by Leo Romero
They got back to Valle del Paraíso where they assembled at Alicia’s house for a victory celebration. On went the Latino music; Rafa brought out the tequila. He ripped off the cap, and drank deep, some spilling down his bloodstained vest. “Viva Tijuana!” he said and the others cheered. Then, “To the fallen.” That prompted lots of crossing of oneself. He then toasted Dom and Trixie. “And to the gringos,” he said. “We thank you for your help, amigos!”
They all toasted one another and drank. Dom winced at the taste of the tequila; he definitely preferred Bud.
Trixie downed hers no problem. Then, “this is just a small victory,” she said. “If we want the cartels to be gone, we’ve got to find and kill Magdalena.”
Rafa nodded. “It’s true. As long as she lives, her curse continues.”
“If she even exists,” Alicia said with a dark glare.
“What did Lionel find out about her?” Dom asked.
Alicia sighed. “A deal’s a deal. I’ll show you his diaries. He wrote down everything he was researching. If she’s real, then you might find some clues.”
“That’ll be great,” Dom said as Rafa came and gave him a refill. Dom thanked him and forced his drink down, his face contorting afterward.
“You too?” Rafa asked Trixie.
Trixie went to say no, then changed her mind. “What the hell!” she said with a smile, holding up her glass. “We’ve earned it.”
Rafa cackled as he poured her another. “We certainly have, señorita.” He gave her a wink and a grin. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Trixie said and downed her drink.
Rafa took a swig from the bottle, then released a gasp of satisfaction. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sent Trixie a smile. Trixie gave him a cheeky grin and laugh in return.
Rafa went to pour her another. Trixie held up her glass.
Dom watched them both nonplussed. “You two planning on getting drunk?”
“Why not, hombre?” Rafa asked and laughed.
“Cause we’ve got work to do,” Dom said as Alicia returned with a bunch of papers and books in her hands.
“Oh come on, Dom,” Trixie said, her eyes starting to glaze. “Live a little.” A hiccup escaped her; she threw a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.
Rafa let out a hearty laugh as he gulped more tequila. He poured Trixie another. Dom rolled his eyes.
“They’re having a good time, huh?” Alicia said, handing Dom the books and papers.
“Yeah, aren’t they just,” Dom said, taking them off her. He glanced down. In his hands were books and papers covered in Spanish writing. “Erm, my Spanish is a bit rusty.”
Alicia chuckled. “Come over to the table, and we’ll go through them. Wanna beer?”
Dom turned his head to the side; Trixie was currently captivated by Rafa’s charm. He watched him pour her another drink. Dom sighed. “Yeah, I think I need it.”
“Take a seat at the table and I’ll fix one up for you.”
“Thanks.”
Dom went and sat at the table and laid the papers and books down across its surface. Staring up at him were more of those images of dancing Magdalena with the Fangs of Moroz around her neck and snakes in her hands. Other images included a map of Mexico that had been shaded with different colored crayons, each representing a different area controlled by another cartel faction. The one they’d just taken down, Los Verdugos, covered Tijuana. There was another similar map but of all the Americas. The US and Canada had been painted red. The word ‘Sangre’ had been stenciled across them. Each Central and South American country had been color coded depending on which Chaos Order cartel faction controlled them. Some were unmarked, whether that was because the Chaos Order hadn’t conquered them or Lionel hadn’t identified the faction was a mystery.
He opened up a beaten diary just as Trixie let out an abrupt laugh; he was greeted with pages and pages of scribbled Spanish. He puffed his cheeks. Man, this Lionel really went to work.
There were mugshots of cartel members from all over Central and South America, charts linking each cartel member to the next. Newspaper clippings of cartel shootouts and reported crime activities. There were drawings of vampire anatomy; fangs, hearts, lungs. Lionel, or someone else, had sketched various blueprints for a super powerful wooden crossbow that fired stakes.
