Smart Money's on Vegas

I love California. The place is crawling with anarchs who don't want the hassle of Camarilla babysitters, so they booted every last one of them. Now, the whole state's overrun with brat-packs of biker and goth Licks. Good place to recruit, let me tell you. They all hang out in gangs, too, so they never have civil words for each other - Ellum and I have been up and down the state a dozen times in as many years, and no one's wised up to us yet. We roll into town, go local and convince a handful of anarchs that, hey, the Sabbat's really where it's at if you want to stick it to the elders.

It doesn't hurt that we're gorgeous, too. People, even vampires, seem to want to trust beautiful folks. Ellum (actually, her name's Lisa Marie, because her dad was a big Elvis fan, but we shortened it to LM, which just changed into Ellum over time) looks like a model off the runway. She always wears this battered straw cowboy bat that makes her look like a junkie, and I guess people just feel safe with her. Initially anyway. I'm tall and thin and just shy of Ellum's attractiveness. That, and I "have a way with people." People trust her; they do what I say.

I slid my fat, black '49 Merc up to the curb in front of Package Store (what an exciting name!). Ellum and I got out and headed into the store. I gave Ellum that "behave" look I always give her before we do, well, anything.

"Hey, Cbolly, Ellum and I are headed to Vegas. We need some money."

Charlie, the Asian guy who owns Package Store, looked at me without fondness. I made a Charlie Chan rictus face at him and he opened the register, lifting the till to show me there was no money in it.

"Slow night. We haven't had any sales yet," Charlie told me.

"Oh, Chuck, don't lie to me," I said. "You know I hate it when you lie. It jus' breaks my li'l ole heart."

"Seriously. No one's been in all night except a couple kids who tried to steal some forties of OE."

"Look, you fishhead squint," I stepped up to the counter, pressing my face against the bulletproof glass to look Charlie in the eyes, "just gimme the goddamn money."

The crash startled both of us. Whipping around to face the back of the store, we saw Charlie's wife sprawling halfway out from one of the beer coolers. Ellum looked at me with a smirk. She stood in a pool of blood that gurgled out from Charlie's wife's gut, where the broken glass had cut her almost in two.

"Oops."

Charlie screamed and ran from his little booth, sandals flapping against his feet. He made it about 15 feet before I caught him by the belt and tossed him across the room into one of the coolers near his wife.

"Fucking hell, Ellum, what's the matter with you?" I shouted as I scrambled back to the booth and snatched up all the loose bills Charlie had cleverly stuffed under the register's till drawer. "Now we have to go." I didn't care so much about the violence - I see plenty, believe me - as much as I cared about the inconvenience. We'd spent weeks leaning on Charlie, getting him to cough up extortion money and not call the cops afterward. He certainly wasn't going to be too predisposed toward our little scheme anymore.

"Well, shit, Adam, she tried to grab my tits and then she said I was trying to steal her husband...."

"Ellum, she doesn't speak any fucking English! Go get in the damn car!" I pulled the dropsafe from its mooring and yanked the phone cord from the wall. It wouldn't do to have the pigs or an ambulance show up before we were well on our way out.

I spat on the floor as I left, leaving the couple lying in piles of their spilled innards.

"Sorry, Charlie," I laughed. Fuck it. We were headed out of town anyway.

***

The Merc needed gas about halfway between San Fran and Vegas, so I pulled in to a roadside station.

I looked over at Ellum, who was just sort of staring out the windshield at the vast flatness surrounding us. I gathered a few of the shadows cast by the buzzing fluorescent lights and wrapped them around her eyes, making her look like Marlene Dietrich on heroin.

I leaned across her and kissed her on the mouth. She bit my tongue and sucked a trickle of blood from me before putting her hand on my hip and pushing me away.

While I was filling up die car, a blue-and-white Bel Air chopdrop pulled into the lot with two guys inside. The driver was the kind of guy who would drive this pedestrian classic: a complete cheeseball who looked like he kicked Brian Setzer's ass and took his clothes, right down to the wallet-on-a-chain. The passenger was a black kid with a shaved head and a leopard-print shirt. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark.

"Nice Pontiac," the driver said, getting out. Loser.

"It's a Mercury, and thanks."

"Sorry. On the bottle?"

"Nope. All-natural." Nitrous is for girls.

"Wanna go title-for-title?"

I smiled, not bothering to hide my fangs. "Tell you what, kiddo. You win, you get my car. I win, I get your souls."

He hesitated a second, but then nodded his head. "Whatever, guy."

