# Baltimore Street
Baltimore Street
of Note
Buffalo, New York Sheldon and Mary walked down Baltimore Street without a care in the world. They were hunting Camarilla vampires, and they didn’t care if the whole city knew it. Sheldon was tall and thin, with a runner’s build and a computer geek’s complexion. He wore camouflage pants and shitkicker boots, and had a motherfucking big pistol jammed into his waistband.
His head was shaved but his arms were hairy enough to make it look like he could lie down in front of a fire and play bearskin rug.
Mary was, by contrast, short and stocky, and looked like she’d done time in a car crusher in the not-too-distant past. She dressed like a preacher’s worst nightmare of a drugged-out earth mother, and was dragging a baseball bat behind her on the asphalt.
Her partner looked anxious and gleeful; she just looked pissed off.
“Goddamned sonnovabitch has got to be around here somewhere,” muttered Sheldon. “Briefing said the ugly little bastard holed up in this part of town, so we just have to find whatever hole he’s in and plug it with this.” He took the pistol, a battered Desert Eagle, our of his belt and waved it around.
“You can be such an asshole,” his packmate replied without heat. “We’re chasing a Nossie. Fucker probably heard you coming two blocks off, ducked into the sewers and is halfway to Cleveland by now.
All because you had to haul your metal-plated dick out of your pants and wave it around. Dipshit.”
Iasombra “Who you calling a dipshit?” Sheldon stopped, turned on his heel, and stared down at Mary.
“MacEllen put me in charge of the team, so if you call me a dipshit again, I’ll blow the top of your ugly head off.”
“Try it and I’ll rip your balls off.”
“You can’t reach that high.”
“She’s right. You are a dipshit.”
The voice came from a point about five feet behind where Sheldon stood, and from a figure who hadn’t been there a minute before. He had a face like the business end of a dumpster, and a massive bulge rose beneath the back of his tatty tan trench coat. His left arm stuck out at an odd angle, and in his right hand he held something that could only be a Zippo.
“Well hello, little ratboy,” breathed Sheldon.
“We’ve been looking for your ass, and now that we’ve found it, we’re gonna stomp it flat.” Mary fanned out to his right, while Sheldon brought the Desert Eagle in line with the Nosferatu’s head. “Just hold still and this will only hurt like hell.”
“Idiot,” said Dustin very clearly, as he squeezed the trigger on the nozzle of the plant sprayer that he’d run up his left sleeve. With his right hand, he flicked the lighter into a blaze and brought the flame into contact with the stream of diesel fuel jetting out of the plant sprayer’s nozzle.
The jet offlame it produced was impressive. The effect the wash of flame had on the two vampires it played over was even more so. Sheldon had no time for a scream; Mary barely a half-second more in which to try before the fire turned her face to a ruin and washed down her throat to crisp her from the inside. rtcbard e. danskv