Le Bon Temps Roule

by Nevermore

Against the backdrop of a Sabbat siege in New Orleans, young kindred try to make sense of their lives and relationships. Let the good times roll....... (Complete)

2. Le Bon Temps Roule, Chapter 1

Vampire: The Masquerade is owned by White Wolf Publishing. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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CHAPTER 1

I

"So what exactly do we know about the prince of New Orleans?" Siras Telemon asked, wanting to get to the meat of the issue as quickly as possible. It was his way. At times, Johnny hated the fact that his sire was all business, with little time for stopping to smell the roses. That was to be expected, though. Siras had grown into manhood during the Great Depression. He had learned all too well the value of hard work, and at times it was obvious that Siras felt Yashida took life a little too lightly. After working hard on a daily basis for almost a decade just to put food in his mouth, Siras was then shipped off to Europe to fight in World War II. Of course, that had been well before the United States had ever entered the war.

Siras had seen the events unfold slowly and had taken interest long before anyone outside of the U.S. government had. He had family in Germany, and he paid attention to Hitler's rise to power. He had been one of the few not to count Hitler out when he had been arrested for taking part in a revolutionary movement. Siras Telemon had known that the mysterious forces that guide history would not allow such a charismatic and utterly maniacal man to fade into the background, not when he could instead be given control of a nation with as much potential as Germany had. Siras Telemon had seen it all coming and had enlisted when Germany annexed the Rhineland. He had felt that war was inevitable, and he figured that if was in the Army before the shooting started, he would be more likely to work into an officer's position. His plan had worked, and even sooner than had been expected.

As the U.S. prepared for a war it knew all too well was coming, it sent various military officers to England; there they were able to study German technology and tactics, preparing for American entry into the war. Siras had been sent over as a mechanic, assigned to a unit examining pieces of destroyed German armor units that had been taken from the battlefields. While off-duty, he had been playing a game of chess when a middle-aged man came over and watched. The game was short. Siras had always been good at strategy games in general, and chess in particular. After a few brief words, Siras discovered that he had been speaking with General Omar Bradley. The general took Siras into his staff, an assignment that lasted only three weeks. Then Siras was sent back to the United States to enter OCS. By the time he returned to Europe, war had broken out and General Bradley was serving with Patton. Siras was kept away from battle and assisted in the planning of the invasion of Normandy Beach. He stayed in France until the Germans were driven out. By that time he was a Captain, but rather than get his own command, Siras was still kept away from the field and used as a strategist. He heard the whispers of his fellow officers. They all either looked down on him for not having gone to West Point, or else lamented the fact that he had missed his true calling and had been deprived of the chance to fully achieve his potential (which would, of course, have been at West Point).

Johnny had always thought it strange that his sire had never been pressed into service as a spy. Siras spoke fluent German, with a hint of an Austrian accent. He was tall, well built, and had blonde hair and blue eyes. Such a man would never have had his loyalty questioned in Hitler's Germany. Indeed, Siras seemed in many ways to be the Aryan Nation poster child, an excellent specimen of the master race. Lucky for us he was on our side, Johnny thought.

As is common in this world, Siras' potential had not been long overlooked even after the war. While humans were temporarily at peace, there were others that were still fighting. Siras had returned to Chicago, his hometown, where he was promptly snatched up and embraced, made an enforcer for his sire. His sire, now there was a piece of work.

"Johnny?" Siras asked, knocking his childe from his reverie. "Would you please pay attention? I don't have time for you to sit there and calculate spreads in this week's football games. I need your input."

"Sorry, sir," Johnny replied formally, ignoring the slight insult. "What was the question?"

"What do we know about the prince of New Orleans?" Siras asked again. The head of the clan glanced over to Johnny's brother, Marcus, and rolled his eyes slightly.

"I'm not sure," Johnny replied. "I was in New Orleans for awhile, but I never saw the prince. No one sees him. All you ever see is his childe, Ash. Gregory Ash."

"With a name like that he's got to be Ventrue," Marcus commented.

"You guessed it," Johnny answered. "Story goes that about fifty years ago a Toreador came into the city, looking to reclaim it for his clan. As you would expect, the Toreador have spent more time in control of New Orleans than any other clan has. The prince, a Ventrue named Bryan Fleming, another great Ventrue name, fought off the attempted coup. Ever since then, it seems that Fleming has Ash go out into public and do all the dirty work, while he controls everything himself from behind the scenes, staying safe. Technically, I guess Ash is the seneschal, but he's actually referred to as the Regent."

"You said that's the story," Siras pointed out. "Your tone indicates you think there's actually more to it than that."

"There are rumors," Johnny said. "Some say that Fleming was destroyed in the coup, and that Ash simply used the opportunity to seize control for himself. An alternate version says that Fleming survived, but barely, and that Ash simply finished the job so that he could gain freedom from his sire, as well as take all of the power his sire had possessed." Johnny looked over toward Marcus briefly, and knew that his brother shared the same thought, a reference to Siras' older days. "Others say that Fleming left the city, and that while he still exercises authority, he does it from so far away that he might as well not be considered," Johnny continued. "The story I like best, though – and keep in mind that this one is so widely accepted as being the truth that it's probably dead on – is that Fleming survived, but was injured to the point that he was driven into torpor. Now Ash is simply holding the city until his sire wakes up. That makes the most sense."

"Why?" Marcus asked.

"Because eventually someone is going to call Ash on his rule of the city," Siras said, answering for Yashida. "If there's a body somewhere, he'll be able to back up his claim better. I doubt Fleming is dead, and I really doubt that he dares rule a city from outside its borders. No one would be that crazy, no matter how paranoid he was. If the resident vampires ever got wind that the prince was an absentee ruler, the city would descend into chaos. There would be no control."

"It's not far from chaos right now," Johnny responded. "The city is linked with the occult almost everywhere you go. You mention cities and vampires in the same sentence, and most humans in the New World will think of New Orleans. Mention voodoo or demon worship, and you get the same result. Sometimes I think that New Orleans is the Goth capital of the world. You have some real fucked up people there. Then consider the human society. The poverty and crime rates are so high that the city is almost tearing itself apart. It's crazy. I think New Orleans is the perfect place for a Sabbat siege. In fact, I'm shocked they haven't taken it yet."

"Seems you would be right," Siras concurred. "An absent, perhaps dead, prince, with his childe acting as Regent. A high crime rate. A large anarch population that keeps a high enough profile to give the city a reputation for vampirism. Seems to me like it adds up to a siege."

"So we going?" Johnny asked.

"Are we sure that it's really the prince that's calling us in?" Siras questioned in reply.

"I have some friends down there looking into it right now," Johnny answered. "I also checked around about the Southpaw guy at the meeting. The name and face were legit. Of course, it's always a question as to whether or not that was really Southpaw or just someone pretending to be him, but he seemed to be on the level. Everything I've heard and seen so far leads me to believe this is a legitimate offer of employment. I'll probably know for sure within a couple of days. I think we have enough to at least assemble a team. You might want to hold them back until we know for sure."

"Okay," Siras replied. "Go down there and snoop around for a few days, maybe arrange a meeting with the prince. I'll get things set up here. Take that new ghoul of yours. That one from the bar."

"Sarah," Johnny replied. It was a good idea, he knew, and a move that he had expected and even begun to prepare for. In New Orleans, the ghouls knew each other as well as the vampires did. They had their own shadowy society and pecking order, and were themselves an excellent source of information. Having only been made a ghoul within the year, Sarah would be low on the totem pole, but she was an outsider with new stories to tell. That would get her enough interest to be able to trade some information.

"Right, Sarah," Siras said. "I'll get a few people together here. I'll be sending McLachlan and his new childe, and Brett and his ghoul. That enough?"

"Can't know until I get there," Johnny answered, "but it should do for a start. There are also some people down there I can get to help us."

"And you also have a knack for getting anarchs to do a lot of your dirty work for you," Siras added, complimenting his childe for his ability to manipulate others into doing his will.

"Give me four nights," Johnny said. "I'll fly out tomorrow at dusk. I'll be in touch."

"Make sure that you are," Siras instructed as his childe stood to leave. "The last thing I need is you getting all distracted and ending up celebrating Mardi Gras instead of doing the work you were sent for."

"Mardi Gras isn't for another month," Johnny said with a smile as he walked from the room. "Surely we'll be done by then. It might even give us a chance to relax after the siege."

"Great," Siras muttered as his childe left. The head of the clan knew all too well that few sieges could be lifted within a month. To win that quickly, they would need to find the central pack or packs of the Sabbat which were running the show, and then wipe them out. Such a feat was rarely accomplished. True, Siras knew, Johnny and Matt had helped defeat a siege in San Francisco by achieving such a goal, but he doubted that Johnny could arrange such a trick again. He had the definite feeling the Telemon would be in this for the long haul.

II

"What's that smell?" Sarah asked as soon as she opened the door of the cab and stepped out into the night air.

"That's New Orleans," Johnny replied evenly. "Or, more precisely, that's the Mississippi River. Cancer Alley is north of the city, between here and Baton Rouge, along the river. Dozens of corporations set up shop and spill millions of gallons of chemicals into the river each day. Makes Newark look like a fucking flower garden."

"It didn't smell this bad back at the airport," Sarah commented.

