NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: The obligatory waiver for those of you who don't like foul language, etc.

And if you're going to participate, at least demonstrate some decent grammar skills...

Thanks,

-CRUS

There gets to be a point in everyone's life where they feel beaten, cheated, or simply overlooked. That point in the life of one Jerico St. Croix came when 'Dog: The Bounty Hunter' aired for the first time on national TV...

"What in the fuck is this stupid shit?!"

And he wasn't what anyone would call happy...

"Hey boss, CHILL... It's a freakin' TV show..."

Ever the voice of reason, or at least he liked to think so, was Dekker Bray, one of Jerico's employees. He didn't see anything wrong with any more reality TV, other than the fact that his ex-wife had been eagerly awaiting the premiere and the lead guy didn't carry a gun...

"He doesn't even have a fucking gun! That's... That's..."

Jerico didn't seem to agree with it either...

"Un-American?"

Dekker offered. That was the exact thought that had crossed his mind...

"No dammit! It's, it's..."

Dekker tried again...

"Not in line with the Second Amendment?"

Jerico actually faced his long-time associate, glaring something between an attempted death-ray and good-old-fashioned daggers at the larger man...

"Where do you come up with that retarded shit? Seriously, some of the stuff that comes out of your mouth..."

The former mercenary laughed lightly. He didn't take offense to anything Jerico said, whether he meant it or not. It wasn't like he cared. He'd retired, if you could call it that, from the private sector a few years ago for something a little less dangerous than contract work for various national militaries, or in some cases at the discretion of his corporate employer. It let him do what he did best, which involved clearing buildings and cracking heads, but not be on any sort of governmental payroll, and that was the whole point. It was his third retirement, first from the Marine Corps Force Recon into the Navy for BUD/S, then from the Navy as a SEAL to the private sector where he worked for everyone from the CIA to African governments.

He still got to carry a gun, still got to shoot at people occasionally (more often than either Jerico or the Florida police departments liked, though), and still got paid. That was, again, the whole point...

"My bad, boss. I ain't tryin' to piss you off or nothing, but why are you hatin' on this fella so much? You think he stole your spot in the lime light?"

Jerico's eyes dropped from his to look back at the small TV set in the corner of their work-space. Jerico was a former Ranger, one of the Army's best. He was pissed because Dog got the TV spot, true, but that wasn't the only reason. He was the ex-Ranger, he carried a gun, and he owned his own bail bonds service. Dog was an ex-convict, carried an industrial size can of pepper-spray, and owned his own bail bonds service. Jerico just thought he would have made a better subject for a bounty hunter show than some guy in cowboy boots with a mullet full of native-american shit...

"Do people actually watch this shit?"

Dekker thought about keeping his mouth shut for a moment, but it was only a moment. The next moment he thought about speaking, and decided it would be better for Jerico to hear the truth than live the rest of his life in denial, or some crazy shit like that...

"Yeah, boss... They do, actually. The ex has been waiting for this for a while, or so says my kid..."

Dekker's first, and only, child was born to him at the age of seventeen, his then fiancee barely old enough to drive. He'd dropped out of highschool and gotten a job with a local security group that did bouncer duty at strip-clubs and dance halls until his eighteenth birthday when he'd joined the Marine Corps. His son was now twenty, which put Dekker on the nice side of forty, but barely. His brown hair was beginning to gray at the edges of his high-and-tight, the tattoos he'd been so proud of beginning to fade, and libido was decreasing, much to his chagrin. Spring break was right around the corner...

"Fuck it... Who are we after tonight, Dek?"

Dekker shrugged, pulling the hard-chrome-plated Kimber Gold Combat II from his shoulder holster and press-checking to verify there was a round in the chamber, not that there ever wasn't one...

"Don't know, Jaclyn handles the computer stuff. You just hired me to hit people."

The fact that he delivered his response with a grin seemed to peeve Jerico more than the fact that he said it...

"Fine, I'll call her and see where she is..."

Jerico flipped open his cell, hitting the number three on the keypad for a quick-dial. Jaclyn was the third member of their happy little family, adding a bit of female input to their masculine thoughts, which was interesting since she was about five minutes from being a bull-dyke herself...

"You there, Jaclyn?"

The voice on the other end of the line didn't sound happy, and Jerico didn't doubt that Dekker heard it across the room...

"WHAT?! I'm coming, dammit!"

Dekker couldn't resist...

"Then let her come up for air, dammit!"

He ended his frat-boy-ish comment with a surpressed series of chuckles, which he apparently didn't conceal well enough. Jerico had to move the phone away from his ear...

"Tell that muscle-headed piece of shit I'm going to kick him in the balls when I get there!"

Jerico didn't find either of the comments funny, at least he didn't let it show...

"That's enough Jaclyn, just as long as you get here SOON. We've ready to roll now, and we can't because we're waiting on you, so hurry the Hell up..."

The phone clicked shut and returned to his pocket. It wasn't like her to be late. Jaclyn had been hired almost directly out of the Army, about five months after her discharge. Somewhere along the way between BCT and her first duty station as a Military Police solider she had discovered she liked girls, and not just as friends. Someone in the higher-ups found out about this, and quietly got her discharged, something she wasn't too happy about. Since that time, she'd had a nasty disposition. Dekker had found that out the hard way on her first day after hitting on her a couple of times, she wasn't bad looking and sported a nice athletic figure, at least he'd thought so until she punched him in the face...

"Why do you do that to her? And don't tell me 'cuz it's funny' like usual..."

Jerico watched his associate stare at him for a moment...

"Because I find it amusing, boss..."

The older bounty hunter's eyes narrowed, his forehead furrowed, and his bloodpressure rose. If a bullet didn't kill him, a heart attack would. Having Dekker around was sometimes a lot like working with an eighteen-year-old, only this particular teenager weighed close to two-fifty and held advanced degrees in MCMAK, Krav Maga, Hapkido, Sambo, and a bunch of other stuff Jerico kept forgetting. He was effective, true, and the only time his mouth was an issue was when they brought Jaclyn along, but boy did it get annoying during those operations. Dekker seemed to have an endless arsenal of lesbian jokes, and Jaclyn had a particularly thin skin and quick temper...

"What?"

Dekker shrugged with his hands held up as Jerico pointed a finger in his direction before walking past him to the front doors to go outside to smoke a cigarette. This was going to be a long night...

Their bounty for the evening was one of their regulars, Jesus San Miguel, a gangster of Cuban descent with a lengthy record, most of which was weapons and assault-related charges. There were a few drug-related instances there, too, but the police files portrayed him in more of an enforcer role. They'd need to head to Miami to look for him, he'd missed a payment too many, which was two according to the St. Croix Bail Bonds contract he'd signed two months ago. Now it was time to find him. Florida had been a better place than his native New York for his sort of work. Concealed carry permits were easier to get, which meant he could carry and no one ask too many questions. He was a convicted felon, legally unable to own a firearm due to a manslaughter charge that had been wrongly slapped in his face. He'd been broke at the time, however, and had been unable to fight it to the degree it had needed to have been fought.

His old Swenson-customized Colt Series 70 M1911A1 had been put in an evidence locker, never to fill any holster he owned ever again. It was one Hell of a loss, that was one of the best guns he'd ever owned. The weapon currently in his lower-back holster was another M1911, a Springfield Trophy Match in stainless steel with a set of custom grips with the 75th Ranger Regiment set against a black background. They suited him, not being the nice polished black buffalo horn set he'd had on his Swenson, but a nice set none-the-less.

Jerico smoked, and waited, for Jaclyn's red Scion to pull into her usual parking spot, between his old black Pontiac GTO and Dekker's gray Chevrolet Silverado. They'd be taking her van-like Scion because of the additional room it offered, since Jerico's GTO had had a police-style divider installed to keep himself seperate from the criminal lowlifes he had to drag in. That brought seating capacity down to two. Dekker's truck wasn't an extended cab, which meant they could cram the two more in addition to his broad-shouldered frame into the cab, but that would leave no room for their bounty, and the truck bed was out of the question...

Little Havana, Miami

The weather was as usual, ungodly hot and sunny. The sun beat down relentlesslyupon the city and its' inhabitants. The expressways were clogged with traffic as vehicles struggled for an inch of space. The pavement cooked as people traveled up and down the sidewalks during the mid afternoon. "Little Havana", a neighborhood made up of dominatley of people of Cuban origin. Spanish was thee most common language as they crowded the small streets. A light blue Chevy Impala'78 was parked along one of the streets, opposite the street and down a block from Ramon's Auto Shop.
"Vic, can we turn the damn car on and get some AC going here?" complained Thomas Dawson as he rested his head on the head rest of the passenger seat. His skin glistened with sweat as they sat in the heat. He rapped his knuckles off the outside part of the door. In the distance, a Spanish radio blarred music.
"Stop your complaining, Jeff" replied the driver, a tall and lean man named Vicente Santiago. He removed his sunglasses and checked his watch. The heat was beginning to bother him too but he was used to the heat. Jeff was from Ohio and suffered horribly compared to Santiago, who was Argentinian born.
"We've been waiting out here in the damn heat for over three hours" Jeff turned to him "Face it, our man's not coming out". The thought lingered in Santiago's mind as he scratched his rough face. He hadn't shaven in several weeks and his black hair grew longer.
"You're right, Tom" Santiago admitted. Tom sighed in relief but caught himself as he saw his partner climb out of the car and close the door.
"W-What are you doing, Vic?" Dawson was confused and hated being such. He followed him out and walked behind him down the sidewalk. Santiago was wearing khaki shorts with old tennis shoes with a button up shirt unbuttoned. Underneath, was a hip holster carrying a Bersa Thunder.
"I guess we'll have to go in there and get him" Santiago smiled as the two of them now crossed the street, mindful of the drivers pasing by as well as pedestrians.
"We'll be killed!" Dawson hissed as he put a hand on a Beretta 9mm he carried. Finally, they approached the entrance to the auto shop.
"Just stay cool and follo my lead" Santiago reassured him as he pushed the glass door opened, a bell rang which hung from the doorway.

Inside was a counter with some chairs opposite and auto parts behind as well as aisles further down. It was a descent store. At the counter was an olde rman with wisps of gray hair and old eyes.
"Ola, como esta?" Santiago asked in fluent Spanish.
"Asi asi, gracias. Y tu?" The older man replied with a kind smile (I don't have the proper keys to make it look correct). Dawson looked around without moving as Santiago talked.
"Tu habla Ingles?"
"Si" the older man nodded and Dawson moved around the chairs as if he was looking for something.
"My friend" Santigao cleared his throat "We're looking for someone. His name is Victor Ramirez. Can you help us?" Just by the facial expression of the older man, Santiago knew he struck a nerve.
"I'm sorry, amigo. He's not here" the older man nervously replied, eyes moving around, mindful of Dawson's movements.
"Oh, okay" Santiago looked from side to side then leaned forward, speaking lowly, almost a whisper. "We know he's here. Victor jumped bail and must be returned to face the courts. He did aweful things" The older man nodded and cleared his throat, clearily nervous.
"He's in the back" the man whispered even lower than Santiago. The young man smiled.
"Gracias" he said "We'll try to be quick" Santiago reassured the older man and placed a hand on his weapon and moved through the store. The two made their way to the back and a door which led to the loading dock out back. They waited on each side of the door, waiting and listening. There were several men speaking Spanish on the other side. The two drew their weapons and prepared to breach the door. Dawson kicked hard into the door, busting open and Santiago, with weapon drawn, rushed in followed by Dawson. The men in the back were caught by suprise as they sourrounded a poker table, cards and money on it.
"Victor Ramirez?!" Santiago demanded, weapon at eye level. The Cubans raised their hands, scared. A man on the end with a scar on his eyebrow nodded.
"You're wanted for jumping bail, we're here to bring you in" Dawson said. The Cubans were backed up and isolated Victor who sat calmly at the table. Santiago holstered his pistol and grabbed Victor, slamming him against a brick wall and cuffing him. It was another successful job with little difficulty. Santiago smiled and breathed a sigh of relief as they departed, their target in cuffs.

Jaclyn's red Scion glided smoothly into the parking sport, shortly afterwards Dekker came barreling out of the doors, trapping her inside...

"Don't get mad, you... Time for that later..."

He flashed her one of those grins of his before moving around to the side of the vehicle to climb inside. Jerico followed a moment later. Jaclyn had remembered to dress like the rest of them, the black tactical pants with the black shirts with the words 'BAIL BONDS' across the front and back. Each had a badge hanging from their neck on a breakaway chain similar to those used on military dog-tags. The reverse side of each held a Florida state concealed carry permit, Jerico's being forged of course, but passable none-the-less.

Jaclyn's sidearm of choice was the 9mm Beretta M92FS, the same thing she'd carried in the Army. Her duty belt was considerably more loaded than either Jerico's or Dekker's. The obligatory pepper spray, telescoping baton, and tazer gun were there among the usual magazine pouches and handcuff carriers. Dekker's shoulder rig had a Mercworx Sniper model combat knife in a leather sheath electrical taped to the opposite side of his holster, with a pair of double magazine pouches underneath it. Two more where on his nylon rigger's belt, along with a bunch of zip-cuffs. Jerico's was more traditional, the holster in the back becasue that was where his weapon usually wound up anyway, along with two double magazine pouches and two double-handcuff pouches. He preferred Smith and Wesson cuffs, and had four pair on him during operations. He'd spent some time as a New York City cop after his time as a Ranger, and the set-up had been tweaked during that tenure.

The Scion pulled out of the parking spot again, jumping on the interstate south to Miami, and towards Little Havanna where they figured was the best spot to look for Mr. San Miguel. It would have been an uneventful ride, but Dekker had a few questions for Jerico...

"You think we need one more?"

Jerico was at first a little confused by this query...

"One more what?"

Dekker clarified...

"One more guy on the team. My kid's getting home from Ranger school here in a few weeks, and he'd need a bit of work in between when he ships off again..."

This again confused Jerico...

"He's not a Marine like his daddy?"

The question was posed with a grin, the knowing sort that parents exchanged between each other. Jerico hadn't seen his daughter in he didn't know how long, and had no idea what she was doing. Dekker was lucky to have maintained contact with his son through the lengthy combat deployments and mercenary contracts...

"Nah, he took after his uncle on that part, but he went Guard, part of some Special Forces unit around here someplace. It's the wave of the future, the 'Citizen-Soldier'. Something like seventy-percent of troops in Iraq are Guard and Reservists. I'm okay with it, that active shit nearly burned me out..."

It was Jaclyn's turn to pipe in...

"Damn right he went Army, he's seen what happens to you when you become a jarhead..."

It was meant in jest, and Dekker took it as such. He was outnumbered anyway, two grunts against his former jarhead/squid self. He'd have never left the Corps had they not offered him that chance at being a SEAL, as much as he hated the Navy. He was sure Jerico felt the same way about going from being a Ranger to pounding the beat as a city cop. It wasn't supposed to work out like that.

That was what was nice about those long car rides with the team. It was always a good time to talk about what should have been, past loves and losses, and share war-stories, since all there were veterans. Even Jaclyn had pulled a tour overseas before her discharge. She'd really appreciated Jerico taking her in like he did, the old bastard must have had a soft spot for former dog-faces like himself...

It was Bachman- Turner Overdrive's Taking Care of Business sung in a melodious and professionally trained - even if that training was more than a few years ago - voice that Tabitha O'Kane (http://www.atddm.com/tabitha.jpg) was indulging her penchant for singing to herself in as she finished loading the Hummer, having made sure that everything on her list had been packed back in just the place designated for it. This was only a milk run, finding and escorting a for a older gentleman of cuban extraction back to get his court date reset. It wasn't anything she couldn't handle alone, though the gang would be in constant touch though the computer systems and satallite uplinks they'd built into the Hummer. She didnt understand half of it, she just knew how to use it and that was fine by her.

She pulled her sunglasses up atop her head and looked once more through the thick file sitting in the passenger seat atop the currently closed laptop. Senor Jesus Santana Marianias, a criminal with a long list of serious white collar crimes to his name, but nothing violent. By all reports he was currently vacation ing here with his aged mother, the family matriarch and her spinster sisters. "'Well, she's more likely to be the one that's dangerous. He's a five foot two, three hundred pound, round as a basket ball wimp. Otherwise the gang wouldn't let me out of the office." Tabbe grumped in not so mock disgust.

Okay so she wasn't some sort of ex- military or police hotshot, but she had her own background dealing with less than savory ...things. Even if said things couldn't be discussed in public withou the nice men in the white coats being sent for. That aside, she certainly didn't look like a bail bonds enforcement agent which added to some peoples lack of belief in in her competence in dealing with criminal types. "Shades of Stepahnie Plum, and Mrs. King, that's me though I'm not half as hard as Stephanie is on vehicles." In facts she'd only lost one Hummer to prior bad acts by others.

Grinning now Tabbe, and not feeling any of her nearly fifty years, pulled the sunglasses back down and waited a second while the transitions lenses darkend to match the bright Miami sunlight beating dwon on the fire engine red vehicle. She pulled away from the Four Seasons Hotel, and headed north on Brickell Ave. Calle Ocho, which ran through the heart of Little Havana wasn't much more than a few long blocks drive.

According to the information in the file Senor Jesus Santana Marianias and family was currently occupying the Marion House, one of the four removated historic homes that comprised the luxurious The Miami River Inn. She'd have stayed there if they had had any vacancies, but with the Marianias family occupying an entire house, they'd had nothing available. The Four Seasons had an acceptable substitute, and Tabbe had enjoyed the three houses she spent being pampered in the Four Seasons five star spa the night before.

She would check there first.

