by Domino Finn
His cry was deafening, but only for a moment. I forced him under, ignoring the steam blistering my fingers. The salt water bubbled. Tyson Roderick hardened and broke apart in my hands. The rocks sunk to the floor, reverted once again to an inert substance.
When I finally faced the shore, the fire trucks and police were arriving. I was alone now, my adversary just a crumble of stones in my hand. I stuffed the largest in my pocket. Then I swam along the coast towards my truck.
Chapter 13
My pickup rumbled north, away from Coconut Grove, away from the madness. I was a little beat up, sure, but it was embarrassing to admit that the brief swim had exhausted me more than anything. I thought my brand new muscles would've made physical activity less taxing. Apparently Zombie Cisco hadn't done regular laps at the Y.
The truck sputtered, dangerously low on gas. A quick fill-up rectified the emergency, but the tank only took six gallons. When I started the pickup again, the gas gauge didn't go up.
Great, less than a week and already something was broken. Whatever. Better it than me. Besides, it still ran.
Back on the road, I headed into Little Havana. My old neighborhood. I passed by the family house, like I always did. The one I had shared with my parents and sister, Seleste. But none of us lived there anymore.
I drove to their new home, several blocks further. Saint Martin's, the cemetery where they were buried. It was closed now, of course. Usually I snuck in, but tonight I was ready to pass out. I just sat in the truck, gazing out the broken window, wondering when I'd be lucky enough to see my family again.
Maybe I didn't want to. The last time I'd gotten too close, I had a run-in with my dad. His mutilated corpse had dug through the dirt and attempted to drag me under. No biggie. Just your garden-variety revenge for my murdering him.
That, by the way, was exactly why I was skirting police and breaking into City Hall. Dead hit men didn't have a lot of sway with the law. But if I was proof of anything, it was that determination is a hell of a thing. Ten years is a long time to wait for justice, but I was getting closer.
The truck was slow to start again. I wondered if all the stops and starts were taxing the battery. I gave the engine extra gas, imagining it needed a stretch, then backed out.
A black pool of oil had formed while I'd been idle. Great.
I eased the truck back onto the street and drove slowly. Just like a tank, I thought again. Yeah, right. After two short blocks, my tank was sputtering and overheating.
I could get by without a gas gauge, but I sure as hell needed oil.
I'd never make it to the Everglades, but I had to lie low tonight. In a world with few friends, my option was obvious, if imperfect.
My childhood home was owned by strangers now, but one person still came around the neighborhood. Milena Fuentes, my sister's childhood friend. Like me, she didn't live in Little Havana anymore, but she visited all the time.
I parked outside her old property, on the grass between the street and the chain-link fence, and kicked my alligator boots onto the passenger seat. I passed out so fast I don't remember it.
Rapping on the metal roof of my pickup jolted me awake. I'd reversed position in my sleep, using the passenger seat as a pillow. A figure leaned over me through the broken window, thankfully blocking the harsh sunlight. It was Milena.
"It's almost noon. Put a shirt on."
I squinted against the unwelcome daylight. "How long have you been standing there?"
She just smiled and shrugged.
I rubbed my face and sat up, in the process discovering what was causing the faint itchy feeling on my shoulder. Shards of glass from the window still covered the seat, and now some were pressed into my skin.
"Nice pickup, by the way," she said. "All you need is a shotgun rack and a dog and you're one hell of a sad country song."
"Dog's dead and my shotgun has no rack."
"Even sadder."
I couldn't help but smile. Milena was a sight for sore eyes. Long, brown hair, tan skin, and full of sass and curves. It was funny. After a night of bruising, I welcomed her company.
She drew her head back and arched an eyebrow. "You gonna tell me why you're camping outside my abuelo's house?"
She'd grown up at the house but, like I mentioned, she no longer lived here. Milena had gotten a job dancing and converted the lavish income into a condo in Midtown. Her grandfather was a different story. He'd never leave the old house, the way she told it, no matter how lonely it was. To compensate for that, she visited him in the afternoons like clockwork.
