The Undead Kama Sutra fg-3

by Mario Acevedo

  “Not in those words. It was more like sign this or you’re out on your ass.”

  “And your bosses were comfortable with this?”

  “Charles, my immediate supervisor, wasn’t. He’s a nice enough guy otherwise but I could tell he didn’t want to join me in the unemployment line. My other boss is a real career prick. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t admit to making a mistake. Of course, I didn’t make a mistake. Even if I cooperated, I knew this wouldn’t be the end of the story. Something else comes up, a criminal investigation for instance, and do you think they’d admit to pressuring me to sign that affidavit?”

  Karen and I locked eyes for a moment. I sensed her gratitude; she’d found someone on her side. Maybe she would extend that gratitude to the bedroom.

  “Who else could verify the manifest?”

  “The flight attendant. After the crash, now it’s just me.”

  I tried to remember which of those corpses in the trailer belonged to the flight attendant. Not that I could’ve gotten her to talk.

  I scooped rice with my fork and pretended it tasted good. “What now?”

  Karen sighed. She ran a hand over her scalp and fluffed her hair. “Find work. And pronto. My rent is due at the end of next week and I won’t have enough to cover it.”

  Karen had been more than helpful. Thanks to her, the light on Goodman shined even brighter. This Dan Goodman was my man.

  I fished a roll of hundreds from my pocket and kept the roll below the level of the table so Karen couldn’t see what I was doing. I removed twenty bills, cupped them in my hand, and offered them to Karen.

  She stared at the money. “What’s that for?”

  “To give you a little breathing room until you find more work.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “There is none. My client gave me a good advance and so far, you’ve been my best lead.”

  Karen took the money and counted it. “You sure about this?”

  “Of course.”

  She folded the bills and shoved them into her purse. “Don’t expect no quid pro quo. Like putting out.”

  “Didn’t cross my mind.”

  “Well, make sure that it doesn’t.”

  The way she snapped at me meant I was wrong in thinking there was chemistry between us. How could I have misread her? Usually, when I’m with a woman alone like this, sex is not a matter of if but when. My vampire lure is always out there. Why wasn’t she interested?

  The waiter came by and took Karen’s plate. She asked for hot tea. After the waiter left, she asked me, “What’s next?”

  “After lunch?” I was hoping for a chance to check out Karen’s bra size, but considering her tone, I didn’t want a repeat of the debacle I had with Belinda in Oswego. “I keep going with the investigation.”

  The waiter brought hot tea. Karen poured a cup and took a sip. “Got time for a break?”

  “As in?”

  “As in, I got the afternoon off. Duh.” She sipped again. “You play pool? There’s a sports bar about a half mile from here.”

  “I can hold my own.” Okay, maybe I did have a second chance.

  Karen laughed. “Hold your own. Good luck with that. I’m going to kick your ass.”

  Did chemistry flicker between us?

  I paid the check for both of us. Karen and I had come to the restaurant in separate cars; I drove a Monte Carlo rental, she a little Metro. Karen had taken the last spot behind the restaurant while I parked down the street. I went back to my car and would follow her Metro to the sports bar.

  If the afternoon unfolded as I imagined it would, and we ended up together, I wouldn’t make the same mistake as I had with Belinda. Karen was getting a dose of vampire hypnosis.

  A woman screamed.

  The scream had come from Karen’s direction.

  My fingers and the skin on my arms tingled with dread. My kundalini noir writhed in alarm. So much for my sixth sense giving me a warning. The scream I heard meant the worst had already happened.

  I sprinted down the sidewalk and through an alley back to the tiny lot behind the Ling Ding Chinese Palace.

  A woman stared pale-faced at the ground beside Karen’s Metro. Two busboys stood at the back door of the restaurant and also looked at the ground.

  Karen lay on her back. Both legs were twisted under her hips. Her head faced the Metro and lifeless eyes gazed at the car door. Wet, shiny blood pooled around her head and matted the blond hair against the asphalt. Blood oozed from two small holes at the back of her skull.

