Suddenly, I feel a whole lot like John Watson. At least, William Walker — my Cam Tremere — feels like a sidekick. A very important sidekick, but a sidekick, nonetheless.
I have a whole lot of respect for John Watson, M.D., the friend, companion, and ally of the world’s most famous detective. All too often, he gets portrayed as a bumbling idiot, stumbling behind Holmes, trying to keep up with slender friend’s brilliant mind. But, if you read the stories, Watson is no fool. He’s a medical doctor, a retired officer from the army, a combat surgeon, a man of action. Certainly, he’s no Holmes, but then again, who is?
One of my favorite scenes from the stories occurs very near the end. The villain of the piece is trying to escape the scene. Holmes knows he cannot chase the man. He cries out, “Watson!” and the good doctor is off, his service revolver in his hand. He fires a shot over the villain’s head, and the man turns slowly, seeing Watson and his pistol.
“You won’t shoot me,” the villain says.
Watson replies, “Sir, I served as an officer in Her Majesty’s army in Africa, and I have shot more noble creatures than you.”
Still makes my spine chill.
So, I was all ready for the return of William Walker to Los Angeles. Even got a new shirt and tie. Then, there’s a phone call. It’s the Prince. “John,” he says, dropping into character. “Mr. Walker. I need you in Lake Elsinore.” There’s a pause. “And bring your firearm.”
Walker is an ex-cop, a detective who used to work on child crime. An investigator with amazing skills of observation, and a bit too much Auspex for his own good (he hasn’t learned how to tame it, quite yet). He’s also got a pistol: a .357 police issue. So, in a lot of ways, he’s like Watson and Holmes, all wrapped up in one.
So, I drive three other people from Santa Monica to Lake Elsinore. Actually, I drive up from Torrance to Santa Monica to Lake Elsinore. I’m on the road for 3 hours. All to be a side-kick.
Fortunately, I got to do a lot of stuff. I got to meet the other Tremere, five Princes, an equal number of sheriffs, and a very cool Nosferatu. We only got to play for about two and a half hours, but it felt as if there wasn’t enough time to do anything. That made the time precious. Oh — and Walker got to see his first werewolf. “Jesus,” he said. “Are they really that big?” The Nos smiled and shook his head.
“Nah,” he said. “This is a small one.”
Walker always carries a gun. After Friday, he’s not going anywhere without silver bullets. After all, that’s what a side-kick is for: getting that arrogant hero’s ass out of the fire. And you can’t do that without some preparation.