The journey in Dillon's car is precarious to say the least as Anton takes the team to the edge the Barrens: less an area and more a patchwork of desolate backwoods, urban prairies and husked industrial sites. Alice is almost crushed several times by Arthur. The Bishop directs the Gangrel to a rotted motel that doesn't seem like it should exist here. The place consists of a parking lot, two dingy sprawling tiers, all beneath a buzzing sign marking the place out as 'The Ridge Motel'.
A couple of strung-out streetwalkers sit upon the steps, rising suddenly to take up posts along the lot as soon as an older man emerges from a second floor room, shooting them a cold glare. Anton stares up at the man and waits for Jacqui to come to the window before explaining the situation.
"A new element has been supping at the night trade. It seemed like a mundane turf war to begin with. One of the runners was beaten to death, some of the women were made ugly, the usual things that happen when cretinous out-of-towners attempt to carve a foothold -- nobody established is stupid enough to interfere with the ecosystem in place here. A few of the whores have turned up completely drained. It seems our out-of-towners are kindred. My bet is that this is linked to the poaching in the Regencies."
He points up at the man on the second tier. He's middle-aged, fat and has that just-had-rough-sex state of dishevelled to him.
"None of his girls have been touched." the Haunt murmurs. "Perhaps questioning him would be a good first step."
He looks into the rear-view, picking out the gargantuan smear that is Arthur's reflection. He didn't expect the dumb beast to infer anything. Best to keep things simple.
"Do as you're told, Arthur, and you will be doing well."
The Haunt waits for input from the more functional members of the team before making a move.
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