Chapter 2: Night's Dark Agents
1. The Gathering Storm
Twilight bled across the sky as Vince gunned his motorcycle through the empty streets. The docks were quiet this time night, only haunted by wraiths of fog drifting between decrepit warehouses. Vince killed his engine and lights, letting the bike coast to silence. He drew his leather jacket tight against the chill ocean air as he scouted for signs of life.
The creak of a wooden pier nearby caught his attention. Boots on old boards, the scuff of heavy crates, and murmured voices - a shipment being offloaded. Vince crept closer, using derelict buildings for cover as he assessed the operation from the shadows.
Six gang figures in ragged leathers hurried back and forth, unloading nondescript crates from a small trawler to waiting vans. Different gang, but the same MO as the drug buys Jeanette's informants had reported lately. Vince's instincts told him he'd found what he was looking for. Time to crash this party.
He circled around, picking his moment to approach unseen. Drawing his Glock, Vince stepped from the shadows behind the nearest thug. Before the gangster could react, Vince clamped a hand over his mouth and yanked him back into darkness. A swift chokehold later and the lifeless body was hidden from view.
Vince moved on the next lookout, who squinted nervously into the gloom. "Rick? That you man?"
The man's eyes went wide as Vince emerged before him. He lunged for his radio but froze as Vince's pistol pressed under his chin.
"Make the call. Tell them to wrap it up."
The man hastily spoke into the radio, voice shaking. "Uh, Ron? We got a problem, man. Wrap this up and clear out. Now."
Voices sounded from the pier, angry and confused. Vince tuned them out, focusing on the thug in his grip. "Your supplier. Name, now."
"I dunno nothing," the man gasped desperately. Vince looked him in the eye, and gave a slight push with his vampiric powers. "Tell me."
The man's will buckled. "A-Alright, alright! We just run the deliveries for a guy called Red Jack. Don't know his real name. Rumor is he's downtown, hooked up with some company..."
Vince smiled coldly. It wasn't much, but it kept the trail warm. Behind him the sound of tires peeled out as the gangsters made themselves scarce. Vince's gaze never left the man's frightened eyes.
"Forget you saw me. Get out of the drug trade. Understand?"
The man nodded frantically. Vince knocked him out with a sharp elbow strike and let him slump to the ground. He turned and approached the stacks of crates still waiting on the pier. Prying one open revealed orderly rows of red pills in protective packaging. The pills' sickly sweet scent flooded Vince's senses. He quickly closed the crate, struggling to quiet the Beast clawing inside him.
This was the real product, in a substantial quantity. Someone powerful was running this operation. Perhaps Red Jack could point Vince towards the black heart of the ones behind that deal. But he'd have to find him first.
Vince took one crate as evidence and made an anonymous call to the local Camarilla enforcers. They could clean up and get the rest of the shipment off the streets. Right now he was on the beast's trail, and couldn't risk losing momentum. The hunt was on.
He strapped the crate securely to his bike. The night was getting interesting at last.
2. Shadows of the Sabbat
Vince leaned against a grimy wall in the back alley, collar turned up against the chill. His breath steamed in the frigid air as he kept his eyes on the warehouse across the street.
Intel from Jeanette's contacts suggested this place was a gathering point for the local Sabbat packs. If anyone knew how to track down Red Jack, it would be them. Vince just had to grab the right one, and persuade them to talk. Easier said than done with the fanatics of the Sword of Caine. Subtlety wasn't their strong suit. And information sharing with the canonfodder wasn't a thing with the Sabbat. Those goons were lucky to even be aware that they had been embraced.
Still, he had to act fast. The window to stop this drug plague was closing. Already the Camarilla leadership argued over solutions, from mass executions of users to open war with anyone dabbling in drug trades. If Vince didn't cut off the snake's head soon, the Masquerade would drown in kindred blood.
Which brought him to this charnel house. He watched the figures milling about inside, planning his approach, when a scuffling commotion erupted within. Shouts and thuds rang out, followed by a body smashing through a second-story window in a rain of glass. It plummeted to the street where it lay unmoving.
Vince was already moving, his bike rumbling to life. He gunned it straight for the shattered warehouse door the attackers were about to exit. Twin headlights illuminated the shocked faces of a Sabbat pack just before Vince plowed into them. Fanged faces and black leather went flying under squealing tires.
Vince spun the bike, fishtailing to a stop. He drew his Glock and advanced on the piled vampires struggling to untangle themselves. When one reached for a fallen weapon, Vince put a round through his hand. The pack froze, wary and alert.
"Nobody needs to get Final Death tonight," Vince rumbled. "I just need information. Word is Red Jack is bringing in product. I want his location. Now."
The pack leader, a fiery Latina vampire, gave a mocking laugh. "You're crazy if you think we'll betray our own to the lapdogs of the Ivory Tower. Do your worst, Cabrón."
Vince lowered the gun. "Have it your way."
With sudden speed he seized the outspoken vampire and hauled her to her feet. In a blur she was slammed against a dumpster, his forearm crushing her throat. She clawed at his arm desperately as he lifted her up.
