by CD Brown
Sophia sniffed. Blood was part of it. “May I ask?”
“We keep chickens,” Papi said. “Helps them bridge the gaps.”
“Salut,” Sophia said, raising her glass, then taking a sip. The blood was cut with something bubbly and tangy, a taste she hadn’t had for a while. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
“It’s my version of a michelada, beer and tomato juice. I just swap in the blood.”
Sophia took another sip, but it all was too weird. She knew if she wasn’t a vamp and got the tomato/beer kind, she’d hate it. “Not to my taste, Papi. Can I get some straight up?”
The old man nodded and wobbled to the back door and into the kitchen. Tamar offered Sophia a seat in a rusty metal rocker, taking a similar one facing her. Tamar’s face grew hard like chiseled ivory. She spoke just above a whisper.
“I replay our fight over and over in my head. I don’t like losing.”
“And I don’t like fighting.”
“Don’t nobody trust you. Most still think you killed you-know-who.” Tamar looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I thought about it. I don’t think you did.”
“I thought I made myself clear.” Sophia knew she was going to have this conversation over and over, a drawback to the open city because wallowing in paranoia was easy. “I have nothing to gain.”
“The one who killed him would have killed me in that fight. I don’t trust you, but I do believe you.”
“That’s all I can ask for. For now.”
“You think you gonna get us off human blood?” Tamar laughed, titling her head back. “The whole idea is loco.”
“If you just came to a meeting…” Sophia felt a spider of detection climb across her neck. She jumped to her feet. “There’s somebody…”
Before she could finish her sentence, a stiff wind blew out the torches. In the darkness, Sophia could see shadows streaming from every side: African American men, each holding stakes and bearing fangs.
Sophia saw Papi standing in the kitchen doorway, holding a cup. He looked confused, unable to see as well in the dark as his sister and her friends. Sophia swooshed across the yard, pushing him back into the room. She took the drink from his hand. “Who are they?”
Papi looked out the window. “The Bomb Squad. South Central cabal.”
“Are these two at war?”
“No, not for years.”
Sophia drank the blood, feeling the warmth spread from throat to toes. “I’m staying out until…”
But that until came through the door. One of the Bomb Squad pressed through the eaves, he six-four and wearing a letter jacket and sweat pants. The stake he brandished looked like a sharpened coffee table leg. “Who dies first?”
Sophia moved to block Papi from the weapon. “Neither of us.”
“You a cocky one, bitch. Guess it’s you.” He stabbed straight for her chest, but she slid to his right, grabbing his wrist with both her hands. Lifting her knee into his arm, she heard the cracking as his forearm split. “Fuck!”
As he shook the arm to accelerate the healing, Sophia punched him in the chest with both fists. He went flying, smashing through the back door. She turned to Papi. “Sorry.”
“Sorry, hell. Go finish him.”
Sophia went out the broken sill, unable to say she only wanted the fighting to stop. The leader versus leader gambit wouldn’t work here, as the backyard was pure combat chaos. She had also gotten the attention of most of fighters with her spectacular show of strength.
Before anyone fell on her, Sophia could see one engaged with Tamar, a man with close-cropped hair and thin goatee who wore sunglasses. They were equally matched, trading punches and blocks, neither able to gain advantage. While Sophia wanted to get near them, a phalanx of black and Mexican men fought around her, some of the black ones looking to engage her. The one with the letter jacket turned away, grabbing a slick-haired Muerto half his size.
Two of the Bomb Squad extricated themselves and charged. Sophia had nowhere to go but up, so she sprang over them in a quick leap. They turned wide-eyed, unsure now if they wanted to mess with her. But they bumped fists and slowly approached her, looking to outflank.
Sophia saw how well they had been trained. While they had underestimated her, they now gave her no advantage, pushing her towards the fight between Tamar and the sunglassed one who must be their leader. Sophia, anxious to keep her hands blood-free, let them. The two didn’t know they were playing into her hand.
