Forever Knight

Transition

The world of Nicholas Knight lay in a shambles around him.  In the space of just one evening, he had lost everything.  He had lost his partner, Detective Tracy Vetter to a gunman's bullet.  A bullet that was meant for him.  Now he had lost  Dr. Natalie Lambert, the woman he loved so desperately.  To make his despair even more complete, he held himself solely responsible for Natalie's death

They had made perfect love that night, both mortal and vampire.  In his passion for her, though, Nick had gone one step too far. He had taken too much blood from her.  Her blood was sweet and pure, the sweetest he had ever had.  He wanted to stay forever, his fangs buried in her neck.  It wasn't until he could 'taste' her life essence draining, that he realized he had lost control.  For one agonizing moment, Natalie lay in that void between the living and the dead.  In that one moment, he could have brought her across.  In that one moment, he could have made her one like himself.  In that one moment, he could have had her with him for all of eternity.  He could not do that.  He could not ... he would not ... condemn her to that endless hell. ... that endless forever night.  And so, in the end, he could do nothing but take the last of her blood and watch helplessly, hopelessly, as her life slowly ebbed away.

"It will soon be over."  He muttered to himself.  "Seven hundred and sixty eight years of pain, suffering, death and torture will end tonight."  Nick prostrated himself beside Natalie's lifeless body, his arm around her, and waited for Lucien LaCroix, his maker, master, and friend, to plunge the walking stick he held in his hands through his heart, destroying him forever.

"Damn you, Nicholas!"  LaCroix shouted as he poised the makeshift stake over Nick's back.  He hesitated a moment, and then thrust the cane to the floor beside Nick, smashing it to splinters.  "I ...

CANNOT... DO ... IT!"  He shouted angrily.  "I cannot kill my son.  You have changed me, Nicholas.  You have reached into the depths of my cold, dead heart and awakened something that I thought was gone forever.  In seeking your humanity, you have found mine instead. You have made me believe in you.  Worse still, you have made me believe in myself."

"LaCroix."  Nick pleaded in desperation.  "If you have, indeed, found your humanity, grant me this one last favor.  End this cursed existance you have forced on me.  Send me to join Natalie.  Please!  I beg you.  Kill me!  Kill me now!"

"No."  LaCroix replied.  "What you are asking me to do is nothing more than the coward's way out.  You are no coward, Nicholas.  I have learned that much about you in the centuries since I brought you across.  You are not thinking clearly.  You are allowing the events of this night to cloud your thinking.  You are too distraught over the deaths of Detective Vetter and Dr. Lambert to make a valid decision.  Give yourself time.  When you have completed the grieving process, then and only then, will we discuss what you really want to do. Until then, I think it would be best if I remain with you.  You are not in any condition to be left alone.  Rest now, Nicholas.  It is almost morning, and there is much to do when the night comes, including disposition of Dr. Lambert's body."

Nick picked himself off the floor and straightened his clothes.  In an instant, Nicholas Knight, the distraught, grieving lover was gone and Nicholas Knight, the analytical, logical detective was present.  "We shall have to report her death to the authorities. She would want a proper funeral, not being dumped unceremoniously somewhere in Lake Ontario.  In that case, we will have to come up with a plausible story to account for her death. A robbery, perhaps.  She could have surprised the burglar."

"Very well, we shall do it your way.  Neither of us will be implicated in any way.  Leave the details to me.  I shall work on our ... what do you call it ... alibi.  I suggest you get some sleep."  With that, LaCroix flew off into another room.

Nick remained in the living room, watching the first faint rays of sunrise through the window. He picked up the remote for the shutters and started to press the button to close them.  Suddenly, he stopped and dropped the remote on the floor.  Nicholas Knight, the desperate lover had returned.  "I know LaCroix is doing what he thinks is the right thing, but I can not continue."  He said to no one but himself.  "I am responsible for Natalie's death, and I can not continue with that knowledge."  Nick faced the open window, closed his eyes and spread his arms wide as the first wisps of smoke curled from beneath his clothes.  The sun hurt, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.  In a few minutes, there would be no pain, only peace.  Peace he had been seeking for eight hundred years. If LaCroix would not end his miserable existence, he would do it himself.  "I will be with you, Natalie.  Just as I promised."

"NICK!"  A woman's voice from behind him called out.  "STOP!"

Nick wheeled around.  His eyes were filled with a mix of astonishment and fear. "Natalie?"  He whispered softly.  He feared that if he dared say it aloud, the apparition in front of him would vanish.

"Close that window. RIGHT NOW!"  A semi-transparent figure was standing before him.  There was no question.  It was Natalie Lambert.  Slowly the figure coalesced into a solid form.

As in a trance, without taking his eyes off her, Nick picked up the remote and pushed the close button. Tiny motors hummed as the shutters slid into place.

"Exactly what the hell do you think you're doing?"  She said, her voice full of anger.

"Getting a suntan!"  Nick said rudely. "What do you think I am doing!"

"Look, Nick, I don't have much time, so get off this stupid death crap and listen closely.  I'm only going to say this once. You are not as damned as you think you are.  The fact that you let me die is proof of that.  It took a lot more courage to do what you did than you give yourself credit for.  But if you continue to do dumb things like this, you certainly will be damned.  Is that what you want?  Me up there ..."  She pointed to the ceiling.   " ... and you down there ..."  She pointed to the floor.  " ... for all of eternity?"

"No."  Nick said quietly, hanging his head.  "But you asked me to  bring you across if anything went wrong, and I couldn't.  I just ..."

"I know what I asked you to do.  I was wrong.  You don't have the market on stupidity, you know.  So just get these suicidal thoughts out of your head.  RIGHT NOW!  I never thought I'd be agreeing with LaCroix, but he's right.  Taking your life IS the coward's way out.  If my death is to have any meaning, then you must continue to live.  You have to keep trying to become human."

"I can't do it alone.  I need you."

"You won't be alone.  LaCroix will be with you and I'll be with you, too.  Not in body, but most definitely in spirit.  I have to leave now.  Promise me you will not give up!  Promise me!"

"I promise."

"Mean it."

"I do mean it."  He crossed his heart. The gesture raised an ugly welt on his chest.  It didn't matter.  He felt he deserved the pain.

"I love you, Nicholas Knight."  Natalie whispered, putting her fingers to her lips and blowing him a kiss.  The apparition slowly faded.

"I love you, Natalie Lambert."  Nick whispered, placing his hand on his lips and then on the spot in the air where Natalie had stood.  He went to the couch, lay down, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost before his head touched the pillow.

**********

Captain Joe Reese took out his notebook and pen.  "I know you've already told your story to the uniforms and to the detectives.  While I know that this is not very easy for you, you also must know I have to ask you to go over it one more time."

"Captain!"  LaCroix interjected.  "Is this really necessary?  Can't you see that Nicholas is in no condition to ....."

Nick held up his hand.  "It's okay, LaCroix.  The Captain is only doing his job.  As I told the others, Mr. LaCroix and I were out for a short time this evening."  Nick said, just as they rehearsed it.  Prior to calling the police, he and LaCroix had trashed the apartment to make it look like a break in.  "He was helping me deal with Tracy's death.  When we returned, we found ... this."  Nick swept his hand over the room, which was in total shambles.  "Perhaps Natalie was here for the same reasons as LaCroix was, to comfort me.  I don't know.  I'll never know.  It isn't ... it wasn't ... unusual for her to come here, especially if one of us needed a friend to talk to.  Since she did have the access code to my door, she would have come in as she pleased."  His voice quavered. LaCroix was immediately at his side.  "I guess we'll never know whether she surprised the burglar, or if the burglar surprised her."

"Don't worry about it, Nick.  I'll get my best people on it right away.  And before you give me an argument that you're the best, the answer is an irrevocable, non-negotiable NO.  You are much too close to this one.  Besides, since Natalie was killed during what appears to be an attempt to burglarize your apartment, you are also one of the victims.  If you were to investigate, there would be a very serious conflict of interest.  The media would have a field day with that.  You wouldn't want that, would you?  Good!

Why don't you and your friend go get roaring drunk?  That's an order.  Mr. LaCroix, I'm counting on you to see that he follows orders for once in his life."

Oh, and I don't have to tell you not to touch anything until the Forensic people have finished doing their thing.  I'm putting a uniform on duty outside the door.

I want you to take some time off, too.  I don't want you wigging out on this.  That's an order."

**********

LaCroix shoved Nick toward the door.

"And what do you think you are doing?"

"I'm making certain that you follow orders, just as Captain Reese told me to do."

"You never cared whether I followed orders before.  Besides, you know that we can't get drunk, roaring or otherwise, so what's the use."

"I never had a conscience before, either.  Just leave everything to me.  I know what I'm doing."

A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the boarded up Raven.  LaCroix took a ring of keys out of his pocket and inserted one in the lock.  At the same time, a movement in the alley caught his attention.  "You go inside."  He said, handing the keys to Nick.  "I shall join you in a moment.  I have a little ... unfinished business ... to attend to."

He lifted the scrawny, shaking figure by the collar of his frayed sweatshirt.  "You sniveling, worthless piece of flea dung!"  He hissed.  "I knew you were thick headed, but I never thought you were stupid as well.  Do you remember what happened the last time I caught you here?  Do you remember what I said would happen if I ever caught you peddling your poisons around the Raven again?  Do you?"

The terrified little man nervously nodded his head.  "But ... But ... I wasn't dealing ... Not this time.  Just getting a little fix.  You know.  Just enough to stop the jitters.  I'm gonna get clean as soon as the shakes settle down.  I promise.  I'll never make another deal as long as I live.  I swear to God."

"Oh, you are ever so right about that, you pitiful scum.  I promise you.  You will never make another deal.  Ever."  LaCroix opened his mouth and bared inch long fangs.  His eyes glowed a fluorescent yellow.  He lowered his head toward the man's neck, then stopped.  "No, I have a better idea.  You are going to help a friend of mine out of an extremely sticky situation."

"Anything.  I'll do anything you want.  Just tell me what I  have to do."  He pleaded.

In an instant, they were in Nick's apartment.  LaCroix threw the man toward the floor.  He grabbed an end table to break his fall.  "Excellent."  LaCroix tossed a brass paperweight to the man.  He caught it easily.  "Perfect."  He whispered with a wide grin. "Here."  He called, pitching a crowbar into the man's hands.  Next, he half dragged, half shoved the man to the door and threw him against it.  He hit it with a sickening thud.  When he turned around, there was blood streaming from his nose and it lay at an unnatural angle.  "There, that should be enough."

In the blink of an eye, they were back in the alley behind the Raven.

"Now, what's gonna happen?"  The man asked in a high, quavering voice.

"Now, I continue where I left off earlier."  LaCroix sunk his fangs into the man's neck and drank deeply.  He spat out the last mouthful and wiped his face with a handkerchief.  "I hate having to deal with filth such as this.  It leaves such a bad taste in my mouth."

He placed a lady's ring in the dead man's pocket.  Then he took out a watch and fastened it to his wrist.  He took several pawn tickets out of his wallet and placed them in the man's left shoe.  Finally, he took out a small vial and sprinkled the contents on the man's shirt.

LaCroix pulled out a chair opposite Nick and slid into it. The look on Nick's face was one of carefully controlled terror.  He placed a bottle of chilled blood and two goblets on the table.  "Finest  blood available.  Red Cross. Excellent vintage.  Come, my friend.  Let us drink a toast to the memory of Dr. Lambert and Detective Vetter."

"To Nat and Tracy."  Nick drained his glass.  Normally, he would not have touched human blood, but tonight he didn't care.  "By the way, where were you?  You said that you would be only a few minutes.  That was over an hour ago.  I was starting to think that maybe I lost you, too."

"No such luck, Nicholas.  You will never lose me.  This I guarantee"  LaCroix said, refilling the glasses.  " There was some ... trash ... in the alley that needed to be disposed of.  I took care of it."

**********

It was nearly sunrise when Nick and LaCroix returned to Nick's apartment building.

"Okay, we were supposed to be out drinking all night."  Nick said as the lift reached the landing.  "We had better act the part."

LaCroix put his arm around Nick's shoulder and the two pulled open the heavy door, singing loudly and off key.

The policeman standing inside the door touched his fingers to his hat.  "Good morning, Detective Knight.  The Forensics crew have been here and left.  From what I could gather, they found lots of very interesting things, too.  Oh, by the way, Captain Reese said it's all right for you guys to go inside.  He wants you to call as soon as you get in."

"There was no one else here all night, was there, Constable?"  LaCroix asked, placing his hand on the policeman's shoulder and looking him squarely in the eyes.

"Oh, no Sir.  Everything's been absolutely quiet."

LaCroix patted the policeman on the shoulder.  "Excellent work.  You are a credit to the force, Officer... ah ...."

"Kline.  Constable Leo Kline.  And thank you, Sir."  He said, touching his fingers to the bill of his hat.

**********

Captain Reese answered the phone.  "Just called to fill you in on what Forensics found in your apartment.  There were several good sets of prints, all belonging to the same person.  Also, they found the probable murder weapon. A brass paperweight.  According to the preliminary autopsy, Natalie was struck with a blunt object.  Had the same prints as the crowbar that they believe the suspect used to jimmy your door.  There was also blood - we don't believe it's Natalie's - all over the door.  She must have put up one hell of a fight before she bought it.   Now all we need to do is match the prints with a name, and we'll have our killer."

"Okay, LaCroix.  Mind telling me what's going on, here?"  Nick said as he hung up the phone.  "What do you know about what Forensics found and why do I have the strange feeling that it all ties in with your disappearance from the Raven?"

"Why Nicholas, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."  LaCroix said, staring intently at the ceiling.

"Let me refresh your memory.  The so-called robbery suspect.  The blood on the door.  And the part about Natalie's being struck with a blunt object.  Need I go on?"