"Last chance. Where do I find Red Jack?"
The pack shifted uneasily but did not intervene. Their leader managed to rasp "Go to hell!" before Vince crushed her windpipe. He dropped the choking woman to clutch her ruined throat.
"She made her choice," he told the others coldly. "Who's next?"
The pack avoided his gaze. Finally the largest vampire stepped forward, palms up.
"Hey man, ease up. We wanna stop these drugs too, it makes our people look bad, you feel? I hear Red Jack hangs out at Vesuvius club downtown. That's all I know, I swear."
Vince weighed the intelligence. It fit with other clues for the most part.
"I don't like being lied to. Or for shovelheads to think they are clever. Did you really think, I would fall for it? We all know the club isn't Downtown." Shaking his head, Vince pulled the trigger of his Glock and finished off the remainders of the Sabbat.
With a scoff, Vince got on his bike, turned and sped off into the night. As if the Sabbat would care for the Masquerade. He was sure they would not forget what had happened tonight, even with no survivors to tell what had happened.
Vince's instincts tingled - he had a feeling that he was drawing dangerous eyes to himself. But he was so close. Each hard-won piece of the puzzle drew him nearer to the heart of this conspiracy. And no power in this city would stop Vince from exposing the ones behind this threat to the kindred.
3. Deadly Encounters
Tires screeched around the corner as Vince raced through the empty streets. He was en route to check out the Vesuvius when a pair of black vans tore out of an alley ahead of him. Vince swerved, skidding to a stop as the vans blocked the road. He reached for his Glock as doors slammed open.
Eight armed kindred enforcers poured out, heavily geared with body armor and automatic weapons. Vince froze. Their formation and equipment screamed special forces training - these were no ordinary thugs.
The enforcers fanned out with disciplined precision, cutting off routes of escape. Their leader, a powerfully built vampire with cold reptilian eyes, approached Vince's bike, submachine gun trained on his chest.
"Mr. Stone," he greeted with mock cordiality. "A pleasure to finally meet. We have some friends who are very interested in chatting with you about your recent activities. So if you'll come quietly..."
Every sense screamed trap. Vince kept his hands in plain view. "That's a nice offer, but I have a prior engagement. We'll have to reschedule."
The merc leader smiled without humor. "Let's not do this the hard way-"
In a lightning move Vince swept up his Glock and snapped off two shots, shattering the vampire's knee caps. He wrenched the bike around but snipers on the rooftop opened fire, shredding his rear tire. Vince accelerated on the bare rim, weaving wildly as automatic rifle fire erupted.
He managed to get around the vans, opening his throttle on the straightaway. But the mercs were already giving chase. Vince cursed as the vans overtook his crippled bike. He was running out of options.
As the lead van cornered, angling to force Vince into oncoming traffic, he saw his chance. When it pulled alongside, Vince leapt from his bike to the roof the van. He ripped open a maintenance hatch and dropped inside among crates of weapons and gear.
Shouts rang out as the mercs realized what had happened. Vince scrambled into the passenger seat and kicked out the startled driver. He slid over and slammed the accelerator just as the tac team plowed through the rear doors. Gunfire erupted inside the swerving van.
Vince slid the van into a construction site, plowing through barriers and signage. The mercs tumbled in a heap as the van crashed to a stop. Vince dove through the shattered windshield, somersaulting to his feet with Glock ready. But the mercs were down for the count.
He scanned the wreckage. Whoever sent these professionals wanted him off this case permanently. His efforts were clearly distressing someone high up the chain. Good.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Vince faded into the shadows, circling back to where his bike lay. The engine was shot, dripping gasoline. No time to recover it. Instead he hotwired one of the merc's undamaged vans and sped off into the night.
Someone powerful thought they could intimidate him into silence. They thought wrong. Unlike them, Vince had nothing left to lose. And he was just getting started.
This night's work was just another piece slotting into place. The shadowy picture was growing clearer. And when Vince finally dragged it into the light, vengeance would be swift and uncompromising.
Of that, he promised every fallen friend. The hunt went on.
4. Unseen Adversaries
Vince crouched motionless on the rooftop, overlooking the Vesuvius nightclub's entrance. Two hours of surveillance and no sign of his quarry. But Vince's instincts told him Red Jack would show. This club was a hub for downtown's kindred - drugs, blood and secrets flowed freely behind its exclusive velvet ropes.
Tonight was Vince's best chance to catch the dealer and wring answers from him. Where he got his supply, and who pulled his strings. Vince just had to get to him before the Sabbat did. Killing Red Jack would be a PR coup for them and bury Vince's leads.
A monstrous black SUV with tinted windows pulled up below and the doorman hurried to open the door. Vince tasted the air - the oversweet scent of the tainted vitae wafted up amidst the more mundane odors of alcohol and perfume. His eyes narrowed. Speak of the devil.
Red Jack unfolded from the backseat - lanky build, stylish red leather jacket, designer sunglasses concealing his eyes. The gang lord had risen quickly in the downtown drug trade and lived the part. Two bodyguards flanked him as Red Jack tipped the doorman and sauntered inside.
