L.A. Night Unlife
by 
Shayne Dark (Ottawa, Canada)
Copyright (C) 2004, by Shayne Dark


Friday, 23:00, La Belle Bęte, Los Angeles


"So beautiful, so tragic."  Armand dabbed at his bloodstained 
lips with a silk handkerchief.  "What a beast I am."  He motioned 
for his servants to cart off his latest victim.  Once a beautiful 
flower, the woman was no more than pale, white meat now, her life 
now flowed through Armand's veins.  She had been brought up from 
the dance club that he operated below.  He had chosen her from 
the masses, and had his minions deliver her to his private 
quarters.


"May we consume her master?"  The servant paused to lick what 
traces of blood remained on the woman's neck.  The young man was 
only recently converted, and the dark hunger that burned him 
could be sated even with bloodless flesh.


"What you do with that empty shell is not my concern."  Armand 
said loftily. "Feed from it my children, but ensure that no trace 
remain."  The vampire lord crossed the room and poured a snifter 
full of brandy.  He swirled the dark amber liquid in the glass 
and inhaled its aroma.  Although his body could no longer 
tolerate alcohol, he could still enjoy the heady aroma.  He 
returned to his couch and stretched out on it, being careful to 
arrange the tails of his long coat gracefully.  He was beautiful, 
and knew that he must always appear casually perfect, with no 
flaw to mar his grace.


Relaxing further Armand sent his thoughts out, touching in turn 
each of him minions.  Their minds opened easily to his commands. 
They were pleased with their power and both loved him, and feared 
him.  Good.  As it should be. For 500 years Armand had fed and 
grown strong, his journey to the new world had been a wise one. 
Rising nations had other concerns and the disappearance of its 
citizens was not among the top.  The world considered the loss of 
the Roanoake colony a great mystery, but the truth would terrify 
them even more.  He had supped from Roanoake, fed well in New 
Orleans, drank the blood of the faithful in Utah, and feasted on 
prospectors in Tombstone.


"The American dream."  Armand laughed aloud, the rich, musical 
sound, filling the room.  "Oh what a nightmare a beast such as I 
can make of it. Beautiful, terrible death."  It was so true, 
Armand mused.  Los Angeles was the perfect city for him.  Yes the 
daylight hours were long, but what hunting.  A single night 
provided more opportunity than a year in the old country.  The 
people, obsessed with the beauty of their bodies, spent their 
nights seeking all manner of diversions.  Untold masses flocked 
to Los Angeles, their heads filled with dreams of stardom.  If 
not Midwestern beauties awash in thoughts of fame, there were 
countless immigrant, whose disappearances would not be reported, 
for their families feared the immigration authorities more than 
the disappearances.  He could glut himself on blood nightly, 
without the fear that left his old country contemporaries 
fearful, hungry and anemic.


"Master."  Another servant appeared.  The young man was a 
stripling, barely fifty years into his dark existence.  Beautiful 
in his own way, his skin still carrying a slight tan, that would 
not fade to porcelain perfection for some years yet.  "You have a 
visitor from the old country."


"I will see him."  Armand sniffed at his brandy again.  He had 
been expecting Magnus for some time, they had shared much in the 
Paris of 1643, and he looked forward to gentle reminisces - as 
well as the opportunity to introduce Magnus to his territory, 
knowing that the German vampire would be envious, but not 
powerful enough to usurp it.  "Please see to it that a suitable 
offering is available, I am sure he will be famished after such a 
long journey."


"As you wish master."  The servant departed.  Armand brushed a 
hand languidly over his vest, enjoying the texture of the deep 
russet velvet.  He would remain supine when Magnus arrived, a 
subtle reminder that he only rose to greet his betters.  Not that 
there would be many in the vampire world. It was unusual that he 
could not sense Magnus's arrival, perhaps the German had finally 
learned the art of concealing his thoughts from his betters. 
Shows of power were part of the game, and Armand made a mental 
note to ensure that his companion would be made well aware of the 
superiority of his own dark gifts.


