Blood Retribution

by Aimée Thurlo

  Lee nodded. For the next few hours they went back and forth, discussing their cover backgrounds. Finally, around one in the morning, Lee reached for his jacket. “I’ll find a motel down by the freeway. I’ll give you a call after I check in so you’ll know where to reach me.”

  “Take my couch. It’ll be safer than having housekeeping open the door before you’ve put on the morning sunblock. Besides, we need to keep an eye on each other. Look what happened to the last two guys who had this assignment.”

  “Good point.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll hit the floor running. We’ll go to our new office and twenty-four hours after that, we’ll open for business. Then the fun will start and we can get busy making new enemies. Just what I live for.”

  “Coffee, glazed doughnuts, badge, and a gun. What more is there?” he nodded, sizing up the couch.

  Two days later, Lee delivered a free “sample” of their wholesale jewelry supplies to a potential customer. The Navajo silversmith, a longtime Albuquerque resident in his mid-forties, had been anxious and urged Lee to leave quickly before his current supplier arrived. The silversmith didn’t want any trouble if the two accidentally met at his house. Lee had agreed, but the news had given him the opportunity he was looking for—the chance to check out the competition.

  Lee knew he was on the right track. The silversmith, after polishing off three bottles of beer during Lee’s visit, had let the name Silver Eagle slip. Lee walked briskly to his vehicle, carrying a small cardboard box with samples of their inventory. This was a poor neighborhood in northwest Albuquerque, east of the railroad tracks and west of I-25, and rap music was blaring from a Chevy low rider cruising by. A westerly breeze seemed to blow the notes right at him and the subwoofer made the windows on his car rattle. Four teenaged boys looked in his direction, possibly because of the box he was carrying, but continued on their way.

  Lee got inside and set the box on the seat beside him. He’d park a block or two away and stake out the silversmith’s house. It was already after sunset and for ordinary people it would soon be too dark to see very well. A nondescript green Chevy with the headlights already on passed by on his left, slowing as if to stop as Lee pulled away from the curb. Lee automatically checked out the driver.

  The young Navajo man at the wheel looked over quickly in his direction at the same time, and their eyes met for a split second. Lee, familiar with the aggressive attitude among young men, and sometimes women too, that linked more than casual eye contact with “mad-dogging” and a threat, looked away without expression and continued on.

  In his rearview mirror he could see that the Navajo man was still watching him. He remembered the silver watch-band on the man’s left hand, and his gut told him that the driver was the Silver Eagle supplier. He’d seen Lee parked beside the silversmith’s house and had probably spotted the cardboard box he’d been carrying. Either that or he was feeling particularly curious and hostile. In an era where drivers tended to pull guns on each other over minor traffic incidents, it paid to remain alert.

  Lee began looking for a place to turn around, then glanced back and noticed that the green Chevy was making a U-turn in the street. Lee made a right turn at the next intersection, intending on circling the block to see if the Chevy would follow. It did, with the headlamps now extinguished. There weren’t any other cars moving on the street at the moment and the man following him obviously didn’t want to stand out.

  Lee turned on his own vehicle lights, deciding to continue out of the neighborhood while allowing the man to keep up. He knew he could lose the tail, but he had more to gain now by finding out who the man in the car behind him was and who he was working for—hopefully Silver Eagle.

  At this point he knew only one thing for sure. If the Navajo man in the Chevy was part of the group who’d killed the cops, he wasn’t the head man—not if he was out making deliveries.

  Swinging out onto Second Street, which had plenty of traffic from the commuter crowd, Lee noticed that the green Chevy continued to follow. The man had his headlights on to blend into traffic.

  It was cooling off now and Lee rolled up his window. He continued north on Second, using the opportunity to call Diane on his cell phone. She was in their hole-in-the-wall office downtown, an ancient brick building that had once contained a jewelry store. The next building over was a bail bondsman’s office that saw a lot of business.

