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 3
I
"How bad is the situation so far?" Brett asked as he went through his duffel bag, preparing his weapons. "All I've been told is that the Sabbat has started the shooting, and that casualties have already started to pile up, though so far other than the regent none of the prominent players has been hit."
"We're not entirely sure yet," Michelle answered. "We're still trying to figure out exactly what kind of numbers we're up against. We think we've made one pack, and there's at least one other pack that was going around setting fires. With any luck it's only the two of them, but like I said, we're not entirely sure."
"You're not entirely sure?" Brett asked, not hiding his irritation. "I thought you were good at gathering information. If you can't even do that right, then can you remind me again why the hell it is we have you here?"
"What exactly are you planning on doing here?" Michelle asked, ignoring the Telemon's question. She had tried to be polite, despite the fact that she knew Brett liked her no more than she liked him, but he had already pushed too far. There was no way she was going to back down.
"I've been ordered to assess the situation, consult with Yashida, and then take command of our people here," Brett replied as he slapped a fully loaded double magazine into his H&K MP-5.
"This will be your first time commanding troops against a siege, right?" Michelle asked with a thin, unsettlingly sinister smile.
"I know what you're thinking," Brett answered. "I may be a grunt, but I'm not an idiot. You don't think I have what it takes to take command."
'That's right," Michelle said bluntly. "I'm not Telemon, and therefore I don't have to take orders from you. I doubt your skill and experience, and I don't want to follow you to an early death. I'm just trying to decide whether or not you have what it takes to keep me and Johnny from being bloodstains on the street.
"I assure you that I'm ready."
"Dollars to donuts George Custer said the same thing to his people the night before Little Bighorn," Michelle shot back with a broadening smile. She was tickled with herself by being able to make her point through the use of a military history reference. "I don't know why you don't follow Johnny's lead. He was embraced before you, his blood is more potent, and he's actually been in a Sabbat siege. He should be in command."
"He lacks military training," Brett answered simply. "He's not qualified."
"He could kick your ass seven ways to Sunday," Michelle said confidently.
"Maybe," Brett conceded, appearing unwilling to get into a pissing contest with Yashida's Gangrel sidekick. "But he lacks the formal military instruction and experience in conducting an urban warfare operation."
"So to be part of your Rambo club, he had to have been in the military before his embrace, is that it?" Michelle asked. "Anything he's learned at the feet of his Telemon masters is irrelevant?"
"Where the hell is all this coming from, Michelle?" Brett asked wearily. "I seriously doubt Johnny put you up to asking these questions. He's always accepted his role, and you've always been a pain in the ass."
"Excuse me?" Michelle asked evenly. "You have a problem with me?" Michelle knew the answer before she asked her question, but she still could not pass up the opportunity to be belligerent and insubordinate. She knew it would piss Brett off.
"Does that surprise you?" Brett asked in reply. "Not only do you share Johnny's irritating lack of restraint, you're also very little good in a fight. I can't understand why he keeps you around."
"Maybe Johnny just appreciates some of my more sensual skills," Michelle suggested. She passed on mentioning that she had been hard at work developing her combat abilities. Partly, she had to admit to herself, she wanted to be more comparable to Uiko, and partly she had gotten tired of going to Johnny for protection. She had decided to take care of herself, and Mason had taught her a great deal.
"Well if you're just his whore, he should admit it and keep you out of things," Brett answered. Michelle's only immediate response was to slam on the brakes, bringing the Jeep to a stop in the middle of Carrollton Street. Vehicles behind her slammed on their own brakes and veered away to avoid Michelle's Jeep, and a plethora of profanities were lobbed in her direction. "You think you might get us started again anytime soon?" Brett asked nonchalantly.
"Eat me," Michelle shot back. "I can't believe Johnny always has me pick up his jarhead friends at the airport. You guys piss me off so much."
"You're breaking my heart," Brett answered. "Did he say when he would meet up with us?"
"I assume he's planning on meeting us before dawn," Michelle replied. "He said I should show you around and help you shoot shit up. I guess I would need your okay on that, though, since you'll be in command now."
"Going around shooting shit is fine with me," Brett answered. "You think you can handle yourself all right?"
"Johnny's taught me a lot," Michelle replied, once again omitting any reference to Mason. "I'll be fine."
"If you want to learn some really nice skills, you should hang with me," Brett said.
"And if you want to be even more of a useless prick than you already are, your balls should hang with my knife," Michelle replied caustically, not missing the fact that he had made a thinly veiled pass at her. She could hardly believe she was already fed up with Brett, but she had expected little else. Outside of Johnny, she had never cared for anyone in the Telemon clan. Matt had not been too bad, but that was only because he was very tolerant of everything that Johnny said or did, as well as everyone Johnny brought around. The others were too busy impressing themselves and each other with how bad-ass they were to bother much with social skills. They grated on Michelle's nerves, and when Johnny was not around, she saw no reason to fake civility. The Telemon saw her as a useless piece of flesh worthy of little more than serving as a human shield, or potentially as a whore with whom they could share blood between battles. She saw them as mindless grunts with no purpose in life outside of combat. She felt bad that Mason would one day likely end up like the rest of his clanmates.
