By Ebony Silvers

|Chapter 1|2| 3| 4|5| 6| 7| 8|Epilogue|

Prologue - "Welcome to the Jungle"

Welcome to the jungle - We got fun 'n' games.
We got everything you want - Honey we know the names.
We are the people that can find - Whatever you may need.
If you got the money honey - We got your disease.
In the jungle, Welcome to the jungle. Watch it bring you to your knees, knees.
I wanna watch you bleed.

Welcome to the jungle - We take it day by day.
If you want it, you're gonna bleed but it's the price you pay.
And you're a very sexy girl that's very hard to please.
You can taste the bright lights but you won't get them for free,
In the jungle. Welcome to the jungle. Feel my, my, my serpentine.
I, I wanna hear you scream.

Welcome to the jungle - It gets worse here everyday.
You learn to live like an animal in the jungle where we play.
If you got a hunger for what you see, You'll take it eventually.
You can have anything you want but you better not take it from me.

And when you're high, you never, Ever want to come down, YEAH!
You know where you are. You're in the jungle baby. You're gonna die.

In the jungle, Welcome to the jungle. Watch it bring you to your knees, knees.
In the jungle, Welcome to the jungle. Feel my, my, my serpentine.
In the jungle, Welcome to the jungle. Watch it bring you to your knees, knees.
In the jungle, Welcome to the jungle. Watch it bring you to your...It's gonna bring you down!

New Orleans, Louisiana
Wednesday, 10:43 am
February 19, 2020

Amanda Miller looked up as the ADC's office door opened. She clenched her teeth as Jack Niemczyk kissed his girlfriend. It never failed to appall her that her boss was in an open affair with Baby Roxton. Agent Miller had served six months in the New Orleans office in 2016 before being reassigned to San Diego and had been impressed with Jack's abilities even then. She'd been happy when she'd been given the opportunity to return to New Orleans. Being Jack's field assistant was rewarding and exciting. He was a talented leader and an amazingly skilled agent. It was galling that a man with the potential of her supervisor was tied to a woman like that. Agent Miller disliked Mrs. Roxton with a passion. The reasons why were myriad; "Lady" Roxton was an egotistical, brazen, overbearing, obnoxious bitch in Amanda's opinion. For the life of her, she couldn't see what attraction the woman held for Jack. The only thing she could think of was the lure of easy and apparently kinky sex. It was a shame. The ADC was a brilliant man and he deserved much better. He shouldn't be wasting his time on a piece of cheap trash like that. The woman was married, for God's sake! And she practically flaunted her affair with the ADC in the middle of Jackson Square. Amanda shook her head and returned to her paperwork. It was simply incomprehensible.

~~~~~

New Orleans, Louisiana
Wednesday, 11:21 pm
February 21, 2020

Spike grinned at his wife's companion. "You did good back there, FBI," he said.

"Thank you, Master," Jack replied. He had helped Jean and some of the other children with various tasks for the family but this was the first time he had accompanied Spike and Baby on an "official" outing.

The task tonight wasn't that difficult. One of the demon gangs was a tad late in the payment of their tribute and Spike wanted to emphasize that he didn't like that sort of attitude. An appearance by the Master himself was usually more than enough to convince any reluctant vassals that proper respect and tribute were more than the Master's due. It had been no different tonight. A few hard looks from Spike, a flash of fang and knife from Baby, and the demons were bowing and scraping before the lord of Louisiana.

Jack wasn't sure why Spike had bothered to come himself. Jean or René could have whipped that group into shape in seconds. Jack suspected Spike was more concerned about how Jack would conduct himself in such a formal confrontation than in the tardy tribute payment. He had the feeling it was a test and Spike was checking him out to see if he really was fit to be a member of the family. He knew Baby was thinking of turning him soon and he knew she'd prefer to do it with Spike's support. Jack would prefer that as well. If Spike was going to be his grandfather--and Jack had finally come to understand just what that meant--then it was best to have his full approval. Jack apparently had conducted himself properly. Jean had been doing a bit of coaching and Jack had a much better idea of what was expected of him as Companion to the Queen of New Orleans and possible grandson to William the Bloody than he'd had even six months earlier.

Jack froze when Spike held up a hand. He reached for his sidearm as he saw a group approaching. Jack had no problem in recognizing the gang insignia and over-blown machismo of the 'Tite Filles, the most notorious female gang in the city. They ran half the drugs that flowed through the warrens of West Jeff Parish. Despite the fact that they were human and mostly teenage girls, they were far more dangerous than the demons Jack had just confronted. After a moment, Spike signaled that Jack should put his gun away. Jack noted that Spike gave the young women plenty of time to note that Jack was armed.

"T-Boz," Spike said with just enough edge to his voice to let Jack know he couldn't completely relax. The Master, however, appeared completely at his ease with his arm around Baby's waist and slight smile on his handsome face. "There a problem?"

"No, Master," the gang leader replied. "We ain't got no problems these days. Actually, we heard you was in the neighborhood." She paused for a moment and signaled one of her people forward. "Things have been good lately, sir. Real good." She grinned. "The Filles, we remember our friends. Your boys, they helped out Lady T last week." She put her arm around the neck of a small brunette and pulled her close. "I'd have been real unhappy if anything happened to my T-Girl." She smiled down at the other woman and kissed her temple. "So, we thought we'd show our appreciation in a little gift for the family." Her subordinate popped the case open. Stacks of money and a small bag of white powder rested inside.

Spike cocked an eyebrow and smiled. He knew this went well beyond an appreciation gift, although that was an excellent excuse. The 'Tite Filles were trying to expand their territory and they'd like either Spike's help or, at the very least, his neutrality during the conflict with rival gangs. It was a political bribe, nothing more or less. Still, gift horses and all that. "Now, that's a nice way to say thank you, isn't it, rose?"

Baby grinned. "Very." She knew what the black girl was up to as well. She was impressed with T-Boz's political acumen. Pity the girl would, in all likelihood, be dead long before she reached thirty.

"Jack, hand that to me, would you?" Spike asked in a tone that clearly made it an order. Jack complied and stepped back so he was available but not actually at Spike's side. Spike grinned his approval. Niemczyk might be an egotistical bastard but he knew how to follow protocol. Spike's eyebrow climbed again as he noted the denominations on the bills. "Very nice indeed." He pulled out a stack of money and stuck it in his pocket before closing the briefcase and handing it to Baby for safe keeping.

T-Boz smiled. "Glad you approve." She knew her war of expansion had just received approval from on high. Life really was good tonight. There was no need to linger. The Master didn't like for people to waste his time. She waved a hand and her entourage turned and headed back the way they had come. "Got things to do, sir, if you don't mind."

Spike nodded his dismissal and, with a nod of respect toward Baby, the gangsta queen and her girlfriend followed her people into the night.

Jack gasped as Spike slammed him against a wall. "YOU... did excellently!" Jack didn't know what to think when Spike's mouth descended on his for a mind-blowing kiss. Jean had told Jack once that no one could kiss quite like Spike. Jack understood what he meant now. Jack didn't resist when Spike's tongue explored every crevice of his mouth. It was electric. The power that radiated from the Master had never been clearer to Jack and now it was focused on a kiss of such depth and ferocity that Jack couldn't breathe and wasn't sure he wanted to. Breathing would interrupt that kiss and Jack didn't want anything to interrupt that. Jack let the storm force that was Spike wash over him. In that single kiss, there was not a part of Jack's being that Spike didn't find and dominate. Jack had never been more sure that this was where he belonged.

When Spike finally released him, Jack slumped against the wall, panting. Spike grinned and licked his lips. "Oh yeah, you're gonna make a fine addition to the family, Jack-o," he said and patted Jack's cheek. He kissed Baby briefly but intensely. "And as part of the family, you're entitled to some of the benefits." He pulled the stack of cash from his pocket and tossed it to Jack.

Jack looked down at the worn bills in his hand. "But... that's drug money," he finally said.

Baby looked at him and shook her head. "Honey, where do you think the money for the house, the car, and the clothes comes from? We're not exactly running a department store, you know."

Jack closed his eyes for a minute. "I know. I just... I never actually touched any of the money before. You always paid for everything." He'd known from the very beginning, long before he'd known what they truly were, long before he'd become addicted to the sex and the blood, that the family was heavily involved with organized crime. He'd known all along where Baby's wealth originated. He'd known intellectually what paid for the comforts he so enjoyed. He'd just never been faced with it at so visceral a level before. He could practically smell the coke on the bills in his hand. But he'd made his decision years earlier. This was his life now and would be his life long after he died. He couldn't very well be squeamish about it at this late date. He'd made this bed the first time he'd told Baby to drain someone so he could watch.

He opened his eyes and looked at the vampires before looking down at the cash again. He slid it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and smiled. "Where to now, Master?"

Spike smiled back, quite pleased with the human. He deserved a reward. "Now... now we're going hunting. Want to come along?"

Jack's eyes glowed. He'd never seen Spike hunt. The thought was absolutely exhilarating. "I'd love to!"

Spike led them laughing into the darkness.

~~~~~

"Got him!" Agent Morrison snarled. "That slimy MF is ours now."

His partner turned off the video camera. "Yeah. I couldn't get a clear shot of what was in the brief case but I got a good one of him taking the money. And the audio sounds crystal."

Morrison grinned. "Yeah. Niemczyk's ass will be in the penitentiary before he knows what hit him." He started the car. "About time, too. Jesus, I can't stand an agent on the take."

His partner nodded as they pulled out into the quiet street. "Well, this one's going down hard. We don't have to worry about that. There's no way he can wiggle out of this one."

Chapter 1 - "Same Old Song and Dance"

Get yourself cooler. Lay yourself low.
Coincidental murder, with nothing to show.
With the judge, constipation will go to his head.
And his wife's aggravation, you're soon enough dead.

It's the same old story, same old song and dance, my friend.
It's the same old story, same old song and dance, my friend.

Gotcha with the cocaine they found with your gun.
No smoothy face lawyer to getcha undone.
Say love ain't the same on the south side of town.
You could look, but you ain't gonna find it around.

It's the same old story, same old song and dance, my friend.
It's the same old story, same old story. Same old song and dance.

Fate comes a-knockin', doors start lockin'.
Your old time connection, change your direction.
Ain't gonna change it, can't rearrange it.
Can't stand the pain when it's all the same to you, my friend.

