Three Card Monte (Westside Sagas)

[Harlan Higgs]

It was after Harlan's first sojourn into the Astral Verse, the Omniverse's version of the realm of dreams and maya. Very similar to the one back in his home verse. Harlamd had made great strides in learning how to shape and bend the form of nothing, and in connecting with the realm itself, had managed to regain another of his Vampiric Disciplines. With it, he could feel the rest of his powers, just out of reach. Blocked between barriers of Omnilium, and Omnilium was power. So, in essence his goal was largely unchanged. Instead of draining low generation Kindred, he would be looking for Primes to drink and bend to his whims.

"So, Vic. What's the plan, my slickback man?" Audrey spoke from the couch beside him, her cigarette holder everburning. She was still in black and white, which was curious, but enticing. The movie star Toreador gestured at the smoothed out piece of paper lying on the table of Harlan's private lounge where the two were alone, sharing a bottle of Cima Corgo Tawny Port mixed with the blood of some young yuppie tourist from the upper tiers. She'd met with a handsome couple who had invited her back to their privately owned restaurant and enjoyed a fine meal. Or at least, that's what she'd seen. The illusion magic was getting easier to pull off, and more complex. Harlan had taken pride in how "delicious" the meal had been.

"I've got the lads out hitting the bricks for these lowlifes, dollface. Once we get a location, I'll head out and screw their heads on straight, don't you worry. Can't deal with the greenskins if we're leaking like a sieve." He puffed on his cigar and took another swig of port, just as there came a knock on the door and a voice from the hall. "Boss? We found one of 'em. Got the lads camped outside 'is hideout. Warehouse up on Morningside."

Harlan stood up and grinned, showing his fangs. "Enjoy the rest of the Port, Audrey. I've got some chips that need restacking."

[Luci]

Two gangsters sat in a black Cadillac Sixteen parked on Patronus Avenue outside a Nabu-themed pizza joint, each dressed in a three-peice-suit and matching bowler hat. They are young and handsome, and filled with easy confidence as they insult each other.

"You look like a vice principal from the first integrated high school," says the blonde. His old gangster name was Stabs, but now that he's a Gentleman Jack, Harlan says he should go by 'Bobby Stabs'.

"You look like a groupie wrangler for the Rat Pack," says his dark haired companion, a man now known as Jim the Gangster.

"You look like a street performer for a Goodfellas musical," says Bobby, flicking the rim of Jim's bowler hat. Jim readjusts his hat and scans the street.

"You look like a newsie that never found a new job" he replies, craning his neck around as he looked through the crowd. Bobby chuckles.

"You look like that one agent in the Matrix that just won't shut the fuck up about ska," the blonde says. Jim does not laugh. Instead, he points across the street at a pale yellow male Twi'lek stepping out of a Bentley.

The gangsters sit up in their seats while the Twi'lek looks over his shoulder nervously, his eyes passing over them. He hurries to his apartment, opens several locks, and steps inside quickly.

Bobby chuckles as he starts the black Cadillac.

"Hey," he says to Jim. "You got your seat belt on?"

"Huh? No, why?" Jim the Gangster asks idly.

Bobby Stabs crashes the Cadillac Sixteen headfirst into the Twi'leks car, caving in the driver's side door on the Bentley. Jim smashes his head on the dashboard.

"What the fuck, Stabs?" he asks politely, blood gushing from his nose.

Bobby calmly unbuckles his seat belt. "Yeah, no airbags in Harlan's cars, go figure?" he explains as he steps out.

A few passerby have stopped, but not as many as one might expect; in this neighborhood, it isn't healthy to gawk. Bobby whistles while Jim moans and wipes the blood off his face. The Bently's car alarm echos down Patronus Avenue.

The apartment door is thrown open, and the pale yellow Twi'lek rushes out onto the sidewalk, sputtering in rage. He is shirtless, with a thick gold chain running across his skinny chest. His eyes go wide as he sees his car.

"What-who the fuck hit my car?" he gasps, looking around wildly.

"Hey," says Bobby Stabs cordially. "Yeah, that's me, Bobby Stabs, no insurance, sorry. I'm in a bit of a rush, you see, I'm looking for my buddy, Vai'oni. You seen him? Little yellow Twi'lek? Sells drugs to kids?"

