Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine
Hunter as Hunted

At the behest of his latest employer, Malik had been keeping an eye on Greywolf. He had been consorting with one of the Anarchs of late, a woman by the name of Anne Bonnie. Tonight though, he was in the company of a different woman. After a while, he realizes that he’d seen pictures of this woman before. It was Mara Ravenclaw, who Greywolf had asked him to investigate three years ago. And from the looks of things, he was helping her take some furniture to a consignment place. As Greywolf drove through the city, even Malik, who considered himself a pretty good driver, had a tough time keeping up with him. The Brujah made numerous sharp, sudden turns, not bothering to signal. And Malik had been very careful not to follow too closely. Had he spotted me? No, I don’t think so, though in the sparse traffic of the early morning hours, it was always hard to tell. Even so, Greywolf never changed his driving pattern. Even so, Malik lost sight of the car before they left downtown. Cursing, he decides to back track and return to the apartment. Having done research on Ms. Ravenclaw, he had an idea where she lived, assuming she hadn’t moved in the past three years.

Malik parks his car a couple blocks from the building. The Cherryview Apartments were rather average apartments, by Seattle standards, though its proximity to downtown meant that the community was gated, and the first floor windows featured black wrought iron bars. That posed a bit of a quandary. How to gain access to the building? At this late hour, there was little foot traffic going into or out of the building, which would let him enter the building behind someone, and picking the lock could prove risky if the complex had 24-hour surveillance and security. And based on the camera just above the entry door, it was more than likely that it did. Another problem was that her apartment was actually on the third floor of the building, which meant that since the complex featured no balconies or patios, the only real entry or exit was her front door, which was located inside the building.

As if in answer, an older gentleman comes out from the locked pedestrian door. He was bundled up tightly against the cold and leading a small black Scottie dog on a red leash. He looked like he would have preferred sleeping to taking the dog for a late-night potty break. What luck. Malik gets out of the car and closes the door quietly. He calls upon his powers of Obfuscation, and then waits by the door, watching the man and his dog. He did not want to follow them, because while mortals were susceptible to Obfuscate’s mental clouding, animals were not. Not only could they smell vampires, they could also sense that they were somehow different from humans, and would balk from all but a few vampires that were either lucky or had the gift of Animalism. While the dog moves quickly on its stubby little legs, it takes its time finding the spot it wants. The man offers the dog encouragement, but it does not seem to have any effect. Finally, the dog lifts its leg and pees on a mailbox. Malik chuckles silently at the dog’s lack of respect for the U.S. Postal Service.

The man yawns. “Okay Jock, time to head home. Daddy needs to go back to bed.” The dog seems to listen and scurries back toward the front door. Malik steps out of their way, being careful to stand downwind lest the dog catch his scent. He watches the man unlock the door, and Malik is quick to follow behind them, as the discipline of Obfuscate did not allow one to touch anything while using it, lest the effect be broken. He pauses a while, allowing the man and his dog to go ahead of them. Now that he was in the building, time was not quite so critical, though he did have to be mindful for the approach of dawn. Malik takes the stairs to the third floor, and finds Mara Ravenclaw’s apartment with little trouble, for it was clearly marked and directly across from the stairs, a good thing when one needed to make a fast exit. I wonder if Miss Ravenclaw chose the apartment for its security and proximity to the exit, or if she had simply gotten lucky. If the former was the case, he had greatly underestimated her.

Malik takes out a small black case only slightly longer and thicker than the average credit card. He opens it up, revealing a set of lock picks. These were highly illegal to possess, but he wasn’t a cop anymore, and in his line of work, they were sometimes very useful for getting into places. Sure, it was technically breaking and entering, but what did that really matter to a vampire? As long as you didn’t get caught by the cops, it was all good. He takes out the lock picks and chooses a couple, then checks the lock. Luckily, it was an older building, and the locks had not been retrofitted with deadbolts. The lock should be easy to open. He inserts the two picks and works them into the lock. Within a matter of seconds, the lock’s tumblers give way, and Malik opens the door. Smiling, he puts the picks away and steps inside.

The apartment had been totally stripped. There was no furniture evident, not even a phone. Malik opens the cupboards and the refrigerator. Both had been emptied. The place had been cleaned out so thoroughly, there wasn’t even a scrap of paper. It was obvious that they probably wouldn’t be coming back here anytime soon. Well, there were other ways to find someone. For example, one had to give a forwarding address for a final utility bill. Luckily, he had a contact that worked for Qwest, the local phone company. And fortunately, this one worked the graveyard shift.

Malik heads back to his car, being careful to lock the apartment when he leaves, lest it raise any suspicions and possibly get the police involved. Without turning on the light, Malik takes out his cell phone and dials his contact’s number. He hears the phone ring several times and an automated system picks up. “Yo, you’ve reached Sparky. You know what to do.”

“Hey Sparky,” Malik says. “Jack Dempsey here. I need to get a forwarding address on a customer. I’m going to be around until 4:00 this morning. Give me a call before then, or call me after 6:00 tomorrow. P.M., not A.M.” Malik pushes the End button on the phone and drives away. If Ravenclaw has fled, then with any luck, she and Greywolf are together, assuming he hasn’t killed her and dumped her body somewhere. So then it is merely a matter of knowing where he is. The Brujah feeding grounds are located in the Industrial District, so his haven is more than likely located somewhere inside it.

