Texas Hold 'Em

by PATRICK KAMPMAN

  The roaches and I parted ways not too long after daybreak and I continued the drive eastward, stopping only for gas and the occasional drive-through for a bite to eat. Because of all the hardware I was carrying, I never strayed too far above the speed limit. I was carrying more illegal weapons than a rebel army.

  At lunch, I called Toni on my new phone. The trip had given me ample time to think, and when my thoughts strayed to scenarios involving the werewolf’s vengeance for standing her up, I decided the best course of action was to cancel ahead of time.

  I let out my breath when it went through to voicemail. I gave her the excuse I’d been working on for the last fifteen minutes of my trek through the desert: an emergency had come up with my mom, and I had to rush to Texas to take care of it. Bonus points for it being the truth.

  I thought about calling Megan. She was going to be as ticked off as Toni. But in the end, I decided against it. For some reason I knew Megan would be harder to talk to, and I was worried she might actually be able to convince me to tell her where I was. At least by ignoring her I knew she’d be safe, and I’d be fighting my own battles this time around.

  It was a few hours after dark by the time I pulled off the highway, twenty miles outside of San Antonio. Toni had already called me back several times. I let them all go directly to voice mail. I promised myself I’d call her in the morning after I’d had a good night’s sleep and felt better able to deal with her. Maybe I’d call Megan, too; after the long drive, I was finding that I missed her.

  The freeway exit consisted of a hotel, some gas stations, and a couple of fast-food places in the middle of nowhere. I always wondered where the people who worked those places lived. There weren’t any houses around for miles.

  I parked in front of the dusty hotel, blowing my nose on a wadded-up napkin I had found on the Miata’s floorboard. I had been in Texas less than a day, but the heat and allergies had wasted no time reintroducing themselves.

  The lobby was overly air-conditioned, and I went from hot to freezing in an instant. I tugged on the front of my sweat-saturated, burnt-orange t-shirt, peeling the white Longhorn symbol away from my chest as I waited for the desk clerk to run through the registration process.

  After I finished checking in, I grabbed the stuff out of my car and tossed it onto the orange floral-print bedspread, splashed some water on my face, and headed for the cluster of gas stations and fast-food restaurants across the way. Even though the sun had gone down hours ago, the hot asphalt radiated through the soles of my Vans as I walked across the parking lot to the first burger joint in my path.

  I went for broke and ordered a triple-bacon cheeseburger, large fries, and a ginormous drink. While I waited for my order, I sat down at a booth and called one of Robert’s contacts.

  Robert had been my mentor in the vampire-slaying business. He was the guy that the vampire Christian had been after in the first place. The one that had put together the team that was killed a few weeks ago at the ranch.

  Robert had introduced me to his friend Jacob a few months back, when we were down in San Antonio looking into a feral vampire that was feasting on an impoverished area of the city. Outside of our crew, Jacob was the only friend of Robert’s that I knew, which meant he was now the only living friend of Robert’s that I knew.

  I remembered Jacob’s number because he had made such a big deal about Robert giving it to me. When he found out Robert had given out his number, Jacob had been so mad at him for “violating his trust” that he refused to speak to him for weeks. The guy was paranoid. We’re talking about a tinfoil-hat level of paranoia.

  He had a right to be like that. He was one of Robert’s old team; they’d started hunting vampires and other monsters together way back in the seventies. Jacob knew more about the supernatural than was safe for any human. His specialty was information: he monitored everything from police band scanners to tabloids, always on the lookout for conspiracies and monsters. Most of what he found was garbage, but Robert insisted his information was reliable, so Jacob must have had a knack for sifting through the bullshit and wackos.

  The first time I met Jacob, Robert had sprung me on him. It was supposed to be a meeting between the two of them to talk about the vampire that was gorging its way through the underbelly of San Antonio, but Robert decided I should come along and meet him.

  It was shortly after my girlfriend died, and I was in a funk. I had withdrawn a little and Robert was trying to drag me back out. Jacob was permanently withdrawn, so Robert thought it would be good for both of us to talk to actual people.

  I remember the look of terror and betrayal on Jacob’s face when he saw me. He was like a trapped rabbit. It didn’t matter that I had done nothing threatening, or that we were in a public place filled with people—I was an unknown, and Jacob didn’t like unknowns.

  It took Robert an hour of apologizing before Jacob calmed down enough to talk to us, and even then, he was guarded. The man had serious reservations about coming into contact with a living person he didn’t know. In fact, I think he had serious reservations about coming into contact with people he did know.

  Once over his initial doubts, he seemed to warm up to me well enough. I had seen him a handful of times since then, though it had been well over a month since the last occasion. The three of us had watched a baseball game on TV, and I listened while Jacob and Robert talked about the good old days.

  That visit had been under much better circumstances than the current one was going to be.

  The phone rang four times, then went through to voice mail. I left Jacob a message asking him to call me. He could have been out, but was more likely screening his calls. I was walking to the counter to pick up my meal when the phone rang. I answered it, trying not to dump my dinner as I balanced the tray in one hand on the way back to my seat. The forty- eight-ounce Coke added a level of difficulty to the maneuver.