  Her number was on speed dial. “Hi, it’s me,” Lee said as soon as she answered. “Our contact was in a hurry to get rid of me. His supplier was due to make a delivery and he was worried I might run into him and hurt his source.”

  “You staked out the place, I hope?” Diane was all business over the phone, a quality of hers he respected.

  “I was just pulling away from his house when I picked up a tail. I think it’s the supplier and it looks like he’s worried about what I’ve been doing visiting his client. He’s played a few amateur games so far and I’m leading him north out of the city. I’ll end up on Highway 313.”

  “There aren’t many houses between there and Bernalillo, especially when you get on Sandia Pueblo land. Think he’ll try and pull you over or make a move to check you out?” Diane sounded eager now. “This isn’t quite what we had in mind, but it could still be a way of making contact with the Silver Eagle people.”

  “I hope so. I’m trying to pace myself so he doesn’t have to run any lights. It could screw up my tactics if he gets T-boned.” Lee checked his mirror again. The Chevy was still about an eighth of a mile back.

  “Want me to head your direction?” Diane asked. “Nothing is going on here, and I’m about to lock up.”

  “Yeah. Come up Second from downtown. If anything happens, I’ll let you know.”

  They both said good-bye and ended the call. Lee was at the north end of Second now, where that street and Fourth became Highway 313. The Chevy had slowed considerably to avoid closing the gap between them, so Lee turned right off Second Street onto the highway, then moved over to the left-hand lane and slowed. The right-hand lane led east to I-25, and Lee didn’t want to lose his tail at this junction.

  Fortunately, it didn’t happen. Lee drove down the old highway, the former northern route into Albuquerque before the creation of the freeway, as locals called I-25 and I-40 throughout the metro area. A quarter mile back, on the nearly deserted road, came the green Chevy. The man had picked up speed to narrow the gap.

  After they had gone another mile, the driver in the Chevy, now less than fifty yards back, turned on his emergency flashers and began flipping his high beams on and off. Lee hit the speed dial on the cell phone, and when Diane answered he said, “We just passed mile marker five and he’s signaling for me to pull over. Talk to you later.”

  “I’m less than fifteen minutes away. Be careful.”

  “Always.” Lee disconnected the call, touched the brakes, and slowed to a stop on the narrow gravel shoulder of the road. The Chevy pulled up about thirty feet behind Lee’s vehicle and stopped, the engine running and the headlights shining brightly so he couldn’t make out the driver in the glare. Leaving his own vehicle running, Lee stepped out of his SUV and moved just a few steps toward the road, far enough from the glare to see the driver.

  The man noticed what he’d done and quickly opened his own door, exiting but keeping the door between them. Lee could see the driver’s left hand on the window frame, but his right hand was out of view.

  “Good evening—sir. Did you know your taillights are blinking on and off? You must have a short in the electrical system,” the young Navajo man said, a trace of nervousness in his voice.

  “Really?” Lee stepped closer, noting that the man was wearing jeans with a long-sleeved wool shirt and Western boots. His long, greasy hair was not regulation in any law-enforcement agency Lee knew about. He glanced at his taillights. “They’re back on now. You a pueblo cop or something?”

  The man hesitated for a moment, reaching down for something with his right hand. If it was a gun
, Lee was pretty confident he could draw and fire his own weapon first.

  “No,” the man continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. I’m actually a state patrolman working undercover.” He stepped out from behind the door and displayed a state police gold shield in a leather case.

  Lee’s eyes were good enough, even at twenty feet, to note from the badge number that it belonged to the dead state policeman, Sergeant Archuleta. Was this man his killer, or just a Silver Eagle member too stupid to realize what a damning trophy that was? “You must have ESP, Officer. I saw you east of Edith a while ago in a residential neighborhood, and you followed me from there before I ever turned on my lights. Yet you knew I was going to have a problem with my taillights.” Lee stepped closer, and the man slipped his hand around toward his back pocket. Lee saw him sniffing the air, like an animal, and suddenly he knew what had attracted the man’s attention!

