Thumbs

Synopsis: Ex-muscle, gun runner, straightforward brick of a man. As said of Marv, he'd fit perfectly on some medieval battlefield. A local boy forever, he'll live and die on these streets, and knows it. Also knows that Baroque is a rough place to have dreams, because the city will choke the life out of them, if it can.

Sells guns to all takers, without much ethical quandry, because he knows they'll get them anyway, and this way, they won't blow up in the buyer's face. A holdover from the pre-mask days, he's much more comfortable with gimmickless mobsters than the current face of crime - one of the reasons he's stepped out of the business to a large degree. That, and he felt he wasn't rising fast enough.

He's starting to feel his age - mentally, if not physically - an ol' timer, in the privacy of his own head, and that has a lot to do with the changing world. He's not afraid of this, because largely, he knows he's far more likely to get a viking swansong than a slow slip into retirement.

But he's moving along. He's got time, and there's still beer to be drunk, fights to get into, and broads to cozy up with at night. He lives straightforward and directly - and expects everyone else to live the same way. He does unto others, as he would have them do unto him - which means fighting them to the death if they get in his face.

Appearance & Style: He's a jacket and slacks kinda guy. Suits are too upmarket for him generally - but he feels a man should wear a coat. Favours maroons, greys, olive greens and blacks. Wears a drivers cap, most of the time, with a thinning grey crew-cut underneath it. Starting to get a slight sag around the midsection these days, but its not slowing him down. Nose spread across his face from numerous breaks, jutting chin, sloping forehead. Broad smiles, with chipped teeth, but that doesn't stop him. Long scar across his hairline. That special "Frank Miller" quality of old, where despite the fact he's pushing late middle age, he's the most dangerous man on the table. Huge hands. Ex-Super Heavyweight Prize Fighter, about 6"6, with the muscle mass to match. A collection of old bruises, scars and bullet wounds that most people don't see. Tatoo on his upper arm with 'Maria' on it, which he doesn't speak about.

Ethical Code:

1) You settle disputes face-to-face. 2) There's war on the streets. And war doesn't let you take down dames, kids or old grannies. 3) Never quit. If they want to take you down, they have to take you out.

Thumbs admits he's walked the line, but he thinks of himself as at least trying to be a moral man. It's an old fashioned code of ethics, from what he thinks of as a simpler time. He hates to lie, and is absolutely no good at it. He swears, but tries to watch it around what he thinks of as 'ladies' - he knows dames in the neighbourhood curse worse than him. He disapproves of drugs, won't take 'em, won't sell 'em - but drinks like a fish and smokes cheap cigarettes. He's loyal and dependable - if he says he'll do something, he'll do it, or die trying. Aside from that, he leaves the more complex ethical questions up to others. If he thinks something's bad, and he can do something about it, he'll stop it. If not, he'll pass on the word, but leave it alone.

His main problem is violence. He's not even a particularly angry man - he just lacks a sense of propensity, or any kind of sensitivity to death. He doesn't attempt to kill with particular style, but if he wants you gone, you'll be gone. To bring him a few steps closer to his desired outcome, he'll throw a guy through a wall without thinking. It doesn't really occur to him that extreme violence is any kind of problem, as long as its straightfoward. He wouldn't kill someone to rob them, because he thinks of that as dishonest, but would probably grab something off them if he'd been going to kill them anyway.

What he hates is deception and duplicity - he knows its around, and he's not above it, in an emergency, but he'd always prefer to take the direct route, even if that leads to bloody knuckled confrontation. Likewise for things he's afraid of - anything he can deal with head on, even if he'll die in futility doesn't bother him - its things that go beyond his ken that give him the heebie-jeebies.

Obligations and Connections:

1) A hatred of the Red Queen, the Chesire Cat or the Kard Klub.

The Cheshire Cat. With that smarmy fuckin' grin and his tap-dancing feet - guy'll cut you open and smile while doin' it. Look, the Red Queen's damaged as hell, and Mr. Skits, well, he's just thinkin' too much - but the Cat - he's just a bastard.

2) A friendship, pay-for-data or gruding respect for Paul Revenge, renegade cop and the last true source of justice in Baroque.

Man knows the fuckin' PD ain't looking out for no-one but their own interests as a whole - but Revenge? He's out there, doin' his thing, week to week. We've shared a beer, a time or two. Now, I don't inform - but you hear about those boys who Father Aaronson took up with? Paul Revenge sorted that out - and that's worth a lotta points.