"Is nice place."  Thibor sauntered in and made a bee line for the 
brandy, pouring out a good sized dollop into a snifter.  Aramand 
frowned; this was not Magnus.  The man was obviously from the old 
country, but was no vampire. Not particularly pretty, or even 
physically impressive.  A man of middle height and age, with some 
width in his chest, close cropped black hair and a wide, neatly 
trimmed moustache.  Probably Romani.  Had Magnus sent a servant 
to greet him?  That would be a grave insult, and one that would 
have to be repaid in kind.


"I gave you no leave to be so informal in my home."  Armand said 
languidly, "But do drink deeply, I fear I can no longer enjoy 
brandy, save when it flows through the blood of my victims. 
Drink, and then I shall show Magnus the folly of his insult."


"Whatever turns your crank fang-face."  Thibor shrugged and took 
a long swallow.  The Brandy was at least 300 years old, and left 
the slightest hint of charred oak and pears at the back of his 
palate.  "Is one thing good about vampires, is always having 
excellent brandy."


Armand was careful not to let his outrage show on his features, 
which remained relaxed and beautiful.  The insult would not go 
un-rewarded.  He sent his thoughts crashing down on the man, 
focusing on subverting his will, Magnus's servant would willingly 
offer up his own blood.  It was no good, his commands shattered 
against the man's mind as if it were a wall of iron. His mind 
aching from the failed assault, Armand tasted the air, although 
human, the man had the scent of a beast about him.


"Mon dieu."  Armand whispered.  "Sawchyk."  The vampire's 
composure dropped away, and a thin trickle of sweat, as red as 
blood, ran down his temple.


"Oui."  Thibor responded.  "Vous est truly fucked.  Is running 
into your friend Magnus last week.  Was good enough to put me on 
your trail.  Was hoping selling you out would be enough to save 
him.  Was not."


"Then Magnus is dead."  Armand's voice quavered.


"Was already dead."  Thibor corrected him sardonically.  "Is now 
having what is called Bob Dylan moment.  Is blowing in the wind." 
He set the snifter aside and called on his beast.  It only took 
an instant, for his human features to disappear as his wolfen 
form burst free.  His military sweater was torn to shreds as his 
chest and arms expanded to enormous proportions.


"I am prepared to give you everything."  Armand was on his feet, 
his eyes nervously darting left and right, looking for an avenue 
of escape.  There were only two entities that vampires feared, 
Little Red Riding Hood, and the Big Bad Wolf.  He sent out a call 
to his minions, but only half responded. As he listened the 
thoughts of one and then another snuffed out like candles flames 
in the wind.  "Just spare me."


"You have three choices," Thibor ignored the groveling.  "Is 
fighting, is going down stairs, or is going out window."


Armand glanced from door to werewolf to window before making a 
decision. With supernatural speed he leapt through the stained 
glass window.  Thibor shrugged and pulled a radio detonator out 
of his pants pocket.  He casually depressed the plunger.  A loud 
explosion rocked the room and the remaining panes of glass blew 
inward.  Thibor sniffed the air, noting the scents of garlic, 
hardwood and spilled vampire essence.


"So he chose the window."  The door opened and Louis de Saint-
Exupery stepped in.  The large Frenchman was dressed in military 
fatigues.  His usual round, steel rimmed glasses were replaced by 
a mirrored visor that wrapped around his face.  He shouldered a 
large, repeating shotgun, whose double barrels were still 
releasing garlic tainted smoke.


"Would not have mattered."  Thibor walked over to the window. 
"Was claymores in the staircase to."  He hopped through the 
shattered window frame with an agility that seemed at odds with 
his huge bulk.


"Merde!"  Armand was tacked to the brick wall by nearly two dozen 
long skewers of garlic impregnated hardwood.  Any remaining 
efforts at beauty and grace were absent, and the vampire was 
thrashing his limbs and crying out in pain and fear.  "Merde! 
Merde! Merde!"  Thibor considered the mewling creature for a 
moment, and then drew back a heavy, clawed hand and neatly 
snicked the vampire's head from its body, as easily a child would 
behead a daisy.  As the body collapsed into dust, Thibor stomped 
hard on the head, forcing it through the grated surface of the 
fire escape.  It shattered into dust and rained down on the alley 
below.