With her passing thought of Johnny's youngest childe, Michelle checked her rearview mirror and made certain that Mason was still following them. She smiled thinly as she saw his Bronco two cars back. Soldier boy here didn't even notice we've been followed ever since we left the airport. And he thinks he has what it takes to oppose a siege…
"What about Yashida's childe?" Brett asked, referring to Uiko. Michelle knew that Brett had not yet been informed about Mason, and would not be for some time. Yashida knew all too well that his superiors would snatch up Mason in a heartbeat, and that was unacceptable. In Johnny's mind, Michelle knew, Matt had died partly because he had been given too much responsibility before being ready for it. He would not make the same mistake again. Johnny planned to train Mason slowly and thoroughly, making certain he could not only defend himself in a fight, but could also step wisely in the political world of the kindred. Siras and Marcus could turn him into a killing machine later. Yashida was certain that with enough time, Mason could be among the best of them.
"What do you mean?" Michelle asked, not wanting to volunteer any information about Uiko. If Brett wanted to know something, he would have to ask.
"Is she any good in a fight?" the soldier clarified.
"Depends on what you want from her," Michelle answered evasively. Before Brett could bother her with a definitive question, she simply decided to fill in the gaps herself, though she would limit herself only to Uiko's fighting skills. Anything else Brett wanted, he would have to get from Uiko or Johnny. "She's excellent in hand-to-hand combat," Michelle clarified. "I think she was a black belt or something before the embrace. She's still not good with a gun, though, and she's very slow. Well, at least she's slow compared to her sire, and even me. She's really not ready for this."
"And you feel you're qualified to decide what she is and is not ready for?" Brett asked caustically. "I don't need your opinions, Michelle. I only need to know what my troops are capable of doing."
"Well, last I heard, she's not one of your troops, if you want to get technical," Michelle replied, not bothering to hide her amusement. "I was under the impression that she hadn't been released by her sire yet. That means that Johnny doesn't think she's ready, and I think you probably respect his opinion more than mine."
"You can bet your ass on that," Brett assured her.
"Also, if she hasn't been released, then she's not yours to command," Michelle pointed out.
"What?" Brett asked, seeming genuinely surprised by her statement.
"It's in the Traditions," Michelle continued, referring to the centuries-old set of edicts accepted as kindred law. "Uiko does not truly exist as a vampire until her sire releases her. If she's not truly a vampire, then she's not yours to command. It's pretty funny, don't you think? You're going to be the commanding officer of two – you and Johnny. Oh, and as you always point out, he's not worth much in a fight. You might seriously want to consider calling for some reinforcements. I hear McLachlan and his childe are on stand-by, and I guess you could call your ghoul, too, for what that's worth."
"Johnny's report said that we would have enough as is," Brett answered. "Two Telemon does not sound like enough."
"Well, he has friends," Michelle pointed out. "Johnny had a great plan. Maybe you should have bothered to ask about it."
"What?"
"It's not important," Michelle replied with a devilish smile. "After all, like you said, Johnny hasn't had any formal military training. Nothing he comes up with would be any good, anyway."
"Wipe that smirk off your face, bitch, and tell me what I need to know."
"With an attitude like that, I think you should kiss my ass," Michelle shot back. "But I'm going to be the mature one here and let you know what's going through Johnny's head. He knows two Telemon would never be enough. Even with a young Gangrel and a neonate thrown into the mix, you'd still be overpowered. With the losses your clan has taken lately, though, he's reluctant to build the force he knows you'd need in order to go toe-to-toe with our enemies. So, rather than use this siege as an opportunity to build a reputation with the general kindred populace, he's had us infiltrate the anarchs. We'll use them as support in our battles to make up for our lack of soldiers. We still get to impress the primogen and crew, but the anarchs will likely never know we're here until we've gone."
"It's a good plan," Brett said after a moment's thought. "But coming up with devious schemes was never Johnny's weak point. It's only in the practical application of force that he's found lacking. His skills still do his sire proud and honor our clan."
"I didn't know you held him in such high esteem," Michelle responded, unable to hide her genuine surprise. She had never heard Brett speak highly of Yashida. Brett had been spoiled by being in the core group of the clan, which consisted of Siras, Marcus, and the best warriors the clan had to offer. He had never seemed to take a liking to Yashida, with his reputation for stealth, deceit, and diplomacy, along with a notoriously wide independent streak.
"Johnny is a valued member of the clan," Brett answered. "He is simply not considered to be a worthy general. In fact, the only thing about Johnny I can think of which speaks ill of him is his affinity for you."
"Fuck you," Michelle replied sharply. She had decided that she had had enough of her discussion with Brett Tailor. She would not speak with him again until it was time to introduce him to Damage Incorporated.
II
"You want me to go out gang-banging with one of your packs?" K.T. asked skeptically. "Are you kidding me?"
