Cat And Mouse: Back Home To Kentucky free porn video

Cat and Mouse: Back Home to Kentucky By Bluto Mick Montana had been driving for seven hours straight, with only a brief stop for gas in West Virginia. He was now just outside Columbus, Ohio on I-70, close to the I-270 loop to I-71 south and the final leg of his journey from New York City to Louisville, Ky. Cat had promised to share equally in the driving, but, of course, she'd spent most of the trip fast asleep, balled-up in a fetal position in the cramped back seat of Mick's blue PT Cruiser, snoring with her mouth open. And it was only because of her that they were taking this trip! As he gazed at the flat Ohio landscape, Mick's mind kept going back over the events of the past week... The week began with the end of his undercover job as a cheerleader for the New Jersey Nets. "Yeah, Nicky, the whole thing was fucked up," Mick said to his best friend over the phone. "I go undercover as a dance girl to learn if one of the team owners is going out with one of the girls, and the bastard starts to put the moves on me! Seems his wife had nothing to worry about until she hired me to check up on him." "Oh, that is wicked funny," Nicky Graeo said. "But that's what you get for looking so good as a woman." "Well, I have you at least partially to blame for that," Mick said. "Anyhow, I had to argue my client out of the money she owed me. Hell, she acted like I wanted the old goat. She can have him." "I know, you only have eyes for the mysterious Cat," Nicky said, teasingly. "When are you going to bring your tall and busty friend over again? I've got the mock-ups of your outfits ready." "Actually, we were thinking of visiting the shop this afternoon," Mick said. "We both may be in need of your special services." "Ah, is there something more to Ms. Cat that I don't know?" Nicky asked. "If you mean is she hiding a dick in her pants, the answer is no," Mick said. "No, she has some rather unusual physical features that you may be equipped to handle. Let's leave it at that, okay?" "Okay, Mick," Nicky said. "See you later." Mick and Cat had decided a few days before to try out for membership in the newly formed superhero team called The Protectors (not to be confused with The Protectorate). Naturally, Mick was afraid the unpredictable Cat would screw up the whole deal, but he had to admit he needed her power to impress Night Man and the others. Unlike in the Marvel or DC or other superhero universes, most "superheroes" in this world weren't very super at all. Mick was sure Cat, even in her less powerful "half demon" persona, was still more powerful than anyone already on the team. Who among them could survive a direct hit from a hail of bullets and keep on ticking? Cat was only so-so about joining the group, but Mick meant to gain membership on her coattails as her partner. However, if they were going to be accepted they needed superhero costumes and that's where Nicky came in. In addition to owning the only NYC franchise of the Glamour Boutique, Nicky was an expert tailor, much better than Mick, going back to their college days taking theater costuming classes. Mick didn't need the man-sized female clothes Nicky sold at his store, but when he needed a specialty outfit Nicky could whip up just about anything. Mick wasn't 100% certain about letting Nicky know what he had planned, but he needed to trust someone and Nicky was the most likely of all his (few) friends. In fact, when he told Nicky about his plan he jumped at the chance to make the costumes. "You supply the materials and I'll supply the labor for free," Nicky had told him. "That way I can feel like I'm a member of the team as well." So Mick gave Nicky a basic idea of what he wanted and Nicky whipped up some mock costumes without even measuring Mick or Cat. Mick was happy for Nicky's help but he couldn't help worrying that Nicky would somehow, someway connect Cat with the demise of the Gamboli crime family. Nicky had no interest in the family business, but Cat had slaughtered many of his kin people and you never knew when that Italian blood feud thing would kick in. Just then Cat came clomping into the room. She wore men's boots and bib overalls and a cap with most of her hair tucked in, as well as a Hello Kitty T-shirt and some oversized sunglasses. Mick thought she looked extremely cute in that get- up, but he'd never tell her that. "Damn it, Cat," he said, trying to sound annoyed, "this isn't your apartment. Why can't you knock before you enter?" "What's yours is mine, Baby Doll," Cat said, with a shake of her firm ass. "I just thought you'd like to know the building and grounds are now officially rodent free. No mice, no rats and the squirrels know their days are numbered." "About the squirrels," Mick said. "I know several tenants have complained about them eating the food from the bird feeders, and I'm happy to see those pests go, but did you have to bite off the head of a live squirrel in front of Mrs. Dobson's little girl? Her mother called me today screaming bloody murder." "Aw, that little brat of hers dared me to do it," Cat said, as she threw her cap off and stretched out on Mick's sofa. "She's always bugging me about my fur and my weird eyes. She said it must have been a trick when she saw me catch the squirrel with my bare hands and I told her it wasn't any big thing. Besides, I was hungry." "Well, come on," Mick said, as he grabbed his jacket and car keys. "We're going to meet Nicky at his shop in the West Village to get a look at our costumes. Have you filled out your application form yet?" "Not all of it," she said, as he hustled her out the door. "Some of those questions are darned nosey. What business is it of theirs what my secret identity is? If I told them it wouldn't be much of a secret anymore, would it?" "You know they have to ask a lot of questions because most of their funding is coming from the federal government as part of Homeland Security," Mick said, as he eased his car into the street. "Besides, that information was optional, you don't have to give out your real ID. I mean, we both agree we don't want our real identities know. That's why I'm going to fight crime dressed as a girl." "And what a sacrifice for you to make," Cat said sarcastically. "It's not like you don't already spend the majority of your time en fem." "I told you, that's part of my job, damn it," Mick said, as he gritted his teeth. "Bad enough that you insisted my superhero name had to be The Mouse. That's a name I've been trying to avoid for years. You even strong-armed me into wearing a miniature version of your costume." "Hey, I heard what you and Nicky boy were cooking up for me to wear," she said. "You were trying to get me into something that had less material than a Brazilian bikini! But, like I said, if you'll wear it, I will too." "It was an economy move," Mick protested. "You can't be killed so you don't need any protective clothing and I decided to save on the cost of materials. This from the woman I had to beg to wear a pair of panties!" "Yeah, well, I guess I've spent too much time around you, Miss Prissy," she replied. "And don't forget, if I go around showing off my furry ass, sooner or later people who know me are going to figure out who I am. It's bad enough I've got to use a depilatory on my arms and legs to wear my new costume. That stuff itches!" "Hey, you're the one who said you were tired of having your legs covered all the time," Mick said. "If you didn't get rid of some of that fur you'd have to wear a costume that covered you from head to toe claws. Nicky said that depilatory he recommended was the best money can buy. Think how long it would take if you had to shave yourself every day. Just remember to put a pan in the shower to catch the fur, otherwise the plumbing bills are going to be murder." This light banter went on until they finally arrived at Nicky Greao's shop on Christopher Street. In addition to the normal Glamour Boutique