Seattle by Noir! Issue 4 2/12/16
Flight from Issaquah
People are afraid of the unknown. It's one of the many reasons even the tangential touch of a Kindred in a mortal's life will beget all manner of darkness, despair, paranoia and fear.
But what will make vampires afraid in the dark of night when the sun is still safely nestled beneath the horizon? What sort of unknown will shake the wills of those who know monsters are real because they are monsters? The carload of Kindred fleeing across the I-90 floating bridge in an Impala aren't quite sure yet, themselves, and their questions will not be answered quickly--or easily.
Jakob Tallhorse is barely cognizant of what happened in that clearing in the woods near Arkwright cemetery. He hardly knows what is driving their flight with Lucas behind the wheel of his ride. Velma rides shotgun, almost as oblivious, and useless when it comes to filling Jakob in; she stayed behind when the shit hit the fan. All she had heard was the insidious laughter that spurred their retreat. This leaves the task to Harlan, who sits in back with Jakob. The cop fills Jakob in, but to him, it all seems like a story that happened to someone else. While he was out, Jakob was having his own trip, almost like he was seeing through someone else’s eyes. The experience seems to have wiped out enough of the short-term memory of what brought them to that point, as well. He simply has to take Harlan's word for it.
Jakob listens bemused as Harlan and Lucas discuss what steps they should take to ensure his well-being. As if there is any wellness involved with their permanent condition. Just varying stages of infection. "I'm fine," Jakob argues, just as Typhoid Mary might have objected if concerned citizens were hastily driving her to a sanatorium.
"Son, I just had to explain to you what the hell happened after you licked blood out of that damned cup," Harlan snaps. "You might be fine. You might. But we ain't gonna take that chance. I seen the effects of the vodoun and blood magic and such foulness back in the bayou. Heard stories about things Baron Cimitiere could do to people. We are not taking that chance. Not tonight. Lucas, who do we know in Seattle who might help?"
Lucas thinks about it for a moment. Just because he's from here doesn't mean he knows any more about the Kindred circles than Harlan does, a fact the older vampire seems to forget with disturbing frequency. If they were back in New Orleans, you couldn't hardly swing a dead cat without hitting a Kindred who would know exactly what to do in this situation; probably because they were using the dead cat in some fucked up ritual. "Probably somebody who's been around for a while, I'd guess," he suggests.
Harlan starts brainstorming out loud, and Lucas throws in periodic insights, like a jam session of desperation-fueled problem solving. "Blade? No. He doesn't strike me as the type to dabble in this shit," Harlan says. "Maybe Natasha would know somebody? Hmm. Probably not."
"Isn't blood magic Crone stuff?" Lucas asks.
"Too bad Jakob practically is the Circle of the Crone in Seattle."
The two pause for a heartbeat they no longer have, then it hits them. "Pope!" they both exclaim, then turn to Jakob, who is already texting on his phone, setting up a meeting with the old vampire.
"I still think we should go back for the chalice," Jakob grumbles.
"That's what started this whole mess!" Lucas' disbelief at Jakob's statement is so intense, it threatens to affect his control of the car.
"Well, you don't know what I know. You didn't see what I saw."
Harlan gets in Jakob's face. "Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but you didn't see what we saw! When you licked the dregs from that damned chalice, it knocked you out after you tried to knock Lucas out! You keep saying we need to go back for it, but all we can see is the weirdness it caused, and your silence on why it's so fucking important does nothing to help your case."
Harlan's vitriol is interrupted. "Psych!" exclaims Jakob's phone. Pope has just texted him back.
"Arboretum," Jakob says cryptically.
"What?" asks Lucas. He is driving Jakob's car, trying to find the guy some help, and he is finding one-word courses of action less than satisfactory. "Look, man, you can be the strong silent type if you want. That's great. Save it for the outsiders. All of us have been hanging together for a while now, and this band hasn't split up yet. You're part of a krewe, now, man. If we weren't on the same team, we would have left you back there. There are others here in the night you can count on." Harlan is glad for the kid's impassioned speech. If he were to try and say the same thing, it would have sounded much less sincere, and his tongue would probably have caught fire saying it.
Jakob is silent for a bit. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "You're right, Lucas. After having to build up that hide of mine for such a long time, it's hard to let my guard down, you know? So. Pope wants to meet us at the Arboretum shortly before dawn."
"Why so late? Er, early? Ah, fuck my life," the kid tries to ask.