Nelson's Bail Bonds, Miami

Nelson's Bail Bonds was located in North Miami. The building was two stories and descent in appearance both inside and outside. It was red brick with a large white sign in blue lettering that stated the name of the business. Michal Nelson began the business back in the late 70's. His business grew and prospered over the years and now in his mid to near late fifties, the fiery old man remained as the owner. His son, Jacob chose not to follow his father's foot steps and instead went to college and is now happily married in Ohio. So, Nelson trucked on ahead. Inside was the secretary, Paula Garretts, a woman in his early thirties and not at all an eye sore. She was dilligent and resourceful and a hard worker. Business was slowing down slightly over the past few months because people were getting smarter and not jumping bail as often. Sadly, there were still some who were just that stupid. His newest member of the team was young Vicente Santiago, ex-narc for the Miami Police Department and valuable because he spoke Spanish. He too was resourceful, cunning, and had a dash of common sense. Since joining the team, Santiago collared several big catches and not one time did he fire his weapon. Santiago tried his best not to use violence but some situations demanded it and he wasn't hesitant when the time came for such tactics.
"Boss, we're back!" Santiago called out as he and Dawson entered the main entrance. Paula straightened up in her seat and smiled.
"Vic, Tom...good to see the two of you got back in once piece" she commented as the two of them breezed through.
"Thanks for the concern, Paula" Santiago winked with a smile and kept on walking. Paula blushed a little and went back to work. The two bail bondsmen walked up the stairs and to Nelson's office. The door was ajar and they found the old man leaned back in his chair, nearly asleep.
"Wake up!" Dawson barked as Nelson fumbled out of his chair.
"Uh-How did the catch go?" he inquired, yawning.
"Smooth" Santiago shot back.
"Excellent. Look, I got another job for you two." He moved to the cabinet and flipped open a folder and laid it on the table. There was a photo and some paperwork.
"Jesus San Miguel?" Santiago said as he flipped through the pages of backround info and his rap sheet with the police.
"He's in Little Havana at the moment. Get there and start asking around" Nelson ordered as he adjusted his glasses.
"We just came from that shit hole!" Dawson complained. The two men were tired and need of a shower and rest.
"It's a pretty descent purse if he's brought in" Nelson added. Money made the world go round and the two bondsmen looked at one another and nodded.

Hmmm. I would say I'm in, but it already looks like you have enough bounty boys, and I'm not one to play a good bad guy. Even had a character thought up for me usage. Give me some time to contimplate it, will replace this post later.

OOC: There are cops and such involved in this sort of business, Imitora. Perhaps that might be the happy median you're looking for. Jerico's team has had a few run-ins with the law before, so they might remember them. An idea, and a connection with past events to strengthen character development, eh?

IC:

It was nearly seven PM before the St. Criox Bail Bonds team reached Miami, heading towards the poorer section of the city titled 'Little Havanna' after the large number of Cuban immigrants calling that area home. San Miguel wasn't exactly a big-shot, but he knew a few important people, which in turn might make him a bit easier to find. The guy almost always had a gun on him, which made things a bit rough, and he didn't want to go back to jail. Then again, if he hadn't wanted to badly enough he'd have paid off his bail bond on time and the whole mess of playing a pretty dangerous game of hide-and-seek with him wouldn't have been an issue. As it stood now, Dekker already wanted to hit him at least once for dragging him out this far away from the beaches and the barely-legal babes he enjoyed so much, Spring Break was drawing so close he could almost taste it...

"Wake up, Dek... We're getting close. Time to put those super-soldier skills of yours into good use..."

The ex-merc laughed lightly, something between a chuckle and a cough...

"Yeah yeah yeah, I know... All Marines are super-soldiers, you grunts are just the regulars sent to pick up the pieces and count the bodies. It ain't easy, but the work's sure fun..."

The two former soldiers sitting in the vehicle with him gave him the earned props for waiting for such an opportune time to fire such a pimp-shot before watching him open the sliding door and hang halfway out...

"SAN MIGUEL! WE'RE COMIN' FOR YA!"

Jerico sat in silence... There was that damned eighteen-year-old again, always wanting to do things the hard way. Why couldn't he be more professional? Oh yeah, he was a SEAL. SpecWar guys were notorious for this sort of shit, reminding him again why he hadn't pursued the Special Forces career path. His Ranger stick was well-disciplined, efficient, and most of all, quiet. Silence was a virtue, one that Jerico appreciated above all else...

"Hey Dekker... Shut the fuck up!"

Dekker looked back at his boss, grinning slightly...

"Hey, maybe he'll come to us?"

Jaclyn beat him to it...

"Nega-tive, Ghost Rider... Nice job, dickhead, now we'll never find him..."

While he wasn't quite as pessimistic as his female peer, Dekker had done this sort of shit before. Guys like San Miguel had that ego thing, something he himself might have just a little too much of, or maybe a lot, depending on which coed you talked to, but it might work in their favor. The guy didn't know was coming for him, or why, and that might draw him out into the open...

"Hey, you never know. He might have heard me..."

At about that moment an gunshot shattered the rear window of the Scion, sending a 9mm screaming past Jerico's head and out the front windshield, leaving a ragged hole in the shatterproof glass...

"Motherfucker! Who-tha-fuck did you piss of this time, asshole?"

Jerico stared out the now-missing back windshield to see a slightly tubby hispanic man standing in the middle of the street holding an automatic, no wait, it was something worse, it had to be, it would never be a shitty .22, not with Jerico's luck...

"Hey boss, I think that's a Tec..."

"A Tech Nine? Yeah... Nice job, asshole..."

San Miguel raised the weapon again, triggering a spray of automatic fire in their direction, striking the red vehicle in several places as Jaclyn stepped on the gas, trying to save her expensive ride from further damage. She wasn't going to be forgiving Dekker for this anytime soon...

"Do we shoot back?"

"What do you think dumbass?"

"Better question: Can I shoot back?"

"Go for it. Just don't kill him if you can..."

"Roger, boss."

Dekker swapped positions with Jerico, drawing his Kimber and taking a steady two-handed kneeling hold on the back bench seat as Jerico positioned himself at the sliding door. A single thumping boom echoed through all three's ears, and the man chasing them down the street with the sub-machinegun dropped backwards, struck hard by the deadly Winchester Ranger SXT 230 grain hollow-point round...

"Slow down, Jaclyn... We've got a bleeder. Get the medics on the horn, and my ass away from here, drop me off at the nearest hospital. Dekker..."

The aging mercenary had already hopped off the back of the vehicle as it slowed, running towards the downed man with his weapon drawn. He wasn't going to chance getting shot, better the bad guy than him anyday...

"Gotcha, ya trigger-happy bitch... Dontcha know that every bullet you fire has a lawyer attatched to it? That's good, since you just put the entire District Attorney's Office into my friend's car. It's gonna take at least that many to keep your non-payin' ass outta prison..."

As he taunted his downed prey he kicked the still-loaded SMG out of reach of San Miguel. Police sirens blared in the distance, and Dekker knew what was about to happen. He hoped it wasn't going to be another trip before a judge for excessive use of force, but then again, that depended on the arriving officers. The round had taken San Miguel squarely in the shoulder joint of his right arm, which was just about his intended target, judging by the bleeding it had missed the artery running to the arm and had shattered the ball-and-socket to the point of total disability. That had been one Hell of a shot, about fifty-six meters from a moving vehicle. The vehicle was moving backwards away from the target, but that wasn't the issue. He could still use this as an example of what good training and near-obsessive practice could do. The trusted pistol went to the low-ready as the sirens drew nearer, ready to be placed on the pavement carefully when the cops arrived. He'd see about putting it back in the holster, but he doubted it...

The vehicle screeched down the parkway towards Little Havana. The sun began to set off on the horizon, basking the city in an orangish red haze. The two men were fitted with vests over their shirts and each carried a shotgun. San Miguel was the kind of man who would never go back to prison nd would undertake drastic measures to prevent it from happening. Santiago turned off to an exit and entered Little Havana. Time was important and they were already behind the curb. If they hadn't had that stupid petty bounty earlier in the day, San Miguel would already be in their custody. As they turned onto a street they heard the all too familiar sounds of shots cracking into the air. Santiago pulled the car off the street and the two men exited, guns at the ready. They used cover and concealment and saw the scen ahead of them.
"Dammit!" Dawson hissed "We're too late" Santiago nodded as he saw the other bondsmen approach. They decided to put their shotguns away, upon hearing the sirens.
"Let's go say hello" Santiago said as he placed the shotgun in the trunk and slammed it shut.
"Why?" Dawson inquired, dumbfounded.
"To see who our competition is" the Argentinian smiled as they walked briskly up the sidewalk and towards the scene. Upon coming closer, Santiago's mood changed. The faces were all too familiar.
"Jerico St.Criox" Santiago uttered as their paced slowed down.
"You have got to be shitting me!" Dawson's expression changed suddenly. "How do you know?"
"I've run into him before. A real hard-ass" Santiago mused as he picked up the stride again. They finally reached about ten feet from them.
"St.Criox!" Santiago called out "It looks like you made a mess here" he smirked. Dawson remained silent.

By six p.m. Tabitha had enjoyed a expertly cooked traditional Cuban meal and was gently declining a third cup of equally wonderful coffee. "Oh thank you no Senora Marianias. This was a delicious mean, and your coffee is sublime, but I don't dare drink another drop." She complimented gracefully.

The old dragon, a true Cuban Materfamilias thumped her cane and frowned in displeasure. "I am furious that Jesus never came home. He knows when dinner is served, but he has become so unreliable of late. And he forgets to use that expensive cell phone he carries every where. What are youngsters coming to these days!" Another heavy thump of the cane expressed her displeasure once again, then she smiled.

It was terrifying. Tabitha hid a gulp behind a last sip of her coffee.

"Except for you my dear. You have been a wonderful guest. I haven't laughed so much or heard so many good tales in ages. Don't you agree, sisters?"

The two spinsters sisters nodded in unison and gave Tabbe beaming smiles.

Terrfying cubed and she absolutely knew, without the slightest doubt, exactly why Jesus would rather spend all his time at 'that den of iniquity where women who would never be allowed in MY front door fall all over him and out of their scandalous clothes.' as his mother put it with wrath clotting every word.

"I must speak to your son, and help him make an appearance before the judge so this problem can be cleared up discretely. And while I know it's not truly suitable, if he is at the Cabana, I must go there Senora Marianias." Tabitha stated with demure firmness. "I wouldn't want anything bad to reflect on you, or your family. I promise there will be no discord, no publicity."

The spindly old woman - she couldn't have been more than five foot in three inch heels, and weighted maybe nintey pounds - nodded with a resigned look on her face. "I am truly sorry that you should have to expose yourself to such, but I am very thankful for your discretion. If Jeus hadn't sent his assisstants off to Columbia with those business papers, I would have certainly offered to send them to fetch him while you waited here."

The old lady had been wary at first but Tabitha could win over any one if she tried. And she had. Her obvious good breeding, the modest, but very expensive dress she wore and the subtle flattery in fluent spanish had certainly helped but it was her genuine appreciation of the old woman's prized collection of Billie Holiday records that had been the ice breaker. Apparently Jesus had had the bad sense to make fun of his mothers love of torch songs and one of the greatest vocalists associated with the genre.

His loss and Tabbe's gain.

It was nearly an hour later before Tabitha slid back into the Hummer, a large shopping bag filled with homemade desserts plesantly scenting the air. The other thing in the air was the sound of gunfire comming from the street.

Turning the Hummer's engine over quickly Tabbe spun the wheel and gunned the big vehicle down the Miami River Inn's long drive. In seconds she was turning on to the street and it was esay to see where the gunfire had come from. One man was down in the middle of the road, another standing over him and two more approaching.

"Oh my!" Tabitha gasped as she braked hard, stopping just short of the downed body. Her man was tubby, so was the one bleeding,...

"Oh, don't you have dared shoot my target!" Tabitha exclaimed as she clambered down from the drivers seat, her silky dress swirling about trim calves. It might have been modest but it showed off her figure perfectly. And that figure was still a knock out.

The red Scion nearly clipped the Hummer as it sped out of the neighborhood, getting Jerico and his illegally purchased weapon out of the area as quickly as possible. Dekker was a big boy, he could handle himself.

Jerico would handle the stuff at the hospital, keeping the cops from bringing their hard-earned bounty in before they could collect. Jaclyn would drive back and forth between the two, either bringing Dekker back from the police station or picking him up from the street.

Dekker, on the other hand, turned his head slowly in the direction of the two guys running towards him wearing kevlar vests...

"I ain't St. Croix, he just hired me to hit people. Now if you'd kindly step off, I've got this situation well in hand..."

About that time an ambulance rolled up, followed shortly by a police cruiser. Thankfully, the cops knew Dekker, where he'd been the past several years, and knew he wasn't a trigger-happy piece of shit. It didn't hurt that one was an ex-Marine, either. They promptly confiscated the discarded Tech Nine, asked that the owner of the Scion bring it by the station for inspection, and let Dekker go on his merry way without having to throw his prized handgun onto the asphalt...

"Remind me who the Hell you guys are again?"

The cops were just getting ready to leave when Dekker posed his question, and up ran an older lady telling him that he better not shoot her target, whatever that meant. Too late, anyway. The paramedics were packing him up and taking him to the nearest hospital as Dekker slid the 1911 back into its holster...

"And who, ma'am, are you? His grandma?"

The comment was only half in jest. She looked a few years too old for this sort of work...

"And who, ma'am, are you? His grandma?"

Tabitha had gotten a good look at the man the paramedics were hauling off, and was quietly relieved to see that he wasn't Jesus..well he might have been a Jesus, but he wasn't her Jesus. Slowly she turned back to the man who'd done the shooting. Her dark amber eyes flashed dangerously.

"No." One elegant eyebrow rose "If you are going to be handling large caliber handguns in public, you might want to have your eyes checked, though I thought they didn't hand out carry permits to juveniles." Her tone to Dekker was crisply dismissive.

She looked at the two men who had run up calling him Jerico. "Of course he isn't Jerico St. Croix. Jerico has much better manners, and I can't vouch for this one working for Jerico."

She turned back to Dekker "Though if you see him say 'Hi' from Tabbe."

His cool blue eyes met hers, like ice water on embers. His eyesight, despite being nearly forty years old, was just fine. That had been one Hell of a shot, at least with a handgun. She must not have seen the 'USMC' inked on the outside of his left forearm, or the SEAL trident running down his spine from the base of his neck. Then again, the Marine Corps Eagle and Anchor was pretty visible on the inside of his right forearm. He didn't like people not knowing where'd he'd come from and what he'd done. Hell, even his blood type was tattooed into his chest...

"Eyes checked? Lady I just pulled off a disabling shot from about fifty meters with a handgun from a moving vehicle. I think my eyesight is just fine..."

His temper cooled, however, taking the slight edge of rage from his voice. While he might act like a horny eighteen-year-old most of the time, Dekker was deadly serious when it came to combat, otherwise he'd have caught a fatal slug some years ago. You might call it a split personality, but he could drop into it at will, and it wasn't a place you wanted to be on the wrong side of when he did...

"You're aware this is Florida, the Gunshine State, where they hand out CCW permits like church flyers, even Jerry's angry ass has one, and you can shoot someone dead for feeling 'threatened'. I've been on the business end of some deadly hardware before, and anytime an automatic weapon is sprayed in my direction triggers that 'threatened' response..."

If she knew anything about Jerico she'd know he hated being called 'Jerry', and that he wasn't supposed to even own a gun, much less be able to carry it concealed. And one final trial...

"He loves that nine of his so much, he takes it everywhere..."

Jerico was old school when it came to handguns. If it wasn't a forty-five it wasn't shit, and didn't deserve a place in any holster he owned, much less a place on his belt...

"If you wouldn't mind giving me a lift to the hospital behind that ambulance, I'm sure Jerico would love to catch up on old times with you..."

He extended his right hand, tactical glove and all...

"Gunnery Sergeant Dekker Bray, retired... It's a pleasure..."

Despite being a little rough around the edges with his urban Kentucky accent and battlefield manners, but he wasn't bad looking by any means and could be one charming motherfucker when it came right down to it...

Tabitha was grinning by the time Dekker got to ...

"He loves that nine of his so much, he takes it everywhere..."


The look she gave him, as she used one slender forefinger to pull her sunglasses down to nearly the tip of her nose, was frankly disbelieving. It was a close cousin to the one nuns gave disobedient little boys, but with a glint of humor that said 'men will be men and isn't that a wonderful thing."

"If you wouldn't mind giving me a lift to the hospital behind that ambulance, I'm sure Jerico would love to catch up on old times with you..."

"Don't get your cammo patterned briefs in a twist. But after calling me grandma, I had legitimate doubts about your eyesight. And if that's the Jerico you know then I'd better see him for myself "

Her eyes twinkled as he offered his hand. She took it, tactical glove and all, in her own feminine but strong hand. She had her own hard to notice if you weren't shaking her hand calluses. She knew she'd never be any sort of super marksman, or Jet Li marttial artist, but she practised regularly with the rest of the team, and had made sure long ago that they forgot about any notion of pulling punches. And Tabitha was at the range weekly with her Manurin PP. So it was in .32 acp, her shot placement was nothing to sneer at and it didn't make her small hands feel crowded, or hurt her wrists.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Sergeant Bray, I'm Tabitha O'Kane. Are you certain the man you know as Jerico St. Croix is really whom he says he is? Does he still have that old Goat?" She querryed, while apparently ignoring the two strange men, she had kept part of her attention on them. They caused her hackles to rise and though she wasn't quite sure why, she never ignored her instincts.

The aging bird looked like she knew what she was doing, her hands weren't those of a housewife...

