main cast repeatedly survive to act another day. The setting can be in the deep jungles of Burma, South America, or some poorly defined location in Asia... it
doesn't matter.
Equally, the story can be set in some vaguely described part of New York, The Florida Keys, or New Orleans... again, it doesn't matter. Half a dozen indoor sets, and a handful of street locations is usually enough to set the repeated scene of ensuing mayhem and excitement.
For me, the atmosphere needs to be more low key, and subtle. The best 'soaps' go on and on in an endless merry-go-round of character interaction and plot outlining, and the action is planted at appropriate intervals to break the pace from time to time.
Between the two spectrums... the high fantasy route and my own views about what goes to make up an interesting Pulp setting... lies a whole host of similarly valued styles of storytelling. Tarzan
of the Jungle, The Adventures of Indiana Jones, and Dark Nazi Plans to propagate the world with undead Storm Troopers and racial purity.... all these and many more genres all have a place within this fascinating mythos which goes to make up the collective whole; and the beauty of it all is - they can all be used and interlinked: crossing over and interlacing from time to time as and when the gamers' needs and interests merit a change of pace... also as the games themselves grow and mature into imaginary 'living worlds'.
For me, it feels like I was fatefully steered towards my choice of game. First of all, a while ago, I started collecting a lot of pseudo Pulp-y type movies, Indiana Jones, The Mummy, Dick Tracey, Sin City, a load of the Humphrey Bogart classics... and would you believe, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I guess the appeal of nameless dark city streets of America where it always seems to be lashing down with rain, where the women are always naïve suckers for a good looking suit... and always always fall for the wrong man; couple this with an endless supply of stupid side kick villains wearing turned up collars and usually with a hand just hovering inside their breast pocket to reach for a barely concealed handgun, makes (for me) the Gangland riddled streets of the late 20's/early 30's an obvious choice for one of my two initial settings.
Secondly, I recently discovered quite by chance a source of complete black and white classic Pulp serials on DVD's. My favourite ones once again always seem to be the stories based on the nocturnal city streets of America (the streets that never sleep) full of seedy gambling dens, majestic Art Deco Casinos and high rise Hotels... seemingly, always with a liquor store and garage for smuggled goods next door.
My third reason for picking this Gangland style of game as an alternative to the more exotic settings: (i.e. Darkest Africa, the Gokudo gangs of Japan, the Triads of China, and the Qing Dynasty and Manchu rebellions of China and Soviet Asia, etc, etc).... is simply that everybody else seems to be doing that already. Never really one to follows trends, I wanted something different, but equally as exciting; with scope to grow and expand in various new directions as and when I need to add fresh dynamics to the campaign.
I also knew I wanted the frustrating Prohibition period and The Great Depression to feature heavily in my world, and by adjusting the real life historical time line slightly, by tucking the 20's and 30's together into a mouldable whole and bringing Hitler's rise to power forward to a time line slightly earlier than really happened, I would now be able to include the growing rise of Nazi-ism into the mix - give it a slight twist, and include supernatural and occult elements; like adding salt and pepper to your mashed potatoes, and suddenly I was getting somewhere.
Finally, my reason for choosing Bob Murch's Pulp Figures Gangland Justice range is simply because I think they are some of the most excellent Pulp action miniatures I have ever seen, and not to have included at least some of these would have been a real sacrilege and missed opportunity.
As I mentioned just now, in the old black and white movies, and especially in the old Saturday Morning Matinee Specials, the settings were usually limited to no more than half a dozen to a dozen repeated interior 'sets', some of which could be refurnished to create alternative settings in any case; and outdoors scenes often showed the same streets over and over again, filmed from different angles and by taking advantage of various day and night lighting effects. So BINGO! I knew I could recreate a very acceptable facsimile of the real classic Pulp movie and serial classics. In the end, after many painstaking hours browsing the net, I discovered
e-x-a-c-t-l-y what I wanted.
The Virtual Armchair General's cardboard range of "Mean Sets" and "Mean Streets" would do the trick excellently. Room and building interiors for Pulp fiction, gangster, detective, and horror role playing games.