I blew a kiss to Ellum through the windshield and winked. She knew what was going on.

So I let the rock star beat me. Between you and me, I could have wasted him easily, but I didn't feel like it. Not that way, anyhow.

We both pulled over to the side of the road and climbed out of our cars. The kid was excited with his victory, but I had no intention of turning over my pride and joy.

"Looks like I won, mister." Pretty smarmy for an ignorant soon-to-be-ex-juicebag.

I hit the kid - too hard - and broke his jaw. He looked at me in shock, eyes tearing up, mouth dangling open as a stream of blood and spit poured out.

"I guess you didn't really win, did you?" I smiled.

He turned to run, but Ellum stood in his way. I grabbed him around the waist from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. As I lifted him, a cloud of the desert dust whiffed up. I hammered him face first against the Bel Air's fender, and his head left a dent and a messy streak of blood. Ellum stared at the black guy in the car as she licked a stripe of vitae from the automobile.

He yanked off his idiotic sunglasses, and all I could see of him were his eyes and teeth. It was dark, but he was fooling with something at the dashboard. As it turned out, he had taken a gun from the glovebox. I dropped the unconscious kid and pulled his friend from the car. Ellum snagged the revolver as it flew from his hand.

"Damn, son, you've got some spirit. Trade you, Ellum?" She tossed me the gun as I shoved the guy into her arms. The cylinder was full.

"I know you weren't going to shoot me. You just wanted to let me know the gun was there, I bet. So I wouldn't be scared, right?"

He didn't say anything. The guy squirmed in Ellum's grip like a worm on a hook, grunting and gibbering a bit. He was all eyes and teeth again.

"Check this out, my friend."

I stretched out my arm in front of him, pointed the revolver at it and bang! Right between whatever those two bones are called.

"Oh, fuck! Ellum, I do believe I've hurt myself!" She just laughed and nibbled the guy's ear a bit. "Think you can take the heat, kiddo?"

Ellum shoved the kid to the ground and pulled his head up a bit so he could see me and his unconscious friend. With her knee in his back and her arm holding his to the ground, he wasn't going anywhere.

"I bet you can."

I stepped on his wrist and pointed the pistol at the back of his hand.

Click!

Empty chamber. I'd spun the cylinder back while Ellum was taking the guy down. Now he knew I was serious - as if he didn't know before!

I fired again anyway, blowing a hole through his hand. Blood spattered into my hair and across Ellum's vest. He screamed - a rather uninspired howl, really, but this wasn't exactly exquisite torture.

"We have a winner!" Ellum shouted at him, pulling him up to his knees. "Now get up - what the fuck is your name anyway?" I threw the gun on the ground before him and went to gather up his friend.

"K-Kevin," the chump managed to stammer.

"K-K-K-K-Kevin'!" Ellum sneered. "That's such a fucking white-boy name!" She still crouched behind him, and she snaked her hand around to grab his crotch. "I think we'll call you Judas instead. Pick up the gun, Judas."

He fumbled for it with his good hand; got it.

"Now shoot Stray Cats, here," I said as I heaped the unconscious kid in front of our new friend. Judas pointed the shaking gun at the center of Stray Cats' back.

"No, dumbfuck, shoot him in the back of the head. So it comes out his face."

Bang! Judas had some guts. Of course, he threw up immediately, so no style points for him.

"Good work, Judas. Ellum, my dear, would you do the honors ?"

Out came the straight razor, which fluttered across Judas' throat in the blink of an eye. I shoved No Face into the Bel Air and jerked the whole thing up and over. Once it was on its roof, I pushed it around a bit so it would look like the driver had lost control and flipped it himself. By the time I finished, Ellum (looking like a pristine mother nursing in the moonlight) had her wrist at Judas' mouth.

"And that is that, darling!" I took a lick at Ellum's wrist as she stood, and we bound Judas' wrists and ankles with the duct tape I kept in the toolbox. We tossed him in the trunk and finished with a slapdash strip of tape over his mouth, just to be sure.

Ellum hopped atop the capsized Chevy, kicking at the fuel tank after pulling the line free. Gas spilled everywhere, collecting in sludgy pools in the sand. I flicked my lighter and tossed it toward the car, which went up like a Fourth of July display. Ellum writhed and swayed as the fire blazed around her. Damn, she's beautiful.

We leaped into the Merc and sped off toward Vegas as headlights appeared on the horizon behind us.

