Agent of S.T.A.L.K. in New Orleans

"Don't leave out Clive Mercer. I'm an old creaker just like they are."

"Were," she corrected him. "They're both dead. Besides you're not old," she pressed herself close to him, "and I'm glad you're not dead."

I could be tomorrow, he thought, but refrained from saying it aloud, he didn't want to spoil her good mood by reminding her.

They strolled another block. She asked, "Want to stop and have a drink? I'm paying."

"I'd rather have one at the Skin & Blister."

"You're all business, aren't you, Clive?"

"It's only nine o'clock, by the time we get over to Tchoupitoulas the club should be in full swing."

"Do you really think we'll find Stephanie there? There must be at least a thousand nightspots in New Orleans. To be realistic, after all the trouble she's probably left town."

"Might as well get a little work done while we're so close. Got any better ideas?"

Nova pushed her glasses up on her nose and grinned slyly at him, "Maybe one or two."

Mercer was sorely tempted, but said, "We have the whole night ahead of us. If nothing transpires at the Blister we can retire to the hotel."

"I'm game," she replied, amenable. "Did you bring your vampire proof sunglasses and that big chrome pistol with you this trip?"

"I have the gun in one of my suitcases," he said as they entered the parking garage where they left the car, his words echoing off all the concrete surfaces. "But my glasses got crushed to pieces by a succubus in Prague a little while back."

"Won't S.T.A.L.K. replace them? I'd think those sunglasses would be standard issue equipment for you guys."

"They are, but they're not only popular, they're expensive and have a tendency to get broken. I tried to get two pair before I departed, but they're still on backorder."

"You can wear two pairs of shades at the same time?"

He grinned and kissed the top of her head. "Wanted to furnish you with your own this time out. We're dealing with vamps again, I don't want you to ever get put in another trance." As soon as the words left his mouth he sensed furtive movement out of his peripheral vision to the right.

Thirty meters away a man in an Army fatigue jacket and ski mask stepped out from behind a van. He leveled a machine gun at them. "You two hold it right there. You're coming with me."

"Are we?" Nova said skeptically.

"Down!" Mercer cried and thrust her off her feet and ran in a broken pattern toward the man.

Probably not expecting resistance the man began to fire the automatic weapon. The noisy chattering bounced around Mercer and Nova like a pinball as bullets stitched across the ground and pocked the bodies of cars. Mercer threw himself flat, lead whizzing by, and rolled between two parked SUVs. He jumped up in a crouch, straining to see through the windows of one vehicle for the gunman. With a quick glance to make sure Nova survived the onslaught, she huddled out of sight with her back braced against a car while drawing a small pistol from her waistband, Mercer scanned the area again for the man and caught sight of him half hidden behind a Subaru. The clatter of the weapon stilled once the clip emptied. Ears ringing, Mercer launched himself in the shooter's direction at a dead run before the bloke could reload or bolt away.

He heard Nova screaming for him to get down and stay down but he ignored her warning, sprinting toward the would-be assassin. Mercer closed the distance separating them rapidly, wishing he had a gun, but his armory was still tucked away in his suitcases. The triggerman's eyes went wide in the eyeholes of his black ski mask at Mercer's speedy approach. He reached inside his jacket as he raced toward him hoping to fool the man into thinking he carried a gun. The fellow momentarily wavered, poised on the indecisive crossroads of slapping another clip into his Uzi or fleeing. He chose the latter, but hesitated long enough for Mercer to bring him down with a flying tackle.

Mercer grunted in pain as one of his shoulders struck the concrete, punching at the bastard's face repeatedly with his left fist. With his other hand he jerked the knitted mask around his attacker's head so he'd be unable to see through the eyeholes anymore. His knuckles connected solidly three or four times. He'd try to break his nose and jaw before knocking his teeth down his throat. A second ski-masked assailant suddenly emerged from a row of parked cars and kicked Mercer in the ribs with the toe of his boot. The other man leveled a pistol at him as Nova began yelling for him to drop his weapon.

The man didn't shoot when he had the chance, maybe out of fear of hitting his partner in crime. Mercer saw Nova racing toward them, her right arm extended straight before her with the little automatic she'd drawn gripped in her fist. Using his feet, Mercer upended the second gunman in a maneuver that sprawled him on his back. For a moment the only sound Mercer heard was Nova's Reeboks thudding against the cement amid her shouted threats. While he thrashed on the ground with the two men she couldn't fire either without risking a stray bullet striking him.

