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

He said in a whisper, "Nova, I didn't trust myself to say more."

She made another rude sound with her mouth. "What was it Molly never did tell me anyway?"

"I used to be a priest."

She looked at him then, mouth hanging open. "Are you shitting me?"

"That's why I never could bring myself to make love to you. And I wanted to. Badly. I've taken so many ice cold showers since then I'm surprised my skin isn't permanently blue."

Mercer wondered why in spite of all her obvious roiling emotions she chuckled. "You wanted to sleep with me, Clive?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so you used to be a man of the cloth, no problem, but you weren't when you were in L.A."

"No," he admitted uneasily, "I wasn't."

"Why did you leave the priesthood?"

"I helped a pregnant parishioner of mine get an abortion."

"Did you get her pregnant?"

"Not hardly. She'd been raped."

"I'm sorry, Clive."

"The diocese defrocked me, but there were other circumstances."

"I'm afraid to ask what."

"Don't be and don't worry. The circumstances don't involve young men or boys. My marriage broke apart around the same time."

"I thought priests couldn't get married, like nuns."

"I was married before I became a Chaplain in the commandos."

"Oh," she murmured. "If you were a priest, we're of the same faith. Why did your marriage come to an end?"

Mercer sighed, gazing out the passenger window at the buildings passing by. "You may not want to know." He knew if he told her why the argument might start all over again, but he had to, he owed it to Nova.

While he stalled, she said, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It's none of my business."

"At this point you mean too much to me for me not to be totally frank."

She reached down and squeezed his hand in hers and said nothing. They drove a mile holding hands.

Mercer finally said, "That was about the time our daughter was attacked by an incubus. He marked Stephanie and she became a vampire herself."

"You told me about it. You killed the incubus, right?"

"Yes."

"Your wife was angry at you because of that?"

"Not really. As I said there were other circumstances. We got married when we were both very young; she never wanted me to become a priest to begin with. I did it partly because of my newfound faith."

"And have you kept your faith since separating from the church?"

"For the most part, yes."

"What's the other part?"

"I thought it would strengthen our marriage. My ex-wife Emily is Irish with an Irish temper. She was always insanely jealous of me."

"Did she think you got your parishioner pregnant?"

"That was one of her accusations, among others. For some strange reason since my middle teens women have always made it quite plain they were, uh, available to me."

Nova started chuckling again. Mercer glanced at her crossly and she stopped. "I apologize for laughing."

He disengaged his hand from hers. "What's funny?"

She reached into his lap where he'd placed his hand and took it firmly back in hers again. He didn't resist. "Just the way you talk."

"What's wrong with the way I talk? Is it my accent?"

"Don't be so uptight, Clive. You're just so . . . so modest. Have you checked the mirror lately?"

"Why? Have I got something between me teeth?"

"Now you're trying to make me laugh, you big lug."

"What's all this rot about mirrors then?"

"You're one of the best looking men I've ever met. Of course women are going to throw themselves at you."

"Thanks for the compliment, Nova, but stop kidding me. I'm a rough old cob."

"At least you're not stuck up. I was positively jealous of the way all the California girls scoped you out two months ago. If you could act, you could be a movie star in Hollywood on Mel Gibson's level."

"Lord have mercy, sweetheart, I'm forty bloody three!"

"Mel Gibson's a lot older than that."

"Rubbish."

"Whatever. So your wife and you got divorced because she was jealous. Did you ever take any of the ladies up on their offers of availability?"

"Not since I got married."

"And after the divorce?"

"Not very often. Emily divorced me because she was unable to come to terms with Stephanie being a vampire, and me . . ."

"And you what?" she wanted to know.

"Going to work for S.T.A.L.K. It's a dangerous gig."

"So you told me, when you turned down all my invitations to warm you between the sheets. Are you trying to say something's changed your mind?"

"I'm not sure. Between my divorced wife, estranged vampire daughter, S.T.A.L.K. and the leftover dregs of my religion I'm a very conflicted man. I know women are attracted to me but I don't know why I turn them down." He couldn't fathom how he resisted Nova, she was a petite but curvaceous woman, darkly beautiful and radiated an urgent sensuality.

"Well, I know for a fact from firsthand experience you can rule out being impotent or gay. Are you hard right now?" she teased him.