Harlan shifts imperceptibly away from Jakob on the bench seat in the back. "Maybe the better to feed you to the sunrise if he can't help you," he says ominously. This realization helps no one, least of all Jakob, but they contemplate the possibility. The Arboretum isn’t far, while sunrise still is. They arrive early, and have some time to prepare for treachery.
Harlan searches for points of ingress and egress, and potential hidey-holes they could stay in during the day if this whole mess turns into one of those kind of situations. He looks for locations a person could ambush them all, and tries to spot possible sniper's nests. With this attention to surviving a trap occupying his mind, he remembers a call he almost made a short while ago, and makes it now.
If he meets his end here tonight, he wants somebody to have a clear picture as to what happened, where it went down and who was fucking responsible. People who go missing are incredibly inconsiderate sometimes, and the recent hunt for Evan Burrell in New Orleans reminds him of that fact. If there is anyone outside this group who might be driven to act if Harlan turns up missing, it might be his sire, so he sends Natasha a text. As he hits the send button, he has to admit she might also not act, and if anything goes wrong before the sun rises, it may only serve as a clue to where she went wrong when selecting progeny. Natasha responds quickly, though, and asks if he needs back-up; not the response he was expecting. Given the circumstances, however, he is reluctant to turn down such an offer. He answers yes, but explains that the cavalry should just wait and observe unless action is needed.
Jakob’s insistence that they get control of the chalice lingers in Harlan’s thoughts, and bothers him for two reasons. Firstly, the item could be highly dangerous, especially if it can impose some hold over Jakob. Secondly, he dislikes the fact that he and Lucas basically shut down any position Jakob might have had. Not exactly the sort of behavior Harlan would appreciate from a teammate were the roles reversed. He and Lucas can’t really run back to Arkwright, though, so Harlan compromises and makes a call. Hopefully professional courtesy will get him somewhere. He places a call to Trooper Clemons with the State Patrol and asks for a favor. Grab the item during the day and hold onto it. Harlan would have called Raul, but what if the chalice could warp his favored retainer? Best to send an asset he won’t miss if things go south.
A white van arrives. When the side door opens up, waves of ganja-infused air wash over them. The vehicle is driven by a hippie-girl named Sarah. She has evidently become the chauffeur/paramour of Rafael Pope, who steps out of the back. Pope offers to perform a ritual to help Jakob, but explains to Harlan, Lucas and Velma that they will have to leave because it is a secretive thing, "A ritual of the Crone," Pope explains.
Lucas looks to Jakob. "Are you okay with that, man? I won't leave unless you tell me it's good." Harlan nods, though he suspects that if they choose to stand by Jakob's side, Pope will simply refuse to perform. Who is he to be bullied by a handful of neonates?
Jakob seems to understand this, too, and his trust in Pope is clearly much deeper than the three others'. "Yeah, Lucas. We'll be fine." The krewe slinks off around a corner and out of sight, wondering if they will ever see Jakob again, and in what shape they'll find him if they do. After a few moments of tense waiting, Harlan gets a text that makes him want to run back for Jakob, but by the time he makes that decision, the necessity has passed.
Jakob calls them back. Pope is gone. His work--for good or ill--is done here. Jakob looks like a changed man, as though the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. He thanks the rest of the krewe for their concern and for sticking by him, throwing his arm around Lucas' shoulders and giving him a good-natured, brotherly noogie. This degree of sudden personable-ness is almost unnerving, but the others have precious little time to explore and question. The eastern horizon is getting light with the false dawn, and they all have to split to make it to thir havens.
The Next Night
When the sun sets, the Devil takes his due. Vitae. Every night, the essence drains from every Kindred all across the globe, tiny shreds of mortal lives fed to the darkness when light slips away. This sacrifice triggers a Kindred’s hunger, and forces wakefulness. The Beast will not tolerate its chosen to oversleep. Night is the time to hunt for more scraps of life. Life that will be fed piecemeal to the furnace like sticks to a bonfire.
If a Kindred plans well, though, they may be mostly sated when they turn in before dawn, and they can put off the hunt for another night. Harlan and Lucas waste no time meeting at The Garage after the events this morning before they parted ways. Harlan checked his voicemail upon waking, waiting for news from Trooper Clemons. The message makes him curse, and he doesn’t look forward to sharing it with Jakob.
