Seattle by Noir! Issue 2 1/29/16

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(Author's note: All inferences to what is really going on in the minds of any person other than Harlan is sheer speculation on his part.)

The sun dips low, consumed by the western horizon, and the Kindred of Seattle awake. On this particular Friday evening, Detective Harlan Fontenot of the SPD receives a call from Mr. Smitty, servant of Natasha Preston. She is the new Ventrue Priscus of the emerald city, and Harlan's estranged sire. He had recently made an attempt at mending fences, and Smitty's call lets Harlan know that Miss Preston would finally like to meet. It will be the first time they've spoken since before he left New Orleans; even then he did not tell her good-bye.

Natasha meets Harlan in her classic Sunbeam Tiger. He joins her, and they talk a bit of business. They touch on the Jericho situation, and she hints that it may be going south, fast. She also asks Harlan how he feels about Simeon Blade, and he is reluctant to speak too freely, but admits that it was kind of a let down that Harlan had to calm Blade down the other night to prevent an even greater spectacle in the wake of Jericho's frenzy. They talk about other business in regards to the city's leadership, and their discussion eventually strays from business to personal matters. Natasha loves classic cars, and loves to drive fast. Inevitably, she catches the attention of a traffic unit, and the bubblegum bars light up in the rear-view. "Shit," she says, her thick Southie accent audible even in one syllable. She punches it, and deftly eludes the cruiser. She pulls into a residential neighborhood and kills the engine, turning to Harlan. "You remember how we met?" she asks. All Harlan can think of is her written offer to join the NOPD when he was still working for the West Baton Rouge Sheriff's Department. "It was a traffic stop, just like this could have been." Harlan remembers, now. That Aston Martin whipping down the backroads of his Parish was an affront that he couldn't abide. Looking back, and realizing that just a few days later he had breathed his last and learned of the embrace, she may have simply been trolling for him, letting him know that his application to the NOPD had been accepted. For many years, this introduction to the unlife of the Kindred had stuck in Harlan's craw. But, after coming to Seattle and feeling at least partly responsible for raising the "orphan" Lucas Brandt, he figures it's high time to get over such slights. Harlan grudgingly admits to Natasha that it's good to see her again, to see her outside of New Orleans...and free of Antoine Savoy. After their talk, she drops Harlan off near his unmarked cruiser, where he makes a call of his own.

Velma Diaz takes Harlan's call, and reluctantly agrees to meet him. Since Lucas has not yet commanded Harlan's attention and asked to meet at The Garage, Harlan opts to take a free moment to feel out the unknown quantity that has attached herself to their group. Miss Diaz has been hesitant to speak much about herself, and Harlan aims to see if that is merely because she is shy, hasn't found the opportunity...or perhaps if her omission is by design. The bookish Mekhet agrees to meet Harlan in downtown Seattle. The pick up is obviously nowhere near her haven, but the detective understands, and takes no offense at the precaution. Can't be too careful, after all.

When Harlan spots her and pulls over, she nervously responds to his beckoning wave. She climbs into the passenger seat of the silver Dodge Avenger, and waits to see what business the wiry detective thinks he has with her. She is young, and relatively new to her Requiem; she may simply be here because she doesn't realize she can safely tell Detective Fontenot to go fuck himself. Harlan pulls away from the curb and settles into a lazy slalom through the city streets, effectively trapping Velma in the car with him. He starts off his gentle interrogation innocently enough, observing that she is new to the city, and asks what brings her to Seattle. She turns the question back on him, and Harlan explains that he came here from New Orleans, where the political situation was a bit too...exciting. Velma offers a similar excuse for her migration from Chicago, but it seems hollow to the cop's well-worn ears that have heard thousands of different lies, and the same lie thousands of times. She clearly does not want to delve into the particulars of her history. Not now, and not to him. He decides not to press the issue. She has her reasons, he figures. It is probably only a matter of time before he learns her secrets, and how he feels about them when he does might be up to her. For the time being, though, he offers his help if any of the excitement she moved from happens to follow her.

Much to Velma's relief, Harlan's cell phone rings; this conversation was getting uncomfortably personal for her taste. She listens without appearing to pay attention to his business, but she can't help but wonder what is inspiring the reactions she sees in him. First there is blank confusion, then indignance, and anger. At that point, the calling party cuts Harlan off, he hangs up as well, and then he is calm, as though he were putting on an act. Velma is reluctant to ask, but feels compelled. She may very well get caught up in whatever news has Harlan so worked up.

