DATE:  Thursday, May 28, 1998
Place:  The High Note


J.J.'s beeper goes off; a local number with the proper code number in it
meaning 'Garou business'.  He calls back about 10 minutes later.

---- Recall start ----

Phone conversation:

A voice that could be either a high tenor or a low alto answers in
   business-like briskness and a touch of caution. "Someone at this number
   paged me?"

"The name is Murphy, John Murphy. Who am I speaking to?"

JJ Malone snorts softly. "Your name's not familiar, but the area code and
   exchange are. You got the pager number and added the right thing, so you
   probably already know. No games. Ten seconds to give me some hint you know
   what you're doing, or I hang up."

"I got your number through some of the family in the Chicago area. The kinfolk
   said to say 'Woof.'"

JJ Malone's tone relaxes a notch, although he continues to sound like he's
   reining in irritation. "Better," he says shortly. "New to town, then?"

Murphy's tone continues to be business like, although he is talking in a low
   volume. You can almost hear dull conversation from street noise. "Got in
   yesterday, but did not recieve this number till earlier. You are a
   difficult man to get ahold of. This is a cell phone so I am sure you will
   understand the -quality- of the reception and what it implies."

JJ Malone replies shortly but with satisfaction, "Good." Then, "I do
   understand. Do you have time to arrange a meeting tonight?"

"That I do. Make the arrangements you need..."

JJ Malone responds without pause. "Hour and a half from now, at the High Note
   Club. Get a booth at the back, and have a white rose on the table while
   you wait."

"Acceptable, I need the address, though."

JJ Malone's voice holds mild amusement when he replies. "Consider it a test
   of your abilities, Mr. Murphy. Until then." The phone on his end is hung up.


**** A while later

The High Note
Contents:
Murphy

When JJ Malone enters, he notices a young man sitting at one of the 
   tables in the back of the dining area. On the table is a single white rose. 
   The man has obviously chosen his seat well, as it gives him a view of all 
   of the entrances and exits. There is another chair at the table that has 
   almost as good of a position. Murphy is dressed in all black, although he 
   has ditched his bowling shirt and jeans for slacks and a button down, 
   collarless shirt, no tie. He is still wearing a leather jacket, although 
   this one is a tasteful blazer cut.

JJ Malone's desc:
All but the least perceptive would notice that there's something not *quite* 
   right with this person. J.J. is about 5'11" and around 140-150 pounds in a 
   wiry, boxy form which gives no hint of gender. He appears to be in his 
   early twenties, although it's hard to judge. His dark brown hair is cut 
   short and tapered, parted to one side and brushed down smoothly. His facial 
   features have a foreign cast under medium-dark, olive-toned skin, although 
   the predominant feature is the black-rimmed mirrored sunglasses worn no 
   matter the weather, time of day, or his location. The black suit he's 
   wearing is well made but not apparently expensive, teamed with a white 
   shirt, black tie, and black leather dress shoes.

Murphy's desc:
John Murphy is one of those people who appear to be almost always smiling. It 
   is a smile of someone with a secret. Or a joke just remembered. But the 
   other thing it says is that it is not going to reveal anything anytime 
   soon. He looks scruffy, but his clothes are new and well taken care of. 
   Must be the fact that he looks like he has been living in them for the last 
   few days. Somewhere nearby is a black leather jacket, although you are not 
   sure if it is the one he was wearing last time you saw him. He wears black 
   shorts when it is hot and black jeans when it is not. He almost always has 
   on a style of motorcycle boots. Then there are the tatoos, tribal designs 
   that cover his arms like tiger stripes. John favors vintage bowling shirts 
   with the sleeves rolled up to show off his skin art. He has short, spiked, 
   dark brown hair and a soul-style goatee. He stands 6 feet tall and weighs 
   around 180. He has a lean and lithe physique, like a dancer or gymnast. He 
   is handsome, you have to give him that much. And his eyes look like they 
   are laughing. Must be the joke he won't tell.

