by Matt Kincade
“Out where?”
She shrugged. “Just out.”
“Just out?”
“Yeah, just out.”
“Awful long time to be just out.”
“Jesus, Alex, what? I went for a walk—well, a run. It’s a beautiful night. Do you want to fight about it?”
Alex sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, baby. I don’t want to fight. I was just worried is all. You was gone a long time.”
Carmen sat next to him and tucked her feet underneath her so her knees touched his thigh. “There’s a lot to see. I lost track of time. Sorry. It’s a lot to get used to.”
“Yeah,” said Alex. “It is.”
She walked up his thigh with two fingers. “But I’m home now. So…” She grinned evilly. “What do you want to do?”
“Aww, hell,” said Alex. She leaned in and kissed him. Even as she slid on top of him, Alex used his free hand to tuck the .45 between the couch cushions, within easy reach.
***
Daytime. Alex was downstairs, printing maps and double-checking his camera gear, when his phone rang. “Cutter!” he answered. “Hell, yes. Y’all just ride on up!” He hung up the phone. “Darlin’, we got company.”
“Oh, yeah?” Carmen poked her head into the room. “Who?”
“Couple of Hell Hunters. I think you met ’em at Mack’s wake. They’re a motorcycle club, hunt vamps on the side. Or a vamp-huntin’ club that rides bikes on the side. Never was sure which. But they’re good folk…and they got numbers. We can maybe get six or ten of ’em to help us hit the Don. Cutter and a few of his lieutenants are comin’ up for a strategy session. Why don’t you come on up and say hi?”
“Alex, are you sure that’s a good idea? Since I’m…you know. My condition.”
Alex stopped. He considered for a moment. “Aw, shit. It’ll be all right. Just don’t say nothin’ about it. Long as you don’t smile too wide, they won’t never know.”
***
Twenty minutes later, three motorcycles threw up a massive wake of dust as they churned up the driveway. Alex stood at the front door of his little house and waved.
The snarling chorus of tuned-up American motorcycles crescendoed, then settled to a low, gut-thumping rhythm. The three riders pulled up and idled their bikes, walking them backward into a neat row. They shut off their engines one after another, leaving only echoing silence.
They were three greasy bikers. Each wore stained, ragged blue jeans and a black leather vest. One was fat, the other two skinny. They shook off road dust and pulled off gloves, removed brain-bucket helmets and hung them from easy-rider handlebars.
“Cutter! How in hell are y’all?” Alex called out. He stepped off the front steps and shook hands with one of the bikers; then they hugged. “Still ugly?”
“Ugly as fuck,” said Cutter.
Pretty Boy walked up beside him. Still not pretty. He had on the same heavy-metal-band T-shirt he’d worn the day of Mack’s funeral. “Damn, Pretty, you lookin’ better’n ever,” said Alex.
“Yeah, you know me.” Pretty Boy enveloped Alex’s hand in his meaty fist.
“And who’s this?” said Alex, nodding toward the last biker.
“That’s Bear,” Cutter said. “Bear, Alex.”
“Pleasure,” said Bear. He extended his hand. Bear was slightly shorter than all of them. He had a thick black beard and wore no shirt under his leather vest, showing off a thick coat of fur on his chest.
Alex shook his hand. “Y’all look thirsty. C’mon inside.”
They followed Alex into the house. “We’re pretty dirty. Maybe we’d better stay outside,” said Cutter. “Don’t want to ruin your furniture.”
“Ain’t no trouble,” said Alex. “Come sit inside.”
“Oh, come on. It’s too beautiful today to be sitting indoors.”
Alex hesitated for a second then waved his hand. “All right. You know the way. Right on through the sliding glass door. I’ll be out in a tick with some beer.”
“Where’s that sweet thing you were shacking up with?” said Cutter.
“She’s a lady, man. A lady. And she’s around here someplace.”
The morning sun was pleasantly warm. Alex handed out cold Coronas in bottles, and they all sat down around the plastic patio table. Alex had a manila folder in his hand. Pretty Boy strained the load limit of the cheap plastic chair, but it held.
