Miles reported directly to a man named Causey, a fellow I knew to be one of the blood drinkers who was attached to Whitefarrow. If I was not mistaken, this Causey was a youngster, a fellow whose second birth had been sometime in the last 50 years or so.

Such creatures can be naïve, and, as I've said, the youngsters learn most of what they think they know about being a blood drinker from Hollywood movies. As a group, they are exceptionally tedious.

That communication between Miles and Causey would be key to making my awkward and damnable plan work. But first I needed a location.

I'd lived in New York City a great many times over the years, and I knew the area passably well. It took no time at all to scout the places that interested me.

There was an abandoned seven-story office building along the Hudson River that fit the bill, about five blocks from Whitefarrow's fortified palace. It was not far from a series of midrange hotels.

On the day in question, Miles Frisby would give his men the day off and tell them to make themselves scarce.

Then about an hour before sunset he would phone and inform Causey that some of his men had stumbled across their quarry (yours truly) while making enquiries at a hotel and that they had shot me several times, they thought fatally. I then had fled into an abandoned building.

It was a scenario not unlike what had occurred in Chicago, but closer to home. One of my kind injured that close to sunset with a severe head or heart injury might not survive. Or the coming of night might provide renewed strength. It was a toss of the coin.

It would take only a short time for Causey to inform my enemy. Craven though he was, Whitefarrow would have to respond and to respond in force. He could not and would not miss an opportunity to eliminate me. But I happened to know that none of the blood drinkers who surrounded my enemy resided in the Centrix building. Like regular commuters, they traveled in from their own homes at night, and they would be reluctant to venture out even an hour before sunset.

The only question was whether Whitefarrow would risk going out in the waning sunlight in order to come find me himself.

He might just send his security detachment to deal with me, but that seemed unlikely. The building I scouted was enormous, an abandoned seven-story walk-up that would take much time to search. By the time Frisby made his call, and Causey relayed it to Whitefarrow, more time would have elapsed, giving them less than an hour to travel to the old office building and to search it.

One of my kind, even during daylight hours, could track down an injured rival in no time by the smell alone. Whitefarrow would have to come himself or miss his opportunity entirely.

Was I certain that he would come? No. He might just lack the courage. But I felt it was a strong possibility.

And even if Whitefarrow opted to send his security team and to stay behind, he would be left in his headquarters with a few security men, no blood drinkers, and only a handful of lackeys to support him.

It wasn't a good option, but I intended to ask Corey to send me a text in advance if Whitefarrow accompanied them to my location. If the great coward did not come, I would circle back to his headquarters and attempt to slip into his bunker undetected.

As I said, not a great option.

All that was lacking was the when. I finally settled on a date two days hence. From the communications that I monitored through Tanis, that was a normal business day, except that two of Whitefarrow's young blood drinkers would be out of town on business. I hoped to avoid dealing with those fools entirely, but on the chance that that proved futile, having two fewer of my kind with which to deal might be crucial.

Over the next day, I ran the plan over several hundred times in my head, and prepared what equipment and weapons that I would need. It galled me and concerned me a great deal that the success of this endeavor relied heavily on the actions of at least one person who I was not certain I could trust.

Well, such is life.

To better prepare, I drank blood on both nights, and I eased my annoyance by keeping up my correspondence with Fallon. I even pondered writing sweet Freya. I had not truly apologized for the horror I had inflicted on her and for the anxiety that knowing me had injected into her life. But I abstained for the time being. I would think about it more after I dealt with Whitefarrow, but, for now, my dear friend had suffered enough at my hands.

And then the day came.

***

I'd allowed Frisby to take his family out of town for the time being. I could find his kin anytime I wanted, that being a knack I'd developed over the years. But the man's anxiety grew so great over what would happen to his family should I fail to kill Whitefarrow that I soon said yes. I needed the man afraid of me, but not so gripped by terror of every shadow that he couldn't function.

Corey remained resolute and determined. He'd even managed to rearrange his shifts to be present during the time in question. The man's thinking had steadied on the issue of Whitefarrow, and he decided working for a monster was not something he could stomach. It impressed me to no end that for the time being he continued to report to work each day with a stern face, even after learning the true nature of his employer. He was a decent and stalwart chap.

About 20 minutes before the hour in question, I sat with Frisby at a small café a few blocks down from the abandoned building in question. The man was white as a sheet, but when he made the call to Causey, he did so with a calm and convincing voice. He fielded a few questions, the answers to which I'd drilled him in advance, and after he hung up, I took the man's business phone and instructed him to stay at the café until things were resolved. I didn't want Frisby losing his nerve and breaking down. But I did leave him a burner phone on the off chance that I might need something from him.