"Not at all, Mr. Corben," Roi replied absently. "While the local anarchs have no love for the city's current leadership, they seem to have heard one too many horror stories about the Sabbat. Our little secret seems to have gotten out rather quickly, and they know now who we are. I have already sent emissaries, and the locals have declined to join us. They must now be exterminated."
"Hey, it's your money, I won't tell you how to spend it," K.T. replied. "I just figured that you'd want more from me than to put down some anarch neonates."
"All in good time, Mr. Corben," Roi answered smoothly, finally turning toward his expensive mercenary and giving him the attention K.T. was used to receiving. "I have many plans for you. Do not be concerned that your ample talents will be going to waste. I do not see much harm, however, in letting you get acclimated to the situation slowly. You did an excellent job last night with Tacoma, and a light night is your reward. After all, you probably still have some recuperation to take care of."
"I'm doing fine," K.T. replied gruffly, not wanting to let on that he was either stronger or weaker than his employer assumed. As the situation stood, K.T. had healed all of his injuries, and had also drank his fill of blood in the French Quarter. He was as ready as he would ever be.
"Then go join Riddick," Roi commanded. "While he is a rather formidable warrior, he lacks some of your refinement and experience. Perhaps some of your professionalism will rub off on him."
"Whatever," K.T. said with a shrug, knowing that the bishop's comments had been meant only as flattery. The Gangrel knew that Riddick had developed all the professionalism he would ever need to be a Sabbat pack leader. He was big, strong, violent, fearless, and did not ask too many questions. A Sabbat bishop could never ask for more.
Just as the Gangrel was turning to leave, the bishop added one more thing. "Will Miss Flaherty be joining you this evening?" he asked as an afterthought. K.T. noticed the bishop had been thoughtful enough to continue using Erica's alias, even in private, but something about Roi's tone set off the Gangrel's danger sense. He could not prove it, but he knew the bishop was up to something.
"She always accompanies me," K.T. said evenly, fixing a stare on the bishop's dark eyes. He was struck at the emptiness in Roi's gaze, a lack of something that K.T. was used to seeing in everyone he ever spoke with. What is it? the Gangrel wondered. It's almost as if he's lost all humanity, but not quite. He shook the thought from his head and instead focused on his duties.
"Then the two of you will meet up with Riddick's pack outside Phillip's bar in uptown," Roi said.
"I know the place," K.T. replied. "You take care of yourself."
"I always do."
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Michelle pulled up outside Phillip's Bar slowly and looked for any sign of her packmates from Damage, Inc. It did not take long to spot DeNiro, Cabbage Patch, and Simeon all standing outside, looking very nervous. The Gangrel jumped out of the Jeep and motioned for Brett to follow, and then walked up quickly to her packmates.
"So how's tricks?" she asked uneasily, already being affected by her friends' obvious anxiety.
"The Sabbat's in town," Simeon answered curtly.
"The city's under siege," Cabbage Patch added, "as if you didn't know already."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Michelle asked nervously. She did not want to even consider what would happen to Johnny's scheme if his anarch pawns figured out what he was up to.
"You gonna tell us you're not part of the Sabbat?" DeNiro asked. "It seems a bit convenient that you showed up right before all the shooting started."
"Guys, I've been running with Damage, Inc. for a couple of years now," Michelle answered. "As I remember it, DeNiro, you and Cabbage Patch are the new blood."
"Your past presence is the only thing that's kept you alive so far," Simeon replied evenly. "We don't like being lied to, Michelle, especially by those we consider friends."
"Is there a problem here?" Brett asked antagonistically as he walked up to the group. All three vampires that had been waiting looked him up and down, each of them obviously noting his larger than average size.
Great, he looks like a soldier, Michelle realized. I don't know whether that will help us or hurt us right now. "Guys, I want you to meet a friend of mine," the Gangrel said pleasantly, ignoring the thinly veiled threats that had been directed at her just moments before. "His name's Brett. He's not in the Sabbat any more than I am, but he was in the Army for a few years a while back. I'm sure he could help us."
"You were in the army?" Simeon asked, looking over the newest arrival. "You ever see any action?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss what may or may not have happened during my tour," Brett answered cryptically. He stared at the three anarchs, and then allowed a smile to cross his face, lightening the mood immediately. "All I can really say is that I kicked lots of ass."
"You ever fight the Sabbat before?" Cabbage Patch asked.
"Maybe," Brett answered. "I hear that sometimes they go into cities and make like they're anarchs, and I've fought a fair share of them in my short time as kindred. Michelle called me in to help with a gang she called Damage Control."
"We're thinking they may actually be a Sabbat pack," DeNiro said. "It would certainly explain why they've kicked our ass so hard every time we've fought. They don't fight like a gang of young, inexperienced anarchs."
"Where's Billy?" Cabbage Patch asked.
"Why do you want to know?" Michelle answered defensively. She caught a look in the anarch's eye, something that spoke of a level of interest that made Michelle uneasy. She already had to cope with Yashida's blood-bound childe, Uiko. The last thing she needed was to add another rival for Johnny's affections.
"We wanted to get everyone together and see what we should do," Simeon answered.