Harlan and Lucas wait patiently for Jakob, but he is evidently marching to the beat of his own tom tom and he is late, probably still trying to erase his blood-deficit from several consecutive nights of lousy hunting. Velma is also not present yet, but there is still a mortal in her life that she is stringing along, and in the early hours of the night, it is a safe bet that she is trying to have some quality time with her and earn another night out. Harlan wonders how long she can keep the lie alive before having to divest herself of that facet of her former life.
The two pretend to sip drinks while mortals bustle about them. A waitress considers asking if they’d like to order anything, but remembers the creepiness lurking in the old guy’s accent every time he has turned her away. She wonders what those two could possibly have in common to hang out together so often. The blond with the faint Cajun accent never orders food, but he always tips well for the group. She briefly wonders if the kid is there because the old guy is paying for his services. Eyeing the kid’s leather jacket and his sharp features, she thinks wistfully to herself, what a shame, before spotting some empty glasses at table three, and heads over to ask if they need refills. Naturally, she doesn’t realize that the more she notices about the hunters in her midst and the more she thinks about them, the closer she comes to a bad end.
When the waitress’ lingering gaze slips away from him, Lucas glances around. His eyes were lost in the ripples of his coffee, a beverage he’ll never enjoy again. “This place doesn’t feel the same,” he says bluntly to Harlan. “I can’t put my finger on it, but the crowd here tonight seems different.”
A similar concern had been flitting in the back of Harlan’s thoughts, as well. “I feel it, too, Ace. Is it us, or is it them?” The place isn’t exactly the bar where everyone knows your name and none of the crowd are regular enough to make their absence significant, so it is impossible for them to see if the entire crowd has been replaced with an entirely different one. Harlan wonders if whatever they were fleeing from last night has somehow found them here and says to Lucas, “Since it’s not just in my head, I don’t care for this vibe. Wanna head out, tell Jakob to meet us somewhere else?”
Lucas is about to speak when the presence of another Kindred interrupts him. He is tall and strikingly handsome, like he stepped from the set of a high-end catalogue’s photo shoot after a long day of hawking silk shirts. They recognize him from Court. He sits at the Sanctified table next to Genevieve. He is Chester Wilhelm Bogdonavich IV. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he says smoothly. It is no wonder to either of the Ventrue why Genevieve might have had eyes for this one. “Might I have a moment of your time? I have a proposal you’ll likely want to hear.”
Harlan sweeps the crowd with his eyes and returns to Chester and his rich features. He waves his hand at an empty seat at their table. “Who are we to refuse you, sir? For all we know, you might already own this place.” The Prince’s childe ignores this remark, as taking offense will make a harder sell, and he is nothing if not interested in getting the krewe on board. But, why? Harlan will ask himself…but only later. Hopefully not too late, though.
Like any good salesman, Chester spins an interesting yarn that immediately gets the pair hooked. He says that “Jen” had people following Mike McDavid, the so-called Mechanic who solves problems, as his business card so enigmatically pointed out. This doesn’t surprise Harlan; he’s been living in the shadow of a possible reprisal for the last few days because he did not jump at the Prince’s request to find McDavid for her. He simultaneously wants to relax because she evidently found some other mook to do her dirty work and tense for a fight in case Chester’s presence here now is due to Harlan’s previous reluctance.
“Where this gets interesting, gentlemen,” Chester says, “is that while our people were following him, it appears as though he was following you, and I suppose you might want to get to the bottom of that, but he’s missing now. He threw off our tail last night and by the time we picked it back up, he was in the wind. Now that we might be working at a mutual purpose, I was hoping you could assist in this endeavor.”
The thought that McDavid has been shadowing the krewe is alarming to both Harlan and Lucas. The most obvious questions either of them have is Who would want them followed? And Why would they do such a thing? Harlan tells Chester “We may have our differences, Mr. Bogdonavich,” and by that, Harlan means their bosses—he’d never spoken to Chester before tonight. “But it seems resolving this situation is mutually beneficial. We can aid in the search.”
Chester is glad to have the krewe on board, and sets a few items on their table. A small plastic bag with a cigarette butt inside, a loose clothing button and a flash drive. Chester explains that these were the items found in the search of McDavid’s abandoned car before the police arrived to tow it. “If you learn anything, please contact me directly,” he says, giving Harlan and Lucas his card before leaving.
