Getting blood on Mom’s jacket was one of my least favorite things, aside from earning the wrath of that Father of mine. So for tonight, I’d have to swallow that pill. At least I could enjoy a quick blood bag before taking care of business.

Paulie's Diner, a little hole-in-the-wall in front of Barkley's hotel, right where my little rat was staying. Showing this early in the night was a little much, but it's better to stave off my appetite before getting to work. Father's explicit orders not to eat the target warranted a firing squad threat. Not the first time he'd threatened me or some other Paradigm with that. Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out a piece of paper and a photo of the guy. A mugshot our clients gave to me to ID our guy. He was a bit of a fatso with red hair, an Irishman. He looked like the guy who'd spend the whole day breaking balls.

Poor fat Irish prick... He probably should've stuck to being funny. As the sun disappeared into the clouds and the city lit up, I finally looked out the window over where the hotel was. I saw a few people come and go—a few men with briefcases and even more with a woman around their arm. There were even a few more like me, their crimson eyes almost ready to pop out as they stared at their human meals. I never understood why some poor humans would want to be one of our snacks. It's not like they'll ever be blooded.

The traffic began to die, with a car or two dropping more people off. But before the sky completely darkened, a lone car pulled to the hotel's entrance. It wobbled from side to side before a rather large man with red hair waddled out. He had a skinnier guy wearing a black fedora and a pretty swank suit with him. Great, now two people to put in the dirt. Well... At least I didn't have to use Bethany this time.

Crumpling up the blood bag, I tossed it in the trash and exited the Diner. I dug in my pocket to find a small ticket with "Barkley's One Night Stand" printed on it. If only I were so lucky to use this ticket for what it was for. I threw a couple of bills on the counter, not bothering to count them, and headed straight for the door. I stepped outside the Diner and looked both ways before crossing the street. Getting through the hotel doors was easy enough. It was the hotel clerks and bellhops that I had to get past. Luckily, tonight was quiet, though I could hear some moaning from upstairs.

As I approached the counter, the clerk looked me in the eyes and smiled. "Can I help you, young man?" She asked while jotting down some names in a record she kept.

I placed the ticket on the counter and slid the ticket over to her. As she examined it, her rosy cheeks got a little redder. "Aren't ya a little young to be havin' something like this?"

"I'm becoming a man today," I answered. "Dad wanted his boy to have a nice 18th. You understand, right?" I tried my best playboy smile, hoping to convince her.

She looked me up and down, then reached under her desk to pull a stamp. As she pressed the little stamp onto the ticket, the word "USED" had now overtaken the other little letters. "Where's your dame then?" she asked, reaching for a room key.

"She's comin'. She just had some errands to take care of. Freshening up, she put it." Taking the keys, I tossed them up and caught them. "Thank you, sweetheart. You made me a lucky man tonight."

"Have a fun night," she giggled as she returned to work. My room was on the second floor, where the Irishman and his colleague had stayed. I opened my jacket, placing the keys in my other pocket—no need to make strange noises. The room I'd be "staying" in was two-oh-three—a decent enough room with a big enough bed to fool around in. I'm glad I never told the guys back at Dogland where I'd be tonight. Iggy would've probably begged me to come. But alas, the boss said to come alone. Not even Penny could come.

Opening the room door, I walked in and sat on the bed. Reaching into my main jacket pocket, I pulled out my tool for the night. Wanda, a black Mauser C96. Brushing my hand over the gun's metal, I lingered on the engraving of a red bat wing on the clip. Having Wanda saved me so many times in the trenches. I wouldn't know what to do if I didn't have her. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a strip of bullets to load. Pulling the slide back, I stuck the stripper over its little slot. Pushing the bullets in, I slapped the slid back in and pulled the hammer back. Ten shots for two guys. Hopefully, they won't give me a reason to use all of them.

"Ya stupid fuck! What were you thinkin'!" I could hear through the thick walls. Being a creature of the night had a few of its perks.

