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 7
I
Johnny walked up to the outer gates of Gregory Ash's home, marveling at how familiar the surroundings had become. Well, I have been here often enough, the Telemon reasoned. To be honest, he could hardly even be sure he could come up with an accurate number of his visits, between councils of the primogen, private meetings with Southpaw, and his one break-in with Michelle, it was getting hard to keep track. The guards had even started to get used to his presence and no longer glared at him quite so much. Of course, some of that might have to do with the fact that I'm obviously having trouble even walking. I probably don't seem to pose much of a threat. He continued to struggle on toward the front door, leaning heavily on his cane, trusting Uiko to point out any uneven ground that he had gone unnoticed during previous visits.
Yashida had brought Uiko along for two main reasons. The first was that his relative vulnerability created a need for a bodyguard. He had no desire to expose Michelle to needless danger, and no wish to allow Brett to know what he was up to. That meant that Uiko was the next best candidate. Actually, Mason would be the next best candidate, but Brett would never expect me to take an anarch along to meet with some of the higher-ups. That would simply cause too much suspicion, and I have no desire to do that. The second reason for bringing Uiko was that Johnny eventually planned for her to take on a very similar role in the clan to his own. She would need to get experience sometime, and he figured it was as good a time as any to start.
"I'm not sure this is such a good idea," Southpaw said as he met Johnny and Uiko at the front door.
"You're probably right," Johnny agreed, "but this is probably the best time to do this. I can imagine the old man's probably a little paranoid right now, and I obviously pose no real threat."
"He knows," Southpaw said, "and I think that's one reason he agreed."
"Besides, he's gonna have to come back out eventually," Johnny said.
"Right again," Southpaw agreed. "So I guess there's no way to change your mind."
"Not a chance."
Southpaw nodded in response and led his two guests into the building. He immediately went upstairs and down the hall, leading Johnny and Uiko to the library. So far, everything was going entirely to plan. As Johnny expected, Southpaw led him into the library and went over to the secret door that Yashida and Michelle had found during their covert visit. The Ventrue pulled out a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo and the latch disengaged, allowing the bookshelf to swing free. He then led the way down the musty stone stairs, ignoring the motion sensors that had caused Johnny and Michelle so much trouble.
"Who is it?" a voice challenged from below. Good, Johnny thought, we apparently alerted the guard below by walking past the motion sensors. He would have kicked himself had he found out that the sensors had only been for show and were not really connected to anything.
"Southpaw," the Ventrue yelled out. "I'm bringing along our guest and his bodyguard." By that point the three kindred had reached the floor and walked around to come into sight of the sentry with the M-60.
"Lose all the weapons," the guard ordered. "And I'll be doing a rather thorough frisk, so let's not embarrass ourselves by 'forgetting' anything." Johnny grinned as he went about handing over his weapons. It was easy enough, as his injuries prevented him from being able to easily use anything but a pistol, and he only carried two of those. Uiko, however, was a little more heavily armed. "I think the boss is gonna want her to stay out here," the sentry added, gesturing toward Uiko.
"There's no way in hell I'm going in there without her," Johnny said honestly. Walking into the lion's den was one thing; going in unarmed and already crippled was something else entirely. "I don't want to cause any problems or anything, but I'm willing to walk out right now if she can't go with me."
"Hey, you're the one who called us," Southpaw reminded the Telemon.
"And if I leave now you're gonna be left to wonder how I knew about the old man," Johnny countered.
The guard looked over the two Telemon for a few seconds, and then nodded. "Fine," he relented, making the decision for Southpaw. "But you'll have to deal with me sitting in, too."
"Fine with me," Johnny said amiably, though the thought did not sit well with him. He was starting to think this had been a very bad idea.
"Stay out here and stand guard," the sentry said to Southpaw. Johnny was surprised to see his contact acquiesce without so much as a hint that he was dissatisfied with his duty. This guy might only be a guard, but he's obviously high up in the chain of command, Yashida realized. The sentry undid the locks on the heavy oak door and led Johnny and Uiko into a plush library.
Yashida immediately noticed how dry and warm the room was, in sharp contrast to the outer hall and just about every other basement and crawlspace in New Orleans. There was a small space heater sitting inside a fake chimney, obviously built just for show. Can't take the chance of someone sneaking in through a chimney, Johnny decided. There were four large, leather armchairs spaced comfortably around the fireplace, and seated at the end of the semi-circular arrangement, facing the door, was the man that Johnny had come to meet.
"Good evening," the man said, "I presume you're Johnny Yashida."
"That's right," the Telemon confirmed. "And this is Uiko Haraya," he added, gesturing to his alluring childe.
"I am, as you have no doubt guessed, Bryan Fleming." He looked satisfied with himself as he said his name, as if that alone was enough to impress him. Well, he is a Ventrue prince, Johnny reminded himself, self-aggrandizement is par for the course.
"It's nice to finally meet you," Yashida replied, "I've heard a lot about you."
"Of course you have," Fleming muttered. "Now why don't we simply get down to business, yes? Why is it you've come to my home?" His eyes then went from curious to serious, and his lips narrowed into a menacing sneer. "And more importantly, how did you know I had awakened once again?"
"Simple deduction," Johnny answered immediately, making certain he did not seem as if he was holding anything back. "It's what my clan expects of me. I've been trained to see through the misdirection and conjecture of our world and give my people accurate intelligence."
"And so you told them about me?" Fleming asked, his menacing look turning slightly more sinister.
"Not exactly," Johnny said evasively. He knew he would have to play his next cards very carefully. "I left some information that'll be found if I don't return, just as a safety precaution, so to speak. I wanted to make sure we were dealing on even footing. I have not yet told anyone about you, though. I didn't see how that would help my situation or cause you to be willing to deal fairly with me."
"You expect me to deal fairly with you?" Fleming asked. "You are aware, are you not, that I'm the prince of this city? I am within my rights to treat you as I will, and you will do nothing but thank me for it."
"Of course," Johnny answered, biting his tongue and already beginning to steel his will. Even without the wounds he had suffered the night before, he knew he would not be anything remotely approaching a physical challenge to the prince. The one ace he had up his sleeve was that he would very likely be able to dominate the Fleming's mind if he needed to. Yashida knew it was incredibly unlikely that the prince would be able to resist, as his blood was simply too far removed from Caine. Fleming also obviously did not expect to be vulnerable, as he was constantly maintaining eye contact with his guest. He probably thinks to dominate me if he gets bored with our conversation, Johnny decided. He's a victim of his own situation. He's been in torpor for over fifty years and doesn't yet understand everything. He's heard about anarchs, and has already labeled me as being one of them. Boy is he in for a surprise...
"So what is it you wish to ask of me?" the prince asked.
"I was hired by your grandchilde, Southpaw, to find the killer of your childe, Gregory Ash," Johnny explained. "I've come to collect my money."
"Well I think that's something you should take up with him," Fleming replied smoothly. Too smoothly, Johnny noted with satisfaction. He's so obviously old blood, and just a little dated. He really has some catching up to do.
"Am I to take it that we can speak freely in here?" Johnny asked, looking pointedly at Fleming's guard.
"Of course," the Ventrue replied. "Jonas is blood bound to me and has been my loyal guard and retainer for over a hundred and fifty years. He is one of my oldest childer. He knows everything that I do."
"Very well," Johnny sighed. "I know you're the one who killed Ash, or at the very least you ordered him killed," Johnny said, hoping he was right. He had absolutely no evidence that Fleming had killed his own childe, but his gut told him it was so, and every bit of evidence he had seen led to that conclusion by default. It seemed that no one else really could have done it.