Then an old Ford Taurus station wagon swerved into view, rubber squealing as it rounded the turn from the adjacent row. The driver flashed the high beams and leaned on the horn. A few fearful seconds of panic that seemed to last an eternity swelled in Mercer's gut and pushed bile into his throat as it appeared the driver intended to run Nova down. He might have been signaling his friends, but all the racket he made also served to warn the girl. An instant before the rocketing Ford crushed her beneath its wheels she vaulted out of harm's way onto the long trunk of a parked Cadillac.

The driver slammed the brakes so hard the station wagon skidded diagonally to a stop. He shouted, "Get in, get in, goddamn it," out the unrolled window. Mercer took a blow in the kidneys from the man wielding the Uzi but struggled to prevent both men from getting into the car, a wave of pain swam through his body. The man clubbed at his head with the submachine gun. Mercer twisted around and successfully wrenched the empty weapon from his hands; the second man he'd knocked down scrambled away unwilling to put up a fight. He lunged for the car and clawed open the rear door. The triggerman tromped across Mercer's chest and legs to reach the waiting vehicle while the driver exhorted him to hurry. He dove into the back seat. The Ford screeched off with his legs hanging outside the door.

Mercer staggered to his feet gasping for breath from the kick in the ribs and the kidney punch. The car sped down a ramp leading to the street and out of his line of vision. He saw an elderly black man in coveralls with the garage name above the front pocket limping toward him and heard Nova shouting, "Are you all right?"

He turned to her as she ran in his direction. When she got to his side he groaned, "Let's get out of here before the coppers arrive."

"What?" she sputtered, dumbfounded. "You don't want to report this to---"

Mercer yanked Nova by the arm and hastened her away from the garage attendant who paused a dozen meters away when he spotted both of them holding guns.

"Come on!" he hissed. They retreated as quickly as Mercer's pain allowed him.

"That's our car," Nova said as they rushed right by it.

"Forget it! We need to get make ourselves scarce."

"Why? We've done nothing wrong."

"I know but I don't want to be here half the night answering the cops' questions. Go!"

"Where are we going without the car?"

"Holster your pistol and follow me."

He lumbered toward the side of the building. The open-air garage was comprised of four stories and they were on the second one, about four meters above the street. Mercer peered below and spied a pair of uniformed policemen running down the sidewalk toward the entrance of the car park. Soon the whole place would be swarming with coppers. As the two cops neared the entrance of the garage, Mercer slipped one leg at a time over the concrete half-wall and dropped lightly onto the ground. Pedestrians noticed the submachine gun in his hand and scattered out of his way. Nova followed his lead. When she lighted on the sidewalk beside him she grabbed the Uzi out of his hands, folded the stock, stuffed it inside her coat and held it out of view.

Mercer took her by the hand, bustled her across the street. They made it to the nearest intersection and turned to go west on Burgundy. Once out of sight of the garage, they slowed to a normal pace when they entered the new block not wanting to draw attention to themselves by running. On St. Louis Street they turned north and saw a police car with its siren blaring, probably headed to Toulouse Street. Mercer and Nova watched it hurtle by like everyone else, thankful it didn't stop. He guided her toward Rampart Street.

"We need to get out of the Quarter," he muttered.

"Obviously. Where to then?"

"We'll take a cab to the Skin & Blister."

"Are you fucking crazy?"

"Yes!"

"But you're hurt and I'm holding a Mini-Uzi under my coat."

"Keep it there," he recommended, craning his neck in search of a taxi. "There's nothing to be gained by scaring the living daylights out of the locals."

She shook her head in helplessness but kept quiet. Mercer was put out by the shortage of cabs. Close to Rampart Street, he herded her into a dark and deserted alleyway. Nova trudged after him without question. He held his hand out gesturing for the submachine gun. She gave it to him. Mercer worked the bolt action twice clear the breech in case a shell remained in it then ejected the clip.

"Good thing this only has a twenty round capacity, if it had thirty two that idiot would've eventually gotten lucky and hit one of us."

"Who were those men?"

"I wish I knew, just add them to pile of other mysteries we've got stacking up," he answered, preoccupied reinserting the clip into the Uzi's handle. "This shoots 9mm ammunition and I brought a hundred rounds with me for my Browning."

