Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Mario Acevedo
Book Description
Planet Pleasure. The one place in the galaxy you seriously want to avoid, but it’s the next stop for Felix Gomez, detective-vampire and undead enforcer. His mission: rescue the bodacious vampiress, the hypersexual Carmen Arellano, from the clutches of ruthless warrior aliens. Her captors have doomed themselves by honing their military prowess at the expense of their libido, and Carmen is their last chance in regaining their mojo before they die out. Felix can’t waste any time because Phaedra, the ruthless bloodsucking ingénue—now with extra-superpowers—is making good on her threat to destroy the Araneum and take over the undead underworld. Luckily, Felix is not alone in his quest to save Carmen and stop Phaedra. That redheaded whirlwind with a gun, Jolie, has got his back. Also lending a hand is everyone’s favorite down-and-out trickster sage, Coyote, and he’s brought along his mom … la Malinche … aka La Llorona! Here it comes, ground zero of a mega-ton story bristling with action, interstellar double-crosses, skin-walkers, Hopi magic, and trigger-happy goons. Exactly what you’d expect from Felix Gomez.
***
Praise for Rescue from Planet Pleasure
“Acevedo is a very disturbed man—and I mean that in the absolute finest sense of the term.”
—Tim Dorsey
“… horror fan’s perfect vacation read.”
—Publisher’s Weekly
“Decidedly good, clean, unwholesome fun.”
—Baltimore Sun
“The most imaginative story I’ve read in months … trashy … silly and so much fun.”
—Seattle Stranger
“Gleefully debunks vampire lore and creates new rules of the game.”
—La Bloga
“A comedic approach to vampirism.”
—Baltimore Sun
“A sassy, fast, fun read.”
—Boulder Camera
“A witty, fast-paced, detective tale that also manages to update vampire lore in clever and imaginative ways.”
—El Paso Times
“Part hard-boiled private eye, part soft-core porn, and part pure humor.”
—Statesman Journal, Oregon
“A high-speed, well-crafted romp through the forests of the night.”
—Booklist
***
Smashwords Edition – 2015
WordFire Press
wordfirepress.com
ISBN: 978-1-61475-308-7
Copyright © 2015 Mario Acevedo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover by Eric Matelski
Art Director Kevin J. Anderson
Book Design by RuneWright, LLC
www.RuneWright.com
Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
Published by
WordFire Press, an imprint of
WordFire, Inc.
PO Box 1840
Monument, CO 80132
***
Dedication
To my critique group,
for constantly reminding me of the error of my ways.
***
Chapter One
“Felix, it’s up to you to save the world.”
The voice blurted through the receiver of a Princess telephone. It had been in a box of junk that lay beside my coffin and started to ring and kept ringing until I answered the goddamned thing.
The clock radio on my bookshelf said 2:12 p.m., the best naptime for us vampires. I resented the interruption of the telephone—an unconnected telephone, no less. This was supposed to be the start of a long overdue break from work, a staycation during which I was all set to do nothing but kick back, drink bloody cocktails, and get laid.
I settled into the quilted satin lining of my coffin, receiver to ear, hoping I was dreaming. My coffin lay on a heavy table in the back room of my office. “Who is this?” The fuck, as in who-the-fuck-is-this, was implied.
“Chale, who else could it be … pendejo?”
The pendejo cinched it. Coyote.
“It’s been awhile,” I drawled sleepily. Years since we parted ways in Los Angeles after the ancient trickster had helped me bring down a nidus—vampire nest—of renegade bloodsuckers. “What do you need … money?”
“Vato, you need to get here right away and save the world.”
“Save? From what?”
“But first you have to go to outer space.”
Okay, maybe I was dreaming. I was about to drop the phone and nod off when he mentioned: “Rescue Carmen and bring her home.”
Carmen? The name bored through the fog of sleepiness like a searchlight and illuminated the memories of the most bodacious female vampire who ever lived.
Years ago, I had lost Carmen to an alien gangster, a short, round scumbag by the name of Clayborn. He had approached our government with a deal: alien technology for earth women. Why earth women? Female intuition. Human females were valued as empathetic companions. Think highly compassionate pets.
According to Clayborn, the aliens recognized Carmen’s psychic powers, took her captive, teleported her to an interspace cruiser, and whisked her to an auction, where she fetched top alien dollar. Jolie and I snagged Clayborn before he could flee Earth. We were about to go all Gitmo on his double-crossing ass when agents from the Galactic Union came t
o arrest him. Not surprisingly, he was a wanted fugitive back on his home turf. Since finding and returning Carmen was no concern of the alien cops, Jolie obliged them by decapitating Clayborn and handing over his corpse.
