Succeed

Succeed

To Fail and Succeed Casper Johnson pressed the elevator call button for the fourth time in nine seconds. He knew rationally that it didn’t make a damn bit of difference, but he was in a hurry. The elevators at the Hyatt Plaza knew he wanted one of them, and they would send their representative in due time. Just like politicians, elevators worked on their own schedules and made you wait for them. Unlike politicians, elevators didn’t yell at you when you kept them waiting. Not that Mr. Van Dorn would yell at him.

He’d just stare, which was actually much, much worse. At least it was worse when Van Dorn did it.

Casper wasn’t the only person waiting anxiously for the elevator. The Hyatt was a madhouse tonight, just as you’d expect for the biggest party fundraiser of the year. The mayor was due to arrive any minute, while three state senators, six states’ representatives and a would-be national senator were all downstairs boozing it up with lobbyists from every big bank, industry and special-interest group in the state. He knew all about that, because, as a lobbyist himself, that was exactly where he’d been too until a few minutes ago when he’d had to cut Representative Friedman off in mid-anecdote by glancing at his watch. 9:02. He was two minutes late. He had 13 minutes to round up Councilman Mackie and get him up to suite 1225.

Now at 9:16 (a minute late!), he pushed the call button a fifth time with Mackie standing beside him.

“Fuck. He’s gonna kill me,” Casper muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Mackie asked, obviously a little nervous himself.

“Oh, just cursing these elevators, Councilman,” Casper replied. “They’ve been slow all week, and I know you’re a busy man. Sorry about that.”

To Fail and Succeed “Well, I don’t suppose Mr. Van Dorn will mind waiting a few extra minutes, will he?” the lean young councilman chuckled.

A former high-school teacher turned politician, Mackie had won office at the tender age of 36 on a platform of education and above-board politics. A year and a half later, though, he faced re-election and found he needed money. Bake sales just didn’t cut it any more. So, like nearly every other councilman before him, Doug Mackie had agreed to meet privately with Matthias Van Dorn, investor, captain of industry and the largest private political contributor in the city. Of course, not many people outside of Casper’s lobbying firm knew this last fact. Mackie was about to find out.

The elevator doors opened finally, revealing a car full of portly men and women wearing suits and tags that read “Hello, my name is _____.” Mackie looked like he wanted to wait for another car, but Casper dove in, pushing the crowd back and making room for the councilman. He opened his mouth, almost ready to order him into the car, but Mackie came of his own volition. Two-and-a-half minutes later (9:22!), they stood before suite 1225. Before he could even knock, the door swung open to reveal Van Dorn’s assistant, a sharp-featured politico named Spencer.

Spencer just nodded and stepped aside to allow the two men entry. Mackie and Casper nodded back. Five more steps brought them into the suite’s salon before Mr. Van Dorn, who stood by the window, looking out over the city. He turned to meet them, his impassive eyes fixing them each with a glance. Shivers ran up Casper’s spine, but he was used to that. It happened every time he met the billionaire client. A quick look to his left told him that Mackie felt it too, although he obviously wasn’t used to it. The councilman almost took a step backward.

Matthias Van Dorn wore a dark gray suit, a subdued purple tie and perhaps the most polished leather cap-toes known to man. His pale, angular features and short-cropped blond hair looked decidedly Nordic and refined, although he spoke with no discernible accent. He locked eyes with Casper for a moment, and the lobbyist’s heart filled with dread. He wanted to run away and hide in some dark hole, maybe beneath the porch at mama’s house back in Louisiana. He’d been late. This was a bad thing.

But the moment passed as quickly as it came. Van Dorn smiled to Mackie and extended his hand in greeting.

“Good evening, Councilman Mackie. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Van Dorn,” said Mackie, who suddenly looked very gangly and awkward next to the urbane and refined industrialist. “Mr. Johnson here has told me so much about you and your interest in the city’s welfare. I’m happy I could find a few minutes to spare for you.”