The Twi'lek's eyes dart around, but he remains silent for a moment, seemingly dumbstruck. Finally, he manages to summon all of his wit and channel it directly into Bobby's face.

"Fuck you."

Then, like a punch in the back of his head, the Twi'lek is punched in the back of his head.

Jim rubs his hand as he removes his knuckle duster. Bobby kicks the alien in the face as he sinks to his knees. Jim sighs.

"Fuck me?" Bobby asks the bloody alien. "Fuck ME?" he repeats, stomping the Twi'leks head with his loafers. "How about I fuck YOU? Huh, tough guy?"

Jim the Gangster turns away from the assault, smiling politely at a grumpy looking old dwarf woman. The old dwarf catches his eye, and nods.

"How about I fuck your head with this gun right here in the street?" the blonde asks the Twi'lek, who is currently incapable of answering back due to his broken jaw. The old dwarf woman turns and walks away.

Watching the assault from Vai'oni's apartment door are a pair of beautiful young Twi'lek girls in trashy outfits. One is blue and one is pink, but neither of them seem upset about watching Vai'oni get beaten. The pink one casts a glance at Jim, who smiles reflexively. The pink alien rolls her eyes.

Bobby drops the limp body of Vai'oni onto the sidewalk and spits on him. "Don't sell drugs to kids," he says, straightening his bowler hat. "He got the message, let's roll," he tells Jim.

Jim does not move, but continues staring at the pink and blue Twi'lek girls. Bobby follows his gaze.

"You too," he tells the girls.

***

[Harlan Higgs]

Bricks occasionally crumbled from the rundown facade of the warehouse, and the low down denizens had learned not to sleep next to any walls for fear of waking up with a concussion and a broken tooth. Fumes hung heavily in the air, smelling of diesel, dust, and burnt plastic. The tenements of the far rim of Tier 5 were no place for anyone who didn't have the reflexes of a gecko and the sharpness of an alley cat. Muggers and desperate men lurked behind every corner and in each shadow, waiting and watching silently for their next potential target. A student, or a tourist who'd gotten lost, or even the finely suited gentleman with the bowler hat. What a prize he'd be, wandering around down here wit- 

SPLORTCH

Harlan shook the gore off his wrist as the wide eyed man slumped downward onto the ground, stone dead. "Yew made me ruin me cuffs, yew bastahrd." He put a hole through the unlucky criminal to be's chest, resulting in immediate death from tissue shock, his heart still beating weakly in Harlan's gnarled hand. The Ravnos brought his fangs up to the dying muscle, sucking some of the aortic blood out. "But thanks fer tha pick-me-up."

The roving gangster had adjusted his voice and mannerisms, slipping into a exaggerated and gravelly version of his natural accent. What remained of it anyway. He'd taken on so many different ones it was hard to remember what he used to sound like before his Embrace. Anyway, it fit the area and the errand he was on. A few casual investigations of the local narcotics scene had led him to this particular neighborhood, and another round of perhaps a bit more forceful coercion had led him down this block, to the destination that lay on the shabby street corner: Grag's Gym. And inside, "Shorty" Dri'gaklia. The dwarf who'd been slinging his Amaranth secondhand to kids.

Harlan was no saint. He was a soulless bloodsucking monster who commanded the forces of dream and nightmare to rip his enemies apart. He'd sooner suck a punk dry than say how do you do. But there was business, and then there was business. You didn't drop a citizen stone cold. You kept well away from the little people just trying to make a living. Maybe you hit them up every so often for a token, just so they remembered your face, but you didn't steal their lives. You didn't go back on a spit-shake (that one was more due to his bloodline than anything else). You didn't renege on a bet or a wager. And you didn't fucking sell drugs to kids.

He pushed in the door to the gym, to be greeted with a rank stench of sweat and testosterone. Continuous thumps and slams rang around the concrete room, various types of being working out, lifting weight, running speed bags, and assorted other fitness activities. Shorty's gang seemed to be all muscleheads, but the Ravnos spotted more than a few wiry type guys wearing odd white robes and different colored belts. Some of them paused their exercise and turned to face him, assorted races and builds staring out of the dimly lit corners. In the very center of the room was a classic boxing ring.

