Vampire: The Masquerade
Contest of Will
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Saturday August 8th
Day 8, Part 5
12:02 AM The Hotel - Parking Garage
Marshall Barry opens his briefcase and checks the paperwork that Lucian gave him carefully. Cabrini Green was the home territory of the Bloods, and that meant that he would have his first meeting with Kevin Jackson, the Ventrue who runs that gang. He wondered, briefly, if Jackson would be anything like himself. If so, there would likely be no backing off his plan. There would be war between the Bloods and the Hell’s Angels, because of the secret war between the Ventrue and the Gangrel over Lucian’s possession of the docks. His people would fight a war if he wanted them to. But he didn’t. To lure them here under the pretense of opening a chapter and taking the place over for the Hell’s Angels, only to have them possibly be killed in large numbers by the Bloods didn’t sit well with Barry at all. At this point, there was no going back, though. All he could hope for was that the Ventrue would back off. After all, his plans had been based on there being almost no opposition. The “rival” gang, the Sin City Disciples, were just a bunch of local toughs. They were only loosely run by Juggler, who had freely admitted he did not consider them to be a major part of his personal power base. Prince Modius had been defenseless for some time. His useless police department had been over their head for a long time now, and Marshall’s personal extermination of them had only continued to undermine the prince’s authority in the region. Kevin Jackson had little to fear from the Anarch Movement, likely. Or if they got into conflict, it was possible that Jackson might be well prepared for that. The Anarchs seemed organized and well-armed. But at the first sight of trouble, of only four Kindred that they were unfamiliar with, they had bolted. Yeah, Jackson would likely give them more than they were willing to fight for right now. So, could he really blame the Ventrue for wanting to move in on this territory? Maybe once he met Jackson they could discuss a pact between the Bloods and the Hell’s Angels.
Marshall closed the briefcase and secured it in the trunk of Pablo’s car.
The Toreador was on the other side of the car, checking his Night Fist gear. His man, Magnussen was also there. He’d be the driver tonight, in case a fast getaway was required. “Perhaps tonight we should simply scout the area, sir.” Magnussen suggested. Salihah sauntered into the room. She was wearing a skin tight golden outfit that made her every fantastic curve stand out. Pablo stared hard at her. “Damn, girl. I’m not sure you will be able to blend into the surroundings in that!” Salihah giggled flirtatiously. “Well, I knew you would be wearing gold and black. And Marshall is wearing black. So I wore gold! Now we look like a team!” She giggled again. Marshall had to laugh at that. “That’s stupid. We’re not a team. I’m finding that flag. Not you. Or you!”
Salihah stuck out her tongue, which was super long and forked. Marshall Barry blinked as she flickered it in his direction. “Put that thing away. It’s freaky,” he complained. She giggled and recoiled it.
“I don’t see what the problem is.” Pablo said simply. “Mortimer and Reverend Thomas found the first flag together. Using teamwork, they located it, and both reaped the benefit of the reward. We could do the same.”
“Let me think about that for a minute.” Marshall didn’t think about it. After only a moment he shrugged and said “Nah.”
“Suit yourself.” Pablo smirked. “You have a meeting there first, and I have super speed. By the time you get done with your business, I’ll likely have the flag well in hand.”
Marshall had nothing to say to that. It very well could go down like that. “Yeah. Well, Cabrini Green is a huge area. Big buildings. Private homes. Right? Housing complex for the poor and whatnot. Right?”
Pablo shrugged. “I didn’t look much into it. I have my laptop. When we get there I plan to do a little internet searching while you are at your meeting to try and figure out where Confetti might have chosen to hide it. And what’s your plan Salihah?”
She smiled brightly. “I’m not going to tell you my plan Pablo.” Marshall thumbed over at her as he climbed into the back of the car. “She don’t got one. This one likes to improvise.”
Pablo sat in the front passenger seat and Magnussen took his place behind the wheel. Salihah took her time getting into the car. She was enjoying the reaction from the boys of how she looked in this particular outfit. They all might be dead, but Kindred are still sensual and have a sort of lust. Rather than that translating into sex, it usually ends up in a decadent mix of blood-sharing that is just as physical, intimate, and erotic, as sex would be. While Kindred enjoy feeding off of mortals that way, it works just as well between Kindred, and is the basis of many Kindred relationships.
Salihah is one that truly enjoys such exchanges. Since arriving in America, she hadn’t found anyone to trade blood that way with. For one, it is a very intense experience. But also, it leaves one completely vulnerable, and open to attack. She had learned that none of the men in the competition could hurt her. It was part of Mr. Confetti’s rules. And though they’d only been there for a week, she had formed a bond of trust with several of them. They had all stayed within the context of the rules of the game. None of them had tried anything untoward with her at all, despite her bloodline.