When you're low down and dirty, from walkin' the street,
With your old hurdy-gurdy, no one to meet.
Say love ain't the same, on the south side of town.
You could look, but you ain't gonna find it around.

It's the same old story, same old song and dance, my friend.
It's the same old story, same old story. Same old song and dance.

New Orleans, Louisiana
Wednesday, 4:03 am
February 26, 2020

Jack stretched and settled back into Jean's arms. He had to admit that afterglow with Jean DuValliere was exquisite. Everything about Jean was exquisite. Jack supposed it would not be beyond the realms of the probable to say he had a crush on the Cajun. He smiled to himself: him and half the city of New Orleans. Jean seemed universally attractive. Jack had been slightly surprised, but not too terribly, the first time he'd had flashes of desire for Jean. Jack knew that everyone had homoerotic thoughts at some point. He'd been curious about what attracted men to other men before though he'd never actually felt that attraction. No, he couldn't say he'd been at all surprised that he was attracted to Jean. He had been surprised though when he'd found the level of desire increasing each time he saw the other man. And when at last the opportunity to enjoy Jean's physical attentions had come, Jack had been quite happy to let Jean seduce him. He still got shivers thinking of Jean's softly accented voice whispering in his ear, "You ever been with a man, Jacques? You want to be with one now?" It was his own softly whispered "Yes," that had been surprising.

Jean had certainly changed Jack's mind about his own sexuality. And Jack was rather amazed at how comfortable he was with his newly-found bisexuality. Maybe that was because all the vampires seemed to consider it the norm. Maybe he was already thinking more like one of them than like the normal humans around him. He rather hoped so.

It really didn't matter. Sex with Jean was great and Jack enjoyed it immensely and that was all that mattered to either man. Jack had been extremely happy when Jean had accompanied him home after the annual family Mardi Gras celebration and asked to spend the night. In fact, all in all, Jack was quite happy with his world at the moment.

Jack hummed slightly as Jean ran knowing fingers over his chest. "Oh, that's nice." Jean's chuckle wound its way through Jack's body and Jack sighed contentedly. Jean's hands roved smoothly across Jack's muscles, sending sweet sensations through the human. "Ah, Jean, if you keep doing that, I will get no sleep at all before I have to go into the office."

Jean's laugh was quiet and filled with seduction. "So what do you want? Sleep or loving?"

Jack turned in his embrace and pressed himself against the other man. "Do I look stupid? Loving."

This time Jean's laugh rang through the house.

~~~~~

Jack handed Jean a cup of coffee and sat down across from him at the table.

"You all right? I shouldn't have kept you up all night," Jean said, half-concern, half-pride.

Jack grinned at him. "I'll sleep tonight. It was worth every moment of brain death that I'll have today."

Jean grinned and fiddled with his hand-held a moment longer. He frowned. At Jack's question he replied, "An e-mail. We're still having random disappearances. It's been nearly four years and demons are still vanishing from time to time. I don't understand it."

"Still no idea who's doing it or why they're being taken?"

Jean shook his head. "Non. And it's driving me crazy. I hate unsolved mysteries."

Jack laughed. "Me, too. That's why I joined F.B.I." He checked his watch. "Which reminds me. I need to leave in fifteen minutes or I'll never make it to my morning meeting."

Jean pocketed his computer. "Oui. I need to head back to the house. Nothing was done yesterday so I am already a day behind. Why doesn't the rest of the world celebrate Mardi Gras? It would make my life much easier, n'est-ce pas?"

Laughing, Jack walked Jean to the back door and onto the steps of the covered portico. Jean turned on the top step and kissed Jack lovingly. "We'll have dinner later in the week, yes?"

"I'd really like that."

With a tender caress to Jack's cheek and a wink, Jean bounded down the steps and into his car. He was gone in an instant. Jack shook his head and turned back into the house. He'd just picked up his coffee mug when his doorbell rang. With a sigh he sat his cup down and answered it.

Three agents, identification properly displayed, stood there. "Mr. Niemczyk? Would come with us, sir? We have a few questions we'd like to ask you."

~~~~~

Jack couldn't believe it. They'd dragged him all the way to the Federal courthouse and taken his badge and gun. They'd read him his Miranda rights. He was so mad he couldn't see straight. He crossed his arms and glared at the mirror across the room. He knew they were on the other side, of course. He knew why they were making him wait and it just pissed him off all the more. He knew every tactic they were using because he'd used them himself. How fucking dare they? He wanted to break something.

Agent Morrison strolled in, massive expandable folder under one arm and a cup of coffee in the opposite hand. "Good morning, Mr. Niemczyk. Shall we get right to this?"

Jack favored the other man with his favorite death glare. "Works for me."

Morrison sat down at the midway point of the table. "Fine. Would you care to tell me how long you've been taking bribes from known syndicate figures?"

"What!" Jack came straight up in his chair. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Morrison pulled his glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. He pulled a folder from his file and spread it open on the table before him. Jack wanted to strangle him for the delaying tactic. "We have irrefutable evidence that as recently as the evening of February 19th, you accepted a substantial sum of cash from a known Mafia leader." He pushed a screen-capture photo across the table to Jack.

Jack glanced at the picture of him and Spike. "Good God," he sighed. He knew when to talk and when to shut up. "I think this conversation is over until my lawyer arrives."

"Very well. Then I must inform you that you are under arrest for accepting bribes. Additionally you are being charged with two counts of conduct unbecoming an officer for your liaisons with one Mrs. William Roxton and one Mr. Jean Claude DuValliere. Since you have already been advised of your rights, we will proceed to Booking. If you'll come with me, sir."

Jack gritted his teeth as he was led away. All during the process of fingerprinting and mug shots he seethed and his heart burned.

~~~~~

Corwin Burns turned to the agents in the observation room with him. "Did you see? He knows we have him."

Michael Brady considered the now-empty interrogation room. "I saw that he was genuinely surprised at the allegations. Most...odd." The profiler seemed worried.

"Nonsense! He clammed up the minute he saw that photo. He knows his ass is ours." Glee emanated from Burns.

Brady sighed. "Overconfidence is never a good trait to cultivate, Mr. Burns," he said severely. "Now, if you'll excuse me, having finally seen Mr. Niemczyk in person, I'd like to review my profile on him. In the meantime, I suggest you continue to pursue questioning of all his associates, business and otherwise. This case is far from over."

~~~~~

"Well?" Brady looked up when Bill Morrison entered their makeshift office.

"Waiting on his lawyer to get here so we can do the arraignment and see if the judge sets bail." Morrison settled into his chair with a sigh. He hated cases like this. While more than glad to take down any dirty agent he could find, he hated finding them. It hurt him personally whenever an agent went bad. One like Niemczyk particularly hurt. The man had a pristine record and a conviction rate that Morrison envied. What the hell could turn a man like that? It had to be more than just the money, surely? Please God, let it be more than just the money. "They're almost finished searching his house."

"Anything interesting?"

"Oh! You can say that!" Morrison shook his head. "None of it makes sense, though. I'm beginning to think our Jack is psycho." The reports from the residence were more than troubling; they were downright weird. "He has bottles of blood, apparently human, in his refrigerator. Get this, it's labeled with date, blood type, and gender!"

Brady wasn't as surprised as Morrison thought he would be. In fact, the profiler looked saddened. "What else?"

"Some pretty odd weapons in a locked cabinet."

"What sort of weapons?" Brady looked out the window at the gray sky. He wished the sun would come out. He'd feel much better if it was sunny.

Morrison took a drink of his coffee. It was his fourth cup of the day and his stomach was already protesting the abuse. "There were lots of handguns, rifles, shotguns, the usual. But there were also a ton of swords, battle axes, and--now get this--wooden stakes, bottles marked 'holy water', all sort of voodoo-looking shit."

"Fuck," Brady whispered to himself. "So they got to him, too."

"What?" Morrison said. "I didn't get all that.

Brady waved it away with muttered "Nothing."

Morrison shrugged. "He also has the biggest collection of S&M toys that any of the agents have ever seen outside a porno store. I'd say Assistant Director Niemczyk is one sick puppy."

