A Traffic Tango

In a derelict building underneath a highway in central Tacoma, only slightly restored to required standards, lights were pulsing orange and yellow as random, meaningless, thrumming music pulsed in tune.

Bodies were packed together, packed against each other, as alcohol, blood, and other various substances passed between lips. It was impossible to tell how many people were humans, and how many were Kindred, just as it was impossible to tell how many were actually cognizant of themselves, although you could count the people who cared on one hand.

It was club night at Traffic Jam and a night that brought in many customers both of the legal side of the club and its less-than-legal business, as well as plenty of blood both for immediate consumption and for future storage. 

At a booth right inside the door, a rather pathetic and mopey-looking individual, with drooping black hair and almost white pale skin, observed not only the floor but those who came in, checking not only I.D. (although they were instructed to turn a blind eye to fakes), but any calling cards left by their employers.

There was less business to attend to tonight, aside from the usual peddling of their unique product, and more of just casual affairs. But, one individual showed not only a forged human I.D. but also a small business card, designed with the black and yellow caution-tape-like stripes with one word on it: Walker.

Looking up at the face, the mopey attendant bothered to focus on their features. A tight, snarling face, with gritted teeth visible past where lips were too thin. Perhaps, they were damaged? Either way, he looked like trouble, more trouble than they wanted to push about.

"One moment please." They sighed, barely having the energy to speak.

Pulling out a gaudily bedazzled walkie-talkie, the attendant whispered into the receiver. "Mr. Walker, you have a visitor for you."

A voice came through the other end, kept quiet by the attendant, and they turned their attention back.

"Please make your way to Room #4 on the left. Feel free to purchase refreshments beforehand if you desire."

With a nod of understanding, the tight-faced Kindred walked onto the main dance floor, making sure their light brown hair was as slicked back as it was before, with the exception of the one stylish curl he let fall over his forehead.

Looking at the chaos of the large dance floor, with the panopticon-like circular bar counter in the center, he was glad that Kindred could hold their breath indefinitely, as he doubted all the sweat, booze, and god knows what else made for a delightful aroma, ventilation be damned.

Making his way across the floor, dodging drunken dancers, feeders, and people with less restraint than band students in a stairwell, he found a long hallway on the left, with large iron doors separating individual rooms.

"Coulda sworn this place used to be a factory," he thought, "but this looks more like a prison."

But, despite his reservations, he opened the door labeled #4 and was delighted to discover that, once the door was shut, the rooms were spectacularly soundproof. Not only that but there was a radio inside playing some generic Bossanova tunes, with the faint scent of lavender wafting through the air.

The kindred couldn't help but chuckle. "Feels like a spa day compared to out there." He whispered as he made his way to one of the sofas present in the room, cleaner and softer than he anticipated.

"You really think so?" Asked a voice coming from the back of the room. "We try to make the business side of this more calming!"

The tall, lanky, and painfully bright blonde figure of Walker Jupiter came from a back door, wearing his trademark cocky smile and black-and-yellow ensemble, consisting of a simple leather jacket and t-shirt tonight, along with the typical black pants and caution-tape styled scarf.

"Mission accomplished. You might wanna hire some more security out there, people get pretty wild."

"Oh don't worry, we got plenty lined up, we just don't want them to be super noticeable." He said, sitting on the couch opposite the one the kindred was on.

"Vito the Shark, right?" Walker asked, looking through a set of flashcards on a ring.

"Just Vito around these parts." He hadn't told anyone in Tacoma his epithet, as he viewed it as a piece of his past that died in the old world, but then again he wouldn't be coming to these people if they weren't able to dig something like that up.

The word on the street all throughout the city was that the Jupiters were the ultimate information brokers in Tacoma, maybe in the entire state.

"Well, Just Vito, I've heard you're pretty new in town, came in post-troubles, so allow me to formally welcome you! Here, a gift for you." Walker said as another figure appeared behind Vito.

She had a rounder face, stuck in a cold expression of either neutrality or disgust, but with the same bright blonde hair and eyes as Walker, along with similar fashion, replacing the black pants with a long black skirt with a slit exposing the left leg, and a spiked headband.

