Playing with the Big Boys (Night 2 & 3)

[Thee Independent]

TI

10:58 pm.

King Street Pool Hall, on the corner of King and Batiste. Los Angeles Barrios.

The King Street Pool Hall is an unobtrusive pocket on a dark corner of a dangerous town. The four-way intersection leaves little to be desired, but only because the community around this seedy part of town have nothing to look forward to, even living as close as they do to the red carpets and glittering diamonds of Hollywood. A browning CLOSED sign swings on the front door of a grocer’s market across the street, while adjacent to the Hall, a single light in a Bond Office flickers through the night.

Rows of cars, some custom-made in dingy auto shops, others threatening not to turn over when the owner comes out to drive home, line the two sidewalks around the Pool Hall. Very few of them are less than five years old. Most of them have been pushing their engine lives for more than a decade.

Through the front door, a row of five pool tables, arranged horizontally, are spaced several feet apart on the left side of the Hall, descending towards the back. On the right side, several circular card tables surrounded by randomly scattered wooden chairs dot the floor space beneath a snowy mounted television broadcasting baseball, or football, or even golf, on a boring afternoon.

Behind those tables, the bar stretches to the back of the Hall, with several stools in the front and dimly lit liquor cabinets between the patrons and the tender. Several neon signs – beer advertisements, clocks, Hollywood photos with glowing frames – paint the back of the Hall with odd colors, leaving the restrooms in the very back as the only source of normal, sterile, regular white light.

It is the kind of place where nothing unordinary should ever happen, save for the occasional fist fight over a bad game or an unpaid tab.

“Beautiful break.”

Hector Ramirez lauded his billiards partner with a cheeky smile, tilting a bottle of warm cerveza towards him before tipping it back and drinking. One clean shot, worthy of being spotlighted with replays and chalkboard diagnostics on Channel 62’s sports access station, and the pyramid of solids and stripes shattered. Scavenging side pockets took what they could, like a child’s game of hungry hippos, snapping and sinking one. Even more voracious, though, were the corner pockets, who downed ice-blue Pluto and scarlet Mars like whirling black holes on the green felt board of outer space.

Albert Liston rapped the palm-end of his pool cue on the wooden floorboards, stirring up cigarette ash and dust. “No, no, no!”

“What?” Hector asked, stopping mid-swig to glance at the last of Albert’s kinetic strike. Things slowed down as they always did, with one or two balls carrying the last of the momentum. “Oh, crap.”

The bright yellow sun rolled towards the distal corner void, with Albert’s own once-blazing white comet now a drifting, lazy moon trailing along just behind, on the same course for destruction. In an instant, Albert’s face went black as the yellow ball fell in.

Dragged as a hapless tagalong, the cue ball collapsed as well, toppling into the darkness.

“Scratch.” Hector Ramirez by day, Captain Obvious by night. Every game with him at the King Street Pool Hall was amateur comedy night. Ironically, it took a good sense of humor to keep Albert from swinging at the bastard with his cue. “Way to shut this game down before it’s ever started, huh, Al?”

“Right,” Albert agreed, setting his rod down against the table before he did use it for evil. “I’m gonna go get a beer, too. Set it up for me, would ya?”

Hector nodded with a shit-eating grin. No medical insurance meant no trips to the dentist which meant gradually blackening teeth, making the “shit-eating” aspect of his smile more appropriate than imagined.

”Well, get out there and tell him I’m ready, and that if he stirs anything up, I’ve got the LAPD on speed dial.”

Albert trudged on towards the bar, hearing bits and pieces of a loud conversation brewing between some of the hall’s regulars at the neon end of the tapline. It was getting loud enough that he could hear it over the crunch of peanut shells beneath his shoes. A young, attractive Hispanic bartender who probably makes good tips with his slick smile wipes down the two square feet or so in front of Albert’s stool. “Good game?” he asks, gesturing towards the pool table.

“Psh. If it were, I wouldn’t be here at the bar,” Liston confessed drearily, scratching at his shortening curls. “Coors. Bottled.” He opened his wallet, looked inside, and grimaced. “Tabbed, too, if you can.”

”I don’t give a damn whether he’s on his own or has the whole Blood gang with him. Fact is, if he comes in here, he’s giving it up to me.”

Albert stared towards the end of the bar, where the bathroom lights cast the tabletop in hot pink and made the fresh fern growing behind the counter look like cheap plastic. The man making a commotion was small, but stocky, and he was one of the big league guys at the Hall. He played in the high stakes pool games and card games. Everyone who was anyone, which excluded Albert and Hector, of course, knew him. Even the police, he’d heard, did what he thought was best.

“Sure thing, Al. But if you milk any dough from Hector tonight, don’t walk out that door before paying for the beer,” the bartender agreed, setting the Coors bottle down with a solid clunk before him. Condensation drooled down the lip. “By the way, it’ll be easier to pay the tab if you don’t scratch anymore.” He was gone, approaching La Tina at the mixer before Albert could scathe him with a glare.

”Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, Jesse, tell the boys in the back. Let them laugh at you for being a pussy. They know I can handle this on my own.”

Albert felt envious, staring at the small, compact man’s shiny bald head. He probably has a good tab running here.

”All right, Rex. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The young biker thug he’d been hanging out with waves his hand at him, spouting a victual “bah” before making his way to the bathrooms. Albert shrugged his shoulders, grabbed his beer, and crunched back towards the pool table. When he arrived, Hector was setting up his shot, but he looked more excited than he should be. No one was winning the game yet, anyway.

“What’s with you?” Albert asked, wiping condensation onto his ragtag jeans.

“Were you listening? Sounds like a fight is gonna break out. Might be gang stuff. Never pegged Rex for being involved in any of it.”

“Rex? You know the guy?” Albert asked, incredulously.

“Si. Who doesn’t? He’s the Man around here.”

Albert was thankful that Hector was too stupid to know he was gloating. That would have made him feel even worse about being old and out of touch. “If they have guns, I’m outta here.”

“I doubt it. Probably just a turf war or something,” Hector answered, as though he were the expert on gang relations, stroking his pool cue back and forth between his fingers. He had a habit of doing it in a way that was masturbatory. But it didn’t take him any more than five seconds or so to stop sighting his aim and swing the pool stick forward to make the shot.

Wham!

Before the chalked end even tapped the cue, a crash sounded from the front of the King Street Pool Hall. He stood up on his toes and peered through the intermittent spotlights cascading down from hanging green billiard lamps. His attitude changed from nonchalant to anxious. “Al, let’s call it a night.”

Albert stood up, abandoning his Coors, his tab, and the vexing memory of his scratch. “I’m with you,” he nodded, as the two of them walked quickly towards the bathroom hall and to the exit leading to the back parking lot.

Romeo

An enormous mullato man walks in. Standing 7 feet tall, or possibly bigger given the loud shuddering of the walls before his entrance, he's wearing only a black pair of jeans and a black duster.

His chest reveals several scars and bullet wounds. Over where his heart should be is a small gash, his right breast a grouping of three holes, his solar-plexus looks like it has been better with a semi-gaping wound from a .45 round going through his mid section. From hell and back this man's body seems to have been well acquainted with punishment.

With his head lowered to view all of those beneath his height, his eyes signal that a war is about to erupt. Innocents may be buried alive in the carnage and anyone wishing to make away while their lives are intact should do so at that moment. Otherwise, a sneer curls the behemoth's lips and a low growl comes from his throat.

The man's mouth opens and in a calm tone says, "Rex Harris, we need to talk, alone."

TI

Romeo knows how to make an entrance. Ironically, several of the King Street Pool Hall's patrons know how to make an equally effective exit, even in their varying degrees of sobriety. Some hide their fear well, simply dropping their games mid-shot or abandoning their pseudo-intellectual conversations before reaching the glorious moment of ego gratification. Others shout at one another to get out before someone gets killed.

Chairs are overturned and people stumble over one another to get away from Romeo. There is a raw, deadly feel about him, like the six foot tall fifth grade bully whose playground poundings loosened lunch money rather than teeth. The chaos, however temporary, is gratifying; when the dust clears and only a few people are left, Romeo must be happy to see that Rex Harris has not turned tail and fled. Hard, pugnacious features drew together tight and anxious on Rex's face, making him look, somewhat comically, like an angered Phil Collins on steroids.

"Anything you got to say to me you can say right here, monkey," Rex spat venemously, sliding a hand over his clean-shaven head. The stubble scrapes against his rough palm, sounding like sandpaper smoothing a clean knuckleduster. But the racial insult quivers. Fear drags it out of him. A carefully controlled anxiety causes that cool hand to shake once he puts it down against his hip. "Once you've said your piece, then you can get out of my Hall."

Challenging, Rex pulls himself from a lounging position against the bar and takes one step towards Romeo. Tight, powerful mucles, the kind gained from six nights a week at the gym, ripple beneath a gray pullover. He levels a burning stare at Romeo. Rex knew what this was all about, but he wasn't about to give this thug the chance to make him look like a coward. "Got it?"

Behind Rex, the swarthy young bartender wipes at his cheek with a discarded napkin. Casually, he glances at a customer sitting unmoved but attentionate at the end of the bar, and murmurs something about getting him a second shot before sinking beneath the bar to find it.

Romeo

Romeo lunges at Rex, not giving Harris any chance to let banter obstruct Romeo's mission of destruction, as well as gaining an advantage over the Behemoth. Talking as he takes a swing at shiny bald target, his fist cutting the air and dragging a tiny tunnel beind him, his duster kicking up a storm as the force drives him forward, Romeo yells, You think you're going to run the Barrios!? This is MY HOME and I'll be damned if you think you have any pull here! I am the FIRST and LAST man that you talk to here!

TI

Romeo's hand drew back in slow motion, the distal pull of a metal piston before it slams into its cubbey; at his size, and with his unbridled anger and urge to kill, Rex knows that this street brute's fist will impact him with equally debilitating horsepower - crushing bone, breaking teeth, and jolting brain.

Suddenly, his sharp eyes glance at an abandoned pool cue on the table behind Romeo. He scowls. "I do run the Barrios, not that your kind gives a shit!" Before Romeo's hamfist can pummel Rex into paste, he ducks low, muscles his shoulder forward, and tackles Romeo head on! It is the only way he can survive this encounter! If he can just get him down on the ground long enough to grab that pool cue...

Thud.

All of Rex's machismo deflates in a resounding, skull-aching burst that sends black bolts of pain down his spine and, eventually, through his entire body. Wincing from the force of his blow against Romeo's massive body, Rex tumbles backwards and falls haphazardly onto a barstool, his muscular arms akimbo like a rag doll's. The man was impenetrable, a giant, a monolith - throwing himself against him was like throwing himself against a steel door.

When Rex opens his eyes and sees the massive black man still bearing down on him, what resolve he was mustering in the scarred face of adversity cracks...

