Zane's Memorial-Recap

The coterie arrived at Lily’s Haven for Zane’s memorial. The good father suggested they try to enter through the VIP entrance to avoid the crowd of people winding down the road and around the corner seeking admission. They approached the door and were met by several of Lily’s security, dressed in black T-shirts with matching black jackets.

“Name?” A man that made Talbot look undernourished asked.

“Father Liam Callahan.” The priest announced with an air of importance.

The doorman scrolled through names on his tablet but before he could finish his search he was nudged by one of his associates who appeared to recognize the coterie and nodded.

“Oh. Of course. Welcome to Lily’s “Haven.”

They pass through the entrance and into a hall feeding into the table service area of the establishment. The club had soft lighting that would have been slightly dim if not for the many candles and strategically positioned lanterns set about the space. Even so, shadows stretched long offering some privacy to those who desired it. Heavy red and black curtains were draped along the walls and several museum quality framed pictures of Zane were arranged on the edge of the stage. A trail of mourners, fans, who had come to pay their respects filed through and past the impromptu memorial.

As they entered, Father Callahan asked for his usual table. The maître d looked at him quizzically for a moment until the father gestured toward a circular booth off to the side that was… unfortunately occupied.

“Let me see what I can do.” She said smiling at the group, as her eyes lingered for a moment.

Rustin politely nodded his appreciation. The rest of the coterie began to look around.

Sylvie noticed a young Hispanic girl dancing near the front of the nightclub to the live band that was covering some of Zane’s better known songs. It was obvious the young lady had talent. Sylvie was certain her dance skill must have been what attracted Zane to her. Toreador have a thing for talented artists. She was pretty too. The early bronze-skinned Puerto Rican woman was wearing fashionable leggings and a skirt that allowed her the freedom of movement she needed to perform her moves. She wore a colorful silk shirt and heels that should have forced a broken ankle as she stepped and slid with the beat of the music.

Father Callahan set eyes on a mocha-skinned woman leaning against a piano off set from the stage. Her fingers lightly stroked the keys in accompaniment of the song. She had a glass in her hand but it was obvious to him she was not drinking from it. She seemed attended by a pale-skinned young man with brownish hair and camera that was taking far too many pictures for his liking.

Maia zoned in on a young lady with ebon skin and dark braided hair. She wore glasses and seemed rather secure sitting by herself at a table. In front of her was a sketchpad. Every now and again she would look up and around before lowering her head and scratching the paper with her pencil.

Rustin clocked two of the fledglings. The first was a Chinese girl, early to mid 20’s with pale copper skin. She was very pretty with long straight black hair and soft almond eyes. She was wearing a bodycon dress, emerald green with silver accents. Its low neckline and open back showcased the many tattoos she had. A group of Chinese men who had a hard look about them protectively surrounded her. Rustin knew street people when he saw them. They were most definitely Triad. The other was a striking attractive blonde who could have been a model. She was dressed down compared to most of the guests but even in her jeans and mid drift blouse, she turned heads. She was conversing with several others, equally underdressed people. Two had a feral look about them, the others a spark of nonconformance. Her eyes darted about the room like a predator. She would lock in on her “prey” and words were exchanged among the group as if they were planning something nefarious.

Bastanji’s eyes moved toward the bar where a girl, in his mind, too young to be in the club, sat by herself timidly in the corner. She had dark brown hair and an olive complexion. She was dressed more collegiately than stylish wearing a Columbia University polo and black slacks. She was skittish and her eyes moved nervously around the room scanning but never stopping on the faces around her.

Sylvie decided to approach the Spanish girl and danced her way over to her. She was received with a smile and the young woman seemed amused with Sylvie attempting to keep step with her. To be fair the Malkavian was performing fairly well. The kind hearted youth seemed to match her moves with the older stranger, making her eaier to follow. There appeared to be some inexplicable instant connection between the two. When the music paused before the next song Syive smiled at her and introduced herself. “Sylvie Lombardo. You’re an amazing dancer.” She complimented. “I remember being considered something of a dancer myself in my younger years.”

“Stop. You’re amazing yourself. Ida Patricia Maria Colon Alicea DeJesus. But you can call me Ida. Nice to meet you.”

“Wow. I love your cross. May I?” Sylvie asked slightly reaching out but not touching the silver filigree symbol.

