So Richard had been right when he though he knew who Ambrose Tull was. That was a good sign, at least his skills weren't dulled by the absurdity of the current rainy situation. "What can I say? I use my head for more than just holding my hat." Richard quiped back at Ambrose the massive boxer, taking a drag of his cigarette while emitting the parts of the story where Richard had attended the boxing match in order to snoop on a criminal. Don't get him wrong, the match was good and all, from what he'd gathered afterwards.

It was a good thing that Richard had Ambrose on his side - at least he was pretty sure the boxer with a silver tounge was, certainly he was backing him up at this point-, since the duo of Val and Ferd refrained from giving them a straight answer themselves at the moment. The private detective smoked his cigarette as they spoke, his eyes scanning the guys' coats for more guns than the one Val had pointed at him. He payed special attention once Val slipped his hand back into his coat, though he was only pulling out…more letters? "Yeah that's the same letter I got a week ago. Wrap me up in ribbons and call me an adopted puppy, never took that Jeremy for being a solid pen-pal." Richard commented on the letters, looking up at Val with a thoughtful look on his face. The cogs were moving up there. Why had they been gathered? "I think the word you're looking for, Mr. Val, is A Wild Goose Chase."

Apparently that was the que for the loud-mouthed guy, who'd asked for a painted window, to finally open his gob again. Through the conversing he'd sized up Richard, as if he was trying to get an angle on him. Ferd had feared that they were the same guys who'd ransacked Jeremy's house. Understandable, though Richard could only nod his head a little to it as he looked back Ferd and Val at the house. "True. But if you're asking me, then we'd probably gone through the back and gotten the jump on you two. Walking up the front porch in broad daylight doesn't exactly scream out 'goons'…" Richard replied, taking a drag while letting his eyes scan the rainy clouds above them, before continuing. "Then again, ain't no sunshine here either."

Finally it was the turn of Ferd to hand over some ID, which Richard gladly accepted. His suspicions had been founded then, the guy didn't carry a badge after all. The name on the guy's driving license stuck out to him, though the name "Ferd Smith" was so generic that even Richard couldn't pinpoint its origin. But now he had a name, a face and a letter. That was progress.

"Yes please, I though you'd never ask. I feel like I'm in a bad German surreal picture with all this rain." Richard was more than happy to continue the conversation inside, pulling up his coat as he followed Ferd into the hell-raised house. Rot and mould all over the place. Yeah, whorehouse at low tide had been a pretty good description of the joint. Richard leaned up against a solid wall, holding the cigarette between his fingers and shaking his fedora off water. "Couldn't tell you either, even if I'd wanted to. Never heard of this Harry-fella before I got the letter, and even then I've only met Jeremy twice. Couldn't tell you why I or any of your were written to either. So, what have you poked around and found out so far?"

The flicker of anger that coursed through Tull melted back into a pool of emotions within and now a mild embarrassment came over him. The man known as Val introduced himself and his partner without any sort of fuss or struggle. The thoughts of goons seemed rather silly even though minutes ago it was a serious thought and now embarrassment of his tensional tone wrapped over him, after all, Ambrose needed to retain his peaceful nature. In just a second he cleared his throat and retorted back to Val.

"Oh my! The letters that is most particular...but umm... I must say, my good sir, Val and Ferd let me properly introduce myself. I did not mean to come off so harsh and naive but a man has to be careful, especially in this rather odd circumstance." He said and then taking a pause to formulate his next response, " I am Ambrose Tull, former Boxer but now retired from that ole blood sport. I must say I did not expect all this company, nonetheless, it is a pleasure to meet all of you." Saying all this cleared the uneasiness in his mind and Ferd coming up to show ID made Ambrose pull out his as a courtesy.

Ambrose quickly glanced at the ID not paying much attention to it as his mind was set on apologizing. In a lower voice, he spoke to Ferd, "Thank you indeed, Mr. Smith and umm... I once again must apologize for that barbaric opening line of mine I hope I can make it up to you somehow." He said with endearment. Still, this whole situation was bizarre even with all the experiences Tull had faced this one just had the feeling of the tale you tell to youngsters when reaching advanced age.

