“You think I don’t know that? We oughta just kill her right now!”
“Fuck you Essay. I need what she’s got. You ain’t touching Michelle! You hear me?” Oso splashed water at him as he pointed his finger, dead serious. He’d never seen Oso so vehement about anything, or anyone.
“Well aren’t you the big man? You think you can tell me what to do because you got her suckin on yo neck?”
“You in the same way as me. Don’t tell me you ain’t thinkin bout goin back in that room right now to wake her up so she can bite your ass all day long. Don’t lie to me Essay! I know you in this shit same as me.”
“We should get rid of her.” Demarco tried staring him down.
“Look at it this way. If we keep her around, imagine how much money we can make off her ass. She fucks all night long Essay. And they all gonna want another taste of what she’s got. We find us some rich gringos and we milk those putos for everything they own.”
“Yeah I been thinkin about that too. You think we can control her if we keep her high? I think she’s already got a tolerance to the china white.”
“So give her more.” Oso shrugged his massive bruised shoulders. “I’m tellin you, a couple rich high rollers get hooked on her, we gonna have all kindsa money.”
“I think you’re right. That’s exactly how we do it.” Demarco nodded his agreement. He didn’t feel anywhere near as confident as he sounded.
“What we gonna do when Juan Carlos gets here tomorrow night?”
“Shit!” He’d conveniently forgotten about all the other responsibilities in his life. What the fuck am I gonna do? He tried to project a semblance of self-possession to Oso.
“We gotta find a way to make it happen. I’m sending Miguel back out to the desert to get rid of Camacho. We’re gonna have to shoot her up real good before she wakes up. Maybe take her with us. She can wait in the car with the other puta.” He spoke with a conviction he did not feel.
Oso shook his head again, not falling for the bravado.
* * * *
Chapter 18
Aaron awoke with a heavy, drowsy feeling and a horribly dry itchy thirst. His mind was clouded and groggy. He couldn’t think past the overpowering instinctive drive of the predator pushing him to get up and go. He lay in the dirt near a patch of dry brush, a hillside a few feet away. He smelled the arid aromas of cactus and weeds. The mineral tang of dust floating on the desert breeze coated his tongue.
He heard rustling nearby in the bushes. A rabbit took off running at the sound of a coyote’s yipping and barking. The predator’s unshakeable will and instinct goaded him to rise to his feet. I’m sooo tired. Let me go back to sleep. The predator would not let him be.
He arose looking around him. His vision wouldn’t focus properly. He kept going blurry, tracers of color following every movement. He couldn’t see a single building or sign of civilization. Nothing but desert and scrub brush. A set of tire tracks leading off into the distance provided the only clue as to how he had come to this place. The predator seized on the tracks as a pathway out and kicked Aaron into action. Groaning with the lazy effort his lethargic limbs put forward, the predator forced him to jog through the desert following the tracks.
As he ran an intense anxiety overtook him. The predator knew the sunrise was coming, he had a powerful compulsion to run and hide.
He ran dirt, rocks and brush sliding past in a blur. He ran faster, losing sight of the tracks as they twisted around the hills and washes. He spun and backtracked. Dirt and more dirt swirled in his vision as he fought to focus on the tracks. The predator urged him on. Faster, faster, we can go much faster than this. Go now. He finally reached a low rise where he saw the blurry black line of the highway several miles away in the distance. He also saw the light in the sky signaling the impending sunrise.
His body screamed with tension and fatigue. He needed to find a place to rest – a sanctuary – but there was nothing. No immediate shelter to be found. He looked about frantically, trying to find something, anything to hide from the sun. He spotted a sliver of shade at the lowest point of a water drainage washout at the bottom of the hill. The coming light would not reach those shadows. Yet.
His exposed face and hands burned in the UV of the twilight. The rest of his body covered by clothing itched as though the dim light penetrated right through the fabric. He raced downhill and dived into the shaded wash, terrified of what would happen in a few minutes when the sun came up. He suddenly recalled something Michelle had once told him of her days in France during WWII. She mentioned she’d been forced to hide in ‘holes in the ground’.
