Mad Lizard Mambo

by Rhys Ford

  But not as familiar as the woman.

  She glanced up at me, an eerie combination of her mother’s soft, pretty features and her father’s steely, grim expression. Her hand was steady, her weapon’s muzzle aimed at the middle of the man’s forehead, and her boot heel lodged into his crotch. He squirmed when he saw me. I’d have squirmed too with a hard rubber wedge pressed into my balls, and he whimpered when he spotted the Eagle.

  “Cari.” I dropped the Eagle down, pointing it at the nearly gibbering man on the ground. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Apparently”—she grinned at me, jerking her head at her captive—“I’m saving your ass.”

  “SAYS HE works for some guy named Oscar Bennett.” Dutch wiped his hands on a rag, cleaning gun oil from his fingers. “Sound familiar?”

  I sat on the opposite end of the porch from where Cari and Dutch had handcuffed our shooter—one Johnny Garcia—to an old metal and vinyl kitchen chair. The railing was hard under my ass, but it felt good to let my legs dangle, and it gave me a good view of the ranch grounds. I’d gone back to my Glocks, holstered across my shoulders and on my thigh. With the floodlights on, the yard was blindly bright, blue shadows flung out in all directions from under the vehicles, fences, and the random chicken confused by the inexplicable daylight.

  “I know an Orin Bennett. Runs the Diamond Kitty. It’s a elfin fetish club in the understreets. Could be related.” I snuck a peek at Garcia. “Doesn’t explain why this Oscar guy is on our ass.”

  I’d left Malone in one of Dutch’s spare bedrooms, worn down from the day and his injuries. By the time I’d peed and got some coffee, they’d already wrung Garcia out. As interrogations went, Garcia was either a disappointment or the best of subjects. He’d started blabbing as soon as they’d sat him down and closed the bracelets over his wrists.

  “Get off the damned railing and ask him yourself,” Dutch ordered. “Seems he’s got the willies around the elfin. Ryder got within two feet of the guy, and he began telling us every damned bad thing he’d done since he stole his first lollipop.”

  Garcia wasn’t much to look at, and he was unmistakably from San Diego’s undercity ghettos. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was waxy from lack of sunlight and poor nutrition. His hands trembled against the chair’s arms, his broken, ragged nails digging into the cracked vinyl pads, and his eyes were covered with a nearly translucent white film, a remnant of a long-standing milk-tab addiction. Whoever Oscar Bennett was, he wasn’t hiring the best the streets had to offer. Garcia was as close to scraping the bottom of the barrel as someone could get and still come up with something human enough to hold a weapon.

  He was also scared shitless of me, because he started to shake when I drew near.

  “God, don’t let him—” Garcia bit his tongue, a dribble of blood oozing from his mouth. “I swear, I don’t know a lot more. I don’t want to die.”

  “I haven’t exactly seen him shoot a human up close before, but there is always a first time.”

  Ryder cocked an eyebrow at my snort. He was standing with Cari against the railing, a bit too chummy for my liking, and she smiled sweetly when I glared at her. Ryder caught the exchange and smirked.

  “You won’t have much time to hurt him. Dutch has already called the sheriff’s department. They’ll be here any minute now to take him away.”

  “You obviously don’t know the sheriff’s department. This guy’s probably still going to be here for the summer harvest.” I pulled up a chair, then sat down, straddling the seat and resting my arms on its back. “Why don’t you tell us about Oscar? Why’d he leave you here? ’Cause I’m assuming your buddy Oscar’s long gone by now.”

  “They were going to do the job up past Old Vegas and come back for me. I was supposed to keep you guys here a bit, slow you down.” Garcia’s spit bubbled on his lip, turning pink from the cut on his tongue. “I was going to slash your tires, but it didn’t look like you were going inside, so I tried shooting at them.”

  “Tires are reinforced. No tube. Can’t flatten them,” I informed him. “Weird that Oscar would dump you here.”

