Greetings and salutations. This is just one of those smaller stories that helps to flesh out the timeline of my Detroit tales. Coming sometime after "Cries for the Forsaken" and before the soon to be published "Black Day, Blue Night" this story is about some of the battles for a certain crime ridden and profitable section of Detroit. It was amusingly fun to do a story that could be posted in one section and not have any more to it. Shocking of me, isn't it? ANyways, please read on and learn about...

Guilt by Blood: A Tale of Detroit

The guy knew what he was doing, I have to hand him that. This was no amateur, this guy had been paid for his time. He came in fast. He didn't hit me head on, he knew how to angle in suddenly for maximum impact while ensuring minimum damage to his car. It's surprising how many people forget little things like that. They ram a guy with their car and somehow figure they can drive around with a big ass dent and a shattered windshield without a cop getting suspicious.

Of course, as much as I appreciate his skills, I can't help but have an abiding dislike for the guy as I feel my ribcage shatter and my body go flipping over the edge of the railing. I come to a stop about twenty feet down the cliff side, undoubtedly adding to my nice collection of broken bones.

Sometimes it really sucks to be me.

As you lie in a bloody and broken mess at the bottom of some nameless cliff you find out it gives you some time to think. Of course, I discover that I don't spend my contemplative moments working out some great new thought for the betterment of humanity. Mostly I spend my time considering how I ended up here in the first place. Yeah, I'm sure as hell no saint or philosopher, but for some reason I just don't feel like thinking about anyone else.

That's probably because I'm not hearing the car drive off, I'm hearing it brake.

All things considered, I probably should have told Boss Wallace to go suck a dead dog's dildo when he called me into his office three days ago. But then again, it's not like you just go and tell the most powerful man in Detroit which dildos he should or should not suck. He was sitting in his office behind his desk, a cigar in one meaty hand and a glass of cognac in the other.

The fat pig is crammed into some overpriced suit that some lickspittle lackey probably told him would make him look younger and thinner. Yeah right, Wallace looks like a shaved, fat, gorilla. The one thing you have to say about Boss Wallace is that he did work his way up through the ranks of The Syndicate. Matter of fact, I hear tell he started at the same level I'm at. Leg breaker.

Yeah, okay, I know what you're thinking. What sorta fucking story is this where the main guy just happens to be a leg breaker for a powerful criminal organization? Well, let me put it this way. Are you telling this fucking story? No, I didn't think so! So you can just sit your pure as snow backside back in your damn seat and let me finish.

So Boss Wallace calls me and a couple of the boys into his office. We're some of his best. You want to guess why? Vampire blood, plain and simple.

Okay, I hear you again, vampire blood? You're asking what sorta drugs this boy is up on. Well, the blood is the only stuff I take. Look, I know it's a little hard to swallow. Hell, I didn't quite believe it when Boss Wallace first started to discuss it. But then he brought out his boy, Nick Durango, and told us he was a vampire. Proved it too, put six bullets into his chest, and Nick didn't even fall down. Then he tells us how this here blood will give us some of a vampire's power without any of the side effects. What the hell would you have done? I took the crap.

Big mistake.

See, ol' Boss Wallace and his pet vampire prick neglected to tell us that there was one little drawback to all the superhuman healing, strength, and immortality this stuff gives you. Turns out vampire blood is darn near the most addictive stuff you ever did taste. And even if you were able to ignore the craving, the power only lasts as long as you have some of the juice' in your system.

Thus we became a buncha super powered, super loyal addicts. Gee, what a wonderful fucking deal.

So Wallace calls us in, and smiles all smarmy like. Lurking in the corner like always is Durango, Wallace likes to keep one of his full blooded vampires around just in case one of us blood addicts gets any smart ideas. Since I reckon on how it's smart not to piss off a guy who can run down a car and rip it open with his bare hands, I stay real respectful to Boss Wallace. No need to give Durango an excuse to go apes hit on me. He was nasty enough before he became a undead parasite.

Ahhh, gentlemen. I trust the evening finds you well? None of us answer, of course. Wallace and his voice, a love affair made in hell. Besides, you just gotta remain all loyal and calm like, otherwise he may just decide to hold back your dose of the juice'. Tell me, how familiar are you all with the current state of affairs down in Old Town?

Old Town. I had sorta expected for Boss Wallace to get a burr up his butt on this one. The place had for ages been the biggest tourist attraction Detroit had to offer, at least for a certain type of tourist. Old Town, if there is a sin imaginable and you have the cash then Old Town can hook you up. Personally I always liked the place, the women there are the biggest attraction, even more so then the casinos, and the women are fine. I mean, this place is like the Mecca of organized crime, everyone wants a piece.

