He searched the room for weapons, for a gun or a knife. But his spirits sagged just as quickly. The Heckler & Koch was on the desk across the way, beside his holsters and the open butterfly knife. Even if he freed his arms, and his legs too for that matter, he’d never make it across the room. But wait a minute . . . where was the Uzi? It wasn’t on the desk. He could remember carrying it into the room, dropping it on the bed, seeing it on the floor during the fight.

Danner’s foot kicking it as he passed . . .

Stiles shifted as far as he could, careful not to attract Danner’s attention, and craned his neck to see over the right side of the bed. Nothing. He stretched back to the left, where the bed sagged from its broken leg, and he peeked over the edge. It was dark along the floor, but . . . was there something down there? He waited for the TV picture to brighten again. When it did, just enough light slipped beneath the bed for him to recognize the corner of the Uzi’s extended magazine. It was within reach. If he could just get his hands free . . .

“And now for a few words of inspiration,” said the television announcer as programming finally ended for the day. A small, balding man from an Indianapolis church stood before a stained-glass backdrop and smiled wanly. But before he could open his mouth, the vampire’s fist lashed out and shattered the picture tube in a spray of glass and sparks. Stiles was startled; he ceased his struggles just as Danner turned to look at him.

“You know,” said the creature, “you never answered my question. Have you come across anyone like me before?”

“Oh, I’ve met lots of assholes over the years. . . .” Danner started to get out of his chair. “All right, all right. I haven’t. Satisfied?”

The vampire smiled. “I knew it the moment you saw this face, the look in your eyes . . . It was almost worth the trouble. Almost.” He turned his chair toward the bed and perched on the edge. “There aren’t many like me, friend. Because I’m the real thing. A vampire. Those things you’re familiar with, the ones running the streets right now, they’re simply cadavers. The by-product of my existence; my bite passes along the thirst just as a dog may pass on rabies. It alone drives them; it is all they think about, all they dream of. Personally, I don’t condone their existence. In all honesty, they deplete the food supply from time to time and I have to destroy a few. But on average they do as they’re told, and they come in handy now and again.”

“And what makes you different?”