"Tac ops open."  Thibor tapped his communicator.  "Target PVF has 
been eliminated.  Report."


"I have two down in the club."  Cammy's crisp accent came through 
over the communicator.  "No civilian injuries."  Thibor noted a 
slight catch in her voice.  He made a mental note to talk to her 
about it afterwards.  Although Cammy knew mentally that the 
creatures she destroyed were already dead, it was harder for her 
to look past their outward appearance of beautiful, young men and 
women.  It was easier for him, as his senses made it very clear 
that he was dealing with walking corpses that bloated themselves 
on the blood of their victims.


"Three down in the hall."  Louis said.


"Two targets remain."  Thibor confirmed.  "Commence building 
sweep."  He motioned to Louis to move out, and then jumped down 
the five stories to the ground below.  He fished an arm into the 
dumpster that rested under the fire escape and drew out the 
oversized shotgun he had placed there earlier.  He ran the slide 
to load a shell into the chamber.  The two remaining would be 
minions, fledgling vampires, who, when freed from their master's 
control, might go berserk.  He kicked in the door and ran into 
the kitchen area of the club, inhaling deeply to mark scents.  He 
could clearly pick out the vampire spoor, as well as a hint of a 
familar English Rose perfume.  He smiled as Cammy rolled into the 
room, coming up in a marksman's crouch, her pistol at the ready. 
He smiled wolfishly and saw that smile reflected in the wide, 
mirrored visor style glasses she was wearing.  Armand's 
particular stock of bloodsucker required eye contact to exercise 
mental powers, and the visors effectively shut down that ability.


"This way."  Thibor nodded towards a set of stairs that led down 
to the basement.  He took up the lead position, and Cammy fell in 
behind him, slightly to the right so she could offer covering 
fire.  Loping down the stairs, Thibor followed the scent trail, 
he had a grim feeling about what they were going to find, but 
there was nothing he could do about it.  Cammy could handle it, 
but it would not be pleasant.  He had briefly considered bringing 
other members of the team in on this operation, but had decided 
against it.  Of all of them only Kyoumen was emotionally suited 
to this sort of work, but that suitability made it dangerous to 
let her operate in a crowded dance club.  Heavy plasma weapons 
and crowds of half-dressed Americans shaking their collective 
booties did not mix well.


"Careless."  Thibor moved through a reinforced steel door that 
was propped open, Cammy followed, her nose wrinkling slightly at 
the slight smell of rot that permeated the hall.  They followed 
the corridor down to a large open room.  A pair of vampires were 
crouched over the body of a young, blonde woman.  They were 
tearing at the belly with their teeth, ripping large mouthfuls of 
viscera free and swallowing them whole.  Both hissed at the 
interlopers, blood flecked lips pulling back from elongated 
canine teeth. Without pause, Thibor raised his shotgun and fired. 
The vampire on the left disintegrated into ash as the shot, 
hardwood skewers soaked in concentrated garlic essence, tore away 
the chest and head.  Cammy's shots came a bare instant after 
Thibor's and the other vampire went down, clutching at a heart 
that was shredded by similar ammunition.


"All targets down."  Cammy spoke into her communicator.  Thibor 
noted that she was uncommonly pale, the scar on her cheek 
standing out even more against the white pallor.


"Hook up with Louis, secure the area and contact local 
authorities and medical examiner."  Thibor said.  "Will finish up 
here."  Cammy nodded silently and headed back up the corridor.


The last vampire gasped and clutched at air, as blood poured from 
its heart. Thibor ignored the cries and fired twice, destroying 
its head and chest, and causing the rest of the body to collapse 
into ash.  The woman was dead, but he had known that already, 
having scented it in Armand's office.  Thibor scouted the room, 
following the scent of rotting flesh.  As he suspected, a sewer 
grate hidden under cement slab in the far corner.  He lifted it 
away and peered down.  Bones, some white, others still decorated 
with decaying flesh and tendons.  There would be some hope of 
identifying some of the victims, not much, but better than 
nothing.  Identifying the vampires would be harder, as so little 
remained of them.  Thibor would have to work with a sketch artist 
to recreate a likeness of them, perhaps they would be on the 
missing person's record, perhaps not.  Thibor scowled.  Vampires 
were not born, well almost never, most were created, and the dark 
powers provided, combined with hunger, were enough to corrupt 
even the strongest soul. Still, they had been people once, and 
had family and friends.  He shook his head.  While he could still 
muster some sympathy for the people they once were, he didn't 
give two ripe shits about them after they became vampires, not 
when he could see the results of their transformation on the 
floor, drained of blood and eviscerated.  Nodding to himself, he 
headed back up the stairs.