The hour was growing late. Dawn would be approaching before too long. And he would have to make a report before too long. He drives back to his own small apartment, which also was located downtown, with a stunning view of Interstate 5. He pulls into the underground garage and takes the elevator up to his apartment on the fifth floor. Malik unlocks the door and tosses the keys on the small table near the door. He then goes back to the door and locks the four locks, including the chain. Malik feels something circling his ankles. He looks down and sees it is his pet cat, Snack. He picks up the cat and strokes its grey and black fur, and scratches it behind the ears. The cat closes its eyes and stretches out its neck, purring.

Still carrying the cat, Malik heads to the second bedroom that served as his alternate office. A metal desk had been set in there, along with a comfortable office chair, a computer, a metal filing cabinet, and a phone. Malik takes a seat in the chair and picks up the phone. Snack starts to knead Malik’s stomach, but soon makes himself comfy in his lap. He dials up his client. The phone rings once before it is picked up. The man on the other end says but a single word. “Reinhardt.”

“Reinhardt. Malik here.” His client, the current Kindred Sheriff of Seattle, was a Gangrel and a man of few words, and expected the same of Malik.

“What news do you have of Greywolf?”

“I saw him in the company of a woman tonight. It wasn’t the Anarch Anne Bonnie this time.”

“Who then?”

Malik decided to withhold that piece of information, as he didn’t want Reinhardt to realize that he had worked for Greywolf once upon a time. He wasn’t sure why Reinhardt wanted Greywolf watched. Maybe it was because even though Greywolf was a former Archon for a Toreador Justiciar, he still chose to associate with the Anarchs. Now, there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with the Anarchs. The Prince of Seattle didn’t consider them enough of a threat to kick them out of the city and allowed them to remain as long as they didn’t cause too much trouble. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure that she’s Kindred.”

“What are you sure of?”

“She moved out of her place and took off with Greywolf. I tried to follow him, but he lost me. I know he’s probably holed up somewhere in the Industrial District.”

“When’s the last time you saw him with Anne Bonnie?”

“Thursday night, actually. They were hanging out in some chop shop in the SoDo District along with a bunch of other Anarchs. I wasn’t able to get real close.”

“Keep me informed of what he’s up to, but stay out of the Industrial District. The Brujah have been complaining about too many Camarilla Kindred encroaching in their territory. They’ve asked for permission to bring any offenders to the Prince in a…less than intact condition, and the Prince is considering granting that request.”

“Sure thing boss.” Tangling with a Brujah was the last thing Malik wanted to do.

“Call me again tomorrow, just after sunset.” Before Malik can reply, the connection is broken.

Malik hangs up the phone and wiggles the plastic mouse attached to his computer. The dark screen comes to life. Snack gets up. He yawns, arches his back, and hops nimbly from Malik’s lap onto the desk and from the desk to the top of the monitor. The cat sits down on top of the monitor, letting his black striped tail hang down in front of the monitor screen.

Malik connects to the King County website, and heads to the Property records. He spends an hour scanning the records of properties in the Industrial District, looking for properties that hadn’t changed hands in more than twenty years, as it was usually a sign of either a corporation or the haven of a well-established vampire like Greywolf. He finds a small handful of warehouses fitting this requirement, but upon further investigation, they prove to be held by various corporations, including a couple held by Boeing, one of Seattle’s largest employers. Greywolf, it seemed, was rather good at covering his tracks. But one usually in order to make it past the first 50 years of unlife, much less make it past the one hundred years that granted a vampire the status of Elder.

Like many of the Seattleite Kindred, Malik was a rather new addition to the ranks of the Kindred, but unlike many of the newer licks, he had moved up here from Portland, Oregon after having a not so friendly disagreement with the Primogen of his own Clan, the Nosferatu. He had found out Malik had been working for the Seneschal, a fellow Nosferatu by the name of Anotah. It wasn’t really that he was mad that he was working for the Seneschal, but rather that neither had bothered to tell him or offer any of the interesting secrets he had been able to gather.

Well, he did have a list to work from. He could start driving around the Industrial District and check out each property on the list. It was possible that the Brujah might find him, but he planned to be very very careful, and minimize the risks of being seen. Malik prints out the list and listens to the whir of the printer as it spits out the paper. He pulls it off the printer and picks up Snack, wearing the cat almost like a fur collar. He puts the paper on the stand, and moves his keys to allow it to serve as a paperweight.

With Snack still draped around his neck and shoulders, Malik heads toward his bed. Out of habit, he pulls the blinds shut, even though the windows had been covered with several layers of masking tape and aluminum foil. Malik lies down on his bed. Snack takes up his usual position on the right-hand corner, curling up by Malik’s feet. Malik reaches across the bed to the battered brown fedora sitting on his nightstand. He sets it on top of his head, shielding his eyes and nose. It wasn’t the best protection against the sun, but it was better than nothing.