"Oh, that.  I made a few phone calls, and, while we were supposed to be out getting drunk and before the Forensics people came in, I had several people come in and ply their trade.  They did what they had to do in an instant in real time.  I deliberately did not provide them with your apartment code, so it looked completely authentic.  Nice touch, don't you think?"

"I'll buy that, but what about Natalie?  We both know that vampire victims don't bruise or bleed.  Any second year medical student should be able to tell those injuries were faked after she was dead.  For an experienced coroner, it will be child's play." 

"Nicholas, to quote the vernacular, don't ask dumb questions, you won't get stupid answers.  Suffice it to say that my contacts can simulate and/or conceal almost anything.  It is quite possible that

Dr. Lambert might have been able to spot the difference, but only because she had such extensive personal knowledge of us and our kind.  For anyone else, I doubt that they would even suspect anything."

**********

Several days later there was a message on Nick's voice mail.  It was Captain Reese.  "More good news.  I believe we may have found Nat's killer.  A beat patrol down at the docks found a stiff behind a dumpster yesterday.  A two-bit junkie and dealer named Archie Boscko.  He's got a rap sheet as long as your arm.  Mostly misdemeanors, but there is enough to establish a pattern.  Several breaking and entering.  A couple of assault and battery.  Lots of possessions.  We also found your watch and Natalie's ring.  There were pawn tickets in his shoe for more of the stuff from your place.  The shop owner ID'd him as the one who pawned them.  There were also traces of blood on his shirt.  Forensics won't confirm it yet, but I'll bet a month's pay it's Natalie's.  Just to ice the cake, his prints match the ones taken at your apartment, and five will get you ten his blood matches the blood on the door.

The medical examiner also found enough heroin in his system to bring down a full grown elephant, and a dime bag that was contaminated.  It's a pretty sure bet that he OD'd.  It looks like an open-and-shut case.  All we need is for the Crown Attorney to take it before the Grand Jury and we can close the books.  I wish all my cases were this easy."

"He was the 'trash' you had to dispose of at the Raven,wasn't he?"   Nick asked LaCroix.  "You killed him and then planted the evidence and the contaminated heroin on him to mask your work."

"He deserved to die."  LaCroix said coldly.

"But he didn't kill Natalie. We both know that."

"Agreed.  But how many people did he kill, either directly or indirectly, with the poisons that he was spreading.  Don't they deserve retribution as well?  In paying for those crimes, he provided the solution for another crime."  A smirk came over LaCroix's face.  "Ironic, isn't it, that the only good and decent thing about his miserable life occurred after his death.  As for the contaminated heroin, I had no part in that. Considering that he would have died eventually, I, somewhat unwittingly, merely hastened the inevitable."

"Since when did you start caring about how many mortals died?"

"Since Natalie Lambert died."

**********

Nick's knees wobbled as he approached the pulpit.  He grabbed the edge tightly, his knuckles turning whiter than usual to keep himself from bolting.  The pulpit was far too close to the crucifix that hung over the main altar.  The few times he had been in churches before, they had been empty or deserted.  This one was filled with worshippers.  It wasn't the actual cross that vampires feared, it was the faith that the cross represented.  He could feel the faith and the love of God pouring from the crowd.  He steadied himself once more.

"Dear friends of Natalie."  He began.  His voice broke.  "We are here to celebrate the life of Natalie Lambert.  She was a most remarkable person.  Kind and gentle, loving and compassionate.  She had this remarkable quality about herself that enabled her to reach out to everyone, friend or stranger, and pull them into herself.  I know.  I was a recipient of that caring side of hers on more occasions than I deserved.  I can honestly say that for an all too brief moment, she was a part of me. Her death came too soon. She should have had a long and prosperous life.  She should have grown old and died in her sleep, surrounded by children and grandchildren.  She should have ... "

He stared at the flag draped casket in front of the altar.  Suddenly he could stand it no longer.  Shaking and trembling, he turned and almost ran from the pulpit. Everyone would assume it was because he was overcome with grief, but the real reason was that he was almost about to blurt out that he had killed her. 

Captain Reese walked beside Nick as they left the funeral chapel.  "You all right, Nick?  I thought you were going to lose it up there."

"I'm okay.  I just couldn't go on. I'm not sure why you asked me to deliver the eulogy, anyway. As you know, I am not a church goer.  In fact, if anything, I am more of an agnostic. I know that it's unusual to schedule an evening funeral, but I do appreciate it."

"You did fine.  I asked you because you knew her best of all.  And I think she would have wanted you to say something.  As for an evening service, I knew you wouldn't want to miss the services, so I talked the padre into it.  Since  we were unable to locate her sister in law, I kind of took it on myself to handle all the arrangements."

In the shadows, Nick saw a familiar figure and excused himself from Captain Reese.  "LaCroix, you don't have to stay out here."  He said, walking toward him. "You could have come in."

"I try to avoid places such as this whenever possible.  Too morbid for my tastes."

"Then why did you come?"

"I came for your sake.  And for hers."

"I didn't realize you cared so much for her.  You never gave any indication."

"I do care about her.  And it's all your fault.  You gave me a conscience.  Because of you, I feel compassion.  I care about people.  Even mortals.  For nearly two thousand years, I have done nicely without these nagging emotions, thank you very much.  Now, I've got them, and I don't want them.  To make matters even worse, I'm almost beginning to like them.  I hold you solely responsible for that, Nicholas.  This is one of the reasons I wanted to move on."

"You still can."

"No, I can't.  Not now.  Whether you like it or not, you need someone.  And whether I like it or not, that someone is me."  LaCroix sighed heavily.  "Why don't you come with me?  Now that Dr. Lambert is gone, there is no reason for you to stay."

"LaCroix, I never thought I'd be saying this, but I think moving on would do me a lot of good, too."

"Excellent!  Then we are agreed.  Monte Carlo is lovely this time of year, and I haven't been to the Casino in a lifetime."

Nick shook his head no.

"If not Monte Carlo, then Paris.  The Champs-Elysses is beautiful at night, and the view from the Eiffel Tower is breathtaking.  And the Mademoiselles ..."  LaCroix placed his fingers to his lips and kissed them.  "... delicious."

Again Nick shook his head.

"London, then.  I've always had a soft spot for the Queen."

Another head shake.  "I've seen enough of Europe for a while.  Perhaps we could stay in  North America. What do you think of Dallas?"

"That cowtown?  Oh please, Nicholas, be reasonable.  I need a place

with elegance and sophistication."

"Boston?"

"It's too cold and they don't like tea.  Remember the last time we were there?"

"Okay, then, Washington DC."

"There are more bloodsuckers there than anywhere else.  And they are not all members of our community."

"In that case, we'd fit right in.  All right, how about Pittsburgh?"

"NICHOLAS!"

"I know just the place.  Leave it to me."

**********

Los Angeles

They stepped off the escalator onto the concourse.

"I don't know why I agreed to this.  I must have been out of my mind.  Either your persuasive powers are getting stronger, or this damned emotional affliction is making me weak."  LaCroix said, rolling his eyes.  "First, I agreed to come here.  Then I let you talk me into using a commercial flight.  You are, of course well aware we have our own methods of transportation."

"And what's wrong with Los Angeles?"

A young man with a shaved head wearing a saffron robe handed LaCroix a flower.  "Hare Krishna, brother."  He said.

LaCroix gave the man a cold stare.  The man hurried off.  "He is, for openers.  I wanted someplace elegant.  Someplace that is synonymous with glamour."

"But LaCroix, this is the glamour capital of the world."

"At one time, in the twenties perhaps, but now it's ... "

A glassy-eyed youth shuffled by.  He wore no shirt, and the crotch of his baggy pants was even with his knees.  The cuffs were not hemmed and their ragged edges flopped over filthy, laceless, oversized sneakers.  There were rings in every part of his body.  His head was shaved in a mohawk and dyed a garish,  florescent purple.  Even without Nick and LaCroix's enhanced senses, it was obvious that he was one of the great unwashed.

" ... THAT."

"Humor me, LaCroix.  You yourself said I wasn't acting right.  And I did let you pick the hotel, after all."

"That's another thing. We could have stayed with our kind."

"LaCroix, don't nit pick."

They stopped at the cab stand and got into an empty taxi. "Beverly Hills Hotel."  LaCroix said.

**********

"Very well, Nicholas, I've been very patient and I've humored you for three weeks.  Now can we go somewhere more to my liking?  Someplace like Paris or, if you insist on the New World, how about Acapulco, or New Orleans?"  LaCroix said as they walked down Hollywood Boulevard.

"LaCroix,  we've got all of eternity.  Can't you wait a little longer?"

Just then there was a scream.  "Stop!  Thief!  He's got my purse!"

A young man elbowed his way between Nick and LaCroix.  In an instant, Nick caught up with him.  He stared intently into the man's eyes.  "You are very sorry you took the lady's purse.  You don't know what came over you.  It was just a moment of weakness.  It will never happen again.  You will give it back and apologize to her.  Then you will turn yourself in to the nearest police officer."

The young lady caught up with Nick and LaCroix.  She was in her late twenties, slim, but not thin, with soft hazel eyes. Her wavy brown hair was pulled in a loose ponytail.

"I think the gentleman has something to say to you."  Nick said.

"I'm sorry I took your purse."  The man said, handing the bag back.  "I don't know what came over me.  It must have been a momentary weakness.  I assure you, it will never happen again."

"Don't you have somewhere to go?"  Nick prompted.

"Yes, I do. Excuse me, please."  He walked to the end of the block where a police car was parked, and thee three of them watched as he leaned in the window and talked to the officer inside.  The officer opened the door and the man got inside.  The patrol car drove off.

"I want to thank you for coming to my aid.  Too many people nowadays don't want to get involved.  I was cleaning Gene Roddenberry's star on the walk of fame.  I do it every two or three weeks.  I'm dyed-in-the-wool Star Trekker.  I guess I got so involved that I lost track of everything.  I didn't even see him until he took my purse.  By the way, my name's Toni Parker."

"I'm Nick Knight.  This is Lucien LaCroix."

"Been in town long?"

"How did you know that we were from out of town?"

"I'm an artist, so I notice little things that most people wouldn't even see.  Like that bag."  She pointed to a bag hanging from Nick's wrist.  "B.H.H. - Beverly Hills Hotel, isn't it?  Tourist or transplant?"

"Transplant.  We just arrived here from Toronto."

"That means, unless you're independently wealthy, you're going to need a place to live soon.  The Beverly Hills costs an arm and a leg.  Since you did a good deed for me, let me do a good deed for you.   It just so happens that the Co-Op where I live has a vacant apartment.  If you want it, it's yours.  It's not fancy, but it's affordable and we don't ask too many questions about your lifestyle."

"Lifestyle?"  LaCroix asked.

"You know."  Toni said, dropping her wrist and waggling her fingers.  "Significant others."

LaCroix looked horrified.  "MY DEAR LADY!  We are nothing like that!  My son, here is going through a very difficult time.  He just lost the woman he loved, and I'm trying to help him adjust."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything, but with different last names, I had no way of knowing."

"My ... ah ... father ... and I haven't been very close in many years."  Nick said.  "Perhaps this experience will enable us to bridge the gap between us.  And yes, I think we would like to see the apartment."

"Good.  It's in Studio City.  I'll give you directions, or if you want to follow me, that's okay, too.  You do have a car, don't you?"

"In Toronto."

"Okay then, we'll use mine."

**********

They pulled up in front of a series of converted warehouses. 

"These were owned by the late Lillian Van Gelder.  She was a big silent screen star.  Her screen name was Lillian Boothe."

"Yes, I remember her well.  An exquisite beauty.  Very shy.  Rarely spoke."  LaCroix sighed.

"My ... father ... is a silent movie buff."  Nick quickly added.

"Oh.  I see.  I didn't think he was that old.  Anyway, when talkies came out, her career plummeted.  Seems she had a high, squeaky voice, and to make matters worse, she lisped quite noticeably.  She didn't have to worry about finances, though, her husband, Theodore Van Gelder, made a sizable fortune in the import / export business.  That's what these warehouses were originally built for.  After he died, Lillian had them converted into apartments.  In the beginning, they were for actors and other movie people, but over the years, they evolved for anyone who needed an affordable place to stay.  When Lillian died, she willed the place to the tenants.  We've sort of kept up her tradition."

She led them to the elevator and started it.  "The apartment is on the top floor.  It's very roomy.  1500 square feet of living space.  Even has a skylight."

"Shouldn't the manager be with us when we inspect the apartment?"  Nick asked.

"The manager is.  I'm the manager, or at least the manager de jour.  Every month, the tenants take turns being manager.  It's part of the by-laws.  If you take the place, you'll get your turn eventually."

**********

Toronto 1991

Doctor Natalie Lambert walked through the door of her apartment, laid a large shopping bag on a chair in the living room, and turned on the lights.  She would have raised the shades earlier in the day, but her houseguest would not have appreciated it.  She looked at him again.  Last night wasn't a dream.

Several days earlier, the Forensics team brought a body bag into the morgue, the victim of a pipe bomb.  That wasn't unusual.  What was unusual was when the 'corpse' opened his eyes, sat up and introduced himself as  'Something very different from you.'   She wondered what made her offer to help him, probably the same lunacy that made her offer to let him stay at her place when she met him again the next evening. But then, he had nowhere else to go.  If only he had told her his name.

He was average height.  Slim build.  Fit but not muscle-bound.  His tousled blond hair framed a boyishly handsome, if somewhat pale, face.   He looked to be in his late twenties or maybe early thirties, but Natalie had the definite impression he was a great deal older than that.  She walked over to the couch and touched her hand to his cheek, perhaps to confirm that there actually was a vampire sleeping on her couch.  His skin was cold to the touch.  A smile crossed his face when she touched him.

