He had one trying, and only one thing, going for him, Walter thought, as he sat on the motorcycle in the parking lot. .

Most people could never pay attention to him.

So, while other people took a look for bears, amassed fortunes, and so forth, he helped people out.

People never realized the true reason why he lived deep in the ghetto was something quite similar to living in the middle of an alligator infested swamp. People were hesitant to come around, and take a closer look. Thus, everybody was hesitant to see more than a part. Everyone knew only a facette of him, carefully curated as to what they had to know, and what was necessary for them to know.

His shooting, for example.

People there knew him as Walter from Germany, who drove a motorcycle, arrived late at night, wore short khakis and knee high white socks with sandals, and did not even have a gun when he first showed up. But, as he did not grow tired of telling everybody who listened, the best way to meet some new people is to join a club for your hobby. After all, “Zis is how Ve do it in Germany, ja?”

Jokes were made about him being “corn fed”, a “Teacher”, and so forth (Apparently, teachers that also enjoyed a bit of shooting were looked at with a stink eye), but he had reacted with the awkwardness they had expected. Very soon, itr was well known that he hated his ex wife (a trait he shared with quite a few of the other late night shooters), He was retired and had only time to go shooting late at night, and he had found that the people there were more than accepting. He missed, was a terrible shot (he watched precisely to not accidentally score too high), and preferred to shoot at the rightmost lane, next to the window, so he could smoke in peace. Occasionally, he was up for a friendly bet, and he had been told multiple times that the massive Taurus Judge with its .45 ammunition was the reason he missed so many shots.

Soon, he improved. Buying himself a belt buckle with his name on it, a sizeable hat, clothes that put himself somewhere between a trucker and a retired dad, a fanny pack, and a clip on holster for the tub of WD40, his leatherman multitool, and a measuring tape. He even insisted on getting a hideous pair of “Tactical” Oakley sunglasses, completing the look. He looked like, as someone put it within earshot of him, as if he was no professor, he was someone's dad.

It was generally agreed upon that Walter was a standup guy, but a bit too straight laced. When the registration form for the massive hand cannon had come, he had asked for help from everyone, always reminding them that he was retired, and too old to get his head around american standards, but he had managed to get the forms in record time, and had insisted to everyone's amusement to fill them out at the shooting range, supplying all forms of identification and making a big spectacle out of it. People had tossed a dollar or so in the pot to see if Walter would actually add his photo ID to the punch, and when he announced that yes, he did have a photo ID, a Safeway frequent discount meat shoppers rewards card was added to bouts of howling laughter. The common opinion was that Walter now qualified as a goober, scary looking but entirely harmless, and the few times he came over to shoot, he always found himself surrounded by “friends” who could not wait to hear how Walter had screwed up being American this week. The fact that the application passed near immediately should have given people some pause. .

Some people had a vague idea that Walter did not only go to THEIR shooting range, but also to one or two others. People like that did not talk much. They knew they had some shit to work through, and were very understanding about not telling tales.

Had they known that he religiously went to all seven closest shooting ranges, spending every day at a different shooting range, thus making a circle around Houston's 21 gun ranges…

At first, he had done what so many of them had hoped for, but not expected. He had asked many of them what kind of guns they had, what kind of powder they used, what they liked toi shoot, what kind of bullets they preferred, where they bought their stuff….

This was about the first time when Walter began making some money.

Legally, his job at the community college did not pay that well, and most of it disappeared in between utilities, bills, gas and such, But this is where the other vampires of Houston managed to get to know Walter as well.

To them, Walter was mostly an unwritten sheet of paper, a neonate, kind of nice, a bit too fond of his human habits, but generally, not dangerous, and competent enough to be left to his own devices without burning the domain down. .

He was Toreador, but unlike the other Toreador that had a desire to be around the fine arts, his appreciation for the fine arts was that he could keep all the tones of “the stars at night”, Linedanced well, if someone presented him with a picture that someone had painted in watercolors, and a photo, in 9 out of 10 cases, he could pick out the photo.

However, if people like the keeper of the zoo had a problem with the tiny locomotive that ran the circle full of smiling children during the day, or the tremere tasked with cleaning the chantry needed help with his power washing, Walter was one of the first people to show up to help, and with a smile and some good words, he helped where he could.

The people expected some sort of move, a studio apartment perhaps, but he just stayed where he was.