It wasn't the fatso the younger kid he'd been with. My Client, the Rotterdam, didn't normally allow Irishmen to become made men. I couldn't remember whether it was because they were former Londoners or they had some stick-up-the-ass rule about them being true Brits. So his nephew or whatever had every right to be pissed.

"Who the fuck are you talkin' to ya little shit!? Don't forget I used to wipe your shit stains off yer mother's bathroom floors!" They were arguing about the situation they were in. It was likely going to turn into a pissing contest. Some of the moaning from upstairs stopped, and I could hear someone striking something heavy against the floorboard of their room.

A loud shush leaked through the floor, and the argument the two were having grew softer. "Alright, look," the younger guy said. "I've got Patrick picking us up in the morning. If we lay low here, we could be out of Iscariot before the Rotterdams even notice. They got bigger fish to fry anyway."

The sounds of a newspaper being crumpled a bit made its way to my ears. "Cleaning up after a blood-crazed vamp attack will keep them busier than looking for us."

"Those blood-suckin' pricks should've been grateful I didn't talk too much," the mark boasted, the creaking horribly as he stood. "The FBI and Romaniconti would've had their asses burning if I sang a little louder."

"Never heard of anyone bragging about being a rat before, Uncle," the younger guy said. I could hear a match being struck, followed by the slow puff of a cigarette. "Somethin' you shouldn't be doin' since Paradigms use this hotel too."

Poor nephew. Stuck with an idiot as an uncle. But orders were orders, and I just got my confirmation. I stood from the bed, reaching into my pocket for a tiny rune stone. A little gift from my sweet Shaman girl Francis. If Father figured out I was using Weird magic, he'd probably get another wrinkle. I began to evaluate my exit strategy as I picked up a complimentary bottle of whiskey for the hotel. The receptionist was the only person other than the two guys that would become stiff in a few minutes to see me. I didn't give her my name, which was good, and I knew I could still get out the front door. The next thing was my cover story for leaving. I could say I got nervous and wanted to go for a walk. I could also say I got cold feet. Shame never really bothered me.

Going for the door, when I stepped out, I reached into my jacket pocket, holding the bottle in my hand, trying to hide it. I then shuffled over to the mark's door and raised my free hand toward it. With three knocks, because that's how the extras in those pictures did so, I shouted, "Room service." It took a moment before I heard steps come to the door. Then the clicking of a hammer of a pistol. Idiot, like I wouldn't be able to listen to that.

Opening fire here would only draw a lot of attention. So before our conversation started, I reached into my back pocket and crushed the rune. Francis mentioned the rune should've made a room-sized spell that stopped the sound from escaping, but I wouldn't have much time. Since the Rotterdam cops were gonna find these two, they wouldn't bother tracing back the Weird magic. "Whe'r ye uniform lad?" He asked, his voice having a slight shudder.

"At the cleaners, sir," I lied. "My old lady spilled coffee all over it this morning, and I only got one." It was a reasonable lie, but I'd half-expected the nephew to sniff it out. Luckily he didn't. Hearing him clicking the safety back on his pistol, he opened the door. "Gimme the whiskey and piss off," he demanded as he held out his hand. "Sure thing, boss," I said.

As I handed him the bottle of whiskey, I noticed my mark on the bed. He'd been wiping his bulbous face with a towel, the sweat making his skin glisten in the light. This was my moment, the nephew's guard was down a little, and his uncle was in sight to bite it right after him. I'd make it quick for the nephew—no need for him to die screaming for his uncle's screw-up.

Drawing Wanda from my pocket before the nephew could close the door, I aimed at his head and squeezed the trigger. He didn't make too much of a sound. He just dropped as the blood gushed from his head, dripping onto the floor and table. The uncle barely had enough time to register what was happening before I aimed Wanda at him. As he opened his mouth to speak, I squeezed the trigger again with two casings ejecting from my gun: two shots, one in the shoulder and one in the stomach. I rushed over to him, picking up the towel as I did. Stuffing the cloth in his mouth, I aimed my gun at his head and looked him in the eyes.