"So am I to take it that you suddenly don't think we might be Sabbat?" Michelle answered, "or are you just waiting until you get us all together again."
"No, we're fine with you," Cabbage Patch replied. "Simeon told us that you'd been around for a long time, just that you and Billy usually come and go. DeNiro and I were a little suspicious and wanted to ask you to see how you'd respond. You didn't shoot us, so that's good enough for me."
"Not exactly the most thorough examination of our guilt or innocence," Brett commented.
"We trust Billy and Michelle," Simeon said. "As for you, you'll have to go into a fight and earn trust just like everyone else in the group has. As far as I'm concerned, the jury's still out on you, no matter what Michelle says."
"Just the way I'd expect it to be," Brett answered calmly.
"So where's Billy?" Cabbage Patch asked again, returning to her earlier line of questioning. This time Michelle was certain that there was an unhealthily large flicker of interest in Cabbage Patch's eyes as she said Billy's name.
"He's out and about doing something," Michelle replied evasively, deciding that she would have to keep a close eye on Cabbage Patch when Johnny was around. "He wouldn't tell me what he was up to."
"And you don't find that unusual, considering the circumstances?" Cabbage Patch asked.
"We already went through all that," Simeon interjected impatiently. "Billy Lee is not Sabbat. He's not a spy. He's not an assassin. He's one of the gang. It's not unusual for him to disappear."
"This is the same Billy I met in Los Angeles, right?" Brett asked, turning to Michelle.
Very nice, very subtle, Michelle thought, silently congratulating Brett's ability to mix into the group. Maybe he's not quite as incompetent as I thought. "Yeah, during last year's playoff game against the Avalanche," Michelle replied. "We were in town for a night before he moved on to Sacramento."
"He was a pretty cool guy," Brett said. "I was so enraptured with you I hardly even remembered you have a boyfriend."
"Just your wishful thinking, sugar," Michelle answered, laying the act on thick while she tried not to gag.
"So do you think he's up to his usual tricks?" Simeon asked.
"Probably," Michelle replied. She knew that Simeon was referring to Johnny's well-known habit of compulsively stealing one item or another that he found to be attractive. She did not say more, however, since she felt no desire to fill in Cabbage Patch and DeNiro about Yashida's larcenous tendencies.
"So I guess we'll have to do without him on this one," DeNiro said.
"On this one what?" Michelle asked, instantly becoming uneasy.
"We're going to find Damage Control and bring the fight to them," Simeon said. "We want to know whether or not they're Sabbat."
"And you think they'll just tell you?" Brett asked. "I mean, if they're in town and have bothered this much to keep a low profile, what makes you think they'd admit to being Sabbat now?"
"They don't have to admit it; we can catch one and torture it out of him," DeNiro said. No one caught Michelle's uneasy shifting of her feet as they mentioned their plan, a scheme which duplicated Johnny's own from a few nights earlier.
"Hey, it works for me," Brett said. "It's been too long since I got to rough up some assholes."
"Well then, let's gather up the posse," Simeon said. "The others are all waiting inside."
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Johnny Yashida walked into Rick's Cabaret and was instantly greeted by a pair of topless twins that appeared to be in their late teens. Both were blonde, though one had long hair, while the other had it cut at her chin. "It's been a long time, Billy," one of them said immediately. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"
"Here and there," Johnny answered. He had always liked spending time with Cinnamon and Spice, the two Toreador twins that had been strippers in the New Orleans area for almost twenty years. They had originally been embraced in Boston during the twenties, and had then moved to New York to work with Gypsy Rose Lee during the thirties and forties. From there they had moved on across the country, working in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Atlanta, Miami, and anywhere else that was glamorous and full of wealthy men.
Johnny Yashida had met the pair in Los Angeles during his mortal days, and had been friends with them for as long as he could remember. They would often do favors for each other. For the twins, that meant that they could expect to receive beautiful jewelry whenever they ran into their old friend. For Johnny, it meant he would always have a constant source of information in whatever city the women were living.
"I got something for you two," he said slyly, slipping his hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out two jewelry cases and handed them over. When the women opened them, they were each faced with a diamond encrusted, platinum anklet.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," Cinnamon said, immediately putting the item on her ankle. Spice followed suit, and then sat on Johnny's lap as the Telemon sat down. She kissed his neck softly, making certain that he could smell her short, perfumed hair as he watched her sister perform a table dance right in front of him.
"You do realize that this really doesn't do much for me," Johnny said nonchalantly. "No offense."
"I know," Spice purred into his ear, "but that old man in the corner has been gawking at us for an hour. If he thinks he could get a show like this, he'll be willing to shell out all kinds of cash."
"Well then I'm glad I could be of service," Johnny said with a smile.
"You want anything to drink, Mr. Lee?" a topless waitress asked as she walked over to the table. Johnny knew her well. Her name was Agnes, though she currently went by the stage name of Everything Nice. She was Cinnamon's ghoul, and had traveled with the twins for almost three decades. She was just as beautiful as her master, though in a completely different way. She had long, curly red hair that reached her lower back, and a thin, athletic figure that had been toned by countless hours of dancing and weight training.