Brady sighed and tried not to think about what that statement could really mean. "I'll have to agree, Agent Morrison. And I'm afraid it's our duty to discover just how sick Mr. Niemczyk is."

~~~~~

Jack sat and glowered while the clerk read the charges in "United States Government versus John Patrick Niemczyk". He made a point to glower at Corwin Burns seated beside the U.S. Attorney prosecuting the case. He'd make sure one of the family ate that little motherfucker before the month was out. He had no doubt that Burns was the source of the investigation against him.

"... And further, we believe Mr. Niemczyk to a be a substantial flight risk and therefore request..."

"Flight risk!" Jack exploded. "I'm not running from anything and especially not from a piece of shit like Burns!"

While the judge banged his gavel and demanded order, Anne Osborne-McSwain shushed Jack. The look on the government prosecutor's face when the Chief Prosecuting Attorney for the Investigative Division of the DA's office for the City of New Orleans had stated that she would be acting as legal counsel for the defendant had been the one bright spot in the whole proceeding. Jack was grateful for Anne's presence. She and Remy were quite likely the only human friends he had. He felt better with her at his side. Jack settled back into his chair, mostly ignoring the judge's warning about further outbursts, and returned to glowering at everyone and everything. Since the arraignment was closed to the public, the prosecution team received most of his attention.

U.S. Attorney Roy Young continued. "And since the government does consider Mr. Niemczyk a substantial flight risk, we ask that bail in the amount of two million dollars be set..."

Anne was on her feet. "Objection! Such an amount is totally uncalled for and completely unnecessary. In a case of this nature two million dollars..."

"Two or twenty-five, it doesn't matter. It's taken care of." Baby was well and truly pissed off and her anger radiated throughout the entire room.

Jack grinned. He'd never seen anything quite so appealing as his mistress walking up the courtroom aisle with that I'm-gonna-rip-someone-to-pieces look on her face. Jean was less than two steps behind her and the ever-present Jerrod flanked him. Jack's world suddenly became a much sunnier place.

The bailiff didn't even bat an eye when Baby and Jean crossed the threshold that separated the observer's area from the actual court proceeding. Jean went immediately to Jack and, uncaring of who was looking, hugged him tightly. The court recorder folded her hands in her lap. She was a native of New Orleans and knew that whatever was said from this point on was off the record. Baby stopped 5 feet from the judge's stand. "I want the charges dropped now," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. The judge glanced quickly to the defendant and back to the woman before him. "He's mine," she explained in that same tone.

The judge nodded but before he could say anything Jack was up and moving. "No! I don't want them dropped. Not just because you say so." Baby looked at him, convinced he'd lost his mind. "They think I'm dirty. They think I'm crooked. I won't have it!"

"Jack..." Baby said warningly.

"No. This is my name and my reputation. When the charges are dropped, I want it to be because they fucking know I'm innocent." He set his jaw in a way she was far too familiar with.

Baby snarled at him. "I'm not letting you go to jail! Don't make me hurt you."

"Hurt me all you want. I'm not letting this go." He glared and then grinned at her until she relented. He knew when he'd won. "Besides, I like it when you hurt me."

"Jesus, Jack." She sighed and turned back to the judge. "Set your stupid bail and make it however much you want. It doesn't matter. And regardless of what he says, Jack's not gonna do a second of jail time." She turned and noticed Burns. "What the hell is that piss ant doing here?" she snarled. "This your idea, Junior? You got some weird ways of committing suicide, boy." She grinned when he paled. She planted herself on the first row of seats behind Jack, unbuttoning her blazer as she did so. Jack grinned; she was wearing nothing but a black satin bra under the cashmere suit.

Jean gave Jack a quick kiss and a whispered, "It will be all right, cher," before joining her.

The prosecution tried to object but was quickly silenced by the judge. Anne allowed Mr. Young to finish his argument and made her statement very brief, noting Jack's years of exemplary service, his spotless record, and his own assertion that he wanted the investigation to continue. With a wary eye on the two vampires seated in his courtroom, the Honorable Judge Herbert DuPre made his ruling. "As the defense has so eloquently stated, Mr. Niemczyk has no prior record whatsoever. Additionally, he has expressed in the, ahem, strongest terms his support of these proceedings. Therefore, he is released on his own recognizance..." The objections from the Prosecution were ignored and Jack was soon in Processing, gathering his belongings, and heading for Baby's limo.

As they drove away from the courthouse, Jean asked, "We can have these charges disappear, you know. You don't have to go through this." He took his friend's hand. "Are you sure about this, Jacques? This is your freedom you are playing with."

"I know," Jack said. "But it's also my good name. Jean, I can't let them take that. They can take anything but that."

~~~~~

New Orleans, Louisiana
Wednesday, 7:13 pm
February 26, 2020

Jack had planted himself in his favorite spot for contemplation, directly before the big window that looked out on his garden. "You heard?" he asked without turning.

"We heard," Baby said softly as she and Jean settled on one of Jack's big, puffy, leather couches. They had appeared from the bedroom as soon as Amanda Miller left.

"She risked a lot coming here. I'm sure they told all my people to have no further contact with me." He was silent for a moment. "She has to know the house is bugged, too."

"Yes she would, unless she's a complete idiot." Baby didn't like the feelings coming off her companion.

"She's not. She just wants to help me." Jack was silent again. "She thinks I'm guilty."

"Jacques..." Jean began but Jack held up a hand forestalling him.

"I could tell. She's worked with me closely for over six months now and she thinks I'm guilty." He didn't turn from the window. He could see his whole body reflected darkly in the glass, another Jack considering him even as he was considered. "Damn it! All I ever wanted was to put the bad guys away! You spend your life doing that, give up everything for the job, your marriages, your family, everything, just because you think you're making a difference somehow. And when you finally discover that you can do that and have a life, too, is it so bad to reach out and grab that life?" He felt strong arms wrap around him, though the reflected Jack remained alone. "What is so wrong with taking a little bit of freedom, of grabbing a little bit of comfort when it doesn't hurt anyone?"

"There's nothing wrong with that, sweetheart," Baby whispered as her arms joined Jean's. Jack could feel both of the vampires pressed against him, giving him their support, but the Jack in the night-dark glass remained alone. Jack wondered for an instant which Jack was real.

He shook the mood off and let his lovers comfort him with their presence. He sighed and leaned back into preternaturally strong arms. "You heard that they want me to turn evidence on the family. They want me to betray you all."

Baby nodded. "And I heard you refuse without even letting her finish the sentence." She nuzzled the side of his face. "Jack, after all this time, do you think I still don't trust you? You've been nothing but loyal to me. You know things about me that no one else knows." She met Jean's eyes. "Even Spike." Jean's eyebrows flicked for a moment. He understood the message. She turned Jack's face gently toward her until he was staring into her eyes. "I trust you implicitly."

Jean grinned and copied his mother's actions. Warm brown eyes locked with green ones. "So do I, m' Jacques." He ran a finger over Jack's companion mark. "You don't get that mark unless we trust you. You are family now, Jack."

Jack lost himself in Jean's kiss for long minutes, forgetting the reflected Jack, still alone but now showing a face transformed by ecstasy. "Yes. Family. Finally."

~~~~~

Jack's now ever-present observers listened and frowned as it became obvious that Jack and his two visitors were engaged in activities of a decidedly carnal nature. "Wish we could have gotten that camera hook-up in there," one of the Washington agents commented.

Vinnie Calzonetti paled and clutched the rosary in his pocket tightly. "Oh God. No! You really don't."

Frank Wilson turned rather green at the thought and wondered if he could take early retirement, say in the next five minutes. The snatches of conversation now coming from the speakers in the observation van were not helping the roiling of his stomach one bit.

"Oh God, yes, Jean!" Jack's voice held so much desire Vinnie could nearly see it flowing from the speakers. "Oh please Jean. I want to see your face, your real face. Let me see it."

"Oh God," Vinnie murmured and crossed himself. He tried his damnedest to go instantly deaf.

"What the hell is he talking about?" the younger of the two DC agents in the van muttered. "Real face?"

Wilson had his eyes squeezed shut as though not being able to see would mean he couldn't hear. The snarls and growls that now came over the audio system set him to shivering with a cold he couldn't fight.

"What the hell is that? They got some kind of big cat in there?" the DC agent continued.

Vinnie whimpered.

Jack's voice broke out over the snarls. "Oh Baby, yes! God, yes! You're so beautiful like that. Oh God, your teeth! I love your teeth. Yes! I want..." The next sound was somewhere between a moan and a scream and Vinnie had the tangential thought that the transcriber was going to have a hell of a time describing it. "Jean! Oh, bite! Yes, bite me. Please! Yes. Yes. Oh God, so good! Your fangs, so good. Oh God. Harder! Bite harder! OH! Baby! Yes. Oh honey, yes! Bite! Bite!"

Baby's laugh was low and guttural. "Shh, my Jack. Here, pumpkin. Drink. Drink from me."

Wilson's stomach couldn't take it anymore. He fell from the van and knelt in the gutter, retching. Vinnie fell to his knees inside the vehicle, rosary tightly clenched in his fist, as he repeated his Hail Mary over and over again as Jack screamed out his orgasm.

~~~~~

Jack lay content and spent between his lovers. He knew his house was bugged but he didn't care. He hoped they had enjoyed the show, damn them.

Baby lifted her head from his chest; she'd felt his bitterness through their link. "Honey? You know the best answer to all this."

He stroked her hair. "I do?"

She nodded and he felt her head move though he couldn't really see it in the darkness. "Let me turn you. Now, tonight. If you're dead, they can't do anything."

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "God, I want that. I want that so much. But I can't. Not yet." He felt Jean stir and knew he was listening as well. "I have to see this through. I can't stand the thought of being remembered as a... traitor. I just can't." He accepted Jean's caress. "Please understand. I want to be your son more than anything in this world. Except clearing my name. I can't die with this hanging over me. I just can't."

She kissed his chest. "I understand. Just know that whenever you want it, it's waiting for you."

Jean kissed his lips. "I look forward to the day you can call me uncle, Jacques du Coeurs." Jack could feel Jean's smile; he didn't need to see it. "We will waltz on your grave, yes?"

