 
Of Superior Design

By Matt Rogers

Copyright 2013 Matt Rogers

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Prologue

In the beginning war was ever at hand

One ruled the skies, the other the land.

Technology advanced and science kept pace

They could not get along so ventured to space.

The planets were seeded with proxy fighters the norm

The two grew immortal and shed physical form.

Superiors were bred and chaos ruled the day

They ravaged over all till Heaven entered the fray.

Flooding and freeze employed to rid them their plight

But they clung on for life to Heaven's surprising delight.

Gifts were imbued and Nature urged to play

They were the answer to Hell, the Hoard on the way.

Vampires were born, female perfection in sight

Seduction and stealth over muscle and might.

Wolves were different, a separate breed apart

They were schooled in the ways of death's bloody art.

Perfection was high, a generational cost

Bodies rebelled and many unborn were lost.

Litters were needed and Human beings were bled

For Superior development while pregnant Vampires fed.

Human blood was required for life to survive

Allowed to exist, keeping Heaven's hopes alive.

The Vamps wrote the acts as Heaven directed the play

The Wolves played their roles as predator or prey.

Creative design employed at Heaven's request

For they held a vision in mind, a super warrior contest.

A genetic print was emplaced, Wolf and Vampire the seed

What they wanted and desired was a new breed to feed.

The future began, a superior product arrived

The Wolves fought their brothers and Vampires contrived.

They battled and schemed as was their innate desire

For they were bred to dominate and compelled to conspire.

The clans were implemented according to deed

A hierarchy was formed through graft and greed.

Success was based on strength and speed

Cunning and wit; either win or bleed.

They mated in pairs to form the whole

A Vamp at the top with familiar control.

An Alpha alongside to fight for his pride

His feminine mate plotting at his side.

Wit and prowess were desperately needed

Judged by business success, family position was seeded.

Fame and fortune were never really the goal

Merely actors in the game with a superior role.

Three tribes made a clan, three clans held sway

All biding their time till Judgment Day.

The future arrived as twins were born

One viewed with potential the other with scorn.

They were raised apart for all Superiors agreed

With Yang in his presence Yin was different indeed.

A Cloak by birth, it was a necessary cover

Yang's blood hid his scent from his murderous brother.

Yin would grow to the greatest Wolf ever known

He would reign in the east on an iron throne.

Yang was the weakest, barely even a pup

But his blood held promise so Heaven's mood perked up.

The four were bred from one Wolf alone

Lucifer stood over all, a mountain of stone.

An image of death, a monstrous brute

They met in the pit to end the dispute.

Yin would prevail but spared the other his sake

For the blood of his father he was loathe to take.

The clans were then ruled by a leader with might

Helped by another, the weakest in sight.

A plan was designed, formed and hatched

As assassin was picked, armed and dispatched.

But she made a mistake and wound up dead

She approached from behind and Yang removed her head.

He'd made his choice without any decree

He'd chosen his sister, he picked Merri Li.

The death of a Vamp was a serious crime

They bred only once and were running short on time.

The Hoard was coming, the Heaven's all but swore

A Superior merging needed to win the war.

The three took flight and beheadings began

Many against few who struck, killed then ran.

The clans were losing for they'd lost their scent

With Yang in the mix their numbers were spent.

A blow was dealt and an answer was shown

Kill the weakest Wolf in the clan and return the throne.

A meeting was held and a truce was signed

They would rule two clans till the end of time.

Yang was forbidden and was forced to flee

He'd committed the act of a Catastrophe.

There was always another who hid in the dark

The twin daughter of Joan; Melissa De Arc.

Her mother had bred with a plan in her head

Challenge the Wolf's mate and rule First Clan in her stead.

She held the twins aloft for all to see

But Lucifer denied they were his prodigy.

She went to war and many fell in her wake

But she eventually found death and was burned at the stake.

Merri Li was raised by the clan to the east

While Melissa was huddled in the belly of the beast.

Yang was alive and always around

For he hid her scent so she could not be found.

Yin took Merri Li as his Superior mate

But they would never be intimate for she knew of his fate.

Yin was the one Heaven had always in mind

For he was unbeatable in battle and the end of his kind.

He agreed to the truce and issued his approval

Yang was sentenced to die for Vampire removal.

Yang walked away and marched through the interior

No Wolf paid attention for his scent was Inferior.

He took one of his kind; his half-sister Vamp

A superior mind with the need to decamp.

They went to America in search of Third kind

Yin returned to Second and Merri Li stayed behind.

Three clans were the norm and peace ruled the land

But the Heavens were not happy without a merger at hand.

The plan had been simple, the idea unique

Implant the need to dominate, allow Nature's interest to peak.

Let evolution run wild after importing the design

Wait for mutation to adapt, improve and refine.

The experiment was done without malice or strife

It was their purpose, after all, their meaning for life.

The Heavens were tasked with universal control

They fought their other half for its celestial soul.

But Superior minds all thought the same

What would be their response to the end of the game?

If a cure was found why keep the lotion?

When Daemon was born he only reinforced the notion.

He was all three in one; Wolf, Vamp and Cloak.

His birth was kept secret through mirrors and smoke.

If Heaven found out, where would they stand?

Would they retain the old with victory at hand?

Chapter 1

The house was a plantation mansion; a southern monstrosity promoting inherited privilege born from forced labor. Forty acres of manicured lawn complete with fountain, circular driveway and chauffeured sedans. The two men exited their separate vehicles and scanned the area. Both were impressed by its beauty but repulsed by its history. They walked up the white stone stairs to the front door, knocked and waited.

"May I help you?"

The man who answered was a stereotype; a black man in tuxedo wearing white gloves.

"I'm Detective Smith and this is Detective Wesson. We have an appointment."

The man nodded his head, stepped out of the entranceway, allowed the two men inside and bid them to wait while he found his master.

"Did he just say his master?" Smith asked.

"I believe he did" Wesson replied.

They waited in the Grand Ballroom and once again took in their surroundings. The floor was impeccably clean waxed marble with an ornamental rug on which stood a white pedestal adorned with a glass vase of opaque blue. The stairwell directly in front, the one the servant climbed to fetch his master was ten feet wide, forty steps high and along the walls leading upward were murals of men and women from past ages. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the thirty-foot ceiling and both became aware if it fell they would perish.

"Gentlemen, may I present Mistress Vivian LeTorque. Mistress, these are Detectives Smith and Wesson."

The woman walking down the stairwell was the most beautiful creature either man had ever seen. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and a figure worth every penny of gym membership. She was wearing a black dress with stilettos and appeared at ease navigating the seven-inch drops of marble stepping-stones.

"Gentlemen, it's a pleasure to meet you" she said while lifted her hand first to Smith then to Wesson, both of whom took it in somewhat shocked amazement because their eyes were still adjusting to feminine perfection.

"Mistress Vivian?" the servant asked.

"Yes, Nat?"

"I have set coffee and cakes in the visiting chambers for your meeting with these two gentlemen. If you would follow me?"

They all trailed the man into a room on the first floor where indeed refreshments were waiting. They sat down, Smith and Wesson on a blue couch and the Mistress Vivian LeTorque on a white decorative chair. The servant, Nat, poured coffee for three, handed out delectable pastries and moved to the back wall.

"Gentlemen?" Vivian asked.

"Yes!" they both responded together which was a bit odd since they were generally stoic when dealing with new clients.

They were the two top investigators for Craft and Sons, a private-detective agency specializing in neutralizing problems for the wealthy who, for one reason or another, wished not to involve the authorities.

"I believe you're wondering why I called you here."

"Yes, Miss LeTorque, we are. We were a little confused as to why you couldn't explain your situation over the phone. We usually get some of the facts up front before we agree to take a..." Smith began but didn't finish for he swore he heard a low growl emitting from somewhere to his rear behind the wall where the servant stood.

"Nat?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Please go tend to the inconsiderate brute growling in the other room."

"Yes, Mistress" he answered and walked out.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, we have certain... canines who are a bit protective of me when I'm around anyone they don't know. Nat will take care of the problem. Please continue, Detective Smith."

Smith nodded his head but was still slightly unnerved because he could quite honestly say he'd never heard a growl of its like before. It was a most menacing sound. It hadn't been loud and didn't last long but the timbre of its tone held qualities of death.

"Um, where was I?"

"You were explaining why my being so mysterious was troubling for you."

"Oh, yes. As I was saying we like to do a little research before we begin negotiations. It's not because we don't trust our potential clients, far from it. We do not judge anyone for we are here to solve problems not create them. The reason for our prescreening process is to satisfy ourselves whether we could actually perform the services required of us. Please understand, we hold to a very high standard in Craft and Sons and only take cases we feel could possibly succeed. It doesn't mean we always do succeed only that we have the resources necessary to make a reasonable effort. I don't mean to toot our horn but I must say the business model has been very good to us and we have a success rate in the ninety percentile range."

"Yes, I've heard your company was the best and I further heard you two were the best in your company. It's why I've chosen you."

While Smith was listening to the gorgeous blonde Wesson was taking in the surroundings. It was the way the two worked, Smith was the more engaging and Wesson the observant one. It had made them the top detectives in the top firm in the greater Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. What he noticed was an opulent palace adorned with exquisite items on every wall, shelf, table and ceiling. The paintings were masterpieces of the various ages; romantic, classical, Victorian, modern, Avant-guard. The vases, plates, glasses and other show-pieces were of similar quality and he surmised he was witnessing vast wealth with the ability to acquire treasures throughout the world. The funny thing was how everything was hung or sat. He could see no wires, protective cases or anything of security in nature around the priceless artworks. He was an expert against theft and knew it possible to hide a system but also knew the disadvantages of doing so. Displaying alarms dissuaded others with notorious motives. It was why home-security companies hung signs on their clients' domiciles. A potential thief would bypass the home advertising protection and move on to one which didn't. The amount of wealth on display in the LeTorque Manor was almost asking a would-be convict to attempt overnight easy-street. It was as though Miss LeTorque was actually daring them to do so or had absolute faith they would or could not. He was silently pondering his thoughts when he noticed Smith and the Lady LeTorque arrive at the point in their conversation where the actual meat of information was to be revealed.

"What exactly can we do for you, Miss LeTorque?" Smith asked.

"I need you to find someone for me."

"Who?"

"His name is Johnny Johnson."

"Okay" Smith answered as he wrote the man's name in his notebook.

"He's a family member who has gone missing" she added.

"Gone missing?"

"Yes."

Smith leaned forward and addressed the beauty in black.

"Miss LeTorque, I think it's important for you to know if he is wanted by the authorities we will not break the law in abetting his escape. Now, we are willing to track down those on the lam but we will not shelter him from..."

"He's not wanted by the authorities."

"Oh, okay, can you tell me why you think he's gone missing?"

"Because he is not here."

"Sorry, I meant is there a reason to believe he's gone missing and isn't merely on a personal vacation of some kind?"

"Yes, because he's running for his life."

The statement received the detectives' full attention.

"Excuse me?" interrupted Wesson.

"Yes, Detective?"

"You said he's running for his life?"

"Yes."

"From who?"

She paused before answering.

"This is where It gets a bit murky. You see, Johnny is part of our family and our family is rather powerful in this little world of ours and, well, lately things have changed whereby his death would allow other powerful players to acquire what we possess."

"What do you possess, Lady Vivian?" asked Wesson.

The smile which crept on her face made it appear the sun had arisen from long hibernation. Both detectives were amazed they could be even more awestruck by the beauty of the woman but they were wrong. She was mesmerizing.

"We possess the answer to the question, Detective."

"What question, Miss Vivian?"

"The meaning of life."

Chapter 2

The estate was nothing as they expected. Neither large nor grandiose it was, instead, a small house located in a small village. The countryside was exactly as they'd been told. Full green foliage, breathtaking scenery and the feeling of paradise on Earth where nature reigned supreme.

"This is it?" Philip inquired.

"Yes, lovely isn't it? Trudy responded.

"Well, yeah, but..."

"But what?"

"Where are all the restaurants? I heard they had incredible restaurants."

The village was more a hamlet with one main road running along the southern perimeter. Branching off were smaller pathways made of brick and stone which would be impassable by most North American vehicles. Small cars were the norm, the smaller the better. The culture was different than the States, technology adapted to the environment not the other way around.

"Should we visit them right away?"

"No, they know were here. Let's do a little sightseeing."

Phillip groaned inwardly for sightseeing was one of the few past-times he had absolutely no interest in. He didn't understand his mate's fascination with doo-dads. Any doo-dad, no matter how insignificant would undoubtedly cause her to lose all sensory perspective and stare in wonder for minutes on end at something which caught her eye. It could be a doll, picture, clothing or even some tiny plant sitting in a pot doing nothing but existing. Unfortunately for him he had no choice in the matter. Oh, he could sulk and she'd eventually notice and reluctantly leave but the consequences for doing so were something he wished to avoid. The problem he had was his memory. It could be months afterward and he would completely forget he'd acted like a teenager at a pottery convention when something would occur which would somehow, someway, bring the situation back into play and he'd walk around for a week trying to figure how it was possible for her to remember so vividly what he only vaguely recalled.

"Oh, Phillip, look at this. Isn't it the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

"Uh-huh."

He had no idea what he was looking at. It appeared to be an urn on a plate. It was white with light-blue flowers painted on its sides but there was something wrong with the rim for it was too big. He thought it could be some sort of chili-pot but the idea of using it to cook the meal seemed absurd. Besides, he might've been an ignoramus when it came to kitchenware but he wasn't so stupid he didn't notice it was made of porcelain. He racked his brain to remember if he'd ever seen a porcelain pot on top of the stove. In the oven, sure, but on top of the stove? No, he'd eaten enough to know he'd never seen one used over open flame.

"Do you think I should buy it?" she asked.

The question was difficult to answer because his brain was attempting to discern what the confounded thing was. It had a large handle on its side so it could have been a pitcher but the rim was giving him a problem. Who in the world would make a pitcher conform to the dimensions of a bucket? A pitcher poured liquid so needed a rim designed for fluid to flow from one specific area instead of everywhere at once. But the dang thing was definitely a dish so it must have some purpose in the culinary arts. And it had a plate underneath. But it was also a bit weird because it had a raised rim. He was about to ask what the confusing cooking appliance was when he had an epiphany.

"Yes, let's buy it. It'd be excellent during football season."

"During what?" she asked.

"Football season. It'd be perfect. We could set it down and use it during the games."

Football, the American kind, was the great equalizer in the world of Wolves. They were aggressive by nature so the sport held a strong place in their hearts. Pain with reward was its promise and to the male half of Superior stock it seemed the ideal way to prove oneself if actual combat were disallowed. They understood why Humans no longer allowed for bloodlust, the price of medical care being what it was, so they thought football was a logical answer to man's desire for violence.

"So you could use it during football games?"

"Uh-huh, the guys and I have been looking for something like it. Oh, we found a couple other bowls to do the trick but nothing like this."

"You what?"

She was looking at him in a strange way. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong but he could tell it was something so he proceeded to explain.

"We found some other bowls. Don't worry, we always washed them when we were done. I know what a stickler you girls are with your cookware and all."

"You washed them?"

"Yes, and put them right back where they came from."

"You put them back?"

"Uh-huh, every time. Well except this one time when Johnny dropped the thing but we went right out and replaced it with another."

"I cannot believe you!"

Now he knew he was in trouble. He had no idea why he was in trouble but he knew he was. Trudy had never been one to hold her feelings inside when it came to his mistakes.

"Huh?"

"What the heck are you thinking? Are you insane?"

The question seemed a strange one because if he were insane would he even know it? Didn't insanity involve the belief one was not insane?

"What? I don't see what the problem is?"

"You don't see the problem? You don't see...? Okay, calm down, calm down, he's just a man and doesn't know any better. He's just a big old lummox with the brain of a turnip. Phillip?"

"Yes, dear?"

"How many bowls did you use?"

"Um, well, all of them."

"All of them?"

"Uh-huh, and the pots."

"And the pots?"

"Yes, oh and probably all the coffee mugs too."

"Have you lost your mind?"

Once again the question posed had an underlying problem with its premise. If he lost his mind would he know it?

"Uh...?"

"And all of you did this?"

"Well, yeah, we were all watching the games together and they sometimes go on for quite a while so..."

"I cannot believe this! Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Um... no?"

He was, as usual, completely confused.

"We need to replace our entire dishware! My God, I can't believe you could be so selfish! What, you couldn't hold off for a little while longer? You couldn't pause the game?"

He finally had two questions he understood. He wasn't stupid, he just didn't speak Vampire.

"Well, we could but it's not the same as when it's live. I don't know why but the excitement is so much better when it's happening right in front of you."

"Phillip!"

"Huh?"

"There is no justification for what you all did! None! Do you have any idea how the others are going to react when I tell them what you did?"

He really couldn't figure out why she was so angry and responded accordingly.

"Well, I hope a little more understanding than you're being now."

Wrong answer.

"Understanding? How can you possibly think I would be understanding about this? It's disgusting! Oh my God! To think of how many times I've used those same dishes..."

"Trudy, what are you getting so upset about? We washed them."

It seemed like a good explanation.

"And you think that was okay?"

Apparently it wasn't.

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because of the germs you imbecile!"

Germs! Of course! Now he had something to go on. Now he could explain his way out of the situation and return to the boredom of sight-seeing.

"What germs? The dishwasher washes away germs."

"Not those germs! Those are horrible germs, disgusting germs, nasty and vile germs."

He was a bit perplexed by her reaction.

"Really? Huh, who'd of thought a little cheese and chips would be so...?"

"Cheese and chips?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hold on. What are you talking about?" she asked.

Food, of course.

"Nachos. I'm sorry, honey, I had no idea melted cheese and tortilla chips left those kinds of germs. If I did we definitely wouldn't have used..."

"Nachos?"

"Yeah, for our football games. We kept running out of bowls for the dip and you know how the cheese leaves that weird residue when you're done? Well, George didn't like reusing it so we searched around for other bowls to..."

"Phillip?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What do you think this is?" she said indicating the urn and plate.

"A huge nacho platter and cheese bowl."

The look she gave him was filled with relief and pity. She was his mate and would die for him but at times his lack of information on certain matters was a bit tiring.

"It's not a nacho platter and cheese bowl."

"It's not?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"A chamber-pot."

"What's a chamber-pot?"

"A miniature toilet."

"Oh."

He was thinking maybe it did have a purpose after all. Maybe it would come in handy during times in a game where getting up was just a little too inconvenient. He was about to say they should definitely purchase it when he noticed the look on his mated's face.

"We're not going to buy it, are we?"

"Not now we're not."

The rest of the afternoon went as Phillip expected, he was bored and she wasn't. She was infatuated with virtually everything she came across. The good thing, though, was they were about as wealthy as any two people could possibly get. They were in the family of LeTorque, the Elders of Third Clan and they were there to speak with another of their kind. Another who was, as they were, a breed apart.

"What do you think about this?" Trudy asked.

"What is it?" Phillip responded.

"It's a comb, Phillip, it's just a comb."

"Oh."

The day had droned on so long he could no longer discern difference between common-day items and those lost to the inventions of time. Everything Trudy produced appeared to be things they were not. A knife was, instead, a shoe-horn. A shoe-horn became an egg beater. He was about at his breaking point when an extraordinary event unfolded. They sensed her before she arrived, the shop door opened and she entered.

"Hello."

The woman who addressed them could be nothing but Vampire. She was refreshingly awe-inspiring with brown hair, black eyes and golden skin. It was not uncommon for Wolves to make advances on Vamps even if they were mated but the deed generally was done to promote themselves up the clan's hierarchal ladder. What Phillip saw was the exception to the rule. If Trudy were not his mate, not so beautiful herself, he could well imagine taking the woman as his own.

Trudy, for her part, knew the power beauty held. She could and had used it to her advantage. Men were the forces she controlled. They could be readily encouraged to do virtually anything she wished by merely hinting what she desired. Trudy was red of hair, green of eyes and pale of skin. She was in many men's view the ultimate in feminine seduction. She knew her power and wielded it wisely but the woman before her was setting a new example. She hadn't done anything, hadn't moved since speaking 'hello' but the reaction of Phillip was self-evident; the woman was Superior.

"Hello" Trudy replied.

"You are Trudy and Phillip LeTorque of Third Clan?" the woman asked in a way which suggested the answer was a foregone conclusion.

"Yes."

"Hello, I am Merri Li, welcome to First Clan."

Chapter 3

Smith and Wesson were back at the office informing their boss of what had transpired.

"Do we have a new client?" Robert Craft asked.

"Oh yeah" Smith replied.

Robert Craft was one-half of the business empire, the other was Sebastian Sons. Many believed Robert had heirs since the name of their venture led them to think so but he didn't, he couldn't, he was sterile. He had faced cancer and won the battle but lost the war. He would go on living, write his own destiny but when his life was over so was his genetic code. He was the last of his kind. He had no immediate relatives and could sire no prodigy. Many men would've succumbed to the fruitlessness of attempting to leave a legacy but not him. He doubled-down and decided to make his mark no matter the circumstances.

"Okay, what do we have?" asked Sebastian Sons.

"We have an open-ended line of credit to find a missing man" replied Wesson.

"Open-ended?" asked Craft.

"Yes, sir."

"What does that mean?"

"Unlimited funds, sir."

Both men's eyes widened at the mention of the words. During their rise to the top of the investigation services they had met and worked for some of the wealthiest families and corporations in the world and while many bragged they had infinite funds upon further review there was always a limit.

"Did you verify their claim?" Craft asked.

"Yes, sir" Smith replied.

"How?"

"Miss LeTorque, the one who hired us told her butler, a gentleman by the name of Nat to go with us down to the Federal Reserve in Dallas and open a line of credit with the full backing of the United States of America."

"What?" Sons asked in stunned disbelief.

"I know this hard to get your head around, sir, but it's exactly as Smith said. We went down with Nat, entered the Reserve and left with a check" Wesson said.

"A check?"

"Yes, sir."

"What check?"

"This check, sir" Smith replied holding a four by nine inch piece of paper in his hands.

"Let me see that" Craft said and Smith gave it over.

What Craft saw was an illusion, it had to be, for what it showed was a check made out to Craft and Sons signed by the man himself, the head of the Federal Reserve of Dallas, a Reserve which controlled the banks in the southern half of the United States, a country with an unlimited credit-line and the ability to print money from thin air and in the line where a monetary figure was to be placed there was nothing, only a blank space. It was, in effect, an IOU from the most prosperous nation on Earth, an IOU with a sum to be determined later, an IOU of infinity.

"Holy...!"

"Yes, sir, that's what we thought also."

Craft handed the check to Sons and sat in silence. He knew he should say something but was speechless for one of the few times in his life. He couldn't grasp the enormity of the situation because it exceeded his reach. 'Unlimited' kept running through his mind along with yachts and golfing. He loved both and could now go about doing them for the rest of his life assuming they could find their man.

"Wow!" was Sons' input.

"Yes, sir, once again, that's exactly what me and Smith said" replied Wesson.

The silence in the room lasted for minutes until it was finally broken by Smith.

"I'm assuming we're taking the case?"

"Heck, yeah!" both Craft and Sons exclaimed.

"Then I guess we'll get started. Oh, and sirs?"

"Yes" they responded together eying the paper of imaginary greed.

"We'll probably want a raise when this is over."

Smith didn't get an oral commitment, only tacit nods of approval from the men who could not take their focus away from nirvana on processed tree pulp.

Smith and Wesson went down the hallway to their office. Inside they found their young protégé, a college senior preparing to enter the workforce who was interning as a paralegal for the agency. His name was Joshua Stevens. He was smart, dedicated and desperate which made him the ultimate assistant.

"Joshua, what do you have for us?" Wesson asked as they entered the room.

Joshua looked up from the monitor on his desk, sat back in his seat and sighed.

"I've got nothing."

"Excuse me?" Smith asked.

"I'm sorry, boss, but I can't get access to anything or anyone related to this case."

The two detectives had phoned the young paralegal after their appointment with Miss LeTorque to gather any information on her, her family, her business and anything about the man they were looking for; Johnny Johnson.

"You couldn't get access?"

"No, sir. All our contacts say they were denied."

Smith and Wesson were shocked. Their 'contacts' were law enforcement, all law enforcement including local police and the various federal and state authorities. Craft and Sons had methodically and purposefully over the years worked hand in hand with any and every agency they could infiltrate. It was a win-win situation for all involved. The authority, whether cop, fed or treasury would access their secure databases for them whenever they asked and in return, when it was time for the authority to retire with full benefits they would also be moving on to a side job as detectives with six figure incomes at Craft and Sons. Everyone scratched each other's backs and all came out ahead. The best part was it was an ongoing process without the need for individual intervention. While on the force the cop would introduce others he worked with to the unique opportunities the detective agency offered. This gave Craft and Sons something even the government could not achieve; access to information on anyone in every legal database in existence. No one protected their turf because there was no turf to protect. If they had the information, good, if they didn't, no problem. Craft and Sons would move on to the next one who did. They were able to keep in the graces of those in power because they never, under any circumstances, impeded law enforcement for their own benefit. If they were on a case and discovered criminal activity by those who hired them they would withdraw. They wouldn't necessarily inform the authorities themselves because it was against their moral code to turn in clients for petty offenses but if the authorities asked first they would most definitely respond.

"Every contact?" Wesson asked in disbelief.

"Yes, sir."

"That's impossible."

"I thought so too, therefore I had our contacts repeat to me exactly what they saw on their screens when they tried to get the information."

"And what did they say?"

"Well, they said what I've got here in front of me" Joshua replied as he turned his monitor around so the detectives could view what was on its screen.

ACCESS DENIED

FOR SECURITY CLEARANCE CALL NAT

"You have got to be kidding me" Smith said while reaching for his phone.

"I tried to figure out what NAT is but came up with nothing. No one has ever seen that acronym before" Joshua said to Wesson.

"I believe that's because it isn't an acronym, Joshua."

"It's not?"

"No."

"What is it?"

The question was answered by Smith.

"Hello, may I speak to Nat?" Joshua heard as Smith spoke into his phone.

"Yes, Detective Smith, this is him. I'm assuming because of this phone call you are working on my Mistress' case?" he heard.

"Yes."

"Then please tell me what I can do for you."

Smith paused for a second because he felt things were going off in a strange direction. Unfortunately he had no idea which direction he wished to travel so he decided to go along for the ride.

"Can you get us access to information we are currently being denied?"

"Yes, if it is relevant to the case."

Smith couldn't believe his ears. The man was a servant after all. How could he gain access to information unobtainable to the highest levels in law enforcement? So he asked what he thought was impossible.

"Can you clear us to view this Mister Johnson's driving record?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"It is now available to your agency's computer. Namely the one in your office which is currently being used by a Mr. Joshua Stevens."

Smith turned to look where Joshua sat and as he did one thing became abundantly clear.

"Well, look at that! We're in" Joshua said.

He had been completely wrong in his earlier assessment of the black servant in tuxedo and gloves.

"Nat?"

"Yes, Detective Smith?"

"Just who exactly are you?"

The answer he received was not very informative.

"I am a servant of LeTorque, Detective. I work for their benefit and they, in turn, work for mine."

Smith was conditioned for cryptic answers because they were generally viewed as thought-provoking so were employed by the wealthy whenever they could slip the annoying statements in a conversation.

"Okay, stay mysterious if you want, no sweat off my brow. Now, I would also like any information you can give me on the LeTorque."

"You are not now allowed access to that information, Detective."

Smith heard the words but couldn't process them.

"Excuse me? We're looking for a member of their family. The more we know about them the better chance of figuring out where this gentleman went."

What came next set the tone for their future.

"I am sorry, Detective, but as of right now your task is to find the whereabouts of Mister Johnson not the family of LeTorque. You will have access to any and all information on Jonathon and if in the process you come along information pertinent to the LeTorque I may or may not allow it. I am sorry if this hinders your effectiveness but it is the only way forward at this particular junction."

Smith was apoplectic.

"Now hold on one second! You hired me to find this guy and when I say I need information..."

"Good bye, Detective."

"What? Don't you dare...!"

Smith looked at his cellphone as though it had personally insulted him.

"He hung up on me! That man actually hung up on me!"

"That man also gave us a blank check" intoned Wesson.

Wesson was right and Smith grudgingly admitted it. He could get angry and feign indignation but in the end the one writing the check paid the bills. There was no way the detective agency of Craft and Sons was not going to play by the rules set forth by those who commanded infinite resources. So he dusted off his bruised pride of insult through disconnection, peered closely at the monitor and took in the information on the screen.

"He's not much to look at is he?" Smith said.

"Nope, kind of bland" Wesson answered.

"Says he's five-eight, one-hundred-sixty pounds with brown hair and brown eyes. Huh? Look at that" Joshua said.

"What?"

"There's no date of birth. Hey, is it even possible to get a driver's license without a date of birth?"

"I don't actually know? I assumed so but apparently I was wrong" said Smith.

"Pull up his birth certificate, it'll be in his social security file" Wesson said.

Joshua logged in to the Social Security database, entered Jonathan Johnson, his driver's license number and waited for a mili-second as the information was obtained.

"Is that...?"

"This has to be a joke."

What appeared was a mocking reminder the information age still had a few quirks to iron out.

BIRTH CERTIFICATE

JONATHAN JOHNSON

YES, I WAS BORN

Chapter 4

Phillip stood still as the three prepared themselves for the onslaught. He felt his pulse quicken, sensed the adrenalin coursing through his body and shivered slightly in the thrill of the moment. The three he faced were going through similar sensations for it was why they existed, the reason they were bred; born to kill.

"Mistress Merri Li?"

"Please, Mistress Trudy, call me Merri Li."

The formalities of the situation demanded certain decorum and Trudy knew where she stood; in the presence of the most powerful Vampire ever bred, the mate of the strongest Werewolf ever sired, the Matriarch of First Clan.

"And please call me Trudy."

The two were seated in the stands overlooking the local playing field where the population would normally watch either European football or cricket during normal times. But these weren't those times, these were the times of change, the times of decision and Trudy's mission was to cement the bond between allies in preparation for what was coming.

"Thank you, Trudy, I deplore formality and find it much more productive to conduct business on equal terms if at all possible."

Trudy nodded her head in agreement while at the same time watching the proceedings developing on the field below. Her beloved, Phillip, was testing himself against three Beta Wolves of First Clan. The action was mesmerizing and it was always surprising how she could forget the grace and beauty of her other half. Wolves were designed for one specific purpose which was to dominate. They were incapable of complete subornation and were taught the ways of combat from the second they took their first breath. Martial Arts, boxing, wrestling and every other form of physical confrontation were instilled in them every day and practiced with fanatical observance. They could do no else for their very existence depended on their ability to ward off challenges to them, their mates, their families and their clans.

"Johnny wishes me to pass along his greetings. He says he wished he could be here but felt the circumstances would not allow for it."

"Johnny?" Merri Li asked quizzically.

"I'm sorry. Yang wishes it. He goes by the name Johnny in the new world."

"I miss my brother, how is he?"

"The same, I assume. Has he always been so mistrustful of authority?"

Merri Li thought long before answering.

"Yes, it's probably something he was born with. I've always believed it stemmed from his time in my mother's womb. I think becoming a supplicant to appease a murdering twin probably has something to do with it."

Trudy felt the same although she would've added a second reason to the mix. She believed Johnny distrusted authority because he hated anything which felt it had power over him. Johnny "Yang" Johnson was an enigma; the weakest Wolf who held the greatest power.

"Do you believe his plan will work?" Trudy asked.

Merri Li sat back and pondered the question while Trudy again watched the game playing out on the field below. Phillip, she could tell, was toying with the three lesser Wolves. The combat was for fun, beheading disallowed and since Wolves, like Vampires, were of Superior stock any damage done would heal before they left the turf. The three Betas, unmated Wolves, were employing a technique Phillip had instructed her they would try; various forms of wrestling and grappling holds. Their reasoning was simple. Phillip was one while they were three. If any one of them could maintain a hold on him the game would be over for even though Phillip was an Alpha he was still no match for three Wolves at once if it merely came down to brute strength.

"I believe his plan is the only viable option and I think it has a good chance of success so long as his true identity is never revealed."

"Why? Surely some will guess it's him?"

"Because of Yin's verdict. Yang is to be killed for the Great Catastrophe."

"Yin cannot reverse his ruling?" Trudy asked.

"He could but if he allowed an exception to the rule chaos would run wild."

The sacred rule Merri Li was talking about was the absolute forbiddance of Wolf taking Vampire life.

"So we keep with the plan?" Trudy inquired.

"Yes, and until we are through I believe it would be wise to keep up appearances by using my brother's new-world name."

Merri Li was becoming intrigued for two reasons. First, her brother 'Johnny' had blood-bonded with the Vampire sitting next to her, had bonded with all the family of LeTorque in fact. This gave them what only three held before; the ability to detect other Superiors in Yang's presence. Merri Li was mated to Yin which made her Matriarch of First Clan. She was technically Matriarch of Second Clan also but allowed Yin to rule in her place for she could never forgive him his ruling on the Great Catastrophe. Her problem was one of blood. She had been sired by the same great Wolf as Yang. She knew Yin had no choice and further knew he allowed Yang to walk away. She held to the pretense she was angry but knew he'd spared his brother's life. She allowed others to believe there was bad blood for it furthered their gains. They were the Superiors, the four offspring of Lucifer and they held in their hands the power of Heaven but they wielded it warily. The second reason Merri Li was becoming intrigued was transpiring below her. The Wolf mated to the Vampire sitting next to her was an amazing one for he was besting three of her Wolves with ease. Oh, they were Betas, unmated Wolves, but what she'd neglected to inform the ambassadors from Third was while they were unattached it wasn't because they were of inferior stock. The Wolves she had chosen as sparring partners for Phillip were star pupils. They were already slated for matehood and would soon be forming families of their own. What Phillip was displaying few possessed for true Alphas were a rarity.

"Trudy?"

"Yes, Merri Li?"

"It would be wise to keep your Wolf away from Yin."

Trudy looked down to the field where Phillip stood over the three Wolves of First who were on the ground in various stages of defeat.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because your Wolf offers Yin what he desires."

"What's that?"

"A challenge."

Chapter 5

Smith and Wesson were doing what they could with the information they'd obtained and were driving to the only place Johnny Johnson was known to have resided before he lived at the LeTorque Manor. The going was slow for they were on the streets of Dallas.

"Is this guy for real?" Smith asked.

"He does seem to breaking some kind of law" Wesson replied.

The man in front of them was driving a pickup. It was thirty years past its prime and was being employed as a dump-truck. It had on its bed a stack of forty pallets, one on top of the other which were tied down with twine.

"How does that not fall over?"

"It does seem to defy gravity."

The man was making a run for it, going for the quick buck. The dump charged per usage so one load was more profitable than two. The only problem was local traffic violations. People wanted two outcomes which were at odds with the other; trash removal done cheaply and safely. Neither was possible if the other was enforced. The man in front of them had opted for the cheaper version and safety was tossed for profit.

"I think you should get in front of him" Wesson advised.

"I think you're right."

Smith was the driver not because he was better than Wesson but because Wesson was such a better passenger. Every time Wesson drove Smith screamed obscenities and stared at his feet in fear. He couldn't control his fear of not being in control. He was even worse on airplanes. If it weren't for the fact he worked for one of the top detective firms in the nation he could very well have landed on the governments 'Do Not Fly' list. The only way he was able to do so was through the use of medication.

The tricky part about navigating some of Dallas' streets was their narrowness. They were on a back-road because they wished to avoid the freeway system. Dallas was nothing if not a freeway breeding ground. They ran through, around, past and even under parts of the city. They were wide, paved and incredibly congested. The strange truth about back-roads was it took the same amount of time to travel from point A to B on them as it did the freeways. The difference was one of movement. The freeways moved but at a snail's pace. The back-roads moved and then stopped. Lights were everywhere and timed in just such a way to make them impossible to beat.

"Can you see around him?"

"Nope."

Smith took a chance and veered his sedan a little to the left to see if oncoming traffic would be a problem.

"Yaaagh!"

It was. The semi which missed them did so only by an inch. When his heart finally slowed enough Smith again chanced a peek.

"It's clear! Go, go, go!" Wesson screamed.

Smith jumped on the accelerator and the eight cylinder engine responded. They were directly alongside the illegal waste management vehicle when another aspect of back-roads life lifted its head; squirrels. Squirrels were everywhere. They resided in virtually every tree the city could produce. They gathered nuts, played with their furry friends and seemed to have an unquenchable desire to play chicken with any car they came across.

"Look out!"

The little sucker had to see them, Smith thought, for they were barreling down a road alongside a rickety old pickup truck stacked to the sky with wooden pallets. How could it possibly have missed them? Was it the most near-sighted critter in the entire universe? Another weird thing was the obvious disregard for what he knew squirrels did; they scampered up trees at the sight of anything. There were trees everywhere but the little rodent didn't do what Smith knew he was designed for. Instead of running up a tree located on the safe side of the road the little miscreant darted in front of him which caused him to veer further left to avoid squishing the suicidal overgrown rat which caused his left-side tires to run off the pavement and onto the dirt shoulder of the road.

"Yaaagh!"

They fishtailed for a second, Smith regained control, stomped again on the accelerator and sped ahead. He didn't need to. As he was fleeing the scene he glanced in his rearview mirror and viewed with morbid fascination the pickup truck screeching to a halt sending wooden pallets flying through the air causing a back-road to be shut down due to waste-less greed and squirrel insanity.

"My God that was close!" Wesson screamed.

Smith could only nod his head because his heart was pumping too fast for his vocal chords to answer. The rest of the ride was without incident and they arrived at the apartment complex. They'd only come across the address because Johnny Johnson had, for some reason, slipped up. It was obvious to the two detectives Mr. Johnson had no wish to be found and had gone out of his way to hide his presence. He had a driver's license but the address listed was in Austin. They would definitely check the place if they came up empty but other than the one mention there was nothing else. It was as if the guy didn't really exist. They'd entered his license and received a social security number but when they entered it into the system nothing came up. The only thing which led them to the apartment complex they were visiting was a sticker. The complex had, as most did, a problem with parking for they had too many residents with vehicles than the allotted spaces available. Johnny needed a sticker which was issued to his vehicle using his license plate as the corroborating number. When they ran his motor-vehicle history the address popped up. It wasn't listed as his home only as a possible location for his car. Unfortunately, it was all they had to go on. Miss Vivian LeTorque had proven utterly worthless in her help. It was as though she really didn't want the man to be found. In fact, the only person who seemed interested in his whereabouts was the strangely well-connected butler, Nat.

"This is probably going to be a wild goose chase" Smith muttered.

"Probably" Wesson agreed.

The odds of the address being Mr. Johnson's were rather small. The more obvious reason for the address coming up under his driving record was he'd sold the car and no one managed to change the title over. The vehicle was pushing twenty-five years and was probably in a junkyard somewhere after the purchaser bought it, parked it and sold it for scrap.

"Hello, welcome to the Shoreline."

The greeter was good-looking. She was the face of the franchise and both Smith and Wesson were sold on its possibilities.

"Hello, I'm Agent Smith and this is Agent Wesson. We're with Sunshine Insurance and we'd like a little help if you wouldn't mind."

Her smile faded as the prospect of new tenants dimmed.

"What kind of help?" she asked warily.

The question was expected. Over the years both detectives had observed the power of protective authority. They saw a trait in people who were otherwise strangers to be secretive with information which they felt was privileged. In the case of apartment managers they became very reluctant to provide even the smallest details on their tenants. Some even declared it a violation of the Constitution to divulge their rental information. The way around the problem was simple.

"Look, we're not here to bust anyone. In fact, we're here to verify a claim and help our client out."

Good fortune was the solution.

"Verify a claim?"

"Yes."

"What claim?"

It didn't matter the manner in which it arrived only the benefits it brought along.

"Well, it's a little tricky for me to say because we're in the process of going to court. You see, we believe our client is being blackmailed. Another party has stated they were hit by our client and received grave bodily harm. We believe they are lying. We believe our client was nowhere near where they say the accident took place and it would further our case in court if we could verify the vehicle in question was registered to this address."

"A hit and run?"

"Yes, the claim is a hit and run but we believe it's a false claim."

"And you need verification the vehicle was here?"

Simplicity was always preferred to complexity. Ask for the insignificant to obtain the prize.

"No, we merely need verification it was issued a parking sticker here. You see, the event is reported to have occurred in Detroit. Now, I'm not saying everyone from Detroit is a little... uh..."

"Untrustworthy?" she interjected.

"Yes, untrustworthy. We believe the person bringing the suit is making it up and if we could verify our client's vehicle was indeed issued a parking sticker to this location it would go a long way in furthering our efforts to prove his innocence" Smith replied.

Wesson, for his part, was walking around getting a feel for the place. The office was quite nice with fresh flowers, clean carpets and colorful paintings on the wall. He generally let Smith do the talking with the prettier half due to one reason; Smith was attractive and he wasn't. Smith was over six feet and could've played the role of Superman. He had black hair, a chiseled chin and an air about him which caused women to fawn. Wesson didn't. Wesson had the look of a portly Irishman with thinning hair, ill-tailored suit and grumpy personality. He didn't mind, though, for his appearance helped when it came to men. Men distrusted Smith immediately because he was too tall and good-looking. They trusted Wesson for the opposite reason since he was absolutely no threat to them. As Smith was preparing the office manager Wesson saw to his delight the object of their visit; the computer.

"What's his name?" he heard her ask Smith.

"Jonathan Johnson, but he goes by Johnny."

Wesson watched as she entered his name.

"Um, okay, we've got a lot of Johnsons in here. Let's see... oh, here's one, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, he's listed as a visitor."

"A visitor?"

"Yes, sometimes our tenants have out of town visitors stay with them for a while. When it happens we recommend they pay for a visitor's parking sticker so they can use the above ground garage. It really is difficult to find a spot on the street. Anyway, it seems your client was only a visitor to this complex."

"May we have a copy of that report?" Smith asked and Wesson readied himself for his part.

"Well, I'm not sure I'm allowed..."

"Ma'am?" Wesson interjected.

"Yes?"

Good fortune can come along at any minute and change perspective. Apartment managers all had one thing in common which was they were undercompensated for the work performed. It was a common practice employed by landlords because the only qualifications for the job were a pretty face and the ability to deal with unruly tenants. Good-looking women were the answer. Few people insulted them for who knew what beast they might be dating? Furthermore, everyone wanted to be in the good graces of those with genetic looks for they were the ones who had all the fun. Thus, landlords hired pretty women to run their franchises but did not pay according to value. There were enough beauties to go around so the price of employment was low. It took fifty dollars to get the printout they required.

"Which apartment?"

"Three-zero-five."

They made their way through the complex until they found the right place.

"Why is it always the third floor?" Wesson asked.

"It's not. You only remember the third-floor ones because you're fit as a pot-bellied pig."

Wesson didn't really care for Smith's assessment of his physical form but kept it under his breath as he huffed and puffed his way up the flights to the landing thirty feet above. They knocked on the door and were not surprised when no one answered.

"How long ago did he live here?" Smith asked.

"The sticker was issued three years ago" Wesson answered.

The computer was the godsend for detectives because it stored information for an eternity if not purged. Apartments were no different than other businesses. They relied on customers and therefore kept track of who was purchasing their services. There was no reason to destroy records of previous tenants because the problem of storage had been solved.

"Who was the actual tenant?"

"A Jason Johnson."

"You think maybe they made a mistake with the sticker?"

"Why would he buy a visitor's sticker?"

They looked around in an attempt to see if there was another way inside but quickly determined there was not. They were prepared to come back later and see if Jason Johnson might be a relative or a friend who knew Johnny and were about to leave when a neighbor's door opened and a little lady emerged.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" she inquired.

She looked about fifty with thick glasses and a dress best worn in private. It was essentially a curtain with holes cut for limbs.

"Yes, Ma'am. We're with Mutual Magazine and we're attempting to locate a Mister Johnson" Smith said.

"Mutual Magazine?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"What's a Mutual Magazine?"

He held her interest so probed further.

"Oh. I'm surprised you haven't heard of us. Hmm, I guess we are pretty new down here in these parts. Well, anyway, we're a consortium of online magazine companies and we're here to present Mr. Johnson a check for fifty-thousand dollars as our first ever winner in the Mutual Magazine Monopoly Money Mega-sweepstakes."

Her eyes widened even further behind her soda-pop glasses and Wesson swore he could see her retinas enlarge.

"A sweepstakes?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"And he won?"

"Yes again, Ma'am."

"Which one?"

The question was awkward and Smith wasn't sure if he was dealing with a person lacking short-term memory or not. He was about to go, once again, into his pre-planned spiel of instantly acquired unearned wealth when she clarified her statement.

"I mean which Mister Johnson?"

"Oh, we actually only have the gentleman's first initial. It was sort of an oversight on our part but, well, hind-sight's perfect clarity so we were hoping the problem wouldn't come up. Are you saying there are two Mister Johnsons living here?" Smith asked.

Wesson was hoping for an affirmative answer. Sometimes cases solved themselves so easily he was embarrassed to take the client's money. He took it, of course, he was just a little red in the face while doing it.

"No" she answered.

"Oh, so there is only one?"

"No" she replied again.

Once again Smith was worried he might be dealing with a person lacking a full deck.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand" he replied.

"There's no Mister Johnson living here anymore. There were two for a time, well, one for most of the time but they overlapped a bit and the second left about a year after the first."

"Huh?"

Even Wesson was becoming concerned over the little lady's mental acuity.

"The first Mister Johnson went to prison and the second one is probably on his way."

His face must have registered confusion for she went further.

"The first Mister Johnson did something and the police came for him. The second Mister Johnson took over the place shortly after. I think there might be something wrong with the apartment because soon after the second one moved in he left. I was here when the manager came by to check because his rent was past due and do you know what they found in his place?"

"What?" Smith asked.

"A dead body. They found a dead body in the bedroom closet."

Wesson became fully concerned. Vivian LeTorque told them specifically Johnny Johnson was not wanted by the authorities. Now the neighbor, the cute little bespectacled witness was indicating he was most definitely wanted by the authorities. Maybe they didn't suspect him of murder but they'd surely want to get his statement about a body found in his closet.

"And you think Mister Johnson had something to do with it?" Smith asked.

"Well, now, I'm not one for spreading rumors..." she started to Wesson's delight for he knew the first rule of gossips was to deny gossiping.

"... but what I heard was the man's arms and legs were taped and someone broke his neck."

Smith was outwardly relieved but inwardly anxious. What if this Mister Johnson was guilty of something? What about the unlimited funds? What if the nice raise he'd already subconsciously given himself was instead an illusion brought on by a moral clause the company held about withdrawing if the client was doing something illegal?

"Okay, um, do you know which Mister Johnson was here when this happened?"

"Obviously not the one in prison."

Smith grimaced inwardly but kept a calm face as he proceeded.

"Yes, obviously not the one in prison. Do you happen to know the first name of the Mister Johnson who was living here when all this occurred?"

"I think it started with a J" she replied and Wesson saw Smith's tolerance reach its limit.

"Mrs...?" he interrupted.

"Newton, my name is Miss Newton" she answered with a smile.

"Miss Newton, my name is Wesson and I'd like to try something if you don't mind."

Smith could see it but he couldn't believe it. The woman was actually smitten with his partner. In all the years he'd known Wesson he'd never come across a woman who could overlook his shortcomings. Smith could, he was his best friend, after all, and he secretly rooted for the day Wesson would find a life-partner. Now, he didn't particularly want it to be a partially blind woman in hideous attire who swept him off his feet but if it was okay with Wesson it was okay with him.

"I'm going to say a few names and if one pops up I want you to say so, okay?"

"Okay" she replied smiling wide and revealing a partial set of teeth the delightful color of mustard.

Smith was fascinated his partner could so easily avoid staring at the nicotine-stained dental stubs in the woman's mouth.

"Okay, let's begin. Was it Jerry? Was it Joseph? Was it...?"

Smith listened as his partner rattled off every name he could think of which began with a 'J' but was not one of the two they were looking for.

"Was it Jacob? Was it Jamal? Was it...?"

She responded negatively to them all and when Wesson began using Spanish names Smith jumped in.

"Was it Johnny?"

"Yes!" she responded like the winner on a game show.

"His name was Johnny?"

"Yes. I always thought it odd for a person to have the same two names and that's why I couldn't forget. He had the same two names."

Smith decided to ignore the point of her not remembering the man's name until it was spoken because he had proof the man they were looking for was going to be a lot easier to locate. If indeed, Johnny Johnson was occupying a residence where a body was found the police would definitely have some information about him. It may not be information he wanted to hear but it would certainly be information he could use.

"Well, I guess there's nothing we can do about it. Too bad. Oh well, win some, lose some I always say. Thank you very much for your help Miss Newton..." Smith began by way of extrication but paused when he realized the little lady hadn't heard a word he said. She was staring with unadorned adulation at Wesson who was, for his part, soaking up the love-struck gaze like a teenage swimsuit queen in a tanning booth.

"Wesson?"

"Yes, Smith?"

"Time to go."

Chapter 6

They arrived home to begin the planning. Vivian met them at the door and they went inside the modern-day plantation.

"Did you have a good time?" Vivian asked Trudy.

"Oh, it was wonderful!" Trudy answered.

"What was it like?"

"It was the most beautiful little village you have ever seen! It had this quaint little town-center where they had..."

George, Vivian's mate, approached Phillip who had left the lovely Vampires in the living room and entered the kitchen.

"How was it?"

"Boring."

"Hmm... what about the restaurants?"

"There weren't any! All they had was this little shop where you could buy pastries and stuff! I'm telling you, if we're ever forced to live in a small village the first thing we're doing is investing in a fast-food franchise."

"That bad, huh?"

"Horrible, horrible place."

The kitchen in LeTorque Manor was the dream of dining enthusiasts come to life. Every modern appliance was in attendance and the cupboards were filled to the brim. A giant refrigerator stood testament to the idea with enough storage space one could challenge Noah in the animal-stocking trade and Phillip was in the process of making more room for further inhabitants.

"What are you fixing?"

"A duck."

"Ooh, that sounds good, do we have another?"

Werewolves and Vampires demanded a lot of food. They needed the calories for their Superior metabolisms. Molecular perfection came at a price and inferior species incurred the costs. As George hunted for another feather-plucked parcel of avian delicacy Phillip filled him in on their dealings with First Clan.

"Okay, before you ask, what you heard was true."

"She's pretty?"

"She's beyond pretty. She's blindingly beautiful. It's a good thing I've got Trudy and you've got Vivian because if not we'd be battling Wolves in a small town without proper dining facilities."

"Come on! She can't be that good looking."

"Take my word for it, George, if Yin were a little bit weaker there'd be no reason for us to be trying what we're trying because there wouldn't be enough Wolves to do anything with. They'd all be dead fighting over that Vamp."

George had heard of Merri Li's beauty, all Wolves had, but he'd relegated it as inflated talk designed to impress. Phillip was telling him it was true. He knew Phillip to be virtually incapable of deceit, despite their current undertaking, so he thought maybe he should change his views a bit. There was nothing to be gained if upon seeing the woman he was ill-prepared and ogle-prone. Besides, he had Vivian and she had a temper. He sensed her presence along with Trudy's before they entered.

"What are you two talking about?" Vivian asked.

"Small town culinary needs" George responded.

The girls glided over the floor without making a sound. Vampires were natural-born shadow warriors. They could alter their pigment to blend into the background and relied on stealth as their weapon of choice.

"You weren't talking about Merri Li?" the platinum perfect Vampire inquired.

"Who?" was his reply.

George was at times a little suspect when it came to feigned ignorance. It wasn't his acting ability which let him down so much as his intelligence. He was much too smart for his own good. Everyone knew who Merri Li was because she was fable turned true. The same with Yin and Yang although there was some doubt about Yang for he'd been missing so long.

"Come on, dearest, we know you were talking about her."

"How'd you know?"

"You just told us."

George was not one for verbal games. Vivian was, though, so he played them all the time.

"What did you say about her, Phillip?" Trudy asked with a knowing smile.

"The truth. She's pretty but over-rated."

Wolves and Vamps were masterful liars when it came to their bodies responses. They learned to manipulate internal functions as they developed and were impossible to catch in a lie using biometrics as a measuring device. It came in handy at times. Such as those when the leading ladies of horror quizzed the main men of terror on the beauty and perfection of a legendary Mistress.

Trudy and Vivian let it go because neither cared to hear the truth. They knew they were beautiful, all Vampires were inherently attractive because the Heavens designed them so. Wolves were powerful and vicious so beauty was used to control the beasts.

"All right, let's sit down and talk about what you two learned" Vivian said and the three nodded their agreement.

The dining table was their place of choice for conversation because it was near the food and both Phillip and George could keep a watch on what they were constantly preparing. The girls were much better cooks but the boys were better eaters. Phillip had taken his duck and tossed it in the oven without any preparation. George had been unable to find a fellow lake-paddler so he'd settled on a turkey. He too tossed the bird in without thought or even bothering to remove the gizzards.

It wasn't for food safety they cooked the delights, it was for the flavor. Superiors did not fear food-poisoning or any poisoning for that matter because their advanced immune systems quickly thwarted any unwanted bacteria, virus or dangerous chemicals in their systems.

"So the plan is the same?" George asked as he sucked marrow from the turkey's leg bone.

"Yep" replied Phillip as he stuffed half the duck in his maw, bones and all.

"What plan?" came a voice from the entranceway.

"Nat!" Vivian yelled as she jumped into the space Aliens arms.

He caught her in his outstretched appendages and returned her hug with a smile.

"Ahh, such a better reception than last time" he remarked.

"What last time?" Phillip asked.

The green Alien with big, bulbous black eyes glanced over, smiled and replied.

"The last time I saw her I was impersonating a man-servant. By the way, why the insistence on my skin tone? Were you attempting to portray yourself in a negative light?" he asked Vivian.

"Yes" she replied.

"Why?"

"For two reasons" George replied "the first was to keep our family's secrets secure. If the detectives begin poking around they'll undoubtedly run into the roadblocks you've set up. They'll begin to wonder why such extraordinary measures were taken to protect our identities. The suggestion we have wealth and secrets is readily explainable if we appear to have a somewhat checkered southern past."

"What's the second reason?"

"We needed a way for you to be involved. Look, we know Johnny's absence has left you in a bit of a sticky situation from your point of view. We felt the old southern tradition of wealthy plantation owners would give credence to one of their servants acting as a go-between. If it was up to us we wouldn't even be looking for Johnny."

The Alien named Nat was actually a molecular hologram from Heaven. His appearance could be anything to anyone for the projection was an illusion. He was a Monitor, tasked with keeping the Superiors on the right track and prepare for their showdown with the Hoard.

"He needs to be found, George."

The Heavens were technologically advanced beyond the wildest dreams of Earthlings but they were not omnipotent. They could detect difference between species and were relatively successful keeping track of Superiors on the planet but Humans were another matter. There were too many of them. They could detect group difference but individuals were another matter entirely due to the unique nature of molecular change. Species held to a general pattern, a blueprint as it were, but an individual's molecular make-up could and did change with every passing meal. Johnny's blueprint read Human. It also read lion, tiger, bear and single celled amoeba. His blood, the remarkable trait he possessed gave off differing readings because each of the cells in his serum acted as a unique entity to itself. While not a great problem for the Heavens since neither he nor his predecessor, Yang, if they were in fact two separate individuals, held the power of the Wolf but he was still perplexing for the Alien.

"He will be found, Nat, although I must point out you appear to be directly interfering in Superior business" replied George.

The Heavens had agreed the Superiors should evolve without interference because previous lessons had proven Mother Nature was a prickly element. She would do as she wished and seemed to actively thwart the Heavens whenever they tried to manipulate her products.

"Yes, I know, it is why I agreed to allow a third party to locate Johnny. I appreciate you allowing me access. Although, I might add, if I wish access I will get access but I appreciate it nonetheless."

The tricky part for the Heavens when dealing with Superiors was their own fault. They designed them to be the ultimate fighting species and never instilled them with fear. Without fear the only option the Heavens possessed was reward. A decision had been made whereby the Heavens would respect the rights of Superior culture and navigate warily in their business. The Superiors themselves received Heaven's help when asked and Heaven's blessings when it came to dominance over all on the planet.

"Okay, we understand, Nat, and we're trying to help but I'm not sure Johnny can be found if he doesn't want to be found."

"Why did he leave in the first place? And why did he take the child with him? I understand taking Melissa but why Daemon?" Nat inquired.

Melissa was many things. The daughter of Lucifer and Joan De Arc. The twin of Merri Li. The half-sister of Yin and Yang. The killer of the Isabella's twin, Stephanie. The killer of Stephanie's mate, Peter North, and the acting step-sire of the child in question; her half-brother, Daemon, the last prodigy and sole child of Lucifer and Stephanie. Johnny had chosen her as his mated which might sound icky except the idea of mated was not defined solely as reproductive entities. The mated were a necessity in Superior culture for the Matriarchy depended on the Vampire mated to the strongest Wolf leading family. The strongest family led their tribes and, until recent events intervened, the three Matriarchs of the tribes led their respective clans. Johnny was the weakest Wolf in all Third Clan but he was in the family where the two strongest Wolves resided. They, both George and Phillip, had seeded power to Johnny who was then the Alpha of LeTorque. Since Melissa was his mate she became the Matriarch. Since the LeTorque had managed to lead their family in just such a way their spheres of influence were so powerful they could lay claim to complete clan supremacy Melissa was, in fact, Matriarch of all Third Clan.

"Johnny felt responsible for Stephanie's death" Trudy responded.

"And he felt so because...?" Nat asked.

"Because he chose Melissa over her. I really don't know what Stephanie was thinking when she got into that vehicle. She knew the rules but she did it anyway...."

"Because...?"

"Three mated pair make a family, Nat. Once Stephanie entered that limousine she signed her death warrant, you know that" George interjected.

"Yes, I know, but I still don't understand what transpired."

"We told you. Stephanie entered with Daemon and Daemon exited with Melissa."

"Yes, but what happened to Stephanie?"

"She never left the limo" George replied.

Nat knew he wouldn't get anywhere with the LeTorque. They, like all Superiors, didn't particularly enjoy the idea of chemical monitoring. He'd tried to explain it was for their own benefit, that the Heavens had no nefarious motives only the need to make sure they didn't go off and do something rash like killing themselves but the Wolves and Vamps still balked at thought of constant surveillance.

Another problem Nat had was similarly related. He could not monitor Johnny chemically and since he had blood-bonded with the LeTorque when he was in their presence he could not detect them either. It was why he had become virtually sole Monitor to the family. Monitoring was a time-consuming process and was generally left to technology but with Johnny and the LeTorque it took a hand's-on approach.

"Okay, I respect your family's desire for secrecy but I still have a job to do and therefore need to know the whereabouts of Johnny and the other two."