"Vodka Martini with extra olives," Johnny said with a smile. Agnes winked one of her sea-green eyes at him in reply, and walked off.
"So what do you need to know?" Spice asked, whispering into Johnny's ear.
"Who may have had not only reason, but also the will and the ability to off the regent?" Johnny asked.
"I figured you'd be asking about the Sabbat," Spice replied. "Isn't that why you're in town?"
"A Sabbat siege has become little more than a tourist attraction for me anymore," Johnny said with a panache that belied his inner unease. "Someone was asking questions about the regent, though, and that seemed like an interesting little mystery."
"A mystery someone apparently will pay to have answered," Spice surmised. "How much you getting?"
"Nothing, at least for now," Johnny said, concealing the complete truth. "But I figure the information would be worth something if I figure out what happened."
"You're probably right," Cinnamon said as she walked over and joined the conversation, rubbing Johnny's shoulders.
"Off the top of my head, I would say that it would be easier to tell you who probably wasn't involved," Spice said. "I don't think the Brujah did it. They're too unorganized to pull it off, and would probably rather just stand around bitching about the regent than actually take the effort to depose him. The Malkavians were rather pleased with the status quo, so I doubt they were involved. As for the Toreador, while there were many that disliked the regent, most of the political power rests with our primogen. I don't know if you've met him yet, but Du Lenne is incompetent. He couldn't have done it without calling in some major favors. Of course, if he had somehow been able to contract an Assamite, anything is possible. Other than that, I think it was open season on the regent. It was simply a question of who would get him first."
"So even his own clan had it in for him?" Johnny asked, surprised that there were Ventrue that would have considered overthrowing a Ventrue prince. It was, of course, possible, but not something that would be common. The Ventrue generally wanted monetary wealth and influence over the mortals. Having one of their own as prince would give the clan all the comfort and stability it needed. Any Ventrue would see how unwise it would be to rock the boat.
"A couple of the older Ventrue had been quietly questioning Ash's decision-making ability lately," Spice replied. "The clans have been able to slice up the city, dividing it into definite spheres of influence. While some, like the Malkavians and anarchs, liked this arrangement, the overly organized Ventrue found it to be a hassle. I don't know if any of them decided the hassle was enough of a reason to go to the trouble of killing the regent, but it's certainly possible."
"And if a Ventrue killed him off so that more order could be imposed, the successor won't necessarily be the same one who killed Ash," Johnny pointed out.
"That would make it very hard to uncover the crime," Cinnamon said.
"You're gonna be careful, right Johnny?" Spice asked. "I mean, Billy," she corrected herself, remembering to use Johnny's assumed name. "If whoever did it figures out you're poking your nose around, you could be next. You'll make powerful enemies quickly if you keep this shit up."
"I'm being as careful as always," Johnny said. "Sorry I have to get going so soon, but I have a couple of other people to meet with tonight before I go and shoot up some Sabbat. You two take it easy, okay?"
"We always do," Spice said with a smile.
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"So you're all back again, eh?" Riddick asked evenly, looking over the members of Damage, Inc. His eyes settled immediately on Brett, appearing to decide that the local anarchs might finally have brought him a worthy challenge.
"We'll keep coming back until we finally put you down," Simeon replied.
"You know, I heard the Sabbat's in town," Riddick said slyly. "Why should we be at each other's throats when they're around? It'll be almost impossible to defeat them as it is."
"As if you're not Sabbat," DeNiro said, even his voice now taking on the tone and menace of Robert De Niro's Vito Corleone. "You think we're gonna believe that for a second? You're just trying to get us to be friends so you can stab us in the back later."
"Stupid fucking anarchs never learn, do they?" Riddick asked, turning to one of his own packmates. The other Sabbat simply shook his head in agreement, all the while maintaining his intimidating stare on his opponents.
Once again, in a flash, the fight was joined as vampires on each side rushed into the fray. Firearms were abandoned in favor of quieter hand-to-hand combat. While the Sabbat had no problem with attracting police attention by shooting their opponents, they had decided instead to stick to hand-to-hand combat, as that would allow for the type of satisfaction that could only be derived by using one's bare hands. Riddick had always taken great pleasure in the feeling of a person's jaw caving in under his fist, and this attitude was spread to the members of his pack. Damage Inc., on the other hand, refrained from using guns simply because they all felt the need to prove to themselves, and their Sabbat foes, that they could win even on the Sabbat's terms.
Brett rushed in against Riddick immediately, hoping to catch the larger man off-guard with his speed. To the Telemon's surprise, however, Riddick proved to be a slight step faster, despite his size. Riddick dodged the first punch, sidestepped to his left, and landed a crushing blow into Brett's kidney. The pain sent Brett's right leg out from under him, but his battle-hardened instincts prevented the situation from getting worse. Rather than providing the open target that Riddick had gotten used to with his constant combat against untrained anarchs, Brett swung his partially stunned leg out toward his opponent, sweeping the Sabbat soldier's legs out from under him. The Telemon then rolled backward and leaped to his feet. In a flash he was lunging at his opponent again, but Riddick had already regained his composure and prepared himself once more.
