The Windy City in Spring
Contents
Landing in Chicago
Chicago. This is home for me. As in I grew up here. My family roots are deep in the muck that is Chicagoland. Gary, Chicago, Evanston, all old stomping grounds for me. Here I am on a plane flying into Chicago.
I don't want to be here, but I need to know what happened here to my family, my sister and her kids. So I met a Settite named Steven a while back, he came up with some answers that might yield some solutions, or a shit ton more questions. I'm betting on the questions.
Steven is black, his skin still very dark, even with the pallor of death on him. He has a very aristocratic agreeable face. He is slender, perhaps 5'10" in height. His hair is nappy and coiled into dreads. In the roll of his vowels you can hear the Jamaican Islands in his speech. He seems a decent fellow, for all the bad things that I hear about the Followers of Set. Seems five years ago he got crossways with Sancerique in New York. Sancerique had him poisoned. Being a tough bird Steven went into torpor instead of just dying like the rest of his men. We agreed to help each other...seemed a good idea at the time.
Behind me in second class are my niece, nephew, and the older woman who has been helping me care for them the last four years. I am bringing them back to the family seat because I had to declare war back in New York in order to protect the domain I was given. I pissed in a bad guys Cheerios. He is gonna want some payback. The kids are just sitting ducks during the day without me. At night too, I have things I have to do, and can't sit and protect them.
The kids have been a good thing for me. I needed a reason to not be a monster. I needed a reason to climb out of the hole of death and destruction I was sliding towards. Though this whole morals and consequences thing makes being a vampire much harder. My life is much easier without all those morals, but also very dark and empty. Bad enough that I eat the flesh of the dead and drink the blood of the living...for a while there I was a real whirlwind of destruction. Sad when the Sabbat is the eye of the storm...the calm place to recover.
I feel the plane get cold. Not temperature cold. Supernatural cold. As in the dead are walking by. So I take a deep breath and look across the shroud. My vision greys out. I can see a shattered plane, wires hanging, blood and bits on the walls. Somebodies body chunks on the floor. I look out the window and see a figure crawling up the wing of the plane. It is broken, limbs bent wrong. It's a ghost, a wraith, whatever you want to call it.
Taking the next step I use the senses of the creature. Whoever it was, the eyesight sucks. It doesn't feel the wind, or the rain. I watch is slide through a crack in the plane that will be there someday. It begins to examine the passengers looking for someone. I notice it seems to be looking at men closely. If I were alive, I would be getting goose bumps. What are the chances? Luckily it seems to be at the back of the plane, and moving slowly in an odd fashion.
I get up and go back, balancing the view of the dead lands, and the reality my body has to move through. I mumble something to Steven, letting him know I will be back. I am sure he is giving me a weird look. I pass the stewardess, she is going to die of a head wound. I see a couple of heart attacks, a couple of strokes. Being able to see others deaths isn't for the weak of stomach. Taking my time I finally get to where the wraith is looking passengers over. I can see it...her.
She is a brunette. And her body is pretty messed up. My logical brain categorizes the damage...either she was in a car wreck or a building fell on her. With her back to me I feel a tug of recognition. When she turns toward me my stomach drops to my feet. It's Susan.
Susan Catherine Allegria Hall. My wife. The reason I fought back from the depths of my ptsd after Nam. The person who kept me going so that I graduated college with a medical degree. The mother to Catherine...the one in the end I couldn't maintain without. Losing Susan tore my grasp of reality away. I swirled back into the darkness of the war. My grief was so deep I only kept going because of Catherine. But everywhere I turned I saw Susan. I could swear some nights I would wake up after her death and smell her next to me. I was sure some mornings she had just kissed me.
But this wasn't that Susan. This was the after death Susan. This was the memory she had of her mortal body, of the pain she suffered before she died. I knew if she would will it, that her corpus would heal itself, but she might not know that. I didn't want to talk to her. I sure as Hell didn't want her to find me here. Who knows what a mess she might cause in the skin lands if she freaked out here. Of all the ghosts from my past I dealt with...I am still not comfortable with her.
I went back to the front, and heard the Captain say we were landing soon. Thank God. I just wanted to get away from her. She didn't make it into first class with me until we were on the ground. I grabbed Steven, and we were the first ones off the plane. He looked at me like I was mental, and I suppose in this case I am. As we started out of the cabin, I glanced back and saw her lean over my seat, smelling me. Her wail cut my senses still attuned to the deadlands and I heard her cry out pitifully.
"TREMEN!"
I practically ran from the plane.
A Place to Call Home
Steven knows fuck all about Chicago.