Romeo

Reaching his target, his haymaker ready to make Rex's skull explode on impact, Romeo yells out his retort, THE BARRIOS ARE RAN BY FEAR AND I DON'T FEAR YOU!

Rex's feeble attempts at tackling the behemoth did little more than send the diminuative, plucky, fighter rolling backwards. Romeo's momentum carrys him through the attempt. He shrugs off any effects Rex's tackle may have had as him brutish form lunges at its target on the floor.

TI

"King Street Pool Hall. Big fight. Someone's gonna get real hurt, damnit. Get down here now, please. Please!" The bartender's harsh whisper underlays Romeo's horrific shout as the slight Hispanic crouches fearfully beneath a row of gin and vodka, under the guise of getting the customer's drink. The cordless phone in his hand shakes.

Warily, he eyes the .45 wrapped in a bussing rag beneath the counter.

Romeo's crack lands squarely across Rex's crown, but with ferocious tenacity, his head snaps to the side and reels back up to face Romeo. Murder rages in Rex's eyes, now that he's fully concious of how outpowered he is.

"You will," he threatens, clenching his fists and barring his teeth.

Romeo

Romeo throws his arms open, his palms upturned, his body bent over. The duster almost seems to strain as Romeo's massive frame moves to view at eye level his impending victim. Wild with fury his maw opens wide, his spit visible as he chastizes Harris. Signaling his indifference to Rex's threat he shouts, "Then bring it Tiny Tim! "

TI

Harris grimaces, angered even moreso now that Romeo is playing games with him. He's in no position to leap up and tackle him again, but if he can use these barstools for leverage and maybe get a foot up into his midsection, the ogre might fall backwards, giving him a second opportunity to get that cue, still resting precariously on the edge of a pool table...

Romeo

Romeo smiles a wicked smile, his eyes hidden under the shadows of his sloping brow, glowing deilishly within the shadows of his face. You think you have a chance? You may have taken that punch, but I have other plans for you. With that foreshadowed comment he raises his arms and tries to embrace Rex in a suffocating bear hug.

TI

Romeo's shadow bears down upon Rex, bringing an abrupt halt to his intended plans to get out of this sticky situation. It is fortunate for him that Romeo didn't bring one of his street posse's with him; otherwise, this would be getting really nasty.

"Hup!" Trying to focus a quick mind on survival, Rex pulls himself out of preparing for a steel-toed kick to the gut and into trying to keep those massive black hamfists from gripping him! The soles of his boots slam against the floor, and his hands come up off the barstools, gripping Romeo's wrists in a stalemate of pure strength, trying to keep him from coming any closer.

A bubble-tube jukebox in the corner changes colors from charming Florida orange to rosy, raunchy red. Quaint, distant guitar fingerings fill the air, adding an inappopriate feeling to the volatile atmosphere smothering the King Street Pool Hall. Rex strains, gritting his teeth, and the Everly Brothers serenade his struggle for survival.

If I could make a wish, I think I'd pass. Can't think of anything I need.

Unfortunately, Rex is already in a poor position, bent backwards over the barstools. Both feet slide across the uncarpeted floor and he stumbles backwards, cracking his head against the bar! Half-filled bottles of beer quake on the countertop. Some glasses spill over, splattering white head on top of crumbled IOUs and dirty beer nuts.

"Shit!" he curses, trying to pull himself together...but Romeo manages to do that for him, both arms surrounding him like a straitjacket and hoisting him off the ground, leaving his feet dangling inches over the floor.

A trail of spilled Heineken snakes it's way between Romeo's feet.

No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound. Nothing to eat. No books to read. Making love with you has left me peaceful, warm, and tired. What more could I ask?

A trembling olive hand grips the tiny beige cloth, concealing cold, deadly metal beneath it. The young bartender fumbles and almost drops the piece when Rex's head smashes into the bar, but he still manages to unwrap it. The metallic blue surface dances with neon pinks and greens, reflecting from the signage blazing overhead.

There's nothing left to be desired.

Click. Safety off.

As if only now noticing his stage cue through a haze of wild turkey and cigarette smoke, the barfly at the far end stands up, stretches, and meanders haphazardly towards the back of the Pool Hall.

Romeo

Holding the balding man above the gorund, his legs kicking in the air, Romeo smiles gleefully, tightening his grip on Rex, the duster squeaking through the friction, crushing Harris in his embrace. Soothingly he says to Rex, Cute trick, trying to crack your head open before I can do it myself, but you're not going anywhere Harris. We're going shopping in a few minutes!

As he says those benign words "...shopping", Romeo's eyes light up in delight. The sinister motives in his tone, gruff and full of bass, deliberately drags the word across his lips. A low growl hums under his breath after he finishes his sentences, the beast evident not just in his actions, but his voice as well.

TI

Once upon a time, there was a hoary giant who, at the behest of a cunning lad, tried to squeeze water from a stone. Try as he might, he could not get it to relinquish a single drop, though he pressed its rough edges with all of his strength until his muscles ached. A worldly young man knew what an ogre with a small brain did not: there was no water in the rock to be had. There was nothing but solid earth.

But Rex is not solid earth. Beneath his tough, tightly toned frame lie softer things, vulnerable to the massive pressures being exerted on him now by Romeo. Nothing snaps yet. No pops signal a break. There is only an increasing feeling of tightness building up between the two men. Like a prize Pacific catch, Rex begins to squirm in Romeo's grasp, trying to gain his freedom.

Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak. So sleep. Silent angel, go to sleep.

Behind Rex, the bartender stands up slowly from behind the bar, squaring his feet and aiming the cold barrel directly at what he can see of Romeo's head, bearing down on Rex's crown. Though the chamber is set and ready to fire, the bullet is doomed to have a questionable path - hands that shake as much as this boy's couldn't possibly handle the resulting recoil kick.

"Christ," he whispers, or thinks in a scream that makes its way past his lips in a whisper. He cannot tell which. Romeo's very presence terrifies him. Watching Rex getting crushed to death makes his only feelings of safety crumble. And the potential threat for Romeo's other gangers to show up and shoot the place up afterwards distracts him so much that he doesn't the pounding footsteps coming up behind him.

One flick is all it takes. A sliver of metal gleams in the hispanic bartender's peripheral vision, to his right, until it disappears, slashing across his smooth, inviting throat.

"Gak!" Trying to scream is useless. Nothing in his throat works, and his eyes roll backwards as he feels ounces of hot blood gushing down his gullet, and filling his lungs.

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you. All I need is the air that I breathe, yes, to love you.

Instinctively, he drops the revolver onto the tiles with a clatter and reaches for his throat. Now he can feel blood slipping out between his fingers and sliding down his chest. So much blood. More than he can possibly imagine was ever inside of him. And no matter how he tried, he couldn't take a breath; it was as if his entire life had been paralyzed in these instant before he would die. His mouth gasped silently as he turned to face his assailant.

All I need is the air that I breathe...

Amazing, how he notices in these final moments just how good the King Street Pool Hall's sound system is. The jukebox plays without a hitch. The audio is beautiful as the chorus comes in, sounding ironically angelic. With the neon lights flickering overhead, it's like he's gone to Vegas and died.

In a matter of seconds, his sight began to fail, and that's when he finally focuses on the person with the knife, who leers at him with devious interest, showing a curiousity over every one of the bartender's facial expressions.

"Nothing personal, man," he explains kindly, that same kindness marred by a wickedly sardonic smile. "Friends don't let friends get shot by vermin like you."

He should have just gotten the guy at the end of the bar a drink, instead of going for the revolver. It only proves that, while his own eyesight fades away due to lack of blood to the head, his hindsight reminds painfully 20/20 until the very end.

[Thee Independent]

Romeo

Romeo smiles as he hears the bartender go down, enjoying the stunt. Speaking to Rex, and to the side to his partner in crime, Romeo says, Rex Harris...Stunts Sproles, my childe. To tell you the truth, I didn't expect it myself. I was all ready to put on my bravado, make a show of this, even break that precious Masquerade. Wouldn't that have been a kick, to find out that Vampires exist? What would happen then? Would he have shot me? Fat lot of good that would do the man. And then I'd have to get some rhinoplasty from one of those Hill's surgeons. Do you know how hard it is to keep myself together these nights? Some crazy fucker's always got a gun, or a knife, or something, let alone going against another fucking Vampire. You know some poor bastard tried stabbing me in the heart once? Got the scar to prove it...

Romeo squeezes Rex some more, savoring the strain the body puts on his arms. With a wicked smile, his eyes widening from the effort to crush Harris, he says to Sproles, Alright Junior...Whats it gonna be? You taking off now, or you gonna help me out? I got this one here, but I need someone to distract the cops in the meantime. Lead them on a wild chase until I can get through over here. You got a few crazy tricks up your sleeve?

TI

"You...shut...aaaah!"

Romeo teases Rex with dialogue that the hapless captive cannot respond to; the brute's smothering hold is so strong he cannot even draw a breath into his lungs and expel it again to make his vocal chords work. When he tries to speak, it's as if the loss of what air was in his lungs makes his body shrink before the pressure exerted on him. Muscles begins burning and straining, causing his body to shake now, like a boulder caught in an earthquake.

Everything Romeo said, Rex had known before he walked through the door. But what was his real reason for coming here? Just stirring up trouble? It couldn't be. He had to know what the consequences to him would be.

"The Barrios may be...big," Rex manages, "but you can't hide in them forever. Not...from us!"

"Whatever, punk," Stunts Sproles insults Romeo's target, flicking a toothpick at the back of his bald head. The piece of wood hits, sharp end first, and bounces off his rough skin. Then he disappears beneath the bar for a moment, before rising again, the bartender's revolver in his hand. When Romeo calls him "junior", he pulls the hammer back again to the firing position and aims it at Romeo's ugly mug.

"Well, I don't think it's the cops we gotta worry about, old man. Not at the moment. Response time sucks here. I let the worm make the call so baldy's bosses would know what's up down here. It's his bitches we gotta handle first," he says, shaking the gun's barrel at Rex. "They'll be coming to the rescue any minute now. But don't worry, I got that covered."

Slapping a palm on the bar, Stunts vaults himself up and over, two biker boots slamming onto the floor. Gun in one hand, bloody switchblade in the other, he circles Rex, a scavenger shark waiting for Rex to be torn apart in Romeo's jaws. Predatory impulses dominate this one, though, and while Romeo is the stronger of the two, it could be argued which one is more dangerous.

Slowly, Stunts drags the sharp blade across his tongue, leaving a red stain on his patronizing tongue before drawing it back behind closed teeth...and exposed fangs. With Romeo keeping a tight grip on Rex, Stunts approaches the King Street monarch, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Spictacular," he announces, commending the flavor and denouncing the dead in one breath.

Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak. Sleep, silent angel...

"I hate this oldies shit." Sneering, Romeo's companion aims the revolver directly at the jukebox, whose liquid tubes immediately shift to yellow, and haphazardly fires off a slug directly into the mini-turntable. POW!

