"Night Justice" (closed)

The neighborhood had been very appropriately called Black End for almost a century and a half. It had gotten its name originally from the dust and smoke of the coal fired power plants that sprung up on its upwind outskirts during the mid to late 19th century. A hundred years later, after World War II, White Flight to the suburbs and northern migration of Blacks gave a new meaning behind the community's moniker.

It was the mood of the residents that was black in the last half of the 20th century. The green movement and the environmental regulations that followed saw the shut down and removal of the dirty plants; revitalization and gentrification attracted more affluent Whites and Asians; and the poorer residents -- of all races, not just the minorities -- found themselves being pushed out to even poorer neighborhoods.

But new paint and neo-classical designs couldn't overcome Black End's past. The most recent rebirth failed. Incomes dropped; poverty exploded; drugs flooded the neighborhood; crime rates soared, with rape, assault, murder, and other forms of physical abuse or attack touching nearly every person in Black End, often more than once. The police were overwhelmed; moral plummeted; radio calls were often ignored; and swaths of blocks fell to the control of street gangs or organized crime families.

There just didn't seem to be a solution to Black End's problems.

Enter Marcus Hamilton.

Black End's problems were perfect cover for a vampire. With the 330 murders and thousands of other acts of violence annually in the neighborhood, the chances that the Authorities were going to spend more than a few minutes investigating the death of a gang banger or crack addict or rapist or wife beater were pretty small.

And those were the types of blood donors Marcus targeted. The police assigned entire squads to the deaths or disappearances of such people as cutie pie college girls or Grandmothers who spend their evenings at the soup kitchen or reading books to kindergartners at the public library. But no one really gave a rats ass about some guy with needle tracks up his arms or a long list of violations against children in his police record.

Marcus had been feeding better and more often in Black End than he had in decades. You couldn't walk a block in this neighborhood without coming across some low life that needed his body drained of blood. And with the number of bodies left in the streets, alleys, and parks by run-of-the-mill violent criminals, the extra body or two left behind by Marcus were barely noticed.

Marcus didn't spend all of his time running about the city biting people in the neck, though. He attended the opera or dined at five star restaurants; he sailed his 39 foot ketch which he kept at the City Docks; he visited the zoo every 2nd and 4th Thursday when it was open until 11pm with jazz concerts in the plaza; and he played in both a darts and billiards league at a pub called Hennessey's.

Tonight was one of those nights when Marcus enjoyed himself like a regular sort of guy. He'd had dinner at Parker's, an upscale steak house downtown just outside Black End's unofficial western border; spent two hours watching the zoo's Big Cats, who were far more active in the evenings; and caught the second half of the game down at MacAfee's.

He caught the last train from downtown to Black End, the 12:11 to Creighton Street, and was flirting with a pair of leggy college girls coming home from clubbing when a trio of hoods entered at Cormer Street and almost immediately began hassling the dozen or so people in the car. At the next stop, some of the riders got off, despite seeming as though they'd had farther to go yet. When the thugs reached the women Marcus had been talking to, he'd had enough of their behavior.

"I think it would be a very good idea," he told them after attracting their attention with a slight whistle, "if you were all to take a seat and be good little boys."

The trio almost immediately erupted into laughter. They mocked him and asked one another such things as Can you believe this guy? As they continued, they casually moved about so that they were surrounding Marcus. The subway came to its next stop and the rest of the riders hurried out, knowing there was going to be trouble.

The thugs waited until the train was moving again before they began challenging Marcus directly. Again he said, "I think it would be good for you to sit and be good."

They stepped up their confrontation, and yet Marcus continued to just sit there, turning his attention from one man to the next to the next. One of the men had had his hand in his jacket pocket the entire time. He finally pulled it out, immediately clicking open the switchblade in his grasp.

In a flash, Marcus snatched his wrist and twisted his arm. With a punch to back of it, Marcus bent the man's elbow the direction it had never been intended to bend. The thug screamed in agony, then dropped to the deck as Marcus slammed the bottom of his foot into the man's knee, doing pretty much to it as he'd already done to the arm.

The other two stepped back a bit, surprised by the lightning fast attack. One of them reached for a small caliber revolver in his waist band, but even before he could turn the barrel toward his intended victim, Marcus was on his feet and grabbing at the weapon. The vampire forced the gun up and away, then pulled the trigger himself. A round fired, and the third would-be attacker's head jerked to one side. He was dead before he hit the ground, the bullet having entered his eye socket and splintered to cut sharp little path's through his brain matter.

Still moving rapidly, Marcus pulled the gunman tight to him and leaned forward to sink his fangs into the man's neck. The man opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a gurgle. Marcus held his torso tightly as he began sucking the gangbanger's blood in big gulps. The man's struggle began to wane, and then he went still in Marcus's arms. Eventually his weight was fully in the vampire's arms, dangling like an oversized rag doll.

Still grasping the man's hand that was still grasping the gun, Marcus withdrew his fangs, lifted the gun to the thug's neck, and let the weapon fire a second time. The round ripped a large chunk of muscle away, concealing the puncture marks Marcus's fangs had left. Then he simply dropped the man and walked to the door, just in time to get off at the Creighton Street station and complete his transit with a leisurely, 3 block stroll.