Eventually, she figured, the game would really heat up. She didn’t know what Mr. Confetti had in mind, but the first round had been a sort of preliminary game. A tutorial of sorts, of almost mundane tasks. And yet, they had started uncovering many secrets. More than she’d have ever guessed they would learn in the first week, especially being entrenched in a place like Gary as opposed to Chicago. She was beginning to understand, as everyone else had also come to understand, that Mr. Confetti’s methods, while completely unorthodox and somewhat insane, were also extremely effective. She was all in on the game. She wanted to know where it would lead, and what they would uncover next.
Mr. Confetti had chosen the location of Cabrini Green for his second flag. Whoever got the flag would get some points, and a weapon of their choice. And that was all great. But what they would surely also get was information. Some new secret was certain to be found there. What was it? The best part was that Mr. Confetti didn’t know himself. He just knew where to plant the flag. His unique instinct had yet to fail. She was excited.
She leaned against Marshall, who glanced at her oddly for a moment, but when he saw the happy-go-lucky smile on her face, he decided not to complain. She was absolutely gorgeous. And despite being a Follower of Set, a former Priestess no less, she had given him no cause for dispute during the first week. On the contrary, she’d been lots of fun to be around.
Fun. That was the order of the evening. There was business to be conducted. Real business that might lead to real consequences. In the last few days they'd been assaulted, and embroiled deep in the politics of the region. Pablo, Salihah, and Marshall all needed to blow off some steam. Looking for a goofy little flag in a bad part of town. They needed this.
Magnussen stepped on the gas and they were on their way towards Route 90.
12:05 AM Sewer Junction
The plain white van had recently had the Anarch Movement symbol spray painted all over it. But Jeeps had taken care of that quickly. A new paint job, and Mortimer’s white van looked better than when he bought it.
The van pulled up to the sewer junction in Gary, Indiana on the corner of W. 19th Avenue and Taney Street. To anyone else, this was just another ordinary entrance to the sewers under the city. Stepping down here would be stepping into filth and decay. But Mortimer knew differently. This was a special entrance that led to a sparkling clean and dry pathway, where no human filth traveled. All Nosferatu warrens were built this way, and had been from the dawning of cities and civilization. The Nosferatu always knew that even if the rest of the Kindred were accepted by mortal society, they never would be.
They had lived under the human cities and lived on rats, until they perfected the talents of training and communicating with those rats to the point where ancient Nosferatu could see through the eyes of hundreds of them simultaneously. Neither Mortimer T. Smith nor the individual he was here to meet could do such a thing. But both had the potential in their blood to master such a skill. It would only take time and a good mentor. Nosferatu knew they could travel with impunity through secret tunnels underneath their chosen cities. They could spy on human and Kindred society alike, and learn every secret. Bartering and trading in information, they were masters of subterfuge, infiltration, and subsequently, blackmail. Every Kindred had a skeleton or ten in their closet. If there was a fully functioning Nosferatu network in their city, every Kindred knew to not make enemies of such, for then their terrible secrets would become known. For some this led to simple shame and embarrassment. For others, they were shunned and even exiled from their cities. But even Princes who ruled with an iron fist had lost their heads when disputes with even the lowliest Nosferatu had led to an unexpected visit from powerful Justicars, who meted out justice with impunity to any who violated the sacred Traditions of the Camarilla. And the Nosferatu clan always knew who had committed the latest treasons. And they knew how to parlay such into great benefits for themselves.
The Nosferatu network in Chicago, the largest and most powerful Camarilla-controlled city in the United States, had been broken. Mortimer didn’t know how this had occurred, only that it did. But that didn’t mean that each Nosferatu didn’t have much to offer on an individual level. Tonight Mortimer would accomplish many goals. He would be introduced to a Kindred in Chicago by his fellow Nosferatu elder Alexander Danov, the lone representative of the clan in Gary before Mortimer’s own arrival.
As the white van pulled up, Danov stepped nonchalantly out of a dark shadow. He climbed into the passenger seat of the van, not bothering with a seatbelt.
“Hello Mortimer. Right on time, as I expected. I am glad to have a night out of Gary. Everything there seems to be exploding, thanks to the Anarch Movement.”
“Hi. So, where exactly are we going?”
Mortimer pulled out his smart phone and Danov gave him the address, which Mortimer inputed into his GPS. They would be going to the South Side of Chicago tonight, not exactly the best part of the city. It didn’t matter. Danov had chosen the target destination. Mortimer didn’t exactly trust Danov. For Mortimer, trust was not something easily or freely given. But, he didn’t think this was going to be a setup. Danov had no motive to hurt him, but lots of reasons to incorporate him into the clan. Mortimer pulled away from the junction and back onto the road.
“What’s the deal with the Anarch Movement?” Mortimer wanted as much information as possible. They had attacked Modius’ mansion several times. Would they also target The Hotel? And if so, would the meager defenses they’d created so far hold up?