So, I placed my initial order of a few interior sets. I would be buying a lot more of these buildings (both interior and exterior sets) as and when my budget allowed; but for now I was having to make do with bits and pieces of homemade and professionally made terrain pieces... I think it's called winging it hehe. I'd love to have gone mad and splashed out on a number of the much needed indoor/outdoor sets right away, from the very outset of the game; but finances aside, I figured I'd already have my work cut out for a while assembling the few sets I was able to afford and painting the figures which were already growing into a mounting pile on my work desk area..
... And so one half of my initial choices had been made. I had committed to a style of play I felt comfortable I could maintain and 'pull off' in an authentic manner, pretty much in keeping with the classic Pulp fiction of our bygone past.
The only advantage I had over the original movie makers of the time is that... I have the delicious good fortune to live in the early 21st century, where movie making techniques have improved way, way beyond the imaginations or dreams of even the most far sighted classic camera crews and director. Even a novice like me might be able to think up scenes way beyond the capabilities of those early pioneers in the craft.
For the second half of my purchase, I turned once again to Bob Murch's more traditional Pulp figures, and picked Oriental (Yangzee) River Pirates, Warlord Gangers, Jungle Adventurers, Sinister Spies, and personalities type who would be perfectly at home within the film set of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, King Kong, or a typical Fu Manchu movie. The benefits of collecting a crossover style from two separate genres of Pulp was not lost on me.
The Initial Game: The Terrain, The Figures.
I had already pretty much completed writing a set of rules for this new game... but for a long time it sat in files on my lap top, on backs of used envelopes, pieces of paper, and all the usual trimmings that go with my disorganised and dysfunctional brain.
All I had to do was flesh everything out in a neat and orderly (ha) fashion, and add some tasteful artwork; and the whole package was ready. I know there are a lot of very decent game systems out there already which more than adequately cover the period. But I do like creating my own rules for the games I play, especially as I like to play a lot of solo, and my rules contain a lot
of material which allows for this (much like a lot of the rules created by Ed Teixeira in his Two Hour Wargames).
But more on this later, right now I run before my horse to market.
I'd like to go through the terrain and figure choices I made in my initial order(s), and the reasons why I decided to pick these items over all the others in the 'Pulp Figures' and 'The Virtual Armchair General' ranges.
When I pick up a new era to play in, I always like to stick with a single range of minis, simply because I think it's nice to have a unified visual symmetry running throughout my games. This also has the advantage that all the models will be similar size... which sometimes can be a real problem when swapping between the different choices available from company to company. This is just personal choice, and I know many others will prefer to mix and match their purchases across a wide range of available miniature choices. After all, it could be argued that the slight variations in height and build make the 3D appeal that much more realistic. In reality, people are rarely all the same shape and size. However, I personally think the slight variations - a couple of millimetres here or there, actually promotes a slightly visual attitude of overall scruffiness on the games table. Perhaps better to keep faith with just one or even two companies you like to buy from and give credit where due that the sculptors will (if they're good at their work) allow for these variations within their ranges in a more consistent and aesthetic way. I like to feel I have a collection of 'toy soldiers', not just scattered parts of many collections thrown together in an Ad-hoc manner. But again, I state, this is only my personal view and I'm sure others have equally valid reasons to dismiss my claims entirely... which is good. Diversity within the hobby is what makes it so interesting.
As for the terrain (or film sets as I like to call them): ideally, I'd like to have placed one of my core games in the fictitious townscape locale of either Florida Keys (Key Largo area) or some large semi-imaginary town in New Orleans. Why here? Basically because I'm fascinated with the idea of having some completely out of place pin striped or white suited gangsters and hoods rubbing shoulders with country hicks, amidst the steamy, sweaty heat of the tropics for eight months of the year; then dealing with the contrast of heavy storms and monsoons for the remaining four. New Orleans, on the other hand would allow me to include my voodoo zombie masters and dark tribal magic. There's something intensely macabre and utterly terrifying about the vision of zombies walking the streets at night after the sun goes down, controlled by the 'bokor' to do whatever dark bidding is required. My mind's eyes sees the seedy streets emptying of life at night, as people rush to get indoors and bar the doors before the swamp demons begin to wake up and walk amongst them.