...go to slee-

Glass shards and hissing sparks spray out of the jukebox, showering the floor with even more debris. The music dies instantly after a sharp crackle through the Hall's sound system. Laughing, he pockets the knife and sticks the revolver through his belt, stalking towards the bar again.

Romeo

Feeling Rex gently trying to struggle against Romeo's grip, he sneers and replies, I've been hiding from you for 10 years. What's a few more gonna do anyway?

With a grunt and a huff, Roeo reasserts his grip over Rex's body. This was meant to be slow, and now your friends will ruin all of our fun. I hate to do this but...

Romeo slowly casts an eye towards "Stunts" playing with the gun, a snort escaping from his nose. So "Stunts", you want to get a bite out of him while you can? Don't make it a kiss, I want some pain, 'cause if your plan doesn't work, we need to get out of here soon, and I got other things I need to do around here.

TI

It is beginning to feel that no amount of struggle can break this black bear's embrace. There is already a considerable strain on Rex's muscles. Although they do not hurt, he can feel them growing tight.

As he glares at Romeo, Rex Harris is reminded, perhaps for the last time, that rejoining the Ivory Tower has been all for naught. The same problems exist. The same enemies stalk you and, as he is experiencing now, eventually catch up with you. And still, are the "great and powerful" there to back you up?

No, he thinks sourly, suddenly ceasing his struggle to get free. They've locked themselves behind Hollywood's studio gates, entertaining themselves with starlet soirees and midnight socials. How ironic, that we had known freedom for so long, only to hand it over again to save our asses. It made him wish that someone had Embraced Benjamin Franklin, just so that he could punch the son of a bitch right in the face for being so right.

"You may kill me," Rex whispers evenly, able to speak more clearly without his struggle to get free. "You may kill all my boys. But they'll never let any of you take this city." No matter how stern he wanted to sound, Rex could not keep the conviction in his voice. What he repeated sounded rote, like the repetitive cry of the suburban rebel who is convinced of nothing more than what he's suffered himself.

"God damnit, would you shut up?" Stunts shouts, but not without his usual daring smile. "Like licking your masters' boots isn't enough. Now you're reading off their scripts? Weak," he chides, setting a white First Aid box on the bartop. With a flick of his fingers, he pops the lid open and rummages around, producing a bottle of pure rubbing alcohol. He listens to Romeo's offer while unscrewing the cap and taking a sniff. The odor makes his eyes cross momentarily, before refocusing on Romeo.

"Oh, no, man, he's your catch. It's only fair. I'd hate to take first dibs on something that's rightfully yours, and there ain't no way I'm taking your sloppy seconds." Grinning maliciously, he shrugs his shoulders. "Do whatever you want. I'll take care of this."

Romeo

Romeo's glare becomes an unearthly smile, his face hiding under the shadows created fromkeeping Rex in his grasp. "Thanks...

With deft movement, Romeo spins Rex towards and wall and begins driving him towards it. Trying to push Rex into the structure, he retorts to Rex, Camarilla, Sabbat, Anarchs, it doesn't matter to me. Let the Cams make their movies, let the Sabbat make their garbage fires, and let the Anarchs bang their fists against the concrete. The only things that matters in this moment is seeing the next night. You wanted to make the call, you got what's coming to you.

TI

Make the call. So that's what this was really about. But how did Romeo know that Rex was going to organize the Rant to take back the Barrios from Sabbat elements? Is Rex that obvious? As he is swung towards the front of the Hall and Romeo begins charging that way with him in his grasp, Harris mentally kicks himself for not being more discrete about his associations...

He kicks himself. Kicks.

Glancing downwards at his dangling feet, Rex snarls. "You've got what's coming to you, too," he snaps, slamming one boot - one steel-toed boot - directly forward into Romeo's chest and midsection. He follows it up by a second kick, struggling not so much to get free but to force Romeo to drop him 'lest his ribcage shatter against his furious kicks!

Romeo

The boots hit hard into Romeo's rib cage.*cough* *cough*...Alright...you asked for it.

The hulking body resets, Romeo's brief keel over returns to his normal upright stance, and then he lowers his body, his shoulder slightly positioning into Rex's torso just next to his left arm. His boots ground into the glass on the floor and then Romeo bursts into a charge, heading stright into the pool hall's wall, and Rex is acting as the battering ram. "...fucking troll."

TI

Crash!

Like a slow motion action movie, glass shatters! The yellow lettering for King Street Pool Hall splinters into hundreds of pieces, falling out onto the sidewalk in a shower around Romeo and a struggling Rex Harris!

Rex's back aches after being slammed into a wooden piling which cracks almost instantly against Romeo's weight. Bits of glass stick through his muscle shirt, and blood begins to soak through.

"Let me go!" Rex shouts, hearing his voice echo in the streets, struggling and preparing to kick at Romeo again despite his pain.


Meanwhile, inside the Pool Hall, Stunts kicks the dead bartender's body and makes a face at its limpness. "Don't go anywhere," he asks quietly, laughing nervously, before he moves towards the back hallway and begins basting the walls with sloshes of aromatic rubbing alcohol.

Romeo

Running into the middle of the street, Romeo yells at Rex, Get your licks in now shoppers! 'Cause in about three seconds we'll be visitng aisle one for cough syrup, greeting cards, and pinatas!

TI

Rex's body is jarred up and down as Romeo continues charging, wielding the smaller man's body like a jury-rigged battering ram! He won't be able to survive much more of this battery, so he takes Romeo's advice, getting his licks in now while he can.

Wham! Wham! Whack!

Closing his eyes and concentrating, Rex desperately keeps slamming the hard toe of his boots into Romeo's chest. It may be the only way he can break out of the man's grasp!

Romeo

Taking Rex's kicks to his chest, Romeo winces a bit as the boots pound into his flesh. Running forward Romeo looks down at Rex and yells, Would you STOP kicking like a damn baby!

WHAM! The jarring hit rattles the wall of the grocery store as ROmeo and Rex hit head on into the building.

TI

Across the street from the King Street Pool Hall, the closed Grocer's Mart bursts into life! Two bodies disrupt the quiet serenity, bursting through the front windows and sailing over crates of fruit waiting to rot overnight like the wasted produce in Steinbeck's vision of a self-concious California. Rex's head slams hard onto the black and white tiles, shards of glass digging even further into him. The faint aroma of fresh vitae mingles with sickly sweet poor man's pineapple and earthy vegetables.

"Romeo, you bastard," Rex groans against Romeo's weight pressing down upon him. Alone in the grocer's mart, Rex's canines quake in his mouth, elongating ferociously. "You can stop me from making the call, but if you kill me, it'll have the same effect. They'll still gather, whether I call it or not!"

Romeo

Romeo's eyes grow wide as he whispers softly to Rex,"Shhhh, I know. the difference is that fear becoms a factor now.

Romeo's mouth becomes a bit more wider, his fangs protruding further. His tone rises fromthe whiseper intoa casual speaking voice, Will the higher ups want to embroil themselves in this area that much longer? You thought you could make this call cause you thought I was getting lazy.

Anger is evidet in his voice, his tone rhaspy, that low gorwl appearing in his throat again. I told you, this is MY home. If you live through this, you'll have much bigger things to worry about than me. I hope you fucking die!

Romeo's low growl becomes a slight roar as he lifts his head and tries to bit down on Rex's shoulder, the sound is like old leather being stretched taunt and breaking. Romeo's jaws snap shut like a steel trap.

TI

A message. A life lived being shitkicked by every Dapper Dan I know ends in a death that amounts to nothing more than a message. The thought terrified Rex Harris even more than Romeo's carnivorous kiss.

Lame hands pressed against Romeo's bulky chest, trying to keep the mouth away, but the strength was simply no longer there. It is an unusual feeling, like nothing Rex has ever experienced before; to be getting the karmic return jabbed into your own jugular, finally falling to a predator only slightly higher on the food chain than you. It almost makes him regret every fluid ounce he stole to stay alive until now.

"I never thought that. Never," he answers, his voice growing more passive by the second. Ecstasy, like a disease, started spreading from the point of penetration.

Romeo

Seeing Rex go limp, Romeo remarks, ...audios amigo...

TI

A clock on the wall of this corner grocery seems to slow, each hand ticking out eternity in fractions of seconds. One beet, more red than any heartbeat, falls from a wicker basket and onto the tiled floor. He doesn't even hear the thud, but he watches it bounce and roll near his hand.

Romeo

With a huff, Romeo inhales Rex's blood into his system. The giant frame lying over the ground, blocking the view of Rex's body, heaves slightly into the air, the black leather of Romeo's jacket rising like a tarp over the two.

TI

Plunging deep, like diving from a California cliffside into black water at midnight, Rex Harris sank further. His ears felt full of fluid, registering only the rush of blood through his stilled body and the manly heaving of Romeo's hulking frame. It was oddly comforting, and disturbingly sexual, like a pornographic prison scene...only on death row, as Rex closed his eyes against Death's march through his thinning veins.

*******

Empty was no condition for a pool hall like the King Street Pool Hall.

Stunts Sproles, eager childe of the vicious Romeo Valencio, self-titled Baron of the Barrios, thought this to himself over and over again as he walked up and down behind the bar, hearing the soles of his boots squeak on the tiled floor beneath him. Or click if he happened to step on the coppery metallic drainholes. Or crunch, if out of spite he broke one of the spic bartender's dead fingers laying bravely in his path.

"Poor stupid sunnuva," he tsk'd, unable to finish the insult. A bottle of 151 found its way into his hands. He admired, with facile interest, the rows of yellow and red labels cascading evenly down one side of the bottle. His rough hands unscrewed the black cap and sent it rolling on the floor. Hesitantly, he lifted the rim to his lips and mouthed a swig, instinctively letting the burning liquid sear down his gullet.

Fire could kill vampires. Liquor wasn't supposed to, but the redskins didn't call it liquid fire for nothing.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Stunts immediately retched, feeling the tumbling mess of recreational lighter fluid gushing up his throat. It splashed out between his teeth and fangs, splattering across the floor and dripping from his outstretched, gagging tongue.

Every child had their first taste of lemon, every teenager their first dance with a shot of whiskey.

Every childe had his first realization that nothing but blood sat well on an eternally empty stomache.

Shuddering, Stunts stuffed a tube of gauze into the lip of the 151 bottle, closing the lid on the first aid kit.

"C'mon, lapdogs. Come get it while it's hot," he mutters, climbing out over the bar. Already, he could hear some door in the back of the building rattling, creaking, and shaking open.

He smiled. King Street Pool Hall, glorious bastion of scumbag nightlife, here's to you. Cheers, bitch.

Romeo

Grinding Rex's body into the ground, Romeo's massive body slightly jerks with the exquisite taste of a vampire's blood. Images run through his head like a bad OZ episode. He tries to push the thoughts down, trying to somehow assert his masculinity over the affects of the kiss.