When the conversation turned to taking this affair inside he obliged, the rain was getting loathsome standing in and any shelter even ones that look to be an Opium den were better than nothing. Entering the house reminded Ambrose of those youthful memories of running through decaying burned-out plantation homes of yesteryear but somehow it seemed this house was in worse shape. He took his place near the door leaning his umbrella carefully on the wall. While Ferd spoke he gazed around the room at the different characters making quick judgments that he would never say aloud and after a minute spoke after Richard.

"I must agree with Mr. Barker I have never heard of this Harry fellow before the letter and my experience with Jeremy is well least impressive. I have met that odd man just once in my life. What do you all know about this situation, if I may ask?" He said crossing his arms while his three-piece inadvertently showed his well worked on arms.

James finally chose to walk to the house. He had examined the cavalcade of people who were entering the house. He had met a lot of people in Wake Springs, at college and in his work, but rarely he had seen such a big man as one of the men. James pondered, if he was a boxer. Perhaps I should write about a boxer. A boxer who fights crime at night with a mask and a disguise, he thought. Vigilante, an antihero, an avenger in the night, ready to defend the weak and innocent, perhaps with an animal motif.

He knew he had awkwardly waited in the street, but he rarely just waltzed into things. He often examined things before going into action, and apparently, the group just had had a short moment of tension. James looked around quickly and walked to the door just behind the group of people. "Hey, wait for me!" he said on the way. He had always been introverted, and never had been extremely easy speaker. He added "I was sent a letter by Jeremy's house sitter, too."

Ferd chuckled at Richards comment. "You said it, there aint no sun, and I've seen more than my fair share of strange things." Ferd frowned at the now cold butt in his mouth. He'd have to remember to get his own pack. He didn't want to keep bumming them off of others. Flicking the butt towards a pile of rubble near the stairs he continued, "In my experience it pays to be plenty careful. Careless men tend to pay for their carelessness in spades."

Ferd paused and looked over his shoulder at Ambrose. Wow. What a change in countenance. Moments ago the man had looked like a predator sizing up it's meal, but now he was more comparable to a sheep. Head slightly bowed in embarrassment, and tone apologetic. Ferd decided he'd file that information on the man away for now. Could be important. He waved a hand, "Is what it is my man, don't fret over it. I imagine that men who have spent time in the ring, such as yourself, become accustomed to being ready for a fight at the drop of a hat."

Ferd leaned against what he hoped was a sturdy section of wall, just past the kitchen entrance. Well that was unfortunate. He'd hoped one of the two men might have a closer relationship with Old Jeremy, or if he was really lucky, know something about the Harry fella. Oh well, he'd have to make due with what he had.

Responding to both fellows, Ferd said, "Well not to much yet. When we got here the door was already the mess you see, which I assume can be blamed on the blokes that Harry said forced their way in to work him over. As for the rest of the house, well," Ferd waved a hand at the mess surrounding them. "I've actually been here before, a couple of years ago. The place looked much nicer back then, I'd of compared it to any of the respectable houses in Arkham back then. No rot, no rubble, and to top that the place is relatively new. Jeremy tore down the old place when he bought the land and built a brand new one in it's place, so there's no way this level of decay should have taken place, especially not since I was here last."

Just then Ferd heard shouting from the streets. Moments later a small wiry man burst into the doorway. Ferd's eye's narrowed, and he said, "Apologies sir, but since you seem to have eavesdropped on our conversation I'll assume you saw the suspicion I treated these fellows with. It's nothing against you, but since we're all strangers and this seems to be a bit of a strange situation, I'm going to have to ask for your name. If it matches one of the letters which I've received curtesy of Val here, then we wont have a problem." He glanced around the room, "I hope no one has any objections, as I said I simply don't see how some caution could hurt here."

"The name is James Anderson of Wake Springs, at your service", he replied to the man. The man seemed like out of a detective story. He took out his ID out of his wallet. The safest action would be to diffuse the tension and suspicion quickly. James took a shy smile. His father had always thought that wide smiles were untrustworthy. "And may you and your comrades tell yours?"