“This is as bad as its been with them since the late 1990’s. I suppose its to be expected. Prince Modius used to be quite active in preparing our defenses, and was, for a time, considered to be a rebel himself. Anarchs don’t attack rebels. But, in the last decade he has wandered into a sort of…mini-monarchy. He lost to the Ventrue clan, pure and simple, and his only real choices were to live in total poverty as his house, and entire kingdom essentially, fell down around him, or to move back to France. Most would have taken the latter route. But not Modius. Rather than being a rebel, he is now perceived as someone who clings to power. And for the Anarch Movement, that’s pretty much worse than a powerful and effective Prince. Modius has become an easy target for the contempt of both the powerful elders and the Anarch Movement. That usually spells defeat to the point of possible Final Death for most Kindred. But Modius is protected. I know why, and by whom. But that is information you will need to purchase, and right now I don’t think you have anything left to sell to me. At least, nothing that won’t compromise your activities as part of Mr. Confetti’s colorful assortment. I know he can read minds, so I won’t give him any reasons to expel you from his group. Given your abilities, I am certain that you will learn plenty of information to trade with me.”
“The Anarchs seem really well armed.”
“Yes, they do. They of course can smuggle such arms from their power base in Los Angeles. They run much of California, so getting equipment isn’t that difficult for them. Still, my instinct tells me they have a local supplier. I don’t know who that is. Feel free to find out. The information might prove useful.”
They approached Route 90, but saw that a log jam of cars held things up. Danov’s eyes narrowed. “This is…new.” Mortimer frowned as it became clear that the hold-up was a new checkpoint. Police vehicles blocked progress onto Route 90. “Maybe I should try another route.” Mortimer mused.
Danov shook his head. “They’ll all be the same. This is Balthazar’s work. See that officer there?” Danov pointed at a large, burly man that gestured for a driver to roll down his window. Mortimer recognized the man. He was one of the cops that was with Balthazar “the Sherriff” during his big brawl with Marshall Barry. “He’s a ghoul. All of Balthazar’s people are dirty cops that know about us. They are well trained. But it’s not us they are after. It’s the Anarch Movement. Balthazar’s political platform is that he’s going to protect the elders from them and the Sabbat. He’s likely using what happened at Modius’ house to flex his muscles. They likely won’t hassle us. They have no reason to.”
Mortimer’s van slowed down as his mind sped up. “Let’s switch places.” He said quickly, and slid out of his seat. Danov was surprised, but clambered to the driver’s wheel. “What are you going to-”
The white van was no longer visible to anyone outside of it. Traffic seemed to intelligently veer out of the van’s way, and no one collided with it or with each other. It all seemed quite natural to everyone. “Oh.” Danov said, and chuckled. Balthazar’s ghouls wouldn’t be hassling them tonight. They wouldn’t even notice them.
12:15 AM W. 4th Avenue
Salihah had sat up at such a strange posture that Marshall had no choice but to stare at her. Her head had been resting on his shoulder and she had been relaxing flirtatiously against him the entire trip. But then she shot up, like a dog who heard a strange sound outside the house and wanted to make sure it wasn’t an intruder. Marshall looked ahead but saw nothing but regular traffic. It was slowing down, and so was Magnussen. “What’s going on? An accident?” he asked.
“Some kind of roadblock, sir. The highway police, looks like.” Magnussen replied warily. Marshall frowned. He gazed over at Salihah, and she was bobbing and weaving her head to and fro. She blinked extremely quickly for a moment, then stretched her eyes wide open as far as she could. “Uh, you okay?” Marshall asked. He thought maybe she was experiencing more of that Malkavian blood problem, but she just grinned. “I think…I can see it…but just barely because…” she laughed, and pointed. “There! I think it’s right there, in the left lane three cars ahead of us.”
Marshall looked where she pointed, and saw nothing unusual. Pablo gazed back at Salihah, then gazed where her finger pointed. He too, was perplexed. “Don’t you see it?” She asked, mirthfully. “See what?” Pablo wanted to know. “Sorry, madam,” Magnussen replied. “All I see are a bunch of ordinary drivers slowing down for the road block ahead.” Salihah giggled. “What the hell are you going on about, girlie?” Marshall was frustrated by the game that Salihah was clearly playing. “Oh, nothing,” she grinned brightly. She knew what she knew. And why spoil the surprise? Mr. Confetti would share it all with them later.
12:17 AM W.4th Avenue
In the left lane, three car lengths ahead, Mortimer’s white van accelerated past the road block. The police officers didn’t acknowledge its presence and it cruised on through.
12:18 AM W. 4th Avenue
In the right lane, three cars lengths back, Salihah face-palmed. “Why didn’t I think of that? Oh! I’m so mad at myself right now!”
“That’s good. Because I’m pretty mad at you too.” Marshall growled at her. She flicked her forked snake-tongue at him. “Hey, quit it!” he barked.
Magnussen spoke in a contrite, polite tone. “I think perhaps that would be for the best. It will be our turn momentarily. Perhaps none of you should display any features that might…provoke a response.”
“Right,” Salihah said and stuck a finger in Marshall’s face. “Let’s not provoke a response.” Marshall grimaced. “I’m not gonna do nothing!”
