finalact

"I hate the opera." The elderly man grumbled as he made his way down the sidewalk, his wife holding tightly onto his right arm.
The dead leaves whipped across the sidewalk in front of them, gathering up in small piles against the fences that marked the
borders of the townhouses along the street. He shrugged his broad shoulders, shifting the thick brown coat back and forth.

"You say that every year." The silver-haired woman chuckled as she maneuvered him up the steps into the old brownstone,
glancing at the neighboring dark windows. "Gladys went to bed early. Usually she's nattering about for a few hours watching
those old movies." Her breath hung in the cool fall air, small white clouds drifting skyward.

"Good for her." He huffed, working the key in the lock. "I swear, five minutes feels like fifty when dealing with that old broad."

She shrugged as she followed him in, closing the wooden door behind him. "Can't disagree with you there. But she does make
a mean fruitcake." Bumping into his back she let out a snort. "What's the…"

"Shut up." The strange voice came out of the darkness in the narrow hallway. "Just shut up and go into the living room, both of
you."

The senior put up his gloved hands, shielding his wife as she stepped back behind him. "Please. I've got some money in my
wallet; it's all yours. And we won't call the authorities." The words came out in a low whisper. "Just take it and go."

The man stepped out of the shadows; the modern hunting crossbow leveled squarely at the elderly man's chest. "Don't play
with me. I know what you are and I can't be bought off." He gestured with the weapon. "Get in there and sit down on the couch!"

The couple stumbled into the darkened room, both reaching out for the comfort of the familiar cushions. Their assailant flipped
on the light switch and stood in the doorway, allowing them to get a clear look at him.

He wasn't young but not quite at that point where age becomes an issue, his leather jacket worn and cracked in places much
like his face. Short-cropped blond hair gave him a military look that included his cargo pants and black combat boots. His
bloodshot eyes darted around the room, blinking rapidly.

He glanced from one to the other. "You don't look so deadly now." A sneer touched his lips. "Not like you did in Key West."

The white-haired man shook his head rapidly as he sat down on the sofa, adjusting his thick coat under him. "You've got me
mixed up with someone else, friend. I've been to Florida but never to Key West."

"We visited Jill in Miami." His wife chipped in, her head bobbing up and down. "She had us down to visit her new condo." The
words trailed off as her eyes focused in on the lethal wooden bolt pointed at them.

"Bull." The crossbow waved back and forth between the two elders. "You were there and you killed a young woman called Eve
Santos. Among others."

"I don't know anyone called Eve Santos." The voice was soft and stern. "If you leave right now I won't call the police." He
cleared his throat. "Take our money and go, it's not worth it." His fingers flexed where they sat on his knees, digging into the
dark material. "We're retired, but we're not that poor. I can make it worth your while to just leave us alone." The sad eyes
flashed towards the hallway and the front door. "We won't tell anyone." His voice dropped. "We promise. Just take the money
and go."

The dark haired man shook his head from side to side, the greasy locks flying back and forth. "Don't even think about it. I'll take
one of you down before you can rip my throat out." Digging inside his wellworn leather jacket he pulled out a fat manila
envelope, tossing it on the table. "I know who you are." He nodded at the pair. "Open it." His voice rose as he pointed the
crossbow at the woman. "I said, open it!"

She picked up the envelope, her fingers shaking as she fumbled with the cheap metal closing. Working it free she dumped the
contents on the table.

"There. I've seen your work." The man scowled as the black and white photographs spilled across the coffee table and slipped
onto the floor in a vain attempt to escape viewing. "Maybe you thought that no one would notice, put the pieces together.
Maybe you thought that modern technology wouldn't be able to prove your murderous ways and let you cover it up with
falsehoods."

The elderly man stared at the grotesque scenes; a woman with her throat torn out, a man lying in a pool of blood with vacant
eyes staring at the camera. "This…" He pointed at the accusing photos. "This is horrible. Evil. Vile." Shaking his head he
pushed the stack away from them, letting them fall to the floor. "What have you done?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "What
have you done?"

"Me? Me?" The young man shouted. "I've done nothing. This is what you've done, you and your family." His free hand slammed
down on the table hard, making the remaining photographs jump.

The white-haired woman clutched her mate's hand with a low cry. "What… what…" She repeated, tears running down her face.
"What sort of man are you?"

"Don't even try to pretend that you don't know about this!" The crossbow bolt nudged one of the pictures on the very edge of the
table, pushing it onto the floor. "I've seen it all. I've tried to stop it before and now I'll start stopping it right at the rotten core." He
wiped his forehead, not looking at his damp sleeve. "No one believes me, not since…" The sentence went unfinished as he
levelled the crossbow at the senior.

"Look around you." The elderly man stod up, his hands raised in the air. "If we were the creatures you say we are, would we
have so little?" Ignoring the weapon pointed at him he strode across the room to the fireplace. "This house is barely paid for
and our children put themselves through college." His hand gestured to the framed pictures on the mantlepiece, the wrinkled
and pale skin shriveled around bright purple veins. "If we were so horrible, would we have helped so many?" The hand landed
on a small trophy. His fingers traced the small inscription. 'Our thanks for contributing to the yearly bloodraising drive.' "Do you
think they would give any of this recognition to us if we were such monsters as those you saw in those pictures?"