Ferd pulled out the letters he'd stuffed away and began rifling through them.
"James, James." He muttered to himself, "Ah!" He pulled a letter out of the group. There is was, written in bold across the folded partchment.

"James Anderson," He read aloud, and meant to continue but noticed the man was holding out his ID for inspection. Ferd found the man's compliance refreshing, he'd half expected him to refuse the way the boxer had. Reaching for the James' ID Ferd noticed the man's almost submissive countenance. Almost in opposition to Ambrose's fierce warrior like pride, James' gave off what Ferd could only think of as an aura of meek compliance. The smile he gave Ferd clearly came naturally to the man, sealing Ferd's initial thoughts. Whatever the man's reasons, it seemed clear that he made a habit of avoiding conflict. Ferd decided that was enough to know for now, but he made a mental note to observe the man further. If he was simply a pacifist that was more or less fine, but if he was a coward, well that could be a problem.

Ferd made a show of looking over the man's ID, feeling a need to show the man a measure of curtosy after his very polite and compliant response to Ferd's demands. It had only taken a moment for Ferd to decide it looked real enough, but he lingered for a moment, choosing to make note of certain details in case they came up later. Ferd found it payed live up to parts he played, as it kept him from being caught with his pants down.

Handing the ID back and pocketing the letters again, Ferd commented, "Wakefield Springs eh? I've spent a fair amount of time in Maine but I've never heard of Wakefield. What part is that in?" Ferd's voice had taken on a congenial tone again, and his posture had relaxed again. Everyone seemed authentic. Maybe this would turn out to be a relaxing case. He had multiple people to work with, and the atmosphere had lightened considerably. Maybe Ferd would even enjoy himself this time. Perhaps there was no reason to worry after all.

Upon finishing that thought the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Ferd felt dread grip at his stomach. That wasn't a good sign. Ferd had long ago learned to trust his instincts, and the small impressions he often received. He'd found they kept him alive more often than not. Occasionally he'd been called psychic, and told he had some sort of sixth sense. Ferd disagreed, or if he did have a sixth sense, then he was sure all humans had the same sense. Most just don't know what to do with the information that sense gave them. To Feed things as simple as the hair standing up on his neck were his brains way of interpreting information that sixth sense fed it. So what was he sensing?

Just then he was reminded of the only blatantly strange thing he'd seen so far. Taking care to ensure his countenance didn't change, Ferd casually looked over his shoulder ever so briefly. The dread he'd begun feeling cemented in the bottom of his stomach as he returned his gaze to the group. The image painted on the kitchen window was gone. A turmoil of thoughts and emotions began whirling in Ferd's mind. He didn't know why it was gone, or if that was what had caused the feeling of unease he'd received. The only thing he was certain of was that he'd been wrong. He should most definitely be worried.

The boxer old-timer Ambrose was a curiosity in himself, with the body of a speeding freight train but the voice of Ted Lewis and His Band. Or perhaps the comparison with a friendly bull would be more fitting. Either way, the calm and collected response from Ambrose seemed to ease the tension in the ruined room, spreading over to the other members of the Jeremy and Harry Letter Association. Richard nodded in agreement with Ambrose's question, fiddling idly with the cigarette between his fingers as he looked casually, though systematically around the room. He was waiting for some answers.

"Sensible food for thought you just said, Mr. Smith. Ferd, may I call you Ferd or Fred?" Richard asked after being at the recieving end of Ferd's cryptic words of wisdom. It payed off to be careful, but Richard wasn't really impressed by his caution - it sounded more like common sense to him. Then again common sense was a rare commodity these days. Richard listened intently to Ferd's explaination, noting that he and Val really hadn't gotten far before Ambrose and himself showed up. What made Richard retrieve the cigarette to his mouth was Ferd's concern Jeremy's house couldn't possibly have decayed this much. "Well to be honest, I was here too a few years ago myself, and it didn't exactly look like the Iroquis New York. More like a Flophouse, if you'll excuse my frankness…"

Richard's thrown-in comment was cut off by the shouting outside, another man joining the merry men of Arkham. The private detective's hand instinctively reached for his piece, the sudden apperance of the man probably how the two others had felt about Richard and Ambrose. The jam was squared out pretty quickly, thankfully, upon Ferd getting his ID and name, while the kid sheepishly smiled at them. "James Anderson…hey, ain't you the newshawk with them weird tales? Odd stuff, but a good read. Now this is a strange bundle of plugs. Richard Barker, private eye." Richard told James the writer, reporter or whatever the guy was. At this point his cigarette was also a sagging piece of half-burned paper, prompting Richard to toss it far out of the door while turning back to Ferd.

