Joe Pitt's life sucks. He hasn't had a case or a job in God knows how long, and his stashes are running on empty. What stashes? The only ones that count to a guy like Joe: blood and money. The money he uses to buy blood; the blood, he drinks. Hey, it's that or your neck, buddy.
The only way for him to lay his hands on both is to take a gig with the local Vampyre Clan. See, something new is on the streets, a new high, a high so strong it can send a Vampyre spazzing through Joe's local watering hole. Till Joe sends him through a plate-glass window, that is. It won't be long now before he's slapping stoolies, getting sapped, and being taken for a ride above 110th Street. Someone's pulling Joe's strings, and he's gonna cut them when he finds them—the strings and the hands that hold them.