Naturally this would suit the gangsters and hoodlums perfectly, allowing them to conduct their nefarious criminal activities practically unchecked by the local law enforcements who would be almost as afraid of the night horrors as the rest of the civilian populace. And if a few hoods went missing from time to time, no doubt caught and dragged back into the swamps by the zombies - well then, it was a small price for the rod wielding dressed up thugs to have to pay to keep their pandered and paranoid egos in check, by providing a cocoon of loose women, cigarettes, Columbian cigars, and cheap whisky... all provided by the indulgent crime lords.
..Enter the heroes; the only individuals tall enough to stand up to the kingpins and take them on, on their own home turf.
However, I also knew that creating a game in either of these locations might prove to be extremely difficult if I was to achieve anything like the terrain settings I so lavishly envisaged in my head. And it soon became clear looking at the Mean Street building sets (my chosen purchases) that there was very little there I could use to create this sort of a film set.
So what do you do when the wonderful things you half imagine in your head don't quite fit the reality of the situation? Well, with skirmish wargaming and my RPG games, I tend to fudge and twist things that don't sit well in my mind until they do work the way I want them to.
The buildings I have ordered are truly wonderful - thanks again to Patrick Wilson, the Virtual Armchair General himself. Yet the fine crafted cardboard models look like they would be far better suited if I used them in a less exotic surrounding: the streets of Chicago, maybe: or the
eclectic harbour fronts of New York? So I decided to compromise and build my game in a generic, totally fictitious urban sprawl... set in a semi undefined part of real life America, and which could be dropped into just about any Pulp action setting the imaginative gamer could possibly desire.
... And just like that, my very own imaginary Angel City was first conceived and born.
For my campaign, I have decided to base AC fairly close to the real life Los Angeles; as a sort of down town urban sprawl and poor relative to its more grandiose and larger LA cousin. This also allows me to design my very own city from the ground up, using its rich historical counterpart as a model and an architectural example.
I decided to place my second self contained Pulp venture into a mythical region somewhere along the jungle infested Chang Jiang River, way inland of Shanghai, and hundreds of miles below Xi'an. This would allow me to create an isolated (and lawless) hotbed of conflict and adventure which could remain completely divorced from real life external events; ideal territory for nefarious villains to hatch impossibly complex plans for world domination and indulge in general mindless megalomania.
I'd like to explain my figure purchase s a bit more, if I may. The reason for this is not to bore you with a gamer's personal diary of cluttered thoughts, but ideally I want to show you one person's perspective of the hobby, and to highlight the fundamental disciplines required to create a new game from the foundations upwards. Hopefully this will be of interest to other enthusiasts who wish to create similar campaigns for themselves. For me, if a game is to last, it has to be robust enough to withstand anything that I throw at it, yet still come up smelling of roses. Obviously, once the terrain has been decided upon, the figures needed to populate the streets themselves are going to be the next major consideration.
As I've already hinted, I wanted to include a lot of gangster elements into one of my game settings. To do this, I had to be fairly open minded about stretching the time line and lumping it into a collective whole. There's a lot of stuff from the early 1920's right through to the mid 1930's that I wished to include, from cars, trucks, weapon types, and archetypal personality figures from history. Of course, with vehicles I can use contraptions from a lot earlier on if I want, because (in an age where everything tended to be better made) there would still have existed a lot of older things - a bit like seeing farmers today driving about in 30 year old tractors.
I know many people, when they think of Pulp fiction, summon up images of Buck Rogers, Space
Rockets, Giant Mechanical Robots, Ray Guns, and Lost Treasures of the Jungle. I think of these things too, and will definitely want to include these in my own games as time goes on. But I also
needed to create a stable infrastructure for my imaginary Pulp world; a fairly low fantasy setting I could branch out from when I desired to add the more fantastical elements into the game. For this I can take the game to Tibet, India, The Nepalese jungles of Tarai, and the Tong filled streets of China. My "Angel City" has a vast harbour front area, and from there my ships can sail anywhere.
