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 coincidental and unintended.
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Chapter 3
I
"I look absolutely ridiculous," K.T. grumbled as he checked his reflection in a storefront window.
"I don't know," Johnny quipped, "I think it's a good look for you. Sorta like Tom Hanks in Dragnet, when they go and rescue the virgin Connie Swail. Besides, it's not all that bad; at least we weren't able to find the goat leggings."
"I swear to God, someday I'm gonna hurt you."
"Hold that thought," Yashida muttered as they rounded a corner and started approaching the Hog's Breath Saloon. Far from trendy, the Hog's Breath was a place that the Navy's sailors referred to as a local bar; only the town's full-time residents drank there. From what Johnny had learned in a recent conversation in Panama City, the Hog's Breath was also an anarch bar. "So? They kindred?" he asked his friend, pointing to three large men standing outside.
"How the hell should I know?" K.T. asked. "I've told you before, I don't read auras," he explained, disavowing any claim to the skill that some kindred employed to identify other kindred, mages, werewolves, and sometimes used just to read the emotions of humans.
"I thought all Gangrel read auras," Johnny countered. "It's part of your whole heightened senses thing."
"That's exactly what you said last time, and I told you that despite what you may have heard, the Gangrel don't have a natural affinity for heightened senses."
"But you're the most animalistic of the clans," Johnny reasoned. "It makes no sense that you guys don't naturally have heightened senses."
"And it doesn't make any sense for you not to know this already, given the fact that your own damn companion is Gangrel," K.T. grumbled. "Do you ever pay attention?"
"To what?" Johnny asked, oblivious to the fact that he and K.T. had wandered into earshot of the bikers outside the bar. "Michelle has heightened senses. Maybe you were on the Gangrel short bus."
"You're an idiot."
"I agree," one of the bikers commented loudly.
"Oh, hey," K.T. said casually as he walked up to the trio of kindred standing next to their Harleys. One of them nodded, indicating that he was likely what amounted to being the leader. "You guys got a minute?" Johnny hoped that K.T. remembered that they had agreed not to start shooting unless they had to. He saw in K.T. the same intensity he knew he had displayed himself when he and K.T. had been tracking Michelle's abductors two years earlier. While Johnny had shown more restraint when it came to violence, that was borne as much out of necessity as it was self-control – the simple truth was that K.T. had a far greater talent for violence.
"We got eternity," the one who had nodded said. The man was short, standing eye to eye with Yashida at about five and a half feet, but he was far heavier than the slightly built half-Asian. A large beer gut hung out beneath a barrel chest that was covered by a wife-beater and a black leather vest. Faded, ripped blue jeans, heavily worn black biker boots, and a thick brown beard completed what Johnny thought was the very image of the stereotypical Hells Angel. "They call me Bruce," the man said. Johnny stifled a chuckle until he realized that the anarch had intended his introduction as an ice-breaking joke.
"I'm K.T., and this is Johnny," the Gangrel replied, deciding to use their real names in this conversation. He knew that his name might be recognized, and that that could play out as very good or very bad, but he was willing to take the chance. Besides, he reasoned, we're in disguise. They may never figure out that I'm a mercenary who's killed countless anarchs over the past few decades.
"Clan?"
"Gangrel," K.T. answered, knowing enough not to mention that Johnny was Telemon. He simply remained silent on Yashida's heritage and hoped that the three anarchs would make the assumption that K.T. was speaking for both of them. To his relief, they seemed to do just that.
"We're all Caitiff," Bruce explained, referring to himself and his friends as the clanless individuals many in the Camarilla considered the dregs of kindred society. "I can tell you're new in town… you didn't walk, did you?" he asked.
"Not all the way; we left our bikes at the edge of town," Johnny said quickly, seizing what he thought was a perfect opportunity to advance the conversation in the direction he wished. "Heard there was a huge gunfight last night, and neither of us was in a rush to get our wheels shot up."
"Oh," Bruce said simply. Yashida was afraid the anarch would leave it at that, but to the Telemon's relief he started up again. "That was a bitch of a thing, let me tell ya. We've heard a few rumors about that."
"Oh really?" K.T. asked. His question was answered by the unmistakable sound of two shotguns being pumped behind him.
"Yeah, really," Bruce said. "Allow me to introduce Sam and Billy the Geezer," he added, his eyes focusing on the two shotgun-toting kindred behind K.T. and Johnny.
"Hi Sam and Billy," Johnny said as amiably as he could. He was having a hard time deciding whether he was more concerned about being shot by what might prove to be dragon's breath rounds, or more pissed off by the delay this entire situation would undoubtedly cause. "And to think people make jokes about southern hospitality."
