PART TWO:

DOMINO

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January 16th

The plan had been simple.

On January 15th, Tiffany Tomlinson, an eager quasi-associate of the Atkins,’ was scheduled to participate in a highly-anticipated deal, retrieve the money, funnel it back to the Atkins, and get a three-grand advancement for her troubles.

That had been all.

The entire operation should have lasted for, tops, one hour. And then, Tiffany could spend the rest of her birthday in style, do some late light shopping on the famous Vinsk Avenue like she always had done. She could spend the night over at an exclusive Grand Marquis Hotel, fully paid in cash courtesy of Caesar.

The plan called for Tiffany to return to her apartment in Parkena the following morning and proceed on with her normal routine. Go back to work at the diner. Attend classes. Hang out with friends—her normal life. Maybe, a couple of days later, once everything calmed down, Tiffany would receive a nightly visit from Caesar. It would be a short one.

Tiffany, under no circumstances, was supposed to be discovered in a Grand Marquis suite in pieces.

Gus DuPont grimaced at the memory of that fateful night, of that next morning. To the very morning upon discovering the gruesome murder, and the loss of twenty large in cash and organs. To dealing with his boss’ reactions. With everyone’s reaction. To doing some damage control, dispatching associates to ensure that the cops were not on their trail. To persuading Caesar not to declare war on the Albanisi and the Mbassi until, at the very least, they receive sufficient intel. And even then, it wouldn’t be worth it.

It would never be worth it. Tiffany was only a mere human. The world would not and should not burn because of the death of a mortal.

“Yeah, try telling the boss that.”

Gus glanced at his companion. Max Delhomme. Gus' partner in crime and closest friend. In layman's terms, Max was a part-time hit man, part-time head of security, full-time jokester. It depended on the situation and time period.

Max was known to being a bit enthusiastic on the job, but all in all, he was a decent loyal man. He had been living on this Earth since the mid-nineteenth century like Gus. Apparently, had been turned around the same time as Gus. Born in raised in New Orleans, like Gus— perhaps, that was why the two men had gotten along so well from the very start, despite being from completely different backgrounds, races and social standing. They both harbored more similarities than differences.

Both men were guarding the sound-proof door leading into the "conference room" in the basement of an old brownstone Caesar had purchased under the table back in the seventies. The area was dark with only the street lights front the small, ground-level windows barely streaming through. And it was relatively quiet, save for the sound of a car passing bar or the occasional footsteps made by some guards around the staircase.

The smell of old and damp dirt, furniture was relentless to the men's enhanced sense of smell. It had been raining earlier causing some of the moisture to seep through the edges of the stone blocks and window panels.

It wasn't the most ideal place for two powerful bosses to speak, but then again, it was. No one would expect them there; the Atkins and their most valuable partner, the Dalca's, hadn't even known of its existence until the eighties. It had been sealed off for reasons unknown and Gus had a sinking feeling that it should stay that way.

“He’s not going to do anything…” Gus said, and then trailed off, trying to find the right words. Caesar was a great boss, but he could be unpredictable. “It would be too stupid. “

“You do know why they’re in there, right?”

Gus cleared his throat, and glanced behind him.

Caesar and Lucien had been in there for more than two hours already. Speaking about Lord knew what, but Max might be onto something. Neither would be able to find out unless their boss decided to spill the beans. The soundproof door and its adjacent wall were specially made to block voices from even the most sensitive of ears. It had been installed really to avoid spying from the other covens, werewolves and other creatures.

“They’re not starting a war,” Gus assured, feeling hopeful. “The boss isn’t mad enough to start shit. Not for her. I think he’s just a bit paranoid about the cops you know? It’s understandable I guess. But I don’t think there’s much he needs to worry about. We didn’t kill her.”

"Does it matter?" Max asked, shaking his head and snorting. "Do you know what was inside her wrist?"

Yeah, he did. A tattoo with the Atkins and Dalca's initials. It had been bad idea last year, and it still was.

"AD isn't something to fret over..."

Max rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Gus, you of all people should know that shit ain't true."

"I'm trying to remain positive, asshole."

"No, you need to be realistic," Max argued. "Shit. We're fucked. They're gonna find out--"

"Max, calm the fuck down," Gus said, nudging his friend's side with an elbow. "None of us are going to get implicated for shit. We didn't kill that girl."

Max was far from convinced. "They said they found bite marks on her neck."

"That was just a rumor."

"No, that's the truth. They even got pictures on the net," Max explained, and then added, "It's not looking good, man. They're gonna do an autopsy on her. We can't let that happen."