Cutter leaned back and put one foot on the table. “So,” he began, “tell us about this operation you’ve got cooking.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. Found this vamp down south, outside of Las Cruces. Looks like he’s been there three or four hundred years.”
“Old vamp means big money,” said Cutter.
“You got that right. Looks like this boy’s got his fingers in a little bit of everything. Besides human trafficking, he’s got legit businesses all over the state. Shipping, manufacturing, you name it. He’s a slippery bugger, but Carmen and I tracked him down. Get this—there’s a whole Spanish mission out there in the middle of the desert that nobody even knows about.”
“Shut up, really?”
“No joke, amigo.” Alex opened the folder and passed around glossy photographs. “Looks like somethin’ out of a Sergio Leone movie, don’t it? But I got it all worked out. Got some preliminary recon, but with you boys helpin’, I imagine things’ll move a little faster. How many people you reckon you can get?”
Cutter drained a third of his beer in one long pull. “We’ve got about ten trained right now. There’s more charter members, but I wouldn’t trust them on a hit quite yet. If we need, we could pull in reinforcements from another chapter.”
“Ten works. Hell, we could probably do with half that.”
Cutter noticed movement in the house, a flash of dark hair. “Hey, there’s the little lady!” he said. “Hey, Carmen, come on out here and say hi to the boys!”
“She’s been feelin’ a little under the weather,” said Alex.
Carmen came to the sliding glass door. She squinted at the sunlight. “Hey Cutter, how are you?”
“Don’t be a stranger, girl, come on out here and give me a hug!”
Carmen demurred. “I’m not feeling very well. I don’t want you to get what I’ve got.”
“Well, ain’t you even gonna come out and say hi?” said Cutter.
“Look, the lady don’t want to come out and say hi,” said Alex.
Cutter shrugged. “Okay, okay, sorry. So where were we?”
Bear hadn’t said anything up until this point. But he stared at Carmen. He cocked his head to one side. “Are you sure you don’t want to come out here in the sun for just a second?” he said.
“I’m sure.” Carmen turned to leave.
Bear, still leaning back in his chair, pulled out a mirror-polished sheath knife.
“What the fuck, man?” said Alex. He started to rise from his seat.
Bear twisted the blade in the sunshine. A rectangle of reflected sunlight danced over the porch boards, along the wall, and flicked across Carmen’s face.
When the sun hit her skin, it sounded like bacon on a hot griddle. Carmen hissed, baring her fangs, and stumbled backward into the living room.
The Hell Hunters sprang to their feet. Alex stood between them and the door.
“What the fuck, Alex?” said Cutter. “What are you trying to pull?”
“Ain’t none of your concern,” Alex answered.
“You’re hiding a vampire in your home, and it ain’t none of my concern? Goddamn it, Alex!” Cutter sighed and rubbed the stubble on his face. “So she got turned. I’m sorry, brother. I really am. My heart breaks for you. But you know what’s gotta be done.”
Alex wore his killer’s face. “Like I said, that’s my concern and none of yours.” The words were cold and dead, without inflection.
“Just get out of the way,” Bear said, “and we’ll take care of it.”
Alex didn’t move a muscle. “You wanna try and move me, son?”
“You threatening me?” said Bear. He still had the knife in his hand.
“If that’s the way it’s gotta be.” Alex’s gun hand hung loose, fingers relaxed. The bikers tensed.
Cutter held out a hand. “Let’s just take it easy, Alex. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“It’s three to one,” said Bear. “We don’t need to take this—”
“Bear, shut the fuck up,” said Pretty Boy. “He could kill all three of us before we cleared our guns and still have time to smoke a cigarette.”
“Not to mention he’s a friend of mine,” said Cutter, shaking his head. “At least I thought he was. Now I’m not so sure.”
Alex fought back tears. He made a pained face. “Goddamn it. I just gotta work this thing out in my own way. I love the girl. I can’t just—”
Bear said, “If you love her, you’ll do what needs to be done…before she does it to you,”
“What you should have done already,” said Pretty Boy.