"Like I said, ma'am, I've been retired for some time now. Last time I officially saw any combat was during the Gulf War. Callin' me 'Dekker' is more than fine with me, and yes, if you're talking about that heap he insists on calling a GTO, then he still has it..."

He leaned in a little closer, her hand still in his...

"You know as well as I do that Jerico hates those damned wonder nines about as much as he hates Dog's goofy ass. A little test you passed with flying colors... Now how about that ride?"

He was still in his combat mode, something that took him a few minutes to drop back out of...

"He gonna be okay?"

The statement was directed at the paramedics more than anyone...

"Yes, sir. He's stable now, and should pull through provided we get him to the hospital as soon as possible..."

Dekker was relieved to hear that. He wanted to be done with killing as much as possible, besides it was more of a challenge to bring someone down without ending their life than it was to tap them twice in the chest and move on...

"Good to hear. We'll be right beind you..."

He turned back to his new ally...

"Ms. O'Kane, if you will?"

Tabbe decided that she liked his eyes when he leaned in closer, having not let go of her hand to ask again about that ride to the hospital. She wondered if the two strangers made him as twitchy as they did her. She'd ask him later though.

Tabitha found herself nearly giggling as she led the way back to the Hummer. Oh yes Jerico would hate Dog, the Bounty Hunter with a passion. Her team did as well. She didn't care either way, she didn't consider herseld a bail bonds enforcement agent, though they did that when other things got slow.

"Did Jerico destroy a tv or two when the show came on?"

She and the team limited themselves to throwing nerf ninja stars at their sixty inch while the show was on. And she had no idea why so many women found Dog handsome. He wasn't her type at all. Though, since she'd been widowed six years ago, she hadn't had enough social interaction with men to know if she had a type. Benny would have been classed a nerd she thought with a gentle smile as she thought of Benjamin O'Kane. He still came to her in dreams, mostly to kick her ass for messing up on various hunts...and to nag her to get a life.

*You're only forty eight, get out, stop hunting things most people don't believe in any more, and get a life, have a date, go on a cruise, live it up!" he'd say firmly then waltz her around their favorite ball room floor a song or two then vanish. Ghosts could be worse than Jewish mothers

"It's open, Dekker," Tabitha said of the passenger door as she climbed in on the driver's side. "Some thow I feel as if I ought to apologise for it being the civilian model. My last one, which was the real thing got, erm..." She cast around for an appropriate term "Fubared in an incident" Well molotov cocktails tossed by the 'pets' of a thing that didn't exist counted as both a fubar and an incident. Didn't it?

She'd been driving Hummers for about five yeares now and had taken various courses offered to further her driving skills. So she whipped the bulky vehicle about like a pro and sped after the ambulance.

"And please just call me Tabbe." Her nickname had nothing to do with her formal name, or cats, but an incident with Japanese socks, an acient Tai Chi instructor and the Garden Club's obnoxious chairwoman. She didn't tell that story to just any one though.

"How did you happen to meet Jerico? He's not exactly fond working with others."

Tabbe decided that she liked his eyes when he leaned in closer, having not let go of her hand to ask again about that ride to the hospital. She wondered if the two strangers made him as twitchy as they did her. She'd ask him later though.

Tabitha found herself nearly giggling as she led the way back to the Hummer. Oh yes Jerico would hate Dog, the Bounty Hunter with a passion. Her team did as well. She didn't care either way, she didn't consider herseld a bail bonds enforcement agent, though they did that when other things got slow.

"Did Jerico destroy a tv or two when the show came on?"

She and the team limited themselves to throwing nerf ninja stars at their sixty inch while the show was on. And she had no idea why so many women found Dog handsome. He wasn't her type at all. Though, since she'd been widowed six years ago, she hadn't had enough social interaction with men to know if she had a type. Benny would have been classed a nerd she thought with a gentle smile as she thought of Benjamin O'Kane. He still came to her in dreams, mostly to kick her ass for messing up on various hunts...and to nag her to get a life.

*You're only forty eight, get out, stop hunting things most people don't believe in any more, and get a life, have a date, go on a cruise, live it up!" he'd say firmly then waltz her around their favorite ball room floor a song or two then vanish. Ghosts could be worse than Jewish mothers

"It's open, Dekker," Tabitha said of the passenger door as she climbed in on the driver's side. "Some thow I feel as if I ought to apologise for it being the civilian model. My last one, which was the real thing got, erm..." She cast around for an appropriate term "Fubared in an incident" Well molotov cocktails tossed by the 'pets' of a thing that didn't exist counted as both a fubar and an incident. Didn't it?

She'd been driving Hummers for about five yeares now and had taken various courses offered to further her driving skills. So she whipped the bulky vehicle about like a pro and sped after the ambulance.

"And please just call me Tabbe." Her nickname had nothing to do with her formal name, or cats, but an incident with Japanese socks, an acient Tai Chi instructor and the Garden Club's obnoxious chairwoman. She didn't tell that story to just any one though.

"How did you happen to meet Jerico? He's not exactly fond working with others."

"Twenty bucks says he comes in easy."

I chuckle a bit to myself, and nod. I could use some bar cash. GS-082 pay just aint what it used to be now a days.

"What makes you think he wont?" I ask, shuffling around inside the boat like Pontiac. It had the turning radius of a small battle fleet, and was about as subtle as getting hit in the face with a brick, but it was roomy, and cleared traffic on the Florida free ways. Of course, the need to clear traffic was really non existant. The ASO traffic division managed to move it along just fine. Of course, when your job description was donuts and chasing kids in cars about ten times faster than yours, you learned how to handle traffic. Even if you are a dick.

"Cuz he's Mexican, and he'll want to keep his honor. Wont want to risk going down in front of his family, so he'll ask us to let him get outside, then fast cuff him and get him into the car."

I just shake my head at the former SWAT cop outa Dallas. Bunch of I think I'm a hard ass types. Not that I had much room to talk myself. Nothing like a bunch of parachute drops into some hell hole in the desert, then helping Air National Gaurd types pull bloated bodies outa the water back home to put shit in perspective. Then there was that mess up in Tennesee, but we won't go there now.

"Your a fucking idiot," I joke at him. "I'll see your twenty, and raise you thirty. I put fifty says we might need to tackle his ass, drag him outa the house screaming, and may need to hold back his girl." I tug my New Orleans Saint's cap down over my hair, and pull the chained badge out of the glove box of the ought six GTO. Not an official car, but updone enough to make it official. And, unlike the Crown Vics and 300Cs, it doesn't scream "US MARSHALS SERVICE. The vest I'm wearing, however, does, and in bright yellow letters.

"Aight Jason, I'll see your bet." Jason is me. Jason Waitkus, US Marshals Service Deputy. Former US Air Force Combat Controler. The former goes back to that afore mentioned bit in Tennesee. My partner pulls on his badge over his vest, and slips out the side door of the GTO, leaving the seat folded forward. I lift up the folding restraint gate, just one of the many little fun Law Enforcement custom bits, and slide out my door.

We approach the door to the small house in some shit hole known as Alachua County, where the cops are more concerned with the street racers and stunt bikers than real criminals. I flip the thumb break of the holster, and rest my hand on the Glock 21. My partner already has is own Glock 22 out, and we cross the front lawn of the house. A hard bang on the door.

"US Marshal Service!" my partner calls out. Nothing. He calls again, and nothing. We have an entry warrant, and exercise it. I kick the door in easily, it wasn't the usual sturdy wood that is the norm around here. Instead, it was not more than some cheap screen door to keep bugs out. Someone starts screaming in a language I can't understand, unless its Dos Cerveza Por Favor, and I snap out the .45ACP Glock.

"US Marshals," I call out this time. "Mr. Agiular, it would be easier if you just come with us." They never want to do it the easy way. My partner moves towards the kitchen, so I take the bed room. Thats where I earn my fifty bucks.

Some screaming shit of a man, not more than five seven, maybe a buck fifty when sopping wet, comes flying out of the bed room, knife in hand. I have at least sixty pounds, three inches, and a whole hell of a lot of combat expierence on him. The Glock goes to the holster, a hard block to the knife in the left hand with my own left, and my right comes up fast. I hook my index into his mouth, roll away, and let his own momentum bring him down. Placing one hand on his shoulder, and keeping the other in his mouth, I pull towards me, flipping him over. He struggles against me as I try to pull his hands behind his back.

"Stop fucking moving or I will taze you," I command in a voice that isn't shouting, but loud enough for him to move to know I'm not fucking with him. He doesn't, and as my hand goes to the belt pouch with the tazer, a screaming shit of a woman comes flying out from another room. My partner quickly holsters his own weapon, and snags her by the back of her shirt, wrapping her in his six foot four, two hundred and fifty pound bear hug. At least he's good for that.

The tazer goes into Aguilar's back, and I allow him another warning. "Do not resist or I will taze you!" The lady behind me is still screaming at me in some language that I really don't care enough to understand, and I depress the trigger on the tazer.

Aguilar stops struggling.

I get the plastic cuffs on him, and drag him to his feet. He tries to play dead, so I jab the tazer into his back, but keep away from the trigger. "Start playing nice or I'll give you another bolt of lightning up your ass."

Aguilar plays nice.

My partner keeps the woman restrained with arms that dwarf her entire body, and I assist Aguilar into the back of the GTO. I explain to him why I just tazed him, and why we kicked down his door, including the term under arrest a number of times. The seat collapses back, and my partner drops the woman, now a pile of sobs and tears.

Aguilar had skipped out on a Federal court appearence involving his recent gang activities. They called us to go get his ass. Our big meal for the day was still out on the run. We had some informants looking after that Jesus kid, and we were heading to Miami to pick him up soon. He hadn't really done anything, but he had been getting close to a few Mr. Smiths, and well, when you testify against some of the more ruthless gangs in the US like MS-13, we don't take kindly to people getting close to our Mr. Smiths.

And then my cell phone chirps.

"Waitkus?"

A pause, and my partner, and Aguilar, flinch as I slam my hand against the GTO's dash.

I slap the Motarolla closed. "They got San Miguel."

"Who?"

"A bunch of fucking bounty hunters."

"So what are we gonna do?"

"No way we'll get to Miami in time to intercept. Lets drop of skippy back here, and see what we want to do about it." The sound, and smell, of vommit errupts from the back seat.

"Well fuck me," I swear under my breath.

Dekker opened the door and climbed inside. It wasn't the mil-spec Humvee, true, but it was much nicer. He'd been in a couple of the ones she was talking about, and they weren't exactly something you wanted to ride around in for long periods of time...

"Jerico gave me a job as a retirement plan. I did a lot of mercenary work up until about a year ago, some of which went to my ex-wife for child support, most of which went into a college fund, and very little of which went to me. I got really tired of hopping around the world, the constant combat, the bullshit with INTERPOL, I just wanted to settle down for the rest of my life, live to spend what I've earned. Monster.com is a nifty little sonufabitch..."

That wasn't really how they'd met, it was the politically correct version. Jerico had actually found Dekker drunk off his ass in a beach front bar after his last contract assignment, kicking the shit out of a group of frat boys who didn't like his older ass hitting on their girlfriends. He was a big guy, but they were also big guys. Problem was, however, that the big guy they were screwing with could move like a little guy and hit like a freight train. Jerico hustled him out of there somehow before the cops arrived, liked what he saw, and offered him a job. It was always good to have a big guy on your team, especially an ex-SEAL...

"Now how'd you two meet?"

Tabbe swallowed another set of giggles at his innocent mention of Monster dot com. Was the coffe more than just coffee She wondered.

"Now how'd you two meet?"

"He used to work occassionally for my husband, Benny, before he passed on. And since I've taken up where Benny left off, he's helped me out more than a few times." It was truthful and concise and made no mention of things that didn't exist. But hunting them paid very well, if was more than a little dangerous.

"Ah here's the hospital. Why don't you hop out and head on in, while I go find a place to park this behemoth?"

Dekker knew there was something she wasn't telling him, but he hadn't told her the truth either, so there was some justice to it. At the mention of doing work for her husband in the past, Dekker's suspicions became aroused. Jerico wasn't the type to work for anyone else's bonds service, and he wasn't too fond of mercenary work either. Maybe a bodyguard? He wasn't sure, he'd have to ask Jerico about it...

"Sounds good to me..."

He let himself out of the car, moving at a light jog into the hospital where he found Jerico standing at the reception window for the emergency room...

"There's a Ms. O'Kane coming to see you..."

Jerico snapped around a little faster than normal...

"Tabitha O'Kane? You're sure?"

It wasn't like him to ever seem excited. Dekker had only seen him pissed off, or well, that was the only emotion he'd ever seen Jerico employ. Now he seemed excited about meeting this woman...

"Yeah, boss. Older lady, doesn't like being called 'grandma'?"

The older man's eyes narrowed, he wasn't very fond of being screwed with...

"That's her. Where'd you two meet?"

"She gave me a ride here after she saw our man lying in the street..."

Jerico's excitement seemed to rise just a hair more...

"And she's here? Where?"

"Just outside, boss, parking that beast of a vehicle she drives..."

"Wait here..."

Jerico left the window, walking quickly outside. He didn't believe Dekker for a second, there was no way...

Tabitha took a moment to check in with her team after she found a parking spot large enough to hold the Hummer.

*"Yes, I'm just fine. Jesus apparently hides out a a cigar club called the Cabana, to get away from his madre. Aye Carumba, what a terrifying dragon she was!" Tabitha laughed. "And guess who's here! You remember I keep talking about Jerico St. Croix? He's here doing a pick up of one of his one miscreants, who just happens to have the first name of Jesus too."

She listened for a few moments and added "Once I get Senor Marianias. to agree to come back and reset, I'll put him on the flight north, first class and you all can pick him up at the airport. He'll like it better that way. His mother said she'd pay for the ticket and take it out of his allowance later."

The laughter on the other end could be heard clearly. Apparently some five other people were part of the conferernce call.

"I've got to go now I haven't seen Jerico in ages and want to make sure he's doing all right. Then I'll hit the Cabana and get Jesus away from all the 'women falling out of their clothes...What? NO! I certainly will not be falling out of mine, though I may take a room here rather than start back very late tonight....Yer, my cell phone is on and ..What? No I haven't heard one whisper about vamps... Miami is not on any Watch List that I know of, and yes I'll be carefull. You all be careful yourselves.*

Still chuckling she slid the slim, leather covered Nokia 7380 shut and exited the parking lot with long graceful strides, her silk dress swirling about her. The three inch heels coupled with the dress showed off her legs perfectly. Though I'll want to change into something a little more fancy for heading to that club She reminded herself. Then she saw Jerico walking briskly out of the hospital, looking around. Oh he looks good! I wonder if he'd like to have dinner with me tonight? Tabitha smiled to herself as she found herself moving even more briskly, eager to spend some time with him.

"Jerico!" She called as she waved to catch his attention, her smile blooming even wider

Jerico caught her wave, and her smile. It had been too long since he'd seen her, and he wondered fleetingly if this was for business or pleasure. He knew for a fact that Jaclyn hadn't even considered the sort of stuff he did on the side, but Dekker he wasn't so sure about. The merc had done some crazy stuff in his past career that he hadn't spoken to him about, probably for the same reasons Jerico hadn't spoken to him about his little side gig.

Tabitha was much closer now, close enough for him to extend his arms to her to catch her in a friendly hug...

"Tabitha! It's been too long, how are things?"

Tabitha found herself swept up in a warm hug and returned it just as happily. Jerico didn't look as if he'd changed one molecule's worth.

"Tabitha! It's been too long, how are things?"

"It is so good to see you Jerico. and oh yes it's been too long. Things are going fine, save that I find myself missing you even when things aren't turning into real pickles far too fast." She wouldn't let go the hug until he did, so for the moment she leant back and gave him an even better and appreciative once over.

"I didn't see what went down, and I'll admit to a small worry about what might have happend to you when your name got mentioned. Two really unsavory sorts mistook Dekker for you." She shook her head at that bemused. How any one who claimed to know Jerico could have mistaken the massive Marine - she had caught the tattoss that were visable - for Jerico she couldn't fathom.

I hate Miami. Its annoyingly humid, at least the wet air back home is a comfortable humidity. Its louder than Bourbon in Mardi Gras, which is never really my style. And then there is all the Cubano gang banging wanna bes that think throwing down a Tony Montana accent and wearing a suit that would make the Tubbs and Crocket cringe makes you a hard ass. Whatever.

There had been some confusion with the earlier phone call, thank god. Turns out that our boy Jesus hadn't been picked up, just his bond papers released to the local bail bond types. This of course, pissed me off. We've been working on picking this ass hole up for a while, and a bunch of wanna be cowboys are gonna grab him instead.

I pull of the main highway into the city, and flip two small switches in the front of the Goat. The first activates a set of strobes in the head and tail lights. The second the siren. Then I hit the next most important switch-the go pedal. The six liter V8 with a whisper lid, long tubes, and pretty much wide open exhaust roars to life as the tach swings north, and the rear end gets a bit squirly. Matched with a very nice ECU tune, the Pontiac has more than enough power to run down most of the shit bricks that try to run from us. There was that one guy in the Poopra that was able to get some distance, but Karma and a light post ended that.

I'm heading towards a known stake out area when my cell phone chirps again. I pull it out of my pocket, and toss it to my partner, I'm more focused on driving. The Pontiac is an auto, but that doesn't make it any easier to handle while doing seventy in a thirty five, trying to get around the slow guys in the fast lane.

My partner looks at me, pissed. "Those fucking cowboys shot him!"

Damn. I take the cellphone back, and start talking to the dispatch, for lack of a better word, on the other end. "Whats the story."

