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Stonehouse was a keen follower of fashion. His wardrobes were always overflowing with the latest sharp suits and fitted shirts, expensive garments, designer label brands that stank of success. A perfectly tailored three-piece suit was the entrepreneur’s armour. Stonehouse was a knight in shining Armani, dressed to impress, projecting an image of wealth and prosperity. A boss in Boss, the sophisticated businessman knew exactly how to turn heads.

However, unless the fashion fairies started to manufacture their clothing ranges out of cotton infused with mithril, a dinner jacket would never stop a bullet from a high-velocity rifle. Sadly, the mines of Moria were buried deep beneath the Misty Mountains in Middle-earth, not in Harper Rock, and to date, Stonehouse had never seen any Dwarves brandishing shovels and pickaxes wandering around the streets of Swansdale or Newborough. In other words, sartorial elegance occasionally had to be replaced with boring practicality.

In addition to sturdy work boots, or somewhat unflattering boiler suits or combat pants, wearing some kind of body armour was essential. The streets of Harper Rock could be incredibly dangerous places: there was always someone or something lurking behind a shadowy corner, ready to pop a slug of lead into the chest of an unprepared vampire. A Kevlar vest could mean the difference between simply nursing a couple of aching ribs, or lying face down in a filthy backstreet gutter with a burst heart that was spurting blood like a fountain at the Bellagio in Las Vegas.

Stonehouse eyed up the axe-wielding woman, knowing precisely what she was talking about. During his escapades around town, particularly those that involved taking down these pesky Helheim soldiers, the fashionista had acquired quite the collection of flak jackets. If he were back home in England, the opportunist businessman would have undoubtedly opened a boutique on Savile Row - a street in London famed for its bespoke tailoring for men - and sold his collection of enchanted jackets for a tidy sum. There were surely enough half-arsed gangsters who’d be willing to place orders for years to come.

The padded life preservers had become an invaluable addition to the well-organized vampire’s combat kit. To tackle a dangerous enemy without such protection was foolhardy, like a sleazy man ******* a cheap hooker without a condom. Wearing a flak jacket wasn’t a symbol of weakness; it was a sign of authority, of intelligence and wisdom gained through experience.

Smiling, his dark eyes glistening in the dim light of the abandoned warehouse, Stonehouse tapped his chest a couple of times, feeling the comforting material of the jacket that lay hidden beneath his clothing.

“I have a feeling that I know exactly what you are talking about,” said Stonehouse, “but it looks like your salesman has let you down.”

Was this a golden opportunity to strike up a deal with the relative stranger? Stonehouse was always looking for a way to boost his income, to swell his coffers so that he could pump more cash into his thriving business ventures. Maybe fate had brought the two of them together this night? The basics of sales were very simple: it was all about supply and demand. If Stonehouse was reading the situation correctly, then the blood-soaked woman wanted something that he could deliver. He’d already spent the earlier part of the evening forming fresh relationships, generating extra potential cash, but Stonehouse was still overflowing with energy, so there was definitely room for one more deal.

There were a couple of other alternatives: firstly, kill a few more guards, and hope to steal a jacket or two from the bloodied corpses; secondly, wait and see if the woman’s accomplices finally made an appearance, and get a slice of the pie. It was time to weigh up the options. But first, a question needed to be asked.

“Just what kind of reward are you offering for these… items? Maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement?”

“How about a spacious trunk full of their party poppers and a side of ammo that they didn’t get a chance to use? My boys and I don’t like to see anything go to waste.”

Her eyes didn’t blink as the scent of what she killed and wore found her with the movement of her lips. It left her energy tapped enough that she wasn’t wanting to crawl out of her skin and scale the walls or ceiling. But that was where it was and did little else for her. It fed nothing within her that was continually left wanting. Curses were a collective ***** that she managed to hold down a majority of the time. Inevitably rare exceptions presented themselves and hit the hidden switch. Once that happened it opened gates to her inner chaos. Even those were so few and far between.

“Unless you are into something else?” The rise of a blood caked brow was a silent prompting for a response she counted on. He asked and she answered. That was how it worked. “Or not?”