  “I didn’t want to….” Garcia’s eyes flicked over to Ryder then back to me. “He’s got one of those unsidhe with him. And his black dogs. One of them ate Spiro after we got away from Changa’s, just bit his head clean off. He wasn’t even doing anything, but bam! Spiro bends over to pick up his gun and that thing eats his head. I wanted out. Oscar said I could do this job and he’d come grab me on the way back down.”

  “More likely Oscar was hoping we’d kill him,” Dutch interjected, rubbing at Maggie’s ears. “Pretty risky, hooking up with an unsidhe and a pack.”

  “Ballsy. Where’d you guys hook up with the unsidhe?” I asked Garcia. “In San Diego or up here?”

  “Outside of Rainbow.” Garcia confirmed my suspicions. The pack on the hill were probably the same ones who chased us down the freeway and into Temecula. “A couple of the guys didn’t want to stick around if the unsidhe was going. Said it went against their beliefs. They’re Humans First guys. Real assholes. Oscar was going to meet up with one more person then head up to the salt flats.”

  “One of those guys Spiro?” Cari grunted when Garcia nodded. “Good way to keep zealotry stoked. Have the thing they fear kill one of the group so when Oscar needs them to turn on the unsidhe, they’re already primed.”

  “Yeah, either that or this unsidhe’s got less control over his dogs than I think he does.” I tapped my fingers along the chair’s metal back.

  “What is this unsidhe’s name?” Ryder stepped away from the railing and came up to stand next to my chair.

  “Does it matter? Not like we’d know him personally,” Cari grumbled.

  “What, you think this unsidhe’s connected to Ciarla?” It wasn’t that far of a leap. Ciarla’d been traveling with a couple of elfin according to Bryan, but we’d only seen her. “He could be from the Tijuana Court. It’s like a thing with them, calling up ainmhi dubh and then getting eaten because they can’t control them.”

  “From what I gather, the Dusk Court below the border is at war. Too many factions and Clans struggling to gain power. No one has the upper hand, and bringing an ainmhi dubh pack up would go a long way in helping a House gain control. Since I’ve been in San Diego, I’ve been gathering information on the Houses there, so I know the names of the more powerful families,” Ryder filled in. “I ask because if it’s a Tijuana pack, then chances are Ciarla meeting us there was a coincidence.”

  “So if he’s from up North, then it’s a damned good chance they’re connected.” I rocked the chair forward a bit, swinging closer to Garcia’s face. He paled and I smiled, baring my fangs. “You remember this unsidhe’s name?”

  “Yeah, it’s….” Garcia’s mouth screwed in on itself. “It’s Ciméara cuid Anbhas.”

  He slaughtered the name, but it was a good enough pronunciation to make the edges of Ryder’s mouth go white and his expression flatten. I shook my head, refusing to believe the stupidity laid out before me. Then Cari chirped up.

  “What? Do you know him, Kai?”

  “Yeah, kinda of,” I said. “Because that guy’s passing himself off as me.”

  Fifteen

  I WAS going to lose the fight to send Cari back to San Diego. Dutch refused to come, pointing out I had another Stalker ready and willing to come with us while she stood by, smirking. My reluctance was… complicated, but Cari wasn’t having any of it and politely told me so while we watched the sheriff and Dutch chattering away with a shivering Garcia looking like he’d rather be shot than stand in the icy rain.

  It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to agree with her reasoning. There was a hard rock of worry and regret in my belly. I wasn’t sure where it’d come from, but I felt it. It was the same gnawing ball of acid I got when one of her brothers tried to edge in on one of my runs. Politely saying no didn’t work for the Brents. Not one of them liked hearing it, and Cari was no exc
eption.

  The only thing I had going for me was the possibility of falling off a cliff or dying in some dramatic fashion to save her mother the effort of skinning me alive. While survivable, not my favorite afternoon activity.

  Ryder was a warm, welcome length to my left, leaning on the railing as he watched the rain and the chickens dashing about the lit-up yard. My back was to the rail, arms crossed and waiting for Cari to make her case. She hit hard and fast, gutting my arguments before I even had a chance to make them.