Brett's right-handed punch was parried and grabbed with Riddick's right hand, and the large Sabbat pack-leader directed his own counter-strike at Brett's elbow, knowing he would break the arm at the joint. In a blur of motion, Brett caught Riddick's left arm at the wrist, and then took a step back with his left leg, pivoting his weight around his right leg as he swung Riddick over in a hip toss, sending the Sabbat pack leader to the ground. Riddick, unprepared for the throw, landed hard on his right shoulder, dislocating the joint and immobilizing the arm.
Before Riddick could recover, Brett had drawn his knife and was lunging in again at his vulnerable opponent, hoping to draw blood and turn the tide of the battle. The Telemon could see that several of his allies were not faring as well as he was, and he hoped that knocking Riddick out of the fight would cause the rest of the Sabbat pack to question whether or not they should continue without their leader.
From a nearby shadow, K.T. could hear the sounds all around him. People were running. Fighting. Bleeding. Perhaps even dying. Damage, Inc. had apparently located Damage Control, and the inevitable confrontation had followed. The anarchs would fight to defend their turf, while the Sabbat would seek to exact vengeance for the loss of one of its members in the last battle. The Gangrel stepped lightly around a corner of a building and brought the scene into play. Two of Damage Control were beating another vampire in the street, leaving a pool of blood flowing from what K.T. guessed was a fractured skull. Riddick was being hard-pressed, but his packmates were doing quite well for themselves. The mercenary knew his Sabbat associates were faring fine enough in back of the closed deli, and so he moved down the block where he heard another fight going on.
A bestial snarl echoed from the darkness as he rounded another corner, and he could just slightly make out a small woman hunched over a far larger man. She was just beginning to bite into his neck. K.T. looked more closely and recognized Chavez, one of the Sabbat that had accompanied him into the streets that night. He knew that the Sabbat soldier had been defeated, but that he was probably still alive. At least until that bitch gets finished with him, he thought grimly.
The Gangrel had a clear shot and slowly raised his Ruger Redhawk, simultaneously growing his hands into razor-sharp claws. His plan was simple – he would shoot the woman off of her prey, and then tear her in half with his own bare hands. That would be the only way to make certain that she was finished. With a flash of light and a blast that rivaled the loudest clap of thunder, he shot his victim and followed the bullet right at the woman, meaning to rip out her heart before she could react. It was a tactic at which the mercenary had gotten quite proficient. He had certainly employed it enough times over the decades.
He was on her in a heartbeat, although she was standing sooner than he had anticipated. She seems stronger than a simple anarch, his mind shouted in warning. He had already come too far too fast, and could not stop himself. He saw the gun being raised as he got within arm's reach. Only a fraction of a second remained to make the decision – try to disarm his opponent, or continue the attack? The decision was simple, and instinctive. The gun being leveled at him was a 9mm, little more than a popgun to one as solid as he was. K.T. would not be diverted from his goal of destroying his opponent. He ignored the cracking report from the gun as it was fired, and the slight jolts of pain as two bullets entered his body. Instead, he made certain he cut deeply with his left claw, spilling blood and intestines onto the ground as his opponent collapsed, obviously defeated. He kicked her over onto her back, straddled her, and raised his left hand to finish the job.
Oh no, he gasped, having finally gotten the woman's face away from the shadows long enough to get a good look. I know her. Without another word he clubbed her over the head with the butt of the revolver in his right hand, knocking her unconscious, and hoisted her onto his shoulder. As he bolted from the battle, he fought back his surprise, and what it meant. He had almost killed Michelle Marlowe, whom he knew to be Johnny Yashida's blood-bound Gangrel companion. Where she was, he was rarely far behind. Without even thinking about it, K.T. knew that the Telemon had probably been employed by the Camarilla to oppose the siege in which he was taking part. I don't know what I'm going to do about this.
The gunshots fired by K.T. and Michelle seemed to have set off a chain reaction. It sounded as if both groups opened up with firearms of their own. The Gangrel heard the rapid fire of an automatic shotgun, and knew that Erica had apparently decided to become involved; he knew it would only be minutes before police were swarming over the area. This time, the Sabbat pack had earned itself a solid victory. They had managed to kill Ghetto Blaster, and Damage, Inc. would soon find that Michelle had turned up missing. Though he had finally found an unexpectedly formidable foe in the local anarch population, Riddick would certainly be satisfied.
III
"Johnny!" Brett called as he walked into the Telemon haven.
"What is it?" Yashida asked as he walked forward from the back room. He could hear the sense of urgency in Brett's voice, and Johnny's instincts made his stomach start to tie itself up in knots. As soon as he came face to face with Brett, Yashida knew what was wrong – Michelle was not there. "Where is she?" he asked immediately.