She didn't say a word as she casually dropped a small paper packet into his lap, with a fanged smiley face emoji emblazoned on the front.

"You'll have to excuse Florie," Walker began as the woman sat on the arm of the couch next to him. "She's a bit more of the strong silent type, but that's just one of the lovable things about her!" He said with a bit of exaggerated swooning, getting him a jab in the shoulder with a spiked ring in return.

"What's this supposed to be then?" Vito asked, gazing at the packet.

"That is a little something special we make in-house. The first one's a sampler, that's our policy!"

Opening the packet, he found a white, chalky pill with a swirl of red to it. "What kind of joke is this? I'm as much of a lick as you." Vito asked with a snarl.

"Hey, no harm in trying, is there?" Walker began, as he and the woman next to him both put a pill of their own in their mouth. Swallowing it, Walker's permanent cocky smile grew sharper. "After all, a lot is new around here."

Seeing that neither of them seemed worried about the substance, Vito cautiously put the pill in his mouth. After all, it had been a while since he had taken anything hard, and even longer since it wasn't from some junkie's blood.

As he swallowed, he felt a warmth come over his body, a sensation he hadn't felt in many years. His shock must have been palpable, as Walker giggled a bit.

"Don't worry, it doesn't really hit that fast, your body just hasn't felt the same kind of rush in a bit, it's waking up."

"Jesus, where the fuck did you get something like this?" Vito asked, nervously smiling.

"Never mind that, you're here for some business of your own, right?" Walker asked, sitting up straight as Florie took the chance to sit on the couch properly as well.

"Right, right. I'm looking for another lick that's supposed to be hiding out here these nights. A Ventrue by the name of Roberto, although I wouldn't be surprised if he's taken another name. If you guys are the information brokers they say you are, I want you to find him." Vito got control of his mind, as the buzz of warmth overcame his body still.

"Roberto, Ventrue, relatively new. Yeah, I can think of a few types. Of course, I'd need to consult our full records to get an answer for sure." Walker began, rubbing his chin.

"Say," he began, his sharp smirk returning, "Aren't you a Ventrue as well, Vito?"

Vito's apprehension returned. "I suppose. What's it matter?"

"Oh, I doubt it really does! I just can't help but think, got an active imagination and all. But, I've heard that you recently lost your sire, your Camarilla sire. It's been about four months now, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, that's right. It's not gonna be a problem, is it?" He noticed that Florie had stood back up now, and was slowly walking to the other side of the room.

"No, of course not, we work with anyone! But, I just also know that there's a new Ventrue in town with a couple of businesses that kinda popped out of nowhere. No one in Tacoma recognized him, and no one in Seattle did either. Although he was going by the name Antonio."

"THAT RAT FUCK!" Vito angrily burst from the couch, but Florie put a tense grip on his shoulder. It wasn't particularly strong, but it carried the impression of a velvet noose around his neck, ready to spring taught.

He sat down but felt the bones in his body begin to vibrate with anger, with energy, with furious passion. "Well, I have no confirmation," Walker began, cattily turning his attention from the kindred. "But I'll let you know when I do. And there's the matter of payment."

"I've got money, I've got blood, and I've got two able hands, so hit me with whatever you got. Just get me that bastard's address." Vito said, Florie's grip still tight on his shoulder.

"Sure sure." Walker looked over at his partner. "What do you plan on doing?" He asked, his golden eyes seeming to gleam, catching the light hanging from the ceiling.

"W-What?"

"When we find him, 'cause we're going to find him, what are you going to do to him?" Walker asked, dropping his smirk for the first time.

"W-What does that matter to you?"

"Answer the question." A cold grip seemed to appear around his throat, dragging the answer out of him.

"I-I just want to talk. I need answers."

A beat of dead silence entered the room, and even the music stopped playing.

"Boooring." Florie whispered behind him.

"What the hell is that supposed to-" He turned around to face her, but she gripped the sides of his face with both hands as if trying to crush his head with a vice.