  Death had been lightning-quick. Karen had collapsed and rolled backward on her hip.

  I panned the faces around me. “Anybody see anything?”

  The two busboys shook their heads. The woman didn’t react to my question.

  Karen’s key ring was by her right hand. Her purse remained tucked under her left arm. Nothing was taken.

  I crouched and examined the bullet wounds in her skull. The holes were identical round punctures an inch apart. Too small to be 9 mm or.38. Most likely a.22.

  I scanned the ground for the cartridge cases. Nothing but gravel, gum wrappers, and cigarette butts.

  Why hadn’t I heard the gunshots?

  A silencer? Of course.22s were easier to silence than larger-caliber weapons. And a couple of.22 slugs into the skull was enough to flatline anyone.

  The shots looked expertly delivered. Karen hadn’t been simply murdered, she had been assassinated.

  Chapter

  23

  Another good lead and another one dead as well. Only Karen didn’t deserve it.

  Why kill her? What few personal effects Karen had were still on her body. Robbery wasn’t the motive.

  Maybe the killer wasn’t after what she carried but what she had in her head: information. And with her dead, that information was gone forever.

  If this was an assassination, why kill her like this and leave evidence of a professional hit? Why not run her down, or break into her house and make it look like a burglary gone bad? Or did she have to be shut up immediately?

  Now I knew what she had known. Did her killer realize that? And if so, was I next?

  Karen had been dead less than a few minutes. The killer had to be close by.

  My kundalini noir coiled like a snake in its den-wary, suspicious, prepared.

  Pedestrians gathered to gawk at the body. Was one of them the murderer? I could take out my contacts and read their auras but that would give away my vampire nature. There were about a dozen people around me, too many to hypnotize.

  A waiter appeared in the back door of the restaurant, the same Asian guy who had served us. A busboy mumbled to him and motioned toward the Metro. The waiter’s expression went from concern to shock. He walked to the Metro and halted to stare at Karen’s body. His face turned ashen-white. He looked at me and pointed a finger. “She was with you.”

  The crowd gave a collective accusing gasp.

  The wail of an approaching police siren told me this attention was only going to make it worse for me.

  I backed away toward the alley. I wanted to turn and run, but if I did that, then everyone would presume I was guilty of something.

  “Where are you going?” The waiter scowled. He stepped around the Metro and followed me.

  What was up his tight ass? He was no cop.

  The waiter jabbed a finger toward Karen’s body. “What happened to her?”

  The siren echoed within the walls of the alley.

  The waiter trotted after me. “The police will be here. They’ll want to talk to you.”

  Maybe this guy was the assassin. He grabbed for my arm. I moved at vampire speed and was instantly out of his reach.

  He stared dumbfounded. He yelled over his shoulder in Chinese and chased me, changing his shouting to English. “What happened to your lady friend? Why are you leaving?”

  I turned away to remove my contacts. Where the alley emptied onto the street, I whirled about and faced the waiter.

/>   The pupils of his dark brown eyes gaped like tiny mouths. His aura pulsed once. I zapped the waiter hard to keep him out for a full minute at least. I lifted him into a Dumpster and dropped him on a pile of yesterday’s fried rice and peanut sauce.

  I returned to my car and sped off. Even though I had an open ticket back to Chicago, I wondered if flying was the safest bet.

  In the rearview mirror, I could see people run onto the sidewalk. A police car flew past me and skidded to a stop in front of them. People ran to the driver’s door and gestured after me.

  The police car raced from the curb and U-turned to pursue me. Going to the airport was out of the question.

  I mashed the gas pedal and the Monte Carlo catapulted forward.

  A second police car shot from the next intersection and swerved into me. His front left fender crunched against my right rear. My car spun ninety degrees and I faced the wrong direction down a one-way street.

  I gave the Monte Carlo more gas and bolted down the one-way. The second cop car swung around the corner in pursuit. Cars and trucks juked around me, horns blaring like shouted curses.

