The Trafficker

Two cars arrived in the empty garage. Bart was unnerved by the lack of activity in the complex.

"Are you sure we have the right place?" Marge asked, voicing what they had all been thinking.

"Alucard is certain of it," Bob said.

They descended several levels, all of which were empty save their two minivans. Though the ceiling was no closer to their heads than it had been several floors above, the company felt the pressure of each floor above them weighing down upon them. They came at last to an elevator. Two bald men stood guard, their arms crossed and their eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

"Ready!" Brian said, loading a clip and putting it in his pistol. He tucked it into its holster, hidden beneath his coat.

"Okay," Bob sighed as he leaned in the window to give Jessica parting instructions, "You stay together, all of you. Watch the that screen there; Frink connected it to a motion-mass displacement sensor. It will show anything that's moving within one hundred meters. It'll give you a heads-up if anyone tries to get the drop on you."

"Got it."

They approached the two guards.

"We're here to see the Frenchman."

The guards looked to one another, then, without uttering a word, whipped out their pistols. Lisa was quick. She kicked the gun from the man's hand, bringing her leg down and throwing the momentum into a kick with the other leg. Her kick struck his temple, setting him to the concrete.

Bob took the other. He circle-blocked the gun to the side, seizing the pistol-holding arm. The guard's free hand went for Bob's face. Bob grabbed it with his left, while releasing his hold of the guard's gun arm. He pulled with his left and struck at his attacker's throat with his thumb, collapsing his larynx. Bob performed another circle block, knocking the man's arms aside, then struck with both hands open-palmed, knocking his body to the floor.

The elevator carried them to the twentieth floor. From there, another elevator carried them to the top, the sixty sixth. Across the elevator was a doorway, watched over by a slight man by a podium. Looking to others for confirmation, Bob walked over to him, the Simpsons and Brian following behind.

"We're here to see-"

"Le Traffiquer? Oui, Ah know. Right zeeth way, pleaze."

The lead them through the doors, into a large dinning area. The room was strange, every light seeming to be slightly too green. Everything was as though seen through thick glass. The diners were all great and finely dressed people, all of them silent and grave. They paid the hunters no head as the snippy maitre'di lead them through. At the back of the restaurant was a raised area, with one long, black table. At the centre sat the Traffiquer; Jacques.

Marge had to suppress at gasp at seeing her old flame. Jacques grinned.

"Ah, quel bon surprise. If it isn't Bart, the jarringly loud dee-jay. And Homer, the Adonis of the couch. Marge, darling, it's been a while. It seems the teacher is here-ah! and he brought his little pet, too! And of course, the legendary Robert Terwilliger! But where are my manners, please, sit, assesez-vous! Welcome to my home!"

They looked to each other in suspicion. They decided to sit.

"You know why we are here," Bob said in a low voice.

"Mais oui, but of course, I am a trafficker of information, it is my purpose to know. The question is, do you?"

"Yes."

"Very well. The answer is 'non'. We can not permit you to ruin one of our best customers. Even if his plans are utterly farcial, Burns shall be allowed to continue his designs to ressurect the Vampire King, and I shall not aid your equally futile attempt to stop him. You see, 'e is one of my best customers."

"Whatever he pays you-" Bob began.

"Now don't be cute: if it were a matter of money, I would gladly sell my fickle loyalty to the highest bidder. I am, after all, essentially a fickle and extremely pricey whore. And, speaking of which, there is someone here who I am sure 'Omer would love to meet." He snapped his fingers. A gorgeous red-haired woman in a black dress came slinking out from the corner. Homer's jaw dropped.

"Mindy!"

"Hi Homer."

"It seems to be a day for renewing old acquaintances, non? Marjorie, if you do not know, this fetching creature was once a coworker of 'Omer's. She nearly succeeded in seducing your 'usband, and she certainly succeeded in stealing 'is 'eart. Tell me 'Omer, do you still think of her? Perhaps, when Marge is not at home?"

Bob tensed. Marge made no visible expression of outrage, yet Brian noticed that she had reached for her katana and was squeezing the handle.

"Perhaps, when you two are making love, you imagine it is her beneath you? Would you like to try her? She's quite satisfactory. If you were to agree, in exchange for some quality time with your wife, I would most certainly be in a good enough mood to help your little cause. What do you say, Marjorie? A little tit for tat?"

Marge whipped out her pistol. It spun on the table, and she seized it, the barrel pointing directly at Jacques' stomach.

"How about you shove that offer up your ass and tell us what we want to know?" she growled. A gun was cocked near her ear. She turned her head and found herself staring down the barrel of a revolver. Jacques' bodyguards had sprung into action, all eyes and guns on the six hunters. Jacques laughed a hearty French laugh.

"ah, bien. But now I must say 'goodbye and adieu'." And he stood to leave.

"This isn't over!" Bart growled, his knife in hand.

"Yes it is. Go back to your priest and that half-vampire freak Alucard and tell them that I know all, and Burns is more than rich enough to buy whatever information he needs from me. You will fail."

"Where are you going?" Mindy asked.

"Ah, to enjoy relations with one of my many other lovers who, like you, is confident she is the only one. Au revoir!"

The guards escorted them to the elevator, and pressed the button for them.

"Well, that was a load of crap."

"Marge…"

"What do we do now, Bob?"

"We're still no closer to knowing where Burns' lair is."

"Everything went wrong."

"No, not everything. Had everything gone wrong, we'd not be alive."

The lift stopped abruptly. The doors opened, revealing Mindy Simmons.

"Follow me."

The hunters followed their guide to a large office room.

"I am so sick of him and his bullshit. At first I thought he was charming, but then it turned out that he was nothing more than a disgusting, stinky Frenchman, and a vampire."

"The Traffiquer is a vampire?"

"Oh yes. How else do you think me manages such a large network? But seriously, I want to help you guys."

"What's in it for you?" Brian asked.

Mindy looked balefully at Homer. "Maybe some redemption. I don't know. If I knew where Burns' lair was, I would have staked him myself already. But even Stinky doesn't know where he's located. All I can tell you is that Burns has planted a man in inside your operation. Its not him, no," said she, observing the way Lisa looked at Brian. "Somewhere else. But do not reveal this to the others. Function as you would, and he will continue to leak information to Burns. False information, if you so wish. Burns will act on what he says."

"Thank you," Bob said, "At least now this little field trip wasn't a total wash.

They left for the lift. Homer lingered.

"Mindy-I-!"

"Homer, no. I know how you still feel for me. I still feel the same. But we just can't be. I'm just happy knowing that I can be of any help."

Homer handed her a flintlock pistol with a silver stake rammed down the barrel.

"For Frenchie. I hated to hear the way he talked about you."

"Thank you." Mindy said. She saw someone waiting by the door. Homer turned, and saw Marge. "Good-bye, Homer."

Homer nodded, and left.