There was an incredible amount of terror in his gaze, enough to make him seem like a scared kid. "Sorry, Paddy," I said with a hint of coldness. "But Jeanne Rotterdam doesn't forgive informants." He stuck his hands up, screaming something muffled. I believe it was "wait." I couldn't risk him screaming or giving me away to any of the other Patrons. But I remembered my orders.

"Anything higher than a whisper, and you're dead," I said as I pushed the barrel against his head. "Lady Rotterdam said you could have some last words." I removed the cloth from his mouth but pushed Wanda against his temple. I was glad to have drank that blood bag earlier, or else I would've let my thirst take over after seeing the bloody rag.

"P-please," the Uncle whispered. "Lemme go, man. Whatever those Rotterdam fucks are payin' ya, I can beat. My benefactor is very generous."

"Sorry, pal," I said as I tightened my grip on Wanda. "But I'm just fine with what I'm being paid." I didn't need any more money than whatever this guy was trying to sell. Besides, angering Father was not an option.

"You little blood-suckin' bastard," he quietly yelled. "You think I'm the source of your little rat problem. There's an even bigger rat than me. Rotterdam... Huang... those big fish don't even realize they are being played."

I moved the barrel, placing it right on his forehead. "Well, it's a good thing we've got idiots like you that spill their guts," I allowed him to hear before squeezing the trigger again. He jerked instantly, then his body went limp as his brain matter splattered all over the floor. Standing up over him began to look over my handy work. Slipping Wanda back into my jacket pocket, I took out a pair of gloves from my pants. Slipping them on, I searched Uncle fatso's body and found at least two hundred in cash stuffed in his pocket and a colt. Then I searched the nephew's body. I didn't find any money, but I did pick up his gun. Placing their respective weapons in their hands. I sprinkled a few of the Weird Rune's remains in the nephew's hand. I made sure to shoot one with the opposite weapon. Better to make it look like a disagreement as per orders.

Finally, this torture was complete. Right on schedule, too, since Penny would be here any minute. After shutting their door, I'd run back to my room and wash the blood off my face. Some did splatter on my shirt, but Mom's jacket survived. So I just buttoned it up to hide the blood after leaving the hotel room. I'd rush down the stairs. The clerk from earlier was still there reading a book. Good, the rune worked as it should. As she noticed me come down, her eyes lit up with glee.

"Where ya goin' stud? I haven't seen your lady friend yet," she said, almost singing it.

"Eh, well... I got cold feet. A little nervous for my first time and all. Plus, she's a bit late." Her lips formed a Frown, but she didn't seem too upset.

"Well, kid, I understand. Sometimes people want their first to be more special." Her smile returned, and I could feel she genuinely cared for me somewhat. I didn't wanna waste the lady's time or her concern, so I dug into my pocket and retrieved the money from it. Folding the large bills up, I held them up for her to take.

"Take what you need for the room charges. I know those tickets aren't cheap," I said, putting on that fake Playboy smile again.

"Are you sure?" She asked, her eyes widening as she examined the amount I'd given her. "This is an awful lot to be giving away."

"It doesn't come without a cost. Anyone asks, my lady friend came, we did our thing, and we left."

The clerk looked around before stuffing the money in her breast pocket. She winked, then waved me away, her smile being so wide I feared she might get stuck that way. I walked right out of the hotel, going down a few blocks before stopping near a convenience store. I'd bought a candy bar and a cigar before returning to the street corner. It'd be there. I'd wait until a black duesy pulled over next to me.

Driving it was a pale-skinned dame with frost-white hair and bright red eyes. She looked like she'd been dressed for a funeral. But I knew better. As she smiled, her fangs showed her true colors. She may not look like my sister, but I'd know her from anyone in town.

"So... Dogland or the Estate, dear brother?" Penny asked with a grin.

"Dogland," I answered, "Gotta lay low till the clients find their dead rats. Besides, Francis will worry."

"You got it, Alex," she chirped, shifting the car into drive. And off we went into the cold night.