He realized what he must do and began digging frantically into the side of the dry creek bed. He dug with both clawed hands, flinging dirt out behind him. As the sun breached the horizon, the line of shade receded. He had tunneled four feet into the sidewall of the creek bed when the sun ignited the back of his legs, blazing in ultraviolet glory. He screamed in agony as his legs blistered and smoked. The stench of his own burnt flesh invaded his nostrils.
The predator’s primal survival instinct took over, punching a massive surge of raw power through his body. His pain lessened to a degree from the intense adrenaline rush that was the predator in full control. He rocketed into high speed boring into the earth at super human velocity. The thick cloud of dust and sand flowing out behind him helped to obscure the sun as he dug in deeper and deeper. When the dust finally settled, he’d burrowed fifteen feet in with several inches of loose dirt covering his entire body. He lie submerged in the darkness, his only exposure to the air being his mouth and nose for breathing. He passed into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness to sleep like the dead in the bottom of his hidey hole.
* * * *
Demarco began to feel withdrawal effects at around 11:00 a.m. as he unrolled the door to his storage unit where he kept several kilos of heroin and cocaine within a safe. In another safe he held over $150,000 cash used for transactions or emergencies. He considered pulling the $50,000 now for his half of the deal with Juan Carlos, but he hated carrying that kind of cash around. He decided it best to return later in the evening.
“Cash later, but these babies are goin with me right now.” He grabbed both of his matching Desert Eagle .44 magnums, setting them aside.
He had expected to feel some kind of hangover as a result of last night’s excesses, but he hoped it would be mitigated by the Oxycontin he brought along. Two 40 mg pills should do the trick.
As his hand shook and his head pounded, he complained aloud, “Oh shit. That woman is somethin else. She’s got me strung out like a god-damn hype.”
Headache, nausea, cold sweats. Yep, I’m a damn hype for her bite. “Shit!”
He sat down for a few minutes trying to relax and give the Oxy’s a chance to kick in. Soon enough the opiate buzz began to chase away his aches and pains. I need a nap. He wanted to catch a good six hours of sleep. Not happening. Michelle’s “TO DO” list had to be met.
He weighed out a kilo of the china white Michelle had become so fond of and wrapped it up in wax paper. Working the scales, he toyed with the idea of giving her a killer dose of a whole gram or more in hopes she’d hit the floor doin’ the funky chicken like anyone else. Probably wouldn’t work. Not only would she survive, she’d probably castrate him for trying it. Even worse, she might actually like that large of a dose. Then he’d really have a psycho bitch on his hands. Better to take my chances with the evil I know rather than risk the unknown. That creature is way too volatile. Don’t wanna end up like Camacho.
Besides, if she died, how would they get what they needed? That wonderful little bite of hers, he wanted it right now. “Oso wasn’t lyin. That bitch got me hooked.” He wanted to rush back home to her right this minute. It’s a ‘catch-22’. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Feeling nice and fuzzy on the oxy’s, he lay down for a quick cat nap on the futon in the storage unit. He had a little home away from home setup. He figured he could shake off
enough fatigue to get through the day.
He awoke to the buzz of his cell phone. Kramer––Shit! Ignoring the call, he checked the time. Shit––2:30! He rushed off to meet Oso at the hotel.
* * * *
Oso avoided Kramer as he packed up Michelle and Ana’s stuff in the hotel room. He packed all of Aaron’s things as well. He didn’t want to disappoint Michelle, and she didn’t know he wouldn’t come back. He had a healthy fear of incurring Michelle’s wrath. He did his best to anticipate her wishes ahead of time. She had him hooked hardcore. Hard to believe how drastically his life had changed in one night.
The Oxycontin he took earlier started to wear off. His bruised and beaten body let him know just how much it hurt. He popped the last two 40 mg pills Demarco had given him and sat down at the wet bar in an effort to calm the panic attack brought on by withdrawals. He felt a sickening need to bolt for the door and get back to Michelle. A wholly irrational need. He downed two shots of rum from the mini-fridge and snorted a fat line of coke for good measure. That’s better.