The problem had been The Snakes, some big ass street gang. I know, I know, you wouldn't think that a bunch of stupid gang bangers could stop The Syndicate. However, Boss Wallace had learned that there was more to this group then met the eye. Turned out that they were also backed by some vampires. A buncha vampires. So, for the longest time, Boss Wallace had to sit back and just not go into Old Town.

But then again, recently I'd heard that The Snakes had gotten a serious whuppin' courtesy of some new group. I'd also heard that The Syndicate had started moving into Old Town, looking to take things for ourselves. But, I figure that we must have come across some problems. That's why Wallace had brought us in. We were the people who made problems go away.

We have come across some problems in our operations there, said Wallace as though we hadn't figured it out already. I need you to go in and sort them out for me, he added, just to prove that he thought we were idiots. Of coursehe did manage to trick us all into being his little blood addled henchmen, so maybe he had good reason to question our relative brain power. You are to go in with Durango and establish yourselves in the neighborhood. He'll explain the rest of the job to you and provide you with all the blood you need to finish your task.

I've been noticing this pain in my mouth, and working at it half consciously with my tongue. Suddenly a tooth come loose with a spurt of blood into my mouth. I chuckle and spit it out. I try to sit up, as long as I'm at it, but it's apparent I'm not going to be doing that anytime soon. I'm low on juice' and ain't exactly healing as well as I could be.

Above me, back up on the road, I hear the sounds of a car door opening and closing. The heavy tread of footfalls as someone walks up to the edge of the road and looks down at me. I'm probably not exactly an impressive sight. At least one of my legs is definitely pointing the wrong way.

I can't help but recall how I never did bother to try and get any new guns. I was really probably asking for this, what with walking around unarmed with a price on my head. Probably not the brightest thing I've managed to do lately. Not that the last few days were exactly a showcase of logical and levelheaded thinking

C'mon, Billy-boy! I grab the little cuss and slam him up hard against the chain-link fence. His breath hisses out painfully between his teeth as he squeals in pain.

Squeal bitch, squeal! Big Mac' MacGruder laughs as he kicks Billy in the nuts. The kid crumples up like a computer geek who'd been kicked in the ballswhich was exactly what he was.

Stop it, you're killing him! That would be the girlfriend. She sorta got bent out of shape when we dragged her punk-ass boyfriend out of his car for a friendly chat. Of course, maybe she shouldn't have been dating an informant if she didn't want to see him get slapped around occasionally. I got to admit, she's pretty hot. I wouldn't have reckoned Billy-boy could get a girl like her. She sobs, trying to pull away from Fred's grip, but he's got her tight and there's no way she's getting free. Just leave him alone! He didn't do anything to you!

That's where you're wrong, Blondie. I turn around and smile at her. Trying to be nice and thus calm her down. Behind me Big Mac' leans down and puts his knee into Billy-boy's kidney a few times. Poor cuss will be pissing blood for a week. You see, ol' Billy-boy here happens to have some business connections with The Ladies. But for some reason he didn't want to talk to us over the phonethat's why we had to come down here.

Oh god! She wails in fear and continues to struggle. Big Mac' rams the kid's face hard into the brick wall of the alley. Billy stumbles backwards and collapses in front of his car. The headlights washing brightly across the pulpy remains of his face. The girl goes all to sobbing so I motion to Fred to turn her around.

See, I'm not a total jerk or anything.

Billy, Billy, Billy. I pull a switchblade out from under my coat and grab his hair. Pulling him up by it I hold up the knife for him to see. I really don't think we're asking for much. A name, what's in a name? It's just a few syllables, simple to say. I lean down by him, whisper in his ear. Look, your girl's crying, she's starting to bug me. Could you just give me a name so we can go on about our business?

Nikki, nice. See, that was easy. What's her last name?

Foster, Nikki Foster.

I smack his face into the fender of his car, it makes a pretty cool noise. I motion to the others. Come on guys, we got what we needed.

Fred tosses the sobbing bimbo to the ground and kicks her in the ribs, knocking the air out of her. She lays there gasping and sobbing as we walk back to my Beamer. Nikki Foster, don't sound like the name of no criminal mastermind to me, that's for damn sure. But word was that Billy had worked with The Ladies in the past and met their oh so incredible leader.

The Ladies. That's what Durango had told us about as we had driven with him down to Old Town from Wallace's mansion up in Grosse Point. Seems The Snakes had gotten the shit kicked out of them by some small all woman group. Yeah, a buncha dames went and did what Wallace and The Syndicate couldn't. No wonder the fat man was so pissed about this new group.