Ha! Casper thought, if you only knew who was sparing time for who. He doubted that Mackie’s comment sat well with Van Dorn, but the stern man showed no sign of displeasure.

“Yes, I do thank you for meeting with me,” Van Dorn said, all smiles and grace. “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

Clanbook: Ventrue “No, no; not at all.”

“Excellent. Please, sit down. Would you like a drink?”

“No thank you, I don’t drink,” Mackie said a little too quickly as he sat down in a chair opposite Van Dorn. Casper and Spencer remained standing, trying their best to remain unobtrusive. Mr. Van Dorn did not abide interruptions during his meetings. Casper felt for the phone in his pocket to make sure he’d turned it off, just in case.

“Councilman, where do you stand on the upcoming 215? The rezoning issue?” Van Dorn asked, already well aware of the answer.

“Well Mr. Van Dorn, I’m opposed to it. The Laurel Park neighborhood is one of this city’s success stories. It needs more schools, affordable homes and restaurants, not factories.”

Despite Mackie’s initial unease around Van Dorn, he slipped back into politician mode easily, speaking on automatic.

“I see,” Van Dorn said, his tone still genial. “The neighborhood certainly has improved immeasurably since I first moved to our fair city. Tell me, though, did you realize that unemployment in that area has risen steadily over the last three quarters?”

Mackie frowned. “I have to dispute your facts, sir. Unemployment in this city is at its lowest point ever.”

“Oh yes, city-wide that’s true,but it’s up in the Laurel Park area. Up quite a bit if I recall correctly. It seems to me that the area needs jobs more than schools.”

“Yes, well…” Mackie looked confused, disoriented. “That makes sense I guess….”

Van Dorn locked eyes with Mackie. “Would you say the neighborhood needs the proposed industrial park?”

“Yes. The neighborhood could benefit from the industrial park.”

Van Dorn’s gaze never left the councilman’s. Neither man blinked. “How do you plan to vote on Tuesday?”

“Well….”

Van Dorn kept talking. “It seems to me, that if you think the voters of Laurel Park need more jobs, then you should give them to them.” He paused to emphasize his final point. “You will vote for the rezoning measure on Tuesday. After all, you’ve come to realize that it’s better for all involved. You’ll want to tell anyone who asks that this project will reinvigorate the area’s stagnating economy.” Van Dorn stared at his untouched bourbonand-water, motioning to Spencer. “At least that’s how it seems to me. Do you agree?”

“Yes…that seems to make sense. I’ll have to think about it,” Mackie said distantly.

Spencer moved forward, withdrawing a checkbook from his coat pocket. He handed it and a pen to Van Dorn as Van Dorn began speaking again. “Now Mr. Mackie, I think you’re doing an excellent job on the city council, and I’d like to contribute to your reelection campaign. I’m sure I have many associates willing to contribute as well. For now, I, Spencer and Mr. Johnson here would each like to contribute the limit to your campaign.

It’s still $1025, correct?”

“Yes, sir… thank you, sir. I sincerely appreciate your contribution to my campaign.” The autonomic political response system was kicking in. “I’m sure that we can all work together to make a better, more prosperous city.”

Van Dorn smiled as he rose and shook Mackie’s hand. “I’m sure you’re right councilman. In the meantime, I imagine you have other pressing business. I’ll let you leave now.”

Mackie took the checks, shook Van Dorn’s hand and vanished out the door with a final vague pleasantry.

Casper was still amazed to see how persuasive Van Dorn had been. He was sure that Mackie would have at least held out for more money if he wasn’t going to stand on his principles. His amazement withered, though, when he felt the familiar chill To Fail and Succeed and he realized that Van Dorn had now turned to look at him.

Not good.

“I would have liked more time, Mr. Johnson.”