"For the last time, Max, we didn't—" Gus stopped, and stared up at the large man. He blinked twice and cleared his throat. Max was right. Max had been right all long. What was he thinking? He was supposed to be the strategic one of the family. He shouldn’t have been so blind. "Fuck, we gotta stop that," he breathed, slapping his forehead. "Fuck."

"See, what I saying?" Max shook his head. "Look, I know we have most of the police in our corner, kinda, but not the goddamn morgue. What if they find out?"

"Then we're fucked."

"Yeah, and find ourselves spending the rest of our lives in fucking New Mexico, three miles deep."

Gus wanted to tell his friend that he was worrying over nothing. But he had heard about that place in New Mexico. Horror stories. The only place in his country that apparently held the supernatural "accountable." A place that no one outside of selected few associated with the feds knew about.

But he couldn't spend the rest of his days worrying about getting caught. Especially for something he didn't do.

"We're not going to New Mexico," Gus assured Max, patting him on the shoulder. "We're not going because I have a plan."

“Oh yeah? And what is it, hotshot?”

“Stop the autopsy.”

"And how you're gonna do that?" Max asked, and then said, "The boss is already thinking about visiting the coroner. I got an ID. The name's Dr. Jackie Farris. Black female. Medium height. Thirties maybe? She's second in command."

"To Dr. Khan?" Gus added, and then grinned. "You're been doing your homework..."

"Gotta, like I said the boss wants to... you know."

Gus gave his friend a look. Oh, he knew, and he didn't approve of the plan. He had never been a strong proponent of killing someone for strictly business just for the hell of it. Not if it wasn't necessary. It was always too messy, always too unpredictable. He liked bargaining, extorting and compromising with people.

According to many in the business, Gus played the game too safely. According to Gus, he was being smart and political; both traits necessary to survive this world.

"Killing her won't do anyone any good," Gus reasoned. Tiffany's murder was a mistake because it got people's attention. She was a human, female, who had everything going for her. Just like Jackie.

Though it seemed that was where the comparisons ended.

"If she works with us, then there's nothing for her to worry about."

Gus had to snort. "Yeah, right," and added, "Look, none of you guys got to get involved. I'll talk to her. Let her know the gravity of the situation. I'm sure she's a reasonable person."

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"And what if she isn't reasonable?"

"I'll deal with it." Gus stressed. "Listen, the last thing we need is another dead public servant. Got it?"

"Got it."

Their conversation ended the moment they heard the heavy door opened. The two men remained alert as the two bosses emerged from the room. Gus highly doubted that anything as absolved. He glanced back at Max who only shrugged and directed his attention to his boss. "Ready to go, boss?"

Caesar nodded. “Yes.”

Lucien remained silent as he put on his coat and leather gloves. He seemed more disturbed than Caesar, more resigned, nothing like his usual self. Gus knew Max had caught on to his boss' demeanor. The man made a concerted effort to maintain his impassivity, but in his eyes, he was concerned.

Gus wanted to ask the man if he was alright, but soon decided that it wouldn't be in his place to do so. Yes, Lucien would soon be his brother-in-law. Yes, he had known the man for more than a century, but he was never close with him. Not many people were, outside of his wife, Ruslana.

"I shall be departing," Lucien announced. He shared a knowing look with his guard before continuing on, "I will see you three tomorrow evening at sundown to discuss our upcoming actions further. As you know, if we're going to do anything, we have to plan extensively."

Gus and Max glanced at each other, trying not to convey their concern. So, Max had been right after all. The bosses wanted to attack, most like the Volturi, for Jessica's death. Wonderful.

"That we shall do," Caesar replied, also putting on his long, black wool coat. "That we shall do... I hope you have a nice rest of the night, Lucien, we’re going to need your help."

"You as well,” Lucien said before summoning his own guards and leaving the basement.

No one said a word until Lucien left the building.

“So, I can assume that retaliation is on the table?” Gus carefully asked.

Caesar's eyebrows drew together, and then relaxed. "Ah, yes. We lost too much money to keep quiet. Too much blood. Too many organs. Staying quiet would only prove our weakness. But Like Lucien said, we'll discuss this further tomorrow. Now, let's go on a hunt. I am absolutely famished."

Max suddenly looked alarmed. Gus did too, to a lesser extent; he didn't think his boss would be that foolish to feed at this time. Not with Tiffany’s death still on the news. The cops might make a connection.

"I know we've received a new shipment of blood this afternoon," Gus offered, actually feeling a bit hungry himself. "Grade A."