Like her mysterious houseguest, Natalie had fallen asleep before sunrise and slept late into the day, waking up in time to do some shopping for this stranger, since he was still wearing the same tattered, bloodstained clothing he had on when he was brought into the morgue.  While he was asleep, she took some measurements, enough to get an idea what sizes he wore, and made an educated guess about his taste in clothes.  She put a pot of coffee on as the stranger's eyes fluttered open.  "Hi."  She said. "Coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee."  He replied.  "But thanks for the offer.  And thank you too for letting me spend the day here."

"I forgot.  Vampires don't eat."  She said, handing him a bag of outdated blood from the morgue reserves ."You'll probably like this better.  You know, I don't even know your name."

"You're better off not knowing it."  He put the blood on the table and eyed the shopping bag.  "What's this?"

"Clothes.  I hope they fit.  You can change in the bedroom."

"You're really serious about helping me, aren't you?"  He took the shopping bag and went into the bedroom.

"Uh-huh.  And I'd like to know who I'm helping."

"I told you.  I'm a vampire."

"That's what you are, not who you are.  If you don't tell me your name, I'll just keep calling you John Doe 1473."

"What?"

"That's the name on the tag on the body bag when they brought you into the morgue."

Natalie waited until her houseguest finished his shower and dressed in the clothes she bought him.  Somehow he didn't look quite right in a short-sleeved polo shirt and jeans. 

"Not a bad fit.  We'll see about other clothes later."  She said, after he returned to the living room.

"Nick." He said. "Call me Nick."

"That's a start."  Natalie said.  "Nick what?"

"Doctor Lambert, "  Nick said, irritated.  "I really don't ... "

"Whoa." She interrupted. "If you insist on being on a first-name basis, you'd better start calling me Natalie."

"Natalie."  Nick echoed.  "That's a lovely name for such a beautiful woman.  "He started to reach out to touch her.  Her blood smelled sweet beneath her skin.  He felt his fangs begin to elongate. 

He pulled away.  "I'm sorry.  I couldn't help myself."

"It's all right. I appreciate the compliment."

"It wasn't the compliment I'm sorry about.  I meant that.  It's what I almost did.  Maybe you should forget about me."

Natalie looked Nick in the eye, being careful not to look for too long.  "I can't forget about you.  And I won't give up on you either.  Do you want me to give up?"

"I want to be human."  He whispered. a great sadness in his eyes.

"Well, at least that's a starting place.  If you're going to stay here in Toronto, you'll need a place to live and a job.  If you're going to play knight in shining armor, you really should do it with a badge.  I'll talk to Captain Stonetree.  He is hurting for help... Nick, are you listening?"

A pensive smile spread across Nick's face.  " Perfect.  I like it.  Knight.  Nick Knight.  Nicholas Knight."

"Now you'll need some ID.  You know, driver's license, credit cards, Social Security. That sort of thing.  I don't think this is legal proof."  She handed Nick a photo of himself being embraced by a little girl no more than seven or eight years old.  On the back of the photo was written 'Christmas 1977'.  "It was all that was in your wallet.  Is she yours?"

"Only in my heart."  He whispered softly, running his finger over the photo.

**********

Los Angeles

"Well that's the apartment.  Two bedrooms, huge bath.  And you won't find a larger or more well-equipped kitchen this side of the Sierra Nevada."  Toni said as they returned to the front door.   "What do you think of it?"

"Beautiful."  Nick replied.  "I haven't seen a bear claw bathtub in ... a lifetime."

"Don't you remember, Nicholas, we had one in Paris. " LaCroix reminded.

"You've been to Paris?"  Toni said in wonder.

"Oh, yes.  Many times."  LaCroix answered.  "In my line of work, I travel a lot."

"And what do you do?"

"In his last job, he hosted a radio talk show."  Nick said.   "Perhaps you've heard of it.  He was known as The Nightcrawler."

"Nicholas, they can't pick up Toronto stations here, even you should know that."  LaCroix corrected.

"No we can't, but the show is syndicated.  I thought you knew that."  Toni said.  "I've heard it a couple of times.  From what they say in the papers, though, you have a sizable following in the Southern California area.  If you want to go back to it, I know a few people at KLAC.  I could arrange a meeting."

"That won't be necessary, Miss Parker.  You've done enough just showing us this lovely apartment."  LaCroix said, kissing her hand.

"That's me, Toni Parker, Girl Samaritan."  She said, blushing slightly.

"I've been meaning to ask you something since we came in."  Nick said.  "Why the pet flap in the front door?  Did the former owner have a cat or dog?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Parrilott didn't own any pets.  In fact, he was very allergic to them.  That's Hoiman's door.  Hoiman is the apartment house cat.  He showed up about five years ago and just settled in.  A lot of the tenants have installed pet doors for him."

"You mean he comes in and goes out at will?"  LaCroix asked.

"Try keeping him out if he wants to come in.  Don't worry, though, he has impeccable manners and he won't bother anything without your permission"

As if on cue, a huge gray and white spotted cat came through the door. He sat down in front of Toni and meowed loudly.

"Hoiman, I'd like to introduce Mr. LaCroix and Mr. Knight.  They are interested in renting this apartment.  Be on your best behavior."

Hoiman walked over to Nick and sniffed him.  Then he rubbed against his leg.  Nick reached down and scratched behind the cat's ears.  Hoiman began purring loudly.

"He likes you."  Toni said.

Hoiman then went to LaCroix, sniffed him and then turned to his rear and raised his tail on LaCroix's pant leg.

"He must really like you.  He just marked you as his property."

"I belong to no one.  Especially not to ..."  LaCroix sneered at Hoiman.  Hoiman arched his back, bristled his tail, hissed, and ran out the door.  "... HERMAN!"

"That's HOIMAN!"  Toni admonished.  "He's very sensitive about that." 

"We'll take the apartment."  Nick said.  "However, there are a few changes that I'd like to make.  For instance, I want to install shutters on all the windows and the skylight.  You see, I have a severe allergy to sunlight.  Even a small amount can cause blistering and peeling, and prolonged exposure would be fatal."

"And nail that pet flap shut."  LaCroix interjected.

"I've heard of people like that."  Toni replied, ignoring LaCroix's outburst.  "No problem.  You can make all the changes you want.  Just clear them with the Co-Op Association first.  If you want me to, I'll talk to Larry Groce.  He works in the property design shop at Industrial Light and Magic.  He can create anything anyone can think up.  He and a few others have volunteered to be responsible for all the maintenance in the complex.  Why don't we go down to the office and sign the papers?  Oh, Mr. LaCroix,  The Co-Op will pay to have your pants cleaned."

**********

Toronto

The address Nick gave Natalie was the attic of an exclusive loft apartment building, which had been an office building, that was once a warehouse.  The only illumination came from a bare light fixture on an extension cord strung over a rafter.  There was at least an inch of dust and dirt on the floor.  The paint was peeling, and the smell of must and generations of vermin offal hung strong in the air.  The only furniture was a dorm refrigerator, a folding table and a camp chair, a pup tent, and a sleeping bag.  Nick was hovering in midair, close to the ceiling, with a bucket and sponge in his hands.

"I thought you had to turn into a bat to fly."  She said, staring at him.

"You've been watching too many Bela Lugosi movies."  Nick said as he descended to the floor.  "Well, how do you like it?  I know it needs a little work"

"Exactly what IS it?"  Natalie Lambert asked, fingering a layer of dust on one of the cabinets.

"My new home."

"It doesn't need a little work, Nick.  It needs a LOT of work."  She said, wiping her hands on her jeans.  "Besides, how could you afford this?  It's one of the most expensive places in Toronto.

As I remember it, you don't have two beans to rub together."

"Well, I took your suggestion and talked with Captain Stonetree at the 27th precinct.  I start Monday night.  I also have a very understanding landlord here.  Me."

"You?"

"I bought this building the last time I was in Toronto." 

"You own this place?"

"Actually the De Brabant Foundation owns it."

"You have connections with the De Brabant Foundation?"  She asked.  "That's one of the wealthiest philanthropic organizations in the Western Hemisphere."

"I am the De Brabant Foundation.  Nicholas de Brabant.  My birth name.   I liked this building so I bought it with the proviso that the top floor, this one, be kept for my personal use.  The rest of the building I used as the original offices of the De Brabant Foundation."

"But the De Brabant Foundation offices are by the lake."

"They are now.  When they outgrew this place, I had it converted it into lofts.  With the same proviso, of course.  I keep the top floor."

"I've been meaning to ask you, how did you come up with a complete new identity in such a short time?"

"You don't live as long as I have without making a few connections.  Let it rest with that."

"By the way, what does the B stand for in Nicholas B. Knight?"

"Brabant, of course, but only you and I know that.  As far as everyone else is concerned, It's me and Harry S. Truman.  It doesn't stand for anything."

"Who's Harry S. Truman?"

"Never mind."

**********

Los Angeles

The two burly men slid the couch against the wall.  "There you go, Mr. K., Mr. L.  All moved in."  One of the men said, wiping his huge hands on a rag.  "If you need anything else, just let me know. My name's Marty Wilkerson.  I live in building 3, apartment 2D.  I'm with the WWF, you know, World Wrestling Federation.  Maybe you know me better as the West Side Wild Man.  I'm also a part time freelance stunt man.  That's Mike Guerierreo.  He owns Flowers By Mike.  He has the contract for Hortic ... Horti ...  Anyway, he supplies all the plants for Paramount Studios"

"Hi."  Mike said, shaking Nick's hand vigorously.  "If you ever need flowers for that special someone, just see me."  Suddenly he slapped his beefy hand to his forehead.  "Oh! Jeez!  Sorry, man, Toni told me about your lady.  I didn't mean anything ..."

"That's all right."  Nick said.  "It only hurts when I think about it."

"If you want to talk about it or just want to get basted some night, I listen real good.  I'm in apartment 1C in this building."

Another man came over to them.  "Well, what do you think of the shutters?  I installed the remote opener, just like you asked."  He pulled out a small remote and clicked it.  Silently, the shutters rolled open.  "I even set it up so that you can open just one or as many as you want at the same time."  He clicked again and the shutters rolled shut.

"Excellent work.  I'm amazed that you could do it so fast, Larry.  It took them three weeks to do it in Toronto, and they weren't this fancy."

"Child's play."  Larry said.  "You should have seen the set work I did for Futureman.  Now, that gave me shivering fits."

**********

Nick approached the officer seated at the desk outside Inspector Ganlon's office.  "Nicholas Knight to see the Inspector."

"Oh, you're that Canuck we've been hearing about.  You must  been some high muckity-muck,  The Old Man doesn't stay overtime just to see anyone."

"I BEG your pardon."  Nick said, fighting the urge to let his fangs grow.

"Look, this isn't the land of the hose heads.   Here, you're playing with the big boys now."

Just then, the intercom sounded.  "Send Mr. Knight in, NOW!"  The voice yelled.  "And Taylor, I want to see YOU as soon as he leaves.  Next time, remember to turn the intercom off before you open your trap."

"I have to apologize for Detective Taylor."  Inspector Ganlon said, after Nick had seated himself.  "Good cop.  Bad case of foot-in-mouth disease.  I guess I'll have to ream him another new bung hole after you leave."

"I understand.  I had a partner just like that.  Turned out he was one of the best cops I ever knew."

"I have the letter Captain Reese sent me about you.  According to him, you just about walk on water.  Commendations, medals, awards coming out the wazoo.   The whole nine yards.  What I can't understand is, with a record like this, why weren't you the chief?"

"I'm perfectly happy being a lowly detective."

"Okay, I'll buy that.  Next question. When can you start?"

"How about right now?  One request, though,  I'd like to be assigned to the graveyard shift.  You see, I'm allergic to the sun."

"No problem.  That's where we need competent help the most.  Now, I'll see about getting you a partner."

 "I'd like to have Detective Taylor, if you don't mind, Sir."

"He's all yours, and you're welcome to him.  And, by the way, the first name is Bill."  Ganlon said, pressing the intercom.  "Taylor, get in here on the double."

"Hey, Knight."  Taylor said after Inspector Ganlon had told him of the arrangements.  "What gods did you cheese off to get the bone shift?"

"I asked for it."

"You know what god you cheesed off.  Don't you, Taylor."  Ganlon said, repeatedly tapping himself on the chest.

"Yes, Sir."  Taylor said almost inaudibly.

Ganlon put his hand to his ear.  "I ... CAN'T ... HEAR ... YOU!"

"YES, SIR!"

**********

Toronto

"So how did your first night on the job go?  Open wide."  Natalie placed a thermometer under Nick's tongue.

"Ifft wnnrt vgrry mwll"  He took the thermometer out.  "It went very well."  He said.  "Mostly routine.  Settled in.  Shown the ropes.  Attacked by a psychopath.  Bit somebody who ticked me off.  You know, the usual."

"WHAT?"

"Just kidding, but I suspect you might think I'd do something like that."

She put the thermometer back.   He took it out.  "It's no use, I have no temperature to speak of."

"I'll be the judge of that, Detective Knight."  She put it back.  She placed the stethoscope to his chest. She listened. She took the button and tapped it several times and put it back on his chest. 

He put the button end of it to his mouth.  "No heartbeat, either."  He said, pulling the thermometer out of his mouth.  "Well, not exactly.  My heart beats once every ten minutes."

She pulled the earpiece out and tapped her ear several times with the heel of her hand, a look of pain on her face.  "Don't you EVER do that again!"  She took the blood pressure cuff.  "Let me guess. No blood pressure."  Nick nodded yes.  "And I suppose you don't have reflexes either."

"I have those, but I must warn you about them."  He spoke a fraction of a second too late.  Natalie struck his knee with a rubber hammer.  His leg shot up and barely missed her head.

"Reflexes VERY good.  Oh, and you were right about the temperature

"Well?"