Jack felt desire bloom inside him. "Yes, we will. We'll dance for days. We'll dance forever."

~~~~~

"What the hell does that mean?" one of the DC agents asked.

Vinnie Calzonetti shook his head. He was incapable of speech. He had heard more than he ever wanted to know about things in which he had no interest.

Frank Wilson shuddered. "God help us all. It means you might as well pack up and go back to Washington. You've already lost this case." He stared toward Jack's house, its windows dark and lifeless. "And we've lost him." Another shudder racked his body. "God help us all."

Chapter 2 - "They're Out to Get Me"
By Ebony Silvers and Merzibelle

Been hiding' out and laying' low. It's nothing new to me.
Well you can always find a place to go,
If you can keep your sanity.
They break down the doors.
And they rape my rights but...
They won't touch me.
They scream and yell and fight all night.
You can't tell me.
I lose my head. I close my eyes
They won't touch me
'Cause I got something I been building' up inside
For so fucking long

They're out to get me. They won't catch me.
I'm fucking innocent. They won't break me.

Sometimes it's easy to forget where you're going.
Sometimes it's harder to leave.
And every time you think you know just what you are doing',
That's when your troubles exceed.
They push me in a corner. Just to get me to fight but...
They won't touch me.
They preach and yell and fight all night.
You can't tell me.
I lose my head. I close my eyes.
They won't touch me.
'Cause I got something I been building' up inside.
I'm already gone.

Some people got a chip on their shoulder.
And some would say it was I.
But I didn't buy that fifth of whiskey,
That you gave me.
So I'd be quick to disagree.

They out to get me. They won't catch me.
'Cause I'm innocent. So you can suck me.
Take that one to heart.

New Orleans, Louisiana
Thursday, 8:12 am
February 27, 2020

Special Agent Michael Brady clicked the PC remote control and a much-more-than-life-size picture appeared on the projection screen. "John Patrick Niemczyk. Mr. Niemczyk is the product of a traditional lower middle class home. His parents, first generation Americans, one Irish, one Polish, are a teacher and a grocer. The eldest of four children, he is the only one to have escaped the poverty of his Chicago upbringing. Research has shown that he at least partially supports his parents and siblings as well as providing substantial alimony and child support to his former spouses and his children. Both children attend Ivy League schools with full tuition paid for by their father, as well as receiving healthy allowances." He paused for a moment to let the assembled agents consider where all that money could be coming from. The task force included agents from both the D.C. headquarters of the F.B.I. and the local field office in New Orleans. The two groups had silently and voluntarily segregated themselves, the locals eyeing the newcomers with barely concealed hostility.

"Mr. Niemczyk put himself through school on scholarships and by working odd jobs. Attending the Academy at Quantico on federal grant monies, Mr. Niemczyk became an agent immediately after graduating with a pre-law degree from the University of Chicago." Brady clicked another picture onto the screen. Jack's arrest/conviction record appeared. "Mr. Niemczyk rose quickly through the ranks at F.B.I., gaining particular attention as a profiler specializing in serial killers. It was Mr. Niemczyk's apprehension of John Marcus, the only known agent turned mass killer, that led to his elevation to head of the New Orleans field office. Until his arrest this week, Mr. Niemczyk held the post of Assistant Director in Charge of the Southeast Region. Brilliant, observant, patriotic, Mr. Niemczyk was to all appearances the perfect agent.

"However, in recent years, it has become apparent that this merely was appearances only and that Mr. Niemczyk has turned his back on his integrity as an agent of the F.B.I. For the last four years he has been deeply involved with organized crime, specifically the Roxton Syndicate, headed by this man." A somewhat fuzzy shot of Spike appeared on the screen. "William Roxton, a.k.a. William the Bloody, a.k.a. Spike, a.k.a. the Master." A second shot of Spike, no better than the first appeared. "Mr. Roxton and his 'family' run organized crime in the state of Louisiana and along a fair portion of the Gulf Coast. Be it smuggling, illegal gambling, protection rackets, or the sale of controlled substances, the Roxtons have a hand in it. Nothing illegal occurs in their territory without their permission. It has been extremely difficult for the Bureau to get close to any of the family. The Roxtons are notoriously insular and extremely suspicious of outsiders. One informant went so far as to state that you had to die to join the family."

One of the local agents choked on his coffee.

Brady ignored the interruption. "Very little is known about William Roxton. All paper trails end in mid-to-early 2000. There is no hint that he existed prior to that date. There are indications based on not entirely reliable sources that Roxton is a native of the United Kingdom, but so far New Scotland Yard and Interpol have been unable to supply any information on his origins. Agent Munimoto, your task is to find out everything you can about William Roxton and his wife."

Brady clicked again. "Mrs. William Roxton." Baby appeared in all her hooker-clad glory. "A.k.a. Baby Roxton, a.k.a. the Queen of New Orleans." He sighed to himself. "If possible, we know even less about Mrs. Roxton than we do about her husband. We don't even know her proper name. She's listed as Baby Roxton on her marriage certificate. Like her husband, she does not seem to have existed prior to the year 2000. Evidence more than suggests that she is the source of Agent Niemczyk's change of heart. Mr. Niemczyk, in blatant contradiction of Bureau standards, has been conducting an open affair with Mrs. Roxton. In addition to offering her sexual favors, Mrs. Roxton is the purchaser on record of both Mr. Niemczyk's house and his Bentley Azure."

"She bought him a freaking Rolls Royce?" someone muttered.

"Yes, she did, as well as designer clothes, exotic vacations, and very expensive jewelry," Brady continued. "We estimate that Mrs. Roxton has spent in excess of three million dollars on Mr. Niemczyk since their affair began in 2016. And that's just what we've been able to track."

"Jesus! What has he been doing for her?" one of the D.C. agents asked.

The local agents, huddled together in the back of the room as far from the interlopers from Washington as they could manage to be, gave a collective shudder. "Oh God, you don't want to know," Vinnie Calzonetti muttered to himself.

"We have no doubts that Mrs. Roxton is both the initiator of Mr. Niemczyk's corruption and his main contact with organized crime," Brady said. At the push of a button, Jack's voice filled the room.

"Don't worry about it, honey. You know I'm completely loyal to you. I don't care about Spike or any of the others. I belong to you. Just you, Baby."

"In dealing with Mr. Niemczyk, I believe we would benefit from concentrating our interview tactics on threats to Mrs. Roxton, up to and including potentially 'fatal' situations. One never knows where a stray bullet may go, etc. We will more than likely get a full confession in exchange for sureties of her safety." Brady didn't see the terror that gripped the local contingent at his words. "Additionally, threats against this man would also be effective against Mr. Niemczyk." A rather flattering picture of Jean appeared on the screen. "Jean Claude DuValliere, a.k.a. Jean Roxton, a.k.a. John Williamson, a.k.a. Prince Jean, a.k.a. Saint Jean. The self-styled Prince of New Orleans. Mr. DuValliere is also engaged in an open love affair with Mr. Niemczyk."

There were grumbles around the room and several sounds of disgust.

"Mr. DuValliere is quite... interesting." A picture of a slightly younger and very innocent-looking Jean appeared on the screen. "Dr. Jean DuValliere, Professor of Philosophy at Tulane University." Brady waited a second for that to sink in. "This photo was taken in 1994. Dr. DuValliere died August 20, 2000."

Vinnie crossed himself.

"Autopsy records indicate Dr. DuValliere died of stab wounds inflicted during a robbery. The murderer's body was found only a few feet from Dr. DuValliere's. His murder case is still unsolved."

One of the Washington agents frowned. "Okay, that doesn't make any sense."

Morrison resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Obviously, the syndicate noted the resemblance between the dead man and one of their own who, for whatever reason, needed a new identity. That criminal assumed the dead Jean DuValliere's identity." He didn't notice the head shakes among the locals. "It seems to be a common practice with this organization."

Brady resumed control of the briefing. "The individual currently calling himself Jean DuValliere is a notorious philanderer noted for his amazing number of affairs and one night stands. He is also without doubt the number two man in the Roxton syndicate. Many believe he may actually be the brains of the organization. When questioning Mr. DuValliere, it would be best to appeal to his ego, especially his reputation as a lover. Though openly bi-sexual, he is particularly susceptible to female beauty. Therefore, I would suggest that Agent Harrison handle his questioning." He nodded toward a particularly pretty female agent in the second row.

Bowles leaned over and whispered in Wilson's ear. "The Prince will have her panties around her ankles in less than five minutes."

Wilson nodded and grinned wickedly. "Hell, he'd have Brady's panties around his ankles in less than that." Bowles' resulting guffaw earned him hard looks and a reprimand. He didn't care. He just hoped the boys and girls from out of town didn't piss off the family too much. Bowles had no wish to see F.B.I. New Orleans in flames.

Brady continued. He was getting tired and really wanted to get this over with. "Another tactic that might be useful against both Mrs. Roxton and Mr. DuValliere are threats against this man."

As a new picture flashed onto the screen Agent Harrison let out a startled "Whoa!"

"Yes, he seems to have that effect on a great many people." He sighed. "René Devereau Beaumont." In the photo, the Cajun lounged shirtless against a balcony support with a beaming smile on his face. The photo was crystal clear and the camera, like every female agent and three male agents in the room, was in love with him. "A.k.a. René Roxton, a.k.a. René Williamson, a.k.a. the Master of Mobile, a.k.a. René the Beautiful."

"That's no lie," a woman's voice said from somewhere in the back of the room.

"Mr. Beaumont has a criminal record stretching back to his pre-teen years, including convictions for possession of drugs and weapons, assault, solicitation, and prostitution. Mr. Beaumont was a career criminal until his death on May 12, 2001."

"Not another one!" someone snarked.

"Yes, apparently so. However, in this case rather than assuming an innocent person's identify, Mr. Beaumont's death was faked for reasons unknown." Brady glanced at his notes, though he didn't need them. He just hated thinking of René Beaumont. "There have been no arrests or convictions following Mr. Beaumont's 'death;' however, his admission into the family is directly responsible for the rise of the Beaumont family's prominence as a criminal force in Louisiana. Mr. Beaumont is the acknowledged number three man in the organization. He is also their major 'muscle,' providing the physical intimidation necessary for the smooth running of the syndicate."

"Why would threats against him work on DuValliere?" someone asked.

"Because Jean loves him," Wilson muttered. It came out much louder than he intended.

"Precisely, Agent Wilson," Brady said. "DuValliere has publicly acknowledged multiple times that he is in love with Mr. Beaumont. There is no doubt that they are lovers. Any threats to Mr. Beaumont will be particularly effective against Mr. DuValliere."

Wilson got a very nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, effective at getting their heads ripped off," he whispered to Vinnie.

"Likewise, threats against Mr. DuValliere will prove effective against Mr. Beaumont. Additionally, threats against Mrs. Roxton will be extremely effective if used with Mr. Beaumont."

Vinnie shook his head. "Aw, no! You don't want to do that. That's the best way I know to get killed." Bowles shushed him.

"Do you have some information you'd like to share, Agent Calzonetti?"

Vinnie shook off Bowles' hand. "Look, you come down here and you don't know anything. You're messing with something you can't understand. All you're doing is asking to get yourself killed." Wilson shushed him softly but Vinnie ignored him. "I'm just telling you, you threaten Lady Roxton to Prince René's face and you're gonna die. It's that simple. He takes threats to her real serious and he ain't the forgiving type. None of the family is very forgiving."

"Thank you for that confirmation of my theory, Agent," Brady said. "Each interrogation team will find specific interviewing strategies for their subjects in the folders passed out at the beginning of this briefing." He sighed. He very much wanted this over with. "Now go bring them in."

~~~~~

New Orleans, Louisiana
Thursday, 9:52 pm
February 27, 2020

It hadn't been difficult to locate or pick up four of the five suspects Agent Morrison wanted questioned. They had been unable to get close to William Roxton but they had found his wife, René Beaumont, Jean DuValliere, and Jack Niemczyk leaving the Chart House restaurant as if they were visiting royalty rather than miscreants under investigation by the U.S. government. There had been a tense moment when it looked as though Mrs. Roxton's bodyguard would cause problems but she had waved him away and voluntarily come in, stating that the questioning "might be fun." They now occupied four separate interrogation rooms at the Federal courthouse.

SAC Morrison entered Interrogation Room 3 to find the infamous Baby Roxton comfortably seated with her feet propped on the corner of the table and a steaming cup of coffee at her elbow. There was a suspicious smell of liquor on the air. "What the hell?" He picked up the coffee, sniffed it, and immediately dumped it in the trash.

Baby sighed. "Now why'd you go and do that? The boys are just gonna have to fix me another."