"Like I said, I'm not concerned about the shitty state of the house. Probably had the bad luck of getting the house built by some builders who chilesed him. Used faulty materials and whatnot, wouldn't be the first time." Richard had been in no mood to look for the unexplainable, rationalizing the decay like the private detective he was, however wrong he may or may not have been in his words. Fiddling for another cigarette, lighting it and taking the virgin drag, Richard turned back to the others. "Like Ambrose said earlier, I've got no idea who this Harry guy is, and only met Jeremy a few times rather briefly. That buddy in Boston I mentioned? Got him to do some digging on Harry Everfield. Maybe he owed some money to the Mob, didn't pay up and got roughened up? That letter of his wasn't exactly well-written." Richard decided to open up on, resting the cigarette in one hand while the other scratched his visible scarred noes.

"Anyway, Jeremy Stockhold hired me to retrieve a book of sorts. Short version is that I got it for him, got paid and never saw him again. It was the oddest thing…so unless he's returned from what I can only assume was North Africa and now is cheesing it upstairs…" Richard continued, placing the cigarette firmly between his lips and making his way upstairs calmly while keeping contact with the others. "I'd like to get some detective-ing done while that nosey goose outside leaves us alone. Having tea-time chatting in a presumed missing person's burgled house is something the cop in me would rather avoid."

Val looked on this possibly bungling gang of 'cotectives,' after that James fella ran on in. As one of the first men in the house Val felt it was appropriate to offer out some of those fancy new Camels, after all "More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarrete," well acording to the ad. Val handed out a smoke to everybody who wanted one before lighting up his own and took a drag.

" I'm Val, nice to make your acquaintance." He looked at him up and down, James definitely seemed the meek type. The bible says the meek will inherit the Earth, but Val was sure that was a typo. James seemed about the same age, but they seemed to have taken two very different streets in life. Ferd seemed very preoccupied with the kitchen window again. He gave Ferd a soft thump on the shoulder,

"Hey pal everything alright?"

As Richard walked up the stairs Ferd responded, "Ferd or Fred are both fine with me, I've been called worse things." He smiled at his own joke. He furrowed his brow at Richards comment about the house not looking very good a few years back. True the first floor had always been a bit messy, but was the man blind? Rot and decay covered nearly every inch of the place, save for the outside. Ferd felt the corner of his mouth tugging down into a concerned frown. Hopefully Richard wasn't one of those detectives that only accepted the cold hard reality they were used to. That would be a bit uncomfortable.

"You mentioned a connection in Boston? What's the name, I'm from those parts myself, maybe I know him." Ferd commented distractedly. He'd been hired to find a book huh? Didn't sound very outside of Jeremy's realm of interest, but why in the world hadn't he just gone and done it himself? At the mention of North Africa Ferd's ears perked up. Really? Was Richard saying that because Jeremy had told him about the cave he was looking for, or had the book Richard had recovered mentioned Africa? Was it possible Jeremy had gotten ahold of one of those journals he'd been so interested in a few years ago?

Ferd had to admit being here with out permission didn't exactly look good. They should probably make their presence known to the local authorities sooner rather than later. Ferd thought he remembered Richard mention something about some peeper hanging around nearby. One of them should probably go check that out.

Val's hand on Ferd's shoulder was a surprise. Ferd looked at the slightly shorter man. Interesting bloke this one, not the callous sort of criminal, then again he might merely be checking in on Ferd out of self preservation. It didn't pay to have jumpy unreliable along on a heist.

