[center][img]https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/4jdcv3mbkm4.png[/img][/center] [center][h1][color=#7D5CB3]Kessler[/color][/h1][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Location:[/b][/color] Various • [color=#812442][b]Time:[/b][/color] Various (noted) [/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] None • [color=#812442][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] [@Oso] [@EtherealThorn] [@Ctenoid Soul][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [color=a0410d][h3]Friday Night Flashback.[/h3][/color] [color=a0410d]Immediately after leaving Wulde at the 'Neon Dream'[/color] Kessler rode a safe distance from the roller rink. Safe meaning, far enough that he was on familiar ground, friendly territory, and then pulled over, letting the big bike settle into a lumpy, steaming idle while he stepped off, feeling the rain bead up and run off his kutte, and stepped off the side of the road, underneath a bus shelter, taking out his phone. He selected the photos Wulde had given him of the van arriving at the warehouse, and composed a short [url=https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/4nec8n25bb4.png]text[/url], sending it immediately, having a short exchange with Dom. Once that little job was done, Kessler looked up Erik Engstrom’s contact in his phone, and dialled it. [color=0076a3]“Hello?”[/color] [color=f7941d]“Hello Erik.”[/color] The phone the Fangs had given the Crime Scene lab technician was a burner, so there was no point in identifying himself. If the phone was ringing, it was obviously a Fang, and since Engstrom was in their pocket for an undisclosed infraction which would cost him his career if the Fangs were to let it get out, it was in Erik’s interest to play ball. [color=f7941d]“Can you talk?”[/color] It was just after four in the morning… it was very likely he could, and would. Erik was a good little asset. [color=0076a3]“Yes. I can talk.”[/color] [color=f7941d]“Good. I’m sending you two photos. Anyone can see, it’s a white 2004 Ford E-250. Common as muck. Gotta be 5,000 of them in the metro area. I need you to enhance the images. Determine if plates are legit, or stolen, if there was any record of an E-250 torched in the last three days, and if so, I need VINs and whereabouts, and points of origin. Who’s paying the bills, who owned it, and if possible, who stole it.”[/color] There was a pause. Kessler thought he heard the sound of pencil on paper on the other end of the line. [color=0076a3]“That’s… that’s a big ask. It’ll take time, and some of what you’re asking, will raise flags in the precinct. Searching active case files, running plates…”[/color] Kessler cut him off. [color=f7941d]“--Erik. You’re a smart kid. Get it done by noon. Tomorrow. And don’t let me down.”[/color] There was the beginnings of protest on the other end of the line, but Kessler hung up. The kid was good. No question. They’d get what they needed. And with that information in hand, they’d be that much closer to the truth. With any luck Erik would connect the theft to a known gang, which might (or might not) correspond to a known (to the Fangs, but not likely the Police department) Fae or Bloodsucker group. Kessler didn’t want to make any guesses, but he was leaning Vamp, this time. There was time to kill. Kessler put his phone away, and slid into the saddle of the big bike, twisting the grip a couple times to let the thunder of the twin remind him this was no dream. He flicked the gearbox into first, and tore away from the curb, into the pre-dawn gloom. [color=a0410d][h3]Saturday Night.[/h3][/color] [color=a0410d]Kessler's place.[/color] The beer wasn't cutting it. Erik had stalled today, which meant that Kess had to pay him a visit, and he simply wasn't in the mood. Ant there had been a whole day to kill, and much of the night too, before he was due to meet up again with the human, Wulde. In fact, there were still hours to go before that meeting. After the beer, the tequila, and the smoke had done little to take the edge off, he had turned to the Indian, Fab'ing up most of an exhaust from aftermarket bits from his spares bin (thank you, SoCal Speed Shop.) The vintage springer fork was giving him no end of problems, even after sandblasting, powder-coating, and a full disassembly. Finally, good ole' brute force and ignorance (as well as an aftermarket spring from H-D) helped him get the thing back together with the correct spring rate. Back together for the first time in maybe five years. A few more beers in triumph were feeling a bit more like it, and Kessler started thinking about his options. What if Wulde didn't come thru with more intel? What if Erik didn't come up with the goods re. the Econoline? He grudgingly admitted he needed to cast his net further afield. He looked over at the workbench, at the flyer tacked to one of his tool drawers. "Vein Theory." One night only. He knew that would draw a massive cross-section of his quarry from all sides of Halcyon. Normally, he might have skipped it. But he needed to see who was out and on top of the world in his little slice of the gutter. 'Getting ready' meant wiping most of the grease off his hands, and shrugging out of his coverall, and into a clean shirt, sleeves rolled up till his forearms wouldn't allow any more, exposing 50 years of tattooing. He donned his kutte, his shades, and picked his RedWing Moc's, completing the look. As he was about to start the big, custom Fat Bob, his phone buzzed. Maybe Erik, or Dom? But it was from an unknown number. [color=8dc73f][i]'got some energy to burn… thought you might want to help'[/i][/color] He really needed to do better at saving contacts in his damn phone. Colour him intrigued. And frankly... in the same state. He replied. [color=f7941d]'I don't know... show me what I'd be missing out on.'[/color] And sent it. It was a whole lot better than asking 'who the hell is this?' He started the big Hog, the thunder of its straight pipes threatening to blow out the windows around him, and took off in the direction of 'The Underground...'