When he is gone, Velma approaches. She had been hanging back, possibly lurking in the shadows for all Harlan and Lucas know. In truth, she just didn’t want to interrupt their meeting with someone she didn’t recognize. “Who was he and what was that about?” she asks, her eyes drawn to the flash drive setting on the table. The two plank-owners of the krewe hold off answering her questions until Jakob arrives. Having to only explain things once is a plus when the night is short and Harlan and Lucas suspect they’ll have a full investigation ahead of them.
“I hope it’s okay if I spoke for you when we said we’d take the job,” Harlan says to Lucas while they wait. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to get tangled up in this mess.”
Lucas gives the old man a look. “Do you even gotta ask, man? We’re in this together. I’m your back-up. Your SWAT team, remember?” Harlan grins at the kid’s attitude, and is grateful to have him at his side, but doesn’t want to take it for granted. Knowing his own nature and that of his clan, that will probably happen all too soon, and he’d like to forestall it before something he does inevitably turns their relationship to shit.
“What I can say before Jakob gets here, though,” Harlan says, leaning in and glancing between Lucas and Velma, “is that I have independent verification of some of what Chester told us.”
“Who’s Chester?” Jakob asks, approaching their table and setting in his usual spot. Velma looks relieved that an explanation may be forthcoming now. She’s still not entirely sold on the two Ventrue, yet. The kid doesn’t seem to have his head in the game sometimes, and the cop maybe too much so. The latter is definitely in it to win it, she thinks, and might pose a risk to her and her secrets, especially if he keeps treating her like a puzzle and asking uncomfortable questions in his efforts to get to know her better. She’s already seen how he can get sidetracked by an investigation; an unsolved mystery can sometimes be like a blood trail to that particular hound. She doesn’t think for a second that Jakob is without an agenda—he’s not exactly subtle about some aspects of his attempts to strengthen the Circle of the Crone—but he seems to provide a balance to Harlan and his young disciple, so Jakob’s presence is welcome in her book. Plus, he seems to botch enough things on his own that it keeps the spotlight off her most of the time, which is just how she likes it.
Lucas is immediately cheered by Jakob’s presence. The camaraderie he expressed last night is still fresh in the musician’s mind, and he’d like to encourage it. Jakob returns Lucas’ enthusiastic greeting, showing none of the worrying signs he did the night before that led them to surrender Jakob to the tender and bloody ministrations of Rafael Pope. “Hope the hunting was better for you than it has been in recent nights,” Harlan says by way of greeting and addressing Jakob’s tardiness. “Though, if you’re going to be late, check your messages, would you? I know the pale-faces invented the witch-boxes, but you can use them to help your cause.”
Jakob blows off Harlan’s mild racism. Of all the things he could pick up from Petra in New Orleans, it had to be that? “Hunting was fine. I think my dry spell is over,” he speaks too soon. While it is said that God does not play dice with the universe, the Devil certainly does, and Old Scratch is loath to let a challenge go unanswered. “So, what are you guys getting us into tonight?” Jakob is generally fine going with the flow and dealing with issues of the night as they come to him, like floating down a river. Keeping calm and letting the waters carry you can take you places; thrash around and try to steer the river? That’s when people drown.
“That was Chester Wilhelm Bogdonavich the Fourth,” Harlan says, amused to hear the full name roll off his tongue. “Childe of Genevieve, our illustrious Prince. He wants us to find Mike McDavid, who went missing last night.” He and Lucas fill Jakob and Velma in on the details. When that is done, Harlan says, “Unless anyone else has any burning notions of where to start off, I suggest we look up Vince and talk to him.”
“Who’s Vince?” Lucas asks.
“He’s one of the Invictus. A few weeks ago, Blade had a couple jobs to parse out. I took one and, well, Vince drew the short straw. He was asked to look for Mike McDavid. Try and keep that hush-hush. I don’t know how dirty that laundry is and whether Vince or Blade wants it publicly aired, dig?” Harlan can only accept their promises of silence and hope they stick. He’ll likely only know if any of them spill when people start complaining about all the beans on the carpet. Sometimes, though, it’s advantageous to leak little secrets; it can be an excellent exercise toward figuring out how people will handle the big ones later on. Harlan makes a call to Carlos and gets contact info for Vince. Everyone piles into Jakob’s Impala and they head over to Vince’s office.
“What if Vince isn’t in?” Lucas asks.
