BOYS OF THE NIGHT - #7



Howie woke up the next morning to the unpleasantness of the bright sun shining through a crack in the boarded up window. It was all around him, bathing him in light. He twisted his face into a disgusted look and backed away into the shadows of the abandoned warehouse.
Adjusting his eyes to the light, he looked to where he had been sleeping. There lay the blonde Gangrel guy he'd met at the club last night, and next to him, the younger Nosferatu girl. They were curled up near each other, naked. She shifted, moaning uneasily, and then he did, feeling the uncomfortable heat of the wicked sun even in slumber. Deep crimson blood splattered the floor around them, staining the unfinished wood.
Howie grimaced, seeing that he must have taken part in their "festivities" the night before. Squinting in the sun rays, he darted across the room, picking up his scattered clothes as he went.
He grabbed his duffel bag and heaved it over his shoulder, grumbling about how he hated the day - his powers were weakened considerably even though he had eaten in the past 12 hours.
He set down the make-shift suitcase and pulled on his mesh shirt and then his black leather pants, hopping around on one leg, trying to balance himself. When he was done dressing, he picked up the bag again and glanced back over his shoulder only once to see the couple was still sleeping peacefully. A pang of jealousy shot through him for and instant with the realization that he had no mate, but it was soon forgotten as he slid on a pair of black Ray-Bans and headed out the door to the busy NY street.

New York City was buzzing with hurrying people who had places to go and things to do. Most of the people Howie passed were either homeless or cradling a cell phone on their shoulder and pulling up the sleeve of their expensive Armani business suits to check the time and yell that they were running late for a stock brokers' meeting or the like. Despite the office-like tone of it all, New York City was teeming with life.
Howie headed towards the edge of the street, hailing down a taxi with his free hand. The driver swung across 4 lanes and hugged the curb, almost knocking over a parking meter. The man threw open the door to the back seat and motioned for Howie to get in. After watching that display of illegal moves, Howie's mind hesitated. But he thought a little more and came to the conclusion that the guy could get him there in a hurry.
"Where to, bud?" the driver asked in a gruff voice.
"Park Avenue, please," Howie replied cheerily as he slid in, tossing his bag on the floor of the car, meanwhile praying for safety.
They drove in silence for about 10 minutes through the traffic. Finally, the cab driver turned his rear-view mirror so that he could get a good look at his passenger.
"Hey! Aren't you-" he was cut off.
"Yeah, I am. Here's my stop. Right there is fine," He answered, pointing towards the curb at a very luxurious hotel.
The driver pulled over and took the money that the Brujah was holding out to him. "Thanks, bud. Do you think you could sign this? My little girl-"
Howie slammed the door, frustrated with stardom, and jogged up the steps to the revolving doors. Once inside, he marvelled at the swanky atmosphere - marble floors, a fountain in the middle of the hall, huge glass windows surrounding the whole lobby. He looked up at the domed ceiling that had a large painting of some Renaissance work displayed on it, trimmed in golden details, dripping with richness.
He thought of where he had stayed last night and felt ashamed. He jammed his hands in his pockets self-consciously and walked towards the front desk.
"Can I help you, sir?" a nicely dressed attendant asked politely.
"Uh, yeah. That'd be good. Can you tell me where room 666 is?"
The woman gave him directions to the elevator and which way to go. Howie thanked her.
He got on the elevator and pushed in the floor number. It smoothly rose up and stopped gently. Howie stepped out and casually strutted down the long corridor to room number 666. He knocked three times and waited patiently. There was no answer. He tried again, louder this time thinking that maybe he was in the shower. Still no answer.
Frustrated once again, he checked his watch. 10:30. Where the hell could he be this time of day, he thought to himself angerly. He heard a rustle behind him and turned to find a cleaning woman pushing a cart full of disinfectants and washing aids. He smiled slyly.
"Excuse me, miss?" he said, putting on the fake charm again.
She looked up. "Yes, sir?"
Howie walked closer, staring directly into her eyes. He was hypnotyzing her. "Do you think you could open this door here?" he asked, his voice low, eyes still locked on hers like a vice. She stared back, terrified, and took out a ring with keys all over it. She carefully picked through them, searching for the right one. When she found it, she opened the door and stood there, just staring.
"Thank you," he said and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. The bang startled her and she woke from the trance. The woman, confused, quickly walked back to her cleaning cart, looking over her shoulder every so often, not understanding what had happened.

