[tCotR] - Maxwell Abbott

[Catherine Nilson]

Cat folded her arms across her chest as she listened to Day's plan, True, Abbott was probably already in hiding with a bounty that big. So it made sense that he'd have to be lured out. Though, would he fall for it? Cat wasn't so sure. She thought that the masquerade violator would have more to worry about than the gang he managed falling under new management. Then again, if it had been Leo, Cat's former gang leader, he definitely wouldn't have stood for it. It was a masculine, possession sort of thing that Cat had never understood. What was it with guys and having to insist they run **** themselves?

Even so, Cat didn't have a better idea, so she kept her mouth shut. She had been exposed to a lot of clingy gun molls in her time with Leo, and she supposed that she could act like one for the sake of finding their target. "We'll have to find a way to increase the pressure on him so he bursts out of hiding. So he can't resist." She didn't know Mr. Abbott, but she would talk to the gang members and see what made them tick. Before her life as a vampire, she had helped Leo with the gang, as manager of the women, and had coordinated many a clever thieving.

This time, she wanted in on the violence. She knew it would be unwise to reveal herself as dangerous right away, though. Cat sighed and frowned at Day. "I guess. As long as I get to help kill him." The men couldn't have all the fun. She had never seen a vampire die before and was quite curious about how much damage one could take, and if they really did disperse into ash like in the stories.

[Wendigo]

Wendell listened carefully. He didn't care for this plan: it involved too much deception, interaction, and assumption on the part of an unknown vampire. Getting a phone number was simplicity. Even if the call wouldn't drive Abbott out, a good hacker could track a phone number the way a Seeker tracked a name. Still, his goal with the gangsters was to assess the team... he might have been a veteran, but he wasn't a leader. If the plan worked, it would be great; if it didn't, then all parties would have learned something.

Wendell's flat affect didn't betray any of his thoughts. "Okay," he growled. "But you do the talking. I open my mouth, I'll just be giving up the illusion." This last part might not have been 100% true, but they were not playing to Wendell's strong suit here... that would come if they managed to drive this guy out of hiding.

When the Wraith returned, whispering of places and numbers, Wendell wrote down the address for the others, collected his rifle, and made for his truck. He piloted the black Silverado from the Groom Center garage calmly: when he was mortal, he frequently felt the frustration associated with driving in a metropolitan area. Now he used his turn signals, stopped at red lights, and didn't bother cutting off his fellow motorists. He could have raised hell on the road with his reflexes and skill, but that only drew attention. Certainly he could have avoided the truck entirely: he could have merely run to the location in the blink of an eye, but zipping through the building did collateral damage, blurring through the streets raised eyebrows, and using his powers in general was wasteful. By using the truck, he reminded himself, he was saving his energy for the enemy. Besides, you never knew when you would need something to transport bodies.

Besides, if Abbott was in fact, already in hiding as Day believed, then he'd already lost and time was on their side.

[Day]

While Wendell drove, Day was looking at the veritable arsenal that the truck held. It was like he was in heaven. There were guns of every make, model and caliber. His weapon was **** compared. He grabbed AR 15 assault rifle fitted with at drum magazine, that took his fancy along with a couple extra drums. “Wendell, you do ride in style..” He then pulled another assault rifle, and AR 16 fitted with an under slung grenade launcher. He tossed it to Catherine, “Here ya go Baby Girl, this is for you.. that ‘accessory’ right there.. is a grenade launcher.”

Day figured she hadn’t used one before, and gave a quick down and dirty lesson, “Slide the barrel forward. When the barrel is in the forward, ammo goes in the chamber, and you slide the barrel back until you hear it click.” He gave her the weapon, some 40mm ammo and an extra banana clip for the rifle. “Right now, you’re just carrying it for looks. But if things go sideways.. that will make a nice big hole in things.”

As Wendell parked, they all exited and Day looked at Baby Girl, “Cute helpless gun moll with a penchant for rifles. We go in, do a show of force, then lay down that there is a new Sheriff in town..” He looked at the number of motorcycles that lines the area, he did a quick count. There were twenty-five. Mentally he was calculating how many they needed to dispatch quickly in order to get the rest in line. Eight seemed to be the magic number in his head. So Eight poor shits were about to meet their maker.