"That was because we were up by the lake," Johnny said, referring to Lake Pontchartrain. "The lake has a whole different kind of pollution. It was raw sewage that went in there, but there's been a half-ass Louisiana effort to clean it up. Word has it that within a few years the sewage and bacteria levels will be safe enough for swimming, which only means that it will be as nice as Jones Beach on Long Island. That's sure not saying a whole hell of a lot."

"I guess not," Sarah agreed. "So where the hell are we?"

"Uptown," Johnny answered. The small vampire pointed across the street as the cab pulled away. "That's Phillip's, a popular college bar and frequent anarch watering hole. You'll be working there." From what he could remember, his ghoul would fit in perfectly at Phillip's. She was a college-aged girl, which meant she would blend right in with the other barmaids and the patrons, almost all of whom were students at nearby Tulane or Loyola. She was thin, had straight blonde hair, was average height, and had large breasts, which made for good tips when she wore a tight shirt. Johnny had met Sarah in State College, where she had been working in a local tavern. She was equally comfortable waiting on customers or tending bar, so she was certainly competent for the job. In all, she was one of the best informers he had ever had. Sarah had a quality that was impossible to define – she could get close to people. Strangers and friends alike always wanted to have her around. It was something that went beyond simple charisma, and she was more than willing to use her talents to advance Johnny's schemes. Perhaps that was the trait in her that Yashida liked best.

"They're hiring?" Sarah asked, not seeing any signs.

"You're expected," Johnny answered. "Mason worked out an agreement a couple of nights ago. The owner is a Toreador ghoul and was open-minded in helping out the new folks. Just keep a low profile and watch out for people pumping you for information."

"Sure," Sarah muttered as she walked over to the entrance. Phillip's was a fairly seedy looking place, with most of the building set in shadow. It sat on a corner, and though Sarah could hear music playing inside, there were no groups of people around the door, and no windows that betrayed how full or empty the place was.

The two walked in, taking a moment for the doorman to quickly scan their driver's licenses with a flashlight, and then moved further into the building. Phillip's was dominated by one large room with tables near the door, and a large bar beyond that. If one wished to walk in further, he could walk up a couple of steps to play pool on one of the two tables, or relax on the loveseat that was next to one of the tables. Johnny looked the area over, noting that the loveseat was occupied, and each table seemed to have at least two couples waiting for a game. A small group of young women was circled around the jukebox, selecting songs that Johnny was confident would be as irritating as the unidentifiable hip-hop that was already playing. That was the one thing the small Telemon had against the bar. The dark, smoky haze that hung in the air was nice, the beer was affordable, the women were attractive, and the pool games were always competitive without leaving no hope for victory, but the music in the jukebox sucked ass. There was a small selection of disco, the music that Johnny had been raised to hate, and some early-90's alternative rock that he had grown to love, but most of it was hip-hoppy crap that just never seemed to fit the mood of the bar.

"They just opened a patio out the back door," Johnny heard a familiar voice say from behind him. He turned to see Michelle standing before him, looking as darkly trashy as ever.

"Good to see you again," he commented, scanning the room to find Uiko and Mason. He knew that they would not be far from Michelle, since she had been assigned to watch over their behavior, and vice versa. Mason walked out of the men's room just as Johnny started to look for him, and the large bodyguard walked directly to the bar and into the waiting arms of a thirty-something woman. Definitely too old to be a regular, Johnny thought. Maybe she's a grad student.

Yashida continued to look around the room, and caught sight of Uiko back in the dark corner, softly kissing the neck of a young undergrad while sitting on the loveseat. Johnny could hardly believe that his gaze had simply passed right over her moments earlier. Well, she is a Yakuza-trained ninja assassin, after all, he reminded himself. If anyone would keep a low profile, it would be Uiko. It was then that Johnny allowed his eyes to shift their focus from the couple on the loveseat to the shadows that surrounded them. A small smile crossed Johnny's lips as he realized that not only was his childe feeding, but she was practicing. Yashida had gone against his earlier instincts and decided to instruct a childe in the vampiric art of obtenebration, an ability that allowed the novice to manipulate shadows. Of course, as one gained skill, as Yashida had, the power became something terrible, but that reality, and the dark temptations that arose from it, were troubles he could save for a later day. It would be years before Uiko mastered the art to a level great enough to endanger herself.

"Anyone else in the bar?" Yashida asked his sidekick.

"Still early," Michelle responded. "Not even the drug dealers are here yet."

Johnny only nodded in response. Yes, of course, the drug dealers. That was one thing about Phillip's that defined it as a prototypical New Orleans bar. As was common in many bars across the country, drug deals were an everyday event. However, many of the bouncers in Phillips were off-duty New Orleans police officers. They knew all too well that the drug trade was present, and they demanded a piece of the action in return for looking the other way. It was a deal by which all prospered. The college students got their drugs, the police not only got money from a moonlighting job but also the protection and hush money paid by drug dealers, who in turn received a guarantee that the bar would not be raided. There was also the valuable advantage that the violence that often accompanied the drug trade would be kept out of the picture, at least on the premises.

"Later on it looks like Simeon should be showing up," Michelle said, referring to the leader of Damage Incorporated. "He and Ghetto Blaster are the only ones left from the old days. The rest of the member list turned over when another gang tried to move into uptown."

"Who were they?" Johnny asked. He remembered a story that he had heard from K.T. Corben long ago. The Gangrel mercenary had been in Charlotte when the Sabbat had laid the city under siege. The Sabbat had been able to maneuver some of their spies into the city by sending a small pack in to challenge the territory of a Brujah gang, all the while claiming they were anarchs from the West Coast. The Sabbat pack was, of course, driven off just as had been planned. However, the Brujah had taken losses in the small war, and needed to fill their ranks. That's when the real Sabbat spies came in and infiltrated the established groups. No one thought to suspect a gang that had been in the city for decades, and it was ignored while occasional Sabbat incursions directed Camarilla attention elsewhere. In the end, K.T. said he had been the only one to figure out what had happened, and he was in no hurry to point out the oversight to his employers. After all, he knew, such knowledge could give him an edge in the future. He had only shared the information with Johnny when Yashida offered some interesting tidbits about garou magical items. It seemed that the facts of the situation with Damage Incorporated might match up.

"There are three newbies, not counting Uiko," Michelle answered, letting Johnny know that his childe had been able to ingratiate herself with the young gang. Mason, as had been planned, was left out of the arrangement, remaining an ace in the hole, so to speak. As long as no one knew that Johnny had a Navy SEAL waiting in the wings as backup, they might make a reckless decision. Besides, it would have been impossible to get Mason to fit in with Damage Incorporated. He had been a professional for too long, and it had affected him. He would never be able to shake the aura of his military demeanor. "As for the newbies, there's some girl calls herself Cabbage Patch." Johnny could only look at Michelle in disbelieving silence. "Don't look at me that way," she said condescendingly as she punched Johnny in the shoulder. "It's not like I came up with the name. She's a cute little thing, though. She claims to be from Des Moines."

"There are kindred in Des Moines?" Johnny asked jokingly.

"I guess so," Michelle answered. "Apparently, though, they're not very organized. Cabbage Patch is Caitiff, which sounds like it's not uncommon out there." Johnny nodded at the reference to the Caitiff, the young vampires of the world that were said to be clanless. Some of them had such thin blood that they were barely Cainite, and could not embrace any childer. Others had been embraced and abandoned, never to know their sire or their heritage. The Caitiff were looked down upon by most of the elders, which made them that much more attractive to anarch gangs, which were themselves composed largely of outcasts. Indeed, both Johnny and Michelle had each claimed to be Caitiff, and had even lied and said that Johnny was Michelle's sire. Thus far, no Tremere warlocks had shown up to use blood magic to discover the lie. That was the only means Johnny could think of for discovering his ruse.

"Any others?" Johnny asked.

"Two," Michelle said with a slight nod. "Barb is a newcomer from your old stomping grounds in L.A., and also claims to be Caitiff."

"Claims to be?" Johnny asked. "You don't sound convinced."

"It's little things," Michelle answered. "You taught me to trust my instincts, and they tell me she's more than she's letting on. I don't know if she's Sabbat, but I really doubt she's clanless."

"Okay," Johnny said, deciding to keep his eyes open around Barb. "Who's the last one?"

"Guy everyone calls DeNiro. Don't know his real name, but he looks and sounds exactly like DeNiro did in The Godfather 2."

"Really?" Johnny asked, deciding that he had to meet this vampire. The Godfather trilogy composed some of his favorite movies, though he had to admit that the only good things about the second film were the flashback scenes that De Niro was in. They simply made the movie, and led to an interesting piece of movie trivia. Only once have two different actors won Academy Awards for playing the same character at different points in his life. Those actors were Marlon Brando and Robert De Niro, both playing Don Vito Corleone.

"I'm gonna have to borrow your bike," Johnny said, referring to Michelle's Harley. Usually he would never be caught dead riding a Harley Davidson; they were just about the opposite of his image. The small Telemon vastly preferred the Kawasaki Ninja over any other motorcycle. However, he needed transportation, and knew he was certainly not going to pay for another cab.

"Where you goin'?" Michelle asked playfully.

"I guess I should go check in with our prospective employers," Johnny answered. "I may be acting the role of Caitiff, but there are still rules to follow. Besides, I should really make certain that the entire job is on the level. That means meeting with the prince. No sense wasting our time for a couple of nights before we really get into it."