She tells me that they just got a report from some paramedics that a male matching the description that we gave them, along with some nice photos, was just picked up for a GSW and was heading to one of the local hospitals. So we still had a chance. We get the name of the hospital, and more info, like the bus number, crew, ER doctor most likely to handle the GSW, and the phone number for the head RN and main desk at the hospital.

My partner calls ahead, and makes sure that they don't release him. A one of Dade's finer may have been able to sweet talk the nurses or doctors to hold him, but my partner skips the sweet talks, and throws down the Deputy number and tells whoever is on the other side that the Federal government would be much appriciative in holding the prisoner. That, and know that they know who this punk is, letting him go would be obstruction. Nice.

I'm swinging the Goat around when I realize we might need to deal with some interesting characters. That always makes it fun.

The big LS2 barks as I punch it, the tires spinning for a moment, and then takes off towards the hospital, strobes flashing and siren blaring.

Jerico dismissed the thought with a wave...

"He's a big boy, he can handle himself, that's why I left him there in the first place. The man's a wolf, he's pretty protective of his prey once he corners it. Anyway, come on in and I'll get the introductions started..."

He was a little reluctant to let her go from his embrace, she smelled so good. Then again, she was his old employer's widow and those sort of things were not conducive to a good working environment...

"And by the way, if you want to risk it, Dekker might have had some expeirence in our little side business...[/i]

The man's a wolf,

"In more ways than one" Tabbe laughed looking up at Jerico and crinkled her nose at him, eyes twinkling with humor only some one of their maturity could appreciate. "He probabably think's he's a holy terror with the bikini set"

Sighing inwardly as he started to ease out of the embrace, she certainly didn't want it to end. It was both warm, comforting and she admitted silently, more.

And by the way, if you want to risk it, Dekker might have had some expeirence in our little side business

"What?! Are you retiring?" SHe found herself horrified at the thought as she slipped her arm in his as they strolled into the welcome air conditioning of the hospital's ER

There was little in the way of fanfare and screach as I rolled on the big Brembos and the grippy rubber yanked the Goat to a halt. I killed the siren, butleft the strobes running, and told my partner to stay in the car. "If I call ya in, take the boomstick," I added, looking up to the Remington 870 strapped to the headliner.

I contimplate grabbing an ankle holster out of the trunk-come-armory, but leave it alone. See if we can do a reversal of this morning, and walk our boy out. Well, when he can leave at least. I power stride to the main entrance, the door opening with a wosh and the feeling of good, clean air washing over me.

I hate the smell of hospitals. Its too clean, to anisthetic. I miss the sight and smells of Afghanistan, and to a lesser extent, Iraq. At least their you didn't feel like you were walking around a chlorine factory. The badge dangles from neck on its bead chain, the vest lets everyone know who I am, and my hand rests lazily on the Glock. I make my way up to the reception desk, ignoring some big guy with tattoos. Mine were hidden under my clothes, my final rank insignia on my right bicep, the American flag inside my right shoulder blade, the fluer de lis on my left breast over my heart, and my favorite. In old English lettering, To Secure The Blessings of Liberty across my back, starting half way on my left bicep, going all the way across half way into the right.

I offer him a half nod, but turn my attention to the desk clerk. "Deputy Jason Waitkus, US Marshal Service. I'm here for Jesus San Miguel, he was admitted, or at least should be here shortly for GSW. We'll be taking him into custody, and I can grab the warrant if you need to see it."

The sound of sirens approached, and the fact that they weren't ambulance sirens pulled Tabbe's head around for a visual. The big, late model Pontiac has her eyes narrowing with speculation. She hadn't known that the government was equipping it's employees with such.

"I wonder what ..." She paused as she caught sight of the man bounding in the front entrance to the hospital, a U.S. Deputy Marshalls vest announcing to the world exactly what his status is. "He left the lights going, how tacky of him" Tabitha commented lightly but her tone was anything but playful.

Senor Jesus Santana Marianias was just the type to have some sort of Imperial Entanglement, as her team liked to term it. And just the type, it seemed from his mothers disgust, to get himself shot while plying his smooth words on impressionable women. Women that 'belonged' to jealous latino types. Her sudden concern was that he too had been shot and now was headed into the loving custody of some US Marshall.

"Jerico, dear, do you have a better memory on what the status is of bail bond enforcement agents versus U.S. Marshalls? Is it considered legit for them to sign the papers? " She half thought they qualified as ' appropraite law enforcement officials' - usually the local police to enforcement agents- but she wasn't certain. After all running down bail bond infractions was not her primary focus.

The bounty-hunter laughed lightly, something he hadn't done in years...

"Retire? Never. You first. I just thought having a younger guy would make the wear and tear on our old asses go a little smoother. My back still hurts from time to time after that last assignment you sent me on..."

It wasn't that he minded getting thrown into walls by something several times stronger than he was, or centuries older, he was getting well paid for his efforts, but as Dekker had put it, he'd like to 'live to spend it'...

"You're thinking that Marshall asshole has rights to MY bounty? Fuck no..."

Dekker must have heard him. He was already eyeing the lawman somewhat angrily...

"I think we've got that covered, fella. We're dropping him off with the locals once he gets his leak patched up. You want to talk turkey on hauling him off, you talk to them once we've gotten what we came for. Fifty grand in bail money is quite the chunk of change, I'm sure you understand..."

The former merc was doing his best to be as easy-going as possible, the guy was a peace officer after all. It had been a bit of an asshole thing, however, to skate on in past another guy wearing a badge around his neck. Sure, it said 'Bail Enforcement Agent', but it was still a badge...

"My boss is right over there if you wanna talk to him about the matter. He just hired me to hit people..."

Standing a tall 6'3", and weighing around two-fifty of lean tissue, the stony-faced ex-merc wasn't something to ignore easily. His trident ink was usually concealed under his shirt, just where he wanted it. The Marshall carried himself like he'd done some shit, but most special ops guys had ink, at least a little bit. The fact that it wasn't visible led him to believe that he must have been ex- Air Force, the other branches of the service had pretty lax policies on tattoos. His beloved Corps, however, was moving away from that, banning all 'sleeve' tattoos by the end of the year. Dekker figured it was something to do with the look of professionalism, but tats were a tradition the way he saw it.

Dekker gestured towards Jerico and Tabitha as they entered the hospital's ER. While not nearly Dekker's size, Jerico had that angry-guy look that usually saved him from being pestered by idiots of all sorts. That didn't look like it was going to help this time, however...

"By the way, you an ex-flyboy?"

He was getting curious, and he wanted to know what he was dealing with...

The eyes my partner was getting wasn't my concern, and if he honestly felt threatend by some bail enforcers, then maybe this wasn't the right place for him.

My concern was inside, and as I receieved some information from the RN at the desk, some big guy with a Bail Enforcement badge began mouthing off at me. I ignored him for the most part, focusing more on the room where our pick up would be set, and figuring the best way to get him out. I was thinking the back of a squad car, but if these bail enforcement punks were gonna wanna play hard ball, then I would just drag his bleeding ass out and shove him in the back of the Goat right here.

I listened to him talk off what he had to say before responding, and went backwards. After giving him a good eye of my own, I gave him something that would generally be considered a decent response.

"First off, yeah, I was in the Air Force. I made sure that SEALs, ODAs, D boys, and below average IQ jar heads didn't accidently drop the bombs on themselves." I was hoping the jar head comment would set him off. Much more fun to play with someone who was angry. They never really thought through what they would say.

"And you and your boss can deal with the loss, bud. He's ours, flat out. Been messing with some of our witnesses, and thats a bit more important to the Federal Government than your fifty grand. Now, if you want, I can call my partner in with our Warrant, which, trust me, can trump any peice of paper that Dade County puts up."

I look over to where he points out his boss, and have to stiffle a chuckle. Jericho St. Croix. I'd never worked with him, or had any personal dealings with him. But when working Fugitive Aprehension in Miami, your were bound to run into some of the major players at any given time. I would let him come to me. If he wanted to play games, they would be played.

"Actually Jerico, He may be after mine, sad to say. But..." Tabitha let her voice trail off as she and Jerico entered the lobb, both of them moving a bit more briskly than they had before. And her concern at just whom the Deputy U.S. Marshall was here for was souring her good mood quickly.


"And you and your boss can deal with the loss, bud. He's ours, flat out. Been messing with some of our witnesses, and thats a bit more important to the Federal Government than your fifty grand. Now, if you want, I can call my partner in with our Warrant, which, trust me, can trump any peice of paper that Dade County puts up."

"Excuse me Marshall? "Tabitha listened the Marshalls comment, but still wasn't sure whom he was here for "But can you give me the name of the person you are interested in? And do you have said warrant upon you or are you waiting to have that faxed from D.C.?"

That was a very important point, because if they didn't have it on them, but were waiting on it's physical appearance matters changed and a warreat in the hands of Dade county trumped one that wasn't here yet, federal or not.

I nod at the old lady. Someone must have need their mother to come stand up for them.

"Yeah, its sitting in the car now. Nice little piece of paper that says we can take him in. And we are looking for Jesus San Miguel. Some little Cubano wanna be who thinks he's tough shit."

This is getting annoying, and the little lady, the jar head, and Jericho are just standing in my way. I could throw down statuate if I had to, but would prefere they just accept that fact that they were to damned slow, and move on.

Dekker smiled, not a pleasant one, but one of a predator...

"Oddly, I fall into two of those categories. Must have been interesting work, hauling that radio around while the rest of us made less money and shed more blood. Too bad you fell into this shit-hole gig where you have to hide your needle-dick behind a shiny badge and federal LE status. We have a warrant, too, and I personally hauled his husky ass in here while you were busy spanking off to one of your cop magazines..."

He wasn't going to tell him which two categories he fell into, that wasn't his business. The fact that he was trying to muscle in on something he had no place doing was Dekker's business. He wasn't about to let some ex-Air Force asshole, combat controller or not, tell him what he was or was not going to do. He'd made the arrest, the local PD had relieved him of the San Miguel's gun, and allowed him to continue with his job. It was at about this time that Jerico stepped in...

"Dekker, go take a fucking walk before you do something that lands you in prison..."

He didn't doubt the merc would murder the guy in the middle of the hospital lobby, he was quicker with that knife than drawing a gun from a holster and all it took was one good swipe across the neck, which the former Recon Marine/Navy SEAL would have no trouble doing at these ranges. Jerico, however, didn't want him to share his own fate of felon status for the rest of his days...

"Look, I've got quite a bit of money on this guy, and you're about to rob me. We can either work together on this, or I can take down your badge number and report your ass for acting like an unprofessional piece of shit on duty and dealing with a brother law enforcement agent like he's some sort of inferior life form. Myself, the guy you were fucking with, and my other associate who's around here somewhere are all combat vets, probably like yourself. Dekker's spent a lot of time in the private sector, mostly in Africa. He's done some nasty shit and you two have probably chewed a lot of the same dirt. He's probably done being friendly, but I run the show and now you're talking to me now..."

Jerico hoped his little speech had shed some insight on the Marshall's mind, and would alter his attitude to a more friendly state rather than slinging his authority around like he was king-shit motherfucker of the universe. They'd saved him the leg work, getting shot at, and had still taken the bastard with his heart beating...

I ignore the jar head's comment. He may think he was a hard ass, but then again, when the shit really hit the fan, they always came to us to get the Spookies and Spectres where it counted. And the Afghans worshiped the ground we walked on. Us and our "American Death Rays." I shrug as he walks off, and get ready to deal with Jericho.

I listen to the bail bondsmen spout of some stuff about professionalism and brother in law enforcement and shit like that. "Brother in law enforcement?" I ask, with a confused look. "Oh, you mean that badge you picked up at night school. Right. Now, I'm sure you know that you can't be here. Afterall, persuant to Florida Statuate FS 648.30, part two, pretty clearly states that no person shall present themselves as a bail enforcement agent, bounty hunter or other similar title in Florida." So much for brother in law enforcement and all that shit.

I pause, and let it sink in. "So, now that we have clarified the legality of you playing police officer, we can continue. The next part to that little law states that the only bail enforcement agents that can operate in the state are those from out of state carrying out enforcement of bonds issued out of state. Now, that means that you could be in a little bit of trouble when the Dade county boys show up and start thinking with their heads instead of the little pencil they use to take down crime stats."

"But I'm sure you know," I continue, "that if he skips on the bond your posting, then you can, if properly liscensed, detain him. Of course, that is assuming you aren't a felon." I add a little bit of accent to that last part. Word travels fast, and if he tries to keep up this game, I can rustle up some of those Cubanos to say Jericho had a gun, and then its all over.

"Once you detain him, you have to sign him on. Now, as I've stated, and I'm sure you and your buddies comprehend, our warrant trumps Dade. So that means, we get to leave with the bad guy."

Now, we flip the trump card.

"This means that you have to turn him over to the proper authorities in the situation, which would be me. So, that means I would have to sign off on his release, which means your fifty grand, is in my hands. So I would change that attitude a touch. I technically don't have to sign off on shit for you, and personally, I would just as soon carry his ass off the stretcher and drop him in the back of my car to take him in on my own. So, how about you start playing nice?"

I really don't give two shits if these night school bondsmen have any sort of authority in the situation. They don't, and they can mouth off about how hard they are and jerk off to Platoon on thier own time. Not my fault they couldn't keep up.

"So, you can play nice, change the attitude, and I can contimplate letting him go, or allowing release to Dade so you can get some GED jock with a badge to sign off and you can get your money. Or you can keep acting like king shit, flashing your badge and threats like they mean something, and I can walk his ass outa here, and leave you high and dry. Its your call."

Tabitha stood silent, letting the men deal with one another. The highly uncouth gentleman who was unfortunately hiding behind Federal status made her seethei. He'd started the row, and acted as if he was lord of all creation. She'd killed better vampires than he'd make. However this wasn't her fight and Jerico wouldn't appreciate her stepping in, not that she could have done anything. But what she could do was make sure that the ladies at the reception desk heard it all and could testify to his unprofessionalism. She quietly moved over and with significant looks made sure the two charge clerks were listneing avidly. Not that they weren't already. Apparetnly their day had been slow and no little boreing.

He might think he was above it all but an officer from the Office of Professional Responsibility, USMC branch, came to visit him; and Assistant Director, Human Resource Division, Mrs.Suzanne D. Smith was asked to comment before Congress about a Deputy US Marshall acting as this one was, well he might thhink twice next time.

The obnoxious man might have a right to the injured man, but he could also sign the papers, thus making Jerico his fifty grand. She hoped that Jerico would play it canny, let the asshole have the man, and get him to sign the papers. Let him have the pleasure of a man who thought nothing of stepping out on a crowded street and letting a tacky sub standard sub machine gun rip.

And thinking of that fact stopped her other thoughts in her tracks. "Why did he step out into the middle of the Calle Ocho, with all the residents out and about in the early evening, all the tourists still about, and fire at what was most likely to him simply just a random vehicle passing by?" She wondered aloud. Something wasn't adding up.

Jerico had overestimated the Marshall. If he knew as much about his past as he let on, he'd know he'd been on the force in New York for a few years. Clearly the 'one-cop-to-another' thing wasn't working, and Jerico was losing his patience with the younger man...

"Fuck it. Sign the god-damned papers and take his spic ass out of here. I'm not even going to bother with the badge number, asshole..."

St. Croix was an infamous hot-head, but he kept his tone level as he turned to Tabitha...

"He started shooting sometime after Dekker's ogre-spawned ass decided to scream that we were 'coming for him'. He must have thought we were some of his little chollo rivals coming to waste him, that or he was wacked out on coke. You know I don't try to understand how these guys think, I just make money off of 'em..."

Still visibly fuming, Jerico seated himself in the lobby away from the window. He didn't have the 1911 on him, just his cuffs and magazines. Even the holster was missing. Jaclyn was still out in the parking lot assessing the damage to her vehicle, and still angry as Hell that there were actual bullet-holes in her ride. Dekker stood off to the side, a scowl tightening his brow. This was why he hated cops, and why he'd declined that offering from Homeland Security. He might have to take them up on it now, if Jerico didn't make that bond...

"You got any work for me, Tabbe? Or are you here for something different?"

You know I don't try to understand how these guys think, I just make money off of 'em..."

Tabitha followed Jerico over to the seating area and took the chair next to his. "Maybe that is what he thought, but it's troubling. IF he's under somesort of death threat whats to stop his enemies from showing up here to make their attack, or the rest of his gang to try and rescue him."

Not knowing the why of something bothered Tabitha immensely. Even the monsters had a 'why' for what they did, as incomprehensible as it might have been to most people.

She was glad however that Jerico wasn't going to quarrel with the disagreeable Deputy U.S. Marshall. ANd Jerico might not make something of it, but she'd remember the mans name and the incident.

"You got any work for me, Tabbe? Or are you here for something different?"

"I didn't come down here looking for you, I'm assissting a Senor Jesus Santana Marianias get back up and reset his court date. But I do have some leads" Tabbe let her voice drop to a whisper meant for him alone, and leaned toward him "That I was going to contact you about as soon as I had a little more data to firm them up. The team I've assembled is good, but you I know I can count on when it really hits the fan"

Another one of his rare smiles creased his aging features...

"That's nice to hear. As for this asshole's enemies coming after him, that's Marshall Shitbag's problem now. Perhaps his badge is shiny enough to blind them before the eight-plus they'll send fill him full of buckshot and nine-mill hardball. Ain't like it's really gonna pull at my heartstings any..."

His voice lowered a few octaves to meet hers...

"And what would this team be for? I'm probably gonna be out fifty K by the time the night's out..."

