“You’re wasting our time,” said Sam.
“Yeah, go ahead,” I said, hating the role of good cop.
*
Sweat ran down his face. He urinated down one trouser leg.
“You rank lower even than the savages,” said the bandeirante leader. He strode forward and faced Ribeiro from just inches away. “At least I can seize them as slaves. But a traitor...” he scowled and pulled out his dagger. “There is only one penalty for a traitor.”
Yet I am in the right, thought Ribeiro. As a bandeirante himself, he had marched with these men from São Paulo in search of gold and native slaves. Portuguese by birth, he believed in European superiority as a matter of course, felt it only right that they should enslave the savages. But the bandeirantes had not stopped there. They had raped and killed women in full view of the bound and helpless native men, slaughtered children, and then burned villages. This barbaric cruelty had been too much for Dismas Ribeiro.
He had escaped from the slaver band, snuck away from camp at night. After covering many miles, hiding when he could and being careful to leave no trail, he came upon a Guaraní tribe. Ribeiro had befriended the Indians and stayed among them for many months. He learned Guarani customs, religion, and a little of the language. He witnessed the subtle complexities of these people, people that he’d dismissed as simple savages. He discovered that individual Guarani Indians could be good or bad, just as with Europeans. But he witnessed no examples of the superior attitude, the violence aimed at women and children, the brutality directed at an assumed “lesser” race that his own Portuguese had demonstrated. He’d even come at last to despise the practice of slavery.
And now his old band had found him.
The bandeirante leader used his dagger to slice the skin of Ribeiro’s chest, stomach, arms, and thighs. Each cut brought a lancing pain, a fresh agony. Ribeiro winced and shut his eyes, biting his lip to hold back screams. At last the bandeirante completed his bloody work, wiped his blade on Ribeiro’s shirt, and stepped back to stand among his band.
“Throw him in,” said the bandeirante leader.
The two Portuguese slavers that held Ribeiro heaved him out over the precipice into the water. Though braced for impact with subsurface rocks, he didn’t touch bottom after the splash. As he bobbed to the surface and took a breath, he felt the cool, fresh water sooth his wounds. The bandeirantes stood on the rocky shelf looking down at him, many wearing sadistic grins.
Ribeiro sensed movement in the water before he saw any surface ripples. It seemed like dozens of fingers gently touched or brushed him. Fighting back panic, he knew that soon the Candiru and Piranha would be upon him, attracted by his blood. The Candiru would worm their way into every body crevice, attaching themselves with spiny barbs and drinking their fill of his blood. The Piranha would tear his flesh out in chunks, leaving nothing but his skeleton.
“I curse you all!” he screamed at the bandeirantes, a last act of futile defiance. He could now feel little nibbles of tiny teeth at various spots on his body. “I curse you, your wives, your children, and your descendants.” The water started to froth as hundreds of fish swarmed in for the attack, driven to a frenzy of slashing teeth. Amid the torture of being eaten alive, Ribeiro could only recall the names of two minor Guarani spirit-gods. “I curse you in the name of Mbói Tu'ĩ and Abaangui!”
*
“Thanks for sharing that irrelevant nonsense,” Sam said. “That killed a half-hour that I’ll never get back. Now I’m gonna ask you one more time, you sick little twerp: what do you know about the murders that have been taking place in this town? Starting with the two that happened earlier tonight.”
The kid, who couldn’t have been older than his early twenties, regarded Sam with a calm demeanor. “It’s all connected. That actually happened to me in the year 1635. After cursing the bandeirantes, I became a vampire.”
“A vampire,” Sam repeated, deadpan.
An unexplained chill ran through me. I didn’t believe in that stuff, of course, but there were a lot of bizarre entries in this kid’s police file.
“That’s right,” Ribeiro answered. “A vampire – not living, but undead. I live in-between, in ‘twilife,’ if you want to call it that.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Sam headed for the door, moving past a couple of the butterfly paintings. “I’m calling in the shrink. This guy’s a nutcase.”