"Guess not," Michelle agreed. "I assume you're going to want to clean up before going to meet with the man."

"Absolutely," Johnny replied. "I certainly can't go in there in jeans and a hockey jersey," he continued. "The Telemon have an image to uphold. Where's our haven?" he asked, knowing that his clothes would be there. He had sent several weapons and changes of clothes with Michelle and his childer, so that he would not have to rush to get things together before leaving on an early flight.

"Well if you're gonna get all dolled up for His Grace, you might want to take Mason's Jeep," the Gangrel woman advised. "Expensive clothes don't exactly go well with wind-swept hair."

"I guess not," Johnny agreed. The small Telemon walked over to his far larger childe and picked the man's pocket as he walked by. He did not want to risk messing up his childe's chance to feed on the young woman with whom he was speaking, and Johnny was fairly certain that Mason would not mind lending out his Jeep. As long as I get it back before he notices it's gone, Johnny thought wryly. Without another word, Yashida was out the door and moving toward a Jeep that had been parked across the street. He figured it would be the right vehicle. Mason had been instructed to get to the bar early, and that meant he would have been able to park close by. As the door opened, Johnny grinned and jumped into the passenger's seat. He had a lot to do, and not much time to do it. He needed to get dressed up, meet with the prince, get changed again into his ripped jeans and leather biker jacket, come back to the bar and fall in with the old crowd, and then probably get involved in some violent, yet discrete, battle for territory. He shook his head in disbelief as he wondered how he ever talked himself into coming back to New Orleans.

III

K.T. Corben walked slowly into the mall of the Ober Gatlinburg Ski Resort. He had been instructed to meet with his contact at the side of the ice-skating rink, which was not at all hard to find. The rink completely dominated the inside of the building, and was currently used by only slightly more than a dozen people. For a quick second K.T. tried to block his mind from the fear of what Erica, his constant sidekick, was doing in the nearby town. The attempt, however, was in vain. Below Ober Gatlinburg was, not surprisingly, the town of Gatlinburg, a quaint tourist trap in Tennessee. The area had seen a lot of development in recent years, which had culminated with the opening of Dollywood, Dolly Parton's own amusement park, just down the road. Such things make immortality seem like a curse, K.T. thought sourly. I didn't ever feel the need to live in a day and age where overrated country music "stars" had their own version of Six Flags. Why the hell can't Stevie Ray Vaughan still be alive? I bet he'd make a kick-ass amusement park.

"Nice to see you again, K.T.," a familiar voice said from behind the Gangrel mercenary.

"What brings you down from on high?" K.T. asked, not bothering to turn around. He recognized the voice as belonging to Philip, the mysterious old Gangrel that had recruited him into the Black Hand.

"We have an important mission," Philip replied, "and we believe someone with your abilities and résumé is absolutely perfect for the job."

"Great," K.T. muttered. The younger Gangrel knew all too well that while he was himself well over fifty years old, he was, nonetheless, a child by the standards of those for whom he worked. Any undesirable job was passed his way; any mission that carried the distinct possibility of death was considered an ideal "test" for him. Primarily, he knew, he was known not simply seen as a child, but as a thug. That led to every task requiring an excess of brute force being "perfect for someone with his abilities." He had only been in the Black Hand for a short time, but he was already beginning to get used to the familiar refrain.

"We need you to go to New Orleans," Philip continued. "The city has been in the early stages of a Sabbat siege for over two years now. The Sabbat has gathered its information and apparently infiltrated a few of the anarch gangs. The shooting should start very soon. The prince has apparently figured this out and has already begun to hire mercenaries."

"Meaning it should be fairly easy for me to find a job," K.T. said, completing Philip's thought.

"I have no doubt that someone with your credentials could do quite well working in defense of the city," Philip commented, tossing a rare compliment in K.T.'s direction. "However, that is not your assignment. You are to be approached by the Sabbat. They appear to want some experienced soldiers to rush into the fray with many of their younger vampires. Some of my associates were actually involved in the meetings, and your name came up. We want information on the bishop leading the siege. Some have said that he might someday be worthy of us. The period of observation is to begin. You will get us the information that we desire."

"Are you saying they've forgotten about New York?" K.T. asked, surprised that members of the Sabbat would ever consider hiring him. K.T. had had an uncomfortable encounter with several of the higher-ranking Sabbat leaders while he had been in New York City not long before.

"Whether they have or not is irrelevant," Philip replied. "New York is far to the north, and none of the concern of the bishop in command. Mercenaries are hard to come by, especially ones that have experience on both sides of a Sabbat siege. I dare say you may be the only kindred in the country that has such a dubious distinction listed in his credentials."

"Only reason is that any mercenary stupid enough to get involved in more than one siege usually ends up dead," K.T. pointed out. "Things tend to get a little rough."

"And this should be no exception," Philip said. "In fact, we expect the Sabbat to succeed in their attempt. Their Bishop is, as I have already said, an incredibly capable man, especially for one so young. Hell, he's even younger than you are, K.T."

"So when do I meet him?" the mercenary asked.

"In about fifteen minutes," Philip answered.

"What?" K.T. said, finally turning around to face Philip. "Nice of you to give me lots of warning."

"Cheer up, K.T.," Philip suggested, a smile beginning to spread across his lips. "This whole situation may give you a chance to clear up your problems with Erica."

"What about Erica?" K.T. asked menacingly.

"You must really learn to control your emotions better, K.T." Philip chided. "Or at least have the grace to conceal them better. It is not wise to allow others to read you like an open book. It makes you vulnerable. All I meant was that when your name was mentioned, Erica's was, as well. The Bishop knows of your relationship and has no problem whatsoever with having her around."

"She's accused of trying to kill a cardinal," K.T. pointed out. "That's not something this guy is likely to overlook. Last I heard, that particular crime carries a death sentence."

"Only if the vampire is found guilty," Philip pointed out. "This Bishop has no interest in holding the requisite trial. He knows Polonia rather well and is not particularly thrilled that any assassination attempt in New York actually failed."

"So this bishop and Polonia are political rivals?" K.T. asked.

"Of a sort. Your thinking is still too Camarilla, though."

"I'll get over that, I'm sure," K.T. replied glibly. "Just keep sending me in to work with the Sabbat."

"It's good that you are able to retain your sense of humor with the job that awaits you," Philip commented. "I think you may be surprised by some of the things you find in New Orleans."

"What's that supposed to mean?" K.T. asked suspiciously.

"All in due time," Philip replied. At that the old Gangrel turned and walked away, leaving the younger Gangrel mercenary to wait alone, as he had expected, for the representatives of the Sabbat.

"How do you think he'll react?" a disembodied voice asked Philip, a strong Arab accent filtering through the words.

"If I knew, then I would have been able to tell him everything," Philip replied, still continuing toward the door. He did not mind appearing to the casual observer as if he was talking to himself. The Gangrel felt that only he needed to know for certain that he was speaking to his invisible Assamite associate and bodyguard. "I was not completely satisfied with K.T.'s performance in San Francisco. Perhaps MacIntyre was right, the mercenary may have been too young to be brought into the fold."

"Because he still thinks like a mortal," the voice concluded.

"Yes," Philip agreed. "He is still hung up on the ideas of friendship and loyalty. That may be a problem. To be with us, he must abandon friendship and demonstrate loyalty only for us. It will do him good to have to fight the Telemon. K.T.'s relationship with Johnny Yashida has gone on long enough."

"And if K.T. does not kill him?" the bodyguard asked.

"Are you suggesting that young Johnny Yashida could actually win?" Philip questioned, his face betraying his surprise. "I hardly think that possible."

"K.T. may not be as limited in his thinking as you presume," the voice replied. "There are other things besides friendship and loyalty. There is also honor. All of the old clans but we Assamites seem to have forgotten. The Telemon know of honor, and I believe K.T. does, as well. You may yet be surprised, Philip."

"I doubt it, Hassan," Philip said confidently. "Our young K.T. will pass his test. He will dispatch Johnny Yashida and the rest of the Telemon defenders. He will help the Sabbat take New Orleans, which will wrap up the attention of dozens of the New World's more powerful Camarilla and Sabbat elders for a decade to come. That will get everyone to stop asking questions about what really happened in San Francisco, and may even take off some of the heat remaining from that fiasco K.T. caused in New York. I daresay he'll even get Erica free and clear of the problems with her past."

"And the bishop?" Hassan asked.

"Who cares?" Philip replied. "He has shown flashes of brilliance, but he's unproven. Maybe someday we'll actually care about watching him. For now, though, he simply provides the excuse for getting K.T. into New Orleans for the real test."

"And if he fails this test of yours?" Hassan asked.

"Then I believe young K.T. will have proven himself unworthy to remain in our presence," Philip replied evenly. "If Johnny Yashida lives at the end of this siege, then you will finally have the pleasure you have been waiting for. You will be permitted to dispose of Mr. Corben."

IV

"I'm here to present myself to the prince," Yashida said formally as he was ushered into an elegant sitting room. Behind a large mahogany desk sat a well-dressed man that the small Telemon could only assume was the regent, Gregory Ash. He matches the description we were given, Yashida thought, but I really wish we had a picture to work with. Gregory Ash had never allowed himself to be photographed and had rarely even been seen in public. The only time he could be counted on to be amongst the kindred was during the Prince's Ball, a masquerade ball held every year on Lundi Gras, the night before Mardi Gras. Then, of course, the regent was hidden behind a mask. Only the strongest of the city's kindred had ever met face to face with the prince with any regularity. The younger vampires, mostly anarchs who would never have gone to the trouble of presenting themselves, had never even seen Ash.