"As I was saying, we've heard a few rumors about that shoot-out last night," Bruce commented. "Seems our sheriff got himself one of the culprits, and it turns out the son of a bitch is Sabbat. So the rest of us are on the lookout; even got the okay on using a heavy hand with any unfamiliar faces."
"Lucky us," K.T. responded with a shrug. "Look, asshole, we just want to find out about the two girls involved in what went down. We think we know them from back in the day, and we're lookin' to help them out."
"Hopin' to lend assistance to a damsel in distress," Bruce said whimsically. "That's very noble, but you better not think I give a shit."
"So what happens now?" Johnny asked, knowing that sooner, rather than later, someone was going to notice two guys pointing shotguns at two other guys on a lit Pensacola street corner.
"I'm thinkin' we rough you up a little bit and let the sheriff decide what to do with you," Bruce said pleasantly. "Earn ourselves a nice big favor."
"So you're not interested in getting favors from us, instead?" Yashida asked.
"Not so much, no. Especially if you might be Sabbat."
"He thinks we might be Sabbat," Johnny said with a shrug and a sideways glance toward K.T. "Since the city isn't under siege as far as I know, that would make us pretty low-level, right?"
"Uh-huh," the Gangrel agreed.
"Little more than shock troops, even."
"If that," K.T. responded. "Hell, we must have just climbed out of our makeshift graves within the past week or so."
"So I guess that means we're at the mercy of these clowns," Yashida said sadly. "Then again…" Johnny's body was a blur as he dove left; two shotgun blasts went off a fraction of a second too late, and the Telemon was unscathed as he drew his Berettas and started firing at Sam and Billy the Geezer. It was all over seconds later.
Once Johnny had put his two targets down on the pavement, he turned to make certain that K.T. had been able to dodge the initial shotgun blasts and take care of Bruce and his two friends. One of the two caitiff had what appeared to be a kukri knife sticking out of the middle of his chest. The other one was struggling to reattach a severed right forearm, and Bruce was as still as a statue, a second kukri knife secure in K.T.'s clawed hand and held firmly at his throat. Johnny stood and walked over to his targets, taking their shotguns and motioning for them to put their hands over their heads.
"You know, we tried to be nice," he chided. "But no, you had to do things the hard way. Now look what happened."
"What do you want?" Bruce asked softly, any trace of his earlier arrogance having disappeared.
"We already told you," K.T. growled. "We just want to know where our friends are."
"Your friends, huh? How do we know you're not a couple of Sabbat looking to avenge a packmate or some shit like that?"
"You happen to know of any way we can convince this jackass we're not Sabbat?" Johnny asked his friend.
"We could leave him alive," K.T. suggested. "The Sabbat wouldn't do that."
"Works for me," the Telemon said. "Bruce, here's the deal. We're gonna leave now. Yup, we're just gonna walk away. I'm tempted to take him with us," the Telemon threatened, gesturing to the impaled anarch lying on the sidewalk, "but taking hostages is no way to build trust. So you're gonna tell us everything you know, and we'll leave you be."
"All I know is they went north," Bruce blurted out before even giving Yashida's proposition any serious thought. It appeared that K.T.'s blade was removing every bit of resistance the anarch might otherwise have felt.
"That's all you know?" Johnny said dubiously. "There's got to be more than that."
"Maybe there is," Bruce admitted. "I could find out. I could call you."
"How stupid do we look?" Johnny asked. Then he glanced briefly at K.T. "Okay, how stupid do I look?" That got a smile from the conscious anarchs, and K.T. eased up a bit with the knife. Police sirens started growing louder, responding to the shooting, and the Telemon knew time was growing short. "Here's my number," Yashida said, pulling out a card and giving it to Bruce. "Find out what you can and call me."
"You can't be serious," K.T. said dumbfoundedly. "These yahoos aren't gonna call us."
"Yes they will," Johnny said confidently, seeing fear deep in Bruce's eyes. "Because while I can't see myself ever bothering to come back here, I'm pretty sure you'd be rather upset if they don't fulfill their obligation. Right K.T.?"
"Yeah, I'd be pretty ticked."
"And you don't want that, do you Bruce?"
"No."
"So we're gonna go now, and Bruce is gonna call us. Because otherwise, someday he'll get a return visit. Maybe not next week, maybe not even next year, but eventually it'll happen. And I know Bruce realizes he can't keep his guard up forever."
"Yeah, that's right," Bruce admitted weakly.
"So let's go, K.T. Maybe we can make up some time while our new friends find out what they can."
