LibriumArcana.Games

April 22, 1922

It had rained early in the day, leaving the streets damp and a clean, wet smell in the air. It was still early in the night. People were out, going to restraunts, the pictures, and other less reputable places. The prosperous went about in cars, the less well to do in cabs and street cars. In the distance one could hear the rumble of the El-Train passing.

"Hey mack, got a light?" said the man in the rumpled grey suit standing near an alley. He wasn't a big man and there wasn't anything particularily noticable about him. Easily forgettable

"Sure," responded the portly man in a silk lined coat and a blue pin striped suit. He was immaculately groomed from the tips of his black mustaches to the slicked back hair under his hat. He stopped and pulled out a fancy gold lighter. The smaller man leaned forward and the big man flicked the lighter.

"Thanks buddy," said the other man. "By the way, you've been buying your liquer from the wrong guys. Mister O'Banion isn't pleased. I've been asked to express his grevience in terms you will understand."

"If O'Banion would sell something I wanted to buy and set a price that was worth paying, he might have more luck."

"Suit yourself pal," said the smaller man. He pulled out .45 revolver. "You brought this on yourself."

The big man moved fast, far faster than a human being had a right to. The gun was slapped out of the small man's hand. Pin stripe's other hand closed on the smaller man's throat as he carried him into the alley. The big man smiled, showing killing fangs. "Yes, I did."

“You people are allÂ… utterly useless.Ââ€Â

Well, well, well, though David Rossi. It seemed there was trouble brewing, so to speak. He smoothed his mustaches. The meal had been good and put him in a generous mood. It would probably be good to tip off Wright about the mess that was brewing, so to speak. It would be good business and Wright might feel betrayed if he kept this from him. Wright had a bad temper, another trait he shared with Rossi. He strolled down the streets toward Wright's place.

He was let in without difficulty. Wright's people recognized him a business associate. They were subdued this night. The surface said party, but they were walking on eggshells. Wright had probably blown his stack. Rossi smiled. He was the only one in the building who Wright couldn't casually beat to death in a rage.

Rossi straightened the lapels of his blue pinstriped suit, smoothed his mustaches once again, and walked towards his clan mate.

Wright stood at the window, tumbler of whiskey in his hand. Nobody seemed to notice that he only faux-sipped from the glass. He felt a twitch in the crowd, the subconscious recognition of a new predator entering the area. He felt the hungry eyes on his back.

A kindred's worst enemy was another kindred. Those who could not absorb that lesson died early. But Miro and Pascha would only let one other kindred through without some form of ruckus, an ally of the moment. He pivoted on his foot, a bright smile lighting his face. "David! You came!"

He lifted his glass in salute, then set it down on the counter near the piano. Within moments another partygoer collected the stray drink. Anything could send Wright into a rage, but he seemed not to care what became of his lost booze.

Wright clasped the lap-fluff-turned-pianist's shoulder in his hand, relishing her sudden tension. He took one look at Rossi's flushed cheeks and decided that an offering of dinner would be unnecessary.

"What brings you here?" he asked his clan mate cheerfully.

Vampires are loners, but even they have social needs that are best filled by other vampires. Brujah tend to be more gregarious than most, many viewing their clan as a big, extended, somewhat disfunctional family with all sorts of strange and crazy relatives. That probably wasn't the source of Wright's good will. They had something better to bind them together: business.

"Nothing good I'm afraid," Rossi replied. "The O'Bannion's sent a goon around to convince me not to buy your booze. And they are the biggest gang on the Northside. They might try to squeeze you soon. And they have a lot of money to throw around."

Most vampires stayed away from the big shots of the Prohibition financed organized crime machines. Too much attention. Chicago's newspapers loved them. But they brought in a sea of money and they created a tidal wave of corruption. All sorts of opportunities for the merely reasonably greedy. O'Bannion was big enough that he surely had a few Kindred parasites benefiting from his operation. Messing with him could be . . . trickey.

Wright released his grip on the lap-fluff's shoulder, his dark eyes flashing. "That fucking Mick is trying to move in, is he?" On the surface, he was all bravado. Inside, he was whirling, trying to find a way to cover this potential emergency.

It was inevitable that the Mick and his Northsiders would try to squeeze in. Any fool could have seen that coming.

But Wright really hadn't thought about it. The life was good, the money flowing, and he had his little crowd of toadies to keep him amused.

He didn't want to think about the future anymore.

"We're gonna need muscle, either way," he said. "To make sure we put the right show on, or if it comes to a fight."

Maybe they could work something out with the Mick and his little kike buddy. If not, then it was war.

He smiled at the crowd. "Enjoy the party, folks. I've got work to do." He nodded his head toward his office, beckoning Rossi to accompany him. One way or another, the party would go on.

"I've got my own play to make," said Rossi. "This hurts you a lot more than it hurts me. But I like doing business with you and that means something. But not enough to commit suicide over it."

"And if I go, who covers you?" Wright answered angrily. "You play into the machine, they'll own you. Forget freedom, forget your own piece of turf. You'll be taking orders from the Mick, who's taking orders from fuck knows who."

