Interstate 90

Interstate 90

**of Note**

Just east of Buffalo, New York “Buffalo: 13 Miles,” Adele read the sign with tangible excitement. “Beautiful.”

“Shit, Mary, did you know Adele could read? I didn’t know Adele could read.” The van rocked with a general round of laughter while MacEllen’s new second-in-command shrieked curses at her tormentor.

MacEllen glanced in the rearview at his pack.

They were ready. They had their assignments-horn steel factories to parks to churches. They’d even gotten a little bit of information on vampires they might be facing, the poor bastards liable to get left behind to anchor the smokescreen. That was his pack‘s target-the remaining vampires. Einar’s was there to set up a ruckus to keep mortal authorities tied up, and to catch stragglers. Between them, they had just enough manpower to do the job right-if this was on the up and up, and not a screw job of the sort Polonia was famous for.

MacEllen was still convinced that the entire operation was a setup. However, he’d also convinced himself that even without Tolliver (and man, was he going to be pissed that he missed the fireworks), he just might beat the fix. If his team and Einar’s did their jobs, they’d break the frame and come out smelling like heroes. Beyond that, he had begun speculating on what the night’s work might net him.

The Southeast might be overloaded with archbishops, but upstate New York was a hell of a long way from their jurisdiction. He would take Buffalo for a start. rtchard e. donsky The vans crossed into the city of Buffalo itself.

Einar’s peeled off, flashing its brights once as a salute. MacEllen smiled. It was too late to turn back.

The battle for Buffalo was about to begin. lasornbra Thursday, 12 August 1999, 1 1: 15 PM Exit N2, Interstate 1-190 Buffalo, New York “YOU don’t want to be in that part of the city after dark, miss,” was what the old man had said. He’d been friendly and polite, things that Lucita hadn’t seen from a stranger in decades, and had actually seemed genuinely concerned for the welfare of a pretty young thing who was heading into a bad neighborhood. He looked about seventy-five, and was alone behind the counter of the convenience store-cumgas station at a ridiculous hour of the night. Lucita guessed that either some local Kindred was protecting him, or he had an over-under stashed under the counter. Otherwise, there was no way he’d have survived long without getting mugged a few times and losing his sunny disposition.

Lucita had thanked him for his concern, paid for her gas, and left. Quickly, she climbed into the car and started it up. Normally she preferred a lowerprofile vehicle, but something about this job told her that it would be wise to have a car that could flat-out scoot in an emergency. The engine purred to life and she pulled back onto 1-90, heading north toward the center of Buffalo.

Younger Kindred often thought it was a big deal to steal stupid things just because they were vampires, but Lucita had found that it was the stupid things that most often led to trouble. Steal some gas and you piss off the station owner. Piss off the station owner and he calls the cops. The cops get called, they look for you, and all of a sudden feeding without complications becomes nigh impossible (because God rtchard e. d a m k y knows that a cop would rather look for a gas thief than mix it up with someone likely to be packing, or interrupt a domestic disturbance). And so it went, and it was just easier to pay the twelve bucks and avoid complications. If the situation had demanded, she would have had no compunction about killing the old man and putting his blood to good use, but since the situation didn’t warrant such, there was no point to causing trouble for herself. After all, normal young ladies who did normal things tended to fade from the memory of those who saw them-and