“Sure.”

It was better than two inches tall and quite ornate. Sylvie admired the artistry. “So nice. Wear it well.”

“Thanks. It was a gift from my abuela before she passed. She was a bit religious. I guess I inherited that too.”

“Oh? Go to church much? I find it quite therapeutic myself.”

Ida smiled. “Almost every day. St Paul the Apostle.”

“No. Really? I do too. Not quite as often but typically Wednesdays and Saturday evenings. I’m sure I must have seen you there.”

“I’m sure. Hey. Why don’t you take my number? We can sit together. It’d be nice to go with a friendly face.”

“That’d be lovely dear. If you don’t mind spending time with an old lady.”

Ida laughed. “You’re far from old Sylvie.” She paused looking around. The crowd was starting to swell. “I should probably go.” She taps her phone to Sylvie’s to exchange numbers. “Good night.”

“Good night my dear.”

Ida’s eyes find the memorial one last time. Her expression tightens and she walks away.

Father Callahan eyes the mocha-skinned woman keying the piano for several minutes. He watches as the man with the camera walks off toward the bar. “That’s quite the pleasant tune my child.” Father Callahan says as he approaches. She’s a little startled.

“Oh. Hey. Thanks Father.” She says composing herself.

“Do you perform with the philharmonic?”

She chuckles lightly. “No, afraid not. I’m more Alicia Keys.”

“Lovely. Oh where are my manners? Father Liam Callahan.” He offers, extending his hand.

“Natalie. You can find me on Insta @KeysAndCurves. Have a look. She pulls a phone from her back pocket and begins showing the priest a gallery of pictures of her in some rather provocative poses. If you have your phone I’ll add you.”

“My phone…” Father Callahan feigns searching his pockets. Must have left it in the car. Do you have a card?”

“Like paper?” She laughs slightly. “Afraid not.” Ethan might. He keeps them for his photography business.”

“Ethan?”

“My boyfriend. Here he is now.”

A good looking man, English perhaps, early 20’s with a clean look and wavy light brown hair approaches with drinks in his hand”

“Ketel One and cranberry. Here ya go Nat.”

“Thanks Ethan. You’re the best.” She kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Ethan, meet Father Callahan.”

“Nice to meet you sir.”

“And you as well my son. You’re the photographer yes?”

“Yeah. I take all Nat’s pics, I do a lot of scenery work too. There’s great sights around the city.” He seems very excited to show Father Callahan his work. He grabs his phone and opens up his photos file. I use a Canon EOS C400. Shoots in 6k. Her have a look.” He says enthusiastically as he goes to hand the Father his phone.

“Uhh. Better I not.” Father Callahan says withdrawing a bit.” Old hand. Would hate to drop it. But I’m impressed with what I’ve seen. Would you be interested in some work for the church? We’re renovating and would love some pictures of the parish revitalization.”

“That would be fantastic. Where’s your phone. I’ll tap my contact info over to you.”

“My phone, yeah…” Father Callahan pauses.

“He’s old school Ethan. Have any cards on you?”

“I might.” He pulls his wallet out. “Oh yeah. Right here.”

“Well thank you. I’ll look forward to speaking with you. I work nights so tomorrow evening ok?” The priest added

“Sure.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. Been a pleasure my child. I look forward to seeing the great things you’ll do with your talent.”

More to the center of the club, Rustin was watching two groups.

Amber, her blonde curls shining, illuminated by soft neon light of the club and candles flickering about the space. Her lips are stained red, eyes smoked with blue gray shadow. A group of underdressed, street rabble and feral biker types linger nearby, Anarchs perhaps. Their conversation is hushed but their glances sharp. She seems to lock in on particular individuals in the room. Angry glares and snarled words are exchanged between them. She’s very much the predator in sizing up her prey. Rustin watches as her eyes find Lily. There’s fire in her gaze. She turns her head to say something to tall man who bears more than a passing resemblance to Talbot. Another is walking toward her. He bumps into a smaller Asian man wearing a tailored green suit. Tattoos can be seen drifting up his neck and past the cuffs of his shirt. Grace’s head snaps in their direction as posturing becomes pushing. Rustin doesn’t speak Chinese but he knows the tone of insults and threats. He moves in their direction and calls out to the group hoping to distract them.