wares, the store also had the latest in tanning booths and laser hair removal equipment. It was quite popular with the New York CD/TS/TG crowd and one could often spot some familiar faces there. Nicky greeted Mick and Cat warmly as they came into the store after parking the PT Cruiser in Nicky's free space across the street. "I think you're going to like your new 'outfits'," Nicky whispered conspiratorially, looking left and right to make sure none of the customers or staff were listening. "Follow me to the basement and you can try the mock-ups on." Cat liked Nicky and she thought Malato-Zu did as well. He wasn't a cross- dresser, but he was more of a woman than Mick would ever be. She felt a slight twinge of regret for what she had done to his thug relatives. After Nicky closed and locked the basement door behind them he pulled out two large garment boxes. Mick and Cat opened them with glee. "Well, what do you think?" Nicky said. Except for some small details, the two costumes were identical. They were basically modified one-piece bathing suits with full shoulders and deep cleavage, along with fine mesh tights, black boots and gloves and skin-tight half masks. The masks were open in the front for the nose and mouth and in the back for a pony tail. Cat's mask had conical cat ears built into the sides, while Mick's, of course, had little mouse ears. The right shoulder of Cat's suit had a drawing of a cat's paw in gold, while Mick's had a silhouette of a mouse. His also featured a skinny black mouse tail in the bottom, while Cat's only had a hole in it for her own little tail. Nicky, ever the diplomat, never asked why he didn't have to supply Cat with an artificial tail. The mock-ups were made of cheap, common fabric, but the actual costumes would be made of very different materials. Cat's would be composed primarily of black, shiny leather, while Mick's would be made of polymer micro filaments as tough as Kevlar. His gloves were to be made of the same material, while Cat's were to be made of flexible black rubber with a prosthetic little finger on the right hand to take the place of her missing digit. The material for the two costumes alone would cost more than $3,500. "They look great, don't you think so, Katherine?" Mick said. He always called Cat Katherine around Nicky. "Black and gold, my old high school colors," said Cat, as she admired Nicky's handiwork. "I can't wait to try it on!" "Well go ahead," Nicky said. "There's a dressing room right over there. Mick's got a few things to do first before he can try his on." Meaning Mick had to put on a gaff to get rid of his "package" and strategically apply some duct tape to create convincing cleavage. He also wore a strapless, low cut bra padded with a flesh-colored combination rubber-silicone breast form. He'd gotten breast forms from Nicky before, but he noticed something different this time. "Jesus, Nicky," he said. "This has got to be the biggest bra you've ever made for me. I'm going to have to get used to this weight." "Thirty-four D, babe," Nicky said, as he helped hook the garment in back. "Look, you and Katherine are supposed to be wearing practically identical costumes and her tits are gigantic. If your breasts were any smaller than this you'd disappear when you stood next to her. I could glue these on, you know." "Welcome to the big bust club, Dear," Cat said, as she ogled Mick in nothing but his bra and gaff. "Ain't it a crime the things we big busted girls have to do to look nice?" Mick scrambled to put on the mock-up costume. He thought he'd have time to be done before Cat came out of her dressing room, but she had sneaked up on him again. "Well, Nicky," Cat said, as she struck some poses for Mr. Greao, "what do you think? Am I bad or what?" "You look mighty good, Katherine," Nicky said. "If I swung that way I'd be drooling by now. I'm sure you'll defeat all the straight super-villains just with your looks." "And what about little Mickey here," Cat said. "He, or rather, she is just darling, the cutest thing in tights." Mick hated the razzing from Cat, but he had to admit this time she was right. He did look good, very good, a fact attested to by Nicky's full-length mirror. Cat and Mick had to stand in various positions for Nicky to make precise measurements for the final costumes. As he worked quickly with his tape measure and note pad, Cat wondered what was his real relationship with Mick. Nicky was in love with Mick, of that she was certain, whether Mick realized it or not she didn't know. What she wondered was if Nicky and Mick had ever done anything about it. "You're pretty good at helping men look like women," she said, as Nicky measured the length of her legs. "You like to go drag yourself?" "Hardly ever, Katherine," he said, as he kept busy with his work. "When I dress it's for a party or a special event of some sort. I'm an actor, not a transvestite, if that's what you really want to know. I like wearing the pants in the family, not the panties." While Cat pondered this reply, Nicky finished his measurements and told them to take off the mock-ups and put on their regular clothes. "How's it going with the depilatory, Katherine?" Nicky asked after she came out of her dressing room. "Your legs looked pretty smooth, but I could feel the stubble coming back already. Please don't be offended, but I've never seen as hairy a lady as you before. And your body hair looks kind of golden, while the hair on your head is jet black." "That is strange, isn't it, Nicky boy," Cat said, with a forced grin. "Hairiness seems to run in my family. Why, even when we were just wee chids, they used to call me Big Foot and my little sister was known as Sasquach." "Err, okay," Nicky said, with a confused look. "We do offer laser hair removal upstairs, you know. I could give you the treatments at cost. And you definitely need to use the tanning booth. Your legs are as white as Johnny Winter." "I'll let you know about that," Cat said, and added, to change the subject, "How's your cousin, Tony Bass, doing. He still in the hospital?" "Oh, poor, poor cousin Tony," Nicky said, as Mick walked up to join the conversation. "I've just heard from him and he may not want me to tell anyone, but us being partners and all I guess it's okay." "What?" Mick asked. "What happened?" "Tony's doctors just told him he has testicular cancer," Nicky said. "I don't know why they didn't find it sooner due to Tony's... accident. Anyhow, they tell him he's going to have to have both balls removed as soon as possible. That is just going to kill him." "And he had such nice balls, too," Cat said, then quickly added, "I suppose." "Well, we'll have to send him a fruit basket or something," Mick said. He hated himself for it, but Mick couldn't help being amused by the thought of the super- macho Tony without either cock or balls anymore. Cat and Mick spent the next few hours milling around the shop. Cat bought a couple pairs of high heels that actually fit her oversized feet, while Nicky demonstrated his newest tanning booth which actually painted a tan of any darkness on the customer rather than using potentially dangerous ultraviolet light. They returned home and Mick was in the process of answering his messages when he heard a knock on his door. He opened the door and there stood Cat. "This is a new one," Mick thought. "She never knocks, she usually just barges in." Then he noticed Cat was crying and trembling as if she were ready to collapse. Mick wasn't used to seeing the irreverent Cat in such a state and asked what was wrong. "My, my father," she said between sobs. "My father is about to die!" Mick pulled her into the room and sat her on the sofa. He let her cry for a moment while he made some tea. He brought her a cup and gave her time to compose herself while she had a sip. "Thank you, Mick," she said. He had never heard her sound so sober. "I just got a phone installed in my apartment and I decided to call my father's nursing home in