All this happened because our government and their cronies in Cress Tech International had gotten kissy-faced with Clayborn and schemed to make billions from extraterrestrial technology. They had kidnapped victims for the aliens, even going as far as crashing a commuter jet—killing dozens—to hide the disappearance of abducted women.
I sat up. “You found Carmen?”
“Simón. The Araneum asked me—”
“Wait a minute, you and the Araneum?” The Araneum—the secret worldwide network of vampires—had long ago grabbed Coyote by his skinny neck and tossed his scruffy carcass out of their ranks.
“They need me. I need you. Things are going bad for us vampires, ese. We need Carmen to fight back.”
“Against who?”
“Phaedra.”
My jumbled thoughts snapped into place. If the Araneum was in cahoots with Coyote, then a very bad prediction was about to come true.
To say Phaedra was trouble would be to say that Hitler caused a little mischief. Phaedra was a scheming teenage wench with incredible psychic powers. I’d saved her from zombies once. Mortally wounded during our escape from the zombie animator’s lair, I had reluctantly turned her into a vampire to keep her from dying. Last time I saw Phaedra, she had pinned my ass to the floor with a blast of psychic energy. She vowed to destroy the Araneum and set herself up as queen of the undead bloodsuckers. Then she disappeared. Now she was back and apparently ready to fulfill her promise of conquest.
But if Phaedra was on the rampage, I hadn’t heard anything. “What’s happened?”
“It’s bad. Bien cagada. She’s organized an undead rebellion. Started to pick off the Araneum and they can’t stop her. It’s vampiro contra vampiro.”
“Hold on,” I said. “Give me a minute to catch up. How does Carmen fit into this?”
Coyote answered, “Carmen is the only vampire powerful enough to stop Phaedra.”
“There’s me.”
“Felix, sometimes you’re a funny guy. But no joking, por favor.”
“Carmen is light years away. How are we?—”
“Not we, you. And Jolie.”
Jolie? “Since when have you known Jol?—”
“She’s on the way to get you. Should be there soon.”
A knock sounded on the hall door.
“Soon is right.”
“Then we’ll talk later. Be careful, ese.” The line went dead.
I dropped the handset onto its cradle and let the phone fall back into the box.
The knock turned into pounding. My office is on the second floor of the Oriental Theater in the Denver Highlands. If anyone wanted to get up here, I’d have to buzz them in. That an uninvited guest was at my door was not a good omen. Just as I reached under my pillow for a Colt Python .357 Magnum and its load of hollow-point silver bullets, a woman hollered.
“Goddamn it, Felix, open the fucking door.”
No mistaking the charm in that dainty voice. Jolie.
Revolver in hand, I climbed out of the coffin, slid off the table and left the back room to answer the hall door. Standing to one side—in case it wasn’t Jolie—I extended my fangs and talons, threw the deadbolt, and turned the knob. I tried to appear as badass as I could in my bare feet and pajamas. The door popped open.
Jolie entered, wearing Joe Rocket armored riding leathers and heavy biker boots. Very much the deadly vampire enforcer who once had orders to kill me but didn’t.
Apprehension sparked over the penumbra of her aura, orange as fire. The tapetum lucidum of her unmasked eyes were radioactive red with urgency. Coppery hair pulled into a ponytail and gathered in a leather tail tamer. Face slathered with Dermablend and makeup to dampen the many freckles and darken her anemic undead complexion. She carried a flip-up motorcycle helmet in her gloved hand. “Let’s go. We need to burn asphalt.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” Jolie and I shared a lot, mostly heartache over Carmen.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll exchange the how-have-you-beens when we get to Coyote’s.”
“Which is where?”
“Fajada Butte.”
“Which is where?”
“Northwest New Mexico.”
People call New Mexico the Land of Enchantment. Having grown up there, I knew the northwest section more as the Land of Nothing, unless you get a boner for lots of sky and dirt. There’s a reason the place is uninhabited.
The phone rang again. I retracted my fangs and claws, returned to the back room, and plucked the handset from the box. I answered though I knew who it had to be.
Coyote, of course. “Hey vato, you mentioned money earlier.”
I wish I hadn’t.
“I need some ficha. Pay you back when the vieja’s welfare check comes. Gracias.”
The phone died once more before I could say no. Mooching bastard.
