by Matt Kincade
Jacob and the remaining henchman dove for cover while they scrambled for their guns. Carmen bared her teeth as she pulled the trigger again and again. One bullet caught the other thug in the throat. A red waterfall cascaded down his white shirt. His knees buckled, and he fell. Another bullet punched through Jacob’s chest as he dove into the hall.
Sandoval stood frozen. Carmen pointed the gun at the old lawyer. She wiped her bloody lip with the back of her hand.
“Let’s be reasonable,” said Sandoval, raising his hands in a placating gesture.
“Reasonable?” said Carmen. “Fuck you.” She looked down at Alex and held up the key. “Where the hell do you hide this thing?”
Alex smiled a bloody smile in return. “Man’s gotta have some secrets.”
“Can you walk?”
“Mebbe.”
She turned back to Sandoval. “You want to live? Tell us where to find the Don.”
Staring down the huge barrel of the .45, blood dripping from the walls, Sandoval said, “Well, you’re going to meet him here any minute. In fact, I don’t think you have time to torture any information out of me. If you’re smart, you’ll just leave now, or you can wait until—”
Carmen shot him in the face. He jerked once, his arms splayed out to the side. His head lolled back, gore dangling from the back of his skull.
She went to the doorway and peered out. Jacob lay on the floor, wheezing. Foamy pink blood bubbled from his chest, but he still raised his pistol. Carmen pulled her head back as bullets pierced the doorframe, inches from her head.
“Fuck it,” she said. “We’re going out the window.”
She ran to Alex and bent to pick him up. He shook his head. “My hat…”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” She snatched his hat up from the floor and planted it on his head.
He smiled. “Thanks, darlin’.”
“Now can we go?” She knelt next to him and pressed the .45 into his hands, then snatched one of the guns scattered on the floor for herself. She went to the window and peered down the dark, hedge-lined gangway ten feet below. She unlatched the window and kicked out the screen.
With her help, Alex got shakily to his feet, but then he began to collapse again. Carmen caught him and hauled him to the window. “Sorry about this,” she said. She helped him, more or less, to fall out the window. He landed in a heap in some shrubs and cacti and groaned. She followed him out, with a far more controlled drop. Still, her ankle rolled when she hit the ground. Pain lanced up her leg. She stumbled, but stayed standing.
Carmen gathered Alex up and slung his arm over her shoulder. His toes dragged on the ground. “You’re a lot strongr’n you look,” he mumbled. His head hung limply. She gritted her teeth and ignored the pain that shot through her ankle with every step. She half-carried, half-dragged him down the gangway, toward the orange glare of the streetlights, and shouldered open a wrought-iron gate. She broke into a shuffling run, urging Alex towards the SUV.
When she was close enough, she saw that the SUV rested on four flat tires. Rude slashes marred the sidewalls. A wave of despair washed over her. She fought back the tears that pressed at her eyes. “Damn it. Goddamn it.” She looked around desperately. She leaned Alex against the SUV. “The Jag.” She said. “We have to go back inside. I need to get Sandoval’s car keys.”
Alex muttered, “Get…Get the duffel bag.”
“Easy for you to say, Alex.” Still, she opened the hatch and pulled out an oversize ballplayer’s duffel bag, black with a white Nike swoosh. She wrapped the duffel’s shoulder strap across her chest, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder again. She gritted her teeth and blew her hair out of her face. With the added weight of the duffel bag, she could barely stand. Still, she hobbled across the pristine blacktop.
Carmen spotted the cold glow of headlights around the bend in the road, a hundred yards distant. She stopped. As she watched, a black limousine rounded the corner.
An icy hand clutched her heart and squeezed. Some deep animal part of her brain screamed a frantic warning. She hadn’t thought she had anything left in her, but a new surge of adrenaline coursed through her. She turned and hobbled the other way, back toward the SUV.
She hobbled-limped faster, ignoring the searing pain in her ankle. It was hopeless. The limousine ate up the distance, growing larger each second. It stopped in front of Sandoval’s house. Carmen kept hobbling anyway.
