The precinct had to have been built sometime in the 40's. I surmised by the look of the lobby. Once I told the officer at the front desk I was checking up on a stolen vehicle report – had I told the truth I would have been forced to fill out paperwork with information that was not in the DMV records - he motioned and buzzed me through.

It was either that or the architect who designed the building had a like for vintage looking buildings. Naturally, it had been upgraded since pre-World War 2. Both uniformed and plain clothes police officers and detectives sat at desks as typed away on computer keyboard while other filled out paper work. There were two separate coffee stations and refrigerators on opposite ends of the room with boxes of pastries from local bakeries. From the smell, neither were very fresh. It was fair late after all and only a half dozen officers were there. I figured the rest were out on patrol or their shift was over and at home.

I looked around the room, searching for a target, and smiled when I found the scent of Were. He had his back to me at stood in a corner with a large chalkboard on wheels covered with pictures and paper. He was muttering and grumbling to another much younger uniformed Were. I caught the word coffee and made my way to the machine. Sarah said nothing as she followed me to the machine. I quickly poured two coffees with two sugars and some cream. Then I walked over to them. Sarah stayed by the machine, but watched like a hawk.

"You two look like you need these." I said nicely.

They both turned and we all froze in shock.

Naturally they froze because a vampire had just appeared, seemingly out of thin air, with a smile and coffee. The reason I froze was despite a googolplex (Look it up) to one odds, I knew the older Were and that meant he knew me. He had put on a few pounds and the hair that still clung to the sides of his head had gained a few more streaks of gray. He was still clean shaven. He still stood straight like he had metal pole for a spine, a "bad" habit from his time in the military he joked, and his clothes were immaculately clean and pressed. He wore a navy blue collared shirt, no tie, under a brown jacket and matching pants. Instead of loafers, he wore a pair of insulated snow boots. Truth be told, I had always known he was police officer in Brooklyn. I just never bothered to learn where in Brooklyn. Of course, after being turned it ceased to matter. At least one good thing could come from this.

I would learn if Christine had kept her promise about revealing my true as The Ductor. After all, Christine was still a kid and where do kids go when they are in over their head?

"Uh, thanks?" The younger Were said and looked over to Detective Willis before taking the cups. He seemed at a loss as to what to do. "Can we help you?"

"I need help finding something that was stolen." I said evenly. "Naturally, I can't go through the usual channels."

"Hey, uh, Chuck." Detective Willis said snapping out of his shock. "Why don't you get me the ME's report on the McFarlane's case?"

"You sure?" The Were, Officer Chuck, asked as he gave me a once over and continued to do the same with Sarah.

"He is." I said and smiled briefly.

I watched as he left, giving me and Sarah a wide berth, before asking. "Do you have a place where we can talk?"

"There's an empty office in the back." He looked at Sarah. "Is she coming?"

"Yes."

"Then follow me."

He led us out the main room and down a short hallway. We passed only a broom closet before we all entered an empty office that clearly hadn't been used. The chairs were stacked and shoved into the corner and the desk shoved ion the opposite wall. Everything had a thick layer of dust and the air stank of mildew and staleness. Had I still been human, my allergies would have been killing me.

"So," He began half leaning, half sitting, on the desk. "I guess now I know how a clean kid like you ended up BBQed with a bunch of punks with records."

"Wouldn't my death be out of your jurisdiction?"

"I have a few friends on the force on the island. Managed to help a bit since we were neighbor's and I was cop.

"I take it you knew each other." Sarah surmised. "Before you were turned?"

"Yes." I kept my expression soft as I looked at Officer Willis. "I was quite close with his daughter. Although not close enough to know she was a Were. How is she?"

"A-about as good as can be." He sighed and placed a hand on his chest. "Considering current events."

"Are you well?" I asked, sounding sincere.

"I'm fine." He swallowed. "You're just the last person I expected to see again. Especially like this."

"I understand." I offered a small smile. "Please understand it was unintentional."

"It's fine." He returned a slight smile. "Now what do you need? You vamps don't usually rely on cops."

"I'm trying to find a car that was stolen." I said, grateful that he hadn't decided to ask a million questions. "A 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am."

"Not many of those on the street." He remarked. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"It's not registered." I said. "And I'm fairly sure the plates are stolen."