Jolie entered the back room. Her aura crackled with urgency. Dropping the handset once again into the box, I gave her and her motorcycle getup another once-over. “So you’re on a bike. I’m following you?”
“Like hell. You’re riding bitch on my wheels.”
“Think again.” One, I wasn’t riding a motorcycle when I could be busting the miles on the comfy seats of my Cadillac. Two, I don’t ride bitch.
“Felix, we can’t waste time. Phaedra is close. We gotta go. Now.” Jolie tapped her wrist impatiently. “Unless your car can cruise at a hundred fifty plus, you’re riding with me.”
“On what, a rocket sled?”
“Practically.” She walked by my coffin, looked into the box and retrieved the Princess phone. “What’s with the vintage crap?”
“Found that in the alley. My mom owned a phone like it. Back when she was alive.”
“Oh.” Jolie set the phone down. She plucked a small backpack from under the table and flung it at me. “Pack your shit and let’s go.” She tromped into my front room and helped herself to a 500ml bag of human blood from the office mini-fridge.
The backpack wouldn’t hold much. “I take it we won’t be gone for long.”
She fanged a hole in the top of the bag, inserted a straw and drank. “With luck, a few days.”
“How about with no luck?”
“Then it won’t matter. We’ll be dead.”
***
Chapter Two
“As of this moment,” Jolie shouted from the front room, “consider yourself behind enemy lines.”
Really? Then was I out of the loop. When I had gone to bed, my number one concern was that my liquor cabinet was getting a little bare. Now I was packing for a trip to save the world via a detour into outer space, and my office was within the blast radius of a brewing vampire civil war.
“If things have gotten this bad, why wasn’t I warned?”
“The Araneum tried but their messenger crows never got through.”
That gave me pause. A crow visited about once a week to bring a new assignment or to deliver a rebuke. Then again, the last time I saw Phaedra, she brandished a necklace of crow heads and dismissed the Araneum’s omnipotence. “Just how far behind enemy—”
Jolie snapped her fingers. “Chop, chop, Felix. Less talk, more getting the hell out of here.”
“When did you meet Coyote?”
“We haven’t met. He called me out of the blue to warn that a couple of rogue vampires were coming to off me. After I took care of them, Coyote called again and explained what was going on and to fetch you.” She snapped her fingers again. “Come on, Felix. Let’s go!”
I changed out of my pajamas. Put on cargo pants, a work shirt, hiking boots, leather jacket. Since I frequently crashed in my office, I kept extra clothes here. Searching through them, I stuffed a toiletry bag and cell phone charger into the backpack, plus bags of blood and a box of ammo. I tucked the Colt magnum into a holster sew
n inside my jacket. After locking up, I followed Jolie downstairs and out to the front sidewalk.
At the curb, a white Suzuki Hayabusa leaned against its kickstand, headlamp and air scoops pinched into an angry squint, the machine looking sleek and menacing, like a jet fighter minus the wings. The Hayabusa is the fastest production motorcycle in the world and even though this crotch rocket was standing still, I could see a tornado of speeding tickets swirling in its wake.
The bike had no panniers or touring bags attached, which begged the question: “Where’s your stuff?”
Jolie slapped a pocket on the butt cheek of her riding pants. “VISA card is all the luggage I need. Or I”—she made air quotes—“‘borrow’ when I need to.”
I gave the motorcycle another rueful look. “We take my Cadillac,” I said, “and I promise to make that car haul ass ’til we get to Fajada Butte or the engine seizes. In the meantime, we’ll have air conditioning. GPS. iTunes. Cup holders.”
Jolie pulled the helmet over her head, not paying any mind to my words. She snatched an open-face helmet with a bubble visor that had been hidden behind the windscreen, said, “Catch,” and tossed it.
I examined my helmet, the blemished orange metal-flake surface, the frayed webbing, the scratched visor. “How much did you pay for this at the thrift store? A whole dollar?”
“And you’re worth every penny.” She yanked the front of her helmet down, clicked it into place, and slid her sunglasses through the visor port. “Ready?” She cinched her gloves, threw a leg over the seat, tilted the Suzuki upright off its stand, and pressed the ignition button. The engine snarled and settled into a low growl.
My turn. Helmet on. Sunglasses on. My dark shades made her aura invisible.
The rear footrests were above the angled exhaust pipes. To mount the bike, I had to fold my legs until I practically squatted on the tiny pillion.
Jolie gave the throttle a slight twist and we rolled from the curb. She lifted her boots and tucked her legs against the engine. I leaned into her, my arms around her waist, my ass tilted upward. Very much the bitch position.
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