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Chapter 1: What challenges do John and Arthur face upon returning to Arkham?
Well, there goes the car. Suppose the driver didn't want to wait. Well, what's to stop us from not going in? Suppose a bullet in the head. Touché. He said it was down and through a set of doors on the left. Unless you've been here before. No. Parker always said to steer clear of Edwins. Now we know why. Yeah. Where exactly are we? We're in an alley.
A wide, crate-filled, brown-stoned back street that juts off from Liverpool Road. Briskly moving steam billows from a sewer grate halfway down, and a small walkway turns left near the end of the alley. The streetlight is dim, and fills the walkway with a golden-orange hue. I guess Edwin didn't get the message that Prohibition is over.
I'm sure with alcohol no longer being a concern, the clientele here got a lot more... Dangerous. So, what do you know about them? Not much. Our case has kept a wide distance from these people, these types, the... The mob. Yeah. It's pretty obvious now, looking back. Knowing that Parker owed... You couldn't have known. I could have. I didn't want to. I didn't think to.
I guess I turned away from him. And now he's turning back. What do you mean? Just that... Just that coming back to Edwin's now. You know, without Parker. Right. Anyway, it looks like the door is coming up.
cold stone steps lead down to a heavy door driver said we're to head past the bar downstairs to the left of the stage yeah you okay you're looking around as if you're waiting for someone no let's do this down the steps why'd you stop There's a lot that can go down in here. I may not know Edwin or what he wants, but I do know his reputation. Killing you is easier than paying you.
If he suspects- Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's just eat the elephant. One bite at a time. Okay? Okay. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Yeah, okay. You seem distracted. Back at the office, your heart was racing. I know, and yes, something... Something is... But I need to... I need a bit of time to sort it out myself before making it... Your problem, too.
If this something you're keeping from me is dangerous, or a cause for... No, no, nothing like that. I don't think. As far as I can tell, it's... Terrifying, but not a threat. Just another ball to juggle. Okay. Well then, let us focus on now. Right. Okay. A thin staircase through a white painted brick passageway brings us down. And opens to a large balcony...
To our immediate left, perhaps seven feet from the stairs, is a long wood bar. with three well-dressed bartenders behind it making various drinks. To our right, filling this large balcony area, are a myriad of high-chance games, poker tables, craps tables, a variety of card games, each with their respective dealers, and security.
Speaking of security, there's a heavyset goon to your left watching the front door. Let's keep moving. This area is large but overlooks the main floor below. Past the black wrought iron balcony railing is a stage and a dinner table area, almost theater-like, overlooking this smoke-filled lower level, where patrons eat and watch the live music.
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Chapter 2: How does the duo navigate the dangers of Edwin's establishment?
Just a shame he didn't know how to pay a debt. Let's go. It looks like the door to Edwin's office is just ahead. How do you want to play this? Tough? Don't give anything away? Or maybe we should keep it light and friendly. Softer. Maybe earn some favor. Either way, let's show him who we are. And what we do best. He's here, boss. It's a comfortable study. Suited more to a banker than a boss.
We're surrounded by brown shelves that are lit by angled ceiling lights, displaying a myriad of trinkets and books. Almost like a museum. Some seem personal, others professional. Four men stand in here, not including ourselves. Two tough and tired-looking men to our immediate left, their eyes piercing us like daggers.
Jack, who takes a seemingly familiar spot in the shadows of the far right corner, and the man who sits in the center of the room behind a large, heavy desk. The man I can only presume is Edwin. He tosses a baseball back and forth between his hands.
You like baseball, Mr. Lester? Can't really say that I do, no.
He watches us. An unassuming look on his face.
Really?
I would have taken you for a dizzy fan. You look like you could hit a few homers yourself. Never played? Never the pleasure. Wonderful game, wonderful game. About as American as it gets, ain't it? I wouldn't know. You don't consider yourself an American? I consider myself a private eye, who was about to head to bed before you called. Oh, I'm not the kind of man that makes calls, Mr. Lester.