Of course there was a Wonderland worth of mind and nose candy that could have the one in front of her taking trips to anywhere he wanted to go. A nice operation was in full swing out of view in the penthouse perched above the club crowning the funhouse she built from the ground up. Everything was available once the patron walked through the doors and was granted access. Enough stock to guarantee an eternal tour if that was his thing but something about him seemed too organized for that, too tight perhaps. The multi-layered house of gluttony and sin was known enough without her having to point it out or drop names.She wasn’t about to waste their time where they were standing to find out what would hook him and keep him dangling. She had enough customers keeping the place hopping and the numbers rolling in her bank. The self-sufficient necro was looking to retrieve what she already paid for not hand out more **** to rub in the fact she was heading for a loss if she didn’t recover what she came for.
“I killed men for less.” Furious George was done playing around. The rear view mirror that was crooked thanks to the last foot that shot out at it in the scuffling from front to back seat revealed that he had the start of a shiner that would last for the better part of the week ahead. “Boss lady is in there cleaning up after us and you are out here acting like a snot nosed punk. You had it coming.”
“It’s …” The sound of a sniffle was well masked by the squeaking of latex moving over leather that covered the generous back seat of the Crown Victoria where the losing opponent moved. “Not the same.”

Percy stared at the small slit in bright red covering the top of his hand and frowned as if something out of his control changed his idea of perfect that he encased himself in. A sense of vulnerability found him that had been absent for so long that he forgot what it felt like, what it did to him. Now it was coming back and he was like a deer caught in the headlights of reality.

“Next time she says something then keep it in mind. She doesn’t need to come back to this car up in flames because you got in another one of your moods.” A set of burly fingers massaged the swelling around his eye. “I will say you have one hell of a left hook, kid. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Yeah, when you get your *** beat up from the time you first walk you learn to take it or…” The sound of metal cracking the back of the well aged gray haired head in front of him was followed by the soft groan it made as FG slumped over lights out on the driver’s seat. “Or give it right back.”

Stonehouse eyed the blood-soaked woman with his jet-black pupils, almost as if he were trying to gaze straight through her skull, and look directly at her brain, hoping to see the biological cogs whizzing around like an elaborate Swiss clock. From her response, it sounded like the axe-murderer had her fingers into all kinds of trade deal pies. Party poppers and ammo: now there was an interesting combination. Stonehouse made a mental note to approach any house parties with the woman and her “boys” with extreme caution.

And just who and where were these “boys”? Did the woman have a few colleagues lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce at any given moment? Perhaps they hadn’t yet arrived, and that was the big problem here? The “boys” could be the ones holding the jackets. There were still plenty of unanswered questions, and Stonehouse knew that he had to remain on high alert. Most people loved surprises, but the tall Englishman liked to be in control, and didn’t enjoy something unexpected landing in his lap.

The gunslinger’s stare eased up as he raised an eyebrow of his own, mirroring the gesture of the female killer. She had posed an interesting question: what, exactly, was he into? What was the “something else” that could spark his interest; could float his boat? An honest answer to that particular puzzle could potentially open a gigantic can of worms. Power, wealth, extra power, additional possessions, total power, it was a simple path towards world domination. Each step had a natural successor, as one thing almost inevitably lead to another, opening bigger doors to larger, more impressive rooms. Cash and guns leads to notoriety and influence, which in turn leads to more power, more stature, yet more money, more blood, more sex… more fun. Once someone gets on that particular joyride, they never want to get off.

Stonehouse was not yet at the world domination stage, but every powerful stride forward was a stride in the right direction. For now, a small shuffle along the scale of success would have to suffice. It was time to get down to business.

“I’m into all manner of things,” said Stonehouse, “but I have feeling that you are into… clothing.”

It didn’t matter if the woman was a sweat pants and tank top kind of girl, or if she preferred high heels and a little black dress, it seemed to Stonehouse that right now she was a flak jacket woman.

Once again, Stonehouse tapped his chest. It was a reassuring gesture to let himself know his body was covered with an extra layer of protection. The bulletproof vest had become an essential item when an evening of hunting was on the cards. It was right up on top of the organized vampire’s must have list, along with his trusty gun and sword, and a mobile smart phone. Never leave home without your phone: it was a simple mantra. Prior to the acquisition of his first flak jacket, Stonehouse’s iPhone had acted as shield on one memorable occasion, deflecting a stray bullet. The projectile was destined for his heart, but ricocheted off the metallic casing of his phone, plunging into a lung instead. Granted, the wounded vampire was coughing up smoky black blood for several hours, but it prevented a much more sinister conclusion to the night’s activities.