Problem was, it wasn't like they were easy to find and whup the shit out of. These Ladies played it pretty smart. It was apparently a small group that comprised their core membership, and nobody really seemed able to say how many there were or what they looked like. Most of their power came from the streets. They had informants everywhere, and I mean everywhere! Every damn hooker, bum, and bartender in the damn neighborhood seemed to be working for them and was highly loyal.

Impossible you say? Not so. It was simple economic common sense. The Snakes had been powerful and had inspired fear. The Ladies were far weaker, smaller in numbersbut as a result they didn't need anywhere near as much cash to keep themselves running. Matter of fact, as far as we could tell, the bimbos didn't even seem to take one thin dime from their people. The only thing they asked was that people help them out, keep an eye open, and let The Ladies know what was going down.

It was a pretty good planwe'd had to beat the snot out of about six guys before one could finally give us the name of the head honcho of the operation. Nikki Foster, leader of The Ladies. The downside of course being, was that by now, The Ladies had to know The Syndicate had hit town in a big way.

So Fred, Big Mac', and I drove back to the apartment building which The Syndicate was renting out for us. As we arrived we noted that there was a fucking limo parked out front, pretty as you please. It was because I was on alert for The Ladies that I was as tense as I was, not that the others were relaxed either.

What's this shit? Big Mac glanced at me with a frown.

Hell if I know, I told him. Fred didn't say nothing, he just parked the car. As we got out we spotted them, a half a dozen pissed looking niggers all hanging around. Each of them sporting the serpent tattoo that announced them as part of The Snakes. They try to look all bad ass when they see us coming, sticking out their chests and gripping at half hidden guns. Fred, 'Big Mac' and I all glance at each other.

We laugh.

Hey there, junior, I say to the biggest of The Snakes. I smile at him as I walk right up, half surrounding myself with his boys. I get up right in his face, letting him now I don't sweat him. What the hell are you doing here? Tell me before I have to whup your dumb black ass.

Yo, fuck you.

Now, don't get me wrong. I understand I was putting the kid in a rough position. I was out there trying to prove that me and my boys were more hard then he and his. I knew I was getting up in his face, and I knew that if he backed off his boys would think him a weak ass loser. Of course, maybe he shoulda fucking realized he shouldn't have mouthed off to me in front of my boys. Hell, I dunno, maybe he thought I was bluffing?

I twist his wrist back a little more, and now the top of his hand is touching his arm. He drops to his knees and whimpers like a baby.

Who's the tough guy? Who's the tough guy on the ground crying like a little bitch? Of course none of his boys did jack to me, and there's a reason. Now, if I'd done the job slower, gave him a chance to start fighting, or if I had kept whupping on him I would have been in trouble. Because both cases would have given them a reason to jump in. But with him already down, well, they waste most of their time just being a little surprised, and thus blow that comfortable window of opportunity to attack. Usually people will just wimp out now, not wanting to get a broken wrist of their own. I look over to another of them. What are you idiots doing here?

Our boss is here for a meeting, dog, that's all. He backs off from me, so do most of the others, though they'd never admit it. Not that I'm particularly worried. The juice' gives me the strength to pop a wrist like nothing, and it would have let me heal up from any whupping those boys might have decided to put on me. That is a plus of the juice', you don't sweat minor things, like human violence, anymore. Me and the others head on in, Durango's waiting just inside the door for us.

He stands there, all pale and disjointed looking, not that Durango ever seemed too in control of himself even before he became a vamp. His hands are buried in his long black coat. His dark hair is slicked back from his face. He smiles at us, his thin, hatchet-like features trying to seem pleased, but just looking horrid.

Hey guys, did the information run go okay?

Yeah, no sweat, I grin at him, feeling pretty good about myself. We got the name even, Nikki Foster, she's the one in charge.

For some reason this doesn't seem to go over too well with Durango. Matter of fact his face goes paler, something I didn't think could happen, and his bloodshot eyes start darting around like he's watching a couple a bugs buzz about his face.

Nikki Foster He hisses out the name as though he were saying Jeffery Dhamer or something.

Hey, Durango, cuts in Big Mac', what's the deal with The Snakes?

Oh, that. Durango's eyes jerk up to meet ours again. Looks like Wallace has some offers for a joint move against The Ladies.

Now this sort of thing I hadn't expected, but it didn't seem so far off the beaten path, as it were. After all, if you were The Snakes, pretty much the nastiest bunch of mental rejects this side of New York, and had gotten beaten outta your prize territory by a buncha girls Well, I could see how they'd like the idea of revenge. Also, if we accepted their help, it'd mean they could maybe get a grip back on some of Old Town without too much effort. After all, I bet The Syndicate would be expected to do most of the leg breaking.