In his mind, he sees his pain. The life as a human, growing up on the streets. He remebers child hood beatings, vampiric beatings, and he can feel the rib Rex kicked out floating in his body. The open hamburger wound that used to be an abdominal muscle can feel the breeze of the air. The pain of his body means he is still alive, and that is the greatest joy of all. Causing pain in Rex reaffirms his survival, knowing he is taking something that would have threatened his dominance in the world, and turned it into nothing.

Thus, the cycle of pleasure from pain is renewed, and reinforced through the effects of the kiss. Romeo, for once, is quiet, and that is never good.

The silence breaks as the behemoth rises off the floor. Grabbing Rex's limp leg, he begins draggingthe body of the unmoving Vampire into the middle of the road, and with a casual toss, it lands with a loud thud.

Wiping his mouth from an errant bit of blood, Romeo's face splits into a casual, sinister grin. Castig his glance down on the limp body, he remarks, "Well fuck, I think I'm begining to like you."

Turning back o the grocery store, Romeo lunbers towards an unbroken section of the wall, and leans his body against it.

TI

A wooden piling at the front of the grocery store receives the brunt of Romeo's shoulder and begins to creak. Romeo can hear tiny fibers of wood splintering inside the painted post, but moreso, he can hear a faint rumbling that grows up through the post and into the grocery's ceiling.

Another plum, loosened from its kingly position on the backs of its burgundy brothers, rolls down and falls to the tiled floor with a squisy shok, just like Rex's body had sounded as it ground onto the asphalt outside.

*******

"Be careful. Romeo's probably still in there. If he is, we gang up on him."

"All of us? Just on him? What if he's got cronies?"

"You've never seen him, have you?"

"No."

"Then, as I said, all four of us on Romeo. You can't miss him. He's black. And he's seven feet, plus. He has to go down, or we're all dead meat."

"Jesus, seven feet pl- !"

"Yes. Now, you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Let's do this. God, I hope Rex is holding his own."

"Seven feet plus..."

The Brujah brigade, a la SWAT, bursts through the King Street Pool Hall's rear exit door from the back parking lot. The green placard overhead buzzes and flickers with the force of their entry, almost going out before restabilizing. A mess of leather jackets, torn blue jeans, muscle shirts, boots, and bad attitudes roils through the hallway, growling and snarling and snapping, ready to take down the giant. No fear.

They stop. Instead of a black guy, seven plus, there was a short white gang punk, barely six feet tall, leaning against the bar inside the Pool Hall. The rest of the Hall was deserted.

"Who the hell is that?" one in the back asks, furrowing his eyebrows. It made his cro-magnon skull jut even further out from his forehead.

"I dunno," said the one with the ponytail, Rex's confidante. Something about this felt terribly wrong. He had warned Harris, and now their organizer was nowhere to be seen. "Who are you? What do you want? Where's Romeo?"

With one hand hidden behind his side, the Pool Hall's only occupant lifts his stare from the ground and leveled it at the gang of four Brujah standing just inside the mainstay, some in the back hallway, some out. His smile unsettles them, causing them to buck; the fangs don't surprise them, but they recognize the sly lip-curl. It's the kind of smile you get when you show you've bluffed everyone out of their chips with a pair of aces.

"I'm the Welcoming Committee." Stunts pushes off of the bartop, turning his body to face them. They take a step back, hesitantly, waiting for the moment to make their move. "Romeo's gone. He and Rex went shopping. I stayed behind to mix you guys a drink," he tilts his head towards the empty bar, putting both hands now behind his back. The muscles on his right shoulders flex for an instant.

"Oh, really?" the confidante returned, taking a step forward. Most of them outsized the punk.

Just then, another Brujah in the back, one with long, scraggly blonde hair and a Kurt Cobain face, grabs the nearest shoulder he can reach. "Smell that? That's...ugh..."

"What is it?" Neanderthal asked, putting his hand against the wall. "Shit, it's everywhere. It's..." he put his hand to his nose, smelling.

"How do you boys like cocktails?" Stunts asks, pulling the bottle of 151 out from behind his back. A small blaze eats away at a line of gauze spilling from the lip of the bottle.

"Alcohol!" Kurt Cobain shouts, running his hand down the wall and stepping on the ground. "It's everywhere!"

"Get back! Get out!" the confidante shouted, pushing backwards.

"Don't forget to leave a tip!" Stunts howls, rearing his arm back and flinging the bottle directly at the gang of four Brujah! Turning his back on them, he charges for the front of the Pool Hall; green felt passes him by at a mile a minute. The window Romeo had burst through still remains open, Stunts' only portal to escape.

Don't look back! Don't turn around!

Crash. Fwoom!

Jump, now! Jump and hit the ground and stay down!

Stunts dives out through the mouth of jagged glass shards, just as an action-sequence sized explosion rips through the King Street Pool Hall! A gout of force, fire, glass, and bits of flaming debris explodes through the windows behind him, cascading upwards and over his crouching body, hands over his head!

The explosion rocks the block, and can be heard, seen, and even felt across the street in the Grocer's Market.

The King Street Pool Hall shrieks and crackles, it's roof ablaze with a bonfire arcing towards the sky. Thick, black smoke creeps serpent-like into the air.

[Thee Independent]

Romeo

Lying in the dirt, keeping his gaze averted form the flaming wreck, Stunts sees Romeo pushing his weight into the grocery building, trying to bring it down. Thinking tohimself, "Don't look, don't look, don't look..." his eyes briefly meets the limp body of what was Rex Harris. The marks form Reomeo's fangs still evident, and nothing pouring out of the wound. "Shit, he did it."

Rising hesitantly, Stunts calls out, "Hey chief! Do you ever clean up after yourself?"

Leaning against the building, relishing in causing massive property damage, Romeo just hisses out, "Ssssshut UP! I'm trying to concentrate here. "

Sunts picks up one of Rex's limp hands and begins twilring it, flailing it about, as if it were a fish flopping on the docks. He laughs a bit at how pathetic Rex has ultimately become, and at what is in store for him later. "So what now? You're going to drag that body through L.A.? That's not suspicious. "

Stopping briefly to chide Stunts, Romeo says, "You're going to bring that carcass to Daniel Corendal. He'll put up with it for a while until everyone gets here. Stop at a Wal-MArt, pick up some ribbon, tie it around the body, make a pretty bow, I don't give a fuck. Then, we wait. I'm going to hide for a while before anyone else shows up here. I'll call you later.

Stunts picks up Rex's body, and begins dragging it across the lot to a waiting car. It's moderately beat up, but the body on it suggests it can take a little punishment. The solid steel doors of the muscle car squeak as Stunts opens the back door to throw Rex's body in the vehicle. The weight of Rex's body makes an audible squeak in the shocks. Shutting the doors, a loud clank echoes through the streets. Stunts then enters the driver's seat, starts his ignition, and drives away from the horrid scene.

While Stunts complete's his assignment, Romeo finishes his. HE leans his frame again into the building and watches as he forces the entire Grocery Store to tumble down to the ground.

The tensil strength of wood is less than that of bone, unless you suffer from a calcium deficiency.

Right now Romeo's loose rib is bothering him. All he's doing is leaning into the store, trying to knock it down just by his own weight. The fight has taken its toll on him, more than it should have. The pain of his chest starts sending out red flares, signaling an abuse of the human body that should not occur.

There's a snap as he pushes into the support beam, but that's not from his rib, or any other piece of his body. The soft creaking of wood tells him he has just loosened the beam. Grabbing the beam between his mammoth hands, he twists and tears it asunder, as the weight of the roof begins to come down over the store.

A life's work is starting to fall around what used to be a peaceful street corner. The hall remains in ruins as it continues to smolder, roasting not just in its own natural fuels, but also the bodies of the few unlucky immortals caught in the blaze.

A small gocery store, with it's fruits and standard american consumer goods of coca-cola and pepsi, begins to twist.

This is coupled with the remains of a man, broken by his fate. His eyes empty as the car rolls down the roads, taking him to a location that could be much worse than hell. Rex's eyes just stare into nothingness, the wound in his neck, or what's left of his neck, sits gaping open, the flesh not rotten, not healthy either. The body is merely a husk, empty as the now quiet road that was once alive with activity.

Empty. The winds barely blow, but the effects are obvoius, a roof swinging, and a man dressed as if he were a reaper coming to close everything down. Stephen King's langoliers took away the past. Romeo takes away the future. He took away the Pool Hall, Rex Harris, 4 brujah, the life of one childe, and now he's taking away some poor schmucks chance at the American dream.

Lumbering over again, he leans for a second support, and finds it as well, pushing his might into it, the beam twists and falls as if it were a toothpick holding up a deck of cards. The shanty store tumbles down and everything with it. Broken glass, crushed fruit, and carbonated beverages mix in with whatever else cakes the dirty streets.

Grabbing his side, it took only a minute to tumble the building down, but it felt forever, and that's what he wants, the satisfaction of causing pain to something, whether it be someone else or himself.

Now Romeo takes off into the night, staggering his way towards an alley, and disappearing into the darkness.

TI

The inferno raged, igniting the old wood and poorly stored flammables in these nearby buildings. The Bail Bonds office watches with wide windows, unscathed by the flames, but unable to bail out its friends in the block party. It watched their execution stoically, listening to the sounds of approaching police sirens and blaring fire engine horns.

Inside the Bail Bonds office, the clerk working late - it did stay open for quite some time - wished she hadn't. Or, she might when she wakes up, looks around, and discovers that she may have been robbed and knocked silly. How odd it will be, then, that when she comes the office, she will find nothing missing. Nothing noticeable, anyway. For now, she lays sprawled across the floor behind a wooden desk covered with bail requests and stapled money orders.

Two men watched from behind the venetian blinds.

"Do you see them anywhere?" Kurt asked, brushing a reddish stain from his lip. It wouldn't do to have that there in case the police found them. They already looked odd enough, stripped down to their undershirts and wearing jeans threadbare from hungry flames.

"No. But the grocer's market over there is busted in. Looks like that guy's work. Romeo." He said everything he could now, because he'd been speechless the entire time they had confronted that murderous shovelhead with the flaming cocktail in his hand. Rex's confidante and one of his musclemen had both bitten it, presumably, and only the two of them were left to tell the tale.

There was no time to mourn or lick wounds. They could still be out there. Rex could still be out there. And the police were coming. They had to do something.

"Romeo's Anarch, right? Big black guy?"

"Huh?" Kurt asked, then shook his head. "No, you're thinking of O Neg. He's bad news, too, but the Sabbat's always worse. Romeo's one of them. And he's bigger than O Neg, anyway. Do we have a minute to check out the grocer's market before the cops get here?"

"Yeah. Lemme go do that real fast." The door opened, then closed again. Kurt waited until his accomplice returned, shaking his head. "It's worse than it looks from this angle. The whole place is collapsed inwards. I can't even get in through the front. Do you think the explosion did that?"

