Well, I couldn't resist.  This is a sequel to my previous
story, In Flagrante Delicto, which can be found at my
website: http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm.  Anyway, after
receiving so much feedback, I just couldn't stop myself.
Sorry I couldn't work the Pink Marshmallow incident in (lots
of you wanted to know about that...), I'll try that next
time :P  Oh yes, and this has not been beta read, so read at
your own risk.

These characters aren't mine, etc. etc.  You know the drill.
Permission is granted to archive at the ftp site, and
fkfanfic.com.  Comments, questions, and whatnot may be sent
to Diane Harris at [email protected].

"Hey, Nick!  Love the new color..."

Nick just glared at his fellow officer as he stepped out of
the precinct and into the dark parking lot, his flamboyant
Caddy practically luminescent.  He couldn't take much more
of this and it was all LaCroix's fault...  He'd sucked
Nick's painter dry before he'd had a chance to come and fix
the Caddy...  And there was no one else in the whole city
of Toronto that he'd trust with his precious car...

And then there was the sign...  Nat hadn't even mentioned it
was stuck on his back through the WHOLE evening.  He'd just
about gone off the deep end when she'd broken out laughing
for the twentieth time during their movie date.  Eventually
he'd noticed that it would occur whenever he turned his back
to her, and when he'd gone up to observe his back in the
mirror, he'd blushed to the point of being stoplight red.
Something he'd never consider possible for a vampire, but
then, there was always a first time for everything...

At least he'd managed to get the superglued sign off the
side of his Caddy...  All that remained was pink.  Yuck.
Pink...  His stomach grew weak just at the sight of it.

This...  This called for revenge!

*****

LaCroix stared at the microphone with a look of contempt.
Fifteen callers, all asking him where he was ticklish...
Not one with a genuine problem for him to ridicule...

He pouted.  Painting the Caddy had been fun, but he didn't
hardly deserve this treatment for it...  He snickered as
he remembered clapping that sign on his son's back under
the guise of a friendly slap.  It was interesting that
Nicholas hadn't caught that little gesture...

The ringing of the phone interrupted his musings.  "This is
the Nightcrawler, I'm listening," he stated smoothly,
praying that this wasn't another 'where are you ticklish'
call.

"I just wanted to comment on how funny yesterday's show
was..."

LaCroix slammed down the phone.  Damnit!!!  That was it,
the final straw.

This...  This called for revenge!

*****

Nick walked into the precinct with a smile on his face after
taking a slight fifteen minute detour.  Everything was set.
And LaCroix wouldn't know what'd hit him...

*****

LaCroix smiled as he approached the precinct.  Nicholas
would certainly not appreciate this, but hey, he didn't
appreciate anything as it was.  What was one more thing on
his list?

He walked into the precinct and was greeted by the desk
sergeant.  "Yessir?  Can I help you?"

LaCroix cleared his throat.  "Yes, I'd like to speak with
detective Nicholas Knight," he said, glancing left and
right.

The desk sergeant looked at him rather seriously.  "Do you
have an appointment?"

"Oh no," LaCroix said, letting some menace into his voice,
"but I'm a close friend.  Family even..."

The desk sergeant swallowed thickly and pointed him over to
Nicholas's desk, where his son was typing dutifully.
Probably some mundane report.  LaCroix rolled his eyes as he
approached.  Careful to shield his presence from Nick.

Unfortunately, his tedious mortal partner that Vachon was so
fond of did see him.  The little blond woman took one glance
at him, her eyes wide, and said suspiciously, "What are
_you_ doing here?"  She didn't realize that Nicholas was
well acquainted with him.

Nicholas looked up at Tracy's outcry and his jaw just about
dropped off his head as he stood to meet his approaching
master.  "LaCroix, what are you doing here?" Nicholas said,
the same as the blond, although much more hostile.

The woman turned to Nick.  "Wait, _you_ know him?" she
asked, her voice betraying her surprise.

Nicholas snorted.  "Of course I know him!  The lousy good-
for-nothing lunk painted..."  Nick was quick to catch
himself in his almost slip.  "Er, never mind.  Long story."

LaCroix merely smiled.  "Nicholas, I have something for
you..." he whispered mysteriously, and he could see the
blond woman leaning in towards him subconsciously, curious
to see what he'd gotten.  With that, he reached in to his
jacket and started to pull something out.

The metal flashed against the dim fluorescent lighting of
the police station, and he could see several people around
who were trying to look like they weren't paying attention
to him start to tense up.  Lighting fast, he withdrew the
canister from his pocket and aimed it at his unsuspecting
protege.

