I froze in my tracks, my hand hovering over the door handle. Resisting the urge to instead kick the door open and bolt, I let my hand fall and turned towards LaCroix. "Need something?"
"Only for you to know something." He walked around his desk and stood in front of his sheriff. Every action, every move, even every facial expression, was calculated, thought through. Precisely the opposite of a Nosferatu. I found himself wondering how the Ventrue lived through unlife always monitoring themselves for cultural perfection. Sounded like hell.
Sighing, I rubbed my brow and said "What?"
"Do you know where my sheriff came from?" He said, motioning towards the mountain of undead flesh that every kindred in LA was terrified of. He stared expectantly at me, not continuing.
"No, no one does." I said, pondering the probability of me surviving a leap through the window.
"As I have come to realize, the Kindred of LA have begun spreading preposterous rumors as to his origins. Some even have the audacity to say I involved myself with the Tremere, that he is a product of a dark ritual." He said, returning that expectant look to his face. I ended up nodding, but he kept the look, making it obvious he wanted a response.
"I personally don't involve myself with gossip." I muttered, wiping sweat off my brow. Christ, I wanted to leave. How a single man could push me to start sweating was beyond me.
"And that is precisely why I want you to dispel those rumors, James. My sheriff originates not from a dark ritual, but from a city not so different from this one, New York City. Spread that to the Kindred of the city, especially-" he said, pointing his bony finger at me, "- any Brujah or Anarchs you come across. Is that understood?"
"Yes, I'll tell them." I said, nodding at the sheriff before heading through the door.
New York City, huh. Of all the places for an unnatural vampire to originate, such a densely populated city was the last possibility I had had in my head. Either way, I now had a plan.
The Tremere were going to love this.