He gripped her hand tightly to keep her from finding out how right she was. "Keep your other hand on the steering wheel."

~~~~~~~~~~

Nova harbored a lot of anger toward Mercer for concealing his true motivation for traveling to New Orleans, but she wasn't as angry now as she had when first driving away from Delaflote's aunt's house. As Mercer opened up during the conversation Nova sensed a vulnerability in him she never dreamt existed. But he'd lied more than once to her since he'd landed at the airport three hours ago and her feelings still chafed despite their recent clowning around in the car. Thoughts of her brother Enrique returned, as did her curiosity about how much information Mercer possessed about his murder. The time had come for him to lay all his cards face up on the table concerning the crime for her to see.

She asked, "Since you're in such a forthcoming mood I want you to tell me everything S.T.A.L.K. knows about my brother's death and your daughter's presence in New Orleans."

"I should never have tried to keep anything from you. Where do you want me to start?"

"How about with the videotape you've seen of the murder. Did you bring it with you?"

"There was nothing to bring. All I've seen is what I received in an email titled 'Father' on my computer at S.T.A.L.K.'s office in London four days ago."

"What did the message say?"

"The text of the message was one word: 'Enjoy!' But it contained a two minute thirteen second video attachment. The clip began with a naked brunette woman administering a vampire kiss to a fully-clothed Spanish bloke. Then the woman transformed into Stephanie on tape."

"Is a vampire kiss what I think it is?"

"It's what we call it in the business, but it's the politically correct term for murder. I didn't suspect the victim might be your brother until I got your email on my laptop at home the next day. When I added them together I made an educated guess the two were related, but the operative word is guess."

"Did you bring your laptop with you?" Nova asked anxiously.

Mercer assured her in a quiet voice, "You don't want to watch the video clip."

"I insist on seeing it!"

"That's not the immediate burning issue, Nova, finding the killer is, whether it's Stephanie or not. Something is not kosher about this whole videotape affair. There's some kind of chicanery going on, but I don't know what. Yet. Why would anyone shoot a video knowing they were taping their last minutes alive?"

Nova had to agree and asked, "Who sent you the email?"

Mercer said, "Good question, I haven't a clue."

"You mean you don't know? It wasn't Stephanie?"

"When the tech geeks at S.T.A.L.K. traced the email back to its originating I.P. address they found it routed through an anonymous server in China. A guarantee our techs would run into an automatic dead end."

"So the email wasn't sent from China?"

"It could have been sent from anywhere just routed through China. America doesn't allow anonymous servers; they shut the sites down when they find out about them, the Chinese don't. That's why I wanted to interview this Delaflote character first thing. Since he told the cops the story they passed on to you I thought he'd sent the video clip. Now that I've seen the photos of the tape thief I'm positive the email came from Louisiana. Delaflote's not only stupid, he's a patsy. The people who edited the original tape and emailed the clip couldn't've known Delaflote would steal it."

"He said Enrique shot the video though. Is he lying?"

"Probably not. When Delaflote stole the video camera, whoever is responsible for the email had to steal the tape back from him."

"That's confusing. Why did Stephanie or Alisa or whoever killed Enrique not take the videotape with her when she left the murder scene?"

Mercer shrugged. "Another good question, and one I'd like to know the answer to. But it gets worse."

"How?"

Mercer explained, "If the murderer is a succubus she feeds off male sexual energy, such a creature could enslave a man with him being virtually unaware of it. After I watched the clip it was obvious the Alisa girl committed the crime. But after Delaflote described the entire hour of footage it sounds like Alisa's change of heart came as an unexpected shock to your brother."

"Call her Stephanie if you want, Clive, it doesn't bother me."

He replied, "I'm still not convinced it's my daughter."

"Did she look like her on the video?"

"Spitting image. It shocked me very much, my boss too. At first he forbade me to check things out. After I heard from you cinched the matter as far as I was concerned. I informed my boss I'd go on my own whether he approved or not. That's why S.T.A.L.K.'s not paying me unless the trip yields results. He wanted to send someone else."

"Why?"

"Too much personal involvement with not only Stephanie, but with you."

His admission lent Nova some small comfort. "You're here though. What did you tell him?"

"That I'd resign and fly to Louisiana anyway and take out anyone, including S.T.A.L.K. agents, who interfered with me."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"Dangerous to some people is little more than a way of life to others. Like me. What else is new? My boss relented without too much more argument. I'm the best man S.T.A.L.K.'s got."

Nova didn't laugh. Mercer wasn't vain about his looks but he was cocky about his ability. She'd learned that when they met during his first visit. He'd been absolutely ruthless then; she'd witnessed him hold his own against two men bigger than he in a fistfight and kill a vampire with little more effort than buying a candy bar from a vending machine. Also he showed a willingness to kidnap and torture two other men he thought concealed pertinent information about a murder he took upon himself to investigate independently of the official police investigation.

"So who's the thief you recognized in Andy's photograph?"

"A right scrote, that one. The famous vampire rights lawyer, Geoff Guillory."

"Even I've heard of him. He's very rich and very powerful."

"Gilly's also human," Mercer grunted, "Or I'd have terminated him a lot of years ago."

Nova knew Mercer had a license to destroy supernatural creatures, but no man or entity had license to kill human beings legally except the government. She couldn't help but grin. "Terminate with extreme prejudice as our C.I.A. cousins say?"

"Exactly," the man in the front seat beside her declared. "With my bare hands."

"What's a big wheel like Guillory doing stealing a videotape from a shabby apartment in the middle of the night from a cheap operator like Andy Delaflote?"

"Dunno, Nova. But Gilly's part of the puzzle you and I will piece together before we leave New Orleans."

The last time Nova heard Mercer refer to someone by a truncated nickname instead of their given name, Mercer killed the man.