3) Some generally positive relationship with the armsdealer and Sufi mystic, Malachi the Magnificent

Mal started workin' out of Maraviglia, and he's from a funny tradition fom somewhere sandy. Says he's been runnin' gear since before he came to this country. We had a bit of a disagreement, a time or two - same job, same turf - but we came to an arrangement. He's an okay guy - although he likes his reefer, and I don't go in for that. Every so often, i'll even pick up his shift, or him mine. It's part of the great American storekeeper tradition.

4) Cocytus/Kalvin Street, the halfmile block of serpentine real-estate that weaves through and back around the border between the Hawksmoore, Chairascuro and Algheri Districts, and the inhabitants thereof.

I still remember when this whole neighbourhood was called Vesper, before Mayor Shroud went nuts with the street names. That ain't no expression. This is my home - there ain't no place, or no-one in it who I don't know, and who don't know me. We ain't much down here - not big players or powerful sorts, and the families like to recruit from us. The ol' neighbourhoods seem to get rougher and rougher, and darker and darker - more hookers and drugs on the street than in my day. But home is home, and Baroque people, we ain't easy ta budge. I was born here, and I know I'll die here. Couldn't ask for anything more.

5) A healthy fear and respect for the Jade Mirror, along with a professional connection.

These guys, they run a tight ship. I'm only distantly attached to the organisation, but I can see they're true professionals, with courtesy - unlike a lotta the crazies that seem to run this city now. They're good suppliers, and I ain't never had a problem with 'em. Don't want one neither. Ninjas, y'know?

PERSONAL CONNECTIONS

• Trina O'Reilly and her daughters, Prudence and Sharon. His old lady landlord. A pleasant, motherly Irish Catholic lady, who sometimes leaves him hot dinner plates outside his door. Everyone knows he's very protective of them. The two daughters live in a dangerous neighbourhood, and he tries to keep them from getting too fucked around by it.

• Carlysle Withersport. His ex-manager. English very posh and proper, but nevertheless, a pal. Lives up in Raith, out of Thumb's usual haunts, but knows a lot of good fighters come out of this area, and still runs a gym down here. Full of reminiscing about the old days - and Thumbs knows boxing is a night game, so who cares where he gets to during the daytime.

• Steady Eddie, a local drunk, he often slips food, booze or cash to, depending on his resources and mood. Eddie's a veteran, and fought against the White Martians, a damn war America didn't belong in, that cost the lives of some good kids. Stalemate is a black mark on this country's record.

• Worked for the Maronis. Considers himself 'out', but you know the old saying. They've been content to leave him alone thus far, which he's greatful for, but realises that doing them a 'favour or two' might still be good practice. Besides, he's got a lot of good pals at the organisation.

• He gets his guns from the Jade Mirror (albeit indirectly) and although he's not part of their organisation, he still likes Lao Tam, and would help him out as a favour, if the tugboat pilot ever realised that he'd be entitled to ask

K - I don't get it. People tell me I've been taken in by this dame - maybe that I'm going soft, but she seems to have her head screwed on straight to me. A little talky, but that's a character trait nowadays. Besides, she helped out with those kids a while back - and she ran that spook out of Louis Quong's place - and Louis' a good guy. This is Baroque, so I'll give a little credit to those dark rumours - but I ain't gonna think to foul of a kid who done me nothin' but good.

Rovana - I'll tell ya what, I didn't like this kid at first. Too fuckin' wordy. All style, no substance. A pro, sure, but you can't trust guys who get that close that fast. They're plannin' somethin'. Anyhow, we got caught in Madam Kosta's down in Hawksmoor, when that eclipse thing happened. End o' the night, he and I got through. Kid went to the wall for me - and I'd do the same for him.

Salil - I try to keep out of all that Voodoo shit. I mean, I know its around, and that's dandy - but leave it to the professionals, eh? He's a bit of a flake, but he's always polite, and he don't do anything ta spoil the atmosphere, so why should I complain? Besides, K tells me he's got something special goin' on. I try to make sure he don't run into no walls when he's chasin' his ghosts and vamps.

The Doc - He's a real gentleman. Before he moved here, I'd have ta rip the bullets out of my own arm, on cheap scotch, but he's got a proper place. This neighbourhood needs a doctor. Enough kids get cut up with switches, working men shot, and girls get into...female trouble, that his shop is a lifesaver. And most of the docs, they stay out of this neighbourhood - drugs and safes don't mix here. I ain't lettin' him get run out.

Ares - This guy. He knows the score. Not only does he know the right stories about the fights, he knew my K-O record straight off. Buys me a beer, every so often, and I do the same. Once tol' me "If somebody would open a place selling beer and burgers, I don't think I'd leave." Gabs a bit much for my taste, and hasn't toughened up to the city yet, but he's young and he's a newbie. He'll learn.