Day took point and strode forward, and when he got to the door of the building, he took his size thirteen steel toed boot and kicked it open. He stepped in, and immediately realized that there were a hell of a lot more that 25 people in there. And from the snarls that were sent his way, he could some of the crowd were blood thieves.

Day half turned his head, raised the assault rifle, his gaze never leaving the the crowd inside that were now getting to their feet and racking their weapons. He said quickly and quietly, “Plan A is ****.. gotta move to plan B, Kill everything ..” At that point he let the AR sing.

[Catherine Nilson]

Cat absorbed herself in the lesson. The grenade launcher was surprisingly light, or maybe she was surprisingly strong, she didn't know how vampires worked. The nineteen year old slid the lever forward, then back until she heard a click. The weapon was not loaded, but when she pulled the trigger there was still a considerable amount of kickback that bruised her chest and made her shout. "Ow!" She rode in grumpy silence for the rest of the trip. Occasionally she frowned at Wendell, and when they reached the spot with all the bikes in plain sight she nudged him aside.

Cat: Okay Wendel, I'm doing this plan, but I don't want you using my acting as an excuse to get with me. You're old and I don't have time for a real boyfriend.

Wendigo: Wendell had paused. He was looking the building over: counting the windows, considering alternative routes of egress, mentally measuring the time it would take the cowards of their group to make it to the bikes. "Desire for relationships are vestigal remnants of humanity," he replied, content that he had produced a complete answer.

Cat:: "No use trying to spare my feelings like that Wendell, the answer is no," Cat said as if she hadn't heard him, then was distracted by Day's warning. Before anything more could be said, the troubled young woman lifted her grenade launcher and crept forward into the fray.

She had been in a brawl with her sire and sibling earlier which had taught her a thing or two about subtlety. She could run in guns blazing, but if she did that she would draw attention to herself. And things were snarling in there. Blood thieves? She hated blood thieves! Cat bared her fangs and set up near the exit, waiting for them to run for their bikes. When spooked, they would run toward her, and the plan was to kill as many as she could before then. Maybe Maxwell Abbott would be found among their remains.

[Wendigo]

Blood Thieves. He should have smelled them right away: they were distinctive enough. Perhaps it was absurd statements about relationships that had distracted him; only someone who knew next to nothing about him would even think such things about him. Once he saw the Blood Thieves, however, those thoughts and conversations were forgotten.

Wendell might be the single most recognizable vampire in the city to the Blood Thief crowd. He'd certainly killed more than any, founded (and subsequently won) the Blood Hunt, and effectively declared the war that ended their ability to operate openly in the city. One look at Wendell, and there was absolutely no way this would end with diplomacy or deception.

So, when Day drew his weapon, Wendell wasn't going to argue, nor inform him that his mere presence would have been sufficient to turn his childe's plan sideways. Instead, he drew the ornate rifle from his holster; he had the sensation that it sang metallicly, like a sword drawn from its sheath. He pulled the weapon tight against his shoulder and pulled the trigger. The force of the recoil might have knocked a lighter man over, and the shell itself tore the Blood Thief in half.

He would start with the Blood Thieves. They were easy enough to pick out: they were the ones who had that look of recognition in their eye when he walked in. Specifically, he started with the smart Blood Thieves. They were easy enough to pick out:

They were the ones who turned tail and ran.

Wendell had no qualms about shooting them in the back. Even with the other six staring him down, they were almost as threatening as a stampede of mice. They drew pistols and opened fire. He was hit by several small caliber rounds, but between the Kevlar and his almost limitless stamina, it was like being on the receiving end of an unarmed beating; and not a particularly effective one. Knocked about a bit, he was forced to focus his mind: slowing down his perception, giving him time to adjust his aim and pick off the ones reaching the doors. Escapees were the only real threat here.

So, no one would escape.