He explains that an associate of his in the SPD named Raul Escobar recently arrested someone. The caller a moment ago was the brother of the detainee, and he has kidnapped someone Harlan knows in order to put leverage on Detective Escobar, to effect the release of the arrested brother. Harlan has to explain the convoluted mess a few times for it to make sense to Velma. It still doesn't make sense, but after a few iterations, she at least seems to understand the actors in this drama and their motivations.

As Harlan explains, he really wonders if he should even bother. The kidnapping victim is Madame Katerina, or as Harlan often calls her, "The Gypsy." The krewe came to her not long ago, seeking answers regarding spirits--when time seemed of the essence--and their regular medium was at large. For a mortal, she possessed a keen awareness, and while she did not answer the group's questions to their satisfaction, she was able to see that Harlan was no longer entirely...human. She later demanded that he make her like him, and Harlan had been stringing her along ever since, hoping that she might change her mind, come to her senses, or even get run over by a bus or struck by an errant lightning bolt. Even now, he had his heart set on luring her to her death for daring to make such demands of a Kindred. He wonders if he should just let this family-values thug do his dirty work for him...

...No. That sort of sloppiness is intolerable. Plus, there is the very real possibility that if her captor(s) threaten to take her life, she might say anything to them to save her hide. What if she tells them that he is a monster? A vampire? Surely they won't believe her, but the bricks of the Masquerade are secrets and lies; the blood of mortals who knew too much is the mortar that holds them all together. Before he can end her, he has to rescue her, dammit.

Harlan makes a call to Raul, and explains the situation. The detective from the Gang Unit gives Harlan a lead as to who may be behind the kidnapping: Frankie Gonzales. Raul recently busted his younger brother Henry while working one of Harlan's suggested stings at known Chupacabra watering holes. Henry is just a punk kid. He's got no pull in the gang. Frankie is just another hood, as well, and clearly has no idea who he is fucking with. Harlan intends to clear that last part up as soon as possible. Raul has other business to attend to, and tells Harlan he'll get in touch with some more info later.

Whatever comes next, Harlan doesn't want to go in without his SWAT team. He calls up Lucas to see if he's done hunting for the night. "Need some back up, Hondo," Harlan explains. "Me and Velma are downtown, headed for Rainier. You game?"

"Hondo?" Lucas replies, oblivious to the reference, because of course he is; the kid's own father was probably still in diapers when that show was on.

"You know? Hondo, from...ah, forget it." With the mood thoroughly killed, Harlan changes the subject. "You want me to pick you up, or do you want to meet us?" Lucas opts for a ride. He has to jump in the back, because Velma has his usual spot at shotgun.

"So, why are we headed to Rainier?" Lucas asks, and Harlan groans inside. Taking a deep breath, he explains the mess, and is prepared to do it a few more times, just as before. Harlan adds to the explanation that Frankie Gonzales and his family live in Rainier, and that he wants to case the joint. Depending on what info Raul comes back with, he wants to be close to ground zero if and when the action starts. They find Frankie's house, and judging by all the cars parked outside, there could easily be a dozen or more people inside. Typical Mexican flophouse. Not exactly the sort of odds Harlan wants to tackle head-on, though. He snaps some pictures of the place, just in case he wants to threaten Frankie later on. The trio stake the joint out for a while, talking and waiting for Raul's call. Eventually, they get the idea to check out the Gypsy's digs, instead; Raul seems pretty busy, and they might find some clues there. Hell, if Frankie is stupid enough to try and extort Harlan using a life he wants snuffed as currency, he might even be in the old hag's apartment still.

Velma offers her services when they pull up to the complex. She is adept at blending into the shadows, and has keen senses. She volunteers to scout the apartment and see if she can determine if anyone is still in there. Her initial reconnoiter comes up with nothing. When Harlan suggests he call Frankie's number and have Velma listen again, Frankie beats him to the punch and calls Harlan. "You think you could show up and we wouldn't know?" the thug asks.