JJ Malone heads for the bar, first, ordering a drink of some sort from the 
   bartender, who gives the mirror-shaded man a nervous scowl but goes to fill 
   the order. While waiting, the man in chiarscuro scans the inhabitants of 
   the club, about half-filled on a Thursday evening. There's no noticable 
   sign his gaze lingering on anyone in particular but once his order is 
   filled, a small tumbler half-filled with ice and fully filled with a clear 
   liquid, he begins moving towards the back of the club, only stopping when 
   he reaches John's table. Without warning, he slides into the open seat, and 
   says conversationally in greeting, "Mr. Murphy."
Murphy has been waiting patiently for a while. He noticed the arrival of the 
   unusual looking 'gentleman' when he came in, but had no obvious physical 
   reaction. He also has a tumbler filled with ice and a effervescent clear 
   liquid. He stubs out his cigarette at the other mans arrival. He nods and 
   makes another scan of the room. "Mr. Malone."
JJ Malone notices the cigarette going out with a glance, then either because 
   of or by happenstance, reaches a hand in his pocket to pull out his own 
   pack along with a Bic, lighting up deftly with the ease of long practice. 
   He then grunts softly, with mild satisfaction. "Good. I won't have to erase 
   you, then. I apologize for my tardiness, be assured it won't happen again." 
   The words, despite their syntax, do not come out smoothly, as if they're 
   words which don't quite fit him like shoes that are too small. "Welcome to 
   St. Claire."
Murphy says "Thanks, charming little city you have here, very friendly people. 
   The weather on the other hand needs some work." One eyebrow raised slightly 
   at the mention of the word 'erase' but he quickly and effortlessly 
   recovers. "Our kin that are left in Chicago and Louisville send their 
   regards."
"The weather here sucks," J.J. responds flatly, in the manner of the 
   opinionated. "Kin in Chicago, huh. You can give me names?"
Murphy laughs the biterest of laughs. "Not too many of our kind left there, 
   now is there? They got chased in '93. Outside of some Murphys and a few 
   other families, that is it." He looks at the table and quickly fishes out 
   another cigarette.
JJ Malone's manner cools, becoming a touch aloof. "You can give me full names?"
Murphy at this, Murphy looks up. There is a small blaze in his eyes. His voice 
   is low and travels no further than this table. "My grandsire was James 
   Murphy, Glass Walker Ahroun Arden, also known as Steel. My parents, Jack 
   and Kathrine Murphy still live there. As do two aunts and an uncle. Plus 
   three younger siblings and assorted cousins." He calms down realizing this 
   was not a challenge. "If you have not heard of them in some connection with 
   the Irish mob there, then I don't know what to say."
JJ Malone's expression tautens a bit, fingers of his free hands tapping out a 
   tempo on the edge of the table, while he takes a long drag on his 
   cigarette, turning the tip bright orange. He exhales in a long streamer of 
   smoke. "Irish, eh. And you didn't wind up part of *that* family?" There is 
   guarded curiousity, now, and a tone that might suggest something other than 
   'mob' or the Glass Walkers as the meaning for 'family'.
Murphy smirks. "Gramps loved his heritage and the old country. But he and his 
   ancestors recognized that America was the land of opportunity. And that 
   opportunity needed a /special/ kind of attitude to take advantage of it. So 
   they did what they had to do." He sips off of his drink and takes a drag 
   himself. He does another scan of the room just to make sure there is not 
   undue interest in the proceedings. "I, for one, am glad of their 
   farsightedness."
JJ Malone grunts, seeming to ease somewhat at the explanation. "Fine. So, what 
   brings you to St. Claire, and how long do you expect to be around?"
"Well, the answer to the first question is easy. The answer to the second 
   depends." Murphy also appears to be relaxing just a bit, although he is 
   still mostly business. He continues, "My last 'home' was not the most 
   comfortable of situations. Treated as a little too expendable. I recognized 
   I needed a change. Heard about St. Claire and recognized opportunity when I 
   saw it. I'm staying for awhile. Longer if things go well."
JJ Malone leans back in the chair, but still has an air of readiness about 
   him, cigarette nearly spent. "What do you do?"
Murphy says "I guess I'm an entertainer. Yeah, you could call it that. I play 
   guitar, sing, mostly I just take advantage of opportunities.""
JJ Malone's eyebrows go up in a quirk of surprise, followed by a faintly 
   displeased expression. "Singer, then?" he asks lightly, with a hint of 
   distaste.
"My grandfather told me something once and it still sticks with me today." 
   Murphy takes a drag and blows a smoke ring towards the ceiling. His 
   expression indicates he has faced similar disdain before. "He said 'I 
   taught you not to fight like a sissy, or think like a sissy. So if you are 
   going to play that guitar, just don't play it like a sissy.' Words I live 
   by."
JJ Malone scowls softly, downs whatever's in his tumbler, then makes to leave. 
   Stiffly, he says, "I need to do some checking, I think you'll understand, 
   and get back to you. Can you be reached at the same number you paged me 
   with?"
Murphy nods. "I understand. Yes, I can be reached there for now. One question 
   before you go. Is there anyone in town I need to meet?
JJ Malone shakes his head. "Past me? No one for right now. We follow Fog," he 
   says, as if that should explain everything. "I'll contact you once you're 
   cleared, and go from there. Keep your nose clean, Mr. Murphy," he says by 
   way of farewell.

---- Recall end ----