Post by Delaine Astin Vincent on Aug 25, 2014 7:27:30 GMT
Astin sat in his unmarked police car watching the house out of the rearview mirror. He’d watched as so far about twenty people had entered in the last half hour. It’d been the same the previous three nights he’d done his off book surveillance. He was thankful there were so many chargers on the road now the black challenger he sat in was fairly unremarkable just yet. Fleet had tried to stick him with a beat up impala. The impala wasn’t his speed it screamed that it was trying too hard to not be noticed. It would have stuck out in the neighborhood like a sore thumb. Every house had either an import or a classic car. The challenger while newer didn’t feel out of place.
He knew even as the captain had told him to in no uncertain words stay clear of the 7th ward boys and the last of the Lafitte Project Moneymakers clique. He wouldn’t just pass them along to the OC division. Not especially as he was sure they were trafficking in stimulants made with a heaping dose of vampire blood. It was wrong and negligent to treat what they were doing as simply another drug trade. They were addicting people to the euphoria of being able to do things normal mortals could not. It was a short high burning itself out in a matter of minutes but the feats they were capable of during that time were incalculable. The party was actually a sales meeting. He knew that of the twenty people he’d seen enter that half were would be dealers.
The ‘DarkHorse’ drug fad had burst out of the back of town and was headed right for the Garden District. By the time Narco or OC really had any information it would be too late and they would be ill equipped. There was also the fact of how they were obtaining enough vampire blood to process their ‘DarkHorse’ the coke was easy to come by the blood was not. He didn’t think any functioning vampire would donate simply for profit. That meant somewhere nearby there was a staked vampire being fed just enough to keep producing blood. That was truly why he was here he needed to know where there supply was originating.
As he was off book that meant things would more or less get messy. He’d already arranged his alibi. He hope it would hold. Stepping out of the car he called his alibi having her call in gunshots heard one block over. That would give him three minutes to do what he needed. Pulling the balaclava over his face he drew the shotgun from its rack and made his way to the house.
He knew even as the captain had told him to in no uncertain words stay clear of the 7th ward boys and the last of the Lafitte Project Moneymakers clique. He wouldn’t just pass them along to the OC division. Not especially as he was sure they were trafficking in stimulants made with a heaping dose of vampire blood. It was wrong and negligent to treat what they were doing as simply another drug trade. They were addicting people to the euphoria of being able to do things normal mortals could not. It was a short high burning itself out in a matter of minutes but the feats they were capable of during that time were incalculable. The party was actually a sales meeting. He knew that of the twenty people he’d seen enter that half were would be dealers.
The ‘DarkHorse’ drug fad had burst out of the back of town and was headed right for the Garden District. By the time Narco or OC really had any information it would be too late and they would be ill equipped. There was also the fact of how they were obtaining enough vampire blood to process their ‘DarkHorse’ the coke was easy to come by the blood was not. He didn’t think any functioning vampire would donate simply for profit. That meant somewhere nearby there was a staked vampire being fed just enough to keep producing blood. That was truly why he was here he needed to know where there supply was originating.
As he was off book that meant things would more or less get messy. He’d already arranged his alibi. He hope it would hold. Stepping out of the car he called his alibi having her call in gunshots heard one block over. That would give him three minutes to do what he needed. Pulling the balaclava over his face he drew the shotgun from its rack and made his way to the house.
