One

Kilpatrick had been to hundreds of crime scenes before, but this one was different. Word of the incident had spread over the low band channels faster than gossip. So many patrol officers were sliding by in their squads to gawk at the victim that the incident commander had posted a cop at the front door with strict instructions not to let anyone inside unless they had specifically been dispatched to the assignment.

Kilpatrick was lucky in one respect. As one of the detectives assigned to the case, he was privy to a sight few mortals outside the veterans of Midnight Storm ever got to see—a corpse that wasn’t human. Once the initial fascination and satisfaction that there was one less monster walking the earth wore off, though, Kil cursed his luck. He hated these kinds of cases. They were a waste of his time and the city’s money. It wasn’t so much that twelve years as a cop had jaded him, although he supposed that was true, or that he no longer cared about justice. He simply believed that the only good vampire was a dead one—correction—a real and truly dead one.

This one was as dead as they came. It had been a male, with the long hair favored by his kind. Beyond that, it was difficult to tell much about the victim’s original appearance. His pale skin had taken on a sickly gray cast, reminding Kil of the skin on a piece of rotten fruit. The body was stretched out crosswise on a bare mattress in a small bedroom and was naked from both the waist up and down. A pair of jeans was pulled halfway up its legs, making Kil glad the body was face down. Based on how disgusting the rest of the body looked, he had no desire to look at a dead vampire’s privates.

It was a typical squid rooming house, one of many in the inner city. Black sheets were nailed over the inside of windows that were boarded over on the outside. Furniture was old and mismatched. The kitchen and dining rooms, no longer needed for their original functions, were made over into extra bedrooms. As a day shift detective, it was the kind of house Kil had been lucky enough to avoid in recent years. Ever since Chicago’s poorer neighborhoods had been destroyed during Midnight Storm, thousands of homeless survivors, mostly vampires, had traveled north to resettle across the state line. The vampire war, cleverly named by some media genius, had been nearly twenty years ago, but it seemed like yesterday to Kil that the vampires had come to Milwaukee to displace the blacks and Asians in the old duplexes on the near north side. So many had flocked from Chicago that Milwaukee had been renamed Chicago North, but Chi-No was what everyone except the map-makers now called the city.

He cursed to himself again. His luck seemed to be running out. With the recent spate of vampire deaths, it was a scene Kil was sure he would be subjected to all too often in the near future. He took one last look at the corpse before he stepped out of the room to make way for the medical examiner.

At least his luck was better than that of the squid who had the unfortunate distinction of dying in a flophouse with his pants down.

* * * *

Two hours later Kil was downtown. It had been a long day, but in sitting down to fill out his overtime card, he felt none of the exhaustion. Four hours at time and a half had a way of lessening the pain of the worst assignments, even interviewing squids.

"John, in my office."

Kilpatrick looked up to see Lt. Attridge standing a few feet away.

"I’m getting ready to punch out."

"I know. In my office."

Kil followed his boss into the small office and wondered what it was this time. Maybe the lieutenant wanted a lengthier report. Hell, maybe one of the squids had complained he had looked at him cross-eyed.

"Close the door."

Those words were a bad sign. It wasn’t the reports, then. Most likely a citizen complaint. Well, it wouldn’t be the first, and it wouldn’t be the last. He shut the door, sat down, and picked up the papers the lieutenant shoved across the desk at him.

It was no citizen complaint, but a five-page personnel transfer, and Kil’s name was on it. He was transferred from day shift to late power shift, effective immediately.

"Son of a bitch!" The whispered expletive was softer than his feelings, but was still loud enough to be heard by the lieutenant. Just five years ago such profanity in front of a commanding officer would have earned him a good ass-chewing. But five years ago was before affirmative action legislation, spearheaded by the peacemakers on both sides, had mandated that vampires be allowed into responsible job positions.

Lt. Attridge sat quietly, resignation covering his face like a mask he was too weary to remove.

"Son of a fucking bitch," Kil repeated, almost as if he challenged his boss to respond. Kil wanted a reprimand. Hell, he would have welcomed a tongue-lashing. He wanted things to be like they had been. Like they should be. But the world would never be the same.

Still, Kil wanted a reason—some piece of logic that would right the upside-down. "Why, Lieut? I deserve that much."

The lieutenant ran his hand down his face. "It won’t make you feel better."

"Tell me anyway."

Attridge sighed and leaned all the way back in his chair, as if wanting to distance himself from Kil’s response. "It’s these vampire deaths. Three of them tonight alone. Six total in the last week. We’re getting pressure for action."

"Jesus, Lieut…"

"I know what you’re going to say, so don’t say it. They’re citizens, and you’re a cop."

Kil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Don’t give me that crap, Lieut. You sound like the goddamned mayor."

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed, a sure sign that his patience was growing just as thin. "And I don’t want to hear any of your shit. I’m under orders, too. All of us are doing things we don’t want to do."

It didn’t make Kil feel any better. "Citizens, my ass," he mumbled. "Besides, there’s no evidence of foul play."

"Vampires don’t just up and die, John, you know that. We treat them as suspicious deaths until we know otherwise."

"But why me?" Kil knew he was pushing it, but he didn’t care.

"They need experienced officers on the late shifts."

More propaganda. Kil hoped to hell he never became a supervisor. He’d never be able to spoon-feed such pabulum to a fellow officer. "You mean they need humans. None of those squids on late shift have more than five years on the job."

The lieutenant’s pale blue eyes lost a few degrees. "Don’t call ‘em squids. Or leeches, or maggots. I can guarantee the late shift commander won’t put up with that. They want balance and diversity on the shift."

"Diversity, my ass. You mean they want people to keep the squids in line if things get ugly with this vampire investigation."

"Go get your new partner."

"Now? I just worked a twelve hour shift."

"I don’t care. You’re working a double shift. There’s a briefing at 2200 hours. Duvall has a habit of not answering his radio, but Dispatch has him doing a tavern check at Leon’s. On the way back, call your wife and get something to eat. Now get out of my office before I write you up for insubordination."

"Transferred to the graveyard shift" had taken on a whole new meaning.