Chapter XVIII: Farewell, Santa Monica.Tung greeted me with a blood pack when I returned. 'Nice work fledgling, I felt the explosion from here. Best be on your way, the Sabbat's going to be looking for you. If I were you, I'd report to LaCroix.'
I drank deeply from the pack, feeling my strength returning, my healing accelerate.
'Tung', I asked thoughtfully, thinking back over the events at the warehouse. 'You seem to know a lot of what's going on. You know a guy called Beckett?'
The Nosferatu frowned, scratching at a pulsating sore on his cheek.
'I met him at the warehouse. Seemed to know me, so I wondered if you'd sent him along.' Tung shook his head.
Tung would say no more on the matter. Not that I knew what questions to ask; it seemed the more I found out, the less I understood. With everything that was going on here, the person Tung seemed most in awe of was a historian?
'Alright then...well, I guess my next stop is LA. What can you tell me about LaCroix?'
And don't you sound thrilled about that?
It seemed that I wasn't the only one to dislike LaCroix. Tung seemed to view him with contempt, Jack had dismissed him completely. Then there was the guy who'd interrupted the execution at the theatre...what was his name...ah yes.
'And what about Rodriguez?'
'You don't sound like you're fond of the Camarilla either.'
Tung had given me a lot to think about. It seemed that even within the factions there were factions. I didn't want any of it. Fuck the politics. I was going to see LaCroix, let him know our business was done, and get the fuck out of this city.
I walked back to 2nd Street, noticed the cab outside The Asylum, the vampiric driver. Someone had apparently informed LaCroix that the warehouse was toast. I climbed onto the back seat, slamming the door behind me.
'Where to?', asked the driver, as if he didn't know.'
'Away from here', I responded shortly, closing my eyes.
So long, Santa Monica.