“How many… garments do you need?” added Stonehouse.

The businessman decided to get straight to the point, even though he knew that all he could currently offer was the one jacket that was wrapped snuggly around his torso.

Before he had given the bloody woman any time to reply, he yelled directly at her, bringing his assault rifle swiftly into a firing position.

“Duck!” he screamed. “Duck, now!”

Letting rip with several rounds of red-hot ammo, Stonehouse unleashed a burst of bullets with the deadeye accuracy of an elite infantry sniper, catching an onrushing corporal squarely in the face. In his haste to strike up a deal, the eager entrepreneur had almost forgotten that the place was crawling with soldiers.

Satine was prepared to tell him to take it off and see if it was comparable to what she expected to get for her efforts. The flak jacket beneath the clothing he wore was obviously about to be up for grabs which eased the burden she currently had of escorting around two clowns who just so happened not to be as bulletproof as she was. That would leave her tasked with the challenge of finding an XXL to cover for the invaluable Furious George. Half the problem resolved was far better than zero progress made.

The flash of a barrel solidly attached to the assault rifle appearing in his hands had her dropping with the single warning to do so. If it was meant for her he certainly wouldn’t be warning her. While the scent of shots fired clouded the air above her it seemed as good of time as any to do what she did best. Making the best of a situation dancing on the fine line of stalemate she scurried between then and under the bridge of his legs popping back up behind him. While he took care of the threat that didn’t last long she sized up what very well could keep Percy out of the penthouse triage room from the close up assessment of the measurements currently covered.

Not that it was difficult to deal with the man that stood out like a sore thumb and generally got shot at least once or twice during the weekly runs. A few doses of what they liked to call his Scooby Snacks and he was all too happy to allow you dig lead from his flesh and bone without too much of a hassle. Satine was hardly a Florence Nightingale that one would be inspired to write home about but she did take care of those she considered hers. There was no question that FG and Percy fell in that category.

“I will take it.” As soon as the necro said it the deal making hit another snag.

A hiss of rushing steps sliding into a quick stop caught her attention and earned the rise of her axe spinning too fast to track with the average eyes. A cry rang out that was music to the ears of the one delivering the spine severing blow. How it landed robbed the scene of any memorable last words but was efficient. More ashes fell on the empty space where the threat once stood which she was known to toss or leave behind instead of collect. A tap of her shoe revealed beneath that larger than usual mound was just what she was looking for. A dusty Flak jacket big enough to be a size XXL. Wasting no time she claimed it with a downward spin of Chester to retrieve the safety jacket and have it dangling on the axe propped over her shoulder.

“As I said. What you have on.” Her silver orbs wide and clear fixed on him. “I will take it. No need to wrap it up for me. As is will be good enough.” Percy would be wearing it home.

It was a good job that the woman drenched in blood was fairly petite in stature, as it enabled her to slide almost effortlessly between Stonehouse’s legs without simultaneously running the risk of lopping off his pride and joy with her razor-sharp axe. The move was graceful, verging on balletic, like a champion limbo dancer shimmying underneath the bar. Normally, the adventurous gunslinger would have no problem with a young woman diving head first between his thighs, but one wielding a lethal weapon covered in the slimy liquid of dead vampire soldiers was perhaps a step too far.

Stonehouse barely had time to blow the smoke away from the hot tip of his assault rifle’s barrel when the brutal axe in question was launched from behind him like a missile, crashing into another hapless guard with a rather pleasurable thudding sound. Had Stonehouse just been used as a makeshift human shield? Probably, but that mattered little. There were more pressing matters that required attention. Had the woman just requested his flak jacket, the one that he was currently wrapped snuggly inside?

Stonehouse had encountered numerous ruthless businessmen and woman during both his time as a legitimate salesman back in “the real world”, and as a shady, underworld trader in Harper Rock. There were plenty of unscrupulous characters who would, quite literally, steal the shirt from your back. Was this one such occasion? Well, at least the feisty woman was asking to do a deal, rather than simply attempting to take it by force.

