Once the Prohibition came into effect, different places solved the problems that presented in different ways. The Golden Tap, a local tavern along Hudson Street, found its solution in turning to other illicit means of gaining cash flow. While it might seem odd to eschew alcohol, only to turn around and offer gambling, but that's what the Tap did, seemingly figuring that the cops are going to be focusing more on the drink than the dice. And somehow, it seems to have worked, as you've made many visits there in recent times, and it's been all the same—crappy non-alcoholic drinks and crappy food in the front, blackjack and sports gambling in the back, accessible only to friends of the establishment—amongst which you actually count yourself. You're not a cop, after all, who says you can't enjoy the occasional bet on a boxing match or the Dodgers game, just to spice things up?

The perpetrator of the recent spree of robberies rocking New York high society is shrouded in mystery, known only by his pseudonym of "the Phantom". What few witness accounts exist describe him as a charming, masked young man that is very polite in his heists, always treating both his victims and involved innocents kindly and never harming anyone. At the same time, clubs and establishments that cater to a more, well, homosexual clientele suddenly find themselves receiving a generous windfall in funds from a mysterious donor. Despite the best efforts of the police, the Phantom's identity remains a mystery, and he is still at large, robbing the rich and giving to the queer. In fact, he's even developed a small group of admirers that cheer him on and celebrate his heists, much to the chagrin of the police chief. While his actual sexual orientation is, much like basically everything else about him, a mystery, his actions speak far louder than any words would, and most take it for granted that he indeed prefers the company of other men. Possible, rumored identities of the Phantom include but are not limited to: wealthy socialite Reinhardt von Bülow, Mafia fixer Rory Boscarino, Yankees pitcher Fred Rhodes, and Congressman Sam McCulloch.

No way around it, baseball is a big thing in New York City. Whether one's team is the Yankees, the Giants, or the Dodgers across the bridge in Brooklyn, whenever baseball season comes around, rivalries get hot and tempers flare. Add to that the tensions from the underground gambling—baseball is always a massive driver of gambling, even with the Black Sox scandal still in people's memories—and things can get very rowdy. You yourself have always considered yourself a fan of the Dodgers. Something about their underdog nature appealed to you, being a rough and tumble detective that lives life dangerously. While the Yankees have Ruth and Gehrig, and the Giants have Ott and Hubbell, the Dodgers just have a bunch of bums trying to win games, and that's really what your life is like, when you think about it.

Now, normally, not a lot of people would be able to pick out Yankees pitcher Fred Rhodes from a lineup. He's the last pitcher in the rotation, and his performance is never extraordinary, as he loses more games than he wins, but really, no baseball team has a bunch of winners in the rotation. Usually, that's where it would end, but as far as your investigation is concerned, there's an interesting wrinkle thrown in there. For some reason that you can't quite pin down, there has been a considerable movement in the rumor mill claiming that Rhodes is, in fact, the Phantom. The best connection you can find is that the Phantom's heists seem to line up with the time that Rhodes isn't pitching, but since any given pitcher doesn't pitch most of the time, that's a tenuous idea at best. You might want to just discard this as an unfounded rumor, but at the same time, maybe there's something to it?

Whenever you need a pick-me-up meal after a long night out on the prowl for clues, there's nothing that hits the spot quite like Giacomo's down on Stanton Street. Run by a genial old Italian man that lives for food, not only are you on good terms with Giacomo himself and can score the occasional free meal when he's got stuff left over late at night, but he also keeps his good ear out listening for potential interesting gossip that could help you in an investigation. There's been multiple cases where you've felt completely stumped, and it turned out that Giacomo had the one tip that blew it wide open, be it something that he heard while working the restaurant, or something one of his nine sons picked up while they were out and about the town. You don't trust many people, but that old man you'd trust with your life.

There's a fair few pool halls all over New York City, and it seems like everybody has their favorite. In your case, that's a small establishment just down the street from Giacomo's, where you enjoy heading for a game or two after a big meal. Sadly, there's no alcohol for obvious reasons, but well, one can't have everything. In addition, there is one thing, or rather one person, that keeps you coming back: Diego. A young guy that's a member of the Diamondbacks, a local street gang, he's the guy you go to when you need intel from real low down on the streets. But while Diego always seems to have something to tell you, he will only do so after a few games of pool. No matter what, he'll always insist on a few games. He's invaluable, however, both with pointers on what gangs are up to, and what's going on in the queer community, to which he seems to have a great connection. You do wonder why he always insists on those games of pool... it's almost like he just wants to spend time with you.

When there's something illicit going on in New York City, chances are the Di Fonzo family has its fingers in it. Gambling, gunrunning, bootlegging, underground fight clubs, operating speakeasies... you name it, they're in on it, and they do not like people encroaching on their territory. Crossing them is not advised, especially for gumshoes like yourself. You do have a couple low-level associates you are on good terms with that can give you some information about what's going on within the family, though they aren't privy to more privileged information and deliberately only give you old info that's not going to harm the family. At least they're not trying to actively kill you at this point, and really, you consider that to be a positive.