Agent Bowles nodded and pushed one of his subordinates toward the door. "You heard the lady," he said quietly.

The younger agent was gone before Morrison could stop him. "Are you nuts? She's a criminal. What the hell are you doing?"

Baby grinned and held out her hand. Agent Bowles handed her his flask without hesitation. She took a sip and handed it back. "Let's just face it, Agent. New Orleans men know how to treat a lady."

Morrison frowned. "I know exactly how to treat a lady and as soon as I see one, I'll act accordingly."

Baby's grin broadened. "I was right. This is gonna be fun."

"I seriously doubt that," Morrison said and sat down diagonally from her. He pushed her cowboy boots off the table. He opened his file. "It is my duty to inform you that this interrogation is being recorded. You have the right to have your attorney present. If you cannot afford an attorney...

She cut him off. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I don't need a lawyer."

Morrison sighed. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "Could you state your name for the record and your titles if any?"

Baby grinned proudly. "I am Consort to William the Bloody." She put her feet back on the table.

"Don't be flip with me. Full and proper name..." He pushed her boots again and was surprised when they didn't budge. He decided not to engage in an undignified shoving match with her feet.

"I am Consort to William the Bloody, Consort to René the Beautiful." She thought for a moment. "Ex-Consort to Angelus the Cruel."

"So you screw around a lot. That doesn't answer the question."

"Queen of New Orleans," she said as though he hadn't spoken. Gary Bowles closed his eyes and wondered what sort of flowers he should send to Morrison's funeral.

"And there are no queens in New Orleans except for the drag queens down on Bourbon."

Baby nearly died laughing. "I have better clothes," she said. "Or at least flashier ones." She smiled at him. "You're quick. I like that in a man."

Morrison felt an ulcer coming on. "Madam... unless you wish to spend the rest of the night in a holding cell downtown you will answer the questions put to you. Now, state your full name, occupation and current residence for the record."

Baby's tone changed and Morrison was somewhat surprised to hear her accent nearly disappear. "I reside at La Maison du Rouge s'Elevé, 1125 Royal Street, New Orleans." There was no amusement in her eyes as she continued. "I am Consort to William the Bloody and Queen of New Orleans." Some of the severity in her countenance lessened. "But you can call me Baby. Everyone does."

Morrison bristled. "Baby is not a name. We need the name on your birth certificate. You can give it to us. Or we can print you and find it."

"It's the only name I got, sugar." The accent was back, stronger than before. "But since you don't like it, you can address me as Lady Roxton." There was a definite edge to her voice now.

The tone of her last statement sent fingers of ice into Bowles' heart. "Ma'am, please. He doesn't mean any disrespect. Agent Morrison, that really is Lady Roxton's name."

"I seriously doubt that, Agent Bowles. We'll find out your real name, madam. I'm sure someone like you...." He favored her with a disgusted look. "Has a record somewhere. If nothing else, we'll find that birth certificate."

Baby giggled. "I wasn't born, darling. I appeared like Athena from Zeus' forehead." Her eyes glowed and yellow sprang from their golden depths. "I don't exist. I'm not real."

Agent Bowles gave into temptation and crossed himself.

"Everyone exists, madam," Morrison contended. "And we will find you."

There was a maniacal tint to Baby's laughter that chilled Agent Bowles and brought a frown of concern to Morrison's face. "Ask your colleagues. They'll tell you. I don't exist."

"Let it go, Agent. Please just let it go," Bowles said.

Morrison wondered why Brady hadn't told him Baby Roxton was insane. He decided to change tracks. "Did you or did you not purchase a house and give it to one John Patrick Niemczyk?"

Baby grinned again. "I did. And before you even bother to ask, I gave him a car. A very nice car. And some lovely clothes. And some lovely presents." She winked at Bowles. "I take good care of my men."

Morrison sighed. At least he'd gotten a straight answer on that. "And what is your relationship to Mr. Niemczyk that you would be so generous?"

Baby accepted her cup of coffee from the returning agent and held it out expectantly. Completely ignoring Morrison's frown, Bowles added a generous dollop of liquor from his own hip flask to the milky mix. "Thank you, darlin'," she said before turning her attention to Morrison. "Originally Jack was my Pet. He is now my properly marked Companion." Bowles and the other two local agents shivered. "I took good care of him when he was my Pet and I take better care of him now that he is my Companion. I've been quite happy with Jack's... performance." Innuendo dripped from the word.

"And what duties precisely does Mr. Niemczyk perform for you?" Morrison asked.

"Oh God, no," Bowles muttered.

"Jack." Baby bit her lower lip and Bowles could have sworn her canines looked a tad too sharp. The glee on her face was more than he could stand. "Jack is very pretty. I like pretty men. He looks really good on my arm when we go out. He's very smart, too, and can keep me amused with witty conversation." She laughed and Bowles turned cold at the sound. If he'd ever doubted she was a demon, he no longer did so. Her boots hit the floor with a loud thunk and she leaned forward, invading Morrison's personal space. "But mostly Jack screams better than any man I've ever seen. He bleeds so good it makes my insides warm." The smile was gone from her face; the near-sneer that replaced it sent terror shooting through Bowles. "He bruises like fine art. The way he begs me to stop hurting him makes my heart want to beat." Yellow swirled through her eyes again. She snarled through clenched teeth. "Jack's got a fucking big dick and he... Makes. Me. Come."

"Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am. You're free to go," Bowles said in a rush.

"What! You have no authority to..."

Bowles cut Morrison off. "Until Jack's replaced, I'm acting ADC for the Region. That gives me the authority. This interview is over."

"You may be used to catering to the criminal element but I'm not," Morrison spat. "What the hell are you so afraid of? They are nothing. We are here to conduct an investigation. If you can't be non-biased, then maybe we should have you suspended until this is over."

"Fine. I'll be alive. I'd sooner be suspended than dead." Bowles turned to Baby. "Miss Baby, ma'am, you remember that we showed you no disrespect. You tell the Master... Please ma'am."

Baby nodded. The smile had returned to her face. "I'll remember, Gary. I remember everything." She stood and picked up her cup. "Thanks for the coffee, sugar." She took a sip. "Mmm, just the way I like it." She patted his cheek as she passed him. As she reached the door she paused. Without turning back to him, she said, "Agent Morrison, Jack's mine. You may not understand what that means but I'm sure someone will explain it to you. I will not have him railroaded for something he hasn't done. Jack Niemczyk is the best agent your Bureau ever had. The sooner you get that through your head, the better. For all of you."

Chapter 3 - "Rocket Queen"
By Ebony Silvers & Merzibelle

If I say I don't need anyone, I can say these things to you.
'Cause I can turn on any one Just like I turned on you.
I've got a tongue like a razor, A sweet switchblade knife.
And I can do you favors, but then you'll do whatever I like.

Here I am. And you're a Rocket Queen.
I might be a little young But honey I ain't naive.
Here I am and you're a Rocket Queen oh yeah.
I might be too much But honey you're a bit obscene.

I've seen everything imaginable Pass before these eyes.
I've had everything that's tangible Honey you'd be surprised.
I'm a sexual innuendo in this burned out paradise.
If you turn me on to anything, You better turn me on tonight.

I see you standing, standing on your own.
It's such a lonely place for you for you to be.
If you need a shoulder or if you need a friend.
I'll bee here standing until the bitter end.
No one needs the sorrow No one needs the pain.
I hate to see you Walking out there Out in the rain.
So don't chastise me Or think I, I mean you harm.
Of those that take you, leave you strung out,
Much too far Baby-yeah.

Don't ever leave me Say you'll always be there.
All I ever wanted was for you to know that I care.

New Orleans, Louisiana
Thursday, 10:09 pm
February 27, 2020

"There's a problem, sir."

Not exactly the first words Michael Brady wanted to hear as he entered Interrogation Room 1. "And that is?"

"He won't speak English."

Brady sighed. He wasn't surprised. "So he's refusing to answer any questions."

"Oh no, sir. He's answering them all. He's just doing it in French. Cajun French. Agent Murphy speaks French but it's French French, sir, and she's only getting about every third word."

"Good lord. This is New Orleans, surely there is someone in law enforcement that speaks Cajun and can translate!" Brady wanted to scream and he hadn't even asked his first question yet.

"Yes, sir. We've already sent for him. He's on his way. Maybe ten minutes or so."

Michael took a seat next to Vinnie Calzonetti, who if anything looked even less pleased to be there than Brady was. Brady took the time to carefully observe the subject.

He had to admit that René Beaumont was beautiful. As much as he hated the man, as much as he wanted to put a bullet between those famous teal eyes, he had to admit René was beautiful. Maybe that was how he had corrupted Rebekah. Maybe that incredible physical beauty had seduced his young cousin away from her family. It was the only thing he could think of. Surely, she had not been impressed with this trashily dressed punk. From his too-long black hair to the flashy silver tips of his boots, René Beaumont was obviously nothing but a petty street-walking criminal.

Before Brady was too tempted to pull his gun and just shoot the bastard, his interpreter arrived. Brady raised an eyebrow when the two men not only shook hands but also embraced briefly.

"Captain Remy McSwain, NOPD," the newcomer introduced himself. "I hear y'all can't understand a word René's saying."

"You assistance is appreciated, Captain," Brady said and sat back down. He didn't see Remy mocking him but René did and grinned broadly at his cousin. "Shall we get started then?" Brady opened his case file. He informed René of his rights and that the session was being recorded. He was surprised when Remy didn't translate.

"Oh, René understands English. He just doesn't want to speak it. He's a militant Francophone some days," Remy explained. "A card carrying member of CODOFIL."

Brady shook his head and decided it wasn't worth the effort to argue or even ask. "Please state your name for the record and any titles you might have."

"René Devereau Beaumont, le deuxième fils de William le Sanglant, le Maître d'Alabama et Floride du nord. Le fils du Roi de Nouveau Orleans." René said without the least hesitation.

"René Devereau Beaumont, second son of William the Bloody, Master of Alabama and north Florida. Son of the King of New Orleans," Remy dutifully translated.

"I beg your pardon?" Brady said.

"Le prince René Devereau Beaumont, le deuxième fils de William le Sanglant, le Maître d'Alabama et Floride du nord. Le fils du Roi de Nouveau Orleans. S'associer à la Reine de Nouvelle-orléans et le Prince héritier Jean Claude DuValliere. L'Amant réclamé au Maître de Louisiane." René added a few things just to annoy the agent.