There were a few problems with this potential arrangement, some sticky points that may prove somewhat difficult to overcome. First of all, the pair had found themselves in the middle of an intense fire-fight, with bullets flying through the air like wasps buzzing around a picnic on a hot summer’s day. For Stonehouse to suddenly relinquish his protective jacket, while there was a high risk of being shot at, was, to say the least, rather foolhardy. The tall bloke from northern England may well have found himself in an abandoned chemical factory - the scene of thousands upon thousands of hours of hard work delivered by dozen of manual labourers - but that didn’t mean that he was about to start stripping off, like a character from The Full Monty. Vampires may well have evolved some mystical mechanism of regeneration, but a bullet through the ribcage still stung like hell.

There was also the question of trust. The cautious entrepreneur didn’t really know who this blood soaked woman actually was. Sure, he recognized her face, albeit when it wasn’t smeared with the viscous gloop of dead enemies, but could she be trusted? Would she take the jacket, and run? Were her accomplices about to arrive, giving her ample backup? There were still too many variables for the methodical businessman to weigh up.

“So you want my jacket?” enquired Stonehouse, watching eagerly as the woman foraged through the carcass of her most recent kill. “Oh, and nice work with the axe… again.”

Stonehouse scurried towards the bloodied woman, intrigued by what she had found.

“Ah, another bit of safety gear!” added Stonehouse. “I guess that those jackets are bulletproof, but not axeproof!”

His assault rifle pointing towards the dusty floor of the chemical plant, Stonehouse drew up beside the woman, admiring the huntress’s trophy. Her steely gaze was almost as focussed as her axe throwing technique, as she eyed him up with wide orbs.

“Is that one not your size?” said Stonehouse, clearly noticing that this particular vest was made for giants. “So you are still wanting mine?”

The marksman paused, holding the stare for a second or two. He couldn’t simply hand it over, not right now, not right here. That would be crazy. But there was definitely a chance for a trade, an opportunity to strike up a deal.

“As much as I’d love to demonstrate my best Chippendales special moves to you,” continued Stonehouse, “I’m actually just a very shy boy underneath this cool, confident exterior. And I don’t fancy getting a bullet in my guts. Shouldn’t we get out of here first? The place is still crawling with guards.”

The question seemed reasonable enough: Stonehouse didn’t want to be midway through his best Magic Mike impersonation when the next gun-toting guard burst into the room. The businessman was also unsure as to exactly what he was going to receive in return.

“I am invincible.” Her point was made while the click of her heels took up his suggestion of getting out of the building. “Chippendale’s won’t cut it in Wonderland. You can relax. I want only one thing and that is that jacket beneath your suit. ” She looked to the right while moving through the corridor to their left. “You are safe.”

Satine had no doubt whatever the world was throwing at her she could handle it single handed if need be. If she could survive Hurricane Andras and his devoted stormtroopers then she had no need to slip into extra armor. Her walking juice packs were the ones at risk. If something was out there to keep them covered then she was going to make the investment. It saved her fishing for lead and putting her Humpty Dumpty’s back together again. Word had it her bedside manner sucked *** and her technique of extraction was a little more sadistic than they found tolerable over a long term basis. Of course it was. Lucky for them her mood was improving with the seconds that passed. Now that she had half of what she came hunting for dangling off her axe and the other nice and snug around the torso she was taking a stroll with.

Outside beneath the blanket of a celestial darkness the shine of the black Crown Victoria caught her attention immediately. Everything about it appeared as she had recently left it. Four wheels, no visible dents or damage and at least one body clearly moving around in the front seat. The custom tint of the windows made it difficult for most to see what was within but Percy was incapable of escaping her sight. The weight of the flak jacket was minimal as she continued to tote it with Chester positioned to rest on her petite shoulder.

“Parking around here can be risky.” She kept an even pace towards the vehicle. “What I have is in the trunk. I keep my dance poles back at the club so you will be spared the performance anxiety.”

Smooth, sleek and near perfection. The car she claimed as her own was a relief to her blood caked silver orbs. As soon as her steps had her at the rear of the car the driver’s door opened. Percy exited with the subtle squeak that was common with latex disconnecting from the custom leather beneath. The necromancing club owner tapped the trunk and a gray head popped up in the back seat bobbing around.

