The guy’s name was Juan Aguilar and Gary introduced him to Arnold one night at the Avalon.

Arnold had been walking through the club one night when he noticed his charismatic young ghoul trying to subtly get his attention. When Arnold walks up to him he smiles, “There’s someone I thought you might like to meet.” He leads him over to a booth where a handsome Latino man with a thin mustache and silk shirt sat, flanked on each side by a beautiful woman.

He smiles when he sees Gary approach, “Gary, mí hermano. What’s up?”

“Money and bitches, man. You know how it is,” comes Gary’s reply. “Yo, this is the guy I wanted to introduce you to – the Manager around here. Juan Aguilar this is Arnold Culler.”

Arnold knew who the man was as soon as Gary said the name. The Reeve had asked his ghoul to find him a man like this, and Gary had delivered promptly – a testament to his usefulness. Here was a man who worked in one of the more powerful drug rings in the region, a man with power and influence, but who was held down by those superior to him in the hierarchy of the business. He was a man with ambition, but no means to see that ambition through.

The type of man who might benefit from dealing with a vampire.

Arnold stepped forward, extending a hand to the man – definitely aware that he was offering the young gangster a gnarled claw to shake. Juan took the offered hand and shook it, however. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Juan. Gary has told me much about you. Nothing bad, I promise. Can we talk business?”

Juan nods and dismisses the women. Gary quickly averts their attention to the bar while Arnold sits across from Juan at the booth and they begin talking.

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Arnold disembarked at LAX. It was about 11:30 PM. It was his first time in Los Angeles, and he would have to be very careful to steer clear of any Kindred during his stay here, which was only supposed to last a few hours. He wasn’t here tonight on Danse business anyway. He had no luggage to claim, and so he left the terminal without incident, and was in a Taxi cab heading into the city.

He checked his watch: 12:13 AM. He stood outside a sizeable villa just inside Beverly Hills. The property, surrounded by a fifteen foot wall, is dark and quiet. Juan had mentioned that it would probably be so. Arnold looks up and down the street. He waits for the lights of a passing car to fade before he invigorates his strength with vitae and, with a great leap, clears the wall, landing in a crouch on the lawn on the other side..

Arnold creeps into the house through a kitchen door. His information had led him to believe that there would be no alarm, and there wasn’t, but Arnold still felt relief when his entrance went unnoticed. Silently, he moves through the house. Several times he sees armed men standing guard, many of them nodding drowsily or talking quietly with one another. Each time the Nosferatu employs the cloaking abilities of his blood to pass these guard posts until he found his way up to the master bedroom.

He pushed the door open slowly, and vanishes from sight as soon as he enters the room. He steps quietly across the carpet, and stands above the bed – looking down at an aging Mexican man sleeping beside a beautiful naked young Asian girl. The man was Herman Benevidez, Juan’s boss. A man much loved and respected among the cartel. Well, by most, at least.

Carefully, Arnold pulls from his coat a knife, engraved with the initials E.T. – short for Emilio Torres. There had been talk that Emilio was up to be made second in command of the organization. There had also been talk that Juan might get that position. Juan had complained to Arnold that he wanted the job, and Emilio dead, but while Herman lived he was untouchable.

So Arnold volunteered to solve Juan’s problems for him.

Taking the knife by its handle, Arnold leans forward, and places a firm gloved hand over the sleeping man’s mouth. His eyes open immediately, but before they can register what’s going on Arnold plunges the knife into his chest. He writhes for just a second, before going still. The Asian girl just sighs and rolls over in her sleep. Arnold opens the bedroom door to the veranda and slips out of the house. It is easier getting off the property than getting onto it.

He checks his watch, 1 AM. His flight wasn’t for another two hours..

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A month later and Arnold is sitting in the corner of Juan’s living room in Sacramento. They’d been discussing the war. Not the one in Afghanistan, but the one that Juan had been waging against Emilio ever since it was discovered that he had ordered a hit on their leader, Herman. Many lives had been lost on either side, and business was suffering.

Just then a group of men burst into the room, dragging a man with his head covered by a burlap bag.

Juan speaks up, “Who’s this bendejo?”

The men dragging the guy just grin and whip the burlap sack off. There, eyes wide with fear, mouth covered in duct tape, is Emilio Torres. Juan just laughs, “Well hot damn. Look who it is.”

He stands up off the couch, pulling a shiny .45 off the coffee table. Arnold just sits there and smiles while Juan taunts the helpless man, gloats, and finally drags the man outside onto the pool deck, places the gun barrel between his frightened eyes and blows his brains out.

Arnold stands inside the house waiting for him. Juan smiles at him and Arnold smiles back, “You’re the boss now. You can finally start making money again. No more infighting.”

Juan nods “I couldn’t have done it without you, man-“ he hardly has the words out of his mouth before Arnold has lashed out with the kind of speed that Juan never thought possible. In an instant Arnold has the man pinned to the wall, holding his throat in one big hand. His grip is as tight as steel and Juan feels powerless in his hold. He feebly clutches at the vampire’s hand, futilely drawing for breath and trying to free himself as spots begin to invade the side of his vision.

Arnold growls at him “Now I take my fee.” He releases him, and Juan falls to the ground, gasping for air. Arnold pulls a knife from his jacket and cuts the palm of his hand. Juan begins to edge away as Arnold extends the bloody hand to him. “DRINK,” comes the command and Juan finds himself obeying without thinking.

When Juan was finished drinking from Arnold’s blood he looked back up at the Nosferatu. His look was that of a slave looking upon his master.