  “Malone and Ryder aren’t accurate shots, and I’m a licensed Stalker.” She paced over to me, jabbing my chest with a finger. “Sure, I’m not as good with a gun and knife as you are, but no one is. And I can’t get the shit kicked out of me and bounce back up because I’m human, not elfin, but that’s how it goes. I’ve been licensed since I was old enough to carry a gun and have done more runs than most guys my age. Hell, I even have an apprentice—sort of—which is a hell of a lot more than you’ve done. So give me one good reason why I should let you waltz out of here without me in that truck.”

  “I watched you learn how to walk,” I said softly. “I don’t want to be the one who takes you home in a bag, Cari. I just don’t.”

  “You’re going to have to get over it, Kai,” she spat back. “Look at me. Right now we’re pretty much the same age. And in a few years, Dios willing, I’ll be older than you. Ryder, talk some sense into him.”

  “True, we age differently, and it is probably difficult for Kai to adjust to that. He is very young himself, and we all—the elfin—now have to accept how humans speed through their lives. It is a shock to our beings. You age so quickly, and to us, you die before you’re barely past your childhood,” Ryder spoke up. “But you cannot fault Kai for wanting to protect you. Despite his growly, off-putting nature, he is a nurturer.”

  “He is, and I don’t fault him,” Cari assented, then grimaced at me. “Don’t give me that grouse face. He gave you a compliment. What you don’t realize, Kai, Dutch is too old to be out doing runs. Even if he’s just riding shotgun, he can’t do the job. I can. I will. Besides, it’s not up—”

  “Damn it. This is my fricking run,” I snapped through her words. “I swear on Pele’s fire, if one more person says it’s not up to me—”

  “It is up to you,” Ryder said gently. “I’ve forced too many things onto you. I can say that. Marshall. Malone—the first time—because the second was your choice. And every time you’ve accepted my decisions, even when you’ve told me they were bad ones. Kai, this decision is yours. If you say Cari doesn’t come on the run, then she doesn’t come on the run. It’s up to her to convince you.”

  It sounded too good to be true. Ryder never simply handed control over, and I stared at him, trying to ferret out the catch in his words. He met my gaze, then snorted, shifting his weight to his other foot and bumping my hip with his.

  “Do you want me to say I was wrong?” he asked, nudging me again. “Fine, I was wrong. Sometimes, part of leading is admitting mistakes were made. Would you like me to sign something stating that? Or is just admitting it good enough for you, ainle?”

  “Pretty sure I’m going to blink and there’s going to be a white rabbit telling me to hurry up because we’re late for tea.” Ryder backing out of the conversation didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse because I had to be rational. And rational told me we needed Cari something fierce. Sentimental, however, told me something different. “It’s not that I think you can’t do the job. What the hell would I tell your family if something happens to you, Cari?”

  “You tell them I went out kicking ass, and you get drunk with them,” she murmured, patting my hand. “Because that’s what’s Stalkers do. Even if you’ve watched them grow up, Kai, it’s what we do when one of us falls. You bring me home, let Mama dress me in something pretty, and drink yourself sick while what’s left of me is on the pyre. Just like I would do for you.”

  “Well, I don’t have anything pretty so….” I trailed off and truly looked at the woman I’d watched grow up from a toddler with pigtails and a chipped front tooth. “It’s fucking hard, Cari. You’re asking a lot.”

  “No more than I ask from my other brothers,” she replied. “Or my dad. I’m a Stalker, Kai. It’s all I know, and if I die doing it, then so be it. The Fates spoke my name, and I answered.”

  I wanted to wrap her in that bubbly stuff people use for vases and fragile things, the kind we’d spend hours popping between our fingers in the back of Dempsey’s truck while he and Cari’s father were hunting black dogs on the far ridge. It was hard… too damned hard… to watch her walk into a firefight or get pinned down by a salamander, much less ever seeing her fall to the ground, twitching and gasping for her last breath.

  It would kill me. Flat, straight-out kill me.

  But it would kill Cari more if I didn’t let her live—or die—in whatever way she wanted.

  Not like I could actually let her do anything. But on this run—letting her on my run—I was pretty much saying she was good enough to stand toe-to-toe next to me against anything that came our way.

