This time of night, the streets are mine. Mine and some poor detective's. But this time, I'm not the one mainlining bad coffee and cursing my superiors' parentage.
I pass cautiously by the Hyperion Hotel. I've heard a lot of rumors about the place, but I don't know what to believe, and it turns out the undead are just as full of shit as everyone else, which kind of disappoints me. I hoped for truth-divining powers, at least. A flash of something catches me attention with my nifty new peripheral vision, and I tell myself I'm looking for a bite, though I'll be tasting that claims adjuster's thin blood for hours. The truth is I was born a nosy bastard and I'll un-die one too.

I swoop down on the rooftop, a little more dramatically than necessary, I admit. I was stunned to find none other than Detective Howard, holding herself against the tiny, imagined, nip in the air(It is kind of cold for California, though. And she's dressed funny, a big sloppy shirt on top, dress pants, and tennis shoes, no socks. From this outfit I can see two things.Either she is really cold or this is a pleasant surprise. And she's got no pockets. Which I guess is only important in view of the next part of our conversation.

"Kay," I say, speechless for once.
"Don't come any closer. I've got a stake and I know how to use it, huh?"

Ericaj: It's true...Pretty hot.

Thank you.

Yeah...I liked it,WS. Glad you came back in to get the credit.

Erika, that's really cool--though I can't hear her saying "Huh" at the end of the stake line. Could be I need to clean my ears. You're an evil creature. I like that about you.

Yes, it might be excessive at that...but this whole story tends toward excess. And I think she might, if she doesn't really mean it...but I'm not telling, just yet.

Heh. I lied and created a cheap cliffhanger just because...network TV might be in my future after all.

She stuck out her chin in that way she has but I could tell there was no intent behind it. Just to be safe, I kept about a person's width between us."Where?" I asked. "Taped to your thigh?(in which case, lucky stake!) What are you doing up here?
Don't tell me you convinced that British Poindexter to join the twelve-stories-high club!"

"No, it's nothing like that," she said, not looking at me. "Why don't you give your sense of humor a rest some time, huh?"

I believe I mentioned to you that there are times I can be very stupid, right? One of the ways I am stupid is mistaking an absence of homicidal intent from a woman as an opening. This time it kind of worked out but last time it happened, with my third wife, Nancy? It took a restraining order to clear up my confusion(If you're keeping score, I'm not holding my breath, provided I still needed it, for closure on that one.) I sit to show her that my fangs are staying inside my mouth, but the demon smells her worry and fatigue and counts the pulses in her neck. I do something I rarely do: tell one of my urges to shut the fuck up. It's surprisingly simple. The part that's not is the part where I can't get credit for my sacrifice...the karmic gold star, you know what I'm saying, babe? Although I know "Look, Kay, I'm resisting the urge to drink your blood like latte!" is not exactly confidence-inspiring, even if I don't drink latte. -more-

She wouldn't get the compliment in it.And the evil part of my brain(not a vampire one, just the part of my brain that hasn't been really mine since I'm thirteen, and is now unlikely to be reclaimed by a placid old age and a winter place in Boca) is picturing her beneath me, lovely hair spread out, waiting for me to give her something the other guys never could. Even as I think it, I know it would be a poor substitute. It's the living blood pumping through her skin that makes Kay beautiful. and the light that puts a spark in her eyes. Thinking about her in minion garb is still distracting though, and I'm glad when the silence lengthens.

"Hey," I say, putting my glasses on, "it's me. You want to talk about it?"

"That's not the face I'm worried about. But I'll protect you. Because of Pratt. At least."

"How did you know about that?" I can't help it...I start pacing. "Fucking Bayliss, right?"

"Don't blame Timmy, John. I can be smart when I'm not high as a kite on morphine(I can't believe you used to cloud your brain for fun, Munchkin. I don't like feeling that stuff is happening behind my back)...it's what they pay me the big bucks for. Detective, remember? And that had your fingerprints all over it."

Author's Note: Can't believe I missed this, but I am so writing The Movie over again. But different. Down to the frickin' rooftop even. How weird is that?

"No, it didn't," I say. "I got everything." "Mental fingerprints, John. One of your...metaphors. I know you, huh? And now I've got a confession. I can't use it or anything. Not that I would...it would only boost Timmy's clearance rate. And more importantly, open a huge can of worms within the department. And I'm beyond grateful that little scumbag's dead. I hate to say it but it's true. You were trying to protect us. I can respect that."
"You respect me? I thought I was gonna have to ask your forgiveness or something. I know you like to fight your own battles, handle things yourself."
"Have you done things, now, that you need forgiveness for?" She gives me a look like I'm her friend, but maybe a perp too. I start to feel like one. If I still could, I might sweat now. "You're in luck. I'm not really in that business." She stands up, drops her head and I can see she's wrestling with pretty powerful emotions. "The thing I can't work out is why, John."
I try to get close, she backs away. You're not human now, Munch, you moron, get that through your thick head. Things are different now. "I thought we covered that. To protect you. And to get some vengeance. Pratt threatened my life too, don't forget, huh?" I smile the lopsided smile that women have told me they find endearing, and hope the mimicry softens her.-more-

I smile the lopsided smile that women have told me they find endearing, and hope the mimicry softens her.

Oh, that's very nice.