Undead and Unworthy

"Man, that was bad. We coulda handled that one better. A lot better."

"What are you talking about, 'we'? I'm not the one who completely screwed that one up. Hey, Jess gets full disclosure from me, pal."

"Oh fucking bullshit," he snapped, almost running down a squirrel. He turned onto Grand Avenue, where he'd have better luck with hapless pedestrians. "You told me yourself after that - after that business around your wedding that you kept her out of the vampire stuff."

"After I cured her terminal illness, you mean? Is that what you're referring to?" My voice was so sugary it would have given a diabetic an instant attack. I normally wouldn't bring it up, especially since I had no idea how I'd done it, but hey, Nick was bigger than me, and smarter. And armed. And he hated me. "Sure, Sinclair and I keep her out of it - keep her out in the sense of actually, physically keeping her out of it. But I still tell her everything."

"Nnmph," he grunted. Then, "Put on your seat belt."

"Please. Would you really give a gold-plated crap if I was launched screaming through your windshield?"

"State law."

Oh. Right. I, the Minnesota law-abiding vampire queen, obediently buckled up.

"She's got enough to worry about," he finally (lamely) said.

"You big liar! You're using me to ramp your solve rate, and I might get hideously mangled or killed. That's what you don't want her to 'worry' about."

"Ramp my solve rate?" He slid over two streets and merged onto I-94. "Betsy, stop watching NYPD Blue reruns."

"I don't! On purpose."

He groaned. "Please don't explain that."

"But Marc has a big crush on Sipowicz, and he's always hoping to see the man's butt again, and I can't help it if every time I go into the TV room or his room or one of the parlors, he's playing the DVDs."

"Well, if you're so damn sure I'm up to no good, how come you're here?"

"You know why."

"Enlighten me."

"Stop it."

"C'mon, I'm serious."

I stared at him. He stared back with his blank cop's face. Truth? Lie? Somewhere in between? I bet he could take a polygraph and never, what was the cop phrase? Never bounce a needle.

"I'm here to prove to you that I'm no danger to you, that we could be friends if you didn't shrivel with horror at the thought, that vampires can be good guys, too." I said it all in a rush, and it came out sounding like my drunken Marilyn Monroe impersonation.

"Yeah, you're going to have to slow that one down and run it by me again."

"I'm. Here. To. Prove. That. I'm. No. Danger. And. We. Can. Be. Friends. If. You. Didn't. Shrivel."

"That's okay, I think I can piece together the rest. Trouble is, blondie, why should I ever believe anything you tell me, ever again?"

"Oh, jeez!" I threw my hands up in the air. "How long are you going to hold that one thing against us? I've told you and told you, I was a new vampire and didn't know the rules!"

"Yeah, so you fucking mind-raped me."

I noticed that, like me, he tended to swear more when he was nervous or mad.

"Anything sounds bad when you say it like that," I conceded sulkily, staring out the passenger window.

He made a sound that might have been a snort, or a muffled laugh. When I looked, he had his cop face back on.

"So where are we going?"

"What a tactful, yet subtle way to change the subject."

"Fine. Don't tell me. Keep being the biggest, most gigantickest asshole - "

"Gigantickest?" he said, delighted. "Are you using word-a-day toilet paper again? Okay, okay, don't pout. And don't enlighten me about vampire toilet habits, I don't think I could stand it. I've managed to run down a couple of leads and thought I'd bring my favorite dead enforcer with me to see what's what."

"I thought you said your vigilante killer was a cop? Or cops, plural?"

"I did."

"So how can we check on them without, I dunno, scaring them? Tipping them off?"

"Very carefully. I've been running down when the murders took place - best as the M.E. can tell us, anyway - with the duty logs of the ones I think might be capable of something like this."

"Oh." That was really smart. And just laced with common sense. Exactly why I never would have thought of it. God, I'd be the worst police officer. I knew that about myself, had always known it, which was why it was kind of a thrill to be in a police car (the front seat, anyway), helping solve murders. Well. Coming along for the ride while someone else solved murders. "Huh. Okay."

"Do you know much about guns, Betsy?" He indicated his service piece. "If you're ever in a situation where you need to shoot a guy to save my ass, could you do it?"

"Wait. Do you hate me now because I'm a ruthless vampire who has killed before, or do you hate me because I'm a careless dimwit who can't be trusted with this power?"

"You mean, right now? Right this minute, why do I hate you?" he asked in a voice that was almost - so close! - teasing. "Do I have to choose? God, so many choices..."

"I don't have a lot of use for handguns," I said after a glance at the pistol at his waist. "Mostly I know about shotguns from goose hunting with my mom, and rifles for target practice."

"The professor hunts?"

"The professor can shoot the eye out of a squirrel at two hundred yards. I'll tell you who knows a ton about guns - Tina. She's an expert. You should get with her sometime."

"No thanks," he said curtly, and just like that, our fragile whatever it was came to an end.