"If I gave Captain Stonetree the actual results of this physical, we'd both be committed to the rubber room.   So, I'll lie like a K-Mart rug and say that, except for a severe allergy to sunlight, all your tests were within normal range.

**********

Los Angeles

"Tell me again.  Why are we doing this in your car instead of mine?"  Toni said as they stopped at a red light.

"Because your car is a Geo Metro and it has no trunk space."  A muffled voice from behind the back seat replied.  "And because of my condition, the trunk is the safest place for me to ride in the daytime."

"Well, why did you go out in the daylight in the first place if you know that it's bad for you?"

"As I told you over the phone, I have to attend several orientation  briefings before I start with the police force.  They are only held during the day.  I drove in while it was still dark out and parked in the garage under the police building until the classes began.  Obviously, I can't sit there until nightfall.  That's why I called you to drive me home."

The light changed to green.  The car lurched foreword several times.   "Let me know when to put it in second gear."  Toni called out.

"Now."

There was a loud GREEEENCCCK from the transmission.  Nick breathed a small sigh of relief that vampires didn't bruise easily.  "PUT THE CLUTCH IN BEFORE YOU CHANGE GEARS!"  He yelled.  "Why didn't you tell me that you couldn't drive a stick shift?"

"You never asked."

"Never mind.  Just leave it in first gear until we get home.  If you drive very slow and don't get on the freeway, we should be all right."

"I don't think I have much of a choice.  Now I can't get it out of first gear."

"Oh, N-O-O-O-O!"

**********

Larry Groce laid a blanket over the fender of the Cadillac.  Then he put on a pair of surgical gloves and a white lab coat. "I know you're thinking I’m crazy, but when you are dealing with a car like this, you have to treat it with the utmost respect and care.  It's a real classic."  He bent over the engine compartment and began testing various parts.  Then he hoisted it up on the rack that had been installed in one of the garage bays at the complex.  After about a half-hour, he came up and wiped his hands on a towel.

"Well?"  Nick and Toni said almost simultaneously.

"I have good news and bad news.  The transmission is shot."

"And what’s the good news?"  Nick said.

"That is the good news.  The bad news is that I can fix it, but it will take a long time and lots and lots of money."

"Go for it."

"You mean that?  I'm somewhat of a car buff myself.  I mean, to have the chance to work on a vintage car in as good a condition like this is a real treat.  I'll take care of it as if it were my own."

"I'll need wheels while you are working on this one.  I'll see about renting one later."

"Why rent?  I’ve got this '95 Mazda 626 on the auto lot at the studio. We used it in the Agent 9 movies.  What this baby doesn’t have hasn’t been invented yet.  In fact, some of the things it has on it, haven't been invented yet.  I ought to know.  I designed and / or installed nearly everything.   I can let you have it while I fix yours."

"Can you really do that?"

"Piece of cake.  All the property guys got this little reciprocal back scratching agreement.  What one needs, the other gets.  It just so happens that the straw boss in automotives owes me big time for helping him remodel his rec room. 

Getting back to the car, Toni told me about your allergy.  What I can do is this.  I'll put a monitor and a remote control in the trunk.  That way, you can drive it yourself.  We did that for the Invisible Man series.  To keep up appearances, we'll put an animatronic dummy in the driver’s seat. You can control him from the trunk, too."

"How long before I can have the Mazda?"

"Is an hour too soon?"

"How can you do it so fast?  Isn't there all kinds of paperwork involved?"

"You're a cop, right?  It's better you shouldn't oughta know"

**********

Detective Mike Taylor yawned and rubbed his eyes.  "Knight, I don't know how you managed in the boneyard all these years.  As for me, come the stroke of midnight, I turn into a pumpkin."  He propped his feet on his desk and leaned back on the chair.  "I can say this much for mids, at least there are no brass asses around to give us heartburn."

A young looking man came over to them.  "Gentlemen.  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Captain Gerald W. Davies.  I am the brass ass on this shift."  Taylor straightened up with a loud thump as his feet hit the floor.  "My friends call me  Jerry.  You can call me Captain Davies.  Sorry I didn't greet you sooner, but I was on a few weeks vacation leave when you came on this shift.  I run a fairly tight ship, but we don't necessarily go in for all of the formalities that they have on days.  However, I have talked to Inspector Ganlon.  Believe me, I am quite capable of giving you all the heartburn you can handle, and then some."

An officer came over to him and handed him a sheaf of papers.  Captain Davies read them and handed them to Nick.  "Since you two are so bored just sitting around the precinct, Here's a chance to get your feet wet.  Seems we have a murder party at the Ventura Party Mansion  that just turned for real.  The so-called 'victim' actually was murdered.  I should also warn you that, according to this preliminary report, the guests at the party are all armchair sleuths, and they all want to help solve the crime.  Good luck, you'll need it."

**********

The Ventura Party Mansion was a renovated Georgian mansion that stood on a gently sloping tract just off Ventura Boulevard.  Venus, David, and other Greco-Roman figures stood sentinel along the driveway to the house.  According to Taylor, it could be rented for any number of occasions, such as weddings, anniversaries, reunions, and the like.  It was owned by The Party People Inc. which

was, in turn, owned by John Slang, A plump, fiftyish matron was waiting for them inside the door.  "I'm so thrilled!"  She gushed.  "My name is Whilemena Charles.  I'm the president of the Amateur Detective League.  After twenty years of playing detective, I've actually witnessed a real live murder.  Now I can use all the skills that I have learned to help you solve the crime.   If you get stuck, don't hesitate to call on me."

"We're here to see a Mr. Slang.  I'm told he is the coordinator of this party."

"Just to give you a quick briefing."  John Slang said, ushering them into his office.  "These parties are extremely popular with the fiction detective fan clubs in this area. The proceeds from this one would have gone to the shelter for abused and battered families.  My staff and I give about ten or fifteen of them a year.  One staff member plays the victim, and one is the killer.  The rest of the staff are either suspects or witnesses.  The invited guests have to solve the crime.  Of course, they don't know which people are staff and which are guests.  It's sort of like a live game of Clue."

The man who played Jim Aster, the victim, was Joe Capollo.  He had been with me only for a few months.  Right from the start, I knew he was trouble. Since he had played bit parts in a couple of television shows, he thought he was so much better than the rest of us. He always wanted the juicy roles, either the victim or the killer. He really got pissed off when he was assigned a minor role.  To say that he wasn't liked very much by my people would be an understatement.  He's been in royal shouting matches with nearly everyone. A few times it nearly came to blows.   I'd warned him on several occasions to watch his temper.  In fact, tonight was to be his last night.  After the show I was going to can him."

A man who looked as though he had just stepped out of an English mystery novel, handlebar mustache, hounds tooth checked hunting jacket and all, came over to them.  "My name is Nigel Blakely.  He said with a pronounced English accent.  "I have deduced who did it.  It was the butler.  He had plenty of motive.  From the clues, Mr. Aster as seeing his girlfriend.  He was alone in the library several times with Mr. Aster.  He could have administered the poison at any time.  I know it was poison because there was a distinct smell of almonds in the room. That's indicative of cyanide."

"Nigel, you are full of hot air, you ninny"  Whilemena Charles interrupted.  "If you had half a brain, you would have seen that Mr. Aster was stabbed, not poisoned.  That means that the chef did

it.  Mr. Aster had been yelling at him for the smallest infractions all through the evening."

A man in a tan trench coat and a snap-brim hat approached the group.  "How you could have missed the cause of death is beyond me, Sweethearts."  He said between clenched teeth.  "Mr. Aster was clobbered from behind with the statue with the clock in its stomach.  There are bloodstains all over it.  If you ask me, I say that the maid did it.  Aster couldn’t keep his hands off her.  Personally,

I think she deserves a medal for icing the cad."

"You are all wrong."  An elderly oriental gentleman said.  There was another younger oriental beside him.  "I am Matsucho Kwong.  This is my son, Tameoko.  I believe that the deceased was killed by strangulation.  There are bruises around the throat.  My humble opinion is that the bouncer did it.  He is certainly strong enough and he and Mr. Aster had a heated exchange when the he tried to stop an argument between Mr. Aster and the butler."

"If any of you bozos had half a brain you’d know that the stiff was plugged by the rent-a-cop.  Didn't you hear the shots?"  The man wore a 1940’s style double-breasted pinstripe suit and a wide brimmed hat.  He looked as if he had just stepped out of a Mickey Spillane mystery.  "He and Aster had it out when Aster came in.  The dick refused to let him in.  Even though the matter was straightened out, Aster threatened to have his badge for that."

"So, who do we believe.  Was the corpus delectied by poison, knife, gun, whapped, or was he ..."  Taylor wrapped his fingers around his throat and made gargling noises.

 "Why don't we ask the one person who would know the truth."  Nick said, entering the library.

The corpse had been zipped onto a body bag and two attendants were preparing to place it on a gurney by the time Nick and Taylor entered the library.  An area on the rug had been marked off with masking tape in the outline of a human figure.  The police photographer was taking pictures of everything in the room.  Several officers were placing various objects in plastic bags.  One of the uniformed officers pointed to a nondescript man standing in the middle of all of the action.

"Quincy McCoy."  The coroner said as Nick and Taylor introduced themselves.  "This cases beats all.  I've been the coroner here since 1983, and I've never come across one like this.   I can't confirm poison until after the autopsy, but after what I've seen here, I'd bet a month's pay you're right.  You see, he really was stabbed.  He was also struck with a blunt object, shot, beaten and strangled.  There are also two very curious puncture marks just below his left ear.   Whoever did this wanted to make sure he died.  Well, to quote a very famous movie line ... 'He is not just merely dead.  He is most sincerely dead.'"

**********

The butler, Jake Epplie, was the first person that Nick and Taylor questioned.  "Yes, I was alone with Joe a lot this evening.  It was in the script.  I was to be the killer, you know, the butler did it.  And yes, I left a bottle of so-called poison in the library.  But it only had a little bit of water and some almond flavoring in it, to simulate cyanide.  The argument about seeing my girl was also in the script.  Unfortunately, that was true in real life, too.  He had the hots for Molly Jordan since the day he came into our group.  As if that weren’t enough, he was always bragging about his prowess with other women.  I tried to tell Molly he was no good, but she wouldn’t listen. I would have liked to kill the bastard, but I didn’t do it.  I swear."

The chef, Marcus Hawthorne, was next.  "There’s no love lost between me and Capollo.  He hated my guts and the feeling was mutual.  You see, I had just landed a reoccurring role in a soap opera that Joe had also auditioned for.  He said that I stole the part from him.  He threatened to get even with me for that.  As for the arguments this evening, they were in the script, but he was carrying them to extreme.  I counted all of my knives for the uniformed cops, and they are all here.  I almost wish I had done the SOB in, but I didn’t."

"Killing was too good for him."  Arnie Sherrod, the huge black man who played the bouncer said.  "If I had done it, which, to my everlasting regret, I didn’t, I wouldn’t have killed him. I would have made him beg for death.  He seemed to get some kind of perverse kick out of putting other people down. He was forever getting in my face because of my size and my race, calling me boy and blackie and lardass.  Never mind that I have a master’s degree from Cal Poly and live in a four story split level in Rancho Del Mar."

Steve Horn, who was playing the security guard laughed heartily.  "The idea that you think I killed Joe Capollo is delightful.  If ever anyone deserved killing, it was Joe.  He was scum.  True, my gun was fired, but I thought I heard something in the bushes outside.  I fired a couple of shots at whatever or whoever it was, to scare it off.  That's all I could really do, you see my gun is only loaded with blanks.  The police have already checked it out.  Besides, my gun is a standard 9mm service pistol.  The wound was caused by a very small caliber bullet."

"Kill him?"  Molly Jordan said.  "No. I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.  Jake tried to tell me what he was like, but I didn’t believe him , that is until I caught Joe in my apartment with my best friend two days ago.  We had it out then.  It was a real donnybrook.  I told him I never wanted to see him again.  He cornered me in the upstairs bedroom earlier tonight.  I let him have it across the face.  Hard.  Several times.  I think I broke his nose and blacked his eyes, but he was very much alive when I left.  He was screaming and yelling that I had ruined his face and ended his acting career."  She held up her left hand.  The knuckles were skinned and bruised.  There were also scratch marks and bruises on her face.  "The police took samples for comparison with the marks on the body."

**********

Quincy McCoy was wiping his hands when Nick came into the autopsy room.  "Here’s the results of the autopsy."  He said, handing a folder to Nick.  "As I said before, this case beats all I’ve ever seen."

"So, what is the cause of death?"  Nick asked.

"Maybe all of the above.  Maybe none of the above. There was trace amounts of poison in his system, but not enough to kill him. 

He was also strangled, but there was only severe bruising of the neck muscles and underlying tissue.  No damage to either the trachea or the spinal column.  It would have hurt like hell, but not killed him. 

The stab wound punctured the upper right lung.  Barely.  It was from a rather small knife, not over three inches long.  Maybe a pocket knife or a paring knife.  Nothing bigger.  Outside of moderate bleeding, it was a clean wound and there was no other damage.  Definitely not fatal.

The gunshot punctured the abdomen, missed all the vital organs and lodged in the muscle on the left side.  Small caliber, probably .22.  We'll know definitely after Forensics gets through with it.  Again not fatal.

He was not, as your partner so succinctly put it, 'whapped with the statue with the clock'.  According to the initial Forensics report, the 'bloodstains' on it came from a mixture of Karo syrup, iron oxide powder and food coloring." He picked up a small bottle from the table and handed it to Taylor. "Slang uses it to simulate the taste and consistency of real blood.  Here, try it."

Taylor dipped his finger into the bottle and put it in his mouth.  He made a face. "It sure tastes real.  Here, Nick, have some."

Nick raised his hand.  "No thanks.  I'll take your word for it."

