Oliver Klein sat in the back seat of the black Mercedes, watching harshly as the poor thrall in the driver's seat - a young man in a nice suit and a buzzcut - fidgeted and looked straight out ahead. Dr. Klein had been a serious master as long as his Ghoul had known him. But Patrick had never seen him like he was tonight. Klein was utterly silent. There were no recriminations. No accusations of sloppiness. No raps on the back of the head for driving at 10 and 2 instead of 4 and 8. No shrieking to look at the road every time Patrick's eyes caught his in the rear view mirror. Patrick was a loyal servant to the good Doctor, of course, and was performing his duties impeccably. But Klein always found something wrong with him. Those who only knew Oliver casually would have taken his silence as a relief from his usual babbling, but Patrick worked closely enough with his Regnant to know better. The silence was dangerous. It meant Dr. Klein was focused. The chaos that swirled around him had given way to the iron will and the singular drive that Klein was capable of when his madness gave way to calculation. Patrick was quite sure if he managed to catch Klein's attention, he'd be slain right in his master's prized vehicle and replaced by the night's end.
In truth, Klein had noticed all of the imperfections in Patrick's behavior. But Patrick was something that could be dealt with later. He would only get one chance at the opportunity he had been given tonight. The stars had aligned for him in that curious way that luck always seems to be with Malkavians. Victor was busy tying up loose ends with his failed attempt to slay the Caitiff girl, disposing of the witnesses. Roger was off trying to salvage his plan to wrest the city's police from the Anarchs in one deft maneuver. And Chesterfield? Who knew what it was Tremere got up to when nobody was watching them? Klein couldn't care less what the boy-warlock had cooking in his cauldron. Klein didn't care what his alleged compatriots were doing. He had his own plans, the same plans he'd had since his treacherous Blood had sank her fangs into him on the floor of Elysium - not once, but twice! He would kill Gabriella Rosario, and reclaim his Blood from her corpse.
Revenge against Gabriella had consumed the Malkavian for decades now. He had other priorities, to be sure - his survival, his Standing. But in the end, even those priorities boiled down to retaining the means to claim revenge on his childe. With Final Death an unlikely eventuality, Dr. Klein was willing to wait for the right opportunity to strike. He had been willing to wait 50 years for the perfect opening to present itself. And just the night before, it had. Klein didn't even consider the possibility that the foolish Toreador who claimed to love the unlovable wretch had noticed what he did. He didn't know the childe as Klein did. He wasn't her creator, nor her generous tutor for the long years of her failed Accounting. He hadn't seen the disgusting little whore lech on to every living, breathing man she could find and disgrace her undead flesh with mortal pleasures. Klein shuddered. Thinking of Gabriella's failings - and thus his failings - riled the Beast. But knowing her gave him this opportunity. Some oafish man committing acts of violence in the name of a woman? Acts of violence which just so happened to target the Anarchs' enemies - her enemies? The voices in Klein's mind had already debated over every eventuality. Every potential pitfall. But they could find none. His deduction was perfect. This was Gabriella's work, and her leftovers had been practically delivered to him.
Klein's head jerked a moment before the door to the New Orleans Police Precinct Station opened up and a tall, handsome blonde man with a square jaw, high cheekbones, and blue eyes stepped out. *Exactly her type.* He trudged nervously out to the Mercedes, trying and failing to peer through its tinted windows. "Get the door for him," Klein hissed at Patrick. The Ghoul obediently got out of the car, waving the blonde man over and opening the door to the seat next to Klein. The moment the man sat down, Klein's demeanor changed. The dangerous silence was replaced by a genial smile so quickly it could have been mistaken for a bad special effect. The man's own apprehension began to fall away, as well, as Klein worked his powers of Entrancement over the mortal. "Mr. Daniels?" He said. "My name is Oliver. And I've paid your bail and reserved a place for you to sleep tonight. I did hear your employer evicted you."
Chad Daniels, awash in the pleasant feelings of Vampiric Presence, didn't notice the cold, clammy handshake of a Vampire who clearly had no intention of letting him survive the night. "Thanks, man," he said. He ignored the feeling of a *presence* in his mind. The presence of Oliver Klein's telepathic powers probing into his consciousness as surely as the Vampire's gaze kept his own. "Is there...are there strings attached?"
Klein shook his head, chuckling like a dad in a 50's sitcom. "No strings! I heard your story in the news and felt a touch of sympathy. A young man fighting dangerous men..." Oliver focused. "For his woman, yes?" Before Chad could ask how he knew, Klein waved a hand. "What else would drive a man to risk his life like you did?" His smile widened, the best he could manage as he tried to control his raging Beast. He saw her. Gabriella. She dominated the man's thoughts. Her whore face. Her monstrous claws. Her treacherous visage. It was all Klein could do not to tear Chad apart right there. "I'd bet you can't wait to see her again."
In the time it had taken to drive from the precinct station to the hospital where Chad had worked until last night, Klein had gotten everything he needed from the weak-willed kine. The alias, one of many he was certain, that Gabriella went by. Where she "worked." At least part of her schedule. Klein was hoping for more, but he hadn't expected it. His treacherous Blood was paranoid to the point of madness - she had not escaped the curse of her Blood as Klein had. She didn't see clearly like he did. But her madness made her dangerous. Too dangerous to confront directly yet, especially in her own fief. No, he would need to turn her unpredictability into a weakness. He would need to attack her psyche, hit his whore childe where it hurt. Turn her paranoia against her. And he knew just how to do it.
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Gabriella was not on shift when Chad Daniels was found later that night, his wrists slit and barely clinging to life. Chad passed in the emergency room as doctors were unable to transfuse enough blood in time. His file ruled his death as an apparent suicide, and all that was found on his person was a single scrap of paper with a name written on it. One that meant nothing to the hospital's staff, but everything to its intended recipient.
GABRIELLA