"Which is why we hired the best detective agency available" responded George.

Nat couldn't argue because it was true. He'd done the research and found the agency of Craft and Sons was indeed the best around. It appeared the LeTorque were playing the game the right way. They had no interest in finding their wandering family-mates but the Heavens did. Since the Heavens were barred from interfering in Superior business and had no way of knowing if the three were on Superior business a compromise had been struck whereby the only other player on the planet, Humans, would enter the fray.

"You seem to be playing a dangerous game, George" Nat said.

"Yeah, fun isn't it?"

The truth was, in a strange way considering his job description, Nat didn't really care where Johnny and the other two were. Johnny had been responsible in some way or another with finally pushing the game along where the conclusion could be sighted. The Wolves and Vamps had been seeded on the planet for one specific purpose; to evolve into the answer for the Hellion Hoard. The clan system had perplexed the Heavens because it had grown into something they didn't understand involving of a constantly moving family hierarchy where employment status along with cunning and brutal strength dictated leadership. For ages the three clans had been governed by the three top families in the three tribes of economic priority; Food, Shelter and Security. It was true both First and Second Clan were technically still under the Matriarch of Merri Li and thus, by proxy, controlled by Yin but the fact was they ruled in absentia. Neither wielded their power for they had no one to wield it against. Yin could not attack First because to do so would be to attack his own blood, Merri Li, which he was incapable of doing. The same was true of Merri Li. Third Clan had been ruled through the tribal triumvirate but was in truth led secretly if not outright by Lucifer and Isabella Satan, also of Yin and Merri Li's bloodline, the start of their bloodline in fact. With the death of Lucifer and Isabella, neither at the hands of their offspring and with the emergence of Johnny as Alpha of Third Clan a new dynamic came into play. If Johnny would ally with either First or Second the culmination of Heaven's efforts might finally come to fruition. The clan left out, the one not allied would either be eliminated or see the light. Either way only one clan would emerge. It was that event which held Heaven's hand. The Superiors were bred to kill and they were also bred to dominate. The Heavens needed something which would allow compatibility between the two contrasting emotions and Johnny Johnson gave them the answer.

Johnny, or Yang, was the weakest Wolf but also the game-changer. The other Wolves and Vamps knew he was no match for them so they didn't worry about dominating him for he was already dominated. Superiors didn't care who led the group as a whole, they cared about dominating all others. The flaw was in their design. Without the ability to accept authority and without the emotion of fear the Superiors were the most dominant life-form ever conceived but they were only so individually. As a group they would constantly war with each other which would allow another species, one similar if not Superior to eventually win. Johnny changed everything. Superiors would accept his authority because it had nothing to do with dominance for he was the farthest thing from it. Furthermore he would be giving them the one thing they were bred to do; the ability to challenge the Hoard. Nat's time, all his hard work would finally see the light of day and after all the millennia he could witness victory over his arch enemy and darker half, Hellion.

"Okay, what exactly is your plan?" Nat asked.

"You haven't guessed?" Vivian responded.

"I'm assuming you're attempting to ally with First against Second since you two took that little trip to see Merri Li."

"Correct."

"How will you overcome the problem of Johnny?"

"What problem?" Vivian asked.

"Oh, come on! Either he is or he isn't Yang. Either way it doesn't matter because the point is moot. The Wolves and Vamps ruled earlier a Cloak was not to rule."

"No they didn't. They said Yin could not rule with Yang at his side, they said nothing of Johnny ruling supreme."

Chapter 7

They arrived at the police department for they needed information and no longer trusted their phones. Technology had been a blessing for many things but trust in authority was not one of them. Not only did the civilian population no longer believe the authorities were not listening and spying on their every activity but the authorities no longer trusted the government didn't do the same to them.

The substation they were visiting was located in a strip-mall which consisted of a pizza-delivery shop, a dollar-store containing nothing under two dollars, a nail salon and four abandoned places-of-business advertising they were for rent to a public which had absolutely no way to pay for them.

They entered and found exactly what they were looking for.

"Smith! Wesson! How are you two doing?"

Officer Bob Roberts, Bubba to his friends, was a twenty-year veteran of the Dallas Police Department. He'd passed up many more lucrative positions in other departments because he was from the old-school line of thought and was there to protect and serve not take and abuse. He was honest, trustworthy and sympathetic to the plight of others. He was, sadly, a rarity.

"How you doing, Bubba?" Smith asked.

"Can't complain..." he began and Wesson smiled in anticipation.

"... but I've got to say this growing old stuff is for the birds. Why, just this morning I woke up and do you know what happened?"

"What?" Smith said.

"I'd sprained my foot! Can you believe that? I hurt myself in my sleep! How can you sprain your foot in your sleep?"

Both Smith and Wesson smiled in polite sympathy but inwardly they knew better. Bubba was a hulk of a man. He weighed well over two-fifty and ate like a seventeen-year-old. It didn't help he was stationed in a location where a pizza place also stood and thus had access to food he definitely did not need which could be topped with ingredients off-limits to people of Bubba's persuasion. Bubba had gout. Everyone knew it but no one said anything because Bubba also had denial. He refused to consider his own body was rebelling and every so often after eating his meat-pie would wake up to find one of his ankles swollen grapefruit size due to the uric acid accumulation his body was unable to rid.

"You know what? I gave myself a bloody nose once" Wesson replied.

"Really?"

"Yep, I was in college and we were living in this dorm which had bunk beds. I'd never slept on top before and thought I'd try it. So I hop up, go to sleep and the next thing I know 'Bam!' I'm on the floor face down where I landed after I rolled over and found no more bed. Seriously, I rolled into the air. Don't you think subconsciously I would've felt for a little more bed before rolling over?"

"You know what? One time I was in this hotel room..."

Smith decided he could be absent while the two middle-aged males regaled each other with bedtime stories and made his way to the back room where he found what he was looking for; the sub-station's computer.

They'd decided on the sub-station for two reasons. It had a direct connection to the main-frame in the central station and was manned with a limited number of officers. They were still working for the LeTorque but had a queasy feeling something wasn't kosher. They needed information on the dead man in Johnny Johnson's apartment but would rather not involve the authorities directly. Oh, they could've called one of their contacts and had them check on the crime but were reluctant to do so for one very good reason; unlimited funds. If what they feared was true and Mister Johnson was involved in the death of a man found in his closet then they would be honor-bound to involve the cops. But life was usually grey, not black and white. What if they found out Johnny wasn't wanted for a crime but was instead wanted as a witness? The cops would want to know everything they could about their case and the contract with the LeTorque would be voided due to authority involvement. No, it was better if they found the information out first and only after, if they were directly asked, would they involve the police.

"Hey, Bubba!" Smith yelled down the hallway dividing the rooms.

"Yeah?"

"What's your security code? I want to look something up!"

Bubba was a man in denial but he wasn't a fool. When Smith and Wesson entered he knew they would want information on something and since he was one of their contacts he would've happily gotten it for them. When he saw Smith leave while he and Wesson were talking he put two and two together, decided they would rather get the information in private and did the math. He was already at retirement age. He could leave whenever the job no longer held any interest for him and move on to the next phase in his life as a detective with Craft and Sons.

"Six-six-two-five-four-two!" he answered.

Smith keyed the numbers and was in the system. He typed in 'homicide' and the address to Mister Johnson's apartment.

ACCESS DENIED

OPEN INVESTIGATION

DETECTIVE NAT HALLOWED; LEAD INVESTIGATOR

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Smith said in astonishment.

Both Bubba and Wesson heard him so they quit pretending to tell stories and joined him in the back room.

"What's that?" Bubba asked.

"It involves a case we're on and, apparently, your access is denied."

"My access?" Bubbas asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Let me get in there" he said and Smith stood.

Both Smith and Wesson were standing in amazement while Bubba kept trying over and over to access the information and receiving the same reply. The second line which kept popping up held their gaze.

DETECTIVE NAT HALLOWED; LEAD INVESTIGATOR

"Can it possibly be him?" Wesson asked.

"This is getting weirder and weirder" Smith responded.

Bubba had finally given up and made a phone call.

"Hello, Sergeant? Yes, it's Bubba down here at the northwest sub-station. Uh-huh. I need a little help accessing some information on my computer."

The two detectives of Craft and Sons watched as a twenty-year veteran on one end of the line and a thirty-year veteran on the other pulled their hair out trying to understand how it was possible the two of them combined could not receive clearance to an open investigation of a homicide in their district.

"This is impossible! Who the heck is this Nat Hallowed?"

"You don't know him?" Wesson asked.

"No, and I know everybody" Bubba responded.

Smith looked down at his cellphone and actually prayed he was wrong.

"Hello, may I speak with Nat, please" he said after dialing.

"Hello, Detective, how may I be of service?" the well-connected butler responded.

"Um, okay look, I'm not really sure what's going on but we're working on your case and we came across some information which may be pertinent."

"What is that, Detective?"

"Well, we believe we tracked your Mister Johnson down to an apartment complex..."

"Did you find him?"

The question was asked so quickly Smith was taken aback for a second.

"No, we didn't find him but we did learn he may be connected to an ongoing investigation and, well, once again we're having difficulty accessing the information because a strange coincidence has occurred and..."

"You may now access the file, Detective."

He was actually struck speechless for a second. The next second he spoke.

"Okay, what the heck is going...?"

He glanced at his phone another time with utter disgust.

"He hung up on me again."

Wesson looked at his partner and mouthed the words Smith was having a difficult time comprehending.

"Bubba, try accessing it one more time."

The case file popped up immediately. The victim turned out to be a Bob Simpson who was found in the closet of Mister Johnson's apartment when the manager made entry after ascertaining enough back rent was due for eviction proceedings. What she'd discovered was strange. The gentleman was trussed up with tape so his extremities couldn't move, There was a dent the size of the man's torso in the back wall of the closet as though he tried to run through it and one more thing which seemed illogical; the man's head was indeed twisted around as though his neck was broken but when the medical examiner looked closer he could find no spinal damage. It was if the man had grown his head on backwards.

Chapter 8

They were sitting at an outdoor cafe enjoying the view when the child asked yet another question.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Where do waves come from?"

They were in the world of make-believe, a place so different from where he called home it might as well have been on another planet altogether; the land called California.

"What waves?"

"Ocean waves."

The child was full of questions, always attempting to find an explanation. Why was the sky blue? How did birds fly? Who would voluntarily eat asparagus? He answered what he could and passed off what he couldn't.

"Ask Aunt Melissa."

Melissa had taken over the responsibilities of raising the youth because, quite frankly, Johnny was incapable of raising himself let alone the savior of their species.

"They come from the moon, Daemon."

"Really? How?"

Johnny half-listened for a second while his half-sister, mate and Matriarch of Third Clan explained the moon's influence over the waters on Earth. He gave up because the child appeared to be grasping what he could not. Johnny was not a details oriented person. He was a small, weak, lazy and interested-in-little-else-than-his-own-survival type of person. He was also, however, a big-picture guy which fortunately for him fit perfectly with his desire to remain alive.

"And then what?" Daemon asked.

"And then the tides rush toward land where they run into the continental shelves and..."

Johnny's understanding of Mother Nature and her intricate design were somewhat tempered by the fact she'd chosen him, among all others, to find an answer for Heaven. She could've made Daemon previously, he wasn't so hard to imagine, Johnny had done so as a child but she didn't. Instead, she played her survival of the fittest game and let those who were weaker bear the brunt of her decision. Johnny hadn't sulked, hadn't given in to depression, no, he went along with his burdensome life of avoidance until the time came when the trait could be abandoned.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Something's coming."

The child, he had to admit, was quite amazing. Johnny's cloaking properties came about because his blood, his circulation, was of universal type. Each individual blood cell held the genetic pattern of everything and everyone who had ever come into contact with him or his forbearers. Every creature he or any of his ancestors had ever eaten, shared water, mated, mixed blood or any other type of activity where another's DNA could be introduced was stored, tabulated and saved. His blood carried the genetic information of virtually every land, plant, marine or edible element on Earth. It was why he could not be detected by other Superiors. To them he appeared Human for it was one of the scents his blood carried. If he were to dress as a horse he would appear to those he met as the ferociously fast four-legged equine. His power was similar to Vampires except while they could alter their skin color to blend and hide he could alter his scent, his pheromones, the essence of who he was into whatever species he felt he should be. All species were primal in Nature and their senses employed to locate and determine outside environs. Of the senses, when it came to registering higher forms of life, scent reigned supreme. Sight and sound were secondary for they were not from the creature, they were products made by the creature. Sight was photons bounced off the opposing species, sound was made by the other individual. Scent was the entity. It came from them and was them. It could not be altered for it was of their blood. Perfume could add an overlaying but couldn't eliminate what was at the base. If Johnny were to stand still and not move, all things being equal, if a creature was unaware he was there and suddenly came across him their other senses, sight and sound, would be overridden by scent and he would appear as a plant, pig, or any other insignificant entity Johnny and his ancestors had ever ingested. It was how he had survived the Superiors. It was why Heaven was blind to his whereabouts.

"Mistress Melissa?"

The man who stood before them was in his fifties, wearing khaki shorts, golf shirt and loafers. He appeared as one of millions in the Earthquake State and held in his hand a piece of paper. On the paper was a description of Melissa for even though she was Matriarch she refused to allow her identity to be viewed by others without her consent.

"Yes, and you are?" she responded.

"I am Ralph Withers, Mistress, my Mistress bids you welcome."

He had a bronze tan, athletic build and ivory white teeth. He was also dead.

"Take us to her."

The vehicle ferreting them to the meeting was the preferred option for those with wealth; a large black SUV. A tank masquerading as a people-mover.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"What's that smell?"

Johnny's gift came in two forms. First, it hid him from his own kind and the Heavens. Second, it was a potentiate. Any who shared the genetic traits of his blood, when in his presence, were also invisible to detection. It wasn't as though they disappeared, they merely blended into the surroundings. To the Heavens it appeared their very molecules would separate and fuse with everything around them. What was once a Superior became nothing and everything at once. To other Superiors they would appear as Humans; insignificant and of little interest. It gave those who shared Johnny's blood an overwhelming advantage.

"That, Daemon, is cancer" Johnny replied.

Ralph Withers was a driven man. Everything he'd done in his life was for the accumulation of money, power and prestige. He was a closer; a sales-pro with the reputation of getting the deal done. He earned money which gave him power and prestige quickly followed. His life was the high kind; high-rise condo, high-stakes poker, high-tar cigarettes. The cough he ignored until visual shock shook him to the core for bloody sputum will do that to a person. He visited his doctor who sent him to a specialist who recommended he get his life in order for the next one. He was forty-four years old but appeared in his fifties. He lived on the coast and bought into the lifestyle. Sun-tanning was a rite of passage and he passed with flying colors and a few unseemly discolorations which never went away. He was a doubles player; double-major in college, double-down blackjack better and two-for-one cancer recipient which not only spread from his lungs but also his skin. His prognosis wasn't bleak, it was terminal and the end of the line was fast approaching. The realization sank in and depression soon followed. What was wealth's purpose except to spend? He sought out his financial planner and determined his course. It changed everything.

Ralph's financial advisor was a bitter man. He was bitter at his job, bitter at his boss but mostly bitter at the arrogant and immoral people he was advising on their finances. He hated people of success for he could never seem to find it himself. He worked hard while others did nothing and achieved the lifestyle he dreamed of. He only needed a break, a chance to become what he was meant to be. His gift-horse came in the form of Ralph Withers who confided he had only weeks to live. The plan was simple; have Ralph give him the power to liquidate everything, allow Ralph access to some of his funds and keep the rest for himself. Ralph only had weeks to live after all. He had no family to speak of, gave to no charities and lived for himself. How much could the man possibly spend? How much did he even know he had? The adviser, the clever rascal, decided to take a risk and fudge the numbers a bit. A bit being three-quarters less than Ralph actually possessed. Who cared? Ralph was part of the one-percent. His income fluctuated with the tides but never dropped out of elite status. The plan was perfect and the advisor put it in motion. The only flaw? He never foresaw the dying wishes of those who knew the end was near.

Ralph decided to donate everything and when his advisor found out he fled the country. Ralph, a man with only a few weeks to live had nothing. Law enforcement would look but Ralph knew it wouldn't matter. He'd converted everything to hard currency when he was leaning toward going out in sin and style. His advisor would be found living on some island or nation where the authorities would be more than happy to let him remain for a pittance of Ralph's hard earned money. He was disappointed with himself, angry with life and in a murderous frenzy at his conniving advisor when he went to the papers with his story.

It was then when his financial advisor's life became forfeit and Ralph became an SUV limo-driver and errand-boy for Victoria Beech, Matriarch of Food Tribe for Third Clan. Victoria was a Vampire who offered Ralph an opportunity. She'd give him time to fulfill his quest and seek vengeance on the man who stole his life in exchange for his blood. The trade-off had been done for centuries. Offer those with terminal illnesses the chance to live a little longer in exchange for their circulating serum. Human blood fed pregnant Vampires during hibernation and was necessary for infant Superior survival-rate. The Vampires' immune systems viewed the unborn as invaders and attacked. Removing half the Vampire's blood and replacing it with Human thwarted their anti-body's ability to do so. The dilution allowed the embryo just enough strength to resist. Vampire blood was viral, it took over any system it invaded and since it was resistant to disease or deformity any illness the Humans had were put on hold until the blood ran its course. The Humans would still die but not until the time of the Vampire's choosing. They were essentially dead and undead; Zombies.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Are we there yet?"

Johnny looked out the rear windows and wondered if maybe the boy wasn't the answer to their prayers after all. They were on the Pacific Coast Highway and to the right he could peer down a cliff over a hundred feet deep and view the waves breaking on the rocky, boulder-strewn shoreline. To the left was the rest of the wall which rose another three hundred-feet to the top of the ridge. Nowhere was a house to be seen.

"No, Daemon, we're not there yet" he replied.

"Then why do I sense others?" the child asked.

Both Johnny and Melissa instantly became alert.

"Driver!"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Stop!"

The order was issued for a couple of reasons. First, if the driver was indeed following his Mistress' orders it would become apparent instantly. Zombies obeyed their controlling Vampire first and other Superiors second. Proper protocol was to issue generalized commands and then specify another for courtesy's sake. If the visiting Vampire ordered a Zombie to do something then they were to obey unless it ran counter to their controlling Vamp. If the Zombie Ralph did not stop the vehicle then his controlling Vamp was breaking an unwritten rule and they would know.

The SUV skidded to a stop.

The second reason was a bit scarier because Daemon was one of a kind. He was a lone Superior bred from an Alpha Wolf and a Matriarch Vampire. He had no siblings for he was not of a litter. He was a sole-born. He held the power of the Werewolf, the anonymity of the Cloak and another which came as a surprise to everyone who knew; the invisibility of the Vampire. He was also of Johnny's blood for he was bred from Johnny's bloodline, the exact bloodline for he was the child of Lucifer and Stephanie, the twin sister of Johnny's sire, Isabella Satan. Daemon had the power to sense as none had before. Since the Zombie stopped he was following protocol and another factor might be in play; other Superiors or, even worse, Heaven.

The SUV pulled over to the shoulder as cars rushed by.

"Do you sense anything?" Johnny asked Melissa.

"No. Daemon, are you sure?" she asked the child.

"Yep, they're right above us."

Melissa and Johnny were out of the car in a flash. Well, Mellissa was out in a flash and she'd taken Daemon with her. Johnny wasn't made of flash material so was a bit slower. Both looked up and in the clear blue skies above saw a black speck.

"Daemon?"

"Yes, Aunt Melissa?"

"Point to where you sense the others."

He pointed straight at the speck. As they watched the speck began slowly circling and they realized what it was.

"Johnny?" Melissa asked.

"Yes?"

"Any chance you can sense others in helicopters a thousand feet above your head?"

"Nope."

And they both looked on in wonder at the three-year old whose powers were growing exponentially by the day.

Chapter 9

Nat Hallowed was feeling something he hadn't felt for so long he thought maybe his past reference was a hallucination; anxiety. Everything was happening so fast compared with previous events he was actually experiencing the amazing sense of worry and excitement at the same time. The excitement was easy to explain for they were finally getting a shot in the game.

Heaven and Hellion consisted of billions of worlds in thousands of galaxies and had been warring since before even he was conceived. He was of the Heavenly Guard and thus immortal, at least as immortal as one could be considering technological advancements. His initial body had long since perished and been replaced by others grown according to his specifications and wishes. Over the eons he had used many differing skeletal structures and was at that time employing one which was minimal in nature. Large head, giant eyes, two legs, two arms, one mouth and green skin. He found it amusing because the Humans found him terrifying. He'd needed to shed a similar form once when he was actually on Earth and fortunately for him and his sense of humor the little Inferiors had found the empty body. They even went so far as to construct a lab and experiment on it. For a little while he feared they might put it together and surmise they were not alone but Human nature being what it was they instead held to their beliefs they were the chosen ones, kept it a secret and went about their daily lives concocting new and inventive ways to destroy the very planet needed for their survival.

Nat didn't dislike Humans, he actually enjoyed their company, but he was wary of a species which at first glance shouldn't have made it out the starting gate. They were slow, weak and infinitely cruel to one another. When he first encountered the watered down descendants of Superiors he gave them about as much chance as goldfish in a shark-tank. They were, at best, middlesome predators. They could kill some but get eaten by others. He was somewhat sympathetic to their plight but it was not his mission to hold their hands and show them the way so it came as a surprise when they were able to do the one thing he had been hoping their birthing species could accomplish; voluntary if not harmonious cooperation.

Superiors could cooperate at times, they had proven it during the Great Flood, Freeze and Starvation. He'd been there when Heaven introduced an ice age to rid the planet of Superiors because they'd come to the conclusion a mistake had been made and wanted a start over. It hadn't worked because the little Superiors refused to perish. They put up such a resistance to death Nat and Heaven eventually came to a separate conclusion; they were possibly the answer after all. So they allowed them to once again flourish but soon discovered Superior tolerance of authority and cooperation only lasted so long. Before one knew it they were back at their old ways beheading each other with fanatical enthusiasm. It was their past history which caused him the 'worry' part of his anxiety.

"What can I get you, Officer?" the waitress asked.

"A glass of sweet tea, please."

He also loved the innovations Humans made with everything digestion related.

He was in a tavern down the street from the Capital building in Austin waiting for his contact to arrive. Nat was, at any time, any member of law enforcement he wished to be. He generally chose to work as a Detective in the Dallas Police Department because it really was the best job on Earth but he also held the title of Special Investigator in every level of authoritarian governance. From local, state, federal to covert he had the privilege and owned the badges. It was necessary to accomplish his task. He was the intermediary and arbitrator between Superior breeding and Human ingenuity. On innumerable occasions he'd needed to intervene for the Superiors' survival. The Humans were a lesser breed but they held the numerical advantage over Wolves and Vamps and if they finally found critical mass and the majority of the population learned of Superior existence then one of two things would happen; either the Humans would overcome the Superiors with sheer numbers and be allowed to live or the Heavens would intervene and they would not. Humans were not the answer, they were merely a byproduct of the answer. He looked up as the murmuring began.

"Hello, Nat."

"Hello, Governor."

The Governor of Texas was a good-looking man. Broad of shoulder, full of hair, handsome with movie-star looks and raised with righteous Christian values. He also had a name which virtually guaranteed him ten points at the poll; Austin Travis.

"What are you having?" Governor Travis asked as he seated himself at the table while simultaneously smiling at his constituents and subliminally ordering his four bodyguards to keep them as far away as possible.

"Sweet tea and nachos" Nat replied.

The Governor sighed and Nat smiled at his discomfort. Politicians were seen as many things to many people and one such view was they were hogs at the trough of political money from Big Business, Big Lobbyist or Big Union. It didn't matter which side of the spectrum one was elected from the other one-half the population which decided not to vote for them would always watch for weaknesses. The Governor's weakness was food. He loved food. Couldn't get enough of food. That, of course, caused him to get fat and thus be a constant reminder to the folks who believed he was sucking up taxpayer money to fund his overinflated ego. He became a cartoon caricature portrayed in the paper as some sort of maniacal tyrant ingesting everything in sight. It evolved to the point where the Governor, against his own personal desires followed the will of the people and hired a personal trainer to not only design an exercise regimen but also to put him on a diet. It led to his reelection which reinforced his will and made him into the man sitting next to Nat that day; an unhappy but willing participant in physical-form public relations.

"Hello, Mister Governor, can I get you anything?" the waitress said.

"A diet cola and a dry salad."

The appointment had been set up by the Governor himself. He knew Nat had incredible connections within the law community even if he knew not how or why. He needed help with a problem which had arisen overnight and was ripe with speculation.

"Nat?"

"Yes, Governor?"

"What have you heard about the Alamo?"

"I heard someone blew it up."

The story had led the news.

"Good morning everyone, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five Six-O'clock-News. We have a breaking development in San Antonio this morning. We are going live to Tim Tidbit for information. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, can you tell us what you've learned?"

"Yes, Nick, we've learned sometime last night someone or something blew up the Alamo."

"Are there any leads so far, Tim?"

"Nope."

"Well, there you go, folks, someone or something blew up the Alamo. We will keep you advised as information comes in."

The footage was not as impressive as the audio for the simple reason the Alamo was much larger in tale than realty. In real life it was the size of a two-story house without a roof or any furnishings. What the video revealed was a bunch of rocks in a heap and on the screen was the current title.

"Alamo Down!"

On the competing stations others were running with different headlines.

"Alamonomore!"

"cALAMOty!"

"Terror at the Alamo!"

And finally, on the public broadcast channel they were already lamenting the loss.

"Remembering the Alamo" sponsored by the Remember the Alamo! Foundation."

Everyone was talking about it and the Governor was already hearing rumblings he wasn't moving fast enough.

"Yes, Nat, someone blew up the Alamo."

"Do you know who it was?"

"If we knew who it was we would have them in jail already!"

Nat knew the burdens of public office were, at times, a bit overwhelming for those who governed the place but he didn't have much sympathy because they ran for the office themselves, no one forced them in.

"If you yell at me again, Governor, I will stick that salad so far up your..."

He didn't finish because the Governor interrupted.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just things have been a little hectic lately and, well, I'm freaking starving myself to death on these stupid plant leaves. I mean, I can't even put a little bit of dressing on the dang thing. Do you know what this tastes like?"

Nat had no idea what undressed salad leaves tasted like because he had neither the desire nor the need for such information. He had a good hunch, though, because he was observant and had seen herbivores eat before. They did not appear to be having a good time. As far as he could tell it looked as though they were being punished for some reason. They ate with neither gusto nor great relish, merely standing there slowly gnawing away and biding their time until they became too fat to escape and were eaten by creatures who did indeed appear to be enjoying their meal.

"I'm assuming it doesn't taste very good?"

"It doesn't taste at all. It tastes like I'm eating paper. Do you know where paper comes from, Nat?"

"Yes, Governor, it comes from trees."

"Uh huh. And so do leaves. I'm freaking eating paper, Nat. I'm eating paper and drinking this pathetic imitation sugar-water. I cannot believe I've sunk so low, but you know what?"

Nat looked at the Governor with impatience as he waited for him to get to the point.

"What, Governor?"

"I'd do it again, Nat, I'd do it again. And do you know why?"

Now the Governor was really getting on his nerves and Nat began wondering if maybe he should've ignored the invitation and remained in Dallas.

"Why, Governor?"

"Because I'm the right man in the right place at the right time in history, Nat, and history is what I'm about to make."

Nat was finally becoming interested.

"How are you going to make history, Governor."

The Governor paused his grazing, put down his chemically altered liquid preferred by four out of five fat people everywhere and looked at Nat.

"Nat, who do you think did this?"

"I don't know, Governor. As far as I've heard no one has claimed responsibility."

"Come on, Nat. It's the freaking Alamo we're talking about. You and I know exactly who did this."

The trouble had been brewing for a while, actually from the start, for when land was in dispute neighbors became enemies.

"Who do you think did this, Governor?"

"Mexico, Nat. I think those Mexicans blew up the Alamo."

Chapter 10

Smith and Wesson were heading out of town because they'd run into a brick wall. Actually the only lead they had was of a Bob Simpson who'd run into a closet wall but from there the case ran cold. They were doing what all investigators did when searching for a missing person by chasing down the suspect's movements and whereabouts before he or she went missing. The logic behind it was sound. A missing person, by definition, could not be found by those looking for the individual. Therefore those looking had no clue where the individual might have headed because if they did they would've already found who they were looking for. Anticipation and guesswork were for psychics and con-men while investigators relied on information. The past was full of information. Bob Simpson, the man found bound and dead in Mr. Johnson's closet had a shaky past and his last claim of employment was also of the vague variety. They'd run his name, social security number, driver's license and all physical references of him into their various databases and came up with the name of the last company he professed to work for; Industrial Products. They'd called the company and were informed they'd never employed nor heard of the man until a detective from the Dallas Homicide Division called to inquire about him. Smith was a tad intrigued and asked if the detective left his name, the helpful person on the other end of the line asked him to hold, a pause ensued whereby Smith was afforded the opportunity to listen to some of the most boring music ever composed, the person returned to their phone and replied "Yes, a Detective Nat Hallowed was the policeman who called."

"Smith?" asked Wesson.

"Yes?"

"Who do you think that Nat guy is?"

The question was troubling for various reasons. The man acted like a servant of the LeTorque but held the power of law enforcement. Neither Smith nor Wesson could reconcile the two. Why would someone who had the power to classify legal files be working as a man-servant to a bunch of southern aristocrats who'd probably held his ancestors in chains? Furthermore, why would he, the lead investigator on the case go outside his jurisdiction and bring in a detective agency to perform a function his own brethren in the department were more than qualified to handle?

"I think he might be a mole" Smith replied.

He'd been pondering the situation for a while and could only come up with one reason for the two conflicting employments; he was working on the behalf of the LeTorque in the employ of the Dallas Police. He must've been doing it for some time to have risen to the rank of detective for unless they had some pretty powerful stuff on him no detective would so recklessly put their career on the line by altering an investigation.

"Okay, but why hire us?" Wesson asked.

"Possibly because he's involved somehow in this Bob Simpson's death and he doesn't want others on the force learning about it. Think it over. If you were a dirty cop and were investigating one of your own crimes what would you do?"

"I'd cover it up" Wesson replied.

"Uh-huh, but what if the cover-up involved removing a witness to the crime?"

"Then I'd remove the witness."

"Yep, but what if you couldn't find him?"

The answer, of course, was to bring in outside investigators to find the individual and then dispose of accordingly. The only problem with their line of reasoning was what they'd been hashing out for the past two hours as they drove to the last known residence of Bob Simpson.

"We're not getting anywhere with this. If they hired us to find him for the purpose of killing him they're stringing their own throats. No one accumulates that much money and then does something so stupid as to hire the top detective agency to find their man and then kill the person. We'd have them locked up before the hour was out."

Wesson and Smith had been bouncing ideas off each other the entire ride. They'd done it before and found the exercise sometimes proved useful. An idea, any idea, could get their minds working in a new direction and at that point they were in desperate need of new inspiration for what they were facing was unpleasant as broccoli; the loss of infinite funds due to company ethics.

"All right, this is the place. Pull into that gas station and let's see if we can get directions" Wesson said and Smith complied.

The town was one of many which dot the Great Lone Star State and its name was Mabank.

"Hi, can I help you?" the elderly man at the counter asked Smith as he approached.

"I hope so. We're looking for the State Correctional Facility."

Bob Simpson had, until his name popped up on a website promoting Industrial Products, been incarcerated in prison for first degree arson. It appeared he had set a fire and someone died. They'd attempted to get more information but were denied access and Nat was not answering his phone so they'd driven to the facility to get the information first-hand.

"You can't miss it. Just stay on the highway for about two more miles and look for the sign. It'll be on the right."

"Thanks" Smith replied.

"No problem, can I help you with anything else?"

"No, I think..." Smith began but stopped for right then Wesson walked up with four hot-dogs in one hand, a cardboard tray of nachos in the other and a large drink held in the crook of his elbow.

"I'll take these. Smith, did you want anything?"

Smith shook his head no, pulled out his wallet and paid to keep Wesson happy and cholesterol-filled for their journey to jail.

The ride did indeed take only two miles before they came across the sign signaling the entrance to the correctional facility but it was not without incident. The highway they were traveling on was one which connected the small towns which made up most of Texas and as such the road's speed tolerance changed according to population. Whenever they encountered a town with a reasonable residency rate the speed limit would drop. The town they were in lowered theirs to thirty so Smith was motoring along at the clip of boredom when he saw trouble. It was hard to miss. Twenty-five pounds of sandy-brown fur with four legs and a detest of motorize carriages entering its turf. Smith saw the family friend out the corner of his eye, calculated the angle of attack and reached a conclusion; the mutt was going to run in front of his tire. Wesson, busy juggling processed intestinal meat and a questionable cheesy-chip product was unaware of the attacking terrier.

"Hey, Smith, keep it slow until..." he began.

Smith couldn't keep it slow for his car was threatened by a vicious hound intent on doing serious bodily harm to the underside of his coach. Smith knew it to be true for he'd once come across a similar situation and it did not end well. He'd spent forty dollars having fur and fang removed from bumper and muffler where the suicidal wanna-be wolf had met his fate on the underside of metallic horsepower.

"Hold on!" Smith yelled.

"Huh?" Wesson replied.

Modern vehicles employed amazing power and Smith was intent on using it to avoid costly pet-parts removal. He slammed on the accelerator, the car leaped forward and the canine kamikaze was beat. Smith could see it all in his rear view mirror. The look of disgust on the dogs face as another strange creature with one of its masters inside its belly making a successful escape through his territory. Smith was pleased, the dog was peeved and Wesson was wearing his lunch.

"What the...?" Wesson said as he sat in shock wondering what happened and when his next meal would arrive.

"Sorry, buddy, but that dog had a bead on us and I didn't want..." Smith began before seeing the sign of impending doom.

The blue and red flashing lights in his rear view mirror appeared so suddenly he thought maybe he'd driven over the squad car accidently in his haste to escape.

He pulled over and was reaching for his wallet to pull out his license when he glanced in his side-view mirror. What he saw caused him to blink in disbelief. The squad car was rocking up and down, side to side as the person exiting the vehicle extricated himself. He glanced at the sticker which read 'Caution, Objects Are Closer Than They Appear' and laughed because what he was seeing could not exist. The man's shoulders took up the entire width of the viewing glass and his head was already out of the picture. As the officer approached more and more of him moved out of frame until finally, as he reached the driver's side window the only thing viewable was the knee-cap portion of one pant-leg.

Wesson, for his part, was paying the officer no mind. He was scavenging the floorboard in an attempt to save as many hot dogs and nachos as possible. He believed in the five second rule. If something touched the floor for under five seconds it was to be considered uncontaminated and edible. He also believed in the ten, fifteen and twenty second rule if the food in question was of particular tastiness. He heard the officer speak as he found a salvageable chip.

"License and registration, please."

Wesson again paid the man no heed for it wasn't his problem. He was the passenger and thus had a different job at the time. He was the edible reclamation manager. He'd eyed a hot dog which had landed on its side and was debating whether to remove the half of bun touching the floor-mat when again he heard the officer speak.

"Sir! License and registration, please."

He figured Smith was locating the proof for operating residential motorized pet-killers and decided indeed it was okay to eat a hot dog after removing the contaminated side-bread portion when again he heard "Sir!" and turned to help Smith out by yelling "Smith!" but never said a word because what he saw shocked him into silence. Actually, it's what he didn't see which did the trick. He was looking across Smith's body out the driver's side window and could not see a face... or neck, shoulders, chest, belly or groin. He saw thighs. He saw the portion of the officer's pants where his thighs were. The rest of the man was out of view and it was then he looked at Smith who was craning his neck upwards to get a look at the behemoth at the door.

"Sir! If I have to ask you one more time..."

Smith finally regained his senses.

"Oh, sorry, Officer, here you go" he said as he handed the man his license and turned to root through his glove boxes for his registration but stopped for when he twisted in his seat he found himself face to face with Wesson who was leaning over and looking up with the same incredulous expression Smith had only moments before.

"Is that...?" Wesson whispered.

"Yes" Smith hushly replied.

Both men felt for certain they were in the presence of the missing link, the Abominable Snowman, the species between man and gorilla. Except they were in a small town in southern Texas which hadn't seen frozen water outside a refrigeration unit since Mother Nature decided she'd made a mistake on the size of creatures inhabiting her bluish-green marble floating in vastless space.

Smith finally opened the glove-box to retrieve the registration when another strange quirk of fate occurred and a gun fell out. Wesson had placed his weapon in the compartment for simple convenience and because it was uncomfortable to wear during nutritional intake. He'd taken the opportunity to conceal his handgun in the easiest to retrieve place, the compartment directly in front of him. It hadn't been done to prevent others from eying his baby cannon, it'd been to improve waistband comfort while preparing for hot dog and nacho digestion. The gargantuan noticed.

Neither detective was exactly sure what transpired next. Smith swore he never saw the man move and Wesson felt certain he'd seen no activity but in either case the end result was the two of them face-down on the pavement outside the vehicle, handcuffed and confused before either could say a word.

"Officer?" Wesson asked the shadow looming over him.

"Yes?" it replied.

"I have a permit for that weapon in my wallet."

He felt something strange. His belt was gripped, pulled tight and he was lifted from the ground as though he were a child. He felt his wallet removed and was placed back on Earth with the greatest of ease.

He could not believe what he was obviously witnessing. The man, the largest being he'd ever encountered had lifted him, a man two-hundred twenty-three pounds before nacho inhalation off the ground by the belt in order to remove a wallet. He hadn't squatted down and felt for the leather man-purse, he'd lifted up what others would've found impossible. Wesson was not a rocket scientist, he had no training in brain surgery but he was pretty astute and fairly certain lifting an object of his proportion was not exactly easy.

"Officer?" Wesson asked.

"Yes?" he heard in reply.

"Did you find the permit? Can you please take these cuffs off?"

He waited for an answer but heard nothing. It was as if the man had disappeared. He heard the everyday aspects of life on the planet with the birds chirping, leaves falling and trees swaying but nothing else. He thought maybe he was dreaming. Maybe nothing happening was really real. Maybe it was all an illusion of his mind. Maybe he'd wake up and his hot dogs would still be there, waiting to be eaten when he heard another enter his reality.

"Wesson?"

"Smith?" he questioned back.

"Of course it's Smith, who else would it be?"

He wasn't sure. He wasn't absolute on anything anymore. Before he'd arisen that morning he'd never met the most beautiful aristocrat in the world, never encountered a butler with authoritative power and never been pulled over by a giant of beanstalk legend.

He was going to reply when he glanced to his left and saw, fifty-feet away, the black soles of the officer's shoes who stood at his patrol car apparently verifying if the weapon permit was valid. What happened next caused Wesson to question his sanity. He saw the vague figure turn, saw the squad car's door shut and saw the officer take a step in his direction but where his foot landed was the problem. The man had been a good fifty feet away so his foot should've landed around forty-nine or forty-eight feet away but it didn't, it stood directly in front of his face. He'd crossed fifty-feet in one step.

"Detective Wesson?"

"Yes?" he replied nervously because he'd sworn the man had not only crossed the distance in one step but had also done it in a time span which seemed to defy nature. He could see, maybe, if the guy was some sort of secret triple-jump expert where a person could be in one place and land somewhere else but the time interval didn't add up. The man had been there, taken a step and landed in front of him. There was nothing in between. No interval for flight, no pause for motion, no nothing. His foot raised, moved and landed fifty feet away.

"You're permit is valid, sorry for the inconvenience."

Wesson was going to say something snide for it was in his nature to do so but didn't. He was lifted to his feet, un-cuffed and turned around to face the hulking beast. As he stood there considering whether he'd had a seizure he saw Smith lifted from the asphalt and reality became clear for Smith had seen the same thing. It was written on his face in the form of shocked amazement. Smith was staring at the man in the same way Wesson was.

"Okay, I'm going to let the two of you go with a warning this time" the man said and both detectives merely nodded for neither one trusted their speech.

"Have a good day" he added and again the two could only nod their heads in affirmation.

"Get in your car and leave" the man finalized and the top detectives in the top investigative firm in one of the leading cities in the world scampered like rodents to do his bidding.

"What the heck was that?"

"I have no idea."

"Did he cross half a basketball court in one step?'

"I believe he did."

The two were jabbering in child-like astonishment as they turned right at the sign indicating the State Correctional Unit. They pulled up to the guard shack and the door opened.

"You have to be joking!"

"There is no way this is happening!"

The guard exiting was as large as the cop they'd just met.

Chapter 11

The kitchen was abuzz with Vampire activity and Wolves sat salivating in cuisine anticipation when an Alien from Heaven intruded.

"Hello everyone!"

"Nat!" Vivian yelled and jumped in his outstretched arms.

Trudy glanced over and gave him a smile which could cause men to kill one another and the two Wolves of LeTorque signaled their hello's with a wave of forks held in hands awaiting cooked flesh and baked nature.

The meal was the mid-day one, the one some deemed lunch and so was of the light kind with eight pounds of roast beef with mashed potatoes, gravy, bread and green beans. Phillip never understood the vegetable portion of Vampire cooking but kept his mouth shut. He might believe gardening was a waste of dirt but if his mate wanted to ingest what came from it he was not going to deny her the pleasure. Besides, if he voiced his displeasure of the nutritional plants he might be sleeping in the very bed they grew from.

"Hello, Nat, are you staying for lunch?" George asked.

"It would be my pleasure" the green monitor replied.

Nat sat with a smile. He was pleased. Things seemed to be looking up.

"So, how about that Alamo?" he asked the room.

The two Wolves smiled and the Vampires giggled. It really was quite easy to pull off if one-half your species had the power of invisibility and the other could wipe out a platoon of elite soldiers before they knew what hit them.

"We have no idea what you're talking about" Trudy answered while stirring the three-gallon pot of fluffy-white tater-flakes.

"I'm sure you don't" Nat replied and then continued.

"I just got out of a meeting with the Governor and do you know what he thinks?"

"What?" Vivian asked.

"He thinks Mexico is behind it. He actually thinks the Mexican government sanctioned a hit on the Alamo. Can you believe that?"

He was asking the four of them in general but was looking at Phillip in particular. Phillip was the easiest to read. He had the temperament which came with trust. He believed in the goodness of things. He saw the best in people and gave them credit before they proved him wrong. Of course, he was also a Wolf and when they'd done the remarkably stupid thing of disappointing him he left them headless but he generally did so with empathy in his heart. He didn't enjoy ripping their heads off but he felt it was necessary for survival's sake. People could really cause a lot of harm if left with the ability to do so therefore he removed their ability before it got out of hand.

"Why does he think Mexico did it?" Trudy asked.

"Oh, it might have something to do with the note left behind."

The governor had explained to Nat over their lunch in Austin they hadn't been fully forthcoming with the news media. There was indeed a lead but it was so obvious and outrageous they felt it shouldn't be leaked before it could be verified.

"There was a note?" the red-headed chef with emerald eyes asked.

"Yep, there was a note."

"What did it say?"

He was watching Phillip's face as he spoke but didn't need to for he already had the answer.

"Well, it wasn't what it said so much as what it purported."

"What did it purport?"

"It was an eviction notice."

The letter was left in an envelope addressed to the Right Honorable Trespasser and Tyrant, Governor Austin Travis. In the envelope, on official paper-head with the Mexican President's signature was a legal document declaring the land in question was rightfully that of Mexico and thus those residing on its lands were in arrears to the tune of twenty billion in back taxes.

"An eviction notice?" Trudy questioned with wide eyes.

"Yep, it said Texas has thirty days to evacuate and will be pursuing legal action if they do not comply."

"Hmm, that's interesting" the goddess of good cooking said as she turned and placed the pot of mashed calories with no nutritional value on the table before the men. Vivian was guarding the oven. Neither Wolf could be trusted to allow the hunk of cow-carcass the time needed to cook fully.

"Do you think they have a case?" Trudy asked.

Nat thought about it seriously for a second. The truth was Mexico did indeed have a case. In fact they had such an obvious claim if it ever was settled in the courts the winner would prevail in record time. Texas had no claim to independence because the people occupying the land at the time of the declaration were, in a legal sense, squatters. They hadn't been born there. They held no legitimate right to the land. They were, in effect, a bunch of interlopers who came in, kicked the Indians out and claimed the land for themselves.

"Oh, they have a case all right. It's too bad it'll never see the inside of a courthouse."

"Really? Why not?" Vivian asked as she removed the beef from the oven and sat it down on the table.

"Because if it ever got to court the entire world would come apart. There isn't a white person on the planet who can seriously lay claim to any portion of land in the western hemisphere. They've got Europe, I'll give them that, but over here? Shoot, they'd lose an argument to a fifth-grader if they relied on the land laws they have today."

The aroma was unsettling and the Wolves were getting impatient so Trudy responded.

"Dig in!"

Nat almost lost his hand. He'd reached over to stab a slice of meat and almost lost an appendage as George jammed a fork into the sizzling sirloin. Phillip was not far behind. The two Wolves were ravenous. They'd not eaten since brunch and were running low on patience. Nat waited till they'd filled their plate and joined the Vampires in sensible edibles selection.

"So, what's going to happen next?" Trudy asked.

"Well, I was hoping you'd tell me" Nat replied.

Trudy smiled for she truly liked Nat. She enjoyed his company and knew he was doing what he felt was best. Unfortunately, his best was not good for them so she needed to tread lightly in his company.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you did it, didn't you?"

Her response was another smile as she lifted her fork and took a bite of meat.

"This is delicious, Vivian."

Vivian responded with a compliment of her own.

"Your potatoes are scrumptious, Trudy."

The Wolves complimented the cooks with gnawing of tooth and gnashing of fang. Neither spoke for it was considered rude to talk with one's mouth full and there was never a time when either fork or spoon was not entering the cavity. Nat sat back and took the scene in. He was eating for the pleasure of doing so. He need not for he was of molecular design and thus held nothing inside to digest the morsels. His was one of technical deception. He was on Heaven and his image was projected on Earth. If he were to suddenly explode there would be nothing to see for he was not whole, he was the collection of billions and billions of individual atoms melded together to give him form. He had a physical presence but contained no life. He was the ultimate gaming tool. He was also infinitely patient.

"Nat, may I ask you a question?" Trudy said.

"Of course, Mistress" he replied.

He enjoyed his work for it interested him. The Superiors he was dining with also happened to be his favorite family so he doubly enjoyed his employment when they were around.

"If the Humans learned of our existence what do you think would be their response?"

He considered wisely his reply.

"They would destroy your kind."

To him Humans resembled a virus. They invaded and took control of whatever they encountered. They rarely molded to their environment, they molded it to them. If they learned the existence of a superior species they would fall back to their primal nature and do what it demanded by eliminating the threat. Oh, the Wolves and Vamps would make a good account of themselves but they were incredibly numerically negligent and would eventually succumb.

"What would be Heaven's response?"

The question was intriguing for he did not actually know the answer. Earth was seeded with Superiors to breed a super soldier. It had one primary purpose and was expected to produce a desired result. If Humans eliminated the product would they be allowed to carry on? Heaven had invested a lot of time, after all, and he wasn't in a position to guess it's answer to Human intervention.

"We would either allow them to live or not" he replied.

She nodded her head as if she expected his response.

"Why would you need to consider the two? Why would you get rid of them?"

"Because they are an Inferior species."

"So? if they're Inferior why would you rid the planet of them?"

The question was an honest one so he gave back as well.

"Because, while they may be Inferior now they have the ability to go beyond what they are. They could someday pose a threat."

She nodded again and Nat knew he'd spoken correctly. Vampires lived by guile, they were bred and raised to conspire and manipulate. They could read lies, even Heaven's lies for they were experts in the field.

"Okay, so we must remain hidden from Human view. But we also need to unite the clans, correct?"

Again, she was asking him to clarify Heaven's wish. He decided she'd earned the right.

"Yes. You were bred with the one trait we felt was necessary to accomplish the task for you must dominate. We have been waiting to see if you could reconcile with the design and become what was desired."

"A force of individuals designed to dominate all but united in action against a single foe" she said.

"Yes, a force to match the coming Hoard."

He loved his job! Everything he'd ever done was in anticipation of what was coming. It was on its way and he had a front row view.

"Okay, so we need to unite the clans but we cannot do it with Human realization, correct?"

He saw where she was going and had wondered how they were going to pull it off. The clans existed because the need to dominate made them so. No one save Yin had been strong enough for Wolf or Vamp to recognize as leader. Even Yin could not do it without his brother and he'd agreed not to rule with Yang at his side. Wolf pride was at stake and death was preferable to subordination.

"I believe the only way you survive to fulfill your mission is if the Humans remain ignorant of your existence, yes."

"So then we need to unite but must do so in secret."

"Yes."

"But the only way to unite is to fight for supremacy. No Wolf would willingly follow one who held power without proof of strength."

He loved Vampires! They got to the heart of the matter so much faster than their hairy other half.

"Yes" he replied awaiting her answer to the dilemma which had plagued him for centuries.

"That is why we blew up the Alamo, Nat."

"Huh?"

"We need a diversion. We have already issued the challenge to First Clan as I'm sure you're aware and they have agreed."

Nat, of course, was aware of the meeting between Phillip, Trudy and Merri Li. He'd watched from afar as they met and even had a recording of what they'd said. He'd even been a little surprised they brought up Johnny being Yang in disguise but was in a bit of a quandary over how to proceed. He wasn't all too sure what he'd heard was the truth. Vampires were gifted liars and they knew he'd be listening so why would Merri Li bring it up?

"And blowing up the Alamo is the diversion?"

"Yes, well it's one of the diversions."

"One of them?"

"Yes."

"What are the other ones?"

"Well, one is playing out as we speak."

His confusion must have been apparent for she went on to clarify.

"Nat, are you monitoring the Earth's news right now?"

"No, I'm enjoying our little meal right now. I like to be in the moment so to speak."

She smiled and Nat understood full well why the male half of Superiors were so smitten.

"Phillip?" Trudy said.

"Yes, Mistress" he responded while shoveling half a loaf of bread into his waiting maw.

"Please turn the television on for Nat."

Phillip stood, swallowed and went to turn on the tiny TV they had sitting on the kitchen counter. What came on brought a smile to the green Alien's face.

"We have breaking news. Hello everyone and thank you for joining Channel Five News at Noon, I am Nick Price and this is what's happening in your world as we speak. As of right now we are down one Disney Castle. It is being reported that someone has blown up the Magic Kingdom's trademark and lucky for us we happen to have one of our reporters on the scene. Tim, are you there?"

The television screen changed and the image of a reporter with mike in hand and rubble behind appeared.

"Yes Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, what can you tell us of the breaking development happening right now in front of your very eyes."

"Well, Nick, I was visiting Disneyland with my girlfriend and her kids when someone blew up the castle."

"Were you in the castle?"

"No, Nick, no one was in the castle. They blew it up before the gates opened."

"Thank God! Well, do you have any reports of casualties or injuries?"

"Nope, no one was in the castle when it came down."

"No one?"

"Nope."

"Not even Cinderella?"

"Nope."

"What about her dwarfs?"

"I... I don't think Cinderella has dwarfs, Nick."

"Are you sure? Because I'm pretty positive there were some dwarfs around the last time I checked."

Phillip turned the television off and sat back down to inhale more meat.

"You blew up the Disney Castle?" Nat asked.

"Well, we obviously didn't do it ourselves, we had the Beech family do it for us. But we gave the orders so I guess, yes, we blew up the Disney Castle."

"And that's your idea of a diversion?"

She smiled and paused allowing Nat the time to think on what she'd done.

"It's one of our diversions, yes."

"There are others?"

"There will be."

"How many?"

"As many as necessary."

"Necessary for what?"

"Necessary to start a war."

Chapter 12

The Beech house was naturally located on a beach if one defined beach in the broad sense. The home sat on a cliff overlooking the sand below and the view was spectacular.

"My goodness that's a long way down!" Melissa screamed over the wind.

"Yes, five hundred twenty-feet to be exact!" the Matriarch of Food Tribe, Victoria Beech, answered.

They were outside enjoying the afternoon weather, the two Vamps standing at the cliff edge, Daemon holding a string attached to a kite which was flying far overhead and Johnny off to the side, away from the women not out of respect for privacy but fear of heights.

"So, he is the one?" Victoria asked.

"Yes, he's the one" Melissa answered.

Melissa was getting used to the initial reaction others of her kind had when first encountering her half-brother and fake-mate. When Johnny was around they felt a connection sever and the result was not pleasant. They could still see, hear, feel and taste at times their brethren but they could not detect their scent. They were essentially odorless, in effect, Human. Wolves and Vamps relied on their sense of smell more than their weaker subspecies and they used it for different purposes. Wolves detected pheromones in the air to locate potential prey and Vampires used their aroma-detecting abilities for another, more important, purpose; the art of staying alive. Vampires could become invisible, blend into their surroundings so the sense of scent proved rather useful in the prevention of death from competing factions. Without scent another strange aspect also arose as the power between the genders reversed. Wolves were by far the stronger of the two and could render headless a Vamp in no time flat. Vampires had evolved two traits to offset the obvious disadvantages they were bred with; they emitted odors found to be irresistible to Wolves and their skin pigment could be altered to provide stealth. They either seduced or they hid. Wolves could detect them through the use of smell but it was time-consuming and haphazard at best. Vamps had been perfecting the art of disappearance for so long they were exceptionally accomplished at the task. With Johnny around, though, the Vampires were at an advantageous state. They could remain essentially invisible and sneak up behind any Wolf. It would be a dangerous situation for Wolves were a breed apart but with cunning and skill a Vamp could and had removed the brain-case of many their canine equivalents over the millennia. What Johnny gave to Vampires was the possibility of dominance and since they were bred for it they relished the opportunity it provided. Wolves, not so much. They felt he was a betrayal; a weakling Wolf who empowered vindictive Vamps with the ability to rule without mate. It was one of the reasons they'd rebelled when Yin held sovereign over the clans. With Yang not only was Yin unstoppable but so were their murderous mates. Wolves would become extinct. The only ones who could scent Vamps were Yin, Yang, and Merri Li. Melissa, of course, also held the ability for she shared Yang's blood but she was unknown to Wolves at the time so was never mentioned in the archives.

"He's not as I thought he would appear" Victoria said and Melissa could only concur.

Johnny was in every way the definition of average. He was so average he went unnoticed. Whether Human, Wolf or Vampire the outcome was always the same and Johnny was ignored. The only time he became noticeable was in the presence of two Superiors and one had blood-bonded with him. If they'd been talking and Johnny appeared a sudden and shocking development occurred as the one not bonded would immediately lose the subliminal but most powerful sense they possessed for telling apart Superior from Inferior. Wolves were large and Vamps beautiful but there were enough Humans on the planet to make sight detection meaningless. A few Human males were of relative size to Wolves and since Wolves attack each other on principle alone the ability to detect a true Superior from a large Inferior became of utmost importance. The Wolves couldn't very well go around beheading every large male because they were unsure of their intentions but they also could not stop themselves for they were bred to dominate.

"Uncle, Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Others are coming."

The child was stronger than him and it was proving difficult to take. Johnny was the weakest of his kind but the most valuable also. He gave the Wolf what he wished for and allowed Vamps the opportunity of conquest. His only problem was both halves would rather see him dead for two distinct reasons. Wolves, obviously, because they'd never feel safe if their mates could sneak up on them and Vampires because at the end of the day, when everything ironed itself out, it would still be a Wolf who led all. Any Wolf who bonded with Johnny retained the power of scent and thus would be the most dominant player in the pack. Vamps would need to acquiesce or receive the consequences of non-existence.

"Where are they, Daemon?" Johnny asked.

"At the bottom of the cliff" the boy replied.

Melissa heard what Daemon said and glanced down at the beach to see who was coming. She saw no one so allowed her vision to wander until she spied a small boat approaching the shoreline.

"The child is amazing" Victoria remarked.

"Yes he is" Melissa replied.

"He is also extremely dangerous."

"Yes, he is that also."

Daemon was the answer to Heaven's prayer, the reason for Superior existence, the meaning of their life. He was Wolf, Vamp and Cloak all rolled in one. He was the savior, the one destined to rule all but he came with a question Superior minds feared to answer. What does one do with old medicine after a cure has been found? Daemon was the product of new and old. He contained the gene line of Yin and Yang yet was borne without another. Modern medicine had finally arrived. Johnny had exploited its potential. He knew of Stephanie's desire to rule in her sister's place so had planted the seed which grew the heir. If Stephanie would wait until medicine advanced what was previously impossible could become reality. If an egg could split in two then two could become one. Stephanie agreed to wait and when the time was right, as Johnny knew it would come, she'd bewitched Lucifer and became pregnant for her one and only time. Medical research was employed and a switch thrown. The genetic code was manipulated and where once many would reside only one took residence. Daemon's DNA held the answer. In it was the program for cell division. It was shut off. What they were trying was to breed a dominant Wolf with the physical power of Yin and the cloaking abilities of Yang. What they received was more than they'd bargained for. While it was not unheard of for a litter to provide both Werewolf and Vampire it generally never transpired. Litters usually began with twenty to thirty possible children. Half was the normal birthing rate. While in the womb survival became a game of numbers. If more Vampire embryos existed they would attack and render harmless the lesser Wolf ones. The same was true in the opposite direction. What happened with Daemon should've been predicted but wasn't. One of the cells imprinted with Vampire traits was written to form. It would've surely been eliminated by the more numerous Wolf ones but wasn't. It was instead blended in with the others and when Daemon emerged a new species arrived; a superior Superior.

"You do not think it wise to do away with him?" Victoria asked.

"No, the end game is near and so long as they do not suspect we have a fighting chance."

Victoria nodded her head in acknowledgment of the statement. She may not agree with her Matriarch but she would not question her authority to decide. Vampires were, unlike Wolves, tolerant of authority if they viewed it worthy of admiration. What Melissa had accomplished none had tried before. She was attempting to change the game, to alter the rules and allow for Superior survival.

"It is a strange feeling knowing what you are but sensing you are not" Victoria said and once again Melissa merely nodded.

She had no viewpoint to agree with the Matriarch of Food Tribe only a vague understanding for she could compare it to Human scenting but there the similarities ran dry. Humans were of little concern for Superiors since they held none of their talents. They were pathetically weak and incredibly slow not only in their physical traits but also in their chemical ones. What a Superior could recover from in a matter of seconds a Human might never do so. Their immune system was too fragile. What Victoria was feeling was the sense of unease for she could not tell in the presence of either the child or Johnny the approach of impending death. She could not tell if the man in front of her were Wolf or man-ape, death or insignificance. It was unnerving and set her on edge.

"I believe we should go inside, the others will arrive soon."