  “Hello,” I said, setting my tray on the table. I just managed to catch the Coke before it went fully horizontal. The lid kept most of the soda in, and I threw a pile of napkins on the stuff that escaped.

  “Chance, is that you? Are you okay?” Jacob sounded half relieved, half suspicious.

  “I’ve been better.” I was a little surprised he’d called me back so soon. Even though Robert had vouched for me, the guy was odd. I didn’t think he was the type to appreciate random calls out of the blue, especially from people he hardly knew.

  “Jesus Christ, thank God! Where’s Robert? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for days. Is he with you? Let me speak to him.”

  “Robert’s dead, Jacob.”

  The line went silent for a few seconds.

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can’t be. All you had to do was retrieve some possessed pottery and destroy it. I gave Robert step-by-step instructions. It was an easy job! I could have done it in my sleep, for crying out loud, and I don’t do field work.”

  “So why didn’t you? Help us destroy it?” I wished he had, because I can tell you, destroying that thing had been anything but easy.

  “Weren’t you listening? Because I don’t do field work. Never have. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes guy.”

  “But you knew about the job?”

  “I was the one who gave it to Robert. I found out about the urn from an old associate of mine, Mark Stone. A professor who shares my views on the world we live in, and who’s really controlling it.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t need a lecture on black helicopters and government conspiracies.

  “Turns out Mark was working on an archeological dig in the Middle East when they found the thing. Who would have thought, huh? Once he realized what they had unearthed, he called me up. He knew I used to deal with that type of thing. He let me know what they found, and said it was too dangerous having a relic like that falling into the wrong hands. The man worked for Mr. Powers, knew him enough to be scared. Said he was worried why Powers wanted it so badly.

  “So I did a little
digging of my own and, from what I found out about that urn, the demons it contained, and Mr. Powers of California, I agreed with him.”

  After a moment, he continued. “It was a real struggle for Mark. Poor guy. It was like he had found the Holy Grail, you know? Here was this artifact that he thought was only myth, and he had actually found it! But he knew all hell would break loose if the wrong person got ahold of it.”

  “Literally,” I said.

  “Exactly. So he asked me if I could help get rid of it—destroy it before it caused any trouble. He even offered to pay ten grand of his own money to cover the expenses. And, well, you know the rest. I called up Robert and he said he’d take care of it. I told him exactly how to destroy the urn. So, tell me, Chance: what went wrong? God, y’all didn’t open it, did you?”

  “No, we didn’t open it. Neither the urn nor its contents killed Robert, though I can’t say the same for some others. That thing caused some significant collateral damage.” My tone plainly said I wasn’t buying the “easy” part of his claim.

  “Well, then, how did he die?” I could tell by his voice that he was still shaken. He was hoping that he’d find some hole in my story that would prove me wrong and Robert still alive.

  “Vampires.”

  “Vampires? What vampires?”

  “Before we left for California, Robert got a line on a vampire killing. It was out at a ranch in the Hill Country. We stopped by to take a look. It was a setup; they were waiting for us.”

  “And they got all of you?” He was incredulous.

  “No, not all of us. I’m still here.”

  “How do I know you’re not one of them?” His voice changed, skepticism creeping in.

  “One of who? A vampire? Trust me, Jacob, I’m not a vampire.” I finally noticed the rapt attention my conversation had garnered from a stricken lady and her enthralled daughter sitting at the next table.

  I covered the mouthpiece on the phone and said to them, “Van Helsing 2 just came out for the X-Box. It’s totally sweet!” The mother looked away, embarrassed. The girl popped another fry in her mouth and kept eavesdropping.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Jacob.

  I lowered my tone to a whisper, turning away from the mother and daughter, which in retrospect probably made me look even crazier.

  “Nothing. Look, I’m not a vampire. Like I said, we were ambushed. There were a ton of them. They got everyone but me.”

  “All dead?” His voice was quiet. Resigned.

  “Yes. No. I think Katy was still alive when I left, but she was down. I couldn’t get her out.”

  “If you left her in a nest of vampires, she’s dead now. Trust me.”

  “I know.” I was still trying to come to grips with it. Katy was Kristi’s sister. She was all of sixteen before I got her killed by introducing her to this mess.

  No, I wasn’t being fair to myself. Katy got her own self into it. Her sister’s death had hit her hard, and when she found a target for her rage, she held nothing back. She was the one who had inspired Robert to get back into the business, and I happily went along for the ride. The fact is that Katy had been more into killing vampires than any of us.

  “Let me get this straight. You already had a job, the one I had given you, but you decided it could wait a bit while y’all went half-cocked into a nest of vampires?” asked Jacob.

  “We didn’t know it was a nest. We thought it was another loner. Look, I know we screwed up, and everyone paid the price for it.”

  “So, who destroyed the urn? You did destroy it, didn’t you? Tell me you’re not carrying it around with you, or it’s not back home sitting on your mantel next to poor Aunt Hilda.”