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IIAm I doing the right thing? Erica asked herself as she remained crouched beneath a truck trailer, waiting for Michelle to complete her search of the rooms in the Hideaway Motel, just off the interstate in Birmingham. The Sabbat had happened upon a room full of college students and taken care of business there, killing all five of the teens and recovering most of their strength. They probably think they lost us, Erica decided, trying to push her concerns from her mind. They're sated, their wounds are healed, and those teens had been drinking and smoking, so they'll be a little lightheaded from the blood. That along with the food coma…
The Ventrue antitribu lost her train of thought as soon as she heard a motorcycle pull out of a gas station half a block away. The sound reminded her of K.T., and she immediately started worrying about what he would say if she succeeded in finding out what had really happened in Manhattan. He said things would be bad, that the only way he could keep me safe was to let my memories be altered. "Wait a second," Erica suddenly murmured. Why the hell didn't I ever-
"Okay, hit 'em hard and fast," Michelle whispered, startling Erica out of her train of thought as she joined the Ventrue antitribu in her hiding spot. The Gangrel was not an experienced soldier, but she remembered seeing how such shock tactics had always served the Telemon so well over the years. Just like the Navy Seals, she reflected, knowing that it was the Seals' tactics of initially overwhelming a target and giving the impression of greater numbers that had seen Johnny and his clanmates through countless firefights.
"So not like last time," Erica muttered, knowing it was her fault that the pair had failed to secure their target in Pensacola. While she and Michelle had encountered terrible luck in timing their assault with the rounds of the town's sheriff, they had still had a chance of capturing Horatio when Michelle had audaciously turned her two MAC-10's on the locals to hold them at bay while Erica went it alone against the Sabbat. For the briefest of moments Erica had thought they would succeed and escape unscathed; as it turned out, they did neither of those things. Horatio and all but one of his friends had slipped away, and both Erica and Michelle took several wounds escaping the sheriff, tracking down the Sabbat, engaging in a second gunfight that left one of their targets dead, and finally high-tailing it out of Pensacola while their heads were still on their shoulders.
But at least the sheriff got one of those Sabbat, too, Erica remembered, agreeing with Michelle's analysis of the value of that one stroke of good luck. The Pensacola kindred would interrogate their prisoner, discover he was Sabbat, and might be more forgiving of Erica and Michelle's disregard for the Masquerade if their actions were taken as an attempt to kill Sabbat interlopers.
"Okay, see the white Eclipse four blocks down?" Michelle asked, pointing down the dimly lit street.
"No," Erica grumbled. "I don't have heightened senses, okay?"
"It was just asking a question. Jeez…" Michelle countered. "Take my word for it – there's a white Eclipse four blocks down. If our target runs in that direction, we'll meet up there and continue the pursuit."
"And hope they keep using the same car," Erica put in, knowing that they had had a huge stroke of luck when they were able to tag a beacon on Horatio's vehicle. If the Sabbat commandeered another car, they would only need to get out of sight to be all but guaranteed of reaching safety.
"Just make sure we make our shots count. If we hit them, they'll slow down. If they slow down, we'll be able to keep up whether they keep using that old T-Bird or whether they car-jack something different."
"Fine."
"And if you get in trouble, come back here," Michelle added.
"And if you get in trouble?" Erica asked.
"I thought we established early on that you're more than willing to leave me behind," the Gangrel responded with a smirk that hid her anger.
"Yeah, well… thing is, you're way better at stealing cars," Erica admitted. "And after that shootout in Pensacola, well…"
"Okay," Michelle said, the smirk morphing into a satisfied grin. After the shootout in Pensacola… Yup, we're in it again; and like Johnny says, you never look at the person next to you quite the same way after someone's shot at the both of you. It's a great bonding experience. Michelle knew that despite Erica's earlier statements, she now saw the Gangrel as her partner. Unlike in Disney, this time they were in it because they chose to be, and that made the comradery that much more evident. "So let's kick these guys' asses and maybe get some ice cream or something."
"I guess it's as good a plan as any… or at least as good as anything K.T. ever came up with, anyway."
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III"It's Birmingham," Johnny told K.T. as he folded up his cell phone and put it back in his pocket, trying to hide his surprise that Bruce appeared to have come through for them. The Gangrel wasted no time opening the glove compartment and looking for a map, and within moments he had figured out a new route.
"We're gonna want to take an exit in about ten miles or so," he said. Despite the fact that he appeared to have settled on the most direct route to Birmingham, his eyes continued to pore over the map.
"So… what have you been up to?" Johnny asked amiably, his eyes never straying from the road as he weaved through traffic at 110 miles per hour. He knew he ran the risk of getting pulled over, but that was nothing a little mind control couldn't fix. He had always felt that one of the greatest perks of being kindred was the fact that he had not received a speeding ticket in over twenty-five years.
"A little of this, a little of that," K.T. responded with the expected degree of ambiguity, finally folding up the map. "You?"