Just then, Alicia returned with his Corona. He thanked her and took a deep gulp. The ice-cold beer soothed his throat. “Ahh, that’s nice.”
“Good?” Alicia asked with a smile, sitting opposite him. She squeezed her breasts between her upper arms, creating a deep crater of cleavage.
Dom’s eyes widened and he began coughing. “Very good,” he said in between coughs.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, it just went down the wrong... way.”
“Arr.” Alicia rushed over to him and began rubbing his back.
Dom grinned. “Hey, that feels good. My muscles are a bit tight from all the exertion.”
“Well, you just relax,” Alicia said and began massaging.
Dom grinned and had another sip of Corona. Ahh, Mexico. Why haven’t I been here sooner?
Dom rolled his eyes down at the table, specifically at all the papers spread across it. The realization of the job in hand struck him like a sledgehammer. “So, about all this stuff,” he said.
Alicia stopped massaging for a moment and peeked over his shoulder at the table. “What would you like to know?” she said low and slow in his ear.
“What the hell does this all say?” he asked. He picked up an image of Magdalena with some Spanish written below it. He held it up for Alicia to see.
Alicia glanced at it. “Only those with unclean blood can face the Unholy Mother,” she translated.
Dom grabbed his forehead. “What the hell does that mean?”
Alicia shrugged. “Beats me.”
Dom slumped back in his seat. He was overwhelmed with all the information ahead of him. He stared at it like it was a mountain of old junk that he had to sift through to find a small, valuable antique. And with Trixie enchanted with Antonio Banderas over there, it was down to him to get their mission moving on.
He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. How were they gonna find Magdalena? She could be located anywhere across two continents. It would be worse than trying to find a needle in ten haystacks.
Behind him, the two lovebirds and their drunken cackles partied on. He rolled his eyes and turned in his seat to face them. Trixie was wavering this way and that like a tree caught in a strong wind. Rafa’s light brown face was starting to redden. He placed his hands on Trixie’s tight hips and pulled her in.
Dom shot up from his seat. “Okay, Trixie, party time’s over,” he said, darting over to them and grabbing her arm.
She spun back, facing him with half-closed eyes. “Saysh who?”
“Says me. You can barely stand up.”
“I can stand jusht fine,” she snapped, almost tripping over her own legs.
Dom stepped back. “Oh really?”
Trixie gave him an exaggerated, drunken nod. “Yeah. Really. In fact. Watch this.” She steadied herself, and stared intently at the floor ahead of her. She raised her hands in the air.
Dom grabbed his forehead. “No, Trixie. Don’t. Please.”
Ignoring him, she threw herself down on her hands and became upright in a handstand.
Rafa’s eyes widened; he began clapping. “Hola, señorita!”
Trixie began walking around on her hands, her drunken legs wavering this way and that. She made it a few steps before her balance totally went haywire and she fell flat on her rear with a bump. Her back straightened under the pain. “Ow!”
Dom shook his head and met Alicia’s stare. She shrugged in return.
“She’s not normally like this,” Dom said in an apologetic tone, embarrassment on her part rising inside him.
“At least she’s having fun,” Alicia said.
“Yeah. Too much fun.” Dom went
over to Trixie, who was sprawled on the floor. “Are you okay?”
She just stared up at him with glazed eyes.
“Come on, Trixie. You better go and lie down,” Dom suggested. He hooked his hands under her arms and hoisted her to her feet.
“I think I broke my ass bone,” she said as she stood upright.
“You might’ve broken more than that,” Dom said, wrapping her arm around his neck. He turned to face Alicia. “I better get her to lie down.”
“Go, go,” Alicia said, ushering them away.
Dom began leading her toward the exit.
“A final drink, señorita?” Rafa boomed after them.
“I don’t (hic) mind if I do,” Trixie replied in a woozy, sheepish voice.
Dom rolled his eyes. “Party’s over, Tipsy Trixie.”
They passed by Alicia, who put her arms around them both. “Thank you, friends, for your help today.”