With one quick glance toward a large mirror on the right side of the room, Johnny checked his appearance one last time. Of course, it was too late to actually correct anything that dissatisfied him, but he needed to assure himself once again that he was presenting a professional image. The black slacks, shirt, and sports jacket were neat and unwrinkled. The black shoes were completely scuff-free, and his jet-black hair was all in place, slicked back with an over-abundance of maximum hold gel. He was impressed that he had been so successful in looking so good in such a short time.

"Formal presentation is an unusual event here," the man behind the desk commented. "We commonly wait until someone we don't recognize is put down, and then simply identify the body at the morgue." Johnny heard a slight click from the wall to his left, and knew that a hidden sentry was probably taking his picture, even as he targeted the Telemon's head in the crosshairs of an assault rifle. That's fine with me, Yashida contemplated. Take my picture. It's only fair. After all, I just used the hidden mini-camera in my lapel to take the first snapshot of your precious regent.

"Unusual or not, the Traditions demand that one present himself to the master of a domain," Johnny replied evenly. "That has been taken to mean, in modern terms, presentation to the prince."

"You a big follower of the rules?" the man asked.

"Kindred law has a purpose," Yashida answered evenly, "and besides, I wanted to meet you before I got settled."

"Your name," the man prompted.

"Are you the prince?" Johnny asked, stubbornly refusing to allow himself to be commanded before he knew with whom he dealt.

"I am Gregory Ash," the man replied, confirming Johnny's suspicions. "I am the regent of the city. I am the hand of the prince. In terms of our beloved laws, presenting yourself to me is enough to satisfy the Traditions."

"My name is Johnny Yashida," the small Telemon answered. Immediately there was a light of recognition in the regent's eyes, satisfying Johnny's curiosity. He apparently had indeed met with an official representative of the prince, or in this case, the regent. The job appeared to be legitimate.

"You're the man who met with Southpaw," Ash said. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. I was given a description that does not entirely match the man that now stands before me."

"That was intentional," Johnny replied. "We met in Sabbat-held territory, and I had no intention of drawing attention to myself by going out in public decked out in Armani." Johnny could see that Ash immediately recognized the comment for what it was. The regent realized that he had not had Southpaw attired appropriately for the meeting on Staten Island. "Since I believe in dressing for the occasion, I decided that tailored suits were called for this evening. Later on I'll go back into my gang-banger idiom."

"So am I to take it that the Telemon have decided to take the job?" the regent asked as he motioned Johnny to sit in an Italian leather chair in front of the desk.

"That's what I'm here to find out," Johnny replied. "I told Southpaw about our rates and the rules we expect you to abide by."

"The rules are acceptable," Ash said. "For now, anyway."

"They will be acceptable for the entire job, or we'll leave," Johnny retorted. "I don't remember mentioning anything that was open to debate. We run our own show, and you pay us to do it. Should that change, the deal is off."

"Fair enough," the regent replied smoothly, remaining as unflappable as any reasonably well prepared Ventrue. "As for compensation, Southpaw only said that your prices start at $10,000 a day."

"That's right," Johnny answered. "You will pay the rate for each of our soldiers, for one week in advance. If things have been busy, the price goes up the next week, and if it's been slow, the price will come down, perhaps all the way to the base $10,000. This is Wednesday, so let's just say that every Wednesday night one of our people will meet with you to decide the amount that is owed. Before Thursday night, that amount will be deposited in a numbered Cayman Islands account that I'll give you. If you don't make the deposit, we leave. It's that simple."

"So it's ten thousand per day, for each of your people, for this coming week," Ash said. "How many are we talking?"

"Including me, there are currently four of us," Johnny answered. "There is a fifth on his way, but he won't arrive until the weekend. We'll pro-rate his salary for the week, and I'll let you know for sure when he'll get here. You can deposit upon his arrival. A few additional soldiers are on stand-by, and if we need them we'll discuss the increase of funds at that time."

"So that's $280,000 for the first week," the regent said, not batting an eyelash at the amount, "plus forty to fifty later on."

"There's also a charge of five hundred per day for a ghoul we brought along," Johnny added. "She works cheap, because there's virtually no chance of her getting into combat. That number will not be going up, either. She'll stay at her base salary."

"Maybe I should have just hired an army of ghouls," Ash said, attempting a small joke. Johnny hid his amusement, and his disappointment. There was something about this regent that simply seemed weak. He lacked the strength of character that Yashida had seen in so many other princes. If New Orleans survives this siege, it certainly won't be because of him.

"Just a couple more things," Yashida said. "First, don't try to contact me. I'll get in touch with you every couple of days. Second, if for some reason you decide to break that rule, I'll be going by the name Billy Lee. If you go looking for Johnny Yashida, then at best you'll find nothing. At worst, you'll blow my cover."

"Understood," Ash said.

Yes, he certainly gives in too easily, Johnny thought. He must be terrified of the Sabbat, no matter how cool he's acting. He is weak. "There's also the final matter of vehicles," Yashida added as he stood slowly. I'll require a 2000 Mustang GT, automatic transmission and moon roof." Johnny generally hated to drive an automatic if it could be avoided, but in a Sabbat siege it would be best to keep the extra hand available for firing a weapon while he drove. That would not have been possible with a standard.

"And when do you need it?" the regent asked.

"Tomorrow at dusk," the Telemon replied evenly. "Have it parked on the roof of the Tulane University parking deck. You can leave two sets of keys under the floormat. I'll worry about getting in on my own."

"If that's how you want it," Ash answered. "Until next week, then, I assume."

"Unless something goes wrong between now and then," Johnny replied with a slight grin. "But what are the odds of that happening, what with a Sabbat siege and all?" Yashida quickly walked out the door, knowing by the regent's expression that he had overstayed his welcome. Now to have a little fun, the small vampire mused. So much to do, and so little time. He considered for a moment going hunting for stray vampires, starting early in his battle against the Sabbat, but decided against it. In the end, he felt that he would have little to worry about in the first wave of the Sabbat attack. The vampires the Sabbat sent against them initially would be young and inexperienced, used simply as shock troops to thin out the ranks of the defenders. I can't imagine that they would have anyone worthy of causing me to worry, the Telemon reflected.

V

"It is nice to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Corben," the man said as he walked up to K.T. The Gangrel mercenary looked over the pair that had approached him, and decided that the smaller man, the one who had spoken, was likely the bishop's representative. The larger of the two would be a bodyguard, possibly a Templar. He would have to remain alert and respectful at all times.

"I'm hoping the experience is everything you had hoped it would be," K.T. responded sarcastically. "Who exactly are you?"

"My name is Jacques Roi," the man answered, his voice holding only the slightest hint of a French accent. "I'm the bishop who's looking to hire you."

K.T. Corben masked any trace of surprise that might have shown through someone of fewer years. He had assumed that the bishop would have left the hiring of mercenaries to a competent subordinate rather than assume the mundane responsibility himself. K.T. looked the bishop over, searching for any clue as to how the Sabbat leader thought or acted. Roi was well built, obviously having taken care of himself both before and after the embrace. He dressed casually, in Khakis, brown Doc Martins, and a tan wool sweater, and his hair was brushed, but not overly attended to. He had deep brown eyes, which peered out at him from behind small, gold-rimmed glasses. He had, for lack of a better term, a somewhat European appearance. Unusual, the mercenary noted. Jacques appeared to be from the Old World, where the power of the Camarilla was virtually absolute. The home of the Sabbat had always been in the Americas. Who is this man? the mercenary wondered. I don't know that I've ever heard of a European Sabbat Bishop leading war parties.

"You have interesting tastes in meeting places," K.T. commented, gesturing down towards the skating rink below. He used the brief motion to allow his mind to hope that Erica was still safe. For all he knew, the Sabbat had set up the meeting simply to extinguish his companion, an unfortunately well-known loyalist.

"The meeting place seemed discrete," the bishop replied. "What hunter would ever go to the Ober Gatlinburg ski resort to find vampires? What Camarilla soldiers would think to look for me here?"

"Fair enough," K.T. muttered, already becoming irritated with Jacques' slightly overconfident and vaguely flamboyant demeanor. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk. I hear you're interested in hiring me."

"Yes, for a siege," the bishop replied. "I hear you've participated in sieges before."

"Yeah, and that experience won't come cheaply to you," K.T. answered with a thin smile.

"We are prepared to offer you a million dollars, Mr. Corben," Jacques said evenly. "Fifty percent up front, and the rest when the city is captured."

"The rest when either the city is captured or you give up your attempt," K.T. countered.

"Of course, that is what I meant," the bishop responded smoothly. "I simply never consider the possibility of failure."

"Sure you don't," K.T. said. "If you want to help guarantee success, though, it's gonna cost you more than only one million dollars." The Gangrel was pissed off that he had to take part in the siege, and was bordering on furious that his efforts would serve the Sabbat. He had always preferred to fight for the Camarilla, as it was better funded and offered greater perks, such as established feeding grounds. K.T. would, of course, follow Philip's instructions and join Roi's forces, but he saw no harm in trying to get as good a deal as he could.

"And just how much were you thinking?"

"Two million, with 75 up front," the Gangrel countered.