[Day]

Day had been judicious in his firing, short controlled bursts. He didn’t allow himself to waste ammo. Tides could turn easily, in a situation like this, and you wanted to conserve your ammo. Hell, you always wanted to conserve ammo. He had been through too many close calls not to come to that conclusion. Granted, those close calls had been during his mortal life. But it seemed to him, that this ‘life’, if one could call it that, played for keeps just as hard, if not hellaciously harder than his previous life. To him it seemed that there could be some long lasting grudge matches setting themselves up, if they weren’t careful.

Vindictive grudges. Now those weren’t pretty. And they had the makings of plenty of them right here. In this nest of gang members and blood thieves. If there was anyone that would have a wish to hold a grudge it’s a vampire you send to the shadow realm. Didn’t matter that they were only doing the business of the crow to some of these asswipe vampires. The mentality of some of his fellow vampires surprised him. Not because of their high intellect, but rather, but their obvious lack of it.

But, in for a penny, in for a pound, as the old saying went. Day had made his choice, the instant he pulled the trigger and he didn’t plan on leaving a single breathing body in this god damned building. Or undead vamperic one, if they found one. And if need be, he find a machete and hack every single head off, to be sure sure he got em all. He didn’t plan looking over his shoulder eternity.

Day tossed a look at Baby Girl and got her attention, “Take out the Bikes” he looked from her to her weapon, “Blow them to hell.. and anyone trying to get clear..” With the bikes gone, it would be easy to make sure no one got away easily, they would have to go on foot. He got caught by a bullet, and turned his attention back to the fray. He saw Wendell take out the last shooter. He pulled back from firing. It looked like everyone was either, dying, or giving up.

Day stepped aside and let Wendell take point. There was no need for Day to be point, if there wasn’t any talking to be done. The search for phones began. They would need several phones, so that they could pinpoint which number they needed, because it was doubtful they were all dumb enough to have Abbott listed in their phones under his actual name. He moved forward kicking at the bodies, to make sure no one was playing dead, while he was hunting for the phones. The third body he kicked, was a blood thief who was still breathing. “Thief.. still alive..” he said to Wendell, he butted his weapon’s muzzle against the thief’s head, “Off him?”

[Catherine Nilson]

With a pack full of grenades, Catherine felt more than safe in the firefight. Even though she was a vampire, nobody seemed to want to shoot a girl. She used their hesitation against them, firing on throngs of them. The radius of damage was enormous and sent pieces of shrapnel, body parts and debris straight into the path of the gang members and hunters who charged Day. Some of them wisely chose to run, only to flee toward Wendell. Cat's grenades managed to catch the place on fire. It was a slow burn, but would definitely attract police attention sooner or later.

When Day told her to hurry up and dispose of the motorcycles, she ran outside and stared with upraised eyebrows. Those were some sexy bikes. Maybe she could save just one.... but there was not enough time, and as emotionally distant as Cat felt, this was serious. With a pained grimace, Cat loaded and fired grenades at the motorcycles. She was rewarded with numerous gratifying explosions. She wasn't sure she could watch an action movie ever again without rolling her eyes at the cheap special effects now that she had experienced real grenade launchers exploding real motorcycles.

But such was the toll of war. Cat watched the motorcycles burn, epic paint jobs turn into smoky bruises and chrome melt and warp at the crackling heat. Maybe she should have saved just one. But they would find Maxwell Abbott, and perhaps he had a motorcycle. Yes, yes, that was logical. The vampire lawyer probably had a dozen motorcycles. She would be sure to ask about it before she killed him. Hefting the grenade launcher over her shoulder, Cat headed back inside. Wendell and Day were standing over some dying man. Cat stalked over to them. "Where's Abbott," She demanded of the prone man. The straightforward approach probably wouldn't work, but she did wish that the human would listen to her. It would be easier for him.

[Wendigo]

There were always bodies.

Bodies didn't bother him. He'd seen his first corpse at age 8. He had once thought that there was no afterlife, and that the mind merely passed into oblivion upon death. He had continued to believe that for many months after becoming a vampire too, believing them the exception. Once he began to see spirits, though, he realized he would need to revisit the position.