"I know," said Rossi. "I don't fucking like it. And if we can get away with it, I'm in. But O'Bannion has a lot of men and we could be stepping on an elder's toes. If our little brush war gets out of hand, the big boys could decide to remind of us our place in the order of things in a rather unpleasant fashion. With just two of us, we need more than just balls."

"We need real beef then. More kin, more ghouls. If we let them walk on us, we're done. It'll be off and out of town. Who can we pull in that's got the balls to stick with us?"

"I don't know," replied Rossi. "No one who's making money off those mick cocksuckers. Torrio wants peace, so the pressure will be on to cut a deal we can live with, if we agree to reasonable terms and make it clear that it ain't worth fucking with us. And whoever helps us will want a peace." Rossi stroked his mustache.

"Neonites. Young Kindred with no connections, little to lose, lot to gain. They'll be willing to make life difficult for a few gangster in return for a big enough piece to establish themselves. And putting in a good word with the Sherriff, that kraut asshole."

"Fine, you talk to the Kraut, I'll go root around and see who I can dig up."

"Try the stockyards on the south sides. Lots of young ones supplement their crappy hunting skills with blood from the slaughter houses."

It was in the stockyards that Father Leonard found himself. Refusing to feed on human blood, he resorted to the blood of animals. Unlike many of the other vampires in the cirty, he had a smooth demeanor, and a temper that was very hard to set off.

He snuck around, using the stealth skills he developed for sneaking out of Seminary on a nightly basis to avoid any unwanted detection. he carried with him a cutp, a cup for pig and cow blood. His rapier concealed within a black trenchcoat he wore over his casual vestments (the good old shirt andpriest collar)

The rain had petered out, leaving a thin layer of fog around the stockyards. Bums slipped through the shadows, looking for leavings to steal. Rats, cats, and feral dogs stalked the avenues. To the north was the noise of the railyards that shiped livestock to the city. Private muscle guarded the pens and slaughter houses from thieves and rustlers, but their coverage was far from perfect.

They weren't the only ones on patrol. Besides the few cops unlucky enough to have drawn this beat, another group of patrollers swept this area. Three men, if you could call them that. Long coats repelled the cold and the rain, as well as concealed heavier hardware. Their leader saw Wright and took a step closer. He stopped and drew away as he recognized him.

Wright had every right to be here. He was interested in the ones who didn't. Adam Carson had run errands, broken bones, and ended lives for his regnant for over fifty years. The former carpet bagger had yet to encounter a job to distasteful to do, if it paid well enough. He gestured for his juniors to follow him. The younger ghouls followed their boss.

Father Leonard, having just fed on a stray cat, rather than sneaking into a slaughter house, saw this going on. This fellow, important looking that he was, did not belong in this area. The most influential people around here tended to be cops who's carreers had been blacklisted. Wthis guy has to be lost.

He stepped out from behind a shadow, and spoke in amiable, if subdued tones

"Good evening. Are you in need of assistance?"

Wright fought down a sneer. The stockyards were the place where losers came to feed, because they couldn't hack it out on the streets. "Hey, how's it goin'?" he asked, eyeing the guy. He'd seen him off and on since he'd come, and now it was time to see what he was about.

Hell, even useless neonates could soak up lead, if need be.

"The usual night... " father Leonard said with no small amount of sadness in his voice. He hated being reduced to this.

"I couldnt help but notice you here, and you seem a bit out of place among the homeless, stray cats, and... others" he gave a baleful glance in the general direction of where the skill-less vampires were hunting for prey,mostly unsucessfully. Not that he was in a position to judge. He ate cats, however his reasons were completely different.

Wright's eyes constantly scanned their surroundings. Wouldn't surprise him if one of these punks tried for an easy shot.

"New in town? Chicago's kind of a rough place."

"I suppose you could say that. I can handle myself in most engagements. Truth be told, the reason you find me here is ethical rather than a question of my qualifications or abilities"

"Ethical?" he said, eyebrow rising quizzically. A kin with ethics. In Chicago. He had ten days at the outside. Too bad there was nobody running a book on that.

"Yes." the priest said, "ethical" this one didnt think Kindred could have a concience he mused

"I know, you dont think I will last long. Well, I have lasted for a couple of decades not killing innocent mortals so... we shall see. So, what business brings you to the stockyards? Surely it isnt so supplement your diet"

Sure, whatever, twenty years. Probably hiding in some backwater eating chickens.

"I'm actually looking for guys like you," he said. "New guys, guys who get shit all over when you're first in town."

Okay, he wasn't exactly looking for chicken-eating freaks, but a man made due with what was at hand.

He probably thinks I spent those decades in some shack eating chickens... I should help him just so I can prove him wrong... But such is not the way of a a good christian... no... I have to help him because he asked... and perhaps I can send these devils back to hell, I shall just have to see what he needs

"WHat is it you have in mind?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, things are happening in this town."

War, crime, corruption, and opportunity.

"Things are moving quick. There are opportunities here for young guys to move up the ladder, if they're in the right place at the right time."

Or they could move down, permanently.

"You come in, you make proper with the Prince and you'll just be handed off, and be somebody's tool."

God forbid that Chicken-boy should end up being somebody's tool...

"Or you can get in with the guys who want to stake a claim to some real power, have a real voice. Know what I'm saying?"