They turned and moved to enter the house as Johnny and Daemon remained in the yard. It was needed for safety's sake. Wolves were on the way and while they would obey matriarchal rule they were not necessarily going to like it. They would need time to adjust and prepare themselves for the future.

"Uncle, Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Where does wind come from?"

The interior of Beech House was immaculate and ornate. It was as the LeTorque Manor in its selection of artworks with priceless and individual uniqueness as the theme.

"Is that...?" Melissa asked breathlessly.

"Yes" Victoria answered knowingly for the reaction was the same from every visitor first viewing the original.

It had a child-like quality to it. There wasn't much left for it had been ravaged by time but what remained was still a wonder to behold. The first artwork with true and lasting significance; the original Ten Commandments.

"It's very powerful, isn't it?"

Melissa could not deny the claim for it was powerful indeed. It was also slightly mocking. What was inscribed was the answer of peace without the guide for implementation. It was one thing to say not to kill but without a reference for how to heed its advice the document of stone may as well have been written in water.

Melissa was in deep concentration over how difficult the advice was, at least from the intellectual point of view, for she could not conceive how one of a certain mindset could possibly follow the rule of not coveting. Coveting was thinking, after all. It didn't apply to an act itself but was an attempt to change thought. How to change thought was on her mind when they arrived. She felt them enter and moved to encounter.

The Wolf in front was impressive. He stood near seven feet and weighed well over three-hundred pounds. He could possibly be a match for their Alphas if not for one small man and a child playing with a kite in the backyard.

"Mistress" he said to her as he slightly bowed his head in respect.

"You are the Wolf Andrew, I presume."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I have heard of you."

She had, most had, for he was a force to be reckoned with. He led the House of Beech and was the Alpha to the Matriarch of one of the three families chosen to rule Third Clan before the LeTorque took over. He was mighty with a sword, deadly with a pistol but terrifying with a sledgehammer. It was his preferred weapon of choice and was quite effective for its intended use of splattering brain material. Wolves were hard to kill for they healed fast. The most effective way to solve the problem was to remove subconscious thought from the equation. A sledgehammer to the head performed the task adequately especially when wielded by a figure who could literally lift a cargo van.

"Thank you Mistress. I, of course, have also heard of you."

Melissa was of legendary stature and had been in rumors for centuries. Her reappearance sent a shock through Superior circles and when it was revealed she traveled with a Cloak many surmised the truth, that she was seeking to make a claim her bloodline suggested she had a right to; Matriarch of Clans.

"I need your fidelity, Andrew."

"You shall have it, Mistress."

And with those words the two she was entrusted with were given safe passage to live. Andrew was the boss and any Wolf challenging his ruling would become wallpaper applied through massive brain-force trauma. His word was law so long as he reigned. Victoria was Matriarch because he was Alpha. Both led with metallic authority.

"I want you to prepare yourself because the feeling is not one you've encountered before."

She was prepping him for the future.

"I hear it's like meeting a Human" he said and she allowed him his belief. It would last only so long, after all.

They headed outside and she heard his intake of breath.

She followed his gaze and smiled to herself. The child really was the real thing. What Andrew was witnessing was the most advanced form of hide and seek the world had ever known. Daemon hid while Johnny seeked although they'd thrown a twist into the game. Johnny could sense where Daemon was but could not seem to capture the lad. The game was rigged to allow for competitiveness. Daemon could go opaque, blend in with the background, but he could not move while doing so. Johnny would find his scent and move in but the game never ended for the child would become visible and move with a speed Johnny had no answer for. One second there, the next not. The child was giggling as Johnny lunged and held nothing but air.

"Mistress?" Andrew said.

"Yes" she replied.

"Is the boy...?"

"Yes, Andrew, the boy is the one we've been waiting for."

Chapter 13

They were instructed to park and a van arrived to take them in. The parking lot was surrounded by tall trees and a one-lane road appeared the only path. The van arrived, they hopped in and away they went. Through the trees they drove until they could sense a clearing ahead. They were curious by nature so were anticipating seeing the structure. When they broke the wood-line they gasped in astonishment.

"Holy...!"

"Is this for real?"

The scene in front of them was authoritarian rule taken to the extreme. The enormous prison sat in a meadow encircled with oil rigs. They could see activity humming all around and noticed with amazement the attire of those performing the work.

"Are those prisoners?"

"Yes, sir. Welcome to the future" the driver responded.

The venture had taken shape as business entered the picture. Private prisons run with corporate precision and manned with housed labor. The wells were pumping, the inmates maintaining and the prison population exploding.

"Is this even legal?" Smith asked in disbelief.

"Yes, sir, the Governor signed off on it about three years ago and we've been working here ever since."

"Who's 'we'?" Wesson asked.

"The convicts is 'we', sir" he responded and Wesson looked closer at his clothing.

The man had on overalls, under it was a white t-shirt and he wore workman's boots. He appeared to be a handyman, not a jailbird.

"You're a prisoner here too?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, been here from the beginning."

Smith was troubled because something wasn't quite right with the picture. He finally realized what was bothering him.

"Where's the fence?"

"There isn't one."

The idea had been nagging at him from the second they turned off the highway. He'd seen no sign of perimeter fencing. All they'd done was drive down a tree-lined route until they encountered the guard shack with the Ogre standing sentry. From then on they'd seen nothing else save trees and a prison lined with oil wells and a hundred workers milling around with cleaning supplies.

"Is this a minimum-security facility?" Wesson asked although he already knew the truth.

Bob Simpson had been convicted of first degree arson. Unless, all of a sudden, death by fire was somehow no longer judged a horrendous act then there was no way he would've done time in anything other than maximum enforcement.

"No, sir, this here's the top of the line. The number one place for us violent offenders."

Wesson saw no guard towers, the prisoners did not appear shackled and they moved as though on a mission. He glanced in the front of the van and surmised it too was of simple and convenient stock.

"What's to keep you from driving this van out the entrance?" he asked.

"You met the beast at the gate, I suppose?"

They had indeed. He was possibly as large as the cop they'd met earlier.

"Yes" Wesson replied.

"Well, he's not alone" their convict chauffeur informed them and Smith picked up on the underlying assertion.

"Are you saying there's more guards as large as him?"

"Yes, sir, and they love themselves some escapees."

The van pulled into the prison proper and both Smith and Wesson marveled at the lack of supervision apparent everywhere. No one was cuffed, no one was restrained, in fact, no one was anything. It was as if the prison was not a holding facility but a housing one. If they didn't know better they'd have sworn the purpose of the place was not the protection of society but the production of energy. The van entered the courtyard and they exited.

"Where do we wait?" Wesson asked.

"Go through them doors and you'll find the secretary. Her name's Juliet and she's pretty as a picture but don't go getting no ideas, she's spoken for" the man said as he put the van in gear and left the two detectives alone inside the prison's walls without escort.

The detectives looked at each other, once again scanned their environs and followed the man's advice. They entered through the doors he'd indicated and found themselves in a nice, plush office where a desk sat on lint-free carpet with a beauty seated behind it. She was everything the convict-driver reported except pretty didn't do her justice for she was downright captivating.

"Hello. May I help you?" she asked as though they were visiting a place of business.

"Hello, my name is Detective Smith and this is Detective Wesson. We'd like to see the Warden if at all possible."

"May I ask the reason for the visit?" she said.

"We're on a case and one of your previous inmates has become involved. We'd like to gather as much information as we can to see if he has anything to do with it" Smith replied.

She smiled and the world smiled with her. The room appeared to glow brighter and Smith could swear he felt a shimmer emanate from his insides. She was the story of dreams, the reason men toiled under a hot and burning sun; perfection personified.

"Please take a seat and I'm sure the Warden will see you shortly."

They sat on chairs made for comfort. The place was the last thing they'd expected and it was becoming increasingly more difficult for them to fathom. They'd been inside numerous holding facilities throughout their career at Craft and Sons but had never encountered anything like what was before them.

"Can you believe this?" Smith asked.

"I'm starting to think I've lost my mind" Wesson answered.

The air of the place was one of relaxation and comfort. Every few minutes an inmate would enter and the incredibly sexy secretary would smile and greet them kindly. The convicts responded accordingly and it was that aspect which was even more troubling to the detectives for they'd known men like those jailed in maximum security prisons and the last thing they were was cordial to a beautiful woman. Furthermore, there appeared to be no precaution taken to protect the woman. There was no metal detector at the entrance, no iron-barred gate between her and the hardened criminals, no nothing. It was just her and her radiance sitting behind a desk acting as though crime and those who commit the deeds did not exist in her world. Smith was seriously thinking about looking for hidden cameras in the hopes they were part of some gigantic hoax when the secretary called to them.

"The Warden will see you now."

They were directed down the hallway until they encountered a door made of frosted glass and on it was stenciled 'Warden Tiffany Delany'.

"Tiffany?" Smith said as he looked at Wesson in further confusion.

"Maybe it's a misprint" he replied.

They knocked and the responding answer proved the door correct.

"Enter" came the delightfully womanly sound from the Warden of Mabank Correctional Facility.

She was, if it were possible, even more striking than the woman manning the desk at the entrance. Warden Tiffany Delany was of colored ancestry and jaw-dropping imagery. She was five-feet-ten, one-hundred fifty pounds of pure Amazon delight and boyhood fantasy. The two detectives were so far down the rabbit hole they took her appearance in stride.

"What was his name?" she asked after they'd introduced themselves and told her the reason for their visit.

"Bob Simpson" Smith replied in a trance for he could not escape the woman's seduction. She was everything he could've possibly wished for except he knew not how to ask. He hadn't known magnificence came in such forms. If he'd known he would've looked! Everything about her was impossible. Her looks were such they were actually painful to his eyes. His imagination wandered as her aroma overwhelmed his senses. He believed he might've broken protocol and declared his love for the lady right there on the spot if something hadn't interceded. It came in the form of the Beast.

"Mistress Warden, I heard we had guests" the brute said as he entered without knocking.

"Yes, Ishmael, these are Detectives Smith and Wesson. They are here investigating a case and one of our previous residents has appeared on their radar."

The man who faced them was not as large as the two monstrosities masquerading as law enforcement but he was in the same neighborhood. He was well over six and a half feet, definitely pushing two-fifty and had about him an aura of authority. Neither Wesson nor Smith could put their finger on it but they both got the impression if left to fend for themselves, of the three giants, he would be the one to prevail. Fortunately he was also polite.

"What was his name?" he asked.

"Bob Simpson" she replied.

"Bob Simpson! I knew Bob. He was the fire-bug, wasn't he?"

"Yes, that's him" Wesson responded and then immediately wished he hadn't for the man turned to face him and Wesson felt in the presence of something he wished to avoid.

"Well, why would he come up in your investigation?" Ishmael inquired.

"He was found dead in the apartment of a man we are attempting to locate."

Wesson didn't know what he'd said or why he got the feeling he'd said the wrong thing but it was apparent he did.

"That's not possible" the brute replied.

"Why?" Wesson asked in a quiver.

"Because Bob Simpson died here in prison."

Chapter 14

The Governor was angry and he took it out on his food.

"Nat, I'm telling you, they've gone too far" he said stabbing his lettuce with ferocity.

Nat was again in the company of Austin Travis for the sole reason the Governor wished it and Nat enjoyed watching the man hang himself. He'd never actually released the State eviction notice but rumors of its existence became known and he could only reply he could neither confirm nor deny. When Mexico brought suit in the United Nations the cat was out of the bag and the war of words began.

"This is Nick Price with the Channel Five News at Ten. Tonight, our top story. Is Texas spelled with an 'X' or 'J'? If Mexico gets its wish we might all learn we've been writing it wrong."

The News was infatuated with the story because the thing had legs. People who had previously kept quiet were now willing to enter the fray. Unfortunately most only spoke Spanish so their voices were heard but not comprehended.

"Can you tell us your name?"

"Si'"

"You're name is 'C'?"

Everyone was talking about it and sides were forming, congealing, becoming hardened. Mexico denied blowing up the Alamo but asserted the eviction notice was legal. They insisted they were indeed the rightful landowners of Texas and thus wanted their day in court. Texas, of course, refused to recognize Mexico's claim but ran into a slight problem at the World Court; the rest of the world.

Texas had always boasted. It was part of what set it apart and was generally viewed with grudging admiration. Everyone liked a rugged individualist and Texas prided itself on its ability to produce people with the characteristic. Unfortunately, people also disliked braggarts. Governor Travis had, for years, worked tirelessly to promote the business community in his great state. He traveled to other states and countries and boasted of Texas' business friendliness, low taxes and non-union workforce. He boasted so much he forgot one thing; other lands. People lived there and were not too happy an outsider was coming in and trying to steal their businesses so when the World Court received word Mexico was staking a claim they leaped at the prospect. Texas found itself on the opposing side of virtually every country on the planet. It even had trouble with its own country. The Governor had ticked off so many other Governors it was only by the slimmest of margins the United States didn't side with Mexico.

"What are you going to do Governor?"

"What can I do? They've painted us into a corner, Nat. Other than the eviction notice we've got no proof."

"None? What about surveillance?"

"It didn't show anything. Well, that's not entirely true. It showed stuff but it might as well have been blank."

"Huh?"

"It showed a bunch of gosh-darn floating sticks of dynamite, Nat! it's like the Alamo was attacked by ghosts with a thing for explosives!".

Nat almost laughed at the Governor's plight because he knew the man was up against a force he had no knowledge of and no chance to prevail against. How could someone fight what they couldn't see? Vamps with ordinances were something the Human race was ill prepared to meet.

"Surely you've received some sympathy from California? Their castle was blown up also."

"You'd think so wouldn't you? But it hasn't really materialized."

The idea was simple; remove another landmark from territory previously held by Mexico. The Castle Fiasco, as it later became known in Wolf lore, wasn't so much a miscalculation of Human thought as it was a slight misjudgment on who would do the thinking. The children were upset, of that there was no doubt, but the parents of those children were another matter altogether. In public the sentiment was always the same.

"How horrible!"

"What a travesty!"

But behind closed doors, where children were not present, another viewpoint emerged.

"Praise the Lord!"

"Happy days are here again!"

The same adults who publicly condemned the destruction of an American icon were, in private, utterly relieved and overjoyed.

"We can buy a new car!"

"My God, I think we can actually pay the rent!"

The price of childhood entertainment had just plummeted alongside a castle dedicated to the idea with enough advertising the whining of children would be such that even the most spinster of parents would relent and pay whatever asked so they could get some quiet.

"So, Mexico gets a pass on the castle thing?" Nat asked.

"It looks that way. Heck, it looks like they're not even going to allow Disney the opportunity to rebuild the dang thing."

The petition was developed by some foresighted adults who were witnesses to previous events similar in nature but different in implementation. They had seen the future unfold first-hand and wished to avoid a repeat. It was, ironically, another entertainment industry which showed them the way. American football had grown leaps and bounds due to its popularity with the majority of its citizens. The majority of its citizens were not millionaires, though, and it was that aspect which caused otherwise indifferent people to band together to stop a recurrence of the events. Football had gotten so popular the owners of the clubs began thinking they could wring more money out of the sport so they destroyed their old stadiums which were reasonably priced and built ones which weren't. While the sport had grown due to its popularity with the masses it was thought the masses were no longer necessary. They built grand cathedrals and invited the rich. What was once somewhat achievable became a financial impossibility to the base and it was the act of short-term greed over long-term loyalty which was the tipping point. The answer in the Surf-state was easy to see.

"This is Nick Price with Channel Five News at Eleven. We have an up-to-the-minute forecast on the vote in California. We go now to Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes Nick, I'm here."

Tim was once again standing where a castle previously loomed supreme.

"Tim, can you tell us what is happening?"

"Well, Nick, we've got quite a few people here watching the returns on the giant-screen. They are waiting with baited breath to see if their side of the proposition prevails."

"Tim, for those viewers just tuning in could you explain what the proposition is about?"

"Sure, Nick, glad to do so. Proposition 666 is a vote to see if the footprint where the castle once stood should be dedicated a memorial. In essence, a last resting spot for the fallen."

"But I thought there were no casualties, Tim, am I wrong?"

"You are and you aren't ,Nick. There were no living casualties, true, but there were other casualties."

"What other casualties, Tim?"

"Dreams, Nick, they are mourning their childhood dreams which came crashing down at this very spot."

The proposition passed with an overwhelming majority. Disney, accepting defeat but looking for an up-side began funeral processions down Main Street and what was once a travesty of childhood imagination became a lesson in monetary mourning. Pluto received the bulk of the sympathy for not only did he lose his romping grounds on Earth but he'd previously lost his doghouse in space. His home planet had been reassigned, removed from the Astros as it were by those who felt it was nothing more than a space-rock floating aimlessly in the great void. His tombstone said it all.

REST IN PEACE

PLUTO

YOU MEANT A WORLD TO US

"What's your next step, Governor?" Nat asked.

"Well, we're going to delay, obviously."

"You don't think you can win?"

"I don't know, Nat, but I'm looking on the bright side."

"The bright side?"

"Yep, if we don't win then I'm not Governor and I can go back to eating real food. You know, a little part of me is actually rooting for Mexico."

Chapter 15

The inside of LeTorque Manor was not one of serenity.

"I cannot believe it!"

"It does appear we made a mistake there."

"A castle! We blow up a castle and they ignore it?"

Trudy was in a state of denial. Actually a state of disbelief followed by the state of denial. She could not grasp how a group of otherwise intelligent people could so honestly forgive their mischievous neighbors and overlook the destruction of animated illusion come to life.

"What do we need to do; blow up their capitol?"

The option had been discussed but eliminated for one glaring reason; the capitol of California was located so far north from the majority of its citizenry it might as well have been in Canada. They needed a war and they needed it to start between the United States and Mexico. Unfortunately, it seemed they'd picked two states who'd achieved the wrong results in the most illogically opposite ways. One was so disliked by its mother-nation it was touch and go for a while if they would even stick up for their southern brothers. The other was so passively happy they were unburdened by childhood playground-pushers they were willing to forgive their sneaky bombers from below the border. The fact it was Vamps and Wolves who'd done the destruction was irrelevant. The plan should've worked!

"What do we do now?" Trudy asked the room.

"I think we should think outside the box" Phillip said and the others just stared at him.

The problem with his line of thinking was he always thought outside the box for he was an outside-the-box kind of thinker. It was the way he operated. He would consider an option, any option, and twist it around in his head till the option no longer resembled the original. Sometimes it worked but generally it was a complete waste of time.

"Maybe we should blow up Six Flags?"

"Why would Mexico attack Six Flags, Phillip?"

"I don't know? Maybe they don't like giant wooden roller-coasters? Come on! Work with me here!"

They were getting nowhere and it was really frustrating, especially for the girls. Their kind had experience, after all.

The time was very early when only two clans existed. Yin wanted a war with First and they were more than happy to oblige. The problem, as always, was how to battle without the Humans becoming aware. The answer? Involve the Humans.

The King of Greek was a very, very ugly man. He was large, fat and old with the temperament of all tyrants. He would rail at others, throw tantrums and generally cause a lot of mischief for no reason whatsoever. The population was getting tired of it but were unable to do anything for the simple reason the King paid his soldiers well and they in turn chopped off heads. It was this dilemma which proved useful to Yin.

"Your Majesty?"

"Yes?"

"I would like you to meet Helen."

He was smitten from the start but it wasn't really his fault because Helen was a Vampire spy. She'd been chosen to play a role and did it like a true professional.

"I cannot believe how beautiful you are, my dearest Helen."

"Nor I how handsome you are, Your Majesty."

She led him on for weeks, always in sight but never in touch. The poor man was starting to see her in his dreams and his dreams were so vividly real he was beginning to think he was losing his mind. The truth was, he was being played.

Every night Helen would disappear, blend into her surroundings and enter the King's bedchamber. There she would wait until the King snorted himself awake to find himself staring at the woman he'd just been dreaming about. It was driving him mad. He'd never heard of a dream within a dream. The game went on until opportunity arrived.

"Your Majesty, please allow me to present Prince Troy."

Prince Troy was an average man as most princes tended to be. He wasn't much to look at, swung a sword which scared no one and was basically the public face for the real powers of the realm. He was, however, a man and thus easily manipulated.

"Prince Troy, this is Mistress Helen."

A smile was all it took. One parting of the lips and fate was set.

She never actually left with the Prince, she merely quit appearing after he departed. She stayed hidden inside King Greek's castle and visited him in fake dreams.

"Prince Troy has taken me."

The King bought it and sailed off to war. Yin then had his diversion and set off to challenge for First Clan supremacy. Humans did what Humans do and believed the easiest version of events; all the fighting going on was between two self-righteous monarchs who couldn't find common ground on even the simplest of things. Yin eventually won and the clans were his. Helen became bored because the King could not figure out a way to breach the Prince's palace. She visited him again as a dream.

"Build a hollow golden idol and place assassins within. Present it as a gift in exchange for me. Whence inside, attack at night, kill their soldiers and you will once again possess what you desire."

She felt it was a good idea. She wasn't actually being held, after all, and a golden idol seemed a proper gift for one of her stature. But the King was a cheapskate, as kings tended to be, so he disregarded the obviously intelligent option and went instead with a wooden horse.

Prince Troy was not the smartest of creatures but he wasn't a complete buffoon either. Who would offer a giant wooden horse in exchange for the prettiest woman in the realm? Besides, the dang thing was an obvious ploy to get whatever killers were stuffed in its gut inside the castle's walls. He thought of declining but re-evaluated and decided he might as well take the thing and remove the unimaginative ninja warriors from the King's payroll. The giant rocking-horse was wheeled in, the trap-door sprung and the soldiers inside used as target practice for the Prince's archers. The Prince was pleased and went about congratulating himself when a figure, unseen by Human eyes, slid off the back of the giant steed she'd been riding atop and opened the side door to the palace. Wolves entered, men lost their heads and Helen of Troy found immortality in tale.

"Maybe we should go for a ride?" Vivian suggested and since no one had a better idea they all agreed.

"Where do you want to go?" George asked as he put the giant pickup truck in gear.

"Let's just drive around, maybe inspiration will strike."

So they drove around Dallas discussing which historically cultural places with a past to both Texas and Mexico could be blown up to start a war.

"How about the Capitol Building?"

"Yeah, that might work, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, there's politicians inside the building. People just don't seem to care if politicians blow up."

The frustrating part seemed to be the lack of historical significance to virtually anything in existence.

"Sea World?"

"We are not blowing up baby seals, Phillip!"

Surely after all the time which had elapsed since Texas voted itself a state there was some remnants to original inhabitation?

"Cowboy's Stadium?"

"I believe that would be viewed positively by most, George."

They were at the point where exacerbation was setting in, the point where even the obscure was considered.

"Does Houston even have a landmark?"

They were at their wits end, past the point where logical conclusion could determine probable outcome.

"I'm hungry. Want to stop and eat?"

They all nodded their agreement and exited the freeway in search of gastrointestinal comfort and the answer to war-ignition. They pulled up to a light, Vivian looked up from her lap and screamed.

"I've got it!"

Chapter 16

They were walking around the prison yard getting acquainted with the place. It was large, clean and surreal with guards nowhere to be seen but prisoners everywhere.

"I can't believe this" Smith said yet again and Wesson nodded for he was tired of verbally agreeing.

Warden Tiffany allowed them the use of the entire prison as Ishmael ran down whatever information he could find about Bob Simpson's incarceration. The detectives asked if it was safe to roam the grounds and she laughed at the idea. She literally laughed. To her it was the utmost in ignorance to assume those entrusted to her care would do anything to a visitor. For some reason Smith got the impression she was not only telling the truth as she saw it but stating a fact of unwavering conviction. They'd decided to postpone questioning her for she told them she neither remembered the ex-convict nor would have dealt with the man while he was on the premises. Those duties fell to the guards who were under the supervision of Ishmael. He remembered Bob but only because the man had been so gloomy. The guard with more direct knowledge was named Lattimore and it was he whom Ishmael went in search of.

"You don't have radios?" Wesson asked.

"We don't need them" was the giant man's reply as he left.

Tiffany had suggested they walk around and get a feel for why the prisoners acted as though they were house-guests and since the detectives were curious they took her up on the offer. They even asked if they needed to leave their side-arms in a safe place since so far no one had relieved them of their pistols nor even asked if they possessed them. Her answer astonished them further.

"Why?"

'Why?' Wesson thought. 'Why?' He thought again. 'Because the prisoners could take them and use them to escape!' he screamed internally. He said nothing aloud because he was unsure exactly what he was dealing with.

"What the heck have we stumbled upon?" he was going to ask Smith but couldn't because Smith asked him the exact same question first. So instead of asking Wesson was relegated to replying so he blurted out what he felt was the most reasonable answer.

"I think we've found some kind of secret government experiment."

The fact Smith considered the possibility was good for Wesson's psychology. He was not prepared for giant men, amazingly attractive women, super-authorized butlers and dead men in closets who'd previously died in prison. He was prepared for most everything else just not those particular things. Furthermore, while they'd been on the case the world had lost its marbles. The Alamo had been attacked, Texas was facing eviction, Disney's Castle had fallen and instead of rebuilding the people in the streets seemed to be taking pleasure in its demise. He'd heard on the radio there were block parties celebrating the end of the Mouse's reign and he was still having a hard time grasping Pluto was not a celestial orb.

"Wesson?"

"Yes, Smith?"

"You're talking about Pluto again."

"I'm sorry. It's just I can't figure out how we could mis-categorize an entire planet? It's a planet for crying out loud!"

They walked around and marveled at the efficiency of the place. Everywhere they looked prisoners were running around tightening, cleaning or inspecting things. It wasn't only the oil rigs they were working on, they were actually taking care of the prison itself. There were people sweeping, wiping, polishing and doing everything else needed to keep a prison looking like a modern-day castle and they seemed to be doing it voluntarily. Finally, Smith had enough.

"Excuse me?" he asked a man in black and white striped convict attire.

"Yes, sir?" the man replied politely.

"I'm sorry, we're visitors here and we were wondering...?"

"Yes?"

"Has everyone gone insane?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why aren't you escaping? Are there guards I'm not aware of because it looks to me like they're just asking you to walk on out of here!"

The man was looking at Smith the way he figured he looked at others who screamed at total strangers in the middle of a prison yard; like it was he who was insane.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just..." Smith said.

"Just what, sir?"

Wesson decided it was time to help his partner out.

"Can you please tell us why you don't make a run for it?" he asked and the man's eyes widened in surprise, widened in such a way Wesson felt he'd said something so profoundly dangerous the man was scared to even be within earshot when it was uttered.

"Because we can't, sir."

"You can't?"

"No, sir."

"Why, are you being monitored or something? Are there sensors in the ground?"

The man looked around for a second, paused, stared at his feet and then looked Wesson directly in the eye.

"Because there's wolves in the tree-line" he whispered

Wesson wasn't sure he'd heard the man correctly so he went for a clarification.

"Wolves?"

"Yes, sir."

"Real wolves? Like the ones in the national forests?"

The man started to laugh and Wesson felt relieved for he really had thought the man said wolves.

"No, sir, not like no wolves in the forests. These wolves is nothing like them."

The way he said it kind of freaked Wesson out. The man was actually serious. He actually believed there were wolves in the tree-line.

"You're not serious?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, I'm dead serious."

By now even Smith had regained enough of his senses to once again lose them.

"You're saying there's wolves in the tree-line? Wolves? And that's why no one is making a break for it?"

The man glanced around again and both detectives did the same. There was no one within earshot, no guards anywhere in sight but still the man appeared to weigh his words warily.

"These aren't your everyday wolves, sir."

"They're not?"

"No, sir, these wolves stalk, these wolves wait, these wolves want you to run."

Both detectives had interrogated enough people to know when they were lying, telling the truth or something in-between. What they were seeing on the convict's face was complete and total belief in the words emanating from of his mouth.

"Are you saying the prison is using wild animals to keep you in?"

"No, sir, these wolves aren't wild. No one's ever seen them, no one's ever met them... well, no one's met them and returned but sometimes you can get a feel for them. You know, kind of like when someone's watching your back and you can feel they're gaze?"

The detectives nodded their heads for they knew the experience.

"Well, it's kind of similar. When you come out here, daylight or nighttime it doesn't matter, you can feel them watching you. You know they're there. And you know what?"

"What?" both asked a bit mesmerized with the man's description.

"You can tell they want you to try."

The detectives looked to the tree-line and wondered if it was possible what the man said was in fact happening. Was the prison employing trained wolves to guard the perimeter? It didn't seem exactly legal to Wesson but he'd never heard its use before so had no idea if it was a violation or not. There was another thing the man had said which Wesson wanted a bit more explanation but was denied for the man abruptly turned away and before either detective could ask why he was leaving a voice boomed over their shoulder.

"Smith and Wesson?"

They turned around, looked up and stared into the eyes of another colossus of myth.

Lattimore was around the same size as the gate-guard but with a little more personality.

"So you two are detectives?" he asked as they walked through the yard.

"Yes" Smith replied.

"What do you detect?"

"Huh?"

"Well, do you detect murders or robberies or what?"

"Oh, we usually work on cases of a sensitive nature. Generally art thefts or corporate secrets, stuff like that."

"Cool!"

Smith liked the guy, he couldn't help it, Lattimore was the most laid-back prison guard he'd ever come across. After scaring them to death with his voice and appearance he turned out to be a really enjoyable guy to be around. As they were walking through the yard he would yell out greetings to the prisoners and they would reply back, and not in the somewhat insincere way prisoners usually did. They wouldn't yell 'Hi, boss!' or 'Hello, sir!' instead they'd yell 'Hey, Lattimore!' and they appeared to mean it. The man was employed to keep them locked away and they treated him like some long lost cousin. Now, it could've been because he was the size of a bison but Smith didn't think so. Smith thought what he was witnessing was one of those rare individuals who was gifted with extraordinary talents but thought he was the same as those around him. It made Lattimore pleasant to be around for you weren't worried about insulting the guy accidentally because he truly couldn't be insulted accidentally. He could be insulted on purpose but why someone would want to do something so amazingly ignorant was beyond Smith's comprehension.

"Lattimore?"

"Yes, Smith?"

"How did Bob Simpson die?"

They were asking him questions about Bob Simpson because he was their only lead on Mr. Johnson. They still couldn't access anything on the LeTorque family so they went with what they had.

"He died from Bird Flu" he said.

"Excuse me?" Wesson asked.

"He died from..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to repeat it. I meant, well, was there even an outbreak of Bird Flu around here?"

"Not that we found, no. It seems old Bob was just the most unlucky guy ever."

The statement obviously called for further questions.

"What do you mean?" Wesson asked.

"Just what I said. Bob Simpson was the unluckiest guy I've ever met."

"How?"

"Well, for starters, this prison we're sitting in and the oil wells surrounding it..." he said then paused.

"Yes...?"

"The land they're sitting on previously belonged to him."

Both detectives were stunned. Nothing in their report on the man indicated he had money. Of course, the redacted version they were handed didn't really give them all too much to go on except for his previous criminal history and the two correctional facilities he'd been assigned to. Bob Simpson had first been incarcerated in Huntsville, just a little trek down the road. He'd been convicted of tax evasion by providing lodging and small goods to migrant workers who farmed the fields near his mother's land. The government found out and he was sentenced to ten years. He got out in two, went home and was later returned to Huntsville for first degree arson. He was then transferred to the facility they were visiting.

"This land here was once Bob Simpson's home?"

"Yep. Well, it was his mother's but she was pretty far gone so he would've inherited it if he hadn't murdered her."

Again, stunned.

"What?"

"The first degree part of the arson, it was his mother who died in the fire he set."

"You mean this is the land Bob killed his mother on?"

"Yep, in fact, on this very same spot. You see, there was a Reformatory for Wayward Youth which was previously here. Bob found out there was oil under the Reformatory and set it ablaze."

Neither detective could believe their ears.

"And they transferred him here?"

"Yep, the place was built after old Bob did the deed and when it was finished he was transferred here."

"Why?" Smith asked.

"I don't know, maybe because he killed his own mother?" Lattimore replied.

It seemed kind of cruel but also had a ring of justice to it. Bob had killed to get at oil under a reformatory so he was sentenced to a life of reformatory-living on the very same land pumping out what had caused him to enter.

"So let me get this straight. Bob Simpson, the guy found bound and dead with his head on backward, spent the last years of his life in a prison cell staring at rigs pumping oil which could have been his if he didn't set a fire which killed his mom to get rid of a Reformatory which was in the way, correct?"

Lattimore thought about it for a second.

"Correct, and then he died of Bird Flu."

"That must have been hard. Staring at all the money which could've been yours" Smith said.

Wesson whole-heartedly agreed.

"Yeah, and it was even worse because he wasn't the only one who knew" Lattimore added.

The detectives' ears perked up. Maybe Mr. Johnson also knew? Maybe Bob never died of Bird Flu? What if it was some elaborate hoax to somehow regain the oil-field and Bob was subsequently killed to keep him quiet?

"Someone else knew?" Wesson asked.

"Yep, his cell-mate."

"What was his name?"

"Steve Wazziznaim."

Both Smith's and Wesson's hearts sank a bit because both were hoping for the name of Johnny Johnson. It would've meant they were looking for a wanted killer and probably would've put an end to the 'unlimited funds' but it would at least have been a break in the case.

"How'd he know?" Smith inquired.

Lattimore thought about it for a second.

"Well, this is what I mean about old Bob being the unluckiest guy in the world. You see, Steve Wazziznaim was actually this pyramid scheme guy who was caught, convicted and sent to prison. While in prison he met Bob."

"Hold on. This prison?" Wesson interjected.

"Nope, the other one, Huntsville. You see, Stevie-boy was in jail for swindling people out of money by selling claims to land he said contained oil. They didn't, of course, and that's why he went to the slammer but a funny thing happened while he was running his scam. He actually found land with oil. He couldn't buy it because the owner wouldn't sell so he bought the property next to it and, I suppose, tried to wrangle the land out from under the little old lady who refused to part with her land."

"Hold up. Was the little old lady Bob's mom?"

Lattimore smiled.

"Yep, good guess. So anyway, it was about this time when Bob got caught in his migrant worker tax scam and Stevie-boy got caught in his pyramid scheme. Both ended up in Huntsville and Steve must have seen an opportunity because when Bob got out he set fire to the Reformatory."

"Huh?" Wesson said.

"What?" Lattimore replied.

"Why would Steve see an opportunity?"

"Oh, well, you see, Steve knew there was oil under the land but Bob didn't. Bob still thought the land was only good for his migrant worker program but Steve knew better so when he found himself locked up with the owner of the land adjacent to his..."

"Hold on" Smith interjected.

"Yes?"

Lattimore seemed to be having fun telling the story. The detectives were rather interested , after all.

"How did Steve know who Bob was?"

"Good question! He knew because he set the whole thing up. You see, Bob was getting away with his guest-worker program until someone, I'm thinking Steve, informed the authorities. Steve then went to Bob's mom and offered to assist in Bob's defense if she would sign over the rights to her land."

Wesson was fully intrigued.

"Sneaky" he said.

"Yes, but it didn't work because Bob's mom received an offer from the State. They wanted to put a Reformatory for Wayward Youth on her land and were willing to lease a portion of her estate so she cut a deal with Steve. She would take his offer to fund Bob's defense but would only use the land as collateral in case she couldn't repay. Steve accepted because he figured there was no way she would be able to pay because he didn't know about the State's Reformatory offer. Anyway, Bob lost his case, his mom made payments to work off her debt to Steve, Steve got busted with the pyramid scheme and joined Bob in Huntsville knowing exactly who Bob was."

"So Steve tells Bob about the oil..." Wesson began.

"... who gets out and set fire to the Reformatory..." Smith added.

"... which kills his mom and sends him eventually back to the place it all started" Lattimore finished.

The detectives were a little stunned but not necessarily amazed at the coincidences for they'd had experience with convicts before. Convicts had a lot of time on their hands and little to do except talk. They'd learned in any prison there would be quite a number of co-conspirators from earlier times who were subsequently caught and returned to jail. Since most prisons were State-run they'd eventually meet up with the same person they initiated the conspiracy with and usually plan a whole new enterprise. Almost all ended up running in circles and doing most their life's time behind bars.

"Okay, so why was Steve in here? I'm assuming he wasn't sentenced to life for a pyramid scheme?" Smith said.

"You're assumption is correct. He was here because Bob sent him here."

"Huh?"

"Bob swore he didn't set the fire. He said he had an alibi but when it became obvious he was going to lose he did the one thing he thought would stop a tragedy from happening."

"Huh?" both detectives said at the same time.

"Bob thought he was being set up by the one guy who knew there was oil under his land because during his trial the oil was revealed. Bob thought he was being scapegoated by the one guy who would benefit both from the loss of a Wayward Youth Facility and the incarceration of the heir to the land it was sitting on."

"Because...?"

"Because Steve still held the land as collateral from Bob's earlier trial. His mom hadn't paid off the debt."

"So Bob thought...?"

"Bob thought Steve set him up. Steve was in prison so he obviously couldn't set the fire but it didn't mean he couldn't hire someone to do it and plant evidence incriminating Bob. Well, Bob thought it over and did what he could to prevent Steve from getting the land."

Wesson was all in now. He was riveted and waiting for the outcome.

"What did he do?"

"He said it was all Steve's idea."

Chapter 17

Zombie Ralph drove with Andrew in front and the rest in back. The limousine was nothing new to those riding but it was still a unique experience for wherever it went eyeballs followed. Johnny and Daemon shared one seat, the two Matriarchs the other.

"It is still a strange feeling."

Melissa could mentally understand Victoria Beech's situation, she just couldn't physically experience the sensation. Scent was different from all other senses for it was always there, ever pervasive, even if only the subconscious was aware.

"What does it feel like?" she asked.

"It feels as though a portion of me is hollow, as though an echo I cannot hear is trying to break through."

The answer was vague enough for Melissa to get a generalized feeling so she let it go. They were driving down the freeway at the speed of walk for they were nearing their destination.

"Are we sure this plan will work?" Victoria asked.

Melissa took time to answer the question.

"No, we're sure of nothing at this point. We really thought the people liked the castle more than it appears they did so we're trying what we feel is the next best option."

Victoria sat back and digested the information.

"It's harder than it was in the past, isn't it?"

"Starting a war?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's got a few more wrinkles than the previous times but I think we can work through them. It seems the problem we're running into is the whole globalization thing. Who would've thought a little ease of travel and better communication would have brought on so much tolerance?"

The limo was exiting the freeway and its speed increased as side-road travel replaced highway crawl. Andrew kept vigil in front directing the Zombie where to go. At the same time across the entire South similar parties were performing similar measures.

"Pull over here" Andrew directed and Zombie Ralph complied.

"Put this on" he said and again the Zombie followed orders.

"Give this to the clerk and wait for our reply" was his last command and Ralph nodded his already dead head, got out the limo and went to repay his debt.

Andrew slid over into the driver's seat and waited.

"I will miss him, he was a good Zombie" Victoria said with what appeared true affection in her voice and Melissa felt for her new-found friend.

Ralph was unaware he would be missed. In truth Ralph was unaware of anything. He'd been Zombified; given up his blood for a chance to perform one last chore before life passed him by. He'd done it with enthusiasm.

Charles Schneider had always been a snide individual, always found fault in others and never saw any in himself. He'd become a financial advisor for one reason and one reason only; he couldn't pass the CPA exam. He'd studied and crammed until his eyes bulged out but was still unable to master the one test which his college had attempted to prepare him for. He blamed his professors, all of them, for their incompetence and then blamed the test itself. It was rigged. Set against him for he was a danger to their field. He was smarter than them, wiser in the ways of the world and on to their schemes. He would change the world by finding the solution to tax avoidance. He would become the CPA to the stars! But they denied him his chance. They gave him a harder test than the others, a test impossible to pass, a test designed exclusively with him in mind for they feared what he would do to their bottom line. He knew it to be true so he became a financial advisor because it, unlike a CPA, needed no piece of paper to practice.

Charles met Ralph at a Las Vegas casino. Ralph was rich, successful and the worst poker player at the table. Charles took him for three-thousand dollars. That would've been it for Ralph and Charles if not for one small detail; Charles was cheating, the casino caught him and he, in turn, caught Ralph's eye. While they'd been betting against each other both discussed, as many do when playing a game of cards, what they did for work. Charles mentioned financial advising, Ralph lost most his money to Charles, Charles got caught cheating by the casino and Ralph found exactly the right person to hide his money from the feds. He'd been using a certified accountant who had some weird affliction which wouldn't allow him to find a tax shelter Ralph knew had to exist. The fact no other CPA's were willing to admit there were indeed tax shelters Ralph could use to keep his hard earned money away from the greedy government was ignored. He knew they existed, he just couldn't find them. When he found Charles he found his answer.

Charles' solution was simple. Buy an apartment complex and have middlemen sign on as the tenants. He then rented out the four hundred square foot rat-holes to as many illegals as he could possibly stuff into each one. He accepted only cash and went directly to every pawn shop and trade show he could find after the rents were paid. He bought everything from gold to rubies and placed them in safe-deposit boxes where they were reported as antique family heirlooms. Ralph's money was safe for he was still reporting rent from the middlemen who were paid a kickback to sign their names to the checks each month but he generally collecting twice as much from each individual unit in the complex because he was sleeping four to a room. Everything was going splendidly and no one was the wiser until Ralph got sick, Charles got greedy and seven hundred hard working day-laborers were evicted from two hundred one-room apartments because the land-lord quit paying the property taxes.

Victoria found Ralph in a hospital after he told his story of the cheating financial advisor, Ralph found Charles sipping martinis at a beach-bar in Acapulco and Charles found the inside of a hammerhead shark as Ralph slowly and methodically cut him up and used him for chum.

On the upside, those who ate the Swordfish caught using Charles-chum all agreed it was an extra-ordinary delight.

"How much longer, Andrew?" Victoria asked.

"He's entering now" came the reply.

No one paid him any heed for he was dressed as the others and they in turn were all dressed the same. Baseball cap, jeans, t-shirt and sneakers were the attire. It didn't matter the design for the end product would be the same. Who cared about the messenger when the message itself was so explosive?

"Hello, may I take your order?"

He looked up and smiled, handed her the note and waited for their reply. All over the southern states the message was the same.

I HAVE A BOMB STRAPPED TO MY BODY

YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO EVACUATE

In every location their reactions were predictable.

"He's got a bomb!"

"Yaaagh!"

In every situation the result was the same for their reply came with conviction.

KA-BOOM!

They didn't care who got the blame because symbolism was the key. It had to be something both cared about deeply even if their feelings ran in opposite directions.

"Hello folks, this is Nick Price with Channel Five News. We have a breaking development brewing and will return you to your regularly scheduled programming as soon as possible. We are going live to our award winning on-the-beat reporter, Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, can you tell us what is going on?"

"Yes, Nick, there has been a rash of explosions at various fast-food restaurants throughout the south. From Florida to California the same accounts are pouring in."

"What are those accounts, Tim?"

"Eyewitnesses are reporting customers walking up to the cashiers and handing them notes saying they have bombs attached to their bodies and everyone has five minutes to evacuate."

"My goodness! And have those reports proven to be true?"

"Yes, the police say they believe the witnesses."

"No, Tim, I meant have there been reports of bombs going off?"

"Oh, well, yes Nick there have. In every instance where a note was presented a bomb did, in fact, explode."

"Oh my! And were there any casualties?"

"Yes, the people who had the bombs strapped to their chests were all reported to have perished with the explosions."

"Wow! And were there any more reports of casualties?"

"You mean other customers?"

"Or other workers. Let's not forget the workers, Tim."

"Oh, yes, sorry about that. Um, the answer to your question is no, Nick."

"No what, Tim?"

"There were no other casualties, Nick."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I'm not the one counting the bodies, Nick, so I'm not proof positive they're telling the truth when they say only the bombers blew themselves up but I can't imagine why the authorities would hold that information from the public."

"Maybe to quell our fear?"

"Um, yeah, I suppose that's a possibility but..."

"But what, Tim?"

"Well, Nick, the bombs appear to have been made in just such a way the only ones really in danger at the time were the bombers themselves."

"I'm sorry, did you say the bombs were designed solely to blow the bombers up?"

"Yes, that appears to be the case, Nick."

"Thank you, Tim. Well there you have it folks..."

"Nick?"

"Yes, Tim?"

"There was one other small detail which I suppose the public should know about."

"What's that ,Tim?"

"All of the fast-food restaurants had the name 'Taco' in them."

"Thank you, Tim. Well, there you have it folks. A rash of suicide bombers with an extreme dislike for tacos has brought terror to the homeland. We will have more at five on the Channel Five News at Five. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming."

Chapter 18

They were out back enjoying one of the rarest events in the city of Dallas; a summer day without triple numbers in the temperature index.

"You're doing it wrong."

"How am I doing it wrong?"

"You need to let them sear more."

George was grilling and Philip was supervising. The fact George didn't want or need supervision was irrelevant. Phillip was not grilling therefore he was, by default, supervising. Vivian and Trudy were lounging by the pool.

"Do you think it will work?"

"How could it not work?"

"I don't know? The castle thing didn't quite work out."

"I still don't understand how that failed."

They'd been relaxing after organizing the Great Zombie Taco Blast and waiting for the results to arrive. The News had been receptive but they'd been burned before and wanted first-hand information before they proceeded.

"What are you doing?"

"Putting the cheese on top."

"You don't do that while they're still on the grill!"

"Why not?"

"Because you'll burn the cheese!"

Werewolves were, by nature, confrontational creatures and outdoor barbecue always brought out the better in them. Whoever was cooking could do no right and the one watching would point it out. There was talk once of outlawing outside grilling altogether but the notion was quashed when it was discovered the one who proposed the idea actually preferred gas over charcoal. The other Wolves consulted, voted, then tore his head off.

"Hello everybody!"

"Nat!" Vivian screamed, rose from her lounger and jumped in his arms.

The molecular Alien from Heaven was glad he had no actual form. If he did, he knew the mate of Vivian would've torn his head off for the Vampire in question was wearing a bikini and though he was of Heavenly stock he was not made of stone.

He set the luscious Vampire down and made his way to a patio chair, sat down and relished the afternoon sky.

"Hey, Nat, you want a burger?" Phillip yelled.

"I wouldn't say no if one was offered" he replied.

The answer seemed to perplex the Werewolf so Nat specified.

"Yes, Phillip, I would love a burger."

The Wolf turned to the other Wolf.

"Nat said he'd..."

"I'm right here, Phillip, I heard what he said" George growled and Nat's natural curiosity rose.

George and Philip were exceptions to the rule for they were two Alphas who restrained their innate need to dominate for the better of the whole. There was a bet on Heaven as to which would prevail and the line was split even across the board. Heavenly bookies were constantly evaluating but could not determine the odds, the two were impossible to judge. Both were of relative size, age and agility. Neither had ever lost a battle and were, at that moment, the top Wolves in Third Clan. They'd seeded authority to Johnny for the benefit of war and a merging of the clans but were not pacifists by nature. If, for some reason, they ever decided to fight for Alpha the population on Earth would rise exponentially as the crowd from above descended below to witness the event. Tickets had already been purchased far in advance and the going rate for those remaining exceeded the wealth of empires.

"Phillip!" Trudy snapped.

"Yes Mistress?"

"Let George cook!"

The Wolf who could be king followed the orders of who might be queen and went back to supervising.

"You should baste them."

"Baste them?"

"Yeah."

"With what?"

"I don't know, basting powder?"

Nat's curiosity dimmed as the Wolves returned to culinary competitiveness and he turned his attention to the visually pleasing half of the species.

"Trudy?"

"Yes, Nat?"

"I just came from a very interesting meeting with the Governor."

"Oh? What did you discuss?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and feigned ignorance.

The fun in Superior games came from their intrigue. Vampires were ever plotting, always conceiving and continually conspiring with and against others to further their own interests. Wolves neither conspired nor plotted for they were used more bluntly. Vampires designed, Wolves destroyed.

"We discussed current events" he answered enjoying her subtleness.

Vamps were secretive by necessity. Information was power and the more one held the likelier one survived. Advancing another's knowledge through revelation was not considered smart and generally left the revealer in a weaker position. Partnerships were temporary and fluid, trust was given and taken warily while motives were constantly questioned.

"What current events?"

"Oh, just the headlines."

The media was having a field day. Newspapers were given a second chance as people once again bought them for in-depth reporting as opposed to digital bytes of mis-information. The local paper in Dallas led each day with a new declaration.

TACOS TAKE A TROUNCING!

FAST-FOOD FANATICISM TAKES A TACO TURN TO TERROR!

THE BELL TOLLS FOR THEE TACO!

FRANCHISES IN A FRENZY AS TACO PURCHASING PLUMMETS!

The owners of the restaurants were in a quandary for they were dealing with something out of their control. The bombs did little physical damage to their establishments but the psychological impact was lasting. The floors were polished, the ceilings washed clean but the air of body parts lingered and no amount of detergent could remove the memory of splattered remains when customers entered the doors.

"What was the Governor's reaction to the bombings, Nat?" Vivian asked as George began spatuling ground-beef patties onto buns.

"He was livid, Mistress, but he didn't know who to be livid with."

The problem of blame arose when Mexico denied involvement and were emboldened in their decision by the very newspapers hoping to catch them with their lies. It turned out Mexico had no interest in bombing taco shops across the south because the truth was there were no taco shops across the south. There were restaurants serving food with the name 'taco' but that was about as far as the truth came when it got down to the nitty-gritty because what America called tacos Mexico called abhorations. To Mexico the things were nothing more than ground fatburgers in crispy cornbread. They posited, and most eventually agreed, if they'd wanted to damage America they surely wouldn't remove a product already performing the service for them. No, they would've attacked something which was not a net gain for them when the discussion of gluttony, greed and self-inflation came to the forefront of political theater. Taco stands in America made their counterparts in Mexico look like health-food chains.

"What do you mean he didn't know who to be livid with?" Trudy asked.

"Exactly what I said. He's not sure who did it."

"But... but the places were taco places. Surely he'll demand some retribution from Mexico."

Nat was always mystified why Superior minds were always confused by Inferior intellect.

"Mistress, they don't know who did it. Okay, I understand why you did it. Mexico wants Texas back and is angered the northerners abducted their national food and Frankensteined the taco but, you've got to understand, the locals don't think like that. They think they've got the original thing. They think their tacos are the real enchilada. Right now the prevailing thought among the elites is one of their own was responsible. Some nationalistic loon took the opportunity to exact a little payback for the Alamo by blowing up a symbol of Mexican heritage."

Trudy and Vivian sat still, unable to get their heads around the problem. They'd been sure the plan would work. There was enough animosity between the two neighbors they felt it was a no-brainer. How could they not blame Mexico? It had just blown up their Alamo and was proceeding with eviction.

"So the Governor's not going to do anything?" Vivian asked.

"Oh, he's going to rant and rave, he'll probably even demand some sort of apology but he won't get very far. Mexico knows they didn't do it and those in power don't have any proof so after a while things will return to normal. Except maybe for the taco business. It appears you've really done a number on them."

George and Phillip sat the burgers down on the table and the two Vampires and lone Alien went to load up on the meaty treats.

"What do we do now?" Vivian asked.

No one knew what to say so the five remained silent pondering the problem. They needed something to send them over the edge, something neither side could ignore, something larger than the Alamo and taco shops. The silence was unsettling, the only sounds were munches of muscles and smacking of lips. Inspiration came by way of a luscious blonde's taste-buds.

"I've got it!"

Chapter 19

The two detectives were sitting at a bench in the courtyard of Mabank Correctional Facility watching oil rigs bob up and down, convicts maintain them and, except for the giant sitting with them, not a guard in sight.

"So Bob implicated Steve in his arson case?" Smith asked.

"Yep, and since Steve held the deed to the land as collateral the authorities bought Bob's version, tacked twenty years on Steve's time and sent him to the prison sitting on the land he could never got his hands on" Lattimore answered.

The story seemed plausible but Wesson was running into one problem.

"So, why is there a prison here now?"

The answer was one neither detective expected.

"You are not yet privileged to that information" the Warden Tiffany Delay said as she and Ishmael joined the them in the courtyard.

"Excuse me?" Smith said.

"Yes?" the wonderfully attractive Warden answered.

"Did you just say privileged?"

Her smile was all the answer he needed but she was delightful to the eye so he plowed on.

"May I ask you a question, Warden?"

She nodded her head.

"Yes, but please call me Tiffany. Warden has such a negative connotation to it."

Smith nodded his reply and dove in head first.

"Okay, Tiffany, please forgive me for asking an awkward question but I need to know. Have you been in contact with a Mister Nat Hallowed?"

Her smile was again all the answer he needed. Fortunately she went a bit further.

"Yes, Nat informed us you were on the way and gave us instructions on how we were to treat you."

Smith was having a hard time grasping the subject of a police officer moonlighting as a butler who apparently also had the authority to order a warden to do his bidding. He was having difficulty but it didn't mean he was going stop the attempt,

"What were your instructions if you don't mind me asking?"

Her beauty was hard to ignore. She was what he believed addicts were compelled to. A breath of fresh air so intoxicating it was worth the price of life itself.

"I don't mind, Detective. He said you would be coming here to question us about an inmate we previously held. He also said the inmate would be connected to the missing person's case of Johnny Johnson. His instructions were two-fold. We were to answer any questions pertaining to the two of them but were not to delve into subjects unrelated. He further said if you asked the right questions and made such connections we were to inform him and he would either allow or disallow the interrogation."

Wesson was apoplectic. Wardens were the same as ship captains, their word was law and within their domain they held ultimate authority. What Tiffany Delay was implying led him to the incredible conclusion not only did Nat Hallowed have powers within the police department but he also held them outside their jurisdiction.

"So let me get this straight. You knew who we were before we arrived but neglected to inform us?" Wesson asked.

"Yes. I am sorry but we've been ordered to answer your questions not provide them for you" she replied.

Wesson was ticked off. He'd lost his lunch to a crazy canine and now he was dealing with a correctional community controlled by a corrupt cop. He was not happy, not satiated and not in the mood for games. Luckily, he was also not alone.

"Wesson?" Smith whispered.

"What?" he hissed back.

"You've got that look in your eye. Look, I agree with you, this is a stupid case but if you decide to get all righteous with these people we're going to get kicked out and Craft and Sons will kick our butts for losing unlimited income."

Wesson knew Smith was right. He didn't particularly like getting reminded of it on an empty stomach but he knew the truth. He was a professional and as such knew he had to play by the same rules all did when performing their service; those paying were always right. So he swallowed his indignation, ignored his stomach's revolt and delved in where infinite currency resided.

"Okay, Warden... err... Tiffany, we'll play by your rules. But can we at least know what the rules are?" he asked.

"Sure" she replied but went no further so Wesson again swallowed his annoyance and ignored his belly's irritation at receiving something not of a satisfying nature.

"What are those rules, Mistress Tiffany?"

He didn't know why he'd used the referential term for the woman but he just felt it was more appropriate. She didn't want to be called 'Warden' but he couldn't bring himself to use 'Tiffany' alone for it seemed disrespectful somehow.

"You may ask questions pertaining to Johnny Johnson's whereabouts and Bob Simpson's death but are limited in scope beyond those two categories" she answered.

"Okay, do you know the whereabouts of Mister Johnson?" Wesson asked.

"No" she replied.

"Was Mister Johnson ever here in this prison?"

"No."

"Have you ever met Mister Johnson?"

"You are not privileged to that information" she replied and Wesson sighed.

They were playing the gosh-darn lawyer game! He hated the lawyer game. The lawyer game was exceedingly exacerbating for one was always pushing the limits of its design. It was like a baseball game. Everything which occurred inside the game was allowed to be questioned, everything outside was foul territory. If a player, for example, suddenly began hitting baseballs out of the park at a rate which was unordinary then questioning began. Was the bat corked? Was the ball tricked? Did the hitter know the catcher's signs? All were perfectly within reason to examine for they were part of the game itself. But what if the batter was using performance enhancements? What if he was chemically cheating? It was there the rules changed. Unless a direct connection could be proven, such as a syringe found in the player's locker, then the questioning could not take place. What was outside the game remained off-limits.

"Wesson?"

"Yes, Smith?"

"Let me give it a shot."

"Go for it."

Smith loved the lawyer game. He thought he would've made a good lawyer if not for one thing; he despised school. It didn't matter which school for they were all the same. Study a vast amount of information to glean a small amount of useful knowledge. He wasn't a neurosurgeon but he was sure an electrical engineering student didn't need a course in American Literature. Oh, he understood the lame argument of opening minds and broadening horizons but found them lacking for one glaringly obvious reason; the poor student forced to take the class also had to shell out the dough to do so. If the reasoning behind making young adults take classes to find out if their true niche was actually in another occupation and thus more beneficial to society then it was in society's interest not to gouge the poor kids and their parents for the privilege of doing so. Smith felt sad for the kids because, unlike his generation, upper-education was now in the hands of business. He felt business was many things but one of them was not to benefit the whole. Business was best when it benefitted itself. Business was never charitable for goodness sake, it was charitable for commerce sake. He'd never heard of a business donating to a worthy cause without the benefit of advertising its charitable deed. He'd heard of individuals who'd been discovered doing the honorable thing but never a business.

"Mistress Tiffany?"

"Yes, Detective Smith?" she answered with a grin.

"Whose side are you on?"

He was prepared for the easy answer, expecting it in fact, so when she did the opposite he was actually caught a little off-guard.

"We are on your side, Detective."

He hadn't expected an up-front answer, he'd expected the obvious one of feigned surprise and ignorance of the question. He'd expected her to answer she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Which side is that Mistress?"

His question stemmed from the fact they'd received no help from the ones purporting to want to know Mister Johnson's whereabouts. On the contrary, the ones who hired them seemed to want the opposite. The LeTorque had done nothing to help them other than issue a piece of paper with the promise of everlasting wealth. In fact, the only one who had been helpful was also the one who had been the hindrance; the man-servant and part-time officer, Nat Hallowed.

"We wish for your success, Detective Smith" was her reply.

"Okay, then you should begin by helping us."

"We are helping, Detective, but in a way which is allowed by those in charge. Surely you, of all people, can understand the difference" said Ishmael.

The quizzical response was unexpected and threw Smith off-guard for a second. He had a past, everyone did, and his involved law enforcement's rules governing the game. He'd been a cop and broken them. He'd changed lawful outcome when he altered the criminal process by force of fist and threat. The man had kidnapped a child, Smith found him, the man said the child would die unless he was released, Smith beat the man within an inch of his life and the man gave up the child's location but was never charged in the abduction. What Smith had done was illegal because he used physical force to compel a confession and what came from the confession was illegitimate in the eyes of the law. The child was found but not through the use of the kidnapper's confession. According to the court, it was as if the event never happened. The man went free, Smith took early retirement and the child forgot he was ever the victim of a crime. Craft and Sons did not. The man relocated for law enforcement was made of individuals. They would accept a court's decision and let a criminal go but they would never forget the perpetrator himself. If he would've stayed in town the cops would've had a field day busting him for everything from loitering to jaywalking. The man moved away and was later found by the detective agency. His whereabouts were never revealed and he subsequently disappeared. The loss of Human life without governmental knowledge is not common but it can occur, especially if the lost soul was one society had no wish to reclaim. At times Craft and Sons were a law to themselves. They sparingly used their power outside the guidelines but when they did those who received their verdict were the only witnesses to the act.