I suppose you don't. Men of your stature have goons like Willie for that, right? Amongst other things. Like the dirty work you drum up, I imagine. Arkham is plenty dirty without my help. Maybe. But the flies out there seem to be most attracted to your pile of shit. His eyes tighten, but only slightly. He stops tossing the ball between his hands. This may be a shit pile, but I'm still king of it.
He snaps his fingers at the two men in the corner who quickly come over, grab a cigar from one of the large wooden boxes on his desk, put it in his mouth, and light it. Impressive. Do they wipe your ass for you, too? He squints, a flicker of anger. Have a seat. He sits forward and places the ball back on the corner of his desk, gesturing to the chair across from him. I'm fine.
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Chapter 3: What insights do they gain about the mob's influence in Arkham?
If you pull the pin and let that lever fly without having a firm grip on it, you have exactly three seconds before it'll go off. Good punchline. The real punchline is this. See, I'm like that grenade there, Mr. Lester. You can throw a few colorful jabs my way, and I can take it. I have a thick skin. But you cross me. You fail me. You try and cheat me like your partner did. And that pin comes out.
I have killed many men smarter and cleverer than you. With these hands. Not Willy's. I've left bleeding men to die and children orphans. So I give you my word here and now. Have you crossed me? I will take that pretty daughter of yours out of her dorm and into the street. I will make her kneel. And I will put two in the back of her head as you watch. Helpless. Hopeless. And broken.
I promise you, you'll see the light leave her eyes. And Mr. Lester, I always keep my word. Swallow that bile back down, Mr. Lester. I only want to make myself understood.
Clear? As crystal.
Good. Jack. Jack stands up and takes the grenade back, putting it on the desk as Edwin sits back down with drink in hand. You treat all your guests this well. Only the ones whose partners fucked me over. Yeah, well, you got him back, didn't you? And lost a good soldier in the process, but that's not what I brought you here to discuss. No? No. As I said, I want to hire you. Well, what's the case?
That's not for discussion yet. You want me to accept a case I haven't even heard? After a stick like that? You are out of your damn mind. In many ways. But I don't pull the pin for poor results, Lester. I just want you to try your best. I only need to do my best? That's first. Is that a yes, then? Don't you have others for this? I'm sure you could rope in any P.I. in Arkham. I don't need any P.I.
I need the dead man's mouthpiece. Fact or fiction, you have a way around the dead. And this case starts off with the dead. Jack filled me in on your standard rates. I will pay you double. Plus expenses. And a bonus. If you give me the answer I want. Is that the one you want? Or the truth? It's one and the same this time. So, what do you say? So, you wanted to scare me and you made your point.
But I don't scare easily. You brought me here because you need me. So you're going to pay me triple my daily rate, plus expenses, and a bonus when the job is done, regardless of how you like the answer. A wry smile slides across his face. I see I pegged you wrong. Or maybe something's changed since you left town. He comes around from behind his desk and leans against it, before us.
Most I talked to had you for a pushover, but I see a glimmer in those yellow eyes of yours that says more than you realize. He locks eyes with us, unblinking. His face is worn. He's scarred. His eyes are dark brown, near black. His eyebrows are long and curl at the ends. And they match his graying hair.
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Chapter 4: How does the conversation shift towards the nature of trust and reputation?
Think this through. He knew what he looked like as a stiff, sure. I was at his place tonight. He even found the body. But you knew that, didn't you? That same wry smile peels across his face again. Doubt it was your man I ran into. Suppose Logan could be on the take. His smile stays. His eyes flicker with excitement. He's testing you. Too quick for a trace, but he had my number. He had my card.
Aces. I didn't give it to him. In fact, I'd love to thank the guy who did. It's been a real ball tonight. When my boys got there, the buttons had already started bagging and tagging. But one noticed your card on his bedside table. Quite the position of honor. So what exactly is the job, then? And who are these two other Joes? The other two wins. Win? You cut Arkham into pieces like a cake.
