Immortality Is the Suck (25 page)

I took a bathroom break, scribbled a short note in my own code to Peter. I

wrote another note to Alli, most of it bullshit with the word “dragon” worked in.

Just in case she did receive the note she'd know she was in danger.

I gave Freeway my missive to Alli, the woman who'd worked undercover as

my 'girlfriend' when I was a Mongol. Freeway, took the pen and paper, and

didn't seem to notice the torn edge at the bottom of the paper, and didn't ask

about the missing scrap.

I wasn't sure how I was going to get the note to Stan but, as it happened,

he was looking for me. Caballo, with a somber expression, came and fetched

me from the front room where I had been lounging about, pretending to be

lusting after blood cows when I was really waiting for a chance to see Stan if

and when he left by the front door.

Caballo, with a stern, worried manner, led me back to his room and pretty

much shoved me inside, closing me in.

“Thank God,” said Stan. He stood in the corner, totally incongruous in his

immaculate suit and tie. The man even had cuff links. Who the hell still has

cuff links? He tugged at the cuffs they held and said, “I only have a minute, but

I wanted to check in with you.”

“This isn't what it seems, Stan. They're holding me hostage.”

“Of course. I assumed you'd infiltrated them.”

“I guess that was the plan, but I'm immobile. I can't get out of here. Give

this to Peter.” And I passed him the note.

With a carefully neutral look, Stan sequestered the note in an inner

pocket. “Well, however you came here, it's important that you stay inside.”

“Why?”

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A. M. Riley

“Just get as much information as you can. It's too bad we can't get a wire

on you.”

“Are you fucking nuts? You do know what kind of people we're dealing

with here, don't you Stan?”

His eyes were cool. “Like you?”

“Let me ask you something. Did you know? That night you came over to

Peter's?”

“Of course not.”

I believed him. The man was cool as they come, but he was a lousy liar. All

honest men are. “Sorry, Stan, this whole thing makes me jumpier than hell.”

“I've got to go, Adam. I only just slipped away. There's an ATF takedown in

the works. Hang tight and be ready to break when they come. I'll let the senior

agents know you're inside.”

I nodded. I wanted out, is all, but he was right. “We won't need testimony

anyway,” I told him. “There's only one way to deal with these guys.”

When we shook hands I think we both were having the same grim

thoughts. Stan looked grave. And then he left.

Caballo shut the door behind himself and turned to me with spooked eyes.

“You jackass, what are you doing?”

“It's a former cop thing,” I said. “You know, bitching about the old boss…”

“Shut up.”

There was a tentative tapping at the door and Caballo jumped out of his

skin. I went to the door and opened it cautiously.

“Hola?” Freeway's eyes rolled back and forth, scanning the hallway. “You

dudes let me score some weed, maybe?”

* * * * *

Eme to work side by side with anybody. Those
ese
are loca, man.”

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171

“I don't want war,” said Caballo. “And if we had a vote, most the brothers

would say the same. It's stupid. We can't fight in the sun and all they have to

do is wait till daylight and set the place on fire.”

“La Eme are getting tired of Ozone too.” Freeway offered the glowing doobie

to me and when I declined, passed it to Caballo. “He has a plan for everything.

He forgets to consult anyone else.”

Caballo looked worried. He shook his head, inhaling deeply.

Freeway had always been wise in his alliances, I thought. If he was

worried and seeking to ally himself with Caballo and his friends, then things

must be shakier than they appeared even to me. “How many soldiers are loyal

to Ozone?” I asked him.

“I don't know, 'mano. I only know there's more recruits every day. I

brought fifty back from the border.”

“Were they willing or drafted?” I asked him.

His face acquired a sly expression. “They're willing
now
, mijo. And most

those…they don't know shit but that they need blood. They'll do whatever

Ozone tells them.”

“Because he's the source of the blood,” I said, thoughtfully.

“That's the way it is, 'mano,” said Freeway, philosophical. “Look at you.”

Yes, I thought. Look at me.

“Those men can't fight worth shit,” said Caballo. “I talked to one dude.

He's a farmer, man. He don't understand nothing here.”

“Put a gun in his hand he'll fight okay,” I said.

Freeway squinted at me through marijuana smoke. “And Ozone has a

shitload of guns, man. I should know, I ran them to him.”

“This ain't good,” said Caballo. “This ain't good at all.”

* * * * *

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A. M. Riley

As long as I didn't try to leave the “compound,” I seemed to have the run

of the place. We fucked and drank blood and watched others fuck and drink

blood. Time passed. Maybe two days, maybe more. I became lulled by the

cessation of need. Happily cosseted, fat and numb. I hardly thought about

Peter at all.

Fuck, who am I kidding? Every time I drank a carton of blood I thought of

him. Every time I shut my eyes. All I had to think about was an army of

vampires getting set to take over the city and the fact that the last time I'd seen

Peter he was ordering my ass to get out of town.

I hadn't had much time to compose, and there hadn't been much room on

the little scrap of paper I'd used, but I'd said what I could.

Held captive in a vampire enclave. Stan will clarify. Miss you. Sorry. Love,

A.

As soon as Stan had pocketed the thing and disappeared out of the

compound, I'd started to worry about that last word. Now all I could do was

obsess over Peter's possible reaction.

In one of the bathrooms, I did find temporary distraction: a collection of

paperbacks, seeming all on the subject of vampires. I took a couple of them

back to the cubicle I shared with Caballo one night and when he came in from

wherever it was they went after sundown, he found me underlining and turning

over corners in a well-thumbed copy of Bram Stoker's
Dracula.

