Dissuasion
an "If They Only Knew" Story
by Dianne T. DeSha
Nick soared through the dark Toronto night.
Even the exhilaration of flight couldn't brighten his mood
tonight. He *hated* flying surveillance assignments!
Somehow it just underlined how alien he had become in
both spheres of his life--a cop who flew or a vampire
following orders and working a mundane patrol. Either
way it made him feel like a freak.
Answering the call on his cell phone, he was able to arrive
at the latest scene within a minute.
<Oh no,> he thought as he landed discreetly to one side,
<It's one of _those_.> Anytime a murder resulted in a
victim with a wound on or even near the neck, Nick could
tell immediately, just by the wary, nervous, or excited looks
on the faces of the officers who were first on the scene.
Striding right up to the body, he took one look and nearly
strangled the nearest officer; he had to take a deep breath
just to steady himself. "That's a *bullet* wound!" he
insisted loudly in an exasperated, barely-controlled voice to
anyone and everyone within earshot, but no one would
meet his eye.
Luckily both Schanke and Nat arrived at that point and he
was able to drown his frustration in the routines of the job.
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"Hey, let's get dinner," Schanke suggested as soon as he
started the car. "I could really use some souv...well
_something_ right about now," Schanke caught himself
quickly. "And there's a slaughterhouse just around the
corner...."
Nick groaned. How had this happened? _Nothing_ in his
life was the same anymore. He paused in his mental
grousing as a thought struck him. Well, nothing in his
_mortal_ life....
"Sorry," he told his overly-helpful partner, "But I've got to
talk to Janette. Drop me by the Raven, will you?"
Schanke shuddered slightly, then broke into a smile that
looked suspiciously like a leer. "No 'drinking', partner.
You're still on duty, remember?"
Nick treated his partner to one of his nastier snarls.
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As Nick stepped up to the front door of the Raven, what he
saw almost sent him home in despair. The new sign next to
the entrance was plain and institutional and looked horribly
out-of-place on the club:
WARNING: Entering these premises may be
hazardous to your health. By entering, you
may also risk your continued mortality.
Although any attack or forced conversion
is strictly illegal, the City of Toronto
cannot guarantee your safety. All patrons
enter at their own risk.
(Please report any problems to the management,
the Better Business Bureau, or your local police.)
The writhing bodies on the dance floor and the sight of
Janette at the bar brought Nick an immediate feeling of
relief. *Something* had remained constant, he thought,
moving to where she sat.
Janette hardly looked up as he kissed her cheek. Miklos
had left her with the full bottle...obviously not her first. He
suppressed another groan when he spotted the label:
WARNING: Contents include *human blood*
inspected and certified disease-free by the
Department of Health. Keep refrigerated. Not
for human consumption. Use before date on end.
Suddenly there was a small commotion by the door. Nick
looked up to see a group of agitated, late-middle-aged
people clustered by the door whispering excitedly amongst
themselves. Before Janette, in her self-imposed stupor,
could react, the more bold among the group stepped
forward into the club wielding cameras.
As an unexpected burst of flashbulbs blinded mortal and
vampire alike, Janette startled even Nick by roaring at the
top of her voice, "*Alma!*"
As Miklos and a few of the more responsible fledglings
herded the tourists out the door, the very nervous-looking
vampire appeared.
"You were *supposed* to be watching the door!" Janette
snarled furiously at her. "*How* did *those* get in *my*
club?!?"
"Well...," Alma started, apparently not as sure of her
judgment as she had been a moment ago. "They _said_
they were with the Health Department...."
At Janette's snarl, Alma wisely disappeared.
"Nicola! Oh Nicola...," she lamented, her anger turning to
despair. "I cannot bear this! Those, those *parasites*
simply will not stay away!"
Nick moved to comfort her, but she ignored him. "LaCroix
has left, you know," she continued with a sad shake of her
head. "His little radio 'fans' were even worse. He finally
lost control one night and started draining the one standing
closest to him. Would you believe it? They just started
lining up! A fight actually broke out when one tried to cut
in front....."
Janette shook her head, the anger returning. "It's no use,
Nicola. LaCroix was right. I'm leaving!"
"Janette!" Nick pleaded.
"No, mon cher, it's time to go. *Well past* time," she
added glancing at the front door with a shudder.
"Knight, in my office."
Nick looked up at the clock, 5:32 a.m. "The sun is almost
up, Captain...." he started to protest.
"Sunrise isn't until 5:48 this morning, I checked. It takes
you, what, 5 minutes to fly back to your place? That gives
you another eleven minutes to listen to me. In my office,
_now_!"
Nick groaned. He'd have to leave the Caddy at the station
again. He hated doing that, especially since the time a
couple of the new officers had taken advantage of the
abandoned car to play a practical joke on Natalie. He had
had to leave it in front the Coroner's building that time.
