Blood Debt

searching evil out and destroying it. There was just too damned much of it.
    For the sake of the sleeping child, Henry let this cockroach live, merely suggesting that, in return, it go into another line of work.

    "That was good food." Celluci stepped to one side of the restaurant door and was almost run over by a trio of young women. Two of them spun off to either side, the third looked him over, grinned, and hurried to catch up to her friends—now giggling around the corner on Robeson Street. Definitely not working girls—over the years he'd booked enough hookers to recognize them in any situation—they didn't look old enough to be out so late.
    "Feeling your age?"
    Startled, he stared down at his companion. "Did I say that out loud?"
    Tony shook his head. "No. You sighed."
    "Yeah, well, it's something old people do." He took a deep breath to clear the atmosphere of the restaurant from his lungs. "At least I still have all my teeth. And I do enjoy a good meal."
    "I figured if you come to the Coast, you should eat seafood. At least once."

    "Yeah? I suppose Fitzroy has sailors on Friday."
    Pale eyes wide, Tony stared up at the detective. "Man, you've changed. You're not as… uh…" During the pause, he received only a polite, questioning expression. "Well, as uptight as you used to be."
    "A lot of things have changed in the last few years."
    "Yeah? Like what?"
    "Vicki."
    "Ah. She changes, and you change because you love her?"
    "Something like that." Celluci sighed again and peered down Thurlow Street toward the distant waters of English Bay. "How far are we from your place? Fitzroy's place, that is, not where you're staying now."
    Tony shrugged again, allowing just whose place it was, to pass. "It's a bit of a walk."
    "Doable?"
    "Sure. Straight down Thurlow to Davie, along Davie to Seymour and home. I go that way on my blades." He looked down at his feet and shook his head. "Tonight it'll take a while longer. You'd better not be in a hurry."
    Somewhere to the south, a siren wailed.
    Celluci's mouth set into a thin line. "I'm in no hurry." Stepping away from the restaurant, he tried with little success to block out the distant sounds of the night. "I'm not very good at sitting around and waiting."

    The man who answered to the second name on Vicki's list had left town for a few days.
    "… I don't know any more than that. I don't! Please!"
    The third had been working late. She caught him just leaving the office.
    There was only one enforcer between them. Then there were only the persistent fumes of a pungent aftershave. Then…
    His other three boys found him a few moments later, crouched behind a dumpster in the alley next to the office. He stood slowly as they approached, visibly pulling himself together.
    "Boss? What happened?"
    "The night," he said, then paused to swallow fear. Lines of sweat that had nothing to do with the cool breeze blowing in off the street glistened down both sides of his face. "I was taken by the night."
    The most senior of the three shot a startled glance at his companions but switched from Chinese to English if that was how the boss wanted it. "Are you okay?"

    "Where's Fang?" Narrowed eyes searched behind three sets of shoulders, shying away from the shadows. "He was supposed to protect me."
    "He, uh, disappeared. Right when you did."
    Fingers curled into fists to hide their trembling, but the lingering terror honed a razor's edge on the voice. "Then where the fuck were you!?"
    The steering wheel creaked a protest. Vicki glanced down at it, frowned, and forced her fingers to relax their grip. It was getting harder and harder not to feed, not to drink in the terror with the blood.
    Once you acquire the taste, Henry had warned her, the desire for it will lead you to excess after excess. Be very, very careful.
    "Yeah. Right. 'Once you turn toward the dark side, forever will it dominate your destiny.' Stuff a sock in it, Obi Wan." Grimacing, she gunned the engine, raced a yellow light, and whipped the van around the corner, the two wheels still in contact with the pavement loudly objecting.
    Frustration sizzled along every nerve. It was like having sex for hours with no orgasm in sight. "Celluci'd better be well rested when I get back; he's going to need his strength."

    Yuen-Zong Chen, known to his associates as Harry, waited in the corridor while one of his boys vetted the men's room—not so much from fear of assassination as that he intensely disliked pissing in front of an audience.