"No. I think Romeo did that."

"Jesus!"

"He ain't done nothin' for us in years, man. C'mon, we've got to get out of here."

"Where are we going to go?"

"Out of this building, but we're sticking close by. The Sheriff'll be here soon, and we gotta tell him what went down."

Muse

The police and fire department are even slower than usual on this night, not having reached the scene yet even several minutes after Romeo has had his fun and sequestered himself away.

There are others, though, that show up in the aftermath. A few bums and nighttrash wander relatively near to see what has happened, but not close enough to be ID'ed should the pigs arrive. And then there are the two cars that come grinding quickly onto the scene, doors opening quickly and some kind of a team stepping out. Momentarily, intentions and reasons are forgotten as three of them stare at the burning building in horror.

The King Street Pool House.

Harameshi

Harameshi and Laurae step out and stare at the burning husk of a building. The stoic look Harameshi is trademark for is slowly returning. The odd calm about him is very disconcerting. Laurae looks across at him, "What is the plan, sir?"

"We canvaas the area to search for any one who knows anything and we try and piece it together. Anyone who finds this Romeo, report back. We'll tackle this brute as a team. End of orders. Keanu, go with who you wish. You are not part of this team, you are a guest at the moment." The efficency he spits orders out with is astonishing, knowing his lack of competence in a council room. Laurae ducks back in the car and gets something; a slight nod is exchanged with Harameshi. Harameshi grabs his sword bag and removes his katana and wakizashi; placed in his belt, it seems fitting with his attire.

"We move. Douglas and Jim, you are a team; Laurae and I are a team. Keanu, you may go as you wish. With a team or with out, it is up to you."

Keanu

As Keanu stepped out of the car, his calm brown eyes found the flames, as all of his kind, frightening. However, the fine line between him and any person, kindred or no, was the stern training and dicipline that he had established through years of training and dedication to his particular martial art. It was no doubt he was sent by the Prince, with Harameshi. He watched as Hara gave the orders, split his men into teams, and began the objective, leaving Keanu as a free agent.

He liked that.

He had no weapons to take, no precautions. Looking at the bright inferno, Keanu slowly slid his shades up the brim of his nose. Regardless of bravery, the bright light spoke to a primal part of him, and he didn't like to tempt it any more than he should. Then, nodding to Harameshi, making it clear that he would go on his own, Keanu chose to walk almost directly toward the flame...though, a closer look would show he was choosing an alley quite close to it.

--> Exit Keanu Blake

Harmeshi

Harameshi nods to Jim and Douglas, they head towards another area of the scene to rouse up who has seen anything. Harameshi and Laurae head toward the still standing facades. The first place they near is a bail bonds front.

The movement of the blinds goes noticed, but not registered on the outside. Laurae pops her neck and looks about; the faces of the buildings here seems beaten and thrashed. This was not her place in the world. She wanted this finished soon.

Jim is issued the order but just stands there slightly shaking. His fear of the flames gripping him, holding him tight to the car. His mind seems to want to jump back in the car and get the hell out of here. Douglas tries to rouse his friend, but as it seems he's getting no where at this point.

Laurae and Harameshi head for the bail bonds place. They never go home, so Laurae says. They near and bang on the door. Laurae calls out, "Anyone here?"

"Yeah, hold on..." a gruff voice came from inside. The bolt turned and the knob turned and opened the door slightly. Laurae pushed it open a bit more.

"May we come in?"

"Sure." Harimeshi steps in before Laurae, trying to escape the sight of the flames. His stoic face showed no fear, but his eyes did. Laurae steps in and takes a view of the place. A counter, a desk and chair, files, a safe, two guys near the blinds on the other side of the counter, and no ringing phone. She knew there almost always is a ringing phone. "What brings you two here?"

"The fire, seems a friend of ours was here a bit ago, but isn't now. Know anything about it?"

TI

"Yeah," one of them answers, moving out from behind the counter to stand in better light. Flame-licked fabric hangs from the scrapped edges of his blue jeans. Scorchmarks pock his gray tee like battle scars. "We had a friend here, too, but God knows where he is now."

The other male slips away from the blinds, moving towards the door. "Don't recognize any of you. Who are you?"

From the condition of their clothing and the anxious traces of blood-sweat on their collars, Harameshi could assume they've been through hell and back again - hell being the inferno blazing across the street.

Still, the phone sat silently on the counter, its blinking red eyes shut, the receiver slung in place like a sideways smile.

Harameshi

"Depends, friend. You help set the blaze?" The silent shaking of their heads old all she needed to know. She grinned slightly and turned to Harameshi, "This is your arena..."

Harameshi takes a small green jade tsuba, the small guard on a katana, and places it on the counter. "My name is useless at this moment. I want to know who set that blaze. Can you help? If you can, I can guarntee your saftey in Hollywood. Do we have an agreement?"

His stoic face and commanding eyes seemed to be more solid than the granite that made the base of mountains. His hakama seems to be flowing slightly as Laurae steps out of the door; she understands when it is time for her to stand watch with out any question. She's a good lass.

Harameshi walks to the counter and leans on it slightly. His face rises to a small grin, a smirk more like; he places his hands behind bis back and look to the first one. "To be blunt, I want who did this on a wooden pike. Now if you help me in this, the Prince will be nice enough to maybe help you out a bit. How about it?"

The smirk never left his lips as he spoke, his eyes never leaving his target, his hands on the scabbard of his katana, his muscles seem lax but are quite taut; his demeanor seems much more like that of an investigator rather than a man ready to spill blood like it was water in a glass.

TI

"You're not the same Lawman I knew before. His eyes were wider and he didn't need nothin' fancy like that to keep the peace," one of the speakers leans across the table, smug towards someone who lets his secretary accuse them of arson.

"If it's just a name you're fishing for, Sheriff, we've got what you want: Romeo. Yeah, like Shakespeare, only he ain't like nothin' like Leonardo DiCaprio. He's big, he's black, and he's Sabbat. He can't have gotten far."

"Yeah, bro, but it wasn't Romeo who set the blaze," the other one thumbed a finger through the blinds at the burning pool hall. "It was his brat. I don't know what his name is. Skinny white guy, ganger type. Crazy bastard. He almost killed us," he snarls.

"Romeo was there to get Rex. Rex Harris. Rex is the Man around here, and Romeo nabbed him and ran off. By the time we got outta the blaze and pulled ourselves together, we didn't see anything going on. But the grocer's mart next door had caved in completely..."

Muse

The stench of the burning pool hall burns into Keanu as he draws too close to the building. A part of him is twisting in rebuttle to being forced to go so close to death, but he keeps a stoic demeanor on the outside nonetheless. He is too close, too close, too close, but he is doing what he must. It wouldn't do to let the Prince down, or Harameshi.

Smoke clouds the alleyway, making it dark and depthless. It does not look like there is anyone else in it, but it is hard to see very far.

Harameshi

"Thank you, boys. You have been much help. Remember my name, it'll get you a good word with the Prince, if you want it. Jade Tsuba. It'll make good with a few of the heavy hitters in the politics. It would do you well to keep low the next few days also. Now, you may want to get out of here. The sirens are on their way."

His sire didn't teach him much, but he did teach him this, the sirens in LA are ruthless ol' crooks, just look at Rodney King. Harameshi pushes off the counter and grabs the piece of jade and goest to setp out into view of the fire. His nerves steeled against the flight response his body is screaming at his mind.

He steps out and looks over at Laurae, "Seems Romeo's childe is responsible for the blaze and Romeo was after a man by the name of Rex Harris. Name ring a bell to you?" She shakes her head at him. The name didn't click, though she was sure the Prince may know something. In the mean time they needed to find Romeo. First priority.

"Romeo isn't far. He was just here. Get in the car and canvass for him. Honk if you find him. I'll be there soon." His mind was still trying to take control over the body. The flight response was nearly over powering. He saw his 'cousin' trying to console hius brother and get him to move from the truck.

"Jim, come with me. Douglas, get in the caqr with Laurae and canvass with her. Big black guy, with an eat-my-shit attitude. He may be wounded, you never know. Americans and their odd sayings. Go." The orders were precise and quite all-telling, the way Harameshi was. Quiet, and quite in the open, but never unarmed.

TI

Douglas and Laurae, following the Sheriff's orders, rev the car's engine and pull out onto the main street, discovering, in time, the need for low lights to make their way through the roiling, dangerous black smoke falling out of the sky. Even the spectre of these criminals' deeds seems to have it in for the Sheriff and his crew; not only does the smoke make it difficult to see well, irritating the eyes, but the swift approach of LA's finest (and a water tanker) grow nearer by the second.

Harameshi

Harameshi feels the heat on his face and just shudders for a moment as he searches around the blaze for any clues. Jim finally gets his nerves and steps out of the truck to canvass the area with his brother. Keeping out of the smoke and keeping a good distance from the fire he searches with him.

The smoke and the fire prove to be too much for him as he searches the area. He motions to Jim to return to the vehicle and he'll follow. He looks about and yells for Keanu.

"Keanu!!! We are leaving, return to the vehicles now!"

TI

Harameshi's growling shout echoes down the nearest alleys, matching, decibel for decibel, the roar of the fire. Brick inlays remain sturdy and blackened while timbres of wood crack and tumble, sending plumes of fire and black smoke arcing upwards every thirty seconds or so.

Harameshi

They get to the vehicle and things don't seem right. Jim hops in the drivers side and waits for Harameshi. The scene just seems too good, too coincidental. Harameshi gets in and they drive off. Jim calls Douglas and tells them they are leaving, to meet them back at the Prince's mansion.

Harameshi just startes at the broken grovcery store as they pull away. There will be the link, if it is not burning away in the fire at this moment. The Prince will get all information he has gotten, without Romeo at this moment. Romeo. He seems like a secondary target at this moment. Though the Prince does want his head, which makes him a primary target.

~Seems, I'll have to spend some time in the 'barrios'. Heh.~

They return to the mansion with the disappointing news.


--> Exit Harameshi

[Thee Independent]

TI

+++++ Night 3 - Wednesday+++++

The deed is done.

King Street is now a disaster site. Yellow police tape closes in around the King Street Pool Hall, the source of a half-assed investigation (if you listen to the news, they call it "ongoing") into arson. Romeo Valencio, the Freak of L.A., stands tall and imposing over a single dropped body lying lengthwise along the floor of a neighboring alleyway. Soot blackens the brick walls around him.

The Sheriff's sword rests just a few feet from his body. In the sudden heat and force of Romeo's surprise attack, he did not have the time to reach for it.

Now he is another victim of the Barrios Baron, a man who would have the gall to thumb his nose so blatantly at the Camarilla by taking out their capable, well-connected local-boy Sheriff on his second night of duty.

Only question now was...what to do with the body?