"Fine, we'll do it your way. You said you'd answer questions pertaining to Bob and Johnny but nothing else unless we make a connection, correct?"

"Yes" she replied and Smith could tell she was warming to the idea.

"All right, let's see where we stand. Wesson, what do we know?"

He brought the portly detective into the conversation because he realized two heads were always better than one and Wesson's head was better than most.

"We know Bob was found dead in Mister Johnson's closet. We were hired to find Mister Johnson by the LeTorque family and our only lead has led us here" he responded curtly.

Smith could hear the frustration in Wesson's voice, he understood the man's emotion but needed more from him. They were working for infinite wealth and if it meant delving a little deeper into the game then they would need to do just that.

"Wesson?"

"Yes?"

"Get over it. These people are not the ones causing the headache."

Wesson was not normally a forgiving man. He'd been raised Catholic so forgiveness should have been in his character but he tended to do as most in his generation did and ignored those traits which were annoying.

"All right, fine. We know Bob Simpson died in this prison and was later found in the apartment of the man we're looking for. I'm going to assume for the time being he wasn't taken there post mortem for some strange head-wrenching ritual so we've got ourselves the little problem of a dead man in two locations."

The grilling began.

"When did Bob Simpson die in prison?"

"Three years ago."

"When was his body found in the closet of Mister Johnson?"

"Two years nine months ago" Smith replied looking at the police report they'd obtained.

"Then we have a discrepancy of three months. There is no mention of a decaying corpse so I have to believe the coroner felt Bob's death was recent. Do you bury the bodies of your dead convicts on the grounds here?" Wesson asked Warden Tiffany.

"If they have no relatives and no one to take the body, yes" she replied.

Both Ishmael and Lattimore were sitting down listening. They weren't part of the conversation but were definitely intrigued.

"Was Bob's body claimed by anyone?"

"No" the best-looking warden on Earth replied.

"Then he was buried here?"

"No" came the strange answer.

Wesson gave the warden a look of annoyance which did not go unnoticed. A growl emanated from the giant seated at the table. Ishmael did not seem pleased his warden was on the receiving end of an interrogation.

"Ishmael!"

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Back down!"

The behemoth quieted and Wesson swallowed the lump which had formed when the beast announced his displeasure. The two detectives also looked at each other for they'd both heard and witnessed the scene before. It had happened before in the LeTorque Manor. The same low sound of potential death silenced by a woman of incredible beauty.

"Detective, please continue" she said.

Wesson was having difficulty remembering where he'd left off. He could sense the power in both guards and realized he was treading a thin life-line. His and Smith's very existence were at stake and he knew not why. There appeared to be no reason to suspect the warden and her two guard dogs were anything other than exceptionally impressive supervision personnel but he was getting the impression they were of a differing nature altogether. He was beginning to think what they'd stumbled upon was something greater than unlimited funds could provide for. He was suspecting ulterior motives.

"Um... where was I?"

"You asked if Mister Simpson was buried here and I told you 'no'."

"Where was he buried?"

"You are not yet privileged to that information" she said.

Wesson's mind began making connections where there were none.

"I'm not yet privileged because I haven't found the link between Bob's death and his burial, correct?"

"Correct" Tiffany replied beautifully.

"Okay, you said Bob died of Bird Flu, right?"

"Yes" she answered and Smith saw where Wesson was headed.

"Is Bird Flu contagious?"

Tiffany grinned broadly and Wesson knew he was on the right path.

"Yes, it's extremely contagious."

"And I assume you isolate prisoners with contagious diseases?"

"Yes."

Smith saw the answer before the question was pondered but held his tongue in anticipation.

"Who was in charge of the isolation ward?"

"Her name was Melissa Ramos" the guardian goddess replied.

The use of the past term was not lost on the detective.

"Her name 'was' Melissa Ramos? Is she dead now?"

"No, she goes by a differing moniker now" the Warden of dreams replied.

The name was the key. He could feel it in his bones so he asked the question to gain privilege.

"What does she call herself now?"

"She is Melissa LeTorque" Tiffany responded.

Things were getting interesting. The man they were after was a family member of LeTorque. A body was found in his closet which, at one time, was in the isolation ward of a prison a future family member ran. The coincidence appeared pretty high on the probability scale they would have something to do with each other.

"Why does she now go by the name LeTorque?"

"Because she is mated to the head of the family" the wonderful woman answered.

"Could you please tell me who the head of the family is?" Wesson asked.

She was having fun with him and he knew it. He didn't mind much because she really was something to behold but he was still a little perturbed because he had to go on a fishing expedition to find connections.

"No, but you may ask and I will answer if I can."

Wesson was through with his questioning for he already knew the answer, the coincidences were too common to ignore.

"It's Mister Johnson, isn't it?"

Her smile was all the corroboration he needed. Smith, however, had a few questions of his own.

"Mistress Tiffany, you said the disease was quite contagious, correct?"

"Yes" she replied turning her incredible eyes on the dark-haired detective.

"And Bob Simpson's roommate was the man he held responsible for his imprisonment and his mother's death?"

"Yes" she answered again.

"Was there only one case of Bird Flu in the prison?"

"No, there was one other" she replied in her winning way.

Smith found out not only did Bob Simpson catch the Bird Flu but so did Steve Wazziznaim. While Smith was listening to the wondrous warden Wesson was watching with wonderment the population of the forced housing project working expediently and efficiently with the production equipment necessary for the retrieval of one very prosperous petroleum product. Something didn't sit right with him. There was something on his mind which he couldn't get his head around. He knew there was a question he needed to ask but couldn't find the words. Then he remembered and the detectives found themselves waiting as the loveliest warden in the world phoned the most powerful butler on the planet to gain privilege to information he felt he already knew.

"The answer is Commercial Property Management Incorporated, Detective."

He'd wondered what was bothering him with the use of convicts to produce oil when it occurred to him; it wasn't the use per se so much as who was using them. The prison was being run as a private-public enterprise and he wanted to know who the private party was.

"And who owns Commercial Property Management?"

Her answer reaffirmed his suspicion.

"That, Detective, is privileged information."

Chapter 20

The plan was intricate and would've taken any other entity years to implement. It took them the time to say "Yes, Mistress".

"This is Nick Price with the Channel Five First at Four News. We have breaking developments brewing between farmers and labor. We send you live to Amarillo where Tim Tidbit is on the scene. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, what's developing between the farmers and those who pick their crops?"

"Well, Nick, as our viewers are probably aware there has been a rash of fires in the farming community. The police believe arson is the cause."

"Why do they believe that, Tim?"

"Because they all happened on the same night and there were no thunderstorms reported."

"Why is that important, Tim?"

"Um... because of lightning strikes, Nick."

"Lightning strikes?"

"Yes, Nick, they are what generally causes fires and there were none reported the night the entire southwest suddenly burst into flames."

It hadn't taken a lot of ingenuity, only the touch of sulfur to flint and the mission succeeded. The sky lit up like the Fourth of July as Vampires and Wolves reduced nature to ash.

"Do the police have any suspects, Tim?"

"Well, the farmers believe the laborers in their fields are responsible for the conflagration."

"Conflagration?"

"It means fire, Nick. The farmers believe the laborers set the crops ablaze."

"Why do they believe that, Tim?"

"They think the laborers are angry over their wages, Nick."

The answer to their problem came from the hamburger patty. Vivian had realized the way to war was through mankind's stomach. People needed to eat so they had to produce food. The Beech family was the largest food supplier on the planet and had become so through the use of patent. Their rise to dominance began with a worm, a stupid little worm. The worm was devastating crops throughout the states so the family had their scientist discover a way to stop the problem. They found the solution in Nature. It turned out the worm enjoyed devouring virtually everything it encountered except for one small variety of soybean. The soybean produced an oil which the worm detested. The scientist isolated the gene which produced the oil, altered it to allow for implantation in other varieties and patented the product. Since they'd altered the gene from Mother Nature's blueprint they had authority over its use. Their research was a success and the farmers who planted their soybean seed had bountiful harvests while those who didn't were practically wiped out. The worm still had to eat, after all, but its food stock was diminishing. Once scientists found the answer in genetic manipulation the game was over. The Beech family went about re-tweaking every productive grain they could find. If they could improve its resistance to drought, they did. If they could diminish its destruction by insect through altering its shell, they went through with it. It wasn't necessarily the improvements they were after, it was the process. The more they altered the more control they had over its growth and production. At one point they had so much success others pondered whether they were intentionally introducing parasites into the fields in order to promote their own resistant strain of grain. Nothing was ever proven but neither was it disproven. The Beech family had arrived. They took control of the initial step, the first layer of the food chain; the seed.

"What are the laborers saying to the accusations, Tim?"

"They're saying 'no'."

"They're saying 'no' to what, Tim?"

"Well, they're pretty much saying 'no' to everything, Nick. It appears we have a slight translation problem since they don't speak English and I don't speak Spanish."

"We didn't send a border translator with you?"

"Yes, yes you did, Nick. Unfortunately he's a northern border translator."

"A northern border translator?"

"Yep, he's from Canada, Nick."

"And he doesn't speak Spanish?"

"No, Nick, they're not really a Spanish speaking people up there in the great white north."

"Hmm... what do they speak?"

"Pretty much English, Nick."

The plan was easy for there was only one player and she could win by throwing the game. The Beech family was ordered to open negotiations with the union representing crop laborers. The union was pleasantly surprised since the family had previously ignored them for decades. The union negotiators were further shocked when the Beech representatives agreed to the union's initial demand of doubling the going rate of labor at the time. What happened afterward was reactionary. The Beech's agreed to only allow those farmers who paid the union's inflated hourly rate the use of their seeds. Since they controlled the seed market the farmers had no choice but to acquiesce. Thus, the farmer's cost of sowing what they reaped rose which increased the cost of grain to the vendors who raised their prices accordingly and the end result was a backlash from the public who felt three dollars per carrot was a bit steep for the bunny-food. The public did what publics do and searched for the cause of their monetary discomfort and there, standing directly in front of them on the television screen was the answer; the low-down dirty crop-workers union. The union had no answer. They'd expected negotiations to act accordingly and result in an increase for their workers but not the insane rate they'd initially proposed for they were only opening the dialogue. They were more than willing to meet half-way which would've increased wages a tad but since the Beech family didn't cry foul they surely weren't going to turn down an offer so lucrative to their clients.

"So the workers are denying they set fire to the fields?"

"Yes, Nick, they're saying 'no' at this time."

"But the farmers still think they did it?"

"Yes, the farmers are pretty sure it was the laborers who torched their acres."

"Why are they so sure?"

"Because the laborers have been taking it on the nose from the public so bad they actually went on strike demanding the farmers lower their pay so the customer could get some relief. The farmers say they would love to do so but are forbidden by contract to change the wage scale. The company at the top, Beech Incorporated, said it was unable to alter the contract because the union would sue. The union says they would be negligent in not suing because they are representing their members to the maximum of their ability. In the end it is the consumer who is paying for this fiasco so the farmers think the laborers set the fires to get a reset."

"A reset?"

"Yes, they want to start over again. The farmers think the laborers set the crops on fire in order to begin a new growing season. They believe the laborers want to renegotiate their contract down before the public gets so mad they begin growing their own food."

"Can we do that?"

"Do what?"

"Grow our own food?"

"Yes, Nick, anyone can grow food."

The initial step was easy. Breed disgust of hourly workers by providing the public with what it subconsciously wanted; a person to blame for their ills. The second step was even easier. Wait for public demand to rise to the level of indignation and then add to the fire by providing the flames. No one knew how they started but start they surely did. Three thousand fires started by three hundred invisible Vamps guarded by three-hundred pound Wolves did the trick and no one saw a thing. The third step was the reliance on Humans reverting to form.

"Hello, I'm Tim Tidbit from the Channel Five First at Four News Team. I am here with Billy-Joe Oliver, a local farmer in the area. Mister Oliver, who do you think is responsible for the destruction of so much hard work and labor?"

"I think them Mexicans did it! I think them Mexicans is trying to take our lands from us!"

"Thank you very much for your opinion Mr. Oliver. This is Tim Tidbit with the Channel Five First at Four News Team reporting from the scorched remains of Amarillo. Back to you, Nick."

"Well, there you have it folks. A hard-working American laying the blame for the destruction of property squarely at the feet of Mexico. Thank you very much for watching the Channel Five First at Four News. We will keep you advised of any furthering developments in the Mexico Arson Inquiry and invite you back to the Channel Five Five-O'clock News immediately following this program."

The public's reaction began with a murmur and hushed voices in checkout lines.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Timmy?"

"What's a Mexican spark-plug?"

The tabloids were running wild with rumor and speculation. Everywhere one looked the gaze of potential conflict stared back. America was still a majority of European descent but the divide had shrunk over the centuries. Those of Latin heritage were making their presence felt but were becoming fearful of the response.

MEXICO ABLAZE WITH INDIGNATION!

FIRE!... from down below.

SCORCHED EARTH SIMMERING SOUTHERN SUSPICION!

MexicARSONists!

The embers were lit, the flames fueled and it was only a matter of time before the thing got out of control. A soccer match was organized by the non-profit Can't-We-All-Just-Get-Along Corporation promoting peace and justice for all. It was held at the Texas Fairgrounds in the stadium previously known as the Cotton Bowl. It still had 'Cotton Bowl' imprinted in concrete above the entranceway to the grand old playing field but was no longer allowed to use the name because the annual college game which was held there for nearly a century had moved across town, out of the city actually, into a brand new stadium. Organizers were in a quandary to come up with a name for the event but felt since it was a friendly match they would let the problem fix itself. The players decided the issue during the interview portion of the event.

"Who's going to win, Jake?"

"Well, Tim, Mexico's got quite a good club but so do we. I'd say it's pretty even between the two of us. If I were a betting man I'd say it was a toss-up."

"A toss-up?"

"Yeah, sort of a pick 'em as you see 'em match."

The Cotton-Pick'em Soccer Match was a sellout.

Everyone who was anyone arrived early and viewed the American and Mexican teams put on one of the most boring matches in soccer history which was quite a feat considering the sport itself can and usually did end in a game decided by one and only one goal.

The crowd, of course, was split down the middle with those of Mexican heritage taking the south end and those of America the north. A few ruckuses broke out but on the whole the game was a success because the spectators were ill equipped to start anything when what was transpiring on the field made nap-time seem a logical decision for most.

Things actually appeared as though what was wanted was going to transpire; an easing of the tensions between neighbors. There was an undercurrent running through the event, though. The unease over the Alamo, the threatened eviction of a state from its territory, taco bombings and the incineration of food grains purportedly brought on by misguided Labor's attempt to provide financial equity to their members in the crop-picking community had everyone anxious. The only thing needed was a spark to ignite the crowd. It came by way of lighter and friendly post-game ceremony.

The two teams met at the middle of the pitch. The normal trading of jerseys was done and the players were set to leave the field when a Mexican flag was proffered to an American player. The flag was accepted and those in the audience watched as it was lifted high for all to see. It was an acknowledgment of friendship between the players but as it waved in the gentle breeze blowing from the west a flame appeared. It wasn't large at first, just the bottom corner of the unfurled cloth, but it grew quickly and before the player holding the symbol of Mexico knew what was happening the flag was a raging inferno.

"Hello, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five News at Six News Team. We have a breaking story developing. We go now live to Austin where Governor Austin Travis has called a surprise press conference. We were lucky enough to have our own award-winning reporter, Tim Tidbit, in the area and he is in the press corps receiving room. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, can you report on what the Governor is going to say?"

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, 'no', it's a surprise press conference, Nick, so no one actually knows what he's going to say."

"Well, do you have any guesses as to what he's going to say?"

"Um... probably something about Mexico, Nick."

"What about Mexico, Tim?"

"Um... okay, look, I don't have a clue what he's going to say. I was down here with my girlfriend trying to fix our relationship after our last vacation was interrupted when the Disney Castle blew up so I haven't really been paying all too much attention to what's been transpiring between us and... oh, hold on, the Governors stepping to the podium as we speak."

Governor Austin Travis, in blue suit and red tie strolled to the easel and looked directly into the camera.

"Hello fellow Texans. Earlier today at a friendly soccer match between our counties an unfortunate incident occurred. The flag of Mexico held aloft by one of our loyal and God-fearing patriots was set on fire. After consulting with fire experts and reviewing the footage a panel of bi-partisan electors has reached a conclusion; the fire was not set by any of our loyal citizens but instead was an elaborate ruse by the Mexican government to make our great state and the best country on the planet look bad in front of the eyes of the world."

A video emerged on the screen behind the Governor.

"As you can see, while the flag was being held aloft not a single American was in position to ignite the cloth. Upon careful analysis it was concluded the blaze began in the lower right-hand corner and spread from there. It is the opinion of the experts that the flag was a plant, a symbol with an ignition device sewn inside set to go off after it was handed to one of our law-abiding sportsmen. We cannot and will not allow this kind of blatant fraud to exist. From this moment forward the state of Texas declares the country of Mexico to be a renegade."

The press corps went berserk.

"Mr. Governor? Mr. Governor?" every reporter yelled.

"Yes, you in the front" he replied with a point of his finger.

"Mr. Governor, this is Tim Tidbit with Channel Five News, can you please tell us what a renegade is?"

The Governor had been expecting the question.

"A renegade is someone who strays outside the lines, someone who does not follow the rules, someone we cannot trust. As such I am immediately ordering the Texas National Guard to take up positions at the border. As of this minute all travel between Texas and Mexico is off-limits."

Again the press went wild.

"Governor? Governor?" they yelled with raised hands.

"Yes, you in the back" he said with a smile and nod of his head.

"Mr. Governor, what about American citizens residing in Mexico. What about those on vacation?"

The Governor looked at the pretty reporter and smiled.

"They may re-enter through another state, Arizona perhaps. But as of right now the border of Texas is closed to all travel."

The frenzy continued.

"Mr. Governor? Mr. Governor?"

"Yes" he indicated and elderly reporter in a fedora.

The man stood and glanced at his notes.

"Mr. Governor, you say you are closing the border with Mexico, correct?"

The Governor looked at the man quizzically, wondering where he would go with the follow-up sure to come next.

"Yes."

"Is this to be a permanent closing?"

The Governor smiled inside for he truly didn't know which reporter had been tabbed to toss him the soft-ball question. He and his aides had been going over the problem for weeks. They were losing in the court of world opinion and needed to change the conversation. The funny thing about the eviction case was the President of Mexico said he honestly couldn't remember ever issuing the notice. He agreed the notice definitely had his signature but he said he signed so many it must have slipped his mind when he'd actually put his mark on paper. It didn't matter, though, for the Mexican attorneys were kicking their Texan counterparts butts. The argument came down to a simple principle; does a deed signed under duress have legal binding? The question stemmed from the fact the man who signed Texas over to America was the commanding general of the troops who were defeated by the Texan militia. Mexico had already somewhat prevailed on the theory they were within their rights to demand the Americans leave their land for it was, at that time, their sovereign territory. The Texas lawyers conceded the fact themselves because their own childhood textbooks had been stating the claim since the first editions were printed. The remaining question the court was pondering was if a man has a knife to his throat does what he sign have any legal authority? The way the judges asked their questions led the Texas representatives to think they were actually going to side with Mexico.

The American public were of two minds on the matter. One side was more than happy to see their conservative brothers removed from the union but the other felt it was a betrayal. The only problem was California. If the court sided with Mexico then it was only logical to think they would go after the movie-star state. It was that shift in public perception which was so interesting. Some who sided with Texas were actually willing to let the state go if a similar situation could be arraigned to remove the liberal left coast from the equation. The reverse also held true for the other side. It was a version of addition by subtraction for quite a few because even though they sided with one and truly despised the other they thought it might be a net gain for the whole if the extremes were removed. Arizona also cried foul but no one really believed Mexico would even lay claim to the pueblo-living desert dwellers.

"The answer to your question depends on Mexico. If Mexico withdraws its illegitimate claim to the Great State of Texas and pays a price for their destructive behaviors then trade and travel can once again flourish between our two great peoples. Then, and only then, will I consider lifting the border blockade."

The Governor had left it sitting out there waiting to be plucked. He picked the first hand which reached for the golden apple.

"Mr. Governor?"

"Yes" he replied knowing the question before it being put forth.

"Mr. Governor, Tim Tidbit from Channel Five News again, sir. What price must Mexico pay?"

They had discussed it at various meetings. The public liked strong leadership, they enjoyed when their side won and they really got excited when a hero emerged to do their bidding. They also found out one more thing the opinion polls were specific about.

"Cancun" he said.

The public adored the beach-resorts of Mexico.

"We will forgive our treacherous neighbors if they quit with their devious schemes and cede Cancun to the state of Texas."

Chapter 21

The island was unlike anything they'd ever experienced. Its isolation off the mainland allowed it to remain almost pristine with incredible views of majestic mountains and wildlife flourishing everywhere. They'd been met at the airport by the Mistress of the island. The plane was a loner, given as a courtesy to the Matriarch of Third Clan and Melissa stepped off to greet her curious host as Johnny and the child remained on board.

"Mistress Melissa, welcome to Kodiak" the woman of exotic beauty said upon encountering the Vampire of myth.

"Hello, you must be Mistress Nadia" Melissa replied and the Matriarch of Wind family nodded she was.

They'd left the Beech family for they had more to accomplish if their plan was to work. The Winds were informed they were on the way by Victoria Beech herself because they were also part of the same tribe. Victoria's family ruled the Food Tribe but not far behind were the Winds.

"Are the others on board?" the woman of Asian heritage asked and Melissa nodded they were.

It was always necessary to prepare for new encounters. Melissa had no way of knowing how the Wind's Wolves would react when they encountered one they knew to be Superior but smelled of Inferiority.

"You have left your mate at home?" Melissa inquired.

"Yes, I felt I should come first and prepare him for the experience" Nadia replied.

It was not a common event for Vampire to travel without her escort but on Kodiak things were run a little differently. The island was located off the southern shore of Alaska and was inhabited by only one Superior family. The reasoning was simple. The population was too small to handle more than one family. It wasn't Humans they were worried about, far from it, they interacted with them every day and were on very good terms. The problem was the wildlife. Kodiak was full of animals, all animals of every shape and size but it had one which was unique, one which was desired by all Wolves; the Kodiak bear. The bear was actually an oversized Grizzly which was lucky enough to have been born on an island with such an amazing amount of food. It allowed the bears to grow so big they became the second largest in the world behind their Polar cousins. Fruits, berries and salmon were the mainstays of the bear's diet and were enough to allow the Kodiaks to reach heights of twelve feet and weigh over half a ton. They were the apex predators in the animal world and were top prizes for Human hunters everywhere. They were also the perfect challenge for Werewolves in wrestling matches.

"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I must warn you the shock of what is about to occur can be a little unsettling but it is not dangerous" Melissa said.

The Mistress of Kodiak Island merely nodded again but by the look in her eye Melissa could tell she was curious to feel what others had only read about.

"Now, if you would humor me, I would like to try something" Melissa asked.

"Of course, Mistress, your word is law here" the other responded according to tradition.

The Matriarch who held higher office was in charge when visiting one of lower status. It didn't matter Nadia Wind was the head Vamp on the island because when Melissa landed her authority arrived also.

"Thank you Mistress. First, I would like us to end the formalities. I am Melissa and you are Nadia, okay?"

She didn't need to ask, it was done to promote good will. It served its purpose for the lesser Vamp smiled in agreement.

"Good, the second thing I would like you to do is tell me the exact moment you lose my scent."

The confusing look on Nadia's face prompted Melissa to explain.

"We are trying to determine the distance of cloaking powers. Right now you can sense me because my Cloak is in the plane. I would like to know how far my mate's abilities extend."

"And you need me to tell you when I lose your scent?" Nadia asked, Melissa nodded and both agreed to proceed.

Melissa raised her hand and beckoned Johnny to emerge. He'd been watching at the window for her signal. The plane was on the tarmac in a cordoned-off area and Melissa waited with Nadia about one-hundred meters away. He stood at the top of the stairs and halted.

"I can still sense you" the smaller Vamp said and Melissa indicated Johnny should move closer. They were doing it in five meter intervals so Johnny walked down the twin-engine plane's ramp.

"You're still with me" Nadia said with a grin.

Melissa grinned back for she had a good feeling about the Vampire from the north. Nadia had a way about her which was contagious. Her smile was such when others encountered it they immediately replied in kind. It was said even her victims were found grinning from ear to ear though their heads were no longer attached.

They were making steady but slow progress. Johnny had traveled half the distance but Nadia could still sense the presence of Melissa even without looking at her. Johnny was about to move again at Melissa's bidding when things changed in a dramatic way. She heard the intake of breath before the words.

"I've lost you."

It wasn't the way she said the words, although there was definitely a small amount of wonder every time it happened, it was the actions preceding Nadia's proclamation; none had taken place. Johnny's feet were still in the same location for he hadn't moved. One instant Nadia could detect Melissa and the next she couldn't. The problem was nothing had altered between the time intervals. The wind hadn't changed, nothing had come between them but still the reaction of the northern Vampire was the same as all the others; at a certain distance a chord was cut and their ability to scent those bonded to Johnny was severed. It was that distance Melissa was trying to determine but now she had a dilemma. Maybe it wasn't distance after all? Maybe it was something else altogether? If Nadia's sense was abruptly eliminated and Johnny had not moved then maybe distance wasn't the variable she thought it to be? Then she saw the answer.

"Daemon" she said to herself as she noticed the head of the small child peering around the corner out the plane's doorway. Only his head was visible and when he saw her notice him he disappeared in Vampire fashion but the facts were there, she'd seen him with her own eyes.

"Melissa?" she heard Nadia say.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

She wasn't sure. She knew the child was something different but what was happening was leaving her a bit breathless. The savior of their species was growing in powers they hadn't believed possible. She was the Matriarch, though, and it had been her idea so she regained her composure.

"Yes, Nadia, I'm fine. The better question is, how are you?"

She watched as the Vampire searched for the words.

"I'm okay. You are right, the sensation is rather abrupt and quite disturbing. It is as though my brain and my heart are at odds with one another. I know who you are intellectually but at a deeper level I feel nothing. It is as if part of you vanished although I can see clearly you haven't."

Melissa nodded and accepted the explanation. She'd heard so many different forms of the same version she was becoming an expert on opaque and vaguely similar descriptions.

"Mistress Nadia, may I present my mate, Johnny Johnson, Alpha Wolf of Third Clan."

Nadia had a hard time not laughing out loud. Johnny was the last thing she would've pictured as the strongest Wolf. He was average height, average weight and average in looks. He also held the smell all lesser beings possessed and if the proof of his actual identity were not standing directly beside her she would've killed the man who claimed to be Wolf out of principle alone.

"Hello, Wolf Johnson, welcome to my island" she replied instead.

Johnny, for his part, was curious. He'd been aware Melissa had gone from scented to unscented for he'd been watching the whole time. He'd seen the reaction of Nadia and also the look on his half-sister's face when the situation had changed. He didn't know what had caused her to look over his shoulder but had a pretty good idea it involved a baby Wolf with a curiosity disorder. He reminded himself to get the facts from her when they were alone. They didn't mistrust the Winds but they also weren't going to give out any more information on the child than what was deemed appropriate. The Beach family were head of Food Tribe, a leading family at the top of the economic hierarchy and were thus entrusted with information about Daemon others lower on the rung would not. It wasn't because they feared the others would run out and tell the world but mistakes could happen and the less who knew of the child's true calling the safer it was the preferred outcome would occur.

"Is this the child who produced so much change?" Nadia asked after Melissa had indicated with a wave Daemon should join them on the tarmac. He literally jumped out the door and landed nine feet lower without breaking stride. Wolves were acrobats of incredible design.

"Yep, this is the little tiger" Johnny answered as the child joined them.

Daemon had been the catalyst for Melissa to take control of Third. He'd been presented as heir to Lucifer after being sired by Stephanie who then challenged her sister, Isabella, for the hand of the Alpha Wolf governing Shelter Tribe. A contest occurred and Stephanie won. Stephanie became Lucifer's mate and thus Shelter Tribe's Matriarch but she had a problem; she'd previously been mated to Johnny. It turned out the ceremony had a flaw but at the time no one knew so Johnny and his family, the LeTorque, challenged Lucifer and his family, the Satan, to combat. The LeTorque won and Daemon lost one sire. The problem with the mating ceremony between Johnny and Stephanie was discovered and Johnny chose Melissa, his half-sister, over Stephanie, his aunt, as his mate. The two Wolves of LeTorque ceded their authority to Johnny who then became Alpha Wolf of Shelter Tribe making Melissa the Matriarch. Melissa challenged for full Matriarch of the entire clan and was awarded the honor because she'd been responsible for combining the three areas of employment so valued by the clans under one roof; a private-public prison pumping petroleum employing convicted labor to perform the service. With control obtained the need for Stephanie waned and the greatest little Wolf ever created lost his other sire.

Nadia looked closely at the young Wolf and was amazed at what she felt; both nothing and everything at once. It was as if two equally opposing forces of matching strength were fighting each other. They did indeed cancel the other out leaving her to view the boy as Inferior but not before she had the overwhelming sense she was in the presence of something new.

"Hello, Daemon, my name is Nadia" she said with a smile.

Her smile did as it was intended, the child replied and she knew she was right. No amount of interference could restrain the joy in her heart as she realized the boy was much more than a tiger; he was Wolf.

The ride to the Wind Wharf was one of incredible tranquility. Their waterfront Estate was a wonder to behold. It backed up to their warehouse which was used to process, clean, package and ship the amazing variety of seafood the family fished off the waters in the Arctic. Fish, Johnny learned from Nadia as they traveled the two-lane road to the marina district were actually more prevalent in cold water than warm. In fact it was estimated the greatest amount of life-forms on the entire Earth were present in the frigid waters between Alaska and her one-time parent country, Russia. Johnny was having a hard time grasping she might be right but since he had absolutely no interest or knowledge of marine life he opted to believe her. Besides, she was adorably cute and had such an amazing personality he would've agreed with her if she stated the moon was made of butter. They arrived at the waterway and strolled along the vast number of piers which sat empty as the ships who would later dock with them were busy trying to even out the number of species in their waters with the rest of the planet.

"Uncle, Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"How do boats float?"

The child was quickly becoming a nuisance so Johnny did the smart thing.

"Ask Aunt Melissa."

While the inquisitive baby Werewolf peppered the patient adult Vampire with more questions than a Jeopardy judge could devise Johnny began to glance around at the activity present on the long wooden piers jutting out into the chilly waters. It was summertime so he was relatively warm but even with the sun directly overhead he could feel the mist from the seawater and surmised swimming in the largest bathtub on Earth was not something he wished to experience. Some action caught his eye and he went to investigate.

The end of the pier was a good thirty meters out and at the edge a man sat on an overturned plastic bucket while simultaneously pulling a rope from the water. Johnny approached and stopped about ten feet away.

"Are you just going to stand there or you going to help with the rope?" he heard the man ask the ocean without turning around.

He wasn't sure if it was he the man was talking to but they were the only ones he could see on the end of the pier. Still, then again, maybe the man was some kind of fish savant who could speak with the slimy salt-water breathers? Maybe he was a crazy loon who talked to the air instead of solid things? Maybe he was...?

"Hey! Are you going to help or just stand there insulting me behind my back?"

"Oh, crap! Did I say that out loud?"

"Yes, and I've never heard of no fish savant so if you want to share my pier you'd best get your skinny butt over hear and help me with this rope."

Johnny Johnson was many things. He was both the weakest and strongest Wolf in the clan, the Alpha of the clan, the mate to the Matriarch, the uncle to the answer to the meaning of life, the twin brother to the greatest Wolf ever sired if Daemon didn't pan out, the prodigy to the second greatest Wolf ever know if again the Daemon thing didn't succeed and also the all-time, longest surviving coward the Heavens had ever produced.

"Yes, sir! Sorry about that. Sometimes I speak when I don't know I'm doing it" Johnny said by way of apology as he walked up and stood next to the stranger.

The man was old. He looked a hundred with white hair, beard and wind-burnt skin. He wore the coverings of a mountain-man, at least what Johnny thought a man of the mountains might don. He was adorned in blue-jean pants, corduroy top and a pair of the oldest, most worn-down boots Johnny had ever seen. The rope the man was pulling up was twine, worn brown through either natural color or sea discoloration. Johnny could not tell which for he knew nothing of string products. It was thick, about one-half inch if Johnny were to judge but once again he was no expert on rope and it could've been anywhere on the circumference spectrum.

"Are you just going to stand there?" the man said over his right shoulder.

"Um... no. What do you want me to do?"

"Take the excess rope I'm pulling up and coil it into a nice pile just like I've been doing. Do you think you can do that?"

Johnny looked to where the man pointed and sure enough there was a nice uniform coil of rope where the man, as he pulled up the rope, had been placing it in a tidy circle to be used for later rope-pulling-up events.

"Yes, sir, I think I can accomplish that" Johnny said and began doing exactly as he promised.

The only problem he had was once he began helping the man began moving faster. Johnny would coil his rope and place it over the previously coiled rope but after a short period of time he realized he was falling behind. His rope was beginning to mess with him. He'd be coiling and before he set his rope down more would appear and before he knew it his rope was all over the place. He was going to tell the over-eager rope-puller to ease up on his enthusiasm when all of a sudden the thing the rope was attached to arose from the water it was previously submerged in.

"All right, give me a hand" the man said.

Johnny wasn't exactly sure what to do. He already had his hands full of rope and was desperately trying to catch up with the mystifiably fast string-hauler-upper so he stood there for a second unsure how to respond.

"Hey, get your scrawny tail over here!" the man yelled which caused Johnny's un-sureness to disappear.

He moved to stand beside the man and looked down over the pier to see what it was they were pulling up. What he saw was a huge net and inside the net was a thing. He didn't know what the thing was for the lining of the net obscured its body but he was positive of one thing; whatever was caught was pretty darn big.

"What's in there?" he asked.

"Don't know yet. Let's find out" was the reply.

The man counted to three and they hauled the net onto the pier. The man tugged on the lining to open the top and out came one of the meanest looking creatures Johnny had ever seen.

"Holy...!"

King Crabs, Johnny thought later, were possibly the cause of nightmares. They were water-dwelling, armored, gigantic spiders with menacing claws. They grew to the size of living room bean-bags and were definitely in the running for the ugliest species in the universe. They had beady eyes, sharp points on their hardened shells and a dislike of open air. The one the man pulled in was three feet from the water and intent on escape. It's only problem? Between it and freedom stood Johnny.

It eyeballed Johnny with two black orbs, skittered left on its pointy legs, skittered right and raised its enormous left claw as if to strike. Johnny, paralyzed with fear merely stood there, unable to move as he saw death by crustation confront him on a wooden pier in the far north seas. He'd traveled the world, seen a lot of strange things but never something as horribly terrifying as the ocean-bred orange arachnid squaring off with him at the water's edge. A lot of things ran through his mind. Would he ever see his brother again? Who would be the ultimate victor, Heaven or Hell? Was Daemon actually the chosen one? But one thought, one strange question also kept intruding. Where could one find restaurants which served King Crabs? He'd had crab legs before, he knew they were tasty but was also aware of another small detail which made their tastiness somewhat less appealing; the effort to get the sumptuous meat was greater than the pleasure of digesting the food. He thought obese people should eat solely crab legs for he figured if weight loss was the result of using more calories than one ate then crab legs were the perfect answer. By the time they broke though the shell and dug the annoyingly small amount of sea-spider muscle from the thing he surmised the gross gain would be a net loss on the caloric expenditure scale. All those things ran through his mind in the fleeting instant he had before the thing decided to do the one thing Johnny could not tolerate. It moved directly toward him.

The funny thing about King Crabs, as Johnny learned later, was while they may appear tough to tackle they actually had a rather large Achilles Heel; they could not do anything if picked up from behind. So as Johnny jumped into the icy-cold waters off the coast of Kodiak the last thing he saw before entering the freezing liquid was the old man holding aloft what would later become the dinner of dozens smothered in melted butter served over a pile of pilaf.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why is the ocean salty?"

The kid was definitely annoying. Unfortunately, his annoyance came not from his constant questioning but from the way he put the question because he was intolerably polite. Johnny had not known politeness could be an irritating behavior until he'd taught it to Daemon. The child would look up at him with his big blue eyes and ask in the most innocent of ways a question which a Nobel Laureate would find confounding.

"If you're on a spaceship traveling the speed of light and walk down the aisle aren't you moving faster than light?"

Johnny didn't particularly enjoy conversing with Daemon for he felt the need to further educate himself after every visit.

"If all planets have gravity wouldn't they eventually collide?"

He generally left it to Melissa the duty of question-answering because he didn't like fibbing to a child but wasn't exactly enthused about answering 'I don't know?' a million times a day to the baby Wolf.

"If everything came from the ocean why would we un-evolve gills?"

It wasn't that Johnny was stupid, it was the fact the child asked the strangest of questions.

"Why do doctors and lawyers use Latin?"

"Why don't people from Latin America speak Latin?"

"If people from America are Americans and people from Africa are Africans why aren't people from China called Chinans?"

The really frustrating part was the child was so infuriatingly well-mannered. If he'd been a pest, a little too obnoxious, then Johnny could've yelled at the boy to keep quiet for a while and then snuck away so Melissa could do the heavy lifting of answering people perplexity but he couldn't because Daemon was the last thing from a pest. He'd wait until just the right time arrived and then proceed to confuse Johnny with subjects he didn't even know were in question.

They were sitting around the table in the Wind Estate waiting for the Wolves to arrive when Daemon finally asked a question Johnny felt knowledgeable enough to answer.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why do people watch reality TV programs?"

"Because they like to watch other people make fools of themselves."

Daemon asked the question because on the television in the living room was a program which was being viewed by millions of eyes throughout the world including two pair who were sitting on the sofa in front of the set in raptured entertainment.

"Ooh, I love this show!"

"Me too!"

The lovely eyes belonged to the two Vampires who'd run to the room the minute the program began.

"Look at her! Ooh, I hate her!"

"Me too!"

Johnny and Daemon got up from the table to join the pair of vivacious Vamps viewing virtual reality programming already in session.

"Who's that?" Johnny asked as a man's face loomed in the picture set.

"That's Adam Saint Scott" Nadia answered.

The screen changed and a new face appeared.

"Who's that?" Daemon asked.

"That's Jennifer Sprig, dearie, we don't like her" replied Melissa.

The camera zoomed back and a whole slew of women could be seen in the background.

"What's this show called again?" Johnny inquired.

"The Butcherette."

Reality shows had been testing the market for some time. They'd been ever increasingly pushing the envelope of human desire for fame and fortune without effort or ability and had finally come to the only logical outcome for shows dedicated to the promotion of self-gratification. The two themes had been tried before; relationship building and physical-appearance alteration. 'The Butcherette' phased two into one.

"Why are their mouths so puffy?"

"They had them done for this round. It's the 'Up-Lip-ting' segment."

The show was actually the culmination of many years of public-aversion management. It had been tabled before because the audience hadn't been primed for its production, they hadn't been acclimatized enough to handle its premise but over time revulsion receded as prurient interests increased and the result was every man's daydream come to life.

"What's he doing now?"

"He's handing out the next segment's assignment. Whoever gets a gift stays in and whoever doesn't goes home."

The man on the screen, Adam Saint Scott, took his time doling out the goodies because the show was wildly popular but difficult to fill for an hour. It lasted sixty minutes because the producer had previously done reality television and knew their shelf life lasted about as long as countered cheese. Audiences were fickle when it came to public humiliation and would rapidly leave when another more titillating program arrived just down the dial so he bilked the advertisers for all they were worth while his currently top-of-the-ratings narcissism game was in money-making mode.

"Oh, thank God!" Melissa said.

"Yay!" Nadia yelled.

"What? What happened?" Johnny asked.

The show was simple. Twenty women plied for one man's heart. The twist came in the challenges.

"He didn't give Jennifer an assignment" Melissa answered.

"So?"

"So, it means she's out. She doesn't go on."

The challenges were never aired for even though the viewing public had been previously primed and prepped for participation in peeping for pleasure the content was considered a bit too controversial for commercial consumption and thus censored for civilized society's sake.

"Does she get a consolation prize?" Johnny asked.

"Oh yeah. She gets to keep all of her gift assignments"' Nadia answered.

"That's it?"

"Well, yes, that and the surgery of course."

Twenty women began. Nineteen procedures later and only one remained. Altered indefinitely for the love of her life's viewing pleasure and the audiences appetite for change.

"Are those...?"

"Yep, those are the next gift assignments."

"Then the next challenge is...?"

"It's the most popular one they've got. They call it 'The Booby Prize'. They used to call it 'Busts or Bust' but people seem to like this name better."

They sensed them before they arrived.

"Nadia?"

"Yes, Melissa?"

"Would you please prepare your Wolves? They may not be ready for one such as Johnny."

Nadia nodded her head, rose from the couch and went to intercede with her family on behalf of the future.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"What's a booby?"

Melissa was enjoying Johnny's discomfort as the Wind family entered the room. She saw the immediate reaction when suddenly, without any visible fanfare they stopped short and tested the air.

There were three of them, one large, two average as was the norm. The larger would be the mate of Nadia while the others would be the Wolves of the two Vampires who had not yet made an appearance.

"Thor, this is Mistress Melissa. Mistress Melissa, this is my mate, Thor" Nadia said by introduction.

Thor was large and handsome with a somewhat Scandinavian appearance. He had blond hair, blue eyes and wore a beard. He stood above average height for a Werewolf which made him a giant among mankind but Melissa had seen larger. She was Matriarch to two of the largest Wolves ever conceived and if little Daemon grew into his potential would be the aunt to the biggest, baddest beast the world would hopefully never know about.

"Hello, Wolf Thor" Melissa said.

"Hello, Mistress" he responded.

The ritual was the same whenever she encountered another in her clan. Clan life was rigid yet fragile. She was Matriarch but only because the Council had deemed it so. All Superiors eventually made their decisions alone. They would grudgingly accept a Council ruling but if they decided the ruling was something they could not abide they would ignore it and face the consequences. They knew no fear so were incapable of doing otherwise. If Thor did not accept Melissa's authority then he would be forfeit. He would lose his life for Melissa would order it so. Once done, things would change. Thor was the Alpha Wolf of Wind family and mated to Nadia thus if he were eliminated she would lose her Matriarchy and Melissa would lose an ally. Luckily for all involved Thor was not impressed with the mate Melissa brought with her. He took one look at Johnny and realized he was in no way threatened by the Wolf who would rule over him.

"I ask for your loyalty, Wolf of Wind" Melissa said.

"You have it, Mistress" he replied and the quest for world supremacy continued.

Chapter 22

The ride back to the city was filled with questions.

"Can you believe the size of those guys?"

"Can you believe how good-looking those women were?"

"How much is oil going for these days?"

Smith was driving and Wesson was pondering when all of a sudden he had a realization.

"We're going to the wrong place!"

They had decided to call upon Commercial Property Management Incorporated to verify if their assumptions were correct; the LeTorque family owned the company which would explain why a servant who worked for them would have power over a Warden in charge of a prison they owned.

"Huh?" Smith replied.

"Turn around. We need to go back."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

So they turned around and drove back to the little town housing an enormous prison holding convicted felons restrained through the use of trained wolves in a forested wood-line. They arrived at the same convenience store they'd visited before.

"Hello, can I help you?" the elderly clerk said.

"Yes, we were in here earlier asking about..." Smith began.

"The Correctional Facility, yes, I remember you" the clerk finished for him.

"Oh, okay good, um... I was wondering if you could tell me where the police department is."

"Sure, just keep heading south and take your first right. It's about two blocks up the street."

Smith took the information in and then decided to take a chance.

"Thanks. Hey, have you lived here long?"

"My whole life" the clerk replied and Smith was happy he took the long shot.

"Did you know a Bob Simpson?"

The clerks face registered the answer before his words.

"Oh, yeah, everyone knew old Bob. Why?"

Smith didn't like answering questions. He liked giving them but the clerk wasn't a perp so he obliged.

"Well, we're working on a case and his name has come up."

"A case?'

"Yes."

"What kind of case?"

The question and answering process was always the same. The detective would begin the questioning and the answerer would always wonder what the questioning was about. The easiest way to get someone to talk was to give them information they felt was of a secretive nature. Everyone liked to be in on the privileged side of things. The problem he had was he didn't know the status of Bob Simpson. Was the guy liked or disliked? It made all the difference where cooperation was concerned. If he posed his questions in the wrong manner the person answering might feel an obligation to either protect or denigrate the subject matter. Smith took another stab in the dark.

"Okay, I'm going to trust the information I share will go no further. Do I have your promise you won't repeat what I tell you?"

The clerk nodded with conspiratorial intrigue and Smith went for it.

"We have a client on trial for arson. He says he didn't do it. He says Bob Simpson did it. Do you think it's possible our client is telling the truth?"

He went with Bob being of the character which predominated prisons; anti-social antagonizers.

"Oh, yeah, Bob could've done it. That man was nothing but trouble from the minute he was born."

"Did you know him well?"

"I knew him well enough to know he was convicted of setting his own mother on fire. Can you believe that? He killed his own mother. You know, it wasn't such a surprise because..."

While Smith was interrogating the clerk Wesson was preparing his mid-day meal. He loved convenience store food. It was hot, it was quick and it had the one thing all food should contain; flavor. He couldn't understand the latest trend which had sprung up in his beloved country; unflavorful food. He'd tried diets many times over and continually failed to complete even the minimal time periods suggested for successful weight-loss management for the simple reason they took all the fun out of eating. He figured they came down to two basic concepts and had given both a shot without even the slightest hint of fat removal. The first seemed the easiest; eat what we tell you. He'd bought into the program, bought their prepackaged foods with the intent on following their simple advise until he'd come across a small glitch they'd not mentioned. The meals were incredibly small. The first time he'd opened one he'd called the help number to complain they'd obviously made a mistake and would they please replace his infant's meal with one of an adult. When they'd explained he had indeed been given the correct portion size and should take his time devouring the baby chicken-wing over three noodles he realized he'd been duped. The worst part was the price. They were charging double the going rate for half the prevailing product.

The second weight-loss solution had been the reverse of the first; don't eat what we tell you. It seemed easy enough. Certain foods were off-limits while all others were acceptable. He'd bought their book and went to the grocery store to implement their program. It was an awakening of biblical proportions. Virtually the entire store was filled to the brim with foods on the outlaw list. After walking around for an hour in bewildered amazement at the amount of illegal product he found he had use of about one-tenth the place. He could get stuff from a portion of the back wall but that was it. The entire middle part, the good part, the tasty part was deemed forbidden territory. He tossed the book in the trash on the way out with a frozen pizza and pretzels in tow.

"Smith?"

"Yes?"

"Did you want anything?"

Smith smiled as he paid the clerk for his time, information and Wesson's chili-cheese nachos.

The ride to the police station took less than five minutes. Wesson was through eating in four.

"Hello, may I help you?"

The woman at the one room station house could've worked substitute in the prison. She was five-nine, golden complexion and marvelously majestic. She wore the garb of an officer but in a way neither detective had ever dreamed possible. What was drab on others was a uniform of ultimate enticement on her. Both men later agreed they would willingly commit a crime to get locked up in the same jail with her.

"Hello, ma'am, my name is Detective Smith and this..."

".. is Detective Wesson, I presume" she finished for him.

Wesson, for some reason, felt a thrill the cop in alluring blue would know his name.

"Yes, how did you...?"

"Lawton told me when he called in to check on your weapon's permit."

Wesson felt a little let down. He didn't know why but he felt it just the same.

"And Lawton is...?"

"I am Lawton" came a thunderous reply from directly behind the men causing both to startle with fright for they'd not heard the man enter, not heard the door open, not heard a thing.

When they recovered they found themselves sitting in a small conference room with the largest cop in the cosmos and the prettiest policewomen on the planet. Lawton, of course, turned out to be the very cop who'd pulled them over earlier and the woman sitting next to him, the insanely seductive sergeant who went by the name of Luanne was either his wife or girlfriend for they did as couples did and finished the other's sentences.

"So you two weren't employed here during the time of Bob Simpson's arrest?"

"No, we were hired..." Lawton began.

"... when the prison was finished" Luanne finished.

They were there for a reason. Bob Simpson had committed the crime in the very town he was later sent to life for. The jail they were visiting was the same where he was first held while awaiting trial. It was small, tidy and absent anyone of a criminal nature at the time.

"Do you by any chance have copies of the original report and any evidence gathered?"

The practice of duplication was a common theme in every department for the sole reason the people they were dealing with were criminals. The law was pretty clear. Make your case and lock the bad person up but stay inside specific guidelines while doing so. One of the guidelines was of original origin. If evidence were presented at trial it must have been original. Copies were inadmissible for who knew what mischief could occur if replication replaced reality. The rule was known to all, including the guilty who were further known to go out of their way to contaminate or destroy originality. Copies were made not to show in court but to keep in case the originals disappeared. They weren't used as replacements because the courts would not allow for them but were kept so a future crime could be compared and analyzed. If it hit on similar traits as the first then the police would have a much better time convincing a judge to issue a subpoena or even an arrest warrant without first-hand evidence the subject committed the crime. Thus, even though the courts would not allow their use during trial they were not subject to the same limitations outside the courtroom. Judges were Human, they could see fact from fiction and were very upset when men of obvious deceit were allowed to walk free because evidence went missing.

"Yes..." said Lawton.

"... of course we keep copies " added Luanne.

They both got up without a word and walked across the room. Lawton reached in his pocket, pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door. The two detectives, still seated, realized they were about to be allowed access to the evidence room so they stood and waited as the most unlikely and impressive small-town cops anywhere led them inside a room the size of a large walk-in closet.

"This is it?" Wesson asked.

"Yep..." the monster law enforcer began.

"... we don't have a lot of felonies around these parts" the luscious law-bringer ended.

What they were looking at was four metal shelving units, each with six trays, which rose to a full height of five feet. They were half full. Lawton pulled a box off the top of one of the shelves and walked back out to the conference table, set it down and removed the contents. They consisted of a cowboy hat, poncho, single burnt wooden matchstick and a video-cassette tape.

"That's it?" Wesson asked again in somewhat astonished amazement.

"Yep..." he began.

"... it's all they needed' she finished.

The video was the key. It didn't actually show Bob doing the dastardly act. In fact, at one time the image of the person caught on the tape should have given away their identity but something was wrong and the picture was lost. A security camera set up at the Wayward Youth Facility caught it all. A person wearing a cowboy hat and poncho was shown pouring liquid around the base of the building, striking a match and setting it afire. At one time, when the match was lit, the person's face should have been viewed but the image faded. Something was wrong with the lens for where features should've been only darkness was visible. Bob was convicted because someone had seen him in the area wearing a cowboy hat and called the police after learning of the fire. The police found the hat and poncho in Bob's truck, watched the video and the rest was a foregone conclusion.

"So this is what sent him away?" Wesson said.

"Yep" Lawton replied.

The evidence was, as most evidence tended to be, circumstantial. It could've been planted, it would've been easy to do so but, then again, most evidence was circumstantial in the hands of attorneys. Both detectives had seen clear-cut cases get tossed out of court because of exceptionally bright individuals who practiced law not for the good of society but for the benefit of wealth. Money was the arbitrator of fact, the get-out-of-jail card for those who could afford its price. A good attorney could turn any piece of evidence no matter how solid and physical of form into one of smoke and perplexity to a jury. Where once a picture of the suspect committing the crime sat, after cross examination a digital mystery remained. Pixels could be altered, shades and hues realigned and where a guilty verdict was presupposed an innocent one emerged.

"Has anyone enhanced this video since the time of the crime?" Wesson asked.

"No" Lawton began.

"The criminal confessed" Luanne finished.

Things were strange for the two detectives because everything appeared to have a different meaning. A family hired them to find a member and then proceeded to offer zero help with the process. A butler became an officer and then a gatekeeper to classified material and a prison became an oil-production business. Wesson had an idea but he needed cooperation and while the two officers were extremely helpful he was about to ask for something out of the realm of assistance, something which was in the grey area of legality.

"May we take this tape with us?"

The question was posed with all the sincerity he could muster. It wasn't technically illegal what he was asking but it also wasn't legal either. The tape was a copy so its legality wasn't an issue itself but it was stored in the evidence locker of a police station so its location was the problem. He was preparing his defense of why they should allow the two detectives access to the tape and was wondering if the prospect of unlimited funds would even slightly sway the impressive duo when he heard an answer he couldn't quite believe.

"Sure."

"No problem."

He wasn't positive he'd heard correctly their response or they'd heard correctly his question so he asked again.

"I mean the video tape. Can we take it with us to get it enhanced?"

Once again their answers astonished him.

"Uh-huh."

"Can't see why not."

Wesson looked to Smith to see if maybe he wasn't hearing correctly but the look of astonishment on his partner's face only reinforced his belief they'd run into either the most incompetent pair of cops in the world or the most helpful individuals in law enforcement ever.

"Really?" he asked waiting for them to laugh and tell him they were only joking.

"Yes, really..." Lawton said.

"... you're privileged to that information" Luann added.

Her last response was the kicker, the cherry on the top.

"Did you just say 'privileged'?" Smith queried.

"Yep..." Lawton began with grin.

"... Nat said to say 'Hello'" Luann finished with a smile.

Chapter 23

The border was on edge, two opposing sides on alternate lands facing off over the accusation of illegitimacy. Everything was going according to plan except for one small detail.

"They're not doing anything!"

"I can't believe this!"

The border had been closed with relative ease. A fence had been in the process of completion for some time and reinforcements were brought in to close any gaps. Both America and Mexico were at loggerheads, neither side ready to start something which could get out of hand before either was prepared. The two countries were wary for reasons particular to their own status. Mexico, while a thriving civilization was still behind the United States in its military capabilities. America, while still a majority of ancestors from European stock contained within its borders a vast number of citizens who were of Latin descent. While Mexico had no illusions about their ability to win a war with the government to their north, the north themselves had no illusions as to what would happen if they decided to invade their neighbor to the south. It wasn't that the citizens who emigrated from South America were any more inclined to fight for their previous heritage as it was they had no desire to see their new-found country act like an imperialistic bully and take by force what they could not gain through treaty. The politicians were in a state of dismay because whichever way they looked public resentment reared its head. If they chose the side of war their chances of reelection were above zero but not by much. If they chose to take the peaceful way out the hawks at their primaries would eat them alive. So they did what politicians did and ran for cover.

"Are they... are they just going to sit there?" Vivian asked.

"Did we misjudge them again?" Trudy pondered

"Is there any pot-roast left?" Phillip wondered.

The family of LeTorque were in the kitchen watching the twenty-four hour a day, seven days a week news programming which was currently under quite a bit of stress for nothing was happening but eyes were watching so they needed something to fill the time.

"Hello everyone, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five News Team's continuing coverage of the tense stand-off between Texas and Mexico. We now go live to our award-winning border-war reporter, Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

The television showed the young reporter standing in field, surrounded by men in camouflage who had the look of complete boredom on their faces.

"Tim, can you give is the latest up-to-the-minute information you have on the brewing problem down there?"

"Sure, Nick. Well, as the viewers can see we have a lot of military personnel standing around down here but it appears we've run into some sort of old-fashioned stalemate. Neither side appears willing to provoke the other except for the occasional catcall across the border zone. The real problem which seems to be arising is that of boredom and caffeine."

"Caffeine?"

"Yes, Nick, caffeine. We have been questioning our brave military men and women on their views of the brewing conflict and came up with some interesting opinions on the matter."

"What were those, Tim?"

"Our coffee is horrible, Nick. Apparently the leaders at the top forgot one small detail when they closed the border; we are terrible at growing coffee beans. I have witnessed firsthand the acrid flavor the fine men and women of our armed forces are being forced to drink and must say if something is not done soon we may have another problem on our hands."

"What's that, Tim?"

"Tea, Nick, we may be forced into drinking tea for breakfast."

It wasn't the media's fault. The border had all the makings of instant visual carnage if only someone would make a move. They couldn't very well leave for if they did and suddenly fighting broke out their rival stations would beat them to the punch and they'd be hard pressed to answer for their lack of trust in the bloodlust of the two great peoples. The only problem was no one was doing anything. Mexico was more than willing to wait out the whole conflict because they felt certain they'd eventually prevail in the World Court and Texas couldn't advance its agenda because the rest of the country was slightly worried about invading a nation which held a thirty percent stake of cultural heritage in its own population.

"What do we do now?" Trudy asked.

"Maybe we should blow up something on Mexico's side" Vivian answered.

The two Vamps sat alone at the table because the Wolves were hungry and couldn't wait any longer. They were at the refrigerator deciding on what to do.

"Ham?"

"Had it this morning for breakfast."

"Turkey?"

"Had it for lunch."

"Hamburger?"

"Had it for dinner."

The poor Wolves were running out of options while the two Vampires were considering battle plans when the Alien from Heaven entered their domicile.

"Hello, everyone!"

"Nat!" Vivian yelled and did her normal routine of allowing the creature with molecular digitalized form the pleasure of a hug. Nat couldn't help grinning the whole time.

"Hello, Nat" Trudy said as the monitor sat down.

"Hello, Mistress" he answered back politely.

He didn't know which one he liked better, the exuberant blonde or elegantly refined red-head. He figured one day he'd have the scientists work on development of a Superior with both traits and wondered if they 'd be compatible or if they'd cancel each other out. Heaven had been tinkering for so long the answer was probably already in its database but, well, maybe it wasn't. Maybe no one had come up with the brilliant idea of personality placement and particularization? Maybe the notion of two types of demeanor had never occurred to the lab rats experimenting with molecular manipulation?

"Have you been watching the news?" Trudy asked.

"Why, yes I have, Mistress, and it appears your work is not yet complete."

She glanced at him with her ivy eyes and Nat could tell the intelligence behind the green orbs was one of shrewd cunning. She was the ring leader, the one who implemented ideas with meticulous planning. He could guess she was, at that very moment, deciding how much and how little she was willing to reveal to him but he was okay with it because he didn't care how they got there only that they arrived with a full complement and a willingness to improvise. He didn't know what the Hoard's capabilities were, no one knew, for the game dictated secrecy until the time was ripe for action.

"They are a confusing breed, Nat" she said.

"Yes, Mistress, they are definitely that" he admitted.