Casper felt the sweat begin to seep out of him. He swallowed to avoid stammering. “I’m sorry, sir. Representative—”

“I’ll need to see Mister Mackie again soon, to solidify his position. Arrange a meeting sometime next week, after the vote.” Van Dorn looked at his watch. “Now I believe you need to round up another appointment for me.”

Casper looked at his watch. Fuck! He had to find Senator Gaskins right now. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way.” It was all he could do to keep from running from the room. If it weren’t for the six-figure pay checks, it just wouldn’t be worth putting up with that… man… * * * Casper moved about the main ballroom, looking for Senator Gaskins when his pager started vibrating. 000-911. Damn; his assistant’s emergency code. Now what? He pulled out his phone and looked for a quiet place from which to call his office. He ducked into the men’s room and hit speed dial.

A second later, his phone flew from his grasp as someone knocked it across the room. It shattered against the wall, and pain flared in Casper’s wrist.

He turned his head just in time to see an unremarkable guy with pale skin, slicked back hair and a “Hello My name is _____” sticker grab him by the lapels and shove him into the wall. The force of the blow cracked the tile and at least three ribs.

“What the fu—” was all he could say before the man cut him off.

The attacker locked his gaze and hissed, “Quiet.” Although he wanted to scream bloody murder, Casper kept his mouth shut.

“All right, pretty boy. Where is he? Where’s Van Dorn?”

As scared as Casper was right then — accosted and possibly in dire physical peril in a hotel restroom — he was more scared of Van Dorn. In fact, he couldn’t help but be more scared of his client. He wanted to spill his guts before the assailant did it for him, but he couldn’t talk. He tried again, but he just gurgled with the effort.

Still pressing him against the wall, the man asked again, this time staring hard into Casper’s eyes. He enunciated every word carefully. “Tell me where Van Dorn is.” Casper’s head felt like it was splitting. He started to speak, but he couldn’t even remember in his panic. Where was Van Dorn anyway? He knew he’d seen him somewhere recently…. He gurgled once more.

“Listen, you fuck,” the attacker said. “Tell. Me. Where. Van.

Dorn. Is.” His hands dug into Casper’s arms, bruising them to the bone. That pain was nothing, though, compared to the one in his head.

“Do we have a problem here, gentlemen?” another voice asked. Casper thought he recognized the voice. Who was that?

The attacker turned to face the newcomer. “Get the fuck outta here. This is a private conversation.”

Blinded by the pain, Casper couldn’t see what was going on.

That voice, though — he was sure he knew it. It spoke again.

“Oh yes; I see. Please excuse me.” Wait; it was Spencer!

Van Dorn’s man. Casper tried to shout for help when he realized it, but a rapid series of flat clicks and the wet spak of bullets tearing into flesh interrupted him. The pale attacker stumbled sideways with the impact.

Casper opened his eyes to see Spencer drop a silenced pistol and dive forward. The attacker was already coming at him.

Spencer knocked him to the ground, driving something long and sharp into the man’s chest. The attacker shuddered once and stopped fighting. Spencer rolled off him, stood up and turned to Casper.

“Get the hell out of here,” Spencer said. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I’ll talk to you in a moment.” Casper promptly turned away to do what he was told. * * * Cold. Hard. Casper thought for a moment that he was still on the bathroom floor. No, he could tell it was darker here, even though his eyes were closed. This place’s acoustics were different than those in the bathroom as well. The voices’ echoes sounded hollow and farther away like they would in a cave. Or in a tomb.

He didn’t have it in him to open his eyes just now, even though the cold he felt against his cheek helped soothe the throbbing pain at the base of his skull. After a few deep breaths, the voices ceased to be background noise and suddenly became very important. He had just heard Matthias Van Dorn speak.

“I might as well make sure this night isn’t a total waste. It’s time to rouse Mr. Almodovar here,” Van Dorn was saying.

Casper heard chains rattle close by, followed by a prolonged, wet sucking sound and a sickening pop. The chains Clanbook: Ventrue rattled louder, and Casper could hear muffled grunting. What the hell was going on? Where was he? How did he get here?

