Date: Mon, 25 Sep 1995 16:51:58 -0300 From: maddog Subject: gay vampire (1/2) Note: This story is set pre-Lacroix Lite and does not contain the skinny blonde woman or the Michael Praed (go watch "Robin of Sherwood") lookalike vampire. It would've been posted before the third season start but we didn't get off our butts and finish it in time. Oh well. All comments, praise, insults (especially ones we haven't had before), virtual Pepto Bismol and virtual Diet Coke to Maddog. All virtual chocolate cheesecakes, virtual Duncan MacLeods and virtual Lucien LaCroixs (she knows what to do with them) to Rastro. Maddog responds to Rastro's introduction: Oi, I want the chocolate and the cute men too! No fair! Rastro responds to Maddog's response: Oi, you have no sex drive. Besides, my thighs are thinner, I can afford the chocolate. Maddog responds: The list doesn't know that! Rastro responds: They do now. Gay Vampire Toronto Cop Fathers Alien Love Child ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ by The Lurkers (Maddog and Rastro). "We're lurkers, we lurk in corners, We do our little thing with the bidet" "That's in the background, you git" ***** "Would you like a beverage?" the stewardess asked. "Huh, uh, yeah, Diet whatever," Kennedy Paris answered blearily. Sleeping on airplanes always made her feel very strange. She glanced over at her partner who was busily typing away into a laptop. "Hey, where are we?" "Somewhere over Cleveland, I think," came the reply. "Where are we going again?" "Toronto." "Is this the story about the two-headed cow?" "No," Chandler Ames replied, flicking her long red hair. Chandler and Kennedy were reporters for the 'Weekly News of the Warped'. They were continually flying here and there so the question about where they were going wasn't unusual. Most of their stories consisted of five hundred pound women married to one hundred pound men, three-headed sheep and the occasional alien story. They'd been an upsurge in the public's interest in weird crap so they had a bigger budget to go out there and get the stories. Still, Kennedy couldn't remember anything about any story in Toronto. "What's there then?" "Nothing, I want to do a bit of shopping." "Uh, and how are we going to justify that on our expense report?" Chandler gave Kennedy a withering look, "We are journalists, we'll find a story!" "We're hack writers for a tacky check out rag and lucky to have the job. If it hadn't been for that business with the werecows in the Yukon.." "They were there! We both saw them!" Chandler shook her head vigorously. She hated it when Kennedy brought up the Incident. They had both witnessed the Yukon werecows and the destruction they had brought. Of course, no one had believed them and they had been fired from their jobs with the New York Times. That was past history, time to concentrate on the present, "Anyway, I want to go shopping on Yonge Street. We'll worry about the story when we get there." "Okay," the other reporter responded, sipping the drink the stewardess had brought her. ***** "I don't want to work, I just want to bang on these drums all day!" the radio blasted out at Kennedy. They had rented a car at the airport and now were cruising around Toronto. Both women were hyper from too many time zones, too much sugar and far too little sleep. She was searching for a likely looking bar to stop in for a bit of relaxation. There was a crowd standing in front of some building. They had the antsy look of people trying to look cool while standing in a line to get into a bar. "Hey, Chand, over there. That place looks cool." "The line's too long. How about over there!" Ames pointed to a dark building adorned with a neon sign proclaiming "The Raven". "As long as they've got Yukon Jack, I don't care. Ouch!" the reporter protested as her partner socked her in the arm. "How many times have I told you not to say that word around me!" "What Jack?" "You know damn well which one!" "Oh, that would be.... Yukon. Ouch!" Kennedy rubbed her arm. Chandler was so touchy about the werecow incident. "Hey, I'm sorry, it just happens to be my favorite drink, okay!" "Maybe if you weren't so fond of it they would have believed us about the... Incident." "I doubt it, hey, there's a parking place." They pulled the blue Mustang into the space, double checking to make sure it was a legal place to park. They'd had enough problems with parking tickets over the last few months. Their editor, Mr. Percy Felton (call me Chip) Barrington, had been very upset the last time they had had to call him to wire money to pay for fines. The parking space was fine so they walked over and quickly entered The Raven, the cold Toronto evening hurrying them. "Hey, we'll have to pick up some sweaters tomorrow when we're shopping," Chandler said as she threaded her way through the crowd to an empty table. A waitress hurried over to them; her request for their orders was hard to hear over the large thrumming of the music. They ordered their usuals, Yukon Jack with a beer chaser and a Seagram's wine cooler. "Great tune!" Kennedy commented, banging her head in the air to the beat. "What?" "I said, great tune!" "It sounds like somebody's cutting off the singer's balls!" Ames yelled back, her