  A city bus lurched into the next intersection. I jerked the wheel and cut in front of it. The cop behind me tried the same maneuver only to have his cruiser T-bone the bus.

  I zigzagged through the city and wound up on State Highway 210 going east. A helicopter shadowed me. Blue and red lights flashed in my mirrors. The noose tightened. No way could I escape by car. Maybe I should crash into a building and disappear on foot.

  Up ahead, patrol cars blocked the highway. Cops scrambled out of their cars and readied weapons.

  The pursuing cars slowed and let me approach the barricade by myself. I would be the only one in the field of fire.

  Well, if they wanted me, I’d make them work for it.

  I gunned the engine and steered to the right. The Monte Carlo flattened sign posts and rumbled over the shoulder and across the rough grass toward the Missouri River.

  The engine revved into a scream. The Monte Carlo bounced over a small cliff. The front of the sedan angled toward the water. For an instant I was airborne. The brown water of the Missouri River filled my windshield. I braced for the impact.

  My front bumper smashed into the water. The airbag detonated and slapped my face.

  Chapter

  24

  Water splashed across the windshield and windows. The Monte Carlo bobbed in the turbulent river. Steam curled from under the hood. Lights sputtered on the dashboard.

  A voice called to me from the stereo speakers. She had the perky earnestness of a Girl Scout rehearsing for a lifesaver merit badge. “On Star here. Do you need help? Are you okay?”

  “Help? Think you could make me invisible?”

  “Pardon?”

  Bullets peppered the roof. The cops weren’t even going through the pretense of rescuing me.

  “Sir, I show that you’re in the Missouri River. Is that correct, sir?”

  “I’m looking for my boat.”

  “Uh-uh,” the voice said. “I’m going to summon the police.”

  A bullet punched through the side window. “Don’t bother. They know exactly where I am.”

  “Sir. Sir. Could you verify that you’re…” The voice cut out. The lights on the dash dimmed and went dark.

  I tilted the steering wheel up, undid my safety belt, and smashed the driver’s window with my elbow. Cold river water cascaded in and splashed the contacts out of my eyes. The Monte Carlo tipped to the left as brown water flooded the interior.

  In seconds the coupe was rolling underwater and still sinking. I pushed the door open and swam clear. The current grabbed me like a giant hand and shoved me against rocks and mounds of silt.

  The police expected the river to carry me downstream. I dug my feet into the muddy bottom, turned upstream, and plodded forward. The river current pummeled me and I groped along like a blind crayfish.

  I came across a pile of rocks and climbed them. My head broke the turbulent surface. A bridge loomed over me, about three hundred meters from where I had ditched the car.

  In the distance, police cars rolled close to the riverbank. A couple of helicopters hovered high above the water. Just as I thought, they expected me to float down with the current.

  Would they issue an APB? Did they know who I was? If they had the license number to the Monte Carlo, then the rental agency would give them my name. I could see SEEKING FELIX GOMEZ, PERSON OF INTEREST flashing on those Amber Alert highway signs.

  If I climbed out of the water now and ventured into public, my wet, soggy appearance would attract even more attention. I couldn’t risk it. Better that I hide until dark.

  I used cracks in a concrete river wall as handholds to move upstream. Water poured from a culvert above my head. The opening looked big enough to squeeze through. With luck, it would take me far enough from the river, where I could get out and escape.

  I reached for the lip of the steel pipe and hoisted myself up. The inside of the culvert was layered with smelly muck. I crawled through the mess for a hundred meters and emerged in a sewer, where I could stand up. Rats clung to my shoulders. Narrow shafts of sunlight beamed through the holes in a manhole cover above. I shooed the rats and hiked through the sewer to get more distance from the river.

  My overnight bag was still in the Monte Carlo. I had packed light, a few extra clothes and toiletries. My other luggage and the bulk of the cash remained in my Cadillac back at the airport in Savannah. When I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and opened it, gritty water dribbled out. The screen remained dark.