Ferd gave Val a half smile, "Yeah everythings fine Val. Thanks for going along with me just now." Ferd nodded at the door, "I think I'm gonna take a quick ankle outside, Richard mentioned something about something about some dewdropper kickin around outside. I'm hopin it's just some Jack out on a bender, but you never know. After than I think I'll head down to the local bull pen." Ferd jermed a thumb towards the stairs Richard had just waltzed up. "Ole Rich makes a point, we don't need the coppers comin in and gettin the wrong idea." Ferd stood up from the wall strolled towards the door.

Almost on a whim he turned back to Val and said, "Wanna come along? Thought I'd try and find me a quilt along the way, might not be a bad idea to have us a chin." With another nod at the stairs Ferd went on, "Rich like as not can handle the snoopin here for now, to many bodies ed just get in the way." Ferd turned to the other two men and said, "One of ya's is welcome to come along as well, but we'd best at least make sure there's two of us together at all times. Oh and if the two that stay end up blowin outa here before me an whoever gets back they outa leave a note. Least that's what I'd say we should do." Ferd stopped waiting for an answer, still working through what little information he'd gotten his hands on at this point. He had some general leads at this point, but as usual nothing concrete.

Val took a drag of his smoke as Ferd said everything was fine. It really didn't make much sense as he did run out into the street yelling about some mark on the window. Either Ferd was really losing his beans or some wild shit is really going down.

"I'm down for a quick hoofin' I'm pretty sure breathing in all this stuff isn't the best for the old lungs." He took another hit of his cigarette, "Besides my nonna taught me how to quilt so I got you covered." Val chuckled to his own joke and walked out onto the porch, the gang's little peeping Tom was still living up to his name.

"Good news Ferd, our pal looks to be keeping an eye on this shit hole for us."

As Richard ascended the moudly stairs of what both looked and smelled more and more like an abandonded shithole of a house, he was pleasently surprised to have none of the fellow occupatents attempt to stop him. Clearly they approved of his snooping tendencies more than any well-minded client would have if they only knew how he aquired informaton. Either that, or they were too busy with taking care of themselves down at the ground floor. Yeah, like normal people would do.

At least something seemed off with Ferd again, a certain look of concern washing over his face as he replied back to Richard and telling him to call him whatever he wanted. Well that was a start, Fred was easier to say than Ferd. Then it was the matter of Richard's connection down in Boston. That part Richard chose to ignore, better to open that can of worms later when he didn't have so many balls to juggle. Also, he did not like the nickname Ferd gave him. Peaping over the railing of the stairs, Richard gave Fred one last look before he escaped their company in favour of the upper floor. "I heard that, Fred. Don't call me Rich, never been that my whole life."

The upper floor looked almost as shitty as the lower one, save from the doors themselves not having massive holes in them. Richard made it upstairs, his eyes pearing over the landscape of rotting wood, carpet and furniture before him with his scanning eyes, noticing the disturbances on the floor. Clearly someone had been here recently, obviously Val or Fred who'd checked what looked like a study. That ruled out him checking that. Bedroom it was then.

The door to what had been Jeremy's bedroom was weathered, but standing strong, and more importantly it stood locked. Richard grabbed the door handle with the end of his coat, feeling the door rattle by the lock still in the wall. Not to worry, the private dick knew what to do. Out of the few tools he kept hidded under his clothes, were a set of picks and wires. Lockpicks. Hey, you never knew when you'd need an extra set of universal 'keys', right? Soon enough Richard had picked the locked with an audible [b]click[/], pushing the door open and looking inside.

"Jesus Christ, Jeremy wasn't just a pen-pal now was he…"

Richard tried to take in the room as he slowly entered, though so many clues and strange bits stuck out to him and his police gut feeling. Firstly it was the fact that someone had upped and left in a hurry, packing their neccecities and gotten the hell out of dodge? That Harry fellow who was meant to keep the house under wraps? He shouldn't have had access to the room, but who else?

Clothes rotted strewn around the room, the only pieces of junk resembling any kind of orderly mess the pieces of paper and photographs around the room - either neatly lain down on Jeremy's desk or hung up on the wall, strings running from one photograph and another. String, red string, a colour of warning. "Jeremy, you're a bit of a coockoo, ain't ya?" Richard asked himself, taking a deep drag of his cigarette before continuing his snooping.