The game, as far as he could tell, was actually quite simplistic in design. It would work due to the complexities which arose not from the plan but from those involved in the game. The inspiration had come from generations of warfare and involved what was labeled 'appropriate response'. The reasoning was solid. Get the two countries fighting limited battles and while they were occupied hold a war of clans. It was luck which gave them the opportunity. America was, historically, an English outcast. Mexico, a Spanish one. Both England and Spain had their own history of warfare so the back door to a war between First and Third Clans was to involve America and Mexico. Ancestry was the combination to the lock. Spain had one with Mexico and England with America. If the two would just get off their hindquarters and begin killing each other the two clans could meet amidst the bloodshed and settle what should have been done before. It didn't take a genius to figure the Spanish would supply Mexico with aid and the rest of northern Europe would probably side with America. Switzerland was out, of course, for they'd chosen to be neutral for so long they no longer retained the right to side with anyone. To Nat's mind their neutrality was nothing but cowardice from a group of bankers' intent on enriching themselves to the detriment of all others. The fact the other nations went along with their absurd notion they had no opinion on good or bad was, to him, one of the most confusing things about Humans. They, at times, did things which were so patently idiotic he really did wonder how in the heck they lasted long enough to possibly destroy the world. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on for he saw in them the possibility of trouble. Nat didn't like trouble. He liked tranquility and the last thing in the world Humans were was tranquil.

"Nat?" Vivian asked from the seat to his left.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"How's the Governor?"

"He's a moron."

"I know that. But how is he handling this?"

The question was of a political nature so it contained many variables. The Governor, to Nat, was indeed a moron. A person of limited intellect and questionable morals. He was what the people had chosen to be their representative. Well, a few people, the ones who counted, the ones who ran the numbers and realized the situation; people were lazy. People would do the very least if left to their own choices so they were given said opportunity and encouraged to do the very thing they wished; stay at home during election time. Slight inconvenience turned out to be the answer. Make the process a little bit cumbersome, a tad annoying and the voters would stay away in droves to avoid what they already did not wish to do. Governor Austin Travis had been elected with the fewest percentage of eligible voters ever seen in the Lone Star State. He'd been the victor of apathy twice in a row and was hoping for a third. Unfortunately for him he was facing a challenge from an unlikely candidate in a State Representative from San Antonio named Manuel Noriega.

Manuel had grown up in the streets of Laredo, a tough city on the border which was rife with crime, unemployment and Mexican-Americans. It was the Mexican-Americans who were the problem. For generations the stewardship of Texas had been won not at the polling places but at the pulpit. While it was illegal for churches to get involved in politics it was not illegal for those who attended the institutions of higher morality. Therefore, they held private meetings which held moral authority with religion's blessings and decided who among the select few would hold the privilege of ruling the many. It wasn't actually very difficult for the Governor's predecessors for in the past most voters in the state were of European decent. They were all white, went to church and were elected by the very same. The problem the Governor was running into was the changing demographics of the very institutions designed to pick the leader of the greatest state in the union. The churches were turning Hispanic. With the influx of Latin Americans came a rise in the Catholic congregation and what was once a bastion of Baptist beliefs became a state in denial. Those who once held power could not understand why those who didn't wanted change. They believed the state was performing wonderfully and to them the idea of someone not bred from their viewpoint was an abomination and mutant product of a religious denomination which ran afoul of proper beliefs. The Governor was in somewhat of a disadvantage, though, for while he wished to crackdown on the church siding with his rival he couldn't because to do so would cause his own demise. He was still beholden to the people who elected him and since they were of the cross he couldn't deny the holy places of worship their God given right to illegally intervene in the political process without cutting off the very basis of his power. If he denied the churches the right to pick the governorship then the office would go to the popular vote. If the popular vote ever chose their own representative then those who ruled before would rule no more. The numbers were too obvious, the divide too large for the outcome to be anything other than Mexican-American rule.

"Oh, he's handling it the way I suppose you'd think. He's introduced a bill which would make it illegal to cast a vote without proper identification" Nat replied.

"Proper identification?" Vivian inquired.

"Yep, you're going to need a driver's license to vote if the bill passes."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

Desired outcome was always the reason. Everywhere, in every nation where democratic ideals were practiced they ran up against the one thing they had little recourse for; those who vied for power were the least democratic people in the world. Voters were always given general powers which led them to believe they had a say in the process. The truth was anything but. Once a measure passed it was the implementation which actually caused the mischief. The voters couldn't revolt, though, for they were the ones who gave it life and it was Human Nature which ruled the realm. How could it be possible for all of them to be wrong? It wasn't, the process was the problem.

"Well, the Governor's got a little problem with the majority of his citizens" Nat replied.

"What problem?" Vivian asked.

"They're mostly of Mexican descent. He's running in a race against a man who has a historical heritage with the majority and he needs a trump card to even the odds."

"And a driver's license is the trump card?"

"Yes. Well, the obtainment of the card is the trump. The license itself is merely the ruse to allow the deal to take place."

"Huh?"

"He's going to make it difficult for those with limited English to acquire the right to drive and thus the privilege to vote."

"Huh?"

"A literacy test, Mistress, he's going to involve a literacy test for the privilege of operating a motorized vehicle."

Generalized power was borne through the belief one was giving blessing to a rule which on the surface seemed perfectly reasonable. The ability to read road signs seemed like an obviously reasonable request and the Governor was using its premise to further his career. The plan was simple; offer up a bill which gave everyone the right to do what they secretly desired and remove those terrible drivers from their roadways. Road-rage was the catalyst and Human belief in self-determination the ace up the sleeve. The Governor's advisors had relied on their fellow Humans to act accordingly and determine the reason for their congested roadways was not due to inadequate funding but instead a result of illiterate motorists causing mayhem through indecision.

"Do you think it'll pass?" the cute blonde inquired.

"Oh, it'll pass all right. Everyone voting on the thing already has their license and as we all know if you've already got something and can make it doubly difficult for another to acquire what you possess then you will always do so."

"Huh?"

"People are selfish and self-righteous, Mistress. Once they've got something they will always do things to protect it. In the case of a driver's license most voting on the measure will already possess the thing and since the bill will state if they already have their license they need not take the literacy test then the thought is the thing will pass easily."

"Why?"

"Because people always think other people are the cause of their distress."

The Governor was relying on the public education system to help with his reelection. For decades the schooling system had been underfunded and inadequately staffed. He was banking on a citizenry of unlearned peoples to ease his minority in the electorate.

"So he's pushing for a bill which is aimed directly at the majority population in the state?"

"Yep."

Vivian loved Humans for they were ever hypocritical. They were constantly saying one thing and then doing the exact opposite. It made them easy to manipulate.

"Nat?" Trudy interrupted and the Alien turned his head to view the incredibly sexy Vamp.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Did you get the impression the Governor was going to order hostilities to take place?"

Nat was wondering when the question would arise. It was why he was there, after all.

"No, Mistress, I'm afraid he won't."

She looked at him with her lovely eyes and he couldn't help but continue.

"He's actually sitting quite pretty at the moment. You see, the populace is getting what it wants. It's got a show of force down at the border without any bloodshed. It's giving him the appearance of a tough leader and as long as his poll numbers stay up he won't do anything."

"His poll numbers are up?"

"Yes. Well, with the right crowd they're up. With the left they've never been lower but if he gets his way and the License to Vote Act passes he won't need to worry about them."

"So he's just going to do nothing?"

"Yes, and he's right pleased about it too."

Her look of annoyance amused Nat because he knew what she was; a dedicated Vampire with a good imagination and the greatest-looking pair of legs in the universe.

"So unless something changes we're not going to see any battles?"

"Yes. Unless the situation is altered the outcome will remain the same and we'll have a border without crossings. I'm sorry, Mistress, but I don't believe your war with Mexico is not going to pass."

"It's not a war with Mexico we're looking for, Nat."

"it's not?"

"No, we want a war with Spain. We need European involvement if we're to challenge First Clan for supremacy. Mexico is our link to Spain."

He saw the potential but felt the outcome would elude the goddess with blood-colored mane.

"Mistress, I believe you may want to prepare a Plan B."

She glanced at him and he knew. She was always prepared. He should've guessed.

"You've already got a Plan B, don't you?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded her head.

"If I turn on the television am I going to find out what it is?"

Again a nod and smile so Nat got up, walked to the counter where the boob-tube resided and switched it on. The two Wolves at the refrigerator door were still air-conditioning the kitchen while pondering meal selection.

"Hey, Nat?"

"Yes, Phillip?"

"What sounds better to you, fish or brisket?"

"Why not both?"

"Ooh! I like the way you think. Hey, George, Nat recommended..."

"I'm right here, Phillip, I heard what he said."

"Well?"

"I think I like the way he thinks also."

Nat smiled as the two beasts with unquenchable appetites removed a two-foot salmon and fifteen pound chunk of meat from the ice-box. He wondered for a second if they would take the time to cook them or just go to town pre-flame style. His thoughts suddenly changed when the commercial which had been playing was replaced with the face of a white, middle-aged man with brown hair, glasses and blue suit.

"Hello folks, this is Nick Price with a Channel Five News Special Report. We have unconfirmed reports of trouble in Canada. We now go live to our sister-station across the northern border and its award winning news reporter, Wally Thornburg."

The scene shifted and another man's face appeared.

"Hello, Wally, are you there?"

"Hiya, Nick! Yep, I'm here all right."

The man on the screen was standing in front of what looked like a mass of confusing metal frameworks with a tower directly behind him. It was dark so he was illuminated by the camera's light.

"Wally, can you confirm rumors of an explosion?"

"Oh, yeah, we definitely had one of those, Nick" the friendly man said with a smile.

The screen changed to once again show the local Channel Five anchorman but shouldn't have for right then Nick Price, the face of the station was plucking a nose hair with a confused expression.

Someone from the control room must have spoken in his ear for he looked up with consternation but the proud professional he was did not flinch from the pressure of public preening, no, he went right back on the offensive.

"What? Oh... um, Wally, can you elaborate for our viewers what exploded?"

The scene switched back to Canada.

"You betcha I can! All right, here's what we know now. Someone or something has blown up part of the Canadalaskan Pipeline."

The scene switched to Texas again but Nick was prepared, he sat there with a sincere look of interest on his televised visage.

"Someone blew up the Canadalaskan Pipeline?"

Canada again.

"Yep! Well now, ya know, not the whole pipeline, just a part of the section which ran through our country here."

Texas.

"Is there an oil leak, Wally?"

Canada.

"Oh yeah, there's oil everywhere. It's on the ground and in the trees and in those big ol' buckets people keep around for nature watering."

Texas.

"Nature watering?"

Canada.

"Yeah, that's what we call it up here. It's pretty cold so people can't always go outside to the potty house so they use the big ol' buckets and then take 'em outside after doing their doody."

The channel switched again to reveal the newsman from Texas with an honest expression of amazement.

"Um, Wally?"

"Yep, still here, Nick."

"Um, can you please inform our viewers where you are?"

Canada reappeared on the screen with Wally smiling bright, looking enthused and relaxed in front of eerie metal scaffolding looming ominously in the nighttime sky.

"Oh, sure I can! We're about halfway between Vancouver and Alaska on the west coast in a town called Sasquatch Sightings. We're in front of the main petroleum cut off point at the corner of Big-Foot Boulevard and Yeti Way."

The screen stayed on the northern reporter as the southern one asked further questions.

"I'm assuming you're at the location because the oil cut-off station is there?"

"Yep, this is where they cut off the switch so the oil would quit flowing onto our already spoiled landscape" he said with somewhat nostalgia.

"Has anyone claimed responsibility, Wally?"

"Nope, Nick, not yet, but people around here are already making their own speculations."

"Who are they speculating on, Wally?"

"The speculation seems to split evenly between two possible culprits, Nick. One is the Abominable Snowman and the other is the French Linguistic Liberation League."

Nat shut the TV off for he's seen enough and now considered what he'd heard. He turned to look at Trudy and his molecular heart actually jumped a bit for she was looking back, smiling. The smile was something he would gladly wipe out the entire race of Humans to see.

"You blew up the Canadalaskan Pipeline?"

"No, I'm sitting right here. How could I possibly blow up a pipeline in Canada and get back here in so little time?"

She said it with such an adorably innocent expression Nat almost wished to keep up the charade.

"You know what I mean, Mistress" he said instead.

The smiled again and he realized poor Phillip had no chance of winning an argument if all she needed was a grin to melt hearts.

"Yes, Nat, I know what you mean. We had the Winds blow up the pipeline."

"And the reasoning for that was?"

"Well, if we can't get the Spanish to bite maybe the French will nibble instead."

"Why would the French care if the Canadalaskan Pipeline was destroyed?"

She gave him a second but he couldn't see the connection.

"They wouldn't. The pipeline was for economic involvement. If we're going to start a war we'll need something to prime the pumps so to speak and a conveyor of liquid cash is a perfect target for French secessionists insisting the English proxy of America get off their land."

"But, once again, why would France care?"

"Because they are about to feel an American backlash to French intervention."

"Huh?"

"You should've left the news on, Nat" she said.

"Why?" he inquired.

"Because we also blew up the Statue of Liberty, Nat, and that kind of coincidence will definitely get both France and America's attention."

Chapter 24

They moved through the night, silent as the element which bore their name. The Winds flew over the land without the slightest sound exposing their presence. The objective was simple for it could not move, did not know they were on the way and had no defense against them if it did. They arrived at the spot and the Alpha issued orders.

"There" he said while pointing.

The two lesser Wolves of Wind moved with incredible speed and explosive charges were set within seconds. The timing was crucial so the detonators were armed with receivers. The head Wolf, Thor, held the privilege in a paw.

"Mistress?" he said into the communicator.

"Yes?" was the reply on the technologically superior product of secure transmission.

"We are ready" he said.

"Then we will proceed. I will inform you when the time is right."

The station was surrounded with high voltage fencing, top-of-the-line surveillance cameras and four guards, one in the shack, three roaming. The chain fence was not scaled for the shack was the weaker link. The guard inside was ill-prepared for invisible Vamps holding syringes with sedatives. The roaming guards soon followed their compatriot in chemical comatose.

The moment was important for the footage would figure prominently on the late-night news. Coordination was considered essential for maximum shock and public outrage. Nadia and her Vampire sisters of Wind family association waited with anticipation for the call which would set into motion the world's fascination with conspiratorial theories on the motives of those who would be blamed. France was the recipient of Superior planning not for any other reason than location on the motherland, previous martial activities and colonial expansion. The call came in at eight.

"This is Nadia" she answered.

The order was given and the Vamp in charge of the mission implemented its design.

"Throw the switches" she ordered and the two Vamps lower in the family hierarchy did her bidding.

They had no wish to cause lasting impact only burning memorization. The cut-off was empowered and oil destined for America stopped in Canada as it's metallic case over a thousand miles long was simultaneously severed through switch and explosion after a single word was sent by voice through airwave.

"Now" she whispered into the handset.

Thor pushed the button and the night sky illuminated as petroleum ignited. The sight was awesome to behold as liquid decay of the previous-living found eternal rest through combustible means.

"Uncle, Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

They were sitting on the edge of the water waiting for the moment which would change the world.

"What's in her hand?"

"A torch."

They had flown in that morning, met the local representatives of Third Clan and quickly established her authority.

"I ask for your loyalty, Wolf of Ellis" she'd said.

"You shall have it, Mistress."

The plan was put in motion and the boats launched ten minutes later. The deed was begun when the place was evacuated for façade improvements.

"Why is she holding a torch?"

"Ask Aunt Melissa."

The island they were on was the greatest of its kind with buildings erected to the sky because land had long since vanished.

"She was a gift to America from France. The torch represents a beacon, a lighthouse of a sort, showing the weary the way to the promised land" Melissa answered.

The Wolves of Ellis had arrived at their destination and a signal was sent indicating they were waiting.

"Johnny?" Melissa said.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Tell Nadia to begin."

Estimation was the tricky part for timing of Human reaction was always predicted and consistently incorrect.

Johnny called the Matriarch of Wind and felt a slight thrill knowing he was starting a war on opposite ends of a continent at specific times for visual effect. The idea was to have one breaking news story interrupted by another. An economic disaster followed by a cultural one. If all went according to plan in the span of one hour the population of the greatest nation on Earth would feel attacked on two fronts, one down south, one up north. They would feel under siege by two bordering nations, Mexico and Canada, with historical ties to two other historically significant powers, Spain and France.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why do people have accents?"

New York held a great place in Johnny's heart for he'd visited it earlier in his travels. It had grown into something he could not have conceived and its innovative people had shown him the light; they were necessary for Superior survival.

"I... uh... hmm...? Ask your Aunt, Daemon."

As Melissa instructed the child on the strange behavior of Humans and their vocal-delivery phenomena Johnny got up and took a little stroll through the park. He always enjoyed visiting the place for he knew it held on for dear life as the world around it set down concrete foundations and built towers of biblical Babel proportions. He was a little surprised how the people on the tiny isle of Manhattan had been able to keep a portion of its real estate in original form. Usually it was the developers who won the battle, very rarely was nature left alone. Central Park confused him for just when he thought he understood Humans and was ready for their extinction they went and did something so out of character he had to re-think his earlier impression and give them a little more leeway. He still felt they'd cut their own throats one day but maybe, he thought, just maybe they might be able to survive long enough to survive forever.

He was in deep concentration so he didn't notice them until it was too late.

"Give us your wallet."

They were standing directly in front of him, smelling of cheap whisky and in need of delousing. Johnny was a bit angry for letting the situation occur. He should've been more aware of his surroundings. One was brandishing a crowbar and the other a broken bottle of rot-gut. Neither appeared to believe in personal hygiene.

"My wallet?" Johnny asked, a little stunned and unsure if maybe he'd heard incorrectly.

"Yes, your wallet, give it to me" the man with the steel bar in his hands said as he raised it threateningly to emphasize his point.

Johnny was scared and did what scared people do in times of stress by freezing. He told himself to move, told himself a wallet with thirty bucks wasn't worth the beating he would get from two homeless people in a city park known for its hobo population. Unfortunately, his mind was not interested in delivering the message to his muscles or they were on some sort of sabbatical.

"I said give me your wallet!" the nasty vagrant said again.

Johnny couldn't move. He was scared stiff. He kept shouting to his brain to follow the man's advice but his brain wouldn't mind his orders. It had other ideas. It was intent on minding its own business through paralysis and letting the skull encasing it get crushed by a smelly drunk with money problems.

The man was egged on by his partner in crime with the two-dollar container of liquid libation and Johnny stood stock still in terror as the man with steel and the bum with broken bottle advanced. He was preparing for the beat down when a child's voice broke the tension.

"Uncle Johnny?"

The two men halted their forward motion and turned to look at what had dared intrude on their night-time enrichment program. What they saw caused their eyes to bulge and their tongues to lick lips. Before them, a mere ten feet away was the most incredible delight they'd ever seen. She was five-feet nine, regal of posture and endowed with what all men considered important. Her figure was one of intoxication. A dream. An elixir of the gods. Manna in female form. The child next to her was of little relevance.

"Uncle Johnny?" the boy said again.

"Yes, Daemon?" he finally replied.

"Are these guys your friends?"

The men were infatuated with the woman standing next to the curious little brat. She was everything to their eyes and wondrous to behold. Hair as black as night and a face artists the world over would fight to death for the privilege of putting on canvass. She stood there, not moving, only smiling as the ragamuffin next to her waited for an answer.

"No, Daemon, these are not my friends."

What happened next would forever change two troubled men into productive citizens.

"Then may I practice on them?"

The questioned was answered by the beauty beside the babe.

"Yes, dearest, go have your fun."

They blinked, both at the same time for the child disappeared. He was there and then gone. Their minds, a little sluggish from years of pickling through potent participation quickly did what small minds do by disregarding what they couldn't understand and returning to what they could. She hadn't moved so they felt justified in their actions. It was as if the Lord himself had delivered her to them. They moved toward her with evil intent as she remained still, smiling, and they felt an excitement build before the situation took a decidedly different turn.

"Yaaaagh!"

He didn't know what had ahold of his hair but the force with which it pulled caused a ripping sensation to be heard and the man with hands on steel became the first person in over a hundred years to be scalped alive on an island once owned by Indians.

His partner did not understand what happened but clearly viewed with his own eyes his buddy's head-skin torn away.

"What the...?" he began.

"Yaaaagh!" he finished as he too joined the newest fad of instant baldness through traumatic hair removal.

Both men were lying on the ground screaming in agony when directly in front of them their locks of mane appeared followed immediately by the image of the child who wasn't there then was.

"Do you want these back?"

Neither man could verbally answer for the pain was all encompassing. The child must have sensed their disease for he looked down at them from his three-feet of height, shrugged and then tossed the topknots of the fools in the water a good hundred feet from where they stood. Neither man could move, neither could speak for their worlds were consumed with burning excruciation where their head-fur previously was planted.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Should I rip their heads off now?"

Their speed was not what saved them. They'd heard the words of death issue from the mouth of a child and did what beggars everywhere did by pleaded for their lives while at the same time taking off like jackrabbits at a coyote convention. They would easily have been caught if not for the particular timing of their escape. As they fled the Statue of Liberty exploded and the two men were forgotten as the child's attention was drawn to the fireball in the sky signaling the start of something new.

Chapter 25

They arrived back in Dallas at the worst possible time.

"My God! Does everyone get off work at the exact same moment?"

"It would appear so."

They were sitting still on a freeway designed to handle vehicles driving upwards of seventy miles per hour. They were doing, at times, five.

"Well, we might as well go over what we've got so far" Smith said and Wesson agreed.

They were following their only lead but felt certain it was worth it. It was possible, they both surmised, Bob Simpson's case would not lead them to the discovery of where Mr. Johnson was but they felt in their guts it would. It was too much a coincidence for the man to have been found in Johnny's closet after previously being incarcerated in a prison owned and apparently run by the family he was associated with. It was an even further stretch to believe his future bride, Melissa LeTorque, would just happen to have been the presiding nurse over an isolation ward where the man found with his head on backwards was previously pronounced dead from Bird Flu.

"We go with what we've got" Smith replied after Wesson asked his opinion of what they should do.

They were traveling to the offices of Craft and Sons. They had already phoned ahead and Joshua was preparing the room for their arrival.

The advancement of imagery had grown by leaps alongside technology's bounds since the time Bob Simpson had been arrested, tried and convicted for setting both his mother and the Reformatory for Wayward Youth afire in an attempt to capture the cash-cow of fuel generated from dead dinosaur carcasses.

What was once the end product of amazing captured footage was no longer the case. With the development of computing came a secondary flurry of imagination for what had once been the realm of only those in academia was now in the hands of dreamers. The minds which were changing the world were doing it so rapidly the very idea of something being truly groundbreaking was becoming laughable. Every day something came out which was newsworthy. There were so many amazing events the world was having a difficult time grasping the concept. They were like new-found infants who suddenly awoke and could comprehend discovery. Their eyes were opened to the possibility that all possibility was possible. Everything previously thought unobtainable was suddenly within reach. The digitalization of photography was one such achievement and it was its use the detectives were planning to employ in order to hopefully solve part of their mystery and maybe get a little closer to the end goal of indeterminate charges. If the LeTorque were going to provide them with the means then they were going to find the way of locating an individual who was both protected and wanted by the same people.

"Have we even moved?"

"I could walk faster than this."

The freeway was anything but what its name described. It resembled the largest, skinniest parking lot in the world. Something must have happened to cause the problem for as they were sitting idling time and gas away they noticed the slowest response team on Earth attempting to navigate a river of metallic motorization. The ambulance had chosen the shoulder of the roadway as its most likely path to bring relief but was doing so at the rate of five to ten miles an hour. The problem was not with the driver of the boxy emergency vehicle but with the others; the ones who couldn't stand doing what everyone else was doing and wait out the time-consuming delay. No, they were the ones who felt so privileged they could use the emergency lane in order to promote themselves ahead. The fact some were sometimes successful in their endeavor was further irritating to Smith who believed whole-heartedly in the notion of stationing snipers on the side of freeways during rush-hour traffic with the full ability and legal authority to shoot on sight any self-pompous, societal norm-ignoring blowhard attempting to bypass the waiting line of drivers not on the move.

"Hey, do you think I should call Nat?" Smith asked.

"What for?" Wesson responded.

"Maybe he'll tell us who's on the video. I mean, come on, there's no way we're the only ones who thought of using the technology of today to answer questions from the past."

"Nice phrasing!"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Well, should I call him?"

"Can't hurt to ask."

So Smith pulled out his cellphone and did the democratically determined dreaded deed of dialing during driving. He could barely believe it when the man-servant turned Dallas detective answered the device.

"Nat?"

"Hello, Detective Smith. Any luck locating our missing Mr. Johnson?"

"Maybe. Hey, look, we're taking the videotape down to our offices for enhancement."

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah and uh... before we go through with the whole process we were wondering...?"

"Yes?"

"Well, do you think you could tell us what's on the thing before we spend the time doing it?"

There was a pause on the line and Smith was hoping the man would tell him 'fine', that the person on the tape was so and so and they could therefore skip the digitalization of videotape and get on with what they were looking for; Mr. Johnny Johnson.

"No, I am afraid you are not yet privileged to that information."

Smith knew it! He knew the guy was hiding something and he had a pretty good guess what or who it was.

"It's Johnny Johnson, isn't it?"

There was another pause and Smith began worrying he might be right, the person who set the flame was indeed the man they were looking for. If that happened the gig was up. They would be compelled to drop the case and the vacation he'd already paid for with his well-earned raise due to location of an individual for an unspecified but highly profitable endeavor would end.

"I am sorry, Detective, but I cannot answer your question at this time."

Smith actually felt a little relieved. It was weird because the man was obviously withholding information but he still felt a slight ease of tension when he declined to answer the question. But his stubbornness wouldn't let it end there.

"Look, Nat, we're going to find out one way or another so why don't you save us the trouble and just tell us who..."

"Good bye, Detective."

He wanted to throw the thing out the window! He'd never been hung up on so many times by the same individual in his life. And he dealt with a lot of shady characters! It wasn't so much the hanging up part but the mild and polite manner of the act. The guy's voice remained the same the whole time and it was really starting to get on Smith's nerves.

"He hung up on me again!"

Wesson didn't reply because he was seriously considering getting out of the vehicle and walking the last mile to the detective agency. It wasn't really all too far and he could definitely use the exercise. Besides, the chili-cheese nachos were starting to ripen and he was worried where he'd be when they decided to announce their presence to the world.

"Hey, what're you doing?"

"I'm going to walk the rest of the way."

"You can't do that."

"Why not?"

Smith didn't know why not. He knew the logic behind people not walking along freeways when traffic was moving normally but not when it was at a virtual standstill. So he shut up, watched Wesson exit and the slowest moving race between man and motorized conveyance began.

They didn't intentionally start the process, it happened in a gradual way. Wesson would walk and build a lead which would be cut by Smith whenever the traffic allowed him to move. For a while it was neck and neck. Wesson would lead and then Smith would make a giant leap forward and they'd be even. Neither man even realized they were in a contest for the first ten minutes but over time both became curious who would end up the winner. It got to the point where they were actually eyeballing each other. Wesson would look out the corner of his eye and see Smith staring at him with the intensity of an opponent trying to determine his weakness. The odd part, the seemingly random part was the other drivers located in the same vicinity as Smith's vehicle were also in the game. Everyone was using Wesson as a measuring stick to see if a man on foot could beat those on wheels. Wesson could actually feel the eyes on him. He could sense the hostility emanating from the drivers every time their flow ebbed and his remained even. He would stride along and they would sit behind their steering wheels in frustration as they watched their lead dwindle and eventually subside altogether. The fat guy was going to beat them! The guy wearing numerous flavors of convenience store purchase was going to win! He didn't, of course, because the accident finally came into view and everyone could see what had caused them so much aggravation; a fender bender with the two foolish pilots waiting for law enforcement to come along and side with their version of events. The fact the police had no way to tell if one moron was less moronic than the other was irrelevant because both felt the other was in the wrong and were perfectly willing to indispose as many of their neighbors as necessary to prove their point to the insurance agencies who were so rich from gouging their customers they could've cared less who was at fault.

Smith beat Wesson by forty-four seconds.

"Joshua?" Wesson called out as he entered the offices of Craft and Sons on the fifteenth floor of the thirty-two floor building.

"In here, boss!" he heard from the furthest room down the hallway which didn't particularly please him for he'd just finished his man-versus-machine drag-race on the slowest moving highway in the southern hemisphere.

The back room was the do-it-all location. It had no set purpose and was used for various investigative processes. They had it all to themselves because it was after five and the entire office was empty. Neither Craft nor Sons could stomach congestion so they'd set their business hours accordingly. In at five am, out by four, no exceptions. Except, obviously, if one was working for a client of incredible coin then the 'no' part of the exception rule was eliminated because money had the power to alter absolution.

The two detectives entered the room and found the over-worked intern sitting at a desk in front of a laptop which was wired to a machine which looked like something from a space odyssey movie.

"Whoa! When did we get that?" Smith asked.

"When we got a client without a credit limit" Joshua replied.

Smith smiled, handed the videotape over, Joshua fed it into the machine and they waited.

"What are we waiting for?" Wesson asked.

"The computer" Joshua replied.

Wesson was going to ask what in the computer they were waiting for but decided not to reveal he had absolutely no knowledge or understanding of the confounding devices. He didn't like computers, didn't trust them because he couldn't quite grasp the concept of the magical machine running the brain-numbing number of programs using at its base nothing more than a one or a zero. Oh, he could conceptualize how a dot on the screen could be turned on or off with the command of a code but it was the command part he was worried about. Who wrote the command? What else did they write? Was the thing spying on him the whole time? Did it have a secret camera imbedded in the screen recording his every activity? He knew if he were in charge of building the devices he'd definitely want a back door into the arena. His suspicion was based on knowledge. He knew people were both good and bad at the same time. The good generally won but when the bad knocked on the door the consequences were usually earthshattering and life-ending. He didn't like the bad. He hated the bad. It was why he'd become a detective. He'd tried to be a cop but had a slight problem with the physical demands of the occupation, namely the fitness part. He wasn't a fit type of guy. He was more of a thinker than a doer. It worked out well because detective work was actually ninety percent thinking and ten percent doing. Doing involved footwork. He didn't like footwork because it involved fitness thus he gave up his quest to thwart the bad through conventional law enforcement means and signed on as a detective in the employ of Craft and Sons. They'd hired him on the spot for the simple reason he questioned everything.

The test was actually based on a real life drama which unfolded with a train bombing. No one claimed responsibility and the cops were baffled but not beaten. They'd found the detonation device. On the device they located a partial fingerprint and fed it into the database. They received a hit and sent word to the local authorities to pick up the subject immediately. He was arrested, booked and in lock up when his lawyer arrived.

"You'd better confess."

"I didn't do it!"

"They've got your fingerprint and if you don't admit your guilt they're going to fry you."

The man had an alibi but it wasn't verifiable. He was alone when the bombing occurred. His lawyer informed him the authorities would take the death penalty off the table if he admitted to the crime. He further stated the evidence was overwhelming. Three fingerprint experts were ready to take the stand and testify they were one-hundred percent positive his print was an exact match. The man thought over what the lawyer said and while on the way to the courthouse to enter his guilty plea a development occurred and the real bomber was caught.

The test involved finding fault. Did the cops make a mistake? Was the database compromised? Were there two bombers instead of one?

Wesson solved it when he questioned the underlying theory of the case.

"Who said no two fingerprints are alike?"

The facts of the case proved everyone was doing their best with the information given. The detonation devise did have a print on it, the database was not compromised and the experts were telling the truth when they stated they were sure the print matched his. The problem was the process. The fingerprint found at the scene was a partial. It wasn't whole but it was definitely enough to provide what was required. The process of fingerprint identification didn't involve overlaying one print on another and verifying they were the same. No, the fingerprints were digitally entered into a computer where the loops and arcs of the prints were enhanced and recorded. From there the experts took over. They pinpointed places on the prints and when they looked at the suspect's the references lined up. They had ten different points and all said the same thing; the suspect was the bomber. The only problem? They were right with what they were working with but wrong with their initial assumption. It turned out the two men, one innocent and one guilty, had eerily similar fingerprints. When they'd entered the prints into the database it looked around and found what it thought was the criminal. The fact the database held hundreds of thousands of prints was deemed irrelevant because the theory no two fingerprints were identical held sway. The second problem? The theory could very well have been true but they weren't working with a program to identify identicalness, they were working with one identifying relativeness. The innocent man's prints were so relative to the guilty one's that one tragic event almost had three disastrous outcomes; death by bomb, imprisonment of the innocent and freedom for a mass-murderer.

"All right, it's done" Joshua said.

Both detectives loomed over his shoulder as he hit the play button. It was still grainy so he touched a little of this, did a little of that and, voila', digital reanimation of a video revealing a person in a poncho wearing a cowboy hat pouring liquid around the base of a building.

"That's it?" Smith asked.

"Well, yeah. What did you expect?" the intern replied.

The image was clearer, cleaned up, enhanced, focused and utterly useless to the men.

"There's... there's no face" Smith said bewilderedly.

They watched it over and over but the screen revealed the same thing every time. When the match was struck no face was shown. It was as though a shadow wore hat and cloak.

"Is there any way you can focus in on the face?" Wesson asked.

Joshua nodded he could, moved mouse on pad to place curser on shadow and clicked.

"What the...?"

The image held their attention for there could be no doubt. The flame from the match was center screen, the brim of hat at the top, but where a face should be only blackness emerged.

"Are we looking at a walking poncho?" Smith inquired.

"This is totally freaky!" Joshua exclaimed.

They ran it through many times to verify what they were seeing was true; an arsonist of walking threadware sporting a ten gallon cap and lighting liquefied fuel.

Smith was getting a headache, Wesson mild indigestion and Joshua was becoming intrigued.

"I'm going to get a cola" Smith said.

"I'm going to join you" Wesson said.

"I'm going to run this trippy video again!" Joshua said.

The two detectives left while the excited intern once again started anew his watching of walking western wear. The moved down the hallway toward the break room both in somewhat gloomy mode.

"I can't believe it."

"Me neither."

They were both so sure they would get a break in the case when they enhanced the footage of the firebug.

"How can there not be a face?"

"I don't know?"

They reached the small kitchen the company housed for snacks and sodas, Smith opened the refrigerator and got both a cola.

"Do you think the tape was altered somehow?"

"I suppose it's possible."

They left the room, entered the hallway and proceeded to retrace their steps and confront the confounding evidence again. They reached the door, turned the handle and entered the room.

"I found something."

Both sat as the intern explained what he'd done in the two minutes it took for the detectives to walk down a hallway twice.

"I zoomed out."

The picture became clearer as the image became fuzzier for when the full content was taken in a small detail emerged.

"Do you see that?" he pointed.

The detectives were not employed for their un-observational skills.

"The shadow on the wall?"

"Yep."

"What about it?"

"Watch as I slowly fast-forward."

The picture moved but their eyes didn't. They were waiting and watching when realization dawned.

"Are those...?"

"Yep."

They hadn't seen them before because video blurred what digital did not. As the match was lit a silhouette appeared on the wall behind the figure. It was the shadow of everything between it and the flame. Nothing in life is absolute and many times what one sees is what they wish for. In the case of the two investigators it was the opposite. The shadow flowed, it morphed and moved as the flame flickered while fact became crystal clear. It was not Johnny Johnson unless he had somehow, someway, developed female form.

Chapter 26

Most were in the living room watching television when he entered.

"Hello, everyone!"

He held out his hands in anticipation of the treat he couldn't resist.

"Hey, Nat" Phillip greeted.

"Hi, Nat" Trudy said from the sofa.

George merely nodded his head.

Heaven's Alien was slightly disappointed, a little let down, somewhat disheartened until he heard her coming down the stairs.

"Nat!" the vanilla Vamp screamed while leaping into his arms from the third step.

"Aah, now that's more like it" he purred with a smile as he held the woman of everyman's dreams tight.

He put her down after proper hugging protocol dictated and they went into the living room to join the others watching the news.

"Hello, everyone, I'm Nick Price and this is the Channel Five Top-Rated News at Ten. We have a lot of things to go over and only a little time to do it so let's start by going live to our award winning reporter south near the border, Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?"

The young reporter's face appeared on screen.

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, how are things going down there?"

The camera backed out to show the reporter standing in front of a tank which was parked on one side of the Rio Grande River and across the waterway sat its counterpart in Mexico.

"Well, Nick, things are a little tenser than I've seen before."

"Why is that, Tim?"

"Um... well, the coffee situation has gotten a little worse I'm afraid."

Soldiers could be seen in full combat gear with rifles slung and Kevlar helmets worn.

"The coffee situation?"

"Yes, Nick, the coffee situation. It seems we're having a little difficulty obtaining any variety of the beverage with flavor and caffeine intact. It appears we misjudged our ability to produce the arising liquid and with the border closure the importation of the wonderful breakfast-brew has been shut off."

"Shut off completely?"

"Well, from our southern neighboring countries, yes. They're all siding with Mexico. Now, we were able to replace the South American bean with those aromatic ones from France but with the problem we're facing up in Canada those supplies have been choked off also."

The picture changed back to the anchorman sitting erect with shoulders high and a concerned expression on his face.

"Just how tense are things getting down there, Tim?"

The shot changed again and the reporter came into view but the background had shifted slightly. Before, where there was only dirt, soldiers from the Mexican Army stood.

"Well, as you can see behind me whenever a reporter shoots video the soldiers on the opposite side of the river get in the camera's view to tease our brave men and women on this side."

"Tease, Tim?"

"Yes, tease, Nick. They hold up coffee mugs and take long sips of their incredibly strong-smelling coffee. It is beginning to take its toll on troop morale, Nick, and I'm afraid the situation may go from teasing to taunting at any minute."

"Taunting?"

As the anchorman asked his probing question trouble began to form.

"Yes, taunting. You see, it's not impossible to avoid the wonderful odor emanating from across the border and the soldiers can avoid looking at their counterparts partaking in the black energy boost but when they begin tossing coffee grounds in the river like they have no need for the spiritual cup, well, that seems to be the tipping point."

As if on cue the soldiers from the south threw beans cherished by the north into the muddy waters of the Rio Grande which made it an even darker reminder of the rift between the countries. A strange thing coincided at the same time for as the grounds were tossed in some of the soldiers on the Texas side raced down the bank and placed their canteens in the coffee polluted stream.

"Are our soldiers drinking the waters from the Rio Grande, Tim?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it's come to that, Nick. Our brave military heroes have been relegated to river-sipping since we can't seem to find a country with the ability to grow a proper coffee bean."

The face of the news anchor appeared again as he asked yet another deep and penetrating question.

"No other country can grow coffee?"

The switch in scenery must have caught someone's annoyance in the control room for it shifted again.

"No, Nick, other countries can grow the bean but... well... there's just something about South American and French coffee which sets them apart. We've tried Australian coffee but found it to be a difficult produce to produce."

"Is coffee a produce, Tim?"

"I think so, Nick. It comes from a plant after all. Well anyway, we don't seem to have an answer for the Great Coffee Question and are currently attempting to negotiate a solution with the Tea Party."

The picture finally stayed with the reporter.

"The Tea Party?"

"Yes, the Tea Party, Nick. Our leaders down here are trying to reach a resolution which would sway opinions and provide solutions."

"What's that?"

"Well, they want everyone to start drinking tea. They feel if everyone switched to the strange herb then the advantage Mexico holds in their hands would be eliminated."

"Are they having any success?"

The picture zoomed in on the reporter because a wise producer noticed in the background the image of the Mexican soldiers dancing and singing while waitresses appeared with coffee pots to refill their mugs.

"No, Nick, they're not."

"Why not?"

"Well, it seems the prevailing political view down here is rather right-minded in their thinking of not wanting anything to do with a drink they feel was the preferred beverage of a country who we fought a bloody war with, Nick."

The camera finally changed to reveal Nick Price, anchorman of Channel Five, with a confused expression on his face.

"We went to war with India?"

The abrupt switch of screen was shuddering to the viewing public's eyes.

"No, Nick, not India, although they are indirectly responsible for the problem. I'm talking about England, Nick, the one we fought first. The one which actually made us a country."

"Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I got a little confused with the verbiage there. So, what is the prevailing thought of a solution appearing anytime soon?"

"There isn't one, Nick. It turns out the Mexicans are enjoying the heck out of the situation. They seem to feel time is on their side. They think the World Court's opinion will side with them and they're having a blast watching our citizenry search desperately for a cure to coffee withdrawal."

The Alien from Heaven watched as the Vamps and Wolves took in the information. He didn't know what was next, he wasn't allowed to interfere in Superior business but he was curious what their response was going to be.

"These people are driving me insane" Trudy, the Vampire of flaming-red hair, said.

"Why don't we just go down there and kill a few? Maybe that'll start the war?" George inquired.

Nat's molecular eyes widened at the idea.

"We can't. There are more cameras down there than at a Japanese rock concert. I'm pretty sure any killing will end up on screen and if that happens all our efforts will have been in vain."

Nat agreed with Trudy's logic even if he secretly wished the Wolves would go ahead and rid the planet of the annoying Inferiors. They were amusing at times but the end was near and their comical ways were wearing thin in his view. They weren't needed. They were an unintended byproduct of Superior breeding who wouldn't go away.

"How's Canada shaping up?" Vivian asked.

As if they were in the room the reporters in the viewing box responded.

"We are going to shift our attention to the growing conflict in Canada. We now go live to our sister station and their award winning reporter, Wally Thornburg. Wally, are you there?"

The picture changed to show the corduroy-clad reporter standing in front of a section of pipeline. The enormous metal tube was ten feet off the ground, had a circumference of twenty feet and was seated on metal braces secured in the ground with concrete.

"Yep, you betcha I'm here, Nick!"

The scene shifted again as Nick's face with chiseled chin and steely grey eyes came into view.

"Is there any news from the frontlines up there, Wally?"

The reporter again came on-screen.

"Well, Nick, we've had a slight breakthrough with the Abominable Snowman Theory."

"What's that, Wally?"

"Um... it's sort of a creature of legend, Nick. You see, over the years a few tales have been told of a beast..."

"I'm sorry, Wally, I didn't mean to imply I didn't know who the Abominable Snowman was. I was asking about the breakthrough in the theory."

Luckily for the viewers the controllers in the production room were too busy sitting to take the time to switch the scene every time one reporter spoke over another.

"Oh! Well, it turns out the theory of the Abominable Snowman doing the dastardly deed has been discredited. As far as anyone can tell there has never been any environmental issues with the big-footed ape-like mammal and the authorities believe a few devious people with ulterior motives were responsible for mentioning him as a suspect."

"Who do they believe were responsible, Wally?"

"They think it was the Scottish, Nick. Or the Irish. They're not exactly sure which one but they believe one of those two mischievous peoples were responsible for libeling the Abominable Snowman."

The picture changed and the anchorman became center screen, eyes furrowed in intense concentration as he asked for further clarity.

"Why would they libel the Abominable Snowman, Wally?"

The question was pondered so the control room answered by changing the viewer's sight to that of the slightly overweight reporter from the north.

"They believe they're trying to embolden the Loch-Ness Monster, Nick. They think someone or some group on those conspiratorial isles are trying to gain a vacational advantage."

"Vacational?"

"Uh-huh, vacational."

"Is... is that even a word, Wally?"

"It is up here, Nick. It's so gosh darn cold we need to vacate so often we've turned the word into both verbal and nounal senses."

"Nounal?"

"It means noun-like, Nick."

The picture didn't change for the controllers of television were confused. Was the reporter right? Was 'nounal' really a word?

"Okay, Wally, good to know. So the theory of the Abominable Snowman being behind the terrorist attack on the Canadalaskan Pipeline has been eliminated?"

"Yep" the engaging reporter said while nodding his head.

"Who do they think did the deed?"

"Oh, they definitely think it was the French Linguist Liberation League of Separatists who set the charge, Nick, but they're having a tough time proving it."

"Why's that, Wally?"

"Because of the language barrier, Nick."

The picture changed because the controllers became bored and decided to earn their paycheck by touching nobs. Nick price reappeared on screen.

"Language barrier?"

And disappeared again as the reporter from the tundra took over.

"Yes, Nick, the language barrier. It seems the French Linguist Separatists won't speak English."

"What do they speak?"

"They speak French, Nick, the French Linguist Separatists speak French."

The scene shifted because the controllers enjoyed watching discomfort.

"Oh, yes, I guess that makes sense. Well, can't they get an interpreter?"

The Canadian reporter reappeared.

"They've tried, Nick, but the Separatist Movement is pretty rigid in their demands of separation. They won't speak to anyone who speaks another language. Apparently they believe in the power of words. They say, and I'm going to give this to you second-handed because I do not speak French, but they say the meaning of separation is to actually be separate from something. They don't believe in half-gestures so they refuse to even be in the room with someone who speaks the Queen's language."

"The Queen?"

"Yes, the Queen of England."

"Hold on. Is Canada English?"

The Wolves were getting bored, the Vamps becoming irritated and the Alien not at all amused. The Humans were acting as they'd always acted and were confounding the situation. What should have been easy was becoming difficult. Battles were not being fought, wars not won and clan supremacy was put on pause.

"Mistress?" Nat asked.

"Yes, Nat?" Trudy answered.

"Do you have a Plan C?"

When she smiled Nat followed suit because he was eagerly awaiting the Apocalypse.

Chapter 27

The flight was a long one and Johnny was trying intently not to strangle the boy.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why do pilots wear hats?"

They had another destination, another stage to set before the time was right and their true motives revealed. The Statue of Liberty had served her purpose alongside the Canadalaskan Pipeline. France and America, while not openly declaring hostilities, were eyeing each other through shaded lenses. It was their history which made it all possible. Association with the past made the future probable. France and England had for so long been at odds with the other the final outcome was almost an inevitability. Blow up an American pipeline on an English proxy state and blame it on her historical rival who also had a claim to the frozen turf. The whole of Northern America was colonized by the two and even though England held the upper hand at the end it wasn't as if France couldn't bide her time until enacting a little colonial revenge. It was only the quirk of fate which allowed English rule in the first place. Who would've thought a few emigrants with muskets would cause so much upheaval? Throughout the middle ages, during the time of mankind's great awakening the countries of England and France traded places at the pinnacle of power. Spain, Portugal and few other Europeans joined in the fun from time to time but eventually it led back to the two originals, the architects of so much glory and death.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Do insects poop?"

When America took power they did so with France's help. The English never forgot, America fully forgave and the French fell victim to a finicky friend with global aspirations. The Vamps intended to exploit history. They knew Human Nature for what it was; suspicious. Humans were suspicious of everyone. It began in their youths as childhood playground retorts became raunchy rumors and finally viscous verbal assault for the privilege of promoting one's own propaganda. The Americans would see French villainy for the Canadians would supply the foes. French ancestry had been trying to secede from English-speaking Canada since the nation formed. It was an easy leap of faith to believe those wishing to escape English domination would eagerly jump at the chance to cause two former colonies trouble through explosive devices. The oil held a second benefit for it was also of precious grade. Those who held power could not ignore those who produced it. The secessionists publicly declined they'd done anything wrong but their shouts of innocence were drowned out as a nation to their south once again sided with its parent across the ocean.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"If cows eat grass and people eat cows why can't people eat grass?"

Blowing up the Statue of Liberty was to further strengthen the belief the French were somehow involved. It didn't matter the piece of art was a gift from the wine-masters for it was merely a symbolic gesture meant to provoke finger pointing. The Vamps judged Humans everywhere the same and thus if the French felt some of those who wished to speak their language dealt a blow to both their historical rival and turncoat friend then they would stiffen their lips, straighten their backs and declare their outrage while simultaneously rooting for their overseas sympathizers.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Whatever it is, ask Aunt Melissa, Daemon."

Ever since the last world war the Croissant Eaters had been the butt of jokes for their ability to surrender. It didn't matter they fought on after invasion and subjugation, the fact they'd lost in such stunning fashion made them wary of capitulation in any situation. Vampire minds believed when the Americans demanded from the French an explanation for why those wishing to speak their strange language would attack oil transportation and Harbor-Art welcoming immigration the Perfumed Ones would take umbrage, do the natural Human thing and fake indignation.

"Aunt Melissa?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why is Uncle Johnny throwing up in a bag?"

Spain was ever present for she had always been the third wheel; the slightly weaker one who was invited to dance only when the other two became bored with each other. It didn't mean she was left out of the party altogether. No, she was always sent an invitation but sometimes it arrived a day late. She was, however, also a lady of substance who might not command the attention of her northern neighbors but she was most definitely attractive to other suitors. Latin America did not become the predominate Spanish-speaking continent through complete and utter destruction of its native population. It did so through immersion. Spain entered, laid a foundation through force if necessary but not through relocation. The natives, those who survived the initial plague of disease were welcomed into Spain's loving if somewhat smothering embrace.

"Aunt Melissa?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why is Uncle Johnny going to the bathroom so much?"

Mexico was the bridge to America from the south. The Wolves needed a place to duel and the land of tequila offered a perfect arena. First Clan could send their Wolves into battle with Third while the countries of America and Mexico fought. The Humans wouldn't be the wiser because the violence in the central land had been out of hand for so long the loss of Wolves would be absorbed by the ranks of soldiers. The Vampires felt it was a practical plan, a way to prove the stronger clan without provoking Human questions as to who was battling whom. If, for some odd reason the two countries couldn't find common ground to fight then a backup plan had been devised where Canada would become Mexico and France would swap with Spain. It didn't matter through which door First's Wolves arrived, only that the door allowed access to America. Some thought they might somehow skip the USA altogether and just battle it out in the lower southern countries but were silenced by the fact of American involvement everywhere in the world. America was the super-power, the one with the money and might to make matters their own. They'd been snooping and spying on everyone for so long they no longer even tried to hide it. The Vampires quickly came to the conclusion if good old Uncle Sam was not involved in the conflict he would definitely be aware of the problems, keep watch on the situation and not help but notice a few thousand Wolves tearing up a small village in some back-water country whose only claim to fame was potato farming and pot pushing.

"Aunt Melissa?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why is Uncle Johnny running up and down the aisle screaming we're all going to crash and die?"

Everything had gone according to plan which was why the results were so baffling. Texas and Mexico were at odds but neither side was provoking the other enough for outright warfare to begin. The northern United States was in a lather over the loss of Liberty but not so much they were going to invade their arctic neighbors. Those in the center states were upset over the loss of a pipeline and the resulting higher price of travel but they were of little consequence since they abutted no water and were thus considered the sheltered states; the states of somewhat lesser value than their ocean-front-property brethren.

"Aunt Melissa?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why are the stewardesses sitting on Uncle Johnny?"

They were landing in the sunshine state for a reason. They still had a plan and were committed to its implementation. It didn't matter the actual timing of the conflict only that it needed to happen and they needed Human involvement. The landing was picture-perfect, the luggage retrieved, Johnny released from Airport custody and the limousine left with the three from LeTorque in back and a Zombie driver in front.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"What does pepper spray taste like?"

The ride took little time and the formalities even less.

"Do I have your Support, Wolf of Delmar?"

"You do, Mistress."

The planning however was a bit more complicated for it involved a few extra players and could very well backfire. They were in Miami walking along its beach. Melissa was in deep conversation with the head Vamp of Delmar, an intoxicating beauty of southern origin named Consuelo. She was five and a half feet tall, less than one-twenty in weight with brown hair, brown eyes and skin the color of caramel. They were wearing shorts, blouses, sandals and sun hats. Consuelo's other family members were also there but if one didn't know it they'd never see them. The Delmar's were of the Security Tribe and were experts at surveillance, information gathering and the opposite which came from such endeavors. If they did not want to be seen they wouldn't. She had given orders for her mate, Escobar, to keep watch with the others but stay hidden as Melissa, Johnny and Daemon walked the white sands to discuss, away from Heavenly hearing, their plans for war.

"Mistress Melissa?"

"Please, call me Melissa. Mistress sounds so old."

The Vampire with Caribbean charm smiled at the remark for although Melissa was indeed quite old by Human standards she appeared to be in her late twenties at most.

"Okay, Melissa, and l am now only Consuela. I think I may like taking orders from one such as you."

It was a kind statement, one Melissa did not take lightly. Vampires were conspirators and thus each had at one time or another worked with virtually every sister in their Tribe. The female form of Superiors came in all shapes, sizes, intellect, abilities and personalities. All had known others who were authoritarian in demand and elitist in demeanor. For Consuela Delmar to make her statement was a compliment of high proportions for she was anything but a lower Vampire. The Delmar family was in charge of Security Tribe for all of Third Clan. They had as much authority as the Beech family in their realm of employment. Melissa had decided on using the Tribal leaders of her clan for the plan. The Ellis family of New York were the third of the triumvirate as they controlled Shelter. The LeTorque had briefly held the position in Shelter but when Melissa had been elevated to Matriarch of all Third they had given the post to the Ellis family. Wolves and Vamps were always reluctant around those with more authority and would bristle at the notion of one tribe possibly having more influence than another if the overall leader of the clan was also the leader of a competing tribe.

While the two Vampires plotted the youngest Wolf on the beach played. He was a bundle of endless energy and irresistible to the eye. He would run up the edge of the water, wait for a wave to crash, watch the sea-foam surge toward him and squeal in delight as he raced away from the approaching saltwater in glee. Johnny, for his part, was relegated to baby-Wolf sitter. He had all the responsibilities of one who held the fate of the world in his hands with absolutely no power to enforce anything. If Daemon wished to leave, wished to run and hide, there was nothing he could do about it. The child was quicker, stronger and had the ability of blending. Johnny held no illusions. If the kid wished to hide he would be gone in an instant. It made his job both harder and easier. He would go from worry to resigned acceptance every two minutes. He would watch as the incredibly fast Wolfling ran around until, all of a sudden, he wasn't there. Johnny's anxiety would rise for he was in charge of the midget canine but then another thought would immediately come to mind; what the heck could he do about it? He held no physical abilities to match even the youngest of his kind. He was Wolf in gender only. He couldn't even go up against a Vampire of youth for he was weaker than them by the time they reached adolescence. He was, in every way, the most Inferior Superior in existence. It bothered him at times, annoyed his sense of self-worth which was why he was intent on altering the situation.

"How many will it take?" Consuela asked.

"One might do but two would vastly improve the odds" Melissa answered.

Johnny knew somewhere out there among the throngs of scantily clad women and chest-puffing, gut-sucking men were the others from Delmar. He was constantly scanning the crowd to see if he could get a glimpse of the enormous Wolves but saw no one even close to their size. He was having no better luck trying to locate the two Vamps of Delmar who he knew were also in attendance. Consuela was with Melissa so her sisters would be near. He figured it would be impossible to miss them if they were not going incognito through way of invisibility. Vampires were perfect of feminine feature so if they were out there he would surely know for every male eye on the beach would show him the way. He was, unfortunately, out of luck. The males in attendance were indeed ogling every female in sight but they were not doing so in mass form at a few ladies. No, they were leering at anything in two pieces of swimwear within Peeping-Tom distance. Johnny had always wondered why God, whichever form it took, would make one-half a species so incredibly sexy and the other a hairy, belching, war-mongering imbecile. He also wondered about the Peeping-Tom guy. How bad was he? Did he go about staring into every open window he could find? Why didn't someone just knock his block off before he could register so many peeps? Surely the gentleman didn't get the moniker from only a few sideways glances? He was sitting there dwelling on his peeping controversy while simultaneously doing the same to every woman on the beach in a bikini when he heard the child scream his name.

"Uncle Johnny!"

He looked to where the voice originated and noticed with pleasure the child had finally built up enough courage to enter the water.

"Yes, Daemon?" he yelled back.

"Look at the big fishy-tail!"

He and everyone else who heard the statement immediately went from relaxed to alert status in an instant. Johnny looked to where the boy pointed and sure enough there, slicing through the water about fifty-feet away was nightmare come to life. The triangular fin was a darkened shade against the brightly lit mid-afternoon sun shining off the ocean and before he realized what he was doing he found himself running toward the savior of his species.

"Shark!"

"Get out of the water!"

He didn't realize it then but he would later and go on to ponder forever the stupidity of his actions. He was no match for a shark. Heck, he was no match for a catfish. He could swim, sure, but he did so at the Human rate found hilarious by the denizens of the open water. He was running to his death in order to save a child who might or might not need saving. Daemon was different. Daemon was special. Daemon was watching in wondrous transfixion as the swimming man-eater from the dinosaur age bore down on him quicker than Johnny could run on solid land. Johnny was at the surf when he saw it happen. The shark, sensing an easy lunch went directly at the boy. It was within inches of delivering the first bite when the extraordinary occurred. Daemon, standing in water up to his chest waited until the cartilage creature of teeth was just about ready to strike and then, in an instant, leapt completely out of the ocean, over the shark while turning in mid-air to land in the water facing the people-muncher.

Johnny almost stopped, actually paused for a second with both feet in the water as he watched the child toy with the fish of maritime mystique. He'd wait, jump, land and wait again all the while giggling in delight as the mindless predator from the depths circled, struck, missed and began the process anew.

"Daemon!" Johnny yelled as he strode further into the water.

"Yes, Uncle Johnny?"

"Quit playing with that shark and get out of the water!"

Daemon actually looked crestfallen.

"Aww, do I have to?"

"Yes!"

Johnny watched and waited to see if his powers of persuasion were enough to encourage the boy to stop fooling with the top predator in the sea and follow proper adult instruction. When Daemon glanced back at the shark making another pass and smiled he was worried his guise of parental figurehead was not going to work. Daemon, though, ever the inquisitive but mindful child did follow his Uncle's order only not in quite the way Johnny would've wished. He glanced at the shark, smiled brightly and leapt again. The difference was the landing. Instead of leaping out and over he leapt up and on. He landed with both feet on the head of the aqua terror. It must've come as a shock to the apex eater and Johnny wondered what went through its mind as it felt the full brunt of attack from a fifty pound kangaroo-hopping boy in the waters off the coast of Florida. The boy leapt, landed on shark head and immediately leapt again leaving the shark confused, Johnny amazed and Daemon two more hops before reaching the shoreline.

"Okay, Uncle Johnny, are you coming out too?"

It was then Johnny realized his mistake. He'd gotten so caught up in the sight of watching the wondrous Wolf he'd wandered and waded too far into shark infested waters. He turned toward the shoreline and began making his frenzied dash of escape. As he trudged through the liquid substance he began wondering why it was so much harder to move through water when one wanted to leave its presence. He glanced over his right shoulder and immediately redoubled his efforts. The shark was again on the prowl and the only thing in its territory was a slow moving skinny monkey-like creature stupid enough to think walking through water was faster than swimming. Johnny again glanced and yelled in terror as a dorsal fin closed fast.