Saturday 00:05, La Belle Bęte, Los Angeles


Louis sipped at a Styrofoam cup; grimacing each time he tasted 
the watery American version of coffee, beside him, Thibor was 
watching the scene unfold.  Typical of America.  The media had 
arrived before the police or medical examiner.  Cammy was dealing 
with them, or at least diverting them until the proper 
authorities could arrive.  That was for the better, as Thibor 
still considered  'Ka xlia ma pe tute' to be the equivalent of 
'no comment.'  If IST was to have a public face in America, hers 
was far more appropriate, and certainly more attractive than his. 
Cammy had regained much of her normal colour, but he could still 
note the tension in her by the stiffness of her spine.  Not that 
he was spending a lot of time watching her spine.  The operation 
bothered him slightly.  He had taken the tactical lead over 
Cammy, at her insistence, but it still bothered him slightly.  He 
could not afford to challenge her leadership, or more 
specifically, give the impression of challenging it.  It would be 
too easy for him to fall into that pattern, and he didn't want 
to, he had come too close to doing so in Guatemala and needed to 
watch himself closely.  It was the nature of alpha wolves to 
dominate, but that natural prerogative did not fit in with IST's 
hierarchy of rank, and could cause no end of difficulties for 
both of them. Mostly for him.


"I have been meaning to ask mon ami."  Louis surveyed his empty 
cup mournfully and then tossed it into a convenient garbage can. 
"What is this PVF you called the target?"


"Pretentious Vampire Fu..Fangface."  Thibor corrected himself as 
Cammy walked into earshot.


"That's not what it means, but I appreciate the consideration." 
Cammy said tiredly.  Thibor noted that her eyes were slightly 
red, which was probably not due to the late hour.  "Our American 
allies have finally chosen to show up, and we have been 
officially requested to hand over the crime scene to them.  I 
believe that concludes our involvement here."


"Good enough for me."  Thibor said.  "Have already tossed office, 
is no further leads from here, and am betting vampire would have 
tried to sell out others if could have.  Is Americans wanting to 
debrief us?"


"No."  Cammy scowled slightly, "I was rather left with the 
feeling that they were trying to brush us off."


"Unforgivable."  Thibor shook his head slowly.  "Should have 
offered to take us out for late snack at all night Turkish café. 
Baklava so rich in honey and almonds that you would consider 
sacking Constantinople to get another piece.  Thick black coffee 
that is actually brewed not reconstituted from whatever they can 
squeegee off of grill.


Cammy wavered for a moment, while Louis looked on with a neutral 
expression, a slight tic in his thick jaw being the only reaction 
to the offer.


"It sounds lovely."  Cammy said reluctantly.  "But we do need to 
be back at headquarters as soon as possible."


"They do take out."  Thibor said, clinching the deal.


Monday 06:00 Coeur D'amour - Somewhere over the Atlantic


Cammy frowned and tapped the tip of her electronic stylus against 
the arm of her chair.  She scanner through the last few lines on 
her datapad.  It sounded terribly clinical, but was accurate, she 
had 'killed' two vampires and mortally wounded a third.  Somehow 
the report failed to capture the act. She had stepped up to what 
appeared to be a pair of young, beautiful men, who were dancing 
in the middle of a crowded nightclub, fired shards on garlic 
impregnated hardwood into their hearts and then used her Spetzer 
knife to hack their heads from their bodies.


"Tough day at the office?"  Thibor dropped down into the seat 
next to her. The Coeur D'amour was a transport, but someone had 
modified the front cargo section to include a dozen comfortable 
theatre style bucked seats, complete with reclining backs, drink 
holders, and seat belts.  "Is some Baklava and coffee left, 
interested?"

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