"What's the matter?  You never cut your finger and sucked out the blood?  Don't tell me the big bad Homicide detective is afraid of a little blood?  You think you're going to turn into a vampire or something?"

< If only you knew. >

Quincy continued.   "He actually hit his head on the coffee table when he fell.  They found traces of hair, blood and tissue on it.  They're satisfied it's his.  Caused a pretty good-sized concussion, though, but not death

Molly Jordan had already told us about the fight.  Not even close to fatal, and there were bits of skin under his nails, and a fragment of a polished nail imbedded in the cuts on his face.  I'd be willing to bet a month's pay they are hers.

As for the puncture marks on his neck, they did penetrate the jugular vein, but there was little or no bleeding.  My opinion is that they were inflicted after he was dead."

"So what did he die from?"

"As I said before.  None of the above.  All of the above.  None of the wounds were in and of  themselves fatal, but the cumulative effect, particularly if they came in rapid succession, was such that the body was overwhelmed by the trauma, and he ... just died.  It doesn't happen very often.  I've only seen a few other cases like it since I've been here."

**********

"So, why did you bring me here?"  Nick said after Taylor instructed him to park in an alley near the docks.

“Since you don't have any snitches on this city, and I have an extensive network,  I figured that maybe one of mine could shed some light on this crime.  I must warn you, though, this particular one is not very cooperative, but if there is anything to know, he will know it."   He stood in the middle of the street.  "Yo, Tino!"

A figure came out from the shadows.  He looked to be a young black man, about twenty-five or thirty, well built and handsome in a rugged sort of way.  Immediately there was a tingling sensation and chills ran throughout Nick’s body.

"Well, well, Oskifer Taylor.  What brings you to my turf this time of night?  You piss off the Old Man again?"  Tino said with a swagger.

"Tino, don’t make me look bad in front of my new partner.  And it's Detective Taylor now."

"If your new partner has an IQ more than three, he already knows you a shithead.  Oh, by the way, congrats on the promotion.  So now it's Detective Asshole."

"I need some information about a murder party that took place last night."

"Murder party?  Is that like a gang bang?"

"No, stupid.  It's a charity benefit for abused families. The so-called murder was only supposed to be fictional, but the victim actually was killed."

"Ask me about a drug deal or prostitution and I'm your man.  Why you asking me about some fancy uptown party?  You think I care?  Who you think I am?   Some kind of gossip columnist, that I should know that kind of information?"

Taylor pushed Tino against a wall.  "Look, Buckwheat, I need information and I figure if you don't have it you know who does.  So talk before I get tough with you."

"I wouldn't go there if I were you."  Nick said.

"Look, Knight.  This is my snitch.  The only thing people like him understand is force."

Nick put his arm on Taylor’s shoulder.  He homed in on his partner's heartbeat and looked deep into his eyes.  "Maybe I can talk to him.  I left my notebook in the car.   Why don't you get it for me."

"Nick."   Taylor said, releasing his grip on Tino.  "Maybe you can talk to him.  I think you left your notebook in the car.  I'll get it for you."  He turned and walked out of the alley.

Nick looked at Tino.  He hissed, revealing inch long fangs.  His eyes were florescent yellow.  Tino's eyes turned yellow and he hissed back through inch long fangs.

"What's a step-brother doing with a badge?"  Tino said.

"Let's call it penance for my sins.  What's one of our kind doing talking trash and living in the streets?  Didn’t your master give you any lessons in sophistication?"

"My master was also my 'Massa'.  I was his 'house nigger'.  He rewarded me for my years of faithful and loyal service by bringing me across just three weeks before President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation.  Ironic thing about it was that he went out with Atlanta.  He was trapped inside his plantation house when Sherman's boys torched it."  Tino laughed bitterly.  "Seriously, If you want to know anything about any uptown doings, the person to see is Clarissa La Pont at the After Sunset Bar over on Sepulvida"

Taylor returned to the alley.  "While I was getting your notebook, a call came in.  Seems there is some sort of a flap back at the precinct and they want us there on the double.  We can continue questioning Tino later."

**********

There was a crowd of people, all in costumes reminiscent of famous fictional detectives, milling around Nick's and Taylor's desks then they arrived.    Nick recognized them as members of the Amateur Detective League.

"They've been here since shortly after you left."  Captain Davies told them.  "They claim they want to help solve the crime.  They refuse to talk with anyone but the two of you.  I tried to tell them to go home, but they won't leave until they talk to you."

"Let's see who we have here."  Taylor said.   He pointed to the man in the trench coat.  "Sam Spade, right?"

The man touched his fingers to the brim of his hat.  "Lewis Peabody.  I work as a professional Humphrey Bogart look-alike.   Needless to say, I've been a fan of his as long as I can remember.  Naturally, I've seen all of his movies."

"Whilemena Charles.  I suppose you are Miss Marple."

"Quite correct.  Detective Taylor, isn't it?   I am a devoted follower of Agatha Christie.  I know I have seen The Mousetrap at least twenty times."

"And who are you supposed to be, Mr. Blakely?  Inspector Clouseau?"

"Definitely not!"  Blakley sniffed haughtily.  "Some detective you are.  I wouldn't impersonate that clod for all the tea in China.  I am, of course, Rumpole of The Bailey."

"Speaking of tea in China, you two must be Charlie Chan and Number One Son."  Taylor said pointing to Matsucho  and Tameoko Kwong.

"Except that we are Japanese, you are correct."  Matsucho said, bowing politely.

"And you have to be Mike Hammer."  He said to the man in the '40's suit.

"Got that right, gumshoe.  Name's David Baker.  I've read every mystery Spillane put out."

Nick took Taylor aside.  "Why don’t you give these people a tour of the precinct house and brief them on where we are in the investigation.  I'm sure they would appreciate the courtesy."

"And where will you be while I am playing boy scout leader to Troop Dingbat?"  Taylor whispered.

"Gathering evidence."  Nick said as he headed out the precinct door.

"Knight, you can't do this to me!"

**********

The After Sunset looked like any other average bar in any average neighborhood.  It had all the standard trappings.  A well-stocked mahogany bar ran along one wall.  Across from it were tables and booths.  In the middle of the room was a coin operated pool table.  Sharing another wall with a jukebox was a large screen TV.  The patrons were an eclectic mix of workers, businessmen and barflies.

The bartender directed Nick to a young looking lady seated by herself at a table near a door that Nick supposed led to the office.  The lady was very, very familiar.  "Clarisse."  Nick said, embracing her gently.  "Tino did not mention that Clarissa La Pont was in reality Clarisse De Mer.  How long has it been?"

"Too long."  Clarisse answered.  "Last time was Vicksburg.  You were a surgeon with the Union Army and I was a courier for General Grant."

**********

Vicksburg 1863

Captain Nicholas Langley wiped the instruments with alcohol and dropped them into a pot of boiling water.  Sterilization.   It was a technique that Dr. Louis Pasteur, his teacher, was promoting.  There was considerable controversy in Europe concerning this practice and its effect on preventing infection.  It worked for Nick, though.  He had markedly fewer complications among his patients than any other Union surgeon. 

"Dr. Langley, there is one more patient for you to see."  His orderly said, poking his head through the tent flap.  "A woman.  She's French, I think."

"I do not require treatment!"  The woman protested vehemently.  "As you can plainly see, my wound is quite minor.  Let me go!"  She held up her arm.  There was no noticeable wound, and only the bloodstains on her sleeve gave any indication that there ever was any wound.

A prickling sensation on the back of his neck told Nick that this was no ordinary woman, but one of his kind.  He also recognized the voice.

Clarisse De Mer took one look at him. "Nicholas?  Nicholas Chevalier?"   She pulled her arm back and slapped him with such force that it knocked him into a chair.  He and the chair went tumbling to the floor.  The slap left a welt even on his cheek.

"Clarisse?  Clarisse De Mer?  What was that for?"  He asked somewhat confused.

"Let me refresh your memory.  Marseilles.  1793."

Clarisse De Mer was a vintner's daughter, a mortal that he had fallen in love with during the French Revolution.  She and her father were persecuted because he was the Royal Vintner to Louis XVI.

He had arranged passage for them from Marseilles to America, but before he could see them safely off, he was told by LaCroix that they had been captured by the 'Committee Of Public Safety' and executed. 

"You sent LaCroix to bring me across so that we could be together forever.  Then, without so much as a by your leave, you abandoned me."  She continued, her fury boiling.

"Wait a moment.  I didn't send LaCroix.  And I certainly didn't want you brought across.  I wouldn't wish what I am on anyone, especially not on you.  I was told by LaCroix that you and your father were dead."

"You mean this wasn't your idea?"  Clarisse's mood softened considerably.  "Then why did LaCroix do this to me?"

"I have no idea."  He secretly suspected that it had something to do with the vow he had made when Nick had refused to let LaCroix bring his sister, Fleur, across.

"So, It was LaCroix's idea and his alone.  All these years he has let me think it was you.  I have vowed my revenge on the person responsible and now I shall have it."  A wicked smile crossed Clarisse's face, showing just a bit of fang. "The Confederates suspect there is a spy in their midst, but they don't know who.  Yet.  I shall give them their spy."

"How can you do that without compromising yourself?"

"They think that I am a lowly maid in the service of Madame Monica De Fontaine and her ... entourage.  General Beauregard's staff officers visit her ... establishment.  Frequently.  While they might be cautious around the others, they speak freely around me.  You see, they believe I speak very little English and understand even less.  I pass along what I have acquired to the Union forces as soon as I am able.

There will be a reception tonight for General Beauregard.  LaCroix will be there."

"LaCroix?  You mean he's here in Vicksburg?"

"That is right.  You would have no way of knowing.  Colonel LaCroix is General Beauregard's Adjutant."

**********

"Excuse moi, Mon General."  She said to General Beauregard.  "May I borrow ze 'andsome Colonel LaCroix for a few moments?"

"Why, of course, Mam'selle."  The General said patting her behind.  "Colonel LaCroix,  You are one lucky son of a gun to have a lovely little thing like this after you. I wish it was me."

They went into an empty bedroom.  "Nicolas Chevalier envoie son considère.  (Nicholas Chevalier sends his regards)."  She said.  She then slapped him across the cheek with enough force to send him staggering across the room into the wall.  "Un ces, monsieur, sont la mine.  (And these, sir, are mine.)"  She slapped him across the other cheek with the same amount of force.  Had LaCroix been mortal, she would have broken his jaw.

" Puisque vous savez Nicolas et me, vous etes evidemment un de nous.  (Since you know Nicholas and me, you are obviously one of us)."  LaCroix replied, rubbing his jaw.  "I would also venture to say that you are one of my children.  Let me see, From your accent, you are from the south of France.  Since you referred to him as 'Chevalier', it was before 1800.  You could only be that vintner's daughter that I brought across for him.  Tell me, was he pleased with what I had done?"

"Batard!"

"Quite the contrary, Mademoiselle.  I knew my parents and they were wed."

"I have been thinking what to do about you, and I think I have the solution."

She opened the door and called to the Confederate officers in the room in very broken English.  "I seenk I 'ave found ze spy you 'ave been looking for.  It is ze Colonel LaCroix.  'E tol' me zis so 'e could get me into 'es bed."

"Sir, you are not only a traitor but you are also a reprobate"  General Beauregard said.  He motioned to one of the guards standing by the door.  "Escort the Colonel to the post stockade and place him under arrest."

As LaCroix was being led away, Clarisse waved to him.  "Bon chance, Mon pere.  Bon soir. (Good luck, father.  Good evening.)"

**********

They walked along the ridge.  From this vantage point, they could see the campfires of both the Confederate and Union forces.  From one of the camps came the sad sound of a harmonica.

"I do not believe that Monsieur LaCroix will be a problem, Mon Cher."  Clarisse said.  "He will be spending the rest of the war in a Confederate prison.  Unless they shoot him of course."

"You know he can't be killed."  Nick pointed out.

"Oui."  She said. "But the Confederates don't know that.  Either way, he will have to disappear, at least until the war is over.  My revenge is now complete and I can get on with my life, such as it is."

"What will you do?  You can't continue now that the 'spy' has been caught."

"No, but I have been thinking about using the money from the reward for capturing the 'spy' and the money that General Grant pays me to perhaps go to school.  Up to now, I have only had the most basic of education."

"You know that after the war, your money won't be worth the paper it's printed on."

"But of course.  Why do you think I insisted in being paid in gold and precious gems?  I may be only an ignorant vintner's daughter, but I am far from stupid."

**********

Los Angeles

"After the war, I went to finishing school in Boston and then to San Francisco."  Clarissa continued.  "There I married a very wealthy businessman and took my place in high society.  What happened to you?"

"I, too went west, but I traveled an entirely different route than you.  The closest to high society I got was the local brothels.  I was a cowboy and part time outlaw."

"Something tells me you are not here to reminisce about old times."  She said.

Nick showed his badge.

"My permits are all in order and I run a quiet, totally legitimate business.  Even our kind mind their manners here."

"Knowing you, I'm sure everything is in perfect order.  I just need some information.  Tino tells me you know something about a murder party at the Ventura Party Mansion last night."

"Come on into my office and have some of my private stock and we’ll talk."  She rose and headed for the door.  Inside, she opened a small dorm fridge under the desk and took out a bottle of red liquid and poured two glasses.  "All I know is that Roland Henley came by about three weeks ago with tickets for this bash.  He didn't want them, so he asked me to sell them.  I raffled them off and gave the money to Roland to donate to the charity."

"Who won them?"

"One of us.  His name is Damien.  You can find him at Henley’s mansion in Malibu.  I doubt if he used them, though.  He's not the type for fancy parties unless there's lots of available women around."

**********

Roland Henley's estate, Drake House, sat in the middle of 15 acres of prime real estate in Malibu Hills with a breathtaking view of the ocean.  The house itself was of Noveau Roman architecture, and its size rivaled that of many middle-sized resort hotels. 

