A small battered pickup roared nosily down the road. One fat, balding, greasy bartender sat behind the wheel, sweating profusely. It wasn't the weather, for Chicago is notably cool in April. No, Henry was worried because he had to tell Marcus that some fucking psycho had offed Mike. Henry pulled up in front of a ramshakle apartment building that looked abandoned.
Hery had been running the Silver Hawg for twenty years, and thought he'd seen everything. That is, until Marcus and his boys had shown up. Marcus had been the Hawg's salvation, bringing back customers to the struggling dive, when Henry had been about to give up and declare bankrupsy(sp). Then Marcus showed up one night, bringing in about a dozen bikers. Marcus had one rule: no cops. If one of his boys got drunk and bashed the place up, Marus paid the damages on the spot. Plus, with the bikers came the hookers and wanna-be's that piad his bills and then some. Henry had been in Hawg heaven until he found the body. It was one of the hookers that worked the bar, Ginny. She'd been tossed like a sack into the dumpster, where Henry had found her. Henry called Marcus, like he was supposed to do, and pulled the body out. That's when he noticed the marks. Two hole in her neck, and her skin had that ashen color people got when they'd bled a lot. It didn't take Henry long to relize that Marcus and at least some of his crew were vampires.
When Marcus and Billy arrived in Billy's Blazer, Marcus took one look at the body and flipped out. He'd thrown the nearly full dumpster like it was made of foam. Started shouting at the top of his lungs about "that fucking kook, Dre". Billy had calmed him down, and they moved the dompster back into place, but Henry knew too much. The choce had been simple: keep your mouth shut, and enjoy the benefits, or wind up in a dumpster like Ginny. Henry had kept silent.
That night had been two years ago, but nightmares about Marcus' temper still woke Henry in the middle of the night. Now, Henry had to tell Marcus that some slick motherfucker had hacked Mike's head off, with a fucking katana, like those Highlander movies and shit. In front of the building, on a lawn that had possibly once grown grass, sat both Billy's Blazer and Marcus' Hog, an older model Harley Davidson chopper.
Henry climbed out of his pickup, and walked slowly to the door. Inside the rotted shell of a building, a rough room still stood, providing the pack's haven against the sun.
Herny walked in, and the three were in a good mood for once. Billy hailed him as soon as he came in the door.
"Henry, check it out! We got fucking PAID tonight!"
"Hey, that's great man!" Henry replied, looking around. Until tonight, Marcus always had about a dozen here, his gang. Marcus, Billy, and Luke were the only ones left. Marcus looked around when Henry came in, and noted Mike's absence.
"Henry, where's Mike?"
"Marcus, man, there's a problem."
"I can tell there's a problem, Henry. You never come to me when there's not a problem. My question was, however, where's Mike?"
"W-well th-that's the problem, you see. H-he's, um, well he's kinda" the fat bartender stammered, but his voice died when Marcus stood up.
"Henry, what happened to Mike?"
"Well, he was outside, with Linda. You know Linda, right? Well, all of the sudden, we hear him shouting about soemone shooting him or something, so we all go outside, right? I mean, we've seen Mike go to work on people with that fucking axe of his before, and that's what we thought was gonna happen, right? Um, well, outside I see Mike, Dre, and this fucking dude with a sword, like in one of those Highlander movies, right? Well he and Mike are going at it, I mean they were fucking each other up, right? Chris showed up, like he does, and says something to Dre, I didn't quite catch. Just when I thought that the dude with the sword was fucked, Dre pulls out a fucking shotgun, and blasts Mike in the back! Fucking in cold blood, just shot his ass. THEN, the dude with the sword ups and cut's Mike's fucking head off! Just like that! Chris pulled is shadow act, and was gone."
Marcus stood trembling, hands clenching and unclenching like he's squeezing the shit out of something. His eyes took on a slightly reddish tint to them, and he sounded like he was about to explode.
"Describe this mutherfucker to me, Henry. And you'd better pray I can find him."
"Well, he had the sword, a Katana, right? Black trenchcoat, black slacks, shirt, tie, shit, you name it, right? And it looked like he had at least one peice behind his back. Looked like a nine from what I could see of it. And get this: He's gonna be ack tomorrow night. He asked me about you guys, and I told him that you hung out at my place, but I was gonna tell you he'd talked to me, right? Well he acted like he wanted me to tell you!"
Marcus grabbed the desk he'd been sitting behind and threw it through one of the interior walls, looking like he was about to go apeshit. Billy was there right away, calming him down. It took a minuet, but Billy had been doing this for years. Once calm, Marcus had plans.
"Luke, get on the phone with Julio, tell him that tomorrow night's all his. We've got some business to attend to. Billy, call the Bitch, tell her what happened to Mike, and how her pet kook's off his leash. I want to know what she did to him. If Dre's able to shoot one of the pack, that means the Vaulderie's power over him is gone. I don't want to do it, but we may have to put him down."
"Marcus" Billy cut in "the guy has to be the one from downtown. He managed to pop Mike a good one while we were taking the Assamite down."
"I hope so, Billy, I hope so." Marcus replied.