Magnussen stopped the car at the proper spot as directed. The large, burly ghoul took one look at the four of them through the rolled-down window and a hand went right to his gun. He clicked on his radio. “Yeah, I might need some backup. Code 1-A-2. Code 1-A-2.”
Pablo frowned. “There’s no such thing as a Code 1-A-2.” He said, confused. The burly officer moved away from the car. In the distance, they saw Balthazar emerge from a large sedan. “Oh, shit.” Salihah moaned. “All right.” Pablo said. “Let’s just stay cool.”
Balthazar sauntered up to the car and looked inside. “Well, well. What do we have here?”
Salihah purred at him. “Hi, sheriff. We’re just heading into Chicago to have a little fun.”
Balthazar winked at her. “Well ain’t that a fine thing? And you’re all dressed to kill, huh honey bunny?”
Salihah winked back, and purred again. “I am. I’d give you the full view but we’re in a bit of a rush. Maybe another time, though, if you’re interested.”
Balthazar gazed around the car. “And looks like he’s dressed to kill too.” Balthazar stared hard at Pablo, who was in his full Night Fist gear. “That don’t look like no outfit for the club scene. Heard a bit about you. Heard you was trouble.”
“For the Sabbat. And the Anarch Movement.” Pablo quickly retorted. Balthazar grinned widely, his big face had a big mouth. “Mmmmm. Well, I guess that’s true. Also true they done called two blood hunts on your ass.”
Pablo shrugs. “Misunderstandings. All cleared up. I’m not on the Red List.”
“They make it three blood hunts, that’s gonna be all she wrote. I will pin your ass to the wall. You hear?”
“We ain’t gonna make no trouble.” Marshall said, from the back of the car.
“You ain’t gonna make no more trouble, don’t you mean, cop killer?” Balthazar leveled his gaze on Marshall. "But anyway, you and me already gots us an understanding. So, whatever you’re gonna do in Chicago, you make sure you do it quick and get your asses back to Gary before the sun rises, you hear?”
“Yeah. Got it.” Marshall replied. He tried not to sound too sour. It’s not like they were planning on spending more than the one evening in Chicago anyway.
Balthazar strutted away from the car. He waved his hand in a circular motion. “This one’s good, both ways, in and out.” His people nodded, and the burly officer waved Magnussen through. Pablo’s ghoul didn’t waste any time. He pressed hard on the gas to ensure that if Balthazar changed his mind it would be too late.
“Great. Is this going to happen every time we leave Gary now?” Pablo muttered, bitterly. Marshall sighed. “Probably. Sorry, man. This is cause of what I did.”
“Yeah. It is.” Pablo replied sourly. They left it at that as Magnussen gunned it onto Route 90.
Balthazar is on the hunt for Anarchs!
12:38 AM The Hotel - Jeremiah's Suite
Reverend Jeremiah Thomas practices with his new flail as Erichthro watches him. “If it comes to that…close quarters combat…I won’t be much help.”
Jeremiah nods at her as he packages the flail in its special holster. “If that happens, focus on defense. Shields and blood restoration spells.”
Erichthro gazes at her watch. “It’s time.”
They make their way through The Hotel, walking at a casual but determined pace down the stairs. Of course, she has questions about all of this. But she holds her tongue. None of whatever Mr. Confetti is actually doing here matters. She keeps her mind calm and clear. As they enter the lobby, Mr. Confetti and Andy pass them.
“The third tradition,” Mr. Confetti was telling the former homeless man, “is the tradition of progeny. Kindred are not allowed to create other Kindred in the territory of a prince without that prince’s permission.”
Andy’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. “But that means-”
Mr. Confetti grinned brightly, but his eyes slid towards Erichthro. Andy’s eyes followed Confetti’s and he immediately stopped talking. The two pairs passed each other in awkward silence. Erichthro’s eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into a small frown as she looked at them.
As Confetti and Andy arrived at and climbed the stairs, Erichthro and Jeremiah’s attention was drawn towards the front desk. “Good luck!” Jeeps said from his place there. The Bellboy Girl just gave them a toothy smile.
Jeremiah and Erichthro exited the massive recently installed front door and started down the street. Their pace would seem to outsiders that they are a handsome couple taking a leisurely stroll.
But as they journeyed towards the address that her spell would lead them to, they both expected to find one thing there. Violence.
They walked side-by-side. Calm. Silent. And with a singular purpose.
12:44 AM - The Docks
Lucian’s staff at the Buffington Harbor docks wheel down a long wooden crate from the newly arrived container ship with a wisp of an Asian beauty in an expensive suit and alligator skin attaché case following close behind. She’s in her early 20’s and grins at the men, slightly flirtatiously. Not enough to provoke a response, she’s just being amiable.
One of them whistles at her as she struts confidently by. She doesn’t look back at him, but in her high heels, Niko Kimura does give the men quite the show.
Two large, thick-muscled men each pull a trunk behind them.
Lucian himself, in dark sports jacket and slacks, and a white high collared wool sweater, waits in the middle of the dock and holds up a single hand. This stops everyone in their tracks. The crew leave the crate in front of him. Before he can do anything, Niko unexpectedly pulls a crowbar from her attaché case, and goes to town on the large crate.