musical tastes ran more towards Pink Floyd. Call her retro but it was hard to beat Floyd for blasting and getting depressed to. "You're really becoming a stick in the mud, you know that?" "What?" "Never mind," Kennedy shook her head as she reached for the drink that had just arrived. She sipped a bit out of the beer and then poured the shot of Yukon Jack in it making her own special boiler maker. The alcohol hit fast since they had had nothing to eat on the plane, airlines being so cheap nowadays that you were lucky to get a stale bag of peanuts. Kennedy did what all good reporters and most drunks do, she people-watched. Most of the crowd was young, body pierced and high on something. The majority were dressed in black and looked like they needed a bit of time outdoors. "Hey, Ken," Chandler caught her friend's attention. "This is a vampire bar!" "So these people are all undead?" "Nah, they just want to be. It's like a fad, they dress up and play at being creatures of the night. Got nothing better to do, I guess." Kennedy examined the crowd a little bit closer, then an idea occurred to her. "Hey, wouldn't a place like this be a perfect cover for real vampires?" Chandler smiled, she could pictures the headlines now, 'Unholy Undead Cavort at Toronto Bar'. They'd found their next story. It would take at least a week, maybe two to gather the information they'd need for such a large conclave of unholiness. Plenty of time for shopping and taking in a few sights. Giving Kennedy the thumbs up sign she signaled to the waitress to bring them another round. She glanced towards the back bar, there were two men talking to a beautiful woman dressed all in black. One of them looked like he belonged in the bar, black clothing pale skin; the other also had pale skin but his clothes looked more Sears than Calvin Klein. "And I think we've found our two suspects!" She pointed the men out to Kennedy. "Look like cops to me," groused her partner. "Come on," Chandler stood up and walked over to the bar to stand next to the two men. One of the men was dark, squat and balding, the other younger, blonder and cuter. The blonde one was deep in conversation with the dark haired woman who was dressed like something out of a fashion plate, a kind of black, warped Armani fashion plate. Kennedy took a deep breath, (ferreting out a non-existent story was always tiring), then ordered another drink, "I'll have a shot of Yukon Jack and a Molsons Golden." "Pretty strong stuff," a voice informed Kennedy over the roar of the music. "Jackpot," Kennedy thought, it was the dark haired guy. Upclose he looked even more like a cop on an investigation; he sure didn't look like he belonged in this bar. "Better living through alcohol, besides Jack makes any drink just that much more special." "I like Yukon Jack myself, has a nice bite." "Yeah and when you puke it, its still brown. Name's Kennedy," the reporter stuck her hand out. "Don Schanke, and you know you're right about that stuff staying brown." Kennedy noticed the man glancing occasionally over at his friend but there didn't seem to be any urgency in his manner so she decided to see if she could get any information out of him. Chandler, she noticed, was still checking out the blonde friend but somehow she doubted the story was going to turn out about men's bums. "Buy you one?" "No," Schanke patted his midsection. "Stomach's been acting up. You know they really do drink that stuff in the Yukon." Kennedy watched Chandler's spine stiffen at the mention of the dreaded word. Talking about the booze was bad enough but the actual place was sure to drive Chandler insane. Seemed liked a plan. "Really? I've never been to the Yukon myself. What's it like?" She hid an evil smile in a sip of the beer and whiskey mix. "The Yukon is, well the Yukon is big," he gestured with his hands to indicate a huge something. "I was out there, oh, three years ago I think." "Really? I've been thinking of going to the Yukon. What do you recommend I see?" Chandler tried to block out the hateful conversation that Kennedy was engaging in. If it wasn't for the fact that she was uncertain that she could get off on a murder charge she'd strangle both Kennedy and the man she was talking to. Yukon this, Yukon that, so help her if they brought up cows, she'd.... She stopped that train of thought as the blonde man ended his conversation with the dark haired woman with a liplock that she seriously envied. She hadn't had her tonsils cleaned off like that since the last time she had them swabbed for strep. The man pulled away giving a boyish grin, and walked towards the man Ken was talking to. Chand watched as the man said good-bye to her partner and started to leave the bar. She carefully followed them out the door and saw them get into an old Cadillac. She took down the license plate number and went back into The Raven. Kennedy was polishing off her drink back at their table. "Well?" "We've got ourselves a story!" "May one inquire what about?" "Vampire Toronto Cops!" ***** "Can we take a break?" Kenendy whined, the many packages she was carrying were nearly dragging on the ground. Chandler shifted her own load of packages and nodded in agreement. Lunch had been hours ago and she felt