I cleared my throat. "I was just passing by..."
In my new position, Milena saw the burn marks along my side and cringed. "What happened to you now?"
I dug around the floor of the pickup and found another tank top wedged under the seat. Hey, when you're mostly homeless, you make do. I stepped outside and wiped the glass off my back. Then I pulled the shirt on and brushed more glass from the interior of the truck.
"You know how it is, Milena. The less you know, the better."
She crossed her arms and gave me that sideways look that Latinas are so good at. "Mmm hmm. You still don't trust me."
I stopped fussing with the truck and gave her my full attention. "It's not like that. Sometimes I think you're the only one I can trust."
Her face softened. Since I'd returned from the dead, Milena had been my rock. I could mostly count on Evan, of course, but not without a sermon. And that was when he wasn't trying to arrest me. Milena was the polar opposite. She supported me unflinchingly. With her help I'd gotten on my feet and avoided the police.
"In fact," I added, "I'm in need of another burner."
She clicked her tongue and disengaged from me, moving to her car parked behind mine. Her Fiat was tiny, red, cute, and new. Basically, everything my pickup wasn't. She obviously didn't share my flair for going big.
Milena dug in her car and returned with four identical, clamshell-packaged cell phones. "I figured you go through them like candy." Sweet. She just saved me a trip to Midtown.
"You wouldn't happen to have a box of shotgun shells in there, would you?"
Her eyes rolled. "Sorry. You must've left it off your shopping list."
I thanked her before she thought I was becoming unreasonably demanding and tossed the cell phone packages in the truck.
"Don't forget to call me whenever you break one open," she said.
I nodded. Unlike Evan, I was fine with Milena having my number. She wouldn't try to track me, for one. She just liked to talk and make sure I was still alive once in a while.
"You're wearing the Saint Michael medal now," I noted. It was hard to look at her neck without my eyes straying to her ample chest.
She traced her hand against the necklace subconsciously. The medal had belonged to Seleste, my little sister. Violently murdered, she was just a memory now. Milena wasn't wearing the medal when I saw her last.
She shrugged. "With you coming back and everything happening, I've been thinking more about her. You know?"
I did. My sister had been the only link between us back in the day. It was odd to have a relationship that didn't depend on Seleste. "Yeah," was all I said.
We both glanced away nervously, realizing the gulf between us. We didn't really know each other. Not as well as I'd known Emily, the woman I was still in love with. Not as well as Evan, my best friend who I'd basically grown up with. But sometimes your gut tells you more about a person than years of adventures do.
I thought of Evan's email to the city commissioner and chewed my lip. For all our history, I was living in a world ten years shifted from reality. Daily events had become memories in the blink of an eye, and I, just another old man with regrets. I wondered if all those outdated memories meant anything anymore.
Milena puckered her lips. "You look like shit. You should come inside."
"Oh, I'm fine—"
She clamped her arm around mine, dragged me to the trunk of her car, and pointed at a case
of water bottles and groceries. "I know you are. You're gonna help me carry that."
"What about your grandfather?"
"He doesn't care about anything. He's a little out there, anyway."
I sighed and did as I was told. (It doesn't happen a lot.) Besides, for Milena, it was the least I could do.
Chapter 14
The small house was musty. No air conditioner to speak of, but every room had a fan. After I dropped the bottles in the kitchen, Milena introduced me to her abuelo, an old man sitting in a lounger watching the noticias on TV. Spanish news was like American news, hard-hitting and full of drama, except there was more footage of women in bikinis.
"Hola," said the old man.
I switched to Spanish. "Nice to meet you, Hernan." I was sure we'd seen each other before, but that was a different life.
Milena smiled. "This is Cisco. He's Seleste's older brother."
His eyes widened. No doubt the brutal history of my family was flashing through his mind. He would've known the details intimately, even without the television news reports—my old house was a block away.
