The single word, spoken both as an accusation and command brought a beefy arm around Judas' neck. The steroid-and-blood feuled ghoul pulled back hard while drivng his knee into the small of Judas' back. Judas' body arched into a painful crescent and he allowed a snarl of pain to pass his lips.
"You really think we'd trust YOU!?! You've been acknowledged for what? Six months?", Diego, Ventrue whip of Olympia continued his rant.
"I normally don't give advice to enemies, but since I'm having you killed once I'm through here, I'll indulge this once. When acting as Prince Wheeler's little spy, don't be so obvious that you are a spy. 'Malkavian neonate'? Please. You have no idea what sort of resources we have to root out Cam spies."
That was all Judas needed to confirm what he already knew. The flesh-to-flesh contact with the ghoul allowed for his magic to set the unfortunate's blood to boiling. Howling in excruciating pain, the ghoul fell away from Judas, releasing him from the vice-like grip. Judas called on the magic again, and a thick stream of blood erupted from the writhing ghoul and flew to Judas' outstretched hand. Simultaneously, Judas snapped the fingers in his off-hand causing a long tube with a short stock, and trigger to spontaneously appear.
Even as Diego turned to run, Judas pulled the trigger. An explosion of burning phosphorous belched from the maw of the tube, engulfing the fleeing vampire in consuming flames. The "Ventrue Whip" was able to take but one more step before collapsing in a heap. Halon gas immediately filled the room, smothering the fire, Diego's safety precautions acting a second too late.
Judas fought back the urge to run in a blind panic, always a side-effect when using fire, then approached the smoking, skeletal corpse. The chemical smell of Halon coupled with burned flesh aroused another swell of panic in his breast, but Judas continued to resist the urge. He crouched near the blackened skull.
"Diego, I'll let you in on a little secret. Posing as a Ventrue to infiltrate the Camarilla has been done to death. I'm surprised. You'd think Darby or Delemos would have warned you how old that plot was."
Two months later...
A hunter-green BMW pulled in to the truck stop. Nearby, the payphone was ringing a steady pulse. Judas exited his car and walked briskly to the phone. "I'm here."
The voice on the other end was familiar. Not due to it's sound, but rather the patterns in speech. Stefan Vimes rarely used the same voice twice, but Judas was familiar enough with the Justicar to recognize him whenever they spoke.
"There is a matter for you to investigate. A delicate matter.
It has come to my attention that the werewolves in California are up in arms over a baby-killer. They think it is a vampire murdering human children in order to bring about some prophesied catastrophe. Tensions are rising there, and could erupt into open fighting. That possibility, coupled with recent supernatural excesses in the region could well break the Masquerade.
Find out what's going on, put a stop to it, and punish those responsible. The Traditions must be maintained. The current Prince of San Francisco is a Toreador named Aristotle. You will, no doubt, be able to secure more detailed information from him."
The line abruptly went dead.
Judas returned to his car, and pulled back out onto the freeway heading South.