The McBournie Minute: The party’s not over until several people die

When last we spoke, dear reader, I was unsure if I was going to be alive to write this entry. I am pleased to announce that I am not in fact dead. Actually, I survived the murder mystery party on Halloween. However, as if by some strange coincidence, the party was frought with … murder.

The place: a speakeasy in Chicago. The time: 1920. I walked in to a “house” and gave the password to let them know I was allowed in. I Rhett Bumbler (I didn’t choose the name) and my fiancée in the game Rebecca Ravioli (because I dig skirts with food-related names), who is my girlfriend in real life, were not all we appeared to be. I was a horrible gambler, which was not a hard act for me, but that was only my cover. In truth, I was a hitman sent by the New York families to find out why their share was so small. When I found the source, my job, presumably, was to hit it, because you see, killing’s my game. Continue reading The McBournie Minute: The party’s not over until several people die