Harlan will burn that bridge if they come to it. “Maybe he’s got a front desk girl who can tell us where he’s at. Don’t sweat it, Sport.” Fortunately for the krewe, no sweating is necessary—at least not regarding this part of the investigation. As they head up to Vince’s place, the greasy Nosferatu is stepping out. Harlan calls to him, and gets his suspicious attention.
“What do you want?” The Kindred looks worn down and haggard, an even more unsavory version of himself ever since he took the McDavid search from Blade. Harlan explains their situation, and Vince tells them to get in his car. “Lemme show you something.”
He takes them on a short ride and parks. Across the street is one of the many Catholic Church administration buildings scattered all over Seattle, a sure sign that it is controlled by the Lancea Sanctum and Genevieve. Not far away is a parcel controlled by Blade, but they are still on Sanctified turf here, as is the apartment building across from the church that Vince points to. “McDavid has been staying there,” he says. “If you want to look for him, that’s where I’d start.”
Seeing the geography here, Harlan wants to kick himself. On his first meeting with Natasha she had spoken a bit about McDavid. She’d even gone so far as to tell him where the Mechanic was staying. Of course, the way she said it, “He’s got an apahtment in Genevieve’s territory, acrahss from the Ahch-Diocese building,” he had assumed that the Prince knew exactly where he was, that she was perhaps even letting him stay there. Also, finding McDavid was supposed to be Vince’s gig, and Harlan didn’t want to step on his toes. He’s not sure how energetically Vince has been following this investigation. Maybe giving the Haunt the benefit of the doubt was a mistake. If only Harlan had followed the leads that were given to him earlier, he might be in the know right now instead of trying to play catch up.
“Thanks Vince,” Harlan says, and then pauses. “You look like hell, man. Are you alright with this investigation?”
Vince brushes the cop off. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
Harlan reminds Vince of their ties through the First Estate. “If you ever need help, call me.” He nods at Harlan’s offer, though the detective doubts the call will ever be made. He strikes Harlan as the type who would view such an act as a sign of weakness. His loss, Harlan thinks, and turns back to the krewe as Vince heads out. “We’ve got an apartment to search, people,” Harlan says. “Any preferences to how it gets done?” His eyes linger on Velma, though she is not sure if he is hinting that she should lead the way with her…talents, or if he is just being creepy again because he has a thing for bookish lesbians. Whatever the case, she chooses to remove herself from his line of sight as efficiently as possible.
“I’ll get inside, then let the rest of you in the front door,” she says, and slips off into the shadows. The other three head into the building and up the stairs. By the time they make it to the front door, they hear the deadbolt clicking from the inside, and Velma peeks her head out. “No one here but me. Let’s toss this joint.” They head inside and begin their search.
This is like familiar territory for Harlan. He excels at this sort of thing, though it is somewhat strange to be searching a scene for clues rather than searching for places to plant evidence. Nonetheless, he starts low, and looks to the out-of-way places that most people never think of, unless they’ve got something to hide. Under the coffee table, he finds Velcro straps holding a laptop computer in place. He pulls it free and hands it over to Velma and Jakob to see if they can get anything out of it, and continues his search. In a garbage can, Harlan also finds a small balloon with some powder residue. What he understands of the drug trade—and he knows more than the average person—is that coke, crack and meth come in baggies or bits of cellophane tied off with tiny rubber bands. Balloons seem to be exclusive to heroin. He shares this find with the group and bags it for evidence. What is a person like McDavid doing with Heroin? Harlan asks himself. Rumor has it McDavid is an unbondable Ghoul. Or that the Beast has no influence over his mind. Or both. Is this heroin for his own use? Or did he use it for some other plan? Harlan shares these questions quietly with Lucas while Velma works on the laptop and Jakob searches the bathroom. Their eyes slide to the bathroom where they see glimpses of the Indian as he rummages, and they ponder the implications.
