World of Darkness World of Darkness: Attrition - Empty Favors (Finished)

[Adrian Moss]

January 2nd

I had dressed up for this meeting and yet I still felt like I was unprepared. I was meeting with one of the senior and competing members of the Invictus Covenant. His offices in downtown LA were spacious. There was plenty of human (or what I assumed where human because no one could have that many ghouls, right?) around the outer layer, and not all security types. There were people doing office work as well. I have to admit that I was impressed.

He made me wait. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a big wheel and the Westwood Coterie was small potatoes in the scope of things. Jorge had some pull, but I wasn’t Jorge. I was one of his ‘followers’. People who know how to kill when they have to are valuable. Me, I’m no killer so my worth is somewhat lower and ill-defined. So, I wait while he goes about his nightly business.

An hour passes then another. I judge the cost of this favor for someone who barely tolerates my existence and would be happy enough if I’m ash. The reality comes back to me with Lucien’s words. He and I could throw around the amount of money to keep Amber in her home for a year out of monthly expenses. She’s got her pride though and she can’t, or won’t move. I’m betting it’s can’t. All that stuff about territory I barely understand. Still, that leaves her with one hell of a problem and with few resources to deal with it. She needs help, so I’m helping. Maybe I’ll even go up a notch in her eyes.

I can hear something come over the receptionists head set, so I’m forewarned.

“You can go in now, Mr. Moss,” the plastic perfect secretary tells me.

“Thank you,” I respond with a smile I hope is warming. She fails to respond in any visible manner. Odds are she met with many more personable kindred than me.

I open the door with more forced confidence than I feel. He’s sitting there halfway across this room which is bigger than my living room. We are alone. There is a computer on his desk, but he isn’t using it. He’s reading some papers instead. He has this Old School air about him with only the pretense of being modern. It dawns on me that he probably can’t type …or text. What a pain.

I stand in front of his desk. He keeps me there for about five minutes as he finishes reading something and making some notations. That done, he looks up and studies me for about another minute. I try to remain still under his gaze and I don’t attempt eye contact. It would be rude and above my station, or so I’m told. Finally he speaks.

“So, who are you?”

He already knows who I am, no doubt. This is a formality, but we are all about the formal way of doing things, aren’t we?

“Adrian Moss, childe of Bernard, grandchilde of Vivian, of Clan Mekhet, of the Westwood Invictus.”

The man behind the desk nods. I take it that I haven’t fucked up.

“Adrian, Childe of Bernard, I am Stephen, Childe of Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, who came to the New World, blah, blah, blah, of Celestine of Avignon, Invictus Tribute of the Invictus.”

I really don’t see much point in knowing much past whom the guys sire was, but the Invictus think it’s very important. I had better be paying attention.

‘Celestine … Avignon … were have I heard that before. I had better ask Gwen.’

I bow again and he nods. He moves his chair slightly so that he his sitting sideways to me.

“Now, what is the nature of the request?”

It’s almost a trick question. I stop myself from blurting out what I really came here for. This is not the way they handle things here at the top.

“I come for information, Tribute Stephen.”

Again, I earn a brief nod. I guess he expects youngsters not to mind themselves very well. I have too great a healthy fear quotient to not be careful.

“What kind of information?”

Now, the meat of the issue. I hope this goes well.

“I need to know about the Jefferson Realty Group, Tribute Stephen. I need to know of any of our … us are involved.”

He doesn’t seem surprised. He doesn’t ask why. Instead he writes something down. I’m hoping it isn’t one of the Invictus because it would go poorly for me if it was and Amber went and dusted the leech.

“It will be done.”

He hits a button on his desk.

“Emily, come in here.”

We wait while his receptionist/ghoul comes in. She walks around the desk, takes the note from Stephen, and walks back out. She has my business card already, so I guess that is how I’m to be contacted. I hope this hasn’t been a waste of my time.

“Is there any other business between us, Adrian.”

He sounds friendly, but the voice doesn’t reach the eyes. He’s already bored with me and I know its time for me to leave.

“Yes sir. Thank you for your assistance in this matter.”

I don’t move.

“You are dismissed then. Have a nice night.”

It’s an empty platitude, but I really don’t care. I make a mental note that when I get to be an elder kindred I’m going to be a tad more polite. I back away three steps, bow again, like Robert taught me, then turn and quickly leave. I’m wasting an important kindred’s time. Amber is worth it.

I walk out of the office, give Emily a polite “Good night” and head for the elevators. I’m out of there two minutes later and in my car, the mustang, heading west. Now I have to wait. I’m not good at waiting.

,,

[Adrian Moss]

January 4th

The call comes to me two days later, early in the evening. I agree to meet the voice on the phone at a local nightclub. Guy goes by the name of Michael and he says I shouldn’t have much trouble locating him. That’s kind of stupid. My beast will recognized the stranger – and try to run away. Happens all the time; just ask Sarah.

