Part 2

"How is it going?" 4 nights after the initial meeting with Kobert, both are seated in the same office. "As well as can be expected. Heard a few rumbles of someone trying to bribe a few people, no words nothing, but nothing too big. We figure maybe we have something like 30 of them in the pocket. We'll implement stage two soon. Tomorrow night to be exact. I just hope that the money you have doesn't run out too soon." A slight smile at the last though he knows the truth. Oh yeah, Masters isn't that rich. "So do I. I guess 30 isn't a bad start. Not for this part at least."

A nod from the other man, a gentle smile. "Yeah, it's like you said before Boss, everyone has a price." A brief flash of pain, a memory coming through the mans minds eye. A face, that of a young girl, blond with the prettiest blue eyes you've seen and a cute turned up nose. Beautiful, a head turner if she ever grew up. A face seen through the crosshairs of a scope. As quick as it comes it's banished, but the pain that the memory brings etched on the Englishman's face for a moment. Softly, the voice coming out quietly "Yes, everyone has a price." The ghoul, realising he said the wrong thing says no more, not knowing what there is to add. His domitor, his master is a blank to him, an unknown still even after all this time. But then, he's in no hurry to learn that much more; he has eternity to do so.

"If that is all, I have to go. I'll see you around Rien"

"Good eve sir."

With that the man goes, leaving quickly. Perhaps too quickly for him, but it's not often that anything gets through his guard.

Miguel Carlos is a detective of the Homicide unit. He's also a detective with major problems at home, in the form of a mother that is dying from a tumour in the bowels. If left untreated it'd kill her eventually, but not after a long period of pain. His friends know of it, those in the department. But they can't help him much. He hadn't taken the family coverage option on the insurance plan, not for his mother. And now, there was little to be done. The cost of the operation is too much; not to mention the costs of the actual time in the hospital and the coverage afterwards. $8,000 for the operation and then the costs afterwards!!!

So it's a surprise to him when he comes home to be told that his mother is gone, taken to the hospital to be operated on earlier this morning by his wife. In a panic he rushes to the hospital, praying, hoping that it isn't something wrong, that this isn't payback by the gangs for his latest case, for putting one of their own into jail.

It's not. When he arrives he is shown to his mothers room where she lies, asleep and dreaming, the operation a success. It wasn't a very difficult one, just long. It will be at least a week before she is let home, a week that makes the man pale at thought of paying.

"Mr.Carlos?"

"Si?"

"Your mother is doing fine. In about a week it'll be alright to take her back. It's a good thing we were able to catch the tumour before it was too big."

"Thank you. But... how? I... I didn't ask for this? I can't pay for this." Relief that his mother will be fine, will soon be free from all pain. But he wonders, who did this, how?

"Payment? I believe the operations been paid for already sir. That's why we were able to approve the operation so quickly." A blink, a nod and then he shakes his head. "May I look at the bill?" "Why of course, I'm sure you can take a look at it in the front desk. If you don't mind... I have other patients?"

A quick nod to the doctor before he heads to the receptionist. But even as he goes, a pager calls for him to the front desk where a phone call has been made for the gentleman.

"Good eve Mr.Carlos." A digitally altered voice greets him, a simple machine that any man can buy. "I hope your mother is alright?"

"She's fine. Who are you? What do you want?"

"For now? Nothing. And you may call me Mr.Smith. I'm here to help you. I'll be in touch Mr.Carlos. Try not to tell anyone too much about this? I'd be very disappointed. Have a nice night." Click. It's gone. The bill when checked is a dead end. It's so easy these days to open an account and to close it.

Steven Hamilton, area bureau detective division 1 of the North District. It's not that he's a bad man or a bad husband. It's just that with the car breaking down 6 months ago, the pipes in his flat freezing out and cracking, causing water damage only a month ago... he paid for it all, as he should as the breadwinner. It's just that, well they're still renting the apartment. And each day, each month, the bills pile up as he tries to pay just enough for the next month. He doesn't complain, there's little to complain about. But people note, people remember that he didn't come to the bar tonight. Or the night before, that he's not having lunch anymore. Or perhaps that he isn't coming to work by car anymore, instead saving money on fuel by walking here.