“Ignore him. He nodded off while we were waiting.” The trunk opened with the key in shiny red hand. A few steps back had Percy out of the way as would be expected. He folded his hands behind his back. “I don’t think he is taking his vitamins.”
“As I said inside…” Satine ignored Percy. Instead she looked over to the sharp dressed man then down to the open trunk which revealed twenty BX-11 Assault Rifles. “I am willing to make a trade.”

Stonehouse followed quickly behind the woman, ever alert to the fact that another heavily armed soldier was potentially only a second or two away. Getting a few stinging bullets into his back as he exited the building would have put a real dampener on the whole evening’s proceedings.

The cool night air felt incredibly refreshing as it caressed the businessman’s chiselled face. As much fun as mowing down troopers like blades of regimental grass had been, the abandoned chemical plant was a dusty old building, in dire need of a lick of paint. It was damp and dirty, and the stale odour of rusted machinery and rotten timber, combined with the tangy stench of sweat and death, was rather unpleasant. A blast of cool fresh air felt like a rejuvenating shower.

Sadly, there was no time to soak up the energizing atmosphere. The bloodied woman was correct: parking, or simply hanging around the disused factory, was a risky pastime. Not only were the guards using the chemical plant as an undercover headquarters, the area always seemed to have a cop or five patrolling the streets. Maybe the authorities were aware of the clandestine activities that were going on behind the grubby walls of the old building? Perhaps they were on the look out for vampires who were trying to start a fight with the cult of soldiers? Whatever the reason, the district wasn’t safe. It wasn’t the kind of place to go for a romantic stroll under a moonlit sky.

Time was something that was in limited supply. If a deal was going to be struck, it would have to be done quickly. The pair swiftly made their way to a pristine looking car, and were instantly greeted by a figure exiting the vehicle.

“So, is this one of your ‘boys’?” asked Stonehouse, responding to the woman’s invitation to ignore the new addition to the party.

Stonehouse would almost certainly raise the issue of the aforementioned dance poles at a later stage, perhaps even ask for a lesson, but for now, the intrigued businessman was solely concerned with whatever treasure lay buried within the boot of the car. The sleek automobile was hardly a sunken Spanish galleon, but there was undoubtedly some precious prize hidden inside.

Eager eyes gazed inside the open trunk, weighing up the loot like a small child surveying all his brand new presents on Christmas Day.

“I see that you are a fan of assault rifles,” said Stonehouse, trying to count the number of weapons that were currently housed in the car boot.

The machine guns were crammed inside like sardines in a tin, lined up in perfect rows.

“Are you planning a revolution?” added Stonehouse. “There’s enough fire power in there to take over a small central African nation.”

The guns weren’t sardines; they were more like sharks or piranhas, deadly, merciless, and able to terrorize and cause havoc.

Stonehouse’s dark eyes lit up like glowing beacons of fire as he gazed at the bounty. He had been courting a few dodgy arms dealers around the city, and one of them, a balding middle-aged wannabe gangster called Butler, would most definitely love to get his grubby hands all over these bad boys.

“I’ll take them all!” announced Stonehouse boldly. “I’m counting about twenty, right?”

The sophisticated businessman knew that he could make a tidy profit from shifting the assault rifles. He could probably upgrade a few of them too, creating a small handful of master weapons if he really put his skilled hand to it.

“One thing, though,” he added, switching his focus from the firearms back to the feisty female, “you’ll need to deliver them to one of my business warehouses. I don’t think that I’m quite strong enough to carry them all.”

The tall vampire paused, smiling softly.

“I hear that pole-dancing is good for toning up one’s muscles?”

It was a little hard to ignore the red walking stick that shined beneath the moonlight. Percy could step back all he wanted but he was impossible to overlook no matter how long someone had the time to get familiar with him. And the latex that swallowed up his body but saved his face for viewing made it all that much more difficult. Of course her silver orbs bounced like the steelies trying to settle in one part of a marble game but were given a push in the opposite direction and rolled reluctantly. As soon as she did Percy appeared to be paying more attention to the back of the car and less on the business at hand.