I get to the club early and the guy makes me wait - almost an hour. I take it personally, because I like to fool myself that my time is valuable. When he comes in, I feel him. My beast wants to tear his throat out and sup on his blood. Yeah, I said sup. He’s handsome in a used model in a power suit sort of way. He’s got Mr. Artificial going on though his obvious connections to wealth and power draw some of the babes to him. He spots me too and comes over.

“Let’s get a booth,” I say, beating him to the punch. He nods and we go over to a recently vacated pair of seats. I get the feeling that I’m the junior member here – again – so I start first.

“I’m Adrian, Childe of …”

He waves his hand.

“Let’s say we did all that,” he interrupts. “I am Michael son of Stephen, okay. Now that you know who I am … here.”

He slides an envelope across the table.

“What you asked for.”

I take it and put the letter in my breast pocket.

“Time for you to repay that favor now, Shadow. I have a mission for you – an assignment.”

He’s acting all secretive and at the same time commanding. It makes me hate him.

“I need you to find somebody.”

He shows me several pictures of a girl, barely clothed, from various angles. I like the tat’ work on her shoulders– Angle wings with a Latin inscription underneath. She has more work done at the base of her spine, but nothing up front. Did I mention she’s gorgeous? She is gifted with a terrible beauty that would be all the more heart-breaking if she would smile.

“Pretty girl. What’s the story?”

“That is not important,” he says in the final, all-important tone.

I shake my head.

“Listen, Michael. The more information you give me, the quicker I can find her. I didn’t tell your people how to find out the information I asked for. If you want me to find this person, you are going to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t tell me now, you will tell me later, trust me. Let’s start with a name.”

I can see his internal argument going on behind his fixed expression. It tells me that this is something important to him – something he doesn’t want me to find out.

“Her name is Isabel Martinez. She’s … she’s … in … my … employ.”

Well, he’s lying to me. He’s so bad it’s obvious to me.

“What does she do for you? What are her skills?”

I don’t think she has any skills – that he uses – which begs the question of what does he use her for. I’m not liking were that train of though is going.

“It doesn’t matter. She ran away and I want her back. You HAVE to find her and bring her back.”

Yeah, I’m not liking this at all.

“What does she know? Why would she run away?”

I lean across the table to him until our faces are almost touching.

“She doesn’t know anything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

That sets him back. Being called a liar ranks right up with the truth in this man’s book, and since I’m working right now, I don’t care. There is a tense few moments that pass between us and I see him bring his beast back under a tight leash. I don’t push him because I don’t want a freaked out kindred on my hands, especially not Stephen’s kid. Finally he calms down.

“How dare you?” he snaps.

“I dare because I want to do you this favor,” I lie. “If you don’t tell me what I need to know, I’m not going to find her.”

He slips.

“I need her back. She is my favorite Vessel.”

Oh shit, she’s a blood doll, and if she ran away, not a willing one.

“And you are keeping her against her will so she broke out and went to ground somewhere in the city.”

He doesn’t say anything. He either doesn’t recognize my outrage, or doesn’t care. From my perspective, it puts me in a real quandary. The information needed to help one person is going to be the cost of another woman’s freedom. I can’t hand the envelope back. That’s not how it works. Can I say no?

I need to buy time.

“Okay. I’m going to go find her.”

“I’m coming with you,” Michael says, coming half way out of his seat.

“You’ll slow me down,” I try to shake him. It’s a weak try.

“I don’t care. I’m coming with you.”

“That will cost extra,” I come up with quickly, and it will. I swear it.

Michael nods and stands up. I get up too. There is nothing else I can think of to do to stop this moral train wreck. I hate this guy more and more. Maybe I should hate myself more too.

[Adrian Moss]

We make our way out of the club. He follows me more out of crowd traffic than any desire to let me take the lead. Once we get out, he’s pacing me.

“Let’s take your car,” I ask.

“Sure. Whatever.” We start walking down the street, him now in the lead. Me, I have no problem looking at his back. I want to put a bullet in it. We come to a BMW two-seater. I look at him – I look at the car. I look back at him.

“What,” he asks, incredulous?

“What? Say you find your girl, where am I going to sit?”

His eyes go blank. I guess he really expects me to walk back from where ever.

“We’ll take my car.”

I turn around and make my way back down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. I got here early, so I got a spot in sight of the club. After a few seconds I hear him running to catch up.

“If I find out you are yanking me around, you’ll pay,” he seethes.

“I care about more than just myself,” I say to the air. “You wouldn’t understand that.”

I don’t bother to look at this guy. He is probably terribly good at something, but it isn’t finding people on the streets. Right now, I matter, but his superior status keeps me from telling him were to go.

“What? What did you say?” Michael said. He was losing a handle on his anger again. I didn’t need that.