It opens to reveal a beautiful coffin. The smiles on the men quickly vanish, and some of them immediately head off to greener pastures. The two with the trunks take them to a black Cadillac “Beast” Limousine that’s waiting. Its driver has a familiar face. He has transported many of the competitors in the Contest of Will to The Hotel. And this is exactly what he is here to do now. Niko Kimura, however, is not the competitor in question. She is his ghoul.
She knocks on the coffin in an odd way. Three knocks. Then five. Then ten. Then and only then, does she open the lid. It does not open the usual way that one would expect. Instead of lifting, instead it slides forward.
Lucian peers in expectantly and is surprised to see that there is only a large stack of cash inside the coffin. She takes stack of it and tips all of the men on the dock.
They then hear footsteps behind them, from whence they all came. They all turn back towards the dock to see a man in an impeccable Steed bespoke tailored suit.
He grins and nods respectfully to each of the men as he passes them. There is something about him. He exudes confidence, but not the kind that puts people off. It’s the kind that quickly wins friends and influences people. His smile is contagious, and though they are all wary of him, they know what he is, they can’t help but feel more comfortable that this is the Kindred they have helped to safely arrive. Lucian approaches him as Niko closes the safe disguised as a coffin.
“Welcome to America, you have quite obviously arrived safely in Indiana. I am Lucian, elder of clan Gangrel. And you are?”
The well-dressed man offers his hand with a wry smile, “Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.” Noticing the quizzical expression on Lucian’s face he continues, “Just a little joke. I am Lou Cypher, and this is my assistant Niko Kimura.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Lucian says earnestly. There is something instantly compelling and likable about the man. He radiates an unpretentious charm, and even a stoic, hard-nosed man like Lucian can be impressed by its effects.
“Your car will take you to the hotel,” offers Lucian, motioning to the limousine.
“Perhaps I could stop and introduce myself to the Prince on the way?”
“You’ve had a long trip, you might want to delay etiquette until you are situated.”
“Manners maketh man, Lucian, but thank you.” Lou slowly extends a hand towards Lucian. The Gangrel Elder shakes it as though they’ve been friends for years.
Niko holds the door open for Lucifer who enters. She follows and the car quickly speeds away. Lucian, wearing an uncharacteristic smile, recedes into the shadows as the workers clean up the dock.
Lou Cypher has arrived to enter The Contest of Will!
12:55 AM Prince Modius's Estate - Foyer
Four hours. As Strohman has wandered to and fro throughout the mansion doing odd chores here and there, Antonio has leaned against the wall in the foyer waiting for Prince Modius. Antonio has had ample opportunities to wait for extended periods in his life and unlife.
There was the time he waited in Salvatore “The Rancher” Muratagalio’s bedroom closet for two and a half hours as the contract exclusively stated that The Rancher should be the only one to die, not the wife of the guy who had contracted Antonio to kill him.
He even waited for five hours in a shallow lake. He was already Kindred then and didn’t need air any longer, for “The Porcupine” Ernesto Cabreezi to show up and jog around the lake. He always picked different times of the day to do it in in order to be unpredictable and not get assassinated. That didn’t work out for him, as it turned out.
It was okay to wait. As long as at the end of the waiting there would be wanton destruction and violence. But Antonio had promised himself that he would not harm Prince Modius. That wouldn’t lead to anything good.
As Strohman passed through the room again, Antonio stared hard at him. Antonio Hidalgo’s staredown is as impressive as anyone’s, and Strohman felt immediately overmatched. “Very sorry, sir. But you didn’t make an appointment. The Prince of any territory is always busy.”
Antonio understood what was really going on. Anyone in an authority position needs to make others wait for them as pretty much a rule. That was to show them that his time was more valuable than their time, and that things would happen at a time and place when the authority figure wanted it to. Knowing that was what Prince Modius was doing to him did not help matters any. Just the opposite. It infuriated him. People who infuriated Tony Hidalgo ended up floating in the river. He reflected however that most Kindred didn’t float after their final deaths. They exploded. More dramatic in the moment, but less overall drama when a corpse isn’t found than when one is. Dust sometimes floats, sometimes doesn't. But either way, it never causes a stir.
Just at that moment, Antonio heard a solid footfall, and he pushed himself off of the wall to stand in a more proper and respectful position. It was indeed Prince Modius, who was wearing a tailored suit that fit well on his lean but somewhat debonair frame. Tailored, Tony thought, sometime in the ‘70’s. As Prince Modius nodded respectfully and started his initial introduction speech, Tony thought about “That 70’s Show” and how he’d watched every episode except 3 of them. He’d never been able to find those three, oddly enough. It irked him. Not knowing what happened in every episode of “That 70’s Show” except for in those 3 episodes. So aggravating. Every time he thought about it he wanted to punch a wall and put a hole in it. On reflex, he almost did it.