Louisville," she said. "I haven't talked to him in more than a year, I guess other things have been of a more pressing concern to me. Truth be told, my father and I have never been that close. Anyhow, I called the nursing home and learned that he had been moved to another home for terminal patients. I asked who had decided to do that and I was told it was company policy, since he had no living relatives to make the decision. I'd forgotten that I was supposed to be dead or missing. "I called the new home and they confirmed that Dad was there. They said he was dying of prostate cancer and heavily sedated for the pain. They said he could die any day now. They told me that in his rational moments he calls for his daughter, that he wants to see her to say good-bye." Cat started sobbing again. "Who did you tell them you were?" Mick asked. "I said I was a colleague of his daughter," Cat said, after once again getting control of herself. "They were quite talkative after that. Mick, I gotta go and see my father before he dies." "Don't worry, Cat, I'll see to it you get to him in time," Mick said. "It would be too much of a hassle for you to fly because you don't have a current ID and a bus ride would take forever. First thing tomorrow we're driving to Kentucky." Just then Cat got a strange look in her weird eyes and gave a toothy smile like she'd had a great idea. "Let's hold off until the day after tomorrow, Mick," she said. "There's something we've got to do tomorrow." *** It was past midnight now and Mick was just crossing the Jefferson County line. He turned on the cabin light and checked his make-up one more time, because it wasn't Mick Montana, boy detective, driving the car. It was Dr. Katherine Filin, distinguished, middle-aged, black, female, and supposedly dead or missing, archeologist. This was going to be Mick's greatest performance to date. "How you doing, partner?" Cat said, from the back seat as she scratched under Mick's right ear. "Wondering why I let you talk me into these things," Mick replied, as he swatted her hand away. "Cat, this is never going to work. Nobody's going to believe I'm you." "Well, you look a lot more like me than I do right now," she said. "Don't worry, with your cross-dressing skills and photographic memory and my coaching, you'll pass with flying colors. And don't forget Nicky's magic tanning booth. That beautiful caramel skin of yours won't start fading for a week, he said. Broaden your nose a little and add brown contacts to cover your baby blues and you are it, Miss Thang." "Yeah, well, what if someone who knew you sees me?" Mick persisted. "Even as a human you were a head taller than me." "Relax," Cat said. "I told you I have no close relatives or friends in this town anymore. This is a different nursing home from the one I used to visit, so nobody there will know me, either. And Dad's so far gone I doubt he'll be able to tell the difference." "And there's the small matter of you being officially dead or missing," Mick reminded her. "Details, details," Cat said, with a wave of her hand. "You aren't going to do anything official, sign any papers, inherit any money or anything else that would require you to prove your identity. All you have to do is convince a few administrators that you are me and we'll be in and out before anyone notices. Now turn off at that next exit." "Why?" Mick said. "I thought your father's house was in the West End." "It is," Cat said, as the car came to a stop. "Move over, it's my turn to drive." Mick just gritted his teeth. Cat's father's house was a pleasant, one story ranch style dwelling on North Western Parkway, close to Shawnee Park. This wasn't the house Cat spent her young childhood in, but it was her teenage home. The house had been rented to others from the time her father first went into the nursing home, but the people at the home told her that it was currently empty. She had a key, but that was in a safe in her office in Chicago. So she tried one of the basement windows that was never locked and could be opened half-way for air. Then she had Mick squeeze through the tiny opening, cursing and protesting all the way. "Cat, if you get me arrested for breaking and entering I don't know what I'll do," Mick whispered as loudly as he could. "Oh, hush," Cat said, as Mick fell to the dirty basement floor and she closed the window behind him. "I got your back, son. Nobody's going to sneak up on me. Now go open the back door." And thus Cat and Mick spent the night in her father's house. The gas and lights were still on and they found some fairly clean mattresses to sleep on. It was well after 1:00 AM by the time they got to bed and they needed to start early in the morning. After driving all day and getting to bed late, Mick didn't feel like getting up at 7:00 AM, but Cat insisted. She helped him dress in his mini-afro wig, conservative brown blouse and skirt and high heels with hidden lifters that increased his height to a more reasonable 5'5." By the time he'd applied his makeup, contacts and fake nose it was close to 9:00 AM. A pair of unfashionable glasses completed the look. "Ugh," Cat said, when Mick was finished getting ready. "What? What's wrong?" Mick asked. "You don't think the disguise is good enough?" "No, it's too good," Cat said, with a twitch of her nose. "I'd forgotten what a fashion-challenged woman I've been all my life." They decided to have breakfast at a greasy spoon called Irma's on 26th and Broadway. And all the while she was quizzing him on the things he, as Katherine Filin, should know. "Who's my grandmother on my father's side?" she asked. "Grandma Elizabeth." "Who took me to the senior prom?" "Montez Perkins." "How long did Dad work for the Post Office?" "Forty-one years. Cat, please, I've got it." "Can't be too sure, Hon," she said. "Order the grits, I'll bet a New York boy like you has never had them." "That's one bet you'd lose, Cat," Mick said. "I've been down here plenty of times growing up when my father would take me to see the Derby. I've even eaten at Irma's before. Not that anyone who worked here then would recognize me now." They had almost finished breakfast when a very loud voice suddenly rang out. "CAT, I thought you were dead!" Both the fake Cat and the real one were startled. Approaching them at full speed was a large, black woman wearing a loud red dress that was far too short and too tight for her massive thighs. She grabbed Mick to her voluminous bosom and threatened to smother him with an overwhelming hug. "Girl, I haven't seen you since Central High School," she said. "I read in the newspaper that you were lost over in Africa more than a year ago. What happened, Cat? How did you get back here?" Mick had no idea who this woman was or what he should say to her. Even worse, a small crowd was starting to gather and there was no way for him to ask Cat for help. So it was time for the old shuck 'in jive routine. "Well, as you can see, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," he said, trying to maintain the tone of his speech that Cat had told him was closest to the sound of her own human voice. "You know how the government is, they never get anything right." This weak joke brought a small laugh from the gathered throng, which was just enough noise for Cat to lean next to Mick's ear and whisper "Tommy Mae" without anyone else hearing. "So, Tommy Mae, what have you been up to since high school?" Mick said, without missing a beat. "Oh, Honey, I still live in that old house back on 32nd Street where we all grew up," she said. "Had me a husband for a long time, but he's dead and I'm living on his pension from Ford." "Is that right?" Mick said, trying his best to look interested. "Oh, look at the time. I told them I'd be at the nursing home early to look in on my father and I got to go." "Yeah, I heard he's staying at that Abraham's Rest Nursing Home up on 12th Street," Tommy Mae said. "Girl, I don't want to worry you, but I've heard some bad