  Lee moved quickly, closing the ten feet between them in a heartbeat, slamming the man in the sternum with the heel of his palm. The man grunted and fell backward, landing hard on the gravel while the handgun he’d been reaching for skidded across the ground.

  “What are you?” The young Navajo man writhed in pain, clutching his chest. In spite of his injury, he was still curious about Lee’s vampire scent. It seemed to attract skinwalkers like bees to honey and that made it one huge disadvantage for Lee when hunting the shape-shifters.

  If the wind was right, they could always smell his unique blood and single him out for attention. From the moment they’d caught his scent a bloodlust seemed to take over. It was especially so with those who’d been turned recently and had less control over their newly acquired predatory instincts.

  Lee picked up the 150-pound skinwalker by the front of his shirt and spun him around face-forward against the door of the Chevy.

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I know what you are. And now I’m about to find out who as well.” Lee controlled the man with a pinch hold on the nerves in the back of his hand, then used his free hand to retrieve the skinwalker’s wallet and search his pockets. Along with the badge, there was a roll of cash held together with a rubber band, a pocket knife, three quarters, and a rubber comb.

  Still gripping the man with the pinch clamp, which required little pressure to bring about incapacitating pain, Lee flipped open the wallet, which contained a New Mexico driver’s license for Jacob Tsosie, who had a southeast Albuquerque address. The photo matched the man.

  Tsosie squirmed, making a real effort to break free. Lee swung him around and punched him with a lightning jab, holding back enough so he wouldn’t break the guy’s jaw. Tsosie’s head rocked back as he passed out. Lee let him slump to the ground, then patted down the inert figure, checking for extra weapons and finding none.

  Reaching inside the Chevy, Lee turned off the headlights and ignition and pulled out the keys. On the split ring were the ignition and trunk keys, plus a house key and another smaller silver key that Lee knew opened a cheap padlock, storage cabinet, or lockbox.

  He brought the unconscious skinwalker around to the trunk, unlocked it, and checked inside. Nothing in the compartment held his attention, so he quickly tossed out the jack, the jack handle, and a screwdriver, then stuffed the skinwalker inside so he wouldn’t have to watch him. If Tsosie woke up and decided to change into animal form, the wolf, mountain lion, or whatever would still have to break out of the trunk to do any damage.

  Taking a quick glance down the road in both directions, Lee reached back into the Chevy and turned on the emergency flashers. No sense in having some drunk ram into the car while he was working.

  Lee checked on the passenger-side floorboard of the Chevy, noting a cardboard box with the silversmith’s name and address scrawled upon it in black marker. More important, perhaps, was the name Silver Eagle, today’s date, and a figure of 215 dollars listed as Total.

  The labeling was a good touch. It added legitimacy to the delivery and was less likely to attract the attention of law enforcement if the man was pulled over by a traffic cop or seen by someone other than a customer.

  The box probably contained the turquoise stones, silver castings, and other Southwest jewelry makers’ supplies. He would have a look inside in a few minutes to confirm it. On the passenger seat was a bag that had the scent of roast-beef sandwiches, if the fast-food label wasn’t enough already to reveal the contents.

  With no need for a flashlight, Lee quickly discovered a cell phone under the driver’s seat and picked it up by the aerial before dropping it into an evidence pouch, but nothing else was inside the vehicle except for a few candy wrappers in the back. With the exception of the murdered state policeman’s badge, there didn’t seem to be any incriminating evidence inside the vehicle or on his person. But finding out he was dealing with a skinwalker and knowing that they usually ran in packs added a whole new dimension to the Silver Eagle organization.

  He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, then noticed headlights coming in his direction at high speed. This was either Diane, or trouble.

  CHAPTER 5

  ee walked behind the Chevy to give himself some cover. As the car got closer he recognized Diane at the wheel. She pulled up behind Tsosie’s vehicle, turned off her car lights, then stepped out of the vehicle. “Where’s the driver?”

  Lee stepped back around into view between the Chevy and his own SUV. “He’s taking a nap in the trunk. I found out why he was so interested in following me.”