"Oh really?" Fleming asked. "And why do you think that? You know, of course, that I should have you killed for even accusing me of such an atrocity."
"Why?" Johnny asked. "It's not an atrocity. Ash was a failure and a disgrace to you. Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but he was a weak prince. I can understand why you would have wanted him dead. Besides, as he was your childe, you forever held the power of life and death over him. You were more than free to kill him if you so decided. There was no violation of the Traditions."
"Ah yes, the Traditions," Fleming commented, seeming amused. "I didn't expect one as young as yourself to start reciting the Traditions. You still have not yet answered my question, Mr. Yashida – why do you think I killed my own childe?"
"You want the whole thing, or just the short version?" Johnny asked with a thin, unassuming smile.
"Why don't you entertain me with the whole thing?" Fleming asked, his expression stating that he was willing to humor his guest, but his eyes betraying concern that his actions had been discovered.
"Fine," Johnny replied. "I would assume that you woke up probably about six months ago, is that right?" Fleming nodded. "Well, you awakened to find your city carved up into small spheres of influence, each held primarily by one clan, with Uptown set apart as a community feeding ground. I know I would have been pissed if I awoke to that situation after getting knocked into torpor fighting to retain control of my city." Fleming smiled thinly, as if he was impressed that Yashida understood completely, so the Telemon pressed on.
"So obviously, Ash had failed you. He proved he was weak, so he had to be destroyed. That's perfectly acceptable," Johnny admitted. "However, you had another problem. If you killed Ash and reclaimed your position as prince, you would also have to regain control of the city. That was the truly hard part. I guess it was sometime while you were trying to find a way to solve your problem when someone told you that Sabbat spies were caught in the city. The smart guess would be to assume that the Sabbat was planning to lay siege, and I'll bet you ordered Ash to keep it silent and do nothing about it."
"Are you implying that I would allow the Sabbat to lay siege to my city?" Fleming asked incredulously. "That's absurd."
"It wasn't your city anymore," Johnny pointed out. "It belonged to the divided clans, and not any single prince. A siege would create no end of opportunities for you, and I'm betting that since you've been asleep for fifty years, you don't quite understand how badly the war has been going for the Camarilla. If you had it to do again, you'd probably decide differently, but as they say, hindsight is 20/20." Fleming's only response was an almost imperceptible nod, and Johnny continued, certain that he was at least close to being on the right track.
"So you allowed the siege and used the Sabbat as a screen to kill your own childe," Yashida said. "No one would question the logic of the Sabbat striking at the regent, so you got away with it. Then you also used the siege as an opportunity to kill Martin," Johnny stated. "There were a couple of questions raised on that hit, too, but nothing too serious. Giving up a Tzimisce will certainly explain the absence of the bodies, as any Tzimisce would gladly save a Tremere victim for slow torture later."
"Of course," Fleming commented.
"The Sabbat actually did kill Du Lenne, which worked out beautifully for you," Johnny continued. "Of course, it's always easier to plant a lie inside a truth, and you knew that would help you explain Ash's death later, just as much as it prepared the way for Martin's murder. All that was left was to trim back the rabble and the sewer rats, and the Sabbat packs and mercenaries did a wonderfully efficient job of that for you. I think that pretty much covers it all."
"Well, all of your assumptions seem reasonable," Fleming commented, "but they are all dependent on one major point. You had to have concluded that I had awakened. What made you realize that?"
"It was something Southpaw said," Johnny replied. "When I asked if Ash's murder could have been an inside job, he told me it was impossible. His reason was that all of the guards were blood bound either to him, Ash, or you. Now, you've been in torpor for a long time, about half a century, and anyone who'd been blood bound to you before you went into torpor would have been able to break the effects long before now. The only explanation was that you had reawakened and had gone about re-bonding those who had been bound to you before."
"I see," Fleming said. "A logical conclusion, of course. I'm impressed. So, now what would you like to do about this situation? I, of course, am not yet ready to reassume my role of prince, which means I don't want you spreading word that I've reawakened." He looked the two Telemon over hungrily, and Johnny got the impression that Fleming was considering devouring the two of then and there. After a brief moment, though, the look became more restrained. "However," he continued, "you seem to have made preparation to have the information get out in case anything unfortunate should befall you."
"I don't like taking chances," Yashida said matter-of-factly. "I would tell you that you could trust me to keep silent, but I don't know that you would have any reason to believe me. You likely see me as only another neonate, an immature childe that can hardly be expected to uphold the Masquerade, no less protect one of the greatest secrets in the city."
"You understand completely," Fleming agreed.
"Well, since I'm so young, I still have connection to mortal stuff," Johnny said. "That means I like money. Southpaw promised me five million for finding his sire's murderer, and I've done that. What I propose is this – pay me one and a half million now, and the rest when you decide to make your reappearance to the kindred community. That way I have a rather vested interest in keeping my mouth shut."
"And if someone dominates the information out of you?" Fleming asked.
"Not likely," Johnny replied. "In order to use domination to get information from someone, the question has to be incredibly precise. To ask with enough precision whether or not you're still alive, the individual would pretty much already have to know."
"True enough," Fleming responded with a nod. "I don't like this situation, Mr. Yashida, but I see no easy way out of it."
"That was my intention," Johnny admitted. "I only want to do business, though, not make enemies. Having the prince of New Orleans as a friend could be very good for me."
"Oh, now you want to count me as a friend?" Fleming asked. "After you come in here and blackmail me?" Johnny could see the rage slowly mounting in the prince's eyes, and he decided that a little fast-talking was in order.
"I think blackmail is a little strong a word," Johnny said. "I have a plan that could make this all okay, though."
"Oh really?" the Ventrue inquired. "Another plan, Mr. Yashida? I would think you would stop making any more plans, lest you dig your grave even deeper."
"What does it matter how deep the grave is if one is stupid enough to get himself killed in the first place?" Johnny shot back. "Seems to me I have nothing left to lose, so I give you a new proposition. I can give you a fall guy."
"A fall guy?" Fleming asked, seeming unfamiliar with the term.
"A patsy," Johnny clarified, trying to select a word that Fleming might have heard fifty years earlier, before he had entered torpor. "Someone you can blame for the murders of Ash and Martin. I'll let you know who would be a prime candidate, and you can produce documentation to prove the accusation." Fleming began to smile with satisfaction, and Johnny began to relax. "Once you give the proof to me, I'll give it to Southpaw, just in time for you to make your dramatic and well-timed public emergence from torpor. You can then reclaim your title and consolidate your position before the clans are able to rebuild their power bases following the damage done during the siege." Fleming sat a few moments in silence, seeming to ponder Yashida's plan.
"I like it," the Ventrue said. "Who is your scapegoat?"
"One of the attacking bishop's Templars," Johnny said. "He's a big-ass Tzimisce. I mentioned a Tzimisce earlier, if you remember. We blame him, no one will likely ever be able to tell for sure whether or not it was actually him. It's very hard to get your hands on a Templar, because doing so means you've managed to corner a bishop."
"So it's unlikely anyone will ever get a chance to interrogate him," Fleming concluded.
"You can retake your position and use it to call a blood hunt," Johnny said. "You can have fellow Ventrue princes do you a favor and extend the sentence to other cities, I'm sure. That'll help appease the Tremere and Toreador for the deaths of their primogen, and also decrease the chances that anyone will take the time to interrogate him if they ever get a chance to kill him."