I got us a cab. Because I have been on the run before, I have been thinking about where I will go to avoid the sun. Did I mention that this is my home? My parents lived here all my life. My grandparents too. I happen to know that unless my brother Albert sold it, my Grandfathers townhouse is empty... or at least not occupied. Actually its a gamble, I am playing the odds of what I know of my eldest brother.
Albert made his fortune before I graduated high school. He built several businesses. He was too influential to be drafted. So when Grandpa died, Albert bought it from Dad, because he had good memories there. Albert doesn't need the money from the sale, and he wouldn't want anyone to destroy it so he wouldn't rent it. Maybe he keeps it for a private get away from time to time. I don't know. I do know that unless something has happened it will be locked up and empty. Besides, can I hope that being in Gary will put us out of the way from the majority of Kindred politics?
I had the cabbie drop us three blocks away. I didn't want any surprises. I could smell the lake. It's spring...May to be exact. The night is cool with rain, but I don't mind the water coming down. I can hear sirens in the distance, but they are not for me, so I don't mind. We both use our abilities to be hard to see. The streets are pretty quiet. Not much in the way of homeless or graffiti here.
The house is as I remember it. The front yard shows neglect on a minor level. Albert is probably paying someone to come and do some upkeep, but no one is living here. I look and Listen, using my senses to feel the house for life. Nothing. We walked around to the alley. There is a stout fence in back, but I know where the spare key is hidden. We unlock, relock, and go up to the back door. It looks like kids have jumped the fence and partied in the back. But the ground floor windows have bars, no one has been in the house. As I have the spare key in my hand, I unlock the back door, and we are in.
The house stands still and empty. I hear some mice...but other than that, it is cool and there is no sign of humanity living here. The furniture is covered with sheets. The gas stove is set very low, just enough to keep this old house from freezing the pipes. We make sure the house is secure, then decide what to do next.
Out For a Little Drink
Steven is hungry. Still shrugging off whatever poison Sancerique gave him, he needs to feed, and flush the poison from his system. Easy feeding is at clubs. Clubs mean mortals and vampires. In this town other Supernaturals will be around too, but hopefully we won't bump uglies with any of them.
We leave and lock back up. I know of a place. I scouted it the last time I was in town, called the Succubus Club. It's a really happening place. Lines out the door and everything. I use my Presence, and we move to the front of the line. The doorman smiles at us and lets us in. I don't know this guy from Adam. He can tell we are Kindred. That is both a good sign and a bad.
The place is full of people. The music is loud. No, it's LOUD. I could set off C4 here and people would think the bass had dropped. Steven grinned and moved off into the crowd. He was guaranteed a drink in here. I do the same. I am hungry for flesh, but this isn't the place for that.
I go downstairs and see some kids necking. I watch them, they use a pen knife to make small cuts to themselves, and begin sucking from the wounds. I have heard of blood dolls, but never seen it. Man I feel old. I also feel the Hunger rise, the smell of blood making my insides clench. I go over, smiling. I turn on my Presence, making myself less threatening. They smile and link arms with me. They pull me into a tunnel off the dance floor, laughing and grinning. I notice some guys dragging along, but there doesn't seem to be any threat. We pass a couple of rooms with people doing things in them, smoking pot, having sex. We all pile into the first open room we find.
Once there we fall on cushions that I am glad I can't see. The girls smell yummy, but the room reeks of old sex, drugs, urine, and beer. One of them lifts her arm to my mouth, it's open wound smelling like ambrosia. I nick myself, letting them begin to lick my richer vitae as I begin to suck life from them. The instant my mouth locks on her and I begin feeding, I hear her go into orgasm, experiencing the power of my Kiss. I feed on each of them in turn. I wind up satisfied, and got up leaving them drunk on my blood. Now if there were just a corpse laying around to munch on...I would be set.
I wander out, trying to remember how I got here. It's dark here, without my Auspex I would be totally lost. I move forward, passing rooms I had seen before. Coming back out, I found myself at the edge of the dance floor, realizing that there was a sunken dance area I hadn't seen before as I was concentrating on my meal.
I hear chanting off to my right, and see yet another lower section, with people standing around the edges as two men fight. The chanting crowd is egging them on. As I watch, I can see them wielding broken beer bottles. Abruptly one of them stabs the other in the neck, and it is all over. The crowd seems to draw in a collective breath...only the throb of the music holds the area. Suddenly people can't get out of the lower mosh pit fast enough.
I look up and lock gazes with an amazingly beautiful woman. She has dark hair, dark eyes. Her skin is flawless, I can see the ample swell of her breasts, her body calling to me. The gurgling of the dying man draws my gaze, and when I look back she is gone. Recovering my senses I jump to the mosh pit and move to the man, trying to stay out of the blood pool on the floor. There is nothing I can do for this guy, he has bled out in that short amount of time. I carefully pick him up and take him to the maze where I was a few minutes ago. He's dead, he won't miss some flesh for me to eat.