The Prince finally finishes his long, boring introduction of himself. As soon as the Prince’s lips stop moving, Antonio bows with a flourish. “Thank you for seeing me, your Grace.” He said. Antonio had watched a few recent episodes of Game of Thrones to figure out how to talk to these Camarilla fucks properly. Prince Modius’ grin widened, but then, at just that moment, the chandelier fell from the ceiling and crashed to the ground! Glass seven decades old cascaded through the air in every direction.
Antonio sighed. If only Prince Modius had been standing just a few feet to the left...
Now mostly in the dark but silhouetted from light shining through from the nearby hall, the three men gazed awkwardly at the fallen chandelier.
“Er, perhaps we should move this meeting to my study.” Prince Modius was already moving off. Strohman sighed as he gazed at the chandelier and stomped off in another direction, conceivably to get the tools he’d need to begin the clean-up.
Antonio followed Prince Modius. Alone in a long darkened hallway, the Prince of Gary would have no chance to survive if Antonio simply walked up behind him now and wrapped his meaty hands around the back of the Prince's neck, and then ripped his head off! So…tempting…
He reached out his meaty hands…
…At the last second he decided that it would be more satisfying to smash Prince Modius’ head open with a big rock when the time was right.
1:06 AM Gary, Indiana - Industrial Boulevard (Near E. 25th Ave.
Jeremiah stops walking. He intensely gazes at the addresses on the streets once again. Erichthro blinks, as she too gazes at the addresses. “We must have…passed it.” They head back down the street where they came from, walking father than either actually means to. Jeremiah purses his lips. “No…this is wrong. It should have been…here…or…” Erichthro nods her head. “Yes. There. A few houses away. But…”
They walk down the street again, much farther than either intend. Once again they pass the address completely. “I’m confused. Really confused.” Erichthro says flatly, frustrated. Jeremiah sighs. “It’s here. I think we’ve simply passed by it several times.”
Erichthro nods her head in agreement. “Our foe has obfuscated it, and so powerfully that it has affected both of us, even though we are intentionally looking for it.”
Jeremiah sighs. “We have two choices, I suppose. Meditation…or fire strikes against the entire block.” She chuckles grimly. “I vote for the fire strikes.” Jeremiah smirks a bit.
They sit down on the sidewalk and discuss a spell they know should break the obfuscation. “We might lose as much as an hour.” She sighs.
Jeremiah nods slowly. “I am much more concerned that what we will lose is the element of surprise.”
“That,” Erichthro states blankly, “is supposing we ever really had that.”
“True enough.” Jeremiah pulls piece of chalk out of a small pouch in his robe, and begins drawing sigils on the sidewalk. Erichthro begins to quietly chant.
1:09 AM Prince Modius' Mansion - The Study
Modius takes his place behind a large mahogany desk, in a high chair that is a little bit like a throne. From here he can stare down at his captive audience. Antonio Hidalgo sits in a much smaller, much lower chair that Strohman has dragged in front of the desk.
Antonio immediately recognizes this room as the one where the other Competitors came en masse to both introduce themselves to the moron behind the desk and to find the pirate flag hidden in the house. Antonio wished he had been a part of that. He would have ripped that vault door open with his bare hands and got himself an easy win.
That might have been hard to explain to the Prince though. But who cares this guy is weak. Antonio blinks as he realizes the drapes have not yet been replaced. Only a few days ago, the Anarch Movement threw Molotov cocktails through these very windows and tried to burn the place down. And the evidence of all of that damage is still apparent. Indeed, the windows have not been replaced and a steady breeze blows through.
Antonio realizes to his dismay that the Prince has been talking all of this time, and he has no idea what’s being talked about. The Prince pauses and gazes sternly at Antonio. “I see. I would like to ask some questions,” Antonio puts a very serious expression on his face. Prince Modius leans forward slightly in anticipation. “I would just like you to go over that one real main point again so that I make sure I really get it. Could you do that for me, your grace?” Antonio shrugs, and scratches his head.
The Prince nods his head solemnly. “Of course. Your clan is a well respected but independent one. So you haven’t been taught the Traditions except perhaps in passing. It would be nice for the entire Giovanni clan to take the same steps you are taking today, and I would be glad to teach them all. Anyway, it is regular tradition for someone to kiss the ring of the Prince, in order to acknowledge that you understand that he is in charge.
Antonio nodded his head several times. “Right. I have no problem taking the knee, your grace.” Antonio leaned forward and thought about how easy it would be from this position to shove the dagger currently residing in his left boot right into Prince Modius’ throat. It’d be all over in no time. Antonio kisses the ring quickly, and then leans back in his seat. Prince Modius appears quite satisfied with that and folds his hands on the table.
“Now that you have fulfilled that ancient custom, I can give you the promise of safety and sanctity while in my domain.”
“Thank you. It’s a very nice house.”
“Do not be concerned about the childish display the Anarch Movement has put on. All they could do was attack my house while I was away on important business. Soon we will repair the entire house, and it will be as though the Anarch Movement was never here at all. I plan to stake each of them individually and put them on large spikes in a display in my basement.”
