Policing Vampires

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"Well, if what you've said is the truth this woman has killed between 10 and 20 men. And since I've only been a cop for 15 years there's no way I would know not to approach a suspect without backup. Thanks for pointing out the obvious."

"Have I done something to irritate you, detective?"

"I'm tired, frustrated, my feet hurt, and all I'm getting from you are magic tricks and bullshit. Why would I be irritated?"

"Clearly I have worn out my welcome, perhaps I should go now."

"Perhaps you should."

She uncrossed her legs and made to stand up. Manetti moved first, grabbed his pistol off the table and pointed it at the floor.

She gave him a smile. "Why detective, don't you trust me?"

"When donkeys fly."

"It's not easy being you, is it?"

She gathered up her purse and went to the door, Manetti followed her out.

When she was a few steps down the hall he called out, "Hey," She turned. "You're not going to tell me how you got my gun, are you." It wasn't a question.

"Why detective, if I told you I used magic, you'd never believe me." She gave a little smug smile, like she had won a competition, then turned and proceeded down the hall again.

Unwilling to let her have the last word, Manetti called out "I wish people would find a better reason to not tell me things. You know how many times I've heard that just this week?"

He slammed the door behind himself, thinking to himself "Damn that is a nice ass."

Manetti stood a 10 or 15 yards from the woman that Gleason had called Lorraine Barnett. Son of a bitch, it was her, no doubt about it. She stood on the corner, moving back and forth with an astonishing grace, as though she was bored. The sketch had not done her justice. Even from here he could see that she was stunningly beautiful. What the hell was a woman like that doing pretending to be a street walker, and why was she killing guys? She must be twisted beyond belief.

He thought about the business card in his wallet. He thought about the warnings Gleason had given him. Well, she didn't look all that dangerous. Besides, he was armed and she wasn't. He could tell. There wasn't anyplace in that dress to hide a weapon. The dress barely hid her. Fuck it. He started walking toward her.

Possibly not the best decision from a safety perspective, but Manetti was still feeling frustrated and confused by the encounter with Gleason. Besides, she didn't look dangerous. And it's not like this was a dark alley somewhere. There were standing under a light, there were cars and pedestrians, and several open businesses. Plenty of witnesses.

"Excuse me, miss." The woman turned to face him and an automatic and enticing smile spread across her face. "My name is Detective Manetti, I was wondering if I could ask some questions about an investigation?" Manetti tried to keep his eyes focused on her face.

Did she tense up? Manetti thought she must have, but the smile didn't change. Her eyes, he decided, something about her eyes.

"What can I do for you, Detective?" Her voice was low, intimate, almost mesmerizing. Manetti had to force himself to focus.

"Do you know a man named Roger Coleman?"

"I'm not familiar with the name. But I meet so many people, so many men, it's hard to keep their names straight."

Damn, she wasn't even pretending to not be a hooker. That's refreshing.

"A witness saw you with Coleman last Monday night, and saw you entering his condo. Do you recall now?"

"A fat, unpleasant looking man? Yes, I vaguely recall him now. Not a very satisfying... transaction, at least for me. He had no complaints." She licked her lips and stared at Manetti with a hungry gleam in her eyes. Manetti was starting to sweat. She must know exactly how he was reacting to her.

"Any problems? He was in good health when you left?"

"He was asleep when I left. And smiling. But then he had ample reason to smile. He enjoyed himself, I assure you." Her grin became wicked and predatory. The implication was clear. It was hard to ignore. Manetti forced his eyes off her tits and back to her face.

"Did he say anything to you? Did he give you any indication that he might harm himself?"

"No. He wasn't interested in... conversation." Again she didn't leave any doubt what she was implying.

It was curious that she didn't ask what the questions were about.

Manetti was getting weird creepy vibes off this woman. She was involved in Coleman's death, he was sure of it. They had no evidence against her, but there was something...

"I wonder, would you be willing to come to the station so we can go through things in more detail? Your statement would go a long way to clear things up for us."

"Is that really necessary, Detective? You said it was a suicide."

Suddenly, Manetti was having no difficulty focusing. Bright alert flags were waving in his brain.