"Prince René Devereau Beaumont, second son of William the Bloody, Master of Alabama and north Florida. Son of the King of New Orleans. Consort to the Queen of New Orleans and the Crown Prince Jean Claude DuValliere. Claimed Lover to the Master of Louisiana." Remy looked up in surprise at that last bit. "Really? The Master."

René grinned. "Mais oui."

"Well, I'll be damned!" Remy said. "Shit, why didn't you tell me? Shouldn't we have had a party or something? Hell, I didn't even know you and Jean had gotten married. Damn! After all these years! Congratulations, son!" He thought for a moment. "Mama's gonna be upset with you. You know how she is about weddings. She's gonna want to throw a shower for Jean."

"Captain McSwain!"

"Huh? Oh sorry. Family stuff, you know how it is," Remy said with the self-deprecating smile that turned Anne's knees weak and had no effect whatsoever on Brady.

"Might we continue?" Brady asked with a glare. At Remy's assertion of "Oh sure," he asked. "Mr. Beaumont, what is your occupation?"

René smirked and Remy got that tingle that he only got when he and his brother or cousins were messing with someone. René was in an evil mood tonight and nothing was more fun than that. "Le général de l'armée du Maître, Warlord du Racheté, Conquerer pour l'Empire de la Lance. Le seigneur de clan de Aurelius de Maison." René thought for a moment and smiled. "J'épargne le monde un lotissement."

Remy nearly spit his coffee. "Good God, René!"

"Captain McSwain!" Brady protested.

"Sorry. Ah... he said, General of the Master's army, Warlord of the Redeemed, Conquerer for Spike's Empire. Clan lord of House Aurelius." Remy was trying very hard not to giggle. "I save the world a lot."

"Save the world?"

"Mais oui," René said with some pride.

"By corrupting Federal agents?"

René quirked an eyebrow at his questioner and Brady moved on.

"What is your relationship to John Patrick Niemczyk?"

René snarled. "I have no relationship to Niemczyk," Remy translated. "And I don't want one."

"So you know nothing about any moneys Mr. Niemczyk might have taken to perform duties for your... family?"

René's sneer was nearly comical. "I try not to know anything about Niemczyk. I try not to hear about him and I try not to think about him," Remy said as René finished speaking.

"Really? That's odd, considering the reputation your family has for sharing everything. You don't have any sort of relationship with Mr. Niemczyk? Considering your own record, I find it hard to believe you haven't joined Mrs. Roxton and Mr. DuValliere in sharing Agent Niemczyk's favors." Brady paused. "Perhaps I phrased that badly. Considering your record, I find it hard to believe that Agent Niemczyk hasn't sampled your..." He looked René over like the whore the Cajun had once been. "Favors."

René came straight off his chair faster than Brady had believed any man could move. He found himself pressed against a wall with a vice-like grip around his throat and fiery eyes glaring into his.

Remy managed to insert an arm between the two men. "René, please. I know you don't kill the innocent. He may be a pain in the ass, but he's an innocent."

René growled deep and low, a feline, animalistic sound. Vinnie Calzonetti crossed himself and began to pray softly.

With a final squeeze, René released the FBI agent. "You want to know what I think of your Agent Niemczyk, heh? I tell you," he grated in his heavily accent English. "I think he's an egotistical, obnoxious son of a bitch who's sleeping with my wife and my husband. I don't like him!" He slammed his fist into the wall beside Brady's head. "The only reason the motherfucking bastard is still alive is because Maman won't let me kill him. The thought of him joining the family makes my skin crawl."

Vinnie prayed harder, his rosary held tightly in his hand. René whirled on him. "I'm getting real tired of people waving crosses in my face!" With the same speed that had so shocked Brady, he swooped down on Calzonetti and snatched the rosary from him. "You see! Look!" René brought the crucifix to his lips and with a muttered prayer of his own, kissed it. "Stop looking at me like I'm a monster. God damn it!" He glared at the Italian with yellow-rimmed eyes. "I am Redeemed. That Heaven you keep calling on? Well I been there! And it's..." The anger melted away for his face and something akin to longing bloomed in his eyes. "It's more wonderful than you can imagine. You do everything you can to find your way there, heh?" He took Vinnie's hand and dropped the rosary into his palm. René closed the human's fingers around the holy object. "All you got to do is try, 'cause God, He forgives a lot as long as you try. You know? If He can forgive me?" René didn't finish that thought. Vinnie stared into the eyes of a demon and saw salvation. He nodded. René smiled a touch sadly. "That good then. Maybe I meet you there one day and call you brother."

Vinnie swallowed. "I'd like that," he whispered.

René nodded. "I got nothing else to say," he advised the other agents and strode from the room. None of them offered even token objection.

