The Lamentations of Renny Part 4: Stake Life
The Lamentations of Renny Part 4: Stake Life[edit]
Saturday, 06 Aug 2011
Adams County General Hospital
Natchez MS
2230hrs, local time
As Renny looked about the Emergency room his face was a mix of concern, empathy and no small amount of fear.
Inside, he was suppressing a smile.
“We’ll at least this is approaching normal,” he thought. “Me, back at emergency room explaining to the ER Staff how one drunk, coked up, suicidally depressed or just damned unlucky friend/associate/random person on the street had suffered purely accidental cuts, contusions, heart attack, poisoning, and/or severe internal hemorrhaging. How it was all just youthful high spirits or ill-advised attempts to stage dive. How those rope burns around John’s neck were actually an attempt to show how Vincent Price faked his suicide in “The House on Haunted Hill” or how all that internal bruising was due to an unfortunate run-in with a sack of potatoes rather than a Loan Shark’s beat down.
In this case the story had been simple enough and luckily no one in the group was intoxicated or had to be compelled, magically or physically, to follow it. That helped, as did Renny being the first one to talk to the ER Admittance Nurse. There were no gunshot injuries, so the cops didn’t have to be called, but they are notified about suspicious stab wounds and suspected suicide attempts which would have been the first conclusion of anyone looking Caroline or 38’s injuries. It was imperative to establish a plausible story before anyone in authority looked at the injuries. Also, one had to split the patients and the injuries up so that they didn’t draw unfortunate conclusions.
Being in Natchez made things quite a bit easier. In NYC, a socialite in the ICU was instant Page 6 fodder. They had stringers listening to police scanners and informants in the every ER just looking to pick up a little extra green from some juicy sinnuendo article. Renny still remembered the picture of Steve Buscemi sobbing like a baby on the subway after the 911 funeral. Everyone was a mark, either as a target or the audience, often both, at any time.
In Natchez the news would still move at the speed of gossip, but the damage would be limited. Caroline was a “good” girl from a “good family” and that still carried weight in these parts. She also still had considerable good will from that car bombing. Everything would eventually be explained and any cracks in the story would be papered over as a matter of course, even without supernatural involvement. The fact that she was seen publicly with Mason would cause far more tongues to wag than the extent or cause of her injuries.
Renny wasn’t actually concerned with Miss Thibideaux. She had would-be defenders lining up to come to her aid. Also, had she followed Renny’s advice and stayed back or had Evangeline bothered to come by and give Caroline a proper “fill-up” earlier this entire trip might have been unnecessary. Queen Bee did something stupid and got hurt. Stupid people get hurt. It was a fact of life; a near-immutable law that kept many people in profitable business for good reasons or ill.
Renny sighed slightly, continuing to keep a mask of earnest concern. The smell of blood was putting an edge to his hunger and the sights and sounds of the ER were putting off what should be a good mood. The evening had gone as well as he could have hoped. Cotton gone? Check. Evil Professor A-hole gone? Check. Head of Gangrel destroyed? Check. Various bad guy plans thwarted? Check. The horse Renny backed come out on top? Check. “It’s the fucking trifecta,” Renny thought. “I should be elated.”
Good guy injuries, minor and nothing permanent? Mostly Check.
Maybe that was it. Vampires, ghouls and semi-indestructible (just ask ‘em) rednecks tend to forget just how easily and how permanently plain old humans (and unwise ghouls) could be injured or killed. The ER was a reminder of it.
Renny cast his thoughts to 38. Of all the folks injured this evening she was the only one with some semblance of life that would be sporting so much as a scratch a week from now. She probably got about 12 stitches on the surface with some internal stitching to ensure that the muscle healed properly. Even with good stitching she was probably looking at a scar she could show to her grandkids.
38 had also done something stupid, but at least in her case it was to an understandable end. She thought she was holding the plan together until the cavalry could arrive not knowing that they already had; not knowing that the people she was shooting at were part of it.
She needed an edge.
If she was going to stay and continue to be messed up in the messy business of Vamps, she needed an edge. Hell, any human or ghoul hanging out with vamps needed an edge. Queen Bee had her would be suitors, including Evangeline. Alona and Anastasia would have all of Renny’s knowledge plus as much blood as they could handle. That, plus a few military-grade flare guns and some very sharp knives should be enough for casual encounters.
As the token human in this little coterie, 38 was at a distinct disadvantage. The knowledge that Renny could pass on to her would only go so far. She was incapable of becoming a ghoul and had made it quite clear that she would not become a vampire, even if it was a particularly powerful one. She also wasn’t the sort to drag coffins into the sunlight. Renny smirked momentarily. “Some of her best friends are vamps,” he said under his breath.
The image of 38 driving around the country in an aged, cross-encrusted panel van with “Battle Hymn of the Republic” blaring out over loudspeakers threatened to start Renny chuckling, but it also brought with it an idea for how to turn a disadvantage around. Despite the signs and the annoyed looks from the ER staff, opened his smart phone and pulled up a browser. Five minutes of searching brought the information he needed. For a five century old organization, the Inquisition had a remarkably strong web presence. He even friended the Pope from his Facebook account.
Renny had a genuine, if slightly sinister smile on his face as he turned off the phone. He’d have to slip it into the pocket of someone leaving the ER; hopefully someone headed a long way from Natchez, but if his plan worked out the phone was a small price to pay.
Now, how to broach the topic of becoming a vampire hunter?
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