I parked my bike in the parking lot behind The Alley Cat gentleman's club. I scoffed at the feeble amount of cars in this parking lot as I unbuckled my helmet and swung my legs over the side. But I did notice the white, rusty impala that I recognized as Nicky Marx's pitiful excuse of a ride.

Without wasting any time, I went to the front door and waited in line behind a couple of men to be given the once over by the bouncer. I caught some of the soon-to-be customers of the Alley Cat staring at me, I just ignored them.

When it finally came my turn at the door, I merely smile at Ralph Long the big, black, tank of a bouncer of the strip club. He towered over me, but I wasn't in the least bit intimidated. This wasn't the first time I've been to the Alley Cat to pay my good friend Nicky Marx a visit.

"Hey, RJ! Haven't seen you in a while. How's it going?" his deep, booming voice asked cheerfully.

"Pretty good, Ralph. Nicky's here right?" I asked him this because Nicky might've bounced out of the strip club to go and find a cheap hooker or an easy sucker to steal from in order to pay for said hooker. There is just no telling with him.

But I was in luck, since Ralph nodded, "Oh yeah, he's here all right." He stepped aside, unhooking the red velvet chain as he went, "Go ahead, RJ. Go get 'em."

I winked at him as I passed, "Thanks, Ralph."

He grinned back, before turning to the next person in line.

Strip clubs weren't my favorite places in the world. Okay, that's bull crap, I like them just fine, just not this kind, y'know with the whole female strippers and everything. The reason why I hate them so much is because any single woman alone in said club is automatically zeroed in on by the men in the club. Way too much attention for my liking. Then there's the annoying questions by men if you're a lesbian. Ugh.

I squinted my eyes through the smoky atmosphere of the club, neon and strobe lights flashing everywhere, searching for my rat.

Of course I found him right up there in the front row of the stage. Practically drooling on his lap as he gazed glassy-eyed up at the woman who was probably almost old enough to be his mother.

With a sigh, I went right on up to the stage, ignoring the stares from the other gents, and slipped into the seat right next to Nicky the rat. The little weasel didn't even notice.

I slid my arm over the back of the chair, leaned in and said in as sultry voice as I could manage, "Hey there, big boy."

That got his attention all right. His head whirled around so fast, it made me blink.

The eagerness in his eyes faded when Nicky realized that the sultry redhead he'd imagined behind the voice, was just R.J. McCoy. "Oh, it's just you," he muttered, clearly disappointed.

I smiled, amused at his tone, "Is that any way to talk to your friends, Nicky?"

He scoffed at the word "friends" and I slapped him on the back of the head. Sighing in defeat, Marx turned his dark beady eyes on me, "What do you want, RJ?"

Okay, serious time. I reached for my little notepad and pen, "I'm working on a case, Nicky; Vampire Serial Killer. You hear about that?"

He seemed to think it over for a minute then slowly nodded, "Yeah. I seem to recall seeing something about a vamp killing a few folks on the news a couple of days ago."

I fixed my eyes on his thin, pointy face, "Do you know anything else about that? Something that wasn't mentioned in the news." I produced a fifty and waved it in front of him. Money was like gourmet cheese to this rat.

"Well," he began, eyeing the bill like it was a naked woman, "I have heard a couple of whispers in the Underground."

The Underground wasn't a place. To us monsters, Underground is a word we give to the scummy creatures of the night who deal in some unsavory businesses and who try to avoid humans as much as possible. Let's just say they wouldn't win Monster of the Year.

"What kind of whispers?"

Nicky warily looked around, though I was pretty sure that it was safe to talk here. Leaning in closer, Marx lowered his voice a bit, "I've heard from some of the vampire covens in the Underground that a big powerful vamp has come to town. They both fear and respect him, though most of them have never met him face-to-face. There is a rumor going around that Mister Big Bad Bloodsucker is trying to start his own coven."

I handed the fifty over to Nicky and pondered what he'd told me. So, it was no secret that the vamp was in town. But why hadn't any of the Underground vampires gone to Wolfric and told him of the dangerous intruder that had entered his city? Some would be too scared, others would want to join this psycho vamp in his bloodlust, but surely there were some that actually respected Wolfric and would inform him, probably hoping to seek a reward of some kind.

"Do you have any idea why the Master of the City wouldn't get wind of this, Nicky?" I asked him.

He thought that over, "That I'm not sure of, RJ. It could be for any number of reasons." He went back to admiring his money.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I brought out a hundred and waved it under his nose, "How about a little reconnaissance work?"

His eyes glued on the Benjamin, Nicky replied warily, "I don't know, RJ. It's pretty dangerous around the covens for someone like me."

I shook my head, "I don't want you to go into every coven nest in the city." I snapped my fingers in his face so that I could get his full attention. "Listen up. All I want you to do for now is keep your ears and eyes open for anything else about this bad guy. Listen in on vampires' conversations and gather as much information as you can." I scribbled down my cell number in the notepad, tore it off and gave it to him. "When you think you've got enough, give me a call. If you do a good job, there will be another two of these where this came from," I waved the bill for emphasis. I'd just write the three hundred and fifty dollars off as an expense report anyway. It would be a source of a case of heartburn for the chief, gift wrapped and tagged specially from me.

Nicky's eyes lit up at the sound of another two hundred dollars and he snatched the bill from my hand, "Sure thing, RJ! Anything for my best customer."

Satisfied that the job would be done, I got to my feet. Winking down at Nicky Marx, I told him, "Y'know, you're not so bad. For a wererat that is."

He grinned back as he pocketed the money he'd made tonight, "And you're not so bad for a cop."

"See you around, Nicky," and I left without looking back. Pausing only at the door to say a farewell to Ralph before I straddled my bike.

I now had an appointment with the head bloodsucker of the city. So I sped off into the night, on my way to Blood City.