Crooked Fang

by Carrie Clevenger

  Julio stood there and looked confused until Arturo shouted at him again. He fired, and I felt Arturo’s body jerk. Sure enough, the dumbass had shot his friend. But Arturo had kind of asked for it.

  I looked over Arturo’s shoulder at his hands clutched to his gut, and the blood that trickled out over his fingers. Arturo stared down at the same spot I did. Julio’s eyes grew large before rolling back in his head as he slumped to the floor like a wet rag. I guess he wasn’t much for the sight of blood.

  “Jesus.” I spun him around and pulled his shirt up to reveal the wound. “You fucking idiots.”

  The shot had attracted the fucking dog from the other side of the house but he knew better than to bark. I growled at him anyway and he slunk over to the either side of the room, with big eyes and tail between his legs.

  Arturo was probably a goner if I didn’t do something, and fast. The hole was about five inches diagonal to his navel. The bullet was still in him. He had no exit wound. He shivered and his eyes rolled back in his head like Julio’s had, before he lost consciousness. Shock. Fuck. I dug my finger into the hole and he came right around and screamed again, but I clamped a hand over his mouth.

  “Shut the hell up, Arturo. You’re gonna die if I don’t do this.” He nodded weakly, his eyes as wide as the dog’s over there in the corner. The bullet had burrowed deep, and there was a lot of blood. I let him down gently to lie on the floor and stood to look around for something to dig in him and spotted Tabby’s tweezers on the dresser. After fishing around for a minute or so, the bullet came out, all misshapen. Arturo’d passed out again. I slapped his face a couple of times.

  “Wake up, you fuck.”

  His eyes fluttered, slowly focused on me and he licked his dry lips.

  “I don’t have much time, but I can help you. If I do, you get what you came for, and you never come back to bother Tabby again, you got that? If you don’t keep your promise, I’ll put a bullet in you myself.”

  He nodded.

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” he mumbled around a mouthful of blood, docile as a kitten.

  I ripped into my own wrist with my teeth, just like they did in the movies, and let the blood drip on the wound. He bucked under me like it hurt, but I held him still. I didn’t know if it’d work, but I knew that if I put blood on bite marks they went away, so why not bullet wounds?

  Arturo shrieked. The wound was closing, little by little. I bit myself again and let a little more blood drip on it. He drummed his heels on the floor, waking Julio up. I pushed Arturo away from me, hiding my wrist.

  “You shot your friend,” I said.

  “Oh shit.” He sat up slowly.

  I put on my best innocent face. “Good thing you missed.”

  Julio crawled toward us. “I know I shot you, there was blood. Are you okay, Arturo?”

  Arturo blinked and stared at the ceiling. “Shut up, Julio. Just get the fucking money.”

  “I hit you, right?” Julio knelt at his side.

  Arturo rolled over far enough to smack him. “You missed, pendejo. Get the fucking money.”

  I smirked as Arturo picked himself up off the floor and stood on wavering feet. I picked his little ski mask up and held it out to him. He stared at it for a long few moments until Julio snapped him out of his fugue.

  “It’s all still here,” he said, having loosened a plank in the floor of Tabby’s closet. Arturo snatched the mask out of my hand and turned to his buddy. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “I’d say that’s a great idea.”

  Tabby was in the doorway, a twelve-gauge shotgun aimed at Arturo’s head. Her eyes widened a little when he turned around and she saw the blood on his shirt but she held steady. Her eyes were the same shade of cold blue as Sabrina’s at that moment.

  “Oh fuck.” Arturo held his hands out in a neutral gesture. “Baby–”

  “Don’t. You. Ever! Fucking ‘baby’ me again.” She had a cute snarl and, without meaning to, I grinned, damned proud of her. After the shit he’d put her through, he was lucky she didn’t pull the trigger on at least a kneecap or worse.

  Arturo took a step toward her and she closed the distance by jabbing the barrel right against his chest.

  “Get out.”

  “Okay...”

  “Now!”

  Her voice jolted both men into motion and they fled the room. Moments later, we heard them exit the house. Tabby let the barrel drop to the floor. She looked exhausted. I took her arm and sat with her on the bed, but she wouldn’t let go of the shotgun.

  “I’ve had it, Xan. I’m tired. And now that I’ve seen Art again, I am even sicker than I was after that Jack in the Box.”

  I just sat there and held her little hand in mine and she leaned her head on my shoulder.

  “You can let go of the gun now.”

  “I know.”