the need to refuel. "Let's go get a pastry and a tea over there," she gestured with a shoebox. The two reporters made their way over to a coffee shop and unloaded the packages around a small table. A waiter quickly took their order. Kennedy flipped open a cellular phone and dialed. "Hi there, Murphy. Fine, you? Well, I told you that you shouldn't pick at it. Yeah, we've been hard at work tracking down leads, think we've got a big one here. Did you get the information? Uh, huh," Kennedy flipped out a pad of paper and started writing down the info that was being given her. "Okay, download the rest to me and I'll check it out later. Thanks, Murph. Hah, hah, very funny, no, no cows this time." During Kennedy's conversation, the pastries and beverages had arrived. Chandler let her tea steep and started eating her Russian tea biscut. She knew that Ken was talking to Murphy, the resident information collector back at the paper. He was said to know his way into every computerized database in the world and when you were trying to get background info on somebody he was the one to call. She waited until Kennedy had hung up the phone and then asked, "Well, what've we got?" "We've got one Detective Nicholas Knight and one Detective Donald Schanke. Schanke, what a name, we've got home addresses, phone numbers, license tags, etc. on them. They always work the night shift according to their payroll records. Murphy's sending me more detailed info. How do you want to handle this?" Chandler considered the matter carefully for a moment. They needed to make sure that they had at least a week of shopping which meant not only a final story but a preliminary story as well to their editor. Photos would be good, Kennedy could take those. They'd need to gather some physical evidence, not to mention some interviews with "concerned citizens of Toronto". "Let's start out easy, you search around Schanke's home, I'll do Knight's. If that works out okay then we'll have an accidental meeting with them the next night and then go from there. Okay?" "Sounds good to me, do you think I should get that pair of jeans I saw?" "Sure, why not, this story should net us a bonus." ***** /Garbage,/ Kennedy thought, /I hate rooting through other people's garbage./ She moved aside what seemed like the umpteenth used tea bag; it was squishy. So far nothing had caught her eye as possible evidence of supernatural happenings. Sighing, she took out a silver flask from her jacket pocket and took a slug, the Yukon Jack slid down smoothly. Capping the flask, she started digging again, careful to be very quiet. "Bingo," she whispered. Uncapping her camera, she started taking photographs. There was nothing natural about the sight in front of her: at least two dozen used disposable razors, all dulled. ***** /If this guy isn't dead already/, thought Chandler as she tossed aside yet another old pizza box, /he soon will be./ She couldn't believe someone as good-looking as Nick Knight could get that way eating the crap she was finding in his garbage. There was nothing but pizza boxes, empty microwave popcorn bags, the occasional tub of Ben and Jerry's (at least he had taste), and lots of bits of cork. It had to be the cleanest garbage she'd ever gone through. Which was strange in itself, she realised suddenly. Normal people had all manner of gross things in their bins - used kleenex, moulding leftovers from last week's macaroni and cheese, slimy vegetable peelings. People like Kennedy had even grosser things in their garbage, but Chandler wanted to keep her dinner down so she didn't think on that too long. This guy didn't even have any of the paper cylinders from inside used toilet rolls. Which meant he either didn't use the toilet, or did but didn't use toilet paper, which was another thought she didn't want to consider. /Yuck, maybe he is from the Middle Ages/. She took a couple of photos of the rather boring garbage; perhaps they could be doctored later. With a few empty bags from the blood bank, maybe. Then she flipped open the lid of the recycling bin. "Jackpot," she whispered in glee. It was full to the brim with green glass wine bottles, all identical. She pulled one out and took a sniff. "Oh, gross!" Cute he may be, but he had no taste in wines. The whole bin smelt horrible, like something had died in it. /Cop with a drinking problem; likes cheap wines. Nah, that's a boring story/. Then she realised - they weren't bottles of wine, they were bottles of blood. Of course! On a cop's salary he'd have to buy in bulk - and it was probably an inferior grade anyway. That's why it smelt so bad. /Cow, maybe?