Stop!
Once I had eaten a bite and cleaned up I went back out to the main part of the club. Well fed on all fronts, I began to search for Steven. Luckily enough as I moved up to the main floor I saw two guys dragging him to the door. They looked rough, lots of denim and leather, a few tattoos, bikers I would assume. I yelled "Stop!", but they ignored me.
As the doors popped open I saw a couple motorcycles idling nearby. One of them slammed the double doors shut as I ran toward them. I could hear the rev of engines over the noise of the music. I hit the door at a run, finding they had dropped a padlocked chain around the handles. I pulled on some of my borrowed blood and the door handles tore off of the door. One of the bikers threw a lit molotov at me as they roared away, I dodged and it splattered on the pavement with a roar. My beast screamed in fear at the flames, but I pushed it down and kept running.
Obviously I could never keep up on foot, so I took stock of the parking lot. Some guy was getting in a nice little Beamer. I ran over to him, him looking up at me in alarm. As our eyes made contact I said "I am borrowing your care". He nodded, and handed me the keys. To the credit of the Beamer, it purred to life and handled well. I could just see the tail lights of the bikes as I left the lot.
The 5 Series Sedan hugged the road, and I used it to dodge through traffic. We had a couple narrow misses, but I caught up to the last of the bikers without a problem. He didn't have Steven, so I clipped his bike with the car, sending him spinning. The next guy saw me coming and did some good driving. We dodged around. I saw him pull something from his pack, and he spray painted my windshield black. Enraged I hit his bike with the car. I saw him tumble to the side. Some second sense warned me of impact, and I braced myself. Driving blind, I t-boned a car. Airbags saved me, and the fact that my vampiric flesh just doesn't take mortal damage at all.
I kicked the door open. I first went to make sure the driver of the other car was okay. She is, and she is screaming profanity at me. I can't blame her. I look back up the street to the biker who blinded the windshield. He is still sprawled out there, his heavy bike laying on him.
I walked over to him carefully, mindful of guns. I don't want to heal if I don't have to. He has other issues on his mind. Like his broken legs. I step over to him, actually surprised he's in as good of shape as he is.
"Where are they taking my friend?" I ask.
"Fuck! I don't know. You really fucked me up. Fuck that hurts!" He yelled at me. A growl starts inside of me. I stick my foot over his exposed knee, placing a little weight on it. He screams more profanity at me. i let up and ask again.
"Where did they take Steven?"
"Aw Christ! I don't know, a warehouse I think. I don't know the address! I swear to God I don't know." I leaned on that open, shattered joint again, seeing if the answer would change. He screamed a lot more, but the answer stayed the same.
"Okay, now why did you take Steven?" I asked, watching him closely.
"I'm not saying anything else you blood suckin Bastard!" He yelled at me. I shook my head. He's not very bright, but pretty useful. He just told me that they knew we were vampires. I leaned on his exposed bone again, making it grind against it's other part. His howls split the night.
"Is that why you took Steven? Because he's a vampire?" I asked mildly while he screamed. He nodded, tears streaming from his eyes.
"So you knew we were vampires. Who do you work for?" I said easing up the pressure.
"We were needing a fix, so we grabbed him. We thought he was alone. Should have known better. You fucks travel together a lot. We're not workin for any vampires anymore. We been cruising for vampire blood for a while now. We got a taste for it in Kentucky, and been scoring a little here and there." He answered. Independent ghouls, how nice.
I changed tack once he had begun to get his breath. "You know where the warehouse is?" He nodded emphatically. Okay then. I pulled his bike off of him, before picking him up. He screamed a little, then passed out. I carried him to the curb. Another woman stopped, to see if she could help. I felt bad, but I pointed the bikers gun at her, and told her to move away from the car. Picking up the biker I put him in the drivers seat. I held the gun to his head, slit my wrist with a piece of glass from the ground, and let him drink from me. He took it greedily, loving the taste. I gave him just enough to see his flesh begin to knit back together. I didn't want him perfect, but I did want him to not pass out or die on me. The healing properties of my blood worked on him, he became less sallow, his eyes cleared. Once I thought he was in a good place, I pulled my wrist away. He immediately began to complain.
I put the gun back to his head and told him to drive. He did, with me watching his every move. As we drove he told me his name was McCarthy, and that his group was part of the Hells Angels back in the day.
Sweep and Clear
We arrived at the warehouse, I had him stop a couple of blocks away. Because of the open area around it, we could see it pretty clearly. I counted four dobermans. Damn, dogs are a pain to get by. McCarthy started yammering about how I couldn't get past the dogs, on account of they kept them hungry so that they would kill anyone who entered the fenced area. This dude was really getting on my nerves.
