X-Rated Bloodsuckers

by Mario Acevedo

  “What was that?”

  Veronica pointed the shoes’ long, slender heels at me. “They never thought we’d come after them with stilettos. You know, woman-power. Roxy and me.”

  I reflected on the surroundings: the dilapidated furnishings, the cracked plaster, the mountains of boxes, and wondered about Roxy’s true motives. Why had she come to Barrios Unidos to join their battle against Project Eleven?

  “What was Roxy getting out of this?”

  “¿Quien sabe?” Who knows? Veronica put the high heels back into her gym bag. She sat again, propped one elbow on the desk, and circled her fingers through her hair. “Roxy had her demons.”

  “What demons?”

  “I don’t know. For all the time we spent together, she kept a lot to herself. But Roxy had something to prove. To whom? No se.” Veronica shrugged.

  “There are two players I don’t see involved in this,” I said. “Cragnow Vissoom. Roxy’s former boss at Gomorrah Video. If anyone had it in for her, it would’ve been him. What about Councilwoman Venin? She was the force behind Project Eleven. But I don’t see a connection between Cragnow and Project Eleven.” Or between Project Eleven and vampire–human collusion. “There are a lot of missing pieces to this puzzle.”

  “Maybe the next step,” Veronica said, “will be to find out what demons brought Roxy Bronze to the barrio.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Veronica said, “We need privacy.”

  We certainly did.

  She scooped her cell phone from atop her desk and slipped the phone into the small cargo pocket of her capris. “Let’s go outside.”

  That wasn’t the privacy I had in mind, to be honest. I was hoping for a room with a locked door. And a bed.

  I followed her out to a side hall, through a cluttered but clean kitchen, and to a door between a refrigerator and the pantry. Veronica turned around and pushed against the latching bar of the door with her round and attractive rump.

  We stepped onto a concrete slab surrounded by scruffy grass and picnic tables. Veronica led me to a concrete bench beneath a carob tree.

  The hot California sun pressed through the thin spots in my makeup and sunscreen. The shade under the tree was a refreshing shelter.

  With her attention away from me, I removed my contacts and put them in their plastic case. Veronica’s red aura glowed like the filament of an electric bulb.

  Veronica sat and dug a packet of Nicorette gum from her pocket. She popped a tablet into her mouth and turned to face me.

  Our eyes locked. Her aura pulsed in surprise. Her eyebrows arced and her pupils opened like twin camera apertures. I caught her at midchew, and the ball of gum sat between the teeth in her open mouth. The look was unbecoming, so I flicked the wad away and closed her jaw.

  I sat beside her and grasped her hands to massage the webs of flesh between her thumbs and index fingers. I stared into the concentric brown and black circles of her irises and pupils. Now to get the obvious questions out of the way.

  “Veronica, did you kill Roxy Bronze?”

  She took one slow breath. Then another. “No.”

  That answer was comforting. I had plans for Veronica other than seeing her cuffed and taken to jail.

  “Veronica, do you know who killed Roxy?”

  Another breath and another comforting “No.”

  “What about vampires?”

  Another no.

  At least I knew enough to cross her off my list of suspects.

  Veronica remained still, her mind pliant as clay. Her smooth and elegant neck beckoned. My fangs protruded.

  The lot behind Barrios Unidos faced the back fences of neighborhood homes and their cluttered yards. Other than a few cars passing on the side streets, we were alone.

  This was going to be easy. If I embraced her, we’d look like we were necking. Really necking.

  I brushed the hair back from her collar to bare her neck. The top two buttons of her blouse were open, revealing a nice crease between her breasts. A lacy, powder blue brassiere cupped her full bosom. I fought the temptation to undo the rest of the buttons and slip a hand into her blouse.

  Okay, so it was creepy of me to hypnotize a woman and think about copping a feel. But I’m a vampire, not a Boy Scout. I bite people on the neck and suck their blood. Occasionally I even kill them. Compared to that, putting my hand under Veronica’s blouse would be like swiping a pen from work.