Hey, pale-boy, comes a sharp Oriental woman's voice, they want to talk with you again. Coming down the stairs suddenly come some people I don't know. One of them is this tall lanky drink of water, looks like he's been snorting the snow a bit too much for his own good. His blonde hair is all frizzed out, and his eyes wild. Next to him is a slim Asian hottie in a glossy black leather coat. Her hair is held back in a ponytail and dyed red. You deaf, she sneers, I said your boy wants you to go hold his hand.

Durango mutters something under his breath as he goes up the stairs to talk business with whoever Wallace sent to talk to The Snakes. Me and the boys look over our two new guests. The girl ain't bad looking, but I always figured all damn chinks looked alike. Anyways, she's got a pissy streak a mile wide, and it shows. The guyhe just looks like a fruit. He grins at me when he sees me eyeing him.

What's up, mate? Great, the fuck's an Aussie, I hate Aussies. M'name's Zip, this here is Dove. He nodded to the Asian woman, she flicked us the bird with a sneer as she was introduced.

Friendly girl, muttered Big Mac' with a shit-eating grin spreading across his stubbled face.

Yeah, you boys must be part of Wallace's little special' group of bigdicks. That would be right, wouldn't it? He smiled again as he took a step forward, tilting his head to the side as he eyeballed me. I really wasn't sure what to make of this jackass Aussie, but I sure wasn't impressed. I just stared at him. he drew out the word as he nodded. You boys are the bigdicks, nice to be meeting you finally. He held out his hand to shake. It's an honor

I take his hand and shake. Just for fun I decided to squeeze a little extra hard. Not much, just enough to pop a bone or two, I'm not a jerk. But Zip just grins all easy at me. Suddenly he's squeezing backand he's doing it just as hard as I am! We stand there for a while, eyes locked, our hands just crushing each others. He never wipes that odd grin off his face. It's at this point I know that everything I've heard about The Snakes is true.

This guy is up on the juice' too. Suddenly it seems like me and my pals aren't the only badasses around.

The driver is walking down the hill towards me now. The steps are obvious. Showoff. Sure, the ass laid me out but good, but does he really need to shove that fact into my face? What a jerk. I would have moved quicker and quieter if this had been my hit. I wouldn't have made anyone sit around at the bottom of a cliff and consider stuff for so long.

Not that I really mind.

See, my little buddy in the car probably doesn't realize that I'm rather more then average. Every moment is a bit more healing I can squeeze out of my body. I'm not in great shape, but I am definitely capable of movement.

So now comes an interesting question. Do I try to make a break for it, or do I lie here all quiet like, and try to turn the tables on my attempted killer?

My hand reaches out and grabs onto a jagged rock.

The streets of Old Town sail by silently outside the tinted windows. Scores of women line the streets and huddle around the corners. Dressed in revealing lace, skintight leather, or other outfits to fit their clients tastes, from French maids, to cheerleaders. They ply their trade like they do every night. The lights of the casinos and bars stream out in garish neon displays, washing across the faces of the available women, and casting deep shadows where the homeless and the destitute lurk just out of sight.

Please gentlemen, feel free to enjoy yourselves. What's mine is yours. The voice is that of Ed Greely, a pissant prick working for The Snakes. I figure he must be somewhere up in their power structure, cause he's all polite as pudding letting me and Big Mac' ride around in his fancy shmancy limo with him.

He sits across from us, all suave and smooth in his D'Anconia suit. He wears a set of dark shades, says he's got some sort of bad reaction to bright light. I heard about that sorta stuff, I think I recall hearing that some creepy singer also had that problem. His skin is oily too, seeming to glisten like, and pardon the wording, like the skin of a snake. Greely also smilesa lot.

Next to him sits his bitch. The guy actually decided to hire one of the girls of Old Town and bring her along on this little shindig. She sits there silently, some little five foot nothing Jap whore. Her face all done up in white geisha paint, her eyes and lips outlined in blue and green swirls. Thin traces of red slip down from the far ends of her lips to trace under her chin, making her appear more like a ventriloquist puppet then anything else.

Sitting nearby are Zip and Dove, the other two agents for this mission. Zip is wearing torn jeans and a leather jacket. Dove is dressed up in a leather and chain outfit that could only serve as camouflage in a neighborhood like this one.

When word got back to Wallace about the name Nikki Foster he suddenly agreed to The Snake's offer like it was a pair of Superbowl tickets for twenty cents. I asked Durango about it and got nothing that even resembled an answer from him. He only said something about his child needing a lesson, which is odd since I didn't know Durango had any kids.

However, I did a little bit of digging of my own, and think I found out what the boss' beef may be. Seems like a couple years ago his son went and got whacked by some crazed cop. It actually made a lot of papers. Crazed Cop Feeds Heir of Millions to Mulcher' Pretty nasty story. What's this have to do with Nikki Foster? Well, seems the cop had an accomplice of sorts who was apparently never found. But I heard tell it was a woman, and it don't take a rocket scientist to come up with a guess or two as to who Nikki Foster might be. First she stole Wallace's son, then she tried to steal Old Town and all the money it offered.