“One more minute, Sam,” I said when I noticed Ribeiro had not reacted. “Let’s explore this a bit more.” Jeez, I hate playing good-cop. I glanced at my notes and looked up at the suspect. “So you claim to be a vampire. Who is Dismas Ribeiro? Relative of yours?”
“My real name. I go by Dennis when I’m in gringo country.”
My cell phone rang. Without thinking, I looked at the number and answered it. “Tyrell, what are you doing awake?” I asked. The phone said 2:37 AM. Sam frowned at me. Really bad form, to leave the stupid thing on during an interrogation. “Uh-huh. Well, nuke some popcorn; it’s on the shelf above the stove.” I ended the call and turned off the phone.
“Sorry, Sam,” I said. “Kid’s gonna eat the furniture next.” I’m not making excuses, but its tough being a single dad with custody. So much for that old line about boys getting easier to raise when they hit the teens.
I looked down at my pad. Time to reset from Super-Dad to Super-Detective. “So you’ve been hanging out as a vampire since 1635, is that right?”
“Hanging out? I’ve been busy the whole time, carrying out the terms of the curse.”
“The terms...?” My notes provided no help this time.
“It’s become my mission to kill the slaver band, wives, children, and descendants. The bandeirantes themselves were pretty easy; I got to all of them within three days. Wives and children were a bit harder. Had to go to São Paulo and hunt them down. After the first few killings, word got around and most of them fled back to Portugal. So I went there too. It’s been nonstop since then. Asking around, poking through government records and ship manifests. And all the time my targets are breeding like crazy. No, I do not just ‘hang out.’”
I slid the photographs of six people over to Ribeiro’s end of the table. Each picture had a name typed across the bottom. All six started wearing toe-tags within the last few days, two of them earlier that night. “Were these people some of your ‘targets?’?”
He studied the photos for a few seconds. “Yeah. Most of them were. And, yes, I killed them all. There’s one more here in El Paso that you must not know about yet.”
Just like that. A confession, of sorts. Sam appeared shocked. I looked up at the wall-mounted camera to ensure the red light was on.
“That won’t do you any good.” Seeing my glance, Ribeiro leaned back in his chair and smiled at me. “I don’t appear on recording equipment. That video's just going to show you two talking to an empty chair. Then it will show you both dying.”
Sam laughed. “Can’t be recorded, huh? Bet that makes your family’s home movies pretty dull!”
I flipped through the contents of Ribeiro’s file. Not a single photo of him – only police-artist sketches. Eye-witness reports by people swearing they’d seen him, but nearby surveillance cameras not showing anything there. That creepy tingling in my backbone returned, but I disregarded it.
“Tell us about these two,” I said, tapping the pictures of the most recent victims.
He held up one of them, a photo of a young Hispanic girl. “Hey, you can’t blame a vampire for enjoying his work.”
*
“Thank you for the wonderful dinner,” Rita Crespo said to her dreamy date. He had just walked her from his car to her apartment’s entrance. Her heart beat fast as she tried to look nonchalant. “Would you like to come up? I could make us some coffee.”
He seemed to ponder the question for a moment. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” She fumbled with her key-chain and dropped it. He gallantly bent down, retrieved it, and placed it in her palm. His touc
h seemed electric.
They rode the elevator to her floor and walked to her room.
“This is it,” she turned on the light and waved her hand to encompass the main room. “Make yourself comfortable while I get the coffee ready.”
He is so damned handsome, Rita thought as she poured water into the coffee maker. With the coffee brewing, she slipped into her bedroom. She’d seen Dennis Ribeiro several times over the past month at the bar she frequented. He stood out from other men somehow, with his muscular build, his face with its almost feminine softness, and those eyes. His dark eyes appeared to reveal the emotions she most valued, all at once – acceptance, amusement, and compassion. He’d come over to talk to her on the third time she’d seen him at the bar. His voice had captivated her, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. Dennis had never talked about himself except when she pressed, and then he said little. Her ex-boyfriends had talked only of themselves or their interests. She and Dennis had met and talked several times at the bar before he asked her on a date. That first date had ended with him going back to his car and leaving her wanting more. But tonight...