/ she thought as she snapped another shot. ***** Fiddling with the button on her shirt pocket, Kennedy realized she was a bit drunk. Just a bit, just to the point where small hand movements were difficult and your mind had to think each thought very slowly and clearly to get things done. She also knew it because when she'd went to the bathroom, one of the cleanest ones she'd ever seen in a bar, she'd sat down on the toilet seat too hard. That was a sure sign, she'd read it in the Weekly News of the Warped. And if you can't believe the Weekly News, who can you believe? She wished that Chandler would show up. The notes that she was taking about the vampire bar were beginning to make no sense, not even to her, and strange guys with pale faces kept asking her to dance. There'd been no sign of Knight and Schanke which was good. They'd have time enough to meet them later, after they'd dug around some more. Maybe tomorrow night they could tail them around as they worked. Get a feel for how vampire cops worked. Kennedy smiled to herself, one thing was for sure, they certainly wouldn't be sitting around eating doughnuts. That was an angle she should bring up in the article. Vampire cops found more cost effective, less food breaks, no health care costs. Wonder how on the job stress affects them, she considered idly. "Oi, how many of those have you had," a voice startled Kennedy out of her reverie. "Um, three or four, I think," Kennedy stared blearily at her partner. Chandler was wearing a new all black outfit, floor length black leather coat covering a white silk turtle and black wool pants. "You decide to start dressing like one of the denizens of this place or something?" "When in Rome," the woman responded, signalling a waiter. "You'll never belive what I found in Knight's garbage." "Elvis?" "No, lots of bottles. LOTS of bottles. They used to have blood in them." Kennedy raised an eyebrow in disbelief as Chandler continued defensively, "Well that's what we're gonna *write*. But there was something weird. The guy didn't have one used toilet roll cylinder in his bin" "So what?" Kennedy said as she took another drink. Then she thought about it. "Oh, yuck." "Yeah, so he probably is from the Middle Ages. They weren't very civilised back then." Kennedy glanced over at the door as Nick Knight and his partner came in. "Hey look, our suspects have conveniently arrived." She studied Knight for a minute. "That toilet roll thing kinda gives you a different perspective of the guy, doesn't it?" "Maybe he uses Kleenex," Chandler said. "Anyway, I'm not gonna ask!" She grabbed Kennedy by her jacket as the woman started to get up. "And neither are you!" ***** Kennedy shook her head trying to clear it. She was not a night person by design. At one o'clock in the morning, her body thought it should be sound asleep not trailing two cops around Toronto, even if they were vampires. Chandler and she had been following Detectives Knight and Schanke since they'd gone on shift several hours before. So far things had been very routine, go interview some witnesses, stop and get some souflaki, go back to the station, leave the station, go get some burgers, go interview some more people. In Kennedy's opinion the food stops blew their vampire theory out of the water. "Chand, there's no way that Schanke is a vampire. Look at what he's eating!" "Maybe he's a vampire with an eating disorder?" the red-haired woman suggested. "I was a bulimic vampire cop?" her partner retorted. "No, more like, Anorexic Vampires Eat Solids, story continued on page 32." "Hmmm, think we're going to have to come up with another theory. Let me think of the clues I've gathered," Kennedy began ruminating, brow knit together. "Okay, how's this sound, all those razors mean he's a werewolf and not a vampire. Toronto werewolf cop?" Ames considered the idea and then smiled wickedly, "Integrated Toronto Police Force, Werewolves and Vampires work nightshift together!" "I feel much safer knowing that they're on our side, old lady comments," Paris added, warming to the idea. "Hey, I've got it, it's the 90's everybody is worried about rising costs." "So?" "Vampire and Werewolves on force keep down prison costs by eating criminals!" Kennedy grinned and poured herself some more hot chocolate from the thermos, adding a bit of peppermint schanpps from one of the many flasks concealed on her person. "No, if we use that we might get some criminal rights organizations after us," Chandler shook her head, "I mean its got to be a violation of your rights if the cops eat you alive, don't you think?" "Maybe, hey, they're coming out," Kennedy poped the lens cover off her camera. She needed a blurry long distance shot that could be easily doctored to fool the public. She took a few of the two detectives as they entered the car. The Cadillac sped away and Chandler followed it at a respectable distance. Kennedy checked the film in her camera, trying to decide if she should try for a few more long distance shots or if she should wait and see if she could get some clear close-up shots to put through a morphing program. She figured it wouldn't be hard to morph Detective Schnake into a werewolf. The vampire shots would be even easier, add some red glowing eyes and you were done. Her train of thought was interrupted as the homocide detectives slowed down to enter a parking space by the Coroner's office. "Hey, Ken, get some shots of them walking in front of the Coroner's Office sign. We might be able to use it. You know, vampire and werewolf stop for late night lunch break!" "You're twisted, you know that, Chandler?" Kennedy commented as she took the shots. "Shall we follow them inside?" "Sure, why not, doesn't look like a lot of people are around." "Well, its the middle of the night and there are dead bodies here. Doesn't sound like a hopping night spot