Any work Tabbe had was always a welcome diversion. More than likely he got to shoot at something and not have to worry about the police showing up and asking questions. If they did, Tabbe had enough high-up contacts to make sure those questions never made it to places that mattered...

She liked his smiles and answered it with one of her own.

And what would this team be for? I'm probably gonna be out fifty K by the time the night's out..."


"This is a weird one even for me. Have you ever heard of the Jersey Devil (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jersey_Devil)? I've got a upscale bedroom community just south of D.C. that has had some disturbing disappearances over the last three months. And not just pets and pure bred show horses, but whole families. And a slew of sightings of creatures they claim are Jersey Devils"

Tabbe was still uncertain what to make of the large, and growing, set of folders she had created, but the town council had approached her discretely and asked for her help. The fee they'd offered started at over a hundred thousand, she explained further, with each home owner - and they were one and all well heeled - making donations based on their financial status.

"I didn't want to take up your time with what may be some socialites having too many designer martinies and scaring the heck out of one another. And I didn't want to lay a ton of penny ante leg work off on you, so I've collected a few people who've unofficially helped me before and" She shrugged "It some how became a business."

She stopped what she was saying and said very seriously "I've missed you Jerico. We always worked well together but I didn't want to be a bother to you."

Oddly, he felt much the same way. He missed the work and the money, true, but he really didn't have much of a social life outside of the office. Truth be told, he missed her, too...

"I know Tabbe, I've missed you too. You wanna discuss this more over dinner? It's getting kinda late and it looks like our work is done here..."

He'd leave Dekker to deal with the Marshall, afterward he'd catch a ride home with Jaclyn and that would be that. He'd probably see them both tomorrow...

"I know Tabbe, I've missed you too. You wanna discuss this more over dinner? It's getting kinda late and it looks like our work is done here..."

Senor Jesus Santana Marianias just got a reprieve. He can wait, late night dinner with Jerico can not.

"I'd love to." Tabitha's eyes sparkled, her smile returing. The Marshall was completely forgotten, not that he deserved other. "However" Her keys were at the top of her purse, then quickly in Jerico's hand "You get to drive." She laughed, her heart light and beating more than a bit faster.

He took the keys gently, noting the 'Hummer' logo on the keychain. He'd be driving one of those beasts today it seemed...

"Fine by me, so long as you tell me where we're going. You're the foodie, not me..."

Jerico wasn't much for fine food, not that he didn't like it, it was that he rarely had time to sit down and enjoy such a meal. Dinner with Tabitha, however, was something he didn't mind taking his time with...

"Shall we?"

Tabbe chuckled, her rich laughter rolling around the room, dropped a mock curtsey, then once again slid her arm about his waist "Your wish is mine to answer." She replied as they headed out of the E. R.'s lobby. "I've been here four days, mostly taking it as a vacation, and I've found several nice places. So you have some excellent choices. Fresh from the surf? Local ethnic or really incredible Greek?"

All were good, but she hoped Jerico liked Greek. The place was intimate, properly small tables, lighting just dim enough to feel cozy, and the staff was unintrusive. She wanted to spend time with Jerico, not some one named 'Hi, I'mTimandI'llbeyourwaitertonight.'

It felt wonderfully comfortable, among other things, to be walking next to him. When she was with Jerico she knew that she never had to worry about being taken by surprize or being blindsided. He might not be some super soldier but he was a hell of a lot more dangerous than most guessed him to be.I think it's because he doesn't strut or swagger. He just moves along nice and quiet....though he can have a temper She laughed to herself as she looked up at him. And while we must admit that we are both getting older, I am certainly willing to bet Jerico could kick Bruce Wills's character's ass..Oh what is his name? I just saw the darn movie, and now I can't...and it doesn't matter in the least Tabbe put those thoughts behind and focused on the cool of the breeze coming in off of the ocean, the long twilight fading into dark and the very handsome man next to her.

Jerico shot her a puzzled look, furrowing his eyebrows...

"There's a Greek resturant around here? I've really got to start getting out more... But Greek it is. You know the way, or your metal beast have one of those annoying navigation things?"

With her level of income, it wouldn't surprise him, but knowing Tabbe she had already memorized the route. For a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing here, taking her out to dinner like this. He'd worked for Benny for a long time, and when the guy had died it had hit them both hard. This seemed a little out of bounds, however, hitting on your late boss' widow like this...

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Jerico didn't usually consider things like this, but he really cared about Tabbe, more than he remembered caring about his ex-wife, and he didn't want to do anything that might hurt their relationship...

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Tabitha had caught his sudden frown and then his words confirmed what she suspected was the cause of the frown - though she was in complete error.
She stopped short, not taking her hand from about his waist, thus forcing him to pivot to face her. They stood all but touching and she looked up at Jerico with a fierce expression on her face.

"Jerico St. Croix don't you dare run scared on me now! I loved, and love Benny very much, nothing can or will ever change that. But Benny is dead and he told me very firmly to not die with him, to go on and LIVE....and LOVE" She spoke passionately though her voice she kept low, this wasn't supposed to happen in public parking lots, but sometimes the world ambushed you...

"You aren't him, you are Jerico, and you can't take his place. I refuse to try to force you into that role. You have your own." She took a deep breath and charged on.

"Jerico, you have your own unique place in my heart. And while I don't love you the same as I loved him, I love you, Jerico St. Croix, as much as I love him."

That poured out of her uncensored and it shocked her silent to find that every word of it was completely, absolutely true, even if she had never put it in to so many words even to herself. After a long flustered second of silence she added.

"I'd really love for us to have a chance to find out where a relationship would go. Neither of us are spring chickens, we're both rather set in our ways, but I refuse to believe we've ossified into fossils!"

Though I am pertified with terror over this. I wasn't raised to be so forward in such circumstances...but I bet he's also hell in !Tabitha! don't even go there in a public setting, he'll be wondering why you are blushing so!

You mean I'm not already? she asked herself but refused to look away from Jerico

Jerico was taken a little by surprise at her outburst, surprising even him. Now he knew why he cared about her so much, there was never any hiding of anything from him. He pulled her in closer, for a more-than-friends sort of embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder. He was well aware that he was not Benny O'Kane, not that he wanted to be, but then again, she was right. Benny had died, a sad event, but they'd both moved on. He could think of no one else he'd rather be with than Tabitha, who'd been there for him over the years, keeping him off the streets with odds bits of work here and there.

While not as spry as he used to be, Jerico was more than happy to take a go at a relationship with his occasional employer. Hell, if it went somewhere he could finally close the bail bonds business for good. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the work, it just wasn't planned to be a long-term thing.

Enough about work. He was standing in front of the only woman he'd felt anything about besides his daughter in the past two decades, and he was worrying about where the business was going. Fuck it, he'd just give it to Dekker and be done with it...

"With you, I'd go anywhere, do anything, so long as you're there. I don't think I've been ready to admit it to myself, but I love you too, Tabitha O'Kane..."

The embrace tightened a little, his chin sliding down an inch or so into her neck to plant a light kiss...

"Where do you want to take this?"

Jerico was never a really dominating presence in a relationship, and Tabitha had a very strong personality. He'd be letting her make the first moves for a while until he got used to the idea he was now dating a former employer's widowed wife. There was a kind of loyalty he was hesitant to throw down, but then again he figured Benny would want someone he trusted with his wife, and who better than he? That made him feel a little better about what he was doing, not that it was going to be easy, but at least now it seemed doable...

"I don't have any objections, so long as I get to eat something. I don't care what..."

The smiles were coming easier now, for the first time in a long time, Jerico St. Croix could actually say he was happy...

Tabitha moved into the embrace unhesitatingly, snuggling against his hard body with a little murmur of happiness. His words had her heart pounding even harder. And as his lips slid down she stretched her neck out offering it to his lips.

"Where do you want to take this?"

That brought a slow smile to her lips, his next words

"I don't have any objections, so long as I get to eat something. I don't care what..."

brought her hands up to cup his chin as she brushed his lips with hers and the smile turned wicked.

"Jerico, every lady who's bothered to learn anything about men, knows they need to keep their strength up. So first it's dinner then..." She let her voice trail off for a long provocative moment before she added. "The Hideaway has the freshest oysters on the entire east coast, though some how I don't think you need them"

"But we'll never know if we don't get there."

The suggestion of oysters was a big red flag hitting him square in the face. She'd been planning this for a while, knowing Tabbe. That somehow wouldn't surprise him if that was the case. That kiss did taste good, however, and oysters didn't sound bad either. His stomach was already beginning to send signals to his brain that that was the next stop. Something a little lower was predicting something else entirely...

"Wow... I ain't fifty yet, Tabbe. Close, but still on the nice side of it..."

He broke the embrace with some mental difficulty before opening the door for her and moving around to the other side to get in himself. The Hummer was roomy, if nothing else. It also smelled pretty new, like a week off of the car lot new. Then it dawned on him. This wasn't the old red H1 she used to have, but the new slicked up H3. He'd been looking to see how these things handled, and now was his chance...

"Where'd the old one get to? This one's new..."

"Where'd the old one get to? This one's new..."

"Remeber the last time we went hunting together and we both ended up in the hospital? Well they molotov cocktailed the old one in retribution for us killing their 'master'. I tried doing without one for a while, but hauling around monster killing kits in the trunk of a Buick Black Hawk just doesn't work." With him she could speak freely and it was a huge relief to be able to do so.

"The last run I did cost me the Black Hawk as well, but you know vampire smeared all over the highway looks pretty nice, even if it was just a 'baby' vamp."

She explained, as she gave him directions to the restraunt, how the impact had totalled luxury Buick, and left her sore for weeks - but that it had been well worth it to take the fanged nuisance down.

"They just don't make cars like they used to Jerico. I know the Hummer would have just shrugged it off, so I got another one, even if it is just the civilian model."

He nodded, understanding completely. He did have a little suggestion, however...

"They've got these new heavy SWC rounds for the .45 ACP, up to 260 grains. Muzzle velocity is a bit lower, but hit harder than your Buick. I've got a few loaded now..."

Jerico was of the old-school when it came to ammunition. Hardball penetrated too well, and hollow-tips were too finicky to be 100% reliable as stoppers, so he loaded the old semi-wadcutter, an accurate and heavy projectile with a hollow nose, made to flatten instead of expand...

"That, or get a grill protector like they've got on cop cars these days. Make the thing perfect for ramming people. I've been thinking about putting one on my GTO, but it would ruin that classic look I so enjoy..."

It was nice to be able to talk to her about the good old days, the adventures etc. The future, however, was a far scarier prospect. It'd been well over a decade since he'd even been on a date, devoting most of his life to his business, getting it up there with the highly respected bail bonds companies in the country. They'd arrived, however, and Jerico did his best to park the massive vehicle in one of the average-sized parking spots...

"Jesus, how am I supposed to park this tank? I hope you've got insurance..."

The comment was only in half-jest. His Pontiac was a lot smaller...

"How about you hop out up front and get us a table, I'll try to find a frigging place to double-park this big bitch..."

"Yes, lots of insurance. But they are beginning to get suspicious of how I get some of the dints and dings. I think a grill protector would be a good idea, even on a hummer, and I'll have to try some of those new rounds. Perhaps a visti to a range later might be fun." She was absolutely certain that any thing they did together would be to the good.

"How about you hop out up front and get us a table, I'll try to find a frigging place to double-park this big bitch..."

Tabbe laughed at him, and shook her head. "Oh no, I'm going to have fun watching you hand her. I have ever faith in you and besides half the fun of the Grotto is getting there."

She gave him a look that might have him worrying. "Do you remember a movie called Pajama Game? A Doris Day romp that had a sceen where they visited a restraunt named Hernanado's Hideaway (http://www.hamienet.com/11739_Hernandos-Hideaway.mid)?"

She grinned "Well, apparently the owner of the Grotto loved the idea of such a restraunt, though the real Hernando's Hideaway was a speakeasy out in the hinterlands on a cliff so it being mostly underground was natural. Here they had to work at it, and went more than a bit over board. The 'tunnel' in the real one was only about twenty feet long I'm told, here, well get ready for a dark, and even to me no little spooky, stroll"

She laughed at the expression on his face "But I promise you the foods worth it."

Jerico nodded. Life was what happened in between what you planned for yourself, the journey and not the destination as it were...

"Fine... Let's see here..."

He wheeled around again, backing the hummer into a spot that was way too small, but he really didn't care. The more obvious tools of his trade went under the seat, along with his illegally-purchased handgun, the mag pouches, the cuffs, and the shirt. Beneath the black 'BAIL BONDS' shirt was a simple white tank-top. It wasn't exactly appropriate for such a meal, but it was better than getting dirty looks the entire time you were eating. Jerico jumped out of the vehicle, walking quickly around to Tabbe's side to let her out with whatever chivalry he could remember he had. It had been a really long time since he'd been on a date...

"You ready? I'm starving, and you're telling me the food is to die for. If we don't hurry, who knows? I might starve..."

The comment was spoken with another of those rare smiles, his best crack at humor. Perhaps this was a turning point in his saddening life, something for the better and not for the worse like usual. A little shred of optimisum crept into Jerico St. Croix's mind, if only for the slightest of seconds...

When Jerico opened the door she managed to wiggle out of the narrow gape without hurting herself, smiling at his gallantry.

"Starving is the last thing I want you doing so..." Taking his hand she letd the way down the narrow walk way that looked suspiciously like an alley, to a low archway. Any one over about six foot two would have to duck their head to make it into the long narrow space that looked to have been quarried out of solid stone...if one let ones imagination loose just a little.

The light at the end of the tunnel couldn't be seen, for the 'tunnel' doubled back upon itself at least once. However there was just enough light at the entrace to let them see that there was a large jug filled with miniature cylumes.

"In the movie you had to light a match, and the tunnels was liong enough that if you walked too slow you'd get burned fingers, but if you rushed, the match went out. Thats what the owner wanted to do here, but his more safety conscious sons convinced him that these were better." Tabbe explained as she took one broke it to activate it and gave it to Jerico.

She giggled as she looked up at him, and once again took his hand. "Some times 'hookey' is fun."

Little reflective bits of mirrors, and shiney coloredf glass peices had been embeded in the walls but, as it in had the times before she had come here, something about the bendy tunnel made her uncomfortable. Though she'd be damned if she was going to let Jerico know that something felt wrong.

The tunnel wasn't long and had just two bends - stretching twenty feet to the first U then another twenty to the second and the last of the tunnel was no more than that twenty feet long either - and warm dim light from the restraunt proper could be seen once one had made the second U.

The reception area continued the theme of rough stone walls but the floor was rich dark woods that had been well polished and the sound of some one playing a live piano drifted out from the room that opnened to the left. The smell of alcohol and spicy nibble food wafted out with the music, and the pretty girl of obviously greek descent welcomed Tabbe, remembering her from her prior visits.

"Good evening Ms O'Kane. Would you like to start out in the lounge or the restraunt?"

"The restruant, one of the nitche booths if you please."

The hostess selected two menues and turned to the right, the quieter room, leading them to a rock walled nitch. Lit warmly by candle sconces it was a oddly shaped but sized just perfectly for two booth. The bench was thickly padded and the round table just the right height for comfort. She set the two menues down and once they were seate wished them an enjoyable meal and left the couple.

The dining room looked to be sizeable, but with lots of privacy offered by fake stone pillars, and large potted plants. The restraunt seemed to be nearly full, but the buzz of conversation of was low, muted by the pillars, plants and very soft classical music.

The whole bio-luminescent thing was kinda cool, he had to admit, and the booth was quaint. All in all, this was a really neat place. Tabbe had a nack for this sort of thing, and he had to hand it to her on this one...

"Okay, you've got the romantic seating, the soft music, the private booth, now tell me what's good here. I really don't think there's a cheeseburger on this menu, not that I'd order it. Maybe a steak..."

She'd mentioned oysters earlier, and he didn't mind eating them, but he knew what they did and he hadn't had to sit still with the after effects since he was in his twenties, wedged in a C-130 across from the female ROTC cadet he'd been seeing the last two weeks of jump school. The jump was nothing short of painful, but not debilitating. It did, however, teach him a lesson about business and pleasure.

Now, however, he was across from someone worth getting intimate with, someone he'd known and trusted for a long time. Jerico shifted in the seat, moving a little closer to the middle and dragging the menu with him. Iced tea sounded good to drink, he'd wind up ordering that or a beer.

Yeah, the beer sounded better, considering the day's events. No, something stronger, his old standby Jack Daniels and Coke a Cola. That would really help him slip into 'relax' mode a little quicker. A nice steak and a few oysters would really get the night going, too. He wasn't kidding when he said he was hungry, the grumbling of his stomach was beginning to annoy him, not that it was audible yet...

"What have you been up to? We haven't spoken in so damn long I was beginning to worry. The Job must be slow, seeing as how you're doing the para-legal thing nowadays. What have I missed?"

It wasn't that he worried, that wasn't something he did. He did, however, have a bit of concern for Tabbe's well-being when chasing some super-natural critter down some dark hole...

Tabbe found herself easing towards Jerico, wanting to be closer to him and pleased that he seemed to like the Grotto so far.

"They do do an excellent steak, grilled over juniper and grapevines, here. The chef marinates it in the same sauce that their roast for the Gyros soaks in. It's flavorful, but it doesn't hide the beefness of the steak. The grilled zuccini is an good side dish, and the roast poatoes are awash in garlic. And try the classic greek salad as a start" She suggested.

"What have you been up to? We haven't spoken in so damn long I was beginning to worry. The Job must be slow, seeing as how you're doing the para-legal thing nowadays. What have I missed?"


