"Are you the actual Huggy Bear, or just a wannabe?" he asked the man approaching the front desk.

The new arrival was a middle-aged black man. He grinned and turned around, showing off his attire. He was dressed in a purple suede suit with a mustard yellow shirt and alligator shoes. As he turned, his leopard-print leather cape and gold medallions swung through the air. When he completed his turn, the man bowed and doffed his pink suede hat, trailing the tie-dyed feather in the brim across the floor.

"Huggy Bear?" he asked contemptuously. "That fool wouldn't know style if it bit him on the ass! I'm the real deal, baby. And I'm looking for a smartassed brother, name of Gunn. I'm betting you're him, am I right?"

"Yeah, that's me," Gunn said, suspicious. "Why you lookin' for me?"

"Got a business proposition. Getcher ass down to Sweet Sweetback's Baad Asssss Soulfood at about six tonight. It'll be worth your time."

Gunn snorted. "Now, why'n hell would I wanna do that?"

The messenger smiled, revealing a diamond implanted in one of his front teeth. "Trust me, you wanna do this. And hell, it's worth the trip just for the ribs. Funkalicious, they is, my friend. Funkalicious."

With that, he turned and strutted out.

Gunn walked into the restaurant and looked around. It wasn't nearly as gaudy as he'd expected it to be, even though it looked like a diner decorated by Barry White and James Brown.

"Cool place you got here, ma'am," he told the old black woman behind the counter.

"Well, thankya, son," she replied in a Southern drawl. "You Gunn?"

"Yes, ma'am. I think I'm supposed to meet someone?"

She nodded and gestured to the row of booths. "He's in the last booth. What do you want to eat?"

Gunn smiled. "I was told the ribs are worth a shot."

The woman laughed. "Damn right, boy. I'll send 'em out in a few."

Gunn thanked her and made his way to the last booth. Whoever was in it was facing away from him. Sliding onto the bench, Gunn took in the appearance of the man he was there to meet. A big black man, probably in his fifties, and obviously in excellent shape. He was wearing a leather jacket, but Gunn got the impression that underneath he was pure muscle.

The man smiled at Gunn and took a cigar out of his jacket. "Join me?" he asked in a deep voice.

"No, thanks," Gunn said. "What can I do for you?"

He took his time lighting his cigar before he answered. "Well," he finally said, "first you can tell me if I've got the right guy or not. I hear you're a black super- champ who's a stake machine to all the vamps. Is that true?"

"You damn right," Gunn said with a tight smile. "What's it to you?"

"Well," the man said, "I don't like anything that hurts the brothers or sisters, and vampires surely qualify. I'm from back East, but I like to keep an eye on the players all over the country. I like your style, but I thought I could give you some pointers."

"I'm always willing to listen to anyone who's been there and done that," Gunn allowed. "But I like to know the names of the people I work with."

The older man set his cigar down in the ashtray and reached his hand across the table to Gunn. "Name's Shaft. Can ya dig it?"