"Dios mío," he whispered, making the sign of the cross. He continued in Spanish. "Nobody thought something like that could ever happen here."
I nodded weakly. What could I say? I certainly couldn't admit that it had been my fault for finding the Horn. "You live here alone?" I asked. I already knew the answer, but I was desperate to change the subject.
The old man nodded. "My little darling visits me. Makes sure I haven't died in my sleep."
Milena rolled her eyes. "Abuelo, please." She returned to the kitchen and began filing the groceries away. "Cafecito?" she offered.
The man nodded. Hell, I did too. Nothing woke me up faster than a shot of Cuban coffee. It was half melted sugar.
While I appreciated the gesture, I didn't appreciate being left alone with the old man. Part of me thought Milena had done that on purpose. A way of paying me back for keeping her at arm's length.
"So..." I started, unnerved by the old man's stare. "How do you feel about Fidel's brother?"
"Asshole," he stated flatly. His conviction was expected, but it still caught me off guard.
I scratched my head uncomfortably and peeked at Milena's progress. Still scooping the espresso.
My eyes ran around the living room. Anything to keep them off the old man. Little knickknacks sat on shelves and a large wooden cross was hammered into the wall. The place probably hadn't changed since his wife passed. As an expert (but flailing) conversationalist, I decided not to bring that up.
On TV, the story switched from another gang killing in Little Haiti to destruction of property in City Hall. Some delinquents had broken in to smoke pot and set off the sprinkler system. A curious cover story. I knew the truth, but I couldn't exactly broach that subject either.
"Drugs," exclaimed Hernan, shaking his head. "You don't do the drugs, do you?"
I shook my head, which spurred a speech from him.
"They're everywhere. The tree root of all our problems. You can't stop them because the people who sell them are like roaches. And the ones who really matter, the ones with the money, finding them is like a needle in a straw house of cards."
The world according to Hernan. Besides butchering some colloquialisms, he maybe had a couple points.
He lifted his finger suddenly and shook it accusatorily at me, like he was just remembering something. "Un momento. Aren't you supposed to be dead?" he asked bluntly.
"Uh..." I checked Milena again and she was smiling. "I guess... yeah. Yes. I'm supposed to be dead."
The old man pressed his lips together and nodded, satisfied that he'd been right. "What about my darling? Are you taking her out to nice places?"
"What? Oh, no, it's not like that."
He leaned forward in his chair. "You're not one of those cheapskates, are you?"
Milena chuckled from the kitchen. Hopefully the water was boiling by now. "No, Hernan. Not at all. Actually, I'm kind of old-fashioned when it comes to that."
He smiled and reclined again. "Good, good."
His granddaughter peeked in. "Actually, he's taking me out tonight. Aren't you, Cisco?"
I coughed and shifted my gaze between the two of them. "Of course. Yeah, a date."
Milena smiled and disappeared again, leaving me under the old man's scrutiny. "What is it you do, Mr. Cisco?"
This is why I didn't like talking to people. I looked around for something to save me. When nothing came, I shrugged. "Necromancy, mostly. Just little spells and stuff. You know. Charms, hexes, zombies."
There was a tense moment while Hernan was quiet. I swallowed nervously as he spoke. "This... necromancy thing. Is it lucrative?"
I smiled. The old man was unflappable. "It's a work in progress," I answered.
He set his jaw and nodded again. "Well, be a man about it. Make your intentions known. Take what's yours."
"Exactly my thinking. You could say I'm on the fast track to the top."
"Good, good. And the hours? You have time for other things? To enjoy life?"
I sighed. Even when I was having fun, my sober reality managed to shine through. "I set my own schedule, but these days most of my time's spent hunting down those who've destroyed me and my family."
Hernan turned to the kitchen. "You see that?" he yelled. "A family man."
I chuckled softly. The man was a little out there, but he was all right by me.