"Oh." He sighed. "Then I can't help you. I can keep an eye out, but that's about it. I'm sorry, but unless it was some kid out for a joyride, chances are it's in a chop shop. High end and classics like that are first on the list of any gang that boosts cars."

"I see." I nodded once. "I assume not every single gang in the city steals cars. They require a place to store them until they can be resold or chopped. That means they're well-funded and have weeded out most of the competition.

"Riiiiight?" He said, not sure where I was going.

"If you had to guess," I asked. "Which group would be the least likely to have it?"

"Huh?"

"No disrespect." I said gently. "But you and the rest of the police force aren't exactly in the know when it comes to the city's underground. At least, not enough. If I go around asking one of the top candidates, there's the chance they'll have it and send me on a wild goose chance if they'll tell an outsider anything at all. However, the small fish always keep an eye on the big fish so they know to stay out of their way." I reasoned. "If anyone can point me in the right direction, it'd be one of them."

"Can I ask, what's the deal with this car?"

"It belongs to the Ductor."

Sarah made no reaction, but Detective Willis's eye went wide at the name.

"Shit" He said flatly

"As you can see, it's more the disrespect than the actual theft."

"You work for him?"

"I work for myself." I said avoiding the question. "From I understand, his nestmate borrowed it and she got it stolen. I am simply running down a lead for her since she is new to the city. So, will you help me?"

"And if I say no?"

"Then I leave and give my report to her. After that, I assume the Ductor will decide from there."

I tried not make it sound like a threat. Truth be told, even if he refused to help, I would've have left and figured on a different route. I couldn't expect him to, directly or indirectly, help the Ductor.

"I can't promise anything." He straightened. "But give me an hour and I'll see what I can dig up."

"Thank you."

Detective Willis led us back to the main room. Sarah and I stood in front of the chalkboard where he and the young Were had been standing. He excused himself, to find some techie to run down some names as he put it, and I found myself staring at an open investigation into a possible serial killer. On a whim, I mentally reviewed what I knew on serial killer or rather what common traits the FBI and law enforcement said they all tended to share. They tended to live alone, organized, had an established routine they refused to deviate from, master manipulators, highly intelligent, lacked empathy and/or sympathy, and they were superb actors. There were also the causes – sexual and mental abuse at a young age, experimented on neighborhood pet or small animals, bedwetting into teenage years, etc.

Whomever this was, I knew one thing for sure. He clearly had some mother issues. All his victims, judging the photographs, were older, between twenty and thirty with the oldest being thirty-two. All of them were strangled and suffocated with a plastic bag, his modus operandi most likely, and positioned sexually postmortem. Each photo graph had a piece of colored string attached to a corresponding pin on a map of the city. There were nineteen different colored pins with at least three in each borough as well two on Long Island in Nassau and Suffolk county. They're locations didn't tell me much other than he could move throughout the city and the Island without much effort. I suppose that meant he either had job that required him to travel or had enough money to travel. He must have had a truck or car with a very large trunk to transport the bodies, if he wasn't leaving them where he killed them.

I continued to stare at the map, nothing new coming to me. Then I noticed someone had written a year on the corner of each photograph. Going be the earliest year, I discovered this hunter had been at it for roughly thirty years. For a human, that was impressive. Although it did create a bit of problem. It meant the police would be on high alert and there was the chance one would try arresting a vampire. Of course, like any close-knit group, the police looked after their own and would not rest until the culprit was caught. Then again, the chance was slim at best. Even the youngest vampire, like myself, are notoriously neat and adept at cleaning up after ourselves or shifting blame for the mess on more believable culprits.

Truth be told, I was indifferent whether this killer was caught or not. He could have gone down in the history books like Jack the Ripper and Zodiac or the way of Ted Bundy for all I cared. In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't affect me in the slightest. I was not a female nor a prostitute. If by some chance, he decided on changing his preference to someone of my description and, among the millions in the city, we managed to cross paths, he'd be lucky to survive the following five minutes. However, his alluding of the police intrigued me.

I could certainly accomplish the same, but I've had instruction and have the advantage of technically being deceased and thought of no more than a mythical creature that didn't exist outside of films and novels. My instinct told me that such long stretch without discovery that he received or observed how police conducted investigations. I observed where the victims had last been seen alive and without a doubt they were in locations where prostitutes were known to gather on corners.