Romeo

Romeo grabs the body and raises it from the ground. Gripping the coat of Haremeshi the behemoth grins another toothy grin, his ashen face receeding into the shadows and his pearly white fans glinting. Bleeding from a few cuts and scrapes, Romeo begins the arduous process of healing from the battle, and as his body mends what little it can, the scars remain, another reminder of who is king.

Romeo hisses out in that barely indescribale voice of his, that animal growl that hides beneath every vowel he utters. His body and the leather on his jacket creaking, squeaking, and screeching to the tune of the animal fury buried beneath his exterior. Romeo's beast howls in delight, the animal calling, seeking its vengeance.

The man's voice seethes with venom and condescendence, as he speaks to the limp corpse in his hands, "I saw you last night. Couldn't have missed me on that roof, but you did. And this fucking sword, trying to cut me up? I know what's up though. You're trying to act as their dog catcher, putting me down before I become anymore of a problem, but, here's the funny thing, you can't stop me now. Rex Harris got me riled up, and you're just what I needed for my grand awakening. Decades, man. Decades to get my name out on the street, and they send something like you after me? Those fucks make me sick."

With that, he takes a bite into Haremeshi's corpse, and drains what blood he can to replenish his own lost reserves.

TI

Harameshi's blood is strong-flavored and earthy. It sits hard in his veins, and moves sluggishly out, unwilling to be stolen by a vitae-hungry Slum Lord, its better in combat. But there's no will to direct the blood, or to stop Romeo's fangs from penetrating deep into his yellow neck and drinking heavily.

Within a minute, the sanguine pleasure is over and the veins begins to growl in Romeo's ears; the only primal defense the Sheriff has left rears up like a cornered animal, fighting to stay alive despite its wounds and intense suffering. Romeo has drained the body, and all that is left is the soul. There is the sharp flash of a feral feline stare in his mind's eye, warning him or threatening to take him over, one or the other.

Romeo

Romeo hears the call, and tries to pull back. As the ody nears its throes, he retches it from his bite and throws it like a rag doll into the wall. Panting slightly, even though air is no longer needed for his body, Romeo's voice rubmles in its low bass as he comments absently to himself, "Ashes to ashes, man."

Leanign down to pick up Haremeshi's sword, Romeo returns to carry the corpse. Luggin the body on his left shoulder, and carrying the sword over his other, Romeo lumbers away from the pool hall, and to enact the next part of his plan.

Stunts

Stunts feels like Robert de Niro in Taxi Driver, sitting in the cab of this van-turned-hearse, glaring waxenly into the rear view mirror. He can see Romeo trudging out of the alley with a load beneath his arm.

"Heh. The deed's done."

Last night, he and Romeo managed to single-handedly take down one of the Cammy Brujah's street leaders, Rex Harris. Small fish, as far as Stunts is concerned, but this - the bleeding Sheriff! - now that's a catch. Poor Jap sucker didn't take into account that in the Barrios, there's no honor. So he lost, and now he's (mostly) dead. Boo hoo.

"Hey, boss man, you don't even look cut up," Stunts calls over the driver's seat as Romeo opens the back of the van to toss in the second torporous body in two nights. "No pain, no gain, man."

Stunts works over Harameshi's body with hungry eyes, though Romeo knows he's well fed for the evening. "So, uh, whatcha gonna do with him? Want me to carry him up the hill again to Castle Kilt, or you got something else planned?"

Romeo

Romero opens the backseat door, and throws the body over the leather interior. Haremeshi crumplpes into a limp posture, his body officially dead weight. Slamming the door shut,t he beast moves next to the driver's sid ewindow, and leaning to view his protege, smiles and says, "Bring it to Dan."

Taking and giving it to Stunts, Romeo mentions, "Do something with this. Throw it at an anarch rally or something. Let them have to tell the Cams their man is gone. I don' tuse blades, anyway."

Rising up to his full stature, his hamburger like midsecton exposed to Stunts eyes, Romeo snorts and mentions, "I ain't cut up cause this guy was a fucking joke. But, we'll see what happens to me tonight. I got some business to attend to."

Stunts

Guy smiles. It's awful when he does that, showing his fangs proudly and all.

"Yeah, I'll do something with it," he says of the sword, not giving it more than a cursory glance. "But, uuuuh...what's Dan gonna do with him? We gonna present this at the Party tomorrow, too?" he asks, tugging at Harameshi's furry ear.

Romeo gets the impression that Stunts is fishing for something out of his sire. There is no hiding it. He isn't even trying. The childe just keeps looking at Romeo expectantly, maybe hopefully.

Romeo

Romeo looks at Stunts, shrugs his giant shoulders, and responds, "That's what I'm thinking. You have something better?"

Stunts

"Maybe," he answers non-chalantly, turning his head coyly away to stare out the front windshield. He runs his fingers in a circle around the steering wheel, picking innocently at the old rubber and plastifoam. "One is enough for the bigwigs, I say. Two will just seem like you're trying to suck up to 'em. Why don't, uh..."

A wicked smile boils beneath Guy's face, considering writhing to the surface. The corners of his mouth twitch. "Why don't I take care of him for you? I'll put him to some use, somewhere."

Romeo

Romeo blinks a second, then asks curisouly, "Whatcha got in mind? I don't want this fucker coming back."

Stunts

"C'mon, you can trust me with that. Ain't now way he's gonna come back to haunt ya. I'll see to it."

Whatever Stunts is getting at, he leaves it unsaid.

Romeo

A menacing scowl covers Romero's face as he stares intetly at Guy. Its bvious he does not like being given the run around. Leaning into the car, his arm resting on top, looking straight through the driver's side window, he utters, "Don't pull this shit with me. I want to know, what are you doing with this thing. It's not that difficult to answer."

Stunts

"Fine, ya goddamn thug!" The exclamation is childish, almost infantile, often a fatal misstep for a childe in the Sabbat. He may realize the error in his belligerent attitude with Romeo, but he tries to show some restraint - and maybe a little apology - by sucking it up, squaring his jaw, and continuing on in a much meeker tone.

"I...I been listenin' to some of the gang. About stealin' back blood. Good, strong blood, and then makin' it your own."

Stunts removes his sunglasses and stares Romeo in the eyes, squinting as though he were staring into the face of the sun. Holding back fear can do that.

"I can't live under yer wing forever, man. Gotta take something for myself every now and again so I don't fall behind."

Guy replaces the shades and sighs, shrugging, his hands squeezing the steering wheel tightly. "'Sides, if I that doesn't work, I'll probably just hand him over to those Anarchs slummin' it in the junkyard in Southtown. From what I hear, Romeo, they've been pissed at the King for a while now, and they'd pay a pretty big favor to know his deppity's on the out and out."

Since his embrace, Guy's had a hell of a time keeping the Camarilla's terms straight. Romeo, at least, knows that its a Prince, not a King.

"So, you gonna give me a little leeway or what?" A hint of his childe's frustration tugs at Romeo's ears again, but not enough to make him the saucy ingrate he was at first.

Romeo

ROmeo blinks a bit, then laughs heartily. After a few "bwa-ha"s, he settles his gaze back on the unsure child, and says, "That's it? You wanna take his soul? I ain't gonna stop you. That's why I gave you the fucking gift. You did some crazy shit, I wanted to see you do more. And for the record, never call him king, call him "princess", that'll et them riled up."

Romeo flashes an evil grin in Stunts way, the whites of his teeth shining in the darkness of his maw.

Stunts

That was more like it, more like what Stunts was hoping to hear. Obviously pleased, he grins, ghoulishly.

"Yeah, that's it. And I'll remember that." He revs the van up. "Princess. Hehe. Later, Ro-mee-oh."

Guy slams on the accelerator and takes off quickly. There is a dull, metallic thud against the van's back doors - the Sheriff's torporous body rolling with the sudden shift - and Stunts is off and out with his sire's trust and blessing.

Romeo

Looking off at the speeding vehicle, Romeo mumbles to himself, "I ain't one to do that shit, amigo. More power to ya. I got work to do, now..."

TI

A little later, just a hop southwards in the Carson area...

"Get out of my restaurant!"

"But, si-"

"Get out of my restaurant!"

"Would you fucking listen-"

"Get out of my restaurant! Go, now! Go go go!"

The kitchen access door to the Szechuan Express slams shut in front of a squinting, bewildered line cook, leaving him standing alone and dishonored in a dingy alleyway stinking of rotten egg noodles and stale fortune cookies. He had just been fired and, in no small terms, been asked never to come back, as an employee or as a customer. And all because he's gotten in with them.

"Fuck you, Mr. Miagi. Don't need this shit job, anyway."

A quick jaunt down the street and he pushes open the iron gates leading the way into Carson Park, where the defenders - and terrorizers - of yellow men across LA gather beneath the buzzing lights constructed in the parking lot. Japanese-made cars are parked at random everywhere, and red-jacketed Asian youth stroll back and forth, smoking, drinking, fighting, or otherwise making a civic menace of themselves. Even the police know better than to break up a gathering of Original Genocide...best to let them have their park, have their fun and trashtalk so they can make it off this patrol shift with minimal fuss.

The line cook turned seedy ganger steps in amongst his bretheren, dragging on a ciagerrte. "Bum rap. Got canned," he mutters. "Anyone for hitting up a gas station or something? I've got the night off, now."

Romeo

Walking up the parks way, the mammoth crosses intot the parking area, his frame cast in shadows form the overhanding lights, trying to cascade over his features to no avail, his black bedecked body shining in the light, the leather putting a nice illuminated frame over the walking headstoned shaped object approaching the youths.

Catching the words of the fired soup worker, Romeo smiles and says in his low rumbling voice, "I have something better than that."

TI

Bodies slide from their reclining positions on the hoods of cars, forming an informal phalanx standing between Romeo and the rest of the gang. Within just a few seconds, heads turn and slanted eyes stare. All around him, a sensation begins building - of anticipation, of testerone-laced territoriality, and of something deeper and more nebulous than Romeo can grasp, now that he seems quite firmly placed on the spot.

Hard yellow faces narrow, watching and waiting. They know Romeo Valencio is one bad mutha fuggah.

Romeo

Savoring the exchange of looks, Romeo glances around to everyone, making sure he makes contact with each and every one.

After the brief tense calm, Romeo smiles and his grin appears, that pearly white invitation to destruction, that signal to behind somethign devious in his mind, and he asks, as if he were telling a story to a group of school children, makign sure to enunciate the words correctly, "Now...who wants to fuck some shit up tonight?"

TI

If Original Genocide is considering Romeo's question seriously, they don't appear to be showing any sign of it. They stick together like the Yaks or the Triads, not one willing to budge and show any sort of deference to a man like Romeo.

Not to a vampire like Romeo.
Not to a ganger like Romeo.
But to a black man like Romeo.

The Freak of LA is well aware that Asian gangs, Original Genocide in particular, have very little respect for their fellow blacks and latinos. Already, Romeo is pushing against the tide of quiet, unspoken racism.

But they're still listening. The red wall remains between Romeo and the slowly gathering crowd.