Bringing in a tray with cups and saucers, she found him examining her wall pictures.
“I like how you decorated your – wow! You let your hair down.” He smiled and his eyes lit up.
“Here’s your coffee. Cream and sugar are right there.” She set the tray on a low coffee-table, and then sat on the couch, swishing her long, black hair as she did. He sat next to her.
“I like your hair that way,” he said, but his eyes lacked the hungry, lusty look she’d seen all too often. From him, it somehow sounded like the appraisal of an expert fashion designer. “Mmm. Good coffee, too,” he sniffed the cup and smiled. “Bourbon Santos, from Brazil.”
“You know your coffee.” she said.
“I get around. Those pictures – your mother and father?” Dennis pointed to the framed portraits on the wall.
“Yes.” Rita looked down as a sudden pang of sadness overcame her. “They both died last year.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Ribeiro’s eyebrows curled in a look of real concern.
“And the smaller pictures beneath are my sisters and brothers, and a few cousins.”
“Really? A fine-looking family.”
He urged her to point out and name each family member. None of her former boyfriends had been interested in her family at all. Dennis appeared content just to sit with her and talk about things she found interesting. Time passed, and the discussion went on until Rita felt she would explode with desire, or else die waiting for him to make a move.
Finally, she helped things along a little, showing her interest with subtle body language. He picked up the signal and responded in a tentative, deliberate manner. Still sitting on the couch, they kissed, and she felt a stimulating thrill from the contact. His lips felt gentle and warm. Rita shut her eyes and simply rode the waves of bliss passing through her. She touched his face with her hands, and then stroked his thick, wavy hair.
Dennis’ arms embraced her in a hug that felt at once tender and protective. She felt a primal, sexual urge building up inside, a euphoric surge of passion. Long accustomed to the rush-rush of her former boyfriends, she almost felt upset at Ribeiro’s slow pace, but instead found it wildly arousing. While one of her hands mussed his hair, the other rubbed up and down his muscular back, finally passing under his shirt and lifting it up.
In moments she had him undressed, and found herself craving him, greedily eyeing his well-chiseled chest, the flat and toned abdomen, and his – how can he still be limp? I can definitely help with that, she thought.
His hands inched her dress, bra, and panties off with a patience she found unusual, and yet erotic. Rita had the strange sensation that she was enjoying the strip-tease more than Dennis. She arched her back to make her breasts more prominent for him, but he seemed to lack the typical male attraction for breasts, and gave them no more attention than any other part of her.
As his hands moved about her body, they caressed and stroked with a light touch that left her skin afire with pleasure. “How does that feel, Rita?” he kept murmuring. “Do you like this, Rita?” She loved hearing him say her name. No man had ever known to fondle her there, or – Oh, God – there!
With her vigorous encouragement, his penis soon stood up tall and proud. She had never wanted anything so much. They repositioned. She smiled and moaned with pleasure as he slowly, slowly lowered onto and into her. An electric ecstasy surged through her body, a delicious elation that she’d never known. As the slow rhythm increased in response to her raging desire, she knew that she loved Dennis, and believed in her heart that he must love her, too.
A euphoric feeling welled up from somewhere deep. On the verge of orgasm, she shuddered and stiffened. So soon now, Oh God, so soon--
A sudden, stabbing pain shocked her. She screamed. It seemed a dozen switchblade knives had snapped open down there, inside there. She tried to push him off, push him away.
But that only hurt worse, indescribably worse. Something punctured and lacerated her vagina. Strangely, Dennis didn’t seem bothered by her distress. Damn, the man was smiling.
Only a part of her mind could afford to do anything but cope with the excruciating pain, and it wondered what was going on. “What...happened?” she managed to gasp out.
He laughed, but his laugh sounded far away. “Your brothers and sisters will be next.”
The pain lessened at last, and it left her tired. A wave of exhaustion overcame her. Fighting for consciousness, she felt bewildered. “My brothers and...?” A peaceful coolness overwhelmed her then, beckoned her to sleep, urged her to let go and enjoy a welcome slumber.