I was thinking about how I really needed some fresh meat to feed them when my hunger awoke, and I became aware again of McCarthy's open wounds. "How about you? I am thinking that you can get me through the dogs. With all that blood you have all over you, I'm betting you will be way more tempting than me." I said it in a whisper, leaning into his ear.
He blanched. He started to sweat again. I wasn't real sure that he hadn't almost pissed himself before he got a grip. I got out of the back, and opened the door for him. I have to admit, I wasn't ready for him to bolt.
That fat man took off like his hair was on fire and his ass was catching. I growled "Fuck" in a soft voice and ran after him. He was fast for a big man. I touched my vampiric speed and caught up to him. At full speed I kicked one foot behind the other, and watched his fat ass hit the ground hard and roll. He tore open all the road rash and cuts from his bike crash. I heard his forearm snap. This guy...I really didn't like this guy. I kicked him in the broken arm. He squealed and clutched it. "You do something that stupid again, and you had better hope that all I do is feed you to the dogs. I was on a sweep and clear team in 'Nam. I know all about the best ways to hurt somebody and leave them to die slow. Now get up."
I grabbed him under the shoulder and heaved, he staggered to his feet. His face was pale, he had finally pissed himself. I almost felt bad for kicking him in the arm, but time was a wasting, and the sun wasn't going to hold back because I had feelings. I needed to save Steven, or really be screwed in Chicago. Besides...my training said you never leave an ally behind. Steven was an ally, and almost a friend.
We walked back to the car. I took the keys out, put them in my pocket. We walked along the edge of the street to the gate around the warehouse. McCarthy got it open, and us inside before the dogs noticed. I pushed him ahead of me. They approached stiff legged, their teeth showing. They were all gaunt and angry looking. I could see scrapes and sores on their hide. The bikers not only didn't feed them much, they were mean to them also. Not a good plan. I bet that there was only one designated handler. The dogs hated all other life forms.
I stepped back and gave McCarthy space, letting the dogs focus on him. He began trying to talk soothingly to them, it sounded more like terrified whining from where I was standing. I activated my obfuscate, and began edging around them. Probably wouldn't have worked for squat without McCarthy attracting their attention. As it was, it worked like a charm. The dogs started to bark and attack McCarthy, and true to his nature he started to scream and holler at them, egging them on. The dogs were taking turns rushing in to bite him, until one of them jumped on his back and knocked him down. Then it was a free for all, with all McCarthy could do to protect his throat. I was all the way up against the wall next to the door before one of the other ghouls came out to check on the noise.
This was a skinnier guy, wearing jeans and a vest, no shirt. His hair was longer, his beard down on his chest, mostly black. He reeked of whiskey and cigars. He carried a double barreled sawed off shot gun. I reversed my grip on McCarthy's pistol and whopped him on the back of the head. The first one didn't quite take him down, so I did it again. As he fell I took the shot gun out of his hand. I squated down and checked his vest pockets, keeping my eye on the door, with glances at the dogs from time to time. I hit pay dirt, finding more shells. I pulled another pistol, and a nice knife off of him. More of my jungle training, never leave behind working weapons, and you can never have too many guns, especially if you are outnumbered.
I hate bucking a closed door. You can't even be vampire invisible if you have to open a door. But in this case, the clock is running. I swung the door open and dodged through low, hoping that they were as overconfident as they seemed. They were, nobody was watching the door. I went in slow and quiet, looking for the remaining three. I could see Steven in the center of the room, tied to a pole, a large wooden stake in his heart. One of the bikers was standing there drawing vial of blood from him. Smart independents, they were storing up for the future. Bad for Steven, they wouldn't need him around when he was dry. His one of his buddies was drinking an ampule, then licking out as much as he could. There was a look of intense bliss on his face.
I crept across the floor, taking care to be silent. I hit the draw master in the back of the head with the butt of the shotgun. Being ghouls they will probably be all tough. The guy drinking sees me suddenly, his eyes bugging out. As he goes for his gun I shoot him in the knee. I don't want to kill him, I just want to slow them down a while. He falls to the floor screaming, so I kick him hard in the head to shut him up. The draw master is rolling over, trying to get the birdies out of his eyes when I grab his head and bounce it off the concrete. That takes all his sand away. I can hear their hearts beating, hurt, but not dead.
The screaming has stopped outside. Time to go back and check on my distraction. I cut the ropes holding Steven, and pull the stake out of his heart. I see his eyes flare open, and I take a long step back to not be the first thing he sees. I don't want there to be a misunderstanding between myself and his beast. He rolls over, and I see him fall on the draw master, hear him begin feeding. Not my problem then.