Knowledge that something persisted for humans after death made him less envious -- if he could be such a thing -- of the human condition. Existence, as he saw it, was a struggle to maintain itself... around and around. He had once thought that the end of that existence might mean rest, but if the end of that existence merely meant the beginning of a new one, then the struggle never ended. There would always be more work to be done.

And, hence, there were always bodies.

Suggesting to his colleagues that a live Blood Thief may be more useful than a dead one in the short term (after knocking the man unconscious, of course), Wendell went out to the truck to fetch his "arson kit". It was hardly an ideal solution, but grenades generally drew attention. He had learned some things about the strengths of his associates tonight... subtlety was not among those strengths.

As he gathered up the flammable liquids collected through his operations in Black Box and began hauling them inside, he wondered if subtlety was really overrated. Certainly it was necessary for the Masquerade, but if existence really existed in stages, maybe the Masquerade was just a means to prolong this life and avoid moving on to the next one. Maybe, he thought as he began dousing a corpse with the solutions, maybe mere survival wasn't enough anymore.

He flicked open the steel lighter and set the body ablaze. After a few moments of watching, he cleared his head by shaking it briefly. Something about killing always made him wax philosophical, but tonight there was no time for such reflection.

After all, there was more work to be done.

[Day]

Day glanced at Wendell as he took care of the bodies. He started going through the phones. He was looking for a number that would lead them to Abbott. He suspected that the gang would use code names, code words for the people in their phones. But the sheer volume of phone numbers in the individual phones was staggering.

Day was still on the first few phones, and there nine hundred plus contacts in those few alone. And all the names were short generic non-distinguishing names. Names like ‘Black’ ‘Slim’ ‘Bubba’ ‘Pook’. It was clear they were all nicknames, not given names. And going back and forth in the three, of the near thirty phones he had, none of them had matching nicknames.

“Wendell, this is going to take forever. I am going to have to put all these numbers into a database and cross reference them, to track if there is a single common number unique to all these phones, and even then it may not work. Especially if there is a level of leadership in place between these guys and Abbott. It is going to take hours to sort this out.. days even.. “ He pressed his lips together.

“And he will have found out about..” Day motions, “All of this. He would have chucked that phone by the time we have it narrowed down to the right number. And just by a miracle we do get the right number.. he’s not going to answer.” He sighed. “If we had the number and could call him now.. yea it might work. But…” He shook his head, “a day from now.. he’s not stupid.”

Day rubbed his brow. “There has to be another way.. “

[Wendigo]

Wendell looked at the wounded Blood Thief: he was in bad shape. A veritable library of medical knowledge forced itself to the forefront of Wendell's mind. It was an unwelcome intrusion, as he had neither use for it, nor idea where he had picked it up. This Blood Thief would also die, but whether it would be a quick death or after an interrogation would depend on whether his colleagues were able to find anything in the phones. So far, no dice. He considered using some of that inexplicable medical knowledge to rouse the man to consciousness and tell him as much, but interrogations were seldom useful with Blood Thieves. In his experience, the only ones who were told anything were so mindlessly addicted to vampire blood that they couldn't be broken.

In the shadowy corner of the room, however, Wendell's Wraith was hunched over one of the gangsters' corpses. As Wendell watched, he felt suffused by the sense that he was watching a dream or memory rather than an actual event. The Wraith seemed to be giving the body last rites, and then leaned across it, and "bit" its neck. Wendell knew well that Wraith could neither bite nor consume blood, so this action surprised him. When the ghost's glowing eyes turned on Wendell, however, he felt that this was a show more for his benefit than the Wraith itself.

Compelled by the display, Wendell crouched down and likewise finished off the Blood Thief by drinking him dry. Wiping a bit of blood from his chin he remembered the others. "Bit low," he explained, opening his coat to reveal that he had been positively peppered with small arms fire. "Let's find what we can."

Wendell moved away from the body and continued searching, but he was followed by a nagging sensation that he was wasting his time. As the minutes progressed and the bodies burned, the feeling became more specific and directed. Splashing a few crates with the cocktail of flammable liquids, he lit the pile and turned to the others.

"Sounds crazy. Think I have a lead... can't explain it," he said. "You want to wrap up here or should we load the truck?"