Which was only getting weirder and weirder.

In one moment none of this mady any sense to the New York detective, only the left-overs of a rambling looney now half-way across the world chasing three-headed giraffes on the African savannah…but in another moment Richard saw something shine from the pictures, notes and red string - Logic, coherent thoughts, clues. Missing people's reports, coordinates, photographs of random objects and locations tied to the former…and all of them leading back to that Dark Continent to the white man.

"Now this is a Chinese angle if I've ever been thrown ass first into one…"

Richard stood by himself in the bedroom, smoking the cigarette and simply taking in all the clues around him, touching nothing and leaving all where he found it. He took some notes on the way, though the bizarre nature of the room would hardly leave a clean mark on his mind. For a moment Richard leaned out of doorway, shouting down to the others. "Hey fellas, how your looking going? You find anything yet?"

Ferd glanced over his shoulder at Richards shouted request. He stifled a smile and turned to holler up the stairs in reply, cupping one hand around his mouth.

"Sure thing Richard. No offense meant." He said. Ferd's ears pricked up at Val's word play. He chuckled out loud and smiled. He was starting to like Val.

It looked like neither James or Ambrose wanted to come along, so Ferd waved a quick goodbye and joined Val on the porch.

The rain hadn't let up, though Ferd knew it was wishful thinking to hope that it would have in the short amount of time since they'd all walked into the house.

He turned to look for the man Richard claimed he had seen standing out in the street. When Val spoke up again Ferd was surprised. How on earth had he found the man? He couldn't see as much as a silhouette in this fog. He followed Val's gaze and squinted as hard as he could. There? Maybe that was the man? He could just make out what looked like an arm holding what he assumed was a lit smoke of some kind. As the point of blurry red light moved up to where a man's head might be Ferd felt safe assuming that was the man he was looking for.

"Well shall we?" Ferd asked Val, waving an arm in front of himself as he walked off the porch. "Onward Chauncey!" Ferd called into the fog as he strolled toward the fellow in the fog. He wasn't to concerned about the man, after all if he was dangerous he probably would have done something by now. Still it would pay to be careful. Ferd made sure to keep in step with Val, thinking that the buddy system might be the only defense available to him at the moment. He'd have to get his hands on a pistol soon. He still had a bad feeling about this case.

The fog seemed to swell up around the two as they left the safety of the porch. Val's hand was securely around his gun, slowly becoming a common occurrence in the city of Arkham. They walked side by side slowly approaching the red glare that symbolized the group's constant onlooker.

"Hey pal, what are you looking at? Got something to say?" Val let off in his angry Chicago inflection. However this man was none to impressed by his bravado and continued smoking. Val looked back at Ferd, almost saying "your turn" with his body language. For Val people generally responded to these aggressive tactics, so maybe it was just some Yankee thing to ignore an inquiry, but hey maybe Ferd can crack this nut. If not most people do respond to quick knee capping.

Nothing. Nobody shouted back to answer Richard after he'd asked for an update downstairs. Odd, hadn't they heard him, or did they choose to ignore him? Maybe, wouldn't be first ones to pretend he wasn't there. Richard contemplated going out and repeating his question, but something in his gut kept him in that same room, eyes and other senses going over the clues and weird shit he was seeing.

Going over the few sets of bits he had gathered already, Richard paced the room calmly as he repeated to himself the words and phrases he had just written down. "Watching…32 degrees 20,0' North…002 degrees 44,8' East…Carcosa?" He whispered to himself, scratching his head and puffing the stiff cigarette on his equally stiff lower lip, not making sense of what the detective thought Jeremy must have seen some logic in. The logic of a looney, sure, but still…"These are more tricks than a car filled with monkeys…"

Best to put the notepad away for the moment, Richard thought. He still had yet to search the remainder of Jeremy's room. On instinct Richard crouched down onto his knees and began looking horizontally along the floor, seeking anything hidded out of sight, and sure there he found something. Under Jeremy's bed the private detective pulled out a pocket watch, and not one of those cheap ones you could buy in Little Italy. It was a pretty expensive one, making Richard wonder why it had been hidded, or more likely thrown under the bed out of all places? And what was the piece of paper tucked underneath it? Richard pocketed the note without further thought, rather deciding he should keep looking and get out of the room sooner rather than later. Next stop, the closet.