Harlan needs to throw the goon off his game and put him on the defensive. "Is this Frankie Gonzales?" he asks without answering the challenge. Harlan covers the mouthpiece of his phone and whispers to Velma. "It's him! Take another listen!" She bolts out of the car back to the Gypsy's apartment. When she leaves, Harlan has a flash of insight: If Frankie is calling from somewhere nearby and Harlan makes a loud noise, he might be able to hear it from Frankie's end of the phone call. He keeps his finger pressed firmly over the mic in his phone and...

While Velma is trying to stealth it up, truly becoming one with the night, the person she is trying to help lays on the horn of his car, piercing every corner of the neighborhood with noise. She almost gives herself away with an extreme urge to scream out "What the fuck are you doing?!" Then, even more aghast, she watches the cop's car start up and drive off, leaving her alone with no explanation, like this whole ordeal was some fraternity prank. Let's ditch the new girl on a snipe hunt...It'll be fun!

Harlan faintly hears the report of his own horn over his phone a fraction of a second later. Frankie is nearby. But how near? He has to move and try and triangulate. "Okay, gringo," Frankie says, clearly shaken by having his name dropped. "Okay. How do you figure that?"

"Well, I called Detective Escobar and asked him if he knew any stupid wetbacks who would kidnap a woman to spring their idiot brother out of the county lock-up. Naturally, your name came up, along with Henry's. I mean, you didn't give me a lot to work with, and we can't go sprining the wrong dirtbag Mexican, can we? I mean, there's so many to choose from..." Harlan had driven a block or so away, and is ready for his first ranging honk, but his own bravado spoils the plan.

"Listen, Pig. Just get my brother out, or Granny gets it." Harlan can't hear if the honk is closer or farther, because Frankie hangs up. Back to square two. And, back to pick up Velma. Since Frankie called when they showed up, and Harlan heard how close they are, the rag-tag group can only assume that the kidnapper has a line of sight to the Gypsy's apartment complex. At Lucas and Velma's suggestion, Harlan plays the role of detective for a change, and they start looking for apartments nearby with lights on, people who might have seen some interlopers...and possibly where they went.

They strike it lucky at the first apartment they visit. The clinging, resiny odor of marijuana rolls over Harlan, even in the brief moment the door is open while one of the people inside steps out to answer the police summons. He clearly wants nothing more than for the cop to move along, and Harlan tries to give him an incentive. "I'm just investigating a missing persons case, young man. I'm not here for you. Now, if you can help me, I can overlook the contraband I smelled when you answered the door."

"I, uh...don't know what you're talking about, officer. It's just, uh...oregano."

A voice from within shouts out through the insufficiently soundproof door, "It only looks like oregano, dumbass! It doesn't smell like it, too!"

The stoner sputters behind him, "Sh...Shut up! You're not helping!"

Harlan steps in. "Look, let me ask a few questions, and then I'll be on my way. Who's been to that apartment?" he asks, pointing a pale finger toward the Gypsy's place. A moment ago, the stoner thought he was going to get off scot-free. Now, the mesmerizing call of the Beast is channeled through Harlan's words, and the mortal is compelled to obey. His stupor seems in line with the glaze of his eyes, bloodshot from the smoke.

"Oh, hey, yeah. A couple of wetbacks stopped by Granny's a while ago."

"Did you see where they went?" The stoner points to an apartment building across the street. Paydirt. To add to the sweetness of it all, Fankie proves once and for all that he is no criminal mastermind. When the pothead neighbor rats out his position, Harlan and company see a slighly parted set of curtains behind a ground floor window swish closed when they look.

As the three investigators move out, the stoner asks, "Hey, do I get a gold star or something?"

Lucas turns back as they walk away and gives a double thumbs-up. "Good work, citizen!" he quips in mock earnest. To Harlan, he whispers, "I really gotta get me some of those gold star stickers, ya know? That'd be hilarious!" By this time, they have reached the target, and Lucas turns back to business. "How do you want to approach this, man?"

Velma suggests that the group should make sure to cover the obvious exits, and offers to creep around to the back, since she claims not to be any good in a fight. Lucas' eyes light up when he sees the main door is locked; he seems to see every lock as a challenge or puzzle that must be bested. The lock is no match for the Swat Team, and Lucas graciously holds the door open for Harlan to make entry, while Lucas stays nearby, keeping an eye on the front window. Down the hall, Harlan sees a couple of young men sitting at the back door, smoking and drinking. He sees the colors that they're flying, and they match the Chupacabras'. They might be lookouts. Harlan whispers a warning to Lucas as he approaches the door of the target apartment.