to me." "It would if you were undead. Come on." The two women wandered around the outside of the building until they found a door that looked promising. Chandler popped the lock and they went inside. The building was dark, cool and very quiet. It didn't take very long for the two reporters to locate the two detectives. Their voices echoed in the halls. Crouching down several doors down from where the voices were coming from the women listened to the conversation that was going on. A woman's voice had joined the two male voices in an animated disucssion. The words, autopsy, strangulation, and stomach contents were overheard. After about ten minutes, the men said goodbye to the female voice. Kennedy felt a nudge in her ribs. Chandler was pointing and edging forward for them to get a closer look at where Knight and Schanke had been. She crawled forward and cautiously stuck her head up to the window in the door. There was a woman, brunette, good-looking, dressed in a white lab coat. She was doing something to a body that was laid out on the table in front of her. Kennedy took a good look at the body; it had been cut open. She was glad she'd gotten over her fear of dead bodies and gore during the werecow incident, if she hadn't she'd be blowing chunks all over Chandler. Suddenly, the woman, probably the coroner, Kennedy guessed, whipped around and went over towards a sink. Then she went over towards a desk near the body and pulled out a bag of something and started drinking out of a mug. Squinting her eyes the Kennedy was able to make out the writing on the bag, it was chocolate chip cookies. Shaking her head in disgust she crawled back over to Chandler. "Chan," she whispered, "you're never going to believe this. The woman must be the coroner and right now she's eating chocolate chip cookies right next to a dead body!" "Ugh, that's disgusting!" the other reporter whispered back as she made a face. "Really, I mean, what kind of person could eat and dissect somebody at the same time?" Chandler cocked her head and a slow smile spread across her face, "Maybe, she's not human, that's what." "Not human?" Kennedy asked blankly and then the same shit-eating grin that Chandler was wearing appeared on her face. "Like, maybe she's an alien?" "Alien works as Toronto Coroner! This'll get us the headline!" "And it ties in so well with the werewolf and the vampire. It's like a... like a... conspiracy of the supernatural in the Toronto Public Service!" "Oooh, good one. You get your little computer buddy to find out everything you can about that woman," Chandler responded. She motioned for her partner to follow her and they crawled out of the Coroner's office. ***** "Did you get it?" Chandler called out as Kennedy entered the hotel room. She'd cleared a table and moved it to the center of the room. Then she'd set up her laptop and Kennedy's and networked them together so that they could write the story simultaneously. Adding a nifty little bubble jet printer to the mix along with a dozen napkins, she finished the work area. "But of course, would I even think of attempting to write a story this juicy without the proper sacrifices for the muse!" "What flavor did you get?" Kennedy took out a large cardboard package from the bag she was holding. "Mocha Chocolate Swirl!" She declared as she slid the box onto the table and opened it. "Behold, one cheesecake to be sacrificed to the Muse of Bad Creative Writing!" "Forks," Chandler handed her writing companion a fork and they both sat down across from each other at the table. The laptops were in front of them and the cheesecake was between them. "How many bites to start off?" "Mmmm, if we're going to make this story a piece de resistance, I think we'd better start with five," Kennedy declared sagaciously. The two women carefully ate five big bites each of the cheesecake, letting each rich tasting morsel slide around their mouth before swallowing. "Hey, you forgot something." "Oops, you're right, wait right there and enjoy that sugar buzz," Kennedy went over to the small refigerator in the room and took out two cans of Diet Coke. "You know I don't drink this stuff," Chandler shook her head in disgust as Kennedy tried to hand her a can. "I always drink herbal teas." "For once, Chand, leave the twiggy tea behind and surf the wave of a good caffeine buzz." "This stuff will kill you," the redheaded woman declared, pointing to the red and white can in her hand. "So will the cheesecake." "But it tastes good, this tastes, like... like rust remover!" "Do not insult the sacred beverage!" Kennedy huffed. "It is tasty. It is the breakfast of champions and if you think you'll write well cranked up on cheesecake, you should add a little bit of this stuff to your blood chemistry and you'll write like a demon possessed." "We wrote about demon posession last week," Chandler sighed. She supposed Kennedy did have a point. In order to put all the wild story bits they'd dug up together in to one cohesive whole, she was going to need all the chemical help she could get. Popping open the can, she announced, "Here's toxins in your blood stream!" Less than five minutes later, the two women looked up from the notes they'd been reviewing. Their eyes were