~~~~~~~~~~

As they drew near the French Quarter where Nova had a room in what she'd described to him as a quaint and ancient hotel with a balcony overlooking a courtyard, she asked, "Now you're certain beyond a reasonable doubt Andy didn't email you the video clip?"

"Yes," Mercer said, "for a number of reasons. First off, he's too stupid and doesn't have the ways and means to get my business email address. Second, he's too terrified of coppers to play Zodiac Killer-style mind games with them. Now that I think about it the more I'm bloody positive Gilly sent the email. He could get hold of email addresses at S.T.A.L.K. Delaflote's too dumb."

"May be, but even if he's stupid how long will it take for him to associate Stephanie Mercer's name with yours?"

"Probably never, he's thick as a brick. You only mentioned my name once at the beginning of our interview with him. Most people forget names, especially after the emotional wringer we ran him through."

"True, but Andy was a close friend of Enrique's. That's different than putting Stephanie's last name with yours. Eventually he might make the connection between Enrique's surname and a certain female cop who introduced herself as Detective Novarro."

"I'd not worry about that overmuch. Even if he does link our names with the perpetrator and the victim he's too chicken to report us to the local constables. Speaking of them, I need to pay them a visit some time tomorrow."

"Do you think they'll give up more to you than they did me? You're not even a relative of the deceased."

"That's not why I want to see them. I'm scheming to use them to flush Geoff Guillory out of his hidey hole."

"He's famous, lives in New Orleans and isn't in the phone book?"

"Gilly has residences in Baton Rouge and New York City too, but for being such an outspoken public figure he doesn't leave much of a paper trail. For good reason, S.T.A.L.K. isn't his only enemy. The Supernatural Opposition International League in Geneva would like to cut his nuts off too. They've fought against vampire rights in society longer than Gilly's been championing them."

"Why do you think the police will tell you where he lives?"

"They won't, however once I contact the coppers they're bound to contact him. Gilly will come to me, indignant and up in arms, once he learns what I have in mind."

"Are you going to let me in on it, or is it a secret?"

"I'm going to ask permission to exhume a local grave."

"What on earth for?"

"I'll claim I'm hunting for a vampire's daytime resting place."

"Modern day vampires have better refuges than public cemeteries."

"You and I know that as well as the police do, but it's a legal maneuver and, like it or not, they'll have to respond to my formal request."

"Vampire or no vampire, you wouldn't go through law enforcement channels seeking permission, Clive. You'd have to have a lawyer go through the family of the interred person you want to dig up."

"Not if the whole family's extinct I wouldn't. New Orleans is an old enough town to have graves dating back to the Louisiana Purchase. We'll go to Laurel Gardens cemetery and find a sufficiently antiquated crypt and hope to bring Gilly out of the woodwork."