Soon, he bought himself a machine to reload his .45 rounds by hand, expanding to the rarer .454 Casull. The people in his shooting clubs were amazed at the quality of the rounds by the old man, and occasionally, bought a box of custom rounds, but when the first charity gumball machine popped up, …

It had been a joke, that so many of the usual shooters needed just a few more rounds (or else, Questions would be asked, like “are you made of money” or “what precisely made you spend that much on ammo?”), and did not necessarily want to open a new pack….just a quick dollar or two, the proceeds went to a good cause….

Various reloaders and professional range goblins knew him. Most had a healthy respect for the man, seeing as he had come to hand reloading as a hobby; and within weeks, began experimenting with using different powder and propellant mixes. They were more than happy to offload a few of their “finds” into the saddlebags of the german, and receive good money for it, something that was mostly hard to come by. He knew that in most parts of America, an expense of 1000 dollars was hard to cover, and would drive very many people into an unexpected financial ruin, but a surprising amount of people valued the old trades, and could surprise you with what they could come up with in return. Usually, to his perpetual surprise, if you let them choose their own repayment, they instinctively offered more than he could have asked for with a straight face.

Around that time, the people in the ghetto noticed that occasionally, the chimney of the run down house that Walter lived in would be used. Most were used to not asking too many questions, and soon, it was disregarded why the chimney only went at night.

Soon, a couple of landscaping trucks were seen, and while many people just shrugged it off as Walter being Walter and having some unusual friends, not a lot of people put together that Walter received an astonishing amount of people, that all brought buckets and such into the house, and took buckets out.

Soon, Walter began to pay local tweakers for scrap collection. It started out small, playing them for loose copper wires, the occasional fender, or such, and many took this as a good alternative to having to deal with greasy scrap merchants, instead trusting on the honesty of “The german. ”

After all, what harm was there in the German occasionally sitting outside his house, in a lawn chair, with a propane forge, and melting down old cans? IF anything, he was keeping the trash low.

This was about the time that people noticed how slowly the rounds inside the vending machines that seemed to pop up at a lot of places got an unusually high quality. Gone were the days when you had the reloaded rounds where every fourth one was a “dud” because Cleetus had reloaded them with the hand press while watching Nascar, now the ammo from the vending machines seemed sparkling and gleaming new.

Few people put it together that the phenomenon was not only limited to Houston. Various biker clubs rented the machines for charity events, and accumulated a bit of money that way. It felt good to fire off a few rounds for “fighting climate change” , to “Save the animals”, “Keep Houston beautiful”, and such.

The same people that would have balked at giving money to charity saw nothing wrong with using the occasional ten dollars buy a few rounds for a good cause, especially if it was for a good and fun cause (“My ex wife is a godless whore” proved to be exceptionally popular, as the bullets were so packed with gunpowder that most people swore they went instantly super sonic. ) Plus, it helped a lot in terms of popularity that the rounds that were hand reloaded did not increase in price during the ammo shortages.

Soon, several motorcycle clubs went to investigate, and were presented with an interesting proposition. Assuming you made 1000 dollars from less than legal means, a money laundry business would charge you up to 50 % of the funds to wash the money on an industrial scale. But on a small scale? That German had figured out how to do it in a record time, and only charged 25 %, less if you brought him spent brass, or such. Most of them never bothered to think of why precisely they always left without having flexed their muscles, or having “squeezed” the rube that obviously did not know how the business worked, but instead, gladly took the cheap laundered money, and put the savings in their own pockets. Plus, sometimes, even motorcycle gangs that decorated their jackets with 1 %’er patches enjoyed the simpler things. Like a box of untraceable ammunition from a press that was nowhere to be found.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Plus, money laundering was so much easier if you had a lot of money that was gained and spent through legitimate means...

People would have had a hard time connecting the old man with the increased purchases from scrap heaps around the area. It was just natural that the old man had an interest in brass, and certain other materials, and did not look too closely at where precisely that brass came from. Lead was also on his purchase plan. Soon, it was a well seen picture, that after a visit of the older man on his motorcycle, most owners were very happy to sell excess scrap to the old man and his friends, who did not even care if it was melted down or anything.

At the same time, several people inside the vampire community found it magnificently hard to get a hold of fake papers. Walter was there to help, with German manners and German efficiency, to get around the hurdles of bureaucracy in a creative way.

He soon had himself ingratiated into a network that worked together like a clockwork. Money needed to be laundered? It seemed to just disappear, between donations to charitable causes (good bookkeepers saw that the overhead was around 10 %), investments into things like raffles, charity rides, and such. And sometimes, these investments paid out, to a nice degree.

Most of the jobs were above board, if you did not understand the full scope. Vampires that had been settled with below average territory suddenly found their people employed, and property prices rising, as slowly, more and more people found a possibility with employment, and risky crime just did not pay that well.