“That’s all right,” Trixie replied in a high-pitched pleasant voice, hugging Alicia back “Any... time...”
“It’s our pleasure, Alicia,” Dom told her. “We’re glad to help. Now, we need help.”
“And you’ll get it,” Alicia said, pulling away.
Dom nodded in appreciation and led Trixie to the exit.
“Sweet dreams, señorita,” Rafa shouted after them.
“Bye, Rafa,” Trixie said over her shoulder in a shy, giggly voice, a drunken smile spread across her cheeks.
“Come on, Trixie,” Dom said, pulling her to the exit. She yelped.
They left Alicia’s house and headed toward their temporary home, Rafa’s booming laugh echoing all around them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Trixie yapped non-stop all the way to their house like an excited parrot. They staggered past people partying in the streets, Trixie wanting to join them. Dom had to drag her away from all the noise like he was her chaperone. At one point Dom caught her trying to pinch a guy’s ass; he pulled her away just in time.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you!” she sneered.
“You’re making a scene, Patricia,” he replied.
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Nerr!”
Man, she’s like the date from Hell on prom night.
They finally reached their house. Dom kicked the door open and led her inside. They tottered over to her bedding.
“Thank you, Romeo,” Trixie said as he laid her down nice and slow.
Dom wiped the sweat from his brow as he went and switched on the fans to cool the searing hot room down.
When he turned back, Trixie was up on her elbows, a big drunken leer on her face. “Are you gonna give me a goodnight kiss?” she asked, kiss coming out ‘kish’.
Dom placed his hands on his hips. “Trixie,” he said in a stern tone, “it’s just gone midday and you’re drunker than a skunk.”
She placed a finger over her smiling lips. “Shh! Don’t tell Daddy,” she said and burst into insane laughter. She lost her balance and toppled to the side.
Dom rolled his eyes. “I think Vincent would be more upset with me than you.”
She stopped laughing. She got back up on her elbows, her mouth now an O. “Come on, Dominish!” she snapped. “Relax! We’re in Meshico. In the last few days, we’ve been shot at, chashed by Blacklake, almost died in a helicopter crash, and dodged cannonballsh. We desherve a little downtime, no?”
Dom shrugged. “Yeah, but—”
“Yeah but nothing!” she interjected, swinging her finger across the air in a woozy arc. “I almost got blown off the side of a skyscraper and had to summershault through broken glass for chrisshakes!” She swayed from side-to-side like a cobra hypnotizing its prey as she spoke.
Dom sighed. “How are your hands doing?”
She glanced down at them with sad eyes. “They hurt,” she answered in a glum voice.
Dom gave her a sympathetic nod. “Yeah?”
“Well, the booze is helping.”
“Come here, let me look at them.” He went and sat ahead of her. She sat upright. He took her hands and checked them, unraveling the left hand’s bandage, which was already dirty and smeared with grass stains. Underneath the bandage, most of the temporary stitching was still intact. There were a few blood spots where today’s exertions had reopened them. Dom went to run a delicate finger along one of her wounds when she abruptly pulled her hand away and held it up.
“I mean look! Look at my poor finger.” She held what was left of her pinky up in the air. “It looks horrible,” she said in a whiny voice, her eyes brimming with tears. “I look like a freak!”
Dom took hold of her wrist. “It looks fine.”
Her eyes widened with hope. “Yeah?” she said in a more upbeat voice.
“Sure. No one will ever notice.”
She scowled. “I will!”
“Yeah, but no one else will.”
“You will!”
“No, I won’t. Won’t even mention it.”
She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“You’re lovely.”
“I know. Besides, it could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Could it?”
“Hell yeah. You could’ve lost your whole hand, or your whole arm, and then how’d you be able to pull off any moves? If you tried to summersault like you did today, you’d just go around in circles!”
A burst of laughter erupted from Trixie’s chest. She then wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.
Dom caught her stare and looked her straight on. She stared back at him with her green eyes.
