On the Job Training
by Kim Colley
Copyright (c) 1997
Forever Knight and its characters are the property of James Parriott, et al., and the
suits at Columbia & Sony/TriStar. No copyright infringement is intended.
* * * * *
"Three more house reds."
At least she didn't have to worry about mixing the customers' orders up. But this
damn outfit her "boss" made her wear. She tugged uneasily at the hem of her short
black rubber dress. This was really going too far beyond the call of duty.
Some of the Raven nightclub's more short-lived customers and employees had had
their lives unnaturally shortened recently. This was causing the club's wealthy
owner no small degree of displeasure, as the Raven was always in need of "fresh
blood," as he put it. So he had complained to her captain, who promptly assigned her
to work undercover - as a waitress.
She realized now how lucky she'd been that Vachon was her "first," so to speak. He
was a hell of a lot more normal than these guys. She shrugged one of the customers
away as he stroked her neck, only to find he'd moved his hand to her backside.
"Watch it, buddy!" She hauled off and belted him. The whole club went silent.
"My, my," Lacroix purred, appearing out of the shadows. "I do apologize, Julian.
She's a trainee. I'll see that she's properly . . . disciplined." He took Tracy by the
elbow and led her into his office.
"My dear Officer Vetter," he cooed, "you must try to behave more civilly to my
guests. I brought you here to stop any further loss of customers, not to run off new
ones."
"That man was sexually harassing me," she declared in righteous indignation. "Does
this sort of thing go on all the time? How many other waitresses are subjected to this
sort of treatment? Why haven't you done anything to stop it? You know, I could
report you to the EEOC."
Lacroix sat down in the midst of this tirade, putting a hand over his eyes. When at
last she ran out of steam, he said, "My dear, has anyone told you that you have
spunk?"
She smiled proudly. "Thank you."
He lifted his fingers to gaze up at her. "I hate spunk." He stood up and leaned close
to her, gazing deeply into her baby blues. "You will mind your manners and
concentrate on finding the killer."
She put a hand on her hip and tossed her hair. "You can't put the whammy on me,
pal. Vachon says I'm a resister. And you don't have to hypnotize me to get me to do
my job. I'm a damn good cop. I'll find the killer."
With that, she turned and flounced out of the room, oblivious to the fact that Lacroix
was appreciatively eyeing the sight of her body encased in the uniform he'd
hand-picked for her.
Oh, he was going to enjoy this one.
* * * * *
She was on her feet until a half hour after closing. Lacroix made her stay and help
with clean-up; he said it would look suspicious if she left before all the other girls.
She noticed he seemed to be always nearby when she had to bend over or reach
above her head for something. She really was going to report him.
She left at 3:30, still in her uniform. She was parked in a lot two blocks away. As she
clicked down the wet sidewalk in her three-inch heels, she could hear the sound of
footfalls behind her. She surreptitiously reached into her purse and put her hand
around her .9mm Glock. Clicking off the safety, she continued walking at a steady
pace, as the stalker's footsteps quickened.
She heard a woman screaming behind her and swivelled around.
"Freeze!"
A woman in a flannel nightie, pink housecoat and duck shoes stopped in mid-run, a
butcher knife clutched in her upraised hand. At her command, the woman dropped
the weapon, and Tracy cuffed her and read her her rights. The mad housewife didn't
seem to care. She blurted out her whole story at the scene and on the way to the
station. Her husband was a vampire, although he refused to make her one as well. It
would kill the sexual tension, he told her, but the sexual tension was gone six months
after the wedding. That's when he started hanging out at the Raven, famous for its
human - and very attractive - waitresses. She'd been driven mad by jealousy, she
said. Tracy was positive she'd be found not guilty by reason of insanity with a story
like that.
* * * * *
"Thank you for coming, Officer Vetter - Tracy," Lacroix said with a smile. He poured
her a glass of wine as she sat at the candlelit table in his private rooms at the club.
"Oh, no problem at all," she said perkily. "Just doing my job."
"I must express my admiration for the . . . dispatch you showed in - how do you put
it? Collaring your perp. You see, I was watching it all from the rooftop. Such
fearlessness," he said admiringly. "Although I am a little disappointed to see you've
returned to your old wardrobe."
"Well, it's kinda hard to maneuver in all that skin-tight rubber."
"Au contraire, ma cherie. Let me demonstrate."
He did.
Finis.
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