I turn back to the front, so I can go check on McCarthy. I get to the door, stand aside and push it open. No surprises waiting for me. I look out, and see McCarthy crawling across the lot toward me. The biker who I took the shotgun from is dead, a doberman licking greedily at his neck. Okay, that worked out well. I edge around him, and go grab McCarthy. I help him inside. The dogs tore him up good, but it looks like the only one left alive was the one eating the biker by the door. I drop McCarthy once he is safe inside. I go over to the guy I shot in the knee and feed from him, as I have burned up some of my blood in this little escapade. I leave enough in him so he won't die.
Steven isn't as nice as me, He leaves the guy he was draining and finishes draining the biker I just drank from. I step away, but even still I can hear his heartbeat flutter and stop. I don't feel bad for them, they are bad men who made a bad choice. I go to McCarthy and give him some of my blood so that he is more healed. Then I stand him up, look him in the eyes. I push with my will, and feel him go still, feel his mind become clay in my fingers. "You will stay here until I return and allow you to leave. You may not leave the building."
I turn him loose, and he staggers as I release my hold. I can feel the coming dawn. We have less than an hour to make it to Gary and the safety of my Grandfathers house. I don't have any other bolt holes here in Chicago. I holler at Steven, and he joins me. We step outside to be greeted by the last doberman. He jumps at me, I catch him easily and tear his throat open, drinking him dry. Sated, I drop the dog. The motorcycles of the dead bikers are all parked nearby.
"Can you ride a motorcycle?" I asked Steven.
"Oh yeah, I grew up riding them in Jamaica." He says with a grin.
We jump on two of the hogs and they start with a roar. We race out into the cool streets, the roar of the engines in my ears, the cold air on my skin. In the east the sky begins to lighten, and I feel a touch of fear creep along my spine. I don't want to be out here when the sun comes up. We crank the throttles down, and ride. We make it to the brownstone in Gary with minutes to spare. We park the bikes in the yard and race for the house. We get downstairs just in time, as we feel the sun rise over the horizon. That was a little close. If this is the first night in Chicago, I can't afford to be here long, the death toll will be too high. Just like the old days.
An Interlude With Mr. Hyde
I dreamed of Son.
His name was Jason Newberry. He was a Malkavian. He was a psychopath. He was a truly repulsive vampire I encountered in Chicago 8 years ago when I first passed through here. I was spinning out of control, having killed a couple of Denver's upper end vampires and trying to find a place to hide. The snarky little bastard caught me on the street after I had discovered that my sister had been shot, her kids taken. I was angry, frustrated, and not really worrying about anything but how to find those kids. He made like he wanted to sidle up to me, telling me how he loved my work, and how I we could be friends. He told me how he found the idea of slowly eating someone sexually thrilling, and how he wanted to share the experience with me. In the mood I was in, I kicked him in the balls, bounced his head off the bricks, and jumped for his throat. We wrestled, I won. I drank his soul. The vampires call it diablerie. It was an amazing rush.
His blood made mine stronger, and it was a taste that I will always remember, how sweet and rich it was. I never felt such a rush as I ate his soul, as I absorbed all of him. His soul was dark and twisted, he had done things that frightened even me, things that my mind struggled to comprehend as his memories rushed into me, became a part of me. I hadn't really realized that was what I was doing, but it was. Now I carry at least part of him in my brain.
More than once I have awoken from a stupor to find that while I was out, I had done things. Usually killed people or animals, tore things up. It is always a disorienting experience. A frightening one, as Son makes sure I knew that he had managed to take a ride in my body, without my consent. I had seemed to have put that behind me once I hit New York, but now it came back in a rush. Somehow Son was very happy to be back in Chicago.
I dreamed Son in a rough basement. There was a table and one chair here. At the edge of my hearing I could pick up the electric whine of a T.V., or camera. He brought a young man down into the basement, acting the concerned friend. Once he was there, the two talked in hushed tones. Son would glance at me, and I could see that evil smirk cross his face as he caught my eye. I heard him tell the boy to strip, cause Son would give him new clothes. He just needed to take some measurements, and then there would be a bite to eat. My last vision before waking, was of Son driving the scissors he was holding into the soft flesh of his victims thigh. He flashed his full canines, and said "Look Tremen, I brought dinner." The boys screams were the last thing I heard before I awoke.