"I'll go no higher than one and a half," Roi said evenly. "I will, however, give you a full million upon acceptance of the assignment."

"Good enough," K.T. muttered, satisfied that he had both worked as good a deal as he could expect, and that he had acted the role of the greedy mercenary enough to ensure that Roi did not suspect that K.T. had any ulterior motives. "When do you expect me?"

"Many of our people are in place and simply awaiting my commands, just like a life-size chessboard," Jacques said. For the briefest of moments, K.T. thought he saw the bishop sneak a glance at the skating rink below, as if he was looking for someone. K.T. feared that Roi was looking for Erica, but as quickly as he had gotten that feeling, it had already almost passed. "You will be needed on Saturday night, Mr. Corben. That is when we will launch the combat phase of our siege."

"That doesn't give me much time to get ready," K.T. commented.

"I think you'll make due with the time you have," the bishop said ominously. "On Saturday night, go to the Superdome ticket office. There will be two tickets waiting for you, for the monster truck rally. Once in your seats, you will meet a contact that will direct you toward a second location, one that will be scouted out and made secure. I will introduce you to your coworkers at that time. Once we leave the meeting, the real work gets started."

"Two tickets?" K.T. asked. The mercenary had hoped that he would be able to leave Erica outside the city and prevent the Sabbat from getting wind of where she was. Now, more than ever, he was feeling as if they were being set up.

"Let's not dance around this subject, Mr. Corben," Jacques answered, seeming irritated that he even needed to broach the issue. "I heard about what happened in New York. As for you, I know it was certainly only business. You have been around for decades, and have fought on both sides of the war between the Sabbat and Camarilla. You are a true mercenary, always fighting for the right price. I hold no grudge against you for what happened. As for your new sidekick, Ms. Blackwell, I have a hard time accepting the party line."

"Which is?" K.T. asked. The Gangrel had always wondered what story was passed around New York after he and Erica had fled.

"The story is that a Panders pack leader named Cordoba, and his partner in crime Erica Blackwell, hired you to help them extinguish Polonia, the Cardinal of the entire eastern United States. I find this absurd. Perhaps Cordoba might have been strong enough to take part in such an attack, but he lacked the brainpower to formulate a plan that you would willingly take part in, not to mention the kind of money he would need to convince you to even tag along. And it's almost certain that Ms. Blackwell, generally regarded as a bubble-headed bimbo who is more trouble than she is worth, could have come up with either the scheme or the cash. In fact, she's too young to even have a chance of lasting more than ten seconds against just one of Polonia's dozen Templars. The entire fiasco smacks of desperation and cover-up. I don't know what happened in New York, Mr. Corben, and I truly don't care. I have no love for Polonia, and would not have shed a tear if any assassination attempt had succeeded, anyway.

"All I care about is getting soldiers. You are an excellent one, and I expect that hiring you means getting Erica Blackwell at the same time. However, I will caution you that while I have no problem with the two of you, some of my associates may. At least, that is, if they ever found out who she truly is." The bishop reached down and lifted his small briefcase. "Inside, Mr. Corben, is everything you will need to conceal your friend's true identity. Make sure she follows the instructions. Otherwise, she may be placing herself in danger, and I assume that would be a distraction to you. I would hate to waste one and a half million dollars on a mercenary that is more concerned with protecting his girlfriend than with extinguishing Camarilla soldiers."

"Yeah, that would be too bad," K.T. grumbled as he took the briefcase from the bishop. "Anything else?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Then I'll see you Saturday night." At that, the mercenary strode purposefully toward the exit, looking forward to getting back to his companion. I can't believe Philip got me into this, he thought angrily. Working for him is getting to be far more trouble than it's worth.

VI

"Well as I live and breathe, if it ain't Buddy Lee," a voice yelled from across the bar as Yashida walked back into Phillip's.

"That's Billy Lee," Johnny corrected, recognizing the voice as having come from Simeon, the de facto 'leader' of Damage Incorporated. In reality, the gang was just a group of anarchs that had a common interest in having fun. Simeon generally had the best ideas of how to cause trouble, and so most of the time the gang members followed him. He only ever held as much authority over the group as he was given.

"Buddy Lee is that little doll from the Levi's commercials," Michelle said, walking into the conversation.

"Oh, that's right," Simeon commented with an understanding nod. "I always did get the two of them mixed up. Easy enough to do, though. There is a resemblance."

"But that Buddy Lee guy is the one with the slogan 'Can't bust 'em,' " Michelle pointed out with a smile. "I hardly think you can say you can't bust Billy."

"Thanks a lot," Johnny said with a playful grin. "When are you gonna start sticking up for me?"

"When you need it, lover," Michelle replied, wrapping her arm around her companion. It was the part they played in New Orleans. Johnny wanted to keep a low profile, and slumming it with Michelle allowed him to do that. As far as the anarchs of the Big Easy were concerned, Johnny had only been embraced about five years ago, and was then abandoned by his sire. When he had finally figured out what he was, he embraced his mortal lover, Michelle. Now the two of them wandered the country, looking for new and interesting ways to party. Johnny knew it was unlikely that as long as he dressed in a black leather biker jacket, ripped blue jeans, and black leather boots, anyone would ever suspect him of belonging to a new bloodline from the East Coast, one that had made a name for itself with its rigid discipline and expertise at fighting the Sabbat. No one would ever believe he was Telemon.

"So what's on the agenda for tonight?" Johnny asked.

"Uiko thinks we should go down to the Quarter," Simeon said. "I think it sounds like it could be fun."

"Uiko?" Johnny asked, making certain he looked as puzzled as he should. The plan had called for Uiko to fall into the gang on her own, without any direct help from Michelle. Of course, Michelle had been the one gang member to instantly take a liking to the new girl, and that had certainly helped Uiko's task, but it was not as if she introduced Uiko around. Yashida wanted his childe's entrance to look as natural as possible.

"She's a new girl, from San Francisco," Simeon replied. "You've been out there, right?"

"Yeah," Johnny confirmed. "I was there when a pack of werewolves apparently declared war on the prince. It was total chaos. I was able to steal lots of nice stuff."

"You never could pass up the pretty things," the anarch responded with a grin. "That must be a clue about your lineage. You have to be Toreador."

"Then the Quarter sounds like a perfect place," Johnny agreed, passing on making any comments about his lineage. He was accepted as being Caitiff. He had no intention of laying the act on thick. Besides, the opportunity to get into the Quarter was something he knew he should not pass up. Without a strong prince to run the show, several of the clans had staked a claim to a separate section of the city. The Toreador had seized the French Quarter, citing their interests in art, music, tourism, and a dozen clubs that they owned in the area. They worked, to a slight degree, with the Ventrue, who also had some financial interests in the district. However, if one looked at a map of the city, shaded in according to the clan that claimed the area, the Quarter was Toreador.

"How about I gather up the gang and meet you and Michelle down there in a little bit?" Simeon suggested.

"Anyplace in particular?" Johnny asked.

"Same old place as usual," Simeon replied. "I think you remember where."

"I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion," Johnny answered.

"I don't think we were ever dressed for the occasion," Simeon responded sarcastically. "Just get your ass down there and scout the place out for us, Billy."

"Just like old times," Yashida grumbled.

"Just like," Simeon answered, his voice containing just a hint of nostalgia.

Without another word, Johnny grabbed Michelle by the arm and dragged her along, making sure he was out of the bar before Simeon gathered any of the other people together. He wanted to meet the new members of Damage Incorporated all at the same time, so he could see if any of them, or more than one, reacted unusually to him. He feared that the Sabbat had infiltrated his gang, and knew that any infiltration would likely have taken place with more than just one soldier.

"Where exactly is the same old place as usual?" Michelle asked as the two vampires walked up to her bike. "I don't remember any hangout in particular."

"That's because this is a place where only men usually go," Johnny answered. "Now let's get going, you might have yourself some fun."

"I seriously doubt it," Michelle answered with a violent kick-start to her Harley.

"At least try to look like you're enjoying yourself," Johnny suggested, attempting to get his friend to loosen up. "It's not like you've never seen a naked woman before."

"Well, I never had one quite in my face before," Michelle answered caustically, glaring at the stripper who called herself Candy, and who was dancing right in front of the pair.

"I apologize for my associate," Johnny said gregariously as he handed a fifty over to the woman. "Perhaps we can finish this another time?"

"I sure hope so," Candy replied with an overly satisfied glance at the large bill. "You know, we do have rooms upstairs, if you'd like to go somewhere with a little more privacy."

"Perhaps later," Johnny answered. The Telemon knew that had he been mortal, he would be rather pleased with the entire situation. He had a pocket full of fifty-dollar bills, and was surrounded by attractive, half-naked women. Before his embrace, he had dreamt of moments like this. Now, however, it did not mean as much as he had always thought. He was a vampire, and therefore had no physical, sexual desire. He looked at the well toned nineteen and twenty year-old girls around the room, and knew he that they were attractive. However, the experience went no further than an appreciation of their beauty. Each one was, in the end, little more than a possible meal to him.

"You have about three seconds to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, or I'm gonna pistol whip you," Michelle threatened, noticing that Johnny had not stopped smiling since he had walked into Maiden Voyage, one of the 'gentlemen's clubs' on Bourbon Street. "You want to see a naked woman that badly, I'll do a strip-tease for you later that's gonna have you wishing you were mortal again."