  “No, it’s destroyed—or at least its contents are. I did it myself. Well, along with some help from some friends I met out in California, but that’s not the reason I’m calling. I’m calling because the vampires that killed Robert have my mom. I need to find them and get her back.”

  “How did they get your mom? Jesus, kid, you brought your mom with you on a raid?”

  “What? No. I have no idea how they found her. I’m more worried about getting her back. Can you help me?”

  “Maybe, but not on the phone; we’ve already said too much over the air as it is. Let’s meet. They could be listening in.”

  “Who could be listening in? The vampires?”

  “Of course not. Most of them are too stuck in the past to be current on things like wiretapping and electronic surveillance.”

  I didn’t entirely buy that. Jacob was out of touch with the new wave of vampires. I knew one back in California who spent most of his time playing video games on his laptop, and Megan was sporting the latest smart phone. But I decided against disagreeing with Jacob. The odds were good I would lose the argument, and if I won it, the only gain would be an unhealthy increase to his already-high level of paranoia.

  Instead, I asked, “So who’s listening in?”

  “They are!” he said in a desperate whisper. Like I said, he was certifiable. Unfortunately, he was my only lead, so I was forced to play along.

  “Right, okay; so let’s meet. When and where?”

  “At the place where we first met. Eleven o’clock.”

  “Tonight? C’mon, I just ordered dinner. How about we at least make it mid—” But he had hung up. I checked the time on my phone and swore. If I left now and broke a dozen traffic laws, I might be only five minutes late.

  I gazed longingly at my meal; it was my lot in life to covet but not consume. I couldn’t eat a greasy burger while I drove the manual- transmission Miata without wearing more of it than I ate, so I quickly unwrapped the sandwich, took a couple of large bites, and then tossed it. I took the giant soda and fries with me and sped off to San Antonio.

  Despite my best attempts, I was ten minutes late and had lost at least half a dozen fries to the space between my seat and the center console. I pulled into a nearby parking lot and hoofed it to our meeting place.

  When you hear about the Alamo, it’s hard not to imagine a great daunting fort. In real life, however, the mission consisted of a few small stone buildings, made even smaller by the towering modern structures that now ringed them.

  I was worried Jacob would have left already, attributing my tardiness to alien abductions or something equally crazy, but the short pudgy black man was standing next to the giant oak tree in the courtyard of the mission. He was wearing the same jean shorts, Spurs t-shirt, and baseball cap he was wearing the first time I had met him. I figured it was his “blending in” outfit.

  “You’re late.” His tone was accusatory, underscored by a strong dose of annoyed. “The longer we’re out here, the more likely it is that we’ll be noticed.”

  “Noticed?” I glanced around the pseudo-deserted grounds. The main buildings had long since closed for the day. A few straggling tourists wandered here and there, talking and snapping photos of the Alamo.

  “They’re always watching.”

  I didn’t bother asking who “they” were, for fear it would kick off an exposition about the Illuminati. “You didn’t ask me how far away I was before you set the meeting time and hung up.”

  “Were you followed?” He was shifting uncomfortably on his feet, trying unsuccessfully to act casual. His eyes darted among the handful of people scattered about, trying to tell which one was the government assassin.

  “Nope.” Honestly, I had been too busy dwelling on the fact that a vampire was holding my mother captive to even check, but I seriously doubted anyone was following me. Christian probably expected I was headed in his direction, but he couldn’t know where I was when he called me; for all he knew, I was still in Texas.

  As for the secret government agency, or whomever it was that Jacob was worried about, if someone that powerful was gunning for us, then we were done for anyway.

  “Good. Now don’t take this the wrong way.” Jacob pulled something out of his fanny pack. I thought for an instant he was going to kill me, but instea
d of a gunshot I heard a beep. Before I could react, he swiped the device across my forehead. Next, he studied a small readout on the blue- and-white implement.

  “A thermometer?” I asked.

  “Making sure you’re not one of the walking dead.”

  “With a thermometer? Really? You don’t have any better tests?” I was fortunate enough to be my own built-in spook detector. I could always tell when I was near something unnatural. I got a feeling when I was around things like vampires, witches and werewolves. Most people couldn’t. I guess they had to improvise.

  “You can always stand still and see if they try to eat you,” he said.

  “What would you have done if I was a vampire?” I wasn’t trying to be a jerk—I was actually curious. His outfit didn’t lend itself to carrying large amounts of weaponry. He was on the old side, but I doubted he was ever in great physical shape. I wondered if he had backup watching us. A sniper on a rooftop waiting to take me out on Jacob’s mark.

  But Jacob paused, looking a little disoriented by the question. “I told you I don’t like field work. Too many variables. Unpredictable. Anyway, we should be okay out here for a little while longer. They wouldn’t think that we’d be crazy enough to meet right under their noses.”

  “Whose noses?” Damn. It slipped out before I could stop it.

  “Them.” His eyes twitched to the side. I couldn’t be sure if it was a nervous tic, or if he had been hinting at something.

  I twisted around, but didn’t see anything.

  He did it again, letting his eyes stay a little longer until I saw it: a rectangular brown sign with white lettering. Paid and cared for by the Daughters of the Republic of Texas.