“Nothing – talking to myself.”

“I thought so.”

We arrive at my car. That ends our conversation. I go to the trunk first and throw the blanket aside. I pull out several sheaths of bills. I take out all of my stash, $5000.

“What is that for?”

I’m getting tired of his questions, but I must remind myself of his status. I can’t just blow him off.

“Greasing the wheels. We’ll need. Now please get in.”

“What now?”

I walk around to the driver’s side after shutting the trunk. I unlock his door as well and he gets in. I start up the car, cut off the radio, and back out of the space. Michael is getting impatient for his answer.

“We go talk to a guy I know.” I’m tempted to leave it there, but that would only serve to piss him off even more. If I’m going to be running around with this guy, I need to watch his temper. He’s not.

“This contact knows tattoos and tattoo artists. That can give us a neighborhood. A neighborhood gives us a gang, and a gang gives us an in to who is doing what on their turf.”

He nods as if he would have thought of this too, given time.

“Tattoo artists,” he sneers. “They mar the flesh.”

I don’t comment. In the grand scheme of things, his opinion means squat.

[Adrian Moss]

The Artist is the Artist. He’s working on somebody when we come in. I’ve never seen him without someone anxious to jump into his seat. The man (?) loves to work. He’s never admitted to being were or vamp, but there is something magical and eternal about him. I get a nod and a smile. Michael gets a look.

“I’m looking for this girl,” I start off. The Artist stops his work and comes around to were I can hand him the pictures. He goes over them once, twice then goes back to the one that highlights the shoulders.

“Pretty girl – sad – definitely not happy … I know the art.”

He stops and looks up at the ceiling.

“It translates as the Fire Knives. I’ll get you there address.”

“Thanks man.”

He grins. “When you coming in for that body art?”

“When I feel I am worthy of it, Corey. When I feel worthy.”

We knock knuckles once I take the address from him. He walks back around his subject and I make my way out of his shop. Michael follows along.

“Now we are getting somewhere,” I tell him. There were good odds that the Artist would know the art and thus the artist, but still … I pull out my phone and then the envelope.

“I have a name for you,” I let the person on the other end know. They have good ears and can pick out my voice. “Theodore Hatcher. I hope to have some more information for you soon, like a home address and the like. Talk to you then.”

We get into the car, Michael and I, and we are off. He’s anxious for some more information so I give him a little.

“Now we go get something to trade with. There’s a floating place called the Fairground. Anything illegal or immoral can be purchased there. We are going to the Fairground.”

Two calls and I have the location of the black market and we are moving there. It only takes us about ten minutes. I’m happy. Any extra time with Michael is a real pain in my ass.

At the Fairground, I pick up four semi-automatic rifles, four spare clips, and about a thousand rounds of ammo. That should enough to get us the introduction and information we need. On the down side, Michael and his attitude nearly get us into some serious trouble. He combines the traits of arrogance and cowardess in a near fatal combination for this place. Me, I’m a coward so I don’t give people shit, kindred or mortal doesn’t much matter to me.

Afterwards, he’s berating me for letting those people act the way they did. They should have had more respect for their betters (aka Vampires) and all that. I roll my eyes. I tell him that we aren’t the only game in town and he had better realize it. Michael’s not happy.

Thirty minutes later we are cruising the neighborhood around looking for a congregation of the local militia. I see gangs a bit differently. They serve a function of sorts in the places they are supposed to protect. Sometimes they even do what they claim.

I roll to the curb and wait for somebody to approach me. I’m eyed wearily. The guys hanging back make jokes about us being lost, or looking for a drug deal. I grin. The guy coming up the car is more cautious and less joking.

“What do you want, homs?”

“I’m looking for somebody,” I come back in a calm steady voice. “My girlfriend went missing and I need to find her. I have trade.”

I can see that he doesn’t like me. Still, I wasn’t patronizing and I gave off the right vibe. I was someone he could deal with.

“What do you have to trade?”

Instead of telling him, I reach back to the back seat and throw back the blanket. The guy doesn’t show much surprise, but I can see he’s really considering what I have to offer.

“Sure. Hold on.” He turns and yells over to the group standing away from us. “Hey Raoul. Come on over here.”

Raoul comes on over. He looks at the first, no-name guy then into the back. In a voice without a hint of accept, Raoul asks. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for this girl. I pull out the pictures and hand them over. Raoul looks them over and whistles.

“She’s hot and yeah, I know her. She’s the girl of a friend of mine,” and the bargaining begins.

[Adrian Moss]

As we were pulling up to the place, I contemplated my luck. What were the odds of the first group we came across knowing were the girl was, or even knowing her? Then I thought of her face and that body. Someone like that – that beautiful – would be known. They couldn’t help it.

I parked two houses down and across the street. The neighborhood was quiet which was not surprising considering the late hour. It was well past midnight.

