Carroll 332: The Snitch Dungeons

Where we keep the snitches. Local cops are under our thumb so we shouldn't have any problems.

Where It Is

Manhattan, 17th Street. It used to be a hospital and we bought it after the Great War in case we would need it for New York operations. Four stories high, just next to a boarding house and a bank. Can't miss it.

Whatever you do, don't open the doors to the bedrooms.

Who Knows About It

This one's a trade secret, and none of our other competitors or those Foundation guys have the scoop on it as far as we know. I know a lot of people are on edge because The Secret Spirit got shut down but we won't make the same mistake twice. All of the guys we have working security and watching the snitches are loyal to Chappell and would take a bullet for him.

As for who we can tell about it, well, we need what we call a "Rumor Weapon." Don't go around telling everyone that we've got a place for all the people who turn on us. But if you're at one of our bars and you hear people talking about what Richard does to double-crossers, maybe mention that you heard about a terrible place that they go. A place where they don't die but wish they could, because of what they did to us.

Keep it vague. What people don't know about can be just as powerful as what they do.

How We Made It

In 1930, we had a snitch problem.

When you're in the business we are in, there are two kinds of people: a friend of ours, and a friend of theirs. We tried to keep our friends local in the beginning, and closely under our wing. The Spirit was once easy to keep under a tight watch - in the old days, we only had each other, and even the lowest fink wouldn't go to the Chicago PD because we didn't have enough to offer them.

But once the 18th Amendment rolled around, everything changed. In less than two years we went from a mostly local operation to a nationwide bootlegging empire. The money was rolling in, but so were the expenses. Bribes to cops and Canadian border guards, security to keep the Carrolls under close watch…and, of course, employees.

We started hiring out. Working with the local competition when we needed to. Not looking into our guys closely enough to make sure we could trust them. And when we opened The Secret Spirit, it finally came back to haunt us.

What's the best way to keep the law from catching you? Keep them from remembering that you even exist. I don't know how the boss did it, but he managed to make a speakeasy that slips out of your mind without the password. Like "Joe sent me", but if Joe didn't actually send you then you'd just be confused anytime you tried to remember where you were that night.

The alcohol wasn't even that important. What was important was the trading room on the second floor. The finest magic toys from the farthest reaches of Wonderland, for our carefully selected customers. For nearly a decade, there was no better place to get a drink and play God than The Secret Spirit.

Then someone snitched.

Albert Jones, the reason we lost our best speakeasy. Carroll 332 was made with him in mind.

Christmas, 1930. The Foundation shuts us down, kidnaps our patrons, and steals some of our best Carrolls. The boss demanded to know how it happened, and it didn't take long to find out. Albert Jones, from Queens, recruited by the Spirit in 1921 to run our first Manhattan operation. Previous history with the local gangs, and a reputation for efficiency and ruthlessness.

And also cowardice. The little bastard got too drunk one night and broke into his ex's apartment, and ratted us all out so he could get a reduced sentence. Right then and there, the boss decided that nobody would ever be able to turn on us again without paying the price. A message needed to be sent, and the Dungeons were the way to do it.

About two months after The Secret Spirit shutdown, Richard Chappell walked into that abandoned hospital with an unholy priest and turned it into a palace of nightmares. He won't tell anyone else how he did it, so don't ask.

Our finest day came when we found Albert and locked him inside his Dungeon. He begged for mercy. We didn't give it.

What We Use It For

I'm sure you've all heard one of Richard's favorite sayings. "You can search for us, you can compete with us, you can even attack us if you think you're up to it. But if you turn on us, we will not forgive, and we will not forget."

Damn right we won't.

Carroll 332 are the "Snitch Dungeons" - the building we use 'em for and the Dungeons themselves. From the outside it looks normal, and when you walk in you don't notice anything out of the ordinary at first either. Lots of abandoned hospital equipment lying around that we haven't bothered to pick up. But all the doors to what used to be the bedrooms are closed, and behind each of them is Hell.

Well, not exactly Hell. But close enough to it that they can't tell the difference.

When we find someone who turned on us, we have to say his name out loud and snap our fingers in front of this photo:

Picture of the former hospital staff and some patients, 1913. Richard said the people in the photo show up in Dungeons too. No need to find out.

Soon as we do, he shows up in the foyer, and we're on him before he has a chance to react. We grab him, throw him into one of the open rooms, and shut the door behind him.

That's where the Hell begins. The walls begin to melt away, and the room gets bigger than all of New York. But no matter where they go, they can never get out. They'll always be in their own personal Dungeon.

We don't know exactly what happens to them in there, but we know they can't get out. And we know they scream so loud we had to soundproof the building. The only ones who know for sure are the boss and the priest, and they're not telling.