  “You in particular?” Diane’s eyebrows went up as she came over to join him. “Don’t tell me he’s a skinwalker.”

  “If you insist. But if he isn’t, I’ll be really surprised. Our windows were down and I think he caught my scent earlier. When one of his kind smells a vampire, instinct usually takes over.”

  Lee brought out the state police badge he’d taken from the Navajo witch, holding the leather case by the edges. “He actually flashed this, hoping to impress me.”

  Diane took it from him, also by the edges, and held it in the headlight beams so she could see it clearly. “This belonged to the murdered state cop, all right. I suppose I should put it in an evidence pouch. But if you’re sure he’s a skinwalker, we’re going to have to kill him.”

  “I don’t see another choice. If he goes to jail there are lots of ways he could escape using his special abilities.” Lee paused for a moment. “And I can’t afford to have anyone else roaming around who knows I’m a nightwalker—especially a creature who preys on my people.”

  “Do you think he’s just working for the Silver Eagle dealers and kept in the dark about where they get their merchandise, or is he one of them? And if the latter is true, are we talking about a gang—sorry—pack of skinwalkers who have their own criminal organization?”

  Lee thought about it for a while. “It would be real easy for animals such as wolves or mountain lions to wear a simple pack and smuggle contraband across the border. With their physical abilities, they could escape detection easily.”

  “If that’s the case, then we’re in real trouble. How are you going to be able to infiltrate a group like that? One sniff and your cover’s blown.”

  “We’ll have to come up with another plan. But, in the meantime, let’s see what Jacob Tsosie can tell us.”

  Headlights appeared in the distance, and Lee gestured, calling her attention to them. “Probably just a passerby. Let’s pretend to be working on a tire.”

  “I’ll step over to my car and grab a flashlight.”

  Lee walked around, to the back of the Chevy and picked up the lug wrench he’d removed from the trunk earlier. He listened, but no noise was apparent from inside. Tsosie was either still out or playing possum.

  Moving around to the left rear tire, Lee pretended to be tightening a lug nut as the pickup drove by. Someone in the vehicle gave a wolf whistle, obviously seeing Diane coming back in his direction. She was wearing slacks and a nice sweater, and he understood the reaction.

  “Asshole,” Diane mumbled as she
came up beside him, aiming the flashlight at the tire to complete the deception. “Men can be such animals,” she said, a smile lighting up her eyes as she looked at him.

  Lee watched the truck continue down the road. Their luck was holding. “Speaking of animals, we’re going to have to decide how to deal with our prisoner. Why don’t you head back to the apartment? I’ll handle this.”

  “You trying to protect me? No need to get macho. I know what has to be done. We’re in this together, remember, partner?” Diane looked down the road in both directions, then pulled out her handgun. “But we should let him change into animal form first. It’ll not only confirm what he is, it’ll really save on the paperwork.”

  “Killing him outright won’t get us the information we need. Let’s lock him in the walk-in safe at the office for a bit.”

  “Why wait? Let’s see if we can get some answers now. Do you suppose that he’s still out cold? What did you use, a sleeper hold?” Diane reached into the Chevy and brought out the keys. There was no trunk release in this model sedan.

  “Let me open the trunk. If he makes a move, I’m quicker than you are.”

  She tossed him the keys. “Go for it.”

  “Stand clear and have the flashlight beam ready to shine in his eyes.”

  Diane took a position to the right of the trunk. If he jumped out and made a run for the underbrush, he’d have to make it past her.

  Lee stood to the left of center, brought out his .45 because of the better hitting power at this range, then held it ready with his left hand as he reached down with his right hand and slowly inserted the key into the lock.

  As soon as the lock clicked, the door flew up with a thump and a black panther erupted from the trunk in an explosion of fur and muscle, knocking Lee onto his back. Lee let go of his pistol and grabbed the animal by the neck, trying to keep the fangs away from his throat. Diane shot the creature in the side and it howled in pain, jerking back and loosening Lee’s grip.