"Very little of that sort of action." Out of habit Tabbe kept her voice low, moving a little closer still. "You and I took care of over ninety percent of the seriously dangerous ones, and it's been just mostly clean up locally of late. But I've been getting word of problems out on the west coast and Vegas. I..." Her voice trailed off, then firmed "I didn't want to bother you Jerico. I got you badly hurt that last time, and you were so busy making your agency into a business any one would be proud of."

She looked at him for a second "And I didn't want to deal with how I was starting to feel about you. But I was being a wimp, and Benny kicked my butt royally. He said you were one of the few people that had his unqulaified approval." She said that with an absolutely straight face and serious demenaor. She wasn't joking and it was highly apparent that she completely believed that her deceased husband had spoken with her from the afterlife.

She broke off as the waiter appeared with ice water and a basket of pita bread strips and several differnt sauces to dio them in. "Are you ready to order, sir, madam?"

He paused, decideding to answer Tabbe's question after the waitress had left...

"Uh yeah, sure... You ready Tabbe? Ladies first..."

It would give him time to think on what had just happened, what had just been said. She'd been hiding these feelings for a while now, apparently, and they'd also apparently done most of the hard stuff already. He hadn't been all that badly hurt on that last operation, but that might have been the oxycontin talking there. His back had healed up nicely for someone of his advancing age, at least that was what the doctor had said.

And then there was the topic of her apparently voyeristic deceased ex-husband giving her romantic advice from the Great Beyond. He'd seen stranger stuff, but he'd feel a little weird in the bedroom with Benny's old ass looking over his shoulder the whole time telling him 'good job' and 'keep up the good work'. It would have been a whole lot easier if the dead just stayed dead, but nothing was ever easy, was it? Ah well, it wasn't like he hated Benny, the guy had been as good as any brother Jerico had ever had, and he'd been saddened to hear about his demise. Screw it, he always thought better on a full stomach with a few drinks in his system. He'd save the complex shit for that after-dinner time.

Perhaps it was the remark about Benny not being all that dead that was making him uneasy, but something was rapidly feeling wrong about their setting. He knew it wasn't just on his part, Tabbe seemed to be feeling it too, in the tunnel earlier. Jerico scooted a little closer to his new romantic interest, placing a protective hand on her knee. Time would only tell...

"I'll have the shish kabob patter with extra Tabiki sauce, no onion, and a small greek salad no anchoivies." Little, smelly fish were never a favorite of hers and right now she certainly didn't want them. And I'd like to have a Mohito now and tea with dinner.

Tabbe looked around as shuudenly she felt she should have brought a sweater in from the hummer. Thats strange She thought. On her previous visits she hadn't noticed a problem with cold drafts in the restraunt before. She enjoyed the warmth of Jerico's hand on her knee, as she moved slightly closer to him and placed her hand over his.

She dunked a narrow strip of pita bread in the hot garlic butter and nibbled it as Jerico placed his order and the waiter left to go get their drinks and salads.

Jerico followed suit, trying to act as natural as possible. No need to draw un-needed attention to himself. Something told him he should have brought his gun along with him this time. There was an unusual draft in the air, but this place was an underground cavern, so that might be normal...

"This place always this chilly?"

He kept his voice low, cold was usually the first sign of something bad lurking about...

Tabbe frowned at the piece of pita she was holding and took a discrete but thorough sniff. "Thats odd, the last time I was here the garlic was almost over powering, and you know how much I like garlic. Now there's none in the so called garlic butter."

She shook her head now as completely uneasy, and kept her voice as low as his was.. "No and here, in this 'nitch' we shouldn't be feeling a draft at all" Her free hand ws digging in her purse. She too had left most of the 'tools of the trade' out in the car. What she did have was small and eminentely legal every where.

She pressed the small plastic waterpistol into the hand Jerico had on her knee. While inwardly she cursed enough to make a sailor blush. What ever was going on here, and she knew better than to blame her's and Jerico's imaginations, was interupting their romantic dinner.

Jerico passed it back with a confused look, reaching for his left boot and coming back up with a Smith and Wesson snub-nose nickel-plated revolver...

"You keep that. I got my own..."

The rounds within were handloads, SWC rounds loaded backwards and hot so that they mushroom hugely or exploded outright into shrapnel...

Tabbe started to object, for the innocous , if extremely well made - nay custom made - water pistol was loaded with holy water, blessed by John Paull II himself before his death. It was extremely potent, and if that didn't do the trick some of the refill capsules held essence of garlic and others held quicksilver. Her current purse was smaller than normal, she only had three of each type of refill, and the capsules were small, barely holding an ounce of each.

Then she realised that he didn't know about this little weapons system that she and her friends had concocted. It was not your father's water pistol by any means. Though from a distance it might look like one. The barrel and the upper frame of the weapon did not appear to have the solidity of even an airsoft weapon, and was made of a transparent blue plastic. But that flimsy appearing 'plastic' was a very high tech, high stress polymer. And the grip that held the cartridge, where a magazine would go, was all but opaque and very solid in feel, hiding the components that released the cartridge's contents. The cartridges were pressureised, they had an impressive range for such a 'toy'.

Jerico would stick with his snub-nose, and the vicious short-range handloads he'd concocted for it. Well, then again, he'd gotten the recipe out of an edition of 'Combat Handguns', but had found it work extremely well. Tabitha could have her squirt-gun, which he assumed held holy water of some sort. He preferred hot lead, but that was probably why he'd gotten slapped around so damn much in the past unless he'd aimed high...

"Don't tell me you're going to use that, Tabbe. Seriously. Whatever it is will probably laugh itself to death..."

"Unless you have suddenly learned to teleport things, Jerico, yes I am. I came here to have a romantc dinner with you, not go monster killing. It's all I have on me at the moment. And if it laughts itself to death then so much the better." Tabbe whispered back, her tone light, but her eyes scanning what little they could see of the room were deadly serious.

She didn't see anything out of the ordinary, even the waiter coming with their drinks looked normal. He set down cocktail napkins, laid out the drinks, and murmured that they dinners would be right out before leaving to where ever waiteres disappeared to when they weren't dealing directly with customers.

Tabbe did notice that though it felt like an artic cold wind was blowing, the fake grape vides with their silk leaves weren't stirring at all. "Might I say that I'm glad we have our back to a ..." Her words broke off with a gasp as suddenly the entire booth the were sitting in spun around and left them facing an entirely different room...

Jerico looked at his date, then back again before downing his drink in a single swig...

"I take it that wasn't supposed to happen, unless this is the secret honeymoon suite..."

The little snub-nose came up, held in a single-handed grip. The old Smith and Wesson Bodyguard was a favorite back-up pistol of many armed professionals, Jerico just liked it because he could fire it while inside a pocket...

"I hope you have a plan, Tabbe, I'm coming up short in that department..."

It was dark, and that drink was beginning to set in, loosening him up a little bit and adding a little bit of extra courage to the mix. He only had six shots, nothing more. He'd need to start carrying additional rounds if he was going to be leaving his primary weapon in the car all the time...

"I'd have chosen a better honeymoon suite for us to get initmate in, this one smells entirely too much of blood!" Tabbe snapped as she threw her drink at something she more sensed than saw. "Damn I hate wasteing a good drink!" She tried to roll out of her side of the booth. Landing in a not too ungainly heap, more or les upright, she followed the Mohito with a quick trigger pull from the water gun.

Something onoly half visable screamed, and a bloom of smoke let both Jerico and Tabbe know that it was something or other undead, as it staggered away.

However it was not the only thing useing shadows and darkness to conceal itself. Sharp talons tried to shred Jerico's chest, something hung from the ceiling with impossibly long arms, and it giggled harshly.

And back at the hospital...

The worst part is waiting. Just sitting an letting time go by doing nothing. Eventually, someone an ER doctor stepped out, and came over to talk to me, assuming that the vest, hand gun, and badge meant I was in charge. You don't always fuck up when you assume.

We talk for a few minutes, he gives me the rundown, and things are gravy. We're getting ready to lead our GSW mark out of the hospital, toss him in the back of the Goat, and jam out when the doc hands me a sheet of paper. "The bounty guys need you to sign this. It signals a turn over in custody, so they can get their cash."

I look at the little sheet, and twirll a pen in my free hand. Fifty fucking grand for little shit border jumper that thought he could hang in the states. Yeah right. At this point, I don't care about leg work and any bullshit "brother in arms" crap that the hunter had tossed me. I wasn't gonna let some dipshit who probably couldn't finish up the FLETC program make more money in one night than I made in a year. Just because he took some shit ball night course from a Samuel L. Jackson wanna be mother, carried a gun that he shouldn't, and has a cheap ass badge doesn't mean he's the same level as me.

"I'll handle this when I get esse here locked up," I half lie. Yeah, I'll handle it, just not the way they want me to. Probably just shread it. I fold up the piece of paper and stick it in my vest, grab Jesus by the back of his shirt, cuff him, and drag him outside.

Dekker had quit caring at this point, let the asshole airmen do his thing, swing his balls around a bit, and generally make an dickhead of himself. His once-fellow Marines had done the same thing more than their share of times. Calling in the big guns was one thing, but if that's all you did then you were only so useful. There were instances where you simply couldn't saturate an area with bullets, or drop a 2000 pound bomb onto the objective. Wading wasit deep in African reeds dodging venemous snakes, trying to get the drop on some militia asshole who'd been terrorising the village a few miles away was one such instance. In short, there wasn't just one useful skill on the battlefield, and bullets didn't discriminate.

A half-hearted flip of the bird was presented in the Marshall's face, much in a similar manner as a salute, and held as the man walked out of the hospital with most of Jerico's savings in tow. He was forbidden by law to shoot the man, and he'd respect that law for now. Laws really didn't apply to random shootings, however, not if you knew what you were doing. The private sector taught you a lot of stuff the military didn't deem useful to you at the time. Ah well, time to call it a night...

"Hey Jaclyn, you ready to head out? I'm tired and I could use a beer. Whaddaya say?"

She wasn't quite as pissed as before, but he would be paying for the body work on her beloved vehicle...

"Sounds like a deal. Buy me a few beers and fix my car and we'll call it even..."

It had been a long day and Dekker really didn't have the energy to come up with something offensive to say to her...

"Fuck it, it's a deal..."

Jerico cursed roughly as something sharp etched a line in his skin, drawing some blood from the shallow cut. He did what he'd trained to do, which was backpedal and fire. One round went off, shattering as it exited the barrel and spraying wedge-shaped pieces of hot lead at high velocity from the mouth of the tiny barrel...

"Where in the fuck have your brought us? I guess this is your idea of romantic, eh?"

That grin was coming a little easier now, he was actually having fun. This wasn't something you could do with just any girl off the street...

Tabitha was pleased to see that Jerico had made it out of his end of the booth in a much more composed manner than she had. How ever his comment rather hurt

"Where in the fuck have your brought us? I guess this is your idea of romantic, eh?"

The thng that had swiped at Jerico and gotten hot lead in return shriekled and vanished in the darkness of the ceiling, where it could be heard scrabbling away. It left a trail of blood splatter behind, but not that much of one.

Tabitha had managed to make it to her feet as the spider seeming thing she'd wounded came scuttling back, flailing away with oddly jointed limbs that had far too many razor sharp tallons. It managed to shred her skirt into thin strips and leave some bloody scratches down the front of her thighs before another blast from the watergun made it squeel like a stuck pig and skitter backwards.

Trying to have a ready quiip wasn't easy and she wasn't sure how good the one she came up with was "Oh Jerico! If I had really wanted romantic I would have..." Good or not she might never know for the lights came up enough to see well, and her voice trailed off as she got a good look at the figure standing in the middle of the room.

"Remember what I said happened to the BlackHawk?" Tabbe half whispered as she moved closer to Jerico.

Jerico nodded, now understanding what was going on. This was all about bad blood, a lot of which was going to wind up spilled on the floor...

"Oh yeah, right. Must have been related to that asshole, or that one, or whichever one assuming there was ever more than one, or whatever. Anyway, dinner says I can fuck him up in four rounds or less, deal?"

He honestly doubted his little revolver was going to do much good against the thing in the cavern, but at least he was keeping the mood light, or as light as one can when staring certain pain dead in the face...

"Deal" Tabbe couldn't help but smile at Jerico's bravado "But go for the head, if you please" She replied as her eyes searched frantically for anything resembling a useful against a vampire weapon. Those tended to be few and far between.

The Grotto was not underground despite the lenghts they went to make the customer think it was. And she could only guess, that as the Grotto was in the middle of the "alleyway' one took to reach its front doors, this room was in one of the two larger buildings that ajoined on either side But she had never noticed what purposed those building served. They could have been parking garages , warehouses, apartment buildings or office buildings for all she paid attention (NOT!) to then - their 'fronts' had faced the other street, so what she had passed in the short walk from the Grotto's parking lot to the 'tunnel' that led into the restraunt were just blank brick walls.

This room was depressingly bare, save for the dark shadows that filled the corners - and those shadows were large enough and deep enough that they could have held many things. Tabbe just couldn't see into them well enough to see if what might have been there was useful.

The ceiling height was uncertain, as it too was lost in shadows and there were many pipes that tangeled over head, some obviously water pipes, HVAC, and electrical condutits, though there were many more who's uses she couldn't disern. The walls and floor were smooth, if stained concete, and the floor sloped down slightly to a large grated drain set in roughly the center of the cloor. From some where a slow drip echoed, and occassional unidentifiable scurrings irritated the hearing.

Behind the two, the spinning booth silently spun once again, returning to its original position and leaving just a blank wall behind them.

The figure threw back it's head and laughed at the couples words. "Sorry Tabitha O'Kane to ruin your dinner, but you ruined my twin's dinner some months ago so I felt that turn about was fair play. And I am soo hungry tonight for something finely aged, and since thats not Kobe beef any longer, it's just going to have to be you and your friend I guess"

Jerico wasn't amused. He wasn't sure what it was about the not-so-dead, but something gave them a false sense of security, a feeling of immortality beyond that which they already posessed. They could still be beaten into a more permanent state of rest, and they needed to be reminded of that on occasion...

"And since you ruined my dinner, I'm going to have to ruin your face, asshole. Why not save us both the long, painful process, and come out so I can put a round in your overconfident head..."

At the same time, Jerico was fishing around in his pocket for his cell phone. Perhaps Dekker wasn't yet too hammered to drive and could be called in for a rescue. He finally secured his phone and began clicking through the speed dial roster before handing the phone off to Tabbe...

"Call that big bastard and give him directions. We might be needing his help..."

His voice was a little lower than usual, trying to keep it from the ears of the vampire-critter stalking them from the shadows...

The 'vampire critter' heard Jerico anyway- preternatually keen hearing and toerh sense's gave one such a delicious edge. He could tell by many means that the man was worried, and despite the bravado was not at all certain of his survival. Well he shouldn't be, as Alastair was Very hungry and no little impatient for his revenge upon his brother's slayers.

"Does this phone have GPS capability?" Tabbe inquired as she took the phone with one hand while fishing in her purse with the other.

"Jerico, how good are you at hitting small moving targets?"

Jerico nodded, the phone did have the GPS feature. It had been handy for finding bounties who were hiding at home...

"Yeah, I can hit small stuff... I hope you're talking about his rather pointed head. Probably a product of inbreeding, but who's to say. You know how these vampire types love the whole 'pure blood' thing..."

His taunting wasn't just to piss the guy off, well, maybe it was but he was hoping to goad the elder vampire into making some sort of fatal mistake, to where Jerico could empty the revolver into his head...

The speed dial went through and the phone on the other end rang, but Tabitha wasn't paying much attention. Her questing fingers had found what they sought in her purse and she snatched out and threw it full force in the direction of the suddenly on rushing vampire.

Alastair may have been elder to his twin brother by ab out two weeks but he was still a very new vampire, less than a dozen years old.But even a merely dozen year old vampire has speed that no human can match, as well as many other abilities. He caught Tabitha off guard and the small silver cannister that she'd meant to toss at his feet hit himsquare in the chin.

The highly pressurised cannister of holy water didn't make a dent in Alastair.

Jerico snapped off two rounds in the direction of the vamp's head as he rushed in closer, not really bothering to aim very much. The J-Frame wasn't a precision shooting instrament.

On the other end of the line however, Dekker picked up just in time to hear the two gunshots before checking the GPS on the phone to get a general idea of where Jerico was at. He was already in his pick-up, heading for the house when he'd recieved the call. After pulling a wide U-turn he was off speeding towards some strange part of town that he didn't know Jerico visited. His Kimber was tucked snugly under his shoulder, loaded with those potent Winchester Ranger hollow-points he'd employed earlier. Unlike Jerico, he preferred to use the latest in ballistic technology instead of relying on really heavy pieces of lead for stopping power...

The cannister didn't make a dent, but Jerico's snapped shots did- one caught the cannister and the pressureized container exploded vigorously, sending the holy water every where, and on to the vampire, as the other bullet caught him square in the face.

Not that it would have been much more than a momentary distraction, if it hadn't been combined with the holy water drenching him. The vampire started smoking in all the places the holy water touched, as it actedly a highly corrosive acid on undead flesh.

The vamp screamed and lunged for the on rushing Jerico. His hands had sprouted claws and they snagged Jerico easily, and the bounty hunter found himself flying though the air with the greatest of ease for nearly thirty feet to thud against a wall.

Tabitha swore to herself as Jerico rushed forward and followed, but in heels she just wasn't as fast as he was - she highly doubted that even in her favorite tennysneaks she be as fast as he'd suddenly moved. Her 'water gun' was up and ready b ut she had no chance to fire. When the injured vamp had thrown Jerico as if he'd was no more than a rag doll, she'd barely managed not to get hit by his flying body. In fact she'd lost her footing, going to one knee, but managed to still keep hold of the weapon.