Velma blends into the night like a shadow cast on a bowl of India ink. She creeps around to the rear, hoping to find nothing so she can earn a participation award for this caper and appease these people she has gotten wrapped up with. She just wanted to get away from Chicago to elude the mob she owed money to. Now, she's working off the books with a cop who may be worse than any loanshark she ever met because he's got a badge and the will to abuse it. It's not like she's a criminal justice major, or anything, but she's pretty sure that Harlan is going way off script with this, and if she doesn't like it, or voices her opinions, who knows what might become of her? How many moves will her girlfriend put up with?

Shit. She finds the lookouts at the back, and sees their attention drawn to the front door. One of them pulls out a phone. Maybe if I can prove myself, I won't have to run again. Maybe that Cajun isn't full of shit and lies, and maybe that offer he made earlier was sincere. Only one way to find out...Velma melts out of the shadows and becomes an accomplice. Her foot slices through the chill night air and pins the lookout's hand to the wall of the apartment. The phone drops from his grasp, the glowing screen bouncing down, down, down; a giant pixel in the dark. Between the stoop and the foundation it slips, and it is finally swallowed by a storm drain. The men holler in shock and confusion. Velma helps maintain Harlan and Lucas' element of surprise.

Harlan is torn. Velma is in the back where some action has just broken out. She is outnumbered at least two to one, but if he leaves to help her, Lucas will be left alone at the front facing God knows what kind of odds. He has to keep his eyes on the prize, this time. If Velma is in over her head, he has to hope she knows when to bolt. He doesn't fear for himself, but for the safety of those close to him, which reminds him of the jungles of Vietnam. He taps into the vitae coursing through him, wills it toward his cold, dead muscles. They burn with life and supernatural strength, and he kicks the apartment door wide open. The fight is on. One thug inside has a pistol handy, and drills Harlan. Another lunges at him with a knife that Harlan blocks. Two others are dragging an old woman--the Gypsy--toward the front window. Harlan draws his gun and locks eyes with the other pistolero. "Drop the gun!" the cold voice of the Beast commands, and in the ganger's mind, the weapon might as well have been made of snakes; he can't help but obey. Harlan opens fire on the Chupacabra trying to slice him open, but he is tough; he is clearly no stranger to trauma.

One of the lookouts at the back flees from Velma's surprise attack and into the fray, pulling a club and attempting to dry-gulch Harlan standing just inside the door. The cop barely manages to dodge this low blow, steps back and to the side and plugs Mr. Knife again. At the window, the struggling captive manages to plant her feet on the window frame as she is being dragged outside. She pushes for all she's worth, toppling her captors into a pile of frantic arms and legs as they try to pull her with them. Lucas dashes forward and pulls Madame Katerina away from them, interposing himself between her and the thugs. Lucas shouts at them, just to get their attention, which works like a charm. They lock eyes with him, and it is the last mistake they can make...in a few heartbeats, Lucas has commandeered their will, and their next series of mistakes will be made by his design. He dances his puppets around to the front door, in order to back Harlan up. This'll be a nice touch. And so hard to explain in the tank at county! Lucas thinks to himself with glee before a shadow crosses his thoughts. If Harlan lets them make it there...Almost forgotten by Lucas once she was safe, the Gypsy swoops toward him so uncomfortably close, the lingering touch of mothballs on her shawl stings his undead eyes. "You are like heem," she says, ominously, pointing to the building and toward the gunfire belonging to Harlan. Lucas is cornered by her strange presence and observation; a crazy old lady that wants nothing more than to become a vampire.

Inside, Harlan swats aside one attack after the next. These gangbangers aren't exactly amateurs, but Harlan seems to have hit his stride and seemingly can't be touched. The fight is dragging on, and the sound of sirens in the distance can be heard; gunshots in the night will do that. That is okay, however. The cops are on Harlan's side, tonight. Harlan takes a shot at Mr. Knife's head. His stubborn refusal to go down offends the vampire's sensibilities, and he hopes a visceral slap in the face like seeing their buddy's head blown off might break the morale of the other combatants.