In the center of the ring, overseeing the whole floor, was a dwarf. An extremely musclebound dwarf, wearing athletic apparel and gym shorts. "An' who be this, walkin' into me establishment with nae an appointment or how de ye do?" The dwarf bellowed, cracking his knuckles. "Ah know ah fanceh lad like yerself didnae come here just ta ruin yer suit with sweat, aye? Bagh hah hah!" The rest of his clientele joined in his laughter until it died down. 

Harlan just stood there politely, waiting for the braggart to finish. "Actually, oi came 'ere for business. Namely, t' business of slingin' my product to children." He raised his hands and cracked his fists while the dwarf chortled. "Och aye? An' you must be the discernin' pusha! Adults only, amoiroight?" 

The Ravnos nodded. "Oi am. And if yew don't stop, 'ere's gonna be some hell to pay, get me?" He looked around the room, feeling the weight of his gun in his waistband. Easy enough to ace this entire lot and leave with not much effort. But then the dwarf stumbled upon a weakness of Harlan's that, in retrospect, was a pretty bad one.

"Tell ye wot, fanceh lad. Yew beat me in a fistfight, an' ah'll stop, and them yew call friends can even come on down to tha gym and work the bags with us all friendly like. But I beat you..." And the dwarf cracked his knuckles, big meaty fingers like sausages. "Oi keep slingin' yer product to whomever oi likes, and yew supply me with more. For a small fee, natch."

The Ravnos smirked, and started to take off his suit jacket, bowtie, and dress shirt. With a flick of his fingers, he altered the remainder of his outfit into something a bit more suited to the Gentlemen's Game that he was more familiar with, cheap rough slacks with the seams frayed. "You asked for it, hotshot." Harlan spat in his normal voice, before climbing into the ring.

THUD

SPACK

WHAM! SPLAT! KERRUNCH.

Harlan stumbled back into the ropes, feeling the stretchy rubber bounce and go taut as it prepared to return him the way he came, and with added velocity. The dwarf's last blow had cracked one of his ribs, and the vampire could feel it poking out of his sallow grey skin. This was not going the way he had hoped, and the wager prevented him from using his Chimerstry. Goddamn clan weakness, the dwarf had him by the balls. Harlan spat, regaining control of his momentum, and used the bounce to hurtle towards the shorter being, one fist reared back as if to throw a wild haymaker. At the last second, Shorty saw Harlan's feint and adjusted his posture before the vampire crashed into him, arms wrapped around his waist in a classic street takedown.

Arms raised up, the gambler's fists crashed into the dwarf's meaty forearms as he whalloped his opponent, lifting a knee up and slamming it into the dwarf's kidney. A moment's pause allowed his opponent an opening and those sausage-like fingers made a grab for his eye socket, gouging the delicate orb as the vampire roared with pain. forced to roll onto his back, Harlan threw an elbow into Shorty's throat, denting his windpipe and finally interrupting his relentless assault as he grasped his neck and gagged. 

Harlan sprung back to his feet, coughing blood as the broken rib jabbed out further, and took advantage of the respite by sending a decidedly ungentlemanly kick into the dwarf's bollocks. He went down, understandably, but not before headbutting Harlan in the torso and caving in the rest of his ribcage. "Fook me, you bastahrd....-kaff-" The Ravnos managed to choke out, before putting the boots to his small time rival. Medium style.

Both combatants were bloodied, broken, and bruised, but it was Harlan who was still standing, albeit a bit shakily, and Shorty who was lying on the mat dripping blood. "Yew....win.....ya pale fuck." The diminutive pusher gasped. "Ah concede...."

The leader of the Gentlemen Jacks produced a fine cigar from his suit coat and lit it, inhaling as he left the dumbfounded meatheads and their leader in their blood spattered gym. "Naturally." He mumbled under his breath, before closing the door behind him and limping back into the gloom of Tier 5.

[Harlan Higgs]

"Like, I told you. I got it off some junkie that was passed out in the alley. I don't have anymore, at least until I can find out where he got it from." The man threw up his hands and walked away, exasperated. "Yeah? Well, fuck you too, man." Neil the Goth shouted after him. "Fucking tourists, coming down here trying to live like 'the poors' for a day. Gotta be popular though, right?" The young teen looked over at his silent compatriot, Talkative Jim.

Jim just nodded, dressed in a long black trenchcoat with a backwards baseball cap and a thick hipstery beard. Neil rolled his eyes and started to roll a joint. "Come on Jim, I know you have the rest of the weed in that big ole coat of yours. Pony up, or I will cast upon thee a terrible curse." Jim just made a motion with his hand and lips, that vaguely resembled the act of fellatio. Neil rolled his eyes and lit up the joint, kicking a chunk of concrete across the curb. "Fine, fuck you. I'll just smoke this by myself."