  I laughed a little and patted her head. She looked like she needed to take a nap. “Good thing you didn’t need to fire this.” I took the shotgun from her hand, unloaded it, and eased it on its butt in the corner. I laid the shells on her dresser.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, that thing has one hell of a kick.”

  “You mean it’d hurt the baby?”

  “Well, that is probably a slim possibility but Tabby...”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I want to ask about the blood and then again, I don’t.” She snuggled against my shoulder again and I put an arm around her.

  “You’re weird, Tab.”

  “You’re not exactly normal yourself, oh fanged-one.”

  I laughed. “Point.” I patted her arm. “Why don’t you lie down?”

  “Because I’m mad.”

  I kissed her forehead. “About what? Arturo coming in your house?”

  She snorted. “More like that he hid his drug money in my house then figured he could just stop by at his convenience while I’m not here and retrieve it.” She looked up at me. “I’m glad you were here, Xan. Maybe now he’ll finally stay out of my life completely.”

  After I lay down with Tabby, long enough for her to finally doze off, I took off her shoes and socks, and covered her up. I grabbed a shirt from my pile of clothes and got the rest of the way dressed. I’d been back a few days–which felt like weeks–and needed to start taking care of other shit I’d left undone last time around. Scott answered on the second ring and I let him know I was back in Pinecliffe. Of course he was glad to hear that and wanted to know what all’d happened in New Mexico, so I decided I’d go ahead and drop by to get my stuff. I wasn’t ready to get back to Pale Rider yet. Not sure why, because the place should’ve been fixed up, or at least close to it.

  To kill some time before dark, I did a load of laundry and made a quick dinner for Tabby to wake up to. I was okay doing shit like that. Domestic normal chores kept me feeling a little more in line with the rest of the world. She rose an hour before dusk and wolfed the food down like she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  “I’m going to be huge,” she said when I asked her if she was going to eat any more.

  “It’s not like you can help it. Pregnant women are supposed to get all round and stuff.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I eat a lot.”

  “How much longer do you have?”

  “Ugh, forever,” she grumbled and shuffled to the den. I started doing dishes. Her sister came in. Her lips were painted with some silvery pink stuff. Sometimes Sabrina dressed so weird it was hard to tell which one of the sisters was the older one.

  “Tabitha! How did you get Crooked Fang’s bassist to do your dishes?” She gave me a strange look, which melted into appreciation as she took me in. “I guess you’re all moved in, huh?”

  I chose to remain discreetly silent.

  “What was that?” Tabby called from the den.

  “Nothing.” She sat two plastic sacks of groceries on the table. “So how long are you planning to be here?”

  I gave her a tense smile. “I’m just h
anging out.”

  “Well you look great in those suds.” That coy smile again. “I’m Sabrina. Don’t know if you remember me.”

  “Yeah, I remember you. Frigid Bitches.”

  “Oh, that was just for Halloween season.” She untied the bags. “Mind helping me put these up? I’m done for today.” She jerked the fridge open, found a beer, screwed off the cap and chunked it in the empty side of the sink where it came to a stop just before it fell into the garbage disposal. I gritted my teeth.

  Without waiting for my agreement, she stalked into the living room to ask Tabby about her doctor’s visit. Tabby didn’t mention finding Arturo and Julio in a tangle with me in the bedroom after. Sabrina was louder than Tabby, and I was pretty sure I didn’t care for her. Also–what was with the names? Mom must’ve had some kind of witch fetish. I was just waiting for a “Samantha” in the family to pop up, and wasn’t disappointed to find out that was their mother’s name. Of course it was. I guess people had to do that cutesy thing of matching names to a theme.

  After we all watched some really bad reality show together, I let Tabby know I was going out for the night and it might be a couple of days before I came back. She pressed her lips together in that tight way she did when displeased, but gave no objection. Sabrina blinked at me.

  “So I finally come home, and chase off my sister’s boyfriend? You don’t have to leave on my account.”

  “Sabrina,” Tabby interjected, rolling her eyes, “It’s not like that.”

  “What do you mean? You have this guy living with you, Tabby, and you’re trying to tell me you and him aren’t a thing?”

  I kept a smile pasted on, though inside I was screaming and throttling the blond bitch.

  “Sabrina!” Tabby waved a hand at me absently. “Go, Xan. Ignore my sister. She has no clue on what’s going on.”

  I shrugged into my jacket, pulled out my gloves to put on and grabbed my backpack. I’d come back for the clothes I’d left on the floor in the bathroom later. Tabby stayed in the den, so I peeked in to tell her goodbye. Sabrina caught up with me when I went outside to start the bike.

