Chapter 8: Future Asset.

Vampire Rule N°7: Don't be a messy eater, take what you need from people and make sure everyone involved is either satisfied with the outcome or too dead to complain.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

John looked at the beaten form of Bubbles, the noble hustler, and couldn't help but extend his help in the name of justice, peace and democracy.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the possibility of gaining a very promising asset.

Nor did he even consider the benefits of being the shining light in the life of a miserable man left behind by society, only a wicked man could desire that kind of ill-gotten loyalty.

John wasn't this kind of man, it was all done for the Greater Good.

His lips curled into a comforting smile and he unleashed his presence upon the vulnerable man for the second time, once more awing him and capturing his full attention.

"I will do everything in my power to help you get through this, Bubbles," John said with conviction, looking at him in the eyes, "You have my word."

The battered junkie stood there like a statue, mouth wide open and unable to comprehend what was happening, what he did to deserve this kind of help…

He was nothing but an addict, a filthy, unreliable, deceitful addict who'd lie and cheat and betray the people closest to him in the name of the needle.

There was no denying that.

He looked his sister in the eyes when he told her he was getting clean, before robbing her home clean and selling everything off for a few dollars.

He stole ground stashes of drugs from careless youths, and he hardly felt a thing when he watched them getting beaten for their errors.

He even stole pain killers from an ambulance for goodness's sake.

'It's all in the game.' He'd say, justifying anything and everything.

As if it meant something.

Like the game had rules, like it could be won.

That's the kind of life he has, one he knows will end somewhere in a vacant house, with him overdosing and choking on his vomit, rotting there till the neighbours complain about a dying animal stinking up the place.

But at the moment, watching the tall young man with bright blue eyes and looks that would make those movie stars seem like horse faced hobos, listening to him speak words that belonged in a church, coming out of the mouth of a lying priest before he touched his third child of the day, or some old stories where the hero would come to save the day.

He didn't feel like a dopefiend, a soldier who trusted nothing and believed in no one, a man who lived and died by the needles that ruined his life.

He didn't feel like good ol' Bubbles.

He felt like Reginald Cousins, that kid with big hopes and a kind heart, before he got chewed up and spat out by this city and the people in it and those cruel games they played.

"Alr—Alright." He barely managed to say, wiping his moist eyes and snotty nose with his sleeve.

"Good man," John smiled brightly, and Bubbles felt himself getting bolder, his body still hurt like a mean b*tch but he felt stronger somehow, braver.

He had forgotten how nice it felt to have someone looking out for him, it's been so long…

"Do you have somewhere you can crash in for the night?" The young man asked, and he nodded telling him about his hideout close by, the second floor of a warmer vacant house.

His instincts honed through years spent in the street told him to shut up, but he was brave enough to ignore it.

"Here, take this." John gave him a couple twenty dollars bills, "Get yourself some food, some shoes too if possible, it should be enough."

The vampire knew it would likely be spent on drugs, but that was not the point.

He needed to foster what little trust had been built between them, something stronger than a single positive encounter followed by a ruthless emotional bombardment when he was at his most vulnerable.

If that meant parting with a few dollars, so be it.

Technically, it was the drug dealers paying up anyway.

'I just hope he won't end up overdosing tonight...would be really funny though.' He thought, smiling a bit which the junkie took as a friendly gesture.

"Thank man, I will." Bubbles mumbled, both of them knowing he wouldn't keep his word on the matter.

"Great, let's call it a night," John said calmly, "Tommorow at midnight, you and I will take a walk around the neighbourhood and we'll teach a lesson to your troublesome little friend."

"…"

"What?"

"That's it?" The junkie asked.

"Yup, you show me the guy and I make sure he doesn't trouble you again, that's all it need to be." He said with a small small, a bit curious about the kind of far fetched plan the injured man had cooked up in his drug-craving mind.

"I dunno, I expected something more…" Bubbles scratched his head.

John shook his head.

"Sometimes, less is more." He said, bidding farwell to his his asset in the making.

The night was about to end, and he was eager to lighten a few hoppers of the burden of a full stash, keeping so much money could be very dangerous.

Then again, drug dealers were reckless bunch.

He walked into a dark alley, focusing on the world around him, his signature blue eyes turned a dangerous red and he was soon nowhere to be seen.

In the span of half an hour, Bridehead's corner boys faced yet another onslaught from a mysterious figure.

"Argh! My head!"

"My knee! He broke my knees!"

"Please don't break my balls! Take anything you want but leave my balls alone!"

Some thought it was the bat, others believed it was just a particularly competent and violent stickup boy made more fearsome by the rumours and exaggerations victims eager to salvage their reputation.

John knew not and cared not for it though.

He was four thousand dollars richer, and his bathroom was filled with more bags of heroin that he had no use for.

He slid inside his bed, content with the knowledge that he would soon be able to move away from this poorly disguised crackhouse he called home.

However, something was telling him that his peace won't last.

