OOC: Clarification: By "these men" in my previous orders post, I meant all three armies to be sent to Hawaii, not just the new one!
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Map created by Miguel Francisco's son, age 8, with notation by Miguel. It is kept on Francisco's desk.
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Map of Franciscohold and surrounding city, late 19th century.
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"Get out of the road!"
Rude, she thought as the carriage rolled by on its suicidal course.
Just because you have some money and are late for a wedding doesn't mean that you can just run over people. O'Neill was finally tying the knot, who would have thought. That boy was always the solitary type. Even years ago, even when they were all in that schoolhouse he loved so much. Maybe that Moore reminded him of a book.
"Get out of the god'm road!" Maybe she
was a little too slow. But some fool driver wasn't going to get her to admit that.
"Learn to lead a horse first!" She yelled after the careening coach. Taking a step to the right, she couldn't help but notice that a man across the way was staring at her. He was wearing a thick monocle, which complimented his bowler hat and handlebar-mustachioed frame. The suit was a bit ratty though, and he smelled of official business. This couldn't be good. "What do you want!" More of an order than a question, the man quickly ducked behind a stall of greens in various states of decay. Did he think he was being sly? Stepping over a pile of rotten fruit and shredded paper and boxing, she pretended to be looking for him. In the meantime, she groped for the knife kept on her person at all times. She expected trouble, but not what form it took.
"Ms. Valentine, it has been a long time. Too long, indeed." The cool steel of the pistol was pressed just above her kidney. But that did not worry her as much as who the man represented. This was definitely not good; only one breed of man could move that fast while appearing that slimy. It must be a Mancini. Claire dared not move, but the Mancini took care of that. With a rough shove, she was finally led into a hole of an inn. It was downtrodden, even for the Dogpatch, but prominent enough. How, in six years of living in San Francisco, had she never seen it? A cracked door opened to an even worse main hall, where shadows had won a clear victory over the dismal candles. The pistol was promptly put away, and she was forced up the stairs, more a glorified ladder than anything else.
"How did you ever expect to succeed in stealing from the Mancinis?"
Good question.
"Who said I stole anything?" At that, he slapped Claire across the face. She felt warmth trickle down her cheek. This guy was not joking.
"Do not be coy with me. You took over one thousand dollars' worth of jewelry from the most powerful man in San Francisco, and you think you can just walk away?"
"Of course not. That's why I didn't take anything!"
"Mhmm. Then why are you wearing a ruby with the Mancini crest on it?"
Stupid, stupid, stupid! She began to sweat; the musty air didn't help.
"What if I tell you where the rest of it is?" Maybe they could make a deal. Why waste a bullet on a half-bit criminal anyway? She began to speak.
*****
They found the body the next day. It was not unusual for muggings to occur in the Dogpatch district, and even less for a white man. The only unusual thing was the lack of any identification on him, considering he was wearing quite an expensive monocle. She learned of its discovery from the calls of the paperboy down on the corner. Her new accommodations were just a tad better than those of the night before; silk sheets lined in gold almost wiped away the memory of the blow from the night previous. The story of how she arrived at the Ritz-Carlton was almost as magnificent as the silk she lay on, and deserved a proper telling...