things about that place." The others standing around nodded their heads or said 'amen' in agreement. "What is it, what have you heard?" Cat, who had been silent up to this point, couldn't help asking. "Oh, let me introduce my friend here," Mick said. "Believe it or not, her name is Catherine too, only with a 'C'. She's a colleague of mine. Catherine, Tommy Mae." Cat was by far the tallest woman in the crowd. She was casually dressed in baggy shorts and leg-warmers, along with a Knicks jersey. She still wore her dark glasses, which didn't seem out of place because it was a bright day in spite of being in the middle of February. She didn't wear a hat and her mane of luscious black hair cascaded over her shoulders. "Whew, you are impressive," Tommy Mae said, in unselfconscious appreciation. "Katherine, where in the world did you find this girl?" "We met in New York City," Mick said impatiently. "What was it you were saying about the nursing home?" "Just that a lot of the residents have been dying lately," Tommy Mae said. "A lot, even for a nursing home with terminally ill patients." "I work there," one of the bystanders said. "People are starting to have some strange wounds and bedsores. Almost looks like something is cutting them in the neck. They called the police but I don't think they took it too serious seeing as how most of the residents are black people." "Yeah," Tommy Mae chipped in. "If this was happening in the East End the mayor himself would be leading the investigation." "Well, we need to get right over there and see what's going on," Mick said, as he paid the bill. "Let's go, Catherine." They both hugged Tommy Mae before leaving the restaurant and promised to get back in touch with her if they could. "Take care of yourselves and say hello to Mr. Filin for me, Honey," Tommy Mae said. "And keep warm, Cat, you sound like you're catching a cold." The trip to the nursing home was short and silent. It was just a few blocks away, next to Central, Katherine's old high school. There were other, more prestigious, schools in Louisville at the time, but this is where her father had gone so Katherine went there too. It was also because of her father that she went to the University of Kentucky. Not that he had gone there, no, not at all. By the time she went to college her mother had died and her father was an alcoholic. She went to UK because it was far enough away that she didn't have to put up with his drunkenness every day, yet close enough that she could come home quickly in case of an emergency. The nursing home was located in a fairly new building with space for several hundred residents. Across the street was a non-descript government-supported housing complex. Its only visible amenity was a basketball court with four goals, three of which still had nets. As it was a warm winter day, there were several young men gathered on and around the court, some of them to play ball, some of them for other things. Cat gazed at them disapprovingly. "Look at them over there, selling drugs in broad daylight," she said with a huff. "Right in sight of the nursing home, my old school and the library. It's a shame." "Well, there's not much we can do about it,' Mick said, as he grabbed her arm. "Come on, let's go in and see what the situation is here." They went to the head nurse's desk and Mick asked for Henry Filin. The nurse on duty barely looked up from her register as she told Cat and Mick where to find Cat's father. He was on the third floor of the U-shaped building, quite a distance from the entrance. After a brief elevator trip and a walk through the well-marked corridors, they found a room with the name HENRY FILIN on the door, along with the name of another man they didn't know. Cat and Mick walked gingerly into the room. Cat recognized her father right away, but was still shocked by how thin and worn he looked. Henry Filin had always been a big man, not so tall at 5'11" but at least 200 pounds as long as Cat had known him. Now, he looked like a shriveled up dwarf, pale and wizened. He was asleep and his breathing was ragged and he was festooned with various tubes for feeding and drugs. "He looks so much worse than the last time I saw him," Cat said, as she took a seat and held her father's shriveled hand. "How could I go for more than a year without seeing my father? I must be the worst daughter ever." "Katherine, don't beat yourself up," Mick said, as he took a seat on the opposite side of his 'father.' "You've done the best you could. The important thing is that you're here for him now. We both are." "Thank you, Mick," Cat said, with a smile. "I know I act like a real fool around you most of the time, but I want you to know I really appreciate everything you've done for me... this most of all." So the two of them spent the rest of the afternoon in that small room. Mr. Filin slept for hours, never moving, never waking, even when the attendants changed his IV bag or his bedding. Cat and Mick made sure one of them was always in the room, so they went to the restroom, to lunch and on breaks separately. During his breaks Mick decided to nose around and perhaps find out what had upset the people at the diner so much about this nursing home. "I think there's some weird stuff going on here," he said, as he and Cat compared notes. "I've heard some of the residents talking about strange voices in the middle of the night, of seeing gangs of rats running down the hallways and fog inside the building." "And I heard some of the staff talking about those neck wounds," Cat said. "Seems they're not cuts at all; more like bites. And at least a couple of dozen people have died here in the last month from blood loss, but there was hardly any blood on their beds. In fact, that man sharing this room with Dad has some of those wounds on his neck and no one knows where they came from." With that, Cat and Mick went to the roommate's bed. They found him lying there stiff as a board with his eyes open. He had two angry puncture wounds on his neck, each with a circle of white around the hole. His name card said "Parker." "Ye gods," Mick said. "This man is dead!" "No, he's not," Cat said, as she sniffed the air. "I can smell death. He's very close, but he's not dead yet." Suddenly the man named Parker rolled his eyes, looked at Mick and grinned. "Soon, soon, it will all be over soon," he chortled. "Dragan Stankovic has promised, one more night and I leave this place, never to return." "Who is Dragan Stankovic?" Mick asked. "What has he promised you?" "Soon, soon, all over soon," the man repeated, as he drifted back into his coma- like state. Cat and Mick stared at each other for a moment, then out of nowhere they heard a weak, hoarse voice. "Caaaat, is that you?" It was Mr. Filin. He was awake and he was speaking to Mick. "Yes, Daddy," Mick said, as he crossed the room to hold the old man's hand. "I'm here." "Oh Cat, I been wanting to see you so bad," Mr. Filin said, in his raspy voice. "But they told me you were dead. Why would they lie to me like that?" "I don't know, Daddy," Mick said, as he looked at Cat. "I hear a lot of strange things are going on in this nursing home." "That's true, girl, so true," Mr. Filin said. "The devil himself has been in this room. Came in on a mist. Offered all kinds of things to me and Parker over there. I told him to go to hell, but I think Parker may have taken him up on his deal. I'm in a lot of pain and I may not be thinking straight, but I got enough sense not to make a deal with the devil." Mick couldn't help stealing a glance at Cat after that statement and she lowered her head in shame. Two months ago he would have dismissed Mr. Filin's words as the ramblings of a dying old man, but he wasn't so quick to brush them aside now. He had proof sitting in this room that something very much like the devil did exist and did interfere in the lives of men. "What about the staff, the nurses, can't they protect the residents from what's going on?" Mick