“Calm down, Mr. Almodovar. Do calm down.” Van Dorn’s voice carried no hint of irony, and presently, the struggling ceased. Even more surprising, as far as Casper was concerned, was the fact that he found himself calming down as well. His heart stopped racing, his head throbbed a little less intensely. He even managed to open his eyes.

He lay in the corner of some dark, concrete room. A single halogen lamp dangling from the ceiling provided light. A naked man with a gaping red hole in his chest hung on a nearby wall, suspended just a few inches above the floor. If that man flexed his feet, he could probably just scrape the floor with his toes.

Casper wasn’t surprised to see that it was the same guy who’d attacked him in the bathroom. That made Casper feel even better. Van Dorn stood before the prisoner, his eyes even with the enchained man’s. The man on the wall kept his eyes closed and head turned to the side.

“Look at me Mr. Almodovar,” Van Dorn said. “You will look at me.” The man didn’t move. Van Dorn nodded to his left, and Spencer stepped out of the shadows holding a blood-coated wooden stake. He strode forward and took hold of the prisoner. The bastard started to struggle once more, but he didn’t have anywhere to go.

Spencer drove the stake into the bloody hole in the man’s chest.

Casper wanted to vomit, but he didn’t want to disturb Van Dorn by being sick in his presence. When Spencer stepped back, Van Dorn took hold of the stake and pulled it achingly slowly from the man’s chest, pausing a moment to shove it all the way back in before withdrawing it completely.

“I can do this all night, Mr. Almodovar. In fact, I can do it forever. Now, don’t you want to spare yourself all the discomfort?”

The prisoner screamed, his eyes glistening furiously under the halogen light. He howled like a trapped animal. Casper cowered in his corner, not feeling his broken ribs grind together or the deep, purple bruises on his arms. Van Dorn let the chained man thrash about for a bit before halting him with a word.

“Stop.”

Almodovar stopped.

“I don’t know what it was you thought you were doing, Joachin. I just barely tolerate you as a courtesy in the first place.

Now you attack one of my possessions? You interrogate it to get to me? This behavior is unacceptable. You no doubt know enough to think that since I am neither prince nor your sire I will not destroy you. Think again. You will find that the Traditions extend only to those who observe them. You, sir, have committed a grievous breach of etiquette.”

Van Dorn grabbed the prisoner by the hair stared directly into his eyes. Almodovar tried to look defiant, but he lost his composure quickly. Van Dorn had him. “Be still, oaf. It is time for you to answer my questions. Tell me why you needed to see me so urgently….”

The questions went on for a long time, and Almodovar spilled his tale. Casper sat quietly, taking it all in, trying to figure out what was going on. How could the man survive having a wooden spike shoved into his heart? Twice. And what happened to the bullet holes that should have pock-marked his entire left side? Casper needed answers. Unfortunately, he received none.

When the interrogation ended, Van Dorn turned to Casper.

Casper shuddered to behold his employer when he noticed the flecks of blood on Van Dorn’s tailored suit. That won’t make him happy, Casper thought. Those will never come out.

To Fail and Succeed “And now for you, whelp,” Van Dorn spat through curled-back lips. “I’m not sure whether to punish you for your ineptitude or reward you for drawing out this serpent in our midst.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d gladly split the difference. Don’t feel that you have to reward me or punish me,”

Casper rasped, shrinking from Van Dorn’s imperious scorn.

“Actually, I was thinking of giving you a little bit of both.

It’s an inauspicious welcome to Clan Ventrue, to be sure, but you know my protocols at least, and it will save me from hiring another aide.”

“Clan Ventrue? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Casper didn’t try to get up, but his limbs climbed over each other in a race to escape Van Dorn’s closing presence.

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to learn. Forever, in fact.”

And then, as Matthias Van Dorn lifted his aide from the floor, Casper Johnson became something else entirely.

Clanbook: Ventrue