“Too bad we can’t do it right on the front lawn!” Antonio laughs. He imagines Prince Modius on a big spike right out in front of The Hotel. That would teach the locals, eh?
The Prince begins a dissertation on the history of the Camarilla, and what the actual position of Prince means. Antonio spends the time considering six different methods of destroying this fool.
1:11 AM Guest Suite, The Hotel
Mr. Confetti enters the barely lit room, sliding in to see his quarry seated on an easy chair in a darkened corner of the room. “One down, one to go.” Mr. Confetti grins as he drags a fold-out chair to a place just a few feet away. “All righty then. Let’s see if we can put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Shall we?”
The Ventrue Tommy Hinds gazed at Mr. Confetti nervously, but nodded to the affirmative. He had been here, in the Hotel long enough now to at least understand that he wasn't in the same kind of trouble he'd been in Prince Modius' dungeon. And he wanted to be whole again. He wanted to remember.
Mr. Confetti stared deep into Tommy's eyes, and then...infiltrated his shattered mind. He started putting the pieces back together, excited by the prospect of what he might find buried in there.
1:14 AM Chicago - Parkside of Old Town
Salihah wandered about the outskirts of Parkside of Old Town with a perplexed look on her face. “This can’t be it.” She said it with conviction. She had seen gang-ridden slums before, there were plenty of poor sections in the cities of the Middle East. Marshall grimaced. “I’m feeling you on that. No sign of gang activity at all. Where the fuck are the Bloods?”
Pablo grinned brightly as he approached an attractive young Latina in a tee-shirt and cut-off jean skirt. “So, where’s Cabrini Green at Mamacita?” She looked at Pablo like he was crazy, because of his odd superhero outfit, then laughed a bit. “Cabrini Green? They done tore all that down between 2005 and 2011. I mean, it was right here.” She waved her arms around. “They had them high risers over there, and housing for the poor over there. Nah. It’s all gone now. Cabrini Green’s just a memory. They kicked just about everybody out too. Just made ‘em leave without even giving them a new home to live. It ain’t right. But now they be selling these homes for three, four hundred grand a piece. So, I guess they made their money.”
The three confused Kindred stood there, in this now foreign neighborhood, silently as they absorbed the fact that Mr. Confetti’s second flag was not going to be nearly as easy to find as the first one. “Should have known it.” Marshall said finally. “Mr. Confetti was just giving us a tutorial with the first flag. Now it’s game on for real.”
The three of them walked together, surveying the territory of Parkside of Old Town. Not nearly the slum of old, the neighborhood has been gentrified. While there is still some housing for the poor, that is a small portion of it. The rest are town houses with modern security and middle class to even upper middle class residents.
“The man does like his puzzles, doesn’t he?” Pablo concurred. “But, just because Cabrini Green doesn’t exist doesn’t mean the flag isn’t here somewhere. I mean, sure, this new neighborhood has been built over the remains. But this is where Cabrini Green was.”
Salihah shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose. What are we supposed to do, go house to house? That seems like it could take weeks.”
“Maybe it’s supposed to.” Pablo responds quickly. They gaze around. “So, I guess we should get started.” Pablo smirked at the others. “I’m going to do a walk-about.” Salihah winked and vanished! “And she’s off.” Pablo grinned. He looked over at Marshall, who seemed deep in thought. “What about you Marshall?”
“Nah. I’m out of here.” The answer caught Pablo by surprise. “Really? Giving up that quickly?” The large Gangrel pursed his lips. “First of all, I need to deliver this envelope to the leader of the Bloods. That’s important. I thought I’d find him here, now I need to get back to Gary with my tail tucked between my legs and learn where Kevin Jackson is at. Second…I don’t think the flag is here. Just my gut telling me that. I could be wrong.”
Pablo shrugged. “Or you could be right. I’m going to scout the place out.” Marshall starts to walk away. “Tell me what you find, okay?” Pablo smiles as he calls out. “Nope.” Marshall stares at Pablo a moment, then laughs his head off. “Right. It’s a competition. Well, whatever. You ain’t finding no flag tonight.”
Marshall Barry headed off into the night. Pablo turned to begin exploring the neighborhood. He was afraid that Marshall’s prediction would prove correct.
Salihah, meanwhile, had ditched both of them and had climbed in through an unlocked window of a nearby house. She could gauge what kind of situation she’d put herself in from this first exploration. There were people in the house, a normal family. They were asleep but someone had forgotten to lock the window. That doesn’t happen in places where crime is rampant and one’s life is cut short by such a stupid mistake.
Salihah’s eyes transformed into thin serpentine slits. They glowed a fierce golden hue now, and she could see quite easily in the dark. Completely obfuscated, nobody would see her in turn. She searched the house, top to bottom. There was no attic and no basement. Just a wide flat house with the basic amenities. Nothing unusual. Nothing of note. No reason to think that Mr. Confetti would be interested enough in this place to hide a flag. She snuck into the daughter’s bedroom and discovered a teenager, likely 16 or 17, fast asleep. The opportunity to get an easy bite was not lost on the Setite. She’d used a lot of blood lately and while she, as most elders, could store a lot of blood in her body, she needed to replenish what she’d lost.