Man, this Nikki bitch was going down hard!

It started two nights ago when Durango had done a search for the name. Turned out that Nikki Foster was actually listed in the phone book and everything. Durango had found out where she worked, a local blood bank.

He and some of the boys had fire bombed it.

The Syndicate was also putting the word on the street that we were in charge now. Simple stuff really, just roughing up some stupid whores and telling them who their new boss is. Meanwhile The Snakes were helping to canvass the neighborhood for more leads to where to find The Ladies. Nikki's apartment had been broken into, but she wasn't there. However, they did find a few pieces of paper with phone numbers. Phone numbers of local clubs. Thus far they had visited them all, all but one. That was where we are headed now. Greely had come along to observe, and apparently to offer some of his limo's champagne.

Please, go ahead and drink. It is quite good. He snapped his fingers and the little geisha sprang into action. White painted hands pulled back crimson sleeves as she reached out and picked up the bottle. She deftly poured two glasses. Holding them forward she bowed her head and waited for them to be taken.

Fuck off, bitch, grunted Big Mac' I didn't ask for nothing.

I take the glass she offered me, like I've said, I'm not a jerk or nothing. She just waits there silently, still holding out the glass to Big Mac'. But then Greely snaps his fingers again and she pulls back. Setting down the glass and curling back up against Greely's side. Resting her head delicately in the nook of his arm. He grinned, his smile bright.

You boys don't need to be so tense, we're all friends here.

C'mon, mates, offered Zip with a chuckle, it's a good business deal.

Yeah, whatever. I gulp down the bubbly. The limo comes to a stop at the back of the club. Big Mac', Dove, Zip, and I all climb out. It's a pretty decent looking place, but nothing too amazing. The juice' is throbbing in my veins, making me feel ready to take on the world. We walk up to the back door. Big Mac' rips the handle off and we shove the door open. The three men who were sitting around a table in the back counting money look up in surprise. Hey guys, I say with a grin as we enter, we just need to ask you a few questions.

Oh shit, The Syndicate, mutters the smallest of the group, and the only one who seems to have an IQ in the double digits. How do I know this? He's the only one who tries to run.

Zip jerks his elbow slightly and a .38 pops out of his sleeve, neat as you please, into his hand. He hardly bothers to aim, just takes the shot sharp and simple. The smart guy suddenly screams as a bullet chews through his leg and turns his kneecap into a splintered mess. Zip chuckles as he twirls the gun around his finger. Showoff.

I told you, dickless wonders we just wanted to talk! I storm forward and grab the guy, picking him up off the floor and tossing him onto the table. Money goes spilling over the edges, bloodstained dollar bills fluttering through the air. Then the fat-ass black guy grabs at my shoulder for some reason. I spin around and glare at him. What the fuck, nigger?

He gives me this stupid and shocked expression.

I deck him in the face and feel cartilage pop and crackle. He drops to the linoleum floor with a whimper. But then the dumb fat-ass decides to try to stand back up. I stomp on his hand and hear bones snap as he mewls in pain. I drop on top of him and grab the back of his head, then start slamming it into the floor with a sharp crack..

Crack. What, nigger? Crack! Getting up? Crack!!! Crunch!!!

Shit, man. Big Mac shakes his head at the blood and brains now spattered on the floor. The smart guy still moans and writhes about on the table. The other guy is pressed up against some cupboards looking ill. I shake my head and stand up.

I got a little carried away, I'll admit it. It's the juice', it can get you going so you hardly know what you're doing. Fuck! I brush my hands through my hair, pushing it back from my face. I feel a stickiness and glance at my gloves. There's blood on them, and now must be all over my face too. I curse and head over to the kitchen sink.

Hey, mates, everything's cool now. Zip slips his gun back up his sleeve as he talks nice nice to the punks. We just have some questions for you. For starters, let's talk about The Ladies. I hear tell they get a small cut of your profits. He walks over and picks up some bloodied money from the table. Would you gents be kind enough to give us the mailing address?

Screw you, gasps the guy holding his bleeding knee. I turn on the tap and shove my hands under the water flow, watching the blood spray off the gloves and mix with the water. I let it pool in my hands and start scrubbing my face. The smell of blood is everywhere. The 'juice' is pounding through me veins, going wild inside me. I try to calm down, this is getting out of hand.

I hear a sudden metallic hiss and a scream.