And Walter seemed to be everywhere to hold open a hand, smile, and for just 10 % of the overhead, Things just seemed to happen. The mayor needed people to see a change, of the plans to clean up the city taking root? Were 100 hardcore tweakers cleaning the roads of everything that looked vaguely metallic enough? Good coverage on social media? Was a trash buy back around certain areas worth the investment? Gun buybacks, Cash for clunkers, toys for tots….. All that benefitted from funding that was suddenly available.

Most people did not have an idea of the scope, and were more than surprised when Walter could suddenly offer them not only credit, but also to very good conditions. He knew all the former students, immigrants like him to Houston, that perhaps had a bit of a diminutive problem with immigration, the IRS, or even the DMV, and most people that were helped like this were very willing to pay back the help they had received. After all, they had come from countries that had a bit of a bribe as a fact of life, and instead of waiting for months to have a permit waved through, 10 % were more than fair to get things done. And it was so useful to know the right people, the people that did not ask unnecessary questions, and could get things done quietly if need be. And who did not like to be connected in that way?

Walter was delighted as each and everyone of his enterprises interfaced with the entire thing, and turned into a machine. A machine that gave him more parts to expand it. Each and every part of his machine was entirely above board, with a few exceptions, and very much legal. They were minimally profitable, but most of them were not meant for profit.-

His secret was that he never stepped on toes, but rather, sat down with very interesting people in their offices or homes, and had little chats. They had problems? Sure, for 10 % of the value, in overhead, he would help them. That overhead was then turned around, and invested back into Houston. They wanted to make some money? There was so much money flying around, in dainty little streams, that if you did not look at it at a macro level, it made no sense. At a macro level, very much of it looked like someone was pouring grease on a grill fire.

He picked the telephone up after the second ring, and answered.

“Hello, this is Walter”

It was the prince.

“I see…” He said after a while.

Surprisingly, the current Keeper was, along with the other Gangrel, delighted about the unexpected windfall of a new aquatic exhibit, and had spoken to the prince, handing in his hat. Which was a shame because who would have thought that 17 times help with marriage licenses for the purposes of visa elongation (and one count where the marriage was legal only by a technicality of being performed while in international waters) would lead to most of the regional boards staffed by spouses with interest in conservationism, which in turn would be honorbound to help out the old friend Walter by suggesting that perhaps Houston WAS a remarkably good candidate for the spot to host the exhibit, what with all the reduction in crime, the increased tax revenue, the political goodwill, the recent changes in the educational department…. Who indeed…

“This is coming a bit suddenly for me. ”

The old man smiled, and listened to the voice at the other end. The princess sounded exasperated. He knew she hated him, because of his low status in terms of the fine arts, no matter how many tastefully pink and pastel gift baskets and such he managed to produce. He had this carefully cultivated edge of a craftsman who did not know the first thing about proper etiquette, good society, or how to behave in the company of your betters. .

“Yes, I had thought about this, and I believe I have spoken with the sheriff about this before his untimely demise….”

He honestly had no idea who had done him this favor. He had personally liked the sheriff, but he had scratched more than the surface. A bespoken shotgun from Holland and Holland (he knew a man, who while owning a very brutal but also profitable motorcycle club had shown a taste for the good life, and wanted to not pay 10 bucks plus shipping per round), had opened the door to the sheriff himself transporting half a million rounds in person to the recipient. Very much appreciated at the time, but it had become a liability, as the man had an idea where the identical machine quality rounds had come from. During a raid on a hunter compound, a very unfortunate accident…. Walter had been genuinely saddened.

A bit of nodding from his side, as tense words were being spoken.

“I can not say, I assumed everyone would do their fair part. I am sure the others had simply too many things to do. It can be very intimidating for a neonate to be tossed into a new city…”

Walter had learned very early on what kind of other neonates were in the city, and had discarded them, instead orientating himself by what the older members of the domain liked to see from neonates. It paid to be company material, he had gotten this in his time in Boston. You made sure that you helped out, that you were seen helping out, even if it was to your personal detriment. You made your spot…

“I see. I mean, the very idea of this…. Are you sure there is nobody more qualified? ”

He knew the answer, before he could be lied to. There were people who were more than qualified, but who also were ambitious, and hard to control. The sort of people who would have given dear old Brutus a cold shiver, and would have made him reconsider if he ever wanted to be alone with them. He had made sure of that by creating very profitable holes that they could easily expand into. Things and holes that allowed them to make enough money to stand on their own two feet, and turned them from the yes men that the princess needed to justify her reign over the domain. Which in itself was a hole. A hole with very well defined edges. That required someone with very clear measurements.