"No one knows," Brett replied evenly, not bothering to hide the fact that he did not view Michelle's disappearance as a major catastrophe. "We fought that gang called Damage Control. What started out as a good old-fashioned knock-down drag-out turned into a total cluster fuck. We started out badly, and then the tide turned and we actually started to win. Then that clown Cabbage Patch pulled out a pistol and started firing. The next thing you know, they open up with Uzis. I'd guess you were right, they're a Sabbat pack."
"So she disappeared," Johnny replied, ignoring Brett's report on the battle. He already knew that Damage Control was a Sabbat pack and had no need to get Brett's agreement.
"That's what I said," Brett answered, his voice once again devoid of any apparent concern.
"Where did you last see her?" Johnny asked as he walked across the room. He opened a small footlocker and pulled out an MP-5 and three double magazines.
"What are you doing?" Brett asked suspiciously as he watched Johnny then pull out a double-barrel shotgun and place what he knew were phosphorous shells inside the weapon.
"I'm going to find her," Johnny answered.
"No you're not," Brett stated emphatically. "We have a job to do here. I don't need you going out on some vendetta, making things personal."
"We were hired to kill Sabbat," Johnny said smoothly, doing a surprisingly good job of containing his rage. "That's all I'll be doing. This is not personal." He knew the words were a lie even as he spoke them, and he also knew that Brett would likely not believe any of it. He hoped, though, that Brett would at least relent and let him go back out onto the streets.
"This is irrational, Johnny," Brett said. "For all we know, she just ran off in another direction and is only minutes away from walking through the door."
"She would have called," Johnny said, knowing that his words were not certain to be accurate. Michelle had been known to wander off on occasion and not report in immediately.
"She might not be able to," Brett retorted. "Besides, it's not as easy as just going out there and getting our hands on some Sabbat. We still don't know where they are."
"I'll fix that," Johnny said venomously. He turned away from Brett and walked back toward the rear of the building. He opened the door to Uiko's interrogation room and looked over the Sabbat prisoner.
"Anything yet?" he asked. His hope that Uiko had been able to get information was quickly dashed, however, as Uiko shook her head, a slightly frustrated look spreading across her face. "Enough games," he spat at the prisoner. "You're going to tell me what I want to know, or I'm going to get mean."
"What is this, good cop, bad cop time?" the Sabbat asked. "You're not impressing me."
"What are you doing, Johnny?" Brett asked, finally arriving in the back room.
"Getting answers," Johnny answered. He looked directly at the eyes of his prisoner, and began to exert his will over that of the Sabbat. "Where is the pack hiding?"
"That's not going to help much," Brett commented. "Domination isn't all that useful in interrogation." Brett Tailor watched Johnny used the vampiric discipline of Domination, an ability that allows its user to affect the minds of others. Its purpose was designed primarily to give orders, and not derive responses, so it was generally considered as having little value in an interrogation setting. Had Johnny met up with this same Sabbat soldier in a bar and used the power quickly, before his target could steel himself against the attempt, Yashida might have met with more immediate success. Here, however, the likelihood of deriving useful information in a short time was small.
"Just give me a second," Johnny replied. He knew that the vampiric discipline of Domination had its limits as well as anyone else did. He would be able to overpower the mind of his prisoner, and he could force truthful answers to his questions. However, the power was not absolute. The Sabbat soldier would still have enough control of his own mind to be as evasive as he wanted to be. "Where are they?" he asked again.
"New Orleans," the prisoner replied with a thin smile. Johnny almost cursed when he saw the prisoner's face. The Sabbat vampire's eyes were as glazed over as one would expect, but the smile let on that it was more than his subconscious that was resisting the attempted domination. The fact that his conscious mind was strong enough to also play a role meant only one thing – this man had been trained to resist this very type of interrogation. Yashida could hardly believe his bad luck.
"Where in New Orleans?" Johnny then asked, trying to narrow down the possibilities.
"In a house, I would guess," the prisoner answered vaguely. "Maybe an apartment, or even a hotel room. My god, if they're out on the streets, they could be almost anywhere at this very minute."
"This isn't going to get us anywhere," Brett muttered.
"He's right, Johnny," Uiko said. "He'll be as evasive as possible. It might take all night just to get a single useful nugget of information.
"Then we'll take all night," Johnny spat back.
"He has to want to give up the information," Uiko replied. "You know that. Don't let your emotions guide your actions. You've reminded me of that countless times."
"You're right," Johnny mumbled, finally backing away from the Sabbat prisoner. "Let me know when he finally decides to give something up."
"We don't have time for that," Brett replied. "There's a war going on out there, and we have very few people. I need Uiko out on the streets, not playing games here with our guest. Just kill him, and we'll focus our energies out in the field." Uiko looked toward her sire, as if she was waiting for confirmation of Brett's order. Yashida could see the influence of his training on her. She knew she had not yet been released, and that she was still, essentially, Johnny's property and responsibility. She would not take a single order from Brett Tailor until her own sire first confirmed it.
"Fine, kill him," Johnny said to Uiko. She nodded, and drove a stake into her prisoner's heart, sending him into torpor. Yashida walked back out toward the front of the building, followed by Brett. "I'll wait until tomorrow night," Johnny said evenly. "If Michelle's not back within an hour of sundown, I'm going out there. They'll regret ever seeing her."