"Actually, I didn't say any such thing. I'm going to need you to come with me."

She wasn't smiling anymore, and she wasn't inviting anything either. She was beginning to look at him like a cornered rat. A very shapely cornered rat.

Except she wasn't cornered. She proved that when she turned and ran.

For just a second Manetti was too surprised to do anything except think "How can she run so fast in those shoes?" Then he shook himself and ran after her.

Okay, that was definitely not smart, but what was he going to do?

She turned a corner and disappeared from his view. Seconds later Manetti turned the same corner and she was gone. Out of view. Disappeared.

He spent 10 or 15 minutes checking the few places she could have hidden or doors she might have slipped through. Nothing. Everything was locked, there was too much light. She was gone.

Then he remember Pamela Gleason and her magic trick and he started cursing. He didn't stop until he got back to his car.

He called her from his car, she was in his apartment 10 minutes after he got there. He gave her the rundown of his encounter with the vicious, serial-killer/hooker and how she had vanished under his nose.

Gleason's first reaction was not helpful. "Detective, I told you how dangerous she is, I told you to call me before..."

"There were 20 people around!" He roared at her. "You think I'm so stupid that I'm going to be alone with her? She's not going to kill me in front of witnesses, for shit sake. But none of that is the point, god dammit, you need to start telling me what the fuck is going on here or I'm running your ass in right now."

"Look..."

"No, you look. I have had enough of this case and of you. Any idiot could see that you know what is going on here and you are going to tell me, starting right now."

Manetti's apartment wasn't large or expensive, but he liked it. He particularly liked the view from the balcony. He was lucky to have a balcony, he knew that, and usually left the curtains open so he could see through the large, sliding glass doors.

Right about then, the large, sliding glass doors, exploded into small shards of glass and sprayed all around the living room.

Gleason turned faster than Manetti could see. Suddenly Barnett was there, in the room and charging at them. Gleason charged back and the two women began exchanging blows almost faster than the eye could see. Any of those blows would have driven a rhino to its knees, it sounded like two guys pounding each other with pillows full of sand. Manetti could barely follow it all.

He pulled his Beretta and cocked it then took a firing stance and tried to get a clear shot, but they were moving too fast. He was watching when Barnett reached out, dug a hand into the back of his recliner and... lifted it in one hand. Then threw it at Gleason. With one hand.

The chair and Gleason went through the wall into Manetti's bedroom, leaving a huge recliner, and Gleason, sized hole in the wall.

"Hold it right...urgh."

Barnett slapped the pistol out of his hand and grabbed him by the throat. Jesus, she's strong. He could feel her lifting him, almost off the floor.

She opened her mouth and... hissed at him? Really?

Funny how the extended fangs didn't detract from her looks at all.

There was a roar from a pistol.

Barnett threw him at the wall, hard.

Manetti lost interest for a while.

The first sensation he got was pain, funny thing about that. There was a kind of general ache all over and a much more specific pain coming from the side of his head. The side that had slammed into the wall. There was a sensation of cold against that side of his head too.

"Fuck, what the fuck just happened."

He opened his eyes. He was laying on his own bed. Gleason was sitting beside him holding a kitchen towel to the side of his head. It must have been wrapped around ice.

She looked pretty roughed up. Not surprising. It didn't make her any less distracting.

"Are you alright? Do you know where you are and all?" She was looking worried. How nice.

"Ms. Gleason. We're in bed together. It's a dream come true, although I've got to say you've looked better."

"Yes, you're fine." She took the towel off his head and dropped it on his crotch.

Manetti retrieved it and pressed it back on the side of his head as he sat up. Yep, there was the huge hole in the wall. There was the remains of his recliner. It wasn't a bad dream.

Manetti pushed himself slowly to his feet and gave the remains of his favorite chair a feeble kick. "Crap, now I'll never get my security deposit back."

Gleason grabbed his chin and raised his head so she could look into his eyes. "Your pupils look okay, I don't think you have a concussion."

"I don't have any explanations either, but you're going to fix that, aren't you."

"Wouldn't be my first choice."

"Tough. I've never hit a woman, don't make me start now."

"I'm shaking in my boots."