Each took a slice. Well, I blew south to get here. Puckets to the east. So that leaves... The west and the north. Nick and Clayton, respectively. The four heads of Arkham. Jesus. This city need four of you. There's a lot of city. You said that there's been peace. Until... Until now. You're saying this is one of the other two's doing. I'm saying for many years we've had peace.
No one touched the other's part of town. Sure, there's bleed over here and there. But it was understood. And dealt with. There's plenty of the city to go around. Says the guy with the mayor in his dining room. Southside always had the government. At least the officials. Because they all wanted to dance and sing and drink. We owned the docks. And the docks brought in the booze.
And the booze needed to be protected. Thus... What did the other sides have? Puckett had the east. The downtown core. Financial district. He may have also been up against the water, but he didn't have the docs. So he focused on the money. Laundering it. Trading it. Moving it through New York. Throughout the country. Guy made more than the rest of us combined.
That's reason enough right there, ain't it? Him being dead don't make us richer. In fact, we all used him for our dough. Maybe he got caught skimming. Killing Puckett for skimming pennies off us is tossing the baby with the bathwater. You get me? Yet you're telling me you think one of these men did it. I didn't say that. I was just telling you what Pucket owned. And the other two?
Nick took the West. Water Street and beyond. He's a tourist for Arkham. Spends most of his time outside the city. Why's that? Because the world's a big place. Nick could never resist a party or an event. And New York, Boston, D.C., they all throw the best parties. Arkham's got plenty of parties. He makes his living on what comes in and out of the city. Not what stays. Trafficking. Drugs mainly.
But not exclusively. God. And that leaves the North. The North is Clayton's. And that covers all the farms north of Arkham. Which is where he spends most of his time. Fuck, I haven't even seen the guy in years. The last I heard he veered a few hours west over near, uh, Dunwich. That sounds like it would be encroaching upon Nick's turf, wouldn't it? Not that far west.
Truth be told, between Nick's interests being elsewhere, and Clayton keeping to himself, Arkham was more or less covered between Puckett and myself. That's your motivation for hiring me. So where's your dossier? I didn't kill him. Sounds like you had the most to gain. I'm happy in my corner of the city. Men like you always want more. Then why would I hire you?
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Chapter 5: What revelations come to light regarding Robert Puckett's murder?
You ask away. But some of those questions ain't gonna get you answers. And some may get you dead. He eases back into his chair. Look, you don't want to tell me the connection between you four, that's fine. But I don't know what I don't know. And if you're holding on to a piece of the puzzle, then I can't see the full picture. I don't need you to see a full picture.
I only need you to find out who killed Robert Puckett. At the gig, then.
Puckett.
Yes. And? Find out if anyone else is in danger. Alright. Well, what do you want me to do with this dossier? Those... Those are your prime suspects. He leans forward and stands once again, this time adjusting his hair and suspenders as if to leave. Orna, up to you to look into them. Fair enough. He's walking out of the room. Jack is following.
He gives you a proud, stiff nod as we exit back into the hallway and turn right, heading deeper into the building. Jack's hanging back, behind us, but follows. We're right on Edwin's heels. So why did your boys go to Puckett's place at all? To retrieve something. Oh, shit. That's so. The key, Arthur. What if... What if Edwin wanted the key? What if he knows we took it?
What if it was one of his men in the greenhouse? Edwin turns into the double doors of a... Kitchen. A large, industrial-looking room, empty save for some bubbling pots of liquid on the stove. It looks like there's an alternate exit back to the lounge from here, but... He opens a larger, heavier door. A cold storage room. So, did they get what they were sent there to retrieve? Yes. He enters.
Jack behind you pushes us forward softly. Enter Arthur... Through the hanging plastic vinyl, the cold of the room ices the sweat on our brow instantly. What exactly did you send them there to retrieve, Edwin? Jesus, Arthur. Laying on the slab, it's... Him. Puckett. Jesus Christ. You took the body? How? Didn't the police... Enough to ask. Jack enters his well.