Vince didn't like his odds taking on the guards up front. Better to ambush the dealer alone once he was inside. Vince made his way down the fire escape and slipped into the alley behind the building. A locked security door barred entrance to the back hallways catering staff used.
Vince pressed an ear to the cold metal. Muffled thumps and footsteps within. Staff rarely traveled these halls alone at night. He stepped back and kicked the door hard beside the handle. Metal crunched and the door sprang open. Vince moved inside, senses straining for any reaction. Only pulsing club music ahead.
He crept through the hallway, hugging shadows along the walls. The air grew thicker with blood-scent and intoxicating bass beats as he approached the main club floor. Vince peered out at the heaving mass of bodies and strobing lights. No sign of Red Jack's entourage. Likely they had gone upstairs.
Vince circled the dance floor towards the VIP lounge stairs. He froze as shouting erupted from the entry hallway behind him. Security streamed in, sweeping through the club toward Vince's position.
His break-in must have tripped an alarm. No time to worry about witnesses now. Vince vaulted onto the bar, kicking bottles aside as he sprinted its length. Panicked patrons scattered from his headlong rush. He leapt atop a table and used it as a platform to grab the balcony rail overhead. Muscles strained as he pulled himself hand over hand towards the stairs while security guards shouted after him.
With a final heave Vince rolled onto the balcony and sprang up, coat swirling. Bouncers plowed into the crowd below as Vince took the stairs two at a time to the lounge entrance. The guard only had time to react with surprise before Vince seized him in a choke hold, dragging him into an alcove. The body slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Vince turned to the closed lounge doors. His gambit had cost stealth, but sometimes confrontation yielded results. He straightened his coat, checked his Glock, and stepped inside to confront the dealer in his lair.
Red Jack sat among three associates. They looked up in alarm as Vince entered. Before anyone could react, Vince had his Glock aimed at the dealer's face.
"Red Jack. You and I need to talk."
5. Playing with Fire
Vince kept his pistol trained on Red Jack, peripherally tracking the other vampires in the room. "Tell your friends to take a walk. We need some one-on-one time."
Red Jack sneered, acting calmer than his racing pulse suggested. "You must have a death wish, friend. But I admire your directness, so I'll oblige."
He nodded to his cronies. "Give us the room, gentlemen. I'll call if needed."
The gangsters reluctantly left under Vince's watchful eye. When they were gone he holstered his gun and took a seat opposite Red Jack's booth. The dealer poured two glasses of vitae.
"A taste of my finest reserve, compliments of the house." He slid one glass over. "Now, what can I do for you, Mr...?"
"Stone. Call me Vince." He left the drink untouched. "Let's talk shop. Your operation has grown quickly. Impressive productivity."
Red Jack smiled smugly. "Thank you. I aim to please."
"I'm wondering who you're aiming to please exactly. Your distribution has ramped up dramatically these past few months. That takes resources and connections."
Vince leaned forward. "The truth, Jack. Where do you get your supply?"
Red Jack's smile faded. He took a slow sip, eyeing Vince warily. "You're misinformed. My operation is strictly small-time."
"You and I both know that's not true." Vince tapped the glass, thoughtful. "A factory source, clearly. Too clean and massive for a backroom lab. You're just the local face on a much larger pipeline."
Sweat beaded Red Jack's brow. "You spin an interesting tale, friend. But I cannot divulge supplier details, I'm sure you understand. Business etiquette and all." His eyes darted towards the doors.
"Don't." Vince's voice froze him in place. "You run, I shoot you. Your choice."
Vince let the threat hang, waiting. He had gambled by confronting Red Jack directly. If it backfired, he was no closer to the source. But his instinct said the dealer would talk. His shell of bravado hid a coward's core.
"I... I can't," Red Jack whispered finally. "They'll kill me."
"And if you don't, I will." Vince pulled a small glass vial from his coat and rolled it between his fingers. "This is a potent acid. Extremely painful when injected directly into the veins. It takes many nights to die from it. Very... unpleasant."
Red Jack paled, staring at the vial. "You're a goddamn psychopath."
Vince's expression was stone. "The supplier. Now."
Trembling, the dealer reached for a briefcase on the table. He withdrew a smartphone and placed it before Vince. "Here. This has all the contact details and inventory tracking data. Please, take it. Just leave me be, I beg you."
Vince pocketed the phone and stood. Red Jack breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes widened in shock as Vince drew his Glock and put a round neatly between his eyes.
"No loose ends," Vince said coldly. "But I appreciate your cooperation."
He slipped the gun away and moved for the door. His gamble had paid off - the phone likely held all the data needed to backtrack the pipeline to its source. Hopefully before the Sabbat got its grubby hands on it. It would be just as bad as in the hands of whoever was in control right now.
Vince had landed a major blow tonight. But the victory carried a cost - word of his tactics would spread, and more dangerous eyes would turn his way. The shadows held threats greater than dealers and enforcers. But Vince didn't care for much anymore. People believed him to be the lapdog for the Ivory Towers. Some lines, once crossed, left no way but forward. And it wasn't the first time, he had crossed such a line. The hunt continued.