[DFM]

Chapter Two:

City of Angels



Los Angeles is a cluster of skyscrapers surrounded by miles and miles of urban sprawl. I'd done business here in the past, but as the firepower I was capable of supplying grew, I did less and less business in the states. Gangland thugs and Mafia trigger men are a great market for small arms and light explosives, but not many have any use for a fully outfitted Tiger UHT or a company of T-55's.

Although I did sell a KA50 to Boris Demidenko not long ago. God knows what a Russian don is planning on doing with Kamov class assault chopper.


Probably countering the Yakuza's T-98s.





What a glorious world that would be.




It's a short walk towards what the cab driver had said was LaCroix's tower. At first I thought I might have trouble picking it out, but I really shouldn't have worried.



Wrought iron fence mixed with giant stone slabs, gargoyles perched on ever overhang. The entire thing is a Gothic monument to every bad horror show in western Europe. Christ, LaCroix, at least try to live in something that doesn't make you look like an undead predator.



I can practically hear him cackling and rubbing his hands together from here. I walk up to the iron gate, rattling the lock.



"LaCroix! LaCroix open this thing up, I took care of your problem."

There's a tap on my shoulder. I half expect see LaCroix waiting for me, but it's just some girl. Human, from the skin tone.

"Um. Are you looking for the LaCroix tower... uh..." She looks me over for a moment. "...miss?"

"Isn't this it?"

"No." She shakes her head, pointing across the street. "The LaCroix tower is over there."



"Oh."



"Oh my."

She coughs, and I think I hear her mutter something as she leaves. LaCroix, you magnificent son of a bitch.



The doors are guarded by larger versions of the same ebony statues Therese had in her office. Some kind of Camarilla symbol? Or... an older, more general vampiric one?

Maybe there was a good auction on E-Bay.



I pull open one of the unusually heavy doors. Must be a metal core surrounded by a thin coating of wood. And the wall linings just inside the doorway hint at a larger, secondary blast door that could seal itself shut if the first wasn't going to do the job.

For an all-powerful Prince, LaCroix's putting a lot off thought into traditional security.



Amazing. The lobby is solid black and gray marble, oozing elegance with a utilitarian foundation. The artful curve of the dual stairways and waist high walls were thinly disguised defensive positions. Anything coming through the double blast doors would be funneled into two levels of shielded firing positions and a chokepoint with no cover.

If it weren't for my tattered bag-lady dress, I'd feel right at home.



Officer Chunk behind the desk was probably hired to con anyone casing the building into underestimating LaCroix's defensive position. The real security was probably waiting less than two rooms away, covered in body armor and armed with assault rifles. Probably uses his own PMC, since a contract like this would turn a lot of heads on the market and I'd never even heard of this place being anything other than a commercial building.



"Hello there, missy. Looks like you've had a spot of trouble out there on the streets. Don't worry, I'm authorized to report a 715, that's 'Civilian in need of medical assistance', I'll have an ambulance here in no time. While we're waiting, the manual here says I ought to try to stabilize your vitals and keep you from going into shock.

Are you in shock?"

He sounds just like he looks and I'd rather he hadn't interrupted my thought process.

"No, and I don't need medical assistance. I'm here on business."

"Oh." He looks me over again like he doesn't entirely believe me. "Uh... here to see one of the big wigs then, missy?"

"If LaCroix counts as a 'big wig' then yes."

He leans back and rubs his nose.

"Ah, would that be Sebastian LaCroix of the LaCroix Foundation, or Dwayne LaCroix of Insurrection Baby Formula Company?"

I lean over the desk until I'm eye to eye with him, my hands resting on his keyboard. I'm not in the mood for this shit.

"Sebastian. LaCroix."

"Uh... U-Uh alright, there... uh... missy... LaCroix told me to expect someone fitting your... uh... description sometime tonight. You... go right on up."

"Good." I straighten up and adjust what little is left of my neckline to adjust. I had a combat flight suit in my closet I could have worn to that party.

"Yeah, uh... you have a good power meetin' or uh, whatever it is LaCroix wants you for. You need any security, why, you just ring the front desk and ask for Officer Chunk. That's me, case you were wondering."

I think he takes my stare as some kind of evil eye.

"Officer Chunk is... actually..."



"Ah, yeah, I get that all the time. The name goes back to my football days."

"..."

"Well, my fantasy football days, actually. You know, at the station."

"..."

"Staion... Stationarium. That's... this office supply shop at the outlet mall I used to watch. Kept the... kept the kids in line, you know."

I spend the last half of his stuttering backing away. I don't think he caught on until I was around the corner and out of sight.



I make my way up one of the sets of stairs, towards the main elevator platform.



As I near the center of the platform, the elevator door on the furthest side dings and slides open, elevator car waiting expectantly.



Cute, LaCroix. Real cute.



There isn't any elevator music coming from the inside and it's a welcome touch. From the lack of emergency hatches, I'd say LaCroix plans to cut the cables in the event of an invasion and force the attackers up the stairs, or maybe flood the lower levels with gas. You'd need an army to assault this place. Or a MOAB to bring the whole thing down. It's probably even fortified against that.