As she got within ten feet of the leaders’ standoff, Sophia pulled a red and white checkered cloth from the table, scattering cups and bowls and causing her pursuers to duck. But as she flipped the canvas around to envelope the two closing in on her, another sensory warning came. She focused her hearing to where a whuffing sound approached.
“What the hell is that?” she called to her attackers.
“Ghetto bird!” They looked to see who could use help.
“The fuck is that?”
“It’s a police chopper,” called Tamar as she held onto her attacker’s wrist, a stake inches from her face.
As Sophia measured how to help her, one of the Muertos said, “That motherfucker is moving fast!”
Sophia listened closer. She had heard the constant drone of helicopters during her nights up. This one was different, closing at twice the normal speed, enough to blow her hair back. She also saw more than one spotlight glowing.
The light had a bluish quality unlike the police choppers, something in its spectrum causing Sophia to panic. Then it hit her.
“Those are tuned to sunlight! Get cover or get fried!”
Her body moving faster than her brain, she sprung at Tamar, the tablecloth billowing like a cape. She grabbed both fighters by their necks, wrestling them to the ground and covering them up. The black man still wanted to fight, but Sophia elbowed him in the nose.
“I’m trying to save your life, jackass!”
As the bright light moved over them, Sophia saw her fingers were still outside. She pulled them in, but the tips got scorched. Cursing, she pulled her hands into her stomach, feeling pain way worse than blood hunger. The acrid flesh-burning smell filled the backyard. After a minute, the lights went out and the helicopter pulled up and away.
Sophia turned to the Bomb Squad leader. “You set this up?”
“No fucking way! I can’t get no chopper.”
“Shit. We’re losing time. I’ll deal with you later.” Sophia felt her body flinch. She knew what she had to do.
She felt her body coil around her spine, all bones contracting in on themselves like an old schoolteacher’s pointer. The flappy parts of her skin tightened and spread around her expanding hands. She screamed with pain, but a peeping bat screech was all that came out. Her eyes now useless, she felt the sound of her bat call bounce off the chopper and she followed in its air wake.
Her internal sonar told her they were heading west. The copter moved so quickly, much faster than her tiny wings, but the range of her sonar stretched much further than a human could see from a cliffside vista. After five minutes, she knew the chopper had landed, but she’d need another five to get there. Hopefully they didn’t know they were being followed.
As Sophia approached the landing spot, she could tell it was an airport as she detected the shapes of small planes. Probably Santa Monica which she heard had just such a place. She dropped in an alley between two Quonset huts and returned to human form. For reasons no vamp had explained to her, all of her clothes and possessions stayed with her, incorporated somehow into animal form. She took out her cellphone, hoping to be able to record some evidence of who did this.
She saw two men next to the copter, each of them removing the sun-tuned spotlights. About fifty feet away, well out of the landing circle, another two men leaned into the backseat window of a ‘70s Thunderbird, one of the huge boxy ones with rectangular fins at the front and back. Sophia tried to focus her hearing, but the ambient noise of a working airport, even after dark, was too
much to strain out what they were saying. She took a picture of the car from her spot.
Looking at the screen, all that appeared was the car. She shot the helicopter and again machinery only. All of these guys were vamps. She looked closer: someone was in the backseat, obviously getting the report of what just happened.
The two talking to the man in the backseat—she was sure it was a man, although she couldn’t get a focused look at his face—walked away from the car and the engine started up. The car turned left, pointing straight at her. She cursed, thinking she wouldn’t get a look at the license plate, but there it was out front. California cars had plates at both ends.
Too exhausted to try animal form again, she let that car go. But the four other vamps were still there, a large SUV parked nearby. She could probably follow them, but how? She looked around the airport for any public pick up but didn’t see one. Despite being a small space relative to LAX, it was still a very large complex. But just on the other side of the parking lot was a two-story building with steel stairs on the outside. A neon sign read “Hump.”