From there, I meandered down to the building. I'd left a car I'd liberated from its owner out back. Attached were a set of license plates I'd borrowed from long-term parking at the airport. I might yet need to race to Whitefarrow's bunker, and the car was ready if I did.

When I reached the building, I waited.

Ten minutes later, a text message pinged from Corey. The message read, "Working late." It was the code that we'd agreed upon if Whitefarrow were to accompany them to my location. My heart about leapt through my throat. Could this be it at long last? Could my silly plan actually work?

Corey had warned me in advance that it would take about 10 minutes to prepare his men and for them to begin moving toward the objective where I waited. And I knew, given city traffic, that even the short drive from Whitefarrow's headquarters might take longer than expected. It could be another 15 to 20 minutes before my enemy arrived.

It seemed like 15 or 20 years. As time ticked by, I checked the clock. By the time my enemy reached my location, it would be about 30 minutes before sunset. I had decided to make him look for me in the building. I'd even spilled a little of my own blood in a few spots to ensure his nose knew that one of our kind was present and injured. If the creature came for me, I had my knife and a piano wire garrote to thank him for his trouble.

Of course, Whitefarrow might insist that his security team first clear the building. In that event, Corey would slow-walk his men through the lower floors, giving me time to get to the ground floor in order to extricate Whitefarrow from his vehicle and from this mortal realm.

Those were the ideal scenarios.

When a number of tan SUVs finally approached the building, it was about five minutes earlier than I'd estimated. But before I could exult in any feeling of joy, the whoop and lights of a police patrol car signaled from down the road. A second patrol car soon joined the first from the other direction.

It was an eventuality that I'd never anticipated. So eager had Whitefarrow been to destroy a helpless foe, that he no doubt had urged his men to blow through lights and to break the speed limit to get there. Well, damn.

There were eight SUVs in Whitefarrow's convoy, and only one man emerged. From the front vehicle, Corey stepped out from the passenger side, hands clearly visible, and called out to the police officers that he was coming forward. He was in what looked to be some sort of black tactical gear, but he was unarmed.

The other men in the convoy stayed put. No doubt all were armed and didn't want a sudden move to turn into a firefight. By that time, several more patrol cars had arrived. It was all dreadfully anticlimactic. All of this trouble, all of that effort, and Whitefarrow and his people would walk away with a few moving violations.

My only consolation was knowing the degree to which the pompous and tedious windbag would be fuming in his vehicle below. To be so close, and yet to be so ....

At that moment, the second to the last vehicle in the small convoy roared to life, and the vehicle lurched onto the curb and did a sudden three-point turn, before racing down a side street. Police officers below sprang into action.

What the hell was Whitefarrow doing? For it must have been my enemy's vehicle that now raced away. He was wealthy, and no doubt influential, and all he faced was a moving violation.

And then it dawned on me. The man must have presumed that these police were part of some sort of trap. Either that or he blanched at the idea of the coming darkness and the possibility that I soon would be healed from any wounds I may have received. He was fleeing back to his lair.

I turned and dashed down the hallway and scampered out the window onto the fire escape. Damnit.

Whitefarrow was racing back to the safety of his bunker, and I needed to beat him there. That should have been my plan all along. Lure him out and then slip into his sanctum while he was away and security there was light, only to kill him when he returned. I could have kicked myself if I hadn't been so focused on what lay before me.

I was down the fire escape in no time, and soon was racing my stolen vehicle through the alley. I kept to the back roads at first, hoping that the kerfuffle back at my ambush site would keep local police occupied, and then I hit the main road and raced the engine.

I was a better than middling driver, and there was nothing in my character that accepted fear. So racing at great speeds and risking all was something that meant little to me. I soon was weaving in and out of traffic and running over curbs to make the best time possible.

By that time, it was about 15 minutes to sunset. Roads were crowded with traffic, but it was only a short way to my goal. I just needed to get to Whitefarrow's refuge before he did. By that time, I was as focused on what lay in front of me as I ever had been in my life. If I didn't get him now, the man never would reemerge.

But what can I say? I was too focused. I didn't see the car coming that collided with mine, and I wasn't even afforded the decency of a spectacular collision. A car t-boned mine, striking it just in the middle of the driver's side door, hurling me into the passenger seat.

It generally is a good thing for humans to wear safety belts. At that moment, I was not. And the force of the collision combined with the speed with which I was knocked about the driver's compartment, left me dazed and discombobulated. When I came to myself, there were a number of concerned faces looking down on me where I lay on the sidewalk, and several phones were trained on me from above, taking videos.

Great.

By that time, sunset was upon us. And I felt my evening surge hit. The aches and pains faded, and my head cleared. It took but a moment. But at least fifteen minutes had passed, and I'd missed my chance at Whitefarrow.

Great.