The Challenges of Being Nice to Bad People
Years of Viet Nam nightmares had taught me to just get up and get moving rather than getting caught in the fear of analyzing my poor brain dealing with it's collective horrors. I rose and washed, cleaning last nights blood from my skin, mine and all the other I had accumulated. Steven was polishing his shoes, which seemed odd, but whatever. I gave Steven one of the guns I had taken last night. I wrapped the shotgun in a sheet and left it. I now carried a .40 caliber H&K that I had taken from the biker.
Speaking of the bikers, we had time to ride out to the warehouse where they had taken Steven. We rode the motorcycles west again, a considerable clip slower than we had the morning before. All in all it took us fifty minutes to get close to the warehouse, another 10 to case the place. It seemed cleaned up a little, and all the motorcycles were gone except for one. Two years in Viet Nam had made me paranoid, so we checked that place out top to bottom before we got close. I could smell the stale blood from last night, the exhaust from the bikes at some earlier time. Under all that was the scent of oil, grime, and rust that hangs in around any warehouse facility. We did a pretty good imitation of cops entering hostile territory, sweeping and clearing the doors, the interior of the warehouse once we got inside. We found McCarthy standing at a makeshift bar I had seen last night. He was doing a pretty good job of killing a bottle of Skol vodka.
Relieved that we were alone, I approached McCarthy.
"McCarthy." I said, flat, giving nothing, no inflection or welcome.
"Vampire." He answered, slugging down another shot, then fumbling for a cigarette, lighting a smoke.
"Where's your friends?" I asked, relaxing only a little. My paranoia was screaming "Trap!", but all the evidence said this has been biker was alone.
"They left me to you. When I couldn't leave the building, they figured out you had mind fucked me. They came back and we talked it over. We have seen folks who were under the thrall of a vampire like you. They usually wind up bled out and rotting in the sun. I was going to kill myself but they took all the guns. I thought I might try to drink myself to death. But here you are." He said it with a sigh, taking a long drag on the cigarette. "They said if I ever got free to come back down south, maybe they would find me."
"Is that where you usually hang out? 'Down south'?" I asked, putting my gun away.
"Yeah, we first got hooked up with the vampires out in LA. Our source got whacked, so we started looking for a blood connection. We started cruising east looking for the signs of vampires at different towns. Wherever we would find things that we thought added up to vampires running things we would start scouting around until we would find where you guys hang out. Over a week or so we would see if we could snag one of you and bleed you out. Tommy even had the idea of feeding them once or twice so we could get more blood out of you. Both times the vampires went crazy, nearly tore the cages we used apart. We made it to Memphis, where we hooked up with the dude who told us he was an Anarch, whatever the fuck that means. He was helping us score blood. He fucked with the wrong Master or whatever, cause they wasted him. We decided to get out of town for a while, came up here. We been in Chicago for a month or so. I'm all that's left here now." He said, slamming another shot.
"I see. So when was the last time you had a fix?" I asked him. He was still wounded from last night, still jacked up from what I had done to him, his accident, and the dogs. Thinking that I had fed him my blood last night. If I fed him now, this would be his second drink from me. Why did I always wind up with these losers? My life would have been easier to just kill him and be done with it, but I don't do that anymore. I slit my wrist and poured my blood into his shot glass.
McCarthy gave me the fish eye, but I could see he was craving my blood. It's worse than a junkie knowing that a hit is right there. He grabbed the glass and slammed it back. I could see the blood hit him, watched him flush, then shudder in ecstasy. He set the glass down again, and I refilled it. This time he didn't hesitate, but slammed it back also.
I guess having a daylight helper in Chicago wouldn't be such a bad thing. That thought sent my mind along the path of seeing the girls, Jeanie and Carrie. I had last seen them in Chicago. I lost them when the cops caught me in O'Hare. That had really been the last stages of my spiral. Caught, shot, damaged, on my way to a cell. I broke and ran, next diabolizing Son, then fleeing to Montreal to join the Sabbat in an attempt to get some education, some protection from the Camarilla and the vampires who would surely be looking to mount my head on a spike. Oh my, good times. I would try to find Jeannie and Carrie while I was here in town, if for no other reason than to give them a hug and make sure they were doing okay. I owed them that, after leaving them here to fend for themselves. My heart ached at that thought, as it always did when I thought about them.
I turned back to McCarthy, flashing him a big smile. "Today is your lucky day. This is the first day of a long life helping me. I have hope for you McCarthy. You are free to leave the warehouse, but not the city of Chicago. If you do I will be very unhappy." I said, watching the duel of emotions run across his face. He knew he could leave, but didn't want to now, and was having a hard time reconciling that. I would leave him to it.
I turned to Steven and gave him a nod. We moved back to the front door of the warehouse. McCarthy shouted "I'll be here when you get back." I gave him an assured wave of my hand. I knew he would be.