Sticking to the shadows, Sophia dashed over there using her super speed. She saw the place was a sushi restaurant, but no cabs circled the driveway. She remembered the car service app Jeremiah put on her phone: a ride was only five minutes away. She triggered the call and waited, hoping the SUV guys would take their time leaving.
A PT Cruiser arrived within her scheduled time, driven by a young man with a bushy beard with his flannel shirt open to reveal a colorful t-shirt. “Where ya going?”
She recognized the Midwestern twang of his voice, another transplant in the big city. “Look, I need to follow some people. There they go now!” The SUV whizzed toward the exit but got caught by a red light.
“Sorry, I need an address.”
“Do you need a hundred bucks cash? Off book?”
The driver dropped the gearshift and fell in behind the SUV. “Do these guys know you?”
“No.”
“Um, lady, I’m not a superspy or anything. They may figure out we’re following them.”
“Just drive. They won’t notice.”
As the SUV made its way to the 10 freeway, the driver looked nervous. “Y’know, I get most of my fares in Santa Monica…”
“One fifty.” She could feel his resolve wavering, necessitating a bit of extra charm. She stroked his hair, calming him when he jumped. “I’m in big trouble, baby.” She let her voice drop an octave, then let her powers of hypnosis coat her words. “You’re the big hero of the night, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I am the big hero.” His voice sounded robotic, so she knew she’d hooked him. She turned her attention to the people they pursued.
They exited on La Cienega but cut over to Fairfax when they reached Beverly Boulevard. Here was a section of famous businesses, mostly Jewish like Canter’s Deli and a kosher butcher which Sophia had been meaning to add to her list of clients. The SUV pulled into an underground parking lot of a ten-story business and Sophia had the driver pull over.
The lobby was locked, but a list of businesses was outside. Sophia took a picture of the list and hoped she could match the Thunderbird to one office here.
She got back into the car and whispered in the driver’s ear, “Take me to Silver Lake.” As she bent over to skooch back, she saw he had an erection tenting in his pants. She’d laid her vocal powers on a bit too thick, but he’d have to be happy with the extra money from her tip.
Sophia texted Sandy, asking her to come earlier to help her with the business names. Sophia knew she worked with helping set up LLCs with the state, so hopefully she knew where to look. Sandy accessed a paid government database.
After searching for fifteen minutes, Sandy called Sophia in. “All of these businesses are owned by the same people. But the company behind the companies, Whale Bones, isn’t incorporated anymore. They let the name lapse. No records.”
“What do these companies do?”
“They list real estate development, construction, computer consulting. I’ll need some more time to see if there’s any public records.”
“At the very least, it’s shady.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Sandy gave Sophia a dagger stare. “You find yourself at the center of lots of sketchy dealings.”
“Sandy, they killed vampires.”
“The Muertos and the Bomb Squad? Those thugs probably deserved it.”
“Do you hear yourself? Or, more importantly, have you been listening to what I’ve been saying? We’re trying to save everyone, even those you may not like. Especially if they’re thugs.”
“Real talk, okay? Nobody up here gives a rat’s ass what happens below the 10 or east of downtown.”
“I do. And I hope you still trust me enough to know why.”
Sandy flexed her fingers into fists but released her tension. “You and David helped me tremendously. But when I see you stirring hornet nests, I get worried that all we’ve done will be ashes. And I can see that happening more easily than I can see you saving the world.”
“One vamp at a time, baby. One vamp at a time.”
Sandy let out a deep breath. “You owe me some seriously special blood, lady. You said you got a plate number?” Sophia showed her the picture, but Sandy laughed. “Jesus, that’s some pimp mobile.”
“Where?” Steve’s voice came over Sophia shoulder as the man himself came in the front door. “I love old cars.” Sophia showed him her phone and Steve nodded. “I know this car. Mr. Whaloosie. Some people call him Fudgie.”
“Fudgie?” Sophia looked confused as Sandy tried to hold in laughter.
“Yeah, like the ice cream cake. Fudgie the whale?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Carvel’s. It’s an East Coast thing. Anyway, I told Mr. Ferriday to stay away from him. Guy’s a mobster.”