Caesar shook his head. "No, I need to feed." He scoffed at his subordinates. "On some animals out in the forest, unfortunately. I'm not dumb enough to go after humans. Let's go."

"As you command, boss."

***

January 22nd

Dr. Farris would prove not to be as cooperative as Gus would have wanted.

He wasn't mad about the turnout of that first meeting, taking place in during the afterhours of a weekday. A bit taken aback, considering it was usually hard for people, especially humans, to straight out deny his requests. But not mad.

He respected the fact that Jackie stood her ground. It showed that she wasn't pathetic, like Judge Baxter or the superintendent of MPD.

But he still wished Jackie had said yes. Her denial certainly did not make his job easier.

Then again, he realized later, it wasn't the end of the world. The meeting hadn't been completely futile. After all, the doctor had presented him with a better, legal way to subdue Tiffany's autopsy.

All he had to do was face the Malikan Court system, which was currently ruled by the Honorable Judge Baxter.

He was known on the streets as "Windsor." A corny name in Gus' opinion, especially since it was borrowed from a royal surname, but it was so fitting. The judge's decisions, particularly the most controversial ones, moved along the wind. Just as long as the price was right.

Gus had known Baxter for years, ever since the man became a judge about twenty years ago. They were infrequent associates; the conversations between them were always straight to the point and about business. Gus didn't garner enough trust from the man to simply waltz into his office and make his demands. Well, he could, but that would only complicate matters with the police department. The judge's seat was covered in the Covenant.

So, he had to enlist in the help of another person: Adriana Dalca, Lucien's sister-in-law. Gus' fiancée—that wasn't by choice.

Gus liked Adriana because Adriana was smart; she was rational, and she fully understood the politics of the human and the supernatural world. Although her position in the family had never been finalized (it had been several centuries), everyone knew she was important. She was the advisor. The Gus DuPont to both Lucien and Ruslana Dalca.

The one who made sure the matriarch of the family didn't convince the patriarch to start another war. Lucien and Ruslana were hawks, always craving for their enemies’ blood, usually resorting to drastic measures to get done—Adriana would be the one to knock some sense into them, while still staying faithfully in her "lane."

She was also close with the judge’s inner circle.

***

“Wonderful night, isn’t it?” Gus remarked, more as a conversation starter. Both he and Adriana had been strolling along the boardwalk overlooking Malikan Bay in comfortable silence for the past twenty minutes. Both had the rare opportunity of not being tied down to duties for the night.

The couple was near the docks, and only several blocks from the Grand Marquis. It was peaceful night, brisk with a dose of light flurries. The atmosphere was quiet save for a distant chine of the bells and police sirens. The area was lit by the boardwalk lights and the moonlight.

A full moon hung above in the dark sky. In most circumstances, especially back in the day, no vampire would dare to step outside. It was wise to avoid all were-creatures alike, with tendencies to be aggressively rabid, at all costs. But the Covenant and present-day social mores, the vampires' anxieties slowly diminished to a point where just as long as they stay vigilant, they should be fine.

Gus and Adriana were mostly alone. The cold had scared away the usual night runners, but the pair was not affected by the twenty-degree weather. They didn't shiver from the cool air rolling off the waves or the flurries grazing along her faces and bare hands. They didn't have to wear their coats, but they were out in public, and therefore had to play the part. Attracting attention would not be wise.

“Indeed. I miss simple nights like this,” Adriana said. She stopped in her tracks and took a moment to breath in the clean air and brushed her auburn hair away from her slightly tanned face; the wind was picking up again. “The past couple of weeks have been nothing but chaos.”

“I have to agree with you.”

“All over a girl. A mortal. A human not worthy enough to become one of us.” Adriana shook her head. “What was her name again? Tanya? Tara?”

"Tiffany," Gus corrected, but he had an inkling that Adriana had already known that. She didn't think much of Tiffany; not many people in the Atkins-Dalca circle did. "Tiffany Tomlinson."

Tiffany Tomlinson. Like Adriana, he couldn’t believe the family, both the Atkins and the Dalca’s, were now dragged into this mess because of her. Involving humans in their operations was going blow up in their faces; he just knew it. He had always known it, but what he should have done? He might technically be second-in-command, but he was still subordinate. He had a code to follow.

Caesar, for the most part, didn't trust humans. Humans made things difficult; humans were difficult—he would often lecture to his lieutenants—and most of all, they were weak. They didn't have the strength and the speed of a vampire. They certainly didn't have the virtual immortality. Humans would never be a part of the family, just loose (in every sense of the word) associates.