The senior's voice rose to a shout. "Do you?"

"Don't try to scam me." The intruder's voice was steady and calm. "I know you've been working this scheme for years."
Crossing over to the fireplace he prodded the old man's chest with the tip of the crossbow bolt. "You've been covering your
tracks for decades, centuries." Suddenly he swept his arm across the top of the mantle, sending the framed pictures and
trophies to the floor in an explosion of breaking glass and bent metal. "Do you think that we don't know about the falsified
documents, the hidden money trails or the open graves?"

The white-haired woman leapt to her feet, her hands over her mouth as she stared at the jagged pieces of glass littering the
carpet floor. "Jean-Marie, Francois… our children and grandchildren." She glared at the stranger. "How dare you say such
things about them!" She stomped her foot, surprising the two men. "How dare you deny their existence!"

Startled by her outburst the armed man took a step back, away from the couple. His mouth opened and closed as he stared at
her.

Suddenly the senior stepped forward, reaching out for the crossbow with a startling speed. His hand landed on the jagged tip
of the wooden bolt for only a second before their assailant leapt back, his feet scrambling for a firm hold in the carpet.

Gasping for air he shook his head, a low growl coming from his throat. "Getting sloppy in my old age." He shook his head, the
greasy black locks flopping back and forth. "You're good, very good. But not good enough to escape justice."

He gestured to the couch. "Sit down. Both of you." The weapon pointed directly at the older woman's chest. "Or she goes first.
I've no problem doing that."

Muttering under his breath the elderly man slowly moved back to the couch, sitting down beside his wife. She stared down at
the ground with her eyes closed, lips moving in some sort of silent prayer.

"I've spent too long talking to you. Put it down to some sort of tradition, some sort of revenge 'cause I wanted to hear what you
had to say." Drawing a deep breath he forced a wan smile onto his face. "If you ever had a God and if you ever cared, say your
last words."

The old man's eyes narrowed as he stared at the intruder, one hand clamped down on his wife's hand where it rested on his
arm while the other rested on the cushion beside him.

A shattering of glass startled the trio, matched by the sound of splintering wood. The leather-coated thug spun around to stare
at the hallway with his finger tensing on the small metal trigger of the hunting crossbow.

"Police! Drop it!" The words had barely travelled through the air before a series of bullets slammed into the intruder, spinning
him to the side and away from the couple. Falling onto his back he moaned as the bullets dug further into his flesh.

His finger twitched, sending the wooden bolt impotently into the ceiling and bringing down a puff of white dust on his body.
Turning his head to one side the dark-haired man stared at the couple still seated on the couch.

"No." The lips moved with a low hiss. "No…" The brown eyes went glassy as they watched.

"You okay?" The policeman stepped into the living room, pistol at the ready. "We got a complaint from the neighbor about
some yelling and when we heard him threaten to shoot you we had to move fast. No time for calling in a negotiator." The older
cop let out a low whistle. "Looked through the window, saw he had something on you. Thought he had a gun." Turning away
from the couple he barked orders into his radio.

The white-haired man stood up, releasing his wife's hand. "A bit unorthodox, really. But efficient."

Another policeman came down the hallway, the younger of the two. His eyes rose when he saw the body. "Oh, man…" He
whispered, looking at his partner as he swallowed deeply. "What's gonna happen now?"

The first policeman shrugged. "It's all good, don't worry about it. He threatened this couple and we had to move fast to avoid
trouble. Just tell IA what you saw and heard and it'll all be fine." The dark-haired man smiled, pushing his uniform cap off his
forehead. "Now go outside and wait for the ambulance. He's DOA but we gotta do the routine anyway." His eyes narrowed.
"And keep the civilians out of the way. Don't need anyone extra in here."

The rookie shrugged but turned on his heel after nodding to the two civilians. "Call me if you need me." He disappeared from
sight.

"I'll make us a snack." The woman rose from the couch, brushing some white dust from her lap. "I'm feeling a bit peckish and
I'm sure you're ready for a bit of a nosh."

"Good idea. I guess the opera was a good idea after all." His left eyebrow rose slightly as he turned back to the policeman.
"Do you think you'll have any problem with Internal Affairs?"

The man shrugged. "Not a problem; I'm friends with most of them. And this fellow probably doesn't have any family to speak
of." A foot nudged the body, keeping clear of the spreading blood pool. "Won't even be missed. We'll lose the identification;
cover the tracks and toss him into the 'crazy lunatic' folder and a pauper's grave. We'll make it work." Leaning down he dipped
a single finger into the blood, putting it quickly to his mouth. "Hmm." The policeman smiled. "What a waste."

"Don't snack." A hand waved him away from the corpse. "Just do your job and find out how he got so much information."

The policeman came to attention, bowing his head slightly. "As you wish."

Reaching back the Elder took his wife's hand as she stood up. "We'll be waiting in the kitchen." He nodded to the officer as
they walked towards the hallway. "And make sure to get this all cleaned up. Especially those photographs. Trace them back
and send out feelers about possible leaks in our security." Cocking his head to one side he smiled, showing off a pair of ivory
fangs. "Didn't turn out to be a bad night after all. Not at all."