What the hell, Dove? I glance up even as Zip is mouthing off to his partner. Across the room from her the last big guy had been reaching for an open drawer. It's apparent because of the long metal knife piercing his wrist and pinning his arm to the cupboard behind it. Dove grins as she walks forward, another knife sliding out from behind her back and twirling around her fingers. Hell, just wipe the fucker out quick this time, okay?

Okay. Hey, stupid. Why you have to go for a gun? Using the hilt of her knife for added force she decks him hard across the face. Then her leg snaps out and kicks him in the knee, I hear the pop as it dislocates. Pulling her leg back sharply she snaps it out again to crack into the side of his head. His whole body jerks to the side and then crumples to the floor. She grabs her other knife and yanks it free, letting him finally drop to the ground.

Now, the address! Zip grabs the last guy around the throat and starts squeezing. The little worm gasps in fear and pain, writhing about helplessly in the superhumanly strong grasp. Tell us about The Ladies!

Oh Christ! We all look up in surprise as two figures walk into the back room through the doors into the rest of the club. Some older guy with a distinguished white beard and wearing a tux. His arm is hooked around some amazon of a woman. She's gotta be a working lady of Old Town. Her statuesque body is tall, but is athletic and has all the curves in the right places. She's been poured into this slinky emerald green dress with fishnet stockings and gloves. Her hair is blonde and trimmed up tight around her head. Her blue eyes widen in shock at the sight even as the old guy gasps and grabs at his chest, choking for air.

I guess the sight of one of his boys with a crushed skull, another with a blown out kneecap being choked to death, and a third knifed and beaten on the floor came as something of a shock to him.

What the fuck is geriatric boy's problem, asked Dove with a sneer as she wipes the blood off her knife.

I lunge forward, but it's almost a useless motion, they dont try to run and warn others. The old guy crumples to the ground. The hot-ass amazon drops down with him, her face concerned. I grab her arm and jerk her away, shoving her back against the sink as I grab the old guy and shut and lock the door. I look down at him, his face is blue. What the hell?

He needs medical attention, a doctor, snaps the hooker, suddenly sounding very serious. I glare at her and shake my head.

I'm the doctor, blondie, now shut up and sit back! Big Mac comes up, pulling out his gun and pointing it at her face. She doesn't look too scared, course maybe she's been in these sort of situations before working in Old Town, but at least she shuts up. Zip let's up on his boy, cause the guy was turning purple. Dove suddenly stabs her guy in the throat.

Why the fuck did she do that? I'm getting a little tense now. We've had about two more deaths then planned for. I don't sweat murder, I just don't care to be involved in it unless it's necessary for the job.

Dove, honey, says Zip with a sigh, what the hell? She giggles and licks the blood from her knife. Zip shrugs at me. Sorry, she just gets odd sometimes.

Crazy bitch, hisses the hooker.

Dove spins around, flipping the knife in her hand and catching it by the blade. Ready and willing to throw it and kill someone else probably.

I jerk out my own gun and look around meaningfully. The next idiot so much as sneezes is going to get a lesson in manners from my pal Mr. .357. Understood? They stay quiet. I glance down at the old guy, he looks to be choking on his tongue. I curse again. Zip, does that idiot you're holding know anything?

Hey, bitch. I look at the hooker. She meets my gaze, her eyes calm and slightly angry. Can you help this guy?

Not without some tools.

I shake my head. There are too damn many witnesses and not enough to show for it! I scratch my head and scowl. Ah, hell. Let's cut our losses and clean the scene.

I shoot the old guy.

The hooker screams angrily.

Big Mac' caps her in the back. She stumbles slightly, glares at me, and crumples to the floor.

Dove walks up and happily slit's the throat of the guy Zip is holding.

Let's get out of here.

Witnesses. That's one mistake I don't like to make. See, witnesses complicate life. Just look at me, do you think I got hit by a car for something I didn't see? Actually it has more to do with what I did, or didn't do, really. This showoff is still taking his sweet ass time coming down here for me, I got my rock good and ready.
I guess I got time to tell you the rest

Greely didn't seem too upset about the whole affair. He even invited Big Mac' and me back to his rooms. He had rented out this fancy suite from some casino. It was a pretty fucking fancy place. All glitz and glamour to make you able to relax and forget the shady dealings taking place on the streets below. This was the type of place they gave to their whales when they came to town.

Greely was reclining in his sauna. The damn thing was huge and set right in the middle of his bathroom floor. His geisha slut was kneeling behind him. She slowly poured scented bath oils into the water. Arranged in front of her were some scrubbing brushes, a bowl of hot lather, and a straight razor. Even in the tub Greely kept his shades on.

Zip sat facing backwards on a satin lined chair in the bathroom, chatting with Greely about the business tonight. He peeled an apple with his jackknife, slowly slipping the pieces into his mouth and chewing on them contentedly.