Comments and questions came at her as she tried to figure out the deal with Percy two stepping it like some music started and the dance floor was filling up. The sounds of the back door of the car opening called for attention next. The arsenal beneath their watch seemed to impress as was expected but the grumble from a less than happy well rested napper surfaced. She was pretty sure someone hit the bell for another round.

“Never leave home without being prepared to take the world by force.” Her lips paused and twitched as Furious George appeared with a bloody hand rubbing the back of his shimmering red and gray mop of hair. “Right? Especially with these two clowns.” Her hands went to her hips and the crimson nails fixed firmly at each curve and locked on. How far would they take it this time? Would they hold off until both of their asses could be covered?
“Look who woke up on the wrong side of the car.” Percy had his moments and clearly this would not be one of them.
“You just go ahead and try it again, boy.” The steps towards the trunk to reach in and retrieve a weapon were cut off quick with the light lift and push of a single finger up in caution. “My head! He cracked me open.” That is when FG finally did a double take to see who the stranger was standing with them. Obviously it wasn’t the time to light up firestarter. “Later.”

While his dead dancing bears bandana went for a slide to re-wrap and cover the spot that needed some needle and string to seal she pressed her lips tight and closed her eyes briefly to block out the scent. Fresh blood worked on her in all the ways that she fought hard to sideline. Curses were a ***** even on the best of nights.

“Just need an address and we will deliver.”

She felt the locking of her tight jaws and held back the stretch of her gums. Nothing needed to happen. She looked between Percy and the one in the suit dressed to impress. Furious George reached down and hiked up his waistband. Satine watched long enough to make sure that is all he did and his belt stayed on where it was.

“Yes, toning typically…” She got back to the last of the comments made while continuing to stare down the oldest one in the gathering itching for a fight. “But for some the benefits stay well hidden.” Her gaze drifted down the length of Furious George’s ample frame while closing the trunk. FG had months of routine time invested on the pole. He wanted lessons for his last birthday and he got them.“Why don’t you two get in the car? We have a delivery to make.”
“Before or after triage?” Percy wasn’t waiting for the answer. He started heading for the drivers door.
“Shotgun.” Satine called out redirecting him before he got inside. “FG in the back and keep that mess off the seats. I am driving.”

Both sets of eyes went wide and faces lost a little color before disappearing in the confines of the car interior as instructed. She shook her head but managed to keep with the business at hand. A light nod up to the guy who was scoring a great deal and still safely wrapped in the jacket had the information she needed.

“So, where am I sailing this good ship lollipop?” All she needed was the address.

Clowns to the left of me; jokers to the right. Here I am, stuck in the middle of Harper Rock with the travelling circus, thought Stonehouse as he eyed up the bloodied woman’s entourage. One of them, wrapped in skin-tight latex, resembled a long balloon; the kind that street entertainers use to make dogs and giraffes in an attempt to impress young children. Stonehouse was certain that the feisty female would look far better in such an outfit than her accomplice, but that was an image to save for later.

As for the other goon, he looked like he’d eaten far too many burgers and doughnuts, or was it just muscle that was well disguised? Any attempts to swing on a dancing pole would surely test its tensile strength.

“Good evening, boys,” said Stonehouse calmly. “I hope that you are both enjoying yourselves on this fine night?”

The buzzed-up businessman was definitely having a ball. He still felt so energetic, despite the evening’s escapades. He felt like he could go all night, all week in fact, without the need for rest and recuperation.

“That’s a nasty bump on your head,” said Stonehouse, addressing the beefcake known as FG. “If you bleed any more, you’ll resemble your boss.”

Stonehouse glanced across at the demure woman, her face still littered with drying blood from her earlier antics with the deadly axe. He smiled, mischievously, especially as the killer had just warned her minion not to mess up the car’s upholstery. If she wasn’t careful, she could leave a trail of crusty crimson on the seats.

“I must add, though,” continued Stonehouse, returning his focus to the man with the head wound, “that I love your bandana. Now that is the height of fashion this season.”

Smiling once again, Stonehouse watched as the two minions got into the vehicle like obedient lapdogs. The entrepreneur really needed to work on his world domination skills, and uncover the secret of how to keep folk loyal around here. Charm, and a hefty handout of cash here and there, seemed to do the trick up to a point, but certain people in the city appeared to have a real knack of bewitching people. The tall Englishman knew that he should probably invest in some lessons, perhaps after mastering the dance pole?