Milena handed us tiny espresso cups and I downed the black fuel in a single gulp. I relaxed long enough to finish a couple coffees and chat a little more, but the R&R slowly grew awkward. Like I didn't deserve the moment.
The lives I'd destroyed. The ones I was now trying to save. They took precedence over what little enjoyment I had left.
I excused myself and hurried out. Milena came after me in the front yard.
"Hold up, Cisco. Are you okay?"
I spun angrily but bit my lip before saying anything. I didn't need to.
"Sorry," she said. "Stupid question." She glanced at the ground. In the week since we'd reconnected, I'd never known her to be hesitant. "Where are you going?"
"I have some things to do."
"What?"
"I don't know," I snapped. She gave me a hurt look again. "Milena, I really don't know. Something's after me and politicians are making investment deals and I have no idea what any of it has to do with killing my family. There's so much going on. I just can't waste another day."
"Slowing down's not a waste," she said. "But I get it. I'll still see you tonight?"
Shit. The date. "I thought we were just humoring the old man."
"Hell no. I need to get out."
I thought about her job. "No shaking butts tonight?"
"Nope. What my ass needs is a good bar stool."
I knew the feeling, but I hedged. "I don't know..."
Milena grabbed my hand. "Don't give me that. Listen, it was one thing when the Haitian gangs were hunting you in the streets. You said that's done with."
"For now."
"Good enough," she announced. "And that West African demon vampire?"
I scratched the back of my neck. "Burnt to a crisp."
"Sounds to me like your schedule is pretty clear. Besides, you should probably recharge your magic."
"It doesn't work like that," I grumbled.
She pushed me down the walkway toward my truck. "Maybe you don't know everything, Cisco. Did you ever think of that?"
"Not really."
She smirked. "That's your problem. Discovering everything that happened is gonna take some time. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself for not solving the ten-year conspiracy in a week. Go do your thing. It'll be dangerous, though, so you might as well live while you can. Enjoy your downtime. Come out with me tonight." She paused by the truck and fluttered her eyelashes like a puppy. "I could use the company."
I shook my head. Was I that easily manipulated?
"Oh shit," I said, turning to m
y truck.
"What is it?"
"My oil pan is cracked or something. I was overheating last night. I can't drive this thing."
Milena shook her head. "Like I said, a sad country song. Why don't you just hot-wire something from the street? The guy who lives at your old house is a prick."
I laughed. "Sorry. That's not in my skill set."
She crossed her arms. "You can't hot-wire a car?"
"You can?"
"Come on, Cisco. Kids in this hood weren't exactly squeaky clean."
I nodded with a smirk. Never would've guessed Milena mixed in with the bad element. "Sorry. I guess I was busy animating dead birds."
"That's gross."
I shrugged.
"Don't worry, I have Triple A." She pulled out her phone. "I also know a local mechanic on Flagler. I'll get you towed there."
"Uh, the thing is, the truck's not really registered to me."
She laughed. "Rodrigo doesn't give a fuck. He'll give me a good price too."
I nodded. "Then I guess all I need is a ride."
Chapter 15
I sat in the cramped Fiat, knees rubbing the glove compartment, feeling like a sardine in a can. Hey, it beat walking. And moving was good. It made me feel like I was going somewhere, even if that was the opposite of the truth.
I couldn't return to City Hall and seek out the commissioner without my truck. The boat hadn't enlightened me about anything. Short of waiting around to piss off errant ghosts, I was useless.
I convinced Milena to pick up some fast food: tacos combined with Doritos and a bucket of Mountain Dew. Food these days. (I love it.) I scarfed down the chow, hoping to keep quiet the rest of the drive, but Milena was determined to save me from my dour mood.
"So you really won't tell me what you've been up to?" she pressed. "I want more cool vampire stories."
Cool. I thought about the poltergeist. The elemental. I definitely had some stories for her. Whether or not they counted as cool depended on who was nearly being killed. "I'll let you know as soon as it's safe. Some big players are involved. The last thing I want is to get you sucked into anything."