The rear door of the limo opened. The man who stepped out was thin and pale. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was dressed in a black suit, and his black hair was slicked straight back. He stood ramrod straight and regarded Carmen with idle curiosity. He left the door of the limo hanging open and strode toward the vampire hunters.
Carmen looked back at him. Her legs shook and threatened to give out. Her ankle ached. Alex was a hundred tons of deadweight on her shoulders. Her fingers were numb and useless. She felt the pistol slipping from her grasp. Suddenly she just wanted to lie down and wait for the end.
Don Carlos strolled nonchalantly down the middle of the street. He carried a silver-headed cane in one hand. The streetlights glinted off his polished leather shoes. As he got closer, Carmen made out more details. The white shirt was silk. He wore no tie, and his top button was undone. He had high, pronounced cheekbones, a narrow chin, and eyes that seemed to reflect ambient light. Like a cat. Two corners of a red handkerchief poked out of his suit coat’s breast pocket. When he grinned, a cold shudder slithered down Carmen’s spine.
Headlights appeared from a side street. A cream-colored Audi eased around the corner before pulling to a gentle stop next to Carmen.
A pleasant-looking, well-fed woman stared out the driver’s-side window. She was later middle age and wouldn’t look out of place at an artist’s reception or a cheese tasting. Her face registered mild concern. “Miss,” she said, “Are you all right?”
Carmen jammed her gun through the open window. Her scream seemed to come from some other place. “Out of the fucking car!”
The woman froze in shock. Carmen dropped Alex and pulled the car door open. The woman blubbered and held up her hands. Carmen reached across, unlatched her seat belt, and yanked the woman out of her seat. “I’m sorry,” she said, before dumping the driver on the ground.
And Don Carlos was there. He seemed to have covered the distance by magic, still traveling at the same sedate pace, as though it were beneath him to exert the effort. Carmen spared a glance back at the vampire. He smiled at her.
Alex’s pistol dangled loosely from his hand. He raised his head to look at the vampire. As if by its own volition, the pistol fired.
The vampire’s knee exploded. Don Carlos growled in rage and fell. At the same moment the driver of the limousine cut loose with a machine gun. The front windshield of the Audi shattered. The cowering Good Samaritan gurgled and fell headlong as a bullet pierced her throat.
The last of Alex’s strength left him. The pistol clattered to the pavement.
Don Carlos rose to his hands and knees. Leaning on his cane, he got to his feet.
Carmen opened the back door of the Audi, threw in the duffel bag, then picked Alex up and heaved him in as well. She kicked the door shut and fell into the driver’s seat.
She dropped the car into gear and burned rubber, aiming straight for the vampire. He raised an eyebrow and smiled, as if to say, Well played. He stood, unperturbed, as a ton of German steel barreled toward him. At the last minute he lunged aside, fully in control, a matador dodging a bull.
Carmen sped away, aiming the car at the open door of the limo. The driver ducked inside and slammed the door just in time to avoid being cut in half. In her rearview mirror, she saw the driver open the door again and yell something. Don Carlos shook his head in response. The vampire reached into his inside suit pocket and removed a silver cigarette case. Carmen saw the flare of the match and the glowing red cherry ignite. Two seconds later, she was around the corner and accelerating hard.
“Are you still with me, A
lex?” she said, adjusting the rearview mirror so she could see him lying in the backseat.
He didn’t respond.
She set her mouth into a firm straight line and kept driving.
Carmen kept the pedal to the floor. The car surged ahead, its headlights cutting through the darkness. She used the butt of the pistol to break out the last of the safety glass on the windshield. Wind howled through the car. She reached one hand back and shook Alex. “Stay with me,” she said. “Stay awake.”
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a lonely highway rest stop and turned around in her seat. Alex shifted and murmured something unintelligible. His breath was a labored, uneven wheeze.
“What now, Alex? Where do we go? You have to help me out here.”
After a rattling inhale, Alex said, “North. Up 54. Lemme know when you get to the 42.” He grimaced as he pulled out his phone. He dialed a number and handed it to Carmen. “It’s Jen.”
Carmen hit “send” and held the phone to her ear. After the third ring, a voice said, “Hello?”