As he sat there in chemically induced happiness, it hit him like a smack to the face. Aaron moved really fast, just like Michelle. He’s the same thing as Michelle! He’d seen Kramer’s video footage with Demarco yesterday afternoon. Aaron was one wicked son of a bitch in a fight. It all started to make sense how Aaron tossed Miguel around like a lightweight. He’s a fuckin bloodsucker! I gotta tell Demarco! Holy shit, is he even dead? The ‘Special K’ and the blowfish toxin probably didn’t kill him!
Oso almost fell off his barstool with the realization. Just when he thought he was completely fucked, imagining Aaron barging through the hotel door to tear him a new asshole, he recalled Michelle’s thing about daylight. She can’t handle the sun. She’s dead asleep right now, and so is he!
Oso leapt out of the barstool with a yell of triumph, throwing his fist in the air. “Yeah motherfucker! Eat sun!”
He’s out in the desert with nowhere to hide from the sun! He’s toast!
Oso dialed up Demarco’s cell and explained it all to him.
Demarco sounded curt, pissed off. “I’m calling Miguel right now. He’s gotta go back out there and light that kid on fire. I’m not takin’ any chances with these fuckin vampires!”
“That’s a real good idea, Essay. Ten cuidado con esa madre.” Oso agreed.
* * * *
Demarco had a sickening feeling in his gut. His life had headed into a seemingly inescapable downward spiral. Oso had thrown him quite a loop with the news about Aaron. He was slipping, should’ve figured it out for himself. How easy is it to kill a vampire?
And what if Michelle finds out they’d killed Aaron? They’d be dead meat for sure.
Kramer called again. He’d already left three voicemails and two text messages. I’m gonna have to call this SOB. He finally called him back at three in the afternoon, as he walked in the door to Caesar’s Palace to meet Oso.
“Hey what’s up? I’m really busy right now. I don’t have time to talk. Make it quick!”
* * * *
Demarco spoke too abruptly, much more so than usual. Kramer could tell immediately something was very wrong. Demarco never lost his cool like this. His rudeness was out of character.
“What’s the status with Aaron and Michelle? Did everything go as planned? I expected you to call last night.” His cool voice became a little more terse than usual. “Did you get my message about tonight? We’re a go with JC at ten o-clock. He’s on his way to Vegas now.”
He let Demarco’s rudeness slip this once, hoping they had accomplished their mutual objectives. What he most wanted at the moment was another round with Michelle, but he hoped for a more submissive and controllable Michelle, hooked on heroin.
“Listen man … that woman is really something else. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. I can’t go into details right now, but I’ll say this, she likes the china white!”
He winced at Demarco’s slip of the tongue over the insecure cellular lines. Demarco didn’t even seem to notice his mistake.
“I guarantee she’ll be faded when she wakes up. That’s for damn sure!” Demarco laughed snidely. “Don’t worry about the kid, he’s been taken care of, and we’ll be ready for tonight’s meeting. No problem.”
Demarco’s tone of voice told a different tale. They had a problem. Demarco was trying to hide that problem.
“Okay … good to hear. So, when should I expect to meet up with our golden girl?” He couldn’t hide his anticipation any better than Demarco could hide his anxiety.
“Ahh …. well … she’s not quite there yet. It’s too soon. Give me another night and we’ll see where she stands. I’ll touch base with you on that later. Okay?”
No surprise there. What is he not telling me? “Alright, I guess I can live with that.” It’s not like he gave me any choice.
“Hey, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m being rude. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, and … last night was pretty wild. I didn’t get any sleep. I’ll catch up with you tonight.” An apology from Demarco? Something is definitely wrong.
“I guess I’ll trust your judgment. We’ll talk tonight.” He hung up the phone, a funky feeling settling in his gut. He hoped whatever the problem, it wouldn’t interfere in tonight’s business.
* * * *
Anastasia arose to Michelle’s naked embrace. She slept in later than usual. It had been a rough night. She smiled. I’m starting to match their schedules. The comfort of being held so lovingly felt nice and cozy, but Michelle’s embrace couldn’t erase her pounding headache and parched thirst. Her mouth tasted horrid. She could only imagine how bad her breath must be.