Cutter said, “I think it’s time we go.”
“Yeah, that might be best,” said Alex.
Slowly Cutter, Bear, and Pretty Boy backed along the path around the side of the house, with Alex following them. The men straddled the bikes and strapped on their helmets.
“I don’t fucking believe this,” said Cutter. “Alex Rains, shacking up with a vampire.”
“Fucking collaborator,” muttered Bear.
Cutter shook his head. “You know you can’t ever trust her, man. How many nights are you going to lie there awake, waiting to feel those teeth in your neck?”
Alex didn’t have an answer.
“You know I’m right, brother. Call me when you come to your fucking senses.” Cutter punched the starter, and his bike roared to life.
The three motorcycles peeled out of the driveway, pelting Alex and the house with gravel. Alex raised his hand to shield his eyes as the Hell Hunters disappeared down the driveway.
Alex went back into the house. Carmen was nowhere to be seen. He searched the house then went down to the bunker. After a long search, he found her in one of the many empty rooms. He peered through a wire-reinforced window and saw her there, sitting on the concrete floor, leaning against the olive-drab wall. She didn’t look up when he entered.
“I wouldn’t a let them hurt you,” he said.
“I know.” After a moment’s silence she, said, “I’m sorry.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for.” He took a step into the room and crouched next to her.
“I mean…” Where the reflected sunlight had hit her, Alex saw a red welted burn, a narrow patch across her eyes like a mask. “I’m sorry you have to choose between your friends and me. But that’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?”
Alex said nothing.
“There’s no way they’ll ever be okay with me. I’m dead to them. Worse than dead. I’m everything they hate. And if you stay with me, they’ll turn on you too.”
“I don’t care,” said Alex.
“Maybe you should.” She picked up a random piece of something off the floor and tossed it into the corner. “Look, I was thinking…maybe I should get out of here for a few days. Or a few nights. I’m…I’m still processing all of this. I think I’d just like to take a little time.”
Alex was quiet.
“And I’m getting hungry,” Carmen added.
He shrugged, “Yeah, well, it had to happen. If you want, we can nab another one of the Don’s men…”
She shook her head. “Look, Alex, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t keep depending on you to feed me. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think I can do this. I guess this is a pretty terrible thing to say, but there are plenty of people who deserve to die.”
Alex frowned. “And you’re the judge of that?”
“And you’re not? I’ve watched you be judge, jury, and executioner.”
“That was different. They—”
“They what? They were vampires? They helped vampires?”
Alex said nothing.
“So just hear me out. Lots of people, I think the case could be made, well, the world would be better off without them. I can think of a dozen right off the top of my head. Murderers. Rapists. Pedophiles. I was only a cop for six months, but even then I saw people who never seemed to get caught, but everyone knew what they were. Maybe I can feed myself and do the world a favor.”
“Reckon that might work,” Alex said grudgingly. “Vigilante vampire. It’s got a ring to it.”
“After dark tonight, I’m going to go down to Albuquerque and see what I can find.”
“Reckon I couldn’t stop you.”
“No, probably not. How do you feel about that?”
He shook his head. “Carmen, I don’t know how I feel about it. Any of it. You got me all twisted up inside. First I go one way, and then a minute later I go the other. One second I’m ready to burn the goddamned world down to be with you; the next I just want to run.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know the feeling.” She smiled, blinking back a tear. “This sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Darlin’, you ain’t kidding.”
“I think a few days would do us both some good.”
“You might be right.”
“This doesn’t mean—”
A little too quickly, Alex said, “Naw, I know. ’Course not. We’re still—”
“That’s right.”
***
The sun dipped below the horizon and the stars came out. Somewhere, a pack of coyotes serenaded the nightfall with a frenetic chorus of high-pitched yips and howls.
Inside Alex’s house, Carmen paused for a moment to listen to the coyotes, then finished stuffing her few clothes into a duffel bag. She added in a pile of cash, her half of the take so far.