Manetti gave her a sour look which she returned with a grin. He tossed the towel onto the bed and said "She had fangs, for crying out loud. FANGS. She came in from my balcony and we're on the fifth floor. The two of you were throwing punches that would have put Mohamed Ali in the hospital. She picked up my chair with one hand and threw it through the fucking wall!" He had to stop and put one hand on his head for a second. "Look, don't make me shout okay, my head might explode. Just tell me what it the hell is going on."

"I'm willing to tell you, detective, but I'm not sure how much you are going to believe."

"At this point I'll believe anything. You're both superheros or vampires or something."

Manetti was watching her face so he saw her eyebrows go up and how she bit her lip.

"No, don't try it. I don't believe in either of those things."

"I never said she was a superhero, and I sure as hell am not, but what else would have fangs but a vampire?"

He put his face in his hands. "I need a drink." He left the bedroom, intending to go into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

"Actually, what you really need to do is pack some clothes and leave."

"Huh?"

"I wasn't exaggerating when I said how dangerous she was, and now she knows where you live. I hit her 3 times with your gun at close range, but that's not going to stop her for long. We need to get you out of here, someplace she won't know to look, and think about our next step."

"The next step is I call my boss and tell him what's going on."

"Do you have a Thorazine fetish, detective? Because we both know what would happen if you did that."

"Why not? I could use a vacation. Never mind, I'll throw some stuff in a bag. Where are we going?" Her suggestion did make sense. Manetti was confused, hurting and in a state of denial, but he wasn't stupid.

"I'm in a long-term hotel on the other side of town. You can sleep on my couch for a couple of nights."

"Holy shit. I'm in fantasy land."

"If you have a better explanation I'm eager to hear it."

"Yeah yeah. Let me get packed. "

Lorraine Barnett lowered herself down on the stiff cock of her victim and began to ride him with enthusiasm. She had drained two homeless men dry because she needed the blood to recover from the gunshot wounds that bitch Gleason had given her. She didn't know anything about those men nor did she care, they were simply the first two she could find. But this one was very carefully selected, she had high hopes for this one. He would help her.

She leaned forward to lock eyes with him, still moving deliciously, and began to carefully exert her will on him. There were a couple of different ways to do this, through pain or through pleasure. Of the two, she preferred pleasure.

"That's in, lover," she whispered as they continued to fuck. "You're going to help me, aren't you. You're going to do anything I want."

"Yessss, anything you want." the man said.

"That's a good boy. Now, harder, luscious. As hard as you can. See if you can make me scream."

Pamela Gleason pulled out her cell phone and quickly typed an email to her supervisor. She would send more details later, but there were a few things he needed to know immediately, and some arrangements to make for Manetti. Poor guy, he was so out of his depth but he struggled to keep up with it all. It was admirable.

She could hear him muttering as he packed in the bedroom. A good smattering of swearing, along with "I've got to be out of my mind," type comments. But he was packing and he was moving quickly, so sane or not he understood the danger he was in even if he didn't accept her words.

Email complete she went and stood in the doorway of the bedroom to watch. He was... average. Almost an inch over 6 feet tall, about 180 or 190 pounds, dark hair, green eyes. Average build, with a plain, not unattractive face. His face was lined enough to have character and he carried himself with a odd mix of world-weary fatigue and complete confidence. He was intriguing.

He was also, apparently, very practical. She watched as he tossed in a box of ammunition for his pistol, along with slipping 4 loaded clips into the pockets of the jeans he had put on. Smart.

He pulled on a leather jacket, threw the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder and slipped his hand into the unzipped top. His hand that was holding his pistol. Good thinking.

She scanned the hallway as he locked his apartment door, then followed him down to the parking garage in the basement. They decided to take her car, under the assumption that Barnett had followed him home. He put his duffel in the back and took the passenger seat, pistol in hand. He split his attention between her and the traffic behind them as she drove.

"We made a lot of noise trashing my place. How come my nosy neighbors didn't come ask what was going on?"

"They did. I waved your badge at them and told them it was police business. That seemed to satisfy them."

"That never worked for me. You must have an honest face." He said it with heavy irony. "So, my gun's not going to stop her for long?"