The little revolver spun from his grasp, clattering across the concrete floor out of reach as Jerico slammed into the wall, feeling the unforgiving strength of it stopping his forward movement. The downside was that it did so suddenly, dropping him back to the floor about as gently as he'd been thrown.

He became aware that he was bleeding, and he didn't care how bad, at least for now, if he didn't get back up he was going to die, at he was sure of that. Then something told him to move, and quickly.

The roar of a six-cylinder could be heard on the other side of the wall, and he wasn't about to get crushed by what he knew was coming...

The vampire paid Jerico no attention though, despite the pain of the wounds inflicted by the fragmenting ammo. He was a vampire and routinely shrugged off such injury. The Holy Water was another matter entirely, but his long anticipated target was before him, on one knee. And though the Holy Water burned, nearly intolerably, he was going to have his revenge no matter the cost.

He rushed towards her, just a blurr, as she tried to retain her grasp on the water pistol and manage to get to her feet while in high heels. She slipped more once, and went to both knees, as she fought to hold on to the pistol.

The vampire was on her, moving with the preternatural speed that no mere human could match. One hand went around her neck squeezing tightly, almost making her black out, as he lifted her off of the concrete. The other he had, at first held in front of his face to protect it, but she writhed so much that he feared that one handed, no matter his vamperic strength, he'd have to snap her neck to retain his grasp. Not wanting to kill her before he fed from her, his other hand went lower, to her her spine about level with her hips, and his fearsome claw dug in as he squeezed her spine until the lumbar vertibrae snapped under the imense pressure, and partially paralysed her without killing her. Tabitha would have screamed in pain if she'd been able to draw a breath, but that was impossible and she went limp as she blacked out.

He grinned, his fangs gleaming fearsomely. Feeding off of her would help him heal himself. Then he could finish off the annoying man.

The sound of an engine approaching the wall didn't stop him as he brought his fangs to Tabbe's neck and he began feeding from the large veins there. Fool, isn't going to break through, the wall is too stoutHe though complacently, sure of his security.

There are times in your life when you know something isn't a good idea, and you get that small moment before the impact to think about how much its going to hurt. This was one of many such moments for an ex-Navy SEAL in a Chevy pick-up, throttling it ever faster toward what looked like a solid wall, but Jerico's GPS signal was just behind it.

The vehicle slammed into the wall with considerable force, driving through only to keep going, taking a chunk of the wall with it. Having laid down in the front bench seat to attempt to cushion himself from the impact, Dekker couldn't see a damn thing as the Chevy blew past the vampire, missing the two of them by a bare inch before coming to a halt against the far wall, which was made more solidly of poured reinforced concrete.

Jerico, however, used this distraction to move in closer, sliding in on the heels of the pick-up. He had two rounds left, and he knew just where to put them. If Dekker had hit the vamp, his fangs might have ended Tabbe's life fairly quickly in their tearing free. It was one of those times when your enemy has you by the balls, so your only option is to grab him by his, or in Jerico's case, empty the last two rounds of fragmentary ammo into your enemy's crotch. The bounty hunter threw himself forward, throwing a shoulder into the vampire in the form of a football tackle, bringing the small Smith upwards to bury the barrel in the vampire's gonads. Vampire or not, this was going to suck for him. His trigger finger working quickly, he snapped off the last two rounds into the highly sensetive area, just as Dekker rolled out of the pick-up, .45 in hand and a slightly dazed look on his scarred face.

He triggered off a controlled pair, one round striking the vampire in the side of the head, the other taking him square in the lower back, about an inch above Jerico's head where he was trying to bring the creature down to the ground for some much-needed hammering...

The moment of slowdow the the pick up encountered as it hit the first wall and made an bone shuddering whoomp - noise caused Alastair to jerk his fangs from the mess he'd made of Tabbe's neck and then that split second of time was just enough for him to jerk upright and half step away from Tabitha.

He began to understand that the wall was not as solid as he thought and started to shove Tabithas body away so he could jump aside and put himself in a better position to deal with the intruder.

Tabbe's body dropped limply, taking her out of the way of Jerico's going for the bases end run slide. The Campire was taken completely by sirprize, he had assumed that Jerico was out for the nonce. He assumed wrong as Jerico's wicked little hold out piece ruined him, or would have had he still been human.

The pain however was enough to send even a vampire into momentary shock,and he fell limply to the concrete as the rounds from the 45 struck.Though he was a vampire and was in no way truly dead, or even out of it for long.

Jerico knew how to kill vampires though, even if one of the most sure fire ways was nearly eleven hours away. And while the holy water in the pressurized capsules in Tabitha's purse ate the flesh of the undead like the most potent of acids, there wan't enough there. However Jerico also knew that one of the reason Tabitha drove a Hummer was because of its large cargo capacity. Tabitha believed in being prepared, and Jerico know she never left home with our certain items. And the Hummer wasn't that far away.

There were better ways, however. The whole wooden stake thing wasn't to be excluded, either. There was a lot of trash scattered around the area, amongst which was probably a piece of wood Jerico could drive into the bastard's chest cavity, and most likely more than once.

Dekker, somewhat out of touch with the situation, walked calmly up and shot him twice more in the head...

"That oughta do it... You alright, boss? This fucker seemed to be giving you an' you're lady-friend a lot of trouble..."

The former mercenary didn't know the half of it, obviously. Jerico made his way quickly over to Tabitha, cradling her in his arms as the little Smith dropped from his grasp. She was bleeding pretty badly, and her back looked pretty messed up...

"Dekker, call 911. Get her out of here..."

Then it dawned on him, if one will pardon the pun...

"You got anything wooden in your truck?"

Dekker shot him a confused look, not knowing where this was going...

"There's some 2x4's in the bed, and the shaft of my shovel's wooden, too. You don't mean..."

Jerico nodded, prompting Dekker to walk quickly towards his truck and grab the shovel from the bed, breaking it over his knee at an angle to leave the wooden shaft with a nice diagonal point to it...

"I was beginning to wonder where you spent all your down-time, boss. Now I know..."

There was an odd sense of calm about him now, like he'd done this sort of thing before. The burly ex-merc stood over the stunned vampire, raising the makeshift wooden spear up high in a two-handed grip before bringing it downward again, deep into the center of Alistair's chest before giving it a cruel twist to make sure he tore something free. This was followed with a few more for good measure...

"Sometimes, like I'm sure you know, the fucker's don't want to stay dead. And yes, I've done stuff like this before. Back when I was still a merc my corporate employers used to hire us out to these government and religious organizations across the globe, we'd track these assholes down in teams and eliminate them with extreme prejudice. We didn't use much of the traditional stuff, mostly high-tech incindiary rounds and explosives, the occasional wooden stake or out-of-place sword, and whenever possible, the sun. You'd be surprised how much cocksuckers like this beg and whine after you've blown their legs off with a ten-gage and you leave them out in the open as the sun begins to rise. Sure, they try to crawl, but you just unload another shell into them and they sit still until they get up balls to try it again. You repeat until the sunrise turns them to ash. That was always my favorite part..."

Dekker had his cell phone in hand now, tapping in 9-1-1 with some haste...

"Yeah, get me an ambulance out here now. Can you trace cell-phone GPS? I don't know where I am. You can? Great. Thank-you, goodbye..."

He closed the phone with a slight click before hooking the mortally wounded vampire under the arm-pits and began to drag him to the darkest corner of the warehouse-like building, the already-sealed gunshot wounds not leaving any sort of blood trail...

"I'd suggest putting her in his pool, make it look like he was never here. After the medics are gone I'll drag him outside and leave him for the sun. You ride along with her and make sure she's okay..."

Jerico was somewhat shocked. His dim-witted muscle had somehow metamorphed into a highly competent one-man vampire death squad. He didn't know what else to say, besides complying with the request...

Tabitha's hand had never completely lost it's hold on the water pistol and now as she came headspinningly conscious she tightened her grip and managed to point it at the blurry figure bending over her.

She caught Jerico full in the face.

Herr eyesight cleared a little as she blinked a few times and she recognised the sopping wet face bending over her. Tabbe couldn't stiffle a momentary shocked giggle as she tried to apologise, but her voice was no louder tha a whisper rasping from an terribly aching throat.

"Oh Jerico I am so sorry..." Then she remembered the vampire and she tried to look around, panicked. The lower half of her body didn't seem to want to move, and that frightened her further "Where is he?" Her whisper managed to become nearly a shout.

Jerico wiped a dirty hand across his face. Holy water wasn't exactly pleasant to humans either. It stank horribly...

"If he isn't dead, he's not happy. We turned him into a kabob, and we'll drag him out into the sun when it comes up to clean up the mess. There's an ambulance on the way, too. Just stay still and give me the water gun. We're going to say we were attacked by a gang, until we got out a call for help and Dekker showed up. With his help we chased them off. That okay with you?"

His tone was soft, and he held her loosely, but firmly. There was no way he was going to lose her now, and the sirens in the distance confirmed that. His free hand secured the Smith and Wesson J-frame again, returning it to the ankle holster where it belonged. The water gun went back in Tabbe's purse. Dekker moved back out of the shadows, making sure the body of the vampire was well-concealed in the event someone cast a light in that direction...

"They shouldn't find him over there..."

The more important part of their current dilemma, Tabitha O'Kane, was now the focus of his attention...

"You do this often ma'am? I could use the extra income, and it looks like Jerico's old ass could use the back-up..."

Tabitha found herself laughing weakly. "Oh I am sorry Jerico." She moaned a little bit as the pain in her ravaged neck hit and she coughed a bit before she could talk some more.

"In my purse, address book. Check thername of the hospital and doctor listed for Miami. Have them take me to which ever one is in there." Her voice was faint, her neck hurt horribly, and the blood loss she had suffered was making her shocky.

Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and she let them drift closed for a moment, just enjoying the feel of Jerico's arms holding her. Then she forced her eyes back open and managed to glare at Dekker " Jerico's ass is not old and he deserves some respect!" The glare was spoiled, by the fact that her eyes chose to droop closed again for a long moment.

"Yes I do this with some regularity, and yes you're hired. Jerico, if there is one vaqmp that means there is more, a Nest here. Please call Bob Dobbs, his number is in the book, tell him what happened. He'll take care of any awkward police questions. My neck doesn't look like a gang attacked me, I can tell it's a mess" Her voice faded away, as the black spots got bigger and she passed out again, pale and in shock but still breathing.

As the ambulance screamed up out of nowhere, nearly coming in through the hole Dekker had made with his pick-up, he began the process of calling Bob Dobbs. The phone was a few moments in being answered, giving Dekker a little time to get his lines straight...

"Mr. Dobbs? Dekker Bray, I'm an associate of Tabitha O'Kane. There's been an incident and we need some help with the police..."

Dekker walked off towards the barely-concealed corpse of the vampire, standing off in the shadows to avoid dropping any hints to the paramedics as they gently loaded Tabitha onto a stiff stretcher to support her wounded back before loading her in the back of the ambulance with Jerico in tow. The bounty hunter was covered in blood, not all of it his. He would leave Dekker to handle the clean-up while he attended to something he felt was far more important...

"Mr. Dobbs? Dekker Bray, I'm an associate of Tabitha O'Kane. There's been an incident and we need some help with the police..."

The phone was answered , and the voice was an assured male tenor with a trace of military about it- maybe a short colonel now retired?

"Mr. Bray..." The voice paused a second then came back "Yes, you work for Jerico St. Croix."

The EMT's had no problem letting Jerico go with them, he needed medical attention too. The telemetry was up and running the minute they rolled the stretcher into the ambulance, as was an IV. The jostling had brought Tabitha around but she was content to just keep ahold of Jerico's hand.

Dekker was a bit startled by the man's quick assessment of his name and employment...

"Yeah, one of Ms. O'Kane's recent victim's siblings came back for some payback. He's now got the wooden end of a shovel lodged in his heart and O'Kane's on the way to the hospital. I was told you knew how to deal with the cops..."

This guy had the demenor, at least on the phone, of an officer, and not the bumbling non-combat kind. This guy was definitely combat arms, had some time in the shit, and was now running similar black ops on a different sort of enemy...

"And how did you..."

"We spend more each quarter on intell than the No Such spends in a year. Those we watch are more dangerous than the Bear and Dragons were or ever will be.. And thank you for calling. I know which hospital Tabitha had on her list, so I will have agents there with in a half hour and agents to your location before the police arrive." Bob replied calmly. "Those heading your way are one Miss Billie Holliday and a Mister Sam Walker. You will recognise Sam, you've worked with him before, and he will have a full down load of black binders for you. Welcome to Bureau Thirteen, Dekker." The last was addded in a tone that made thrice retired ex seal realise that Bob had to be looking at his military files, and more. And approving of what he saw.

"The initial reports of shots fired have the squaddies headed in the wrong direction, and our people are now ..." Bobs voice trailed off for a second "six minutes out if they encounter no fubar. I'll be down in the morning, I can't get away until then. Please let Tabitha know that I'm coming."

Dekker couldn't help but nod slowly. No matter how hard he tried to retire something always threw him back into the shit...

"Uh, thank you, sir. I'll be sure to let her know..."

He slowly hung up the phone, putting it back in his pocket with a stunned look on his face. He'd never worked for the government before, at least in the unofficial capacity this was probably going to entail. And Jerico had been part of this all along? Holy shit...

"And I thought Red Dawn had all the paranormal contracts for the 'states..."

There was little for him to do except eject the magazine in his 1911, replacing the nearly spent one with a fresh Wilson eight-round brimming with the same deadly loads as before. The pistol returned to his preferred shoulder holster to present as non-threatening an appearance as possible. If everything went right he'd need to be digging that customized SPAS-12 out of storage, provided he remembered the combination on the lock...

At about the time the siren wailing ambulance was in sight of the hopital, namely the just shorly left Miami Trauma Center, a large, late model four door sedan pulled up and parked just behind the Hummer.

First out of the back, with dark tinted windows Bentley Continental Flying Spur was a figure that Dekker would recognise and was the last person he'd ever expect. His crisply tailored suit was in unrelieved, understaded black summer weight wool, but the shirt that could be seen was a deep indigo blue silk.

A young woman, honey blonde hair pulled back into a sleek chignon and wearing a cleanly tailored ladies suit in black slid out of the car and with a tap of a button on a key ring locked the doors. Her blouse was a pale peach and complimented her fair complection perfectly.

"You go find your old friend, I'll lay inwait for the fuzz" She said with a soft southern accent. Dekkers 'old friend' nodded and with long loose limbed strides headed towards the opening that Dekkers truck had made in the wall of the supposed office building. His grin was pure evil and smug too boot.

The mind was an odd thing, odd enough to supposedly remember everything it ever witnessed, but unable to recall any of it...

"Dekker Bray, formerly of St. Coix Bail Bonds..."

He didn't like the grin, and he certainly didn't like the suit. He wasn't wearing a suit, he'd sworn that off a long time ago, he'd even hated his Class A's with an unnatural passion...

"You must be Sam Walker... You look familiar, but I don't quite recall..."

You saw a lot of people in any sort of military profession, mercenary or otherwise. Faces of guys you shot at fifty meters or stabbed at point-blank stayed with you, as did those of the guys you trusted your ass with when the lead started flying, and they all started running together at some point. People you'd never seen before felt like you'd known them for years, so familiar you almost knew their name before they told you what it was. Dekker hoped this wasn't the case...

The grin never wavered - and it was the voice that did it, brought the memories back. The young priest on crutches, or bad days in a battered old wheel chair, that apparently every third world, poverty stricken, villager knew and loved. Father Jerome Baldwin. With a voice like rolling thunder across an Irish countryside - a voice that was soft and gentle on the ears that deserved such and the crack of doom on those that didn't. Eyes that saw and accepted with sadness all sorts of human evil, and never gave away a thing over a hand of poker. And never lost either.

"Dekker, I'm saddened to the core that you don't remember me." The rolling thunder irish lilt- the brogue much fainter now though - was still there but the face looked much younger than Dekker remembered though the priest hadn't been any old than he when they'd met. Pain and suffering age a face, healthy and decent living take years off.

"An no, it's not Father any more. Nor Jerome or Baldwin. The Church and I had a little difference of opinion, and He agreed with me. I gave up that life for this and He gave me my legs back...though I still canna dance a step." Walker's eyes twinkled. And the last was a bald faced lie. He had been able to out dance most men with two working legs when his couldn't. He was probably hell on the dance floor now.

Dekker still couldn't recall the guy, despite the fact that he'd been given two names, and only one of them had been male made the process painfully easy...

"Nah, sorry man... Still don't remember you. We meet when I was still with the private sector? I try not to remember those times, a lot of bad shit went down that I don't care to recall..."

He wished this asshole would cut the chase and get to the point instead of playing mind games with him, but he wasn't going to be impolite...

"Thats alright Dekker, and since we've gotten here well ahead of the cops, we have time for you to start looking over the standard ops orders while Billi takes care of yon bottom feeder." With a firm but gentle hand on Dekkers arm Sasm Walker guided the ex Seal over to the black Flying Sour, and settled him into the luxurious interior while gesturing to a stack of black leather covered portfolios. "Welcome to the senior varisty Dekker. You've been playing stickball till now, this is the real war."

Billi nodded to Dekker with a friendly smile as she headed into the darkness of the warehouse.

That comment stung a bit. He'd been part of what he would have called the most elite mercenary force ever assembled, it had to be to take on the superior agilty and strength of your average vampire, and the superhuman abilities of the older ones would have shredded him and his human comrades had they not had the training and the firepower they'd had, along with a little more luck than he'd have liked to admit...

