City Lights at Night

Boxes and Bloodsuckers

In which the drop is made and much information is exchanged

Well, we‘re a motley now. Seems everybody and their brother knows, word travels fast I guess. It’s a good thing though, or so everybody says. I’m glad to know them, for the most part— Ondrej is the very picture of a wealthy (if slightly sleazy) gentleman, Red‘s tough and reliable, and Masa never ceases to amaze. He’s got a goblin friend now, a little hungry thing he calls Frederick. Adorable as anything, I swear. I need to get myself one of his watches soon.

I was certainly glad to have Red and Masa there with me when I went dream-hoppin’. Made me feel at least a little less terrified. Anyway, what I got out of that nightmare was this— Roy bought from a dealer in southern Paradise, called him Dante. He deals out of a building with a green door, 1674. There were two men there, I met one later, but I’ll get to that in a minute. Dante is a tall, thin, black man. The Greek says his name en’t actually Dante, but I en’t surprised. Pockets en’t called Pockets, either.

We went to make the drop at the casino all right, the whole motley came along. Ondrej made himself look like a Mexican— what a trick. I ought to keep a better eye on him… anyway, I dropped the box off and made a tally mark like I was ‘sposed to. One of the gentlemen from Roy’s dream came to pick it up— the man Pockets called the Greek. His name’s Costas. Fine example of what we’re dealin’ with, though he seemed a bit more accommodatin’ than most. As it turns out, he’s a ‘squito. (That’s why the drop had to be made at sundown.) Seems Pockets left a note at the bottom of the box sayin’ that if I came alone, he could have me for dinner. Costas was ticked, since Pockets didn’t give me the mixer to take along. I have some words for him when he comes to collect. That aside, Mr. Costas let us in on a few things— one of the things the base is cut with is vampire blood; Leah runs with John Galt (the Satraps); Patrick Tallum died an awful bloody death, and Dante’s name en’t Dante, it’s Mike somethin’. Awfully kind gentleman (and I do mean awful, creepy as all hell), I said we’d let him know when Pockets comes through. I intend to pay up and wash my hands of that son of a bitch (pardon my language).

I told Ms. Silver about all this, she seemed pleased that I’d found out so much. She told me Pockets’ actual name— Roland Checkers— and that I ought to tie up the loose end (that is, Roy) right quick. I just need to bring Mr. Dante to the E String, and give Mr. Kemp a call… though how I’m goin’ to manage that is beyond me.

So much I found out lately, and so much I still don’t know. All this diggin’ up dirt makes me feel like I’m just diggin’ my own grave— and for some reason, I keep hoping it’s only mine I’m diggin’. I don’t know them well yet, but if the three fine gentlemen I pledged with got themselves hurt or dead on my account, I’d be… I don’t know. But it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Oh, now I tried to tail you last night in my car

So scared I might find just what I was lookin’ for

Little by little…" (ST)

—Wren

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kestrelfeather

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