“I see. ” He finally said, and sighed. “You realize I would have to cut short my many classes at the local community college for this? I do enjoy the teaching, and the freedom it gives. ”

He waited until the laughter subsided.

“For you, this is a joke, but for me, this is how I am. I would have to have at least a free day or so. You know, so I can keep in touch. ”

The old man smiled silently, a skill he had cultivated many years ago, as the other end sounded increasingly frustrated. Sometimes, it was very advantageous to not get what was clearly wanted by other people.

“I am just saying, there are a lot of duties with running an Elysium properly, even if someone like the previous keeper has managed to do so fairly well. Isn’t there a sort of election for this?”

Open door to run in. Of course, the princess could simply decree who had to run the elysium, and whomever she decreed would have had to follow her orders. On the other side… It was a political office, with a stipend, that opened the door to very many right ears. Ears that would have remained closed and turned away when talking to a neonate that made bullets in his cellar, to the tune of being able to supply an entire military garrison, but a keeper of an elysium… someone like that could under the right circumstances be very much easier to talk to . More if the prince told people the story of how the appointee tried to wiggle himself out of the deal.

“I am sure the others would see it as favoritism to put me above them. ”

Both of them knew that if he had really been serious about this, he would have hung up.

“For one, the , what’s it called, the cappadocian? ”

Easy. He yawned, as he listened to the increasingly hysterical laughter. The cappadocian would have meant to put a nice guy, a soul of a person really, in charge of the meeting spot for the entire domain, while the giovanni were in an uneasy alliance. That would be like putting a kitten in charge of a pack of rabid dobermanns with a teething problem.

“He is very competent, he is very concerned about death and such, and …”

Tense words out of the receiver, that reminded him who precisely had broken the masquerade a total of six times. In very exotic and inventive ways.

“It could have happened to anyone. ”

A lie. He would have never run down mainstreet, with more than superhuman speed, chasing down a fleeing ghoul. Had he been with the group, he would have had to run as well, but thankfully, purely by coincidence, he was inside with witnesses, and his line dancing and impromptu rendition of “ The stars at night…” had prevented major diplomatic damage, while giving him plausible deniability. He listened patiently to the long list of character flaws of the cappadocian. He did not even have to try his wife….

“How about the Tremere? Or the Kyasid? ”

Both of them chuckled, as it was well known who had been her main rival, and who had driven the domain down to its state.

“Perhaps another gangrel? I could ask around, I know some that owe me a favor or two. ”

They both knew precisely what it meant to hand the gangrel a key to an elysium. They would not only hang up, they would throw their neonates while running away in the opposite direction.

“We could always ask the other domains to send us a capable venture…”

And completely destroy the fact that you have carefully engineered a city where you are the most potent power , along with your clan.

“Okay, okay. That is half correct, but you have to admit, my prince, every single one of them is more capable than me, and you would gain the approval of an ally that is very much needed in the coming nights. ”

And you would have to share the cake that you carefully selected, decorated, and sprinkled, with others. Possibly even with people that did not know which fork to use, and were not too shy to call her out on bullshit. .

“Well, then with your own Clan? Allaric comes to mind? ”

The man was a saint, very understanding, and competent in his own regards, but he was legendary for being a living breathing anachronism. He saw nothing wrong with riding his Rolls Royce in full plate, and would have ridden a white stallion if that would not have drawn too many eyes. Plus, he was French, with stunningly red hair. Not the best attribute for someone living under a princess who favored pink and pastells.

He did not even mention the Assamite Lady, Representatives of the Giovanni, or the Setites.

Seemingly beaten, he listened to the honey sweet words. Why, of course, he could do it , they would find time, it was no problem at all, he was a very capable young vampire….

The old man smiled, and carefully measured his tone, gave it his proper consideration, and at the end, nodded gravely.

“Under one regard though. When I see someone more qualified, I am allowed to step back, and hand it back. I am only a neonate, it would be too easy to take advantage of me. ”

The laughter he heard this time did not please him that much. Perhaps he should give his prince more credit, he thought, as he looked over the parking space of the mac donalds. She was the type of woman who picked things like this up.

By the time he was on the road again, he was confirmed interim Keeper of the Elysium, had the stipend settled away, and was on a conference call with the old Keeper, excitedly babbling on about special fishes, the Galapagos Islands, and the fact that it was such an unexpected honor.