  “Okay, you’re in.” I held my hand to ward off any celebrations. “But there’s rules.”

  “Like what?” She cocked her head to the side, smirking at me.

  “One, Malone doesn’t get a gun unless it looks like we’re going to die. Asshole’s already shot me once. Not going to happen again. Two….” I ticked off on my fingers. “Shit, I don’t have a two. If I think of one, I’ll bring it up.”

  “You’re not going to tell her to do everything you say?” Ryder shot me a teasing look from under his lashes. “Like you did with Robbie and me?”

  “I don’t have to, Your Lordship. Cari knows what she’s doing.” I pushed off the railing, giving Ryder’s ass a pat as I straightened up. “And I’m pretty sure it’ll be a cold day in some hell when you just do what I tell you without asking why.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Ryder called out to me as I walked away. “It’ll depend on what you’re telling me to do.”

  SHADOWS WEREN’T supposed to move. Sure, some did. Light changes. Wind shifting trees. Perspective altering a bit at a single point because the world turned a microscopic click.

  None of that was true this time. No, I blinked and the horizon blinked back.

  We were on the edges of Mercury Valley, two days into the long haul up the 15’s remains and a hard jog to the left after Zzyzx. Motels along the way made the trip fairly easy with hot food, hotter showers, and warm beds, something I wouldn’t pay for if I were on my own. Dempsey beat that into my head early on. Renting someone else’s bed was as good as throwing money into a river because I’d never see it again and there was no reason to it. A sleeping bag and a front seat was plenty fine and handy whenever Dempsey rolled out of a truck stop drunk off his ass and spoiling for a fight.

  The warm air coming through my open window was varied and sharp, a cutting metallic edge to its bite. It carried with it the scent of stagnant water and heat. Much of the area was high grassland prairie, with pockets of Earth high desert and Underhill randomly cropping up. Past the outer range of mountains lay vast, sunbaked plains with rare pockets of water thrown in just to make things interesting. The outer valley was bumpy, crevices hiding gulches ready to crumble open at the slightest provocation, but it was fairly easy to spot the vulnerable areas.

  Migration trails were broad and shiny, beaten down nearly to dirt, and grazing cropped the grasses down almost to the roots. The recent rains left bogs in places, and long-legged herons picked through the water-heavy dips, snacking on drowned rodents and toads.

  With the mountains rising on either side, the valleys were separated by tall ridges, steep slopes high enough to require a bit more power from the truck’s engines but still manageable. When the Merge struck, the federal government fought hard to maintain its infrastructure, reasoning it would give humans an advantage during the war against the elfin and reach townships and small citi
es gone dark from lack of resources. Sometimes they found entire communities thankful for a way out of the hell thrust upon them, but more often than not, the only thing waiting for the human rescuers was death.

  We were following one of those roads, a broad flat swath of uneven hard clay patched with packed-down gravel the Army began to lay down, then abandoned. There were a lot of reasons the Army started roadwork then left the job half-done. Much of it had to do with finances. It made no sense to build a road back to someplace no one lived anymore, and in some places, it was simply best not to give the nightmares roaming there an easier way to move about.

  I’d kept the transport going full bore through the valley, my link blipping in tune with the maps and sonar scans Marshall handed over to Ryder before someone put a few holes in her. We’d gone back and forth on if that someone was Oscar Bennett, and I’d left a message for Orin at the Diamond Kitty, but the cute-voiced woman who’d answered the call said he was on a centering retreat and would give him my message when he returned.

  Tonight was going to be the first time we’d all bunk in the transport, a much smaller and tighter version than the monster we’d initially bought from Sparky. I didn’t miss the drover’s bulky rear end, making steering the beast a bitch and a half, and I’d hated its low-to-the-ground frame. What I did miss was its pop-out sleeping quarters and, more importantly, the membrane-protected embrasures on its sides, because the undulating horizon had me more than a little worried.

  “Caridad, get into the turret. I think we’ve got company.” I glanced over at Ryder, who’d fallen asleep in the front passenger’s seat. “Hey, Your Lordship. Might need you here.”