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"Another soldier down. We're havin' fun now, aren't we, baby?"
Quite a crowd had gathered out in front of Samantha Blanchard's house by the time the ambulance arrived, accompanied by two more squad cars with their sirens going full blast, and the rubberneckers continued to come and go after the yellow police tape had cordoned off the area, signalling that this was now officially a crime scene. There were cops in the house, searching the premises thoroughly for the murder weapon, and the bloated remains of Gerald Watkins had already been zipped into a body bag and was being put into the ambulance to be taken to the morgue for an autopsy and recording of the cause of death. To the woman in the nondescript street clothes who lit a cigarette as the wheeled stretcher was rolled past her, it was an entertaining spectacle, a circus being put on for the featherless vultures that hovered just beyond the thin barrier of tape. Everybody loved a car wreck.
"It's terrible," another woman said, and Grace looked at her with thinly veiled amusement. "I see her almost every day when she goes to work. A police officer, no less. And that poor little child. I can't imagine how such a nice-seeming woman could have done such an awful thing." "Well, even Jeffrey Dahmer had neighbors," the vampire said, turning back to face the house. Blanchard was already gone, having been taken away in handcuffs, and CPS had been called to take Cory out of the house to an undisclosed location. Grace had always enjoyed seeing her labors bear fruit.
The human beside her continued to gawk, wringing her hands in a theatrical fashion, and the level of murmuring in the crowd grew as another detective stepped out onto the porch, her gold shield glinting where it was hooked to her belt. Grace looked her over, wondering if they'd try and connect the dead cop to Blanchard as well. This whole thing was turning into a real laugh riot as far as she was concerned, and it was enough to make her a litle excited, a little horny. SuperBitch was going down, and she was going down hard.
Those cult fuckers had spent their money well.
Time to slip off into the darkness now, before the television crews arrived. Not that she didn't want to hang out and gloat some more, but it would be prudent to take off now before some nosy-ass took her for a neighbor and tried to get a quote out of her. She could watch the news and keep an eye on the papers for the next week or so, watch the stain spread further and further across Blanchard's life until the Slayer wished she'd never seen Las Vegas, much less set foot in it. Her bill had finally come due. Grace wondered if she had enough good karma to pay it off. Probably not.
The vampire made her way out of the crowd, leaving a thin trail of cigarette smoke in her wake.
She'd done her job, and a good one at that.
Edmund would have been proud of her for being so efficient.
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