Katherine Elizabeth Bennett was in her second year at the police force at age 26. She had the traditional story of a small town girl from an abusive family, that had her share of bad relationships, and distrust in people. She had focused in school, and got a full ride to college. Once she was gone, she never looked back.

Moving to this large city she had the desire to make a difference. A mission to help those the system had failed. She was going for detective, which was hard enough being a woman, but her low tenure was also an obstacle. A fighter, had been a word that described her, and she wasn't going to let anything hold her back.

A call came down with a case slapped on her desk. "The Mayors nephew was killed on the subway. Solve this, and I'll see to it that you get detective. Fail, and say hello parking tickets." he let out a melancholic laugh and walked away. If it wasn't one thing standing in her way it was another. There was one witness, one of the three boys left alive with mangled arm and pulverized knee.

Her first stop was to the hospital, the boy being a minor was denied any visitors by his parents. They didn't trust the system, and why should they. They had lived in poverty in Black End, been victims of theft, assault, and nothing came of it. Why should they make an effort now.

Kate sat down from the boys weeping mother. "Mrs. Barnes" she said softly "I understand what it's like to have the world against you, to have no help, and no one to trust. If i'm going to catch the perpetrators that did this to your boy, i'm going to need to talk to him. I know you haven't had much help in the past, but i promise you i am not them. Let me help you, and I will find a way , it may be slow, but i promise to find a way to help you and those of Black End."

Finally Mrs. Barnes gave her consent. The boy was in surgery, so she would have to come back the next day. Leaving the hospital she made a visit to the first officers on the scene. "Hey look Phil it's Katie the prickly pickle" Officer Phil O'Malley and Officer George Pratt laughed and mocked her every turn they got. They were both veterans of the force, and never made it off the beat. They resented anyone and everyone that made the effort to do so. Thinking they thought they were better then them etc. A woman was even worse in their chauvinistic old school eyes. They should be home barefoot with dinner ready. Not taking away men's jobs.

"I was sent down to get your reports on the subway murders". She said lightly not feeling the urge to get into they were for her. "That was the most gruesome thing. blood everywhere, Two shot to death and one mangled, i'd be surprised if that piece of shit ever walks again." George said in his blunt way. "Yeah yeah" Phil agreed "You should have seen it princess, would be enough to have you scurry back to the kitchen".

Kate smiled sarcastically and held out her hand for the papers. They both handed them to her, and with great restraint managed not to slap her tight ass when she turned to walk away. Her next trip was to the lab to redirect the results to her email, for ballistics on the bullets and gun.

No one was going to talk to someone dressed like a cop. After a change of clothes she headed out on the street to try and talk to people coming off the subway, asking if anyone heard anything, or saw anything and gave them the number for a hotline she had set up. People were going to be the only way she was going to find the people responsible for these murders.

With her long auburn locks flowing, and her kind blue eyes inviting, her 5'6 frame hit the streets to try to get anything she could on what happened.

Peter Vance loved to watch Katherine Bennett work. Well, to be more specific, he just liked to watch Katherine Bennett. She was a beautiful woman and -- without challenge -- the most beautiful female cop in the Precinct. Peter had tried repeatedly to get the Desk Sergeant to partner his up with Katherine but to no avail. He, like Katherine, was relatively new to the force; there were a lot more senior cops with fantasies of being in the back seat of a patrol cruiser with the sexy woman in blue.

But today he'd gotten lucky. This thing with the Mayor's nephew was going to be a big deal, so Sarge had sent him and another pair of Uniforms to help, reminding him, "Bennett's in charge, so do as she directs, keep out of her way, and remember ... I have 18 years on The Job, so I get to tap that ass before a punk badge like yourself."

Peter couldn't even imagine being Katherine Bennett's lover. Well, he could imagine it; he just couldn't see it actually happening. He'd donned plain clothes as had she to assist, and now he hurried down the subway platform to join her as she was finishing with a guy who was talking a lot but not really saying anything.

"Kate, you gotta--" Peter froze a moment, realizing what he'd said. He didn't know her well enough to be getting that familiar with her. Actually, he'd never heard anyone but Chloe -- another female cop in the Precinct -- call Katherine anything other than her full given name. So, maybe he'd never be close enough to get that familiar. He cleared his throat, then continued, "Katherine ... there's a lady down here you need to talk to."

At a bench in a not-so-well-lit end of the Creighton Street station, Peter gestured to an elderly, grimy woman with an old shopping cart from which hung almost two dozen one-use grocery bags. The cart and bags were filled with anything and everything she thought important or valuable. And she wore a kiddy birthday party tiara made of plastic and rhinestones.

"This is Queen Elizabeth," said Peter with a respective tone, gesturing to the elderly woman. He continued without a hint of ridicule, "Your majesty, this is Katherine. Do you think you could tell me what you told me?"

The old woman looked up to the female cop with an expectant expression. Peter turned such that Elizabeth could hear and whispered to Katherine, "You have to bow first."

He shrugged lightly to her.