Some of Jakob’s reactions the other night reminded them both of an addict jonesing for a hit. As a mortal, Jakob was addicted to heroin for a time. The entire apartment is quite clean, and if an addict was going to leave evidence of drug packaging in his trash, they would likely find all sorts of other paraphernalia; syringes, surgical tubing, bent spoons blackened on the bottom by any number of the spent Bic lighters that would surely be left all over the place. And blood, which by Jakob’s account, is completely absent from this place, even in the bathroom where he might have cut himself shaving. Of course, the guy lives off of the vitae of the Kindred; he’s probably figured out some of their peculiarities and how to dodge them. Lastly, McDavid seems a bit too ambitious and motivated for someone who is chasing the dragon. These drugs weren’t for him, Harlan suspects. If they were even drugs at all…
While Harlan tries to digest these implications, Velma tells them that she has cracked the login security of the laptop. The username was “HolyTriniG”, and while key files and folders are further password protected and/or encrypted, she is fairly certain that the laptop belonged to…Genevieve Harcourt. All movement in the room seems to stop for a moment as people look at the computer Velma is working on, regarding it like an incendiary that might explode and immolate them all. Harlan moves to one of the windows and stands off to the side. He looks out, across the street at the Arch Diocese building, up and down the street. He is looking for a hit squad converging on their location, or a sniper team that was waiting for them to find what they could not. He sees nothing of the sort. They are either safe for now, or in more danger than they know.
Further searching of McDavid’s apartment turns up nothing. They want to head out, but Harlan has become paranoid, and fears that Genevieve’s people might track her laptop like they would track a cell phone. “Maybe that’s why McDavid was keeping it here, so close to her territory,” he suggests.
“Or Maybe,” Lucas counters, “He was just living here because it’s…kind of a nice apartment. And it’s close to both Genevieve and Blade’s territories. Maybe he’s just hiding under their noses.”
Harlan has to admit that Lucas’ words are just as likely—maybe even more so—than his own. He is simply expecting a reprisal from Genevieve for not trying to find McDavid, and yet here he is, drawn into the task anyway. Velma suggests they split the difference. Take the laptop to an all-night Wi-Fi café. This place is close to a hospital, and coffee shops cater to nurses and doctors that have to work long hours and odd shifts. They will be able to hide in a small crowd and see if anyone comes hunting for the laptop, and the venue will give them ample opportunities to escape if hunters come a-calling. This sounds like their best option, and the group heads out.
At the café, Velma is finally able to check the flash drive Chester gave them, and finds a digital photo of an ornate silver chalice that Jakob, Lucas and Harlan all recognize, which brings back a thought Harlan had earlier. He asks for a small sample of Jakob’s blood, so it can be tested against the residue in the balloon found in McDavid’s apartment. Harlan suspects that the chalice or the blood in it might have been laced with drugs. Jakob refuses on the grounds that a mortal lab tech examining a Kindred’s blood would surely be a breach of the Masquerade. Velma agrees with him on that point. When they put it that way, and Harlan considers what hoops he’d have to jump through to keep it secret, the whole ploy fails the cost-benefit analysis. “You’re right, it’s not worth it,” he says.
Lucas says, “If we were back in New Orleans, we could probably have Petra look into it.”
“The Dragons are all about bringing science to our condition,” Velma says. “We could probably get them to…” she trails off, thinking. While Lucas has sort of thrown his interests behind them, He is far from a member of their covenant. To Velma, he also doesn’t look like he could research his way out of a wet sack. She, on the other hand, is a bit more established, she has plenty of related knowledge and excellent research methodology. With access to the right equipment, there is no reason she shouldn’t be able to tackle this project herself. She looks up from her reverie to see the others hanging on her trailing words. “…I could do it.” She says. “It might take a week or two, but I’m sure I could do it. And there would be no breach, no favors owed. None of that. The question is, do you trust me to do it?” she says, and turns to Jakob.
He eyes her for a good moment, weighing her in wordless judgment. His reassurance doesn’t come from what he thinks of her or what she says, but from the others at his side. Lucas’ words that he is part of a krewe. Harlan’s sense of loyalty to the kid, and to him. If she betrays him, the new girl will have to answer to them just as much as him. And she’s got plenty to lose, herself, by still pretending to be mortal. She needs to fit in. She won’t double cross him. “Take the sample,” he says. Velma tries to assure him that it will be safe, and he can trust her, but he shuts her down. Her word means nothing. Knowing what will become of her if she breaks it is a far greater bond. “I know,” he says simply.
Harlan takes a swab of the balloon residue and hands the original evidence over to Velma for comparison. “I may not be able to trust his blood to our crime lab,” but I can give them this,” Harlan says, indicating the swab. “The lab can tell me what it is, and maybe if it has anything unusual in it.” Harlan shakes his head as the group waits, looking toward the entrances to see if any goons are coming for the purloined laptop. “This blood angle may be a wild goose chase. A real red herring,” he admits. “But if it comes back that there is a connection, that is a solid clue that we need to have. So we have to try and confirm it or eliminate it, is how I look at things.”
