James smiled. "It oughta be. It's eighteenth century."

Jerry stopped chewing and looked at his brother. "You're kidding."

James smiled and took a bite himself. "Nope. He was a curator of the museum. Brought some of the Robespierre letters himself."

Jerry shook his head, then went back to eating. "You're gonna get killed one of these days, going after your expensive tastes."

They were In James downtown apartment, the one with the view of the river. James had come across it before he could really afford it, but just like always, he got it and worked his way up.

"So, what's the occasion?" Jerry asked.

James shrugged. "No occasion. Just wanted dinner with my older brother."

Chewing, Jerry said, "Bullshit. I live in a trailer park. You live on the gold coast. Why would you want dinner with me?"

James smiled again. "Well, maybe there is something. But I only thought of it after I invited you."

"Yeah, whatever." Jerry looked around the plush dining room. Thick carpeting, rosewood furniture, one of them sidetables with china that was worth more than Jerry's trailer. He hated it.

But the steak was good.

"How much of this you got left?

James inhaled and let the air out slowly, thinking. "Well, everything from the waist up was useless. Thin, stringy, you know how the old ones are. And his left leg was burnt pretty bad- I was going to make a stew out of what was salvageable, but it smelled of kerosene-"

"You got him in his coffin?"

"Yeah. One stake to calm him down, and a little kerosene to finish him. But I was sloppy."

"You mean you were high," Jerry said, pointing his fork at his brother.

"Well, I'd like to see you take on two-hundred year old vampire in his lair without a little nose candy to make it all seem fun."

"Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, All I got was some flank off the right, and this is pretty much it."

Jerry threw his fork down. "Jesus Christ, James. You risk your fucking neck for two meals? Two stinking meals? And then you waste half on me?"

James shrugged. "So? I'll get more off the street next week."

"Yea? Like what, the mayor? Or maybe that old broad outside of town. I hear she's been around since the indians."

James rolled his eyes. "Forget about it. Just eat your steak and shut up."

Jerry stared at his little brother. He had his prissy tight-lipped face on, the one that was supposed to let folks know he was angry. Maybe at the bank it was a warning. But to Jerry it was just more antagonism.

Jerry gulped down the last bite, purposely swallowing it before it was well chewed, eschewing the taste. "Allright. Now what did you want me for?"

James looked back at him. He still had the look. "You remember Mr. Watson?"

"No."

"He was the doctor from England, the one you mistook for a-"

"Yes, I remember him. I never knew his name though."

"Yea, well, his kid's been poking around, asking questions."

"So? That was five years ago."

"Well, he's been poking around, and I thought you should know."

"Why, James? I mean, what's he going to do?"

James stared at his brother, for a full minute. Jerry knew that look, too. He was trying to make a decision.

"What? What is it?"

"Allright. Don't get mad."

"Why?"

"Just don't. It won't do any good. It was five years ago."

"What?"

"You were right about Watson."

"What?" Jerry felt the meat turn in his stomach.

"Watson. You were right. But I wanted him for myself, so I-"

"Goddamnit James! What's wrong with you?"

"Look, you fucking slob. He was at least a hundred years old, okay? And he had securities- you think this apartment just paid for itself? I needed access to his lair, and I couldn't do it with you sitting there, gnawing on his leg like some kind of animal."

Jerry stood. "Oh, you fucking prick. I could kill you for that. Do you know what I went through to get him? Do you know how much trouble I got in when I had to get something else?"

"Yeah, well, I would have shared, but you were acting like a crazy man back then."

Jerry shook his head and rolled his eyes, baring his teeth. "What do you mean acting?" He started around the table.

"Damnit Jerry, I told you-"

"You're a fucking prick, James, you're gonna get me killed one of the days." He moved toward his brother.

James reached into his jacket with a fluid, well practiced motion and pulled out a wooden stake. "Now just stop right there, Jerry. Just stop."

Jerry looked at the stake. He rolled his eyes and went back to his chair, falling into it. "Fuck you, James. Even your fucking stakes are expensive."

James looked at his brother for a few moments, then relaxed, smiling. He regarded the stake. "Nice, isn't it? There's a guy on sixth who makes 'em for me." He laughed. "I told him they're for an art exhibit."

Jerry stuck his tongue between his top gum and lip, sucking on bits of meat caught in his teeth. "Whatever."

James sat back down too, and finished his steak. "So, what do you want to do about the kid?"

Jerry shrugged. "Nothing. Just some kid. If his dad was a vamp, the other ones'll cover it up."

"For to the morgue, for the cops, sure. But not each other."

Jerry's eyes went wide. "The kid's a vamp?"

James nodded his head.

"Who made him? I mean, was it his old man? Or was it after I got him?"

"From what I heard, the kid made his dad."

Jerry scowled. "That's disgusting!"

"Well, maybe they do things different in England."

James shuddered. "It's revolting anywhere you do it."

"That's not the point, Jerry."

"What is?"

James went into the kitchen, and came back with a silver platter. He poured out and began to cut lines with a credit card. "You want some of this?"

"No. So why's this kid such a big deal?"

James rolled a twenty, and did two lines with practiced ease. "I'm afraid he might connect us with them. If he can find out what we are, what we do, then they can. And then they'll come after us."

"So? I can handle myself."

"Sure you can, Jerry. That high-dollar security-system you got on your trailer park, those vamp-proof locks. And if one makes it through- you can dispatch him just like you did Little Eddie that time in the park."

"Hey, I was drunk, allright? I don't do that anymo-"

"And I was high. So what? So we're safer together."

"Is that why you got me up here? You turning chicken shit?"

"No. I wanted to apologize for Watson. That's why I got the curator, something special to make up for it. And because as good as I am, as good as you might be, we're better together." He leaned over and did two more lines.

"Better together? What are you talking about?"

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and there were three loud, insistent knocks.

James looked up at his brother. "Ready for desert?"