“Jen?” said Carmen.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s Carmen. Alex—”
“What happened?”
“He’s hurt. He’s hurt bad.”
A pause. “Where are you?”
“Alex, where are we going?”
“The…the ranch,” said Alex.
“We’re headed to the ranch,” said Carmen.
“I’ll be there.” She hung up the phone.
The Audi slid through the darkness, effortlessly breezing past semis and late-night drivers, past truck stops and gas stations. Carmen squinted in the wind and prayed she didn’t catch the eye of the police, prayed the car hadn’t been reported.
In the backseat, Alex’s breath was a metronomic rattle, punctuated by an occasional wet cough. Again, Carmen reached a hand back and found his skin cold and clammy. Despite the cold night air, he was bathed in sweat. “Just hold on, Alex. We’ll be there soon.”
“Didn’t know…you cared…”
She held his hand and squeezed.
Chapter Ten
They drove through the night. Alex raised his head up enough to see out the window and weakly give directions. Carmen turned onto a second highway, then a road, then a smaller road, and finally a dirt path. Alex winced with every bump and rut. Carmen slowed the car to a crawl.
They came to a locked steel gate. Alex whispered the combination, and Carmen got out and knelt in the dust to undo the combination lock. She pulled the Audi past the threshold and locked the gate again.
She drove through a narrow draw and into a cluster of enclosing hills. Slowly the desert gave way to grass and, bushes, then birch and cottonwood trees. She rounded the last bend and Alex’s house came into view, stark in the glare of the headlights, her own yellow Pontiac still parked out front. “Alex, we’re here.”
He didn’t respond. Carmen got out and felt around in his pockets for keys. At the front door, she tried key after key until the lock turned. She went back, hauled Alex up by the armpits, and dragged him from the car. He moaned softly as his cowboy boots thumped on the ground. They dragged behind as Carmen shuffled backward. She muscled him up the steps, through the entryway, and dumped him on the couch.
She found the light switches. The room bloomed into being around her. Alex looked worse in the light. His skin was deathly pale. Blood, both dried and fresh, caked the bottom half of his face and stained his T-shirt.
Carmen grabbed a towel from the kitchen, soaked it in warm water, and gently daubed the blood away from his face. Alex hissed and flinched every time the cloth touched his skin. She made shushing sounds and combed his hair back with her fingertips. “Just hold on,” she said. “Jen’s on the way.”
When she tried to pull his boots off, he groaned in pain. Unsure what to do, she slid to the floor and leaned against the couch. She held Alex’s hand in her own and squeezed. She felt a faint squeeze in return. She was still sitting there minutes later when headlights appeared in the driveway. The curtains covering the front windows glowed as the lights washed across them.
Carmen suddenly remembered the pistol sitting on the passenger seat of the stolen Audi. She crouched and looked for a weapon, anything.
Outside, a car door slammed. Carmen peered out the yellowed blinds. Dust drifted through the sweep of headlights. A familiar voice called out, “Alex? Carmen?”
Carmen sighed with relief as she opened the front door. “Thank God you’re here.”
Jen had her medic’s kit in her hand as she barged through the doorway. She pushed past Carmen and into the living room. “Where is he?”
“On the couch..”
Jen dropped her toolbox next to the couch and got to work. “What happened?” she asked, as she pulled out a pair of paramedic’s shears. With a few expert swipes, she cut Alex’s shirt open.
We were…he got beaten.”
“Alex?” Jen raised an eyebrow.
“There were three of them.” When Jen still looked incredulous, Carmen added, “They Tasered him first.”
“That makes more sense. Alex could take any three people I know.” She ran a finger across the wounds from the Taser electrodes. She brought out a penlight and held one eye open at a time, sweeping the light back and forth. Next came the blood pressure cuff. She pumped up the cuff, counting as she kept time with her watch, then released the pressure.
As she cut away the dusty leather of Alex’s cowboy boots, he stirred. “Aw, shit…Not the boots,” he murmured.
“Sorry, hon.” She pulled off his ruined boots and tossed them aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair. Shut up now.” She slapped an oxygen mask over his face. She felt along his legs and pushed gently on his abdomen, listened to his breathing with a stethoscope. She filled a syringe from a vial and injected it into his arm.