***

Just inside Las Vegas, Ellum and I got married at a drive-through chapel. I didn't have a ring, so I used a loose wingnut I found in the toolbox.

Ellum said the marriage would never work. She cut off her ring finger with the straight razor and handed it to me, singing, "Divorce!" I yelled at her for bleeding all over the car, but it was done as soon as it started.

I still keep that desiccated little thing in my pocket....

***

We pulled in to Treasure Island at the Mirage. As we drove up, two giant pirate ships were shooting at each other in the artificial lagoon they have set up while bursts of pyrotechnics exploded all around them. Even the doorman was dressed as a buccaneer - all glitz, no class.

It was getting early, and we needed to hole up for the day. Ellum and I sauntered up to the counter and harassed the clerk, who took it all graciously like the contemptible piece of juicebag shit he was. No doubt he dealt with lots of loudmouths who pretended to be high-rollers.

"No reservation? Then may I have your name, sir?"

"Tom Cruise."

"I see. And this would be Nicole Kidman?"

"No, we broke up years ago. This is my sister, Leisure."

"Mm-hmm. Now, I'll need your real name to get you in the system."

"The name I've given you will do."

"It certainly will, sir. Enjoy your stay!" We passed Robert Goulet on the way to the elevator.

Two minutes after entering our room, we were asleep in the bathtub, wrapped in blankets, having stuffed towels into the crack under the door. I dangled the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the outer door's handle.

***

I awoke to a gentle knocking at the bathroom door, and nudged Ellum to rouse her.

"It says 'do not disturb.'" I couldn't find one of my shoes in the dark, and I cut myself on Ellum's straight razor while groping about. She climbed out of the tub and onto the counter as I gathered the darkness around the doorjamb. My shoe hung on one of the shower knobs.

"I'm afraid the matter is of considerable urgency, Mister, er, Cruise." It was a man's voice; probably hotel security. Ellum seemed to have a bad feeling about it, because she shook her head as she crouched on the counter. Time to play it crafty.

"Hey, I'll be right out. Damn, my head hurts. Is that girl still out there?" There wasn't anything in the bathroom that lent itself to use as a weapon, but I suppose I didn't really need one.

"No, Mr. Cruise, there's no girl out here."

I mouthed to Ellum, "Meet me at the car in ten minutes," and kissed her. She should have no difficulty getting out of the room, even if our guest was standing right in front of her - he'd never even see her.

Opening the bathroom door, I stumbled out, acting like a hungover juicebag. The visitor was indeed hotel security, but I could tell from the way he looked at me that something was up. He had one of those tragic suits - less than 200 bucks off the rack at Penney's - and a demeanor that suggested he was good at getting his way. I wish I could have looked at his soul like Ellum could, but what the hell. I figured he was a ghoul just from the way he smelled. I straightened up and dropped the drunk act.

"We have rules in this town, Mr. Cruise."

"Stiers."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Stiers. Adam Stiers. I'm not Tom Cruise. I'm flattered by the compliment, but it's only a superficial resemblance."

"Yes, well, Mr. Stiers, it appears that you care little for the rules in our town. The prospect of your continued presence here is not one we particularly relish." Definitely a ghoul. Probably to a Ventrue, but that suit....

"Why? Because I bullied your check-in clerk?"

"Among other things. I believe that you have left a member of your party in your car. The trunk, to be precise."

"He was tired."

"I see. Truth told, Mr. Stiers, I'm not the one to whom you need to explain yourself. I'm sure you're familiar with our traditions, and that you have no intention of flouting them." God damn this guy's thesaurus mouth. "My employer wishes to speak to you, and I am to escort you to his offices." Now we were getting somewhere. With any luck, I could keep this anarch shtick going (the California plates on the car helped) and get some good dirt on how this town ran. A bit of research and a quick report to the archbishop, and Las Vegas would belong to the Sabbat.

"Take me to see Ìîå Green, Fredo." I looked like hell. This would be good.

I expected to go up, but the elevator went down instead. Curious - those Ventrue bastards usually do everything with as much extravagance as possible. We descended past the lower lobby, the basement and even the garage. The ghoul had a special key that took us down this far; he hadn't pushed a button yet.

The ghoul led me down a long, narrow hallway with bad fluorescent lighting and a smell like mouthwash. We exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, him trying to cow me and me trying acting all awed that I was about to meet the baddest Dracula in Vegas. I was supposed to meet Ellum back at the car in about three minutes, and it looked like I'd be late. I smiled thinking about it - whoever had the misfortune to be in that parking garage when she started flipping out was going to be in a bad way.

