Lucita

Lucita

**of Note**

didn’t like to be remembered.

That was the whole logic behind the damn Masquerade, to be honest. It wasn’t because there were any vampires out there who were “good guys” (though some folks spent years, decades or even centuries trying to play the role) and the Masquerade was some great and altruistic thing done for the sake of humanity. No, it made working easier. It made feeding easier. And it meant less competition and fewer hassles from kine with torches and shotguns. So few Kindred on either side of the fence understood that.

It wasn’t about kowtowing to the Antediluvians or keeping the world safe for poor fragile humanity.

It was about getting things done with a minimum of extra effort. There was no idealism involved.

Lucita just liked avoiding unnecessary complications.

The top on the Jkemer was up, but even through that and the sound of the engine Lucita could hear sirens wailing. A pair of pillars of smoke wafted upwards on the skyline ahead; no doubt the Sabbat was breaking things to distract the gendarmes while the local Kindred were rousted and put to the sword. It was all part of the basic modus operandi. Distract the fasombra mortal authorities, and it gave you a clear field to go Kindred hunting. The locals would have to protect both themselves and the Masquerade, and sooner or later their resources would stretch too thin. One or the other would tear, and then the city’s Kindred hierarchy would get eaten alive.

“Simple, but effective,” Lucita said to the night.

On the passenger seat, the dossier on tonight’s target sat open. A head shot proved that he was unattractive by any standards but a Nosferatu’s or a mother’s, with a piggish, heavy face and a scowl that was almost petulant. He had thick black brows and thick black hair and a thick, bullish neck. The picture had apparently been taken at a point when the subject was in the midst of some sort of shouting fit, because his mouth was open and his lips were flecked with spittle.

The name at the bottom of the picture was Roger MacEllen. rkhard e. daosky 14 I Friday, 13 August 1999,12:47 AM