Howie stared in wonder at the room. He turned around himself twice just to take it all in. Silk sheets and pillows everywhere, a large stone fireplace and a huge canopy bed. From where he was standing, he could get a glimpse of the bathroom, black, red, and white tiles with a massive bath tub, candles all around the edge of it. He dropped his bag in the middle of the room with a thud.
"Well, Kev... you certainly don't spare a dime, do you?" he whispered to himself.
He walked over to the bay windows and glanced out to the city below. He turned again, and strode to the kitchenette. Howie opened the refrigerator to find it stocked with 3 bags of blood from a local hospital and a 12-pack of Cokes. He grabbed a can and headed back out in the room, cracking the tab on the way. He took a sip and directed his attention to a huge mural that covered the West wall.
Howie gazed at it, squinting. The painting depicted a young girl being mauled by a half-human, half-bull animal. The title on the frame read: "The Rape of Europa." He recognized it; a Greek tale about Zeus changing into a bull and then stealing the virgin girl away to Mt. Olympus. He began to walk away from the painting, still staring at it. A flashing light caught his eye. It was coming from the desk in the corner of the room. The answering machine.
Not being able to stay out of anything, even when it wasn't his own business, he went to it and pressed PLAY, curious.
"Message 1, Friday, 3:30 AM," the machine said in a mechanical voice. Howie leaned in to hear better.
"Kev? Kev, pick up. It's me, Brian. Listen, I need to talk to you. Me and Nick got back a little bit ago and I want you to know that we need to leave earlier than we thought. AJ killed another fan. Kevin, man, you gotta do something about him. You know what will happen if we let him keep doing this. You're the only one he even listens to. Well, look, we're still at the same place, come back tomorrow by 11, alright? Peace." Then the blast of the dial tone echoed throughout the room.
"End of messages," the computer-like voice cut in again.
Howie raised his eyes questioningly.
"Sounds like a certain AJ will be in big trouble when Kev hears about this one," he said, a wicked smile on his Latin face.
Someone cleared their throat behind him. Howie jumped, scared by the intrusion.
"Hello, Howard," Kevin said deeply. A shadow was cast over his face, his glittering eyes the only thing Howie could make out through the darkness.
"Did you, uh... hear that?" he asked, swallowing loudly, a symptom of his nervousness.
Kevin tossed his leather trench coat onto the floor and stepped into the light. "Yeah, I did," he answered monotonously. His dark hair was tousled and yet he looked well-groomed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, then looked up, his grey eyes piercing Howie like an arrow. "I see you let yourself in," he commented, slightly annoyed. He crossed his arms in front of him, waiting for an excuse.
Howie nodded and apologetically mumbled something about wanting to see what time they had to go back to the bus.
Suddenly, Kevin began to pace, one hand on his hip the other running roughly through his black hair in anger. "What the hell are we gonna do about him?!" he yelled. "He's going to get us killed! God, why is he doing this?! He knows the danger!" Howie shrank back in alarm. The two stood, staring at each other, waiting for the other to something.
Speaking up, Howie interjected his thoughts on AJ. "He has to be supervised. That's all there is to it. End of story."
Kevin turned to him shaking his head. "You know that's impossible. He'll leave the group if we threaten his space like that. And then where will we be? 'Oh, gee, I'm sorry little girl. I know AJ was your faorite Backstreet Boy, but see, AJ went off and was killing all of you fans one by one for your precious youthfull blood so he can live, and we felt we couldn't deal with that kind of lawsuit, so he had to go.' Is that what we'll say? Hmmm?"
Howie shrugged, unphazed by the sarcasm. "What else can we do, huh? Really, Kevin, what haven't we tried? He's got a thing for young blood. All we can do is keep a close eye on him. All the time." He paused for a moment, thinking, and then looked up, a smile on his face that spread evily from ear to ear. "What if he didn't know about it? What if we spied on him?"
Kevin looked at him, his dark eyes softening at the suggestion now. "We'll see. I'll try and talk to him again tonight. Maybe he'll listen," he said hopefully, not wishing to have AJ angry at him. Kevin didn't like to work like Howie - stealth and dishonesty were not his favorite characteristics. "What time is it?"
"About 11," he said picking up Kevin's trench coat and tossing it to him. Kevin caught it, his graceful movements like a cat's. "Didn't you have anything else?" Howie asked, looking around.
"No. I like to travel lightly. Suitcases are pain in the ass," Kevin replied smiling. "Come on. I have to check out."
They walked out of door together, Kevin with his trench coat in hand. He grabbed the keys off the dresser and went to close the hotel room door, but stopped and looked around one last time. He swore to himself as he stood there, that he would come back to NY some day and buy a skyrise apartment. Leaving on this thought, he closed the door and locked it.