((con't from http://nwod.org/forum/showthread.php...t=blood+carpet))

After Heath knocks on Greevey's door, he hears the slumlord's muffled "Who is it?" from somewhere inside.

"This is Mr. Staley," Heathcliff announces calmly to the crude man behind the door. "I need to speak with you now."

"Yeah, yeah, just a minute," Heath hears the floorboards creak as Greevey approaches the door. He hears several locks unlock, then the door opens. He finds Greevey in slippers, sweat pants and a sleeveless t-shirt. In his hand is a can of cheap beer; in the background, Heath hears pro wrestling, a PPV match.

"Yeah, what can I do for you, Mr. Staley. Did you maybe want me to introduce you to some of the lady tenants who can be really appreciatiave of a small monetary gift?"

"Perhaps," Mister Staley says, looking about the hideously untidy apartment, which, while superior to looking at the clearly unhygenic Mr. Greevey, nevertheless requires him to conceal his disdain. The Nosferatu lowers his phlegmy voice, looks the man eye-to-dead-eye, and says, "But first I need to speak with you about the previous tenant of my apartment, Mr. Greevey." He pauses for dramatic effect before suggesting, "We should continue this conversation privately."

"Yeah, sure, c'mon in," Greevey says, standing aside for Heath. He tries to keep up an appearance of nonchalance, but Heath's question seems have struck something in him, and put him a bit on guard.

"There's been a lot of other tenants in there over the years," he says. "Including all the ones from before I bought the place. You wondering about the last tenants? That was this Mex family, they didn't stay very long... last I heard, immigration got him. Hey, you wanna beer?"

"Not just at the moment, thank you," the civil servant declines politely with a small shake of his head. He notices that Mr. Greevey appears shaken by the question, which means he does know something. The Nosferatu decides to press. "There is blood under the carpet, Mr. Greevey. Someone died there recently." He lets that sink in. "Tell me what happened."

"It wasn't that recent. It's just... I've had I don't know how many different contractors come in, and none of them can get those stains out of the floorboards, and no matter how much varnish, sometimes it leaks up through the carpet. And you know how expensive it is to put in new floors..."

Seeing Heathcliff is less than sympathetic with his plight, Greevey gets back to Heath's real question.

"So, yeah... what happened. Real tragedy, I tell ya. Been almost five years ago. Maria Elizalde. She was a college student, real nice girl. Someone raped an' killed her. The cops never caught nobody for it. Still unsolved." He shakes his head. "Really sad, somethin' like that, and the bastard done it probably still out there somewhere."

"That is very sad," Heathcliff agrees, noting the last name for future research. This ghost is approximately five years old, he notes with interest. "Never caught anybody? Did they have any suspects? Many times, with these kinds of crimes, the perpetrator knows the victim, or may live close by," he prompts.

"Not as I've ever heard," Greevey says. "They talked to a lot of people in the building and some of the nearby ones, plus I heard they talked to a lot of peoplw where she was going to school. Far as I've ever heard, nobody knew nothing, nobody saw or heard nothing that night. Didn't have a boyfriend, I don't think."

Heathcliff is about to ask Greevey where she went to school, but he can find that out on his own. A much, much more pressing thought has finally found the alignment of mental doors allowing access to his consciousness, and, don't look now, but it's got hold of his cursed tongue. "Mmmhmmm," he nods along, "Well, thank you for clearing that up, Mr. Greevey," he says calmly, trying not to unnerve his prey. "I was quite worried about the blood, as you can imagine! However, it does not present a problem. So, you said there are girls," you fatsweatysleazysonuvabitch how involved are you, "of negotiable affection within the building?" The Nosferatu smiles at his 'partner.' Go on. Confirm my suspicion.

Greevey gives Heath a sly smile and nods. "Yeah, there are some. A couple of the ladies here are pros, they give me free services and I let them stay here. Some of the others do, um, other services, you know, in exchange for keeping their rent low, or to not get tossed out on their asses when they get behind on the rent.

"The pros, I can just give you their phone and apartment numbers, I'm sure they'll be glad for the business. The other ladies... well, I was thinking, in the interest of keeping a good business arrangement between you and me, I could include you in the arrangement I have with one of them."

Heathcliff has long been practicing the slightly upraised, questioning eyebrow along with the casual stare his Regent used so effectively. He employed it now, silently urging Greevey to continue without risking his voice shaking with a terrible, rising rage born not of the Beast, but of the Man.

"You want, I can take you around to meet some of them, so you can pick who you want the arrangement with." After a pause, he asks, "What age you looking for?"

Come into my parlor...

The Nosferatu pushes the anger and revulsion back, for now, and offers the slumlord an anxious smile. "Earlier, I believe I saw..." he begins, then leans forward and lowers his voice to a nervous, conspiratorial whisper, "a young girl." His disturbing grey eyes settle on Greevey's own. "Quite young, in fact." He summons his most lascivious grin to surface, to keep the fly off his guard.

"There are some pretty young girls here," Greevey says. "I don't know much about that end of things, but I know one of the pros has this daughter, she's turning her out. If that's the sort of thing that interests you, I think we could probably reach some sort of arrangement with the girl's mama."