The housekeeper escorted Nick to the pool area.  Seated, lying, and lounging around the pool was a bevy of exquisitely beautiful young women.  He could tell that most of them were his kind.  Nick guessed most of them were starlets and models.  Roland Henley was seated in a lounge chair in the middle of a knot of females.  If Nick had not known better, he would have guessed Roland to be in his late thirties.  He had elegant, classic features.  His body was trim and hard and except for the extreme paleness, he could have passed for one of the bronzed sun worshippers who inhabited the beaches.

"Ah, yes, Lucien LaCroix's protege."  Roland said after Nick had introduced himself.  "We go way back, he and I. Before I got into pictures, I was a Shakespearean actor.  In the original Shakespeare

Company.  It was LaCroix who got me onto the silver screen.  He introduced me to Rudy Valentino who hired me as his stand in.  From there, it was only a small step to feature roles.  When talkies came along, I was one of the few who was able to make the transition.  As with everything, though, time eventually caught up with me and I had to move on.  I spent a few years on the continent and then came back as my son, Roland Jr.  Right now, I believe I'm my great grandson, Roland the fourth or something like that.  I'm working as an agent at present.  I guess that makes me a bloodsucker in every sense of the word.  Far less work.  Far more profit.  But you didn't come here to talk about me, although I could do that all night."

A nubile, tanned, blonde thing in a skimpy bathing suit draped her arms around Nick’s shoulders.  "Hi."  She half whispered.  "I'm Candy.  I’m the sweetest thing you'll ever eat."

"He's not a producer, and he doesn't do things like that."  Roland said to Candy.

"Oh poo!"  Candy pouted as she walked away.  In the back of Nick's mind, he heard the theme from The Stripper:  DAT  DA DAAA  DE DUMP DUMP  DAA.  Candy's hips kept perfect time.

"Body by Fisher.  Mind by Fisher-Price."  Roland said.  "Drinking from that is like drinking Koolaid.  I remember when being an actress meant that you had an IQ larger than your bra size"

"She's one of us?"  Nick asked.

Roland nodded yes.  "What Clarissa La Pont does for the middle classes, I provide for the filthy rich."

"But she has such a gorgeous tan."

"You've never heard of Sun-Tan?  Tans you without the sun.  She buys it by the case."

"I don't usually indulge."   Nick said half aloud.  "But for that, I could make an exception.  I may be undead, but I'm still male."  He sighed heavily.  "You are right, though.  I am on official business.  What can you tell me about the Murder Party at the Ventura Party Mansion last night?  And did you know the victim, Joe Capollo."

"I don't know any more about what  happened than what was in the papers.  I had tickets to attend, courtesy of Joe Capollo.  He was one of my clients.  Those kind of parties bore me to, if you'll pardon the pun, death, so I gave the tickets to Clarissa to raffle off.  I understand that Damien won them.  I know that he didn't attend either.  We both spent the night right here and we have quite a few very  well satisfied witnesses to attest to that.

As for Joe Capollo, all I can tell you about him is that he was an obnoxious, self-centered, bumbling imbecile who didn't have a modicum of talent, and extreme delusions of adequacy.   We had an argument last Friday.  He said that I wasn’t working hard enough to get him big parts.  It was difficult enough getting him walk-ons, let alone a juicy part.   The few promising parts I did manage to wangle for him, he blew with his mouth and his temper.  He threatened to get another agent and left in a huff."

"Do you know if any of our kind went to the party?  Someone sank their fangs into him."

"That was me. I went to the Mansion, but only to talk to Capollo about getting another agent.  When I got there, I went in through the library window.  He was lying on the floor.  I thought he had finally learned how to act.  I couldn't resist.  I didn't know he was dead until I sank my teeth into him.  It made me slightly ill and I left the same way I went in. The guard saw the movement and fired a few shots at me, but I don't think he got a good look at me."

Nick's cell phone rang. 

"Knight, get your buns back to the precinct house immediately."  It was Captain Davies.  "We've got a major situation on our hands.  I'll fill you in when you get here"

**********

When Nick arrived at the precinct house, there was a crowd of people milling around the door leading to the holding cell area.

"We heard strange noises and when we investigated, we found this."  Captain Davies took Nick into the holding room. 

There was Taylor in one of the cells.  His hands were behind his back, through the bars of the door and handcuffed together.  Across his mouth was a large swatch of duct tape.

"KNWGPT GMT MW PRT PF HHVRV!"  Taylor yelled through the tape.

"Since you are his partner."  Captain Davies said, raising his eyes upward and barely concealing a smirk. "We wanted to see if you knew anything about this before we took action on the matter."

"I don't know of any reason why he is in there. Let him go."  He said to one of the officers.  "No, wait a minute."  A mischievous look crossed his face.  "Isn't there some sort of a report that has to be filled out before he can be released?  I wouldn't want to be in violation of department policy." 

Nick said in a loud stage voice.

"I do believe you are right, Detective Knight."  Captain Davies said in the same stage tone.  "There are forms for everything.  Come into my office and I'll see if I can find the appropriate paperwork."

"Hang on, Mikey."  Nick patted the detective's cheek and he and the Captain walked away.  "We'll have you out of there in no time."

"WLL GXT PWN FLR THCS"

Captain Davies opened the filing cabinet and began to search through the folders.  He pulled a sheet from one, several sheets from another, and a handful from still another.  "That should do it."  He said, putting them on a clipboard.

"What are all those for, Captain?"  Nick asked.

"I haven't the foggiest clue."  Davies said.  "But  they should impress Taylor. And as far as you are concerned, my name is Jerry."

"WNLL PWN PLJZSZ GXT MW PRT!"  Taylor mumbled.

"We can release you as soon as you sign these forms." Jerry Davies said, putting a pen in Taylor's still handcuffed right hand.  "Sign here."  He put the clipboard under the pen.  "And here."  He pulled the sheet Taylor signed off the top and exposed another sheet.  "And here ... here ... and here."  He kept pulling sheets until they were gone.

"Before we release him I think we should get a statement."  Nick suggested, still in a stage voice.  He opened the door to the cell, grabbed a corner of the duct tape and gave a quick, hard tug.

"YEEE-AAA-OOOO-WWW!  You nearly took my face off.  I'll get all of you for this!  I swear!  You'll pay!"  The rest of Taylor's face was as red as the area around his mouth.

"What happened?"

"I was showing the amateur snoops around the office like you said.  They wanted to see the holding cells.  I locked the old geezer and the kid in one of them, just for laughs.  When I went to let them out, the rest jumped me.  How was I to know that the old lady had a brown belt in Karate?  She also had a roll of duct tape in her purse.  We should make it a rule to search everyone who comes into the precinct house."  He said, rubbing his wrists as Nick removed the handcuffs.  "Then they used my own cuffs to lock me to the door.  By the way, what were those papers I signed?"

"Let's see."  Captain Davies said, shuffling through them.  "This one is a requisition for ball point pens.  This is the weekly  report on precinct correction fluid usage.  And this one.  Oh, this one's a beauty.  Congratulations, Detective Taylor.  You have just been approved for two months of maternity leave."

**********

As he drove home that morning, Nick's mind kept wandering to Candy’s hips as she walked away from him. The thought, to say the least, was quite stimulating.  When he fell asleep, his dreams were a succession of what could only be described as XXX-Rated erotica.  He awoke that evening in an extremely agitated state.  His fangs were partially elongated.  His eyes were glassy and yellow. And his groin ached cruelly.  He needed.  He needed bad.

Feigning the flu, he called in sick.  His next call was to Clarissa.  "I need you.  I need you now."  He pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

"Come." 

He took to the air.  He feared that if he took the time to drive, he would surely explode before he got there.

Clarissa was waiting for him.  In her office, she slowly, deliberately unbuttoned his shirt.  She caressed his chest, toying with the soft blond hairs on his pecs.  She rubbed his shoulders and slowly, sensuously, kissed his neck.  He was doing the same to her.  He could feel the passion building in him.  Finally, he could stand it no longer.  He parted her long, chocolate hair and poised above her ivory neck.  He gently kissed her on the nape.  His eyes were fluoresced.  His blood boiled.  His fangs extended.   Slowly, gently, he pressed them to her jugular vein.  Suddenly the image of Natalie lying on the floor of his Toronto apartment flooded his mind.  Involuntarily, the fangs retracted.   He straightened up, his face a mixture of pain and frustration.

"What's wrong, Mon Cher?"  Clarissa asked.

"I ... can't ... do it."   Nick half whispered in agony.  "I want to ...   I need to ... I can't ... I mean, I physically can't." 

"C'est moi, Clarisse.  You can do it.  Just relax.   Don't rush it.  Let it happen naturally."  She caressed his head in her arms. 

Natalie's face flashed through his mind.  Suddenly, Nick bolted upright.  "I can't stay.  I ... I ... "  He ran for the door and flew away.

**********

Hoiman pushed through the pet flap. The television was on.  On the end table were several empty green bottles. Golf balls littered the floor.  He took one look at Nick sprawled in a stupor on the couch.   He headed directly for LaCroix’s bedroom.

Hoiman jumped on the bed and seated himself on LaCroix’s chest.  "Meow."  He called.  There was no response.

He began to tread the chest.  "MEOW!"  He called forcefully.  Still no response.

He put his nose even with LaCroix’s nose and ran his sandpaper tongue over LaCroix’s cheek.

LaCroix opened one eye.  "Go ... Away."  He closed his eye.

"M-E-O-W ! ! !"  He repeatedly licked LaCroix’s face.

"Why are you disturbing my sleep, you accursed feline?"  LaCroix said, taking a swipe at Hoiman.

Hoiman jumped off the bed and headed to the door.  When LaCroix did not follow, he repositioned himself on LaCroix’s chest and began licking his face once more.  Again he jumped from the bed and stopped at the door.   "ME-AA-AW!"  He called.

"You want me to follow you.  Don't you, you idiotic beast?"  LaCroix asked.

"Me-yow!"  Hoiman called.  There was almost a sigh of relief in his voice.

LaCroix took a black watermarked silk dressing jacket from the chair beside the bed and followed the cat to the living area.

"Nicholas.  It is three o'clock in the afternoon.  Why aren't you in bed?  What's wrong?  Are you ill?"

He spotted the empty bottles  and took a sip of the dregs.  "Cow's blood."   He spat it out.  "On second thought, you are not ill.  You are stoned on this swill."

Nick turned to face him.  His eyes were yellow and glassed.  His fangs were still partially elongated.  "Help .. Me ..."  He pleaded.  Haltingly, painfully, he told LaCroix about the previous night’s experience.  "I've tried everything.  Golf.  Beethoven.  Days Of Our Lives.  I even took cold showers.  Nothing works."

LaCroix picked a mug out of the sink.  It was the one that Natalie had given Nick for Christmas last year.  "Coffee?"

"Blood.  I even tried it hot.  Like warm milk.  It nauseated me.  You've got to help me.  Please."

"If you were mortal, I'd say you were impotent.  Although it is not unheard of among our kind, it is very rare.  You're the first one I have ever known.  Let me see, when was the last time you made love to someone?"

"Natalie."

"And you were emotionally involved with her."

Nick nodded yes.

"And you were emotionally involved with Clarisse at one time too?"

"Yes, but I was also involved with Janette and that didn’t prevent me from making love to her."

"But that was before Natalie died.  Think for a minute.  You made love to Natalie and she died.  Could it be that you are afraid that Clarisse would die if you made love to her?"

"But I know she's immortal.  I know she can't be killed.  At least not that way."

LaCroix pointed to his head.  "This knows that."  He pointed to his heart.  "But subconsciously, you are afraid."

"Look, LaCroix."  Nick said angrily. "I don't need you to play psychiatrist with me.  I need you to help me."

LaCroix sat on the couch beside Nick.  "I wasn't trying to be a  psychiatrist.  I am trying to be a father to you."  He said softly.

Nick looked at LaCroix.  There were tears in his eyes.  "I loved Natalie.  I loved her more strongly and more deeply than I have ever loved anyone.  I loved her more than life itself."  Suddenly his body was enveloped in deep, racking sobs.  "And now she's dead."

LaCroix gently pulled Nick to him.  He guided his son's head to his shoulder and slowly, gently stroked it.  "That's it, Nicholas."  He said, barely in a whisper.  "Let it all out.  It's time."

Unnoticed by anyone, Hoiman slipped out through the pet flap.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sobs subsided and finally stopped.  The two men sat on the couch for a long time after that, just comforting and taking comfort in each other. 

"Thank you, LaCroix."  Nick finally said.

"For what?"

"For being there". Nick slowly straightened up.  He wiped his red, swollen eyes.   "I'll be all right now.  Unfortunately, though, this does not solve my immediate need."  Nick's fangs were still partially elongated and his eyes still were yellowed.

"It's a long shot."  LaCroix said. "But it is possible that you might be able to perform with someone that you are not emotionally involved with.  It might just break the psychological barrier that you have.  Have you thought about that?"

"No, I haven't."   Nick said pensively.  Slowly a smile crossed his face.  "But I know just the person."

**********

Roland Henley met him at the pool.  "I have done as you asked.  She's in Cabana 3."

"Hi." Candy said, draping her naked body around him.  His fangs immediately elongated.

Shortly before sunrise, a very satisfied Nicholas Knight left Cabana 3.

**********

Inspector Ganlon bent over the papers that were spread out on Taylor’s desk.  "Boys."  He said.  "Make me a happy man.  Tell me that you’ve solved this case.  The Chief is climbing down my throat, The Commissioner is gnawing on the Chief's balls, the DA is standing on the Commissioner's butt, and the Mayor has the DA by the short and curlys, and so on up the food chain.  The press is having a field day with the whole thing.  That's why I came in early, so that maybe you could give me something to keep everybody off my neck."

