Of course the vampire was still there. That moron was still bleating at him to let him out of the cuffs, and it would be a pretty cold day in the pit before he did that.
He glared at the hunter-cum-tramp long enough to burn a hole in his head, before he turned toward the doorway, where the vampire was silhouetted against the outside lamps, and raised his gun. The sound was deafening inside the small space as he squeezed off one, two, three, four, five rounds directly at the creature, the muzzle flare illuminating the small space (and the sheer amount of blood that had leaked from the vic) with violent split-seconds of light.
All of the shots hit home, and the vampire flew back through the aperture. Kevin kept the weapon aimed for a moment, smoke curling from the barrel, before he turned his attention back to the man.
"What were you going to do," he asked. "Beg the fucking vampire to death?"
Without waiting for a response, he readied the weapon again and moved quickly toward the door, figuring that it was better to press the advantage rather than approach on tip toes. But when he reached the door, the body wasn't there. Just a dark smear on the glistening pavement, still wet from the rain earlier, the blood already running in the fine mist that wasn't quite fog, but not quite drizzle either as it settled.
"Shit," he cursed, and moved back inside, grabbing the man's shoulder and pushing him forward.
"Alright, big shot. He's wounded, and he'll be hungry, which means it's my job to clean up another hunter shitstorm and kill him before he comes across a civilian and tears their throat out in the middle of the high street," he snapped, pushing him again. "You first."