"Do they really?" I said.

  "Fuckin' A."

After a cup of java – and a lightly warmed glass of Type O for Karl – at the place around the corner, we went back to the squad and made ourselves sit through the rest of the torture video. Apart from the gender of the victim, this one wasn't very different from the one that the Feebies had shown us a couple of nights earlier. Thorwald had been right about one thing, though – looking at that stuff doesn't get any easier with repetition.

  Afterward, we went looking for the two FBI agents, to see if they had any insights they'd like to inflict on us. However, Louise the Tease – whose real name is Louise Brummel, if anybody cares – said the two Feds had left a couple of hours earlier. Probably went off to spit-shine their holsters, or something.

  I checked my watch. We could either find some busywork until our workday ended in twenty minutes, or just leave now. After the shift we'd had, I knew what I favored.

  I turned to Karl. "What do you say – wanna call it a night?"

  "Works for me."

  As we walked through the parking lot, I said, "Hey, you got a minute? I'd like your opinion on something."

  "That business with Christine you were talking about before?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Karl checked his watch. "We're not exactly pushing sunrise, so – sure."

  As it happened, we were parked next to each other, so Karl leaned against the side of his car and said, "What's on your mind, Stan?"

  I had my butt braced against the Lycan. "You ever hear of something called Drac's List?"

  He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so. What about it?"

  "You know that it's a kind of, I dunno, dating service that puts vampires together with humans who want to get bit by one."

  "Yeah, that's what it is – more or less. So?"

  "When I got home yesterday, Christine was on her laptop, looking at something. But she closed the computer when I walked in, and gave me some bullshit story about scanning the employment ads in the Sunday paper. Then she went downstairs."

  "And you snooped."

  "I'm a parent, remember? Not to mention a detective. Bet your ass I snooped."

  "And you found she'd been scoping out Drac's List, instead of the Times-Tribune," Karl said.

  "Yeah, exactly. I was pretty upset."

  "Because she lied to you? Or are we talking about something else?"

  "The lying didn't help," I said, "but what got to me was that she was cruising those ads. You know, looking for a… vamp freak."

  "Stan." Karl's voice didn't sound happy.

  "Look, nothing personal, OK? You know my feelings about vamps, uh, vampires have gone through some changes. I don't look at it the same way I used to."

  "Gee, that's good to know," he said with a touch of sarcasm. "But…?"

  "But she doesn't have to do that. She makes a good salary – she can afford all the bottled blood she needs. Even if she couldn't, I'd buy it for her. I even bring her plasma sometimes. She won't buy it for herself, it's too expensive."

  Karl just looked at me.

  "Dammit, she can drink it out of a fucking glass, just like you do. She doesn't have to act like a goddam…"

  "Parasite? Bloodsucker? Undead leech? Which expression were you looking for, Stan?"

  "That's not fair, dammit! I never think of her like that – or you, either."

  We were quiet for a bit. Then Karl said, "You like fruit, don't you, Stan?"

  "'Course I do. So what?"

  "Apples, oranges, bananas, strawberries…?"

  "Yeah, all of them, and some more besides. Is there a point you're trying to make here?"

  "What if, starting tomorrow, you were told that you could never have fresh fruit again, Stan? No more frozen, either. Only the canned stuff. For the rest of your life. How would that make you feel?"

  "That's not the same thing, and you know it," I said.

  "You're right, it's not. Canned fruit tastes pretty good, if I remember right. But the difference between bottled blood, or even plasma, and the real thing, from a living person, it's like a choice between that powdered orange drink the astronauts used to drink, and fresh, sweet, juicy oranges."

  More silence.

  "I didn't realize it was that different," I said, finally.

  "It is. Just ask any vamp."

  "Karl–"

  "And here's something else for you to keep in mind, buddy. Both Christine and me, we're vamps because of you. Because of choices you made, not us. We weren't even consulted, remember?"

  "Consulted? You were both almost dead. If I could've consulted either one of you, I wouldn't have needed to."

  Karl reached in a pocket for his keys. "Time for me to head home. I wouldn't want to get you all upset by burning to death in front of you." He opened his car door and got in.

  "Jesus fucking Christ, Karl – are you saying you'd rather be dead?"

  "I dunno, Stan. I never got to find out what it's like."

  He closed the door, started up, and backed out of the parking space. Then he drove away, without looking back.

  I got in the Lycan and cruised around town for a while

before heading home. I had some things to think about. Just as well that a puppy didn't try to cross the street in front of me, though. I'd probably have run it over, then backed up to nail it again.

  When I finally arrived home, Christine was at the kitchen table, reading a magazine. She put it down as I came in and said, "Hey, Daddy." She looked a little wary – maybe my face still showed something of what I'd been feeling after talking to Karl.

  "Hey, yourself," I said.

  "I'm glad it's not fifteen minutes later, or I'd have missed you again. You weren't here when I got up tonight." The way she said it wasn't an accusation, just a statement of fact.