*
“Damn, now I’m gonna need a cold shower,” Sam said.
“So you killed Ms. Crespo,” I said, “but how, exactly? With a knife?”
“Nah,” Sam broke in. “He turned into a bat, said ‘I vant to drrink yourrr blood,’ and bit ‘er on the neck.” He drew an imaginary cape in front of him.
“I wish,” said Ribeiro, apparently taking the joke seriously. “A bat would have been easier. No, every moonset I become a fish, and at moonrise I turn human again.”
“A fish,” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Specifically a Vampirefish,” the suspect said, “relative of the Candiru.” He grinned at Sam. “You know, the ones that can swim right up your penis, latch in with their barbs, and—“
“Got a thing for dicks, do ya, girlie-man?” Sam said.
“Not me,” replied Ribeiro. “I’m too big to change into a little inch-long fish. There is the Law of Conservation of Mass, you know. Sorry, Detective, for using a four-syllable word there. When I change, I shape-shift into a huge vampirefish, about eight feet long.”
I had a momentary flashback to some long-forgotten high school science class, with my teacher talking about Conservation of Mass and Conservation of Energy. Man, I gotta focus here. Eventually, I knew, with enough pressure, the kid’s bizarre story had to break down. They always did.
Before Sam could fire off a snappy retort, I gave Mr. Good Cop another turn. “Ribeiro, I’d like to believe you; I really would. But, man, you’re telling us that you change your shape into a fish. One thing can’t change into another.”
The kid thought about that a moment. Then he pointed to one of the shrink’s butterfly pictures. “Tell that to a caterpillar.”
Sam looked at me with raised eyebrows. Kid had me there, no doubt.
“All right. Let’s return to Ms. Crespo. How did you kill her?”
“Vampirefish have spiny barbs that stick out and latch inside their victim so they can drink its blood. When I’m in human form, my penis has barbs like that.” He gave Sam a sneering grin. “Care to suck on it?”
Sam turned to me and struck his left palm with his fist. “Can I beat the shit out of him now, Ken? I’d really like to.”
“One moment, Sam,” I said. “So, Ribeiro, why do you cha
nge into a fish?”
With his hands still cuffed behind his back, he shrugged. “My own fault. I cursed the bandeirantes right at moonset, invoking the name of Abaangui, the moon god, and Mbói Tu'ĩ, god of river creatures. Even though I expected death, the gods made me undead and ordered me to carry out the curse. Hey, it’s a living, sort of. Not much fun being a vampirefish for half of each day, but there are compensations. I don’t age, I have super-strength, and I’m invincible.”
The boy had obviously rehearsed well. Nobody makes up this kind of stuff as he goes along. Looked like it would take a few more hours to force the truth out of him.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. “All right, Ribeiro. You said your targets are descendents of the Portuguese slave-traders. What about this guy?” I pointed to one of the six photographs in front of him. The pictured man looked as Anglo as you could get. “Doesn’t look Portuguese to me.”
“Him? Oh, yeah. Not a target,” the suspect shook his head. “But some people just piss me off...”
*
George Bishop knew he should pack it in for the day. Still, as the gorgeous sunset lit the sky to the west, he decided to sit and enjoy another moment of blissful peace as his fishing boat floated on tranquil Ascarate Lake.
It pleased him that the El Paso authorities periodically stocked the lake. He had caught catfish, crappie, flathead, and bluegill, but most of all, he came to catch bass. He and his former fishing partner, Bo, used to catch plenty of bass in the days before Bo came down with cancer. Unable to find another partner whom he could tolerate, George now fished alone. But such solitude gave a man time to think, about life, good times, and good friends.
He felt a nibble. George tightened his grip on the rod just as something powerful yanked on the line. Jeez, it's big, George thought. In the dwindling sunlight, he could not see the fish fighting him beneath the dark surface. George worked the fish, now giving it some line, now reeling some in. The fish actually towed the boat for awhile in varying directions. Even when the fish pulled the boat to the east, George missed the first silver glimmer of moonrise on the horizon, so intent was he on landing this beauty.
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