ONE OF THE GANG

by Kim Colley

Copyright (c) 1997

 

Forever Knight and its characters are the property of James Parriott, et al., and the suits at

Columbia & Sony/TriStar. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

 

He watched her dab a small puddle of spilled coffee off the table with her napkin.

Leaning toward her, he whispered, "You don't have to clean up after yourself, you

know. That's what the busboy is for."

 

She ignored him. Really, this partner was almost as bad as the first one. Almost, he

thought, coolly appraising the body that was nearly hidden beneath the severe

pantsuit she wore. He turned back to his son.

 

"So, Nicolas, what did you want to see me about?" His nostrils flared delicately. "And

why did we have to meet here?"

 

Nick, Tracy and Lacroix were seated at Mac's Diner on the outskirts of town, in the

industrial section. Here, abandoned warehouses and burned out cars neighbored

bustling factories during the day. At night, with only a few graveyard shifts on duty,

the area resembled a demilitarized zone.

 

"I've got a case that I find I might need your specialized knowledge on. A gang

calling themselves the 'Children of the Night' recently moved into town. They've got

their fingers into drugs and prostitution mainly, and they're looking to expand their

territory. They've been instigating some nasty turf wars, the most recent one taking

place a block and a half from here."

 

"And what does this have to do with me?"

 

"One of the casualties of this conflict was found . . . exsanguinated." He paused. "I

thought you might know something about them."

 

Lacroix looked pointedly at Tracy, then turned his intent gaze on her partner. "Why

would *I* know anything about them?"

 

It was Tracy's turn to lean towards Lacroix. She whispered confidentially, "I know."

 

Lacroix's vision became red with fury. Damn Nicolas! It wasn't enough for him to

love these mortals, he had to reveal himself to them as well. W asn't he aware of the

danger he placed them all in by baring his guilty soul?

 

Nick spoke quietly. "I didn't tell her, Lacroix. She knows another one of us. She's

known for over a year now, and she hasn't told anyone."

 

"Who would believe me?"

 

Lacroix ignored her. "Well, Nicolas, she obviously told you."

 

"Listen, Lacroix, let's not get into this now. She can be trusted. You have my word."

 

Lucien sighed in disgust. When would his son learn? "So what do you want from

me?" he asked wearily.

 

"Information."

 

He lifted his shoulders in a delicate shrug. "I have none."

 

"But you could get it," Nick continued. "You have more connections in the

community than I do."

 

'It doesn't have to be that way, Nicolas,' he thought. When Nick ignored him, he said

aloud, "I'll see what I can do." Wrapping his black leather duster around him, he

scooted out of the booth and walked out the door, with no other words of farewell.

 

* * * * * 

 

Tracy's low-heeled pumps echoed hollowly down the slanted wooden boat ramp.

She stopped and looked around, her senses heightened to the aura of danger that

surrounded her. She reached behind and pulled from beneath her jacket the service

revolver she kept in her waist holster. Clicking the safety off, she gingerly stepped

onto the cabin cruiser bobbing in front of her. No lights emanated from within. She

pulled the small, police issue flashlight from her webbed belt and flicked it on,

sweeping it once over the deserted deck before proceeding cautiously toward the

cabin.

 

Lacroix had called her only 30 minutes ago. He'd found something important at the

public harbor on the river. Nick was on his way, he'd said, and had asked him to

notify Tracy.

 

She cursed her rashness. In her eagerness to get to the scene, she had failed to notify

Dispatch of her destination. "Tombstone courage," her father called it. The kind of

foolhardiness that gets rookies killed. She wasn't a rookie anymore, and had no

excuse for her failure to follow procedure. She knew better. She prayed it wouldn't

be the last mistake she ever had the chance to make.

 

She edged cautiously into the cabin, immediately noticing the open passage into the

lower deck. Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, she inched down the stairs,

pausing at each step to listen. No sign, no sound of Lacroix. She finally set foot on

the floor and was immediately grabbed from behind. She was in good shape, well

trained in hand-to-hand, but the grip was too powerful to overcome -- the product of

a familiar, inhuman strength. She stopped struggling, knowing it was useless, and

the arms surrounding her relaxed.

 

"It's me, Det. Vetter," Lacroix purred into her ear.

 

She half-turned to look at him, still encased in his arms. "Where's Nick?"

 

He held his finger to his mouth and whispered, "No time."

 

She heard a soft footfall above her and sunk back into the shadows with her captor.

Legs appeared on the open staircase, enclosed in filthy jeans that smelled of furnace

oil. A young man with long, stringy brown hair stood at the foot of the stairs. Lacroix

suddenly appeared on the opposite side of the room. She hadn't even felt him let go.

 

"Looking for me?" he inquired.

 

The man jumped nervously, defensively holding out a knife in front of him. "Are you

the guy?" he asked.

 

"I believe I am the one you seek."

 

The young man waved his knife around, shifting on the balls of his feet. "And I can

be like you?" There was a pathetic note of hopefulness in his voice.

 

"Is your desire strong enough?"

 

Tracy felt something crawl across her foot and gasped in shock. The man whirled

around and grabbed her arm, knocking the pistol out of her grasp. He jerked her out

from behind the stairs and held the knife to her neck.

 

He grinned, revealing vulpine, yellow teeth. "All I gotta do is kill her, right? And

drink her blood?"

 

At Lacroix's smile, the man pressed the knife to her neck. In a flash, Lacroix had him

by the throat. Holding him aloft, he whispered, "The last thing this world needs is

another punk vampire."

 

With a roar he bared his fangs and sank them into the gangbanger's neck. Letting his

lifeless body drop to the floor, he sneered, "Wannabe." He turned to Tracy,

supportively cupping her elbow in his hand.

 

Shaking off the shock that was icing through her body, she stammered, "I thought

you had set me up."

 

He smiled warmly. "And you were quite right, my dear. The world doesn't need

vampires like him." He nudged the corpse with the toe of his boot. "It needs

vampires like you."

 

She really should've called Dispatch.

 

Finis.

 

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