Back to Boyce

You roll past Boyce's around 11. The journey here is a bleak, lonely affair. Those few you do pass; the odd porch drinker, the lone streetwalker with slant in her (his?) step and blurred makeup; they all exhibit a profound sort of apathy. There are places in Highland Park which are as ghost towns even at this relatively early hour. The sort of places where things you don't want to think about thrive. Where atrocity could take place, only for the remnants to go unseen and unmolested until the following morning. Boyce resides at one such street. The entirety of the storefront is covered by a forbidding of steel barrier rolled down tight with a few holes and gaps allowing you to see that the half-stocked store is bathed in a low light. No young man inside the bulletproof box this time around.

The Store is flanked by a closed down firehouse and a narrow little alley littered with wet newspaper and broken bottles. You see a small, frosted window set around head height on the side of the store. Your phone pulses with a short, sharp vibration indicating a text from Doris. There doesn't appear to be any conventional way into Boyce's lair. The frosted window is thick and a little hard to reach, but not insurmountable.The firehouse looks as though it could grant access to the store roof if you were to push through the loose boards of damp, wadded wood.

[Roll Wits+Comp and Wits+Streetwise]

Outwardly their was no change when Murdoc looked at his text, but inwardly he felt a glimmer of rage, no one entered his home without his say so. For a moment he felt like kicking that junkyard dog and reinforcing all his doors and changing all his locks. His anger subsided, but did not pass altogether, he would not be sleeping in his haven tonight that was for sure. He texted Doris back, "be back in a few".

Murdoc called Boyce.

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You notice a small, ragged hole in the dry, crumbling brickwork of the firehouse. The whole building seems washed out, really. The normally overgrown weeds that line the sidewalk are wilted and dead. Brown-red brick dust litters the ground around like some rust skirt. If you focus, you can hear a strange, wet scuttling noise from beyond the hole which seems to stop as soon as you process it. There's a jagged tag about three feet above the hole. It reads:
5/09/187 = | | | ...

It's a fairly standard mark, announcing that a kindred has recently arrived at final death at this location. However, there are three single stylized fangs, rather than a set. Three half-vampires? One and a half kindred?

Boyce's phone rings three times before anyone answers. You recognise his voice and his unnecessary habit of breathing heavily during a pause in conversation.

"Uh... yeah?"

"It's Murdoc, did you find anything on that phone yet", he asks getting right to the point. He looks around a bit wondering if someone were stalking him. He looks around for a neighborhood car deciding if he can test his paranoid suspicion. If he was being followed and his attacker could be anything Boyce could be dead for all he knew. He didn't like anything out of the ordinary when it came to his contacts the more mundane the interaction the better. "I'm Obfuscated in a beat up yellow Mazada a half a block down", Murdoc throws in offhandedly.

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Boyce sounds flustered and doesn't acknowledge your whereabouts.

"Uh.... no. The phone's dry so far. Lotta dead ends. You should leave. This isn't Hamtramck, y'know."

Nothing stirs on the dead, neglected stretch of street. You hear nothing except for a distant car alarm which shrieks out at the cold, apathetic night. There aren't any lights on in any of the rowhouses, although all of them appear to be occupied, or at least lacking the cheap plywood boards barring windows and doors which are so ubiquitous in similarly poverty-stricken areas of Gladiator Country.

You see a figure in the store through the holes in the barricade. It's the heavyset young man you recall from the bulletproof box. He gropes at cereal boxes looking disoriented and perhaps a little blazed.

"Right... call me when you find something", Murdoc hangs up the phone not bothering with talking to Boyce any farther. He quietly watches Boyce's servant just to see what he's doing, . He aura reads him and to see why he's doing what he's doing and observes his mannerisms

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The man doesn't hang around for long. His aura reads fatigued contentment. Coupled with the knowledge that Boyce lied to you, this isn't particularly enlightening. Neither is your time watching the storefront. Not a soul passes you by and no further sounds issue out from the hole in the firehouse wall.

Murdoc waited for a minute, what a tangled web we weaved once we practiced to deceive. Thoughts of snatching Boyce's boy swam through his head, he doubted that it'd even be all that hard in hindsight, but was he willing to burn his bridges just yet, he was unsure on that. He walked in behind this servant attempting to learn everything he could about him, he'd slip in Boyce's building right behind him, if he noticed him so what if he didn't that didn't matter either but he would find out what he had tonight.

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The man begins to open the steel door, but seems to have managed to lock himself out. He kicks the door, then recoils, seemingly surprised by the amount of noise he'd created. He takes out a phone and begins to have a muted, animated discussion. You're able to close the distance easily enough as the man leans against the wall and lights himself a smoke, anchoring himself to the muttered phone conversation. You hear him hissing "...I'm not fuckin' sleeping outdoors. No, fuck you."

Murdoc waits a few more moments to see if Boyce's guy actually is going to get in.. Murdoc scopes out the security in this place from front to back. If Boyce doesn't let him in he goes back to his car and gets his book bag of tools, drills, crowbars, lock picks, saws, screwdrivers. He puts on a winter ski mask that makes him look like a hood ninja, dons the dark gloves then obfuscates himself. He gets to cracking on the weakest door.