Arthur, if Edwin wants that key... So, you're going to do your thing? My thing? Edwin and Jack share a look. Well, look, I'm... I'm not going to do anything with you two hovering over me. No? Look, you hired me, right? Edwin? Trust. I took the job. Let me look at the body. Let me see what I can see and tell what I can tell. It's not magic. It's deduction and patience.
In a moment where I can try and notice what others don't. Edwin's face is unchanged. Please. Wait outside. Shut the door. It does open from the inside, right? Edwin smiles. You're right. You work for me now. I need to trust the process. Jack will wait for you in the kitchen. I have matters to attend to. I'll expect an update tomorrow. Give it a day at least, Edwin.
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Chapter 6: How do John and Arthur plan to investigate the key suspects?
I'm again seeing the scene as they're floating above, watching from a silent, unseen third-party perspective. Puckett, he's slammed at the door to his study and scrambled into the room across the floor. He's frantically moving to a dresser, the one next to where we found him, and opening a drawer and grabbing... He grabs a slip of paper. Paper? He's writing something. Frantically.
What does it say? I don't know. I can't see it. Damn. I don't see through the victim's eyes, remember? I know, I know, I know, but... He finishes, and just as he does, the door bursts open and reveals a... A what? A visitor.
The figure hangs in the doorway, split between the dim light of the study and the darkness of the hallway behind it, giving the appearance as if stepping out from a black void. It floats silently, draped entirely in sheer bone-white cloth. The ghostly figure levitates there, almost imperceptibly up and down as if drifting along some unseen, unknowable current.
A flash of lightning from down the hall, as the storm that rages outside reveals, only for a second, the shape of the creature beneath. Thin, as if nothing but bone, and yet its true form is covered in tongue-like tendrils, slender, curling off the frame of this being. They move independently, as if tasting the air beneath its rope.
The only part of its true form revealed are its hands, which peek at the bottom of the off-white vestments. Its hands are covered in yellowing, blood-soaked polyps. Small, undulating pustules of various sizes that... cover every inch of its exposed flesh. Many sport large red lesions, giving them an almost eye-like appearance.
It holds in these hands a seal, a strange black mark that hangs from a delicate, rust-covered chain. Seeing the figure pocket claws at his chest, the cavity of which begins to turn inward. I can hear the bones breaking under pressure, as if all the air from the room is being sucked out. The pale demon slowly glides into the room, and with its arrival, a glow seems to almost precede it.
A calming radiance, a warm illumination fills the room with light, and as the shade arrives just before Puckett, a loud heavy snap echoes out as Puckett's chest caves in. As Puckett dies, his last breath, a pained gurgle of internal bleeding, the apparition turns silently. and recedes back into the dark of the hallway. Jesus. Have you... Do you have any idea of... None. None. Don't fuck with me.
You've done a great deal of things that... I have. And while there are many things I seem to recall innately... This is not a figure I'm familiar with. This is no wraith or spirit or spectre. It seemed almost... Godlike. Yeah. John? Yeah. Any sign of the key? It was around Puckett's neck, like you said. But the paper... I couldn't read it. Well, at least we know who took it.
You think the man in the greenhouse would have... I felt paper in his pocket. That's right. That's right. Why would he... I don't know. But given that our victim saw this being, and then wrote something down on a piece of paper before he died, it's our strongest lead. Which means finding the man you fought in the greenhouse. Correct. All right. I guess we should. Yeah.
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Chapter 7: What supernatural elements are introduced during their investigation?
You think I don't want everything to stay as it is? No. You said so earlier tonight. You're damn right I did. But this... This mobster's death... This place... Whatever killed Puckett... I mean, Puckett probably had this coming. He probably did. That mean you think Puckett deserved to die? What? I don't know. What does that... Well, what if it wasn't Puckett? What if it was a different person?
An innocent? What if it was Farrow? What are you talking about? We're not choosing to do this because we want to, John. You and I, we've seen it. What lay beyond. What exists out there. We've touched the edge of darkness. And we've returned. Through all we've faced, we've come out bloody but unbowed. And that is our gift. That is our strength. That is what calls us to action.