She leaned in and sunk her fangs into the creamy, soft flesh of her prey. She was gentle, and her victim would wake in the morning feeling fatigued, drained. But there would be no trace of what had actually happened to her. She’d take some flu medicine and spend the day in bed, and by Monday, she’d be perfectly fine.
Salihah exited the house the same way she’d came. She walked the rows of houses, counting them. There were five different developments that had been built in different parts of what used to be Cabrini Green. Inquiries to other residents she came across suggested that they were sold at a range of $400,000 to $800,000, affordable by all accounts for actual 2 and 3 bedroom homes with parking garages. All said and told there were a few hundred houses in the region. A few hundred. “How am I going to find a little tiny flag like this?” She sat down on the sidewalk curb and tried to put herself in Mr. Confetti’s head. What was the puzzle? What was the game? Maybe it had to do with the flag itself. She hadn’t thought about that much. The first time, it was a pirate flag, and that had been situated in a vault. Mr. Confetti had expected whoever found it to act like a pirate and steal all the money!
She grinned, thinking perhaps she had stumbled upon an important clue. This time the flag was…Nottinghamshire? “What the fuck is a Nottinghamshire?” Salihah palmed her face with her hand. She had no idea. None whatsoever.
Suddenly she looked up and saw someone staring at her from across the street. He was a tall, thick, light-skinned African-American man, wearing a dark suit. As soon as she saw him, he turned and walked around the corner. Salihah frowned. Of course, she was a good-looking woman. She was used to men staring at her. But something about that episode bothered her. She decided to obfuscate, and try to follow him.
But when she turned the corner, he was already gone.
1:35 AM Prince Modius' Study
The Prince was discussing the First Tradition now, the Masquerade, and making sure that Tony understood exactly what it meant. As the Giovanni seemed good at blending in with their surroundings the same as Camarilla Kindred, this was not as big a concern for Prince Modius as it had been with certain other members of Mr. Confetti’s troupe. Still, better safe than sorry, and Prince Modius droned on and on about it for twenty-five minutes, even though it really could be explained to almost anyone in five to ten.
During the entire conversation, during which Antonio’s uncanny ability to nod his head affirmatively in select, appropriate places even while he isn’t remotely listening came in very handy. The Giovanni hitman spent the twenty-five minutes imagining himself at the head of a large table at the Casino, acting in the capacity of “The Don.”
1:55 AM Chicago's South Side
Chicago’s South side is not the slums, but it is also not where the rich live. This is the lower middle-class suburbs, where a lot of immigrants, particular the Irish live. But Chinatown, and other such neighborhoods including a predominantly Greek neighborhood, all reside squeezed close to one another, their borders constantly overlapping and encroaching on each other’s space in an uncomfortable manner that sometimes leads to violence between ethnic groups.
Danov pulls out a map. “We’re getting close. Canaryville is where Tammy is situated. Normally, we would pick a neutral site to meet one of the Kindred. Most likely one of the museums that make up Elysium. But, this is a special circumstance. Tammy will not be expecting us, but I know that she is there. I have confirmed as much with my own people.”
Danov pulls up to a suburban block of houses. They are small and normal, nothing special. Lower middle-class personified. But there is something abnormal about the block itself.
The perceptive Mortimer T. Smith can’t fail to notice. In between two of the houses, there is a mostly empty lot, where another house should be. What’s there now is a burned-out husk of what used to be a house. And the wreckage is old. Very old. Decades old.
That is not just abnormal. It is impossible, even in an area like this. Someone should have purchased the lot and, at the very least cleared it for resale. But nobody has.
Danov parks and they exit the car. Mortimer immediately gets the heebie jeebies. Something is not right about this place. Not right at all. Alexander clearly feels the same as a deep frown etches his features. Without a word, however, he advances. He doesn’t head for one of the houses. He heads for the wreckage. Reluctantly, Mortimer forces his legs to move.
“Almost nobody lives on this block anymore. Even so, we should obfuscate. For more reason than just protecting the Masquerade.” Danov’s tone is extremely serious, and with that, he immediately fades from view.
Following suit, Mortimer does the same and heads into the wreckage.
On the inside, it is a totally burned out husk, but anything dangerous fell down long ago. There is no house here. Not anymore. No ceiling to fall on them. How could Tammy Walenski be here, Mortimer ponders, until he notices steps leading downwards. Safely inside the wreckage, and knowing you need a guide, Danov re-appears. “She’s down there. I will wait here. You should go down. Just observe, for now.”
Mortimer re-appears and nods at Danov. Then he vanishes again and starts the long decent into eerie darkness, the hairs on the back of his neck at full attention.
What will Mortimer find at the bottom of the stairs?
