Black Day, Blue Night: A Tale of Detroit

Something about the way you look at me,
You watch every move, every word, every fantasy,
Got no time for love, there's something on your mind,
Got the face of an angel but the stare of a devil inside.

Got hell looking up, heaven looking down,
People say the woman's got an evil eye.
Got hell looking up, heaven looking down,
Free me from the woman with the evil eye.

I turn away but still I see that evil stare,
Trapped inside my dreams I know you're there.
Thoughts of happiness you destroyed them all,
First inside my head, then inside my soul.
-Black Sabbath Evil Eye

Part One: Greetings From Friends Old and New

The phone rang loudly, its shrill cry echoing around the small apartment. The room was a study in contrasts. It was small and obviously cheap, looking almost run down enough to be condemned. However the closet was full of a series of fashionable suits. A pair of heavy coats waited on the coat rack, their stylish lines evidently apparent. A small bed was placed in one corner. The plain white sheets were neatly arranged and tightly pulled straight. Across from the bed was a desk. Arrayed along the wall over it were a collection of neatly pinned up papers, sheet music and charcoal drawings. The simple pictures were interspaced around the musical notes, the papers covered the wall fully, filling every possible space. Sitting on the desk were writing tools and a partially drawn picture. The phone rang again.

Who the hell, muttered the man sitting at the desk. His gray eyes glanced over in annoyance at the phone as he set down the piece of charcoal he had been sketching with. One of his well manicured hands reached out to grab the phone, the smooth cloth of his white dress shirt shifting over his shoulders as he stretched. He pulled the receiver up to his ear and leaned back. He crossed his legs comfortably, his gray slacks pulling slightly tight over his knees as he rested a hand on them.

The voice was tense, and worried.

Harris' eyes narrowed, this didn't sound like good news.

Oh good, it's me, man. Oh hell, am I glad you haven't moved.

Is this

Yeah, and I got some problems. I was hoping I could pull in some of those favors you keep saying you owe me. I really need you to come over

Well, I guess

Great, same address as last time. This is gonna be big man, I'll fill you in and everything when you get here! Hurry over.

Wait, what- There was a click and then all he could hear was the annoying tone of a disconnected line. Harris set down the phone and frowned. It had been such a peaceful night up to this point too. Damn!

He stood up and looked down at the drawing; he sighed and shook his head. He'd just have to finish it later. He walked over and pulled one of his coats off the rack and tugged it on. Even as he straightened it he growled in annoyance. He turned and walked over to his closet and slid it open wider. He looked at the pair of nickel plated .45's gleaming dully as they hung in their leather holsters. He frowned as he reached for them. Something told him tonight was not going to be a good night.

With a wheeze and a sputter Harris' car slowly ground to a stop. The ex-Black Hand, ex-assassin, ex-Sabbat, now anarch Tzimisce stepped out of the jalopy he was driving. He muttered as he kicked the door closed, it still didn't shut all the way. He cursed a few more times and kicked the door again harder. With a screech it finally wedged closed. Harris ran a hand through his thick brown hair as he looked up at the apartment complex. He sighed as he placed his hands in his black overcoat and walked up to the door. A wino who was lounging on the front steps glanced up blearily at Harris as he approached. Harris pulled out a twenty and tossed it to the man. The wino grinned at him with a gap toothed smile as he pocketed the money and moved out of Harris' path.

Will, it's me, he said as he held down the call button. Harris glanced around the dark streets of South Detroit as he waited for Will to reply.

Will was a two-bit nobody Caitiff who had the bad habit of signing on with and getting involved in things before he ever paused to consider how dangerous they could be. But he had helped Harris out on more then one occasion. Thus he was worth the effort for Harris to trek all the way over here. Harris frowned as he waited some more. At least Will had been worth helping, but Harris swore if he had to wait much longer

Harris, is that you?

The voice was shaky, scared. Harris knew Will was a cocky SOB, so whatever had him this shaken up must be real nasty. Harris shook his head, Will, what the hell have you gotten yourself into? He reached over and pushed down the intercom button again.

No it's your mother.

Look, I gotta be real damn careful here, how do I know it's you.

Will, you asked me to come down here, if this is the shit I'm going to get

Okay, it's you. Relax, come on up.

There was a buzz and the door unlocked. Harris walked into the small and cramped lobby. He glanced over at the worn and beaten elevator; a sign hanging by one rusty nail in the wall announced it as out of order. Harris sighed and headed over to the stairs. The dust covered steps creaked as he started up them. Will always managed to pick the nicest spots Harris thought glumly. He should have known Will was going to be getting into trouble, especially with his recent actions.

Of late, Will had stopped coming to anarch meetings and had moved down to this hole in the wall dung heap. The few times he had called Harris he had vaguely spoken about being involved with a really sweet deal. A sweet deal down in this section of South Detroit could only mean trouble. Harris reviewed all he had heard of this area. It wasn't much, but it was enough to be worried about. Especially considering the sort of things Will was likely to do.