Heathcliff felt he has been too hasty in his judgement of Greevey. He was a slumlord, a part-time pimp, and knew a child was being prostituted in his building, but none of these things in and of themselves were reasons to enact what his Sire called 'justice,' but was usually just murder, only dressed nicer.

"It does," Heathcliff says happily. "Can you arrange a meeting for me? I'll take the numbers of the older women as well," his Beast compels him to add. Was it that time again already? "Variety is the spice of life, or so I've heard." He chuckles lightly, more like they were discussing sports than the exploitation of the innocent.

Greevey says "Sure, sure. I can give you the apartment numbers now, and get you the phone numbers over the next couple days. If you like, we can go now to talk with the girl's mama. You can get a look at the girl, and I can explain to her how things are going to be."

Heathcliff nodded. "Lead the way." First, Greevey would explain things to the mother. Then, when he left, the Nosferatu would offer her redemption, of a sort. While Heathcliff loathed the idea of addicting some poor soul to his blood simply to exploit them, he was sure that the Seneschal of Sacramento ought to have a ghoul. A neat compromise, he rationalized, is someone amoral enough to profit off their child's innocence, as well as a sure solution to the problem at hand.

Greevey takes Heath to apartment 307. Heathcliff recognizes this apartment as the one where he noticed the interactions between an Anglo man, a Latina woman and a young girl earlier in the evening, before his encounter with Maria.

"Whore's name is Esmerelda Salazar," Greevey says. "The daughter's name is Lupe."

He knocks on the door. A little boy's voice answers in Spanish, and Greeley answers in poor Spanish that he needs to speak to the boy's mama.

A minute or so later, a Latina woman - the same one Heath saw earlier - opens the door. She is dressed in a low-cut blouse and loose skirt and is smoking a cigarette. She has a curvy but somewhat heavy build. Her age is hard to determine - her hair is still a lustrous black-brown and her skin mostly smooth, but there are wrinkles around her eyes and she has deep circles under her eyes, visible even through her heavy makeup.

"Esmerelda, this is a friend of mine," he says.

The woman's eyes meet Heath's.

"It's nice to meet you, Esmerelda," he croaks, a faint smile playing upon his lips as he takes in the woman's figure before his eyes, which looked as though they belonged to a week-old corpse, or perhaps a well-preserved cadaver, return to hers. The civil servant liked what he saw- good skin, good hair, good curves. Better-looking than Greevey, certainly, he thought bemusedly. "You can call me Heathcliff." To Greevey, it may seem that he was being reckless, giving his real name unnecessarily. The Nosferatu had no reason to hide his name from this woman, though. He would be able to trust her completely, soon.

"You have a lovely home, Esmerelda," he says, glancing about casually. "Might we come in?" he asks, switching to fluent Spanish, a very helpful skill in California's public sector. "It's a business matter." That faint smile never leaves his face. He spares a glance at Greevey. He does hope he hasn't stolen the fat man's thunder.

She looks Heathcliff over a bit more carefully after hearing his good grasp of Spanish, then nods and stands aside for Heathcliff and Greevey.

Inside, Heath sees two younger children - a girl, perhaps six, and a boy of around 8 or 9 - watching a police show on television. There are dirty dishes piled in and near the sink.

"So, this business matter," she asks. "Does it involve my services, or Lupe's?"

"I believe my friend was wanting to meet Lupe," Greevey says. Looking at Heath, he asks "Isn't that right?"

Heathcliff looks at the children and nods. "That's right," he says simply. For once, the Nosferatu is glad he's dead; otherwise, he'd want to vomit. "But not exclusively. I'd like to see you, too, on occasion," he tells her. "Tonight, in fact." Staley felt an odd rush- he, a vampire, would make a better life for these children. They would one day look back on the day the vampire came into their lives with gratitude. It was quite a feeling, to be scourge and savior. Perhaps, Sebastian had not been so wrong about Heathcliff...

She looks at Greevey, who says nothing, meeting her gaze, finally nodding a couple times, slowly. She looks back at Heathcliff.

"I think I can arrange my schedule for you to visit tonight," Esmerelda says. "You wanna meet Lupe right now, or later tonight, or another time?"

"Good," he answers simply. He looks back at the children, watching television, and puts that faint smile back on his face. "I'll meet with Lupe another time," he says, his voice something like a very sick bullfrog. "What time should I return?"

"The kids are in bed after 11," she says. "That would probably be best."

"Wonderful. Hasta luego, senora." Heathcliff rises from his seat and nods at Greevey. Unless the slumlord was going to offer to negotiate on Staley's behalf, which would be completely unnecessary later, he was ready to leave.

She just nods as Greevey and Heath leave.

Greevey smiles to Heath. "See? I told you that wouldn't be a problem. I tell ya, she knows how to do some things, 'specially with her mouth."

"I'm sure you're right," Staley says, forcing a laugh at the man's crude humor. "Well, thank you for your assistance, Mr. Greevey. I've taken enough of your time this evening." He forces himself to offer a grateful handshake to the slumlord as he puts one foot on the stairs leading to his office/apartment.