He didn't seem to scare Nikolai. The ghoul looked Karl up and down before turning his gaze back to me. "I refer to the case of those… unsettling… DVDs, and the persons who are making them."

  Calling those DVDs "unsettling" was like telling a Jew that the Holocaust had been an "inconvenience". I guess Nikolai hadn't been affected by those horror shows the way Karl and I had. Maybe he'd even enjoyed them.

  "What do you know about those?" I asked him.

  "I?" The ghoul touched fingertips to his chest in an exaggerated show of innocence. "I know very little. But the man who sent me knows rather more. That is why he wishes to speak to you… officers."

  "And what's his name?" Karl asked. From the tone of his voice, he was getting ready to go all Dirty Harry on this little prick – for real. I was tempted to let him.

  "I'm sure he would rather tell you that himself, in person," the ghoul said. "I have a car parked down the block. If you would accompany me…?" He reached one hand into his pants pocket, but before he could withdraw it, the barrel of my Beretta was pressing against his forehead. "Don't," I said.

  The ghoul became as still as if he'd just been exposed to a Gorgon statue. My weapon was loaded with a mix of silver and cold iron, either of which would decorate the roof of the car with Nikolai's brains. Ghouls live a long time, but they're not immortal – and they sure as shit aren't invulnerable.

  "Two things," I said. "One: we're not going anywhere with you. Tell us where your mysterious employer is, and we'll consider paying a call on him sometime. Two: unless you're just real glad to see us, I'm pretty sure that pocket you're reaching into contains a good-sized knife, probably a switchblade, which is illegal in this state. If your hand comes out holding anything but car keys, I'll give you a third eye – right between the two you have now. Understand me?"

  The little bastard's eyes were wide now, and instead of another smart-ass remark, he just said, "Uh-huh."

  "Not to worry, though," Karl said, and I could hear the nasty smile in his voice. "If things don't work out for you, there's a real nice funeral home here in town, run by a guy named Barney Ghougle. That's not his real name, but it's what we all call him. Maybe he's a relative of yours? I bet he'd find you real tasty."

  Although ghouls eat human flesh, they are terrified by the idea that someone might do the same to them after death. That's why every ghoul I've ever known has standing instructions for cremation when they die. Go figure.

  Even in the feeble light from a nearby street lamp, I could see that the ghoul was sweating now. He said, "I – I meant no offense, I assure you."

  "Of course you didn't," I said, without moving the gun a millimeter. "Now – where does your boss hang out?"

  "Radisson hotel, room 431." It was like he couldn't get the words out fast enough.

  "And his name?" I pressed the muzzle against his skull a little harder.

  "Milo. His name is Milo."

  "Milo what?"

  "We just c-call him Mister Milo. Dunno his first name."

  I took the gun away from his forehead and stepped back. "Tell Mister Milo that we'll be around to see him sometime, and if he gives us any shit I'll make him regret it. Follow me?"

  A slight nod, as if he was still afraid to move his head. "Yessir."

  "Now blow."

  He blew.

I made no move to get into the car. Instead, I stood watching the ghoul as he rapidly walked down the street.

  After a couple of seconds, Karl looked at me. "What?"

  "I want to see what he's driving," I said. "Here's hoping he didn't park around the corner."

  I needn't have worried. About half a block away now, Nikolai was unlocking a car parked at the curb. As he pulled away, I got a better look at his ride: a big sedan that looked like an Oldsmobile, probably rented.

  "Can you get his license number?" I asked Karl. Not only do vampires see in the dark, but their distance vision is a lot better than a human's.

  Karl got up on his toes for a better look. "Pennsylvania plates PLV 198," he said.

  "Good, thanks." I reached for my car keys. "Get in."

  Inside the car, Karl looked at me again. "You've got something cookin', don't you?"

  "Despite what I told Nikolai, you know there's no way we're waiting a couple of days to follow up on a possible lead. Not for this case."

  "Yeah, that's what I figured."

  "And I wanna brace this Mister Milo when he's not expecting us, try to catch him off balance. I want every edge we can get."

  "But he'll know we're coming sometime," Karl said. "You already told his pet ghoul."

  "Yeah, but he doesn't know it yet."

  I reached for the police radio.

  "Dispatch, this is Markowski."

  "Read you loud and clear, Sergeant," the female voice said crisply.

  "Is there a patrol unit anywhere near the 700 block of Taylor Avenue?"

  "Wait one."

  She was back within ten seconds. "Roger that, Sergeant. A black-and-white is three blocks away, on Prescott. Do you want them directed to your location?"

  "Negative, but patch me through to their unit, will you?"

  "Roger. Wait one."

  It wasn't long before I was listening to a male voice saying, "This is Four Baker Nine. Over."

  "Is that you, Bradshaw? It's Markowski."

  "Yeah, it's me, Stan. What do you got?"

  "A dark green Olds heading north on Taylor from downtown, Pennsylvania license PLV 198. You have reason to believe that the driver is wanted for questioning."

  "Is he? Wanted for questioning, I mean."