Old Town, that was what the local neighborhood was known as.

It was one of the more run down, crime ridden, and decadent areas in all of Detroit. Old Town supported a wide range of hookers, pimps, drug dealers, casinos, and other forms of entertainment. All sorts of sin were available if you were willing to shell out the cash. The hookers were what had made it famous though.

Everyone and his mother had heard stories about the girls of Old Town. Beautiful women lining the streets and crowding the corners, they'd make all of your dreams come true, for a price. Harris sighed, seeing as how this pleasant little vacation spot sat in the middle of a Setite controlled area he had thought the owners would seem obvious. They weren't.

Apparently back in '96 the Setites were at the height of their power. But they had become too bold, too active, too obvious. A Tremere archon hit town, within a few nights dozens of surprising accidents' started to befall the snakes. It culminated in the fire at an old slaughterhouse that managed to claim almost all of the elder Setites in one final blow. The Setites fell back into the shadows to nurse their wounds, the coils of their power slipped and loosened. There were those within Old Town who decided things were better off without the serpent's fangs sunk in their throats, bleeding the life out of all who lived there.

A group of like thinking Kindred got together and declared the area a free zone, under no Setite or any other control but theirs. Since it was an all female group, they became known as The Ladies.

The Setites went to war.

However, The Ladies proved to be quite capable of defending themselves. Soon the entire district was riddled with their agents and spies. No one could make a false move without The Ladies coming down on them hard. And the worst part for the Setites was that the place started to become even more popular and profitable. Apparently a safe area to work in made for more eager customers and sellers.

In Old Town you could have whatever you wanted for a price, nothing was taboo to those who desired it and had the money. But there was one rule that had to be obeyed. The Ladies were the law in Old Town, and they are the judge, the jury, and the executioners.

Harris shook his head. Between the Camarilla, The Ladies, the Setites, and any of the dozens of other powerful criminal forces operating in the area Will could have dug himself a pretty deep hole. Who knew how much money or finagling the little weasel would have to dole out to get himself untangled this time.

Harris arrived at the fifth story and stepped out of the stairwell. He walked down the dim and dust filled hallway till he reached Will's door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Will must be real nervous not to have already unlocked his door. Harris muttered as he knocked. There was no response. Harris knocked again, still no reply. He frowned, something wasn't right.

He pressed his ear to the door, his senses becoming razor sharp as he strained to hear everything from within the apartment. The only sound that reached his ear was a creaky humming, and the pattering of a liquid on the floor. Harris breathed in, his nose twitching as he sniffed at the air. One scent was stronger then the rest, the scent of blood. With a curse he kicked the door inward.

Inside was Will.

Damn Will, you should have told me what sort of problem it was.

Harris looked up at the body as it spun gently in the air. The legs had been tied together by barbed wire, and then hooked to the ceiling fan. Will's head was missing; the bloody stump that had been his neck dribbled a stream of blood in a circle on the floor. The killer had taken him out in the few minutes between Will letting Harris in, and Harris reaching the door.

Will's apartment was in its usual state of chaos, Piles of junk and discarded clothes littered the floor and the sofa. A dead hooker was slumped in a chair in the back of the room, the two windows on either side of her letting in twin streams of moonlight to light her pallid flesh. Her neck had been sliced open; a plastic straw was still sticking from the garish, and fairly fresh, wound.

Harris' eyes narrowed, something was wrong. Will was the only nut job Harris had ever met who liked to suck his blood from humans through a straw. It had to do with his bizarre obsession about not touching flesh. So if Will had drained her, and then been killed, there should be a mountain of freshly consumed blood to come spraying out of his body. Yet there was only a small splattered circle under the body, and no other signs of bloodstains.

Harris breathed in, his keen senses picking up the slight trace of an aroma he hadn't noticed beneath the normally overwhelming smell of blood. In a flash Harris knew who the killer was, how it had been done so quickly, and why there wasnt more blood. He caught the whisper of movement behind him.

Hey lover, didn't I try to warn you to avoid me?

Blue.

The blade tore through his chest, Harris' heart burst, spraying his insides with blood. In shock and agony from the extreme damage he could do little to stop Blue as her second blade tore through his neck, severing his head in one brutal cut.

At least that's how Blue expected it to go, and it would have. Had Harris kept his heart in the same place every human did. But he had long ago taken to moving it around within his body. Thus, even as the blade tore into him he was ducking and rolling, ripping the sword from her surprised grasp. Her second cut caught nothing but air. Harris came up from his roll and spun around to face her. His hand snaked around his back and jerked the short curved sword out of him.

he hissed as he flipped the bloody blade around and caught it by the handle. Aw no.