One of the hot-shot names in local politics, Congressman Sam McCulloch is a young man that seems determined to be a firebrand, and he made headlines by assaulting a fellow politician on the Congress floor over some unclear disagreement. It's said that he's imported some of his ideas from the Soviet Union based on his talk of helping the poor just being Socialism in disguise, and there are also rumors that he is in fact a homosexual that frequently arranges for flings with other young men on the sly. This, in turn, has led to rumors you've heard that he might actually be the Phantom, seeking some sort of wealth distribution through the heists, though you aren't sure just how much credence to lend those theories. It might just be that this is all conjecture by political opponents to harm his career—being a detective might be a dangerous career, but you know that politics is even more cutthroat.

A name that you've mostly only caught from hushed whispers late at night or reading some police files—that you acquired in a completely legal fashion, no matter what the cops may say—Rory Boscarino of the Di Fonzo family is the kind of guy the head of the family calls on when he has something very important that needs doing. Boscarino isn't specifically in the family hierarchy, but rather the boss's personal retainer, a fixer of sorts, especially when it comes to acquiring things the Mafia needs: documents, cash, booze... whatever it is, it seems this Boscarino can make it happen, and because of that, it seems he's a prime police suspect for the Phantom's identity. While the donations don't make sense for a Mafia man, that might just be a feint to throw investigators off the trail.

There's a lot of establishments for the lower classes, but when it comes to the rich, they tend to congregate in specific places. Jeweler's, a gentleman's club spoken of in an almost mythical fashion, is one of those places. You don't even know where it is, though given that you're currently working for somebody that almost certainly has a membership, you presume you could just ask if you needed to and as long as you framed it as a necessity for the case. Whatever this place is, it's secretive, it's elite, and whatever goes on in there, it shapes what New York City is going to be in the future. Presumably, a drink in there—because the rich play by different rules—would run you more than you spend in an entire month.

Sometimes, when things go a bit worse than usual, you end up with a bullet in your leg. Hey, it happens. What matters then is knowing how to deal with it, and in your case, you have an ace up your sleeve: Doc Emerson. Back in the day, when you were starting out and were taking cases for pretty much anything, you helped him figure out who was stealing medical supplies, and in lieu of cash changing hands, he offered to patch you up when you need it. Now, you don't overuse his services, because you know that making him deal with any scratch or bruise is just going to sour the relationship, but when you end up with a broken arm from a chase that went awry or the aforementioned bullet in your leg, oh, the good doctor is your first stop, and so far, he's been glad to fix whatever ails you, even if it means that you're going to have to listen to whatever complaints about his other patients he has right now. It's a small price to pay, and on rare occasions, the old gossip actually ended up sharing a vital rumor or tidbit with you.

Nestled away in a side alley on Crosby Street, Marble is a bar that from the outside seems like it might run afoul of the law, but on the inside, one might be surprised to find that everything is above board, having switched to milkshakes, ice cream, and various soda and fruit juice cocktails ever since Prohibition hit. Being a place that has a clientele that's just a little bit too fruity for it to be a coincidence, you figure they surely have enough problems already that they don't want to add "running a speakeasy" to the list as well. Running the show is a boisterous, loud, and massive—in both personality and body size—lesbian that merely goes by the moniker of "Mama". Mama is an interesting type, because you've heard that if you can get in her good graces, she is one of the best informants in all of New York, seemingly having eyes and ears all over. However, getting in those good graces could be difficult, as she is as fiercely defensive of her community as if they were her family, and so shares their general distrust of outsiders.

It's not the Ritz, but as a detective that deals with the seedy underbelly of the city, the Cat's Cradle is a hotel you are very familiar with. Located somewhat off the beaten path, it's the kind of place that someone would appreciate when they need to do something and would prefer to not be seen doing it. Be it politicians involved in illicit affairs, criminals looking to make a deal, or, indeed, detectives trying to chat up a source. One would think that this would make it a prime spying location, but the owner of the Cradle, a slimy weasel named Anderson, knows which side his bread is buttered on and has put a great amount of effort in securing his rooms' privacy, despite how much the police wishes that he didn't.

The Empire dance hall is a small establishment that doesn't get that much traffic, but nonetheless has a dedicated group of regulars keeping it going. With a bit of sleuthing, you were able to figure out that this place is one of those favored by the queer community, and it had in fact gotten one of the donations following a Phantom heist—the cops questioned everybody there, but they weren't talking. The rather effeminate man in charge of the place, a long-haired prettyboy named Samson, also runs dance classes for some of the clientele when the place isn't open for general dancing, and it's said that he has a connection to the Masque, with some of his students netting minor bit parts there, which is at least mildly suspicious.

