This time she got the message just right, and as he shouted the last word, she was already far from the alley. Now alone with the vampire, the man in the fedora grabbed his screaming victim by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall. The vampire tried to struggle free, but the man applied a crucifix on his forehead, which was to the monster as though he was being tortured with a branding iron, and the pain paralysed him.
"Now," the man said calmly, with something of a French accent in his voice. "My young lad, I need some informations and I hope you can help me with... wake up!" He slapped the fainting vampire awake and pursued: "I heard a week ago, in your... hunt... you stumbled upon a person with a particular weapon. A Celtic cross that emitted a bright white light. You were there, weren't you? Or maybe you know some of those who were there. You low-level vampires usually depend on the same master."
"I... I don't know..." the vampire groaned, and he yelled again when the crucifix met his flesh. "Okay!" He roared. "I'll tell you, but please don't do that again! They were two... girls, very young, in school uniforms. One was a ginger with lots of freckles, the other was a brunette with shoulder-length hair..."
"Where did you meet them?"
"Thank you. Now, tell me who is your master and where he is hiding. I might as well do some clean-up while I'm here."
"Can't tell you, he's gonna kill me!"
"And you think I won't?"
The man tried to apply the crucifix again, but the vampire, in a desperate effort, managed to sucker-punch him and break free. He ran away, running as fast as he could, which, even in his condition, was way faster than any human being could run. But the man knew his job, and promptly getting back on his feet, he produced from his coat a long, black metal tube with a switch on its side. He aimed at the fleeing vampire with the methodical calmness of a trained soldier, and hit the switch. There was a muffled clatter of compressed air as a projectile flew from the tube. The sixteen inches long wooden stake travelled at fifty-six miles an hour, a speed a vampire so young could not hope to achieve. It caught up with him and tore through the muscles and bones of his back like a hot knife through butter, impaled his heart, and burst through his chest. The body turned to a thick grey dust before it could reach the ground. There was nothing left of the vampire now, but a stream of blood on the stake. Blood that was very likely not even his own. The man walked to the scene to pick up his weapon, when he stumbled upon a square piece of leather on the ground and picked it up. The vampire's wallet. Must have dropped it in his flight. Lucky day, he thought as he put it in his pocket.