“Why would Jim want to reach out to a mobster?” Sophia heard the concern in her own voice.
“Money, I guess. VampAmp goes through a lot of it.”
Sandy cleared her throat. “Yeah, and this Fudgie guy might have means. Remember the owner of the building? Whale Bones?”
“Now do you see why I stir hornet nests?”
Sandy began typing furiously. “I’m talking animal on the endangered species list special, got it?”
Sophia leaned over the desk. “Okay, but let’s keep it all quiet while we’re in, what did you call it, Sandy?”
“Discovery phase.”
“Yeah. You keep your head off the chopping block. I’ll be the one out there.”
“Fine, but try to stay low key, okay?”
Sophia’s phone buzzed with a text from Tamar. “The Bomb Squad wants to talk.”
“Or not.” Sandy continued to type. “Or fucking not.”
Chapter Nine
Before heading down to the Bomb Squad headquarters, Sophia called Tamar to assess what happened the night of the attack. She could hear the Latina seething through the phone.
“I lost too many homies. They took out my second, plus seven other guys. Our family was basically cut in half.” Tamar blew out what felt like a suppressed breath. “Thank you for taking care of Papi. My cabal es familia, y’know? But he’s my true blood. He’s been looking out for me since I was a baby. For real. Whatever happens from here, I stand with you.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I know how hard that was for you to say. I won’t let you down.”
“All that comes with a but.”
“Which is?”
“Bomb Squad better have a good reason for their shit. If not, we’re taking them out.”
“I can’t condone it, but I ain’t your boss.”
Sophia hung up with Tamar, hating that she had to be the one to stand between two gangs at war. But she also knew a third party, this Fudgie guy, made sure they were all in the same place at the same time.
Jeremiah was still recovering out in the desert, so she had one of those Uber drivers pick her up. When she to
ld the man, a thick-necked, pudgy-nosed guy with an Eastern European accent, where she wanted to go, he nearly kicked her out of the car. “You ask too much for me to bring you there at night. I stay out of drug runs.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Forgive if I don’t believe.”
Once again, she had to add a “danger fee” on top of her regular fare just to get transportation. Maybe it was time to get a fucking car.
They drove the 110 freeway south, Sophia getting her first glimpse of the Los Angeles Coliseum. She remembered listening to the 1932 Olympics over the radio, thinking back then that she may never leave New Orleans. It only took ninety years for her to finally do it.
They got off the freeway at Imperial Highway, a four-lane thruway which looked much rougher than her neighborhood. The houses and apartment buildings looked grungy, washed only by the city’s dust. Graffiti covered abandoned billboards, both the front and back sides, and each corner had well-advertised liquor stores. Sophia felt it looked like the projects back home, just more spread out. Poverty, even over a bigger footprint, had the same flavor.
The address was on Vermont Avenue, the same street that ran through Los Feliz, the neighborhood adjacent to hers, but down here was a more industrial feel, fewer restaurants and bars and more paint and parts shops. The driver pulled over into a strip mall where there was a darkened store that looked abandoned and an auto body shop closed for the night.
“Once again I ask, you sure you want get out here?”
“Yup.” Sophia hopped out of the black SUV. She went right up to the store, knowing a vampire warren when she saw one, especially since she saw blackout curtains secured behind the facade of old newspapers covering the windows. She pressed the button on the buzzbox by the front door, then heard the click of the electronic door lock snapping open.
She crept in the front door, every sense she could access stretching into the room. If these guys were going to attack, they would get the full brunt of her power. Pacifism did not apply in this unknown.
The front room had the look of a neighborhood center from the ‘70s: posters of Huey Newton and Angela Davis and other figures from Black Power, large swaths of bubble-lettered graffiti in purple and red, a pool table next to a scratched-up blackboard. But the group approaching her looked very modern, the men in track suits and letter jackets and the women in neon-colored jumpers to match their rainbow hair.
