The Arrow

The next place that we had any GPS coordinate on was this graffiti covered bar called the arrow, in new york. This place kinda rules. I actually had a stupid hard time looking it up just now. It's listed on google as "The Rook" which makes a lot more sense than the arrow, when you think about it. I see why Greg chose it. Allen didn't waste any time. He started tearing the place apart. We showed up during the afternoon, so there wasn't anybody in there, just a bartender, and us. Allen walked up to him and started asking all sorts of questions, I don't remember half of it, I mean this was a year ago. It's hard for me to remember a lot of this stuff, honestly. But I do remember what he did next. He pulled his gun on the bartender. He was nuts, I swear. The bartender was, of course, freaked, and lead Allen downstairs. In the basement there was a painting on the wall and behind that was a safe. It was full of cash. The guy thought we were robbing him. Allen just started laughing. dude was dark. Finally we convey to the guy what we're looking for. He sighs, like he's relieved and takes us to one of the booths. Says something that tells me we're not the first ones to come looking for this crap, and asks to see the knife. I don't know what Knife, but allen pulls this big old thing off of his calf, the bartender smiled. Then he takes the mirror off the wall this time, upstairs in the bar. He hands us a sheet of steel about the size of a sheet of paper. He basically says that the first people to come asking were cops, but his instructions were not to give it to anyone with any badges. Only to the person with the knife. he asked what the knife said and allen replied "Dead End Drive" that chilled me, the way he said it. I think it spooked the bartender, too because he suddenly remembered the gun, and tried to get us the hell out. We obliged, but not before Keith shoved a twenty into the tip jar.
We got a hotel, which wasn't cheap in new york, and we sat down to study the plate. it was hard to make out what was on it. It was clearly punched through all over, riddled with tiny holes, and if you held them up to a light, you could see shapes, but they were so small that we couldn't make them out. Allen decided we had caught the middle of a trail again, until Keith made a connection. Well, it was half of it, anyway. He pulled the shade off of one of the bedside lamps in the hotel room and stuck the metal next to it. Suddenly, the room was darker, and across one wall was a scatter of specks of light, connected by weird lines. It still didn't make sense, but it was clearing up. The metal was a formula.