And what, you may ask, has Count Dracula been up to since we saw him last?
Not as much as you'd think. Alexander Lucard is a businessman, first and foremost, in much the same way that Al Capone and Michael Corleone were businessmen. The former scourge of Transylvania has been busy doing damage control since his little "consultation" with the Toronto P.D., and taking steps to secure his position as KIL Communications' main bidder. But the unforeseen strangeness that has complicated his life has also convinced him that he must try to ascertain who, exactly, is playing havoc with his visit to Canada.
Which is why he called his good friend, his trusted friend, his kind friend Lucien LaCroix, and arranged for a meeting to ask him for an explanation of recent events. Or at the very least, a reality check.
"LaCroix," Lucard demanded once the older vampire was inside the graveyard where they were meeting (A pity it isn't the one where Nick is held captive; but then there would be no parts 10-15 in this story, would there?-- Editor), "you have a lot of explaining to do."
"Do I?" The Nightcrawler is not used to being addressed this way by anyone outside his immediate family, and he doesn't tolerate it from them, either. "What seems to need explaining, Alexander? Aside from the risk you are running by speaking to me so rudely?"
"Why aren't you acting as we planned?" Lucard paced over some of the older graves in the St. Lawrence cemetery - just down the avenue from Klaus's henchmen in an unmarked van, where various tape machines were whirring and clicking and recording - snapping his fingers in frustration as he glared at the older vampire. Both of them felt relatively safe in this deserted part of town, and the concept of directional mikes never entered either of their heads, although it really should have.
But even hundred and thousand-year-old vampires have their weak spots, and for both of these two, too much reliance on their vampiric nature had blinded them to some of the technological possibilities available on the market for professional eavesdroppers. "Why is Jerry Tate still alive? Why are you trying to frame me for his murder? And what was going through your mind when you planted a Klaus impersonator in the police department?" Briefly, his eyes glowed gold in frustration, and then he had himself under control.
"You're babbling, Alexander." LaCroix's voice was compassionate. "So I will humor you. For now." A long pause, during which LaCroix scanned their surroundings with distaste, wiped off a gravestone, then perched on it. "Mr. Tate is still alive because my plans for his demise are proceeding cautiously. But they will soon bear fruit. Try to remain patient." Another pause, as LaCroix inspected a sentimental verse on the marker opposite, grimacing in annoyance. "I am not 'trying' to frame you for anything. I do not 'try' to do things. I do them." Lucard frowned, attempting to remember what play LaCroix was quoting, but the older vampire was still talking. "As for this Klaus person, I know nothing of him. My only contact with the police department is through the beat patrolmen with whom I have certain arrangements regarding my club, and my son, who has decided to take his hobby of self-flagellation to new heights. Is there anything else?"
"Your son?" Lucard was still confused, but doing his best to hide it. LaCroix might be lying, but it seemed unlikely, and if he was to be honest with himself, Dracula was only hoping that the solution to his problems would be as simple as some practical joke being played by LaCroix. An uglier (and much more plausible) possibility was beginning to suggest itself.
"Nicholas. My son." LaCroix spoke as if to a somewhat dim child. "I've spoken of him often. The one who wishes to become mortal? You may have encountered him; he is calling himself Nicholas Knight."
Alexander sat down on the nearest gravestone, a rather ornate cherub cuddling a sheep, completely stunned at the coincidence. "We've met. He's a dead ringer for my fledgling, Klaus von Helsing. I assumed that you were responsible--"
"Von Helsing?" There was an edge of discomfort to LaCroix's voice. "Is he related to--"
"Yes. Klaus is the original von Helsing's great-grandson. His father is one of my more stubborn detractors back in the Old Country." Lucard's brow creased in thought. "There must be some connection you've missed, LaCroix-- your son taunted me in exactly the same way Klaus does. And he seems determined to hang me for the recent attempts on that cockroach Tate's life, even though he must know I'm not responsible."
"Nicholas is bit of a fanatic, I'm afraid. Any scent of wrongdoing sends him scurrying for handcuffs and legal writs. But if Klaus is the child you have described with such frustration, my son would have nothing to do with him. He has his faults, but consorting with madmen is not one of them." A note of casual interest crept into the Nightcrawler's voice as he added, "Enough of this. My plans are taking shape. How are *your* arrangements for Natalie Lambert's demise developing?"
Lucard stood and began to pace again. "I'm considering my options. Tell me, LaCroix, why are you so interested in seeing her dead?" LaCroix made a sound of annoyed surprise, but the financier continued to talk over the other's interruption. "I found her quite charming when we met at the police station. And discreet. She could have exposed me, or caused me difficulties, but she did not. Her choice of companions, of course, left something to be desired--" The vampire stopped in his tracks, a slow smile forming as he began to understand. "She's helping your son become mortal again, isn't she? That's why you want her dead. Not because she knows too much; but because of what she might do. And Nicholas would happily throttle you if you tried to kill her directly."
"He can be rather unreasonable when it comes to his pets."
"Why not simply bring her across?"
"What? And have her at Nicholas's side forever? Always telling him he's right to keep trying for mortality, always defending him, always taking his side against me?" LaCroix was incensed. "You know how difficult new children can be when they first come across. She's a resistor, a moralizing scientist, and a pain in the-- neck. The *last* thing I want is for her to become immortal!"
"And besides that, Nicholas would never forgive you." Lucard was definitely amused, as well as intrigued. Anyone who could get under LaCroix's skin so thoroughly was worth a second look... Not that the first look was so unpleasant.
"That is beside the point," the older vampire stated irritably. "Which is that we have a deal, Alexander. See that you remember it." He stood and abruptly departed into the night sky, leaving Lucard enlightened on several minor points, but still in the dark on the rather major ones. Frowning, he walked out of the cemetery and slowly made his way back to his hotel.
A few hours later, after he listened to the end of this conversation on tape, Klaus smiled, humming "Hotel California" under his breath as he punched a number into his phone. After all, I have to make this look legitimate for 'Detective Knight'... if anyone checks, the phone records will back me up. The answering machine at the precinct kicked in after three rings. "'Ello, Detective Knight?" A French accent this time, reminiscent of Inspector Clouseau. "I have a teep for yooou!"