“Amber.” He calls out, walking toward them.

Her eyes quickly find the detective.

“Who’s asking?”

“Rustin Cole. I’d like to talk if you have a minute.”

“Narc.” One of the biker types growls.

“Oh yeah?” Her eyes are filled with malevolent mischief. “About what?”

“Zane. Your particular circumstance. I’d like to help.”

“Would you now?”

“Definitely.”

“Tell ya what… I think I’m done with this façade of a memorial here. How about you meet me at my place. We’ll see what you have to offer.” She smiles seductively. “I can think of a few things you might be good for.”

The guys around her snicker as she passes Rustin a matchbook. “The Highline” inside the cover is a room number.

“I prefer evenings.” She grins as she walks away.

Grace eyes her the entire time. She gives Rustin a quick look, squints and turns away as well. The men in suits pause, almost challenging him to follow before backing away.

Maia meanders through the crowd toward a table where a young dark skinned girl in glasses is leaning over a sketchpad scraping away with a pencil.

“That’s an impressive drawing.” She comments, nearing the girl. “You’re talented.”

She shrugs her shoulders, flips the page and starts sketching a new drawing. This one is Maia. The realism is astounding the depth of emotion portrayed take the Nosferatu aback.”

“That’s… me… wow…”

She hears a low growl. It’s near but nowhere.

“Leave her be.” The voice threatens.

“I’m not looking for trouble. I just want to help.”

“She doesn’t need your help. Walk away while I still allow it.”

“Can we just talk?” Maia asks sincerely.

Monique looks up and tilts her head. “Daedalus says not to trust anyone.”

“And that’s good advice but…”

Maia can hear the rumble of the growl behind her vibrate in her own chest.

“Ok. I get it. I’ll leave.” She eyes the drawing for just a moment. “I’ve never had anyone draw me. Could I have that?”

Monique flips the page and lowers her head drawing other faces in the crowded club. Maia nods and eases herself back to Father Callahan and his table.

Bastanji had been watching her for a while now. His information had her name as Annemarie Vergara. She was 19, a sun-tanned Italian American girl with long black hair and a bright smile. She sat by herself out of place in the club. She must have used a fake ID to get in or… someone else knew who she was. Lily more than likely. He made his way to her. She appeared nervous. Her eyes darted around looking at everything but seeing nothing. That is until he was only a few feet away. Her panicked eyes, still slightly puffy from tears she had shed only minutes ago focused acutely on him.

“Hello young lady.” Bastanji began politely. “May I sit with you?”

“Eww. No.” She said recoiling.

“I’d just like a few words with you. Can I offer you a drink?”

“God no. Creeper much?” She stood and hurried toward the dance floor.

“Wait. That’s not…” Bastanji said fumbling through an explanation.

She turned her head back to make sure he wasn’t following her, a look of disgust on her face when she bumped into someone.

“You ok?” Rustin asked, seeing the anxiety in her face.

Annemarie froze. Her eyes widened and she stared almost afraid to move.

“It’s ok. I’m a police officer.” He said flashing his badge. “Is someone bothering you?”

She leaned into him, hugging him with her left arm and pointing with her right.

“That creepy old guy there.” She said motioning toward Bastanji.

The Banu Haqim shook his head an backed away.

“You’re safe now. I’m Detective Rustin Cole.”

“Annemarie. Annemarie Vergara. My brother and uncle are on the job. Thanks.”

“No problem. You ready to go? I can take you home if you like.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” She asked hopefully. “I’m still kind of sketched out.”

“Absolutely. Where we going?” He asked as they began to walk.

“Columbia University.”

“Sounds good.”

They made small talk during the drive. Rustin was careful not to mention his being kindred or her embrace and connection to Zane. As they pulled up to the dorm he asked, “Want me to walk you in?”

She looked around for a second then shook her head. “I think I’m good now.”

“Ok. But hey. Here’s my card. That guy comes back or you need anything just call.”

She looked at it and smiled. “Thanks Rustin. I really appreciate you.”

“My pleasure. Have a safe night.”

He watched her walk to the door. She swiped her ID, turned, waved and was gone. Rustin sat there for a moment. Feelings of guilt began to eat at him. She was so young, innocent, just a nice kid. “Why do I feel like this is going to be a problem.”