Call of Cthulhu

The Journal of Phinneas Vain

If you're reading this, I'm dead

Phinneas Vain sat in the smokey half lit apartment that served as his office during the day and apartment at night. He kicked his feel up onto the desk while lighting up a Luck Strike. Muffled music drifted up from the floor boards as Phin contemplated his current situation.

The jobs haven’t been coming in as much as they used to. The last job, a wandering husband, went tits up when the John skipped town with a dancer without a trace. The wife refused to pay. He finished the cigarette and walked to the window with this whiskey. It was harsh, cloudy and definitely illegal.

The restaurant down stairs, The Kitchen, was one of the many bootleg operations in Arkham. They sported a restaurant, a lounge complete with dance floors and two hot water heaters….one of which is a still. Phin gets free hooch, and they don’t get the unwanted eyes of the authorities.

The papers have reported some murders, not uncommon given the current state of unrest in Arkham. Brad Callaghan called me up earlier today about it. To ask if any of my less than reputable sources had heard anything. They seem to think its mob hits. Phin informed him the urchins have been quiet as of late. That’s also troubling, usually there’s someone talking. Might have to take a look.



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