An elderly gentleman walked into the speakeasy. As far as Nathan could ascertain, he was around middle to early sixties, light grey hair, with a scholarly look. "Crap, it's that Cake-Eater everyone's been talking about." The man who had spoken was James Armitage, a friend of Nathan's that was renowned on going to the joints with him (more often the keen ones) and getting free giggle water, if he could make Nathan the darb. Nathan responded, "Nah, see those cheaters? He looks more like a bluenose." "Nathan, you haven't heard about Abraham, have you?" Nathan shook his head. The gentleman talked to the barkeep, with a heavy Germanic accent. "Do you have any Riesling Late-pick?" "Only with sulfates, sir." "Das is not a problem, Herr." The bartender went to his stockroom—Nathan had once heard it as being the most swell in the city. James twisted on his stool so that he was facing Nate. "Abraham's the name for a new German torpedo. He's known as 'The Hunter' in Europe. They say he does some really nasty things to bump off people." "It sounds like the Big Cheese wanted a new specialist." "I guess so."
The band had just returned from the other section of the bar, after the lead trumpeter had gotten the heebie-jeebies. James had said the band leader was a horrible drunkard, parading to and from every Gin Mill in the Outlands. He had passed out a few minutes back, and the other members now were sobering him up and making sure he was Jake for the next performance. Nathan imbibed the last of his martini, before seeing Abraham sit down on his right with a glass of wine.
"It is certainly gut to be retired. No more hunts for this old man." Nathan gave a sigh of relief. Abraham turned to Nathan. "Do you kom here often? I am new to this town." He shook his glass in a circle and took another sip. "Occasionally—the manager's all wet about his "safety features" in my opinion, but the place is good. Not too swanky, not too expensive." Abraham raised his eyebrow slightly. "I see. For a Spätlese, this isn't too bad. Too artificially sweet, though." James had high-hatted him for most of the time since Abraham had entered, and now he got up to go talk with the hoofer. A voice in the bar rang out, as James had started kissing passionately with the girl. "Hey, Jamie-boy! You're pettin' 'er now!" Another person cried, "Yeah, there's going to be some necking!" Abraham's eyes grew wide as he faced the wine rack behind the bar. "Oh, so the tramp's a vamp, eh?" Abraham stood up suddenly, and dropped his wine glass. He grabbed Nathan by the collar. "Boy, how can you rest while that Nosferatu is about to demonize your freund?" Abraham withdrew a flask from underneath his coat, and with incredible speed went towards the couple as the girl started licking James's neck. He uncapped the flask and tossed the content's at the girl's face. As she stood stunned, he kicked her back, shoved a yellow-white oval into the girl's kisser, and pressed her against the wall. She swallowed the garlic. Nothing happened. Abraham put his wooden stake back under his coat. "Open your mouth." She did as instructed. No fangs appeared. Abraham gave a sigh of relief. Nathan and the patrons stood stunned. "My apologies, Fraulein." James sputtered. "Wh-Who are you?" Abraham smiled. "I am Professor Abraham van Helsing. That was what I did for a living."