Harris held the sword firmly in his hand as he warily watched the deadly Assamite. She stood there, a goddess carved of alabaster. Her long blonde hair swung around her face, her tight and short blue dress clung to her curves. The dress extended down from her shoulders to cover her arms and hands fully, her blue satin covered fingers lightly gripped a second deadly curved blade in her left hand. Harris tensed, ready for her rush. Instead she stood there and smirked at him.

You're going to fight me with a sword? Hmmm, better think fast! Blue pulled out a gun.

Aw hell, Harris' eyes widened as he cursed and dove for cover. A bullet snapped past his ear and shattered the window behind him. He rolled across the floor and came up behind a small sofa in the middle of the room.

He heard Blue's short laugh. Oh, of course, the sofa! That'll stop a bullet.

She fired again. Bullets ripped through the upholstery, spitting clouds of foam up about him. Harris' head snapped about looking for a way out, he spotted an open door nearby. With a desperate diving leap, Harris sprang away from the sofa even as it was ripped apart by Blue's shots. He sprawled headlong into the bathroom as bullets tore through the air behind him. Harris spun over onto his back, and dropped the sword as he eyed the open doorway. His hands tore into his coat and pulled out his pair of automatics. He snapped his arms forward, pointing them at the open door. The .45's gleamed as he lay there, expecting Blue to burst in after him.

Instead she dashed past the door, a sudden blur of movement. He heard the sounds of her feet on broken glass as she leapt out the window with a laugh. Harris cursed as he scrambled to his feet and ran after her. He reached the window and looked down into the alley below. But all he saw was the fleeting flash of bluish color as she disappeared around the corner. Harris cursed again as he shoved the guns back into his coat.

Blue. Damn!

It had only been a few weeks since he had faced her and overcome that part of his past. She had sworn that if they met again one of them would end up dead. She had warned him about interfering with her. But then she had turned on her employers, the Sabbat. She had helped him, helped him to escape. He would have thought that she would be long gone, having fled the city and the vengeful Sabbat. But, of course, Blue would do the last thing expected of her, which was, of course, to stay right here in Detroit.

Near him.

Will, you idiot, what the hell had you done to get Blue to come after you? At that thought Harris was forced to ask why the hell she had been here at all. It wasnt like she worked for the Sabbat anymore, not that they would be sending an assassin into South Detroit to off a small time crook like Will. Especially with a high priced killer like Blue.

Harris backed away from the window and eyed the slowly turning body hanging from the ceiling fan. Will, you idiot. This was not how he had hoped to spend his night. He'd cleaned up enough messes for George that he didn't fancy doing so for Blue. However, if he was going to give lip service to the Camarilla he'd better live up to their rules. Glory to the Masquerade and all that nonsense.

Harris quickly closed the front door. At least in a neighborhood like this the gunshots wouldn't attract attention too quickly, so he would have time to properly hide all evidence of vamparic activity. He walked over and scooped the hooker's dead body out of the chair and laid it down on the floor. He retrieved the sword he had taken from Blue and cut down Will's body. It dropped to the floor with a wet splat, spraying some of the dribbled blood on his pants. Harris cursed again, muttering in annoyance at the stains. Then he frowned, looking at the body, and soon was cursing once more.

Where the hell had she put the goddamn head?

Harris walked over to peer into the bathroom, no luck. He opened the cabinet under the sink, still nothing. He walked back into the main room and began sorting through the piles of junk there. She hadn't been holding it when she came out to attack his back, but chances were shed been doing something with it when he interrupted her. Harris looked up, there was only one place she could have been hiding from him when he came in and still managed to come at him from behind. The kitchen.

Harris opened the refrigerator first, knowing the way Blue could attempt humor sometimes. Sure enough Will's head was there, with straws stuck into every possible location, and his features twisted into a grotesque smile. Harris reached into the fridge and pulled the head out.

Cute, Blue, real cute, he sighed.

The front door opened.

The bright spray of light nearly caused Harris to leap and yell in surprise. How the hell could he have missed hearing someone approaching! He was slipping in his old age. Harris pressed himself against the wall, clutching the head tightly, as two figures entered.

The first was a brunette, dressed in leathers and a cowboy hat. Her curly brownish red hair hung out of the hat and past her shoulders. She held a pair of revolvers in her hands as she entered. Her eyes were wide and nervous. She gripped her guns too tightly, knuckles white, showing her inexperience.

Next to her came a small oriental woman. Standing a shade under five feet tall and dressed in a pair of white tights and a loosely belted gi top, also white. Her short dark hair was cut off tightly at the shoulders, a sword was strapped to her hip. The brunette took a step forward, her eyes wide as she looked at the two bodies.

Aww Will The cowgirl's arms dropped to hang her guns limply at her sides as she looked at the body. The small swordswoman however had stopped motionless a few steps into the room. She slowly twisted to look over her shoulder into the kitchen. Where Harris stood, holding Will's head. Harris looked back at her and smiled.

Hello ma'am, would you believe I'm a friend of the family?