"I don't even think the Toreador and Tremere will need too much appeasement, as they're in terrible shape as it is," Fleming mused.
"So am I to take it your time of preparation is almost at an end?" Yashida guessed.
"Yes," Fleming confirmed. "I've been amassing funds and calling in favors. I'm about ready to squeeze the Sabbat very hard as Yoshi launches this major offensive he has planned. Between the two of us, I hardly think it likely that the Sabbat will survive."
"Of course," Johnny said, even though he felt otherwise. He knew it would take more than a little bit of pressure from the mortals along with a kindred offensive to defeat a Sabbat siege, but he kept his beliefs to himself.
"I find you to be unlike many of the other neonates I've met since awakening," Fleming said.
"Back north, along the East Coast, I'm generally afforded ancilla status," Johnny said. He hated tooting his own horn, but he recognized that with one like Fleming, position was everything. While being an ancilla placed Johnny firmly below Fleming's position, it also meant that he was seen as a mature kindred, and not a childish neonate. It would certainly make a difference."
"I'm impressed," Fleming commented, and Johnny felt the prince was being honest. "You seem a little young for that."
"I've worked hard enough for it," Johnny said.
"I'm sure."
"Well, I hate to walk out suddenly, but I have some other work to do," Yashida said. "Would it be possible for you to fabricate evidence against the Templar by tomorrow night?"
"Absolutely," Fleming said. "I'll have Jonas deliver it to you shortly after nightfall."
"Excellent," Johnny said.
"Make certain you're ready to have Southpaw transfer five million dollars into an account of your choosing upon delivery of the information," Fleming added.
"Five million?" Johnny asked, surprised that he was getting all of the money rather than simply one and a half million."
"You are a clever one, Mr. Yashida, and as you said, it's always nice to have friends," the Ventrue stated smoothly. "Count the prince of New Orleans among yours."
"I'm flattered," Johnny said, making certain he kept his nervousness out of his voice. He quickly stood and led Uiko out of the basement, thankful that Fleming was letting him go. Oh fuck, he thought, fighting back any urge to fall into panic. That was very bad. While he had wanted to make the prince his friend, he found it rather unsettling that Fleming had openly said he considered Yashida to fit in that category. That probably means he's planning to set me up for something, he decided. Then again, maybe he's just fucking with me, knowing I would react this way... The Telemon could not decide what Fleming's motives had been, so he did the best thing he could think of – he returned to his haven as quickly as possible.
II
K.T. sat Indian style in the middle of his floor, cleaning the barrel of his Ruger Redhawk. I hate New Orleans, he seethed. I hate the Sabbat, too, and I hate their sieges, and their lack of professionalism, and their money... no, wait, I don't really hate their money. He smiled briefly, despite himself, and then tried to become lost in the chore of cleaning his weapons once again. His wounds were still extremely painful, and he had not fed since drinking from Erica the night before. He was starting to wonder if he would be able to find a meal, though he was going to stick with the simple plan he had decided upon. The St. Charles Ave. streetcar ran along Carrollton right outside his front door, so he would just wait until drunken college students started riding back uptown from the Quarter. It would be like a rum-flavored walking buffet.
A soft knock came from his door, and K.T. picked up his extra gun – the .45. He kept that loaded and ready while his Ruger was taken apart to be cleaned. He waited a few moments, hoping that whoever was outside would go away. The last thing he needed was for Erica to come back around, offering to let him drink from her again. He doubted his will would hold out any better than it had the night before.
"I know you're in there, Mr. Corben," a male voice called out.
Fuck, K.T. cursed. Just what I needed – Roi. "Go away," K.T. growled.
"Not quite yet," Roi said evenly. "I need to speak with you. Now are you going to open the door, or should have Vlad take care of that for you?"
"Hold on," K.T. replied. He struggled to his feet, walked over to the door, and opened it.
"Jeez, K.T., you look like shit," the bishop commented as he walked in. "You should really take better care of yourself. Were you always like this before Erica was around to take care of you?"
"Fuck you," K.T. snarled.
"Pleasant as always," Roi said with a smile. "I do so love dealing with Gangrel. It makes me feel as if I've gotten back to nature, somehow."
"What do you want?" K.T. asked through gritted teeth. He could easily see that the bishop was happy about something, and the Gangrel was reasonably certain that Roi's joy pissed him off more than anything the man said.
"Oh, I could hardly ask for much more than I have already been given," Roi replied. "However, that's not all that important right now. I have recently been told that our siege here in New Orleans is going to be put on a brief hiatus," he said.
"No good," K.T. said. "Taking a break was not in my contract. You cease for any time at all and I'll consider my employment concluded."
"That's fine with me," Roi said. "You have far exceeded my wildest expectations, K.T. You managed to wipe out most of the Brujah and Nosferatu, and you also escaped that Telemon ambush." He looked the mercenary over for a moment, as if he was gauging him for something. "I must admit, that whole fiasco with the Telemon was my fault. It appears that one of the pack members from Slidell was a Camarilla spy. He let the new regent know we were coming, and you walked right into the middle of it."
"I noticed," K.T. said.
"Yes, well, it was sloppy on my part," Roi said, his voice almost apologetic. The smile began to grow, and K.T. could think of almost nothing he wanted to do more than smack the look off the bishop's face. He decided to hold back, though, primarily because he was not certain if he could keep his legs under him if he expended that much effort. "When we resume our siege here, I will no longer be in charge."
"You get busted down in rank for trusting the wrong people?" K.T. asked pleasantly, finally cheered by something.
"No," Roi replied evenly. "I'm being transferred. It seems that our people in Boston just had some problems with a Telemon counter-offensive. It was a big mess, actually. I guess I really shouldn't get into it with you... unless, of course, you would be willing to work for me again in Boston."
"Where I'm sure there's a whole new group of people you can mistakenly trust when you send me for a meeting," K.T. offered sarcastically. "No, I don't think so. Besides, it's not good business for me to work for either the Sabbat or Camarilla too much in these head-to-head confrontations of yours. I should probably work for a few independents for awhile, just to remind everybody that my only interest is myself, and not this silly war you have going on."
"Ah yes, you must retain those principles of yours," Roi said. "By the way, will you let me know what those principles are when you get around to figuring them out?"
"So what's the deal?" the Gangrel asked. "Did you simply come by to gloat, or did you have something relevant to say?"
"We've been ordered to launch one more major offensive," the bishop said. "We want to soften up the Camarilla as much as possible before we go, so that they'll still be rebuilding when the next bishop shows up."
"I hope this wasn't gonna be for at least a few days," K.T. said, "because if it is, I'm not entirely sure I'll be able to help you."
"Oh, you'll have time to heal," Roi answered. "It'll be four nights from now. We'll take out the Krewe of Steele first, and then we'll tear apart the rest."
"Good luck getting the Krewe in one place," the Gangrel said.
"Oh, it's been arranged," the bishop said gleefully. "The childe of one of the Krewe-members has fallen in with a lovely anarch that seems to have some Sabbat sympathies."
"Oh really?" the Gangrel asked, amused that Roi did not seem to think this could be a trap. Of course, maybe I shouldn't be amused at all, he realized, since it's gonna be my ass out there swingin' in the breeze if it ends up to be another ambush.
"Really," Roi said. "And I know what you're thinking, wondering if this could be a trap. We were very thorough in our analysis of the situation. It's good information."
"Fine," K.T. said.