The jokers had jimmied open his locker and carefully laid
out a full set of his clothes in the driver's seat. From what
he'd heard, Nat had almost had a heart attack.
Entering Cohen's office, Nick closed the door and sat down,
not particularly reassured by the expression on the
Captain's face.
"Nick, I've gotten several complaints in the last week about
excessive property damage at crime scenes at which you
have been present."
<Not this again!> Nick mentally protested in vain.
"Specifically," Cohen continued, "Two shattered plate-glass
windows and a metal fire door that was 'ripped from its
hinges'." She paused, considering the detective in front of
her. "Now we've had this discussion before, Knight...."
"I needed to get inside!" Nick protested. "Lives were in
danger!"
"I am well aware of that, Detective," Cohen's mood was not
improving. "But I think that your flair for drama is getting
the better of you again. Simply breaking the door lock
would have provided access to that building just as easily,
and Internal Affairs has become very concerned with the
possibility of a lawsuit against the department, should
anyone be injured by flying glass."
Nick just closed his eyes and sighed. "I will do my best,
Captain."
"See that you do. I don't want to have to have this
conversation again." As Nick rose to leave, she stopped
him, "One more thing, Detective."
Nick looked pointedly at his watch. Cohen ignored him.
"We've been having some trouble with the new recruits.
They make it through "Memory Lane" with good
scores, but they still have a tendency to freeze up when
faced with having to fire upon a real, live, moving target."
Nick stared at her openmouthed, she _wasn't_ suggesting...!
"So I volunteered you as an Assistant Instructor at the
range. You'll provide a realistic target for the new
recruits...."
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Nick arrived at the loft with seconds to spare and collapsed
on the couch, grateful that this night was finally over.
Hitting "play" on the madly blinking answering machine,
he started sorting through his mail: junk mail, junk mail...
"Mr. Knight? Hello, this is Angela from Fly-by-
Night Travels. We just wanted to let you know
that we have some lovely vacations opening up in
Antarctica this time of year..."
He hit fast forward and kept sorting: a sample of spot
remover ("New miracle product removes bloodstains
effortlessly!")--How had these lists gotten his name?--...a
polite, yet urgent invitation to join the newly-formed _First
Toronto Church of the Undead_ before it was too late...
"Hello, this is Round-the-Clock Dry Cleaners. We
managed to get the bloodstains out of your jacket,
but repairing the bullet holes will require an
additional charge..."
....official notice that he had been removed from the city's
life insurance plan due to "an undisclosed, pre-existing
condition"...<Well, the Pension Plan seemed happy enough
to keep on collecting premiums from him into eternity>, he
thought bitterly. ...A brightly colored brochure: "We
started out as two young people with a dream and an old
bloodmobile. Now, with hard work and dedication to
serving the needs of our _exclusive_ clientele, we have
become _Midnight Snack Meals on Wheels_..."
The next message had been left in a smooth,
soothing, professional voice, "Mr. Knight, we
would like to invite you to visit _Sans Sang_,
our beautiful new treatment center in the
exquisite wilderness of Ontario. Staffed by
highly-trained and compassionate personnel, our
state-of-the-art facility has an excellent record
in the short-term treatment of vampiric addiction.
In fact, we are proud to say that we are rapidly
becoming known as the "Betty Ford for vampires"..."
Nick winced and hit "erase," reaching the bottom of the
mail pile and a _real_ letter! Nick started to smile but
stopped as he saw the return address: "Internal Revenue
Service, United States of America." With a puzzled look
he tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter:
Dear Mr. Nicholas Knight
(a.k.a Mr. Nicholas Gerard):
Due to information recently brought to our attention,
we are conducting an audit of your tax returns filed
between 1952 and 1954, and between 1974 and 1989,
during which time you were a resident of Chicago,
Illinois. In addition we are obliged to inform you
that we have contacted the Immigration and Naturalization
Service regarding your precise Resident Alien status
during that time period....
Nick sat quietly on the couch for several long moments
before he picked up the remote and opened the shutters....
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Nick came to with a scream that cut off when he realized he
was still in one piece. Staring into the darkened room, he
saw the three Enforcers standing there in front of him and it
all came back.
"Do you see reason, now?" the nearest one spoke. "Do you
know now why we _cannot_ allow ourselves to be
discovered?"
"Yes," Nick managed to squeak. "I'll be more careful. I
*promise*!"
[Finis]
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*** Much thanks to my beta readers...especially those who helped
me with the dates for that *&^% IRS letter. [Lane went so far
as to peg dates from the _car in the alley_ in the Amateur Night
flashback!] However, I compiled and sorted (and guessed a lot!)
and take full responsibility for any and all bloopers involved!
[And I can now make a decent case for Nick bipping in and out of
Chicago just about every ten years for most of this century--
regardless of how _dumb_ it would be to do that!--...so don't
*even* get me started! ;-))) ***
Praise, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate to [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
-*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*-
************************************** See what's free at http://www.aol.com.