Seeing the Head Snake
We got a cab to Wrigley field. It's a big place, and just as I remembered, parking here would have been a nightmare. We paid the tab, and headed across the street to the home of the Cubs. Buying tickets here brought back memories. I hadn't been here in a long time. The last time I was here I was mortal. My brother Alfred had gotten some great seats for us, we had watched a double header, being boys. I hadn't seen Alfred in a long time, and I missed him now. Damn it, not a time to get maudlin. I needed my head in the game, and I didn't mean baseball. Dealing with Settites is supposed to be bad news, as it always leaves one in a bad place according to the Giovanni.
We went up into the stands. It was busy, but not packed. Steven pointed me toward a section about half-way down. We walked that way. I could see a man in flowing bright colored shirt. He wore a fez, and had two guys with him in leather jackets. One was a very black man, the other was almost an albino white guy. Steven went and they exchanged hand shakes, and a few words. Things seemed very cozy, very relaxed. I knew it should have put me at ease to see them so relaxed together, but I still felt like I was trying to slip between blocks smashing together.
Steven waved me over, introducing me to Marcel.
"Mr. Metz, very nice to meet you." Marcel said to me. While he was african in descent, his skin wasn't the deep black of the two guys next to him. One of them moved over so I could have a seat right next to him.
"Very nice to meet you also. Steven has told you of my question?" I asked, trying to seem a confident and powerful man.
"No, only that you wished to speak to me." He said, his face becoming solemn.
"I see. You acquired two children ten years ago that you in short order sold to Donatello Giovanni in New York. I understand you had nothing to do with their acquisition, so I need to know who sold them to you to sell to Donatello." I said, keeping my voice level. I was miles closer to an answer now than I had been in ten years.
"These were the Children of the Reese family? I am so sorry you have wasted your time. Had I known you what you wanted to know I would have held this information for you. But you see unfortunately I already had someone come to me and purchase that information. I would feel quite awkward selling it again to you." Marcel said, frowning.
I struggled to maintain my composure. I nearly blew a gasket, to have come so close and then be denied the information made me want to commit violence. I had to talk myself out of killing the bodyguards and tearing Marcel to shreds. My mind raced to find a way to get the information from him in a manner that wouldn't just get me killed. Marcel shifted uncomfortably, some of my rage must have showed on my face. "Who did you sell it to? Who else would be wanting to know this?" I asked.
"My clanmate Elie Sansaricq came to me and purchased this information. Perhaps he purchased it to sell to you." Marcel said with a studied expression. "Is this a family matter? Or are you just interested from a business level?"
I battled with myself. I did not want to tie this event to Tremen Hall. I had worked hard to establish my nom de plum as Torsten Metz. I didn't want to throw it away on a whim. But this was the answer I needed. "It is family information. These children are related to me." I ground out. I didn't want these Settites to have a hold on me, but here I was, so in for a penny in for a pound.
He broke into a huge smile, showing off his gold capped teeth. "Why didn't you say so! Of course I will tell you what you want to know. Family is very different than business. Well then we should discuss price. I would consider it a moderate boon to give you this information, or you could perform a service for me." He said with a slight smile, enjoying holding the keys to the knowledge.
"What service?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"I have a police problem. A specific officer who is causing me problems. I would like very much for him to cease to be a problem. His name is Captain Eurehl Bonner." Marcel said with a smile.
"Does he have to die? Or just no longer be able to cause you problems?" I asked, thinking of how fast my humanity would wither if I was asked to be the killing machine of Marcel.
"I don't care how he stops being a problem, but I want increased access to inner Chicago, and I can't do that with him in place."
"I see. I want to look this over before I agree." I said.
"of course. I will even sell you the information not knowing which way you will pay. The one who paid me to sell the kids to Donatello is the Brujah Anita Wainwright."
Both of his guards stiffened. As one they jumped to their feet. "What the Hell is that? You sell Anita out to this freak? I ain't gonna work for someone who would sell out my homey. Let's go man." The black man said, jerking his thumb at his partner. The two men started up through the stands.
Marcel shook his head. "Good help is so very hard to find." He smiled though, and seemed to not care all that much. "I bind you Steven by the law of the Clan to make sure that Mr. Metz completes his job, or comes to tell me of his debt in boon."
Steven nodded, and flashed me a grin. Great, I now had a babysitter. Steven would stick to me like white on rice until I either got it done or came back here to concede to Marcel. I had more "family business" to care for and didn't really want Steven to know that I had brought the two children in question back to Chicago. I wanted them safe with my mortal family, not swinging in the wind.