Big Mac' was leaning up against the wall by the front door, Dove next to him. They were both running guard duty. They looked bored and annoyed. I was sitting on the couch in the living room and trying to watch the television.

Then the phone rang.

I got it, I said as I leaned down and grabbed it up. Hey, what's up?

Hello, I wish to speak with Mr. Greely. It was some dame's voice.

Whom may I say is calling, I asked in a pretty decent imitation of some of those butlers you see on British TV programs. You know, those shows that suck. Fucking Brits.

This is Nikki Foster.

No shit. I have to admit I wasn't expecting this shit. Then again, maybe we'd scared her and her bimbo brigade enough that they were looking to cut their losses and negotiate a surrender. I set down the phone and wander into the bathroom. Hey, Greely. The head dame of The Ladies is on the phone for you.

Really? Shut the door. he glanced over his shoulder at his geisha. Open up the speakerphone. He smiled back at me as she stood up silently and walked delicately up to the phone. I'm just looking to make sure there are no secrets between our organizations. I'd hate for you to get the wrong idea about us.

I nod. Smart move on his part. The Snakes want this partnership, and it does The Syndicate some good too. Not that we need them, of course.

This is Ed Greely, how may I be of service, madame, he says smooth as silk to the speakerphone. His geisha slowly eases back up to his side. He grins at her, snaps his fingers and motions into the tub.

My name is Nikki Foster. May I ask who is in the room?

Just me, my guard, and a Syndicate man. You may consider them well placed and discreet.

He geisha tapped one of her fingernails twice on the silver tray which held her tools. The small sharp taps seeming suddenly loud to me, so focused was I on the phone call. I glare at her, but her face is still just a painted mask. She starts to undo her kimono. Think folds of crimson and white material peeling off of her thin, small body.

says Nikki. Her voice is prim yet powerful. The bimbo obviously thinks she's hot shit. Let me cut right to the point, Mr. Greely. I don't take kindly to what's happening in my neighborhood.

Ah, ah, Miss Foster. Greely chuckled as he leaned back to watch his geisha disrobe. I think the proper terminology would be that it is our neighborhood now, not yours. After all, there is no way possible that you have the power to fight a war against both The Syndicate and us.

Unfortunately, this is true. Fortunately it isn't all true.

Oh, indeed? The geisha allowed the last of the kimono to tumble to the floor about her ankles. Her body wasn't too fucking impressive in my eyes, even if she hadn't been a chink slope-eye. She was built like a boy, little flat chested slut. Her vagina was as bare as a newborn's backside. Her body not curvy, indeed there was little fat. Just smooth supple lines suggesting a trim athletic build hidden under that pale white skin. She slipped into the water behind Greely, gathering up the hot lather in her small hands and spreading it across his gleaming bare scalp. Tell me, Miss Foster, whatever makes you think you have enough of a chance that you even imagine putting up a fight? If I were you, I'd just surrender now. You'd put an end to a lot of suffering.

You men are idiots, said Nikki softly. Then all of a sudden she goes into a fucking history lesson. It is not always the largest army that wins the war. Back at the opening of the nineteenth century Prussia entered into a war with Austria and France. There was little to no hope for a Prussian victory, despite the dedicated and veteran soldiers of the small Prussian army. However, Russia entered the war. The Cossacks were a far larger force. They and France clashed multiple times. The wild Cossack raiders bleeding the great French armies white. King Frederick of Prussia wisely held his own forces back from the conflict, keeping them ready for over three years at the borders. Finally, in the end, Russia withdrew, and France gratefully pulled back as well. Leaving only the fragile Austrian armies to oppose the might of Prussia. They lost, and Prussia won a war that had ended in stalemate for Russia and France, both far greater powers.

Greely smiled. Zip chuckled. Even I wasn't too impressed. The geisha's face remained unchanging as she popped out the straight razor and went to work shaving him. Her moves quick and deft as she sheared away what, if any, stubble there was on Greely's head. I would have thought the deaths at the clinic and the clubs would have been enough for you.

I lost some good friends at that clinic.

Surrender and no more will die. Greely leaned back in his geisha's arms, one of his hands trailing down her side to fondle her below the water line. Her painted face remained unchanging. You only have more to lose, and nothing to gain in this conflict. You are hopelessly overmatched.

Mr. Greely, her voice went icy, weren't you listening? I don't intend to lose anything more. It is you and The Syndicate who must be dealt with. You must be weakened fighting each other so that my smaller force can maintain control.

Greely looked at me, I shrugged. He sneered at the phone. Tell me, just how do you plan to make this little wonder plan of yours work? It sounds brilliant and all, but, he chuckled, The Syndicate and The Snakes are allies.