He was sure the end was near. He had never actually given thought to how his life would finally terminate but he was confidant of one thing; getting eaten by a shark had never arisen as an option.

"Oh crap!"

He was moving with intensity, breaking all his previous water-walking records but knew the gig was up. He was going to go down in history as a man who went down a shark's gullet. He looked one more time and was completely horrified. The fin was less than ten feet away and he was twenty from the safety of dry land. He prepared for it, tensed up to hopefully give a little resistance to the teeth which would render him to pieces but as the time passed and he felt no searing sensation of flesh removal he chanced a glance and fainted in relief.

He came to at the sound of the boy's endless questioning.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Do crabs eat people?"

He flew off the ground before realizing he did it. He knew the question for what it was, looked down and verified he had been laying with the fishes. Well, not fishes but crabs. Nasty little sideways-walking, pincher-wielding sea critters.

"What the...? Where are we?"

"We're at the Delmar's. They laid you down and told me to watch over you until you woke up."

Johnny looked around to get his bearing and realized they were at some sort of bungalow retreat. There were huts located along the beach and behind them, about a fifty yards from the shoreline must have been the main house. It was a one story residence but looked as though it could house thirty. As he was watching a figure emerged, glanced his way and took about two seconds to cover the distance.

"Are you doing better, Wolf of LeTorque?" Escobar asked with a grin.

"Um, yeah, thanks for your help out there."

When he'd taken the last glance to verify he wasn't shark-bait he seen a remarkable scene. Escobar holding the tail of the silent killer with an inordinate amount of teeth. The vision was burned in his memory because it appeared the shark was actually showing emotion. It seemed the brainless beast was evoking confusion with its eyes. He didn't remember anything after that because he'd gone unconscious until awaking to find himself watched over by an innocent Wolf while being sized up by a few vile half-land, half-water skittering crab-monsters.

"You hungry?" the Alpha Wolf asked.

"Famished" Johnny replied so they walked back to the house.

The inside was airy and cool. It had fans everywhere and was enshrined with various forms of art depicting oceanic themes. Johnny felt the a little unease when he glanced at one painting showing a group of fishermen battling a Great White Shark but had to admit the image was breathtaking.

He walked into the kitchen, finally saw the other two Vamps of Delmar and realized there was absolutely no way the two of them could visit a beach in anything other than full robes. If they'd worn swimsuits a riot would've ensued. The two Wolves mated to them were also in attendance but they pretty much paid him no heed for they were much more interested in their new Matriarch and her plans for them.

"When do we begin?" one asked.

"Tonight" she replied and huge smiles emerged on the Wolves' faces.

The food was set up as a buffet. There was everything one could wish for and a few Johnny knew nothing about. He set about trying everything and was debating what to eat next when Escobar appeared at his shoulder.

"Hey, I want you to taste something for me" he said.

"Sure" Johnny replied for up till then everything he'd eaten had been of the delicious variety.

"Ok, I've been experimenting with two types of seafood. I've got a cooked version and a sushi version. I want you to tell me which one tastes better."

Johnny nodded to indicate he could very well do the chore asked of him and began with the baked version. It was incredibly tasty. When he tried the raw version he was even more amazed. It was sweet and salty at the same time and he was having a difficult time actually performing his duties because both were excellent.

"Um, I actually think I like the sushi version better" he admitted.

"Huh? That's a strange coincidence" Escobar replied.

"Why?"

"Because he thought also you'd taste better raw."

Johnny looked down and realized what he held; the prepped and prepared plate of a shark which had planned to eat him for lunch. He also realized one other thing; revenge really was best served cold.

Chapter 28

Both men knew what they had to do, they just didn't like the fact.

"Call him."

"You call him."

"You've already established a report with him."

"He hangs up on me!"

"I didn't say it was a good report."

They knew where they were and knew what needed doing to further their chances for success. Neither liked to admit they needed help but were not so stupid they couldn't see the facts staring them in the face.

"Fine, I'll do it, but you owe me."

Wesson didn't answer Smith's statement for he felt silence was always the better answer to unsubstantiated declarations based on flimsy logic. Smith didn't want to interact with the man because he was tired of getting shut down in mid-sentence. Still, it didn't mean it was Wesson's turn to take over. Why should he ruin a perfectly good non-relationship because Smith had telecommunication issues?

"Hello, Nat?" he heard his partner say into the phone.

"Hello, Detective Smith, have you found Mr. Johnson?" he heard back because Smith had switched it to speaker mode.

"No, Nat, not yet ,but we think we have a lead. By the way, you're on speaker phone and both Wesson and Joshua are here in the room with me."

There was a pause as the Detective-Butler digested the information. It must have been okay for he replied in greeting.

"Hello, Detective Wesson. Hello, Joshua Stevens."

Both said hello back and the question posed.

"Nat we've found something and we would like to know if we could gain access to a little bit of information?" Smith asked.

They'd already attempted to run it through the normal channels but were, of course, blocked in their efforts involving anyone and anything to do with the LeTorque.

"What have you found out, Detective Smith?"

They didn't really know for a fact and weren't actually positive their reasoning had more to do with truth and circumstance or with gut instinct. It didn't really matter, though, because they had no better lead and were fishing without a net.

"We'd like to gain access to a family member of LeTorque."

The statement was left hanging in the air and the next step was up the man-servant.

"Which family member?"

Smith knew they were right but was a little leery in how he was going to put the revelation. One negative comment from the man on the other end of the line could sever any chance they had of following the trail. He took a deep breath and jumped in feet first.

"We've got a member of the LeTorque married to the person you want found. She was last employed at a prison the LeTorque are in charge of and was the last person to see both the man found in Mr. Johnson's closet and another man who held a strange relationship to the place of incarceration, a Mr. Steve Wazziznaim. From the video tape we enhanced it has become apparent we need information on a Melissa LeTorque, previously Melissa Ramos and we believe we have provided enough information to gain privilege."

The silence on the line was deafening. Both detectives and intern waited as the man who seemed to possess authoritative power over law enforcement information decided the outcome. Smith was nervous and Wesson excited. He wasn't positive but he felt the man who went by Nat was actually doing the best he could for the two investigators. The more he thought he felt it was akin to a pair of individuals playing some weird mystery game where the rules were only known by them and the actual clue-solvers working indirectly under them. They could manipulate within certain parameters but not break the unwritten rules of the game. It seemed to him the LeTorque were actually Nat Hallowed's opponents in some strange sort of way.

"You are now granted privilege to the file of Melissa LeTorque."

The way he said it left the three wondering if they wanted the privilege after all. They asked why he said it in such a grave manner but were left in the dark once again for the phone was dead on the annoying butler's end.

"Did he hang up?" Joshua inquired.

"You see what I mean!"

"It really is rather rude."

They walked to their office for they were still in the back room where the digital enhancement equipment was stored. Joshua sat down at his desk and logged in to the secure database, he entered the name Melissa LeTorque and waited for the reply. It was almost instantaneous.

"Wow!"

"Hubba!"

"My God that's' a gorgeous woman!"

They were staring at her profile in wonderment. If she was indeed part of the family in which Miss Vivian LeTorque called her own then what they had was the best looking family in the history of families. It was with sad determination that Wesson tore his gaze from the loveliness which was Melissa LeTorque and perused down the digital file with his eyes. They lit immediately on one detail.

"She's had four jobs."

The information wasn't so strange for one who looked the way she did and Wesson believed the woman probably could've gone through life without a single paying gig and be perfectly healthy doing so. It took no neural activity whatsoever to see perfection when it was so pleasurable to stare at and he knew if the woman were to come to him and ask for the coat off his back in the dead of winter on a deserted island without food, water or fire he would do so in a heartbeat. She was that attractive. The fact she held down any employment at all made him think she was an even prettier creature. She didn't need to, there were men who specifically went to the highest stages in life to obtain what she offered. Lawyers, brain surgeons and movie stars would break their necks to get a shot at holding the woman's hand.

"Okay, we've got her currently acting as head of LeTorque Enterprises. Let's click on the link and see what companies they own" Smith said, Joshua complied and Wesson smiled when they were denied privilege.

"You knew it wouldn't be that easy" he said.

"Yeah, but I had to give it a shot" Smith answered.

They scrolled down to her previous employment and found the answer to one of their circumstantial deductions.

"Hey, check it out, we were right, the LeTorque do own the Mabank Correctional Facility" Smith said.

The Public-Private partnership was listed because of the unique nature of the relationship. The public had a right to know who was running the camp designed to keep predators away from society so they were allowed access to the fact LeTorque Enterprises were the acting supervisors using a subsidiary company, Commercial Property Management Incorporated. It just didn't say anything else. It had no bio, no business information for investors or anything else other than under 'Supervising Authority' the name 'Commercial Property Management Incorporated, a subsidiary of LeTorque Enterprises'. They could easily deduce Melissa worked for them because the prison was named as her employer but other than the little blurb of at the bottom of her employment history it was as if the LeTorque had no interest in anyone knowing they were running a successful oil-producing prison without the need for normal security precautions because the convicts were so scared of getting eaten by roving wolves they refused to even attempt escape.

"Where's the Warden's name?" Smith asked confusingly.

"Why would her name be on here?" Joshua asked.

"Because she's the acting supervisor and Melissa's boss" Wesson replied.

The information was strange because it wasn't so much redacted as it was left out altogether. There were no fuzzy images or blackened lines with special security clearances needed. Other than the one link from LeTorque Enterprises which they couldn't even access there was virtually no additional information about the prison whatsoever. No mention of oil, no mention of a warden, no mention of watch-wolves, no nothing at all.

"Is this little amount of information normal?" Joshua asked.

"No, Joshua, nothing about this case is normal" Wesson answered.

They scrolled down to find the two other places of employment the sexiest fugitive alive was reported to have worked for and found a land survey company followed by a blood bank.

"Land Surveyors Incorporated?" Smith said.

"How long ago did she work there?"

"Six years ago."

"I have a very bad feeling about this" Wesson added.

"Why? What so bad about Land Surveyors Incorporated?" Joshua asked.

The answer, of course, had nothing to do with the company itself but instead had to do with what the company specialized in. They'd called the company after again getting nowhere with any links on the file they were in. They even had to look up the phone number to the company from an outside website service because they couldn't access anything from Melissa LeTorque's file. What they found out merely reinforced their earlier suspicions.

"Hello?"

"Is this Land Surveyors Incorporated?"

"Yes."

It seemed a little strange to Smith because it was as though he weren't talking to a company but instead a person who just happened to pick up their phone line.

"Um, I've got a question."

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't know how to ask this but suppose I have a mother with slight bit of dementia who seems to think her land is sitting on top of an oil field."

"Yes?"

"Well do you have some sort of discount rate to come out and prove to her she doesn't have any oil under her property?"

The answer to his oral question was unimportant. The answer to his unasked question was in the way she declined the invitation.

"Mr..?"

"Oh, sorry, the name's Smith, Mr. Smith."

"Well Mr. Smith, we don't have anything like what you're suggesting. We can come out and do a sonar survey to verify if there's a possibility for oil but it's a pretty expensive piece of equipment we're talking about and if you don't think your mother is in the right state of mind..."

"She's not, she's got early Alzheimer's."

"Well I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Smith, but I'm afraid we cannot be of help to you."

"Well, thank you very much anyway."

"You're welcome, goodbye."

The answer was in the denial of a service they most definitely provided.

"Crap!" Smith exclaimed.

"What?" Joshua asked.

"Land Surveyors Incorporated can be hired to search for oil" Wesson said by way of answer.

Joshua hadn't been present at the prison. He hadn't seen what the two detectives had so Wesson filled him in.

"The prison is sitting on an oil field pumping out profit by the second. The oil field was located beneath a Wayward Youth Facility before it was torched and the prison began exploiting it. The Youth Facility was on land owned at the time by Bob Simpson's mom. His mother's neighbor was a man named Steve Wazziznaim. Steve bought his land because he believed it and his neighbor's land had oil underneath it. Why do you think Steve would think that?"

"Because he had someone do an oil survey?" Joshua answered.

"Exactly. He had someone do a sonar survey and found oil."

"And you think it was Land Surveyors Incorporated?"

"I'm not one-hundred percent positive but I'm pretty certain there are a lot of things which need to be incredibly spectacular coincidences if it isn't" the pudgy investigator replied.

"Like what?"

"Well, for starters, the fact the person who is now listed as the chairwoman for the company running the prison was once employed by a survey company which performs oil exploration services."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Hey, run a check on the Wayward Youth Facility" Wesson said.

"What am I looking for?" Joshua asked.

"Um, the parameters of the contract. Just he overall design of how long it was to be funded, what its population was going to be, what kind of deal Bob's mom got on the thing, stuff like that."

Joshua nodded his head and began his computer search. Meanwhile smith and Wesson began comparing notes.

"We're screwed."

"I know."

The principle was the problem, both morally and monetarily. Craft and Sons held to an ethics code which long-term would serve the company well; if they came across criminal activity which involved their clients they were to sever their ties and withdraw their services. The dilemma was short-term. As of that moment they didn't know if Jonathon Johnson was engaged in criminal activity or not but it was beginning to appear his family was. If they delved any deeper they were fairly positive they were going to come up with some deviant behavior and unless Johnny had nothing to do with it they would need to quit. Quitting was never a favored action and it was fouler when the result would be a loss of income they had not yet determined the sum to be.

"Got it" Joshua said and the two went to stare once again over his shoulder.

"How long was the lease?" Smith asked.

Joshua scrolled down to the answer.

"Ninety-nine years."

They were not surprised. Most private-public ventures were done with the century mark minus one for the general idea of the ventures being both for the public good and private profit. When income was split the private sector generally enjoyed a little latitude on the time-frame needed to recoup their investment.

"How much was the payment to Bob's mom?"

"Three-thousand a month."

It wasn't an overwhelming amount considering the size of the Youth Center but, then again, it wasn't as though a little old lady with a son going to prison for tax fraud through migrant workers had a whole lot of other income opportunities.

"Who ran the Youth Center?"

Joshua scrolled down and even though they been surprised the realization came as a shock.

"Commercial Property Management Incorporated."

"Seriously?" Smith asked incredulously.

"Hey, is that...?"

"Yes, Joshua, it is" Wesson answered.

"And aren't they the ones...?"

"Yep, they're the ones pumping prison petroleum."

Chapter 29

The restaurant's interior was unlike any other's which sadly made it an exact copy, if not in décor, at least in theme. Someone, somewhere had come up with the idea of giving dining establishments a certain ideal, an overarching palate of what the place was to represent. Whether it was the Wild West or the French Rivera, a tiny island in the Tropics or an exotic locale from the Far East the end product was always the same; stuff as much junk on the walls and shelves as possible from the locales the place was trying to impersonate.

"Hello, Governor."

"Hello, Nat, please sit down."

They were in, surprisingly, Dallas, for the Governor had a speech to give. He rarely visited the great glass city with the iconic green-glass ball sitting atop a concrete silo because he hadn't won their popular vote a single time. Dallas was an enigma to him, a place in the heart of Texas which voted against what the rest of the state voted for. His advisors spelled it out for him one time in the middle of the campaign season.

"Forget about Dallas."

"Why?"

"Because it's a big city. Big cities were long ago abandoned by our constituents and replaced by theirs. Concentrate on the surrounding cities, that's where our people fled to."

City sprawl led to urban flight and what once was a beacon to the rich became home to the homeless. The weird part about Dallas, the really strange part was where the leaders of the business community chose to reside; inside the perimeters of the city. They chose to remain near where their glass skyscrapers stood but were a bit hesitant to call the city itself their home. What did they do? They actually bought a small circle in the heart of the once-whole city and voted it free. They were no longer a part of Dallas, they were the donut hole. They had access to everything Dallas provided without the inconvenience of paying for its upkeep or infrastructure. It became known as the Park Cities and a testament to the possibility of flight without movement.

"What can I get you, Officer?" the cute high-school waitress asked as she arrived at their table.

"I'll have a sweet tea and chicken fajitas, please" he responded with a smile.

She wrote down what should've been easy to remember and sauntered away to gossip about Governors, police officers and the latest fashion trend involving shoe-wear with toe slots.

They were at one of the quasi-franchise places which sprung up around freeways in populated areas. The establishments themselves were very expensive to build and operate because of the price for commercial property. They catered to the masses but needed to appear not to. The prices were set so they could eke out a profit and hopefully remain relevant until they could earn enough money to tell the property valuators to take a flying leap off the green-glass orb on a silo. The state of Texas had no income tax so needed to make up the difference somehow and the 'how' became a property tax. The tax was set by the amount the property valuators deemed the property to be worth. The more it was worth the more taxes were due. Since freeways contained people and they liked to eat the evaluation of land along the concrete pathways was deemed 'prime'. Prime land went for prime prices so the restaurateurs needed to make a boatload of cash every month in order to keep their places going. They could do it in two ways. Charge high and sell less or charge low and sell more. Many tried the charge high and sell more theory but found it to be rather difficult to pull off. A select few tried the charge low and sell less theory and realized the error of their ways when the rent came due.

"So, Governor, how are you doing?" Nat asked by way of opening the conversation so he could close it earlier rather than later.

"I'm doing great, Nat. I'm on this new diet and I think it's really going to be the one for me."

Nat's eyebrows raised for he'd heard it before but didn't want to insult the man.

"Oh yeah? What's it called?"

"The Predietor. You get it? It's a take-off of predator only they..."

"Yes, Governor, I get it. So, what can you eat?"

"Anything a predator eats. It's great. I read up on it and it seems it came from this guy on safari who was watching these lions and had an epiphany."

"An epiphany?"

"Uh-huh, it's like a sudden idea or something. Anyway, he saw how muscular those beasts of the jungle were and decided we should eat like them."

Nat was always fascinated with Human ideals of what was considered attractive. He's been around long enough to have seen civilizations in the past who would've looked on the people of current time and surmised they were of poor stock. The past involved hardship and hard work. Those who were wealthy endured neither. One way to lord the fact over the lesser beings of the realm was to become fat. Fat showed power. Fat showed prestige. Fat was what all wished to be and became all the rage until food became abundant.

"So you're going to eat like a lion?"

"Yep. Turns out if you only eat meat you'll lose all the weight you want."

Nat didn't want to burst the Governor's bubble but saw a rather large hole in his line of reasoning.

"Um, Governor?"

"Yes, Nat?"

"Lions need to chase their prey. Then they must tear the flesh from the carcass and eat it raw."

Governor Austin Travis brow furrowed as he digested the information. He wasn't a bad guy, thought Nat, just an easily manipulated pawn type of guy. He was bought at an early age and set on a course for stewardship. He had the looks, he had the presence and he would follow the orders of those behind the seats of power. He wasn't dumb, maybe moronic but not stupid, for no one could obtain the station in life he had with a delinquent intellect. The problem the Governor had, in Nat's opinion, was he was too easily swayed. He could see both sides of the coin. Unfortunately for quite a few of his constituents the coin he was shown had only one image.

"So you don't think the Predietor diet will work?"

"I didn't say that. But maybe you should think about taking up jogging. You know, to simulate the lion chasing down the antelope thing?"

He knew it would fall on deaf ears. The Governor hated to jog. Oh, he'd do the publicity pictures and once a year drag his poor secret service staff out onto some backwoods trail where cameramen would be stationed to snap photos of him as he loped gracefully along at an acceptable pace but he also knew the second he was out of sight the Governor would collapse in a heap and lie on the ground for fifteen minutes trying to recover from what his lungs perceived as a frenzied dash for life.

The food could be seen and heard before it arrived. Nat's was sizzling and smoking on a tray which liability agents had to find terrifying and the Governor's choice was right behind it.

"What is that, Governor?"

"Honey smothered baby-back ribs."

They ate without speaking for to do so would mean the man eating the piglet would need to wipe the sauce off his mouth and Nat quickly concluded no amount of cloth smaller that a bed sheet would do the trick. When they finished the questioning began.

"Nat?"

"Yes, Governor?"

"What have you heard about the cruise ships?"

"I heard someone hijacked and rammed them into Cuba."

The news had come as a shock and it hit the airwaves like a tsunami.

"Hello, folks, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five Award Winning Daybreak News. We have a breaking story out of Florida. Two cruise lines have been reported missing and lost on Cuba. For more we go live to Miami Beach where Tim Tidbit flew in this morning. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, what can you tell us of the horrific events which unfolded overnight?"

"Well, Nick, as far as we were able to discern a group of hijackers took command of two cruise liners and ran them ashore at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba."

"Guantánamo Bay?"

"Yes, Nick, Guantánamo Bay."

"Isn't that where we've been holding our political prisoners, Tim?"

"Yes."

"Do the authorities believe there is some connection, Tim?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard the question correctly."

"Do the authorities believe there is some connection between Guantánamo Bay and the cruise ships which plowed into them?"

"Do you mean like animosity?"

"Yes, Tim, were the cruise ships animus towards Guantánamo Bay?"

The deed had been done in the dead of night on open waters and involved two families; the Delmars and the Santiagos. The plan involved two watercraft and four boarding passes. Two pair of mated from each family boarded two Caribbean cruise ships with smartphones. The phones contained global positioning technology and the watercraft were equipped to hone in on their signals. The trap had worked due to the size of the transports involved.

"No, Nick, I haven't heard of any animosity between the Vacation Industry and Guantánamo Bay."

"Were they possibly used for transport of the prisoners, Tim?"

"Um... well I guess that's possible."

"Then it would also be possible for the cruise ships to be used as payment reminders, isn't that so, Tim?"

"Payment reminders?"

"Yes, sort of like demand notices for back payment due."

"Are you saying the cruise liners were used to demand payment?"

"I'm not saying it, Tim, I'm asking if it's possible."

"Well, I guess anything's possible but..."

"Thank you, Tim, we are now going to switch gears and bring in an expert on maritime warfare, Admiral Jennings. Admiral, you've just heard our award-winning south-border reporter question whether or not cruise companies can use their ships as battering rams to demand payment for transporting political prisoners. What do you have to say on the topic?"

The couples on board remained hidden until the time was right. When they got the call the Vampires went invisible while the Wolves assisted in lifting others from small boats onto much larger ones. Once on board the plan commenced. The command structure proved to be both the strongest form of governance for a ship ferrying passengers to warm weather vacation spots and the weakest in terms of vulnerability to attack.

"Hello, everybody, sorry for breaking into your regularly scheduled programming but we have an update on the cruise ships lost to Cuba. Tim Tidbit is at a news conference and we are going live to our award-winning reporter. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here, Nick."

"Tim, what's the latest on the Cruise Controversy?"

"Well, Nick, the owners of the cruise lines held a news conference a short time ago and denied using their ships as any sort of warning. They say if they wanted to demand payment they would've done so through the mail."

"Through the mail?"

"Yes, Nick, through the mail."

"Do you believe them, Tim?"

"I'm... I'm sorry but I don't think I understand the question."

"I'm asking if you believe them, Tim. I'm asking if you think they are honorable and upright citizens or are they, as quite a few viewers have been calling in to say, nothing but a bunch of lying miscreants who advertise one thing and then when they you get on board you realize everything isn't paid for in full. You realize the good stuff, the fun stuff, all costs extra. Now, I'm not one to throw stones but I've got to say those cruise line owners seem to have a lot of explaining to do for their past actions and..."

Once on board the hierarchy was exposed. When a ship the size of a small city was at sea there could and should be only one leader in the case of an emergency. The reason for the hierarchy grew from the knowledge of people at sea; during emergencies everyone panicked. It was deemed appropriate for one man, the captain, to issue orders so the others, everyone else, wouldn't go crazy and take the rest of the passengers with them to the bottom of the ocean. The line of reasoning was simple, logical and disastrous when Wolves and Vampires decided to exploit the situation.

"... and furthermore, what's with every tourist island having the exact same tokens and baubles? Don't they know the same items were on the previous island? I would think the cruise ship owners could get together with the locals and have them offer something different for people traveling with children who get quite bored when they've seen the same thing on three previous..."

The top of the pyramid was the key and as long as they controlled the tip everything below would fall into place. The captain was in his state room when a Wolf entered. It took two fingers to the larynx for the man to grasp the situation. Once in the hallway the Vamps took over. The Captain had no idea who was behind him but he knew for certain whomever it was held a sharp blade to his kidney. The message was clear, the note precise and the orders carried out with military preparedness.

"Captain on deck!"

He could tell with his own eyes they couldn't see with theirs. The knife was still there yet no one did a thing. It was as though his assailant was invisible. He was beginning to wonder if he were dreaming when he felt the point push a little harder.

"We have an emergency situation! Get everyone to the life-boats and evacuate the ship!"

"What's the problem, Captain?"

"I have learned we have a bomb on board."

Obedience was the rule and was learned the hard way. The crew on any cruise ship consisted of two types; those serving the passengers and those serving the Captain. The lower hands, those in charge of passenger comfort had no command, could issue no orders and were effectively paid-labor along for the ride. The ones under the Captain were different. They were in charge of safety and the ship. They were smart, experienced and knowledgeable on the rules of law governing the ocean; the Captain was the law. His word was sacrosanct. He could not be challenged and his orders were to be followed without question. There were times when a Captain went insane and the crew had to take matters into their own hands. If it was done the authorities would understand and the crew would merely be thrown in the blockade instead of put to death. As everyone who sailed quickly learned it didn't matter if the order made sense or even if the man in charge was acting irrational. Do what he said or face the consequences. It took minutes to abandon the ships.

"Do you think it was middle-eastern terrorists, Nat?" the Governor asked.

The Alien sat back and thought over the question. He knew who it was and was enjoying the knowledge but he couldn't let on for it would ruin a perfectly good plan. They now had the United States surrounded. Every means of possible invasion for First Clan's Wolves was now open when the warfare between Human's broke out. If Mexico didn't dance than the grand lady of France would enter the ballroom. If she refused then the annoyance of the tiny island which had thumbed its nose at the greatest power on the planet, a power a mere ninety miles away, would finally get a chance to test its metal. Cuba was the hole card. It could be played at any time for Wolves were not Humans, they could swim the distance without effort and even sharks would learn to stay clear. To Nat's mind Trudy had sewn up the rough spots and now it was only a matter of patience before the merging would commence. He was still curious how Second Clan would react. They were the more numerous, after all, and still ruled by the greatest Wolf in the world but so far they had remained neutral. He loved that about his little Superiors. They felt so deep the need to dominate they would wait for a winner to emerge before challenging. To him, the evolution of the greatest fighting force in the universe was a resounding success.

"I don't think so, Governor."

The Governor immediately became interested.

"Who do you think it was?"

"I believe it was Cuba, Governor. I believe Cuba saw a chance to embarrass the United States by stealing a symbol of American privilege and ramming them into a symbol of American justice."

Nat knew what would happen. He knew the Governor believed he had answers others didn't because he'd made the man think so by providing him with information others weren't privileged to. He'd done it with every leader, no matter how powerful or weak, at least once. It was how he held a seat at the table for every important discussion throughout the world. Heavenly technology definitely had its uses.

"Hello, everyone, this is Tim Tidbit filling in for Nick Price with the Channel Five News at Five. Up first, the Governor of Texas, Austin Travis, accuses the Cuban Communist Regime of declaring war on America."

Chapter 30

The streets were congested as people everywhere were heading out for a night on the town. It was Thursday and everyone could read the tea leaves, stare into the magical crystal ball and tell what was on the horizon. Things were picking up steam, rolling downhill and it was only a matter of time before one loose cannon, one accidental gunshot let loose the dogs of war.

The activity was akin to a beehive watching a bear approach. Stores were running out of product as the populace bought for the future. Candles, flashlights, plywood, ammunition and canned preserves were the preferred choice and those who controlled their production were watching fear fill their coffers.

"Smith?"

"Yes, Wesson?"

"What if we're really going to war?"

The question was posed because it was all over the news. Every station, every channel was alive with reports of strange happenings. Down south, along the Rio Grande, things had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. The Texans had raided. They could no longer stomach the boiled flowers of Asian origin and had looted along the border. It had happened at night and the shopkeepers who were normally awake were not prepared as they pretended to be. The problem was in the abundance. They had all the coffee and their northern border brothers had none. They had taken it upon themselves to do a little braggadocio, imbibe a little too much of the potent brew and when the caffeine buzz wore off the Texans were ready to pounce. It was actually thought amusing by those who abstained because the very product they were blatantly flaunting in front of those who had become addicted was also the reason for the successful raid. It had been weeks since the Alamo went down in a blaze of rubble and by then the steps of recovery had taken their toll. The Texas National Guard, the Border Patrol, the Concerned Citizens for Caffeinated Equality had all gone through the stages. Confusion, anger, denial, bargaining and all the other processes had been observed until finally, when all seemed lost and acceptance reared its head an opportunity arose. They found they were more clear-headed, able to stay alert longer into the night for they hadn't burned their stores of energy on the heart-palpitating beverage of chocolate-colored delight. They waited, they watched and when it became clear the Mexican side was fast asleep they slipped over the border and took every last can of future percolating pleasure with them as they returned to their beloved homeland. Mexico, of course, was incensed.

"We demand the return of both our sacred land and our sacred brew!"

No one was listening for no one cared. They finally had a good cup and they drank till the last drop.

The two detectives were mindful of the intensity, watchful for those seeking to cause trouble. They had seen before where the downtrodden, those whipped by life and mad at society began plotting ways to get even. It happened whenever otherwise aware citizens became occupied with world-changing events. What would once cause a backlash, a phone call to authorities was no longer employed. The scope of the unrest was the culprit.

Canada had not gone exactly as the Vamps had planned but was still unraveling so was considered a success. The English speakers had done as expected and tensions flared when those who wanted France as their sovereign were shouted down, intimidated and even threatened with expulsion. The French Linguistic Liberation League of Separatists had been forced out of the shadows and back into their stronghold of Quebec. The great city was under virtual siege by those who followed the crown and trouble began appearing as produce stopped arriving. The residents inside Quebec were in a quandary. Half were of the English persuasion, half chose France but all were Quebecers. They followed the laws of Mother Nature and did what she had always deemed the appropriate response; they bonded tighter with their local community and began heading out to raid the surrounding countryside to provide for themselves what their country-mates were denying. It might have ended there, a local conflict in a sovereign country if not for the Canadalaskan Pipeline Conflict. The oil, the Vamps learned, was the sore spot, not the Statue of Liberty. It turned out Lady Liberty was somewhat like a promotional ad which had done its job a little too well. When she was presented as a gift from France the United States was still a vast and open land with space for everyone. As the population grew and the country took on super-power status the need for her sultry calls of joining the union were not viewed as beneficially. While few professed it out loud, most were not disappointed because they felt it was time for her to go away anyway. Not so with oil.

"We need to stop for gas."

"Good, I could use a chili-cheese-dog right now."

The two detectives pulled into the convenience store parking lot, parked in front of a gas pump and sat in surprise at what they saw.

"Are the prices going up as we speak?"

The street-sign in front of the station advertising the price of petroleum was blank. It had to be. If it were to issue the current price they would need to station a man full-time underneath with a bunch of numbers to change the thing every time he'd finished previously changing it. Big Oil had seen an opening and ran with it. The Canadalaskan Pipeline had provided them an opportunity of profound importance. With its destruction the delivery of the needed ignition sparker was in flux. Big Oil went to Congress and demanded they do something about it and since Congress had no idea what to do Big Oil supplied them with an answer. Since the price of oil depended on its availability and the availability was erratic due to French Linguistic terrorism then the natural response should be to use modern technology and set the price at the current levels of obtainability. Congress, ever happy to please those in control of liquefied power acceded and the Petroleum Pricing Prescription Plan was rushed through with unanimous support.

"Oh my God! Get out and start pumping before it gets any higher!"

The idea was simple and its implementation began without any fanfare. All gas stations had underground tanks which were monitored with computerized technology. The entire system was on the grid. Algorithms were entered, tinkered and what came about was Big Oil ecstasy and consumer consternation.

As Smith was pumping Wesson was watching.

"Pump faster! It's going higher!"

"'How the heck do I pump faster!"

"I don't know? Squeeze the handle harder!"

Supply and demand was in full force. As Smith and the other gas-getters were pumping, the underground holding tank was emptying and as they delivered their precious fluids to their automated carriages their wallets were pouring directly into the pockets of those already full with politicians.

"Goodness! That was exciting."

"Exciting?"

"Yeah, I didn't think you were going to beat that lady on pump three."

Smith looked to where Wesson indicated and sure enough there was a woman with a look of confusion and defeat on her face for her price at the pump was three cents a gallon higher than his. Strangely, Smith felt a little bit euphoric over his pumping victory.

"Do you still want a hot-dog?" he asked.

"Nah, I think I'll savor the moment instead" Wesson replied and Smith pulled his company credit card to pay for Vampire war designs and Petrol price gouging.

They were on the way to the blood bank. It was the second place Melissa was employed after the survey company and had the added benefit of being local. The address was on Hillcrest Drive and was just across town. They thought about visiting Land Surveyors Incorporated but decided to follow up on the in-town lead rather than risk traffic. It took them forty-five minutes to traverse seventeen miles.

"I should have gotten a hot-dog."

"You know, you could use a few skipped meals."

The blood bank was on a corner. It was the size of a single story house and had a parking lot large enough to handle fifty cars.

"Nice place."

"Blood business must be good."

They parked their car and got out. They were taking a chance the place would have someone inside. It was nighttime and they had no idea of the office hours. They'd thought of calling but decided against warning the proprietors in advance of their arrival. They were following a lead which might be linked to an old lady's death and the incarceration of her innocent son. They didn't know if Melissa had been a valued employee. If so, what kind of reception would they encounter? Would they meet resistance to questioning? They walked to the entrance, pushed down the handle and opened the door.

The interior was immaculate. Their first impression was of a living room in a house of elegant means. There were numerous sofas, chairs and the required magazines of indifferent reading materials dedicated to either celebrity worship or scorn depending on what the overpaid cover-model happened to utter in their interview timed, oh so coincidentally, with their upcoming movie or television premier.

They were the only ones in the room. As they were looking around a woman emerged from one of the doors which led to the interior of the place.

"Oh, hello."

She was drop-dead eye-candy.

Both detectives were slightly shocked but had become somewhat accustomed to the process. Every single female involved in the case with the exception of the little lady in a moo-moo who went goo-goo over Wesson was incredibly attractive.

"Hello, do you work here?" Smith asked.

"Yes, can I help you?" she replied.

She was of Slavic stock with slightly more chiseled features than the western Europeans. Smith found himself wondering where in the world these women had been his whole life. It was due to the eighty's he believed, the height of the cold war between the Soviet bloc countries and those of the western persuasion. He'd grown up during the era and was influenced by the political theater of the age. In every action movie the Soviets were represented by evil large women with unsightly moles and the hint of Hitler-like mustaches. He was a formidable youth and thought his country was correct in thwarting the peoples of such inherently un-good looks. Then the Berlin Wall came down and through it walked the truth. Not only were the Russian and East German women attractive but there were an overabundance of them compared to the free nations.

"Hello, I'm Detective Smith and this is Detective Wesson. We'd like a minute of your time if it's all right with you?"

She smiled so Smith continued.

"We are doing a background check on one of your previous employees and we'd like to know if you could answer some questions?"

Once again she smiled her consent.

"The person we are inquiring about went by the name of Melissa Ramos at the time. Did you by any chance know her?"

With each question her smile widened, revealing white teeth hidden behind luscious lips. Smith generally liked it when people audibly answered questions but in her case he thought he'd make an exception. Then he changed his mind because the promise of undefined monetary gain kept entering his brain.

"So you did know her?"

"Yes, Detective Smith, I knew Melissa. Still do in fact."

Smith felt something was off, something not quite right with the situation. It wasn't the fact she was answering most of his questions with a somewhat conspiratorial grin but the fact she was doing so without checking for proper identification or even the hint of suspicion. Her lack of suspicion caused his to grow and he did something he rarely attempted as he changed topics and asked a question which came forefront to his frontal lobe.

"Do you know Nat?"

Her smile widened even further and Smith's suspicion became fact. The police-butler with authorization authority had already warned the woman they would be visiting. What he didn't understand, wasn't privileged to, was the reasoning behind it all. It seemed at every point there were roadblocks set up to keep them from locating Mr. Johnson. While away they'd had Joshua run every report he could find on Johnny Johnson. He'd come back with zilch. The man had no employment history, no verifiable address except the one in Austin which Joshua had looked up and found to be an apartment near the University of Texas. He held no credit cards, never voted and as far as anyone could tell never renewed his driver's license or even reregistered a vehicle. They'd had Joshua call the University to see if they could get some information from them but he was told there was no history of a Mister Johnson ever attending the institute of higher learning and tuition rates. Johnny Johnson was, in essence, a man without a background. It was that problem the detectives were trying to solve.

To locate a person is actually not very difficult if their background is known. People follow simple and deliberate steps in life. They go to school, get a job then die. Within those parameters are acquaintances and they are the solution. People are naturally curious where other people are concerned. They listen to irrelevant gossip and maintain useless information which can be a goldmine to investigative work. They might not even feel they're giving up valuable clues since they might not even believe the rumors are true. It didn't matter to the detectives because either way the information obtained what they were looking for; a trail. If the stuff panned out, good, if not, good again because then it could be eliminated from the process and they could go ahead with other leads. The simple answer for location was to go backwards. Find someone who heard something and verify its truthfulness. Nearly one-hundred percent of the time the person trying to go missing was found through someone unaware the subject was in hiding.

"Yes, I know Nat, Detective" she answered.

The statement was said with a grin. She was playing a game. They all were playing a game and using the detectives as pieces for their amusement. Smith became angry.

"Now look here...!"

And something growled.

Wesson heard it, Smith heard it and the woman obviously did because her smile faded and a look of annoyance crossed her face.

"What the heck was that?" Smith asked in a whisper.

Wesson, for an answer, pulled his revolver.

"Put that away, Detective, before you lose your head."

The woman with white teeth now appeared as something else. She was still undeniably attractive, still gracefully perfect but the aura around her became something else entirely. It spoke of death and both detectives felt its seductive power.

Wesson glanced at Smith who nodded they should follow the lady's advice. He didn't know where the growl originated for it seemed the menacing sound came from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was almost as if whatever animal made the primal gesture was in surround-sound mode and all places at the same time.

"Vincent, come out here right now!" she said to the invisible creature.

A door opened and another beast of seven feet appeared.

"Yikes!"

"Did you just say 'Yikes'?" Smith asked his partner.

Wesson couldn't help it. Size was the problem. He saw in the man who emerged something he had no answer for; complete physical supremacy. The gentleman was large. Not fat large or thick large but Frankenstein large. Large enough to inflict mortal wounds through sheer bone-crushing strength. His hands alone were large enough to completely engulf Wesson's head and the arms attached to those hands were obviously capable of brain squishing. What came next shocked the roundish investigator to his core.

"Vincent, say you're sorry!"

The man-beast turned to Wesson and in the manner of a teenager caught toilet-papering a neighbor's house said the words he had difficulty believing.

"I'm sorry, Detective."

Wesson stood there with mouth agape for he had no answer. He was still staring with incredulousness at the sheer volume of individual in front of him.

"Vincent."

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Say you're sorry to Detective Smith also."

The hulking figure turned to Smith and repeated his apology. Smith, a bit more in control of his emotions had the fortitude to at least nod his head in reply even if his vocal abilities had failed him.

"Good, now that we've got the apologies out of the way I believe it's time for introductions. I am Priscilla and this is Vincent. We are partners and owners of the Hillcrest Blood Bank. Detectives, I am glad you have finally arrived."

Neither man said anything for they were considering her words. She hadn't said them in some off-the-cuff manner. No, she had said them purposefully with the knowledge they would evoke a reply.

"You knew we were coming?" Wesson asked.

"Yes."

Her answer was difficult to grasp. They hadn't informed anyone except Joshua of their plans and since he was nowhere to be seen they assumed he was still hard at work back in the offices of Craft and Sons.

"How did you know we were on the way over?"

"You are investigating the disappearance of Johnny Johnson, are you not?"

"Yes" Wesson relied.

"Then we have been expecting you for quite some time."

The detectives weren't sure what they heard. They were simultaneously awed by the sight of the two creatures in front of them and a little confused as to the oratory nature of the woman uttering her words.

"You were expecting us for some time?"

"Yes. You have been forewarned from the beginning of this chapter. You are the secret ingredient, the special spice in the sauce as it were. You are what we need to fulfill our destiny."

They were thinking she was nuts. They were thinking they'd walked into an insane asylum where beautiful women and oversized men were housed. They were thinking of getting the heck out of there. They were also completely intrigued.

"Okay, can you back up a bit?" Smith interjected.

She looked at him with concern.

"I'm sorry, am I standing too close? I can move further away if you feel..."

Smith was recovering his wits so was quick on the reply.

"No, no, no. I didn't mean physically back up. I meant could you please explain what you just said there?"

She smiled again and the world became a better place.

"Sure, why don't we sit down and get comfortable" she said and since the detectives were feeling a bit weak at the knees they readily agreed.

Smith and Wesson sat on a couch, the incredible seductive Priscilla sat on a chair and the enormous brute who went by Vincent looked around, verified there were no furnishings ample enough for his girth and sat on the floor.

"Okay, is everyone comfortable?" the blazingly beautiful baroness of blood banking asked.

Smith and Wesson said they were.

"I could probably use a pillow" Vincent replied.

Wesson looked at the man sympathetically. He could picture what it was like to go through life a little off on the size thing. He had the body which proved the point. He immediately returned in his mind to the last time he'd gone to a movie theater. He'd arrived early, bought his ticket, paid for popcorn and soda, proceeded to his assigned movie space and immediately vowed never to return again. The seats were the problem. They were slightly too small. He could feel his extra stuff, the result of nachos and hot-dog eating, pinching in the space where seat should be but no longer remained. He didn't know when the seat designers had sat around the table deciding exactly which part of the population was deemed unworthy of comfort but he knew they must have for before where cushion had previously sat now only his backside resided. They had made the seats smaller. The movie theaters themselves had gotten larger but the part where the customer was king, the necessary part for movie enjoyment, the sitting part had been reduced. He knew why. He had heard its story before in the form of a lawsuit. The suit involved an architect. He designed an airport. The airport had chairs. He made them comfortable. When the final version arrived he found his chairs replaced with things which resembled sitting devices but were in no way receptive to the captured public's needs. They were incredibly ugly, amazingly small and the most uncomfortable furnishings ever created. It appeared the designers of the chairs had gone out of their way to develop slow-torturing machines which resembled things people were supposed to rest their weary butts on. The architect sued because his name was on the place and in court the truth came out. The airport had purposefully altered his designs because the seats were too comfortable and people were actually using them for their intended purpose. The problem was the airport no longer catered to the flying public, they catered to the purchasing public. If the seats were used then the stores in the tarmac were not visited and the insanely overpriced magazines, candy bars and other knick-knacks needed to produce profit for the already wealthy would suffer. The movie theaters made their seats smaller to put more wallets in the room. Both had placed profit over comfort.

"Here you go, Vincent" Wesson said as he tossed a couple of pillows to the mammoth on the floor.

Vincent caught them without even looking, smiled his thanks at the kind detective and leaned back against the wall to do some good listening.

"Okay, Detectives, you have made it this far and I'm sure you're a little curious as to what is going on" the lovely lady with blonde highlights in her hair stated.

Smith and Wesson both looked at each other because they could not only hear in her voice the change in circumstance they could also see in her actions a resolution taking shape. They didn't know what the resolution held but they were indeed happy it had arrived.

"Yes, Ma'am" Smith replied.

She grinned directly at him and he knew the blood bank probably had more repeat customers of the male persuasion than any others of its kind.

"Please call me Priscilla" she said and the two detectives quickly nodded they would.

"Okay, I guess the first thing you're wondering about is the unique stature of Nat. Am I correct?"

They both came to the conclusion at the same time; she was not only the prettiest blood banker in the world but she also had a good head on her shoulders.

"Yes, Priscilla, we were wondering about Nat" Wesson responded.

She nodded her head in the way one does when their assumptions prove true.

"I thought so. Okay, before I go any further I would like you to inform me of what you've learned so far."

The question was not one the detectives would normally have responded to. They were in the information gathering service not the giving one but they were at a crossroads because they were essentially in the dark playing a game with rules they didn't comprehend and an outcome involving so much possible wealth they couldn't forfeit. Smith looked at Wesson and gave his approval. Wesson's oratory began.

"Well, Priscilla, we were hired to find a Mister Johnny Johnson. He is a member of the LeTorque family which appears to be some kind of extremely powerful entity running all sorts of businesses. While we were interviewing our client we got the impression Mr. Johnson was a rather important figure in their operation and have since found out the man is actually at the top of the organization. He is married to a woman named Melissa who once worked in a prison the LeTorque's have a controlling interest in and while she was employed there she ran into a rather odd coincidence; a prisoner who was indirectly responsible for the prison sitting where it was. You see, this prisoner was actually the heir to the land the prison was, or is, sitting on. This prison, by the way, is pumping out oil and producing profits using convicted labor as its maintenance workers. Anyway, we found some evidence which casts doubt on the guilt of the prisoner Melissa ran into but, unfortunately, it won't do him any good because he's already been declared dead twice. We're tracking Melissa's path in the hopes of finding Mister Johnson so we can get on with our lives and cash a check which has no actual value as of yet."

She sat there and never flinched or showed even the slightest hint of surprise. Smith was watching for two reasons. First, he wanted to see her reaction to Wesson's tale and second... well, she was rather pleasing to the eye.

"And so you made the connection to Melissa how?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"How did you get from Johnny to Melissa? I'm assuming Nat wasn't exactly forthcoming in his help" she queried.

Smith sat up straighter for things were definitely going off on a different tangent. She was admitting to knowing what was happening. She was revealing insight and since he had no sight at all he was perfectly happy to get either inner or outer if she were willing to share.

"We tracked Johnny to an apartment and found out the prisoner Melissa had previously cared for and declared dead three months before was again declared dead in his closet. We traced the prisoner..."

"Bob Simpson" she interrupted.

"... yes, Bob Simpson, to the prison and when we made the connection to Melissa your Nat guy gave us permission to access her files. When we did so we found she had previously worked for a land surveying company which gave her access to information about the oil the prison is pumping out. From there it wasn't difficult to deduce what she'd done."

Priscilla just sat there, not saying a word and seemed to be enjoying the conversation. Vincent, for his part, was sitting in bored contemplation of the ceiling tiles.

"What did you deduce, Detective?" she asked inquisitively.

"I believe Melissa framed Bob Simpson for first degree arson in order to take the land he would inherit from his mom and built a prison owned by a family she would later marry into. I believe she, not Bob Simpson, was the guilty party."

She smiled and Wesson felt a slight thrill. He felt a little like he did in school when the teacher called on him and he actually had the correct answer.

"You are almost correct, Detective."

His elation dampened.

"Excuse me?" he said.

She looked directly in his eyes and he was lost. They were a shade of blue he'd not known before; slightly lighter than a clear Spring sky.

"You have most things correct except the arson part. Melissa did not set the flame."

Suddenly his elation returned. If Melissa didn't do the dastardly deed then the cost of location was possibly still at an all-time high.

"She didn't?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"You are not yet privileged to that information" she said with a smile.

Wesson was getting tired of hearing the phrase. It seemed to come about just when things were looking up.

"Okay, can you please tell me what it is with Nat and his privilege thing?"

"What would you like to know?"

What would he like to know? He'd like to know where in the heck Johnny Johnson was. He'd like to know who set the fire which lit the flame for prison-petroleum partnership. He'd like to know why the world was seemingly on the verge of all-out war. He'd like to know when technology would take a break so humanity could figure out what in the devil were the details of the digital age.

"I'd like to know what his relationship is to the LeTorque?" he finally settled on.

She sat back and considered the question.

"He is like a professor with a problem he cannot solve."

"Huh?"

"Think of him as a monitor of sorts. He has a situation and is trying to come up with an answer he himself cannot grasp."

"Huh?"

"Okay, change scenarios. Let's say you were the CEO of a technology company. You know your rivals are working on the next generation of the next big thing. Previously you've been the inventor of the latest gadgets to capture Human imagination but you need to think outside the box in order to retain your market share. What do you do?"

Wesson didn't usually enjoy the guessing game but when the questioner was of such jaw-dropping quality he figured the game had its values.

"I'd hire some really smart people to work for me" he answered.

"Exactly. You'd hire smart people. But why wouldn't you use the smart people you already employed?"

The question was easy to answer because Wesson knew his own limitations.

"Because the people working for me had already given their answer. They came up with the previous products and since you want me to think outside the box I can't do so with people who built the walls."

He felt like a super-student. She was smiling and nodding in such a way he wanted to answer every question correctly in order to get his prize. Of course, the elephant sitting on the floor might have something to say about what the prize was but he figured any consolation from the beauty queen before him was good enough to make his day.

"Yes, perfect answer. Nat is the CEO and we are his new hires. He wants us to come up with the solution to his problem and is allowing us the leeway to imagine possibility."

Smith decided to join the conversation.

"Hold on. Did you just say Nat was in charge?"

She moved her eyes to the taller detective and he felt his pulse quicken with the act. He really was surprised at his reaction for he'd usually been the one doing the seducing not getting it done to him.

"He is and he isn't. As I said, he doesn't have the answers to his dilemma so he needs us to provide them for him."

"And who exactly are you?" Smith asked.

Her smile once again lit a flame in his heart.

"We are the architects of Humanity's design, Detective."

"Huh?"

"We are the answer to the meaning of life."

Both investigators became increasingly more interested if it were actually possible.

"Okay, hold on for just a second, please" Wesson interjected.

"Sure" she responded by taking her eyes off Smith and returning them to Wesson. Smith felt a little irritation with his partner for snatching her gaze away.

"Okay, I'm not actually sure what is going on here. Who exactly are you?"

"I am Priscilla Sanguine and Vincent is my mate."

Vincent looked up and nodded his head again in accordance with proper introduction protocols.

"Yes, you have already said that. But who are you really?"

Her smile became even more radiant, so much so it was difficult for either detective to hear her answer through the blindness of physical attraction.

"We are your last hurdle, Detective, the final roadblock on your quest for monetary freedom. Ask properly and we will provide the answers you require."

Chapter 31

The Wolves were sitting around the kitchen table watching civilization implode.

"Hey, George, you want to order a pizza?"

"Yep."

Both were doing what Wolves do and the Vampires upstairs were performing their chores accordingly.

"Trudy?"

"Yes, Vivian?"

"Does this outfit match?"

The television in the room was also tuned to the events of utmost importance.

"Hello, everyone, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five Award-Winning Afternoon News. Once again I would like to apologize for my previous outbursts involving the cruise lines. My opinions were mine and mine alone. Channel Five in no way endorses the views of this reporter and has no actual opinion on the matter. Okay, on to the news. We have trouble at the United Nations. We are going live to our recently promoted, award winning border-war reporter, Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?"

The screen change to show the elegantly dressed young man in suit and tie in front of the United Nation Building in New York City.

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, what have you been hearing from the representatives of the world?"

The camera zoomed in to catch the expression of seriousness on the news-gatherer's face.

"We've had a meltdown, Nick. It appears the representatives from the various countries are at odds with each other."

The scene shifted back to the local anchor.

"How so, Tim?"

It shifted back again.

"Well, Nick, I believe we have footage of the event as it unfolded" he replied and then stood there in uncomfortable silence staring at the camera while waiting for the production crew in the control room to decide who would be the one to push the button allowing the reporter to go back to his business of standing around until he was on camera again.

The picture finally changed and the inside of the United Nations appeared. It was packed to the brim with dignitaries from around the globe and on stage was the General Secretary of the body. As the camera closed in he could be heard to speak.

"The representative from France has the floor."

The picture changed and a man of erect posture in a blue tie spoke.

"France demands the immediate withdrawal of troops from the surrounding countryside of Quebec. The citizenry inside its border are under illegal siege. We demand the Canadian authorities stop their intimidating practices and sit down at the table with those who would seek peace."

The man sat down and the Secretary General called upon his counterpart.

"The representative of Canada now has the floor."

A man with a red tie arose.

"Canada demands France mind its own business. Canada does not answer charges which are groundless in their premise. The citizens of Quebec are not under siege, they are free to leave so long as they declare allegiance to their country."

The French guy stood with authority and proclaimed his outrage.

"But they must speak with the devils tongue!"

It got the attention of another in the room who leapt to his feet with an insulted expression and looked upon the Secretary for his right to speak.

"The representative from Great Britain has the floor."

The English aristocrat was a master at the game and came right to the point.

"Her Majesty's peoples take great umbrage at the descriptive tone the frog from France has croaked! Maybe he should glance around at the nations of the world and ask why his silly vocabulary is not in common use by most."

The spectators were enjoying the show so France responded with enthusiasm.

"Maybe because the imperialistic tea-sippers have colluded with the capitalist pig of America to force their guttural language down the world's throat."

America rose to the challenge.

"The representative from the United States has the floor."

She was not the tallest of Human-beings but she carried with her a vocabulary befitting her previous stint as a naval commander.

"France can shove it up their elongated, oversized noses for all America is concerned. France has no business interfering in North American affairs and needs to get back to her un-shaven armpit ways of white-flag waving before she goes too far."

France's lone voice against three did not go unnoticed.

"The representative from Mexico has the floor."

The mustachioed man stood and shouted his irritation.

"America has no grounds to demand anything of anybody! They are an illegal occupying force and should not even be allowed to sit in these regal proceedings!"

The Vampires were having a good time multi-tasking and the Wolves were deciding on other important events.

"Meat Lover's or Supreme?"

"Both."

"Thick crust or thin?"

"Both."

"How many?"

"Just six. The girls are watching their weight."

The plan was finally unfolding as it was desired. The world was waiting for the inevitable and Superior progress was being made by Inferiors united in national outrage.

"The floor recognizes Cuba."

"We side with Mexico! America must go!"

The television showed the various countries with implied interest in the proceedings. Everyone was watching with worried wonder which way the curtain would fall.

"The representative from the United States has the floor."

She was never an intimidated woman.

"Cuba has no standing in this room. She has openly declared her evil intentions by hijacking law-abiding maritime vessels and attacking a sovereign military base on her shores. The United States declares Cuba to be in violation of international treaties and thus should be sanctioned by this body to the full extent of world-wide law."

Everything was merely a formality because Human Nature demanded it so. Conflict was unavoidable when pride was at stake. The Vamps designs were working without any more prodding and the final part was yet to be played.

"Trudy?"

"Yes, Vivian?"

"Does this coat make me look fat?"

They were in her room packing for the trip they would take. They were preparing for the possibility of surprise, the chance their plans went awry. Trudy was already packed, the Wolves too, Vivian was the last for she was ever the procrastinator.

"The chair recognizes Spain."

The lady of Latin flavor entered the dance.

"Spain demands the United States remove itself from the shores of our humanitarian sister nation of Cuba! The imperialistic military base is both an insult to Cuban sovereignty and a reminder of America's war-waging ways!"

The Vampires finished packing and went downstairs where Wolves were ordering.

"We want three supersized Meat Lovers on thick crust and three supersized Supremes on thin."

They sat at the table and took in the tube.

"The floor recognizes the representatives from Switzerland."

The short man stood.

"Yeah, uh, just so everyone knows, we're going to stay neutral on this one."

The gallery laughed at the joke from Europe.

Vivian and Trudy were in animated conversation while Phillip and George waited in agonizing hunger when the inevitable arrived.

"Hello, everyone!"

Vivian did her thing and flew in his arms, the Wolves acknowledged his existence and Trudy waited patiently for him to speak.

"Mistress?"

"Yes, Nat?"

"Is this what you envisioned?"

He had gestured at the television screen while asking the question and as Trudy bore witness to what was transpiring she giggled in delight. The gallery of the world was up in arms and at each other's throats spitting insults and demanding satisfaction.

"Yes, Nat, this is what we were waiting for. We will now have our war."

Nat smiled for it did appear she'd pulled it off. He only had a few more questions for the wonderful Vampire.

"Do you know which it will be?"

"You mean Cuba, Mexico or Canada?"

"Yes, which do you think will flinch first?"

She didn't care but wasn't going to let Heaven's Alien Monitor onto the fact.

"I don't know, Nat? It's why we have our plane fueled and waiting for us. Whichever one it is we'll be ready to arrive within the hour."

He had his war! All his time, all his planning were paying off. All he had to do was wait. But he was still a little concerned over one nagging matter.

"Mistress?"

"Yes, Nat?"

"We still have not located Johnny. What will happen if you enter into conflict with First Clan and he is not available?"

The question was a confusing one for the answer was not readily apparent. Generally the clans fought in a somewhat military manner. The Alpha Wolves led the charge while the Matriarchs determined strategy. The problem with Johnny was his unique stamp on things. Without Johnny the outcome could not be guessed for both clans were of relative strength. With Johnny things changed abruptly. Johnny would give Phillip and George a power they previously had not known. They could sneak up on their foes without warning. A Wolf without warning was immediate death. He could not be beaten for he could not be scented. Without scent only sight and sound were available. Wolves moved so fast both were useless. All Wolves were masters in the art of death. They excelled and reveled in its seduction. They were silent and invisible in its implementation if called upon and with Johnny they were the equivalent of Human versus bug. Johnny was the answer to clan supremacy.

"Johnny will be available, Nat" Trudy answered.

"Yes, Mistress, I believe you believe that, but what happens if he is not?"

The question was important because another answer was always possible; the clans would fight to a standstill. If no clan emerged as the winner then things would remain the same and the question to Heaven's quest would not come to realization. If a Superior product could not unite to challenge the Hoard then all of Heaven's work would be for naught. Nat hated the idea of a setback, he hated the idea of a loss and hated with all his heart the minions from Hellion.

"If Johnny does not show then we will still battle, Nat. The challenge has been issued and Merri Li accepted therefore the question of Johnny's involvement is irrelevant. One way or another we are going to decide on who holds the power of the clans."

Nat loved Vampire stubbornness!

Chapter 32

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why do cars have fiberglass bumpers?"

Johnny was seriously thinking the same thing. He and Daemon were both pondering the question for they'd been witness to an event which, if not earth-shattering to the world was indeed of profound importance to one individual on the planet. It had happened in a gas station.

They'd arrived by charter plane after wishing the Delmars and Santiagos all their best and landed at a private field where Melissa had asked for and been given loyalty. From there they traveled by sedan down country highways until they stopped for refueling. While they waited for the Zombie to fill their tank they saw what to Johnny was a slight indication he might be wrong on Humanity's right to exist. The event involved two vehicles and two separate drivers of varying ages and economic stature. One was a teenage boy and the other a middle-aged man. The boy had arrived first in an older version pick-up truck, parked next to a pump and began pouring his money down the gas tank. The middle-aged man arrived second, pulled in behind the boy and began doing the same. The problem which would come next involved the make, model and years of the two respective vehicles because the man's was a new, shiny, blatant show of prosperity. The boy finished fueling, started the truck and did what all teenage motorists do when they first began driving; he made a mistake. He put the truck in reverse, stepped on the accelerator and immediately braked as he realized his mistake. It didn't matter, the damage was done. The boy's truck was an older version so it came with older version sensibilities and its back bumper was made of metal. The man's shiny toy proclaiming his economic success was not. It had a molded, glossy, gorgeous bumper which was completely demolished when metal of old hit material of new moving the fiberglass-exploding speed of two.