  Besides, sex with a vampire was an extraordinary thrill. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  Desire pumped into my crotch. Feeding on her wouldn’t be enough. But out here in the open? No, the rest would wait for later. I held Veronica by the shoulders and brought my fangs to her neck.

  She was a fountain of appetizing aromas. The sweet shampoo, lilac soap, her morning coffee, peppermint from the gum, and an underlying scent of pheromones. The anticipation of tasting her skin and blood made my mouth water.

  The sudden and loud caw of a crow grabbed me by the ears.

  I pulled away from Veronica and wiped the drool from my lips. A crow stared from the rain gutter along the eave of the Barrios Unidos roof. The bird cawed again, louder this time. I didn’t know if it was the same crow that delivered my orders from the Araneum back in Denver. Even if it wasn’t, I got the message.

  We’re watching you, Felix. Get your ass back to work.

  My fangs retracted. The warm swelling in my crotch ebbed with frustration. I smoothed Veronica’s hair over her collar.

  The crow sidestepped along the rain gutter, its claws ticking against the metal. Its beady eyes gave me the harsh glare of a zealous chaperone.

  I closed Veronica’s eyes and massaged between her thumbs and fingers again. Her aura dimmed as she relaxed. I commanded her to awake.

  In the moment that I waited for Veronica to come to, I put my contacts back in and thought about what clues I hoped to find here.

  Veronica opened her eyes. “What was I saying?” She touched her forehead in an absentminded gesture. “I lost my train of thought.”

  “We were going to talk about Roxy Bronze and her demons.”

  Veronica nodded. Her face took on a dark hue. She reached for a pod of carob seeds on the ground and picked at it. As Veronica shared what she knew about Roxy, the crow lifted from the rain gutter and flew off, the feathered bastard.

  Veronica repeated what I had already learned on my own. When she was done, Veronica kept quiet until the gloss from the tears in her eyes faded.

  She dropped the carob pod. “Know what ‘Freya’ means?”

  “It’s the Norse goddess of love and beauty,” I replied.

  “An appropriate name.” Veronica blotted her eyes and wiped her fingertips across one thigh.

  I was a vampire, supposedly cold and hard like iron. But the sincerity of Veronica’s affection for Roxy warmed me. I wanted to share that affection, and suddenly I felt myself wanting to know Veronica as man to woman, not vampire to prey.

  She asked, “Do you know what happened to Dr. Freya Krieger?”

  “Roxy…Freya was accused of negligence in the death of a patient and had her license suspended by the state medical board,” I said.

  “That was the official version. A guy I dated…”

  Dated? Past tense I hoped.

  “…a lawyer…”

  Sleep with the dogs, why don’t you?

  “…told me of cocktail gossip among the attorneys. Roxy had been railroaded by the medical board to protect the head surgeon and staff at La Brea.”

  “I read about the investigation in the L.A. Times,” I said. “There was also a long feature in one of the weeklies.”

  “The controversy was that there were three different versions of what happened.” The quickening tempo of Veronica’s words matched the rising emotion in her voice. “The first was that the patient died of complications. It was supposed to be a routine bypass. It didn’t help that he was a smoker. And two hundred pounds overweight. Despite ‘heroic measures’ by the team, he
died on the operating table.”

  “That’s the first version,” I said. “The second concerned Roxy’s trouble with the hospital’s report of the patient’s death.”

  “That’s right,” Veronica said. “She confronted the staff and the head surgeon, Dr. Mordecai Niphe. Then she filed a complaint with the state board.”

  “Roxy took on the head surgeon?” I asked. “As an intern? What made her do that?”

  “Duty, if you knew Roxy. She said Dr. Niphe was negligent. He ignored the anesthetist’s warnings. The patient suffered pulmonary arrest and died needlessly. Roxy accused the hospital of fabricating records. You know, to protect the surgeon and themselves.”

  “And the inquiry turned against her?”

  “Yes. Suddenly every doctor who had ever known Roxy came forward with the same testimony. That she was arrogant. That she was brash. Reckless with protocol. Incompetent. These were the same people who had praised her before.” Veronica’s voice cracked. “Now they said you couldn’t trust Roxy with a Q-tip, let alone a scalpel. La Brea changed its story, too. They admitted to ‘therapeutic misadventures.’”