I reasoned very few individuals, outside of vampires. knew each single cluster. After all, doesn't every human have that secret place only he his close friends know of with decent food at cheap prices? Short of exploring the city itself until you discovered them, this killer most likely had a source of information. However, who would have that kind of information and would be willing to share it? Law enforcement was an easy answer, but unlikely. Still everything did fit. A cop, as he was promoted and transferred from precinct to precinct, he'd have access to all the information's the precinct had its disposal. All he'd need do would be to sit down and review a few files a night until he could reasonably guess where the prostitutes crafted their trade in his area. This was provided he was not in Vice. Unless I was mistaken, Vice tended to focus on drugs and viewed prostitution as a low priority or a victimless crime for the most part. Of course, as a cop, not many would suspect him and if a prostitute saw one of their own disappear with him they'd simply guess they had been arrested and were in jail.

I checked my watch and saw it had been roughly twenty minutes since Detective Willis left. I looked over to Sarah and saw she had retreated into herself. A female officer walked past her, paused, and looked back at her before shrugging at continuing along her way. At least Sarah had closed her eyes. The thousand-yard stare without blinking is off putting to even some vampires/ No doubt the officer assumed Sarah participated in that new eastern Asian meditation craze that I've heard of lately.

"Here." Said Detective Willis as he approached. "It's not much, but considering the short notice."

"I understand." I took the bossiness card. "Gift horse in the mouth and all that." I slipped the card into my pocket. "Thank you." I turned to leave.

"Dominick?"

"Yes?" I turned back to face him.

"I know the rules when it comes to all this." He gestured to the room, but I took it to mean the Supernatural world I now occupied. "But if you want to know how your family –

"Please." I said gently, but firmly, and held up a hand. "It's better for everyone after all this time. If I know them, and I'm certain that I do, they'll have moved on by now." I lowered my hand. "Still, I appreciate the offer considering the tension between our kinds. If you need my help, go to the Grassland Gallery and ask for Matthew. He knows how to contact me. If he asks, just tell him I owe a debt and leave it at that."

Sarah and I took our leave. Once we were outside I glanced at the card. It was to a bar in the East Village, Little Tokyo to be exact, called Satsko. There was a phone number along with a fax number. I flipped the card and saw a handwritten note that read, ask for Mr. Moto. I frowned when I realized we'd have to travel all the way back across the East River. We would lose another hour. Night might last significantly longer in the winter, but it wasn't never-ending. If this Mr. Moto refused to answer any questions, Sarah and I would have to find a way to separate him from his body guards, which he had to have, long enough to glamor him. That was all provided he knew something. Sarah made a face when I explained we would have to brave the dreaded subway and essentially go back the way we came, but said nothing. As we rode the J line to Canal St and then the 6 line to Astor Place Station over the next forty-five minutes, I wondered how I might approach Mr. Moto and how I might convince him to essentially rat out one his enemies. I wasn't exactly the police and it wasn't exactly his allies, but there was some honor among thieves and the Japanese were famous for their sense of honor.

Satsko was you'd expect. At least, what I would have expected based on Yojimbo's. About two dozen tables with four chairs with delicate white table clothes with Japanese writing on them. An impressive sushi bar in the back with a bar serving warm sake in those little vases and saucers for cups by cute Asian women with chopsticks in their hair. J-Pop played lightly in the background. Any human would have to strain to hear it over the noise, but Sarah I caught it just fine. The noise was caused a large group, so large that three tables were shoved together, /of Japanese men with a woman in expensive clothing clinging to them. They all laughed and cheered as they took turns telling stories and dirty jokes as waitresses served fresh sushi and countless bottles of alcohol, mostly the house sake with the occasional American beer.

There was another table, occupied by five others. Although I suppose it was only one and the other four were bodyguards. Two stood directly behind the man at the table and two in front. Occasionally a waitress would pause before them and not pass until the man at the table, Mr. Moto I presumed, nodded once almost imperceptibly for her to whisk away his drink and replace it with a fresh one. All four bodyguards glanced our way as Sarah and I entered and we each gave each other a once over and evaluated each other's level of danger. I decided they weren't too much of threat and it seems they made the same deskin and returned to their previous statuesque.

The hostess lead us to a table in the far corner. "May I get you a drink?"