We have to protect this city. In whatever way we can. You truly believe that? Tonight I do. But ask me again tomorrow. Look, bad men need nothing more to compass their ends than that good men should look on and do nothing. Are we good men? As often as we can be. Huh. There's a kid at the bar staring at you. Probably because I'm talking to myself. No, it's more like a I don't know, actually.
Strange, it's... Does he want my attention? The opposite. Like he's trying to hide. He's leaning over one of the bowls of peanuts on the bar, trying to hide his face. You don't recognize him? No. Wait, he was the piano player on stage. He's young, probably can't even drink. How young? Faroe's age, maybe. A quite sparring partner. I'd hate to be on the other side of you.
Jack appears out of nowhere. Slaps your back. Appreciate you waiting. Hey, anything for you? He gestures to the bartender who instinctively pours him a shot from a bottle of brown liquid. You sure? I'll stick with the Nats here.
You know, you're the first man I've seen keep Edwin on his heels. Pretty ballsy.
The boy at the bar has left, slipping back into the crowd. So, what was it we were talking about? How you ended up being Edwin's number two. You would think I'm that high up. Tell me I'm wrong. He smiles and shoots back the drink. I think he just keeps me around because he likes my accent. You're certainly the calmer of the two. I've always had a knack for fixing.
Suppose I fixed one too many things for Edwin and he saw me as valuable. Still, you're a smart guy. Getting mixed up in all this doesn't seem like your bag. I think my bag would surprise you. But you're not wrong. This is all a bit tacky for my taste. Big brutish business. But it does pay well. So what can you tell me that that dossier doesn't? From the scenes I put it together, not much. No?
Look, Clayton and Nick are big time. Just like Edwin. It ain't gonna be easy seeing him. You may need to play it close to the chest if you catch me drift. I think I do. He twists his mouth to the side, as if debating.
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Chapter 8: How do John and Arthur reconcile their past experiences with their current situation?
Scram! Scram! He can't hear you. Get! Get! Oh, he's coming over to see if you have anything. Get rid of it, Arthur. It's a dog. Relax. Hey. Hey, buddy. It's mangy. It's not mangy. Oh, I stole some peanuts from the bar there. Don't feed it. Fine.
Fine.
These flies are irritating. Flies? So how'd the meeting go? You okay? Yeah, yeah. The dog is sat at our feet, staring, begging. Now, can we please go?
You feed that thing, you'll be picking up another story along with that voice inside your head.
Look, John, remember how I told you a bit... No, no, not yet. Never mind. Look, I want to pet the dog. Do you want to... Go to timeout? Yes, please. Pull me out when we get home. Sure. Seriously, though. That dog has been rooting around here for years. Don't give it any attention. Took you long enough. So... What's the rumpus? It's a case, alright. Puckett is dead. One of the four wins.
You knew him? I knew of him. He hired you to find out who did it? In a manner of speaking. Look, I'm at sea here. I got a boatload of suspects and I'm running on a few hours. What about me, Artie? What about you? Me? Look at me. I mean... I'm falling apart here, Artie. I'm rotting from the inside out. Or maybe the other way around, I can't tell, but... I'm a-walking stiff here.
Yeah, but you're walking.
I'm not falling away out of here, Artie. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm... Alright. I'm balled up, Artie. I'm... I've just... I've been waiting for you to talk to me so long. I'm just... It's all right. I've lost time. Edwin's hired me for this. I'm looking into another situation for Callahan, a strange tattoo and a sigil. You know, I can't drop all of that. It's me, Artie. It's me.
Is it, though? God, how many questions do I need to answer? I'm into a lot myself, Parker, okay? Have you done any looking yourself? Have you spent any time trying to figure out... To remember anything? Nothing, Artie, nothing. I'm just... Here. To nobody but you, apparently. And the fucking flies. I'll help you, I will. But take it down a notch. Alright. You're scaring me. Alright, sorry.
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