The Nightcrawler is expounding on the concept of identity. It is one of his favorite subjects. The lights of the Raven are pulsing steadily, with a slow, soft melancholy rock ballad threading through the background.
The Raven is not a safe place; it is a bar where anyone walking through the door should be issued a warning booklet of Dos and Don'ts, of what to drink and who not to annoy. Despite this (or because of it?) it attracts a diverse and large clientele of slumming professionals, would- be artistic types, and punk-neo-Goth tough guys. Were we to enter tonight, we (being merely mortal) would be unable to tell the difference between the vampires and the humans; but you can be certain that each of us would be marked as a light midnight snack by those nocturnal predators present.
It is early, yet. But Toronto's favorite late-night radio host already has a visitor.
"It is said that each person is unique. But it is also said that everyone has a double.... Which side of the argument is correct?... Discuss amongst yourselves. Then call us here at the Raven, and perhaps I'll deign to listen to your opinion. Or perhaps not... This is the Nightcrawler, my children, and you are listening to CERK, Toronto." The blond vampire, perhaps the oldest in Toronto (perhaps the oldest in Canada, or North America) switched off the microphone and smiled at the suited, handsome man leaning against the wall of the control booth, arms stiffly crossed over his chest. "It's good of you to stop by, Alexander."
"How kind of you to say so, LaCroix. Although I admit I would have forgone the pleasure, had I known what your topic of discussion would be this evening." Alexander Lucard-- once known as Vladimir, Count Dracula, but in this century and this city, he is Alexander Lucard-- raised one eyebrow coolly, studying the older vampire with a certain amount of irritation. "I do not find the subject matter edifying in the least."
"No? Forgive me, but I find your recent discovery most entertaining." LaCroix gave a low chuckle, sipping at his blood-wine, icy eyes twinkling with amused malice. "You take such pleasure in your prestige as a corporate financier. So much pride in maintaining your privacy and anonymity. To find that you have a double who is a well-known syndicated talk show host must be ... quite frustrating."
"It's ridiculous," the younger vampire snarled. "Of all the people in the world who could look like me, that it should be that crass, sensationalistic, arrogant buffoon---" Lucard clenched his teeth, and visibly forced himself to control his temper. "I've spent too long building my financial empire to risk it by killing someone who is only an annoyance. However, if I thought I could get away with it...."
He let the sentence trail off, and closed his eyes with weariness. "You have no idea how tiring it is, to sit in those meetings with the Kopviz syndication people and hear the jokes about the resemblance between myself and Jerry Tate. I am a respected businessman. One of the most powerful men in Europe. I have a personal tailor, a net worth in the billions, and the capability to buy and sell a thousand men like him. But because of his notoriety, killing the little insect directly is out of the question. It's maddening, Lucien. Truly maddening."
"I sympathize. Really, I do." Idly, LaCroix studied the crowd outside the control booth. "I myself am dealing with someone I don't dare kill directly. A medical examiner who knows too much. Unfortunately, certain people would connect her... disappearance... with me, and the consequences would be unpleasant." He paused, seeming to consider what he just said, several levels of truth and lies going through his head at once. "Alexander. Do you know, I believe we can help each other...."
Meanwhile, somewhere close by...
In the arena of world communications, Kopviz Interstellar Link is not a big player. KIL has connections through Canada and the Pacific, a few choice syndicated shows, and one gleaming prize of an anchorman. Mid- range value at most. Alexander Lucard wants the chain for two reasons: it is convenient for his business operations throughout Alaska and Hawaii, and by now he fully intends to fire Jerry Tate at the first available opportunity. An everyday business deal, the kind he does over lunch and martinis and forgets about by midnight. Nothing more than that.
Klaus von Helsing wants KIL for only one reason: to irritate Alexander Lucard.
Most of the things he does lately are calculated to annoy his creator and former master. After all, Lucard would have left him confined in his family crypt for eons if Klaus hadn't been accidentally released. There are his own ambitions for world domination to be taken into account, too. He can't very well control the world financial market if Alexander Lucard is still standing. So following Alexander to Toronto was a foregone conclusion. Paying an unscrupulous private detective to bug the vampire's briefcase, limousine, and penthouse suite was merely routine. And trailing Lucard when he visited an acquaintance downtown was just good business sense.
What the younger vampire had not expected when he'd bugged Lucard's briefcase, was obtaining murder evidence. Or rather, evidence of a budding conspiracy to commit one or two.
"Decisions, decisions," Klaus murmured to himself, as he eavesdropped on the conversation between LaCroix and Lucard from his limo parked across the street. Should he turn them in now, before anything happened? Or wait until events developed?
Jerry Tate is part of the KIL package, and his loss would sharply reduce the market value of the syndication deal. Lucien LaCroix, though Klaus knows him only by reputation, is supposedly no one to trifle with. And a direct confrontation with Alexander could get messy....
On the other hand, murder carries a heavier sentence than attempted murder, and he found Jerry Tate almost as irritating as Lucard himself. "Hmmm..." An idea was occurring in Klaus's warped brain. It was too vague to grasp, as yet, but soon, soon, he'd have a plan. He always had a plan. It was one of the things he liked best about himself.
Time to wait and see. Watch and wait. Klaus smiled unpleasantly and giggled as he adjusted the sound on the tape recorder. The chauffeur looked back at him uneasily, then paled at his client's glare and hastily averted his eyes. The sound of a grown man giggling can be very frightening when accompanied by the correct kind of glare, and Klaus von Helsing has perfected the technique through *years* of practice.