"BO-RING! He killed your sire, your shared sire, and ran with what was rightfully yours, and you want to just talk!?" Her bored expression had transformed into one of malice and rage, as her pupils grew small and her teeth were gritted.

"H-How did you-"

"Where is your anger!? Your fury!? Your indignation!?" She gripped harder on the sides of his head, and he felt something he hadn't in a long time. He began to feel sweat dripping down his face.

"Ooo she's using the big words today!" Walker said, leaning back on the couch, raptly watching the show.

"You're Vito the fucking Shark, you don't talk, you kill! So when we find this fucker, KILL HIM!" She shouted as images flashed in his mind.

The memory of him finding his Sire, staked and in process of being beheaded, with him a second too late. The memory of Roberto just barely escaping his grasp. The memory of discovering that he had already run off with the connections and wealth that their sire, Antonio, had built up over the years, and destroyed the rest.

However, as she gripped harder, he came to his senses, and slapped her arms away, and wiped his brow, finding it still as dry as ever.

And, much like as was normal, the woman had gone back to her eternally neutral expression.

His instincts told him to run, to leave these freaks behind and run for the hills, but the rush and exhilaration he felt, the passion and excitement he was suddenly feeling, kept his legs stationary on the couch for a few seconds.

"Y-You uphold your end of this all, I'll pay my dues. Anything else is my choice."

He stood up, almost falling on his face from the exhaustion of his legs, but he straightened himself and headed out the door.

"Always happy to help! Come back in two nights, we'll have what you need." Walker said, waving as the door slammed behind their guest.

He let out a sigh. "Did you have to go so rough on him Florie? You coulda waited until he was on his way to the guy."

"Boring." She briefly responded, leaving through the back exit of the room.

Another sigh came from the smirking kindred, "Well, that's part of your charm too, my dear~."

 The walk home was arduous for Vito, as he stumbled to his rented apartment, with his legs almost giving out on him. But, with each labored step, thoughts of anger, of fury, of some bloody sense of justice entered his mind, and he couldn't get them out of his head.

Even once he drank his fill to drown out the substance in his vitae and made it home for some rest, the thoughts echoed in his mind, as did a single idea.

"Rip into his throat, drink his blood, and swallow the answers whole. Cause otherwise, all you'll get is secondhand lies." He didn't know whose voice was whispering this task to him, but it was a loud and all-encompassing whisper.

As night began to surrender to the day, and the vitae in his body came to a screeching halt, a rush slowly began to overcome him. One of a jittery joy, that filled his bones with that same energy to move as before, even as the flesh around it became taught and unyielding.

Vito had felt that rush before and felt a bit relieved at the recognition. "W-What, so it's just fancy ecstasy? Heh, not that big of a-"

"Deal". Blood bubbled at the edge of his mouth as he finished his sentence.

He stood in an almost empty warehouse, with scattered bodies covered in blood, the same blood that he found himself drenched in, with almost his entire suit stained red.

Beneath him, laid the body of Roberto, his sire-brother. Or at least, what was left of it.

His entire chest had been almost bored out by claw and fang, and his arms were crushed at the wrist and almost torn off at the shoulder, with his lower jaw and throat being gashed out as well, as the body began to rapidly decompose underneath the Shark.

"What!? No, NO! D-Don't go! I-I didn't mean it, I didn't want this! I just wanted answers!" The blood that hadn't been drunk was falling out into the open chest, but it did nothing for the one who had already met their final death.

Vito kneeled down, grabbing at the ruined suit of his brother, but the physical form turned to ash in the outfit, and it all fell to the ground.

A million questions rang through his mind, a million ideas and theories, and a million missing memories began to flood in, as he could do nothing but cry blood in the night.

"WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON!?"

From another warehouse further down, a slightly grimacing Walker watched with a pair of binoculars. "Well, that's the end of that little chapter. Of course, unless he comes back around. You really could've gone easy on him though, he had like connections, mob connections!" He complained to his companion, staring in the direction of their victim blankly.

"Boring."

"Is that really all there is to it? If that was his only sin you wouldn't bother."

An air of silence filled the mere inches between them.

"...He said the club looked like a prison."