  My watch was gone, lost in the river along with my contacts. After what seemed like hours of spelunking through the sewer, I stopped in a chamber at the intersection of two tunnels. A steel ladder led to a manhole cover. Circles of light marked the holes around its inner circumference. Traffic rumbled on the street and the sunlight blinked as vehicles passed overhead. I’d wait here for darkness and pass the time in a cold, miserable, and disgusting funk.

  I couldn’t believe the ordeal I put myself through. Other vampires lived in penthouses and were attended by a coterie of rich, beautiful women. The low point of the day was when the martini glass ran dry.

  So what the hell was I trying to prove? Why was it my lot in eternity to champion the wronged and find justice? I was no superhero; I didn’t even own a pair of tights.

  About the time in my youth when I gained my identity as a man, I’d always chosen the path that set me as a bulwark between the privileged and the underdog. I helped my mother and her sisters deal with unscrupulous salesmen and landlords. Later, when I joined the army, I might have talked about benefits, security, and opportunity, but deep in my heart, I saw myself as a patriot, the enemy of tyrants. Ironically, it was in service during a war we had no business starting that I murdered the innocent in the name of freedom, and it had taken my conversion to the undead to wipe the cosmic slate clean.

  Maybe the slate wasn’t clean enough and I needed to atone a little bit longer, perhaps for another century.

  The rays shining through the manhole cover slanted as the time passed. The lights dimmed and disappeared as night settled. I climbed the ladder, put my hands against the bottom of the cover, and pushed.

  I had to rotate the cover until it lifted and allowed me to look out over an intersection. People loitered on the sidewalks of a seedy part of town. Good. There were plenty of smelly, dirty citizens I could hide among.

  I tilted the cover up and scrambled onto the street. The cover dropped into place behind me.

  I walked across the street toward an alley. An illuminated billboard for Rizè-Blu beamed its cheery message of chemical self-improvement onto the homeless and drunks.

  Damp, filthy clothes and black slime covered my body. Before I did anything or went anywhere, I needed to wash up and change clothes. I smelled, well, like I’d been swimming with rats and turds.

  Dumpsters covered with graffiti and piles of trash were set again
st the walls of the alley.

  The skin on the back of my hands tingled. Danger.

  Chapter

  25

  The warning barely registered when something hard whacked against my back. I staggered forward from the blow. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a broomstick swinging to hit me again. I caught my balance, reached for the broomstick, and wrenched it free.

  An obese homeless man stumbled from a doorway. “Hey, leave my stuff alone.” He grabbed the handle of a shopping cart to steady himself. A tarp covered a lumpy pile in the cart.

  In the moonlight, the homeless man’s head looked as dark and wrinkled as an overripe fig. His clouded eyes were a pair of burnished nickels. The aura surrounding him pulsed with defiance.

  I gave him the scariest stare I could manage, to snag him with hypnosis. Nothing. Great, I had let a blind man get the drop on me.

  The homeless man stared vacantly at me. A sweatshirt rode over the enormous swell of his belly, exposing a hairy navel big enough to screw in a hundred-watt bulb. He yanked the shirt to cover his gut.

  I tossed the stick and sent it clattering down the center of the alley. The homeless man’s aura blazed with alarm. He jerked his head toward the noise.

  “I’m not after your stuff,” I said.

  His head jerked back to me.

  I stepped toward him.

  He raised his arms and stumbled backward against his shopping cart. “I can see good enough. Come close and I’ll give you a whipping.”

  I addressed him in a soothing tone. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  He circled his fists. “Folks say that before they hit me and take my things.”

  “I need your help,” I said. “I need clothes and a place to wash up.”

  He put his arms down and leaned toward me. He sniffed, then grimaced. “Damn right you need to wash up. I thought the sewer had backed up again.”

  “I can pay.” I peeled a damp bill from my roll of hundreds.

  The homeless man did nothing.

  “Here.” I took his hand.

  He tried to jerk it away but I held firm. I jammed the money into his palm.