Naturally there are also airports, so I can fly my cast of bad guys and heroes just about anywhere I desire. But I intended to maintain a strong tone throughout of Gangland Justice and an intense feeling of Cultural Depression blues brought on by mass unemployment, Prohibition, and the social slide America was feeling after the First World War, as the country tried desperately to heave itself out of the slump; yet still unaware that a Second World War was just round the corner and waiting to happen.
These Guns For Hire, The Bugs Malarchy Mob, and Sinister Spies seemed the ideal sets of Pulp Figures for me to include in my collection. Naturally at least one set of Boys in Blue was a prerequisite to the theme. No Mob style game would be complete without at least a few of these to thwart the gangs from time to time.
My Gangsters and Hoodlums will be a central running thread in my world, and I figured I'd need quite a few of these at any given time on the table top. The Sinister Spies set fit in well, either as gang bosses, underworld contacts, or exactly as it says in the title... as spies.
The world of the 30's was a culturally paranoid era, seemingly ever poised on the brink of conflict from various real or half imagined foes. Naturally, with a few tweaks these dangerous individuals and groups could be used to expand the game in all sorts of interesting directions... especially as the spies would almost definitely be in fairly close contact with the underworld and its crime bosses, through a mutual beneficial interest in one another. For example, the initial rise to power of the Brown Shirts could be moved forward a half dozen years into the latter half
of the twenties, and suddenly you could include a tyrannical cult and occult magic into your games. The She Wolves and She Wolves Unit Builder sets seemed a good place to start... an early Nazi Feminist group of radical extremists fitted my intentions nicely, and I simply had to include a few sets of these.
Femme Fatales is another obvious set I included in my Pulp Figures purchase. What game in any genre of Pulp would be complete without this integral group of women to liven the show. After all, The main heroes have to fall for at least one fatally flawed but beautiful female, at least once in a while.
Tramp Steamer Sailors was a considered purchase. The reason for these is simply that I intend to purchase the appropriate Mean Streets docks, key-side building sets, and a few Steam Sternwheelers over the coming months, and I will need some old sea dogs to man the tramp vessels. Naturally, I can also have the seamen propping up various bars and standing about on street corners to add a bit of atmosphere to the game from time to time.
Tropical Castaways may seem my strangest and most ill advised purchase, considering the rest of my picks. But I did think long and hard about getting this set.
Eventually I decided I could use these models to help flesh out the game; and let’s be honest here, I fell in love with this set because, for some reason, the sculpts reminded me so much of the characters from the old Bogart movie Key Largo.
The retired and slightly lame old sailor... probably the owner of a tired guest house by the waterfront: his adopted half Hawaiian daughter, replete with flowery dress and flower strewn hair: The Happy Joe and his infernal love for crazy golf: The Mysterious White Suited Gentleman with umbrella... obviously on the run from something, but always very polite
and courteous: and the 'easy come, easy go' bar prop who always seems to be somewhere, just passing through in which ever scenario is being played.
Dangerous Dames, Tong Gangsters, The Court of Sinister Dr. Koo, Yangzee Gang Members, Dime Store Tough Guys, Gumshoes... even a Camera Film Crew for
re-enacting scenes from King Kong, all these got added either to the shopping list, or the "next time" wish list.
My initial order complete, this gave give me plenty of figures to mess around with, providing me with more than enough stuff to play a multitude of skirmishes and semi role playing style set ups and cameos. To this, I could add more sets as time, cash, and patience allows.
One final purchase I made as a last moment though I might add was a small collection of vintage period cars and trucks. I really liked the look of one on-line company in particular (called 'Allsorts') who sold exactly what I needed to get started, and I was very much taken by their collectors range of 20's and 30's 1/43 scale model vehicles. The models are utterly beautiful, and grace my shelves as fine ornaments in their own right - when not being used on the games table....
Next, I had to make time to study my chosen mythos, re-watch all my old black and white Pulp era serials and movies over again, and plan my soap like campaign with meticulous care and
attention.
Oh I can remember it all like it was yesterday.