"I think I'll take you up on that," Johnny replied smoothly, knowing that would only serve to irritate his friend all the more. "Besides, the women don't do much for me," Yashida explained honestly. "But use those heightened senses of yours, and take a whiff."

Michelle looked at Johnny dubiously, and then did as he suggested. She caught the scent in a flash. "What is that?" she asked, not being able to place the sensation. "Underneath the perfume, alcohol, and sweat."

"That's desire," Johnny answered with a grin. "Pure, animal desire."

"What?"

"Pheromones," Johnny said, explaining himself. "Virtually every one of those strippers is dripping with pheromones, and every man is giving them off like a cat in heat. They don't even realize they're doing it, either. But it's adding to the sexually charged atmosphere in a way that none of them is able to describe. I guess that's another thing humans will always be able to enjoy that we never can again."

"So what does it do for the taste?" Michelle asked, referring to the blood of the mortal patrons and employees.

"You want to find out?"

"Yes," Michelle answered, her eyes widening. She had always been a little wild as a human, but since her embrace Michelle had become increasingly elated with her feeling of immortality. She was more and more willing to experience anything new. While this was not as dangerous as several of the things she had tried, it was, nonetheless, something different, and therefore welcome.

"You see anyone in particular that you want?" Johnny asked.

Michelle scanned the room, trying to find the one human that seemed more turned on than anyone else. She found him, or more precisely, them, very easily. A small group of men was sitting in the far corner, with two strippers performing table dances for them. "Bachelor party?" she asked her friend.

"Probably," Johnny muttered. "You think you can get close enough?"

"I guarantee it," Michelle answered. The Gangrel waved for the nearest waitress, and the woman came right over. Word had gotten around quickly that the young couple had a lot of money to throw about. "Hi," Michelle said awkwardly. "First, my friend needs a few shots of Tequila," Michelle said, pointing toward Yashida. "Also, I was wondering if it would be possible for me to get up on stage at all."

"Any woman in the place is welcome to dance," the waitress replied, "but there's a fifty dollar stage fee."

"Cool," Michelle replied, turning expectantly toward Yashida.

"You ever gonna find a way to stop spending my money?" he asked. He pulled two fifties from his pocket and gave them to the waitress. "One's for her stage fee, and the other is for the drinks. Make the shots Cuervo Gold, and keep the change."

The waitress nodded and turned to Michelle. "You'll have to wait a couple of minutes for us to get ready for you. I have to go tell the d.j. that we have an amateur tonight. You have any music you like?"

"You have Tempted, by Squeeze?" she asked, choosing a song that Johnny did not immediately think would work for a striptease.

"I'm sure we can dig it up."

"Great," Michelle answered with a broad smile. "Any chance of me getting back there to that bachelor party?"

"Just walk on over and tell them you've never done this before, but that you want to dance for the guy getting hitched," the waitress suggested. "Your friend will probably get his fifty back in no time."

"Like she'd ever bother to pay me back," Johnny grumbled.

"I'm sure I could find a couple of girls to help make you feel better," the waitress suggested sympathetically.

"Are all the private rooms occupied?" Johnny asked.

"No, actually, they aren't," the waitress answered with a knowing smile.

"So why don't you and a friend meet me upstairs by the pool table in about twenty minutes," Johnny suggested.

"You got it," the waitress returned with a seductive grin.

"Two of them?" Michelle asked.

"I'm older than you are," Yashida replied evenly. "I have a larger appetite."

"Yeah, I know all about your appetites," the Gangrel shot back sarcastically. "So you gonna hang around for my show?"

"As long as I still get my private screening later," Johnny answered instantly.

"That can be arranged," Michelle replied coyly. She stood up, slinked over to Johnny's neck, and bit slightly, drawing only a couple of drops of blood. "You just better let me finish the job later."

Johnny only nodded in response as the Gangrel walked across the bar toward the bachelor party. She spoke with them for only a couple of seconds before they were all nodding enthusiastically. A moment later, Squeeze came on the speakers, and Michelle was up on the stage.

The Gangrel gazed at all of the men sitting below her, gaping at her body with longing. She knew what they were all thinking – here was someone that was just like any normal woman they might meet on the street, or in a bar. She was not a professional stripper, she was just a woman who found them so interesting that she had to come over and strip for them. Foolish humans, she thought with amusement, you don't turn me on. You only make me hungry.

"So who's the lucky guy," she asked with a smile, slipping out of her leather jacket and dropping it to the stage. She glanced down at the jacket casually, as if she was surprised it had come off, almost as if it had done so of its own accord, and then shifted her eyes back toward the men.

"I am," one of the guys said with somewhat slurred speech.

"Yes, you are the lucky guy," Michelle confirmed. "Marriage tomorrow, but before that, you get me." In a single fluid motion she kicked off one of her boots, and then the other. In a blur she had grabbed a pole and started grinding slowly against it, looking each man up and down hungrily. In their minds, she knew, her hungry look meant she wanted sex. In her mind, to the contrary, she wanted to feed. She slithered down the pole and onto her back, then unbuttoned her jeans and slid out of them, maintaining eye contact with the engaged man at all times. His expression had become dumbfounded. It seemed it was all he could do to restrain himself from jumping on the stage to help her remove her few remaining items of clothing.

Michelle then sat up, grabbed the pole, and climbed it slowly, pulling herself back to her feet. She swung herself around a couple of times, knowing the men would enjoy her black lace thong underwear, and then stopped in front of them, moving only her hips. In a flash she had removed her shirt, and tossed it into her prey's lap. She took a deep breath, and could sense the desire that every man at the table was feeling – it was exhilarating. She went back down to the floor and stayed on her hands and knees, gazing at each of the men in turn, letting them stare at her cleavage and making them wonder how long she would keep them waiting before she took off her black lace bra. She beckoned her prey forward with one finger, and then grabbed his hand and proceeded to suck on his index finger as she spread her smile wider and wider. Then in an instant she was on her feet, and the bra was off and on the floor. The men cheered, and she continued to gyrate, enjoying the increase in desire she could sense as the men stared at her breasts.

The music slowly faded out and a song by the Chemical Brothers came on as Michelle sat down on the stage in front of the men, seeming to pant slightly. Another stripper came over and began to undress, but Michelle held the attention of her prey.

"Too bad we're in Louisiana," she commented in a breathy, sensual voice, noticing that he appeared unable to draw his attention away from her bare chest.

"Why's that?" he stammered.

"There are other states that would have let me keep going," she said seductively. "I hear they have private rooms here, if you want me to finish the show."

"Go for it, dude," one of the engaged man's friends encouraged.

"Yeah, sure," the man replied.

"Where can I take this guy for a private show?" Michelle asked another waitress that was walking by.

"Upstairs," the waitress answered. "Ask Marty at the bar. It'll cost ya."

"You have some money, don't you?" Michelle asked her intended victim.

"Of course," the man said instantly.

"Well then let's get going."

Michelle was just getting off of the elevator from the second floor when she almost walked right into Simeon, who was just arriving with the rest of Damage Incorporated.

"Hey, where's Billy?" Simeon asked, almost ignoring the fact that he had already found one of the people he had come to meet. Michelle was not surprised. She knew that Simeon had always liked Johnny more, and that he had never seemed to have much use for any female kindred; he did not think that they were much good in combat. Michelle had always found that amusing. She knew that the physical disadvantages that mortal women had as compared to men were virtually erased when they were embraced. She knew that she was more than capable of holding her own against any male vampire of equal years and generation, especially after spending so much time around the Telemon clan. However, Simeon's sexism had allowed Johnny to get closer to the head of the gang, and that had always served their ends, even before they were in the city on business. Both Michelle and Johnny liked having friends with connections, and Simeon was a New Orleans native who seemed to know virtually everyone in the city.

"I think he's still upstairs, finishing up on a late-night snack," Michelle commented absently. She was surprised that her friend had not beaten her down to the first floor. She had taken her time with her own meal, making certain she had evoked as much desire as was possible. He damned well better not be having too much fun up there, she thought.

"Hey, where's Billy?" Michelle heard again, but this time the voice was one that she did not recognize. He turned to see one of the men from the bachelor party standing in front of her.

"What?" she asked, surprised that one of the men knew Johnny.

"The guy you went upstairs with," the man clarified. "You know, he's getting married in a few hours. Where is he?"

"Oh, him," Michelle answered, finally understanding. "I thought you meant someone else. I didn't know his name was Billy, too. He's still upstairs."

"What?"

"The rat bastard passed out just when things were getting interesting," Michelle said. "And you should probably make sure he doesn't drink too much after the wedding, or I doubt he'll be able to satisfy his wife on their wedding night, if you know what I mean." She held up her index finger and then bent it meaningfully, and the man only smiled in response and walked toward the elevator, going upstairs to get his friend. As the door opened, Johnny stepped off lightly and walked toward Simeon and Michelle.

"Where's the rest of them?" the Telemon asked.

"They went up the block to get some smokes," Simeon answered. "What were you doing?"

"Two strippers," Johnny answered with a sly grin. A sideways glance let him know that Michelle was not amused, but he did not care overly much. He was not all too happy with her exhibition on the stage earlier, although he had to admit that 'Tempted' had proven to be a fairly suitable song.

"So, anything interesting we can do?" Johnny asked.

"It's Wednesday, so there should be a good number of bikers at the Dungeon," Simeon pointed out, referring to a small, dark bar off Bourbon Street. "We could always go there and bash some heads."

