Chapter 3

It's better to burn out than to fade away…

The dead man stood at the scene, his nonexistent mouth agape at what St. John was telling the cops. Of course St. John knew that he was dead! Why would he bother lying to the police about the body (or lack thereof?)

St. John made his way towards the police car. Josh debated staying with Beth. He knew, however, that he needed to see what the heck Mick was going to do about his murder. So he moved closer to Beth, for what he was sure would be the last time, before he headed off to the cop car. And he could have sworn, if he hadn't known better, that he felt the warmth of her body, never more alive than at this, her most vulnerable moment, on his icy skin.

It took an hour to get to the station, thanks to ridiculous rush-hour traffic. Mick had never found L.A.'s infamous gridlock more irritating. He wanted to get to the station immediately.

He had some unfinished business with Josh's murderers…he needed to find Tejada.

The officer directed Mick into a large, antiseptic room, bisected by a thick glass barrier. Mick eyed the kidnapper, sitting in a rickety wood chair on the other side of the glass, his arms folded and his feet resting on the metal desk in front of him. He was cocky, shooting Mick a glare as the P.I. entered the room.

Another cop, dressed in a tailored blue suit, stood in the room with the kidnapper. His face was stern, but tired. He'd been interrogating the man for some time now, and couldn't even get the man to respond in English, let alone confess to anything. The interrogator shrugged, and walked out of the room.

"This guy's not singing. Lindsey has him on file, and we know he's involved with Tejada…He definitely knows what's going on."

Mick saw his opportunity. "Officer, if you don't mind…Let me try him."

"I don't think—"

"Just give me five minutes. Five minutes, and if I don't have anything you can pull me."

The cop sighed. "Fine. Five and you're out."

Mick strolled into the glass room, trying to keep his rage in check. The kidnapper didn't recognize him from the scene. His feet remained on the table and his arms remained crossed.

Mick sat on the icy metal table, right in front of the criminal, so the cops couldn't see his face.

"I'm gonna ask you a question, and you probably should answer it." Mick threatened.

The kidnapper muttered something in Spanish. Mick closed his eyes momentarily, letting rage consume him. His irises went white, his canines descended, forming sharp, thirsty fangs.

He would kill this bastard if he had to. After what he did to Josh.

"Es el Diablo!"

The Kidnapper wasn't so tough now.

"Where is Tejada?" Mick growled.

And the canary sang. The kidnapper was crying now. Mick's faced returned to its human form. He turned and strolled out of the room.

In the car, driving towards Tejada's bar, Mick's enhanced senses picked up on a presence in the passenger's seat. It was hardly visible, almost like a fog. He could hear a distant noise. But the vampire was so intent on his mission that he paid no attention to the disturbance, and floored the accelerator.

Josh sat in the passenger seat.

"WHY DID YOU SEND THEM THE WRONG WAY? WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ST. JOHN?" He shouted, drawing on every ounce of his strength to make Mick hear him. After hours of silence, he was startled by the sound of his own noise. But the sound was still muted and muffled, and Josh himself could barely hear it over the rush of the wind outside his window. Mick was driving 30mph over the speed limit and climbing.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

Mick turned and looked at the passenger seat, and Josh could have sworn that he saw the mysterious man crack a smile.

The doors of the bar flew open. The bar was seedy, at best. Naked women danced in cages, sweaty brunettes and bleached blondes, moving their hips to the rhythm of the pulsing reggeaton music. Men sat at small round tables, chugging Corona's by the dozen while they played poker, their guns neatly hidden in their pockets in case someone tried to cheat. The place was foggy, and smelled of liquor and old cigars.

Mick walked over to the bar table.

"Where's Tejada?"

The bartender shrugged, and the melee began.