Steven made the commute to the city like always. He could hire a driver, and relax on the way, but there was something satisfying about the control of the car. He could only sigh ruefully at the cloud of smog which was visible hanging over the skyline. Even with emission laws the way they were nowadays, it still did next to nothing to diminish the fog of death that seeped into the ground, and ruined everything. His car itself didn't put out any of the noxious fumes which spewed out of the ignorant masses' vehicles. He had bought the plans for his engine and carburetor from a genius of a man in Ohio a few years back. Soon after, the oil companies must have found the man, because he disappeared without a trace, either paid off or killed. Anyone who asked usually laughed that his car ran on steam. With the modern technology, he was able to super heat the water in such a capacity as to be able to outrun some sports cars, without breaking thirty decibals.
"If I had had this car in my thieving days..." He pondered out loud, smiling at the recollection of recklessness he displayed back then.
He arrived at the parking deck which he frequented, and passed his badge over the magnetic scanner. The arm lifted with a grating sound, and he pulled into his usual space. Luckily the garage had the designated spots for long term rent, because even though it was seven o'clock in the morning, he saw the decks were almost completely full up. This city was known as the big apple, and everyone seemed to be an early bird trying to get the green worm that crawled through it. Of course that worm was called money.
He walked the short distance to his shop, Jewelry Box, on First avenue, produced a key ring, and selected the three keys to get in. He slid the keys in, all three, and turned them simultaneously pushing the tumblers aside, to allow entrance. As he stepped inside, he closed the door, and locked, unlocked, and relocked the bolts each. He sidled over to the keypad, and punched in the code to disarm the burglar alarm.
He shuffled over to the display cases, and pulled the black sheets off, and pushed them into the cabinets where he stored them. He then went to the back, and changed out of his green Chuck All-Stars, jeans, and Greenpeace shirt, to sheath himself in the dark brown Armani suit, with hunter green tie. He combed his locks from his forehead, just to have them fall back down, but that wasn't too big of a concern. He turned all the lights on, and sat down at his computer. Booting up, he hooked his USB coffee heater in, and started the brew. His computer was old, so by the time the operating system was ready to go, he had already downed most of his first cup. Pulling up his email, he sifted through the myriad of advertisements, newsletters, and correspondences which he had been expecting. After that, he turned his attention to the Spam folder. "One message? The african queens, dukes, and other royalty must be tired today", he joked to himself. He clicked the folder, and froze, staring at the subject.
HEY DECLAN, NARA HERE!
He didn't recognize the email address, but it must be from someone who knew him, because the subject line was code. He had used the name Declan as an alias during his heist years, and Nara...not a name, but a plea for help. He opened it, sweat slicking his palm.
"Declan, Please forgive my contacting you without going through the proper channels. There is an urgent manner you are needed for. Go see Lestat, he's been noticed.
~B"
So, Brandon needs something. And it involves some fangs. Great. He knew time was of the essence if the protocols he set in place were ignored. He slipped his palm pilot out of his pocket, and pushed the earbud into place. "Call Sophia." He told the phone, and it dialed her easily. "Soph, yeah it's me. No, nothing's wrong at the store, but I just got word from an old friend. I need to leave town. Can you call Josh in today to watch the shop? I can stay till he gets here, but I really need to leave. Thanks, sweety. See ya when I see ya." Click.
That taken care of, he spoke again, "Call Travel." He waited as the phone rang a few times, and then someone picked up. "Neil, I need a ticket to New Orleans. First class, and within two hours. I know I know, you're amazing, you can do it. Use Declan O'shea. Perfect. I owe you, give yourself a tip, and buy something for that fiancee of yours. Ciao."
Josh arrived within the hour, seeing he lived uptown in a loft. "Hey, bud. sell something extravagant this week, and I'll bump your pay a bit. I gotta go."
He pushed through the door, and as luck would have it a cab was stopping at the curb. However, as he was going to slide into the seat, some jackanape in a suit jumped in, and slammed the door. "Prick." He waved down another taxi, and slid into the back seat which smelled of cigar smoke, and stale sweat. "JFK please, and I'll double the meter if you hurry." The cabbie smiled, and peeled out fromt he curb cutting off a semi-truck. He held onto the oh-shit handle, and watched the busy city speed by. The driver was good. He seemed to find the openings before they even formed. As they pulled to the curb of the airport, he read the meter. Thirty seven dollars and eighty cents. Steven handed the man a Benjamin, and got out.