"Alright, so how does this differ from SCAR? You guys got some sort of high-speed religious bullshit that somehow makes you less likely to become a nice juicy snack for this cocksuckers?"

There wasn't much malice in his tone, that was just how he talked. He'd never put much stock in religion, not since he'd seen an amatuer get his head torn clean-off after trying to stave off a young vampire with a crucifix as the blood-sucking asshole laughed in the poor bastard's decapitated face. Fortunately, one of the other mercs had blown off the vampire's face with a burst of large-caliber automatic fire, but by then it had been to late. Religion had sort of taken a back seat to a nice custom ten-gage at that point and he'd never looked back...

"Me? No, no more than my faith in Him gives me. But Billi? Well even a fallen angel has oomph" A sun bright light flared for a brief second from the depths of the warehouse, the night descended once again, if a little less darkly than before. As Billi strode back out of the warehouse there was the faintest after image of wings that faded away quickly as she set about putting her hair back up in it's sleek french twist.

"But we handle more than just vamps and far more than just single random incursions. Not all of the paranormal are out to hurt mankiind, they just want to live thier lives as quietly as most humans would. However those that don't give a damn if humans get hurt, or actively want to hurt us, well many of thsoe are organized, and those organizations have been built over centuries and as even hard to sus out than a illumanati cabal."

"And did he mention that we also handle humans who cross the line?" Billi asked as she stopped beside Walker and cocked her head slightly as she studied Dekker.

The ambulance had arrived and off loaded Tabitha and Jerico with brisk, and very careful effeciency. But the two were being parted, Jerico to a minor wound treatment room for a check over and Tabitha into a trauma bay for immediate care.

Jerico was glaring daggers at nearly everyone who was trying to shuffle him away from Tabitha...

"You let me know if anything goes wrong, god-dammit!"

Someone wound up sticking him with something that made him really groggy, and that was the end of that. Transportation was much, much easier at that point, and Jerico was a lot more quiet...

Dekker, on the other hand, was getting more and more confused by the moment...

"Okay, so you guys, I guess that's 'us' now, handle nearly every form of supernatural hostilities known to man, and with no religious affiliation? I'm liking this shit, man, really I am..."

Now came the questions he was almost dying to ask...

"Now what kind of sweet gear do you guys issue, and when do I start?"

It was becoming pretty hard to keep a grin off of his face, not that there really seemed much point in trying as hard as he was...

Billie groaned as she figured out where Dekkers train of thought was heading. She looked at Sam and commented "You did say he liked his guns"

"No Mr. Bray, no religious affiliation save on an individual level."

"Now what kind of sweet gear do you guys issue, and when do I start?"

"As soon as the test of Team O'Kane get here. Though Dekker, I gotta warn ya, the rest of Tabitha's team isn't what one might expect." Sam started to say when Billie cut him off gently.

"What he's trying to say Mr. Bray, is that if you aren't nice to the rest of Tabitha's team, it will hurt Tabitha dreadfully." Billie started the car and gave Dekker a firm look as their eyes met in the rearview mirror. They were lovely silver eyes that were compassionate but firm. "They are good people, Mr Bray, and on our side, please remember that."

A cellphone chirruped and Sam pulled his out of an inner breast pocket "Aye?" He listened for a moment then grinned and hung up. "We can head to the hospital, the police will not be arriving. Mrs O'Kanes injuries will be reported as a one car accident. Some one will be coming for the Hummer to stage it, and sanitize this place." In fact a nondescript sedan was pulling in as he spoke and several very annonymous men stepping out as he spoke. One looked in their direction , noddded and then followed the others to the trunk where they began removing variously sized cases.

"Tabitha will not be pleased to have to lose another Hummer, she just got this one." Billie sighed as she pulled away.

"Bob will get her a new one." Sam said consolingly and half turned in his seat to look at Dekker "Sweet toys? We have plenty of those. We were about to ramp up O'Kanes arsenal anyways and you can be the armourer. Look in the gray binder under all the others. It's filled with data sheets and photos."

Dekker went right for the designated binder, flipping through viewing the pictures only, that was all he really needed to go off of. Most of the stuff he was used to dealing with was truly custom stuff, and there wasn't much of a way to expect that their own listings would include exactly the same gear as he'd placed in storage since he'd left that particular outfit. Sure, those same weapons worked just as well against humans, but the situations one encountered vampires, namely alone or in small groups, greatly differed from those that one fought other humans in, usually large groups in fortified positions with distance between you and them. So that custom SPAS-12 rechambered to a ten-gage bore and fitted with the tele-stock with ghost-ring sights and a C-More red-dot reflex optic wasn't as effective against normal bag guys. That 5.56x45mm M4A2 fitted with the same combat optic and a nice vertical foregrip was more appropo.

He toyed with the idea of asking about additions, but they pretty much had all the basics covered here. Most hunters brought their own stuff for little more than the simple fact that it worked for them better than what the other guys had, and that was all that mattered. You had to be at the top of your game to kill something so much more physically gifted than you were, and using stuff that didn't work for you was a pretty good way to get yourself splattered across the nearest wall in more or less one piece. That was all dependent on how badly you pissed the guy you just shot at off. He'd contended with that topic later, there was more important things to worry about now. Meeting with his new team-mates was going to be one of them...

As if Billie had read his mind she comment "They're in the pale pink binder" She'd winced too when she'd first seen it, but then she was a fallen angel.

Team O'Kane (http://www.atddm.com/gang.jpg)

Frederick 'Fred' Remmington:
Age: 34
Bio: Served 14 years Army, Ranger - court marshaled and given a dishonorable discharge. Previously earned Bronze star with Valor, Silver Star and Distinguished Service Cross

Velma Teaschue:
Age: 32
Bio: PHD (Biology), RN, Martial Artist, Librarian, Stripper, Olympic Gymnast "I can do for real every faked acrobatic stunt in that damned movie and kick Laura Croft's pale white ass while reciting chapter and verse on paranormal beasties"

Scruffy Jones:
Age: 29
Bio: Data Retrieval Specialist, Peace Activist, Petty thief "Wasn't a good thief, but was Never petty. 'Sides never wanted to hut any one, thats bad Karma"

Daphne:
Age: 654
Bio: "You try looking fourteen forever and see how you feel. Now bite me!"

Dekker was somewhat taken aback by the interesting choices Tabitha had made in her selection of her team. He was also a little puzzled by the fact that Jerico wasn't listed with the others. The only Ranger listed was some hero-turned-asshole with a DD to his credit. The medals didn't mean shit when nobody would hire you. His former employer was notorious for that sort of thing. If your discharge papers didn't say 'Honorable', you might as well not waste your time. That was probably how he fell into this little niche. Honorable discharge or not, they couldn't deprogram you or erase the training from your mind and muscles, and that made you really popular in some circles.

Among the rogues' gallery he spotted what had to have been a vampire, in that her age was over six-hundred years old. The obvious go-to person aside from the Ranger was some sort of wanna-be ninja with something of an attitude problem. That would remain to be seen, however. A lot of folks had called his attitude bad, so they might get along famously. The thief didn't worry him that much. Such guys mostly kept to themselves...

"Anybody else? We've got maybe seven guys, excuse the term, ma'am, including Jerico and myself. Mind telling me how we operate? Teams of four?"

Given the unique makeup of the team it wouldn't surprise him if something different was in order for fire-teams as well...

"You guys ever heard of A.I.M.? Not the AOL thing either. If you're willing to spend the dough you can get some top-quality talent. Think Monster Dot Com for mercs and hired guns and you've got a pretty good idea. That's where I got my start at..."

He still had a few friends on there, a lot of guys he'd worked with, and even a family member. The Bray name had been something of a legend on the network, with Samuel Bray and his two sons becoming some of the most sought-after members, at least until Samuel Bray had retired and Dekker had gone mostly to long-term contracts, the youngest of the family, Jackson, had remained to carry on what might have become a legacy...

Sam looked at Billie "I owe you five." He then looked at Dekker.

"They courtmarshalled Fred for littering. Velma gets hit on by every one, and I do mean every one. She's got a body by Vargas and is part Fey so her pheremones make her...erm.." The ex priest blushed slightly " Attractive, other preferences or not, except to Fred and the rest of the team."

Billie added "Scruffy is an avowed pacifist. We tried to teach him to use a gun. He picked it up and fainted, though blood doesn't bother him in the least. Daphne, that really is her name, and she loathes it."

"And yes we know about A.I.M. Dekker, but our people need to not only have the skills but the smarts and flexibility to know when to Not use them. And Team O'Kane is unusual in that they have so many on the team. We don't operate an army, we operate surgical teams, as we've not yet found a memory eraser device. Save for the two vampires we have in the bureau."

"We're stretched thin Dekker, our mandate is not just in the US but world wide, and as covert as the group in that silly movie." Billie added

Dekker nodded, he knew about being spread too thin, that was usually where guys in his profession came in, to fill those holes in the line...

"And how do you usually recruit? Perhaps you should step that up, boost your ranks. Mortality rate can't be that low in this business, so you gotta go through personnel pretty quick..."

He could assume he was right, but then again he might be wrong, and he'd been wrong before. Still, SCAR had high turnover rates in terms of losses and cripplings, and this couldn't be much different. The crew was a little more motley, but then again the guys from the other outfit were a pretty diverse group...

"So when do I meet this new outfit? My trigger finger's itching again..."

The comment was with a small grin on his face. It was totally in jest, but he wasn't sure if they knew that...

"So when do I meet this new outfit? My trigger finger's itching again..."

"According to what Bob said they are enroute now, taking a plane down for quickest. They'll be met at the auirport." Sam replied to Dekker's question.

"But Tabbe is right if there is one here there are more. It's like those damned potato chips. Can't have just one. Sam and I were in Omaha, I ported us here." Billie added as she turned into the hosiptal parking lot.

"We didn't have any one assigned to Miami as there hasn't been any vampire activbity here. This is a Loup stronghold and they are usually fanatical about not allowing vamps in their territory" Sam finished with this comment "Usually we recruite those willing to believe. Dekker, most people don't want to believe, don't want to the point where they litterally can't see the enemy among us"

There was one thing that confused him, and that was the terminology...

"What the fuck is a Loup? That some sort of other nasty critter we're going to have to help on along to extinction?"

This was going to be an interesting bit of work, he could already tell...

"And do we pick up Jerico and the Boss? Before or after the airport?"

"Loupe Garou, French term for a werewolf, the bad kind, not the good kind. The good guy werewolves call themselves 'Kadians, or more formally Arkadians. They pay taxes, grow their own food, and generally just want to be left to their mostly rural life style. They don't eat people, the Loup do - it's a dietary necessity. And they're too freaking entrenched to take out in any thing resembling secrecy." Sam explained

"We'd have to drop a nuke on the city to get them." Billie added, though heat smouldered deep in her lovely eyes. "Others will meet the plane. I think we need to be at the hospital incase something more gets tried. They will surely kinow by now that the original plan has failed." She pulled out a windshield tag that read CLERGY and pulled into a spot very near the side, personell only entrance.

"I'll get the hospital administration squash all records of them and put them on the secured VIP floor, and if possible move them into the same suite." Sam said as he exited the vehicle and slid a card key into the security console next tot he door. The lock clicked, admitting him and he vanished through it.

"There are some goodies in the trunk Dekker, you might want to chose from those as we will, in greatest likelyhood, not be facing mere mortals." Billie popped the trunk, then gave Dekker a spare set of keys. "In case we get seperated."

Dekker snagged the keys from mid-air as he took a quick look at the indicated items before popping his next question...

"Will my burly ass carrying an assault shotgun through a public hospital be a little too much, or should I go for something a little more discreet?"

He really wanted a shotgun, for the sheer effectiveness against vampires and their many types. Big craters in your body were much harder to regenerate, and missing limbs were even more difficult. Especially after another dose of extreme pain was only a pump away.

He'd narrowed his choices to the ten-gage Benelli Super M90 with the side-saddle shotshell carrier and the folding-stock version of the Heckler and Koch UMP 45 with the Reflex combat optic and vertical foregrip. He had his Kimber and his Mercworx along with a few extra magazines he'd stuffed in his pockets from his truck's glovebox, just in case. While he waited for a response, he grabbed a kevlar vest from within the trunk's lid, strapping his underarm holster over top of it. It wasn't an Interceptor or Dragonskin, but it would do for now...

"Carrying a shotgun openly might be inadviseable, but bringing it up in a hard sider carrying case won't be a problem. Bring them both. We might need them and all the ammo." Billie said soberly as she opened a case and pulled out what looked like a Desert Eagle, but something seemed subtly off about it. It wasn't until she dropped the clip to check the rounds that Dekker could really see the difference. The clip - no the rounds in it -while the cases seemed to be of normal brass, the bullets seemed to be made of glowing glass.

"Not that old thing, thats strictly for emergencies" Billie corrected gently as she saw him pulling out the kevlar vest. She opened another case and lifted out what looked like a midweight turtleneck. "A little hot for outdoor summer wear, but we're going to be in a nice cold hospital." She handed it to him. "Stops every thing the vest would if it had the plates in, and protects every were that " She nodded to the kevlar vest again "doesn't, doesn't bind or constrict and protects the neck."

Dekker quickly swapped the vest for the shirt, which took him a few minutes to get the holster back where is should have been before throwing the shotgun into the aforementioned case and dropping the UMP into a duffel bag along with as much ammo as he could stuff in behind it.

Hefting the case in one hand and the duffel in the other, he looked somewhat less suspicious than he might have carrying a shotgun out in the open...

"We ready?"

"Absolutely noit, but isn't more fun that way?" Billie asked as she secured the sedan and hefting her cases headed towards the same door that Sam had used.

"The question being however is 'How good are you at improvisation?' and when, not if, but when will they hit?" She gave him a wry look as her card key turned the ligh green and the lock on the door released to admit them. The same happened with the staff elevator which took them up to the private VIP floor.

Sam was waiting for them "Fortuantely there are no other VIP's so we have the floor to ourselves, though Tabitha is still in surgery. Her spine took some serious damage. Jerico is already up here but he's out of it for the time being."

Dekker slowly observed the surrounding area, checking for any obvious entry points, or anything the enemy might be able to use against them. He brought the shotgun into play, checking the chamber for the bright-blue plastic casing of a Federal Tactical Slug. The nasty little thing was actually two smaller projectiles, both of which left pretty neat holes in things, a compromise between standard slugs and buckshot...

"How do you wanna play this? The civvies aren't going to like hearing gunshots upstairs, unless they've soundproofed this place, too..."

He hated hospitals, and avoided spending as much time in them as possible. The UMP found its way onto his back, secured in the one-point sling so he could sling it around to use it after the shotgun went dry...

The VIP floor had excellent security and in actuality looked nothing like a hospital. It was decored like a floor at a bvery posh luxury hotel. There were only nine suites - three in each of the east, west and north wings - on this floor which was cross shaped with wide corridors. There was a full security console in the center of the cross, opposite from the single passenhger elevator. The cargo elevator for moving bedridden patiens like all the other medical necessities were hidden discretely in the south wing.

"I'm putting them in East C- thats the largest of the suites and with it facing east ( http://www.atddm.com/room5.jpg), they'll get the earliest sun." Sam nodded at Dekkers concern about noide " "THis is the VIP floor and it is sound proffed. And the walls between each suite are solid as are the doors. And every thing is state of the art and then some. Don't mention it to any one but both the President and the Pope have spent nights here. All the rooms are on CCTV, from multiple angles, halon fire suppression systems, and the independantly supplied water sprinkler system is being refilled rigth this moment with holy water."

He led the way down the corridor and threw the door open. He looked up pointing to a recessed slot in the ceiling that ran the width of the corridor"That hides a four inch thick blast and fire door. There are buttons on the inside and the out side and remote triggers" He held it up so that Dekker and Billie could see it. It looked like a snazzy small garage door 'key' then he tossed it to Billie. "Dekker you's is inside."

The door swung open smoothly - it had obviously been professionall counter weighted- it was thick and heavy - but swung in with just a touch of his hand.

The outer waiting room was spacious and obviously geared toward making security types very happy. One door led to a closet with a gun safe, another led to a restroom, both on the south wall. There were numerous chairs and sofas scattered about and a full length mirroe in a heavy gilt frame sat on the south wall as well.

One the east wall was a set of double doors that led to the patient's room where two beds- they had to be some sort of state of the art medical beds, but they sure didn't look like it. They were both queen size beds, but they took up only a small part of the immense room with its bevy of sealed windows looking south. In the south end of the west wall, there were three doors. Two led to walk in closets and the third let to a spacious and lavishly decorated wheel chair accessible full bathroom with both jacuzzis and non jacuzzi tubs, a massage table, a sauna and two showers.

There were no walls in the immense bedroom, but it was divided by heavy curtains in an elegant broccade pattern into a patient's room and a "lounge" area.

On the far side of the sound baffeling curtains - The north end of the room - was the 'lounge' where several confortable lounge chairs and side tables faced a wall mounted 72 inch flat screen HD LCD TV. A computer nitch handled another security console and a desk top computer. There was also a double sided book shelf - well stocked from the classics to the latest Sidney Sheldon -and an executive desk with all sorts of office toys and a pair of chairs facing the desk. In the north end of the west wall - as in the east in of the wall -were three doors. Like in the outer waiting area two proved to lead to a restroom and a weapons closet. The third led to the kitchen.

Back in the waiting area -The single door on the the north wall led to an excellently equipped eat in kitchen.. One door in the kitchen led to the service corridor that led to nursing zone that took up the north wing - it too had a drop door that could cut the suite off from this service corridor. The other door out of the kitchen led into the lounge area of the bedroom.

"Now Dekker can you find the bolt hole?"