She wrinkled her nose and Mercer noticed she'd lost her glasses during the assassination attempt. "Clive, why don't you just ditch the fucking Uzi?"

"If the opposition, whoever they are, is using automatic weapons against us, we'll need this kind of firepower against them."

She beseeched him, "Carrying a fully automatic weapon in the United States carries a life sentence, Clive."

"At the rate we're going we might not have much life left to live."

She lamented sarcastically, "But your ammo is in your suitcases. In the rent-a-car. Back at the garage."

"We'll get the car tomorrow after the commotion's died down. The police will never know which one of them in the garage belongs to us. Before you turn over the ignition I want to check under the bonnet."

"Do you think those goons might've rigged explosives beneath the hood?"

"If they're bold enough to try to machine gun us down in public I'm not taking any chances. Do you think you can keep the Uzi concealed under that big coat of yours?"

"Inside a taxi-cab, yes. Inside a nightclub, no."

"Don't worry, we'll stash it before we go into the Blister."

"Worry?" asked Nova, looking askance at him. "What, me worry?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Nova knew Mercer was pissed off because the Skin & Blister club proved to be a complete waste of time: too loud, too dark, too young a crowd and no sign of Stephanie.

Nova was pissed off too. At Mercer. He'd insisted upon lugging around an illegal machine gun, lied to her numerous times about his reasons for being in New Orleans, avoided the police after a shooting incident, dragged her into this shitty rave club in search of a woman who'd no doubt left the state days ago after murdering her brother and, now, he'd had the gall to suggest they continue their fruitless search to even more nightclubs after she'd made it very clear, in spite of all this, she wanted to return to her hotel and spend the rest of the night in bed with him getting reacquainted. He'd indicated back in the French Quarter he wouldn't be averse to fucking her brains out either, something he'd refused to do when they first met. She didn't know how much good he'd be tonight though. His shoulder had gotten hurt during the fight with the two gunmen, the way he made a face every time he touched his side, he obviously had a couple of broken ribs from when one of the men kicked him with a steel-toed boot, yet he refused to go the emergency room. To top everything off, she'd lost her glasses and suffered a splitting headache from squinting and listening to thunderous industrial music in a dive where he and she stood out as the oldest patrons, and she was only twenty four.

Damn that man!

On the other hand Mercer finally convinced her he'd flown to New Orleans with a sincere interest in tracking down her brother's killer. Even though he had an ulterior motive he displayed a newfound and genuine desire in her as a woman and just thinking about where that would lead excited her no end. Her panties had been sopping wet since he bought her the best (and most expensive) meal she'd ever eaten her life, their stroll through the Vieux Carré extremely romantic, prior to their being attacked.

And Mercer remained the best looking and sexiest man she'd ever met, a quintessential hunk. Nova hadn't fucked anyone for almost two months and was hornier than she could remember, yet he kept putting her off wanting to chase will-o'-the-wisp leads provided by S.T.A.L.K., a Satanic church and two alleged vampire bars where the undead congregated.

Damn that man!

About midnight Mercer condescended to leave, convinced the Skin & Blister contained no one remotely resembling his vampire daughter. Nova stood next to him on the sidewalk outside the club while his eyes darted up and down Tchoupitoulas Street looking for a cab. Mercer seemed to have forgotten the Mini-Uzi he'd stashed behind a stack of pallets outside a warehouse two blocks from the Blister. She'd be damned if she'd remind him.

She mashed her breasts against his right arm and leaned her head on his good shoulder. "Why don't we go back to the hotel, Clive, and celebrate Christmas early like a pair of sensible consenting adults?"

He smiled down at her. "Want to play doctor, do you?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. We can run the villains to ground and slay the dragon tomorrow. How about it?"

"You're bloody right, Nova," Mercer sighed, "But we may have to walk like it or not, there doesn't seem to be a cab for miles."

"This end of the street isn't as well-lighted or busy as it is a few blocks east of here. I think if we stroll that way we'll find one."

He agreed and they started walking. Every twenty or thirty steps they stopped to cuddle and kiss, she could feel his rigid dick through his trousers. Her panties were so saturated the crotch of her jeans was damp. She'd have to be careful or she'd jump his bones in the cab, if they ever found one. The district they wandered through appeared barren as a desert compared to closer to the Quarter, nightspots and restaurants festered there. Eventually they'd find a ride. And they did. But not the kind Nova expected.