"Oh, and I brought something for you," Roi said. Vlad handed his bishop a large leather bag, and Roi pulled out a 2-liter bottle that appeared to be filled with blood. "This should help speed your way toward good health," he said. "It's a very rare and potent vintage, so enjoy." The bishop stood to leave and gave his mercenary one last look. "Make sure you get some rest, K.T. I think you're going to need it."
III
Johnny walked into Rick's Cabaret and immediately started scanning the crowd for Cinnamon and Spice. He found them quickly enough, dancing up on the stage closest to the VIP section. Knowing he would have a few minutes to kill, Johnny sat down at an unoccupied table and laid a hundred-dollar bill down in front of him. As he expected, it took only moments for a dancer to walk up.
"Would you like a table dance?" she asked pleasantly.
"What's your name?" Johnny asked as he looked her over with a critical eye, trying to make up his mind.
"Cherry," the girl answered.
Well, I don't like the implants, he decided immediately, knowing despite the presence of a halter-top that the girl had to have had some work done. She's cute, though... "Sure," he finally answered. "I just have two requests."
"What?" the girl asked with a nervous smile.
"First, get me a Stoli martini with extra olives," Johnny said. "Then, after the dance, arrange to get me into the VIP room," he added. "I've got lots of money to burn tonight, and I would hate to be limited to staying out here." She looked at him and nodded happily, revealing that she had been afraid that Johnny might have been planning to ask something more personal. "Oh, and one other thing," he added. "I'm expecting a friend to show up in a little bit." He reached into his pocket and pulled out another hundred and passed it over to her. "Could you make sure he finds me easily enough? His name's Southpaw, and he's about six feet tall with a goatee. He'll probably be all decked out in Armani."
"Sure thing," the girl said with a grin as she walked off to get Johnny his martini. A few minutes later she was leading him off to the VIP room, where she promised to give him his table dance in more comfortable surroundings. As Johnny walked past Cinnamon and Spice on the stage, he gave them a quick wink and they winked back. Good, they'll be meeting me in a little bit, he knew. Until then, he decided that he would simply relax and put himself in Cherry's caring hands.
Her dancing skills seemed well developed, but she lacked the requisite personality that Johnny felt was always present in the best performers. As a result, he was more than happy to see Cinnamon and Spice show up a little sooner than he had expected.
"How you doin' tonight, Billy?" Spice asked.
"You can just call me Johnny," the Telemon said. "Seems the secret's out."
"Sorry," Cinnamon commented. "So I guess you need some info, huh?"
"Yeah," Johnny said. "I'm looking for someone, and with the way you two seem to know everything that ever goes on in this city, I figured you were the two to go to."
"I'm flattered," Spice said, "but I guess we all know each other well enough to skip all the bullshit. Who you lookin' for?"
"Her name's Erica Blackwell," Johnny said. "She has a childe along with her."
"Yeah, Kendra," Cinnamon said. "The two of them have been in here twice lately, coming in to pick up horny guys. I assume they're using them as food."
"Great," Johnny said, pleased that he had found a lead so soon in his search. "Do you know where they live?"
"No," Cinnamon continued, "but they hang around Jackson Square quite a bit. You might try looking down there."
"Thanks," Yashida commented.
"Do you know about Yoshi's plan?" Spice asked.
"Yeah," Johnny answered.
"Well, I don't know how good his sources of information are, so he might already know," Spice said, "but tell him anyway that our good friends from out of town took the bait."
"You sure?" Yashida asked, surprised that the twins had come across such sensitive information.
"Friend of a friend told us," Cinnamon added. "That's why Agnes isn't here tonight. We're leaving town before sunrise. Maybe we'll come back in a week or so."
"Probably a good idea," Johnny commented. "So I guess I'll see ya when I see ya."
"Guess so," Spice answered. "Oh, and by the way, were you expecting to meet with anyone else here tonight?"
"Yeah," Johnny said, turning to glance in the direction that Spice had been looking. He immediately saw Southpaw, who looked far less out of place in a Bourbon Street gentleman's club than he had in a Staten Island diner when the two had first met. He waved the Ventrue over even as both Cinnamon and Spice walked away. Before Southpaw reached the table, a waitress walked over briefly and got another order for a martini before Johnny shooed her away.
"Good evening, Mr. Yashida," Southpaw said when he reached the table.
"Oh, now I'm Mr. Yashida?" the Telemon asked. "You used to call me Johnny, you know. Have I done something to offend you?"
"This seems like a rather formal occasion," Southpaw commented. "You said you had evidence of who killed my sire?"
"That's right," Johnny said. The Telemon did not know who had given some of the more vital information to Fleming, but Johnny had to admit that he was impressed. The file contained pictures of the Templar, whose name apparently was Vlad. Word had it he was born the son of a general who was in service to Vlad Tepes Dracula, and it was in honor of his father's prince that Vlad the Templar had been named. As Vlad Tepes had lived during the 15th century, Vlad the Templar was obviously at least four hundred years old. He could very likely have performed the crimes of which he was now accused.
Johnny passed the file over to Southpaw and watched as the Ventrue perused the pages and photos. "This is rather extensive," Southpaw commented.
"I'm thorough," Johnny replied.
"I'm also rather surprised that you were able to come across this information," the Ventrue added. "Just how were you able to get detailed information about a Sabbat Templar?"
"That's classified," Johnny said, suddenly becoming uneasy in the face of Southpaw's suspicions. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." He had hoped that his joke would help lighten the mood, but it instantly became obvious that his hope had been in vain. "Look," Johnny said evenly, planning a feigned honest approach that might fare better, "I'm a mercenary. There are mercenaries all over, some of whom work only for the Camarilla, like the Telemon, and some who work only for the Sabbat. Some will work for anyone that pays their price. We all come across information, though, and I happened to know someone who happened to have information that fit the profile of our assassin. It makes sense that the bishop would only entrust a Templar with the kind of responsibility that these assassinations carried."
"Yeah," Southpaw agreed, "but I would have expected an Assamite."
"Nah," Johnny said. "We all hear horror stories about Assamite assassins, but the truth of the matter is that they're not the only assassins in the kindred world. There're plenty of others, too, and the Tzimisce are still known as one of the most bad-ass clans out there, despite what's happened to them at the hands of the Tremere.
"Everything I've seen leads me to believe that this guy, Vlad, is the one who did it." The Telemon simply hoped that the ink was dry enough on the pages so that Southpaw didn't smudge it as he was reading. That could make for an awkward situation. "You should make sure the prince sees that, so he can call a bloodhunt."
"I guess you'll be wanting some money now, huh?" the Ventrue asked.
"I was hoping," Johnny admitted. "I could really use an influx of new cash. Strippers and martinis cost money." Almost on cue the waitress came by with another martini, and Johnny gave her a twenty and sent her on her way.
"You keep paying for everything with twenties, and even this five million isn't going to last long," Southpaw commented, his face finally spreading into a smile.
Good, he bought it, Johnny concluded. Finally relaxing completely, Yashida gave Southpaw the number to a Swiss bank account and waited while Southpaw had the money transferred. Within minutes Yashida had his money, and he walked out of Rick's Cabaret with significantly more resources than he had had in years.
IV
K.T. answered his cell phone on the second ring, wondering who would be calling him. He knew that Roi would stay away for a couple of more nights, so the only conclusion he could come to was Erica or Johnny.
"Hello?" K.T. asked
"Hi," Johnny's voice answered from the other end.
"What's up?" the Gangrel asked.