We passed through a pair of swinging doors, like the kind they have in restaurant kitchens, into what I guess was a storage room. Metal shelves lined the room, stocked with large, institutional-sized cans of food or carpet cleaner or whatever. A few 55-gallon drums of some other unknown substance stood in the center of the room, one of which lay on its side, leaking brown goop.

"Duke, this isn't Tom Cruise." From what I saw, only the ghoul and I were in the room; no one had followed us, and there wasn't anywhere to hide. Bad. And what the fuck was this tape on the floor?

"We've already been through this," I said aloud to no one. The lights were weird in here, too yellow to be fluorescent, but too harsh to be normal light bulbs. "Your clerk spelled my name wrong."

All of a sudden, a pair of men stood in front of me. One of them looked like someone had grabbed his neck and the top of his head and given it a good twist. His arms curled up on his distended belly like crippled chicken wings, and his hands had sharp black claws at the ends. The other guy wore glasses and a gray suit with black pinstripes, and he had a short, almost military haircut.

"Welcome to Treasure Island," the distorted guy said in a phlegmy voice. "I am Montrose, and this is my associate, Alexander Cantor." Pinstripes nodded at me. "Perhaps you'd care to inform us as to your business here?"

"Not business. Pleasure. I'm in from California to do a bit of gambling."

"And the Kindred in the trunk?" This guy was damn presumptuous, and I didn't like where the conversation was headed.

"We were driving in shifts. He had the night before."

"Quite an odd set of circumstances, don't you think, Adam Stiers from the Anarch Free State?" That was weird. Either he didn't know anything was up, or he saw through me and was trying to yank my chain. "Perhaps an object lesson in how Prince Benedic keeps the rabble in line would do you some good." The ghoul's hand clamped down on my shoulder.

Of course, I was stronger. Grabbing the toady's wrist, I spun and wrenched his pathetic arm from its socket, leaving it dangling from his shoulder. When I turned back around, the two others - I can only assume they were Licks, too - were gone. Too bad for Duke, I suppose.

The weird light in the room slid away from me as I coalesced the shadows into one thick tentacle. Duke winced when I shoved the tentacle up his ass, but his eyes bulged right back open, when I forced it out his mouth. I dug the elevator key out of his pocket after tearing his wrists open with my teeth. The blood - so much of it - washed over the floor, and I left crimson footprints as I bolted down the hallway to the lift.

***

Ellum was upset. Surprize, surprize.

"Ten minutes! Ten fucking minutes, Adam! You said ten minutes!" I saw an arm jutting from underneath the car opposite us, but we could address that later.

The car roared to life, and I gunned the engine, whipping the vehicle out of its parking place. I could see the night sky past the mechanical arm of the parking garage exit. I imagined the sky lit with orange, reflecting the flames licking up from the burning Treasure Island Casino as the screams and chokes of those trapped inside the building issued forth. That, too, could be addressed later.

My eyes were wide as I shoved a twenty at the attendant. She handed me my change and lifted the arm as I grabbed her hand and punched the gas. It's hard to fit a human body through those little sliding glass half-windows, but it can be done, given enough strength. Her head hung limply as I dropped her at the curb. I roared across the street, and Ellum already had herself worked up. She leaned out the window and winged a pedestrian (I think he was wearing some godawful Hawaiian shirt) with the tire iron.

Explain that shit to the cops, Montrose. We'll be back later.

The sun was almost up when we got back to California. (We ditched my beloved Mercury at a gas station seven minutes out of Vegas and jacked a Jeep Grand Cherokee while the guy who owned it went to pay for his gas. You should have seen his wife's face when Ellum opened up the door and jerked her out by the hair. "Bye, bitch!" she called as we sped away. We had to write off Judas, and I don't envy the stupid fucker who lets him out of that trunk.) We took back roads to avoid the police, then burned the Jeep about 20 miles out of San Fran.

A few nights later, we talked to Bishop Mark about the trip. We had the prince's name, two or three of the individual Kindred's names and a rough idea of who was really pulling the strings (it turns out that some group called the Rothsteins have some significant influence in Vegas, and Montrose has seen a couple of our scouts before, so we had to take his dialogue with a grain of salt). The bishop thinks we'll move against Las Vegas in a few weeks. Give them some time to get over "the Anarch Incident," and as they settle back into their precious Masquerade, we'll be right behind them with torches in hand.

With all that went on in Vegas, I didn't even get a chance to pick up a legal hooker. Maybe next time....