Jamison “Black Bag” Chambers

The once-heralded face of Law and Order, now less lawful, and a bit less ordered.


Name: Jamison “Black Bag” Chambers
Major Flaw: Enemy of Major Chicago Power-Brokers
Motivation: Revenge against those who orchestrated his fall (+ 2)
Past: Disgraced Prosecutor(+ 2)
Specialty: Repartee (+ 2)
Field of Expertise: Law Enforcement (+ 2)
Gunplay (+ 2)
Streetwise (+ 2)
Boxing (+ 2)

(Intimidate) – Chained (Repartee)
(Interrogate) – Chained (Law Enforcement)
(Condition: Outnumbered) – Chained (Repartee)
(Idiom: Brutal) – Chained (Boxing)

PDQ Master Chart

Character Record Sheet

Forte Poor (-2) Average Good (+2) Expert (+4) Master (+6)
Motivation X X X - -
Past X X X - -
Specialty X W W - -
Law Enforcement X X X - -
Gunplay X X X - -
Streetwise X X X - -
Boxing X X X X -

Basic character description:
“Jamie’s shy of six feet, but just by a bit, and has sandy-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. He’s told me he was twenty-seven, but looks older, on account of his eyes. You’ll see what I mean when you get him. He’s in good shape, and knows how to move. Carries himself like a fighter, you know? Hands at his waist, in front of him, in case something jumps off? You know the type. He’s got a scar on his nose, and one going through his eyebrow.

He likes to cover up, though. He’s got good clothes, but they’re older, you know? Kinda like he came across some money once, and duked himself out, but that might have been a few years ago. He’s around. You know how it is. This part of town, people are either running from something, or chasing someone who is. One thing, fellas. I didn’t hear it from him, so don’t take it as gospel or nothin’, but I heard from someone that the scar on his nose wasn’t an accident. Seems he used to be someone special. Story goes, he was getting pushed for political office by someone. So he gets a few promotions at the precinct, you know, and starts reading his own headlines. You know, he gets a swelled noggin. So it was that when someone with pull tells him to back off, he doesn’t do it. He digs his heels in, and pulls back. So, someone pretty high up sends word that this new guy needs to take a fall, you know. They give him one last chance, word was, before the world lands on this guy. Someone shows up, tells the guy that things’ll get bad, he doesn’t just take the money. Back off, he’ll get to go home at night. Word was, Jaime said to the creep, “This is the face of things to come.”

Then, the fix is in, but that wasn’t good enough no more, see? They took his job, they took his cash, they took his dignity, his place in society. They took his girl. But, see, that wasn’t enough. Then, story goes that some palookas were sent around. “Here’s one for the ‘Face of things to come.’” Then, they put a knife through one side of his schnoz. He’s seen some things, that one. If you wanna talk to that guy? My suggestion is, play nice, fellas.

Now, listen up, gents; drink up and beat your feet, huh? Word gets around I’ve spilled on a customer, I’ll have trouble keeping the lights on, you get me?”

For a time, life was sweet. Even in Chicago.

Having come from the proper stock, which is to say he was a monied, white pure-strain human male, his entrance into Harvard was almost a given. Instead, he took his lambskin from NYU, where his father went to school. Coming out of school, he joined the Chicago police department. Family wanted him to join the military, but he felt that the police had a more immediate effect on the city, and was moved by civic pride.

This same civic pride moved him to assist the Treasury Department when the opportunity arose, but Jamison wasn’t the fresh fish that people figured him for. He never joined the TD, as he saw a steady undercurrent of corruption limiting his ability to help the city. To top it all off, he figured that, as a copper, he was free to help with raids as he was needed, while side-stepping those people working against the booze busters.

Of course, it wasn’t long before the press began to note Jamison’s face in connection to some of the more effective busts in the North End of Chi-town. That was where O’Banion’s boys ran the rum, and while “Snarky” Capone was unifying the Italians, Jamison made some press, and quite a bit of clout over making sure the Irish never got the same chance. Of course, the Treasury Department was happy to use him as a ‘face’ for the cooperation between the TD and the Chicago police department.