"Inspector, I'll be honest with you.”  Nick said, shaking his head.  "If this weren't for real, I'd say that someone had invented the perfect murder mystery.  All the clues are there.  All the suspects are there.  Everyone had motive and everyone had opportunity. Yet the pieces just don't fit. 

According to the Forensics reports, the poison wasn't cyanide, but strychnine, a common ingredient of rat poison.  In addition, it would have had to be at least four or five times stronger to do any real damage.  The knives in the mansion kitchen were all compared to the wound and none of them caused it.

The bullet was the same size as a .22 but it was mangled as though it had hit something solid, but according to the coroner, it only went through flesh.  Also, there were no identifiable markings on it.  I've been a homicide detective for many years, and this one has me stumped."

"Son, I've been a cop since before you were in diapers.  I've got to agree with you that this one will probably be used in some future academy training session.  But first we have to solve this mess.  I don't think I’m asking much.  Just do it yesterday."

**********

Nick opened one eye.  Hoiman was sitting on his chest, gently kneading his right shoulder and purring loudly.  Nick scratched the cat behind his ear.  Hoiman purred even louder.

"It's about time you awoke."   It was LaCroix, standing beside the bed in only his dressing robe.  "For you he purrs.  This ... feline awakened me from a sound sleep with the most infernal caterwauling I have ever heard.  I do not approve of the methods that carouches use, but his case, I am willing to make an exception."

Hoiman hissed at LaCroix and ran for the door.  He stopped and went back to Nick.  Again he started for the door.  This time, he just sat patiently at the entrance.

"I think he wants us to follow him."

"Last time it was an emergency.  This time he doesn't seem to be in any hurry, so I am going to get dressed."  LaCroix said, heading for his bedroom.

"Okay if I dress, too?"  Nick said.

As if in reply, Hoiman began grooming his left paw.

As Nick finished buttoning his shirt, there was a knock at the door.  It was Toni.

"Well, I see Hoiman did his job.  Come on or you'll be late."

"Late?"

"For the party, of course.  Tonight's the monthly Association party.  Don't you read your newsletter?"  She said practically dragging them toward the elevator.  "You two are the guests of honor.  Hurry, Mrs. Giovanetti and Mrs. Feldman have outdone themselves and they both are nearly inside out to see which one's cooking you like better."

"So who is the better cook?"

"You're asking me?  Mrs. Giovanetti's Beef Tortellini is to die for, and Mrs. Feldman makes the best Kreplach this side of the Ural Mountains"

They exited into the common area.  The perimeter of the courtyard had been strung with festive lanterns and streamers.  A bar was in one corner and several banquet tables were loaded with all types of food and drink.  An audio system had been set up in one corner, and music filled the air.  Several of the people were dancing on a floor improvised from several sheets of plywood in the center of the yard. 

When Nick and LaCroix entered, all activity stopped.  Over the speaker came the announcement:  "Here they are, folks.  Our newest partners.  Nicholas Knight and his father, Lucien LaCroix."  Everyone faced them and began to applaud.

Even before they sat down, two ladies were at their side.  One was short and chubby with raven black hair.  She looked like she could have posed for the Fairy Godmother in Cinderella. Nick took it for granted that she was Mrs. Giovanetti.  The other was tall and thin, with enormous tortoise shell glasses.  She just looked like a Jewish grandmother.  She had to be Mrs. Feldman.

Each sat a large bowl of food in front of them.

"Here, you've got to try this.  I worked all day to make perfecto, just for you."  A thin Teressa Giovanetti said, scooping a forkful and holding it to Nick's face.

A pungent smell caught his nostrils and he turned away.  "Garlic!  I’m extremely allergic to garlic."   He said, fighting the urge to choke.  "Even the smell is enough to make me nauseated."

"I told you so, Teressa.  Not everyone can tolerate your farkatke cooking.  Here,"  Miriam Feldman said shoving a plate in front of him.  "No garlic.  Nothing to make you sick.  Just good eating."

"What is it?"

"Helzalekh."

"Chicken."  Toni translated  "I know you have food allergies, but if you don't try just a teeny bit, they will be terribly offended.  They fuss at each other constantly, but they've been friends forever, and they have taken on the job as everybody's favorite aunt.  They are harmless enough and there's nothing they wouldn't do if you needed them.  Watch out, though, since we are the only young singles in the complex, I have a feeling they are going to try to get the two of us paired off.  I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't have the wedding planned, the honeymoon site picked out, and have named our first three children." 

"You know, it’s about time Atonia got all those ferhuntzing thoughts about a career out of her head and settled down and started having babies"  Miriam said as she and Teressa walked from the table.

"I agree, Her clock is ticking away multo rapido.  Nicholas, he seems like such a nice boy.  He'd be so perfect for her. "

"Oy, and with her wavy brown hair and his beautiful blue eyes, won't the children be gorgeous?" 

"Especially the girls."

"Well, if they are going to marry us off, maybe we should get to know a little bit more about each other."  Nick said, grasping her hand and gazing into her eyes, but not too deeply.  "You want to go first or should I?"

"You know, they're right, your eyes are very blue.  I'll go first. 

My name is Atonia Marie Parker.  I was born on March 23,1969 in Munks Corner, Ohio .  That’s about 10 miles south of Columbus.  My mother's name is Robyn.  She still lives there.  I have an older sister, Sheryl.  She's married to Ron Gramwood and they have two children, Jay and Nellie.  My father is / was Jack.   I say that because we haven't heard from him in over seventeen years.  Of course, I call him Pond Scum.  You see, he loved the bottle more than he loved us.  He split when I was only 10 years old. 

I went through school at St. Francis Academy.  Majored in Detention.

As I told you before, I am a dyed-in-the-wool Trekker.  That's how I got my break as an artist.  One of the movie writers saw my work at Marcon, that’s a Science Fiction Convention in Columbus.  He showed it to some studio bigwigs, and the next thing I know, I’m on a plane for L.A.  Right now, I'm working freelance on a publicity project for MGM.  My hobbies are swimming, bowling, and shooting pool.  Your turn."

"Shooting pool?"

"Yeah.  They had a pool table in the gym.   Sister Leonilla, she was our Math teacher, said it gave us experience in the practical application of geometry.  You know, angles, trajectory, and force, that kind of stuff.   She said it also improved eye hand coordination.   She taught me everything I know about the game.  She could sink a three-ball setup with one hand under her wimple. I was the school champ.   

Of course, my real passion then was swimming.  When we'd go to other schools for a meet, we'd throw everyone off.  Our divers would be taking laps and our swimmers would be on the board.  Confused the bejeebers out of the opposing team.  No one did what they were expected to do.

I think you're doing this deliberately to throw me off track.  You're supposed to be talking about yourself."

"They're watching."  Nick said as he moved even closer to Toni.  Mrs. Feldman and Mrs. Giovanetti were staring intently at them.

"I know."  Toni said with a plastic smile.  "You're dodging the issue." 

"Is this our first fight?"  He said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Nicholas ... "

"Okay   Here goes.  My name is Nicholas B. Knight."  He said, reciting from his official biography.  It would have been difficult to explain that he was an eight hundred year old vampire.  "The B doesn’t stand for anything.  My birthday is January 1, 1965. That makes me a New Years baby.  I don't know if I was the first baby of the New Year or not.   I'm from Chicago.  My parents are long dead.  I was knocked around from foster home to foster home.  That's how I met LaCroix.  He's actually my foster father, but he's as close to a father as I've known.

I've lived just about everywhere and did just about everything.  Some of it not too nice.  For the past six years, I’ve been living in Toronto and working on the police department there.  I moved to L.A. two months ago. The rest you already know.

Mrs. Giovanetti and Mrs. Feldman haven't taken their eyes off us since we came out here.  Let's give them something to talk about."  The music was soft and slow.  Nick stood up, took Toni's hand in his and gently kissed the back.  "Miss Parker, would you do me the honor of this dance?"  He said, bowing low.

**********

"Nicholas."  LaCroix said after they had returned to their apartment.  "Watch your step.  You are leading with your heart.  That’s very thin ice, to mix metaphors"

"I don’t know what you are talking about."

"I heard what you and Atonia said.  It sounded pretty serious to me."

"We’re just friends. What you saw and heard was for the benefit of Mrs. Feldman and Mrs. Giovanetti.   I know better than to get involved again."

"I hope so.  I sincerely hope so."  LaCroix said, < But I know you, Nicholas. > He thought with a sigh.  < You will give her your heart, only to have it broken again when she leaves you, as mortals tend to do. >

**********

Larry Groce knocked at Nick's door.  "Hey, buddy."  He said when Nick answered.  "I've got something to show you.  I think you'll like it."  He led Nick to the garage.  There, in all its glory, was the Cadillac.  All the dents and dings were gone and it obviously had been repainted and reupholstered.  It looked showroom new.   Larry handed Nick the keys.  "Try her out."  He said with obvious pride.

Nick could barely hear the engine running, even with his enhanced hearing. 

Larry went to the trunk and took out a huge duffel bag.  "Here's your chauffeur, just like in the Mazda."  He opened the bag and took out a life sized dummy and sat it in the drivers seat.  The dummy looked exactly like Nick.  He also took out what looked like a game pad, a mini TV set, and headset with a microphone.  He pushed several buttons and 'Nick2' came to life.  It extended its hand and turned its head toward Nick. 

"Hello."  It said in Larry's voice.  "I'm Nick2.  I am very glad to meet you."

Larry handed Nick the pad and placed the headset on him.  "Here, you try it.  These buttons work the arms and hands.  This one works the head.  The mouth is voice activated, so he speaks when you speak.  The camera has been microminiaturized and placed behind the left eye, so you see what he sees.  There's also a microminiaturized microphone in his right ear.  That way you can hear everything, too."

"This is fantastic!" Nick and Nick2 said.  Larry moved the microphone away from Nick's mouth.

"I'll bet all of this is going to cost me a king's ransom."

"Actually, it's practically free.  When I took the Caddie into the shop to work on it, everybody sort of got carried away.  We tested out a lot of ideas and things on this job that we've been kicking around for some time, so we're going to write off the expense as experimental R&D."

"How'd you get the face?"

"Remember the pictures Toni took of you for the book cover she's working on?  Our facial prosthetics people used them to build it.  It's sort of crude, so if you want a more exact one, we can do a 3D scan. "  He carefully removed the mask.  Without it, Nick2 looked remarkably like C3PO.  "Of course, you can use any face you want.  We've got thousands."

"I kind of like this one."  Nick said putting his face back on Nick2.

**********

Nick put Nick2 on the couch.  He removed the jeans and T-shirt the shirt and went to his closet.  He selected a gray shirt and a pair of black slacks and returned to the living room. With much struggling, he put them on the dummy.   Then he combed the hair into the same style that he wore his hair.

"There, that’s better."  He said.  On a whim, he put on the headset and turned on the monitor.  "Don't you agree?" 

"I think that’s a decided improvement."  Nick2 said as Nick moved the control buttons.  He began playing with the pad, experimenting with different buttons and combinations of buttons until, at least in Nick’s opinion, the movements were smooth and fluid

He had lost all track of time. Suddenly he was aware that sunrise would be in a few minutes.  He gathered the paraphernalia and headed into the bedroom.  That’s when he heard the key in the lock.  It had to be LaCroix.  LaCroix had said earlier that he was going to spend the night renewing old contacts in Los Angeles.  When he wasn't home by this time, Nick assumed that he would spend the daylight hours with one of them.

An impish grin came over Nick’s face.  Quickly he put on the headset and turned on the monitor.   On the screen he could see LaCroix approach the robot.

"Nicholas."  LaCroix said.  "What has come over you?  Why haven’t you closed the shutters?"

"I’m cured, LaCroix."  Nick2 said, turning his head toward LaCroix..  "Sit here and I’ll explain."  Nick2 patted the couch pillow beside him.

"I know you are ecstatic about that ... "  Suddenly LaCroix was no longer on the screen.  In almost the same instant, the bedroom door flew open.  LaCroix was standing in front of the hunched down Nick.  " ... Aren’t you Nicholas?"

"Hello, LaCroix."  Nick said sheepishly. 

"Having fun with your new toy?"

"How did you know that wasn’t me?"

"Simple."  LaCroix said.  "First of all, there was no scent.  Second, the motors made a terrible racket." 

Nick knew that the hum of the motors was inaudible to mortals and only barely audible to him. 

" ... And third, the automaton’s movements were extremely wooden and jerky.  If you expect to fool anyone, you will have to put in many more hours of practice.  In the meantime, I'm going to bed.  I've had an exhausting night.  Good day, Nicholas."

**********

Nick knocked at the door of the Ventura Party house.  John Slang answered.  "Detective Knight.  Come on in.  Please excuse the mess.  We're setting up for another Murder party.  I don't mean to sound macabre, but this murder has been the best thing that ever happened.  We're frequently booking two and three a day."

"Just need to ask a few more questions.  Do you have any rat poison here?"

"Of course we do.  We have rats. In a place as big as this, it's nearly impossible not to.  We have to have rat poison.  It's in the pantry.  Everyone has access to it, though."

"What about guns?"

"We have all kinds of firearms, but no live ammo. Just blanks.   That's for security purposes.  They are kept in the gun cabinet in my office.  I have the only key.  I issue the guns to the staff just before the party and they must all be accounted for before anyone leaves.  The same goes for knives, both the ones used in the party and the kitchen knives, too."

"One more question.  How many entrances are there to the library?"

"Counting the hidden panels, at least two dozen."

As Nick was about to leave, Arnie Sherrod came into the office.  "The computer's on the blink.  I promised John I'd take a look at it. I know what I'm doing.  By day, I design computer programs for

Packard Bell."

He took a pouch from his coat pocket and took out a small thin steel tool with a hooked point on the end.  "I designed this puppy myself.  Patent Pending."  He slipped it under the case and moved it back and forth with a sawing motion.  A few seconds later, he extracted a small scrap of paper with the hooked end.  "There's your problem.  Caught in the off / on mechanism.   Should work like new now."