"Funny… I've been doing the exact same thing," the Telemon replied. "After what happened a year or so ago, though, it's been a welcome change to do a little of this and a little of that. Hope you got yourself some work when my clan pulled back a little to lick our wounds."
"Short stint in Savannah, but that didn't last long," the Gangrel said. "Also did a job for some Toreador musicians in Seattle. Spent most of my time chilling out and seeing if I could pick up anything new."
"Didn't figure out a way to tag kindred like they always do with animals in those National Geographic specials, did you? Because I gotta say that situations like this illustrate just how useful that could be." K.T. smiled at that, but did not offer a response. Silence reigned for almost a half hour as Johnny continued to speed along, blowing past the other vehicles as if they were sitting still, pushing his borrowed Passat W8 to the limit. K.T. never even bothered to speak his directions, instead pointing at various signs as Johnny took the car from one highway to the next, confident in the Gangrel's navigation skills.
"You don't expect to find them in Birmingham, do you?" K.T. finally asked.
"I'd like to think it would be that easy, but I can't believe it ever would be," Yashida answered. "I half-expect to find the city in flames when we get there. Of course, if they aren't there, and if they've continued north…"
"I know," K.T. muttered, realizing just as well as Johnny did that if Erica and Michelle kept driving north from Birmingham, they would soon arrive in Tennessee. And while that might seem like an attractive idea to Michelle, especially if she's totally lost it and is looking to take down Herrera, Erica won't have any idea what she's in for. Michelle is gonna get her killed.
"What if there's something we're missing?" Johnny asked, seeming to K.T. as if he was grasping at straws, desperately hoping against hope that his companion had not completely snapped.
"What could we be missing?" the Gangrel responded. "We know what happened to Michelle, and we know she's headed directly north toward Tennessee. This isn't exactly rocket surgery."
"Rocket surgery?"
"Well, people always either say it isn't rocket science, or brain surgery. But think about it – rocket science is pretty much theoretical, so that's no biggie; brain surgery is tough, sure, but brains don't explode if you accidentally cut the wrong wire. Combine the two and you get something that's extremely difficult and also life threatening."
"Don't take this wrong way, K.T., but sometimes I think you're the dumbest person I know."
"This coming from a guy who was disappointed we couldn't get our hands on goat leggings for our disguises in Pensacola," K.T. replied.
"Make as many comments as you want, but I know you woulda been down with that," Yashida joked, seizing the opportunity to put off his concerns about Michelle for just a few moments as he partook in some needed levity. "I mean, I knew this one Gangrel who had two little goat horns on his head and a poofy rabbit tail on his ass. Of course, they don't make human pants with room for a cotton-tail, so he always looked like he'd shit himself… poor guy never escaped the teasing."
"Bob Mortimer," K.T. said. "Yeah, I know him. You're right – he's one sorry son of a bitch. Nice guy, though. Especially for someone who's had to deal with being called the horny Easter Bunny for the past forty years."
"See, that's what I'm saying," Yashida continued. "You Gangrel have a habit of occasionally developing permanent animal characteristics when you wig out, and thus far you've escaped that. Unless, of course, you're hiding a poofy tail somewhere. What harm would goat leggings really have been in the whole scheme of things?"
"You know, Johnny, this is a conversation that can only end in a gunshot."
"Fine," the Telemon groused. "Seriously, though – what if we have this wrong, somehow?" The suddenness with which he returned to his earlier line of thought would have shocked K.T. if he had not already been used to Johnny's mental tangents.
"You mean what if the two of them are up to something other than the obvious?" the mercenary asked without missing a beat.
"Yup."
"Then we have no idea what it is," the Gangrel concluded. "Why else would Michelle have come out here?"
"What if Erica is the one who planned this?" Johnny asked. "You two have done a lot of jobs; some of it was against the Sabbat, and I know of at least one where you worked alongside the Sabbat. Any chance Erica has a grudge or two of her own to settle?" Johnny left his largest suspicions unspoken, but K.T's reaction spoke volumes. If Johnny had not already known about Erica's past with the Sabbat, he was certain K.T's body language would have revealed that little secret clearly enough. There's definitely something about that suggestion that has him nervous. There's something he's not saying, something else that I just don't know yet…
"Look, whether it's something Michelle is up to, or whether it's Erica calling the shots and it has nothing to do with Herrera, that would be something we'd know nothing about. We've been lucky as it is, managing to keep up with them."
"Not like they've been discrete or anything, K.T."
"No, but you know what I mean. We're maybe six to ten hours behind them, and the only way we have a chance of getting ahead of them is figuring out what they're up to. We can either assume the obvious, or else pull out a Ouija board and start looking for answers from the spirit world."
"Fair enough," Johnny answered. "But let me know if anything else occurs to you."
To be continued………………………………………