They embraced for yet another kiss and paid no attention to the green Hummer H2 that slowed to a stop alongside them in an unlit section of the street. The front passenger window slid down and a man with a black eye and smashed mass of a nose leered at them.

He sneered at Mercer, "You're a little old for her, ain't you?"

"You best be off, lad, or I'll black your other eye for you."

The rear window rolled down to reveal another leering face, the mouth on it snarled: "A fucking Mexican hooker will screw anybody."

Mercer took an agitated step toward the vehicle and Nova said, "Blow those fuckers off, Clive. They're not worth it."

The ugly snout of a Glock pointed at Mercer from the front window. The man holding it intoned, "Well, well, I do believe we've already met once this evening."

"And once was enough," Mercer said dryly.

In the back seat the other man warned, "Don't forget the Mex bitch is packin'."

"Then you cover her, Jimbo, I've got a bead drawn on the tough guy. Hands in the air, both of you!"

Nova's hand inched toward the .32 tucked against her spine in the waistband of her jeans, but she froze upon seeing the pistol aimed at Mercer. The back door of the Hummer opened and a man armed with a Mini-Uzi hopped onto the street.

Mercer glanced at the gun. "Seems you chaps have a matched set, or used to have one."

The man called Jimbo gestured with the Uzi. "Get in the truck, asshole."

"You too, bitch," the man with the black eye told Nova. He got out of the Hummer and trained the Glock on her. "Lace your hands on top of your head, cunt."

She complied. The man with the black eye gave her a wide berth and came up behind her. He found the .32 when he patted her down and pocketed it. His left hand continued to grope her, cupping her between the legs. "Oh my, you little slut, you're all ready for some dick, aren't you? Good thing I showed up when I did."

"I'm sure the only thing your little dick will do is make me laugh. Why don't you put your ski mask back on? You looked better."

Nova noticed the Glock pointed away from her to the right, the careless man more interested in feeling her up than keeping her covered. The one with the Uzi had his back to her urging Mercer into the big car and she reacted. She grabbed the wrist of his gun hand and bent her leg at the knee to bring her right foot up hard between his legs. The kick caused her to stumble forward but she maintained her grip on his wrist to keep from falling. He bent in half in pain clutching his crotch with his left hand. She twisted his wrist trying to break it and cause him to drop the gun yet succeeded in neither. Nova let go of him and kicked again, this time on the side of his head. The kick wasn't solid however and although it staggered him, he didn't topple to the ground or drop the Glock.

When Mercer saw Nova attack the man, he slammed Jimbo against the side of the Hummer and tried to wrestle the Uzi out of his hands.

A beautiful redheaded girl in a maroon double-breasted London Fog and high insulated suede boots dyed the same color crawled out of the back seat, smiling. "Hullo, dad," she said to Mercer, "Long time."

She stared him in the eye and he looked at her, his downfall. The teenaged girl's eyes gave off an eerie glow and Mercer ceased struggling with Jimbo. Although Nova didn't know what Stephanie looked like she guessed by the woman's red hair and age that she must be Mercer's daughter: vampire, succubus, shapeshifter. Jimbo hefted the Mini-Uzi to whip its barrel across Mercer's forehead, but Stephanie stopped him.

"He's helpless, I've put him in a trance. Don't lay a finger on him, Jimbo," Stephanie cautioned him. Her British accent reminded her of Mercer's. "This man is mine to abuse. I'll give the Mexican whore to you men to play with. Laroque, get her in the truck before a squad car cruises by and sees you fighting in the street. Bring her purse to me, don't just leave it lying on the sidewalk."

Laroque marched Nova to the Hummer. Stephanie stood beside the door and Nova attempted to avoid her gaze. The redhead grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks roughly between fingers and thumb. For a long moment their eyes locked, Stephanie's glowing again. Nova had known the feeling of being entranced by a vampire's gaze once before. She'd not been able to fully resist it when it happened, but hadn't been completely hypnotized. When the redhead stared at Nova she must've thought she ensorcelled her, but Nova felt nothing. Stephanie's gaze failed to affect her at all! Nova started to taunt her and spit in her face, but checked herself. Gathering her wits about her, she made her eyes as unfocused and glassy as possible, not a difficult task after losing her glasses in the garage melee.