"Fine," Brett answered. "We'll get organized tonight. I have a report to write up about the battle earlier, and I'll need you to fill me in on everything that's happened so far."
"It's all in my reports," Johnny replied. "If you have any questions after that, then talk to me." Without another word, Yashida walked to his room on the second floor. He spent the rest of the night poring over each one of his weapons, making certain that every single one was perfectly cleaned, oiled, and ready for action. He had not been so enraged in years, and he could hardly wait for the opportunity to vent his frustrations.
IV
K.T. stared across the hotel room at the prisoner lying bound and gagged on the bed. Michelle had turned her head away as soon as she realized that K.T. had no intention of simply returning her to her friends. She knew K.T. and was aware K.T. knew her. Beyond that, however, she knew nothing.
With a flick of his wrist, K.T. produced a cell phone in his hand and dialed Erica's number. "Where are you right now?" he asked, as soon as she answered.
"Back at the B&B," she replied immediately. "Where are you? You didn't come back after the fight."
"I'm aware of that," K.T. grumbled.
"When are you coming back?" she asked, her voice betraying a bit of concern.
"Anytime now," he lied. "I just have a couple of things to take care of first." K.T. had already decided to stay in the hotel guarding over Michelle, but he had no intention of letting Erica know that. He was afraid that she would go out with some Sabbat soldiers if she knew he would be out until the next night. K.T. wanted Erica safe, where he could be reasonably certain that she would not be open to further unwanted influence. He would simply call her back just before sunrise to let her know he would sleep elsewhere during the day. "I want you to look over that new folder that Roi sent over."
"Sure thing," Erica answered. "We hitting the place tonight?"
"No," K.T. replied. "We don't have enough time before the sun comes up. Go over everything thoroughly, though," he added, making sure she would have enough work to keep her busy for the rest of the night. "I want three escape routes to two miles out. I also want you to strip down that AK that Roi sent over and clean it down completely."
"We using the AK?" Erica asked excitedly. K.T. could just imagine the look on her face.
"Maybe," the mercenary lied again. "It could come in handy if anyone starts chasing us." In actuality, he would not consider using an AK-47 in the streets unless it was a life or death situation, but he saw no reason to let Erica know that, either. The extra chore would keep her that much busier.
"I'll get right on that," Michelle said. "It could take me the rest of the night though."
I know, K.T. thought with satisfaction. "Just make sure you get it all right," he said encouragingly, keeping his thoughts to himself. "I'll see you in a little bit." With another flick of the wrist he had placed the phone back within an inside pocket of his duster and went back to looking at his prisoner.
What should I do with her? he wondered. Obviously, she should die. I was hired to kill the city's defenders, and she's a defender. Why am I even thinking about this? He stood up and walked over toward the window, glancing absently through the glass into the dark night. A United cab sped by on the street below, and a motorcycle flew by in the opposite direction on Tulane Avenue. It's not because I know her, he told himself, returning once again to his thoughts. I've killed countless people I know. Why should this be any different?
He turned from the window, pulling the drapes back across the glass, and gazed back at his bound clanmate on the bed. Michelle kept the back of her head turned toward her captor, as if she had no interest in anything he was doing. K.T. knew that the truth of the matter was probably the exact opposite of her demeanor. He knew Michelle had been in many tough situations by Yashida's side and had faced death before. She would know enough to realize how precarious her situation was.
Yashida, K.T. mused, wondering if his Telemon friend was the reason for his hesitation to killed Michelle. Do I care enough about him to refrain from killing his companion, even though that's what I'm here for? The very thought seemed absurd, but K.T. considered it anyway. He had fought alongside Johnny several times, and the two had shared trade secrets. He remembered something he had heard about soldiers, about the special, indescribable bond that people shared when they faced death together. Is that what's going on? he wondered. Could vampires even form such an attachment?
He shook his head, thinking the concept dubious, if not absurd. There were several people he could think of immediately that he had fought beside and still would not hesitate to kill. Then a new, disturbing thought occurred to him. It's Erica, he decided. I see some of Erica in Michelle. I know how I would feel if Johnny killed my companion, and now I'm hesitating to do the same. I'm empathizing. The realization hit K.T. like a ton of bricks. He was a mercenary – a cold-blooded, heartless, unfeeling machine. He could not refrain from killing people he knew. He could not hesitate at the thought that his own companion could also be killed. Empathy had no place in the heart of a professional soldier.
He looked at Michelle again. She was a small woman, and cute in her own way. He shook his head again, trying to shake any feelings of sentiment from his mind. What the hell is wrong with you? he asked himself. Sentiment? He thought for a moment, seriously considering his feelings. Is that it, or is it something else? A wave of insight came over him as he realized that it was not simply sentiment. It might be weakness, but it was a weakness he had always thought about.
He glanced across the room, seeing the saddlebag he had brought in with him. Enough of all this crap, he decided suddenly. He knew what he had to do as he stormed over and started digging into the bag for what he needed.
To be continued……………………………………