Romeo

Romeo walks and gestures as if he wer ein a play, wildly flailing about as he gives his speech before the Asian mass.

His face contorts into a brief frenzied anger as he vocalizes his deep bass voice, his posture angry, but his rage obviously directed at something farther off than the gang. "I asked a question!"

That animal growl apeparing again in his voice as he settles down, and then he postures, his fists clenched, his knees bent, trying to goad the memebrs into an aggressive mood. "A whooole bunch of cracker bitches are gonna meet tonight. You know who these fuckers are! These are the middle class preppy geeks. These white suburban posers that watch their damn anime and put stupid little symbols on their cars. These are the prep sons of sheriffs, corporate attorneys, and would be donna reeds trying to put on a skull cap and think they're down with what ever the fuck is left of the OG!"

As he finishes his staement, his body jolts fully erect, his clenched fists raise din the air, and his voice crackles as he calls out into the sky and beyond the park, for all the hear.

Pointing to each one as his face receed sintot he darkness again, he says, "And you! All of you so proud of those monikers, chinks and japs, you know who I talk about. These pasty children and their attempts to co-opt your culture. These stupid pricks that drink coffees in Starbucks and watch fucking Sailor Moon. They're getting tonight for another stupid fucking rant about how much it sucks to be white and middle class!"

His face contorts into visible rage and fury, that lions roar below his voice more audible now.

Reingning himself back in, his posture obviously aggressive, his eyes menacing as he stares into each one, and he says, "So, who wants to kill whitey tonight?"

TI

Kill whitey.

Romeo's vociferously violent catch phrase echoes in the parking lot. There are a few smiles. They are not known as Original Genocide for nothing.

"Romeo," one of the older OGs pipes up from the hood of Hyundai, laying flat across the painted image of LA Blue Girl with her legs spread. "What's it to you? That these poseurs are muscling in on our culture? You're afro. They do the same to you with their rap music and baggy pants and pimp chains and low education. Are you coming here telling us we oughta defend our own culture when your own is gettin' mutilated, too?"

There are nods of agreement through the crowd. "Fuck 'em, they always do that," he continues. "What is this really about? Are you talking about some whiteboy Crips muscling in on your territory? What I'm gettin' at, Romeo," he stops, sliding off the hood and revealing Blue Girl's grade-school panties beneath the flapping edges of an indigo skirt, "is that we know what you're talkin' about. Pisses us all off. But we wanna know who you're talking about. Who needs to be shown that you don't..."

"Yeah!" A yell comes up from somewhere in the swarm of Japs.

"...fuck..."

"Hell yeah!" Another group goes up, shouting the mantra over and over.

"...with!..."

Romeo can hardly make out the words anymore, so fierce is the unanimous outcry!

"...Original Genocide!"

Car engines rev, horns blare, wheels squeal, and voices shout cacophonously! A minute later, the revelry settles down, leaving Romeo once again with a chance to be heard.

Many of them move in closer to Romeo, waiting for him to elaborate.

Romeo

Reason has neve rbeen a strong suit for the giant, and the only possible explaination he would imagine these people would ever need woul dbe bribery and fear.

Thinking in his mind as he walks towards a cemented handicap sign in the parking area, pne hand gripping the pole, he thinks, "first comes the fear."

TI

Thick, cord-like muscles bundle and shudder in Romeo's black slab of an arm. His fingers grip the metal neck of the handicapped sign in a vice grip. Original Genocide watches, and for the first time, some of their cool begins to slip. Passive features twitch in curiousity; dark eyebrows bunch, lips part, and slender, almond eyes grow marginally wider to take it all in.

"First comes the fear," Romeo announces. Trembling beneath the skin initially; the concrete starts to shake. The metal sign creeeeeaaaks beneath the pressure exerted by Romeo's firm, one-handed pull.

"Oh. Look!"

From the mass of red jackets, a hand points. The concrete slabs begin to crack. The white stick figure in a wheelchair droops dangerously low on his blue background, Romeo's hand crushing and bending the metal post.

Romeo

As he asserts his dominance over the standard post, Romeo begins talking in a clearly audible tone, "This isn't a fucking debate. Those fuckers finish their meeting, and then they'll come here. Now, you can follow me, and I can show you how to bend some fucking metal, or you run away, and let those pasty albinos take your fucking streets."

Eyeing back towards the group as he prepares to attmept to lift the sign from the concrete, he says, angrily, beastially, and loudly, "Pick...ONE!"

TI

Romeo wrenches the sign from the ground as if it were a weak sapling. Concrete dust spreads out in a low-lying cloud around him. The signs cylindrical metal weight base is coated with it.

Original Genocide again reacts en masse, stepping backwards or forwards in shock! The display of brute strength is enough to convince the original speaker to take up his mantle again.

"All right, Romeo, we get the picture! But, really, man, if you need Original Genocide to get involved, we will. You never gave us trouble. No one should be giving you trouble."

He holds up a hand. "And no one will give us any trouble at all!"

ROAR! Engines and voices peal out! They are effectively impressed...and some, mayhap, a little intimidated.

Romeo

Romeo smiles his inhuman smile and , lowering the sign, says, "Good. Meet me outside the old parking garage at Ri___ St. We're gonan show those fucking yuppies what its like living on tese streets. CAN YOU DIG IT!"

TI

And everything was going so well! They were hyped, they were excited, they were getting their rocks off on the thrill of a fight!

Then Romeo had to yell that. Cheering ceases. Slanted eyes peer left and right, exchanging confused, curious glances. Huddles form, whispering expedient Mandarin phrases under their breath. Heads lean out of cars, trying to figure out what's going on. Romeo himself becomes a sudden spectacle, observed out of the corner of their eyes every now and again.

Finally, one group turns to him and stands in stony silence. A breeze flips their black hair over their foreheads.

"We," they begin, before looking at one another for assurance, "we dig it?"

Others begin nodding their assent. "Yes, we dig it."

"We dig it!"

"We fucking dig it!" the ex-line cook hollers, slapping his palm on the rear door of a convertible and vaulting himself into the back seat. Cars begin pulling out, as Original Genocide mobilizes itself for an honest to God rumble.

[Thee Independent]

TI

Less than an hour later, in the Lynwood Skate Park...

"¡Usted persigue! ¡Usted consiguió mi hermana embarazada! ¿Ahora, usted funciona lejos? ¡Mejore al funcionamiento de la subsistencia, o a de muertos!"

Jaime's back slams against the concrete wall of the roller tunnel. Four pairs of rough hands grab at his jacket collar, his sleeves, his hair and arms, forcing him immobile and cornered. One menacing voice in Spanish echoes over the others' tacet assent; it is touched with real rage and anger.

"Ella... I... él era un accidente," Jaime tries to explain, but the plea is broken short by a hard-knuckled fist pounding against his teeth. His words taste salty, like the blood filling his mouth. "Escuche mí, hombre, ella pidió que fuera. ¡She's enojado!"

"Si," his assailant assents, unbelieving. "She's enderezan para ser. Ella consiguió su beca, iba a la universidad, pero usted atornilló la para arriba para ella, y ahora you're que iba a dejarla detrás."

The high-wattage lightbulbs wedged into the concrete ceiling overhead glint off of a switchblade that snaps into view next to Jaime's throat. His eyes shift down to look at the blade. "No...no..."

It is just another night amongst the Traviesos, and now, one of them is ready to pay the price for getting too roomy with his ganger friend's family. Sometimes, the ties that bind become so strong, they have to be severed, be it peacefully or in violence.

Romeo

Walking up to the incident, watching from the lights, their light obscuring hm for themost part except for his maw, and his eyes. Romeo's steely eyes stand out in stark contrast to the darkness around him, the intense shadows form the bulb hiding his massive fram int he abyss. The low grwl erupts aain, watchgint the violence, and the giant wants to see the outcome.

His vice silent, Romero steps into the light and stadns, towering over the thers, and awaits their expression.

TI

"Eyah!"

Some of the onlookers react in surprise to Romeo's appearance, and start scampering back and forth like rats, the rubbers soles of their sneakers squeaking against the floor. "Es Romeo!"

"Leiver!" A shout echoes down the hallway, and the vato with the knife snarls, turning his head when his name is called. Jaime, visibly shaken, does not relax when he's no longer the center of attention. "Es Romeo..."

The one called "Leiver", whom Romeo doesn't know - maybe a new leader in the Hispanic game? - lowers the knife. With a flick of his hand, his boys increase the pressure on Jaime, keeping him pinned against the wall while Leiver steps away to handle a bigger threat - someone encroaching on their territory.

"Whatchoo wan', eh?" he asks, putting the knife away, but keeping the handle in clear view above his waist.

Romeo

Matter of Factly, Romero responds, "I wanna see you cut his fucking neck."

TI

Leiver narrows his eyes and scowls, closing the distance between he and Romeo. The Freak of LA can see his knees shaking beneath his jeans, but nothing else about the Hispanic gang leader gives away any fear of the big, black street king.

"Me, too. But that ain't what brought you to Traviesos territory, iddit?" he asks, squaring his jaw and rubbing the bristling black fuzz on his upper lip. "Why you here, Romeo? We be teachin' this punk a lesson about Traviesos etiquette. Ya don't go around screwin' an amigo's sister!"

The last part is shouted vehemently, and Leiver whips about, stabbing his finger in Jaime's direction. Then he turns back to Romeo, waiting for an answer.

Romeo

Lowering his gaze to meet Leiver, Romero explains, "I want to see you cut his fucking neck. That means you're exactly what I'm looking for. I'm looking to get a crew together, some people that are willing to do some deeds that most of the fucking people out there aren't ready to do. I want some people that know being on the streets means cuttign someone for fucking your sister, or putting a bullet in someone's head for messing with a brother. I want some people that'll break a bitch because she looked at him funny."

TI

Heads turn when Romeo talks. Even Jaime's. The big man's voice carries in these skatehalls, making it sound larger than life. The effects are immediate, as Jaime's captors put on angry faces. One of them levels a fist into Jaime's nose. "We oughta kill jou now," he hisses. "Jou prolly joined up wit' us to lay her, huh?"

Smack. Jaime starts to answer, but gets a fierce smack in the jaw. Blood coats his teeth as his lower lip balloons into a swell.

"You found us, Romeo," Leiver answers, looking over his shoulder at the scuffle. It still isn't a priority. Not yet. "And he gonna get it now or later. Whatcha need Traviesos boys for? Whitey givin' you trouble?"

Romeo

A bellowing laugh echoes from the man's mouth. The bass thundering through the area and his massive frame moving in stride with the laugh.

Calming down and looking Leiver squarely in the eyes he responds, "You said it, esse. Those fuckers are trying some stupid shit down by the garage on Rick Drive. Bring your crew cause it's gonna be a wild mother-fuckin' night."