Yes, sir, things were sweet. He was the talk of the town, and there were some real attractive conversations about being prepped for political office. He’d been ‘given’ a team of five, people he could trust, to act as “mob-busters” and adjuncts between the CPD and the TD. All that stopped when he’d stumbled across dirt which led to an Alderman across town. Michael Zimmerman was his name, and Jamison was the one who fingered him. In the beginning, has was reticent to go after anyone specifically, but after seeing his name in print, he threw caution to the wind, and became involved. David Burke, the head of the Chicago branch of the TD, knew that this would invite retaliation from Miles O’Bannion, and his crew, and was happy to let this new Chi-town wunderkind get in front, hit the papers, and get burned.

Looking back, Jamison would never be able to say he wasn’t warned. Burke was too happy to let Jamison take the lead. And when the Alderman, Zimmerman, finally went down, it was Zimmerman’s attorney, one Clive Davies, that gave him his last warning. “This’ll get bad for you, you know. Chicago can be an ugly town,” he said, over a bowl of soup during one of the recesses leading into the Zimmerman testimony. “You can always walk away. There’s money in it. Lots of money. You don’t need to do this.”

Jamison looked him dead in the eye. “Get used to this face,” he said. “This is the face of things to come.” He went on to testify, and Zimmerman went on to do three years in the stony lonesome for corruption and solicitation, along with violation of prohibition. Jamison Chambers went on to make the papers. It was then that the O’Banion crew went to work.

Two weeks later, and his whole team was dead, except for the last man, who retired and left Chicago. A week after that, and Jamison’s father, a big macher in Chicago, died in a completely random car accident. The police ruled that it was a hit and run, and a real shame, too, but with no clues at the scene, what could be done? His relationship with his mother deteriorated; she blamed him for his father’s untimely death. Maybe a part of him figured she was right. But he still had his name. People knew who he was. He was still respected.

Until the allegations arose. Out of nowhere, accusations of misconduct started to boil up out of the woodwork. The corruption and solicitation charges were the worst. That’s what Zimmerman took the fall for. But the bribery charges were the ones that stuck, and bang. Stick a fork in his career, it’s done. Shortly after his last man left, he was cornered by a group of three men. One was an Orc. All three looked like the types to give a split lip as a Christmas present. They had orders to cut his nose, to spite his face.

He managed to skip the prison sentence, but it might have actually helped him. Now, he’s got nothing left. He’s been stuck in vacancy for a year and a half. Old news. Old news, and no one cares anymore.

But the O’Banion crew’s still out there. First, he’ll figure out exactly who did what, and then, he’ll make his move.


In his words:
“You know how it is. You look at the papers, and you see it all, right in front of your face. Right there. Black and white, clear as crystal. The headlines. Every damned day, with the headlines. New ones every day, right? You ever take the time to think about yesterday’s headlines? Nope. Why would you? They’re old. They’re Old News.

Well, that’s me, in a nutshell, sir. Old News. Was a time, not long ago, I was supposed to be special. They had me, College-educated, groomed to position. Old money in the Party was backing me for elected office. I buzz-sawed through crime. Pimps, rum-runners, importers, the entire lot. Was a time, not long ago, understand, when my name meant something.

I can still remember the headlines. “Local Boy does Good,” said the Telegraph. “Law Spree Claims City!” barked the Union-Tribune. Yeah. That was me. But, see, the Man giveth, and the Man taketh away. I was naive. I actually read my own headlines. When I stepped on someone who was connected, I didn’t apologize. I actually told the horse’s ass, “I’m the face of things to come.” Funny story, right before they took everything away, they said, “Here’s one for the face of things to come.” That’s where I got the split nose. It was a pair of scissors.

I’d say it was a face only a mother could love, but she’s outta the picture, now. She’s disappointed in me, after everything she saw go wrong. I was a crooked cop, and a laughingstock. I killed her husband. It was true to her; I made the papers. I was a Back-Hander, but I never once took a bribe.

Some days, I’m not even sure who to hate. Some days, it’s just easier to hate everyone.
Maybe, I’ll make good, maybe I’ll make bad. I dunno. But I’ll make the papers again, that’s for damned sure.”

Now, With Additional Heat:
.38 Revolver
12-gauge shotgun

Jamison “Black Bag” Chambers

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