Mr. Knife goes down in a gory spray of head cheese. Lucas' puppets pile into the door and onto one of Harlan's assailants, causing mass confusion. In the midst of all this, Harlan's phone rings. The world seems to go still for a moment. Harlan glances down at his hip, the gangers look at him, wild-eyed and incredulous. Harlan feels untouchable, and as a final show of contempt for this batch of mortals, he reaches down and takes the call in the middle of the fight. If they could hope to do anything about it, they would have done it by now. "Talk to me, Goose!" Harlan snaps to the caller.

It is Jakob. Clearly he is in a better place than Harlan, who can hear strains of Creedence pumping over the sound system of the Gangrel's Impala. "Hey, what's up?" he asks. Practically a speech by the laconic Native.

"In a bit of a brawl across the street from the Gypsy's. Kinda busy. We could use some containment."

"Containment? What's going on?"

Jakob hears Harlan screaming, "Get down! Down on the ground!" This is followed by gunfire. "Just get your ass over here, man!"

"On it!" The police will arrive long before Jakob, and the fight suddenly begins to wind down as threats, confusion and domination take the belligerent wind out of the Chupacabras' sails. Harlan contemplates just killing the surviving gang members with bullets to the head, with as much sympathy as he'd have for cattle in an abbatior. There are too many of them, though, and too many witnesses, now. The Gypsy has fled to her apartment, and Harlan turns to his Swat Team.

"Good work, Lucas, but the cops will be here soon, and we need to make sure these assholes' stories jive."

"What do you mean," he says, caught off guard. His naivete is a trait Harlan finds endearing, sometimes; it gives him the opportunity to feel old and wise on occasion.

"We can't let them tell investigators why this fight really started. We need to get them on the same page and clear all of us. Dig?" The light goes on over the Kid's head, and he eagerly gets to work with Harlan at this task. In a few moments, their combined Domination has spun a story that all the gangbangers believe; they believe it so hard, investigators will eventually have to pry these lies out of their mouths, and the thugs will protect this collective fantasy with their infamous code of silence. Naturally, the two Kindred have painted them as the villains of the evening, and the Damned as the heroes in the night.

Not wanting her name as a witness on a police blotter, Velma slinks away and leaves her contribution known to the only people who matter. Jakob arrives, and even in the distance can see Detective Fontenot spinning lies to the responding officers that will exonerate him and demonize his victims. The moment has passed, and he chooses not to get involved. Instead, he sets his sights on one of the few things he really cares about right now: St. Mark's Church, and the current ploy by Prince Genevieve to plant Jericho there.

He pulls up, and finds the front doors locked. He can hear deep bass chanting inside, and makes his way toward the back. Once inside, he heads to the main hall, where he finds Jericho praying and singing. Not being privvy to Lucas' realization the other night--that Jericho is extremely territorial and may be prone to frenzy at the presence of another Kindred--Jakob steps into the hall with Jericho, taking a seat in a nearby pew, as if he is just another worshipper taking care of spiritual bidness. Jericho riles at the interruption, calling out Jakob for intruding on his atonement. He lifts Jakob off the ground with one powerful fistful of jacket as his only hand-hold. An aura of supernatural resentment and power washes over Jakob, but he steels his resolve; he is not out of place here. He belongs. The waves crash over him like breakers on a jetty, but like those stones, Jakob does not buckle. He meets Jericho's bleeding eyes, reaches out a compassionate hand and gently touches the giant's blood-streaked face. He has drawn this close, and hasn't backed down. He has touched when he could have attacked. He has counted coup. "I wish you only peace, Brother."

Jericho lowers Jakob, his soft-soled feet touch lightly on the stone floor. He backs away. "No. No peace." He walks past Jakob, out the front door of the church, his flesh as naked as his shaken nerve. The penitent's statement goes unexplained. No peace for Jericho, or no peace for Seattle? Does this mean that Simeon Blade and Genevieve Harcourt will finally have the war they've been edging toward? Or maybe an entirely different war that neither of them are prepared for...

Jakob shudders as he draws in the reality of the moment. He is still alive, and Jericho has abandoned the church for now. With a feather in his headdress, he takes some time to clean the blood left by Jericho's tears of atonement, then meets the rest of the group at The Garage, to share a story that both shocks and horrifies them. He does not expect Harlan's shaken response:

"What have you done?"