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After 5 minutes of kicking at the door, multiple phonecalls and 10 minutes waiting on the deserted sidewalk, the heavyset young man leaves in a cab.

Depite the formidable security measures at the storefront, and what you've seen inside the haven, Boyce's sidedoor is nothing special. Above the door, you catch the regular red blink of a cctv camera encased in steel and pitted with dents from errant rocks. It takes you inside of five minutes to pop the lock with your picks, although you note that if necessary you could've levered the lock out of the thin wooden frame with brute force. On the other side of the door, you find a barren storage area containing only a few empty popsicle boxes and stacked cereal. You see a doorless doorframe with only a thin curtain to divide it from the store proper and its familiar bulletproof box.

Murdoc shifts his tools around. He began the search for the phone wondering where it would be, he kept his eye out for Boyce as well but he wasn't overly concerned.

You hear a slight thud, followed by heavy shuffling from upstairs. You can make out Boyce' voice, one floor below, although the words are unclear. The heavy door to Boyce haven hangs ajar slightly. You've never been up there. All you see is a claustrophobic, uncarpeted set of stairs.

Murdoc neutrally walks up the stairs, as always looking for signs of traps or danger.

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There don't appear to be any traps. Only a dead cctv camera mounted above the staircase. A cheap model practically hanging from exposed wiring. As you reach the top of the stairs you find yourself in a seedy living room cluttered to the point of suffocation with computer cases, bulky CRT monitors and wires. Some unhooked surveillance equipment, wiretaps and telescopic lenses, sit next to a grubby sofa accomodating an unconscious young woman who, while somewhat dishevelled, looks way out of Boyce's league.

There are two doors in this place. One looks pretty solid and going by the shuttered window next to it leads outside onto a fire escape. The other is more flimsy. You can hear shuffling behind it. You don't see any sign of your inherited cellphone in this room.

Murdoc continues to search.

((Ooc - I don't have anything new to add. You can pretty much keep describing stuff until I either find something, can't find something, or something really obviously dangerous crops up))

Yoiur search nets you a king's ransom in surveilance equipment and electronics: bugs, cameras, wiretaps, boxed cellphones and drawaers full of hard drives, some of which look as though somebody took a hammer to them. Unfortunately, your phone is nowhere to be found in the cramped living area. The wasted girl babbles fitfully in her sleep as the shuffling from behind the left-most door develops into the irritated, nasal sound of Boyce's voice, arguing with someone.

Tucked comfortably in the blanket of Obfuscate Murdoc boosted his hearing to fully comprehend both sides of the conversation. He attempted to enter the room Boyce was in searching around for anything that looked as if it could blow his cover, camera's, traps, but first and foremost he kept his eye out for the phone. He walked around so casually and confidently their was almost an air of arrogance to his unlawful entry.

From the sounds of things, Boyce parted with something, a cracked phone, which he expected to be compensated for... but wasn't. You have no trouble entering the room, a small sun-proofed bedroom littered with rewritable media and gadgets in various states of assembly.

Suddenly Boyce sits bolt upright, mid rant.

"Hello? Hello? ... Fuck!"

The phone explodes into cracked plastic casing and circuit board as Boyce hurls it hard against the wall. A piece whizzes past your ear. Boyce paces for a second and then begins to rummage under the bed for something.

Murdoc watches intently for what Boyce is reaching for, but doesn't seem to be taken out of his everyday state of zen. Though if he doesn't find the phone tonight only god knew what he may do.

Boyce retrieves an unloaded MAC-10 from under the bed.

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He rummages around the clutter and retrieves two clips and a pre-paid cellphone still in its box. He tears open the shell packaging and dials a number from memory.

"Yeah, Boyce. He fucking ripped me ... Right, the phone. 'S with him and I'm left with nothing. That was supposed to be my meal ticket. Right, right our meal ticket ... How soon can you get to Tiger Stadium? ... I know where he hangs, tool up and we can get it back."

There's a little more persuasion before the female voice on the other side seems to agree. Boyce pulls on some pants and loads the automatic-pistol, setting out to a battered volvo behind the store. After opening the door, he stops in his tracks and goes back inside. He's forgotten the gun.

[OOC: You can act at any point in this if you want, or stay invisible, just getting Boyce's actions to a reasonable *Scene* point for expediency.]

Murdoc was mildly amused by this turn of events, so the plot thickened. He attempted to place the voice on the other end of the phone, but was pretty much going to see this through regardless. Murdoc decided that this was prime opportunity to see just where this was all going, so he stayed close to Boyce slipping into the back seat of the Volvo when the door opened. He flipped his hoody down and laid on the seat staying as low as possible. He pulled out his cell phone and decided to take a few precautions just in case this thing went out of control. He sent a text to Doris who he wasn't sure was still at his Haven or not, "Where you at Girl, I may really need a ride at Tiger Stadium park a block or so away and stay clear of kindred. Their are keys in the Brown Sunfire on the lot, Hit me back if you can't make it"

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