Steven Hamilton will find that when he comes home, his landlord has had a visit. His rent will be paid, for the next 6 months. In cash. A note is left for him, neatly typed and printed out in one of those Cyber Cafe's that seem to have popped up everywhere - saying no more than what was said before to Mr.Carlos.

Envelopes appear, sometimes on others desks, other times at the edge of a mans' car on different nights after the brief talk by Masters and his ghoul. Those that were first contacted are again. An address, a street, a time is given - a night later always. And nothing more. Meetings are set. Some will not turn up, others, driven by curiosity for some, a sense of obligation in others will arrive. Each will have their own thoughts, each will bring with them their different beliefs, their memories, their skills. And perhaps if some of them have contacted those within Internal Affairs, it'd be hard to tell now wouldn't it? When they arrive, they're directed again to a different place. Not too far, not that distant. Just enough to throw off any bugging attempts in the beginning. And far enough to let those who would watch the watchers a chance to spot those who watch. Precautions are taken, always. Each step, each move is carefully prepared, planned. Risks must be taken the speed of the action taken dictates this. No more risks than can be helped are taken however, each situation assessed and the risks decreased to the best possible. Luck is good, but it isn't everything and you never rely on luck alone.

Harsh Agrawal is a technical man. He works for the technical division of the laboratory evidence division, classifying, learning and identifying weapons and other forms of evidence. It's an interesting job if you're interested in that area. It's also somewhat boring at times, perhaps even more boring than routine police work. This episode has brought a bit of excitement into his life... and perhaps if it's slightly illegal, well he can always work for another company. He's good at what he does and there are never enough technical people. He'll do fine... and anyway, he hasn't done anything too illegal yet.

The harsh chatter of the phone ringing arises from the phone booth soon after he arrives and as he picks it up the voice speaks, giving him his orders, his directions. Intrigued, noting the sound of the digitally changed voice he moves off, wondering what this is about.

The directions lead him to an abandoned building, up the stairs he walks slowly as he notes the little luminescent arrow that points the way. It's a bit hard, the lighting within gives little help. But he makes it at last, standing in a corridor leading to open rooms. Out here, it's darker even than before, his eyes squint trying to adjust to the light. And then the voice comes, softly, quietly. In the dark it's hard to tell where it comes from.

"Good eve sir. Thank you for coming on such short notice. My apologies on the setting, but precautions must be taken." "Who... who are you?" He's a lab man unfortunately, unused to this. Perhaps it's scarier than he thought, the darkness has never been the friend of the kine. And perhaps he begisn to realise that he might be out of his league here.

"There is no need to name name's. For now, I am your benefactor of sorts. I am here to offer you a deal." "A deal? What do you want of me?"

"Nothing as yet. However there will be times when we would request you to undertake certain tasks in relation to your job that might break the law."

"I thought as much. What's in it for me though?"

"Much the same as what brought you here in the beginning."

"Your offering me $200 to break the law?" With those word the man turn, heading back.

"No. I was hoping you would tell us how much would be satisfactory."

That stops him as he hears the words. Being offered the chance to name his own price. What is the price of a mans soul? A pause, hesitation and then the words come quickly. "$2,000 now. And another $2,000 whenever you ask me to do something." Too much? Too little? Christ, he's not even sure what he's being asked to do. Then again, he can always pull out can't he? Of course he can.

"An envelope will await you at your car. You will be contacted."

"Hey!!! What if I want to contact you?"

But there is no answer and no matter how long he calls there will be no other answer.

Much the same scene is done in an alleyway 2 miles away, an alleyway that is filled with smoke that churns out from the nearby factories, obscuring shadow filled sight.

"What are these tasks... I'd like to know before I do anything more."

"Walk forward. To your right lies an envelope placed under the newspaper. Open it."

With hands that tremble slightly, Mr. Carnegie of the Central Division 5th District opens the envelope. He's a simple man a Detective certainly but he will never rise further in the ranks. The only reason he's even a Detective is because of his long years of service. In the envelope, a simple note is placed words and a number. The light, barely enough to see by makes reading difficult, a time consuming process that illicit more than one swear word.