“Well, darlin’, looks like you’re about ready,” said Alex.
She gave him a thin smile. “I guess I am.”
He followed her as she walked out of the bedroom, through the living room, and out the front door.
Standing on the front stairs under the yellow glare of the front light, Alex said, “I got you a little something.” He held a long narrow object wrapped in cloth. He untied the ribbon around it, and the cloth fell away. It was a Japanese sword with a yellow handle and scabbard. The fittings were silver. “It’s a wakizashi,” he said. “Short sword. Blade you got is fine, but it’s long. Thought you might need somethin’ you can hide under a coat. See? It’s got this leather harness I had made, like a shoulder holster.”
“Thank you.” Carmen pulled the sword from its scabbard and turned the blade, admiring its smoky sheen.
“It’s a Yoshimichi. Mid-1700s. Not a famous blade or nothin’, but it’ll get the job done.”
“It’s beautiful.” She slid the blade back into the sheath. “Thank you,” she repeated.
He smiled. “Beautiful sword for a beautiful girl.”
“You’re sweet.”
They embraced, then kissed. As Carmen’s lips pressed against Alex’s, he responded. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about those razor teeth, a fraction of an inch away.
They pulled apart, still holding hands. “You take care of yourself. And come on back.”
“I will,” said Carmen. They kissed again, this time more briefly. She got into her Pontiac and started the engine.
Alex sat on the front step and watched her headlights recede into the darkness. Finally he was all alone, with only the porch light and the stars high above.
***
Carmen pulled into Albuquerque a few hours later. She booked a room at the Hyatt Regency. She smiled a secret smile as the bellhop took her bag away and smiled it again when she saw the tasteful, modern room, with its total lack of tacky crap or mysterious motel-room funk. She ordered a bottle of chilled white wine from room service and drew up a bath, then stripped off her clothes and let them fall to the bathroom floor. The wall-to-wall mirror caught her eye. Turning left and
right, she examined her reflection. Everything seemed…tighter. She flexed and saw definition in her arms that hadn’t been there before. Her skin was a slightly paler shade, barely noticeable to someone who hadn’t known her before.
She turned three-quarters and peered over her shoulder at her butt. “Eternal youth,” she muttered, “might not be all that bad.”
She slipped into the scalding tub, holding a cold glass of wine in her hand. She ducked her head under and came back up, slicking back her wet hair. She soaked in the tub until her toes wrinkled, then stood up and pulled on a white terrycloth robe.
Though the room was immaculate, Carmen could smell the previous occupants on the mattress. She smelled them like layers of geological strata, a timeline of sleep, of men and women, health and sickness, sex and menses.
With the lights out, she opened the blinds and watched the city below her. Thousands of people living their lives. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Her stomach growled. “Tomorrow night,” she said. The sky was lightening to dawn. She closed the blinds and pulled the heavy curtains shut before she went to bed.
***
Alex sat on the porch steps for a long time, listening to the sounds of the night. Coyotes howled. Moths battered against the bare bulb above the door. At last he headed inside and went to bed.
When dawn broke, as Carmen was settling into sleep in Albuquerque, he woke up, exercised, and ran through his tai chi forms, facing east toward the rising sun.
He spent the day down south, tucked away in a low draw, facing the unmarked turnoff to the Mondragon winery. He wore a camouflage ghillie suit, covered in swatches of burlap and bits of rags and leaves and weeds. When he stayed still, he blended completely into the rocks and scrub brush. He stayed still. Whenever a car went in or out, he snapped pictures and marked the time. The notebook sitting on the rocky ground beside him slowly filled up with notes. Personnel, deliveries, comings and goings all went into the book. When night fell, Alex crawled back to his where his car was hidden.
The next day he did the same thing.
***
Day three. A bright-blue ’56 Ford pickup rested on jack stands in Alex’s garage. Roy Orbison played on a grease-stained boom box on the counter. Alex’s cowboy boots protruded from underneath the truck. His cell phone rang. He banged his head as he slid out from under the truck. “Motherfucker,” he said while he reached for the phone.