"A warm bottle of your best sake." I said taking my seat. "And send it to him with my respect." I slipped a folded hundred in her breast pocket.

The waitress inclined her head before turning away and heading to the kitchen.

"Shay Ramen? Chicken broth with soy sauce, noodle, green onions, bean sprouts, seaweed, and hard-boil eggs/" I mused as I browsed the menu. "No matter how much I think I've gotten used it, I really regret not trying new foods when I had the chance."

"What is your plan?" Sarah asked, clearly not in the mood.

"See that group on the far side and that man who is clearly the leader? I sent him a gift to show my respect. Obviously, he doesn't know me, but he will be curious enough to chat. After all, I'd have to be suicidal to try something here on my own while he's surrounded by guards and friends. Once he calls me over, I'll politely ask if he knows who stole my car. Most likely promising a favor or trade in return."

"And what about me?"

"Just keep doing what you've been doing."

"Nothing?"

"Exactly. While I haven't said so in the slightest. They'll most likely assume you're my bodyguard. Which I'll need you to be if things go badly."

"Hm." Sarah smiled slightly. "What kind of sister would I be if I didn't protect my little brother?"

"Was that a joke?"

"Let us just say one person's misery is another's joy."

I decided to let it slide. Sarah would know not to cause undue trouble and she wouldn't draw her weapons until they did. She might have an itchy trigger finger right now, but she was displaced enough. Part of me shared her ache for a fight. The ad relines and fear in the air along with the excitement mixed with blood. Couple that with the sweet music that would their screams and cries for mercy . . . the sooner I settled the better before my hunger made me do something regretful, regardless of the instant gratification.

Like I predicted, a waitress inclined her head and instructed that Mr. Moto would like to speak with me. I got up and followed her to his table, ignoring the curious stares from the larger group. Two men frisked me and relieved me of my shotgun, but not my cane. I decided as both as powerplay and to show I meant no harm, I revealed the blade and slowly held it out to one of the guards who took it and headed to Mr. Moto.

"A shotgun is unusual, I admit." He said examining both weapons critically. "But where did you acquire an authentic Shikomizue?"

"Both were gifts." I said. "For helping my friends."

"These friends of yours are quite generous."

"Not unduly so." I inclined my head. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Moto. I am not sure if you're aware of the name, but I am known as the Ductor."

"The Ductor?" His eyes grew wide for split second in recognition, before resuming their normal position. "I have heard whispering here and there, but nothing reliable. How am to know if you are who you say you are?"

"Understandable. Then how about a proposal?"

"I am listening."

"I understand you deal in the bossiness of, shall we say, acquisitions." I said putting an emphasis on acquisitions. "Acquisitions of automobiles. Just recently an automobile of mine was mistakenly acquired."

"Mistakenly acquired?" Mr. Moto smiled. "Very nicely put."

"Any normal citizen would go to the police, but I find their methods ineffective." I explained. "Plus, I quite value my privacy. I'm sure you can relate."

"I can." Mr. Moto nodded slightly. "But why come to me?

"I know it was not any of your employees. I doubt it would be worth much to you." I said, ignoring the warning in his voice. "This particular car has more sentimental value than material value. My sources tell me you deal with imported cars. Mine is domestic. Perhaps one of your competitors. Any savvy bossiness man known to keep an eye on the competition and their activities."

"I might." Mr. Moto appeared to be interested. "Your proposal?"

"As you know, the Ductor does not go such disrespect go unpunished." I offered. "If you find the car or those who took it, I'm sure that the market will find itself with one less competitor. Thus, leaving any businessman worth his salt with prime opportunity to expand."

"Hmmm." Mr. Moto considered for a long moment before motioning a guard hand him a cell phone. "I shall take this proposal to my partners. I guarantee nothing, but what car shall I instruct my men to look for?"

"Are you familiar with the 1977 classic film Smokey and the Bandit?"
I asked smiling.

A/N - Sorry about the extra long wait and short update. Kinda been going thru some stuff. Between work and school (currently one semester away from an Associate's Degree in Liberal Arts at Nassau Community College and a BA in Literature/Film at Brooklyn College) Not to mention a death in the family before this semester. Finding time to keep up this hobby isn't easy. I'm not abandoning this fic. If I ever do, I'll post that I am. Other than that simply know I'm writing when I can as often as I can