But then Tiffany had come along, in her waitress getup, with that body, and suddenly all of Caesar’s rationale had been seemingly tossed out of the window. Gus couldn't help but shake his head at a distant memory. It had only been a few months ago when Caesar had confessed to his most trusted advisors that he had taken in Tiffany as his "thing." It had been about a year ago.

Adriana nodded. "Ah, so that's her name. The papers say that she was found in a hotel room, in pieces. They call her the Suite Girl..." she trailed off, giving Gus a pointed look. "I hope that wasn't a part of the plan."

Gus scowled. He had developed a phantom headache just thinking about that night. That girl. Her. "Of course, it wasn't."

Adriana let out a soft snort. "I figure that much," she said. "Tell me, my love: wasn't someone supposed to be there with her? To make sure everything goes smoothly? Surely Caesar would never allow such a naive girl to participate in such matters alone."

“Yes.”

"Did you talk to them?"

"They're conveniently inaccessible."

“Ah, won’t you look at that? Hopefully, those fools are either dead or wise enough to keep quiet,” Adriana said, more amused than annoyed. "I suppose Caesar sent Max to fetch them?"

“He did.”

“I hope he finds them.”

“Oh, he will,” Gus assured, and then said abruptly, “Adriana, dear, I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Are you still in cahoots with Windsor’s people?”

Adriana looked up at Gus, puzzled by the question. The families usually preferred to keep the courts out of their business. “What if I am?”

“I need you to convince him to issue an injunction for an autopsy with no questions asked, and I need it to be issued today. Later this morning.”

“Autopsy? Oh goodness, for that girl?”

Gus nodded.

“That’s not going to be easy,” Adriana warned. “Especially within such a small time-frame. After all, it’s already one in the morning. But besides that, that girl was murdered; her autopsy would have priority… Gus, I don’t understand: why go through all this trouble for an autopsy? The courts don’t have to get involved. Didn’t you talk to the medical examiner in charge of her body?”

Gus bristled. “I did, but apparently, she doesn’t frighten easily.”

Adriana raised an eyebrow, wondering if there was more to the story than Gus was letting on. The man was notorious for getting people to do his bidding without resorting to the usual tactics. He was a charmer. A generally well-tempered man who, thanks to his upbringing, knew a thing or two about behaving in a well-mannered fashion. He was known for getting things done. He never failed in the past, so why now?

Adriana pursed her lips together, and then cleared her throat. "Human?"

"Yes."

"And you were still unable to convince her?"

"Not all humans fear us," Gus reminded his fiancée. "Plus, it wasn't I had broadcasted my… condition. We're supposed to be discreet, remember?"

"A fact that I'm reminded of every day," Adriana curtly replied, and then stopped to take a drink from a tumbler in her hand. Heated blood. Fresh, delivered only a couple of days ago. It didn’t need to be heated; Adriana couldn’t feel it, but it was winter, and she thought it was fitting. It was a simple gesture that reminded her of her human, mortal days in the mountains of Romania. "If you want, I can get my people to bring this medical examiner to her senses. Lucien wouldn't mind."

Gus shook his head. Getting Lucien, or worse Ruslana, involved was the last thing he needed. The man, though the head of the Dalca family for hundreds of years, wasn't exactly known for being coy or strategic. They couldn't approach this matter involving the Suite Girl in the traditional way. Bloodless as possible was the preferred modus operandi.

"That wouldn't be necessary," Gus insisted. "Don't worry about it. I can handle it."

"Are you sure?" Adriana asked. She continued after receiving an affirmative nod. "Why are you so determined to get an injunction in the first place? It's only a murder."

Not to police, it wasn't.

"The nature of the murder is making headlines. This is a major homicide case, Adriana. If anyone finds out about how and why Tiffany died, our entire operation, our entire way of life, will go under."

"Don't you think you're overreacting? We've been through tougher times and still come on top. One murder is not going to sink us,” Adriana. “Especially one we didn’t commit.”

"My apologies, but I'd rather not have every goddamn law enforcement agency in this region harassing me. Us," Gus explained. "Or overzealous religious authorities chasing us around with goddamn stakes and strings of garlic, for that matter."

Gus' words did little to change Adriana's sentiments, but she refrained from arguing about the matter any further. The man was determined, and a determined Gus was a stubborn one. Once his mind was made up, it was over. At the end, Adriana conceded to her fiancé’s wishes. "I cannot promise anything, but I will see what I can do."

"Thank you.”