“Mmm.” First his hands, then his hardened cock, pressed into my

backside. “What are you doing?”

“Reading.” I shifted. Caballo was stimulating my hole through the boxers I

wore and blood surged into my cock as he did so.

His mouth was cold and dry against the back of my neck. The rest of his

body gave off tremendous heat. I knew from experience, now, that we became

as hot as furnaces directly after “feeding” so Caballo must have eaten recently.

I hated to think where, or from whom.

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173

I also knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to think about

anything but getting his rocks off for at least half an hour, so I slid the book

under the pillow and rolled over, saving my questions until later. Caballo's

hungry tongue filled my mouth.

* * * * *

piss?” Caballo stood at the urinal doing exactly that. “Why is that?” I asked

him.

He shook his head. There was a full-length mirror above the urinals but

neither of our reflections showed in them. I could see the soap I held floating

around in the air and an occasional dollop of foam, seeming to manifest from

the steam before it slid to the tiles and vanished down the drain. “The doctor

might be able to tell you,” said Caballo, buttoning his 501's with agile fingers.

“I've been trying to talk to her, but I can't leave the front building,” I said.

“Right. You're still on probation.” Caballo stared into the empty mirror as

he combed his hair with care. I'd noticed that I did the same thing. Even

though I couldn't see myself, I'd face the mirror to shave, to primp. It seemed to

be easier that way. It was as if I was seeing the
memory
of myself there.

“That book I've been reading says we're demons,” I said.

Caballo laughed. “Weren't we always, El Demonio?” He pocketed his comb.

“What did you call me?”

His syrupy brown eyes slid sideways. “Sorry, man, I'm just a dumb nigger

from Chicago. How do they say it then?
Diablo? Marcena del inferno?
Except

you don't eat babies, do you? You suck cock. Right?”

“Shut the fuck up. And your accent stinks. Stick to American.” I turned off

the shower and wrapped a towel around my hips. “That book said we can walk

in the sun, but that's obviously bullshit. I just wondered if there is anything

else I don't know.”

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A. M. Riley

“Too much curiosity will kill the cat,” said Caballo, touching his finger to

his nose.

“And I saw a vampire on some kid's show drinking cow's blood.”

Caballo and I grimaced simultaneously. “That's disgusting,” he said.

I found my jeans and pulled them on quickly. Caballo held the door open

for me and slapped my ass as I passed. “I've got to go. Ozone's called another

dumbass meeting. You read your book or whatever.”

That night I started on a book by an Anne Rice. But her vampires were

boring. Too given to self-examination and bemoaning their soulless existence.

“Do you think we have souls?” I asked Caballo when he'd come back from

his “meeting.” He'd been withdrawn and thoughtful since he'd gotten back.

Bringing out a pipe and loading and smoking it. In his own little world.

“What the fuck? How should I know?” he said irritably. “Listen, man, we

have to talk.”

“You breaking up with me, Caballo?” I asked. But he didn't even crack a

smile.

“Seriously, man, there's something big going down here. A lot of men—

well, La Eme, they talk the 'brotherhood' and all that shit, but they don't like

Ozone being in charge. They say it's only luck he was turned and he should

have stayed dead. They hated the ese, you know?”

“I heard they were the ones who did him.”

“Nah, it was 'the One,' we call him. The one that started it all down here in

SoCal. But Ozone had a death squad from La Eme looking for him and they

was pissed off, man, that he got turned first. And they don't look happy at

those meetings when he's strutting around with his fat cows and pointing those

guns at dudes' balls and shit.” He inhaled from his pipe deeply and held the

smoke for an impossibly long time before letting it drift slowly from his nostrils.

“Shit, I'm just talking bull, man. Don't pay attention.”

“What if something does go down? What do we do?”

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175

“We stay alive, man.” Caballo got up and went to the chest of drawers,

which seemed to hold only endless supplies of white T-shirts and plaid boxer

shorts. Under a pile of the latter, a long, worn leather case. I expected a rifle,

and so I was surprised when he drew a gleaming sword from its sheath. It

made a secretive whispering sound as he sliced it once through the air.

“Dude,” I said, awed.

“Yeah, it's a beautiful little fucker, ain't it?” Caballo twisted his wrist, bent

his elbow just so and, with seeming expertise, sliced another lethal arc through

the air. “Only way to dust a demon fast, you know.”

“Your friend died when a stake went through his heart.”

“Aybie wasn't nobody's friend,” said Caballo. “But a stake will do it. It's

just too hard to hit it right, too risky. You slice off the head to kill the demon.”

One more hissing arc through the air, and he sheathed it again.

“Remember,” he said, and stuffed the sword back under his boxers in the

drawer. “Now.” He stretched and his thick cock was straining his boxers out in

front of him. “You ready for bed?”

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A. M. Riley

Chapter Seventeen

They say it's only paranoia if it's invalid. And, as it turned out, Caballo's

fears weren't crazy at all.

It happened quickly and all at once. I was in the bathroom, just dressed

from a shower, when I heard a rumbling noise, like an earthquake. Jogging out

into the hallway, I could distinguish heavy boots running and the sound of

gunfire and motorcycles.

The main room looked like Vegas 2002 all over again. Men in colors

stabbing and shooting at each other. Women crawling across the floor. Blood

splatter on the pristine white lounge chairs and tile floors. Silvery arcs of

swords in the air.

A head with a long black and gray braid thumped a few feet from me,

rolled, and then the head and the torso to which it had just been attached