**********

Nick sat bolt upright in his bed.  "Of course!  How could I have been so blind!"  He pulled on his clothes and ran across the hall.  He was still pounding on Toni's door when she opened it.  He grabbed her and planted a wet sloppy kiss on her lips.  "You did it!  You solved the case!"  He shouted.  "You're a genius!  I love you!"  He ran down the hall to the elevator. 

"Huh?"  An astonished and very confused Toni shook her head.  "Strange man."  She said to Hoiman, who was sitting at her feet.

**********

Nick paced back and forth in front of the assembled staff of the Ventura Party Mansion.    Inspector Ganlon, Captain Davies, Taylor,  David Bryan the District Attorney, and a police stenographer were also there.

"I know how Joe Capollo was killed.  A friend of mine gave me the key and once I had that, everything just fell into place.  You see, none of you did what would have been expected of you.

Molly, you set the stage.  After you hit him, he went back to the library.  There he became dizzy and fell, striking his head on the coffee table knocking himself unconscious.

At this point he was probably poisoned."

Marcus Hawthorne nodded.  "I saw Joe go into the library.  His face was all bleeding and swollen.  I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help him, but when I saw him on the floor, the temptation was too great.  I went into the pantry and got the rat poison.  I mixed just enough of it to make him sick, but not enough to kill him, and I poured it down his throat.  He was still alive when I left.  I swear."

"I believe you.  Were you next, Jake?"

"I guess so."  Jake Epplie said. "Like Mark, I saw Joe go into the library.  Then I saw Mark go in several times.  When he finally came out, I went in to see what had happened.  I saw Joe was pretty bad off, and I wanted to finish the job.  I had my hands around his neck and I wanted to choke the life out of him for the hell that he had put Molly through.  I couldn't do it though.  As much of a cheating, lying, low life scum that he was, he still was a human being. I left him on the floor, but he was still breathing."

"Which of you went in next?  Steve?  Or was it you, Arnie?"

"I guess I did."  Arnie Sherrod said.  "But I didn't know anything about what had happened.  I went into the library to use the computer, but it was jammed.  I started to clear it and that’s when

I saw Joe. I already had my patented tool on my hand and the next thing I knew I was plunging it into his chest.  All I could think of was all the times he had taunted and ridiculed me and everyone else.  I'm a good Christian man, Detective Knight, I couldn’t kill him, so I just ran out of there."

"You were next, right Steve?'

"My pistol checked out.  It could not have possibly fired the shot.  Remember?  It was loaded with blanks."

"The one in your holster, yes.  But you seemed to be very knowledgeable about guns, so I did some checking.  You are a registered member of several gun clubs in the Los Angeles area.  Do you, by any chance, own a Benjamin Sheridan .22 caliber air pistol?  According to the president of the Los Angeles Basin Sportsman’s Club, you do. I have a gut feeling that the pellet from that pistol could easily be mistaken for a .22 caliber bullet.  Am I correct?"

Steve Horn only hung his head.  "I live in a less than desirable neighborhood   I keep the Sheridan in my car for security.  When I saw Capollo, I guess I freaked out.  I went to the car and got the pistol.  I aimed for his side.  The pellet would sting like crazy at close range, but wouldn’t do much damage.  Also, it would only make a soft 'pock' not a loud 'bang'.   I didn't want to kill him, just put him in a world of hurt.  The noises outside gave me the perfect opportunity to put it back in the glove compartment."

"The puncture marks on his neck came from this."  Nick held up a large two pronged barbecue fork. He said a silent thank you to LaCroix and his 'contacts'.   "According to Slang, it was on the coffee table.  When I realized all of this, I asked Forensics to make another search of the room.  They found this under the couch.  He probably hit it when he fell."  He looked at Ganlon, Davies and the DA.  "I'm satisfied.  How about you?"

Each in turn looked at the others.  Each nodded yes.

Bryan was the first to speak.  "Now comes the sticky part.  None of you are guilty of killing Joe Capollo, but none of you are completely innocent either.  Each of you contributed to his death, and all of you are guilty of neglect in that you failed to get any emergency assistance for him.

I am going to recommend that each of you plead guilty to a charge of Conspiracy to Commit Voluntary Manslaughter.  I will also recommend utmost leniency.  The maximum sentence is a year in prison.  You will probably be given probation or at most a few months jail time.  Is that agreeable to you?"

Each of the suspects agreed.

"Detective Taylor, read them their rights."  Inspector Ganlon said.

Taylor pulled a well worn card from his wallet.  "You have the right to remain silent ... "

**********

The members of the Amateur Detective League sat in Inspector Ganlon's office.    

"The reason we called you all was to commend you for your assistance in solving this case."  Nick said solemnly.  "Without your help we could not have done it.  Each of you provided very important clues."

Ganlon spoke next.  "I have recommended to the Commissioner that each of you be given a commendation for your help.  In addition, you are all to be sworn in as honorary auxiliary peace officers"  He held up a stack of document folders. "The first one is for Wilhelmina Charles."

"Oh, thank goodness.  I thought for a moment you were going to bawl us out for what we did to Detective Taylor."

"All is  forgotten."  Ganlon said, pinning the badge on her dress.  "And I'm sure Detective Taylor has forgiven you.  Haven't you Taylor?"  

"Yes sir."

"SHE - CAN'T - HEAR - YOU."

"I forgive all of you."

"I'm glad there are no hard feelings, since you are going to be their Liason Officer."  Nick whispered to Taylor as Ganlon passed out the remaining commendations.  "It was my idea."

"That's another one I'm gonna get you for, Knight."  Taylor mumbled under his breath.

**********

The stereo was playing and Nick sang along with it as he tied his tie.  It didn't look right, so he pulled it apart.  "It's bad enough that the Amateur Detective League is throwing a banquet to honor

Taylor and me, but why did they have to make it Black Tie?"  He said to Hoiman, who was sitting on the counter next to him. "I haven't worn a tux since the Titanic." 

Hoiman only cocked his head and purred loudly.

LaCroix came out of his room carrying several suitcases.  He set them down by the door and studied Nick for a few moments.  "Oh, that's you singing.  For a minute, I thought it was Hoiman howling again.  No offense, Hoiman." 

He reached over and scratched the cat's ear.  Hoiman jumped off the counter and contentedly rubbed against LaCroix’s leg.

"I see you and Hoiman made up and became friends."  Nick said.

“I would not call it friends.  We came to an agreement, Hoiman and I, the other night.  He won't mark my things; I won't feed him to a carouche."  LaCroix took the ends of Nick’s tie and expertly tied it.

"Seriously though, why the suitcases?  I didn't think I was that bad of a roommate."  Nick said with a smile.

"Quite the opposite, you are an excellent roommate.  It was obvious to me at the Association party the other night that you had finally completed your grieving process.  In a sense, it has been a time of change for both of us.  In helping you recover from your loss of Natalie, I have come to terms with my loss of Fleur.  I no longer see you as an upstart rebel who has to be crushed and rebuilt in my own image, but rather as an independent spirit quite capable of charting your own course.  I am glad that this change has taken place.  I grew tired of our old adversarial dance.  My job here is done.   It is time for me to move on."

"Where will you go?  Paris?  Monte Carlo?"

"Actually, I have grown rather fond of Los Angeles.  So much so that I have gone into a partnership with Clarissa La Pont in the After Sunset.  There is a vacant apartment upstairs.  I have taken a lease on it. 

I have also taken Atonia's advice and talked to the people at KLAC.  They are ecstatic about having the Nightcrawler on their staff.  So, you see, I will still be around whenever you need me.  And I will still be that little bug in your ear when you think you don’t need me." 

He put his arms around Nick and held him for a few seconds.  "Take care, Nicholas.  Take good care of Atonia." 

He released Nick, picked up his bags and went out the door.  In the hall, he paused in front of Toni's apartment.  "Atonia, take good care of Nicholas."  He said softly. 

If Nick had not known better, he would have sworn he saw tears in the old vampire's eyes.

Nick walked back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.  He set a dish on the counter.  "Something white for you."  He said to Hoiman as he poured some milk into it.  "Something red for me."  He took a bottle of deer blood and poured a glassful.  "I think this occasion calls for the good stuff.  But not too good."  He raised his glass in salute.  "To LaCroix.  May he find what I have found." 

He took a sip.  "You know, LaCroix is right.  I have made considerable improvements since leaving Toronto.  I wonder what Natalie would say if she could see me now."

"I'd say you're looking pretty good."

Nick grinned, not the fanged grin of the vampire, but from ear to ear. 

"NATALIE?"

"Who were you expecting?   The Good Tooth Fairy?  I know the perfect cue when I hear it."

"How long have you been here?"

"Since you left Toronto.  You know, Southern California has a very positive effect on you.  If I had known it would agree with you like this, I'd have suggested moving here a long time ago."

"If you've been here all the time, why didn't you help me when I needed it a few weeks ago?"

"You didn't need me then.  You needed  LaCroix, and, in a sense, LaCroix needed you as much as you needed him."

"Why are you showing yourself now?"

"To tell you that you have reached your goal."

"But I'm still a vampire."

"On the outside, yes."  She put her hand over his heart.  "But in here, where it counts, you have become human again. You have found your soul. I suspect that it may not be long before your physical side catches up with your spiritual side."

"I think you may be right.  Watch."  He went to the refrigerator and took a small piece of raw hamburger.  He placed in his mouth, chewed it and swallowed.  "I'm still taking the protein shakes and the Vitamin A. You know, with chocolate, the shakes aren't half bad."

"Chocolate?  I'm impressed.  I'll be more impressed when you can eat your own cooking."

"Yes, chocolate.  Eternity isn't long enough for me to learn how to cook.  Although I have learned to boil water.  At least three out of five times."

"Now, all you need is some friends you can confide in."

"I have friends.  I talk to LaCroix and Hoiman all the time."

"LaCroix is one thing, but talking to Hoiman is ... he is a cat after all."

"Don't even try to tell me Hoiman is your average run-of-the-mill alley cat."

"You have your secrets.  Hoiman has his.  Leave it at that.  What you need is a living and breathing human being that you can confide in.  We both know who she is.  I have to go now.  I'll be here from time to time."  She blew a kiss as she faded away.  "I love you, Nicholas Knight."

"I love you, Natalie Lambert."

**********

Nick stopped at Toni's door, checking  with his enhanced hearing to see if it was a good time to call on her.  He could hear Toni in her bedroom mumbling a stream of mild expletives.  " The mysogenic sadomasochist who invented this goddamned do-it-yourself french braider should have his short and curlys braided in it!  And that's far too good for him!" 

Nick knocked on her front door. 

"Nick, if that's you, you're early.  What am I saying?  You can't hear me from my bedroom."   She opened the door.  She was wearing a baby blue silk cocktail dress that revealed her slim figure perfectly.  On her feet were clear slippers trimmed in gold braid. In her mouth were several bobby pins.  The braider was firmly entangled in the crown of her hair.

"Need help?"  Nick asked.  Without waiting for a reply, he took the hair, deftly removed the braider and flawlessly platted it.

"Don't tell me.  You once worked as a hairdresser."

"Okay, I won't tell you.  But for what I do have to tell you, though, I think you would rather be sitting down."

She seated herself on an overstuffed chair, which fitted in perfectly with the eclectic furnishings in her apartment. 

Nick paced rapidly back and forth in front of her.  "I'm not sure how to begin, so I guess the best way is just to come right out with it."  He sighed heavily.

"You're not going to tell me you're gay, are you?"

"No."

"Good.  Anything else you might have to tell me is trivia."

"Okay, here goes.  I'm a vampire."

There was a moment of silence.  "And I'm a Republican.  So?"

"You don't understand.  I'm a genuine, card-carrying, cross-fearing, blood-drinking vampire.  I'll prove it."  He took her hand and placed it over his heart to show that there was no heartbeat. 

"That doesn't prove anything.  I know several magicians who can stop their heart for up to thirty seconds."

He started to unbutton his sleeve.

"The same goes for stopping your pulse.  That doesn't prove anything either."

On the wall above the doorway to the hall was a large ornate crucifix.  Nick levitated to it and grabbed it in both hands. He screamed in pain as his hands began to smolder.  He returned to the floor and threw the cross on the table.  He doubled in agony as his eyes yellowed and his fangs started to elongate.

There was a mixture of awe and fear in Toni's eyes.  "Are you okay?  You're hurt."  She said taking his hands in hers. 

"I heal quickly."  Nick said between clenched teeth.  Already the blisters and burns were beginning to disappear.

"You're ... not joking.  You ... really are ... a vampire."

Nick only nodded.  "If you can't deal with this, I'll understand.  I will vacate the apartment immediately."  He started toward the door.

"Who said I can't deal with it?  I'm not some prissy little thing who runs at the first hint of unpleasantness.  Besides, you aren't any different now than you were before you told me this, are you?"

"Not that I know of."

"So why should it make a big difference?  Get this through your thick skull, mister vampire Nicholas Knight,  I care about you and I think you care about me.  Do you?"

"Of course I do."

"Good.  Now that that's settled, lets get started for the party or we'll be late."

**********

Nick turned the key in the ignition.    "WRUUK  WRUUK  WRUUK."  Then there was silence.  "Oh, no.  I left the lights on again when I came home this morning."

"We can always use my car."

"I've got a better idea."  He said with an impish twinkle in his eye.  "I haven't done this for pleasure since I can't remember when.  And I've never done it for pleasure with anyone else."  He got out of the car and opened Toni's door.  He checked the area to see if anyone else was around.  There wasn't.  He scooped Toni in his arms, took a deep breath and slowly rose into the air.  "Hang on tight."  He whispered as he took flight.

**********

The End

And

The Beginning