"I just wanted to make sure you were at home and still a little laid up," Yashida said.
"Why's that?" K.T. asked, though a moment later the answer came to him. "Is it time?"
"Yes," Johnny said evenly.
"I'm home," K.T. replied. "Just make sure you don't miss."
"Of course," Johnny said, hanging up the phone.
K.T. sat in silence for a few moments as he pondered the fact that Kendra was about to be killed. Do I even want this anymore? he wondered. So what if I have Kendra killed? Will that bring Erica back? What if she ever finds out I was behind it? It's bad enough that I let Philip mess with her memory, but could she ever forgive me for killing her childe? Have I really gone too far this time?
Johnny sat on the top of St. Louis Cathedral, watching the small group of people that was gathered below. In the park in the middle of Jackson Square he could see Erica and Kendra sitting at the foot of the statue of President Andrew Jackson, the American general who had won a stunning victory over the British at the Battle of New Orleans. It had not mattered, of course, since the War of 1812 had been ended two weeks earlier with a peace treaty, but since communications were so poor, fighting was still taking place in New Orleans. Though the victory had no bearing on the outcome of the war, it had still made Americans feel good about themselves, as if they had actually won.
The two girls were talking about something, though Johnny had no idea what it was. I wish I had that damned parabolic microphone, he thought. They might be talking about something important.
Unable to change the situation, though, he loaded a magazine of .50 cal explosive rounds into his Barret sniper rifle. He then connected the flash suppressor, which he hoped would also muffle the noise of the shot enough for him to risk firing two or three rounds. With all the buildings around, though, it's hard to tell how this is gonna sound. Once the weapon was ready, he looked through the night vision scope once again, taking his time to get the shot right.
Back at his haven, K.T. still sat in confusion, wondering if he was doing the right thing. I can't believe I've been reduced to this, he decided. I know this is wrong. If it wasn't wrong, I'd have the nerve to do it myself. I wouldn't have to hire my friend to do it for me.
He took out his phone and dialed Johnny's number, hoping to call off the hit. "We're sorry, all circuits are busy," he heard over the phone. "Please hang up and try your call again."
"Goddamn cellular!" he cursed as he hurled the phone across the room. "It never works when I need it." He struggled to his feet and staggered over to the phone in his room, knowing he could still make the call from a land line. He picked up the receiver and went to dial... and then realized he could not remember the number to Johnny's cell phone.
"Damnit!" he cursed. He staggered over to his cell phone, hoping the display screen still worked. Johnny's number would still be stored in his cell phone's directory. As soon as he picked up the shattered device, though, he knew it was hopeless. "Fuck!"
Okay, get a grip, Corben, he thought, trying to calm himself down. Alright, you can remember the number. Now we know the number has an '814' area code, so let's start there. 814..... He was finding it impossible to remember any numbers with an '814' area code, and panic started to set in. This is not happening...
Suddenly, out of the blue, the number came to him, and he stumbled back over to the phone to try it. Please let me be in time…
"So where else you want to go?" Erica asked her childe, wondering what other places she would like to see. Neither woman knew that they were in the sights of a fairly experienced sniper, and that death could be rained down from above at any moment. It was the farthest thing from Erica's mind. Rather than look around at any possible threats that might be lurking in the shadows, she was concentrating on her own hands, on her nails, and the bright red polish she had put on earlier in the evening. Kendra was right, it does look better on me than that burgundy polish I had on last night.
"Well, I'd like to see Las Vegas," Kendra said. "I've also heard San Francisco is really nice."
"San Francisco isn't exactly safe right now," Erica commented. "I hear there's been a bit of upheaval."
"Really?" Kendra asked, obviously intrigued. "What happened?"
"A bunch of kindred died during my last visit with K.T.," Erica explained. "I'm not sure about the details, though. He seemed to know a bit about what happened, but he wasn't gonna tell me anytime soon."
"He did that a lot, didn't he?" Kendra asked. "He kept stuff from you."
"Yeah," Erica agreed. "I think he was always trying to protect me."
"Like you need protecting," Kendra replied with a grin. "I've seen you, you're totally bad."
"No, I'm just tough enough to get by as long as nothing unlucky happens," Erica replied. "Thing is, in our world, something unlucky always happens. You can't avoid it."
"You almost sound like you still want him back," Kendra said.
"I do," Erica admitted.
"So why don't you try getting him?" Kendra asked.
"He won't have me anymore," Erica explained.
"You're sure?" Kendra asked. "I hate seeing you like this. You sure there's no way?"
"Well, there's one way," Erica said with a grimace.
Okay, Yashida, just pull the damned trigger, the Telemon told himself, trying to get up the nerve to kill the young girl dominating his field of vision through the scope. One little twitch of the finger, and you're halfway there, he told himself. Of course, he knew that once he had ripped the girl apart with rounds he would have to load a tracer into the rifle and finish her off. That would take a whole new round of concerted effort.
He watched the two girls again, almost smiling at the close friendship that they obviously shared. It almost reminded him of the way he and Matt had once been. And now I'm about to end it, Johnny realized. He lowered the rifle for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths, though he no longer needed them to stiffen his resolve.
He raised the rifle once more to fire, and brought the girls into his sights. Do it! he told himself. In the instant before he fired, though, he saw Erica's hand shoot out toward Kendra's throat. What the fuck?
It took the Telemon a few seconds to realize what had happened. Erica had apparently grown her hands into claws and torn into her own childe's throat. He watched in morbid fascination as Erica continued her assault. The Ventrue straddled her child and ripped into her chest, going directly for the heart. Within a few short seconds, Kendra stopped struggling, and Johnny knew the childe was dead. At the very moment of his realization, he heard the muffled noise of his cell phone's ringer. Now what?
"This had better be good," he said into the phone.
"Don't do it," he heard K.T. say from the other end of the line. Johnny's mind raced along at a previously unknown pace as he contemplated limitless possibilities in a matter of a half-second.
"You're too late," the Telemon replied. "It's already done." Silence came from the other end, and Johnny knew that K.T. was suddenly wracked with guilt. "Don't worry," Johnny said evenly. "I don't think she ever saw it coming." I know I sure didn't. "If Erica shows up at your doorstep anytime soon, don't ever bring it up. We both know she shouldn't ever find out about your plan, and you won't ever gain anything by reminding yourself of this night."
"You're right," K.T. agreed. Without another word, the Gangrel hung up at his end, and Johnny turned off his phone and floated down to the park below. Without a sound he walked up behind Erica, who was simply siting on the grass, looking at her butchered childe.
"Why?" Johnny asked simply.
Erica turned quickly, almost losing her balance in her surprise. "I-I don't know," she stuttered. Bloody tears were running down her face. "I want to go back to K.T., but he won't let me as long as Kendra is around."
So instead of simply releasing her, you killed her? Johnny thought of saying. He bit his tongue, though.
"I figured if I could go and tell K.T. that I had killed Kendra, then he would realize how much I wanted to be with him, and that I'm tough enough to be a mercenary," Erica added, seeming to answer Johnny's unspoken question.
"I don't think you should ever tell K.T. what you did here tonight," Johnny said honestly. "I don't think he'd ever understand. I think part of the reason he's always been with you is your humanity. If he knows you're capable of something like that... well, things would just never be the same."
"Okay," Erica said, seeming to relent a little too quickly. "But what if he asks what happened to Kendra?"
"Tell him she was gunned down," Johnny suggested, knowing that's the answer K.T. would expect anyway. "Just don't ever bring it up. Tell him Kendra is gone, and now you want to be with him. It should all be okay."
