'Qui: The Fall of Ottawa' Part 2, Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

"Ottawa Resident Stabbed to Death at Local Mechanic Shop!" the headline read. "Violent Crime on the rise in the Capital!" 

The article had been photocopied and placed on every beat cop's desk.

His first proper murder! Qui could barely contain his glee. Finally, something worth his time! After the initial flurry of excitement during his first week in Ottawa, the nights had settled into something of a routine. His cover was easy enough to maintain—Ottawa's police department had been rife with corruption that he had no problem rooting out. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for detective work, and it brought him a surprising amount of satisfaction to puzzle out the source of money laundering schemes and shakedown rackets. Sure, it wasn't the visceral thrill of assassination, but the work wasn't without its perks.

Seven blurry photographs lay on his desk, roughly in the order of importance. Three were of the victim from various angles and four more showcased the scene, itself. The murder had taken place in a run-down mechanic shop just within the city bounds on the southern end. He hadn't visited that part of Ottawa yet, and this was as good an opportunity as any to learn more about the environment.

"So, what do you think?" Sam asked. "We haven't had one of these in a while."

"One of these?" Qui asked without looking up. He was trying to get a better look at the wounds in the victim's right arm. The police report suggested they were made by a serrated knife, but he wasn't quite sure–the photographs were too damn blurry. Why hadn't they lit up the crime scene properly? He'd need to address photography procedure in the next staff meeting.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Biker gangs back at it again. That knife work is their signature. Poor guy was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he wandered into an drug deal."

Qui pursed his lips as he thought. "Have they identified the victim, yet?"

"Not yet, no. They think he's from out of town. No ID or wallet—whoever killed him probably took it. They wanted to make it look like a normal robbery."

"And you think otherwise?" Qui asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. You want to know who's on the take, just watch how the guys react to this. Keep an eye on anyone trying to convince you that this was only theft unrelated to the bikers."

"You're that sure the department is taking money from these local gangs?"

Sam leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "I should clear up a misconception before we move on. Most Americans come up here thinking that biker gangs aren't that big a deal. Small time, right?"

Qui shrugged. "I'm open to new information."

"Well, they're a big deal, here," Sam said. "Gun running, drugs, prostitution, you name it. Think Mafia but riding on a fleet of Harley Davidsons and with fewer moral codes. Nobody likes the situation, but it's as Canadian as hockey and poutine."

"And this kind of knife crime is associated with these bikers?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Well, at least for the last few years. They used to love shooting places up for a while, but they've gotten a bit more discreet, lately."

There was something about that knife wound that was bothering Qui. He took a closer look and shook his head. No. It couldn't be. He was letting his mind play tricks on him. He needed to remember what his job here actually was: playing the role Cranston set for him as her right hand and exerting her will over law enforcement. Cleansing the station of corruption was never his true goal–in fact, it was exactly the opposite. Once he'd cleaned house, his job was to fill the vacant positions with Cranston's agents and loyal ghouls. He had three months before Jonah's conclave–a meeting of the most powerful Kindred the Prince could attract–and then it would be time to spring the trap right when all the right people were watching the insane Malkavian's fall from grace.

He knew all that, and yet…this picture. It begged investigation despite not being within the purview of his mission. He squinted and gave it a closer look. "You said this knife work is their signature?" he asked Sam.

"Lately, yeah. Ever since they stopped using as many guns. Like I said, it's been a few years."

"Were there any major operational changes around the same time that these guys switched up their tactics?"

"Operational changes?"

Qui put down the photo. "In the department. Maybe someone like me was brought in for a while and shook things up. Were there any major arrests? Anything that sticks out in your mind as odd?"

Sam took a moment to think. "Nothing as drastic as bringing you in to fix the station up," she said. "But there was a turf war. Commissioner Cranston asked us to stay back and wait for it to die down since most of the action was outside the city limits. I didn't agree with standing down, but to be fair the bikers only really killed each other. They were quiet for a while after the in-fighting ended, but when they show their heads these days they seem a lot meaner. Folks really like to downplay knife crime, but it's a nasty business compared to shootings–up close and personal, you know? Tearing into someone instead of pulling a trigger from across the street."

"So their whole operation changed?"

She shook her head. "Just the violence. Weapon smuggling and drugs are just as bad as ever, but like I said, Cranston likes to keep our eyes focused on Parliament and the inner city. I'm surprised she never gave you that whole song and dance about our responsibility as the seat of government when you…" She paused awkwardly and refused to meet his eyes. "When you met her." 

Qui grunted. "She's too hands-off for my taste, but I wasn't brought in to question her methods, just to clean up the mess and right the ship." There was something Sam wanted to ask him; he was sure of it, but she didn't seem to be able to find the right words. For the first time since his arrival, he began to doubt her sincerity. Every time Cranston was brought up, she'd…huh. So that was it. He could work with this.

"You don't trust the big boss, do you?" Qui asked. "She stays completely out of your way until the crap hits the fan and then she's sending orders your way that don't make much sense. She lets corruption run free for years and then she brings in someone like me to clean it up all at once."

Sam bit her lip and watched his expression carefully before replying. "That's about the size of it, yeah. Plus the fact that she hasn't visited the precinct in over a year, and even then she only showed her face to the top brass behind closed doors. She's like a ghost controlling the machine. It's bad for morale and no one really takes her seriously. My old partner, Sikes, used to call the commissioner the 'Wizard of Oz' because she managed everything from behind a curtain. Smoke and mirrors. Somehow Cranston heard about the joke and transferred him out of the precinct. Not many of us made fun of her after that." 

Her eyes had gone wide while she talked and Qui could sense an animal fear building in her. By their very nature, Kindred of the Nosferatu variety leave an impression on any mortal unlucky enough to get too close, but the commissioner was particularly hideous by human standards. He'd been told that his presence had a similar frightening effect despite his lack of deformities and it was entirely possible that Sam was putting things together even if it was subconscious. It would be best to keep her on his side. Give her a reason to trust him in a way that she didn't trust Cranston.

"You don't care much for her rules?" Qui asked. Sam blanched and for a moment it looked like she was getting ready to apologize. He held up a hand to stop her. "I don't care for them all that much, myself," he said. "I think that absence of leadership breeds discontent, as do nonsensical orders." He tapped a finger on the picture of the knifing victim. "Why don't you join me for a little fact-finding mission. See what we can learn about these 'bikers' and why they killed this guy."

Sam's demeanor changed almost immediately. "I think that's the best idea I've heard all day, sir. I'll bring my cruiser around the front."

Qui shook his head. "Let's go for a smaller profile. We'll take my car."