The closet was open, containing only rotting clothes of various colours and styles. Geeze, the humidity really had done a number on the house. Good thing his own office wasn't as shitty as this, not by a long-shot. But just like the watch under the bed, something was hidded at the buttom. A wooden chest, rotting just like the rest of the house. He figured it had to be hidded, considering it was placed in the closet, even if it was hidded like crap. Well, better to take it out and see what was inside.

It was apparenly a solid moment for Ferd and Val to head outside and shout at whoever stool-pidgeon was watching them, and not in a stealthy manner either. Richard sighed, wondering if the next thing he would hear were "Hey there, stop!" or "He's got a gun!". "I guess those amatours need me…" Richard sighed, picking up the wooden box from the closet and quickly making his way out of the bedroom, proceeding to the staircase. "What did those two squares do? Also, anyone have an idea what this box is? Ol' Jeremy was hiding it like it was the Arch of the Covenant or something, except he hid it like a drunken cobbler in a swamp." Richard asked downstairs, looking over the railing at the remainder of the crew. "Jeremy really had an...eccentric collection of puzzles up here, like he was searching for someone or something."

Well shite. He'd thought he'd been rather inconspicuous. What sorta folk assumed a man having a smoke outside what was presumably his own home was eavesdropping on anyone? The one who spoke gave off gangster vibes, and Dirk bit into his cigar angrily at his queries. Where did this Bruno get off? Did he have a death wish or something? Dirk was no fool, these boys were clearly newly aquatinted, which meant this loud mouth wasn't rolling with his usual possy. Yet here he came, posturing at Dirk like a bristlin an spittin alley cat. Dirk rolled his eyes. Gangsters. Where did they get all this self assured pride. Whatever. Just another goon in the end.

Dirk just stared at the approaching silhouettes. What did he care? Far as these guys knew he was just a mild mannered local who liked smoking a big one in the rain. Let em get a bit closer. See what he could tell about em in a couple a minutes. Then he'd decide what he'd do with em.

Ferd nearly choked on the greeting half way through his throat. Why in the hell was Val threatening the guy? Ferd felt a pang in his chest. It was probably his own fault. He'd been treating everyone with suspicion, and he hadn't been shy about it. Still it wasn't like they Knew this guy was there watching them. He could just be a local. Though Ferd thought it strange he chose to smoke out in the rain. He was acting far too leisurely.
When there was no response to Val's taunts Ferd raised an eyebrow. Then Val turned and shrugged at Ferd as if to say alright I'm done, you get the guy to talk.

Ferd nodded and looked back towards the man they were approaching. Now that they were closer Ferd could make him out better. Sure enough he looked like your average local, umbrella and all. He seemed to be looking at the two of them now. Apparently he'd heard Val after all. Ferd resisted the urge to rub his eyes tiredly. Why we're all humans such pains to deal with? None of them were simple, and they seldom obeyed their own unwritten laws of conduct. Polite people would have at least cursed back at Val. Oh well. To work.

Ferd raised a hand in greeting, "Hey there. Listen bud my friend and I are a bit on edge right now, a couple friends of ours appear to be missing, and their house has been trashed. You can imagine how we're feeling right now, and when one of us noticed your line figure just setting outside like this... well like I said. You can imagine how we're all feeling right now." Ferd kept walking towards the man, trying to get a better look at him. "We don't want no trouble, but that's exactly why we were hoping you wouldn't mind telling us if you know what happened to our friends, and why you look like your trying so hard to look so uninterested, but never seem to take your eyes off us." Ferd grumbled silently at himself. It wasn't a great bluff, but Richard had seemed pretty sure this guy was casing the joint. Hopefully he took the bait and came clean.

Well well well. Wasn't this interesting? He knew both mens faces. Ferd Smith, and Valentino Ricci. Well that was good, now he knew exactly why these men where here, including the ones still in the house. In fact less than enemies, they were likely to turn out his allies. He threw his cigar away with a sigh of relief. Finally. He'd been hoping these boys would show up.