Kate stopped for a moment tilting her head in acknowledgement of Peter saying his name and watched him readjust his thinking to speak to her. He was a nice enough guy. But just not what she was looking for. If she had to be honest it would be a combination of Mr. Darcy and Christian Grey. That's what she got for loving the classics and the not so well written, but definitely impressionable hot books.

But lets face it there wasn't that combination out there. With her history and bad choices as boyfriends she was happy with just being single with a pair of double a batteries.

Kate followed Peter tot he elderly homeless woman and smiled with genuine caring. Picking up the air as if it were a dress over her jeans she curtsied and bowed "Your Majesty, it is a deep honor to make your acquaintance." Sure it looked silly, and it was true this woman was not an actual queen. But if she wanted to be treated as such, who was she to question it? Hell at age six she thought she was a princess.

"Please your Majesty, may i have the privilege of hearing what you told our fair Peter?"
The 'Queen' told her of the men she had seen making out on her stroll. "I am quite tolerant of the homosexuals you see, so they feel comfortable with there displays of affection in my kingdom. So I gave them my nod of approval and continue on with my carriage (shopping cart). But the next day their was a lot of noise with the fairies creating lights and the banshees wailed (cop car and ambulance lights and sirens) One of those lovers fell asleep like beauty, I think his lover was a witch and pricked him twice in the neck with a needle."

Peter added "I checked it out, they attributed it to rough sex."

Kate smiled warmly "thank you your majesty. If you ever see anything else you just tell any of these men in blue that you need to reach me." she handed the woman her card.

Stepping away with another curtsy she waited till they were out of ear shot. "Well it's information, but i'm not quite sure how the two crimes relate. I mean the guy just had holes in his neck, like what a vampire? Which of course is a ridiculous theory. But lets keep questioning."

The rest of their shift went pretty much the same way as their conversation with Queen Elizabeth. They didn't get much from many, but what they got didn't seem to make much sense.

"What about that girl over on 15th Street?" one prospective witness had asked Peter.

He'd called Dispatch, which connected him to a Detective in Black End's other Precinct; and that man told him about Grace Hooper.

"Hooper was the girlfriend of a perp' only know as The Diceman … at least until her body was found in a dumpster over near Creighton and 11th," Peter told Kate, reading from his notes. He explained that Grace Hooper had a long list of misdemeanors, then listed off the Diceman's suspected crimes. Then, he dropped the bombshell. "Diceman was suspected in her murder, then seemed to have vanished from the face of the Earth, until last week when a fisherman snagged his body while fishing for those big invasive catfish that Fish and Game put a bounty on. He was down on the 22nd Street pier. The Coroner figures he was in the water for at least 3 weeks."

Showing Kate a pic the Detective had forwarded to his phone, Peter asked, "See anything curious? Her neck … the wound."

The image was of a very dead Grace Hooper, her head tilted to one side to reveal a nasty bruise. He swiped to show a second picture, this one of the Queen's dead gay subject. The damage to the neck was the same. "Coroner thought Hooper had been injected with a needle or some sort of forked device. But -- and here's the really weird thing -- she did a tox' screen and found elevated levels of two naturally occurring chemicals in both victims."

Peter showed her his scribbled notes, telling her he had no idea how to pronounce the words the Coroner had spelled for him. "First one's an anti-coagulant. Keeps blood from, well, coagulating. Let's it flow freely. Second one is one of those hormones the body puts out during the fight or flight period … you know, when someone's scared and has to make a decision whether to stand and fight or get the hell out of Dodge. It allows the mind to make a decision without being overwhelmed by pain by dulling the pain. So, basically, an anesthetic."

The next subway arrived, drowning out Peter's explanation. When he could, he continued, "So, here's the weird part. Although both of these chemicals occur naturally in the human body, they were present in each of our victims at more than 300% and 500% of normal, respectively. Coroner says that Freddy Krueger could be chewing your leg off and your body couldn't produce these levels. So … both victims would have bled out rapidly without the ability of fighting off their attacker, 'cause the anesthetic … well, you get it."

He held a finger up before Kate, expecting her next question. "And because I knew that you would ask me if I asked her … I asked if these long assed named chemicals could have been artificially produced and injected … or naturally produced and injected."

He shook his head. "Not a chance. They can't be produced outside of the body … and they can't be harvested -- her word, not mine -- and bottled to be injected with a syringe. So..."

Peter looked around himself for eavesdroppers before he leaned in close and asked quietly, "Katherine … what the fuck? Coroner says the gay guy--"

He hesitated a moment, realizing how bad that had sounded. He'd grown up in a very conservative Catholic household and -- try as he might -- he was having a hard time shedding that upbringing that said anyone who was different than his mother and father was weird, immoral, and possibly even evil.

"I mean … the male victim," he continued. "He was drained of his blood, too. So … is this some kind of wanna-be-faux-vampire serial killer … pumping his victims full of these chemicals before draining their bodies? There was virtually no blood at the scene … either of them. Coroner says the blood at the scene of the subway killing was almost all the guy whose head was nearly blown off. The guy with the hole in his neck … bled out, yet … less than a pint of his blood at the scene. How much blood is in a human body?"