"Why don't we just take care of Damage Control?" Michelle suggested. "Those pricks have a huge beating coming their way."

"Damage Control?" Johnny asked, doing an admirable job of hiding his amusement.

"It's another gang that just moved in," Simeon answered. "They're really pretty tough, maybe tougher than most any other anarch gang I've ever seen. They didn't have a name until they smacked us around a couple of times, then they got it in their heads that they should call themselves Damage Control. The name already sorta stuck."

"Where are they?" Johnny asked, playing the role of the pissed off anarch. He hid his curiosity, knowing that in all probability Damage Control was a Sabbat pack rather than a simple anarch gang, and had succeeded in settling into the city. They would never have gotten away with something so obvious with a strong, or at least capable, prince, Johnny thought. It's a good thing we get paid in advance each week, 'cause this city is probably gonna fall really quickly.

"Funny you should ask," Simeon responded. "They're usually down in the Quarter for most of the night, pissing off the local Toreador. Then they go Uptown, feed on the drunken stragglers of the college crowd, and then they usually find us and beat us around a little bit. If you really want to meet them, all we really have to do is go back uptown in a little bit and wait around in one spot. They should find us."

"So that gives us more time in the titty bar, right boss?" a new voice said, joining the conversation.

"Sure," Simeon answered, looking at the newcomer. "Billy, this is DeNiro." Yashida simply nodded at the anarch, and had to admit that the guy was, in fact, a dead ringer for a younger Robert De Niro. It was uncanny. DeNiro returned the nod, and then went to a vacant chair next to the stage, already sticking a dollar bill between his teeth.

"He's even younger than I am, isn't he?" Johnny asked.

"Embraced only a year and a half ago," Simeon answered with a nod. Both knew well that the desires of mortal life were slow to fade. While a vampire no longer physically craved sexual stimulation, the psychology of a mortal remained for a while, and it took years for the individual to realize that sex meant nothing anymore. As a result, the younger vampires were more often seen still trying to romantically seduce mortals. It was one of the things that kept them in public too much, and made them more vulnerable. Johnny often played the part of a younger vampire, just as he had with the two strippers. However, he was confident that any hunter or rival vampire he ran into in a strip club would be little match for him. He had studied at the feet of his clanmates for too long to be taken out easily.

VII

"So, we have a job and stuff, huh?" Erica asked excitedly, trying to divert K.T.'s attention away from the television. Erica had awakened even longer before K.T. than was normal, and had already scouted out the night's scene in Gatlinburg, only to return to find K.T. in the latter stages of awakening.

"Yes, we have a job," K.T. grumbled. He had no idea how idea how he was going to tell Erica that she was about to take part in a Sabbat siege, that he now expected her to walk amongst those he had tried so long to get her to forget.

"So what are we gonna be doin'?" Erica asked expectantly. "Do we get to fight werewolves?"

"No, Erica."

"Assassination job, right?" she guessed. "We get to whack some poor old bastard that pissed off the wrong guy."

"I'm not an assassin, Erica."

"Is there a Sabbat siege somewhere?" she countered. "Do we get to fight the Sabbat?"

"No," K.T. said emphatically. He knew this was a perfect point to bring up what the job was, but he still could not bear to present the truth to her.

"Wait a second, is this another one of those solo jobs you keep going on from time to time?" Erica asked. She knew that K.T.'s last 'no' had been spoken forcefully because he wanted the conversation to end. That was simply the best way to get Erica more interested, though. "Are you planning on ditching me? Here?"

"I wouldn't be that cruel," K.T. replied, continuing to face the television. "Spending time in this town is about the worst fate I think I could bestow on another person."

"It's not all that bad, really," Erica said. "I mean, it's really romantic and stuff."

"What the hell are you talking about?" the Gangrel asked. The only thing he had seen as the pair had ridden into the town was an over-sized, Southern tourist trap. It turned his stomach in almost every way.

"Well, there's lots of nice restaurants," Erica said.

"We don't eat," K.T. said instantly, hoping his interruption would end the conversation immediately.

"No, we don't," Erica agreed. "There are also all these really nice little wedding chapels. They're so cute."

"We don't get married, either," K.T. said, fearing where Erica might be headed.

"Are you sure about that?" Erica asked. "I've heard of kindred that were married."

"Damn, it's gonna start raining in a little bit," K.T. said, doing his best to change the topic. He gazed intently at the small TV screen, as if his life depended on what Jeanetta Jones, a meteorologist at the Weather Channel, said next.

"Fine, ignore me," Erica said, changing her demeanor into her famous pout. Rarely had K.T. ever been able to keep his attention off her when she used that face. "I'll just sit here and wait until you figure I'm worthy of speaking to."

"We're going to New Orleans," K.T. said, glad that the earlier line of discussion had been dropped.

"Yes!" Erica shouted. She opened her purse, pulled out a pocket planner, and started going through the pages. "It's only, like, a little less than a month before Mardi Gras. You think we'll be in town long enough to enjoy the fun?"

"I sure as hell hope not," K.T. replied.

"This is, like, the perfect job, isn't it?" Erica asked with a smile.

"Not this time it's not," K.T. mumbled. He had spoken with the hope that Erica would hear him and ask him what he meant. He was finally ready to broach the topic of a Sabbat siege. It was certainly preferable to hearing her plan to get wild and crazy during Mardi Gras. Unfortunately for the Gangrel, the Ventrue either did not hear him, or instead chose to ignore him.

"How do you find out about these jobs, anyway?" Erica asked. "It's not like you advertise at all, what with us being on the run from the Sabbat and everything. What, do you have an office you call into once in awhile or something?"

"I read the paper," K.T. answered, only telling half the truth. "If you look in the classifieds of the New York Times and Washington Post, you usually see the advertisements for mercenaries. They're usually done in a specific way, with code words for certain types of jobs." K.T. deliberately omitted the fact, for now, that people in very high places had selected him for the job, and that he had little choice in the matter. This was, in fact, not a job he had even gotten from the classifieds at all.

"So this was in the paper?" Erica asked.

"Sort of," K.T. lied.

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"I was, more or less, requested," K.T. replied. "Certain people knew exactly who I am and asked if I was interested. I wasn't but we really need the money." Again the Gangrel lied. He had over five million dollars tucked away in over thirty bank accounts, but he had no intention of letting his companion know that. The modicum of respect for his credit cards that he had been able to derive would disappear in a heartbeat if Erica discovered K.T. was a millionaire.

"So what's the job?"

"I'll tell you when we get there," K.T. answered, once again deciding that he was unable to tell her the whole story. He was afraid that if Erica knew she was rushing into a Sabbat siege, that she would never go. He wanted her nearby, to keep her safe.

"All right," Erica said. "So you think we can look around the town one last time before we head out to New Orleans?"

"Sure," K.T. answered, reaching for his duster and his Ruger Redhawk. He was on his feet and almost at the door when he suddenly stopped and looked back at the Ventrue. "Wait."

"What is it?" Erica suddenly felt uneasy. Something in K.T.'s voce sounded different, almost nervous. She was starting to get a very bad feeling.

"I don't think I should keep this from you," K.T. said, flipping once again on the issue of telling her about the assignment. "The job is a Sabbat siege."

"You said before it wasn't a siege," Erica said, her tone heavily accusatory. "You lied to me. I can't believe you lied, and about something so stupid. If you'll lie about that, then what the hell else are you keeping from me?" Erica let her mouth carry on, asking the question that she had kept to herself for so long. She had always felt that K.T. kept secrets from her. Sometimes, that was okay. She knew it was possible for someone to keep very personal things from the past to himself. For example, Erica knew that K.T. had been married as a mortal, but she never bothered him about it. She knew it was something he preferred to keep to himself. However, her suspicions had always been about something more. It went all the way back to their flight from New York. Since then, K.T. had seemed subtly different, and had always appeared to be keeping things from her. Now she wanted to let him know that she knew there was more going on that he never shared with her.

"I didn't lie before," K.T. answered.

"Yes you did."

"No, actually, I didn't."

A long silence followed as Erica stared at her companion, her eyes darting from one side to the other. K.T. knew she was thinking, and could only guess that she was replaying the conversation in her head, looking for whatever it was that she had missed. After a moment, he skin grew noticeably paler, and K.T. was certain she had figured it all out on her own.

"No," she gasped. "You wouldn't do it. Not after everything they did to us. To me."

"We need the money," K.T. repeated, lying again.

"We can get it somewhere else. We don't have to help the Sabbat."

"The Sabbat pays very well," K.T. answered, omitting the obvious fact that in this given situation, the Camarilla would likely pay far better.

"I'm sure it does, but we don't need the money that badly," Erica stated evenly. "Do we?"

"I've already met with the bishop," K.T. explained. "He knew all about you, and apparently it's not a problem."

"Oh, and I guess I'm really gonna trust him," Erica retorted sarcastically. "Because after all, Sabbat bishops never lie. Just like Camarilla princes."

"We're not having this discussion," K.T. answered. "I thought you should know. If you don't want to go to New Orleans, I won't make you. I'll give you some money, and you can go to Disney or something."

"Disney?"

"The entire Disney company is chock full of Ventrue," K.T. answered. "Disney World would probably be the safest place for you. You can bet your ass no Sabbat hunting parties would get in there."