“Wait here,” I told Michael.

“What? No way. I’m going to yank her out of there.”

I sighed before beginning to explain.

“First off, you can’t move around unseen, can you? Secondly, what are you going to do when you bang down the door and her ex-boyfriend shoots you? Thirdly, who is going to make sure no one comes along and steals my Mustang?”

“Well … umm … how do you know he has a gun?”

I sigh for effect.

“Of course he has a gun. Everyone in this neighborhood has a gun. Have you seen anyone here tonight who doesn’t have a gun?”

He turns away, but sits back down in his seat.

“I’ll go get her. I’ll be back.”

I look both ways and cross the street. Not that I’m afraid of cars, but there could be someone out walking their dog or something like that. Michael is sulking and not looking at me. I pull the Shadows around me like a Cloak and I’m gone.

I glide across the street cat-like, or what I hope is cat-like. It’s hard to tell how stealthy I’m being when I’m like this. I start peeking in windows, starting with the front. Sure enough, ex-boyfriend is there with a beer and a shotgun watching a friend play with a 360. I move around and keep my ears alert any unusual sounds and my eyes open for any crap in the yard. The Shadows mute sound, but I like to be careful and not rely totally on it.

I scramble over the fence and now I’m in the backyard. There is a chain for a dog out here, but no dog – Thank God. I check the downstairs windows – nothing. I climb up easily to the second story by way of the back porch steps. There is an advantage to being a feather-weight. The windows are shut (hey, its winter), but not locked. I sneak in and pray there is no alarm system. In this neighborhood, you never can know.

I’m still a bit lucky and I’m inside the house. I breathe in deeply and catch a feminine scent; tracking it down leads me to a room with the door barely open. I step back and slowly push the door open with one hand while pulling out one of my guns with the other. No sudden sounds, just the rhythm of steady breathing. She is asleep. It seems to me to be a peaceful sleep, which is probably the first one she’s had in quite some time.

My unbeating heart betrays me and I take a step back. She is even more captivating in person, even mused up in sleep. I can see why men want to possess her. She is cursed with a quality that must make the world seem unreasonable. I pity her and want to leave her in this peaceful state, but reality is at my back. I can’t stop Michael from coming in here, if I fail, and that’s just bad all the way around. Me, her, and everyone else around us suffer. I glide into the room; stand beside her then put my hand over her mouth. I keep my gun clearly visible to her.

He eyes open wide. I feel her breath inhale around my clasped hand then she sees my gun.

“I’m here to take you back,” I tell her with as much sadness and sympathy I can manage. “Come with me and no one needs to get hurt. Scream and I will have to kill everyone here. Do you understand me?”

I can see her take my measure. She calculates the risk to all the lives here, mine included. Finally, after about an eternal thirty seconds, she nods.

“Okay Isabel. I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, we are going to walk to the room across the hall, and then we are going to climb down into the back yard. From there, we are going to go around to my car. HE is there. Do you understand?”

She nods her head again and I slowly take my hand away. She sits, looks at the floor then into my face.

“Please shoot me. Please just shoot me. I can’t go back to him. I would rather die.”

I look down at her for a second. I discover within myself that I had expected this. To be held in that kind of captivity would be hell to me too. Still, I would want to live. I kneel down beside her.

“Live,” I plead. “Live and I’ll find a way out for you. I just need time and I’ll figure a way.”

“Why bring me back to him then?”

“It’s complicated. Very complicated and it all started because I wanted to help another girl in trouble. I know you don’t have a reason to, but trust me. I’ll get you out. You have to be strong. Keep believing this will end and you’ll see it through.”

She studies me. I can see now that she is used to men like me falling all over themselves to promise her the Moon and the Stars. Either all have failed, or so few succeeded that she has soured on the ideal of anyone else saving her. Hell, she got out once herself.

And then she nods.

“Okay,” she whispers.

I take her across the hall carefully. We climb down, Isabel first and I quickly follow. I can see her studying me and I figure she’s willing to make a break for it if she can. I don’t give her the opportunity. We stealth around the house. I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach. I see Michael hitting her when they are reunited. I see me pulling my gun out and threatening him for doing that. I can’t let that happen. I can’t afford to let on that I am interested in her in preparation for the time I make her really vanish.

Michael’s eyes do gain a predator glint when he sees her coming. He hangs her head, not meeting his eyes. When I put her in the back seat, he climbs in there with her. Isabel starts to cry. I still find it surreal what I doing – how low I have fallen.

“Come here, little bitch,” Michael coos to her. I catch sight of her head being tilted to the side and hear him biting in. The car starts up, deadening the sounds of his feeding. We’re off, back to the club, and back to our lives were Michael is a dominating prick, Isabel is a damned blood doll, and I’m … I don’t know what exactly.