Dirk began to stand up but paused when Ferd began talking at him. How had they known he'd been watching? An image of the car that had rolled by flashed across his mind. Ah. That bloke must have noticed. Annoying.
Dirk finished straitening up and started walking towards the men, a smile on his face.

"Hullo there, Ferd, Val. Names Dirk Garther with the Arkham City Police Department. No need for the hostile greeting, I'm out in this God forsaken weather working your friend Jeremy's case." Dirk narrowed his eyes, "Speaking of which I don't appreciate your letting yourself in. Especially since your digging around my crime scene uninvited." Dirk paused a moment to let his words sink in. He then continued, "However this case is... Unique. Listen the truth is I need your boys help. We've got no leads, and half our evidence makes no real sense. Ever since we heard about the letters Harry sent out we've been hoping you lot would be able to answer some of our questions."

Dirk noticed Val fidgeting with what was likely a pistol in his pocket. He rolled his eyes, "Easy lad. I swear I'm no enemy of yours." He said producing his badge. "At least not on this case." He said pointedly looking at Val. Might as well make sure the guy knew this copper knew the score.

Ferd was a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in tone as Dirk introduced himself. A cop, of course! It made sense they might be keeping an eye on the place. Ferd was certain that if the case was still open at all that the cops had no idea where to even begin looking for culprits. He squinted at Dirk. Actually now that he thought about it, why on earth was this case still open. Ferd knew that a case like this was doomed to be filed under "unsolved", most police stations closed these sort of cases shortly after opening them. They we're usually considered a waste of time.

Ferd flinched at the mention of breaking and entering. Please no jail, please no jail. Yes! Haha he was going to let it slide! Ferd inwardly pumped his fists in the air.
He listened to everything Dirk said, peering at the badge when it was produced. Satisfied Ferd extended a hand, "Pleasure to meet you Officer Garther. Apologies for walking in unannounced, and well," Ferd scratched his head in embarrassment, "for the hostile greeting just not." He bobbed his head to the side, pulling one side of his mouth into a thin but apologetic smile, "What with, well you know." Ferd jerked his head at Jeremy's house. "Like I said, we're a tad on edge at the moment."

James had neared the entrance after the man called Ferd had waved his hand and asked James to follow. James had kept his distance, as Ferd and Val had greeted and welcomed the new man. He was a police officer, apparently. James had never had much interaction with any police, even in the crime infested streets of New York. No one had ever even tried to pickpocket him!

James seemed a bit of an odd duck to the party. The others appeared either thuggish, private eyes or highly gangster-fashioned, and there he was, a college graduate and a journalist. Well, this might prove interesting, but am I out of my depth?

James took his notebook out of his pocket. On the first page he had a photograph of himself and two others in military uniforms. He took the picture into his hand and glanced it quickly. The trio was standing their arms on each others shoulders. No dull moment in Argonne, 1918 read in the back. James put the photograph back and made a note to himself.

Wednesday, 14/4/1925. Arrived at Jeremy's house and joined the other investigors investigators. They are quite the unordinary bunch from all walks of life. If I wrote characters like them into a short story, no one would believe that everyone could be crammed into a single house in a single city in a single country.

Dr. Scott, Alonzo
City of Arkham, Mass
Date: XX, XX, 19xx

The 1926 Packard Twin 6 Roadster was parked across the street as a well dress older man nego exited the vehicle, dressed in a derby on his head, three piece suit, covered by his peacoat from the rain, two-tone golf oxfords and lastly a bare bone white shirt with a multicolored bowtie. Across the street and jumping over a puddle or two till he made his way to the sidewalk. The rain wasn’t the worries of his misadventure it was the fog... it took the Doctor a long time to find the correct street and then it’s address. Looking to the street curb and rechecking the number, he felt that this was the correct address, still with his Doctor’s bag in his right hand, and an umbrella in the other grey colored gloved hand he walked up the pavement to the porch.
Approaching the porch... it appeared to be a few others on the porch.

Mr. Jeremy, I’m Dr. Scott here to check up on you for your health and wellness. May I sit with you for a spell? He announced to the group near the porch.