"No, afraid not. You can kill a vampire by shooting at it, but you've got to destroy the brain. The body heals too fast for shooting the body to do much. I couldn't get a good head shot with her choking you so I did what I could."

"So stakes to the heart don't do it either?"

"Nah, a vampire will just pull a stake out and shove it up your ass."

"Garlic? Holy water? Crosses?"

"All garlic ever did was give me bad breath and all that religious claptrap is just wishful thinking. You know, I've never understood that one. Why would a Jewish vampire be afraid of a cross?"

"I've often wondered the same thing," Manetti said dryly. "Can you turn into a bat?"

She scoffed.

"What about sunlight?"

"Yeah, that's the one thing Stoker got right. Sunlight will kill us and it ain't pleasant."

"Well, that's something. It's nice to know we've got some advantage, given how strong and fast you guys are."

"Feeling inadequate?"

"Not as long as I'm heavily armed. You live on blood?"

"No, we eat and drink regular food too, we just need a steady supply of blood to survive. It doesn't have to be human blood but it has to be fresh. Or we've got an artificial substitute that we can use instead, although it tastes like crap."

"Yuck. How often do you, you know."

"Drink blood? It depends on what we're doing. Every 2 or 3 days usually, but she's going to need blood tonight to help her body heal, and a good large dose of it."

She stopped for a red light and he scanned all around the car before looking back at her. He stared at her for a long time, with his brow furrowed.

"Artificial substitute."

"What?" He said it like he was figuring something out.

"You said you have an artificial substitute that you can use instead of blood. That's... interesting."

"How so?"

"Well, you'd need laboratory facilities to do the research and development of something like that. Manufacturing, distribution. All of it kept out of sight of regular people. That tells me there's money involved, pretty good organization, communication. Like I said, it's interesting."

Gleason tried to keep the consternation off her face and swore in her own head. He'd put that together pretty fast and from one slip of her tongue. She ground her teeth and didn't answer.

"That's okay," he said finally. "If you started being completely honest with me I don't know if I could handle it."

"Look, detective..."

"If we're going to be living together you should call me Phil."

"Phil, I'm Pam. I want to be honest with you about all this, but I can't tell you everything. Some of it I can't tell you, and a lot you'd never believe."

"You can't tell me. That means you're under orders, right?"

"Well..."

"That's alright. I'm getting the picture, I think. There's like a subculture of you guys, right? You keep your heads down because you don't want us regular guys to know we're not the top of the food chain. That's smart, considering we're your food."

"I can't... shit, I just can't, okay?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll quit pushing about it. You're trying to keep me alive, after all. How do you get to be a vampire?"

Apparently he had decided to go back to general questions, thank God. "It's not all that complicated, and it's something else Stoker was close on. You have to be bitten and drained of blood, then before you die the vampire has to share some of his blood with you. There is a combination of two viruses that cause the change, one in the saliva and one in the blood. If you don't get both you don't transform."

"So that's what happened to you?"

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. It's an intensely... well, I don't want to talk about it."

"What about werewolves?"

His brain must be hopping all over the place. Who could blame him. "What about them?"

"Well, are they real too?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, I see, werewolves are ridiculous, but the undead that's perfectly normal."

"Hey, I'm not undead, pal, I'm as alive as you are. Just... different."

"Yes, you can say that again."

She glanced at Manetti and, to her surprise, saw that he was looking at her differently. Shit, he was checking her out. She took a deep breath and caught a whiff of interest from him. Intensely sexual interest. She hadn't felt anything like that from a man in a long time, and she had not let herself feel it for anyone either. It was disturbing.

"Granted, my exposure to vampires is limited, but the two I've met have both been, well, very attractive. Are all of you like that?"

"Yes, pretty much."

"That makes sense for predators, you'd want to be as attractive to your prey as you can be. I imagine a desire to hide how dangerous you are would go along with that."

She looked at him again in surprise and he shrugged. "I watch a lot of Discovery Channel stuff."

She felt herself starting to check him out and forced her eyes back on the road. Now was not the time for that. He was a lot smarter and quicker than she had first thought, she had already given away too much by not realizing that. She wondered if he did it on purpose.