Dom ran a delicate finger along a wound on her hand. “Does that feel better?” he asked her, holding her stare.
“Yeah,” Trixie said with a sheepish grin.
“You’re very brave,” he told her.
“Yeah?” she asked, swaying to and fro in woozy arcs. “That’s nice.”
Dom lifted her hands out to the sides, his stare fixed on her glassy eyes; they whirled this way and that. An absent laugh escaped her.
Dom moved in.
He puckered his lips, drawing in close to her. He closed his eyes an inch away from her slightly parted lips, a cloud of tequila on her breath. His heart began beating hard; this was it, the moment had arrived and she wasn’t resisting.
He raised his eyebrows in anticipation, his lips centimeters from hers.
They touched.
And then her eyes rolled up into her head; she collapsed back onto her bedding. Dom stopped midair, his lips puckered, eyes still closed. He frowned in confusion. Where’s she gone?
He opened one eye, and rolled it down. It fell on Trixie just lying there. What’s she doing? “Trixie?” he said. “You okay? Trixie!”
She let out a small snore.
Dom turned away. “Typical!” He slapped his thighs in frustration. He shook his head. “Way to go, Dom,” he said to himself and got to his feet.
He turned away, then turned back. She was still sleeping.
His head fell in his hand. Great moves, jackass.
Feeling like a chump, he left her where she was, snoozing, while he went to Alicia’s to fetch some fresh bandages. As he left, her snoring intensified into a loud, steady rhythm.
PART FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Troy scanned the darkness around him like a blind man. It was his only company; had been for the last, what? Ten hours? Maybe more. He’d already fallen asleep on numerous occasions, so he had no idea.
Some other assholes like that Chichi guy and his goon buddies came by Víbora’s place soon after he was declared the Bloodthirsty One. Accompanying them were more of those weird monk-types with black robes and strange stares. They all surrounded him, examining him like he was some kind of relic, oohing and aahing, speaking non-stop in a language he barely understood outside of ‘si, amigo’. They really did think he was that guy in that picture. El Sanguinario. Losers. They then handcuffed him to make sure he di
dn’t get away before throwing him in the trunk of a waiting car. And then, they drove. To where, they never told him. An unknown destination.
They went over another bump and he left the floor of the trunk and then hit it again with a thud. He groaned. “Goddamned Mexican cultists!” he spat to himself in the darkness. He had no idea where he was heading, no idea where he was. They also decided to throw a black bag over his head, you know, just to make sure he didn’t try icing any of them, and just in case he did something really naughty like see where they were heading.
All he knew was that he was being taken on some pilgrimage. Pilgrimage to where? The South Pole? They’d been driving for what felt like forever, and it didn’t seem like they were willing to stop any time soon. And not to mention the heat. The temperature in the trunk must have been in the hundreds. His clothes were plastered to his body with sweat. He thought of Trixie and his anger levels soared. Why did he ever listen to her? Once they released him from the sunbed, he should’ve just scrammed, left Chicago altogether, headed upstate. He’d heard Charleston was a nice place to hang out. Or even New York. Yeah, somewhere cold, without any sun. How the vamps survived in this sunny hellhole was anyone’s guess.
The good thing was that he was still alive. And if these freaks in the robes thought he was some kind of god, then let them. They’d probably protect him against all intruders. Although handcuffing him, putting a bag over his head, and then throwing him in the trunk of a car was no way to treat a god.
He hoped that they’d get the cuffs off at some point and then he’d be able to make a quick escape. He knew he had to take any chance he got. The moment the cuffs come off, you run, Troy, you run like Forrest Gump, he told himself.
They went over yet another bump and Troy was thrown this way and that. He smashed his elbow on the side of the trunk. “Owww,” he groaned in the darkness. “Hey! Where are you taking me?” he shouted. They continued on their journey regardless. He growled to himself. “This is the last time I ever cross the border. You hear? The last time!”
They went over more bumps and he smashed his knee. “Son of a bitch!” he moaned.