I parked across the street from my ex-husband's strip club. Remarkably, a tear of shattered pride did not come to my eye.

Danny and his partners of sleazeballs had cleaned up the place a little. The ugly cinder block building had been painted white. The dirt parking lot had been paved over. And a flashing neon sign now indicated that here be nude women. I shook my head sadly. Men slouched in and out of the club. Single men. Most didn't appear happy. A big black guy stood at the front entrance checking ID's. Music pumped enthusiastically from the open door.

I sat and watched, my heart heavy. Above, the moon was half-full. The stars were out. No clouds. No wind. A perfect night to see desperate women exploited for dollar bills.

I was feeling sick, and not because I was parked outside Danny's house of flesh. Earlier, I had consumed a packet of animal blood. Pig blood, this time. The impurities in the blood always made me sick. My digestive system was designed for blood only. Not the bits of bone, hair and meat floating around in the stuff they sold me. I probably should filter the blood myself, but I honestly didn't want to see what I was drinking. Better to tear the packet open, close my eyes, down the stuff as fast as possible, and will myself not to gag.

Impurities or not, the animal blood never truly revitalized me. It satisfied a hunger, a craving. It kept me alive and functioning. But it did not energize me. Not the way human blood did. And that scared the shit out of me.

There was really no comparison. My kind was obviously designed to consume human blood. And there was such a ready supply of the stuff.

Mercifully, the animal blood kept my hunger in check, but I wondered for how long. Would there come a day when animal blood would no longer suffice? I didn't know, but that thought alone was enough get me rocking in my front seat, holding my aching stomach.

A few minutes later, with my stomach still doing somersaults, I pulled away from the curb, drove past the strip club, and was soon trawling through some pretty rough-looking neighborhoods. Most homes here were surrounded with low, wrought-iron fences. Most windows were barred. More wrought iron. Clearly, iron work was alive and well here in Colton.

Five minutes later, while waiting for a light at a mostly empty corner, I watched a boy on a bike ride up to three young men lounging near a liquor store. The boy gave a tall black guy an envelope. The black guy gave the boy a baggie.

Bingo.

I pulled up next to them in a no-parking zone. I parked there anyway and got out. They stared at me. I was wearing jeans and a light sweater. They were wearing jeans and heavy jackets. The heavy jackets reminded me of the Michelin Man, or maybe something astronauts might wear in deep space. This wasn't deep space. This was a hood in Colton and I knew what was inside their jackets. Drugs and guns. I had to act quickly.

"Hey pretty lady - " one of them said, turning to me.

But that was as far as he got. I punched him hard enough to lift him off his feet and into the liquor store wall behind him. While he was busy passing out, I turned and punched the lone Hispanic guy square in the nose. His head snapped back so violently that I thought I might have broken his neck. One moment he was standing there. The next, he was on his back and bleeding.

The third guy was making a move to reach inside his too-thick jacket when I slapped him hard enough to get his attention, but not so hard as to knock him out cold. A few encouraging smacks later, followed by a knee to the groin, and I had the information I was looking for.

Their boss was guy named Johnny. And he was here. At the liquor store.

I smacked the third guy again, this time for selling drugs to kids, and sent him spinning into my minivan's front fender, which he promptly bounced off of, leaving a skull-sized dent. He lay unmoving on the sidewalk.

Now, how the hell was I going to explain that to my insurance agent?

I headed into the liquor store.

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