Where to drop off the stash of assault rifles: that was the real issue. The car itself was fairly inconspicuous, but the contents of its trunk would be like a red rag to a bull if anyone saw them. There could be cops swarming all over the joint like bees around honey if the wrong person locked their beady eyes on the boot’s bounty. It had to be somewhere safe, somewhere away from the gaze of the general public.

“How about the Quarantine Zone?” replied Stonehouse, offering his suggestion to the burning question recently posed by the arms trader. “There’s an entrance to the sewer system just to the east of the fenced off area. You’ll find it quite easily. I’ll happily unload the goods there. I’m adept at disappearing down damp, dark tunnels.”

It seemed like a decent plan. Delivering a shipment of firearms to one of his legitimate business establishments was potentially asking for trouble, but a sneaky drop off into the labyrinth of underground corridors - through the back door, so to speak - felt a lot less risky.

“So,” added Stonehouse, “is that ok? And do you want to meet me there, or shall I jump into the car. I can strip off the jacket while you drive, as long as you promise to keep your eyes on the road.”

Satine wasn’t sure why she brought the guys with now that she eyed both of them. One was bleeding thanks to the other. It would appear they beat on each other while she was inside cleaning up after them. It wasn’t the first time she appeared in front of the boys looking like she had taken a blood bath. Her eyes sharpened their focus on the one who considered the souvenier from what quite possibly was the original Woodstock festival as a fine example of current fashion. Gradually the precisely shaped right brow sitting over her right eye gained a higher position.

“I been there and done that. Got a metal plate that likely kept my grape from getting another interior bruise.” His eyes shot over to Percy then returned front and center. “She still has her fingers and toes so she is doing great.” He took a quick look with eyes that appeared to be capable of seeing through the blood and brightened when no fresh wounds were discovered. “I just wish we would have had a few like her around in the trenches. I would have got out of there quicker.” His fur framed lips rolled inward then popped back out. “Thank you kindly. Can’t find the originals like this one anymore.”

Furious George was more than happy to claim the compliment, intended to be or not, while giving the one paying it a second look over. One thing to know about FG was that he wasn’t born yesterday. The head wrap he had going on was fashionable in the very least to him. It was his statement to make and that is why he had been wearing it as well as others like it for the last several decades. Even if the guy was pointing out what would likely miss the next cover of GQ for reasons that could be insulting to some he was on it and willing to hold him to it. Before he could get his offer to swap the blood drenched fabric perched on his head for something of equal value he was essentially cut off from suggesting a barter.

“That works for me.” Her fingers snapped loud enough that the front passenger door of the car froze instead of closing. “You two in back. He will sit in front.”

Satine knew the risks of putting either of the two warm blooded buffoons in a space close enough with the guy. It would cause more trouble than she had the spare time to deal with. It was enough that Bugsy wanted to make living art out of them as soon as he saw them on any given night. A car ride’s worth of conversation with the smart suit could risk having two dead bodies needing to be dealt with negating the current need of a second flak jacket. Disposing of bodies was more fun than most things she had yet to do. But it would be done if there was a need. That was her call to make. No one would be infringing on what was hers. As for the suited up fashion observer it was rather simple. If the vampire got funny she would be on him with her bag of curses and tricks before the bumper found something solid and unwilling to move out of it’s unsupervised travel. That was how she rolled.

“Our chariot awaits you.” Percy had the passenger door open while sweeping a hand to draw attention to the room provided for him to take his assigned seat.
“I suggest buckling up. If you have issues with sudden stops, turbulence or general dangerous conditions please help yourself to the blacked out goggles in the glove box.” Furious George added while climbing back into the seat he recently vacated.
“Just a courtesy and precaution we like to offer all our…” Percy was interrupted.
“Get in the damn car, Percy.” Satine hissed from the driver’s seat.

While the vampire standing outside the car accepted or rejected the offer of a ride the custom V-10 engine came to life with the turn of the key in it’s ignition. Clicks of seatbelts being fastened echoed from the back while the petite necromancer manually adjusted the position of the seat beneath her. Soon the car would be moving with or without the front passenger seat occupied.