Yes, but you always have made the mistake of underestimating where and how we can strike. I grew more tense at this, glancing towards the window suspiciously. Zip noticed my glance, he hopped to his feet and walked over to the window, peering out of it darkly. Nikki's calm voice continued. Mr. Greely, you are the topped ranked Snake operative in this mission, are you not?

he sneered, I came up with the plan!

Ah, just checking. I trust The Syndicate agent there is ready for his fifteen minutes of fame. I glared at the phone, not knowing what she was talking about. You can consider this some repayment for killing my friends and shooting me in the back. Shooting her in the back? Suddenly I start in surprise. That hooker from the club! Holy shit, we had the godamn leader of The Ladies right there! Butwe shot her, how? Then that comes to me too. The Ladies, they dealt with The Snakeswhose to say they didn't have vampire backing too. Oh crap. Miho, anytime you want.

There was a sudden sharp movement, and Greely's throat was slashed open from ear to ear by a gleaming straight razor.

Blood poured down his chest, gushing down into the sauna and turning the water murky red.

The geisha jerked his head back by his face. Twisting her arm around she deftly sawed through the back of his neck and split the spinal column. Greely's head popped off neatly in her hands. Her face remained unchanging as she held it up briefly, like a trophy, and stared right at me.

Then she tossed it at me. I was shocked and batted at it in surprise. Zip let loose a stream of curses, his arm jerked and a .38 popped into his hand. He raised it towards the geisha and fired.

She shot out of the sauna in a spray of blood soaked water. Red droplets sprayed off her pale white skin as she spun in the air and landed lightly off to the side. Her unchanging face snapped up to look at Zip, her painted features appearing like a mask. I went for my gun as Zip kept firing.

Then she shot forward. Damn but could she move fast! It was like a blur of white. She hit Zip hard and fast, I could hardly even follow the moves. All I could tell was that one second he was firing at her, and the next his arm was broken and his jackknife was jammed deeply into his jaw, plunging straight up into his brain.

Even the juice' don't bring you back from something like that.

I jerked out my gun and fired at her. I hit the walls, the window, even Zip, not that it could cause him any more harm,. But I don't think I even grazed the little chink slut. She sprang forward lightly, slamming into the window and shattering it as she broke through it, bare ass naked. I rushed forward and looked out the window, but below all I can see is dark streets and cars. Damn, but that should have cut her to ribbonsand this was an eight story building!

What the fuck! I look up as Big Mac' and Dove burst into the room. Dove's eyes go wide as she looks at my blood spattered shirt, her dead boss, and dead partner. Then her eyes go killer cold.

It's not what you

I don't get to finish what I was going to say. All of a sudden Big Mac' has a pair of knives ripping into his back, slashing at him repeatedly and suddenly. He staggers and stumbles. He collapses, by the look of things he won't be getting up again, too much damage for him to heal. I raise my gun and fire at her, but Dove manages to dodge back through the bathroom door. I hear pounding feet and the front door being tossed open.

I look around at the carnage.

So, that's why I cut out of there as fast as I could. I probably should have made some better plans. Mostly I just tried to get away. That's why I was walking along a back road heading out towards Grosse Point. The blood had called me back, y'know. The blood, there was no way to resist. The blood, I had so little left The footsteps come closer.

I lunge upwards and spin around, aiming with the rock for where a head should be.

SHAK!

There's a moment of confusion, where all I can see is the flashing afterimage of a sword and a spray of blood. Then the pain hits and I scream. I collapse backwards, holding the bloody stump of my hand as blood squirts out. My blood. My ! I watch it pump out of me helplessly. Gods I'm hungry.

This is him, says a voice I recognize. I look up, it's the hooker and the geisha.

The hooker, Nikki Foster, is dressed in black leather pants and a tank-top. A long black leather coat hangs off of her powerful amazon shoulders. Her face is cold and dismissive of me. Her eyes are narrowed, her full lips twisted into a scowl as she looks down at me. Admittedly I ain't much to look at.

Beside her, a small shadow next to the amazon, is the geisha, Miho. She now wears a loose black gi top belted about her narrow waist. Black tights cling to her legs. A bloody katana is resting lightly on her shoulder. Her face has been scrubbed clean of the paint, but looks no less like a mask for it. Her face is unreadable and emotionless.

Hey. To what do I owe this honor, I gasp as I try to sit up.

You did your job. The Snakes already are talking about how The Syndicate assassinated one of their top agents, says Nikki quietly as she reaches under her coat. She pulls out a .45. But unfortunately for you, I think this ruse will work better if there are less actual witnesses. And seeing as how you're the only one She raises the gun and points it at my head. Any last words?

Yeesh, what sorta bitch would actually ask that before killing someone? I spit at her.

BANG!

The End.