She fell out of bed, her head hammering with the jarring impact. She staggered to the kitchen and chugged down a quart of milk. She devoured Demarco’s cottage cheese and topped it off with buttered toast. With a little sustenance she began to feel better, but the withdrawals started kicking in hard. Her bones ached, and she felt magnetically drawn back to Michelle.
It seemed worse than the previous two nights. She was struck with the conviction that she would die from this addiction very soon. Her heart filled with melancholy depression from the surety her time on this earth was limited.
She missed Aaron so much it hurt. Beyond his bite, she needed him here. She could never be whole without him. His absence left a soul deep emptiness. If he didn’t return soon, she didn’t know how she’d survive the night.
She didn’t consider herself religious, but she’d been raised with the basic tenets of Christianity. The moment felt right for prayer.
“Dear God, please bring Aaron back to me. I just need a little more time with him before it’s over. Please, please, please bring him back to me.”
She hit paydirt while digging through Demarco’s medicine cabinet in the bathroom off the master bedroom. Oxycontin. Maybe there is a god. She popped three without a second’s hesitation. If that doesn’t do it nothing will.
She vaguely recalled a wet-bar outside by the hot tub. That’s the ticket, a stiff drink. As she cracked open the unopened bottle of Patron tequila, she smiled. Yep, there definitely is a god. Fixing herself a double tequila with Squirt, she settled into the hot tub to let the wonderful bubbles, drug, and drink work their magic. After finishing off another double mixer and feeling no pain, she wandered back to check on Michelle. Her golden haired lover looked so inviting, naked, out cold, vulnerable. She crawled into bed to hug Michelle tightly. Just might make it through another night without Aaron. Oxy’s and liquor pack a nice punch.
* * * *
Oso and Demarco returned home just before sunset carrying a kilo of heroin, all Michelle’s luggage, and an armful of groceries. They both raided the medicine cabinet for another dose of Oxy’s. It was the only thing that seemed to help. Oso sat down to fix himself a sandwich and stuff his face.
Demarco checked on his house guests who slept soundly in his king-sized, hand-carved mahogany four-poster bed. The sexy little black-hair
ed tramp was butt-ass naked wrapped around the nude vampire. One of the most provocative sights he’d ever seen. His cock strained against his pants as he stood there committing this picture to memory.
Time to get to work. He cooked up ten shots of china white and set them aside. Eight hundred dollars of product when cut and sold on the streets of Chicago. The bitch would probably blow through it before the night was over. She had a hundred dollar an hour habit. He shook his head at the ridiculousness of his predicament. Here he was giving away stupid amounts of heroin to a creature that had no concept of its value or how many years in prison he might do if caught with it in his possession. He’d actually stabbed a guy over this much product. This new life was going to be a hard adjustment.
“Oso, cook up the stir-fry for me would ya? And make enough for the puta.” Sitting at the kitchen counter watching Oso do his thing, he fantasized about the evening to come. I’m gonna get a piece of that girl. What was her name … Ana. I’m gonna watch her swallow.
Then he remembered, Miguel. “Shit! Oso, did Miguel ever call you back?”
“No Essay, he’s probably on his way back now. Call him. I got my hands full.”
Five rings and Miguel’s voicemail kicked in. He must be out of the area still. It’s a cellular dead zone up north… Isn’t it? I hope that’s all it is.
“Here, I got a feeling we might need these.” Demarco pulled out both loaded pistols from a zipper pouch and handed one to Oso.
* * * *
Miguel spent the entire afternoon hiking through the desert looking for that punk ass gringo. They popped him with a wicked ass cocktail. No way the gringo survived. Even if he did, he’d still be out cold.
He found Camacho’s body easy enough, right where he dumped it early this morning. It looked like it had been chewed on by desert scavengers. Little buggers don’t waste no time taking advantage of a free meal.
The Nightlife: Las Vegas (The Nightlife Series) Page 13