asked. "Don't think most of them care," Mr. Filin said. "They're happy to have a job and a paycheck. If you complain they just act like you're crazy and increase your painkillers. I bet they'd do something if most of the residents here were white. Speaking of white, Cat, who's your friend?" "Ahh, this is a colleague of mine from DePaul," Mick said. "Her name is Catherine, too, only with a 'C.'" "Pleased to meet you, Catherine," Mr. Filin said. "I'm Cat's father, but you already know that." He offered her his hand and she took it in both of hers. She remembered when she was a child and his hand was so big and strong. Now it was frail and weak and disappeared in her enormous mitts. "Wooee, girl, I'd hate to be at the dinner table with you," Mr. Filin said, with a feeble laugh. "You could get all the mashed potatoes and the fried chicken with one hand. You don't say much, do you, Honey?" "I'm pleased to meet you, sir," Cat said, struggling not to tell her father who she really was. "When did all these strange things start happening around here?" "Before they moved me to this place," Filin said. "Parker told me it was when they got that new administrator, what's his name, Vukovic something? Some doctor from Bosnia, Serbia, some gosh awful place like that." Once again Cat and Mick stared at each other. "Curiouser and curiouser," Cat said. "Now, little darlings, I think it's time for this old man to get some sleep," Filin said, wearily. "Are you going to come back and see me again, Cat?" "I'll be here, Daddy," Mick said, with conviction. "I'm not going anywhere." But Mr. Filin was already asleep. As Cat and Mick walked to the PT Cruiser they went over all they had discovered. "Crazy as it may be, all the evidence points to the fact that we might be dealing with a supernatural creature here, maybe even a real vampire," Mick said. "God, I feel like a fool just saying those words." "But the pieces seem to fit," Cat said. "And I'd have to say that Dr. Vukovic is a prime suspect. Aren't Bosnia and Serbia not too far from Transylvania? They're all part of the Balkans, right? Maybe we ought to check the local paper for reports of the walking dead or for unusual attacks that led to unexplained blood loss." "Actually, Transylvania is in Romania, where my mother comes from," Mick said. "But you're right, they're all part of the Balkans and that area is known for this sort of thing." As they returned to the car, Cat noticed with disdain that the same fellows selling drugs on the basketball court earlier were still there plying their evil trade. Now that school was out, there were children around, some of elementary school age. Cat had an idea. "Mick," she said. "Do you have your tennis shoes in the trunk?" "Yes, I do, Cat," he said. "I wasn't planning on wearing these heels all day. Why?" "Put 'em on," she said. "We're going to play a little ball." "What, here, now?" Mick said. "You know, I've always loved basketball," Cat said, as she pushed Mick toward the court. "But when I went to Central we didn't have a girl's team. I always felt kind of cheated. Did you play for your high school?" "Are you kidding?" Mick asked, as he tried to walk and lace up his Nikes at the same time. "I love b-ball too but at my height I couldn't even get chosen for a pick-up team." "Well, you're going to play some 21 now," Cat said, as she walked right up to the drug peddlers. "All I want you to do is throw the ball to me higher than they can reach it, okay?" Before Mick could reply they were standing next to the dealers. There were three of them, all 6' or taller and all dressed in team jerseys, low riding jeans and gaudy jewelry. Cat was not impressed and she let the dealers know in the crudest of terms. "Yo, why you niggers selling that shit out in the open like that?" she asked. "You got no respect for the people who live here, for that nursing home or for Central High School." "Say what?" said the biggest of the three and apparently the leader of the group. "What you say to me, honky bitch?" "You heard me, bastard," Cat said. "Take that crack you and your friends are selling and go somewhere else. Or stick it up your ass, ho." Mick was about to have a heart attack. "Either she's going to get me killed or she's going to kill all these boys and have us both thrown in jail," he thought. "Well, I'll tell you what, motherfucker," Sammy, the lead gang-banger said, as he patted the piece he carried in the back of his jeans, "you tell me why I ought to move and why I shouldn't run a train on your white ass and your little friend as well." Cat could see that the drug dealer was staring at her massive chest approvingly. Angry as he was, he couldn't ignore Cat's physical appeal. The other gang members were rubbing their chins and whistling in excitement and a crowd was beginning to gather. "Well, I'll tell YOU what, dickhead," Cat replied. "I'll play you and your two friends a game of 21. Me and my little friend win, you give us those two bags of crack you're carrying and leave this spot for good. You win and I promise you all the pussy you and your boys could want. What do you say, slick?" "Hey, how you know how much shit we had?" one of the other thugs asked. "Forget that, Leroy," Sammy said. "Yeah, bitch, I'll take you up on your challenge. And when we win we're going to fuck you right here and now." "I wouldn't have it any other way, dollface," Cat said, with a grin. "Let's play." At that, the pushers cleared a court of players for the game. The men being pushed out weren't too happy about it, but none of them dared cross the dealers because everyone knew they always carried guns. Mick began to warm up, wishing that he had brought something more comfortable than the modest dress he wore to visit Cat's father. The sun was still shining brightly and the temperature was in the 50's. Cat pulled off her Knicks jersey and revealed a tight, low-cut white T-shirt that drew whistles from the crowd. It was obvious even to the visually-impaired that she wore no bra. Then she took off her sunglasses and a mummer arose. "Damn, what kind of eyes are those?" Leroy asked no one in particular. "She looks like someone on fuckin' Sailor Moon. And why she got all that hair around her tities?" "Okay, punks, it's been a while since I played this game," Cat said. "Are the rules make-it-take-it or change sides with every basket?" "We change sides with every basket down here, shithead," Sammy said. "Who's shooting for first?" "I am," said Mick. "Okay, granny-four-eyes," Sammy said, as he rifled the ball to Mick. "Shoot." Mick took a jump shot from the foul line and hit nothing but net. Sammy followed and hit dead center as well. They both hit shot after shot until Sammy finally banged one off the rim. Mick took the ball out past the three point line and Cat waited under the basket. Two of the dealers guarded her with their arms in the air while the third faced off with Mick. Cat nodded and Mick heaved the ball up to an area two feet above the basket. Cat sprung into the air before her defenders could move, grabbed the ball and dunked it through the net. People in the crowd whistled and clapped their hands. They had never seen anything like that before. "What the fuck?" Sammy sputtered. "I mean, what the fuck?" "Your ball," Cat said, sweetly. This time Sammy took the ball and thundered to the hoop. He was 6'4" and had played high school ball until the lure of easy drug money made him forget everything else. He was going to dunk the ball when Cat appeared out of nowhere and swatted it into Mick's hands. "No, no... no," she said to Sammy, while wagging her finger. "Don't bring that weak stuff in here, son. If you're going to come in here, you better come in strong." While the pushers stood around with their mouths open, Mick dribbled the ball out past the free throw line and popped in another jumper. The score was 4-0 in favor of the "girls." And that's how the game went: Cat flying all over the place, dunking the ball and