Vinnie watched him go with a new heart. When in the coming years he received his ordination for the priesthood, René Beaumont was an invited and welcome guest.

~~~~~

New Orleans, Louisiana
Thursday, 10:33 pm
February 27, 2020

Agent Harrison straightened her skirt and looked at the subject across from her. He certainly looked unconcerned with the prospect of being interrogated. One cashmere-clothed leg crossed over the other, an arm dangling over the back of his chair, he was the picture of ease and refinement. "Please state your name for the record."

"Jean Claude DuValliere," he said in a soft voice. She could understand how he gained his reputation. That faint accent and rich voice were very appealing.

"For the record, could you please state your current occupation?" she continued.

"Crown Prince of the Master's Empire," Jean said with a faint smile.

"Oookay. Anything else... any fancy titles?" she said. "Mr. Beaumont seems to have had a few.... we think."

Jean smiled. "Mais oui, cher. But they mean nothing."

He was charming; she'd have to give him that. "We still need them for the record, sir."

He shrugged. Maman was right. This was fun. "What are titles? Silly words." He sighed. "But since you ask...Very well." He smiled engagingly. "Do you perfer French or English? I prefer French. It's such a beautiful language. It should always be used when speaking to such a belle as yourself."

Agent Harrison felt her face grow warm. "Whatever is best for carrying them across. We can always translate later."

Jean's smile deepened. He appreciated that delicate blush. "As you will, cher belle. Je suis Jean Claude DuValliere, le fils aîné de William le Sanglant, le Prince héritier de Nouvelle-Orléans, le Conjoint à René le Beau, Amant Reconnu de la Reine de Nouvelle-Orléans, l'Amant Réclamé du Roi, l'Héritier au Maître de Louisiane." He bowed his head humbly and translated for her. "I am Jean Claude DuValliere, eldest son of William the Bloody, Crown Prince of New Orleans, Consort to René the Beautiful, Acknowledged Lover of the Queen of New Orleans, Claimed Lover of the King, Heir to the Master of Louisiana. They call me Jean de saint l'Amant. Saint Jean the Lover."

"Interesting titles." This group seemed preoccupied with who was bedding whom. "And your current residence?"

He gave the address while observing her with a gleam in his dark eyes. Frank Wilson and the other local agents exchanged glances. "Five to one says he has her legs spread in a hotel room before the week's over," Agent Johnson whispered.

Wilson shook his head. "Twenty-four hours. I figure he'll have her begging for it tomorrow night."

Smithfield considered the D.C. agent. "Sunrise. Twenty bucks says he does her by sun up."

Agent Harrison was unaware of the bets being placed on her virtue. "Thank you, sir. Now we'd like to discuss a few matters concerning former Special Agent John Niemczyk."

"Ah, Jacques." There was affection, seduction, and respect somehow mingled in the way Jean said the other man's name.

"Specifically your relationship to him, business or otherwise. If you could clarify that relationship, sir."

"Jacques? Jack is one of my lovers." There was no hesitation, no shame. It simply was.

"I see. We have documentation that supports a more nefarious connection. Your response?" She was pleased with his cooperation so far.

"Nefarious? Jacques? Cher belle, when Jack is with me he is only thinking of one thing and it has nothing to do with anything nefarious. Amorous, oh yes. Nefarious, non." That charming smile was firmly in place, so was a hint of a leer.

Mindful of Brady's instructions, she began pacing, considering Jean and his responses. "Hmm...." She perched on the edge of the table, giving Jean ample opportunity to check out her legs. "And your personal opinion of Mr. Niemczyk?"

Jean's smile was electric. "MMmmmm, Jack is delicious. He's very pretty. And I do like my lovers, both male and... female to be pretty. He's very adventuresome. You know? Adventuresome? Are you adventuresome, cher? Or are you romantique? I like romantique." He brought his arm around from behind the chair, rolling his shoulder, the play of muscles smooth and inviting. "I like to send them roses. Take them to nice dinners, the theatre." He grinned. "See they have multiple orgasms." He waited while she blinked and Wilson recovered from a coughing attack. "If a woman spends the night with me she should come at least a dozen times. One for each rose."

Agent Harrison swallowed. Good God! No wonder this man had the reputation he did. If he could back up even a quarter of his boasts he'd have women lined up for blocks for a chance to date him. "Nice dinners? It's those dinners that have come into question. Are you certain that no... underhanded dealings went on? Perhaps, one-time payments and the like?" Jean was focused on her knees and she decided to try another Brady tactic. "Please, sir." She had to lean back a bit. He was too close, too immediate. "I am on a case. If I can get anything to please the boss... perhaps you can 'show' me what went on at these dinners with Mr. Niemczyk. It would go a long way toward clearing up any... misunderstandings."

"Ah. I can show you exactly what went on at those dinners." Jean slid his hand to her nylon-clad leg. "Mmmm, maybe I send you two dozen roses, cher."

Her eyes went big. She lifted his hand and returned it to the table. "Not here. I'm not going down like he did. You may be the hottest thing in the South, but you've already ruined his career. You aren't taking mine," she whispered. Jean wondered who she was trying to convince. She slid from the table and resumed her pacing. In a more normal tone she continued, "So you have no information concerning the transactions that we've seen between you and the former ADA?"

Jean ignored the question. "Mmmm, they tell you my reputation, m' belle? I'm the best lover in Louisiana. I make men beg for it. I make women cry for it. When I have dinner with my lover, the only thing he... or she is thinking of is how quickly they can get me alone and naked. They're not thinking of plots or transactions, petite. They're thinking of pleasure. Because there is no one can give pleasure like Jean DuValliere. Jacques is no exception."

She took defense in anger. "And you're just full of yourself tonight, aren't you? Get that from her.... the madam. She started his downfall. We're finishing it. The records are there. Now, one last time. You have no business dealings with Mr. Niemczyk?"

Jean grinned. "Jacques is family. There are no business dealings inside the family. There is only love."

She blinked again. That was not the answer she'd anticipated. "Very well." She knew when she was defeated. "It's been a... pleasure talking with you. You are free to go, but please don't leave town. That would be undesirable. Should you change your mind and wish to speak with us, I can be reached here." She handed him her business card and said in a voice too low for the microphones to pick up, "And if you want to impress me, pink ones. I don't like red."

Jean's grin was huge as he walked toward the door. "Yeah, I'm thinking two dozen roses at the very least," he told himself aloud.

Chapter 4 - "Hangman Jury"
By Ebony Silvers & Merzibelle

Me and my old lady sittin' in the shade,
Talkin' about the money that I ain't made.
Singin' o boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
O boy dontcha line the track,
O boy dontcha line the track a lack a,
O boy dontcha line the track.

If I could I surely would,
Stand on the rock that Moses stood.
Singin' o boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
O boy dontcha line the track.
O boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
O boy dontcha line the track.

Drank so much hooch it made my eyes be gettin' blurry.
They say I nailed her to the wall.
A stitch in time don't mean a thing. No hangman jury...
Could make me crawl.
Cause I'm a poor boy. Dontcha line the track a lack a
O boy dontcha line the track a lack a
O boy dontcha line the track. Oh...

Whacha do with a gun that's loaded?
Shot her dead and her heart exploded.
Tell me, baby, now d-dontcha worry,
Like lying to a hangman jury.

I swear I didn't know that 45 was loaded.
In fact my memory ain't too clear.
That's not to say she didn't get what she deserved.
Least that's the way it looked from here.
Boy when you line the track a lack a.
Hey boy when you line the track a lack a.
Hey boy when you line the tack.

Oh, my love came tumblin' down.
Oh, love come tumblin' down.
Oh, (let's get outta here).
When love come tumblin'.

And every night she take her thing into the city.
And in the mornin' make me beg.
Cause if I'd taken all her real titty gritty.
I'd smack her right upside the head.
Boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
Hey boy dontcha line the track.
Hey boy dontcha line the tack.

Oh, my love came tumblin' down.
Oh, love come tumblin' down.
Oh, love come tumblin'.

Poor boy sweatin' in the hot summer night.
Hangman waitin' for the early mornin' light.
Singin' Hey boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
Hey boy dontcha line the track.
Hey boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
Hey boy dontcha line the track.

If I could I surely would,
Stand on the rock that Moses done stood.
Singin' Hey boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
Hey boy dontcha line the track.
Hey boy dontcha line the track a lack a.
Hey boy dontcha line the track.

New Orleans, Louisiana
Thursday, 10:53 pm
February 27, 2020

Jack knew exactly what to expect when U.S. Attorney Roy Young entered the interrogation room with a couple of unfamiliar agents in tow. He wasn't disappointed.

"Mr. Niemczyk, on behalf of the government and to prevent a long drawn-out trial, I have been authorized to offer you the following: If you will plead guilty to conduct unbecoming to an officer, retire from the FBI, and provide evidence against the Roxton syndicate, all other charges against you will be dropped. In return for your cooperation, you would, of course, be placed in protective custody until their trials end. At which time, we will arrange for you to disappear."

Jack smiled. It wasn't even that good an offer. "No, thank you. I'm willing to face a jury. I'm innocent, after all."

Young smiled back, not unpleasantly. "You realize that if you face all the charges, your entire life will be dragged though both the press and the courts. You won't have any secrets left. Every aspect of your personal life will be held up for scrutiny." Mr. Young managed to look sympathetic. "You've been a fine agent for your entire adult life, Jack. You have, or rather had, a reputation I envy. Why let these people destroy that? We can drop the public charges. Conduct unbecoming is an internal charge; the public will never know about that. In fact, we'll drop that one, too. You retire with a clean record, still an agent that others can look up to. We can even arrange it so it looks like you were working for us the whole time you were in the Roxton syndicate. We'll make it look like you gave up everything to take them down. Hell, you'll be a legend in the Bureau."

Jack shook his head in wonder. "You're good. I could have used you on a case or two."

Mr. Young smiled at him. "Precisely. Look, Jack, you and I have been around and we both know how this works. An organization the size and scope of the Roxtons'? I can get you almost anything you want if you'll help us take them down. You won't suffer from the deal. You'll have your retirement and I can arrange a generous stipend as well."

Jack restrained his laughter. He almost liked Roy Young. "Not as generous as hers. I seriously doubt if the U.S. government is willing to keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed."

Roy's eyes turned hard. "Then the government will keep you in a cell in a Federal penitentiary for a fair portion of the rest of your life." He faced Jack squarely. "I won't let this go. I will prosecute this case to my fullest ability. I'll see every aspect of your personal and professional life dragged through the court and the press. Every segment of your affair with a married woman of dubious reputation, every detail of your affair with a man as notorious as she is, I'll see they are exposed to the light of day." He sat down near Jack. "Let's face it, you have some sick and kinky tastes, Jack. Do you really want those all over the front page of the papers for your family to read? Think of your kids. Think of your parents. You aren't the only one affected by this."

Jack felt the chains he'd fought so hard to escape reaching for him again, twining around his chest, squeezing the air and life from him. It was suffocating. He felt claustrophobic, breathless. He'd forgotten how horrible it was, that feeling of being tied down, of having no control over what he did, of living his life based on what others thought and wanted. "No! I won't go back to that! I can't live like that again!"

Young blinked in shock. That was not a reaction he's anticipated and he'd anticipated several different reactions. Blind panic was not one of them.

Jack clenched his jaw. "No. Never again. I'm finally free. I finally got out. I'm finally me! I won't bury myself that way again." He glared at Young. "She gave me my life. She gave me freedom. And you expect me to turn on her for the sake of your government. I'll risk my reputation. It's mine to risk." He grinned and Young wondered if Jack was completely sane. "You don't get it. This is about me being innocent. It's not about my family. It's not about my kids. It's about me." Jack took a deep breath. Jack was through living his life for other people. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I'm afraid I have to decline. I'm innocent and I'll prove it." He grinned. "And just so you know, I'm not ashamed of a damn thing I've done. I'm not ashamed of sleeping with Baby or Jean. Hell, I'm proud of it. I'm Companion to the Queen of New Orleans. I'm acknowledged lover to the Crown Prince. Fuck. Half the city envies me."

Young looked at Brady, who shrugged. The prosecutor was not happy with his profiler. It seemed he'd missed the important fact that their suspect was a raving madman. "Suit yourself. The offer stands should you change your mind." Young stood. "Mr. Brady, he's all yours," he said as he gathered his papers and prepared to leave. "Mr. Niemczyk, have no doubts. We will convict you... and those you consort with."

Jack nearly fell off his chair laughing. Brady, Morrison, and Young all stared at him. Only the locals seemed to get the joke. Frank Wilson's lips twitched in a smile. "I'm not a Consort. I'm a Companion. But thanks for the upgrade," Jack managed to gasp.

Wilson gave a tiny snort of amusement. Young glared. "Whatever," he snarled as he closed the door behind him.

Brady and Morrison sat down at the table while the other agents arranged themselves around the edges of the room. Brady put on his most sincere expression. "You know we have more than enough evidence to convict you. We have photos, videos, audio recordings. We have more than ample proof that you've been taking large sums of money and goods from the Roxtons. You're going down hard, Jack. There's no way around that. You're going down and you're going to pull heavy time for it. You know what happens to agents in prison, even federal prisons. It's gonna be ugly. It doesn't have to be that way. Just cooperate. That's all we're asking. Do what you you've spent your whole life doing; help us put the bad guys in jail."

Jack shook his head. "You still just don't get it."

"Come on, Jack. Do you want to make this easy for us by confessing or not?"

"Why the hell should I make anything easy for you?" Jack settled back in his chair. So this was Brady. He really was an idiot after all.

"Fine. We'll do this the hard way." Brady opened his file. "Explain the structure of the family."

"Good lord!" Jack laughed and decided to play along. It would be fun to yank Brady's chain. "You have no idea how convoluted that is! Once you get below Angelus, it goes to hell pretty quick. Just look at Wesley. He's Dru's husband. Fine. Good spot to be in. Consort to the Prophet. But he's also Baby's son. And Dru is Baby's sister. But she's also her mother-in-law. Oh, and her grandmother. I nearly forgot Dru's Spike's sire. So that make's Wes Baby's father-in-law but her grandfather-in-law, too. And her brother-in-law." Jack frowned. The permutations were starting to confuse him. "Now, when I become his brother...she'll be my aunt but also my great-grandmother and then there's Wes and Dru's child...Who'd be my niece but also my great-aunt... Remind me to never date her." He quickly shook his head. "I'm getting a headache. The family structure can't be explained. It's like quantum mathematics."

Wilson nodded. He seemed to be considering this insanity seriously. Brady glared at him and went back to his notes. Maybe Jack really was crazy. "What do they deal in? How do they expect to run New Orleans like it's their personal kingdom?"

Jack grinned at Wilson. He knew the other man was as amused by these questions as he was. "They don't expect to. They do. Spike defeated the old Master in personal combat. He became Master. It's that simple. The same way it's been done for a thousand years."

Wilson nodded. "Yeah, I remember. They say he waltzed into town with nothing. A year later he was undisputed ruler."

Jack smiled. "It's a fine bloodline. Aurelius. Noted for beauty, brains, and viciousness. I'll be a prince. Forever."

Wilson shook his head. "It's not worth your life. It's not worth your soul."

The lopsided smile Jack gave him chilled Wilson to the bone. "Yes, it is."

"Don't do this, Jack," Wilson pled. "You're a good man. I've seen it. Don't let them turn you into one of them! My God! Do you know what they have to do to live? Do you know what they are? Have you ever really seen them?"

Brady let Wilson speak. Maybe he could get through to Niemczyk when a stranger couldn't.

The glitter in Jack's eye's frightened Wilson. "Oh, I know. I've hunted with them, Frank."

Wilson's hand flew to his mouth and he shook his head in denial. "Oh God, no."

Jack ignored him. "I've seen them chasing their prey. I've watch them hunt it down." Jack's eye's glowed. "I've watched them feed."

"Oh God, Jack. Please," Wilson begged.

"I've held her while she's been latched onto the throat of her kill. I've held her while she did it." The intensity of his feelings radiated from Jack.

The locals drew together, seeking comfort from each other, faced with the darkness they knew and feared. Brady and Morrison looked at each other in confusion. They didn't understand a word Jack was saying. It was all insane gibberish.

"Oh, I've seen them, Frank. They're beautiful. They're dark angels. They're glorious beyond my ability to describe." He stared at his terrified compatriots. "And one day, I'll be one of them."

Wilson drew himself up. "Then God save you, Jack. Because no one else can." Without a further word, he stalked from the room.

Jack settled back in his chair. "I don't want to be saved. I'm perfectly content to be damned." He looked at the two agents from Washington. "You don't have a clue about what we're all about down here. This isn't about syndicates and organized crime. This is about Good and Evil and saving the fucking world when we need to. This is about Heaven and Hell and a direct pipeline to the Powers That Be. Ask your God damned questions. I'll answer them, but you're not equipped to understand the answers I'll give you."

Morrison looked at Brady. "They're a fucking cult. They're some sort of warped religious cult. No wonder we've never been able to crack them. They're a fucking cult."

Brady nodded. It would explain so many things. Things about the case and things about his cousin. "Yes." They needed to regroup. He straightened. "I believe we have no further questions for you tonight, Mr. Niemczyk. We will have others in the future, I'm sure."

Jack laughed. "I'm sure you will." He turned to Morrison. "That's one piss-poor excuse for a profiler you've got yourself." He grinned evilly. "Of course, I've seen his work before so I'm not surprised that your information is flawed and your lines of questioning have been completely ineffectual. He's a damned idiot."

Morrison held Brady back when the profiler dived across the table. Anne McSwain opened the door in time to see Brady reach for Jack. "Harassing my client? Go ahead. I'm sure the U.S. Attorney would love to hear you explain why all charges have to be dropped due to police brutality."

Brady settled back in his chair snarling. Anne tsked a bit. "Gentlemen, this interview is over. My client has nothing further to say to you. Jack, honey, let's go."

"God damned crooked bastard," Brady muttered loudly. "You're nothing but a motherfucking dirty cop."

Jack grinned viciously as he reached for the doorknob. "Yeah, maybe so, but I can push your buttons. Because unlike you, I'm a hell of a good profiler. So why don't you just suck me."