Another couple people passed by, Neil selling and buying small amounts of narcotics, smoking the last of his weed, and generally being a moody little fuck. Jim left for an hour or so and returned with food, which they sat down and ate outside of the abandoned convienience store they always hung out in front of. It was a repetitive existence, but Neil felt that since he lived in a place where your life could be ended at any time by some beefy macho bastard with delusions of grandeur, it was a fine way to spend his time. At least he had chems.

Speaking of which, here was a customer now. A bald guy, oldish, maybe in his early fifties. He was wearing a weird outfit, like a pinstripe suit in grey with a red bowtie. Eh, Neil didn't judge. "Yo pops, you looking to score? I got the new shit, Amaranth, right here. 20 creds a bag."

The old guy nodded and stepped forward, reaching into his pocket. "Glad I found you. Heard a lot anout this spot, and the stuff you got."




CLICK

"Now we're going to have a serious talk about it." 

Neil felt something pointy and metallic poking through his genuine imitation leather trenchcoat, his voice cracking as he squealed out a protest. "Hey, wait, you can't-"

WHAP

THUD

"They don't teach you little dumbasses nothing in school these days?" The old guy asked. Without moving the blade from Neil's stomach, he'd caught Jim's wild haymaker in his free fist, twisted his arm around, and kicked Jim into the light pole, laying the poor guy out cold. Neil was inches away from pissing his pants, but the guy just kept talking.

"See, you don't sneak up on a guy holding a knife to your friend, cuz the first hit wouldn't have taken me out. I woulda shown you the color of your insides, then turned and put the blade in his eye. Sloppy work. By the way, name's Charlie. Of the Gentlemen Jacks."

Neil expressed no hint of recognition at the name, but tried to protest. "Look, man, I don't know what you want with me! This isn't anyone's turf, I didn't steal anything!" He stiffened as Charlie dragged the knife across his jacket, cutting a slit in the leather. 

"Well nah, technically you didn't steal. But you're selling Amaranth to all your friends, right? Which has mightily pissed off the Boss. Mister Harlan Higgs. And his bite is worse than his bark." The blade came away, and Neil felt the man's palm cuff him a ringing blow upside the temple. Charlie patted down Neil's pockets and fished out the four bags of red powder. "However, you're just a stupid kid. Boss said to go easy on you."

Neil let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and returned to his sullen, surly gaze. "Oh, fine. I get it. Can't cut into your business, right? Hmmph." He kicked at a chunk of concrete and blew his hair over his forehead.

Charlie folded the blade back and gave the kid a pat on the shoulder, before walking away. "You can see it like that, kid. Stay on this shit corner until you piss off the wrong guy and get iced. Or you can come down to the Luxor Social Club and get in on the ground floor of something big. Your choice."

Neil looked down at his ripped coat, unconscious friend, and empty pockets. 

Tough decision.

[Harlan Higgs]

The Ravnos was walking back to the Luxor, his suitcoat discarded in a pile of dirty rags that may have had a hobo or two sleeping in it. Probably the fanciest bit of salvage the guy would ever find. Of course, the hobos around the slice of Little New York the Jacks had carved out were much better outfitted. No longer did they sleep in dirty, smelly trash. Now they slept in the finest trash for blocks. Velvet liquor bags and discarded mink stoles, with shacks constructed out of sturdy cigar boxes and high quality ammunition crates. Truly, Hoovervilles to be proud of.

Then something caught his vision. Something actively looking for it, apparently. A bright white rabbit, painted on the wall. It was gesturing furiously at him, patting it's chest as the two dimensionsl graffiti painting hopped up and down on the bricks of a tenement. The vampire leaned in closer, and saw there was a message woven into the patterns of paint and shading....an offer....and a meeting. "Huh. Very interesting...."

Tipping his hat to the painting, he waved it away. "Tell her I might be interested, rabbit. I'm sure we'll have a face to face soon..." Harlan turned away, and looked up into the air, billboards winking with advertisements, including one that said "DANTE'S ABYSS! WIN BIG!"

The Ravnos chuckled. "Fuck me. I think i'm due for a break."