The fan boat whirred as it moved slowly down the swampy excuse of a river towards where, Pam had been assured, the cabin in question lay. It was a hot, sticky South Florida night but no stickier than she was used to in Louisiana and, besides, Pam didn't much mind the heat. It wasn't exactly as if she were warm blooded. She looked with mild interest at an alligator drifting by in the opposite direction, eyes barely visible above the water. An admirable predator, though she herself didn't much go in for camouflage. She shifted impatiently, causing the driver of the boat to glance up nervously. She rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to eat him. She needed him to drive her back. Humans were so illogical.

As the pulled up to the dock outside the cabin (More of a shack really, Pam thought with disinterested contempt) she was surprised to see it full of activity. A silver hummer, tacky and impractical, was just visible parked around the back side of the house and Pam could hear orders being given by a man while several others, men and women, scurried to carry them out. Pam sighed. This all would've been easier if she could have caught them sleeping, but such was life. She had never shied away from the direct approach.

She told the boat driver to wait for her and, in a blur of movement barely visible to the naked eye, she was around the cabin and holding the man in charge by the throat. He stayed surprisingly calm, surveying her coolly as his colleagues drew weapons. Pam made a small, irritated noise in the back of her throat. These people were clearly law enforcement of some sort. This was not her night.

"All right everyone, put your weapons down, I've got him by the throat but I'm not going to hurt him until I figure out what in the hell is going on here."

The man nodded slightly and the other four, two men and two women, lowered their weapons. Pam dropped the leader to his feet and he smoothed his ruffled ginger hair as he looked at her.

"Horatio Caine, CSI. May I ask what your doing at my crime scene?"

"Pamela Swynford De Beaufort. And I came here with every intention of turning this into a crime scene. It appears someone beat me to it."

"You're a vampire."

"Obviously. One of the humans I was told would be at this address stole from my place of business. I came to mete out justice."

"That's very old school. But then, your people do live a long time. Who was this person?"

"His name was Brad… something or other. I don't know. It doesn't matter. He was a bartender at Fangtasia, the vampire bar up near Shreveport. Turns out he was using that connection to illegally obtain and sell vampire blood. V, I believe they're calling it on the streets. When he got wind that we knew he fled here. I guess he thought he could hide out in the Everglades and deal in Miami. You all have quite a market for that sort of thing."

"Fangtasia is a great name."

"…yes. It's the height of sophisticated humor."

"So. This is a case of blood being stolen… from a vampire."

Horatio looked into the distance as he whipped out a pair of shades from his shirt pocket and put them on. Pam looked around for someone to react but his underlings appeared used to this sort of thing. She paused, but he didn't seem inclined to break free of his reverie.

"Ahem. Mr. Caine? Can you tell me what's happened here?"

Horatio seemed startled. He turned to face her.

"Oh, well, um yes. It appears as if there have been several murders. One man we've identified as your Brad. His last name is Newman by the way."

"I really don't care. And can you take those ridiculous sunglasses off? It's two in the morning."

"Oh yes sorry, force of habit, see I make a good one liner and… never mind."

Horatio tucked the sunglasses back into his pocket. As he did so his colleagues, as if freed from some sort of spell, went back to work bagging evidence and carrying samples in coolers to the hummer.

"Anyway, one of the bodies is Brad Newman. The other two are local V dealers, low level thugs as far as we can tell. The odd part is the blood. Brad was shot in the head, execution-style, most likely by one of the other two dealers. The blood spatter is consistent with a shooting. The other two though, have been totally drained. Appears to be the work of one of yours. So no blood from either of those two at all. But here's the odd thing. There's more blood, buckets of it, and tissue too, that doesn't seem to be connected to either of the bodies. What do you make of that, Ms. De Beaufort?"

Pam sighed, a deep, pained sigh. All she had wanted was to come down here, kill Brad Whathisface, get a good day's rest, and head back to Fangtasia. That plan appeared to be right out.

"That'll be a vampire. That's what happens when we die. We sort of… dissolve and explode simultaneously. It's quite revolting actually. I never intend to let it happen to me."

"So, there's more to this than meets the eye. Luckily, we have all the witnesses we could ever want."

"You have witnesses? Then what in the hell are you talking to me for?"

"The evidence, Ms. De Beaufort. The evidence will tell us this whole story. It never fails to talk."

Pam stared at Horatio, mouth momentarily agape. This was the stupidest man she'd ever met. And now she was involved with all this. She'd better get in touch with Eric. He'd know the sheriff of this territory. This ginger moron wasn't going to be any help.

"Right, well, here's my number, I suppose I'll have to stay in town until we figure this out. If there are vampires involved this is bigger than I had originally thought."

"I'll be in touch Ms. De Beaufort. And be the way, have you ever worked a case before?"

"I most certainly have not."

"Well. This will be a great one to … cut your teeth on."

YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH