Immortality Is the Suck (22 page)

of, but I knew I was bullshitting myself. I actually had my phone out and my

thumb hovering over the keypad when I heard the roar of drag pipes with

nonstandard compression ratio and, looking up, could see the silhouette of

Alberto's chromed-out monster cresting the hill like some medieval knight of

old.

The first sign that something was wrong was the three hogs running

behind him. Albert didn't ride in packs.

The second was the Bandido's patch on Albert's leathers.

By the time they'd pulled into the turnout gravel, five yards away, I knew

that Albert was dead.

He climbed off his bike. He looked the same, glinting smile, shiny head,

and everything. Maybe his eyes looked a little crazier.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I guess they followed me.”

“
Que será
, amigo,” said Albert. “I hardly remember it.”

The three Bandidos with him were dead as well, and I was encircled by the

four of them. “You know, if you want me to follow you somewhere, I'm willing,”

I said, hurriedly stuffing the cell phone in an inner pocket.

But a couple of the bikers got hold of me and took the cell, my gun, the

chain and knife hanging from my belt, and slipped a pair of plastic handcuffs

on me deftly.

“I can't ride like this.”

“You don't need ta,” said one, lips moving somewhere under a thick,

matted mustache. A pimped out Suburban, shocks riding the chassis so it

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looked like it was two stories high, roared around the corner and, while I sat in

the passenger seat with a gun pointed at me, they loaded my bike into the back

and off we went.

“Aren't you going to blindfold me?” I asked the driver.

“Nope,” he said. He spat out the window.

I didn't want to ask why.

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149

Chapter Fifteen

“You hold this against me, don't you?” I said to Albert. I sat in a small

white room. From the size and the tile surrounding me on three sides, I'd guess

I was in an old bathroom. There were a series of lights that shone beams in

front of the chair where I'd been commanded to sit. From either side, their

narrow white hot beams shot horizontally across the room to the other wall,

like lasers, barring me from the doorway where Albert stood, arms folded, long,

lean legs crossed casually at the knee. He'd assured me that the lights would

function in a way very much like sunlight if I tried to cross them.

“Meh, what's happened has happened,” he said. He held what looked like

a soda can and sipped from it using a thick bendable straw. The smell of the

blood he was drinking rolled over me like incoming fog. It was dense and rich

and had me struggling with the urge to burst through the deadly bars of light

and grab it from him.

“Listen, bud, I'd be really, really grateful if you could just slide a little of

that juice past the lights.”

“The boss will be back and then we'll see, amigo.”

“You taking orders from someone? That's not like you, Albert.”

“We do what we have to, 'mano. You understand. Maybe the boss will like

you and then we will be brothers again.”

“Or maybe he'll just kill me?”

A shrug of one shoulder, quirk of an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”

I'd been walked through an enormous front room. The floor was covered

with gleaming white ceramic tile. A tall central fireplace, with no fire in it but

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many twinkling white Christmas lights, surrounded by low, modern white

couches on which sat any number of men and women. The women were typical

biker chicks. Old and nasty or young and hot, they were all scantily clad. Most

of them looked wasted. A lot of faces in the room were familiar to me and

everyone was dressed to the nines. Diamonds sparkled off fingers, ears, and

dangling chains. A couple of tall glass hookahs sat on glass-topped tables.

Drug paraphernalia everywhere. It looked like a high-end gangsta party, except

some of the guests had the demonic faces I'd come to associate with my blood-

drinking state.

Music thumped through the walls, the smell of blood making me half-

insane. And then they'd shoved me through a narrow doorway, down a long,

white hallway, and into this prison.

“What's going on in this place?” I asked Albert.

“The boss will tell you,” he said. “If he wants you to know.”

“Or else he'll just kill me.”

This time Albert smiled. “That would be a shame.” A general hubbub

erupted in another part of the building then, and he glanced down the hallway

that led to the bathroom in which I'd been caged.

“What is it?” I asked him, but he just headed off in the direction of the

buzz without a backward glance.

I could hear snatches of conversation, but the music was loud and

thumping in the walls, efficiently masking even my sensitive hearing. It seemed

a very, very long time before a man appeared in the doorway.

Tall and heavyset, Paolo Spence had been described in the LAPD file as

six-four, two-sixty. He had dark brown Hispanic skin, thick black eyebrows,

and slightly Asian, narrow black eyes. His ears stuck out and he'd always worn

his wavy hair long to cover them.

“Ozone, I presume?” I said.

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151

I'd heard an urban legend once about Paolo being a flamenco dancer in

his youth. It was hard to imagine, though he moved with a certain sly grace; a

long black revolver hung from one hand, the other arm wrapped around a

plump white girl who wore a skimpy red suit that allowed one to see the livid

bite marks across her belly. Saliva filled my mouth. Ozone's eyes narrowed so

he looked like a Chinatown tourist toy, round head tilted sideways, smile

literally inscrutable.

“How long since you've eaten?”

“It's been a while.” The white girl undulated when she sat on Ozone's leg.

I'd guess from the glaze in her eyes that she was stoned on heroin. Whatever it

was it seemed to make her blood denser, more fragrant, as its scent washed

over me.

Half of Ozone's mouth turned up in a smile. The other half stayed stone-

cold serious. “I wish I could help you, but one must be careful. You

understand.”

“You can trust me, man.” I had to swallow before I could speak.

“Seriously. Ask Alberto.”

“He tells me you've been asking questions. Why is that?”

“I'd heard you had blood,” I said. “I need blood. I don't know where you get

it, but I'll do whatever you tell me if I can just…”

“Of course you will. I made you.”

“You made me? What does that mean?”

“Or rather, I should say one of my soldiers made you.” He gestured with

the gun. “The one who bit you and drained your blood. Tainted, by the way. We

don't usually like to drink cop. Too many unnatural ingredients.”

I can't really describe the emotions that played inside me at that moment.

Later, I'd figured they all devolved to rage but at the moment, I merely said,

“Whatever you say. Obviously you have something I need. My question is, what

do you want in return?”

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Ozone frowned thoughtfully. The gun waved idly back and forth as he did

so. “Loyalty is essential. I hear you aren't worth the trouble.”

“I was LAPD. It was my job. Things have changed.”

“Hmmmm.” He looked around the room. “We'll see, why don't we.”

Meaning what?

“I have a meeting in an hour with an associate,” said Ozone, raising his

gun and sighting through the barrel. “One of my soldiers has offered to show

you around. I apologize for what has to happen next. It really is just a

formality.” And he smiled. Wide, white, slightly prominent front teeth.

He waved a hand at someone I couldn't see and a couple of your typical

thugs entered the room in which I sat. I braced myself, feeling my eyes get that

oddly pressured feeling, my lips drawing back. One of the thugs laughed and

looked at his friend and they both flashed their demon visages at me. Behind

them Ozone laughed again.

“Oh stop, please. So many peacocks. Just try to clean up when you're

done this time.” And he swung his plump girlfriend out the door.

The lights barring me went out; the two thugs stepped forward. I couldn't

have struggled if I willed it. They outweighed me and were at least as fast as I. I

don't know why I even bothered to fight back; it only extended the beating. But

when I finally felt myself losing consciousness, what was left of my blood oozing

from my mouth and nose onto the cold bathroom tile, it was with a sense of

relief.

* * * * *

The smell of blood nearby made my head ache and my eyeballs bulge, my

teeth jabbing at my lower lip. One swollen eye could open enough to see a

plump white thigh by my mouth. A number of bruised green and purple marks

with neat holes at the center of them decorated it like a tattoo.

I couldn't have resisted if I wanted to.

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153

She tasted sweet and sour. The blood, full of hormone, pumping weakly,

and I had to manipulate her skin with my tongue, sucking, to bring enough

into my mouth.

“Fuck, man, you been starving yourself?” said a familiar voice.

I raised my head. The woman I had been sucking on lay beside me,

watching me through dulled, half-open eyes. Now that my first hunger was

sated, she looked horribly unappealing. The marks pocking her pasty skin

could have been either bites or needle marks. I pushed her away, disgusted.

“My old man would say you're like a bad penny, man.” Caballo leaned

against a wall opposite me, lean body in a white muscle shirt, cigarette

dangling from one hand. He looked like a particularly sexy Gap commercial.

“Time to leave,” he said to the woman who lay next to me. He helped her

up and to the door of what appeared to be a very small white ten by ten room.

Dominated by the wide bed on which I lay and a small chest of drawers.

Caballo sat on the bed next to me. He took a drag on his cigarette and

squinted at me through the smoke.

The blood and smell of sex had gone straight to my cock. My face was out

of control; I could feel my extended fangs, my eyes bulging and my chest and

face full of heat. Caballo stroked my chest, making soothing noises until I

stopped fighting my urges and started responding to his touch.

He guided my hand to his cock. It was heavy and hot and leaking as I

stroked it. Then his hand wrapped around my erection and the hunger for

blood transmuted into a hunger for the inside of Caballo's mouth, the feel of

his hand on me, his cock surging in my palm as he spewed cum across my

belly.

I lay on my back, breathing hard.

Caballo chuckled. “That was a long time coming.”

“In a manner of speaking. I heard you stood up for me with Ozone.

Thanks.”

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“Sorry about the quality of the dinner, man. She's a whore,” said Caballo.

“And already bled too much today, but Ozone, he said to do you a favor.”

Caballo sat next to me companionably, legs spread to accommodate that

gorgeous schlong, which now slept peacefully between his thighs.

“I'm still hungry,” I said, sounding like a little kid.

Caballo carded my hair fondly. “I know, bro, but you have to learn to stop.

At first it's hard, but we don't want to kill our blood cows, right?”

“Blood cows?”

“Crazy junkies let us suck their blood. I guess in exchange the boss gives

them their drugs.” Caballo sounded matter-of-fact. “I think some of the crazy

bitches like it, though. Accidents happen, but you kill them all and we'd have

to hunt all the time. No time for more important things.”

“Such as?”

“Never mind that. The boss said I should keep an eye out for you, show

you around, while he decides what to do with you.” He rose to his feet

gracefully and extended his hand to help me rise.

“Why is he letting you show me around? What if I see something secret?” I

asked him. Caballo had gone to the chest of drawers and brought out a T-shirt,

which he tossed at me. I changed out of my bloodstained shirt gratefully.

“It
is
a big secret. But you won't be telling nobody. You'll either be one of

us or…”

“Or?”

“Or you'll be dust, bro.” Caballo swung open the door of his room, and

gestured smoothly to the long white hallway. “Ready for the tour?”

* * * * *

Caballo's cubicle lay was the enormous front room I'd been brought through. It