"You want me to what? Contact the number whenever anything unnatural is reported to the department? Can't you be more fucking specific?"

"No."

"Christ. Oh hell, I guess that means you want me to keep an eye out for the other detectives cases?"

"Yes."

A slight shiver, fear covered with anger "Well, fuck this type of thing. What IS with this cloak and dagger stuff anyway? You want my help, fine then. I expect to be paid. Well."

"Of course. Name your price."

"I... I want, I want a new car damn it. A brand new one. With a CD player. And power steering and it has to be red."

"That... can be arranged. It shall take time however." A pause as the figure, cloaked in darkness and smoke considers before speaking "Any particular make?"

"Well.... I... I want a Ford. Yeah, a Ford. Don't want one of those cheap Japanese things."

"Very well. We will contact you again when the arrangements have been made." And with that the voice is gone, no longer to be seen or heard from, leaving the man to ponder.

The same scenes are played out again and again with minor variations over the next 3 nights. Sometimes it ends there, the man/woman refusing to have anymore to do with this. Other times, they hesitate and it requires more probing, more words. And sometimes, sometimes they pull back, to leave when there is a chance that there might be a set up. And it continues, each time more pictures are taken as the individuals take the envelopes offered to them or other goods that might be promised (and the goods will be delivered), each one drawn further and further into the web with each moment, each deal.

"I want to get laid."

"I believe we can arrange a suitable encounter sir."

"Not with a damn prostitute. I want... I want a real girlfriend. Someone like Laura in Accounts..."

"I see sir." A long pause. "We do not believe we can help you in that department. However, we believe that arrangements can be made to help with your desirability to women. Certain courses within the city perhaps."

"I... I don't know. Will it help?"

"We are uncertain but we can offer yourself the chance."

"I... alright. I'll do it. But if I don't get laid..."

"We understand." And perhaps a bloody personality surgery might help, you slimy bastard. An unkind thought, but one that Hunter can afford for now as he moves away silently, removing the equipment that shifted his voice.

Once more the man walks back into the bar, night passed from the time he first met Kobert, from the night he met the rather intimidating Dr.Halloway. And perhaps he isn't surprised to find her there, seated in a corner working away at something. And perhaps he has it planned. Certainly she seems no more suprised to see him taking a seat next to her as she quietly pushes her glass to the side before meeting his gaze.

"I was wondering when you'd return."

"Where do we go from here?"

She shakes her head, watching him. "Direct aren't we? Why am I not surprised? Well I'll put together this group. I'll speak to them, pull them together. But what can you offer us?"

"Money. Information sometimes and other forms of help. I'm not sure what you'd need or what I can do... but I have some influence in other areas."

"I thought as much. Mmm... I guess you can be kept informed. It's not as if I could stop you."

A slight nod and then the man pauses, watching her before speaking. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it has to be done. It's gone on too long and really, what more can they do to us? They've taken away our hope, our freedom and our beliefs. The men I draw, they need this. Or else everything they are, they will be will be destroyed. And perhaps the city needs this to."

"Duty." A question? A statement? He's not sure which.

"You men always do harp about that. Yes duty I guess. Honour. Or perhaps I'm just doing it because my dear Jack would have wanted me to. So when did you die?"

"..." A stunned silence as she dsuddenly drops the question, a hand dropping downwards and inside to his trenchcoat before he stops himself, looking upon her at the sudden bombshell dropped by this woman. At last he speaks, his voice soft, slow, hard as steel as are his eyes though they dart around the bar once more, searching for danger. "How did you know?"

"Oh I didn't dear. Not fully till just now. I guessed, you just didn't... seem alive. I might not be a real doctor, but I have been trained to read body language. And you aren't normal. Your body, your eyes, the way you blink and breathe. You don't do it enough if at all."

"Have you told anyone?" Again the voice comes out, hard, angry, wary as he continues to watch the area, cursing himself for a fool.

"Of course not. Who would I tell? Who would believe me? No my dear, I didn't so you can relax. Mmm... I guess that group, that cult your searching for are others like yourself?"