~~~~~

New Orleans, Louisiana
Thursday, 11:40 pm
February 27, 2020

As soon as Jack walked out of the interview, Brady grabbed his files and left. He seethed with bootless anger. He wanted to take a gun butt to that traitor Niemczyk. He wanted take a horsewhip to René Beaumont. He mostly just wanted to hurt someone. He waited impatiently while the elevator took him to the garage. He stepped out of the doors and right into Jack Niemczyk. There was no one he wanted to see more. He pulled his fist back and swung.

"Hey!" Jack said as he easily ducked the punch. "You're a hot-head, aren't you?" Jack hadn't spent three years hunting with the top predators in the city without picking up a move or two. He soon had Brady's face pressed against a wall. "Calm down." He released the other agent and stepped back. "What the hell is your problem? Damn, I really did push your buttons. I think you're over-reacting to what I said earlier."

"You're disgusting. I wish I could kill you. You and that bastard Beaumont." Brady straightened his jacket. "How can you live with yourself? You don't just associate with those... people; you actively support them! You help them ruin lives, break up families..."

"Whoa! Hang on. Break up families?" Jack looked at Brady in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about? The Pride doesn't break up families."

"The hell they don't! My cousin won't even talk to us anymore. That bastard Beaumont did something to her, seduced her, coerced her, brainwashed her. I don't know. But now my Becca won't even talk to us!"

Jack made the connection. "Becca Beaumont? Your cousin is Becca Beaumont?" He felt a huge urge to laugh. "Good lord."

"Yeah. So I know all about your 'family.' I know what they do to people, how they change them. So you watch that little bitch of yours. She and that 'son' of hers ruined my cousin. She was a sweet kid until she met up with them. I will take them down for every single thing they did to her."

"So you've got a personal vendetta against the Pride." Jack stared at the other man. "Well, that's one way to commit suicide." He thought for a moment. "Look, I'm gonna cut you some slack. Leave the Pride alone. You don't have the slightest idea who they are or what they're about. They don't take kindly to outsiders messing with them. The number one rule we all learn first: No one fucks with the family. Get that through your head." Jack was trying to be nice. At least Brady had a decent reason for going after the family, even if he was fucked in the head.

"They destroyed her. And I'm taking them out," Brady snarled. He could almost feel Beaumont in his gun sights. "And you can tell them as much. I've been looking for a justfible excuse to at least take out that slimy bastard who made her turn her back on us. He fucked her over. I won't have it."

"René ?" Jack shook his head. "Beaumont'll rip you open before you even know he's there. He's the Master of Alabama for God's sake!"

Brady spit. "I don't care if he's God himself. He's not going to get away with what he did to her."

Jack looked at him knowingly. "The way I heard, he saved her. Now don't get me wrong; I don't like Beaumont. I never have and I never will. I think he's a punk, but he hasn't hurt your cousin."

"That's what she claims. He saved her. He's some sort of god in her eyes. The Roxtons are damned good at covering for themselves. Even their victims believe they're saviors. But then they have the local FBI in their pockets so that's no wonder." Michael stepped back and glared. "Get him to tell you the story. She was a damned good kid, a great coroner. Then she got involved with him. And look what it got her. Nothing."

Jack laughed. "I hear she rules Maryland."

"She does what!"

"I hear she's Master of Maryland in everything but name. Hell, she may have that by now. She does take after her daddy. She's got René's urge to conquer."

Brady stared at him, stunned. "You're as crazy as they are. It doesn't matter. I've made up my mind. I'm gonna find the punk and I'm gonna shoot him. And if your bitch gets in the way, I'll shoot her, too."

Jack laughed again. "If you shoot her, you'll find out really quick what you're dealing with but you won't live five minutes. She'll tear you apart."

Brady gave Jack an incredulous look. "Like the corpse is going to get up and attack me. Now you're talking as crazy as Becca does."

Jack collapsed against the wall laughing. "That's exactly what will happen. She'll stand there laughing at you with a bullet in her chest. It's the most glorious thing you'll ever see." His eyes glowed at the thought. "By God, she's magnificent. And mine." He pushed passed Brady. "In fact, she's waiting for me. I'm going home. I have better things to do than argue with an imbecile." He thought for a moment. "Like making her scream for me." He thought for another moment. "I kinda hope you do shoot her. I love digging bullets out of her."

Brady blinked and stared. "I'd say you're crazy, but I have a feeling you're serious." Michael stepped back a bit further. "Fine. But I want to know the real story."

Jack considered the other man. It wouldn't hurt to have an insider on the investigation. If this one knew the truth, he could be useful. And if he didn't want to cooperate, Baby could always eat him. "All right. I'll tell you. In fact, I'll do better than that; I'll show you." He grinned. "Right now."

Brady looked about them. "Not your car. It'll be bugged. I don't want anyone to know I'm talking to you."

Jack smirked. "No. My lady's limo. It's in the garage. So is she."

Brady blinked again. He took a deep breath. "Fine... I'm coming."

Jean looked curious, René snarled, and Baby raised an eyebrow when Brady climbed into the limo. That eyebrow shot higher when Jack introduced him. "Brady? The idiot?"

"Why does everyone call me an idiot?" Micheal muttered. "Even Rebekah does it."

"Rebekah?" René said as warning bells went off in his head.

"Turns out he's Becca's cousin," Jack explained.

"Becca? My daughter Becca?"

"Only one I know. Short, blonde, too smart for her own good. Becca Beaumont." Jack liked confusing René. It was one of his favorite games. "Seems she's his youngest cousin."

René growled. He didn't like any of Becca's family on general principles.

"Good lord," Baby muttered. "Why's he here Jack?"

"To find out the truth." Jack thought for a moment. "Show him your face. Your real face. The one I like best." Baby looked at him incredulously. It was a mark of how deep her trust for him went when she shrugged and complied.

Michael Brady looked between the two of them, feeling more than a bit clueless. "I think I'm missing something.... shit!"

Jack leaned over and kissed Baby. "Isn't she glorious."

"Um..." Brady couldn't seem to get his mouth to work. René couldn't help grinning. "I need a drink."

Jack grinned at him. "So do I. Right out of her veins." Jack kissed her again. "I've never seen anything more beautiful."

"Is this why you said they'd kill me within five minutes? And why Becca laughed every time I asked her how she could believe anything Beaumont told her when he's been pretending to be been dead for the last nineteen years!" His head whipped around as he stared at René and then Jean. "Shit. You're dead aren't you? You really did die all those years ago. And you really are Jean DuValliere." He swallowed and collapsed against the soft leather of the seats.

Jack laughed. "Yes. They're vampires. The whole family. They rule the demon world. My girlfriend is Queen of New Orleans." Baby grinned, her fangs showing long and white. "If not for them, this city would be a complete cesspool. They keep the killing under control. They keep the predators and monsters to a minimum."

Michael stared... blinked...and put a few pieces together: the way no one in local law enforcement seemed interested in pursuing a case against the Roxtons, the political pull the family had, the fear-tinged respect everyone showed them. Niemczyk had been telling the truth. They'd all been telling the truth.

Baby could see the gears turning in his head. "You better realize that we're the right side of the law," Baby said. "Jack hasn't done anything wrong. Hell, he's stopped more crime than any ADC they've ever had here. You better do what you can to see he stays a free man."

Michael's agile mind was already flipping pages. He wasn't quite the idiot everyone called him, just uninformed. "What do you need?" It was a logic puzzle. It had been a while since he'd done one. "And I'd appreciate getting the whole story."

"It's probably best you talk to Jean, then. He's better at not scaring people." Baby thumbed the intercom. "Jerrod? Drop me at Jack's and take Mr. Brady home with Prince Jean and Master René." She turned back to the agent. "So, if you're on our side now, do you have a story for us?"

"Very well." Michael turned to Jack. "The request for the investigation came from outside the agency. I think it might have military connections