  “What’s that?”

  “Medical-speak for ‘the doctor killed the patient.’”

  “Why would they say that?”

  “To protect Roxy, if you can believe that. The hospital settled with the patient’s family to get the mess over with.”

  “And Roxy?”

  “They wanted to make an example out of her for betraying Dr. Niphe.” Veronica reached into her pocket and pulled out the cell phone. “You should talk to someone who was there. Roxy’s lawyer. I’ll text you his number.”

  “The way she was crucified by her colleagues, this lawyer doesn’t seem to have been that good.”

  “Actually, he’s one of the best. Medical malpractice and fighting the state board is his specialty. But even his legal juju wasn’t enough.” Veronica scrolled through the address book of the cell phone and tapped some keys. “The fight bankrupted her. Dr. Freya Krieger was ruined forever. If she appealed, then what? Who would hire her? Where would she work? After the board suspended her license, she disappeared. Then she resurfaced as Roxy Bronze.”

  “What’s this lawyer’s name?”

  “Andrew Tonic.”

  “As in gin and tonic?”

  “More like vodka and tonic.”

  “How do you have his number? Is he the lawyer you dated?”

  “Oh no.” Veronica laughed, which sounded pleasant. “The men I date must have a soul.”

  Definite speed bump.

  “And he’s married,” Veronica continued. “I hit Tonic up for a pledge to Barrios Unidos. Tried to pull a sentimental string about Roxy. What a waste of time. Try and imagine a sentimental lawyer.”

  “What did Tonic tell you about Roxy?”

  “Nada,” Roxy said. “The records were sealed. Tonic had nothing to gain by telling me anything.”

  “Why should I talk to him?”

  “Because, Felix”—Veronica gave me a sly wink—“I have a suspicion that you can get Tonic to say more than he should.”

  How much did Veronica know about me? “Why would you say that?”

  Veronica’s brow wrinkled and she pulled away. “If you’re not a hotshot detective, then what are you doing here?”

  “Obviously not impressing you.”

  Veronica smiled. “I’ll hit the reset button. You get another chance.”

  “Thanks. Where was Roxy’s family in all this?” I asked. “L.A. was her hometown.”

  “For that, tenia un candado en la boca.” She had a padlock on her mouth. “She didn’t open. I wouldn’t pry. What I learned about Roxy’s past I found on my own. She acted as if Dr. Freya Krieger had never existed.”

  “Does seem strange,” I said. “On the one hand, she buries her past, then throws herself as a porn star into the public eye of her home community. Every one of them would have recognized Roxy Bronze as Freya Krieger. Maybe those were the demons that brought her to Barrios Unidos. To let the world know that she’s resurrected herself and to say, look, I’m still here and raising hell.”

  “Perhaps. Roxy always went forward at maximum speed, como una nave.” Like a ship.

  “Still, that’s quite a fall. From surgeon to porn star. Such a life-changing experience can disturb you.” Take my word for it. I’d gone from soldier to vampire in one snafu-filled night.

  “We never talked about it. Being a porn star allowed Roxy to get rich. She saw how the truth was perverted to destroy her. So her reputation didn’t matter.”

  No doubt. Fame as the champion mouth of circle-sucks meant you had long since given up any notion of being elected Miss America.

  “Felix, I’m glad you’re here. It’s time someone asked questions about what happened to Roxy. The police never did.” Veronica stood. “I hope I was able to help you.”

  “I still don’t see a connection linking the medical community, Project Eleven, and Roxy. Whatever harm the staff at La Brea wanted to inflict upon her, seems they’d done a good job. No reason to follow that up with murder.”

  Veronica brushed dust and carob leaves from the back of her capris. I would’ve helped but I was afraid that damn crow would return. She started for the door into Barrios Unidos.

  Veronica led me through the building and to the entrance, a polite way of sending me off without saying so. She laid her hand on my shoulder, an act I couldn’t decide was friendly or forward.

  “Call me,” she said. “I want to hear what Andrew Tonic says.”

  “Over coffee, then.”

  “No. Over dinner.” She pushed away, waved, and turned around.