now unnaturally wide open and bright. They were both shaking slightly in their seats as they took another big bite of cheesecake. "Vampire Toronto Cop Fathers Alien Love Child," Chandler yelled in between spasms. "We don't have any proof that Dr. Lambert and Detective Knight are sleeping together!" Kennedy retorted. "I was thinking more along the lines of "Vampire and Werewolf named Partners of the Month in Toronto Precinct!" "Vampire Toronto Cop Fathers Alien Love Child!" her partner reiterated her original title. "Aliens are in!" "Oh, all right, I suppose it will get the crowd that thinks that if aliens were about on the planet they'd have a chance of getting impregnated. Like soap wouldn't help most of them. We've got a title," Kennedy typed the words into the computer. "What's the title for the interior column?" "And his werewolf partner is going to be the godfather!" "Oh, I like it. Keep going, you're on a roll!" It was two hours, a six pack of diet coke and half a cheesecake later before the two reporters had a rough draft of their story worked out. Kennedy stood up shakily from the table holding the printout of their story. "All right, I'm going to read it back to you. Listen to the flow and try to pretend you've only got half a brain." "Maybe I should read it to you. You're far more qualified." "I'd kill you but that would mean making an effort and I think I'm going to pass out soon from a sugar crash. Now pay attention," Kennedy started to read. "Front page headline - Vampire Toronto Cop Fathers Alien Love Child. Interior column headline - And his Werewolf Partner is going to be the Godfather! Interior text starts. Detective Nick Knight of Toronto's Metro Homicide has long been one of that fair city's best homocide detectives. He currently holds one of the best cases solved records in the department and is soon to be a proud papa. None of this would be unusual but Detective Knight is a *vampire*! Brought across into his unnatural living dead state centuries ago, he's about to become a father for the first time with Toronto Coroner Natalie Lambert. A vampire cop is unusual enough, and even though vampires are thought to be sterile, the happy event is made possible by the fact that Dr. Lambert is an alien! She is thought to be one of thousands of aliens living and working among us." "As unusual as this situation is, its further complicated by the fact that Detective Knight's partner, Don Schanke, is a werewolf! Not only must the duo work only at night to accomodate Detective Knight's spontaneous combustion reaction to the sun but during a full moon, Detective Schanke must take several days off so he will not harm the public with his lupine rages!" "When asked why the Toronto Police Force would hire such unusual individuals to protect the public, these reporters were informed that quote, 'The Toronto Police Force does not discriminate against individuals on the basis of sex, race or religion.' One can only assume that there is no space on the application form for such unusual conditions. " "So what do you think?" Kennedy asked her partner. "That's all we wrote for half a cheesecake?" Chandler asked, sliding off the chair and stumbling towards the bathroom. "Well, I thought we'd go out following Detective Knight again tonight. Maybe get some more information before finishing it. Besides, I don't feel so good right now." "Whatever, what say we sleep this off and go out around midnight?" "Fine, I'm going over to my bathroom now." "Enjoy." ***** "My head is still aching from all that sugar," Kennedy groused as she swirled her Yukon and Diet Coke around in the glass. "I'm sure that poison you're drinking is going to make it feel even better," Chandler snapped, she too was suffering the affects of too much sugar and too much shopping. They had been sitting in The Raven for two hours waiting for Detective Knight or Schanke to show up. The loud music was starting to grate on the nerve she had left. She rumaged through her purse to find a Tylenol and had just tossed it into her mouth when she spotted the blonde- haired head of Detective Knight enter the bar. "Bingo!" she said as she pointed the man out to her partner. "Great, maybe I'll eventually get to bed tonight after all," Kennedy responded. The two women watched Detective Knight talk to the bar's owner, a beautiful (which instantly made both reporters dislike her), thin (which made both reporters wish her dead of cellulite) woman. They talked for fifteen minutes and then did a thorough tonsil-swabbing of each other. Then Knight left the bar. The reporters followed him out as discretely as possible and tailed his car. They drove through the dark streets of Toronto until they pulled into a small parking lot by a building which had the call letters CERK painted on the side of it. Knight got out of his car and entered the building. The two women followed him inside the building, amazed that the door was unlocked. Stationing themselves out a small recording booth they managed to overhear two men talking. Unfortunately, the voices were too low for them to distinguish exactly what was being said. Chandler jabbed Kennedy in the ribs, pointing forward and motioning that she should try and get a better look