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forgive me, forgive me. . ." over and over the old man forgave him again and again and again.
    And later, hours later, when they could not get their master to rise rather than disturb the sleeping giant curled into his lap, they thought it was his infinite compassion, his infinite love that kept him praying all this night for the soul of this great weeping beast.
    But it was fear.
    For the Man was certain that Jack Crow would be forgiven for his sins.
    But who would forgive him for sending this poor soul out still again to face the monsters once more?

Vampires
    CHAPTER 4
    Jack Crow awoke with a start from some nameless horrible on the flight from Rome and beheld the angelic face of his newest team member, Father Adam, sleeping across from him.
    He's a sweet kid, thought Jack. I'll probably get him killed, too.
    Then he went back to sleep because any other thoughts were better than these.
    “I need a vampire,” said Carl Joplin for the hundredth time. Cat burped and ignored him. Annabelle placed a soft white hand on Carl's great fat shoulder and said, “I know, dear.”
    The rest of Team Crow had been at the bar at the Monterey Airport for four hours. One hour to get primed for the homecoming and the three more the plane turned out to be late. It was not a pretty sight.
    Except, thought Cat, for Annabelle. She was always a pretty sight. Even when she wasn't. He propped his elbow very carefully against the edge of the bar, made a fist with his hand, put his cheek on it, and examined her.
    He had known her his whole life and. . . Waitaminute. That wasn't true. He had known her six years. No. Seven years. Almost seven years, since before her late husband, Basil O'Bannon, had founded Vampire$ Inc. And anyway, she was still the same. Still pretty and still plump and still mostly blond and still forty-something or sixty-something years old-it didn't seem to apply-and still able to outdrink God.
    Time to take a piss, he decided. He lifted himself off the barstool, careful not to get the toe of his boot caught on the railing like last time, and ambled off on his mission.
    Carl Joplin looked up from rubbing his wondrous belly and said, “I need a vampire.”
    “I know, dear,” said Annabelle.
    “It's gotta be tested!” he insisted.
    “I know, dear. We'll ask Jack when the plane gets in.” Carl snarled and sipped his drink. “Jack! Shit!” He was still mad at Jack and likely to stay that way. “Jack!” he repeated disgustedly.
    Carl Joplin was the weapons man and the tool man for the team. He made the crossbows for Jack and Cat's wooden knives and everything else they took with them into battle, but did he ever get to go into battle? Hell, no! “Too valuable,” Jack would always say. Somebody had to be free and clear of the fight at all times to make sure the fight could go on. Carl could buy that. It made sense. But how come it had to be him every goddamn time?
    But it was. Sure, he was a little overweight and maybe pushing sixty but that was no reason not to let him duke it out just once. Just one time, baby!
    The detector was his best chance. Joplin had actually come up with a vampire detector based on the presumed electromagnetic energy of any object and/or critter able to totally absorb all sunlight. It was an ingenious gadget but it required a vampire to test it. Carl knew damn well they could never hope-or, for that matter, be so stupid as to try-to capture a fiend and bring it to him. Ergo, he would have to be there on sight to run the buttons and knobs the rest of the peckerwoods were too damned ignorant to follow in the first place. He'd get into it one way or the other, by God!
    And in the meantime he went back to rubbing his great belly and snarling and refusing to see Annabelle's smile when he did it. Which reminded him: how come he was sloppy
    drunk and she wasn't? How come she never was? Hub? Explain me that!
    Cat, weaving his way back through the tables from the rest room, was wondering the very same