TI

"I like it." Leiver's upper lip bristles with the scent of a good fight. "What's the rules? Who's the gang? What's in it for us? How many boys you need, Romeo? And just to make sure you're legit," the gang leader trails off, slipping the knife out of his pocket. With a quick flick of his wrist, he extends the blade with a sharp, clean snikt.

Leiver tosses the knife in the air and catches the handle, then twists the blade up along his forearm, handing the weapon to Romeo. "You take care of my problem, I'll take care of yours. Fair trade?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at Jaime and the Traviesos keeping him down.

"Criste, Criste, no," Jaime shakes his head, slurring with a swollen tongue.

At the ends of the tunnel, Latino faces move forward, many of them dark enough to blend in with the shadows outside the glaring overhead light. Romeo's street cred tells them he can't back down from this, and they all want to see it go down.

Romeo

Romeo snorts as he takes hold of the knife and tosses it aside. As he approaches the cringing member in the corner, he mentions to Leiver, "Bitch please. I don't need a fuckin' knife. I just gotta know how many pieces you want him in."

TI

"You boys hear dat?" Leiver yells down the hall. Murmurs of approval come from both sides of the tunnel.

Jaime cringes, watching Romeo. "Please, man. Don't...God, I'm sorry, I swear I'll just town. Leave LA, leave Cali..."

Romeo

Romeo's right hand extends to grab the boy's neck. His gaping and lingering palm seems like an endless void of potential voilence, bloodshed, and agoy as it reaches the clamp around it's target.

He castes a leering eye towards Leiver as he responds, "The rules are you go into that parking garage and fuck up as many people as you can find. I don't care how many of your amigos you can get together for this job. They're some fucking pasty bitches that think they can muscle in on the Barrios. I had to fuck one of them up at the Pool Hall last night. They're something outta the Hell's Angels(TM) and "Malibu's Most Wanted". What's in it for you? Hos about I take your raps. You need a nigger fucked up, call on me Leiver. Gotta run some shit, I'm cool with that too. Like what I'm doing to your boy, right now, blame it on Romeo if you gotta."

TI

"Heard somethin' bout King Street. Torched the place, eh?"

Leiver puts his hands on his hips and admires Romeo's handiwork, both the Pool Hall disaster and his revenge on Jaime. Romeo instructs while Jaime's throat constricts. The Brujah can feel clammy hands tugging, slapping, and pounding against his forearm. But Jaime cannot make a sound.

"Dude, he's crushing his throat," the whispers start up again.
"No shit. Guy deserves it."
"Romeo's a badass."
"Sounds like a fight tonight."
"Hell yeah."
"Hey, weren't you thinking of shafting Leiver's sister sometime?"
"Sssshhh, shut up, man! No!"

Nails chewed down to nubs scrape harmlessly over Romeo's cold black skin. Leiver watches Jaime's face turn bright apple red, and steps forward when his lips go blue. The young hispanic man's eyes begin to look bloody, as he strains with every last ounce of energy he has left against Romeo's vice grip. But the boys holding him down keep his arms and legs locked in place while Romeo strangles the life out of him.

"Véale en infierno, Jaime," Leiver grins.

Jaime's struggle doesn't end abruptly, like the movies. It is silent, slow, and bitter until the end, like a fish twisting itself up further in the net until there just isn't anything else it can do to break free.

"Whatcha want the boys to pack tonight? Cop killers, or just brawl stuff?"

Romeo

Romero lets the body of Jaime drop before responding, "Mother-fuckin' saturday night specials. I don't want no michael-jackson-i'm-bad-bull-shit."

TI

"We ain't goin' white," Leiver retorts, flattening his knuckles against Romeo's arm. "You want Traviesos boys, you got it. We got a bone to pick wit' whitey as it is, so we're in. Got a time you want us at Rick Park?"

The gang leader snarls and nudges Jaime's motionless head with the tip of his boot. Then he points his hand at his rat-faced goons. "Consígalo de aquí. Láncelo en una basura puede. No diga cualquier cosa a Angelina, o tu lo ensamblará."

They nod, and start dragging Jaime from the concrete skater tunnel. Traviesos part as one of their own, who made a very bad mistake, is dragged from their midst to be deposited, as Leiver requested, inside a garbage can like the trash he is.

Romeo

Romeo does a snort as he thinks of a response, and then mentions, "Meet me there in an hour."

TI

"One last thing, Romeo. How many white boys are we looking at takin' down? I need ta know, so's I can see whether I oughta bring more 'n what's here tonight."

Romeo

Moving to continue his mini quest, Romeo's hulking frame stops and wavers, the sudden stoppage of momentum for such a large body causing the beast to sway as if he were atree in the wind, and then he turns around, that menacing glare in his eye, and responds, "There's about 20 of them."

TI

"That's it? Daaaaaamn."

Leiver turns away and walks towards the opposite end of the tunnel from Romeo. The Sabbat can hear the gang leader's voice echo through the corridor.

"Whitey's in deeeeep shit..."

On the road to Compton, where the greatest concentration of Romeo's "blood" connections hang, Romeo is left to consider each action he takes and, most importantly, the serious status he could end up pulling tomorrow night, down in San Diego. Who wouldn't be impressed with him taking a strike against the Brujah?

Two highbeams glint off of Romeo's shoulders from a large vehicle behind him. Looking over, he recognizes the defunct plates and exterior: its Stunts.

The front driver's side wheel toes the divider line, then crossed it, then wheels abruptly back into place as though the driver weren't paying attention to what he's doing.

Stunts always pays attention when he's driving. The van begins to slow and approach the shoulder. The high beams flash once more in a signal to Romeo that he needs to pull over, too.

Romeo

Romeo stops dead in his tracks he he examines Stunt's vehicle moving its way towards the side of the road.

Haughtily, he moves towards the vehicle, lumbering his bulk to examine the driver's side of the van and to examine what in the hell is happening to his childe. Fucker probably got himself high on something.

Stunts

Romeo is sauntering down the shoulder when the driver's side door on the van flies open. Guy's bike boots crunch against the asphalt as he slides out of the driver's seat. Beneath the metal door, Romeo can see his feet land first, and then his knees and his hands. For a moment, he rests there behind the door on all fours before picking himself up and shutting the door.

He hobbles towards his sire, holding out his hand in a warning.

"Romeo! There's trouble. In Compton..." he says between gurgling breaths. Clenching his fists, Stunts wills himself to cease breathing to make what he has to say come through more clearly. "Fucking Crips, shooting the place up. Got caught in the crossfire. Bullets in my lungs, I think. Full of blood. I feel sick."

Stunts reaches down and slams a hand into his diaphragm! A stream of blood bubbles up through his throat and, wretching, he vomits it onto the street, looking peakid.

Romeo knows well that his childe is still getting used to all of the nuances of being undead; old mortal habits die hard, and it can difficult to remember that blood in the lung "don't mean shit to us", as Valencio has quoted several times before.

"It all started happening at once, Romeo. I'm out on Elm Street, getting 'em motivated there for you, and then somebody breaks through the door and opens fire with an uzi or something. Straifed me right across the chest! The gang yells Crips and starts firing back. I got the fuck out of there to find you. Shit, there's blood all over the upholsterty. Fuck me!"

He spits an ounce of vitae out between his teeth. It runs down his chin, making him look like one big horror film vampire reject.

"Then I'm driving out to catch you on the road, and Neighbor Hood rings me up. They say there's a firefight goin' down, and they need help. Then I try to call up the Cedar Block Pirus 'cause I got a hunch, and damnit, no one's answering! Shit, Romeo, something's up."

Guy leans against the front of the car, wiping his chin on the sleeve of his leather jacket. "Why'd the Crips have to pick tonight of all nights to go on a fucking rampage?"

Romeo

Romeo listens to Stunt's little story, his anger boiing beneath his skin. He has no idea why the crips are attacking yet, but it doesn't matter.

The wild frenzy beneath his skin calls out to him. Howling, the monster beneath his skin rails against his body, the fleeting feeling of instinct trying to fight up. The beats knows when blood is afoot, and its in compton.

His eyes grow wide, hii pupils dilate, and the low gorwl of his voice becomes more prominent as he utters, "Get in the fucking car, Stop bitchin', and drive me to compton. Its time to break some bitches open!"

Stunts

Blood is flowing fresh in Compton, spilling from one of the many underground veins running all through Los Angeles, a city of living, breathing arrogance. But its heart, newly located and increasing its dangerous pound, is on the other side of the Barrios.

The trees in Alan Rick Park tremble, the heart beats so close. And Compton is so far.

"Ah, ok. I'll get the back open. You can toss your bike inside," Stunts says slowly, hesitating for just a moment as he circles the van.

The back doors squeak when he opens them. Before moving back to the driver's seat, he narrows his eyes and licks his bloody lips.

"Romeo. Are you sure we can do this all at once? I mean...how long do those Cammie bastards jump around the fire? All night? Besides, the Traviesos boys are due to meetcha soon." Apparently, Stunts has been doing some checking up behind Romeo. Which isn't out of the ordinary, since a lot of gangs trying to contact the elusive and menacing Romeo get in touch with him through another face they recognize more recently: Stunts Sproles.

"Not that I'm calling you up on it. But the timing...I'd rather go after the fucking Brujah and leave the Pirus boys to their own mess. They probably got clumsy and brought this shit on themselves, anyway."

Romeo

Romeo snorts a loud "Fuck!"

Huffing and growling, his shoulders bumping up and down. Rising, falling, rising, falling...

Trying to calm himself, he says, "They'll stay around for a while. We should know that, but, FUCK, I did not need this shit to happen. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

Pacing back and forth, ranting to himself and yelling to no one in particular, "Well FUCK them then! They want to play this shit! I don't need the fucking bloods! You know what you fucks I'll bring the fucking pain, and we'll see what happens to your little fucking social gathering. I swear to fucking god, they think they can fuck me over like this. MY FUCKING PLAN, BULLSHIT!"

Calming down, his eyes downcast ont he ground, Romeo responds, "Fine then. Drive me to the rant. Lets get this fucking party started. They won't be seeing this shit."

Stunts

Stunts watches Romeo's tirade with an impassive gaze. The embittered Brujah's rage boils to the surface, the mark of his street upbringing splatters in a profanity-based acid from his throat. After everything Romeo had done - taking down Rex Harris in a violent blitz, picking out the weak new Sheriff and further hampening the Camarilla's management potential, organizing his gangs to make a fast break for the Cammie Brujah's court - this unfortunate turn of events got him more steamed than any other failing should.

For the first time, Guy sees his sire as a man not only of means, but of wants. It isn't his opportunity that drives him away from his gangs and towards the fray. It's his desire get his way, no matter what anyone says or does.

"Yeah," Stunts grins, fanged teeth bloodied with his own messy vitae. "Let's do it."

He revs up the van's engine and speeds towards Alan Rick Park.

Romeo

He stand salone as Stunts drives off, lost i his rage, and as he is once again by himself, his anger calms and he mubmles, "yes...lets go."