And yet another…you know
"Uh, let me see if I've got this right," stammered Vincent, still not believing the story the man setting across from him had spewed. "You want me to kill you?"
"You are a vampire hunter, are you not?" demanded the man, who had identified himself as Reginald Hargrove the 2nd. "Your entire linage has been hunters, have they not?"
"Then what is so bloody hard to understand? I'm a vampire. You're a vampire hunter. I want you to kill me."
Vincent leaned back in his leather chair, crossed his arms, and looked at Reginald in disbelief. The expression on his face conveyed that he was still highly skeptical of what Reginald wanted of him.
"Look, I've walked this earth for almost two-thousand years. I've have dozens of lovers, I've led hundreds of lives, and I'm simply tired of it."
"Well, I must admit, I've, uh, never come across a situation like this before. I mean, usually, your kind-if you are a vampire-try to rip my throat out."
"I am a vampire," growled Reginald.
Vincent looked to the large bay windows that filled one side of his office, noted that indeed it was a bright, sunny day, and then turned his disbelieving eyes back to Reginald.
"I'm nearly two-thousand years old, Mister Hesling. The sunlight is but a minor irritation to one of my stature."
"Uh, sure. Excuse my impertinence, but in all of my family's history, there is no record of a vampire ever achieving such stature."
"Oh, for the love of Pete," snapped Reginald, standing with such abruptness that he sent his own chair spinning backwards.
"Calm down, Mister Hargrove," directed Vincent, pulling open one of his desk drawers. "Perhaps we can determine the truth another way."
Vincent removed a silver Crucifix from his desk and held it out towards Reginald.
"You can't be serious," leered Reginald.
Vincent's expression conveyed that he was.
Sighing deeply, only marginally rolling his eyes, Reginald seized the cross from Vincent and held his with no indication of pain or revulsion.
"Strike two," muttered Vincent.
"Look we both know that this works on faith. First of all, I have an advantage in the fact that I'm an atheist. Second, you're certainly not putting your heart into this. If you're not willing to put any faith into this, it's not going to do much more than tickle my freaking palm."
Vincent began chuckling.
"What?" demanded the self-proclaimed vampire.
"A vampire that's an atheist? Doesn't that go against the whole being of evil thing? The opposite of good? Against all that's Holy?"
"I never said I was an evil creature of the night," snapped Reginald. "I have never, in my many centuries of existence, taken a life."
Vincent laughed out, "Never taken a life?"
"I feed only from animals. Mostly cows."
"Mister Hargrove, you've taken up too much of my time. Now, I must insist that you leave."
"I will not!" roared Reginald, grabbing a hold of Vincent's heavy oaken desk as if he intended to lift it up.
He strained valiantly, his face reddening, and the veins in his neck and arms bulging, but he managed not to move the desk at all.
Vincent rolled his eyes and grunted in disgust.
"It's the sunlight," protested Reginald. "I can walk about in the daylight, but it still saps my strength."
Vincent pressed a small button on the underside of his desk and two burly men dressed in medical whites appeared at the doorway of his office.
"Gentlemen, will you escort Mister Hargrove from the premises," instructed Vincent, dismissing the man by turning his attention to the numerous files on his desk.
"Take your hands off of me," bellowed Reginald as the two men firmly grabbed hold of his arms and began turning him around. "I am a vampire! You should be trembling before me in terror!"
"But you're a nice vampire," muttered Vincent, shuffling through his files.
"A mirror!" screamed Reginald, from the hallway. "Get a mirror! I'll show you that I have no reflection!"
Vincent kept shaking his head the entire time that Reginald yelled out his protests, finally silenced by the slamming shut of the main entrance doors.
One of the men that had escorted Reginald from the building returned to Vincent's office, standing before his employer's desk silently.
"Brody trailing him?" Vincent finally asked, finished with the file he had been studying.
"Yes, Sir," confirmed the man.
"Thank you, Monk. When he returns, have Shelly prepare a hunt for tonight. He might not be much of a challenge, but that's not what the clients pay for, is it?"
"No, Sir, it's not," agreed Monk.
"Very well, then," said Vincent, dismissing the man.
Over the years, Vincent had taken his family trade and turned it into quite a profitable business, taking "sportsmen" on hunts that they'd never be able to arrange themselves.
Reginald wasn't the first vampire to have grown tired of existing for so long, but Vincent wasn't about to pass up the chance for an easy hunt-and easy money.