  Provided that nosy crow left me alone, I was going to get lucky. And I didn’t even need vampire powers.

  My next stop would be La Brea Mercy Hospital. I’d see if I could unseal those records.

  I drove south on Van Nuys Boulevard and stopped to get waved through a construction zone near the westbound on-ramp for the Golden State Freeway. A homeless bum on the median solicited donations by shaking a Styrofoam cup.

  My fingertips tingled. A warning? Of what? A slight tremor started up my legs. Earthquake?

  The tingle in my fingers became a buzz of alarm. At the edge of my left peripheral vision, I saw it. A dump truck charged out of a parking lot, crossed the street, and flattened a line of orange traffic cones. The immense truck rumbled toward me like an avalanche of steel.

  CHAPTER 14

  In that instant before the dump truck turned my sedan into a heap of crumpled steel and plastic, I undid my safety belt, opened the door, and bolted clear. Even vampires panic, and how fast I had moved surprised even me. Hell, a mongoose would’ve been impressed.

  The cops arrived. A patrol woman asked, “Sure you’re okay?”

  My kundalini noir settled. “I’m doing better than my car.”

  Firefighters aimed a hose to wash the fluids leaking from under what was left of my rental sedan. Fragments of shattered glass glittered in the puddles.

  The dump truck had struck the left rear door and crunched over the roof. My driver’s seat was wadded inside the pile of mangled steel and under the huge tires of this enormous truck.

  Four other patrol cars and two motorcycles had arrived. The cops shepherded traffic past the accident scene and through the construction bottleneck.

  The homeless bum staggered from the median toward us. His eyes were wide circles of astonishment on his unwashed, bearded face. He pointed at me with his Styrofoam cup. “I saw that. You…you moved faster than a goddamn bullet.”

  The female cop looked at him, then at me.

  I said, “A regular bullet perhaps but not a goddamn bullet.”

  The bum stumbled close. He carried a stink like sour milk. He squinted. “Ask him how he done that?” The bum paused for a moment to steady himself. “One second he’s in the car, then poof, I seen him standing right there.”

  The cop waved him back. “I’ll get to you in a second
, sir.” She faced me and shook her head. “Isn’t even noon yet and he’s beyond shit-faced. Gonna be a long day.”

  The cop finished taking my statement while her partner interviewed a number of bystanders. No one could verify where the runaway truck had come from. The truck had barreled out of the parking lot, and my vehicle was the only one hit. It had obviously come for me.

  The truck had no plate or company markings. The construction crew didn’t own it. The female cop guessed the truck was stolen. “Miracle you survived.”

  Some miracle all right. A stolen truck with no one in the cab just happened to hit only my car.

  A black Ford Crown Victoria—all it needed was a banner on the roof that said UNMARKED POLICE CAR—drove over the curb and parked on the sidewalk close to the wreckage. A dark-skinned man got out of the passenger’s side. His complexion looked like umber paint right out of the tube. His nappy black Chia Pet head had a reflection highlight at the front of his receding hairline. He wore a shiny gray shirt with the cuffs rolled back, a fashionable tie, and wraparound sunglasses. He slipped an ID tag out of his shirt pocket and let the tag dangle on a cloth neckband. The sun glistened off the police badge clipped to his belt next to a compact pistol.

  He brought the vampire equivalent of B.O., a faint cadaverous odor he disguised with Aramis cologne. I read his ID. Julius Paxton. Deputy Chief, Foothills Division. LAPD.

  And certainly the beneficiary of Lucky Rosario’s largess. Add to that, as a vampire and a ranking officer in the LAPD, most certainly Cragnow Vissoom’s head goon.

  I didn’t need to remove my contacts and sunglasses to study Paxton’s aura. He didn’t stop by to ask about my health or my opinion of Los Angeles traffic. His frown told me enough. He expected to find me smashed into pulp, and instead I stood here, still definitely upright and undead.

  Paxton introduced himself to the patrol cop and told her he’d like a word with me, alone. We stepped away.

  “Paxton, I’m honored,” I said. “Since when does a honcho like yourself pull traffic duty?”