"He's got a WEAPON!!!"

People all around him started diving for the floor, while
Nicholas and Tracy just sat there staring at him.  As if the
world were going in slow motion, he could detect a small
sense of dread from Nicholas as if he suddenly figured out
what was going to happen to him.

LaCroix pressed a finger lightly onto the canister, ignoring
the shouts of people throughout the precinct to cease and
desist.  There was a hissing noise, and suddenly, the pink
silly string from the canister shot out all over his poor
Nicholas.

The blond woman doubled over laughing when she saw Nick's
look of pure dumbfoundment, and the rest of the precinct
soon began to join her.

LaCroix took this moment to take his leave.  "TAG!  You're
it!" he cried like a two-year-old, slapping Nick on the
shoulder, and then he dashed out of the precinct.

Nick stared down at his body, covered in pink, slimy string
and then back at all the officers that were getting up of
the floor.  "Knight, what on Earth is going on!?"  Reese's
voice boomed through the air, and Nick couldn't help but
gulp.

"I'm it," he stated quietly, looking down at the floor as
he felt his cheeks start to turn a lovely shade of scarlet.

Reese walked over to him.  "You're it?" he questioned.

"Yeah, as in tag?"

"You, a grown man, are playing tag with...  another grown
man..." Reese said, stating his words slowly as if he
couldn't believe that his normally reclusive partner was now
running around playing tag and acting silly in general.

Tracy started laughing.  "With the Nightcrawler, no less!"
she giggled.

Reese looked dumbfounded.  "You mean that wacko who says all
that depressing stuff on air?  That was him!?"

Nick nodded mutely as he began to pull the drying silly
string from his hair and shirt, gathering it in clumps and
tossing it into the wastepaper basket.

"You know, Nick...  I'm not even going to ask.  I don't want
to know, except for _one_ thing," Reese commented.

Nick looked up, his eyes growing wider.  "Yeah?"

"Why the heck didn't you chase him?  He obviously got you
good, and I know you're not one to let that type of thing
slide..."

Nick just smiled.  "He'll get a surprise sometime tonight.
I consider that plenty of revenge," he said mysteriously.

Reese nodded.  "Uh-huh," he said, although it was obvious
that he didn't quite get it.  With that, he walked off,
mumbling to himself about pink cars and crazy detectives and
that damn confounded radio station.

Tracy just watched as Nick sat down in his chair smugly,
leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head as if he
were king of the world.  Something was definitely up...

*****

LaCroix whipped out his keys to open to the door to his
house.  "Yezzzzz!  Yezzzz!  Zis is a MASTair Peeze!" cried a
heavily accented voice from somewhere within.

Someone dare to enter his home?!  A mortal, no less?!  Fie!

He flung the door open, but immediately froze.  What... had
happened...  to his...  house?  He began to pant in quiet
rage as a small man in an immaculate suit turned around
amongst the sea of workers walking around.  He would not
drain him.  He would not drain...

"Ahhh!  You must be zee ownAIR of zis fine home!  Mr. Lucy
Anne Luck-Wah!  I hope you feel zat yeour moneeey has been
well invested!  But I must say, that zis is my finest work,
no?"

LaCroix couldn't speak a word.  His money?  No one knew the
password to his accounts except...  His stomach fell into
his feet.  Nicholas.

"C'mon boyz!  Feeenish up so zat Lucy Anne can enjoy our
work!  Chop chop!"  The silly mortal clapped his hands and
the workers began filing out of his house, and LaCroix
could do nothing but seethe.  Would... Not... Drain...

"Oh, and here is zee bill.  If you have any questionz, do
not hezeetate to call my seKERetAIReeee," the man said,
slapping a large yellow slip of paper into his hand as he
left.

And soon, the house was empty.  Quiet.  LaCroix stared
around, completely at a loss.  All his beloved knickknacks.
Gone.  Replaced by...  THIS!  And then he looked down at the
bill, darting his eyes left to right as he scanned down the
page.

WHAT!?  THIS HAD COST $250,000?  He started breathing hard
again, not able to control his temper.  An interior
decorator job that looked like something out of a
cartoonist's worst nightmare, and got footed with a bill of
$250,000?

After what seemed like hours, he felt that he was able to
move without going on a killing rampage.  He sat down
heavily on the only thing he could find to sit on, a
chartreuse beanbag chair.  And he looked around once again.
There was his house.  Completely destroyed and redesigned
to look like...

Like...

He squinted his eyes, trying to come up with the correct
term.

Like...

God, he didn't know what to call it.  All that he knew was
that the My Little Pony wallpaper would be the first to
go...

THE END