Chapter Five (Speak of the Devil…)

He was up to his neck in paperwork, no, strike that, he had long ago slipped beneath the surface, he was drowning in paperwork…drowning in paperwork…ha!…that sounded just like something Vic would say…working on the case of two men both found drowned in their beds and he was drowning in paperwork and…

"Shit!" He jumped as his cell began to buzz and rattle somewhere under the reams of paper spread across his desk top. He patted over the surface and on the fourth ring, just before it went to voice mail; he extricated the cell from beneath the Parker file. He flipped it open one handed while bringing it to his ear.

"Celluci," he said by way of greeting.

"Hey Mike…how's my favorite detective?" the familiar voice inquired at the other end of the connection.

Speak of the devil and she is sure to appear, was his first thought, followed closely by the second, she has got a lot of fucking nerve calling me after all this time.

Mike wasn't sure how it had happened but when the bloodsucker had walked out of Vicki's life, she had come to Mike, for solace. It had been difficult at first as he had misunderstood what she needed.

She was hurting and he thought that maybe there was a chance for them again. There had been a couple of months, where they had returned to the passionate lovemaking of their past, both of them forgetting their sorrows and losing their disappointments and fears in each other's bodies.

There had been a kind of a familiar and warm comfort there. Yet something in Vicki had begun to fester, like a wound the vampire had left on her soul, even though she had refused all contact from the Princeling.

The warmth of the shelter they found in each other beneath the covers slowly became the heated and sweating delirium of the fever that resulted from that thing that festered in her heart.

They argued and loved, and argued and loved, until finally, emotionally exhausted, Mike was forced to recognize the inevitable.

Then like wounded animals, they had fallen on each other, that last time, tearing at their emotions with tooth and nail and venomous words. Mike had pushed her away.

He remembered that he had spoken aloud his fear, opened his heart and told her, "No more Vic, Ok? No more. I am not his undead royal fucking highness, and I won't be his stand in. You're killing me here!"

She had been beyond furious, and given the wordless fury on her face, for a few moments Mike had actually feared for his life. Vicki had grabbed her bag and slammed out his door, without another word. He hadn't heard from her in almost three months and now here she was on his cell.

Mike held the phone away from his ear, and leaning back precariously in the chair, ran his fingers through his hair, knotting them at the back of his neck and pulled until his eyes stared imploringly at the ceiling. What should I say? He asked himself.

He brought the cell back to his ear and slowly answered his addiction. Better to pretend…

"Hey Vic, long time…no see." He fell short of the non-committal empty tone he desired. Frowning, he cleared his throat and tried again, "How's business?"

"Oh, you know Mike, not bad, not bad. Actually I have a new case that I thought I might pick your brain on. How does dinner sound? He heard her smile in the invitation.

Don't do it, don't do it, his internal voice screamed. When it comes to Victory you are like a junky. You can't stop yourself! You hit bottom once and you are just now pulling yourself out of that well. The internal battle raged on.

Vicki, misreading his silence automatically upped the ante. "It doesn't even have to be Chinese you know, we could start a new tradition, how about Italian, and I'll even pay."

Dave, having seen Mike's guarded expression walked over to his desk and laid a sheet of paper down, it bore a single word. VICTORY?

Mike nodded and Dave tossed his head towards Crowley's office, his expression easy to interpret.

I'll cover for you, partner.

Mike mouthed, "Thanks."

"Ahhh…Vic, I'm not sure that would be such a good idea," he said slowly, though he knew he was only fooling himself. When have I ever been able to deny her?

"Come on Mike, don't be like that, it's only going to be two 'crime fighters' getting together to compare notes," she wheedled.

At that tone, his addiction reached out and ensnared him.

"Fine, but not some cheap spaghetti house," he said, trying to salvage a little of his ego in his capitulation.

"How about L'Artista, out on Mount Pleasant? Hen… I mean, I've been there before and the food is really good, it's not too noisy, we'll be able to talk. Maybe around 8:00?" Vicki coaxed.

"OK, sounds good." He sighed and then, in for a dime, in for a dollar, said, "So what have you got?" He cast his eyes towards Crowley's office, and holding his cell between his cheek and shoulder, pulled a pad of paper closer, scribbling notes as Vicki began to talk.

"I have a name, Gaelan…Orion Gaelan, missing person…maybe for six weeks. Political and environmental whack-job and I have a list of organizations him and his wife work for or belong to. I have Coreen working on it but…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, fax me over the list. I'll see what I can get…and Vic, you owe me," he said into the phone.

"I already knew that Mike," she replied.

***

Vicki closed her phone and slipped it back in her jacket pocket. See that wasn't so bad she thought.

Way easier than actually talking to Henry is going to be. Why did I pick L'Artista though, that is the place Henry took me for dinner before…she sternly steered herself away from that train of thought.

When she had faxed the list of organizations over to Mike she returned to her office, and lowered herself into her chair. The blue-lit screen of her computer taunted her from the desk. She drummed her fingers against the wood.

When she had checked her e-mail this morning, she had been more than a little disappointed to note that there had been no response from Henry to her rather barbed message of the night before.

Alluding to His Lordship, hiding in the bushes along side of the Bike path on the seawall in Stanley Park as the vampire version of 'meals on wheels' may have been just a little much but come on…he had to admit that the image was pretty funny…right?…NOT… He is probably really mad at me. I just can't stand it when he pulls that whole affronted nobility routine…whatever!

Though Vicki couldn't have told herself why, she heard a little voice in the back of her head telling her that she should somehow let Henry know that she was going out with Mike tonight.

She hadn't seen Mike since she had reestablished what currently passed for contact with Henry. And Henry, being Henry, had not mentioned Mike at all.

No, why did she owe Henry any explanations? It was obvious he no longer cared what she did or with whom she did it. The ball was in his court.

She closed down her e-mail; it was noon in Vancouver right now anyway.

She called to Coreen "How about putting on some coffee?"

***

At 7:45 Mike stood in front of the maitre de of the L'Artista Ristorante, one hand in the pocket of his trench coat and an ancient and battered overstuffed briefcase in the other.

"Do you have a reservation?" the dapper shorter man asked, as Mike craned his neck to search the restaurant, hoping that Vic was already there. Shit, no sign of her.

"Nelson," Mike ventured. "It's under Nelson for two."

The Maitre de regarded his schedule, "Ah yes, and right this way Mr. Nelson," the man said.

Mike opened his mouth to protest, and then thought what the hell, I'm here aren't I? He followed the smaller man to a booth in front of the window. Refusing the offer to part with his coat; he took it off, followed by his jacket and then his tie, and folded the clothing on the seat beside him. When the waiter came over with the wine list, Mike ordered a beer. He folded his hands on the table and waited.

I don't know how she does it, he mused. How is it that she can ask me to check out a list of known associates and organizations on her missing person case, and I end up with a carbon copy of the organizations I am investigating in the Parker/Hakito cases?

Better yet, four months ago, Hakito and Orion Gaelan had had a confrontation at a protest staged in front of Hakito's Furrier's that had resulted in a broken camera and a suit in small claims court. Does she have some sort of radar? Sonar? A spy in the department? Here he pictured Dave for a moment as Vic's operative, but then quickly passed on the image. The stress of dealing with Vicki would kill Graham for sure. This is not going to be easy…he thought, but then nothing about Vicki ever was.