At last, slowly, gently the breath is let out and the man nods, speaking. "Yes. Other... vampires." He pauses once more before at last speaking, his voice hard. "You can't tell anyone about this, about me. If you do... your life and those that you have told and those that you might have told is forfeit."

A nod from the woman as she meets his gaze, looking into those eyes before she speaks softly. "You would do it too wouldn't you? I thought you were like my late husband... and you are. But you're harder, much harder." Softly "and perhaps that's why your alive and he isn't. You'd kill me wouldn't you? If you had to. And then you'd hate it for the rest of your life."

She doesn't need his slow nod before she takes the drink, pouring herself a full glass and swallowing it fast before repeating the process once more, more slowly this time. At last she speaks, no longer looking at him. "I guess... I guess human justice won't work against you all will it? So I guess what you do is... right. At least as best it can." She doesn't ask if he'll follow through, if he'll try to see justice done. She doesn't need to, she knows it. Vampires, Kindred, they are but humans reborn. At least though who try to keep their humanity. And as such, the same motivations, the same beliefs hold true. For the most part. Or so she believes, so she thinks as she reads him the way she would read any other patient. "You better not speak to the others. Or see them much. It's best that way. You... well, they're very good at their jobs. Most of them. And the more they see you, the more they notice you... well, you know."

A nod at last to her as he watches her quietly, not speaking, not moving, realising that perhaps he should but allow her to do as she will. Silent as he is, no words are spoken by either, each thinking their own thoughts. And then at last the woman stands, nodding a silent goodbye as she moves away. As she is about to leave she turns, placing a gentle hand upon his own gloved one, speaking softly "What scars do you hide under this?"

He blinks, puling his hand back and looking at her, speaking softly "What do you mean scars?"

"Clothing is often used as a form of protection, in a very real and psychological sense. An armour, to hide and to protect us against the world." A pause before she takes her hand off his.

"Not all wounds, not all scars need by physical. Goodnight sir, it's nice meeting you." And then she is gone, moving away, leaving the man to ponder her words, her actions. And the question of who is manipulating whom.

"Rien. I see you're back. What you been up to? Phoenix still burning?" Heckling from old friends greet the man as he enters the bar once more, a cop bar. He chuckles, waving his hand as he grabs a beer firstly before walking over to speak with his friends, renewing old contacts and friendships. He worked in this department and with these people for 4 years before he was kicked off the force for doing his job a bit too well. Now it's time to put those contacts into good use.

Seated in the bar looking around him silently Hunter chuckles as Mario comes over, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Come on. I'm going to beat you this time Hunter."

"Uh huh man. You've said that the last few months... you still owe me 10 bucks for the last lose."

"Yeah yeah, I'll bet that and another 5. Now sit down." Already Mario, a large man that looks like he eats barbells for breakfast has cleared a table, waiting for Hunter to take a seat opposite him.

"Alright. Your money..." Sitting down Hunter places his elbow on the table and offering his arm. Already a crowd grows as the various other men who are off duty take positions to watch, idle betting going on to see who wins this time.

Hunter grins at Mario, nodding as his hand is taken and then waiting for the man to settle himself. A year ago he'd have lost to the man... maybe. Nowadays, with the Blood flowing through him and the regular work outs in the company gym, well.. he'd stand a chance. And really, he wasn't here to win petty cash. Though it helped. He'd been coming here at first, like Rien in the other bars to build up contacts to hire people for Phoenix.

Now, they have another mission. To start talking to the men, working with them. What people won't do for a mysterious figure in the dark they might for a friend. "Alright Mario, let's do it." A flash of a grin and then concentration as he tries to get the mans hand down.

A man standing to the side watches the men walking around, coming out of the police academy. And then he sees whom he wants. He grins, walking forwards and offering the man his hand. "Bro. So I hear it's true. You really gone cop."

The man turns and grins, forgetting the hand to give Mombasi a hug. "Damn Mombasi, where you been?"

"Going legal."

"Huh. You too eh? Not running the cars no more?"

"Nope. Gone straight man... but look at you. Last time I saw you, you were gutter running like me."

"Yeah man.... things change."