She sat back on her haunches. “Well, it isn’t good,” she said. “But it could be worse. Definite concussion. Broken nose. Maybe broken ribs. Kidney trauma. He’s gonna be pissing blood for a few days. Probably a minor ruptured spleen. I’d know more if I could take some x-rays. He really should be in a hospital.”
Carmen said, “I don’t think that’s—”
Jen cut her off. “Yeah, I know. Not an option. Comes with the business.”
The pain-killer began to take effect. Alex’s breathing evened out, and he visibly relaxed. For the first time, Jen focused her attention on Carmen. “How are you feeling?” she said, examining the bruises on her face.
Carmen shrugged. “I’ll live.”
“I noticed you’re limping. Can I take a look at that ankle?”
Carmen nodded. She sat down on the floor and winced as Jen pulled off her shoe. “That’s a nasty little sprain,” she said, wrapping the ankle with an ACE bandage. “You’re going to want to keep off it for a few days.” Jen stood up and rummaged through her medical kit. She shook a handful of pills out of a bottle and handed them over to Carmen, along with a bottle of water.
“What are these?”
Jen smiled. “Just ibuprofen. You don’t get the good stuff.”
Carmen swallowed the pills with a swig of water. Jen knelt again and draped an ice pack over Carmen’s ankle. “You look worn out. When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I think I’ve got Alex under control. Why don’t you go and…” She stopped. Carmen was fast asleep. Jen smiled her tight-lipped half smile and let out an exhalation that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah, just like that.” She went to her van and came back with a blanket. She covered Carmen and arranged her hair as she slid a pillow under her head. “Sleep tight, honey.” She stood and moved back to Alex. As she felt his pulse at the wrist, her expression darkened.
***
The house reeked of shit, blood, and gunpowder. Strains of flamenco guitar still drifted through the darkened halls. Don Carlos stepped through the threshold. He was immaculate save for one pant leg, which wa
s shredded at the knee. He leaned slightly on the silver-headed cane as he crossed the carpeted floor and entered the hallway. His driver followed silently. Light poured from Sandoval’s office at the end of the hall. Over the music, Don Carlos’s vampire ears picked out another sound: a quiet, wet wheeze.
He found Jacob in the hallway.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, Jacob opened his eyes. He looked up from the floor and opened his mouth as if to speak. Instead of words, a pink foam emerged from his mouth and the hole in his chest.
Don Carlos stepped over Jacob and into the lawyer’s office. Two of his men lay sprawled and gaping, shredded by bullets. The Navajo carpet was unrecognizable, soaked in blood. Sandoval sat slumped behind his desk in his office chair, hands out to the sides, head tilted back, in a gruesome parody of a skydiver. His mouth was open, tongue hanging out. His eyes stared at something off to the right on the ceiling that only he could see. The top of his head, above the eyebrows, was now only a bloody mess on the wall behind him. The window was open, and cool night breeze drifted in.
The Don’s Italian loafers squished on the bloody carpet. He turned in a full circle, taking in the scene. After a moment of reflection, he stepped out of the office and back into the hall.
Seeing the Don, Jacob once more tried to talk. He spasmed and lay back again, gurgling and foaming. Don Carlos knelt beside him.
“Don’t try to speak,” said the Don. He leaned over and sank his teeth in.
Jacob smiled through the pain.
***
Carmen woke up and found herself staring at a hideous popcorn ceiling. Morning sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds. She sat up. Her ankle throbbed under the ACE bandage. Next to her she found three ibuprofen tablets in a glass, a bottle of water, and a pair of aluminum crutches. Taking the hint, she washed down the pills with the water, and stood with the help of the crutches.
Alex still lay on the couch, a blanket tucked up under his armpits. A hat rack had been repurposed as an IV stand. A plastic tube ran into his wrist. The bruises on his face had fully developed. Under the white rectangle of bandage across his nose, Alex’s face was an ugly lump of purple and black. Despite that, he looked peaceful, and was breathing steadily and easily.