There's a small diner situated on Chambers Street that might be interesting to your investigation. Operated by an old Irish man called O'Donnell, it's known for the kind of food that won't set you back much, will look like absolute slop, but will taste delicious and fill you up like none other. But in addition, O'Donnell's place is something of a safe spot for the gay folks out there, which is backed up by the shotgun he keeps under the counter—even though he's happily married to his wife and has been so for many years, it seems he dislikes innocent people being ostracized. As such, the diner might have some people for you to talk to and get some more information, and hey, while you're there, pick up some food!

In your initial research, one name that came up a few times as a possible identity of the Phantom was that of Reinhardt von Bülow, a young man that is the heir to a German industrialist fortune and as such has chosen the life of idle luxury. He practically lives in the most luxurious hotels New York City has to offer, is by all accounts a friendly, kind soul, and seems somewhat uninterested by women that make passes at him, but a lot of that is just a rumor and could possibly be people trying to find the Phantom's identity and making wild guesses. Von Bülow was in fact one of the earliest victims of the Phantom, though he did not seem particularly perturbed by the heist, and it could be that he stole from himself to throw people off.

Being the kind of guy that people come to when the police either can't or won't help them, your relationship with the police force and its chief—a perpetually grumpy mountain of a man named McCluskey—is somewhat strained. While most low-ranked beat cops won't not care enough to be overtly hostile towards you, you certainly can't expect any real help from a member of the uniformed force, and there's certainly one or two of the higher-ups muttering angrily and cursing your name on occasion. While you certainly don't consider yourself on the same side as the criminals and the low-lives... the police definitely treats you that way at times.

Down on Stone Street, there stands an indoor gym with some basic training equipment and some stairs that lead down to a basement. If one were to ask, one would be told that there's just additional locker rooms and storage down there, but they usually keep it locked and don't really need it. Of course, the reality is that that basement holds a Di Fonzo speakeasy and the whole thing is a mob front. You have, in fact, gained access to that speakeasy and do on occasion enjoy a drink or two down there, usually writing it off in your mind as merely scoping out the low-lives for clues and whatnot. But you know that's not the truth, you're there to get drunk and the mobsters know it, which is why they let you stay.

Having opened a few years ago on Broadway, the Masque has become something of a hot item among New York high society as a hidden gem. With a smaller build, it has a more intimate atmosphere that appeals to the rich, making them feel less like they're sharing their entertainment with the riff-raff. You have heard of a rumor that some of the Phantom's heists have happened while his victims were at the Masque, but it's not quite clear if that's just a coincidence because a lot of them frequent the Masque recently, or if there really is a homosexual clique within the staff or the actors at the theater that is feeding information back to the Phantom. At least it's a possible lead to follow up on.

One of the Phantom's more recent victims, Lord Culverton is a British noble that immigrated to New York a few years ago, with rumors abound that there was some sort of scandal back in his home country that forced this move. Whatever the reason may be, Culverton brought a lot of his wealth along with him and is notable in the New York socialite circles for his extravagant lifestyle, excessive rudeness towards staff, and surprising stinginess. As such, dealing with him is done at your own risk.

Your paper of choice, the Gotham Herald, isn't exactly what one would call a paper of record. It has a fairly small circulation and doesn't get the biggest stories, but it has some particular reporters that keep a close eye on the underworld in a way larger ones would not, which is an invaluable source in a business such as yours. In fact, you yourself have spoken to the Herald on occasion, which does the old ego good. And while most papers report on the Phantom as a hardened criminal that should be hanged for his crimes, the Herald is one of the few voices out there that openly go against the grain, speaking to those that his heists benefit and writing of his escapades with an almost admiring tone.

While the homosexual community of New York is rather quiet as far as open conversation is concerned, it's very much out there and has carved out its own little niche, with certain establishments not openly advertising their queer clientele, but word still gets around, and before long, another gay haven exists on the down low. And with their status in society not being very accepted, these folks stick together through thick and thin, and they are quite distrusting of those that might do them harm. Because the Phantom's crimes particularly benefit their community, you're sure that you wouldn't find a single one among their number that wouldn't speak of their admiration for him behind closed doors, and if the Phantom were to actually reveal himself, he would have over a dozen perfectly charming men lining up to court him.

Known as the playground of the world, Coney Island out in Brooklyn is a section of New York City that is dedicated to amusement and merriment. With Steeplechase Park and Luna Park, it has two separate amusement parks entertaining visitors, as well as a lot of various smaller arrangements, beaches to swim at, and much, much more. But of course, where there is legal amusement, illegal amusement isn't far behind. Prostitution, alcohol, drugs, whatever it is one might think of, it can be found at Coney Island. And that means that for a detective like you, it's prime territory for information and clues. There's a bunch of mooks around at Coney, and if you threaten them just a bit, they often spill the beans remarkably easily. Sure, they don't know a lot most of the time, but it's better than nothing and can lead you on the right track.