Most of the freaks were behind bars or confined in the Asylum, the kingpins of Gotham had greater concerns than some upstart emptying some gangster's stashes, and those with real power in this world had yet to make a move.

There was no justice league yet, no one inviting dangers of a higher caliber, but also no one to defend against such threats...Darkside, Brainiac, Trigon.

Not to mention that many alien civilizations eager to plunder, pillage and otherwise pilfer all the resources on this earth to fuel their advanced empires.

Sooner or later, the chaos would come and he must be prepared.

. . .

John felt like a soccer mum.

Life truly was unpredictable. To think that the age-defying, blood drinking abomination that he was would ever be in such a position was pure madness.

'Yet here I stand, ready to berate a bully for picking on those weaker than him.' He thought, it was almost funny.

"Is it the guy?" He asked, his voice masking his disbelief at what he was about to do, "You're sure?"

"You think I'd let you beat up some random ass nigger? Of course it's him, I'll never forget his ugly mug." Bubbles said bitterly, glaring at the oblivious man laughing with other homeless men around a dumpster fire.

"I've never said anything about beating him up." John said, approaching the group with a nervous Bubbles in tow.

"You said you'd teach him a lesson!" The older man complained.

"And teach him I will, using words, like civilized people." He said, ignoring his whining.

Was it too late to give him up and cultivate another tool? It wasn't like he invested all that much into this guy.

"Where the f*ck you going pretty boy?" The tall, rather muscular crackhead he intended to converse with screamed at him before he could say anything, sending spittle flying everywhere.

Now John thought he was a rather calm person.

But he also just saw a drop of spit leave a junkie's mouth and land on his face.

"Change of plans, Bubs, I'm going to beat the shit out of him." He said slowly, wiping it off with his sleeve.

"Hell yeah!" Bubbles cheered.

Acting before the junkie's brain could process the information, John's fist collided with his gut at a fraction of his full strength, it was still more than enough for him to double over with a pained grunt.

The vampire was about to finish him with a kick in the mouth, but he overestimated the resilience of a crackhead.

Either that, or he underestimated his own strength.

The poor thing was choking up on his own vomit, a message has been sent and judging the look on his face, a lesson had been learned.

Before long the two of them left, following a trail of lamp-light and being observed by the many weary souls who decided to waste their time and energy on the infamous streets and corners of Brideshead.

Touts and dealers shouted their product's name as if they were street legal, advertising better than most executives with the fancy suits and briefcases.

"Lethal Injection! Our shit's so good it'll f*cking kill you!"

"Blue Tops! One blue top and you'll be flying high!"

John could see the temptations on Bubble's face, the boy was eager to join the lines of gaunt, tired petitioners standing against the building, waiting to get the dope they paid for.

He could see the plans forming in his eyes, the calculations to get himself another ten dollars for a possible midnight high.

"Don't even think about it," He warned, but knew this was the cost of doing business with a dopefiend, "We've got places to be."

"I didn't do nothing!" The fiend protested, raising his hands in the air.

"Good, you better keep it that way."

He could be sinking his fangs into a comely woman's neck, replenishing his reserves and growing in strength. Instead, he had to make sure a drug addict didn't act like a drug addict.

There wasn't much he felt buying up the shit-brown pickup truck from a local used cars salesman, the shock on his new employee's face when he gave him the keys wasn't as pleasing either, not with an empty stomach at least.

He was five grands poorer, but that was fine, he'll just put it on some dealer's tab.

"How much money do you make picking up scrap metal on average?" He asked, the still confused addict who struggled to give him a straight answer.

'I really need to feed,' John thought, more and more irritated.

"On a good day, maybe fourty dollars..." The older man finally answered, scratching his dirty beard.

"Good, I expect you to make at least five times more with this baby," He tapped the ugly but reliable vehicle, "Minus the gas and with some margin of error, that's fourteen hundred bucks every week, sixty percent of which is mine"

The street guy could only look at him with a blank look while he talked about earning sums he couldn't make in months on the streets.

"And I can't?" Bubbles asked.

"Then you better have a bloody good reason, or I'll take as you stealing for me," John said plainly, "In which case, I would be forced to track you down and rip off your nails one by one, maybe break a few teeths for good measure?"

"You'll also continue working for me until your debt is settled, then I'll just break your legs, take back my truck and we'll go our separate ways." He continued, smiling at the increasingly uncomfortable black man.

"Deal?" He asked, and got a shaky nod.

"D-deal."

John just got himself his first employee, and secured a relatively stable and almost legal income of about seven hundreds dollars a week.

Unlife was good.

It would be even better if he wasn't so hungry.

'Yup, it's time to pay a Max a little visit.'

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Yo! It's Hamtaro!

Here's another chapter to feed your own addiction, now give me some stones before I send someone to break yer legs.

Just kidding...maybe.

Anyway, make sure to leave a comment, give some feedback to help me become a better writer, or just give some suggestions.

Have a nice day.