"Spooky," said Nova, lines furrowing her forehead. "Do you want to go traipsing through a graveyard tonight?"

"Not really, we'll do that first thing in the morning, or I will if you don't care to go skulking amongst the tombstones. You know what vampires do at dusk."

"Crawl out of their coffins and do vampire shit all night."

"I've never heard it put it better," Mercer laughed. "For the time being I'm as hungry as the proverbial horse. Any suggestions on a good place to eat around here?"

"This is my first trip to Louisiana, Clive; you've probably been to New Orleans more times than I have."

"Only once before and that was last millennium. You've been here a few days already, where have you been dining?"

"Mickey D's and Arby's. I haven't had much of an appetite because I've been dealing with a death in the family."

"Do you feel like eating something light? I'm ravenous, but not too choosy. Anything but Burger King is fine with me."

"What's wrong with Burger King?"

"I don't like ketchup on hamburgers."

"Have you ever considered ordering a burger and having them hold the ketchup?" Mercer made a face and she said, "I can eat. Where do you want to tie on a feed bag?"

Mercer suggested Antoine's on St. Louis Street in the Vieux Carré. They located a multi-level parking garage in the Quarter one street over on Toulouse and walked the block. Mercer started to take Nova's hand in his, but didn't. If she wanted to do any more handholding she could initiate the proceedings, but she did not and, slightly disappointed, Mercer made small talk about how every other establishment along the streets seemed to be a T-shirt or gift shop. Inside the restaurant at the table next to theirs, eight elderly tourists got up and left upon discovering the menu was in French. Nova told Mercer she couldn't read the menu either and he asked her what she wanted. After he'd translated, she decided on a Roquefort salad for an appetizer and he chose Crab Ravigote. Mercer asked the waiter, "Do your pommes de terre soufflés come with the Chateaubriand? Great. Café au lait after dinner si vous plait, monsieur."

"Clive, you're so continental," Nova enthused, "you speak and read French."

"Being a European I speak a little of a lot of languages, but I'd say French is the only other one outside of English I read and am fluent in." Mercer also could read some German and Russian too, but the Oriental languages were beyond his grasp.

When the food began to show up in stages Nova dispatched each new course with relish. He was pleased her appetite had returned and she loved the puffed potatoes. She said no to dessert, but after their coffees arrived Mercer ordered pecan bread pudding with rum sauce anyway.

After devouring hers, Nova groaned, "The French really know how to eat. That was delicious, but I shouldn't've eaten so much, I bet I gained five pounds before the dessert."

When Mercer slipped the waiter two one hundred dollar bills for the meal and tip, she asked, "You just paid two hundred bucks for dinner?"

"We'll be reduced to Burger King tomorrow," he joked.

She laughed gaily and said it might be a good idea to walk off their meal so they strolled through the French Quarter hand-in-hand, her idea. They went east on Bourbon Street all the way to Esplanade Avenue at the very border of the Vieux Carré, headed north a block and made their way west on Dauphine back to Toulouse to collect the rent car. People ambled through the streets with alcoholic beverages in hand in front of French Quarter policeman patrolling their beats. The cops said and did nothing to dissuade them from doing so. Jazz, rock and rhythm & blues music spilled from the clubs; many of the strolling musicians dressed as Papa Noel. Most of the buildings were constructed of old weathered brick, the wrought iron balcony railings tied with red ribbons and laurel wreaths for the Christmas holidays. Horses wearing Santa Claus stocking caps or foam rubber reindeer horns drew carriages of tourists through the streets.

Nova intimated she'd like to take a ride in one and he promised her they would before leaving Louisiana. She observed, "This place is like a Disneyland for adults." A bum in tattered clothing lying in a gutter got to his feet and meandered down the sidewalk talking surreptitiously into a miniature two-way radio attached under his collar. "What the hell was that all about?"

Mercer cracked a smile. "I'd say the undercover cops as well as those in uniform are working Disneyland tonight."

She laughed. "It sure looks that way, this place is weird."

"Weirder than you'd imagine, and steeped in murky legend. This part of your nation has a long history of vampires and other nefarious goings-on."

"Did you just say nefarious?" she chuckled. "You've been watching too many of those old black and white horror movies you're so fond of. I didn't think anybody used that word except Boris Karloff and Vincent Price."