at what was going on. Kennedy shook her head and flipped off her friend, then indicated that she should try and get a better look at what was going on. Chandler made a fist and the two women did paper, scissors, stone (best two out of three). Kennedy lost and made her way slowly forward, her camera held awkwardly in one hand. She lifted it up and peered through the zoom lens. Detective Knight was leaning against a wall talking to a rather tall gentlemen with close cropped hair. The guy had piercing eyes and Kennedy could have sworn that he was looking right down the lens towards her. There was something unnerving about him. Scurrying back, she pointed agitatedly until Chandler finally gave up and crawled forward. When Chandler returned she continued crawling past the other reporter and down the stairs until the two were out of the building. Safely in the car and driving away from the radio station, Kennedy caught her breath and said, "That was one scary looking dude." "I'll say, I swear he looked right at me when I was peering around the door," the red-headed reporter responded. "Did you notice how he was dressed?" "Nah, I thought for sure he'd seen me at first. What'd he have on?" "Nice stuff, I'll tell. Expensive tastes, all in black too." "Hmm, maybe I've got a working title based on that information." "What? That Detective Knight has friends that know how to dress nicely?" "Sure," Kennedy grinned back, "Remember who we're writing for. A nicely dressed guy friend, that's gotta mean..." "Gay Vampire Toronto Cop Fathers Alien Love Child!" Chandler shrieked. She could picture the yearly 'Warped News' Best Story Award, the Weirdo, being given to her for this story. "Yes, we've got it!" "Now, let's grab some ice cream and put this baby to bed!" ***** Kennedy and Chandler, both laden down with two new suitcases of clothes each hurried through the Toronto Airport. They scattered other travelers in their path as they tried to dig out their tickets. Kennedy commented, "You know, I should have bought those Timberland boots." "You've already got seven pairs," Chandler retorted. Clearly forgetting the number of red pumps she owned. "But I don't have green ones. I suppose I couldn't fit them cause of all the crap I'm carrying for you." "If you didn't have to carry so many pairs of underwear because of all your little accidents, you'd have more room." "Oh, bite me, Mary," Kennedy snapped back, using Chandler's real name. "Bugger off, Sue," Chandler flipped off her partner. The two women hurried past a news shop which had the new "Weekly news of the Warped" prominently displayed. A tall man with a long brown hair done up in a pony-tail walked by the women. Their heads whiplashed back to get a better look as his jean encased butt hurried by. "Oh, look, that guy has a cute butt. Maybe he's on our plane and we can sit behind him." "If he's not on our plane, let's go to wherever he's going. I'm sure we'll find some sort of story. Hey, there's an ice cream stand. Let's get something chocolate filled," Kennedy drooled, her eyes fixated on the delightful sight in front of her. ***** "Nicholas!" Janette stormed into the room, oblivious to the fact that she was in the middle of a police station surrounded by police officers. "Have you seen this?!!" She threw a copy of "Weekly News of the Warped" down in front of the startled vampire. Nick sighed as he saw the headline. "Look around." He waved at the room in general. Most everyone had the paper in their hands. Most everyone was giggling and pointing at Nick. "Well what are you going to do about it?" Janette demanded. "They've revealed us to the world! I've already had warnings that the Enforcers are on their way!" Nick picked up the paper, trying not to wince as the words 'Gay Vampire Toronto Cop' leapt out at him. "Did you read the article on the next page?" he asked Janette. He passed it to her. "And His Werewolf Partner is a going to be the Godfather!" screamed the headline. "I don't think we have to worry," Nick said as Janette read the article. "Nobody believes this stuff anyway. It's the safest place we _could_ be revealed. I'll just have to put up with 'vampire' jokes for a few weeks and then it'll all be forgotten." Janette had calmed down quite a bit by the time she finished reading. "Detective Schanke is a werewolf?" she smiled. "If only it were true. I've heard they're quite delicious." She patted Nicholas on the arm. "Nevertheless, mon cherie, I have decided to disappear for a while until the furor over this dies down. They've been teasing me about you being 'gay' at the club, and unlike mortals they won't forget this in a week or two. Oh, don't worry," she added as he started to pout, "I'll be back now and then to visit. Mustn't let you start believing your own press!" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and left with a giggle for places unknown. Nick sat looking after her forlornly for a moment. Then he picked up the phone and called Schanke's place. His partner had not yet arrived for the evening and Nick wanted to warn him about the reception he was going to get. ***** "Myra, honey, are you home?" Schanke called out as he came in the door. He'd just popped down to the supermarket for some snacks. The fridge was getting low on icecream. "In here, Don," his wife called from the kitchen. She came into the living room and stopped as she saw his worried look. "Dear, what's wrong?" Wordlessly Schanke handed her the latest 'Weekly News of the Warped'. "Page three," he said. Myra sat down on the couch as she read the story. "Oh Don, how did they find out?" Schanke shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I'd been so careful this time. Calling in sick every full moon, eating all that garlic so they wouldn't notice the raw meat, shaving my head so I'd have a bald spot. I'm sorry, honey." Myra went over and put an arm around him. "It's not your fault. Besides, we'd probably have to move soon anyway. Jenny's getting to that age where we may start having problems. Best to get out of here for a while." "Yeah," said Schanke. "I've already contacted Socrates about it. He can get us out of here tonight, before the others in the Community force us out. I doubt any humans will believe that story, but better safe than sorry." He headed up the stairs to start packing. "Oh," he added with a grin, "take a look at the previous page. Poor Nick." Myra smiled as she read the story. /Nick a vampire? Natalie an alien? They'd be teased about that for weeks!/, she thought as she followed Schanke up the stairs. He was in telling Jenny that they had to move again. Myra went to her bedroom to get the suitcases. She didn't really mind leaving Toronto. She'd always said it was no place for a werewolf. All those long nights in winter. ***** Natalie stared at the door of her apartment. She *really* didn't want to go in, but sooner or later she'd have to face it. /Better later than sooner, you coward/, she thought, but she opened the door anyway. As soon as she'd locked the door behind her a deep, pulsating sound filled the apartment. Natalie turned slowly around, dread filling her. In the center of the room sat Sidney, staring at her with glowing green eyes. A shimmering blue aura sparked around him. He began to speak in a deep, melodious voice. "Natalie." "Yes, Overlord?" "We have been distressed to find that the human populace has become aware of your true nature. Your entire mission has been placed in jepoardy." "Yes, Overlord, I am sorry. But I do not think that you need be concerned. The organization that announced my "alieness" to this world is considered very unreliable by all on the planet but a few fringe individuals. Most read the paper for amusement value only and do not believe any of the contents." Sidney cocked his head for a moment as if listening to voices unheard and then replied. "I agree with your assessment, Natalie. But you must be more careful in the future. Our plans must NOT be inteferred with." "Yes, Overlord, I will be more careful in the future. I will not let our mission fail," Natalie replied as she bowed deeply to the cat. The cat gave a small nod of its head in response then gave one last message. "Natalie, there is another matter we must discuss." "Yes, Overlord?" "I am tired of the same old cat food. I would like you to purchase some of that Sheba gourmet food that I saw advertised on the television." "As you command, Overlord." ***** LaCroix sat back in his chair and laughed and laughed. His subscription copy of 'Weekly News of the Warped' had arrived in his mailbox that morning, but he'd only just got round to reading it. He thought the photo of him and Nick on page two was rather good, though he did wonder how the reporters had managed to follow him around without him knowing. It didn't really matter, they'd done such a good story he was inclined to let them live. He'd even overlook the 'gay' bits. So Dr Lambert was an alien. No wonder she was hard to hypnotize. He'd already suspected Detective Schanke. Though he did wonder about the 'Love Child' bit - Nick wasn't really going to be a Daddy, was he? Unlike most inhabitants of the planet, Lucien LaCroix knew that almost everything the 'Weekly News of the Warped' reported was true. He'd been reading it for years. That's how he knew so much. Though he was still not sure about Elvis. And that story about the Yukon werecows was just too weird to be believed. He wondered what the two reporters would come up with next. ***** Kennedy and Chandler had followed the jean-encased butt onto the plane. Luckily it was the same plane they had planned to get on in the first place. They'd cleverly discovered the man's name - first Kennedy had spilt a drink on him and tried to filch his wallet (and failed, though she did get to fondle his chest), then Chandler had tripped on a non-existant bag in the aisle, fallen into his lap and tried to filch his wallet (and failed, though she did get to fondle his chest), then they finally agreed just to ask the flight attendant, who informed them the gentleman was named 'Duncan MacLeod, and isn't he cute?', to which they both nodded an emphatic 'yes'. The only problem was, what could they come up with in Seacouver that would top their "Gay Vampire Toronto Cop Fathers Alien Love Child" story? The End ********************************************************** Maddog - A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of Too Much Caffeine and Chocolate