“If McDavid is poisoning me with tainted blood, I want to fucking know about it, too, Harlan,” Jakob says. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a good question to have answered one way or the other. I just have a feeling that the way we investigate things, we’ll probably wind up getting the answer some other way a lot quicker…and messier. I don’t think anyone’s coming for this computer. What’s our next move?”
Harlan runs his fingers through his short, tousled hair. Their leads seem thin at the moment, but there is one he wants to follow up on. He doesn’t fully trust Chester as an investigator. His people may have searched McDavid’s car, but Chester looks like a former underwear model. If they were searching for the prom queen’s virginity, Chester might know where to find it. But an honest to God clue? Harlan doesn’t think he has the eye for that, regardless of his pedigree. “I’d like to check out Mike’s car, see if there is anything there that Chester’s people missed or didn’t think was significant.”
“Where the hell is his car?” Lucas asks.
“I sent Trooper Clemons to retrieve the chalice. He didn’t find it, but found McDavid’s car about two blocks away as it was being investigated by Issaquah PD and towed away. It’ll be in their impound yard. With some interdepartmental cooperation, I should be able to take a look at it. IPD is a smaller department, and cops talk. I can probably also look at their investigation notes, maybe even talk to the responding officers. But before we go there, I want to take a look at the scene itself. It’ll be on the way, anyhow.”
Harlan knows where the car was found thanks to the message from Trooper Clemons. They search the area themselves and come up with nothing significant. The scene is a residential neighborhood. There are no traffic cams here, no storefronts, no errant ATMs that might have snapped a picture. Harlan walks to the intersection where McDavid’s car was stopped and shines his flashlight at the pavement. In the intersection proper, there are skid marks perpendicular to where McDavid’s car was found. Whether they were from a car screeching to a stop to keep Mike from moving forward or a burn-out from someone speeding away after nabbing the Mechanic, Harlan cannot tell. He takes notes and pictures of the tracks, just in case. With seemingly nothing else to find here, they get back in their own car and head out.
Next stop is downtown Issaquah. At the police impound yard, Harlan flashes his credentials and spins a story about looking for a vehicle matching the description of one they picked up last night. When the lot officer asks what sort of case he’s working on, he picks one that is nebulous, but serious enough to ensure cooperation. “A kidnapping,” he says coolly. The slight sense of urgency he begins leaking into his questions hopefully adds that extra bit of convincing to his story. I’m on the clock, under the gun, officer. If we find the right clues here, we might save a life. The longer we drag our feet, the more likely we’ll be looking at a body recovery…if the kidnapper lets us get that lucky. That is the unspoken plea that Harlan makes, backed up by a motley krewe of “CSIs” supposedly dragged out into the field at this ungodly hour to help process a vehicle. Based on the waves of cooperation he is met with, Harlan’s act seems to work just fine.
And I didn’t even have to let the Beast do the talking, he thinks, inordinately proud of himself.
Harlan gets the official police report from the officer working the lot, and asks plenty of questions. The car itself is not turning out to be a cornucopia of evidence, no smoking gun by a long shot, though the cop does tell Harlan that they found a pistol in a holster under the driver’s seat. The snap on the retention strap was undone, but it was under there. Also, they found a pack of cigarettes. Not imported Turkish ones, Harlan learns. It turns out the car was reported by nearby homeowners who saw the car running for several minutes at the intersection and thought it was suspicious, like maybe it was a getaway car for burglars or something. When they got there, the car was running, the door was open, and no one was inside. Harlan gets the contact info for the initial reporter. He and Lucas may have to pay them a visit soon.
As a shot in the dark, a last minute Hail-Mary, Harlan whispers to Jakob, “Can you give the car a sniff-check? See if anything hits you? We are bombing here, man.”
Jakob shrugs, “Sure, whatever.” It’s going to be pointless. There is no blood in the car. If there were, it would have jumped out at all of them first thing. While Harlan keeps the other cop distracted, Jakob gives the car’s interior a thorough sniffing. His eyes shoot wide, and he can’t get away from here fast enough to share what he has found.
“There was Kindred blood in the car—but none left behind. Just the faint smell in the air.”
Well isn’t that interesting? Harlan thinks. Travelling with a ghoul, how would the scent of a Vampire’s blood get into the air, but not a drop get spilled?
Whose payroll are you on, Mike?