Johnny knew what would happen next. The man would demand the boy produce his insurance papers for there was no way a child in high school could possibly afford the bumper of arrogance. Sure enough, his vision came true for the man responded in self-righteous glory at the marring of his trophy to himself. He screamed, he hollered, he did everything he could to show he was not at fault and then proceeded to ask everyone who witnessed the event to write down what they'd seen. It didn't matter the boy admitted his mistake the man wanted words on paper to prove his point. When he got to Johnny he found an unwilling participant.

"Sir, did you see what that teenager did to my car?"

"Yep."

"Would you please act as my witness when the police arrive?"

"Nope."

The man looked at Johnny as though he'd heard incorrectly.

"Excuse me?"

"I said 'no'."

The man seemed to have a hard time with the meaning of the word so he tried again.

"Look, I just need you to write down what you saw and then tell it to the cops when they arrive."

Johnny looked at him with scorn.

"I told you 'no',"

"Why?" the man asked and Johnny explained his reasoning.

"Because you're the problem, not the boy. You bought that high-powered horse with a paper-mache covering so you should pick up your own tab. The boy made a mistake. A slow-moving, completely innocent mistake which would've done absolutely no harm if that substitute for man-hood of yours had a proper bumper. You're driving on a road with other motorists you self-centered, conceded moron so you should expect a few mishaps along the way. Don't you remember when you were a teenager? We all had metal bumpers and we all got into fender benders! But we kept on driving and do you know why? Because we didn't have to cover the expenses of arrogant nitwits who buy vehicles designed to incinerate when hit by flying insects!"

Johnny later thought his rant was right on target. It had another desired benefit at the gas station also.

"Sir, do you want to press charges?"

The man had lost his temper. It happened a lot with Johnny for he really was quite weak-looking but carried a big mouth.

"I'm not sure yet."

The man had thrown a punch. He would later regret the decision but at the time he couldn't help himself. Johnny was terribly annoying when he wished to be.

"He called me a nitwit!" the man screamed in explanation for his actions.

"Yes, sir, and I'm beginning to see why" the officer standing in front of the man replied.

The teenage boy was unsure what to do. He'd hung around because he wasn't one to run from his mistakes but was really worried about what was going to happen next. He knew the rules. If the man insisted on full payment to replace the bumper the teenager would need to use his insurance. He didn't make enough money at the hamburger joint to cover the cost of an egg-shell bumper. If the man wouldn't take partial payments over time, something he was pretty sure the pompous fool would decline then his insurance would be used, his deductible would be raised and his payments would skyrocket. He'd lose his driving privileges because he wouldn't be able to afford the rates due to a bumper in a gas-station parking lot which failed to do even the most minimal function of its name.

"Is he still asking for the boy's insurance?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, sir, he said the boy backed into him" the officer replied.

Johnny looked to the man and made a decision.

"Officer, may I speak to him for a second?" Johnny asked and the officer agreed because he had a pretty good idea what was going to transpire and he thought the outcome showed a lot of promise.

"All right, buddy, here's what I'm going to do. If you demand that boy has to pay for your bumper I'm going to press charges on you for assault. You're going to get thrown in jail until someone bails you out then you'll need to hire a lawyer to get the charges dropped from a felony to a misdemeanor. Just to let you know, I have a rather large amount of money myself and it would be a pleasure to see you spend a ton of yours defending your actions."

The man's eyes widened with realization of what he'd gotten himself into.

"Now, if you decide to bite the bullet and pay for your own bumper I believe in the end it'll probably cost you... oh... one-tenth of what I'm prepared to do to you."

The man was visibly shaken.

"But he ran into me!"

Johnny was not swayed.

"And your fist ran into my face. Look, take it or leave it; either buy your own bumper or hire a lawyer."

The choice was simple and a teenager was lent a new lease to drive, a man with serious testosterone issues drove off without a portion of his car and Johnny walked away feeling both proud of himself and a little sore where the man's knuckles had struck flesh.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why aren't bumpers made of rubber?"

They were heading to their last piece of trouble-brewing. They probably didn't need to, the countries appeared to have gotten the point and were revving up for some good old mayhem but they'd had a plan from the start and felt they might as well follow through with it in case some strange quirk of fate appeared on the horizon and the peoples of the world decided to get along for a change.

They were in the sedan, Zombie driver in front alongside an Alpha Wolf named Kevin. Johnny, Daemon, Melissa and the Matriarch of the local gang of Superiors, Heather Mayfield, sat in the back. The Mistresses had previously discarded their titles and were catching up on the current topics of the day.

"Have you seen the new line of footwear from Sacre' Bleu-Me-Mind's?"

"Yes! And I think they're adorable!"

Daemon was doing his questioning thing and Johnny was trying his best ignoring impersonation when they finally arrived at the destination. It was a clear summer day with birds in the blue sky, a gentle breeze whipping the treetops and the sweet smell of flowers wafting through the air.

Kevin opened the passenger door and removed his massive frame from the vehicle. The others in the back did the same while the Zombie sat still, awaiting orders.

"Stay here and guard the car. Do not let anyone look inside the trunk."

The Zombie nodded and took sentry of the vehicle with fanatical, brain-dead servitude.

They had a little time to kill so decided to do some sight-seeing while they waited. The place was serene. A park to rival all others in majesty. It had trails, cabins and the other places deemed necessary for tourist attractions; souvenir shops.

"Ooh! Let's go in there and look around."

"What a wonderful idea!"

The two Vampires were in their element, everyone else was out. The boys decided interior shopping was not high on their list of things needing doing so they opted out of purchasing for public parkland's sake and instead went about doing what boys did best.

"Did you catch the game last night?"

"Yep, they should have pulled the pitcher in the fifth."

Kevin turned out to be as big a baseball fan as Johnny which was good since they had absolutely no knowledge of the other and would've needed to do the slightly inconvenient thing of asking and giving information about themselves if not for the subject of sports. Daemon, on the other hand, was not yet into sports so had no problem probing the Wolf of Mayfield.

"Can you lift a boulder over your head?"

"Yep."

"Can you jump over a one-story house?"

"Yep."

"Can you...?"

Johnny was a little tired of hearing the endless questions with one-word answers so he walked a little further away from the two and took in the scenery which caused all the commotion. It really was an amazing feat of engineering he thought as he daydreamed the afternoon away.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Aunt Melissa says it's time to go."

Johnny glanced at the sky and agreed. The sun was setting and the park emptying.

"All right."

They made their way back to the car and told the Zombie he'd done a very good job at keeping people out of the trunk. The Zombie seemed pleased at the compliment but since Zombies didn't retain emotion during un-death no one knew for certain if he even understood what a compliment was. It didn't matter, though, because he wasn't there for compliments. He was there for his explosive personality.

The park was nearly empty as the ranger in the guard shack watched a man walk toward him.

"I'm sorry, sir, the park is closed."

The man didn't respond, just kept walking toward the ranger who thought maybe the gentleman was hard of hearing.

"Sir, I'm sorry but the park is closed!" he yelled louder but again got no response as the individual approached. He was becoming somewhat nervous because there was something a little off in the way the man moved. He had his guard up when the guy finally stopped in front of him and stood still.

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked curiously because up close he could see the man had the look of someone sick with pasty white skin and somewhat dead-shot eyes.

The man didn't answer him orally but instead lifted his left hand and held out a note. The ranger took, unfolded, read and fled.

The Zombie of Mayfield blew to pieces five minutes later.

"Good evening, folks, this is Nick Price with a Channel Five Award Winning News Special Report. We have an explosive event happening as we speak. Lucky for us we had one of our sister-station reporters at the scene so we go live to Wally Thornburg. Wally, are you there?"

The scene changed and there stood the Canadian reporter with an eager expression on his face.

"You betcha, Nick!"

The control room decided to let the northern newsman get a little face time so the picture stayed on him.

"Wally, can you tell us what is happening right now as we speak?"

"Um, well, nothing's happening right now, Nick."

"Nothing?"

"Nope, but a little while ago someone blew up Teddy Roosevelt."

It took a few well-placed explosive charges and one diversion to pull it off. A Zombie with a bomb tied to his chest was considered an ideal misdirection play while the Wolf of Mayfield used physical superiority to scale a mountain made in the image of past presidents.

"Someone blew up Teddy Roosevelt, Wally?"

"Yep, sure did, Nick. His face is right now nothing more than a pile of rubble lying at the foot of Mount Rushmore."

The symbolism was easy for any who knew presidential history but just in case their memories were foggy or their education faulty a little bit of reinforcement was added to stir the pot.

"Do the authorities have any suspects, Wally?"

"Well, they had a really good one till he blew himself up."

The control room decided to go for a shift in scenery so Nick Price's face appeared.

"Someone blew themself up?"

One scene was deemed enough so the pot-bellied reporter from maple-leaf country once again took center screen.

"Uh-huh, blew himself into little pieces right in front of the park rangers who had him surrounded at the time. They think now he was some sort of diversionary tactic designed to keep them occupied while the real perpetrators committed the act."

"Do they know who the other perpetrators are, Wally?"

"Yep, they've got a pretty good clue who it is, Nick."

The picture shifted back because Nick had a contract which stated the amount of time his visage could remain absent from the viewers.

"What clue is that, Wally?"

The contract upheld, they returned to the scene.

"They left a note."

"A note?"

"Yup! They guy who committed explosive suicide left a note."

"What did it say?"

"Oh... hold on a sec, I wrote a copy of it and I've got it right... oh, here it is. All right, it says 'I've got a bomb strapped to my body' then the second line says 'You have five minutes to evacuate' then there's a third line followed by the signature of the purported assailant."

The scene shifted back to the anchorman because someone in the control room saw Nick begin to lose his patience.

"Are you going to tell us what the third line said, Wally?"

The screen changed again after showing the anchorman gritting his teeth while asking the question.

"Yep, you betcha I can, Nick! The third line says 'Now we're even'."

"Now we're even?"

"Yup, now we're even."

"Now we're even for what?"

"I don't know, Nick. I guess we'll find out when and if they catch the San Juan Hill person."

"San Juan Hill?"

"Uh-huh, that's the signature on the note. It said 'Now we're even' and then at the bottom the guy signed it 'San Juan Hill'."

Chapter 33

The interior of the Hillcrest Blood Bank was an array of rooms with beds and blood drive instruments. Every corner was taken up with equipment necessary for the removal and storage of the life-preserving liquid and Wesson was getting the creeps as he walked down a hallway toward a back room where Priscilla and Vincent Sanguine believed they'd be more comfortable. It was probably all for her enormous partner's sake but the detectives didn't call her on it because they'd look like inconsiderate guests and the guy did look uncomfortable sitting on the floor. Also, he probably could've ripped their heads off at the same time if they insulted him.

"Please sit down, Detectives" she said after they'd entered a rather extravagant room with a large wooden table in the middle accompanied with sturdy looking chairs. Vincent was finally able to set his size down so they all became comfortable before the real process began.

"Ma'am?" Wesson began.

"Please, Detective, once again, just call me Priscilla" she interrupted.

"Okay, um, do you mind if I call you Mistress Priscilla instead? For some reason I get the impression it's what you normally go by."

She merely did her nodding thing again and Wesson knew he was right. Whatever these people wished to call themselves was fine with him because they surely didn't fit into a Mister or Misses mode of title acknowledgment.

"What would you like to ask me, Detective?"

"Well, Mistress, I'd like to know if you could tell us where Mr. Johnson is."

He was hoping for a competed Hail Mary but was prepared for the incompletion.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where Johnny is."

Her first name use caught his attention.

"Did you know Mr. Johnson?"

"Of course, he's mated to Melissa."

The answer seemed a bit murky to Wesson but since he wasn't familiar with the waters he was wading in he let it slide.

"Okay, we know Melissa worked here in the past. Can you tell us what she did?"

The woman's smile returned and with it the room seemed to lighten.

"She was a blood screener."

For some reason Wesson felt the information was more important than he knew. Unfortunately what he didn't know outweighed what he did so his assumption was pretty useless.

"And what does a blood screener do?"

"They screen blood."

He was wondering if she was going to be one of those passive-aggressive answerers. The kind which provide just enough information to make things interesting but never enough to make it enlightening. Happily she laughed instead.

"I'm just kidding, Detective. A blood screener checks to make sure the donor's blood is not compromised in any way. It's run through a series of tests to discern there are no diseases or malformations and to see what type it is."

He figured as much. He still wasn't sure why he felt the blood screener information was important but he at least had a general knowledge of what a screener did. He decided to change subjects.

"Mistress Priscilla, was Mr. Johnson ever employed here?"

He was looking for the connection. Somehow Melissa had met Johnny so he thought the blood bank was as good a place as any.

"We have no records of Johnny ever being in our employ, Detective" she said with a grin.

He knew he was on to something and got the impression Priscilla Sanguine was hoping he'd figure out what it was.

"You have no records?"

"No."

"Do you employ outside employees? You know, independent contractors who work for someone else but from time to time are used here to perform a service?"

"Yes" she said.

"Do you keep records of outside service companies you use?"

"Yes."

"May I see those records?"

"I am sorry, Detective, you are not privileged to that information."

Another stinking brick wall. He knew he was close. He believed Johnny did indeed work there sometime in the past and he felt for certain it's where he'd met Melissa. He was still having a hard time grasping the fact someone as beautiful as the previous blood screener would willingly partner with a man of Johnny's stature but he'd been surprised before. Sometimes it wasn't just money which could cause a ten to mate with a one, sometimes they generally fell in love and lived happily ever after. But the norm was the money thing which was pretty sad from his point of view.

Wesson looked over at Smith to see if he wished to take over the questioning but the response he got from the look on his partners face said he should keep on trudging along because he had no idea what to ask either.

"So Mr. Johnson could've worked here as some kind of third party temporary help but you can't tell me because I haven't made a connection to the outside service, is that correct?"

"It might be" she said with a lovely twinkle in her eye.

Wesson thought his options over on the subject. He could probably call around and find all the service companies who did temporary work for blood banks and he might even be able to get some of them to reveal if they contracted with Hillcrest Blood Bank but he also knew the probability of them complying with his request would be closer to zero than any other number. They weren't cops. They didn't have subpoena powers and if an outside company did not want to provide information on one of their clients they were under no obligation to do so. He decided on a different tactic, the one percolating in his grey matter which was screaming incoherently the answer had something to do with the blood screening process.

"Do you keep computerized records?" he asked and her eyes twinkled brighter in delight.

"Yes, of course."

"May I see them?"

Her expression changed and he jumped in before she could answer for he realized his mistake.

"I don't mean all your records. Only the ones related to Melissa and the blood she screened."

Her reaction proved he'd been right. Her face literally glowed with enthusiasm as she nodded and smiled her assent. He'd figured out the process. He had access to Melissa and if she had files on record then he had access to them. He probably had access to any files Johnny Johnson had on the premises but since he couldn't find a connection and prove he knew Johnny visited the place before he was denied the chance.

"Hey, Vincent?" Smith asked the giant sitting quietly at the table.

"Yes?"

"Did you know Melissa?"

"Yes."

"Did you like her?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me anything more about her?"

"Yes."

Smith realized right away he would be doing the hundred question game of asking in detail and receiving in single syllable response so he went in another direction to hopefully open the man up.

"Hey, Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"You want to get a pizza? I think we're going to be awhile and it'll be on me."

"Heck yeah!"

Smith left with Vincent to do some phone-ordering pizza-bonding and Priscilla went to retrieve whatever she was going to retrieve to allow him access to Melissa's blood-screening work leaving Wesson sitting alone trying to determine just what in the wide world of blood banking he was looking for. He was still in the dark, unable to come up with a reason why blood screening would be somehow linked to the location of Mr. Johnson. He looked up from his internal contemplation when Priscilla reentered carrying a flash-drive.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's the information you are privilege to" she replied.

He'd always been amazed at the size of technical progress for it went inverse to what he figured most evolutionary processes did. Instead of growing ever larger it went in the opposite direction. The tiny little plastic device, no larger than a nutter-butter cookie, could possibly contain information which in years past would've taken a warehouse to store.

"Do you have a computer I can use?"

What followed left him pondering the possibilities of past and future for her response was the push of a button on the wall behind her and right in front of him the wooden table he'd previously thought was nothing more than a beautifully crafted antiquity transformed itself. A portion of the table-top lifted to reveal a screen with digitalized keyboard ready for programming.

"Cool!"

"Yes, it is cool" she replied with a grin.

Wesson inserted the flash drive which revealed only one program available so he moved the curser over it and clicked. What appeared was a list of numbers next to an index table. There were five columns. The first was headlined 'Date', the second 'Subject', the third 'Type', the fourth 'Abnormalities' and the fifth 'Comments'. Underneath them everything was blank.

"What is this?"

"It's the information you requested."

He believed she might have taken the definition of information either too liberally or conservative because a list of nothing was definitely not what he'd been expecting. He looked at the screen again and found at the top-right corner a small box where two lines appeared. The first read 'Username' and below it on the second line read 'Access Code'.

"Dangit!"

As he uttered his mild oath both Smith and Vincent walked back in.

"What's wrong?" Smith asked and Wesson answered by signaling for him to come over and look at the screen.

"I'm assuming you're not going to tell us what to enter to access the information?" Smith said to the lovely lady watching with a bemused expression.

"I am afraid I'm forbidden to do so, Detective."

Once again both detectives believed her. It really did appear she was rooting for them.

"All right, let's just do the obvious" Wesson said as he entered his name next to the 'Username' box.

It was the second one he was worried about. He was debating whether he should ask his partner to do something he detested when he was pleasantly surprised to hear Smith already doing it.

"Hello, Nat?" Smith said into his telephone.

"Hello, Detective Smith, have you found our man?"

"Um, you know, I think we're pretty darn close but we've run into a slight roadblock and we were hoping you could help us out."

Smith didn't enjoy asking for help because it was not in his nature to do so. Either luckily or unluckily for him he didn't need to.

"If you are asking for an access code to the computer files at the Hillcrest Blood Bank then I suggest you look at the information you have in hand."

Smith was a little taken aback at the crass response and was going to ask why the man was being so cryptic when realization dawned.

"He hung up on me again!"

Wesson smiled inwardly at his partner's indignation but swallowed his outside grin for he needed to know what Smith heard.

"What did he say?"

"He said if we're looking for the access code to this place then we should look at what we've got in hand."

Wesson looked harder at his partner.

"What does that mean?"

"I have no idea."

The two dwelled on it for a few seconds until Smith broke the silence.

"You think maybe we should just enter things we think might be the access code?"

"Can't see why not."

So Wesson placed his fingers on the digital keyboard and was about to enter the first thing which popped into his head when he heard something.

"Vincent!" Mistress Priscilla Sanguine snapped.

"Sorry, Mistress, just clearing my throat."

The sound was anything but a throat clearing one. It was the same growl the detectives heard earlier from the blood bank behemoth and both knew it was the kindly response to the friendly gesture of pizza purchasing.

"Uh, Mistress?"

"Yes, Detective Wesson?"

"Is there a security protocol on this computer?"

She glanced at Vincent with a strange look which showed both annoyance and gratitude at the same time.

"Yes, Detective, there is."

He should've figured. A blood bank was probably one of the few organizations where virtually everyone but the insurance companies felt the need for a layer of privacy protection.

"Okay, I'm going to take a guess here and assume there is a set number of times I can enter an incorrect code, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Is the number of times three?"

"Yes."

Now Wesson became worried. He had three shots at access and then the computer would deny any further attempts.

"If I enter three wrong ones will it lock down?"

"Yes."

"And only the authorizing individual can open it back up?"

"Yes."

"Are you the authorized individual?"

"Yes."

He was pretty sure he knew the answer but wanted confirmation anyway.

"Will you re-authorize it if I lock it up?"

"I am sorry, Detective, I am not authorized to do so."

He at least knew where he stood. Three tries for unlimited income and if he failed then he could go back to what he'd been previously doing which was also on shaky ground if the outside world didn't wise up and quit playing war games.

"Um, Smith?"

"Yes, Wesson?"

"What exactly did Nat say again?"

The answer was in their hands, he could feel it, he just couldn't grasp its meaning.

"He said we should look at the information we have in hand."

It still don't make any sense. They didn't have anything in hand. All they had was two somewhat helpful individuals who were at times furthering their progress and then inhibiting it. He was about to enter what he thought was a good guess when a mental image came to his mind.

"Smith?"

"Yes?"

"Did he use the singular or plural form?"

"Huh?"

"Did he indicate both of us or just you?"

"He... oh, crap! I can't believe I could be so stupid."

The answer, of course, was the cell phone. Smith touched the screen to activate it, went to 'Contacts', entered 'Nat' and Wesson typed in the number for the butler with horrible phone decorum. The screen flickered and a new box appeared.

PATIENT NAME

___________

"Yes!" Wesson yelled.

"All right!" Smith yelled.

"Yay!" Priscilla delightfully chirped while clapping her hands.

"Where's that stinking pizza?" Vincent moaned.

The question Wesson faced was who to enter first?

"Enter Johnny Johnson" Smith answered after the question was posed.

Wesson didn't like the idea. He had a sinking sensation in his gut that doing so would only cause them further grief. He explained his reservations to Smith who grudgingly agreed to go along with Wesson's plan of attack.

"Let's start with what we know. We've got access to this database but, I bet, like every other thing we've encountered on this freaking case it's going to deny us information unless we've already received privilege. Am I right, Mistress?"

"I am not authorized to give you that information, Detective."

"Oh come on! We're so..." he began.

"But if I were a betting girl I believe I would go along with your line of reasoning."

He thought it over some more.

"And even though we've got authorization to view Melissa's records we will not be able to authorize Mr. Johnson's because we haven't made a connection between him and this place, correct?"

She merely smiled.

He returned her inaudible answer with his most winning smile in acknowledgment of at least trying to help.

"Is something wrong, Detective?" she said.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Oh, well it looked like you just had indigestion or a toothache or something."

Wesson decided to work on his dental charm later and get back to the business of entering information on a line which hopefully would allow them to enter a number onto another line which was printed on a piece of paper sitting in the wall-safe of Craft and Sons. He entered Bob Simpson's name because they had access to his file and he felt safe doing so. It was a reach but he felt if Melissa had worked at the blood bank before the prison then she might very well use its services for the process of identifying prisoners who wound up in the isolation ward with infectious diseases. Also, if he were wrong and Bob's name wasn't in the system he felt generally okay there wouldn't be some catastrophic computer failure which would result in wall-safe paper becoming toilet paper due to location failure.

"Well, look at that!"

"Hello, Bob!"

The screen showed the promised land. Bob Simpson was patient number two-hundred forty-seven, the date coincided with the time Warden Tiffany said he'd contracted Bird Flu, his blood type was O positive and in the 'Comments' column was typed 'Mabank Correctional Facility'.

"Okay, what does that tell us?"

"It tells us Melissa was using this facility when she was working the Isolation Ward of the prison. Mistress Priscilla?"

"Yes, Detective Wesson?"

"Did Melissa still have access to this facility after she went to work for the prison?"

"Of course, Detective."

"Really, why?"

"Because at the time she was still employed with us."

The answer should've shocked the detective but by that time he'd been through enough revelations to go to the electric chair and dismiss his feelings.

"You're saying she was still employed by you while at the same time working for the prison?"

"Yes, well, technically she was working for the prison but they were contracting her labor from us. It was a mutual understanding between our two heads of industry and was quite beneficial to both."

Smith was getting a little lightheaded with the conversation and asked for some clarity.

"Okay, let me get this straight. Melissa worked first for Land Surveyors Incorporated who just happen to be in the business of finding oil. She then works in a blood bank who lends her services to a company which just so happens to run a prison pumping oil out of the ground. While there she just happens to be in charge of the Isolation Ward where the previous heir to the land pumping out that oil happens to find himself when he contracts Bird Flu. Am I right so far?"

"Spot on correct, partner" Wesson replied.

"Okay, let's assume for the moment this isn't just some huge coincidence. What's the time line?"

Wesson sat back and thought on his partner's question.

"Steve Wazziznaim hires Land Surveyors Incorporated to do a sonar search for oil on his property adjacent to Bob's mom's land. Melissa, who works for Land Surveyors Incorporated finds out about the oil and decides to do something about it."

While Wesson thought out loud Smith watched Priscilla and Vincent. They had a previous relationship with the woman and it appeared to be on good terms. He was watching to see if they were going to be trouble. He didn't know what he and Wesson were going to do about it if they did because he got the opinion neither he nor his partner would be a match for the incredibly attractive blood bankstress let alone the goliath she called her partner. Surprisingly they appeared more curious and interested than alarmed. It seemed as though they could've cared less if Melissa had performed some kind of notorious deed.

"Someone informs on Bob and his migrant tax evading hotel program which allows Commercial Property Management to get their foot in the door on Bob's mom's land by leasing some of the oil-rich property to house their Wayward Youth. At the same time, coincidentally, Steve Wazziznaim is caught in his pyramid scheme and just so happens to wind up in the same correctional facility as Bob."

The two blood business proprietors were listening in rapt concentration and Smith could literally feel their excitement building. It was weird because it was as though they were actually pulling for the detectives to solve a miscarriage of justice and bring the real perpetrator to light.

"While in prison Steve tells Bob about the oil under the Youth Reformatory and when Bob gets out he sets the place on fire."

"But we know he didn't set the place on fire" Smith interjected.

"True, but it doesn't matter, does it Mistress Priscilla? We're never going to find out who was on that video tape are we?" he asked the lovely lady with the smile of light.

Her answer came in the form of a conspiratorial grin so Wesson filed the information away for future investigation and went on.

"Anyway, Bob gets busted, rats out Steve and both end up dying of the exotic Bird Flu which I could have sworn never made it to these parts. What I don't understand is the connection between the prison and this blood bank? Everything seems to have been orchestrated so Commercial Property Management would find themselves in possession of the land where their prison now sits so why...?"

He paused for sometimes the act of speech caused the mind to consider what was said.

""Mistress Priscilla?"

"Yes, Detective Wesson?"

"In your line of business I assume you keep up on all infectious diseases, correct?"

Again her smile and a nod were his answer.

"Was there any confirmed cases of Bird Flu in this area?"

"Yes."

Her answer confused him because he was one of those men who remembered random facts with incredible clarity. He was one of those guys who could be quite annoying to others who brought up seemingly irrelevant details during a conversation only to find themselves defending information they weren't exactly positive were true. The fact they always did defend their ignorance was also a confusing situation for Wesson because he didn't have their lack of short-term memorization skills. It was why he was befuddled until he remembered.

"I mean, was there any cases of confirmed Bird Flu outside of Bob and Steve?"

"No, those were the only two confirmed cases" she replied.

He thought the use of 'confirmed' was a little too suspect so he went further.

"Were there any unconfirmed cases?"

"That, Detective, you are not yet privileged to know."

He knew then he was on the correct path. It was funny, he didn't have any idea how he got on the path or where it was headed but he was happy to at least be heading in the general direction of unspecified monetary gain so he allowed himself a little sense of accomplishment. He then went about following up on his earlier assumption.

"Smith?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to call Nat again."

"What? Heck no! I am not calling that rude hanger-upper for any reason..."

"Unlimited funds, Smith."

"Huh? Oh, oh yeah. All right, give me a second..."

As Smith pulled his phone out and dialed Nat, Wesson began connecting the dots and everything led back to the LeTorque. The land, the Youth Facility, the prison with oil were all property of the LeTorque. Melissa was the acting head of the company controlled by the family and Johnny, somehow, had gotten the beauty to be his mate. Melissa had worked at the blood bank and the proprietors of the place were right then in the same room with him encouraging his investigation. Everything seemed to be emanating from the very place he was but he couldn't find the link.

"Okay, I've got Nat on the line."

"Tell him we'd like privilege to Steve Wazziznaim's files and that we are using his death by Bird Flu through Bob Simpson as the connecting link."

He heard Smith tell Nat the exact same words but really didn't need the confirmation he heard next to know he'd been right.

"Nat says..."

"I already know what he said. I've got Steve's file on the computer in front of me."

Smith looked at the screen and sure enough Steve's file was front and center.

"Okay, what are you looking for?" Smith asked.

"The dates" Wesson replied

"The dates for what?"

In confirmation of the question Wesson looked to Priscilla.

"Mistress?"

"Yes, Detective?"

"What is the incubation period for Bird Flu?"

Her smile became glorious and Wesson knew the futility of man versus woman if ever a war between the genders were ever to arrive. Men would be the demise of themselves for there was no answer to infatuation.

"Ten days to two weeks, Detective" she answered.

"And when do the first symptoms appear?"

"They are generally slow to form. Usually the victim starts out with a slight cough and then over the course of a week the effects become more noticeable."

"So a person catches the flu, realizes it's bad a week later and then dies a week after that?"

"If they die, yes, that is normally how it goes."

"Smith?"

"Yes?"

"What is the date listed for Bob's demise?"

Smith pulled his notepad out his pocket, flipped through to find the answer and repeated it to Wesson.

"That's what I thought. Look at the dates here" he said, indicated the computer program listing the two men's blood screenings and Smith complied.

"Those are two weeks before their death certificates."

"Yep" Wesson answered.

"Then that means?"

"It means unless those two caught the Bird Flu in prison and were immediately transferred here before any symptoms could possibly arise then we were a little mistaken about how Bob and Steve caught the disease."

Both looked up to see both Priscilla and Vincent beaming at them with delight. They were acting like proud parents whose children won a spelling contest.

"Mistress?"'

"Yes?"

"Do you keep contagious blood on site?"

"No, Detective, we do not."

Once again Wesson became confused. He thought he'd figured it out. The LeTorques had eliminated any threat to their oil and prison business by removing the only two people who could ever make a claim to the land. If Bob or Steve could somehow have proven their innocence then either one could've made a claim for the land the prison was sitting on. By infecting the two with a deadly disease the family wouldn't need to worry, the truth would never come out because the only ones interested in finding it were six feet in the ground.

Smith watched as Wesson's mind worked. He'd been partnered with him long enough to see the signs of stress and confusion so when Wesson began worrying Smith did his part in their detecting partnership and changed the parameters.

"Remember, it's Johnny Johnson we're looking for" he said.

Wesson's brain, his amazingly contorted grey matter of thought made a leap of faith and an electrical connection of neurons fired.

"Mistress Priscilla?"

"Yes?"

"You said you don't store contaminated blood, correct?"

She became animated again. She had let her guard down when it appeared Wesson's way was blocked but the question he posed possessed so much possibility she began to think he just might pull it off.

"Correct" she grinned.

"Then if contaminated blood were to enter it would need to walk in from the outside, correct?"

He could almost hear her purr of delight. Vincent was also no longer containing his enthusiasm, he was on his feet watching and waiting like a fan of the team about to score the winning touchdown.

"Correct again, Detective."

He thought for a second and then made a decision.

"I have access to all of Melissa's files, right?"

"Yes."

"And she was working for both you and the prison correct?"

"Correct."

"Then I would like to see the list of all the people who came in to see her that day. I don't actually need any files merely the sign in sheet."

She literally jumped for joy as she raced out the room to retrieve what he so desperately sought.

"You think our missing man is on that list, don't you?" Smith said.

"Yep."

The idea had come suddenly and without much fanfare. If contaminated blood could not be stored then it would need to be directly transferred from a host who brought it with him. He believed the man responsible, the man everyone was looking for but nobody wanted to help find was the missing link. The process, as always, was to go back to the beginning. In the case of Johnny Johnson the beginning was the beginning of the end for Bob and Steve.

"Here it is" Priscilla said as she entered and handed a piece of paper to Wesson. She didn't need to for he was already certain. Sometimes certainty came before factual verification. In his case he was right for there were three names on the list which stood out and two of them were Bob and Steve.

"Smith, call Nat and ask for clearance on Johnny Johnson's file at the Hillcrest Blood Bank. Our privilege comes from the fact we know he was here the same day as Bob, Steve and Melissa."

"You don't need to, Detective, you are now granted the privilege" the beautiful Priscilla interrupted and then entered a code into the computer.

"Seriously? You couldn't have done that a little earlier?"

"I am sorry, Detective, but earlier you had not connected Johnny to this facility" she answered Wesson with a grin.

Both detectives knew they were close but were also very worried about the next step in their investigation. What would they find in the man's file? His location or his illegality? Fortune or forfeit of financial freedom?

"What do we do now?" Smith asked.

"Well, it seems to me we've got two choices; either enter his name or not. It's not like we have a whole bunch of other leads."

"You don't think the Austin address listed on his driver's license will pan out?"

"Oh, yeah, I kind of forgot about the Austin thing. Okay, well we still have two choices; enter his name or go to Austin."

The real problem Wesson was pondering was the process. He no longer felt part of it. He felt as though he were being manipulated, tested in a way for the benefit of a group of people he didn't know, for a reason he wasn't appraised, for a sum of money he hadn't yet determined the value of.

"Well, let's do the computer first. We're already here anyway" Smith said and since Wesson agreed he entered the name he'd been dreading.

The screen flickered and a box appeared.

SECURITY CODE REQUIRED

_____________________

"Crap!" said Smith.

"Dangit!" sneered Wesson.

"Oh dear" intoned Priscilla.

And then the doorbell rang.

"All right! Pizza's here!" screamed a Wolf.

Chapter 34

As usual they were watching television when he entered.

"Hello, everybody!"

"Nat!"

The voluptuous Vamp leapt in his arms and the Alien from Heaven once again found himself marveling in the delight of Superior contact.

"Hey, Nat" George said by way of greeting.

"How you dong, Nat?" Phillip said between bites of succulent sirloin.

Nat thought the question over a bit longer than he normally would because he wasn't exactly sure of the answer. Things had been progressing, definitely so, but the progression wasn't exactly as he'd thought. Texas and Mexico were still maintaining their distances across the border but the situation had taken on a more serious note. He'd received the information first-hand from the man in charge, the big honcho, Governor Austin Travis. As was their custom the meeting took place over lunch.

"Hello, Governor."

"Hello, Nat."

The diner they had frequented took delight in menu overloading. Behind the waitress who took their order was a blackboard and on it were an incredible number of options. So incredible Nat found himself in the awkward situation of not having an answer to the question of food preference because his mind was taking numerous positions on the subject. What type of bread? What type of cheese? Which dressing? Which meat? The whole smorgasbord of deli deliciousness was at his disposal but because some adventurous soul had decided to assail his senses with every option available he was short circuiting through neural overload. Thank goodness for him the Governor was not one to let his brain do the deciding on the matter.

"Get the roast beef, Nat, it's the best around."

Nat thanked the Governor for his help, took his advice and waited in anticipation of roast goodness. When it arrived it did so with a side of fries and the sweet tea of Texas which again rained confusion down on the Monitor. How could people invent such mouth-watering dishes and not follow simple manipulation?

"What have you heard from Mexico?" the Governor asked and Nat chose his words wisely.

"They believe they are going to win, Governor. They think the Court of World Opinion is on their side."

The Mexican President had told him the facts. The World Court was not only siding with Mexico they were beginning to delve a little deeper into waters most thought unfathomable. The process was one of originality. If peoples could make a claim to original habitation then the World Court was open to hear their side of the story. It was causing a whole bunch of otherwise happy landowners to look upon their fields of grain with great consternation. It essentially involved three continents; North America, South America and Australia.

"The World Court does know we will never accept their verdict, don't they?"

Nat knew it to be true and it was causing his confusion to mount. The lands in question were of such obvious original inhabitation the Court was having difficulty finding a way out of their predicament. In North America alone there were hundreds of claims, all backed by historical recordings and verified through the occupying forces themselves, no less. Native Americans, Mexicans, Aleuts and even Scandinavian raiders were making legal claims to the territories and were providing such confounding logical proofs to the deeds the Court was in a flummox on how to proceed. The problem was logical legal thought. There was no way the United States could claim anything other than possession through use of overwhelming force. Furthermore, the country in question was also one which professed to be based on the rule of law. The rule of law stated possession through force was an illegal act.

"What will you do if the verdict goes against you?" Nat asked.

The Governor, not a man known to take a long time in thought responded without so much as a pause.

"We will go to war."

Nat believed him. The problem he had was determining the type of war the Governor was willing to contemplate. The United States had her back against the wall, facing legal conviction and expulsion from the very lands which made her relevant. She was the superpower, the one force all others had to contend with when contemplating their actions. She was known to be good to her friends and benevolent to her vanquished foes but was now facing something she was ill-prepared to meet; the legality of herself. Was she even legal? Can a nation based on the rule of law exist if it became so through illegal means?

"What does the President think?" Nat asked already knowing the answer but wishing to hear it from another's point of view.

"He's acting like he always does, talking out both sides of his mouth."

The Governor had a long-running feud with his President which was another thing Nat found confounding because he knew for a fact the two men actually liked each other. He knew the reasoning behind the public face of the disagreements because he'd asked.

"Why do you always oppose the President?"

"Because the news only reports the negative, Nat, never the positive. If I oppose then I will always be in the right."

Nat couldn't find fault with the reasoning because the man had won every election and done so without ever proposing an idea. He merely mentioned his opposition to the ruling party of the north and when his southern brethren thought it over they were satisfied he'd done the job they had elected him for and reelected him to obstruct some more.

"Will you attack Mexico, Governor?"

The Governor took a little time to answer, not because he was considering his words wisely but because he had a full mouth of beefy nutrients to swallow.

"Not unless she tries to enforced the Court's ruling if it goes in her favor."

The delicate balancing act was hard for him to follow because the ruling had to have legitimacy. It was one thing to deliver a verdict, it was quite another to enforce the thing. If the Court ruled the United States to be an illegitimate entity then what was it willing to do about it? Nat decided to change topics but stay in the same realm of subjectivity.

"What is the President going to do about Cuba?"

"He's thinking about a blockade."

To Nat the blockade idea was not one he wished to see enforced. It would prove difficult to navigate if the Wolves of First chose the tiny communist island as their staging base for their assault on Third.

"He's not thinking about invading?"

"Not just yet. He's got his advisors going over the plans but as of right now the thought is the infrastructure is so weakened a blockade will do the job just as well."

"Huh?"

"Cuba is nothing more than a vacation location waiting for the rich and wonderful to visit her sunny beaches. The only problem it's got is the population. There's too many of them Cubans and they've really let the place go. The thought is the blockade will allow two things to happen. First, them Cubans will begin tearing up their inadequate houses to provide themselves with the goods we'll be denying them and second, after a little bit of time and starvation those same Cubans will get the heck off our vacation getaway. I'm not sure about the exact numbers but the thought is if we blockade them for a couple of years then one part of the development process, the demolition part, will get done by those illegal communists and the blockade will actually pay for itself."

Nat began to wonder if maybe Vampire plans for Human warfare were not proceeding as they wished.

"What about Canada?"

"What about it?"

"Is the President going to do anything about the Canadalaskan Pipeline or the Statue of Liberty bombings?"

"Oh, yeah, those. Well, he's running into a slight problem there."

"What problem?"

"Well, we don't really know what to ask for in return. I mean, it's not like we want to replace old Lady Liberty because, well, quite frankly most people think the idea of advertising for more tenants is kind of an outdated philosophy. We're actually looking to downsize the population instead. Now, the pipeline is another matter entirely. We definitely want a little help in subsidizing the repair process but..."

"But what?"

"Well, it's kind of on their land, after all. I mean, we can't go and start complaining about the cost of terrorism when the act wasn't done on our property. Besides, the oil industry is actually coming out ahead in this deal."

"They are?"

"Yep, they've never seen profits so high and have the best excuse in the world for why they're charging those outlandish prices."

"The price of security?"

"Yep, every inch of those pipelines is now being monitored by security cameras and the cost along with a slight profit for the endeavor is being passed on to the consumer. Now, I think in a little bit of time, a couple of days actually, we might see a shift of policy toward those Canucks because the people tend to get a bit edgy when it comes to their price for petroleum."

Nat's ears perked up with the Governor's statement for it was finally something he wished to hear.

"You think America will go to war with Canada?"

"I don't see why not? It's not like it'd be a tough one to win. Shoot, all we'd need to do is tell the American audience Canada was open for expansion and I bet before you knew it we'd have a million beaver-hunters scouring their frozen turf in search of the American dream."

Nat decided he'd heard enough, thanked the Governor for his meal and left to tell the LeTorque the news.

"I had lunch with the Governor and I've got some exciting things to pass along."

The two Wolves looked away from the television they'd been monitoring, Vivian sat down and was soon followed by Trudy who'd come down the stairs when she heard Nat arrive.

"What's that?" George asked.

"It looks like Canada is in play."

The two Vampires looked pleasantly pleased and the Wolves demeanor took on the shade of eagerness.

"Really? Canada?" Trudy asked.

"Yep. It appears the price of war is waged at the pumps."

Trudy and Vivian shared smiles with each other for a plan well executed while George and Phillip did what they always did when war was anticipated.

"You want to throw a lasagna in the oven?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. Ooh, you know what would be good with that?"

"What?"

"Fried chicken."

"Excellent idea!"

So the two Wolves of Third left to prepare their mid-afternoon snack while the lovely ladies of LeTorque redefined their plans for Canadian conquest leaving the molecular Monitor in the unusual position of having nothing to do. Since he normally disliked leisure activities he turned his attention to the television.

"Hello, folks, this is Nick Price with the award winning Channel Five After Noon News. Up first, a United Nation divided. We now go live to our award winning reporter, Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?"

"Yes, I'm right here, Nick."

The visage of the worldly reporter remained on screen.

"Tim, what can you tell us about the proceedings in the United Nations?"

The reporter who was gaining acclaim for his investigative prose stared into the camera and women a time zone away waited with wonder at what he would reveal.

"We've had some trouble today, Nick. It appears the United Nations is no more. There are now two distinctly separate factions and both are laying claim to their territories."

The viewing public were granted a reprieve from the reporter with an eye for detail and the image of the anchorman briefly held their interest.

"What factions are those, Tim?"

The control booth went wild with high-fives for seamlessly transitioning from one talking head to another and when it became clear only one question was to be asked someone pushed a button and the young reporter reappeared.

"Those for America and those against, Nick. The world is now in two camps and the undecided are being heckled by the decided."

The image of the anchorman reappeared and sighs of female frustration could be heard throughout the viewing audience. The control room wasn't exactly sure how to proceed. No one had ever thought of the proper solution to reporter rise and anchorman apathy. It was decided to go with the flow of public support. Nick Price, anchorman to the stars was to learn there was only one star in the Lone Star State and the border reporter with eyes of Texas upon him would stake his claim to fame in the hearts of lonely women everywhere. It didn't happen overnight and Nick would enjoy free meals at local pizza palaces for some time but the writing was on the wall, the vote was tallied and women would get their nightly fix of Tim Tidbit for a decade to come.

"They're being heckled?"

"Yes, Nick, heckled. Those nations opting not to take sides are being called some pretty vile things."

"Like what, Tim?"

"Well, they're kind of vile, Nick, so I'm not sure I can say them on the air but they seem to involve a lot of Swiss cheese references."

"Swiss cheese?"

"Uh-huh, Swiss cheese. You know, things like cheese-eaters and holes in their blocks, stuff like that."

The screen shifted so fast it was later argued the control booth violated the contract of the anchorman to the greater Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex but the station came out ahead in the end for nowhere did it state the amount of time his face would appear only the amount it could not be absent.

"Holes in their blocks?"

"Uh-huh, holes in their blocks. I wasn't exactly sure of the reference myself so I asked one of our sister station reporters for an interpretation. It appears the world has been viewing America through a somewhat differing lens."

"What lens is that, Tim?"

"A 'Peanuts' lens, Nick. Apparently the old comic strip of Charles Schwartz fame has taken hold throughout most of the world and since his main character was always called a block-head the descriptive moniker was shortened and what we consider a square the rest of the world sees as a circular shape."

The screen shifted and the anchorman with a vanity contract appeared.

"So, you say there are two factions?"

The control booth was in such a stage of confusion that someone pushed a button in mid-sentence of the anchorman's question.

"Yes."

The one word answer was almost too much for the men and women in charge of informational news-viewing. They were pushing buttons at an alarming rate and it was decided later at the union board meeting button-pushing would be limited so carpal tunnel syndrome would not take effect.

"Which countries are involved, Tim?"

"Well, it's the United Nations, Nick, so pretty much every country is involved. Well, everyone except Switzerland, that is."

"Switzerland is not part of the United Nations?"

"Not any more, Nick. It was decided they were sort of an unnecessary cost. It appears the other nations were a little fed up with the whole 'neutrality' thing and since voting is kind of a central part of their job description the Swiss were fired for incompetence."

"They were fired?"

"Yep, they were told to yodel their way out the door and not to let the handle hit their ample backsides on the way out."

"The Swiss have ample backsides?"

"Apparently so, Nick. It would appear cheese consumption is not the best diet where the posterior is concerned."

Absolutely no one in the control booth had any idea of who to keep on screen. Everyone was up in arms over the amount of work needed to keep buttons pushed for audience pleasure. It took a wise hand to keep the situation under control.

"Push a button!"

"Which one?"

"Any button! Just push a button for God's sake!"

Nat decided he'd had enough of Human confusion and returned his attention to the more pleasing aspect of his job; the viewing of adult Vampires.

"Trudy?"

"Yes, Nat?"

"When will the battle begin?"

He was eager with anticipation. He'd informed every one of the progress being made and was anticipating victory with great relish. He'd been at it a long time, after all, and believed the end was finally at hand. What they'd been waiting for, the accumulation of all their hard work and monitoring was finally to culminate in the promise given at the beginning. The Apocalypse was fast approaching and his side was looking pretty good to the odds-makers.

"It will begin immediately, Nat. I will pass word to Merri Li that the northern corridor will be open in a couple of days and we will meet her Wolves on the plains of America's highest terrain."

Nat's feelings of righteous vindication were almost too much for him to bear.

Chapter 35

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why do people starve?"

The question was legitimate so he gave a legitimate answer.

"Because people believe those without are responsible for their positions in society."

The troubling fact of food production had caused him worry over the decades. Technology had eliminated the scourge from the Earth yet people still went without what was necessary for survival. The only conclusion he could come to was not one he wished to consider. People, while good at times, were utterly reprehensible in their actions at others. He figured it came down to selfishness.

"But the children aren't responsible for their parent's actions, are they?"

"The children are a reflection of their parent's actions so they are held accountable for their decisions."

Daemon, as was his nature, thought over what Johnny imparted. He found it wanting.

"But the children didn't do anything."

"They were born, Daemon. To some that is enough."

The trouble with humanity, Johnny thought, was the lingering hatred toward anything unfamiliar. He's seen it with his own eyes; the inherent loathing of what was not the same and the subtle nuances employed to eliminate the problem. Name-bashing, slavery, incarceration were all the products of those who wished the world would just wake up and realize they were the dominant forces in nature and do away with those who would oppose their will. The fact all Humans had the same overall philosophy of righteousness but completely differing views of its proper implementation was the troubling part. The thought had even reached into the religious nature. Catholicism was, to him, the most hypocritical religion on the planet for they'd built a city of gold in reverence to a deity who pitied the poor. He'd read the Bible and the most memorable mention of the Messiah involved the rejection of those who saw wealth as the means to everlasting salvation. Jesus had upturned the money-lender's tables and staked a claim to moral authority by doing so. The church then was headed by men who seemed to mock the very nature of the gesture. The Vatican was the lowest form of remembrance to the son of God for it was opulence on display for everyone to see. Why in the world would anyone seek guidance from a church who went about rejecting the very thing they were founded upon? He had another problem, though, because he couldn't find an alternate believe with any shred of believability either. The other major religion went about proclaiming their love of peace through the act of exploding bombs. The only one left was a golden obese idol who he could not accept because the very idea of returning as a mosquito was rather abhorrent to his sense of self-worth.

"Why don't we just kill them all?"

The question was one he'd been dwelling with for some time. Why not kill them all? They hadn't exactly proven themselves able to overcome their own insufficiencies. Every time Johnny ate at a restaurant he thought of the incredible mindlessness of those performing the same function. Why in the world of modern technology could not the excess of food be brought to those in need? What would it take? A refrigeration unit and the ability for compassion? Were they worried about contamination? For everything the religions of the world provided their lack of a cohesive plan to end the suffering of those who had absolutely nothing to do with their situation in life raised its malnourished head. The only problem? He needed what they provided.

"We can't kill them, Daemon."

"Why not?"

"Because they possess what we do not."

The answer was fear. The Humans had it and the Superiors lacked it. Without fear evolution was a crap shoot. Maybe they could wait around for a millennia to decide the fate of Heaven and Hell's battle royal but they weren't in the best position to do so. Sooner or later Heaven was going to learn of Daemon's existence and then the gloves would come off.

"I still think we should kill them."

"I hear you but I need to deny your wishes. The Humans stay alive for now."

He could see the frustration on the young Wolf's face and was reminded of his unique position in the hierarchy. He was the Alpha in the top family but the young Wolf questioning him wasn't only the future, he was the answer. If it came down to a personality contest he was pretty sure which side the others would take and he figured his chances were about nil on the betting line. Daemon was what all wished to be; dominant.

They were sitting in chairs designed to provoke hemorrhoid formation. Everywhere they looked people could be seen scurrying in a confused and desperate state for the airport they were in was designed with the public's wallets in mind. Stores were everywhere selling everything to anybody who no longer could tolerate sitting on objects designed specifically for discomfort. They'd been waiting for a while and Melissa had given in to temptation and was perusing a magazine rack in one of the mini-malls located a few feet from another institution of higher-thought removal; a fast-food chain designed to represent a slow-food eatery. The waiters and waitresses were all dressed to impress with the appropriate buttons and trinkets placed accordingly. The thought was to put the diner at ease by displaying humorous one-liners which would cause them to feel an attraction for the high-schoolers or employment-challenged and over-order in the process. The fact the place could claim to provide fresh calamari within minutes of ordering was overlooked by those remembering their youths through the tinted lens of franchised employment masquerading as a restaurant clown on display for the eating public's voyeuristic pleasure.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Why do men wear ties?"

The youth was becoming troublesome again because he was asking questions which had illogical responses.

"Because it's what the business community expects of them."

"Why would they expect them to wear a noose around their throat?"

He didn't have a good answer so he did what he felt was the most appropriate response considering the circumstances.

"Go find Aunt Melissa and ask her. I'll bet she knows."

As the child wandered away in search of answers Johnny took a little time to soak in the atmosphere. It was a strange mixture. Anxiety, fear, excitement and extreme boredom were all on display according to the frequency of those on the move. The ones who flew for a living were of two camps; those resistant to sudden pause and those acceptant to its charms. He could spot both without moving in his seat for they were ever the exhibitionists. Those acceptant were invariably at a bar-stool talking to the female server who was faking interest till a flight departed and tip arrived. Those who were in denial about their power over time were on their phones expressing unending disappointment with the airline industry and their inconvenient flight delays. The fact the delays were actually the norm was lost on the ignorant for they never took the time to stop speaking to the poor sap who foolishly decided to answer the phone call from a friend who flew for a living. He was watching a young businesswoman talk incessantly to someone with the amazing ability to listen without interrupting when Daemon suddenly reappeared.

"Uncle Johnny?"

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Aunt Melissa says you have a phone call."

The end game was near, the fourth quarter at hand and the ball in their possession. The only thing left was to run the play and let fate dictate the outcome.

"Okay" he said and rose to the challenge.

Chapter 36

The pizza had a calming effect on them all. They took their time eating the wonderful pie topped with supreme pleasure and sat back to allow their digestion to take hold. They were in a quandary and knew the truth for what it was; Johnny Johnson was indeed listed in the database and therefore had been screened by the intoxicating wonder which was Melissa. They didn't know the exact contents of the screening process but Wesson was pretty confident the answers would not be something he desired. He estimated the odds of Mr. Johnson not having something to do with the fact a prison he held a controlling interest in also happened to be the very one Bob Simpson and Steve Wazziznaim met their maker before Bob was also found dead in a closet also in a location the mysterious Mr. Johnson happened to reside. Everything was indicating illegality which was not very good for the bottom line when the issue of monetary gain was approached. As they were stuffing their mouths with bread, sauce and cheese Wesson did a metal calculation of where it was they stood. His conclusion found him on a ledge where a leap was required. He didn't know what was in the file or even the access code necessary to open it but he had to try. For some reason he knew the answer to economic independence was located in the digital bytes and was determined to sample the contents.

Smith found himself in the same position but under different pressures. It wasn't the unraveling of clues and formation of theories which was his talent, he was more the ladle which stirred the pot. The pot was Wesson's skull and the stew inside was his innate intuition and dogged determination to find answers to problems needing solutions. At that time the solution was how to locate Mr. Johnson without uncovering criminal mischief. So far they hadn't actually found any. It didn't mean there wasn't any and Smith was quite worried if they dug too deep they'd dig themselves out of financial freedom. He was also worried about one other slight detail which Wesson had not brought up... and then he did.

"Smith?"

"Seriously? Again?"

"It can't hurt to ask."

Smith knew it wouldn't hurt physically but his emotional state was another matter entirely. He didn't know why he was upset over something so trivial but in the end it didn't really matter because he was going to do what his partner wished so long as a glimmer of hope remained in sight.

"Hello, Nat?"

"Hello, Detective Smith. I assume you're not calling to tell me the whereabouts of Mr. Johnson?"

"Sorry, not yet, but I've got a feeling the next time we speak I'll have a better answer for you."

Smith could almost feel the butler's interest rise over the phone.

"Really?"

"Yes, but first we need your help one more time."

"I already told you, Detective, if you are trying to access the Hillcrest Blood Bank's files you already hold the key in your hand."

"Um, yeah, about that. You see, we entered the program once we figured out your little phone number thing but now we've sort of hit another roadblock."

Smith waited for some off-the-cuff vague response or even a dial tone to indicate he'd been cut off but instead was greeted with something quite different.

"Excuse me?"

"Um, I'm sorry, I guess you didn't hear me. I said we have run into another..."

"Did you say another roadblock?" Smith heard and sensed worry for the first time in the servant's voice.

"Yes, there is a secondary security code within the program. We need that authorization code to access Mr. Johnson's file."

He could literally hear the emotions coming through the line. It was a strange sensation and one he'd never had before but he was positive the butler-cop was actually stunned at the revelation.

"Detective Smith?"

"Yes?"

"I will need to get back to you in a moment. Please stay by your phone."

Smith glanced at his handset for the man had disconnected but at least he had done so with a somewhat acceptable form of severance.

"What did he say?" Wesson inquired.

"He seemed surprised another security code was in place."

Both men looked at each other and then at the two owners of the blood bank. Both were heartily intrigued by their conversation and seemed to be interested in what was going to transpire next.

"Mistress Priscilla?"

"Yes, Detective Smith?"

"Do you have the authorization code for Mr. Johnson?"

"No, Detective, I surely do not. Although I believe you already possess the knowledge necessary."

Smith was positive he had no such thing. He was going to answer her statement in the negative when his phone began ringing.

"This is Smith" he said as he answered.

"Detective, I am sorry for the trouble but I'm afraid I will be of no help to you at this particular junction. I have no authority for this type of circumstance."

Smith instantly became confused.

"Huh?"

"You have entered a Superior realm and I have no authorization in those matters."

"Seriously? Are you telling me we've come all this way and you can't find someone to hack into this computer?"

"I am sorry, Detective, but in this case my authority does not extend beyond what I have given you. I am afraid you will need to find another way to locate Mr. Johnson."

Smith was about to tell the not all-powerful butler to drop his act and get them the code but was denied the privilege through dial tone.

"Son of a...! He hung up on me again!"

"You really should be used to it by now" Wesson intoned and Smith ignored.

Smith was angry. He was mad at getting hung up on and mad at a computer program. He had the same feeling as Wesson; whatever was in the file would give them the answers they were looking for. It could be an address or a phone number or even the name of his next of kin. It didn't matter, they were close and both bloodhounds could feel it.

"Well, what do we do now?" Smith asked.

"We finish our pizza" Wesson replied.

Smith looked at his partner and wondered. Wesson was not like other men, he couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. It was one of the reasons Smith generally took the lead on cases. It was Wesson who would do the solving but Smith would show the way.

"You already know the password?"

"I'm pretty sure I do."

"You mind letting me in on the secret?"

Wesson glanced over to Priscilla and Vincent.

"I believe the person who added the second security layer is the man we are currently looking for"

When they smiled he knew his guess had hit the mark.

"I'm also coming to the conclusion for some reason or another everyone wants us to find Mr. Johnson but are playing some kind of game in the process."

Once again a pair of smiles confirmed his suspicion.

"Therefore the security code is something which will immediately jump to mind when the thought of accessing Mr. Johnson's file comes up."

Smith looked at his partner as realization smacked him in the head. He knew he was right but couldn't believe it until he entered the keyword and the file of Mr. Johnson became available.

SECURITY CODE REQUIRED

PRIVILEGE

The information was not what they'd prepared for. The truth was both felt a vial would be a much safer transport container for a deadly virus than what the gentleman with a thousand secrets provided.

"Does that say...?"

"Yep. Mr. Johnson was a Bird Flu carrier."

The readout was straightforward. Three vials of blood were obtained from the left arm of Johnny Johnson, screened and then purportedly disposed of by the tech in charge, Melissa. On the exact same day Johnny's blood was removed the two prisoners who hoped to reap oil profits off land they both had a claim to were diagnosed with the only known cases to have entered the territory they resided in. The information contained in Johnny's file had never been accessed, his records had remained sealed until the two detectives from the top investigative firm of Craft and Sons worked their way backward to find a man who appeared to be one of the rare forms of individuals who could host the flu without any ill effects. Nothing on his chart indicated the slightest symptom of discomfort, no side effects or health problems, in fact, no health conditions at all. He was in every way the epitome of average. The file was slightly disconcerting to the detectives for while it was still circumstantial it was quite a coincidence the man they were after would be a carrier for a disease which killed two men who held a previous lien on the property producing oil his family controlled. There was also one other slight detail which caught their attention.

"Is that a phone number?"

"Yep."

"Is that our names?"

"Yep."

At the bottom of the page on the lower right hand corner was an invitation.

"Dear Detectives Smith and Wesson. Congratulations. Please call when you find this note. 666-666-6666."

"Are those all sixes?"

"It would appear to be the case."

Smith wasn't sure he wanted to dial to a number which contained the numerical moniker of the Beast but also saw no reason not to so he opened his phone, punched in the code and waited for infinite wealth to answer.