blocking everything the pushers put up and, when all three of their opponents tried to guard her, passing the pumpkin to Mick for easy jumpers. Cat took to swinging on the rim and doing one armed pull-ups after every dunk, much to the delight of the ever-growing crowd of onlookers. The pushers tried to strong-arm Cat, using their elbows and even their fists, but she laughed off their blows and wouldn't call a foul. Instead, she returned the strong-arm tactics and soon had two of the pushers bleeding from their noses and mouths. Naturally, they couldn't call a foul on Cat if she wouldn't call one on them. "Better suck it up, boys," she taunted, in the style of a well-known west coast sports radio personality. "Yeah, nut it up before you get embarrassed bad." But whether they nutted up or not, pretty soon the score was 21-zip and the pushers were done. By this time a crowd of several hundred had gathered to see this amazing sight. Cat and Mick tried an impromptu chest bump in victory and Mick was sent sprawling over the court by the impact with Cats huge ta-tas. "All right, pussy, up those bags," Cat told the head pusher. Sammy would have welshed on the deal but he knew the crowd would get ugly if he did, so he handed Cat two sandwich bags full of high quality crack. "Hey folks, this is what Sammy boy here has been selling to you," Cat said, and with that she emptied both bags into her mouth and swallowed the contents. A normal person would have died instantly and in agony, writhing on the ground and foaming at the mouth. But Cat just licked her lips and smiled. "Aw shit, ain't nobody could eat that much crack and live," one seedy-looking character said. "Those bastards been selling us powered milk!" With that the crowd DID turn ugly and Sammy and his friends ran for their lives with a rain of stones and beer bottles crashing at their heels. They would never sell their poison around here again. Observing all this were two very tall, very pale white men in sunglasses who stood out in this crowd like a couple of sore thumbs. Mick had noticed them about half-way through the game and asked one of the onlookers who they were. "They work at the nursing home," the man said. "The night shift, I think. Rumor is they was basketball players somewhere back in Europe before they came here. They sure don't talk much but they's pretty good ball players. Whew, they's about as pale as your friend there. I guess none of them gets much sun." Mick saw the pair looking at Cat intently and making comments to each other before they walked off toward the nursing home. He wondered if they might know something about what was going on over there. "Cat, how do you feel?" Mick asked, as they drove to Cat's father's house. "Like I've had way too much coffee," Cat said. "Otherwise, pretty good." "That was a crazy stunt, but I guess I should expect that sort of thing from you by now," Mick said. Then he smiled and added, "I'm glad you did it. Swine like them should be run off the streets everywhere." Later, after changing clothes, Mick dropped Cat off at the nursing home while he struck out on his own to find any additional information he could on the place and what was going on there. He also made a call on a priest he knew in Louisville, Father John Martin, who was an expert on the more archaic rituals of the Catholic Church. In the meantime, Cat, wearing an all-black outfit for camouflage, climbed to the home's third floor and through a window close to her father's room. She crept into an empty room just down the hall that she had spotted earlier that day and sat there waiting for whatever it was Mr. Parker expected to come visiting him tonight. She also kept an eye out for the two basketball fans Mick had told her about earlier. It was about 1:30 AM when the two male nurses arrived. They stationed themselves at each end of the hallway. One of them opened a window and seemed to be waiting for something. Cat noted that both their heads came very close to the ceiling. She estimated that they were both around seven feet tall. Suddenly, Cat heard a noise like fingernails scraping on a chalk board. No, heard is the wrong term. The noise seemed to be coming from inside her head and for a moment she almost forgot herself and shouted out in pain. But the noise stopped as suddenly as it began and Cat peered out a crack in the doorway. There, coming through the window was a thick mist. Not a random mist, but a mist that seemed to be moving with a purpose. It reminded her of a scene from "The Ten Commandments." The mist went straight to the room her father shared with Mr. Parker. She had to get into that room to see what was going on but the giant goons had taken positions on either side of the doorway. Seeing no other recourse, Cat bolted out of the empty room and flung herself at the male nurses. She would dispose of them quickly and get into her father's room right away. She kicked the nearest nurse in the head before he could react, but when she turned to the other nurse he landed a massive fist to her jaw. "Whoa, what's he been eating?" she thought to herself. "That actually hurt!" Then the first nurse, who by rights ought to have suffered a concussion from her blow, grabbed her from behind in a bear hug. In all the time Cat had been transformed she had never felt such strength. The man's arms felt like they were made of iron and his partner began to pummel the helpless Cat senseless with blows from his huge fists. Then a voice as if from the grave spoke. "Gojko, Mitor, that is enough," it said, with a heavy Eastern European accent. The semiconscious Cat looked up at a tall, well-dressed man with fiery red eyes and the pale gray skin of the dead. He had a trickle of blood on his chin which he wiped off with a silk handkerchief as he spoke. "I sense that you and I have something in common, my dear," he said. "Thus, there would be no point to let my servants kill you. However, do not try to interfere any further with my business in this retched place. There are worse things in life... than death. Laku noce." At a hand-signal, the goons released Cat and she slumped to the floor. Through half-opened eyes she saw the tall man walk up to the open window and begin to shimmer and quake like a Jell-O mold. In his place there appeared a large bat, which rapidly disappeared into the night. "Daddy," Cat thought, and ran into her father's room. Mr. Filin was sleeping peacefully and Cat gave a silent prayer of thanks. Then she saw Mr. Parker and let out an inadvertent gasp. He lay in his bed with his eyes and mouth wide open. He was shriveled up like a prune, like the life had been sucked out of him. His skin was as gray as old parchment and when she touched his arm she was startled to find his skin was as dry and hard as leather. Cat had seen many horrible things in the year since she was joined with a demon. But this was one of the most horrible of them all. She hated to leave her father under these circumstances, but she couldn't afford to be found here so long after visiting hours. She left the same way she entered and walked the long way home. She had a lot to think about. It was daybreak by the time she got back to her father's house. Mick had tried to stay up until she returned, but he was peacefully asleep on the living room sofa. Cat looked at him, still made up as Katherine, a tiny duplicate of her real self. It was all she could do to keep from lifting him up in her arms and showering him with kisses. But she restrained herself, covered him with a blanket and went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Later that day Cat and Mick compared notes. "Wow," Mick said, for about the hundredth time. "I can't believe how easily those two nurses beat you up. I mean, you've been clobbered with baseball bats and shot with high-powered rifles and bounced right back. I thought you were invincible." "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Cat said, as she sipped from her fifth