"Okay," Erica agreed again.
"Now get out of here," Johnny said to the crying Ventrue. "I'll take care of the body. Just go to K.T. Let him take care of you."
"Okay," Erica said again as she began to walk out. Johnny wanted to call out to her, to warn her that it would probably be best if she and K.T. left the city. He could not do it, though. He knew that if K.T. got wind of the party that Yoshi was preparing for the Sabbat, the regent's plans might be foiled before they even got a chance. Besides, Johnny never truly had an opportunity to warn his friends, as Erica could not stand to look back to see Johnny take Kendra's body away.
V
Be careful out there tonight, Johnny remembered saying to Michelle. The times were few and far between when the two of them had gotten into a really intense fight without the other there to help out. Now was one of those few times. By all accounts, Yoshi's setup had gone perfectly – he had lured the Sabbat into the Quarter, where the Krewe of Steele was gathering and would supposedly be vulnerable. It was, in fact, a trap.
Well, now it's a trap, Johnny corrected. The Sabbat had found a genuine leak that had let slip the vital information that all members of the Krewe would be in one place at the same time. That made them exposed to an all-out blitz by the Sabbat. Luckily, one of Yoshi's spies had discovered the lapse in security, and the Camarilla defenders had planned accordingly. While many had supported the conservative step of moving the meeting to a secure location, Yoshi took a more aggressive approach. He wanted to bolster the meeting's defenses, to crush the Sabbat when they appeared in force. The regent's strategy was far more risky, but also carried with it the possibility of driving out the Sabbat once and for all. It appeared everything was now in place to avoid what could otherwise have been a catastrophic blow to the defense of New Orleans.
It was a Tuesday night, which meant that the French Quarter was not very busy. On top of that, it was after 3 a.m. There would be few witnesses, and those who did see anything would likely fall into one of two categories. The first were those that were very drunk, and could easily be discredited later. The second group would be made up largely of locals that were in the Quarter working. Few of them would ever say much, as they had grown used to such events. The city of New Orleans did not have a reputation for being linked to the occult and vampirism for no reason. Many natives of the city had as good an idea of the truth as mortals generally ever did.
"We're in position," Johnny heard Brett mutter through his headset.
"My people are ready," the small Telemon said to Yoshi. The two Asian vampires were joined by a cloaked and masked figure that was obviously manipulating its voice as it spoke, and was to be referred to as 'Thomas.' This was a representative of the Krewe of Steele, and as a member of the secret organization he was free to conceal his identity. These three formed the heart of the Camarilla effort, each in contact with one of the three factions involved. Johnny facilitated communication with the Telemon, Thomas kept in contact with the Krewe, and Yoshi directed the efforts of everyone else while also coordinating with each of the other two men with him.
"I suppose we're all set, then," Yoshi commented. "Are you both ready for this?" Neither of the two vampires spoke, deciding instead that a simple nod would suffice.
Time to gel out, Johnny reminded himself. He had occasionally gotten overly excited before combat in the past and had found that completely relaxing every part of his body was the best way to maintain his concentration. He searched every shadow below him on Bourbon Street, hoping to find any sign of the impending attack. It was not that he was looking forward to the fight, he simply wanted to make sure that if the shooting started near him, he was not caught by surprise. Time began to drag on, and Johnny began to grow nervous. They should have hit us by now, he decided at around three-thirty. What's taking so long?
Time continued to crawl by, and the Telemon was just starting to consider the possibility that the Sabbat would not show when Thomas turned to Yoshi quickly. "They're here," he reported, pressing his hand up to the microphone he had in his ear. Johnny guessed it was hard to hear some of the reports over the sounds of the attack.
"Where?" Yoshi asked.
"Here," Thomas said. A moment later the concealed vampire opened up with automatic fire from beneath his cloak, knocking both Johnny and Yoshi back in a hail of gunfire. Johnny tried desperately to draw his shotgun from the small of his back, but try as he might, he could not get his arms to move. I took a hit in the spine, he knew. He concentrated as much as he could, flowing his vampiric vitae into his back, hoping to heal the crippling injury. Thomas seemed to recognize that Yashida had been incapacitated, and moved instead toward Yoshi, who was obviously the greater threat.
"Who are you?" Yoshi managed to ask just before he was knocked back by another salvo. His assailant pressed the attack, advancing while dropping an Uzi at his feet and producing a wakizashi from beneath the folds of his cloak.
"I am your death, Hideyoshi," the man replied. Yoshi staggered to his feet just as his attacker reached arm's length and thrust his sword into Yoshi's chest. The regent managed to sidestep just enough to avoid being staked through the heart, though his injury was still more than enough to wound him critically.
Oh no, Johnny thought as he watched the scene. It was then that he heard the first shouts over his own com system. "Shit!" Mel yelled, and then a quick burst of gunfire followed.
"Brett, look out!" Michelle screamed. A grunt of pain followed from the Telemon leader. A scream that could only be described as a death wail also came through in Johnny's ears, and he almost shed a tear as he recognized Uiko's voice.
"No!" a new voice challenged, and Johnny knew that Mason had joined the fight. A series of loud cracks betrayed Mason's employment of a shotgun, and then there was a small explosion. I have to do something, Johnny told himself, increasing his concentration yet again. I have to heal myself. I have to get back into the fight. He looked across the room and saw Yoshi lying on his back, completely prone before his executioner. No! Johnny screamed silently, wishing he could do something... anything... to help Yoshi and save his clanmates.
As soon as the first shots were fired, K.T. Corben raced through the dark alley, grateful that he had managed to talk Erica into staying behind. In reality, he knew, it had not been all that difficult to do. Erica was no longer willing to work for the Sabbat in any way, shape, or form, no matter how much they were offering. It made K.T. happier than he could have imagined, and he was more than willing to say so. He finally had Erica back. Now he only needed to make certain that he kept her.
Does that mean I have to kill Johnny? the Gangrel wondered. He hoped he would never have to make the decision. There were plenty of other combatants in the Quarter, and he knew any one of them might be able to kill the small Telemon. K.T. had no wish for Johnny to die, but he also knew the penalty that awaited him if he passed up his next chance to kill the Camarilla mercenary – his life would be forfeit. It seemed to be a no-win scenario.
K.T. looked behind him one last time, making certain that his people had their weapons drawn and ready to bring to bear. He was fighting alongside a fresh pack that had just arrived from Miami only a few hours earlier. The Camarilla had had no warning that the Sabbat's numbers were about to be augmented with seasoned soldiers. And these ones are used to fighting experienced opponents, K.T. knew. Pre-battle reports had said that the Camarilla was planning to divide its forces into three units. The first would be the Krewe, the second was the Telemon, and the third was the gathered forces of other native kindred. It was the third group, gathered near Jackson Square, that K.T.'s group was ordered to hit.
Predictably, as the gunfire erupted from within the Quarter, the 'reserve unit,' as Roi had referred to them, began to move quickly to reinforce their comrades. They obviously did not expect to meet such heavy resistance so soon. No sooner had the dozen kindred rounded a corner than K.T. and his eight cohorts opened up with a storm of gunfire. The Camarilla soldiers were immediately either cut down or forced to dive for cover.
Easy enough, K.T. thought. Now all we have to do is finish them all off without getting ourselves killed. "Get them!" he shouted, and the Sabbat pack leader echoed his command a moment later. They ran in with claws, knives, swords, and baseball bats, hoping to finish off their enemies quickly and efficiently before they could recover from the initial shock of the Sabbat assault.