Chapter 37

The world had gone insane. He was watching in person because events were straying way off course. Humans were acting like themselves and making a complete mess of a perfectly logical situation.

"Hello, everybody, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five News at Five till Five, the only news to start before the hour arrives. Thank you for tuning in. We have some dramatic developments occurring this very moment. We are now going live to Tim Tidbit, our award winning on-top-of-it-all reporter. Tim, are you there?"

The camera changed scenery, revealing the United Nations building but where a reporter was to be only air was seen.

"Tim, can you hear me?"

A slight shuffling could be heard and suddenly, as if arriving to save the day was the image of Wally Thornburg.

"Hiya, Nick! Sorry about the confusion but we seem to have gotten our assignments mixed up."

The control room was in a tizzy because they'd planned for the good-looking reporter of national female longing not the pot-bellied journalist from the Great White Way up north. But the professionals they were got down to the brass tacks of programming and pushed a button which altered the scene back to the anchorman of yesteryear.

"Well, okay, Wally. Can you tell us what's happening at the United Nations?"

"Uh-huh, sure can!"

The camera was lucky enough not to receive the order of changing screens so the anchorman remained, sitting in anticipation of an explanation which apparently needed more urging.

"Um... Wally?"

"Oh! Oh, you mean now?"

"Yes, Wally, if you'd be so kind I'm sure our viewing audience is waiting on pins and needles to hear your report."

The scene shifted and the portly fellow with a nose for news and booze once again reported with his heart.

"Well, Nick, it would appear we've really crossed a line in the sand so to speak."

"The sand?"

"Yep! The sand, Nick. Apparently when we left the beaches of Florida and sent our armada to blockade Cuba the Iron Curtain finally fell. Unfortunately for us it fell on the side of the communist regime and both Russia and China have threatened nuclear war if we don't pull our ships back."

The control room wisely decided to stay with the gossipy man for he seemed to be on a roll.

"Both Russia and China are siding with Cuba?"

"Yep, Nick, both of them! And that's not all!"

"There's more?"

"You betcha there's more, Nick! At about the same time those two nations made their threats the World Court came down with their opinion on Mexico."

The screen changed to reveal the anchor in a state of disbelief.

"What did the Court say?"

The picture changed and Wally's eager-beaver eyes went wide with anticipated shock through oratory measures.

"They sided with Mexico, Nick. They said Texas is squatting on their land and must either pay up for past rent due or vacate the premises."

The control room was in full manic mode as buttons, levers and sometimes even knobs were pushed, pulled and twisted in a frenzied attempt to stay on top of the game and provide round the clock exposure to events shaping the world they were in that day.

"Texas is being evicted?"

"Yep! They've got thirty days to get their possessions in order unless they decide to pay the balance due instead."

"What does the Court say they owe?"

"What Mexico asked for; twenty billion pesos."

"Pesos?"

"Yep, it appears they made a little mistake and asked for their currency instead of dollars. It doesn't really matter, though, because I have it on great authority the great state of Texas is going to refuse to pay anything. I spoke with the Governor of Texas, a Mister Austin Travis who said and I quote "We aint paying nobody nothing."

The picture altered to give relieve from overweight, overstimulated Wally and again rested on the rugged shoulders of the anchor who held the public's trust if not their admiration.

"Thank you very much, Wally."

"You're gosh-darned welcome, Nick!"

The grave expression on the anchorman's face said it all. It was necessary because someone in the control room pushed the wrong button and muted the man's microphone.

Nat was exceedingly frustrated with the events. He wasn't sure if the Vampires had expected such a response and decided to extricate himself from the building housing the representatives of the world who were at that moment attempting to dismantle the very nation the building was located on. As he finally cleared security he felt the change. He was unable to do so while inside the structure for even though they were woefully behind in technological advancements they were at least able to electronically dampen all but the most sophisticated of Heaven's bugs at the place where the world met. Nat had requested the next generation of spying devices but since he could pretty much listen in on every other place of importance it was deemed to be of a slightly less intricate importance and he was told to get by with what he had for the moment. What he had at that moment was a sinking sensation due to a lack of feeling. His sensors were not picking up what they were designed to keep track of. The LeTorque were on the loose.

He was not in a happy state of mind. While it did prove Johnny had finally decided to rejoin his family it was not exactly beneficial to the Alien assigned to monitor the situation. He couldn't. Johnny masked their chemical makeup and he'd need to use technological equipment or, worse yet, his own feet to find the group. He needed answers and he needed them fast. Was this part of the plan? Did Trudy take into account the other nations lining up against America in a free for all of litigation over original land management? Were the Vampires even aware of the impending developments? He was in quite the mood when he was suddenly accosted by one of the representatives from Germany.

"Hello, Nat, nice day isn't it?"

Herr Mikael Worstincamp was one of the most loathed men of his generation. He was consistently insulting others through advancement of his own country's achievements. There was hardly a day which went by when he didn't somehow manage to sneak in some kind of automotive story in the hopes of once again showing German manufacturing of their sleek and elegant vehicles to be of a better quality than most. It wouldn't have been so bad if he weren't also such a stuffed shirt. The man insisted on being called by his title; Baron Mikael Worstincamp. Since Nat was normally a cordial guest he allowed the man the pleasure from time to time but not on that day. On that day he was in a hurry to find Superior beings in the hopes their plans of Human war had not gone a bit too far and involved the complete destruction of the world instead.

"I don't see what's so good about it, Mikael."

The representative was not ignorant of the lack of respect shown by the security expert but he wasn't one to make too much of it. Besides, the man in front of him had been utterly invaluable to him and his country after the war waged by the madman in the mustache almost had their entire race removed from the world's roll-call. Nat had argued for restraint. He had implored the victors to take it a little easy on those who would vie for world supremacy because he actually had a soft spot in his heart for the vanquished. He understood the nationalism which sprung from the hearts and minds of those who fought for love of country because he was in the midst of it himself. Now, his country no longer claimed specific areas as theirs but the gulf wasn't so hard to see across. His people were waging a war against the others and if it meant a few innocents had to get thrown to the Wolves then who was he to say no? He was working on a much grander scale than the German's of the past but the underlying reasoning was of relative value. One peoples under God. It didn't say 'all' peoples, it said 'one'.

"I believe the United States is reaping more than what she thought she'd sown."

He really didn't understand the man. Actually he didn't understand man as a whole. Some were to the point while others were evasive. It came down to individualizing an entire species and Nat found it difficult and horrendously time-consuming. The only good thing about representatives, they were always willing to hear themselves speak.

"Do you think war will break out?"

The man paused for a second to allow for dramatic effect and then spoke.

"I believe war is always inevitable. I believe it strengthens the spirit and thins the herd. If I were a betting man I'd put my money down on a nice little place located somewhere in the southern waters near Fiji and wait for the world to blow itself to pieces."

The man actually said it with a smile. It's what was so confounding to the Monitor. Humans were not Superior beings. They had fear instilled inside their tiny little brains and were therefore supposed to act in accordance with the central processing unit. But some of them didn't. Some of them seemed to relish fear, to seek it out, and to Nat the mystery of Human inconsistency was one he wished to avoid.

"You believe they will actually fire their nuclear weapons?"

Once again the German paused for effect before answering the direct question.

"It won't actually be in their hands. My goodness, for a security expert you're not actually caught up to date on all the facts, are you?"

"Are you talking about the Doomsday Scenario?"

"Yes, the very one."

"But that's not actually real. It was just for bluff."

The truth, as Nat learned, was even stranger than fiction for the scenario he thought could never come into play was actually up and running. It came about because everyone knew how to play poker, everyone had learned to bluff and a necessary amount of force was needed to instill fact into the situation. During the height of the Cold War the nuclear age came to light and threats were made on all sides. In every such instance half the people playing the game believed the other half were bluffing so a deal was struck whereby if certain parameters were crossed, if unique circumstances occurred then the bluff was off the table. Automated response came online and changed everyone's opinion on the matter. No longer was a leader at the helm, a computer program was running the show. If certain tripwires were breached then circuits would fire and the world would finally encounter the true measure of global warming.

"My God! Are you people insane?"

The German looked at Nat as if the man himself were a few belfry bats short of a coven. He was stunned by the man's reaction because he'd known Nat for quite some time and had never seen him act as though he didn't have knowledge on a subject.

"Are you saying you didn't know about the Doomsday Scenario?"

"No, I'm saying I didn't believe people would be stupid enough to hand the world over to autonomous machines! What kind of imbecile would make such a decision?"

The Baron laughed out loud for he knew exactly the imbeciles in question and sadly had a hard time disagreeing with his irate security-friend expert. The people really had been an exceptionally well-connected individuals but they were still imbeciles at heart.

"Well, there's not much we can do about it now. It appears to be running its own course."

As if on cue the representative's phone rang and he answered.

"Oh! Oh my!" the Baron said into the handheld device designed to eliminate alone-time.

"What is it?" Nat asked as he noticed quite a few fellow representatives also taking phone calls and sprinting back into the building.

"It appears to be our lucky day. The Americans have decided to double down on their threat. They just sent a force into Cuba and right now are holding the Communist leader. I've got to head back inside, are you coming?" he asked as he set off.

Nat was unsure of what to do. Things were not only spiraling out of control they were doing so in such a rapid manner he needed time to think. He was sure there was some way out of the situation. They only needed a little space to get their heads together and decide not to end the world. He was sure of it. How could they not do otherwise? The only way forward was to go backward. They needed to cool off and readjust their lenses. He was positive if he could get the right players together he could talk some sense into their primitive cortexes and stop all the nonsense so his Wolves could fight and clan supremacy could begin. He was determined of one thing, though; if and when the Hoard arrived and his Superior soldiers wiped them off the Earth he was going to eliminate the real threat once and for all. The Humans could not be allowed to threaten Heavenly interests. He made a decision and went inside to see what all the fuss was about.

Chapter 38

The voice on the other end of the line was definitely not what he expected.

"Hello?"

Whoever she was had one of the most pleasant phone tones he'd ever had the privilege to hear.

"Oh, hi. I'm trying to reach a Mr. Jonathon Johnson."

"Is this Detective Smith or Detective Wesson?"

Whoever she was with the beautiful voice was in the game so he played his hand.

"This is Detective Smith."

"Okay, please hold on for one second."

While he waited he began piecing together where the other phone was located. He could hear an intercom in the background and there was definitely more than a few people milling about so he narrowed it down to a mall, subway stop, bus station or airport. He could hear the phone exchange hands.

"Hello, Detective Smith?" he heard and was surprised how average undefined sums of money could sound.

"Yes, is this Mr. Johnson?"

"In the flesh. Congratulations on finding me so fast. I'm really glad we picked your team because, well, if we didn't things might have gotten a little out of hand."

Smith didn't know what to say because he literally had no idea what was going on.

"I'm sorry, did you just say you picked us?"

He was having a slight anxiety attack because he wasn't all too certain if a man hires you to find him was it technically a missing person's case? He was going over in his mind the contract he had Vivian LeTorque sign and was trying desperately to remember if it specifically identified a missing person as the subject.

"Yep, we picked you all right. Okay, if you want to get down to the bare facts I didn't really have anything to do about the picking part but I was the one who picked the pickers so in the end I guess you could say I was the main pickee."

Smith was becoming more confused with every word the man said.

"Huh?"

"Huh what?"

"I didn't understand a word of that."

"Really? Huh? I would've thought it'd been easy to figure out by now. Well, it doesn't matter the way you got here only that you're in the game and I think you did a splendid job. Now, you've only got one more thing to do and then you can go and write a big old number on that check of yours."

Smith was confused but he wasn't hard of hearing. The man had mentioned the check and at no time did the process of reneging on the deal arise. He felt his heart quicken in anticipation of choosing a number in the range of enormous but not so big it would seem ludicrous.

"What last thing, Mr. Johnson?"

"You'll need to make a phone call."

He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"A phone call?"

"Yep."

"To who?"

He could both hear and sense Mr. Johnson getting interrupted. He listened closely and heard a small child asking something but couldn't quite make it out but when Mr. Johnson answered the child he learned something which he'd wondered about.

"Go ask Aunt Melissa."

The man they were looking for was indeed in the company of the beautiful blood-screener.

"You still there, Detective?"

"Yes" Smith replied.

"All right, I need you to call Nat."

"Nat?"

"Yes, Nat."

"You don't want me to call Miss Vivian? She's the one who hired us after all."

"Nah, you don't need to call her. She right here with me as we speak."

Smith immediately became worried. He'd met enough crazies in the world to know they were never easy to pick out of a crowd. The real lunatics, the dangerous ones were downright devious in their dealings with the public. They would come across as just an everyday average Joe right up to the time where they'd take a knife out and slit your throat for the pleasure of seeing you bleed. He was worried Johnny Johnson might be one of the bad people in the world.

"May I please speak to her, Mr. Johnson?"

The way he said it got Wesson's attention. He'd been listening to one side of the story and was felling pretty good about things mostly after Smith had given him a thumbs up gesture indicating the universal sign for unspecified wealth becoming specified.

"Who, Vivian?"

"Yes, please."

"Oh, uh sure. Hold on a second."

He could hear the confusion in the man's voice and immediately felt a sense of ease as he heard Johnny Johnson yell "Vivian! Detective Smith wants to talk to you!".

He was beginning to suspect there was something not quite right with the lot of them. Every one of them, from the incredibly sexy women to the giant men. No one seemed real. It was almost as though he'd entered another world from the moment they'd set foot inside the LeTorque manor till the time he was at that very second.

"Hello. Detective Smith?"

"Miss LeTorque?"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay? Are you in any danger?"

He actually heard her laugh. He'd never heard such an adorable one in his lifetime and immediately wondered what it would be like to spend one's life listening to the wonderful sound of female enjoyment.

"Why, Detective, are you worried about my safety around Johnny?"

He didn't know what to say because things were most definitely not as they seemed. She was the one who hired them to find the man she obviously already found. He wasn't positive of a lot of things but he was pretty certain if the party writing the check finds their man before the detectives assigned to do the locating then generally speaking the price of success went down in a hurry. But as far as he could tell they were perfectly willing to allow Craft and Sons the opportunity to enrich themselves for performing a job which was already performed by the paying client.

"Okay, Miss LeTorque, I have no idea what is going on and I would like an explanation."

He said it in his most serious tone. He was experienced in phone work and knew sometimes coming right to the point and acting as an authority figure could get the job done.

"You'll find out soon enough. So long, Detective."

And sometimes it backfired in his face. He was prepared for the dial tone, the annoying sound he'd become an expert at hearing so was a bit surprised when Mr. Johnson once again took up the phone.

"Detective, Smith?"

"Yes."

"Good, you're still there. Okay here's what I need you to do. I want you call Nat and give him a message."

"A message?"

"Yep."

"What message?"

Chapter 39

The inside was a stage of disarray. Representatives from around the world were running around with their hands in the air trying to be heard. The General Secretary was on stage attempting to calm the participants. In the gallery, sitting patiently were the main players in the event. The United States was waiting her turn while the Iron Curtain sat in defiant determination.

"Quiet! I will have everyone removed if we cannot settle down and listen to what our fellow nations have to say!" he yelled.

The crowd's enthusiasm and excitement died a bit so he went further.

"Everyone take their sets right now! The World Body will come to order!"

The mingling and accusations completely subsided as the representatives for the population of the world finally complied to the Secretary's wishes.

When order had been restored he called on the first player to make their case.

"The body recognizes the United States."

She stood her full height and held her chin high for she was always aware the eyes of the world were watching.

"Hello, everyone, this is Nick Price with the Channel Five First at Five Fifty-Five News. We have trouble in the United Nations. We are going live to our brand new soon-to-be award-winning reporter, Wally Thornburg. Wally are you there?"

"Yep! Uh-huh, you betcha I'm right here, Nick!"

The image of the stoutly reporter standing in front of the world building came into view.

"Wally, what can you tell us is going on at the United Nations as we speak?"

"Well, Nick, I can't really say."

The anchorman came back on-screen.

"You can't say? Why, is it a closed door session?"

The image of the reporter took over.

"Um, no, they pretty much allow us access anytime we want. It's just, well, our producers told me to stand outside to give my report and since everything is happening inside I can't be all too sure what is happening as I speak."

The scene shifted to show the anchorman literally pulling his hair out.

"I meant what has been transpiring, Wally. Can you tell us what has happened since the last time you reported in?"

The camera shifted again.

"Oh yeah, I can sure do that, Nick! All right, since my last report things have gotten quite testy in the building behind me. There are now two separate worlds inside; those siding with America and those against. As of ten minutes ago the country count was even but the population numbers, well, those are something completely different."

"What about the population numbers, Wally?"

"Well, Nick, it appears the free-loving countries of the world are not so free with reproduction. It looks like the Western Bloc, America's side, has a little problem with people proliferation."

"People proliferation?"

"Yep! People proliferation. We are not as proliferrant as those of the Eastern Bloc. My understanding is the countries on the other side of the divide are proliferating at an alarming pace and currently hold a two to one edge over our side."

The scene shifted back to the anchorman.

"What does that mean, Wally?"

And shifted back again.

"It means they're having a lot more babies than us, Nick."

The control room didn't know where to shift to next because they had a closed-circuit view of the anchorman and weren't sure it would be professional to show him throwing his coffee mug across the room in exacerbation. They made a command decision not to press a button.

"I meant, what does the people population have to do with what's occurring inside the United Nations, Wally?"

"Oh! Sorry about that. All right, I've been told by some military authorities that having more soldiers is a good thing. Apparently people are pretty darn important when it comes to warfare and since they have so many more people than us they have a slight advantage in the body bag department."

"The body bag department?"

"Yes, Nick, body bags. I'm not exactly sure what the man meant but he said the country who could produce the most body bags was going to win. I went on the internet to find some of these body bags but was unsuccessful determining which bags he was talking about."

The control room finally had enough and changed the view to that of the anchorman.

"Thank you very much, Wally, for that insightful report."

"You're welcome, Nick!" the beer-belied reporter shouted.

"We now take you live to Tim Tidbit who has been on special assignment. Tim, are you there?"

The screen altered and the reporter with charm and sex appeal appeared.

"Yes, Nick, I'm here."

"Tim, can you tell us what you've been working on since last we talked?"

The reporter with the boyish charm and male-model appeal looked directly into the camera and women everywhere glanced at their husbands with disappointment. Tim Tidbit had arrived. He'd finally broken through and was tapped to perform the service he so desperately desired.

"Well, Nick, our producers made an interesting discovery when they went back to watch footage of the main players in the drama unfolding throughout the world."

"What was that, Tim?"

"One man, Nick. One secret individual who kept appearing with those who held power. We decided to find out who this man was and were met with a brick wall of silence where the information age was concerned. We couldn't find a single reference to this gentleman but were able to interview those he secretly met with. It appears he is some kind of security expert who has been advising the leaders of the world for some time now. He goes by the name of Nat Hallowed and we have been tracking his progress since the last time we spoke. As luck would have it we are right now, at this very moment, within ten feet of the gentleman and it is our intention to ask him what he has been saying those who would take us to war."

Tim had always dreamed of aggressive reporting. He'd been a fan of the local stations when they went out and embarrassed the subject they'd been secretly stalking with questions the perpetrator had no idea were coming. To Tim it was the press' job to go behind the scenes, get down and dirty with the lowlifes of the world and expose their wrongdoings to the nation as a whole.

The control booth was on edge. They were not experienced in ambush reporting and were worried they wouldn't be ready with screen-change authority. They'd given permission to the young reporter after their union reps acceded due to fanatical female fervor. He could do no wrong, he was the day's news, reporting and receiving with rave reviews. He walked up to the man who held the secrets they needed, paused, primped and then proceeded.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Nat turned to look at the person tapping him on the shoulder. When he did the unexpected occurred and a microphone appeared. He was not in an opening mood. His job was to monitor, not to be monitored. It ran against every grain of his schooling and experience. Behind the scenes was where the power lay, never in front. Oh, in front money and fame were obtainable but so were ridicule and second-guessing. The people who held power were not the kind who wished to share their viewpoint with those did not. It never worked out well when they did because the game was a bit more complicated, more layered than what every day, uninitiated others might be able to comprehend. While one might be siding with a specific idea it could have absolutely nothing to do with the idea itself. It might very well be a power play or a secret plan to achieve something else by implementing what they didn't really want in the first place. Sometimes mistakes were encouraged to show the public a better way. The last thing he wished was happening at that very moment.

"Yes?" he finally answered hoping the reporter was merely lost.

"Hello, I'm Tim Tidbit with Channel Five News. May I ask you a couple of questions?"

He sighed for he realized he was the subject of the reporter's curiosity, he just wasn't aware of what his curiosity contained. Furthermore he didn't have time for question and answer games. He was attempting to navigate the waters of world opinion and find a way to ease the nuclear option into one merely containing the loss of Human life. He opted for playing dumb.

"I'm sorry, you probably want one of the United Nations representatives. I'm merely an observer to the proceedings and..."

"Then why, Mr. Hallowed, have you been seen in the company of Governor Austin Travis, Secretary General Ahmad Rasheed, the Chancellor from Germany, the King of Spain, the..."

Nat decided the dumb option was out so he played the secret option instead.

"I'm sorry but I have no comment at this time."

He figured that was it. The easiest way out was to act like you were in and revealing things would violate agreements.

"Then you will leave us no choice, Mr. Hallowed. We will run with the information we obtained from those you did meet. If you don't want to tell your side of the story then we obviously can't make you."

Nat was okay with that. He'd seen enough news programming to know what was news one day was past history the next. Also, he was becoming quite worried with the tone the representative from Russia was taking.

"The United States of America has shown her true colors. They are not red, white and blue, they are green. Such as the green lands of her neighbors she wishes to possess, the green money she values above all, the green tint of jealousy she inspires throughout the world and the greenhouse effect she is responsible for causing. We, the people of Russia reject her imperialistic ways and are ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with our former comrades of Cuba in resisting her desire for world domination."

The audience was in full revolt. Side bets were happening everywhere as positions were taken and then reinforced through treaties written on the spot to ensure allies would come to each other's aid in case the previously unthinkable but currently unavoidable clashes of superpowers were to take place.

"The United States does not take threats from second-class powers and will do what is in the best interests of her citizenry. No vodka-swilling, fur-cap wearing Neanderthal can deter her from protecting the sovereign right to govern her own waters and remove a dangerous foe from her midst" the American ambassador responded.

Nat was watching as the mouthpieces of societies were talking their way into something they would be unable to retreat from. He was watching ego and bravado overtake commonsense.

"Are you sure you don't want to make a statement, Mr. Hallowed?" Tim asked in a somewhat confused tone for he was slightly disoriented the man hadn't agreed to answer his questions the first time. He'd watched uncountable interviews and never had they begun with the subject not speaking. He was realizing a flaw in his plan to become the next hard-hitting reporter with steely instincts and bulldog demeanor.

Nat wasn't sure who to pay attention to. The reporter was getting on his nerves but he couldn't very well walk up and talk to the representative of Russia if the cameras were rolling. Behind the scenes meant exactly what it described; not in front of the camera. No serious discussion of world-wide importance could possibly take place if someone with the microphone and cameraman in tow were recording his every action. He decided to give the man a little break which might allow him a bigger break.

"Okay, Mr....?"

"Tidbit, Tim Tidbit with Channel Five News, Mr. Hallowed."

Nat took a second look at the young reporter and saw determination, blue eyes, brown hair and just the slightest hint of stubble on the man's face.

"What would like to ask me, Mr. Tidbit?"

"Well, sir, for starters we'd like to know what your relationship is to the various leaders of the world."

The kid asked some good questions, he'd give him that.

"I am a security counselor."

"A security counselor?"

"Yes."

"What's a security counselor? Please forgive me for my ignorance, I've heard of a security consultant before but never a security counselor."

Nat smiled because he'd made the thing up on the spot. He had no idea what a security counselor was either but decided it would as well as any other and went with it.

"I am an advisor on security related issues. You see, the people you have seen me associate with are merely getting my advice on certain security aspects they are concerned about."

"What kind of security aspects?"

The waters were getting a little rough so Nat decide to head toward shore.

"I am sorry, but those discussions are confidential. Please understand, I wish I could tell you but I am bound by agreements to keep my council my own."

The control room was in atwitter because they were at odds with what to do. Should they stay with the young reporter who was on the scene asking questions of a man who was barely answering or return to their tried and true product who was screaming at the top of his lungs to get the cameras back on him so he could fulfill his required amount of airtime? The decision was made for them.

"Whoa! We seem to have some action taking place on the floor of the United Nations" Tim Tidbit said into the camera and everyone watched as it swung to take in the footage.

What became apparent to the viewers was the adults in the room had abandoned their posts. Representatives were rushing the stage in an attempt to get ahead of other representatives doing the same. The reasoning behind the stampede became clear as a man grabbed the microphone from the General Secretary and began shouting.

"We demand the Zionist pigs depart from our homeland! The nation of Palestine wants her lands back!"

The Middle East had decided they'd like a piece of the action.

Nat was watching as every aspect of neutrality fled from those who had attempted to stay on the sideline. He knew once religion entered through the doors she would be reluctant to leave. The chaos on the floor was reaching fever pitch and he was rapidly running out of time. Things could not continue as they were. He needed time. He wasn't given it.

"Mr. Hallowed?"

He looked again to see the young reporter with microphone in hand and the camera behind.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tidbit, but this does not seem the proper time to..."

"Just one question, sir."

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was the eagerness of the reporter which affected him, maybe the irrational happenings on the floor at the time, maybe the subconscious desire to change outcome by altering normal responses but he allowed the man his request.

"What is it?"

"If you were counseling the United Nations what would you tell them?"

He saw the glimmer of hope, the possibility of forestalling events until he could find out if Vampire plans for clan warfare were proceeding according to their wishes. They had proven to be unerringly correct when they devised their schemes but he was having a hard time seeing how they were going to pull this one off. He was going to answer the reporter when something happened which gave him pause. He remembered a foretelling, a prediction of a future event. The detective had said the next time they spoke he might have his answer. His phone rang and Nat rushed to answer it.

Chapter 40

The possibility was more important than probability. Proof wasn't required, in fact, it was deemed a net deficit so the Vampires designed the game with plausibility in mind. The pieces had been placed far in advance. It was easy to do so when money was no longer an object, no longer physical; electronic. Those with the means to do so had the ability to produce it from silicon chip and digital manipulation. They were already wealthy but with the demise of the physical into the virtual they took on Midas proportions. The game was on and economics would rule the day. The situation had been preparing itself for some time. It took a while and many previous plans had been scrapped due to the monetary divide. As others caught up the future began to emerge. When two planes brought down two towers the response only reinforced their belief they were playing a winning hand.

"Is everyone ready?"

They all agreed they were.

Verification of location without specification was the goal. The airport of modern man was the lock. Economic growth and separation of equality the key.

"Identification, please."

The funneling system would prove useful for two purposes. First, once inside identification changed from physical appearance to printed name as an ID card became a boarding pass. Second, security was self-contained as the hardware was accessible from the inside only.

"Thank you Mr. Johnson, have a nice flight."

All followed suit and soon the first hurdle was passed. The second would be breached through income.

"Where is it?"

"Down this corridor directly across from the first gate."

They made their way without preamble which left the other passengers staring in astonishment as the largest men and prettiest women they'd ever seen strolled down an airport terminal as if they owned the place.

"Ooh! Do you think they have nachos?"

"It's a Tex-Mex restaurant, Phillip, I'm sure they have nachos."

The franchises paid a steep price to ply their trade in a location where people were forced to wait, urged to arrive early and given nothing comfortable to rest their weary rears upon. The restaurants saw a need and catered to their wishes with plush booths and comfy stools.

"We need to check our passes first then we'll meet back here."

Three groups separated, two consisting of paired mated and one with three. The process was the same everywhere.

"Hello, boarding pass, please."

"Here you are."

"Thank you. Okay you're checked in. The intercom will sound when you're flight's ready to leave."

They were back eating within fifteen minutes. The nachos lasted thirty seconds and a second was ordered.

"Okay, we've got five minutes before the first one leaves."

A signal was given and a Wolf and Vampire arose from their seats. The airport was like all others; a place of business. The airport was the landlord, the stores and restaurants the tenants. Tenants who needed to run their businesses in order to pay the landlord. Employees were both necessary and undesirable. They performed the services of the institution but were a burden to the bottom line.

"Hello, Jose."

"Hello, Mr. George."

The transfer took but a second. It was done in the corridor separating the restaurant from the flying public. The corridors ran off the main terminal hallways and were accessible to all. The warning of 'Employees Only' at the door separating corridor from hallway was for show only. Businesses needed to receive goods and rid themselves of waste. The flying public had no wish to see either so a mazelike structure was built to allow those working the ability to do so without interfering with customers who were waiting to leave. A boarding pass was exchanged for a restaurant employee card which was filthy due to the food preparation service. It hid the face. It probably wasn't necessary since no one cared when a worker left the premises for they weren't important. A Vampire's pass was transferred and another employment badge acquired. The announcement came over the intercom less than a minute later.

"Have a good flight."

The two who had worked so hard to achieve the American dream were returning home with what they desired; an amount of money which would allow them to live their lives in tranquility on the southern beaches of their Latin homeland. The Wolf and Vampire went back to their seats in the restaurant.

"Hey! Has anyone seen Jose and Lucinda?" someone yelled as the bill was paid and seven went in search of others who provided a service for a pittance of profit.

They had been bought by LeTorque and returned to their promise-land in exchange for an electronic transfer of wealth. The deal had been done without even a glitch for the workers were so underpaid and overused they joyously accepted the terms.

Two more restaurants, four more badges exchanged. The child's was the only difficult one but the airport held a daycare center and a mother and son were soon reunited with a father who missed them very much.

A phone call was accepted, congratulations given and one more deed ordered in return for infinite wealth. Seven Superiors walked out the airport and went on to the last phase. Two more jets took off from a different airport an hour later.

Chapter 41

He was staring into a camera thinking the unthinkable when the answer arrived by way of ringtone.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the line almost made him weep for joy.

"Nat, it's Detective Smith. We've found him."

He couldn't believe his luck then he thought further and discounted the idea. It wasn't luck, it was fate brought on by hard work, dedication and a lifelong dream to finally put an end to the question of Heaven or Hell's supremacy.

"Where is he?"

The answer he received caused his mind to reel for it was not one he thought possible.

"Well, sir, we don't actually know the precise location but if you give us till day's end I'm sure well have your verification."

He didn't know what to say so he asked again where Johnny Johnson was.

"Like I said, we won't know for about six to eight hours."

"Then why did you say you located him?"

What he heard shook his foundation.

"Because we have. Well, we and the LeTorque have located him. I phoned him earlier and he was with Miss Vivian."

Nat's head was beginning to hurt.

"Yes, I already knew he was reunited with the LeTorque, Detective. What I need from you is a location for that reunification."

There was a pause at the other end of the line before the response.

"You knew Miss Vivian had found him?"

He wasn't sure when he began thinking in such a haze. It wasn't like him to give away things to Humans. He began to think of a plausible reply but was having difficulty concentrating because two things were also happening while he was on the phone. The annoying reporter was watching him with an intensity he could very well feel and the gallery below was reaching new heights in accusation and insult.

"Round eye!"

"Slant eye!"

"Wet back!"

"Camel jockey!"

Everywhere he looked people were in each other's faces, hurling derogatory terms and reacting with overbearing aplomb at verbiage returned to do the same. He needed a little space to himself but found time and location a bit cramped. He decided to deal with what he could and hope for the best.

"Yes, Detective, one of my informants told me they spoke with Mistress Vivian and she told them the family was heading out to meet up with Johnny. What she neglected to mention was the location of the meeting."

He could sense the detective didn't believe him but it didn't matter, Humans would ignore reality for the sake of money.

"Okay, keep stuff to yourself. I don't care. We've held up our end of the bargain and I'm only required to do one more thing before we can receive our payment."

Nat felt something was about to change. The detective was somewhat defensive and a little quizzical. He could hear the confusion in his voice.

"What are you required to do, Detective?"

"I was told to give you a message."

A very strange sensation came over the Heavenly Monitor, a feeling of dread and unease in his very being. He was not actually there, he was located far away but for some reason he could feel the presence of disease coursing through his molecular image as he both dreaded and needed to hear what the investigator had to say.

"What message, Detective?"

There was a pause and he could hear paper unfolding.

"All right, here's what I was told to read to you. Do you have a pen?"

"You were told to ask me if I had a pen?"

The laugh on the other end was not appropriate at the time, thought Nat.

"No, I thought maybe you'd like to write it down."

Nat's every holographic nerve was on fire. He needed information. He needed confirmation. He needed to believe all his efforts were not in vain and going down the drain because Humans were inherently insane.

"I don't need to write things down, Detective, please give me the message."

Time stood still as the gumshoe from Craft and Sons began reciting what he'd been told.

"It says 'Dear Nat, sorry about the last minute notice but we've come to the conclusion things did not turn out as planned. Therefore we have decided to chill out for a while."

Nat felt a dread he hadn't known existed.

"Did you say 'chill out'?"

"Uh-huh. I thought it seemed kind of a weird thing to say. You know, with the world on the brink of war and all so I had him repeat it. Mr. Johnson stated it was exactly what he wanted to say and you would understand."

Nat's mind was racing a hundred miles a second. He was contemplating things best left unthought.

"Detective?"

"Yes?"

"You said you would be able to verify their location by the end of the day?"

"Yes."

He needed to know if what he was thinking was at all a possibility.

"Why would it take a day?"

The response was like a kick in the gut.

"Because they are on their way to South America. They informed me they bought tickets for three flights and would decide which one as the situation warranted. We verified through our sources indeed there were seven seats assigned to various LeTorques on all three airlines but cannot determine the exact one until they land. So far, we have one to Chile, one to Peru and the last to Venezuela."

His emotions were all over the map. He had a feeling there was more but was afraid to ask.

"Was there anything else, Detective?"

There was a pause as though the man were deciding on whether to tell him or not.

"Well, I guess there's a couple of things. First, I need to know if you want us to keep watch on the airports to see which one they arrive at. Unfortunately, since the LeTorques were the ones who initiated the contract to locate Mr. Johnson and they have already agreed we have done so it will be necessary for you to sign a new one in order for us to continue."

Nat thought about it and then thought of his parameters. He was forbidden to interfere in Superior business but was also tasked with monitoring their progress. The hard part, the part which really hurt was the second. He was not there to help with the design, he was there to watch its progression and report when the end product was ready for implementation. Directly involving Humans without Superior authority was definitely not within his jurisdiction.

"No, Detective, I'm afraid I will need to act on the information alone."

"All right."

Nat was still waiting for the other shoe to fall. He could feel it above his head, just waiting for the right moment to step in and crush his dreams.

"What was the second thing, Detective?"

"Huh?"

"You said there were a couple of things which occurred. By definition it means more than one."

Smith was actually feeling sorry for the man-servant with connection issues until the last statement; the condescending one with definition as its base.

"Well, it wasn't part of the message but when I was listening to Mr. Johnson tell me what to repeat I couldn't help but hear in the background a woman playing along in a sort of teasing way."

The description caught his fancy so he asked.

"A teasing way?"

"Yes, when Mr. Johnson got to the part where he said they were going to 'chill out' I distinctly heard a woman's voice speak up in a joking manner."

"What did she say?"

"She said 'It's not like we haven't done it before'."

Chapter 42.

Nuclear war was at hand. The only question remaining was who would be first to cross the line and let the machines take over.

"Hello, everyone, this is Nick Price with a Channel Five News Special Interruption. We have terrible events to report. Both China and Russia have teamed up together and are threatening to attack the American homeland if the United States does not release the communist Cuban dictator and relinquish control of the islands. We are going live to Wally Thornburg who is on the scene at the United Nations. Wally, are you there?"

The reporter who was winning the minds if not the hearts of viewers everywhere appeared.

"I'm standing right here, Nick!"

The scene changed and a confused anchorman appeared.

"Okay, Wally, what do you have to tell us on the breaking developments?"

A shift of picture revealed Wally removing a flask from his mouth.

"Okay, all-righty! You see, we've got a whole bunch of countries who seem to think a whole bunch of other countries are on their land or something like that" he said, nodding once and saying nothing else.

The control room wasn't sure if they were waiting for a little more input or if the southern anchorman and reporter from the northern territories were playing their digital version of the Ping-Pong question-and-answer game. When nobody said anything the room decided it wise to push along.

The anchorman who would never be national raised his eyebrows in mild surprise at the interruption of his 'me' time.

"Oh! Um, thank you very much Wally. Do you have anything else to report?"

No one wanted to move but the ball crossed the net so they kept it in view and Wally reappeared once again with a silver flask raised to his lips.

"Ahh, err, nope. That's all I got, Nick!"

The control room decided to slide away from the inebriated reporter with a heart of gold and liver on life-support to again show the man who'd won acclaim North-Texas wide as the top anchorman in a market not known for its educational embrace.

"What?... Was that it?" the anchorman was heard to say right before realizing he was, once again, back on-air to pose a question to someone somewhere who might have a bit more understanding of the particular troubles brewing throughout the world.

"Okay, once again, thank you very much for your insight, Wally."

Someone forgot to push something and from off-screen Wally's voice could be heard.

"Yer welcome, you overblown Gila lizard!"

Nick Price froze for a fraction of an instant, regained his composure and searched desperately for something on the teleprompter to inform him of what was next. Thankfully, he didn't worry long for right then, like a hero of old arriving in the nick of time a phone call was received in the control booth and an immediate transmission was sent to tell the newsman what to say.

"We are now going live to Tim Tidbit who is on special assignment at the United Nations with a developing story. Tim, are you there?"

The screen shifted and indeed the newsman who would set the world straight was standing in front of the camera waiting to shock the viewer's senses.

"Yes, Nick, I'm here" the reporter replied but the way he said the words were a bit off, a bit far-away, as though he were there and not there at the same time. The anchorman, sensing the young up-and-comer's consternation immediately leapt at the chance to whack the mole causing him face-time loss.

"Tim, please report what you've learned."

The reporter who would anchor the Earth in real time knowledge seemed to make a decision and when his eyes adjusted his persona came to life.

"Nick, what we have just witnessed here at the United Nations is something no one saw coming. It is of such wide and amazing importance I'm afraid I'm at a loss for words to explain the situation."

The anchorman seized the noose to pull it tighter around the upstart's neck.

"You can't tell us what you've witnessed, Tim?"

"No, Nick."

The anchorman saw his chance to cement his place in history as the permanent newsman of North-Texas when he was suddenly interrupted by the youth who wanted his job.

"But we have footage of the event."

The scene shifted to when last Tim Tidbit had been seen interviewing the security counselor, Nat Hallowed. As the camera recorded, he'd asked his question of what advice the man would give to the United Nation and while everyone waited to hear the words of wisdom from a complete stranger who held secret meetings with other strangers controlling their lives a phone rang. The man named Nat abruptly grabbed for the device and held a brief conversation. When it ended everything else began.

"Mr. Hallowed, if I may have your answer to the question?" Tim was heard to say while the camera recorded the other man's reactions when things took on otherworldly appearances.

The place was still a madhouse, everyone screaming and posturing for support when the Alien decided while he could not interfere in Superior business he was in no way constrained when it came to Inferior enterprises.

The camera captured it all. On screen, in front of a future world-wide audience who would view the clip millions of times he changed. It was not a subtle one. Where once a normal Human stood there grew an Alien of enormous proportions. He was as the others reported seeing with a big head, green skin, large black eyes but there the similarities ended. Where before a creature of normal stature was reported now loomed one over fifty feet in height.

"STOP!" a voice rang out.

It wasn't necessary, for the audience was of a stunned nature. No in attendance could believe what they were viewing in front of their very eyes.

The odd part, other than the fifty-foot tall thing, was the reaction of the representatives once the initial shock wore off because no one ran away. The Alien, for it could be nothing else, did not seem to hold any malice. Its voice had boomed throughout the audience but its eyes, the windows to its soul were anything but menacing. They were, in fact, quite serene.

"THERE WILL BE NO WAR!" the non-jolly green giant said.

Everyone remained as they were. People were looking around to see if they'd lost their minds but when they noticed others doing the same they realized everyone was witnessing the identical event.

The Alien who monitored the world swept his head back and forth as if to find anyone opposed to his ideas. When no one uttered a word he paused, took a deep breath and continued.

"EVERYONE WILL GO HOME! THE BOUNDARIES WILL RETURN TO THEIR PREVIOUS AREAS BEFORE ALL THIS NONSENSE BEGAN!"

Again he scanned the crowd to look for antagonists. Finding none he decided the time was ripe for action.

"GO!"

And everyone fled the room in terror for his appearance altered slightly and what was soothing to the subconscious one second became terrifying the next. For decades the footage would be reviewed to determine exactly what it was which changed the minds of those in attendance. They would later learn visual input could be a means of transmitting emotional impulse. On the spectrum there were wavelengths which were invisible to the eye but not the brain. Stimulation could be manipulated, neurons teased to fire and what one saw was not necessarily what one thought. With the room cleared Nat returned his attention to the two beings he had decided not to emotionally scar; Tim Tidbit and the cameraman recording the action. The final scene was the Alien regaining life-size form and staring into the lens.

The scene shifted to the anchorman who sat speechless, mouth slightly open in astonishment for he realized the truth; Tim Tidbit was unstoppable. Sadly, for the watching eyes and listening ears of the audience the image of an anchorman unable to respond to such mind-blowing scenery was unacceptable. The reaction was swift and Nick Price, anchorman to the greater Dallas-Fort Worth communities and companion of the widow presiding over the largest barbeque franchise in the city bearing her dead husband's name would soon be forgotten. He would bear witness and maintain some solace in the fact he was, at least, a part of the process which gave the world the last remaining hope of intelligent journalism, Tim 'Telling-It-Like-It-Is' Tidbit, but he would never again know the joy and excitement of revealing through teleprompter the events shaping the world.

"Nick?" a voice said into the newsman's ear.

"Yes?" he finally replied in a soft whisper.

"Um, we kind of need you to say something."

Nick wasn't sure what to say. He'd just witnessed the end of his career and was wondering what he was going to do with his life. He wasn't even sure if the barbeque queen would keep him in her graces if he found himself unemployed. It wasn't like he loved her but he did love the torn and rendered flesh of her establishments. He already couldn't afford the overpriced meals of cow-leftovers which, for some ungodly reason, were valued higher than seafood in restaurants located so far from the ocean they could never truthfully call their fare 'fresh'. Everything was going through his mind at the same time which was causing everything else to lock up.

"Nick? Seriously, man, we need you to say something"

He was desperate. He needed help but couldn't think of anyone to provide it for him. He searched the room but found only cameramen and microphone holders doing their jobs of pointing things at him. He was in trouble of having his last program end with him sitting there in shock and awe when he finally remembered a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, he could turn it all around.

"Um, sorry everyone. I... uh... was listening to the control room and they have informed me Tim has some further developments on the story."

"No we didn't!" the control booth yelled in his ear.

"We now go back, live, to Tim Tidbit at the United Nations."

The control room had no choice, the anchor had spoken so they answered in kind and the picture switched to show the young reporter responsible for it all standing there at the ready as though he expected to be called upon.

"Thank you, Nick, and 'yes' I do have a further development."

An intern in the control room saw an opportunity and ran with it by pushing a little used button which split the screen. On the viewer's monitor Nick Price and Tim Tidbit were seen side by side.

"What do you have, Tim?" the anchorman said in a shaky voice bordering on hysteria.

"I have an interview with the Alien, Nick."

As Tim answered the image of Nat Hallowed appeared, standing next to the lad in limelight while on the opposite side the anchorman of the past was breaking down in tears as dreams of smoked brisket went wafting out of reach.

"Mr. Hallowed, thank you agreeing to this interview."

"You're welcome, Tim."

The first question was always the hardest for it set the tone and made a statement. Would it be hard-hitting or a soft-ball? Would the questioner be in charge or answer to the questionee? All of those thoughts ran through the combined minds of the control booth button-pushers who had no answers for they were not schooled in the fine art of pondering. They didn't know how to state a sentence in such a way where a response was required.

"Mr. Hallowed, what should we call you?"

They were amazed at the youth's amazing talent of knowing precisely how to start an investigative story of such remarkable consequence.

"Call me Nat."

They stood as one and cheered as the Alien was forced to exit his shell and answer the reporter from their channel.

"Okay, Nat, can you please tell us who you are?"

Everyone sat back down because standing placed them farther away from their buttons and they felt a bit naked without them.

"Yes, I am from Heaven."

Mouths dropped everywhere as people did a quick inventory. It wasn't something widely reported but across the nation two words rang out so clear the seismologists listening for signs of earthquakes saw a sharp spike in their readings.

"Oh crap!"

Many, if not everyone had the same idea. An idea they somewhat recalled from their youth. An idea rather unsettling for they had not thought it would happen. If true, then things were not looking good.

"Are you the Messiah? Is this the beginning of the Apocalypse?" Tim asked.

Nobody was certain of their fate for to be sinless meant living without sin which took a lot of fun out of life so most dropped to their knees in prayer.

"No, Tim, I am not the Messiah."

And jumped to their feet with joy.

"Thank God!"

People broke out in dance and song at the great news of the Messiah not yet returning to issue judgment.

"But you're from Heaven?" Tim asked as he recovered his breath after learning he still had time to visit a church and beg forgiveness for the thousands of sins he had done the previous week.

"Yes, I'm from Heaven. It's a planet, Tim, not the afterlife as you would know it."

Tim wasn't sure how to respond to such an amazing assertion so he asked the first thing which popped into his head.

"Why are you here?"

Nat had been anticipating the question ever since he'd decided to reveal himself in order to stop the foolish beings from annihilating the world and ending Heaven's grand experiment.

"Because a great battle is looming on your horizon. Another species has lain claim to your world and are on their way to lay waste to what you own."

The dancing and singing stopped.

"Excuse me? Did you just say we are going to be invaded by aliens?"

The world hushed for they were wondering the same thing.

"Yes."

Recording devices on Greenland captured world-wide opinion.

"Son of a...!"

The control booth was sitting on their hands for no one felt they could control pushing, pulling or twisting in times of turmoil.

"Do these aliens have a name?"

"Yes, they are called the Hoard. They are creatures of Hellion designed to destroy what you have built."

The reference did not go unnoticed and the control booth was relieved the reporter also caught the linkage.

"Hellion? As in Hell?"

"Yes."

Everyone was in a questioning mode but only one was present. Fortunately, he had a good set of ears and basically repeated word for word what the enormous audience was querying.

"Are you freaking kidding me?"

Nat looked at the youth and answered with all the sincerity he could muster.

"No."

And the world answered back.

"Gulp!"

Chapter 43

They arrived back at the office and were met at the door by Craft and Sons themselves.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you all right?"

Both detectives looked at each other because they really weren't sure what they were. They had hung around the blood bank with Priscilla and Vincent to watch what was on every channel. The other networks would never learn how their broadcasts had been infiltrated and the news interview of Nat Hallowed by Channel Five aired in their place.

"Did he just say his name was Nat Hallowed?"

"Yes" Priscilla had answered.

"Our Nat Hallowed?"

"Yes."

"Why is he all green and bug-eyed? Our Nat was black and tuxedoed."

They would sit in stunned silence as the Alien explained himself and then left shortly afterward. They never questioned either Priscilla or Vincent because they secretly knew the answer. They inherently knew all the answers. Everyone associated with Nat Hallowed was somehow, someway not like the rest of Humanity.

"Did you know?" Craft asked.

"Know what?" Smith answered.

Craft gave him a look as though questioning the sanity of the detective for questioning the question.

"Did you know Nat was an Alien from Heaven?"

"Nope, I thought he was a rude butler with secret police powers and an art of hanging up on people."

Craft wanted to ask more but thought better of it. The man had, after all, given him license to purchase a brand new yacht and could be given a little leeway in the after-case interrogation.

"Wesson?"

"Yes, Mr. Sons?"

"Will you walk with me for a bit?"

Wesson had never been asked to walk with Sons before so he wasn't sure how to respond. He obviously responded in the affirmative after thinking about it because to do so in the negative would've been inconsiderate and rather stupid.

"All right, we did as you asked and sent our people to check out the arrivals at the three airports in question."

Wesson had made an obvious leap to judgment when he viewed the previous man-servant revealing himself to be, in fact, an Alien and had done what he thought appropriate; keep tabs on anyone the Heaven's felt were important. Since Nat wanted to know the whereabouts of Johnny Johnson then he was pretty sure the rest of Humanity would be interested also.

"What did you find out?"

"They never arrived."

Wesson thought that would be the answer. He'd seen enough attempts to elude the authorities when the LeTorque purchased seven tickets on three different flights he surmised they had no intention whatsoever of using them. Why would they need tickets in the first place? They were wealthy enough to buy any plane they wished. Wesson added the deductions and weighed the probabilities until he was certain of the answer; if the LeTorque did not want to be found they were not going to be found.

Sons was watching Wesson digest the information until a sufficient time passed and he could no longer control himself.

"Where do you think they are?"

Wesson stood for a while in quiet contemplation and then told the man with new-found unlimited resources what he thought.

"I think they're in Antarctica."

Sons face must have registered stunness for the detective with the iron stomach continued.

"Look, I think what we came across was something entirely different than what it appeared. Think about it. As soon as we start the case the world goes crazy. As soon as we find Mr. Johnson the world is on the nuclear edge. As soon as we pass Mr. Johnson's message to Nat Hallowed he decides to reveal himself as an Alien and sends everyone home. Why do you think he did that?"

"What? Send everyone home?"

"No, stop a nuclear war."

Sons pondered the question but other than altruism he couldn't come up with an answer.

"I don't know?"

"I think you do. Why did the LeTorque buy tickets to countries in Latin America?"

Sons thought again and the answer hit him like a flash.

"Because they're on their way to Antarctica."

"Exactly, and why Antarctica?"

Sons thought again.

"Because it's the one place in the world where you're guaranteed to outlast a nuclear war?"

Wesson smiled because he was then positive he was right. Sons didn't own half the best detective agency in the greater Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex because he couldn't put two and two together.

"Yes, I think the LeTorque basically told Nat they were heading to Antarctica and he stepped in to stop a nuclear war."

The hard part, the confusing part, the important part, was why?

"Are you saying you think he stopped a nuclear war because the LeTorque were leaving the blast zone?"

It sounded weird to Wesson when Sons put the question to him so he thought a little deeper on the subject. Why would Nat Hallowed, a man pretending to be the servant of LeTorque, go out of his way to try and find Mr. Johnson and then when he was located go further out of his way and reveal himself to be something else? He could only come up with one conclusion.

"I think the LeTorque and especially Mr. Johnson were somehow behind all the troubles. I think the LeTorque were trying to start the nuclear war. I think we were hired as some sort of diversion to keep Nat satisfied someone was on the lookout for Mr. Johnson."

The look he got from Sons went through a couple of emotions in the time it took for the man to think it through. Amazement, doubt, anger, denial and then the last.

"Um, Wesson?"

"Yes?"

"You don't plan on mentioning that to anyone, do you?"

"Nope."

He wasn't a fool. Unlimited funds were only unlimited if moral clauses remained undisturbed.

Chapter 44

Nat was going through the footage and was coming up empty. Nowhere was a Wolf or Vampire to be seen. He'd hijacked every security camera but he was unable to catch sight of them. He was becoming extremely frustrated.

The scene in Venezuela showed what the others had; normal Humans exiting the planes. Nowhere was a Wolf in sight. The Vampires, he knew, could blend in and remain undetected, but the Wolves? There was no way a seven foot individual could hide from prying eyes. He decided to retrace the events.

He was fully committed to the act. Every sensory device he had was used to record, evaluate and determine where a Wolf emerged. Every bit of hardware he owned, every byte of software he employed was put to the task of location. He was feeling a bit like Smith and Wesson for he was looking for those who wished not to be found. The computer revealed the paths of the flights and he viewed them through critical lenses. Nowhere on any flight had a detour taken place. No plane made a stop between destinations and no other airlines made an approach to those in flight. He was looking for the handoff, the moment in time where an individual could be transferred from one location to another without anyone the wiser. He saw nothing.

"Where are you?"

He was in frantic mode. Things had gone so awry he'd actually announced the presence of Heaven to Humanity. He wasn't sure, he couldn't be positive but he felt his actions would definitely have consequences. Humans were the problem. They could not be counted on for they could not be predicted. They did the unknowable, the illogical, and to him and the rest of his race the problem of uncertainty was the greatest problem of all.

The screen showed the flight paths and he watched as they took him back to their destination. He knew where they'd been, seen footage of them in the airport as they strolled through the terminal and checked their various boarding passes. He'd been curious why they didn't use their own plane but had verified it was still in their private hanger, still secretly monitored with Heavenly technology and assumed they knew so also. They'd all gone off-screen when they'd entered the restaurants in the airport for they held no security value to the Humans. It was another thing he disliked about their species; they were too mistrusting of surveillance.

He was deep in concentration when it happened. It was a small thing, not much in the grander scheme but significant in its impact. He'd been using everything he had to locate them so could be forgiven his transgression. He was watching as the flights of the day took off from Dallas-Fort Worth Airport and was attempting to discern a pattern when he felt it. A slight lessoning of those on his watch.

"What the...?"

He monitored all Superiors for it was his job to do so. He kept a further eye on a few for they held his interest higher. He would follow their path back from the beginning but it would only arouse his curiosity further. The computer monitor revealed it all as he watched in wonder.

Three flights did indeed leave the airport but they were nothing but distractions. The two which left later, an hour past the others from a different location were what propelled his anxiety higher. They were smaller than those of the passenger sect but were easily capable of the distance. They left from the airport of the rich located in the central part of the city and held to the rules governing those who possessed wealth; a flight plan with the number of passengers but nothing else.

He would watch as they flew to two destinations. They would stop midway to refuel but it helped him not for they never left the planes. They flew to separate locations and landed at differing times but he could easily tell they'd had a plan and fulfilled its execution with precise coordination.

Two planes on the ground, one in Europe, one in Asia. Two separate time zones on different continents meant they were acting as one. He hadn't felt a single loss, it was double the trouble whenever the LeTorque implemented their design. Two Superiors disappeared at the same time from two locations. It should not have been possible.

One cloak was all there had ever been. Only one could accomplish the task yet two events took place. At the same time, thousands of miles apart two individuals of major importance no longer caught his eye; Merri Li and Yin blinked off the radar.

Epilogue

It was where it all began, a place of importance which held meaning. Confrontation could bring out the best in them.

There were two in the pit, two more would arrive soon but they were anxious so they did what they could to waste the time. It was agreed the beheading of another was off-limits so they fought with purpose of skill absent the requirement to kill.

"Who do you think will win?" Merri Li asked.

"I actually do not know" Vivian responded and Trudy nodded her head in agreement.

The two Wolves of LeTorque were in the Pit of Confrontation doing what they did best and challenging the other in combat. It was not for the faint of heart. Blood was everywhere as the two countered the other. Since they were both Alphas it was flowing at an alarming rate.

George and Phillip had never challenged the other for neither was sure of the answer. Alphas were different, a breed apart, and the two of them were even further down the line. In the generations there had only been a few, a select group who could legitimately claim the title. Both Wolves of LeTorque not only held the name but were capable of rewriting its definition.

"Do you think he will be angry?" Trudy asked.

"I think he will be curious" Merri Li responded.

The Alien from Heaven had but one overriding emotion; a need to demonstrate his Superiors to the other half.

"Will he figure out our plan?" Vivian queried.

"He cannot. He sees us through the eyes of a master so he can't contemplate the actual design" Merri Li answered.

They watched as the Wolves fought. It was not easy for the speed was of the split-second variety. One moment the Wolves would be on the right, the next the left. Never had a session held more impact yet not be seen by a Superior audience. The action was both mesmerizing and shocking as two would meet, grapple, strike and then retreat to tend their wounds. Neither held the upper hand for both were masters of their craft. The tearing of flesh and breaking of bone were apparent to all.

"Should we stop them?" Merri Li pondered.

Neither Vamp answered for they were not in the position to do so. They were each, in their own way, Matriarchs of the clan. Melissa may have held the title but everyone knew the truth; Johnny reigned because George and Phillip allowed him to do so.

Merri Li was curious because she was witnessing the change. The two who were in attendance with her had proven themselves to be Superior. They had manipulated events to the point where they were actually able to dictate their own futures. She had met one before and was pleasantly surprised the other was so easy to get along with. Both Trudy and Vivian were of similar thoughts. They had known of the legend but until meeting her had not known the truth for Merri Li was Matriarch in name only. She had long ago discarded the need for recognition which made her accessible. She was not what they feared. She was not a person so caught up in her public persona she actually became the fiction. Merri Li was real. She was a person who spoke and who listened. It wasn't much, merely the process of conversation but what came from it was the alignment of attitudes which would shape the universe.

"I believe what we are witnessing is unseen before."

The Wolves were remarkable, beautiful even, for they were the epitome of their trade. Every move, every stance was countered in kind but they weren't the types to allow for inaction to form. They would willingly get caught in a perilous position if it allowed the action to proceed. The blood which came from their decisions was copious to say the least.

"Do you think he guesses the truth?"

The question was asked by Trudy and in all honestly Merri Li had no answer. If he guessed correctly what would be his decision?

"If he guesses it will not matter. Either we live according to our own wishes or die according to his."

The answer was somewhat settling to the Vamps so they watched with curiosity as the top Wolves of Third took turns ripping flesh from the other.

"Aunt Trudy?" the child's voice broke in.

"Yes, Daemon?"

"Others are here."

The fighting in the pit halted as the two Wolves of LeTorque realized they would not learn that day who was the true Alpha. Two Vampires stood and turned to watch as the two who once ruled all and one who was Matriarch of Third entered the cave. One moved to meet them alone.

Everyone watched as the reunion took place. Four who were separated once again found each other. Merri Li greeted them one at a time.

"Hello, Sister."

Melissa answered with an embrace and tears in her eyes.

"Hello, Merri Li."

Merri Li moved on to the remaining two, the ones who began it all, the ones who were destined to end the game.

"Hello, Yin."

"Hello, Sister."

"Hello, Yang."

They had avoided each other for ages because they knew the consequences if Heaven guessed their motives. They'd made their preparations after realizing the true purpose of their existence.

"So the plan has finally come to fruition?" Yin asked.

"Yes, Heaven has shown its hand" Merri Li answered.

"And you still believe the Humans will act accordingly?"

"Yes, they will accept us as saviors since they fear Heaven and Hell more."

And so the planning began for the final chapter. All were involved because the whole were needed. Vampires would contrive and Wolves destroy. They were the sum of Heaven's technology and Nature's evolution, an answer to Hell and the hope for Humanity; essentially the product of Superior design.