I stood and extended my hand. Marcell took it with a large, genuine seeming smile. "You don't have to rush off Mr. Metz. The tickets are paid for, and the Cubs are playing well for the beginning of the season." I looked out at the field, remembering time here with my family, my brothers and Dad. A part of me wanted to sit down and watch the game. The other part of me wanted to follow the two guys that had just left, thinking that they might take me to Anita Wainwright.
Marcell grinned. "For a very minor boon I will tell you where to find her Mr. Metz."
"While that would be helpful, I think I will do my own legwork. I appreciate the information, and the offer of more. Good evening to you Marcel." I said, then started toward the exit, Steven stepping in behind me.
"Come back anytime Mr. Metz. It looks like I am in need of two bodyguards, so if you decide you want to earn some cash, come back and find me here." Marcel said as I turned away. I just waved my hand and kept going.
Hunting for Information in Chicago
We returned to the gate area of Wriggly field. I saw the black guy and his blond friend drive away in a tricked out Cadillac. Well, so much for following those two. I paused, and let the humanity swirl around me. If I have one flaw it is jumping too quickly to attack a problem. The time and meditation needed to bring my humanity back has taught me to slow down, let things develop...all things in their own time. Instead of chasing Anita Wainwright who would be on full alert very soon, I would focus instead on paying my debt to Marcel. To do that I needed information.
I looked out the gate, and could see a cop car parked just out of the gate. Cops would know what I needed to know. Maybe not directly, but they were tied in with computers these days. Cops are usually bored and hungry. The smell of cooking hot dogs wafted across me, telling me what to do next. I went to stand in the concession stand line. Steven looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"What?" I said
"You can't eat this food and enjoy it. Why are you going to buy food?" He said, his nose wrinkled in disgust.
"I'm priming the information pump. Those cops are bored, the best way to make friends with bored cops is to bring them coffee and food, tell them how you appreciate them. After that, a little mind magic will grease the wheels." I said softly. "Chicago Dogs are the favorite food of all Chicago PD members."
Understanding broke over his face. He took on a bored air, and glanced around. "I am hungry also. I think I will find a snack to freshen me up if you don't mind."
"By all means. I am going to be a little bit. We can meet back here later. Take your time." I said.
Steven melted into the crowd, and as soon as I quite concentrating on him, he vanished. The bustle of baseball fans and energy of the surrounding humanity was intoxicating. I had slipped away from this connection for a time, but was very glad to have returned to mixing with people. I had not liked the cold and detached creature I had become. I was afraid Chicago would test my humanity in unknown ways.
After I bought the dogs and some hot coffee, I went back outside to the police care. The night was cool, but very comfortable. The police had their windows down. I approached the driver confidently, a wide smile on my face. I made sure he could see both my hands were full, and I meant no threat. I wanted to be Patriotic Joe Citizen thanking his friendly Crew in Blue.
"Evening Officers. I wanted to thank you for your service to our community." I said leaning down. The driver was a seasoned black officer, his face care worn, but not hard. Probably a father, trying to get his kids raised. A little soft in the middle, but tough and attentive. The kind who will walk kids home, but will tail a criminal all week if he gets riled. His tag read "Darius".
"Evening. Well thank you. We don't get much praise on this beat." He answered me. My eyes drifted to his partner, I needed to know what I was getting with these two. Dominate is tricky with two people in close proximity. I registered she was Hispanic, and panic froze my throat. Cold raced down my back, and I was rocked by shock.
Looking back at me in the passenger seat was my ex-wife Juanna. Her brown skin perfect and smooth, those dark eyes limpid pools of intelligence and desire. Her hair was bound up, but I could see that stray piece that always got away and curled down on her forehead. Her perfume filled my nostrils, my chest hurt, the desire for her. I hadn't seen Juanna since I had been imprisoned for cannibalism. She had kissed me on the cheek and walked away, her face streaked with tears, her back ramrod straight and strong. She was supporting Catherine at the time, holding the bawling girl up and comforting her.
I reeled back, nearly falling down. The vision was over in an instant, I could see that the woman in the seat wasn't my Juanna, but still a beautiful Hispanic officer. At my reaction her and her partner looked concerned. They glanced at each other, I could see them contemplating getting out.
"You okay sir?" The black cop said. "You look like you have seen a ghost."
"I'm fine. Ha Ha! A ghost, yes. Your partner reminded me of someone I knew. It shocked me. You all have a great night." I said, trying to get my composure back. I turned away from them and hurried across the lot to the nearest street. I could feel the blood-sweat seeping from my skin, making my clothes sticky and wet. Why was my past so determined to come back to life here in Chicago? Or was it a matter that once I stopped playing human, my past would hunt me down?
I crossed north Clark street. There were fences up to protect drivers from the construction there. I passed the main drive gate, it was cracked and open. Inside I could see some guys loafing, doing business.