cup of coffee. "Those were no ordinary nurses, I'm sure of that. They had something mystical going for them. If I tangle with them again I'm going to have to take them a lot more seriously." "Yeah, I was thinking about that," Mick said. "Have you ever actually fought anybody before? Usually when Malato-Zu is in control people are so afraid of you they just run. But have you had a fight as you are now?" "Nope, never have," she answered honestly. "Not now and certainly not back when I was Katherine; not until yesterday. You know a little something about fighting, don't you? Do you think you could teach me a few moves?" Mick beamed at the idea of actually teaching the saucy Cat a thing or two. He liked the fact that the two nurses had shown the mighty Cat wasn't unbeatable, but he was worried about what this unexpected vulnerability would mean for their chances of joining The Protectors. Anyhow, he had some important information to impart. "Well, while you were getting your head handed to you I was doing a little detective work," he said. "It seems Dr. Sirno Vukovic, the director of the nursing home, immigrated from Bosnia-Herzegovina more than two years ago. He was a fairly well-respected surgeon back in the old country, but he was in a real big hurry to leave the war zone and come to the good old USA. As far as anyone can tell he has a clean record, but it will be years before he has clearance to operate on people in this country, it's just the way the bureaucracy works. So in the meantime he came here to Louisville and got the job managing the nursing home. As soon as he was able he bought a nice big house in the South End. This is where the story gets interesting. "Soon after he bought the house he had the body of his uncle, Dragan Stankovic, brought over and placed in a mausoleum on the property. There was a minor row about that. Seems the neighbors didn't like the idea of living next to dead bodies. More seriously, Dragan Stankovic WAS a war criminal, who specialized in murdering and torturing civilians. He died before he could be put on trial and Vukovic argued that none of the charges against him had been legally proven, and, besides, the man was dead, what harm could he do? So, after a lot of red tape and coroner exams to make sure Stankovic was really, quite sincerely dead, his body was shipped here a little more than a year ago...along with 1,000 pounds of dirt from his native land to bury him in." "Hmm, this sounds like something straight out of Bram Stoker," Cat said. "You can say that again," Mick said, as he paced the floor in his excitement. "I'm half Italian, but my mother comes from Romania and she's told me all the old stories about the vampires. I'd bet my last pair of pantyhose that this Stankovic is one of the undead and Vukovic is his stooge." "Do you have any pictures of the fucker?" Cat asked. "Right here, I made a copy from one of the newspaper's computer files," Mick said, as he handed it to Cat. The quality wasn't good and the copy was somewhat muddy, but Cat knew she had seen that face before. "That's him!" she shouted. "That's the dude who went into my father's room! Okay, let's go get the bastard!" "Hey, hold up," Mick said. "If this guy is a real vampire we've got to be prepared. I've got my priest friend collecting a few useful items for me and we should be ready to make our move tomorrow. And I mean during the daytime tomorrow, we don't want to meet Stankovic at night. I don't think those two goons of his are vampires, but he's apparently done something to them to make them extra tough. We'll have to do something about them, too." "Argh, I can't wait for a re-match with those two," Cat said, with a snarl. "They caught me by surprise this morning, but they won't tomorrow." "Okay, then let's go visit your father," Mick said, as he picked up his purse. "We don't want to alarm anyone by acting as if something's up. We've got to make it look like we aren't on to them. Do you think those zombie nurses recognized you?" "From the basketball court?" Cat said, as she grabbed a light jacket for the trip. "Maybe. But that makes no difference. They won't be at the nursing home until we're gone and even if they tell Dr. Vukovic about me, he'd have no reason to connect me to Dad." So, once again, Cat and Mick spent the late morning and early afternoon in Mr. Filin's room. Mr. Parker's body had already been removed and no one acted as if his death was anything but routine. Cat's father was only able to spend a few lucid minutes with his guests, but he did his best to make them both feel welcome. "Cat," he said to Mick right before they left, "I'm so happy you decided to come spend some time with your old man before I kick the bucket." "Aw, come on, Daddy," Mick said. "We're going to be seeing plenty of each other. Why, I might even move back to Louisville just to be close to my favorite guy." Mr. Filin laughed feebly and coughed. "Oh, Cat, you never were a good liar," he said, as he slowly drifted off to sleep. "So many things I want to tell you. So little time..." He fell asleep between his real and fake daughters. Cat and Mick looked at each other, but neither of them could think of anything to say. As they were leaving the home they were stopped by the receptionist. "Ms. Filin?" she asked. "The director would like to see you and your friend before you leave, if it isn't too much trouble?" "No trouble at all," said Mick. He looked at Cat with a raised eyebrow as they walked to Dr. Vukovic's office. All Cat could do was shrug. "Please come in, sit down," Vukovic said after shaking hands with both his guests. He was a small man, no more than 5'6" and 125 pounds. He was balding and had permanent worry lines etched on his forehead. He wore thick glasses and, although the home was a smoke-free building, he puffed away constantly on strong European cigarettes. His ashtray was full of butts. "Yes, I can read your minds," he said, trying to be congenial. "It is a filthy habit. I'm going to stop one of these days." "May I have one?" Cat asked, with a smile. "I've never smoked this brand before." "It's Russian," Vukovic said, as he offered the pack to Cat. "Back in the days of the Soviet Union it was the only brand we could get, along with a Yugoslavian brand that was even worse. I fear my poor lungs will be the last victims of the Cold War." After Cat picked out a cig, Vukovic gallantly lit it for her with an old style Zippo lighter. "My father got this lighter as a gift from an American solider who came to help fight the Nazis during WW2," the doctor said. "It was his tales of this American and his country that made me determined to come to the US some day, and now I am here." "Well, doctor, that's all well and good, but I'm kind of curious as to why you've invited us to your office," Mick said. Vukovic shifted in his seat nervously. "Ah, yes, the reason," he finally said. "Ms. Filin, you love your father very much, yes?" "Of course I do, doctor," Mick said. "Is something wrong with him that I don't know about?" "No, no, not at all," Vukovic said, as he took another puff. "All we can do for your father is make him comfortable before he passes away. He knows it, I know it, you know it. No, what I mean is, he is your family, yes? There is nothing you wouldn't do for him, am I right?" "Yes, doctor, he's about the only family I have left," Mick said, then he smiled at Cat. "I kind of think of Catherine as family, when she isn't irritating the hell out of me, that is." "So you understand, family is important, blood is important," the doctor said, as he seemed to become more agitated by the minute. "Blood is thick compared to water, yes? Well, we have had bad times back in my homeland. Many, no, most of my relatives are dead, including my dear wife, Sylva. I would do anything for the ones who are still alive. Maybe, maybe some things I shouldn't do, as a doctor." Suddenly, Mick understood what Vukovic was driving at. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Dragan Stankovic, would it, doctor?" he asked. "He was your uncle, right?" "Please, don't mention that name here," Vukovic said, as he broke into a sweat. "Yes, he is my uncle, and he is evil incarnate. I should never have brought him to this country." "But Stankovic is dead, right," Cat said, trying to sound innocent. "What harm could bringing him into the country do?" "Don't patronize me," Vukovic said, as he slammed his fist on his desk in anger. "You met him this morning, so you know quite well what he can do." "I, I, I don't know what you're talking about," Cat said, suddenly on the defensive. "Don't bother to deny it," Vukovic said in a low voice. "The important thing is, you and Ms. Filin must leave town now, right away. If you meet Dragan again you will surely die." "Thanks for the warning," Mick said, as he stood up. "But we're not going anywhere. And if I find out that your uncle or his two goons have done anything to my father, I guarantee you, it's you who will pay the price." "Foolish woman," Vukovic rasped, as Cat and Mick left his office. "Your father is not in danger, you are. Leave town while you still have the chance!" Cat turned around on her way out the door. Looking Vukovic straight in the eye, she crushed out her still smoldering cigarette on the palm of her hand and tossed it in a trash can. "See you later, doc," she said, but this time there wasn't even the hint of a smile on her face. Later that night, back at the Filin house, Cat and Mick went over their plan of action. "We've got to catch this bloodsucker in his tomb or mausoleum, as the case may be, and drive a stake through his heart," Mick said, as he sharpened several wooden stakes at the kitchen table. "Just like in the movies. Then we need to cut off his head, stuff his mouth full of garlic and bury it separate from the body." "Sounds like a plan," Cat said. "I'm curious, though. What's the shotgun for? You going to fill it with silver pellets?" "That's werewolves, Cat," Mick said. "No, the shotgun is for Gojko and Mitor. I'm sure they aren't vampires and while they may be tougher and stronger than a normal person, I don't think they're bulletproof." "Do you think there are any other vampires around here?" Cat asked. "Aren't people bitten by vampires supposed to turn into vampires themselves?" "Not always," Mick said, as he loaded the shotgun. "It depends on how they die, among other things. Don't think of this Stankovic bastard like he was Dracula. Dracula had lived for hundreds of years before the events of Stoker's novel. I don't think this guy has been among the undead for more than seven or eight years at most, so I think he's still learning what he can and cannot do. Think about it, what better place for a vampire-in-training to find willing victims than a nursing home for terminal cases? That's what poor Mr. Parker was talking about. Stankovic offers them escape from their useless bodies and the endless wait for death. They might even feel kind of a high from his bite. Anyhow, none of the information I checked hinted at any vampiric activity in Louisville except at the nursing home." "But my Daddy told him no," Cat said, gratefully. "Oh, I'm so proud of him." It was past midnight before Mick could finally get to bed. In addition to all the preparations it took a lot of convincing to get the excited Cat to try and get some sleep, but the house was quiet at last. Mick was having another strange dream. This time it was a scene from "The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King." The King of the Nazgul was on the field of battle and Mick was fighting him. "Fool," the Witch King said. "No man can defeat me!" "I am no man!" Mick shouted and then he removed his helmet to show off his golden locks of hair. "Wait a minute, that's not right. I am a man!" The King of the Nazgul looked on curiously and began to shift and melt. In the place of the King stood Dragan Stankovic and in place of the field of battle was Mick's bedroom. "Indeed, you are a man, although a tiny, pretty one," Stankovic said. "You are, perhaps, one of these American cross-dressers I have heard so much about, yes?" Mick knew this was no dream and he knew he was in big trouble. A vampire cannot enter a house without an invitation and there Stankovic stood, next to the open window. Had Mick opened it under the vampire's mind-control and invited him in? "You know who I am and you know what I have been doing," Stankovic said, as he slowly approached. "You are friends with the demon woman, yes? Although how she made a friend of a human I do not know. Anyhow, it will be good to taste the blood of a young person again. For almost a year I have had to content myself with those dried up old black fossils at the nursing home. Phaff! But my nephew tells me nobody cares about them and the pickings will be easy, as you Americans say." Mick noticed that he couldn't move his feet and his arms fell uselessly to his sides. He couldn't even cry out for help. Stankovic was mere inches from him now. Mick could see the long canine teeth and smell the foul stench of rotten blood as the vampire opened his mouth for the feast. Mick closed his eyes and began to pray. WHUMP! Something flew through the room and smashed into Stankovic like a freight train. It was Cat. She wore nothing but a pair of silk panties and she was slashing at Stankovic like a mad woman. Taken by surprise, the vampire could only stagger back and hold up his arms to protect his face from Cat's claws. She screamed incoherently as she grabbed him by the neck, jumped up on him and used her foot claws to rake his chest and belly. A normal foe would have been disemboweled by this attack, but Stankovic merely howled in pain and uttered Serbian curses. "Kucka!" he yelled, as he swatted Cat away with one hand. "Nemoj da ma drkas! Ubiqu tek'o zeca!" Cat landed on her feet and was prepared to hurl herself at Stankovic again when Mick, free at last from the vampire's control, intervened. "My Serbian's a little rusty, so why don't you take a gander at this, bulangiu," he said, as he held up a large, golden cross he'd obtained from Father Martin. Stankovic shuttered and hissed. Then he dashed for the window. "If you want to continue this, you know where to find me," he said, as his shredded clothing disappeared and a large bat took his place. With an ear- splitting screech, the bat was gone into the night. "Come on, come on, let's go get him," Cat hollered. "I think we both need to get dressed first," Mick reminded the nearly nude Cat. "But, yes, we must hurry." The PT Cruiser sped down I-65 to the City's South End. Cat had just enough patience to put on her all-black outfit again while Mick wore a pink track suit. There was no time to put on his Katherine Filin disguise so he left the afro wig and glasses at home as well. With his painted-on tan, long black hair and blue eyes he looked like a mixed blood teenager of uncertain gender. He did take the time to outfit himself and Cat with silver crucifixes hanging on chains. Vukovic's house was in one of the less populated neighborhoods of Jefferson County, close to the Bullitt County line. Even with the pre-dawn light, it took Mick 30 minutes to find the address. Mick carried an old carpetbag he borrowed from his father's house -- of course, his father had a house in the home of the Kentucky Derby -- that contained the sharpened stakes, the cross and other useful items from Father Martin. Cat carried the shotgun, also borrowed from Mick's Dad. They sped up the long driveway and immediately spotted the small mausoleum out back. Mick screeched to a halt, as Cat jumped out of the car and ran to the unlocked tomb. By the time Mick joined her inside, Cat had already pushed the heavy lid off the sarcophagus. Empty. "Aw no, he isn't here," Cat said, in disappointment. "The son-of-a-bitch was only yanking our chain." "Cat, you're an archeologist," Mick said. "Does that look like 1,000 pounds of