I'm starting to hate the idea of working with the Prince less and less.

I ride the elevator up to LaCroix's penthouse office, half inspired and half disgusted by what I find at the top.





Somebody should tell LaCroix that subtle displays of wealth and power are far more impressive and livable than this kind of... grotesqueness.



It looks like some eighteenth century monarch's palace. How can his office be so gaudy and extravagant when the outside was so...



Actually... that makes sense.



On the outside he's kept up with the times, used modern styles, modern materials, designed the entire building with modern military tactics in mind, but here in his inner chamber he wants it to feel like his home, and his home is probably an eighteenth century monarch's palace.



"There you are. I was informed of your presence in this building. Since you're here, I'll take the liberty of assuming you've destroyed the warehouse... this is correct, yes?"

I fight the urge to make a snappy comeback about an intelligence network that can't even turn on the evening news.

"Yes, I-"

"Most excellent. I had doubts that you'd prove my decision a prudent one, but you've performed beyond expectations. I trust you encountered no impediments to your progress on account of... my personnel?"

There it was, dangling right in the open. He must know. He's got to know, what kind of a question is that, especially for someone like LaCroix? He's got to know Mercurio screwed up.

"Some of the vampires were a little two faced, but nothing that serious."

He leans back in his chair, apparently satisfied with the answer.

"A taste of what's to come, I'm afraid. Most of the rabble you'll encounter are no strangers to double dealing."



"You've done well, circumstances being what they were. I will admit, not many in your... position would have overcome such a trail."

That's right, LaCroix. I ate your suicide mission for breakfast. Now what?

"But don't misunderstand me, it was no fool's errand." He smiles at me, almost a little surprised. "You may yet prove to be a genuine asset. It's a bit disturbing, the lack of talent within this organization as of late. Tell me, what would you say to doing a bit of reconnaissance for me?"

Yes. This is it. This is my in. My one way ticket back to fortune and power and diamond encrusted kitchenware.

So what if I never bought any diamond butter knives? The point is I could have.

"I'd say yes sir." Sincere with a hint of self-aware irony. He seems surprised again.

"Excellent. Were you by chance in the military at all?"

"Not directly, but I've spent a lot of time around generals and officers."

"Really? I was an officer myself, actually. Napoleon's ranks."

"Then I should be in good hands. What's the reconnaissance?"



He sinks back slightly in his chair, tone becoming almost dour.

"There have been whispers, rumors spreading around the Kindred community concerning the Elizabeth Dane, the cargo ship that was towed into port recently. Have you heard of it?"

I remember the name from a news report, but nothing else.

"I... haven't, no." I hope that doesn't put a black mark on my intelligence gathering career, but LaCroix doesn't seem to mind.

"The Dane was found drifting out at sea. Reports say without crew but there's been no indication as to the fate of said missing crew. The police are investigating the Dane as we speak and even the Nosferatu have little information on what's been found."

I know that it's sometimes best to admit when you're more than a little confused.

"Why does any of that matter to us?"

"A pertinate question. The reason the ship is causing such speculation amongst Kindred is because it was transporting an archaeological artifact called the Ankaran Sarcophagus."



"Now, I am not one to predicate a decision based on conjecture, so what I need is fact and more importantly, I need evidence that whatever occurred on the Dane was not supernatural in nature and in no way relates to this Ankaran Sarcophagus."

"We need to calm the superstitious masses?"

"Exactly. You have three objectives: One - I want you to examine the sarcophagus for anything unusual. Marks, scratches, anything that might seem out of the ordinary. Do not, however, under any circumstances, open the Ankaran Sarcophagus."

"But if it's jus-"

"Secondly- the police have begun their investigation; find out what they've concluded thus far. Thirdly - take the cargo manifest for the ship; I want to find out what else it was carrying. The Dane is crawling with police, so be careful what you do in front of them. And unlike the warehouse, you cannot wholesale slaughter a ship full of lawmen without consequences. Is this understood?"

"One hundred percent, sir."



"Good. Oh, and it has come to my attention that you had an encounter with Nines Rodriguez earlier. The man so does love to throw that cretinous charm of his brashly about. What exactly did Mister Rodriguez say?"

"He wants me to meet him at the Last Round."

"Good. You should do so."

I eye him suspiciously. I never got the impression that they were the best of friends.

"You... want me to talk to him?"

"Of course. Consider it a lesson. You see, we Ventrue sometimes must take it upon ourselves to patronize the rabble and hear them out to the end of their breath with a look of genuine concern, no matter how ridiculous their notions may be."

I nod, a little slowly. So the Camarilla's not exactly open to change from the bottom up. Good information to have.

"I'll do that."

He flashes a knowing smile.

"Give the anarch community my regards."



Well, this should be interesting.







The Last Round is near the end of a dead end stretch of city road with nothing worthwhile between here and there. At least the bar's appropriately named. It's a solid half hour of walking before I reach it and I only got a few alarmed stares from the late night yuppies wandering the better parts of town.



I really need to find a GAP or something.