In the back of his mind, K.T. could register that he was hearing explosions from within the Quarter, but he pushed that out of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. Roi, his Templars, Selano's pack, and the majority of the freshly embraced shock troops were engaging the Krewe of Steele, while Chang's pack and the remainder of the shock troops took care of the Telemon. They should do fine, K.T. knew. We only have to make certain that none of these reinforcements arrive anywhere.
"NO!" Yoshi screamed as he raised his hands in front of his face, pointing his fingers at his cloaked attacker. Bright blue tendrils of electricity arced forth from his fingertips, consuming Thomas in a wide bolt of lightning. The vampire screamed in agony as smoke began to rise from beneath his cloak, and he fell to the floor, completely immobile as the flow of electricity ceased. A brief moment later Johnny was assaulted by the scent of ozone and burning flesh. Part of him wanted to gag, while another part wanted to cheer. The greatest part, however, wanted to know how in hell Yoshi had done that. The old Toreador started to fight his way into a seated position, and then Thomas began to stir once again.
"That hurt," the cloaked vampire muttered as he stood slowly, once again rising above Yoshi. While the regent had obviously bought himself a little time, Yashida doubted that it was enough. Unless I get feeling back in my goddamned body anytime soon, that is. Thomas kicked Yoshi in the face as he bent down to pick up his wakizashi. A quick slash across the Toreador's shoulder laid Yoshi out again, completely vulnerable.
No, not yet, Johnny resolved. He abandoned his efforts to heal and instead sent his blood into his extremities and concentrated on becoming lighter. His body instantly began to float the slightest bit off the floor, and Johnny willed himself to fly directly at Thomas. The vampire was in the act of bringing his sword's edge down on Yoshi's neck when Yashida collided with him, sending him outside and over the balcony. With no feeling in his limbs, it was extremely difficult for Johnny to change his direction quickly, and he continued straight on across the street, smashing into the building across the way. A moment later he fell heavily to the ground. As soon as he hit, though, he was assaulted with the pain of several broken bones. Oh, thank God, he thought immediately, grinning through the pain. I must have knocked my spinal cord back into alignment when I hit that wall. I can feel my legs again, and it hurts... so... much.
K.T.'s unit cut into the Camarilla kindred mercilessly. Nosferatu, Brujah, Ventrue, Toreador, and Malkavians were forced back by the ferocity of the assault. Almost too easy, K.T. thought, only a moment before everything started to go wrong. With the suddenness of a lightning strike, the area around K.T. and his cohorts seemed to explode almost of its own will. Repetitive sounds of thunderclaps echoed down between the huddled buildings on the edge of the French Quarter, and K.T., purely by instinct, abandoned his attack and dove for cover.
It was several seconds before his brain began to make sense of the situation. Someone with an M-60 was firing from a rooftop above them. K.T. yelled to his Sabbat allies, but most of them were suddenly very preoccupied with the single kindred that was streaking through the group, slashing at one, dodging a counterstrike as he punched another, and then dominating the will of a third to start attacking his own packmates.
Who the fuck is that? K.T. wondered, knowing immediately that a fairly old kindred had suddenly joined the fray. The Gangrel knew that there was no one in his group that would last long. The gunner above had provided a distraction while this elder came in and freed up many of the Camarilla soldiers that were yet alive. The Camarilla had held a numerical advantage from the beginning, but the ferocity of the Sabbat surprise attack had negated that instantly. Now they were getting a chance to regroup, and K.T. could see immediately where the situation was heading. They're about ten seconds from being able to counter-attack against us, the mercenary knew, and he decided he was not going to be anywhere nearby when his comrades were cut to pieces.
K.T. ran off down an alley, chased by the sounds of Sabbat vampires being torn limb from limb by a Camarilla force that had gained a leader it was not supposed to have had. "Total cluster fuck!" Corben shouted into his com system, hoping to warn Roi in time that his foes would likely be gaining help in the near future.
Well, at least Yoshi should get the time he needs to heal, now, Johnny realized.
"Get behind me!" he suddenly heard Brett yell through his com system. Yashida's heart leaped at the thought that some of his clanmates might still be alive. Maybe we still have a chance, he thought. He knew that Yoshi's faction was assigned to provide reinforcements to anyone that got in trouble.
"Johnny, come in," Yashida heard Michelle yell. "We're in deep shit, pinned down near O'Flaherty's. We need help now!" O'Flaherty's? Johnny wondered. What the hell are they doing down there? His clanmates were several blocks away from where they were supposed to be. He had to tell Yoshi where Brett and the others were if they were going to get help, as no one would go looking that far out of the combat zone for them.
"Stand by," Johnny replied. "We're under fire. I can't get to Yoshi."
"Get down here yourself, then," Brett shouted. "Uiko's in torpor, I think, and Mel is bleeding all over the place. All we have is me, Mason, and Michelle. We're in a world of shit."
"Stand b-" Yashida's words were cut off as bullets began to tear into him. Instinctively he rolled to his right and then forced himself to his feet as he ducked behind a doorway. "I'm pinned down," he screamed into the com. "Give me a minute."
"I don't know if we have it," Brett answered. Johnny could tell that Brett was being brutally honest, but he did not hear any fear in his commander's voice. Well, that's good, at least, the Telemon decided. He risked a quick glance out into the street, and was immediately forced back once again as Thomas opened up with two pistols. Johnny searched the area around him, knowing he had to find a way to his clanmates as quickly as possible. And I have to make sure Yoshi is still alive, too, he knew.
He stole as thorough a glance as he could without getting shot in the head, and found exactly what he was looking for. Great, a shadow, Johnny thought. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves and then stepped into the nearest shadow he could find, hoping that what he was about to experience did not drive him mad.
"Did you say we're going to have some company?" Roi asked over the com.
"That's right," K.T. responded. "I tried to call for a retreat but your guys were a little too unwilling to respond. They seemed to think they could win, and they all got themselves torn to pieces."
"I'm disappointed," Roi replied. "I would have thought you would stay to help them."
"I would have if an unidentified elder hadn't appeared," the mercenary yelled in reply. "You never warned me about that. Any idea who he could have been?"
"It's irrelevant," Roi commented. "My people are well in control here."
"You're about to get hit by another dozen or so kindred," K.T. reminded his employer. "Unless the entire Krewe is already decimated, I think it's time to withdraw. They've taken the heavy losses you wanted to inflict."
"Go to O'Flaherty's," the bishop ordered. "Chang's pack has the Telemon pinned down. Make sure he's able to finish them off, and then meet me back at my haven. We're pulling out as soon as I see any sign of reinforcements."
"Great," K.T. muttered. Finish off the Telemon. Of all the things...
Johnny leapt from the shadow behind Thomas and kept completely silent as he tried to gather his wits about him. Travelling through the shadow realm was not only terrifying, it was also disorienting. After a few seconds he had regained his bearings and drew his sword from its sheath as he lunged at his cloaked enemy. Thomas whirled to face Yashida's charge at the last moment, and the ninja-to and wakizashi met in a terrible screech of metal. Thomas fell back a half step but immediately regained his footing, and then crouched as he swung his sword in a tight arc, obviously intending to cripple the Telemon by slicing up his legs. Johnny backed up a half step of his own just in time, and a moment later was covered in a spray of blood that erupted from Thomas' head.
It took Yashida a moment to realize that Yoshi had jumped from the balcony above and landed, sword-first, on top of their would-be assassin. The old Japanese kindred looked up at Johnny and smiled.