"Disney is run by the Ventrue?" Erica asked, seemingly unable to get past that particular nugget of information. K.T. only nodded. "Well, I guess that explains Eisner."

K.T. smiled, comforted at his companion's ability to crack jokes at even the most tense of moments. "You really don't have to go."

"I'm not leaving you alone in a Sabbat siege," Erica said. "I've never been in one, but I've heard lots of bedtime stories. You'll need me to watch your back."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"But there is one condition." Erica crossed her arms across her chest and displayed a stern look on her face. K.T. knew the look well, and was certain that whatever it was Erica was going to say would not be open to debate. He would have to give in on something.

"And that is?" K.T. asked, though he was afraid to hear what kind of contingency the Ventrue antitribu would come up with.

"You have to teach me how to read those classified ads," Erica answered with a smile, dropping her stern facade as quickly as she had created it. "I mean, what if you get killed, and I need a way of supporting myself? That could come in handy."

"We'll see," K.T. replied. "You'll also need that," K.T. added, pointing to the briefcase that the bishop had given him.

"What is it?" Erica asked suspiciously, knowing that such a nice case was not something K.T. was likely to have ever bought.

"It's stuff you'll need to conceal your identity," the Gangrel said. He had already looked through the case, and found that all of the basics were included – driver's license, passport, Tulane college I.D., and even a credit card. The pictures were obvious fakes, showing Erica with red hair. That, K.T. presumed, was the reason for the red hair dye that had also been included, though he could not for the life of him figure out how Roi had gotten pictures of Erica. Of course, each night Erica's body would regenerate itself to the same state it had been in when it had been embraced, and that meant that she would have to dye her hair each evening before going out. At last there will be something to keep the early-bird busy while I'm still waking up, the mercenary thought happily. Although I doubt she'll be pleased with the inconvenience.

"My name is Marla Flaherty?" Erica asked, unable to hide her disgust. "What the hell kind of name is that? It sounds like a fat girl's name."

"Hopefully, it's a name that'll help keep you alive," K.T. answered evenly. "While the bishop has no problem with you, he can't guarantee that none of his people will feel otherwise. He thought it best if you maintained as low a profile as possible. That means using a different name."

"Is this a real credit card, or is it just for show?"

"It's probably real," K.T. said. "It's a good bet the numbers are just duplicated from someone else's account. It probably won't be good for any more than a few weeks after the first time you use it."

"So let me guess, I should save it only for emergencies," Erica said.

"That's right," K.T. replied. "But we're getting paid for this, so I'll throw some petty cash your way. I don't think you'll be hurting for money."

"Great," Erica said with a smile. "You know, it just so happens that I was looking over a map earlier this evening, and noticed New Orleans on it. It should take about eight to ten hours to get there."

"Which means that if we leave now, it'll still probably take us two nights to make the trip," K.T. concluded, knowing what his companion was about to ask.

"Right, so if we're gonna need two nights anyway, we might as well stay here for a couple of hours and have some fun. Maybe do a little shopping or something. You could give me some money right now, and that way I can have you watching over me as I spend it. You could, you know, try to make me a more responsible shopper or something."

"Just what I needed," K.T. grumbled. "Why couldn't the job have been in Knoxville? It's just a mercifully short trip up the road."

VIII

"I thought I told you and your punks not to come around here anymore," the obvious leader of the gang said to Simeon. "You've gotta be the sorriest sons of bitches I've ever met. Most anyone else would have learned by now."

"We have you outnumbered this time," Simeon answered. "So why don't you just get your ass in motion and never come back around here."

Johnny Yashida stifled a smile, knowing that there was likely a lot more going on than he could easily see. The tough talk that usually preceded an anarch rumble was nothing new for the Telemon. He had spent a lot of time around anarchs, making friends that he could use as sources of information later. Tonight, he knew, was a different situation entirely. Simeon had told him about the gang calling itself Damage Control, and he felt strongly that this was actually a Sabbat pack posing as an anarch gang so that it could more easily infiltrate the city. They were most likely all Brujah and Ventrue antitribu. It would be too large a chance to send in any Lasombra or Tzimisce, the two clans that guided the Sabbat. Either clan's blood might be detected by local Tremere thaumaturgy. The blood magic of the warlocks was something the Sabbat did not completely understand, and thus never took any chances with. As long as they were all the same bloodlines as most anarchs would be, Johnny did not feel overly threatened. He still knew, however, that he would need to keep his guard up more than he would with an anarch gang. Sabbat soldiers could be very dangerous.

"I can count, you know," the other vampire spat back. Johnny assumed this one was Riddick, the one that Simeon pegged as the leader, and who was apparently a very dangerous man. "You still don't even have us two to one. What the hell makes you think you have any more chance tonight than you had any of the times we sent you all crawling home in a puddle of your own blood?"

Yashida stole a glance toward Uiko. He was more nervous about her than he was about anything else. She was very young and had not yet been in combat with kindred. True, she had been in countless battles as a mortal, and had skills that were so well-honed they would make up for some of the lack in her vampiric abilities, but it was still comparable to taking a high school quarterback, throwing him into an NFL game, and expecting results. She was not ready, and Johnny knew it. He only hoped that she would survive and take some valuable lesson from the experience. To her credit, he noted, she seemed intense but not nervous. The training and experience from her mortal days was shining through.

"You really gonna make us beat you down?" Simeon asked. "I'll be gracious and let you tuck your tail between your legs and just race off."

"That'll be the day," Riddick growled. "I'd really like to see you try." In a flash, all five of the opposing vampires burst into action, leaping into the sudden fray. Before any of the members of Damage Incorporated could react, DeNiro was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, trying desperately to collect his own entrails and stuff them back into his belly. A steadily advancing Riddick was forcing Simeon back, and a second member of the gang was keeping Michelle and Uiko thoroughly busy. That left three to take on Cabbage Patch, Ghetto Blaster, and Barb, and Damage, Inc. was not doing well. Johnny stood back, taking a few moments to analyze his opponents, trying to gauge the likelihood of them being Sabbat. In only a matter of seconds, he had concluded that they were. Despite the fact that they were vampires, they fought more like a unit than most kindred ever did, certainly more so than the average anarch gang. He would simply need to find out for certain.

As Barb was being forced down, Johnny attached a silencer to his Walther PPK and fired a round in one of the opposing gang's vampires. The man looked up and growled, and then lunged at Yashida. The Telemon sidestepped just enough to barely get out of the way, making certain he was holding back. He knew it was possible that the Sabbat might be sizing up anarch gangs just as he was, making certain that no Camarilla-employed mercenaries were trying to work themselves into the community. After the initial miss, the Sabbat vampire gathered himself and swung again, this time with a switchblade. Johnny dodged again, and did his best to feign fear. Then he kicked the Sabbat in the knee and ran away, knowing that he would be pursued. Few Sabbat vampires would pass up the chance to beat on a weaker foe.

Johnny ran a few blocks, until he was certain that only one of his enemies was following, and then used his blood to silence his movements. He stopped abruptly, turned, and fired two completely muffled bursts of 9mm fire from his Beretta 93R. The Sabbat fell to the ground in mid-stride, scraping off a few layers of skin as he slid across the raw pavement.

"Now that we're alone, we're gonna talk," Johnny said, lifting the shroud of silence that he had dropped over his person.

"Not likely," the Sabbat sneered, already jumping back to his feet. The bullet-wounds had been almost completely healed, and the vampire was attempting to finish off the anarch upstart that he had chased down.

Yashida, however, was having none of it. He grappled the Sabbat soldier's next strike, and hip-tossed the vampire to the ground. With a slight pivot of his body weight, he snapped the opposing vampire's arm at the wrist, and a quick kick crushed three of the ribs on the left side. With a wave of his hand, Yashida called forth thin, wispy tentacles of darkness from the shadows on either side of the sidewalk. His opponent saw them and immediately went pale. Yashida was employing the kindred art of obtenebration, a discipline rarely found outside of the Lasombra clan.

"Who are you?" the terrified Sabbat soldier asked.

"Irrelevant," Johnny answered. "How many packs are in the siege, and how many Sabbat are in each pack?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the pinned vampire answered evenly, doing his best to hide the obvious fact that he was lying.

"Fine," Yashida answered.

"See, you believe me," the Sabbat murmured. Johnny could tell that his opponent was trying to dominate him. It was an amusing attempt, he thought with a smile. No vampire could dominate another of his kind that had more potent blood. This particular captive was completely unaware of two vital facts – that Yashida was a member of clan Telemon, and that clan Telemon had experienced unheard-of luck in stumbling upon high generation victims that provided a means for the bloodline to increase the strength of its members.

"No, actually I don't believe you," Yashida answered after a moment. "If you think you're going to be able to dominate me to get out of this situation, you're sorely mistaken. I'm giving you this one chance to tell me what I want to know. If you don't, then I'm going to give you to my childe. She used to work for the Yakuza, and they have some very creative ways of finding out the information they want to know." Once again, the vampire's face went a shade paler.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said stoically.

"Oh well," Yashida answered. "I guess God hates a coward, anyhow." With a slight motion, he commanded the shadowy tentacles to contract, and within seconds the snapping of the Sabbat soldier's bones could be heard. Johnny knew he would be able to completely immobilize his adversary, and then take him back to their temporary headquarters. Unfortunately, it would fall to Uiko to get the desired information.

To be continued……………………………………