"How's your clan doing?" he asked
"They're in trouble," he replied. He then bent down and pulled the microphone from the ear of the left half of the skull lying in the street. He grimaced as he placed the bloody device in his free ear, and was certain that he paled as he heard the report.
"We're in trouble, we're in trouble," someone called from the other end. "Why won't anyone answer? Where are you?"
"Contact your reserves," Johnny said. "Have them support the Krewe, now."
"You sure?" Yoshi asked.
"Now!" Johnny answered. It broke his heart to send reinforcements to aid anyone other than his endangered clanmates, but he knew the reality of the situation. New Orleans needed the Krewe of Steele if it would fend off this, or any other, siege. The tactical necessity lay with helping the Krewe first. His own clan was expendable. "See ya," he added a moment later.
"Where are you going?" Yoshi asked.
"My clan's in serious trouble, too," Johnny answered. "If nothing else, I have to make sure I die with them."
"Then wait for me," Yoshi called out behind him. "You're going to need help."
K.T. ran down Chartres at a thoroughly mortal pace, hoping to get to the firefight soon enough to avoid any suspicion from Roi or Philip, but late enough so that he would not be faced with having to kill his friend. He could hear the gunshots coming from O'Flaherty's and knew in his heart that he would be unable to avoid the confrontation that Philip had seemed so intent in bringing about. Why? K.T. wondered. The Telemon did not seem to be much of a threat. There was no sense in targeting specific members of the clan. His train of thought was interrupted, however, as he suddenly had to evade a group of people running in the opposite direction, fleeing in absolute terror. Well, so much for the Masquerade. I wonder where the cops are. Almost on cue, he heard several sirens and the shouts of what he figured were police officers. Stands to reason they'd get here quickly. After all, their damned French Quarter stationhouse is two blocks away. Maybe if the fat fucks cut back on the beignets...
The Gangrel decided to quicken his pace significantly and sent his blood into his extremities, allowing him to move at supernatural speed. A brief moment later he almost ran headlong into Johnny Yashida, who was able to evade the mercenary at the last second. Oh fuck!
"Go ahead," Johnny directed to the other Japanese kindred that was with him. That's probably the new regent, Yoshi, K.T. concluded. "I'll take care of this one." Yoshi nodded and continued his sprint toward O'Flaherty's as K.T. leaned back into a fighting stance.
"We don't have to do this, K.T.," Johnny said, moving slowly toward a side street. He did not seem to be making a move to run so much as simply moving out of direct view, so K.T. allowed Yashida to continue to move slowly. We probably don't want to do this in front of the mortals, anyway.
"I was ordered to eliminate the Telemon before I returned to headquarters," K.T. growled. "I think that means my orders specifically cover you."
"And what about our discussion at Fat Harry's?" Johnny asked.
"Don't push it," the Gangrel said. He grew his hands into claws and lunged at the Telemon, hoping to kill him quickly. After all the two had done together, a quick death seemed to be the least K.T. could offer. Johnny reacted more quickly than K.T. had ever seen, drawing his sword seemingly from nowhere and parrying K.T.'s fist with the hilt. A quick flurry of kicks set the Gangrel back on his heels, and Johnny then began to follow his kicks with cuts that swung in with deadly precision. Only decades of experience in combat allowed K.T. to escape with his hide intact. As it was, his shirt hung in tatters and his chest was bleeding slightly from several paper-thin wounds.
I had no idea he was so fast, K.T. thought, realizing for the first time that Johnny had been holding back in their first fight. He's still obviously not as strong as me, though. It was easy for K.T. to realize that although it might be harder for him to score a hit upon his far faster foe, any wounds he inflicted would be far more serious than anything Yashida would be able to mete out in return.
The Telemon continued to press the attack, and K.T. continued the martial arts dance with an expert series of parries and counterstrikes. Seconds passed, and neither fighter was able to gain an advantage. "Seriously, K.T., just leave," Johnny offered again. K.T. could see growing panic in his adversary's face and could easily guess the reason – the gunfire that had punctuated the beginning of their fight had stopped abruptly. It seemed the gunfight at O'Flaherty's had been decided, one way or the other. Johnny obviously wanted to find out if he still had a clan to run with.
"I can't let you go, Johnny," K.T. replied. "Either I kill you, or you kill me. It doesn't seem there's any other way out of this." Unless you come up with another one of your half-ass schemes, the mercenary added silently, hoping that Yashida would be able to come up with some kind of desperate plan. He could tell, however, that nothing was springing to Johnny's mind. The Telemon's only response was to tighten the defensive arcs of his swings, making it obvious that he was buckling down to make certain he did not get himself killed.
There are too many cops around here, K.T. noticed. I have to finish this soon. He gauged the speed of Johnny's attacks and suddenly lunged at his foe. The slight twitch in Johnny's eye when K.T. began to move was the only sign that K.T. had erred in moving too soon. Rather than grab a hold of the Telemon, as he had planned, he simply had his claws rake through empty air as he saw, from the corner of his eye, Johnny roll off to his right. K.T. began to whirl to meet Yashida's angle, but had his right leg buckle underneath him as the Telemon sliced the Gangrel's hamstring. Pain erupted through the entire right side of K.T.'s body, but he fought through it and focused on Johnny... only to find that he had apparently disappeared.
Goddamnit Yashida, the Gangrel cursed. He's gonna leave me here for the cops. I'm get arrested and probably arraigned at noon. He struggled to stand, and suddenly felt something grab him firmly by the back of his collar. A moment later, K.T. was flying up into the air, being carried away from the police net that was slowly closing in on the stragglers from the vampire battle that had raged in the French Quarter. K.T. managed to look up enough to see Yashida, who was flying just above the rooftops, carrying his friend away from the police pursuit. After a short flight, Johnny touched down on a small building and looked over his friend.
"Didn't want to end up getting arrested," he explained. "I can't believe you fell for that."
"I can't believe you fell for this," K.T. replied. Johnny's eyes narrowed in question to K.T.'s statement, and the Gangrel's only explanation was to thrust his hand into Johnny's stomach. K.T. grabbed the first organ he got his hands on, and began to twist. The Telemon let out a cry of agony and immediately collapsed to his knees. He looked at the Gangrel with an almost completely vacant expression, and K.T. knew he had his foe hovering on death's door.
No, K.T. suddenly decided. He looked at Johnny's face and remembered Michelle, and Michelle reminded him of Erica. She had come so far, and brought K.T. so far in his own right. He was really no longer the heartless mercenary that he had been. He had changed, though for better or worse he could not tell. All he knew was that, with Erica back in his life, he would never allow himself to go back to the way he had been.
He knew he could dispose of Johnny at will, but refused to do it. I won't kill him. He's my friend, and a fellow professional. I know what this will cost me, but it's better to die with some semblance of honor than to live as the animal that Philip wants me to be. "Pull yourself together and get the hell out of here," K.T. advised his friend. "Just do me a favor, Johnny," he added, knowing full well that while Yashida could probably understand him, it was unlikely that he would give any response. "Letting you live is gonna cost me big, and I don't think I'll be seeing you ever again. If I happen to disappear, will you take care of Erica for me, at least for awhile?" Johnny nodded slightly in response. "Thanks," K.T. said. "Just make sure she'll be ready to take care of herself before you let her go. She's still pretty vulnerable." He then turned, and without another thought or word K.T. simply walked away.
To be continued……………………………………