  “Hey.” She laid a hand on the seat. “Sorry about earlier.”

  “Okay.” I revved the engine in hopes of warming it up faster.

  “I just thought maybe you and my sister were...”

  I cursed under my breath at the rough idle.

  “So you’re just friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you involved with anyone else?”

  I wrapped an elastic band around my hair and tucked it in the collar of my jacket. She stood there, waiting for an answer. It was obvious she was looking for an opening, and I just wasn’t into her type. It wasn’t that she was a bad woman, just that she was a little flaky and unconcerned with other people’s needs unless it fit her agenda. That was something I really couldn’t handle, no matter how hot she was. And she was. She had pretty, shiny champagne blonde hair and ice-blue eyes that ordinarily would attract me. But not her. Aside from the fact that she was Tabby’s sister. And if I remembered correctly, she’d been away for days with some dude. I sighed through my nose. “Sabrina, I’m staying here for a little while. I’m not the baby’s daddy, or your sister’s boyfriend and no, sweetheart, I’m not interested in fucking you.”

  “I know it’s Arturo’s. Tabby told me.” She scowled. “You’re an asshole, Xan Marcelles.”

  “I get that all the time. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I swung my leg over the seat, pulled the bike upright and put up the kickstand before I rode away.

  Chapter 10

  Scott nearly spat out his beer laughing when I told him what I’d said. “Poor Sabrina. She probably thought the new stud in the house might be available for the non-pregger variety.”

  “I just hate it when people poke around in my business, you know? If I say this is what’s going on, just leave it the fuck alone. She even followed me outside, for fucksake.”

  “Well, you are a comely gentleman,” Scott said in a girlie Southern-belle voice and batted his eyelashes until I growled at him.

  “Knock it off.”

  “Okay, fine. You go ahead and be a bad-ass immortal, getting all the hot chicks while your best friend wastes away. Speaking of wasted, I need another beer.”

  “I’m a terrible influence on you.” I laughed and turned to lay eyes on my real baby, the ’67 RS. True to his word, there wasn’t a scratch, fingerprint or speck of dust on it. A new pine tree air freshener hung from the rearview mirror.

  “It smelled like smoke in there.” Scott shrugged. “Elizabeth could smell it.”

  “Mmhmm. How many times did you take it out?” I smirked.

  “Well...once or twice?” He cringed.

  “Cool. As long as you were safe in it. Were you ever followed?”

  Scott shook his head slowly and eyed me. “You still in trouble, Xan?”

  “Always. But I did meet that girl you told me about.”

  “Which girl?”

  “The one that came poking around, asking questions about the RS.”

  “Yeah? How’d that go?”

  “She’s fucking Nesferata.”

  “She’s fucking one or is one?”

  “She is one.”

  Scott frowned. “But you said they were all male.”

  “I thought they were all male.”

  “You get a certain gleam in your eyes when you’re thinking of something you secretly want.” Scott gave me a smug grin, sticking his chin out.

  “I do not want a fucking Nesferata.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “I couldn’t afford to feed her anyway. Her kind eats food.”

  “I keep forgetting there’s so many different kinds of you out there. It’s creepy, knowing that.” Scott’s gaze dropped to my empty glass. “Need a refill?”

  “Nope.”

  “Trying to finally quit?”

  I snorted. “Not quite.”

  After Scott drank his beer, we went back inside and he showed me his new Les Paul, a nice custom electric silverburst model with an ebony fretboard and dual-humbuckers.

  “I guess you really did rub off on me.” He gave a sheepish smile.

  “Maybe Sasha wanted company.” I admired the guitar. “But this one might be a little ritzy for her to compete with.”

  “Speaking of which...” He got up with a loud pop of his knee to pull aside another case, one I recognized immediately. “Your lady, milord.”

  I popped the latches and opened the case. She was there. Sasha. My bass. I ran my fingers over the strings.

  Scott watched me pick it up. “Looks like somebody’s happy.”

  It was like a transfusion; Sasha’s energy flowed into me, waking my mind. Ideas that lay half painted in my head blossomed in Technicolor. It was like being told the secret to life. A simple sort of aha moment. Everybody had stuff like that to make them really go. Mine was my guitar.

  I plugged her in and played a few low chords. Scott grinned and followed suit, dancing a lighter riff over the bass tones. For an old man, he still had it in him and soon we were just lost, jamming out improv.

  “Have you two got any idea what time it is?” Elizabeth stood at the door in her gown, one hand on her hip. Her hair was done up in pink spongy curler things. “You could wake the dead with all this noise.”

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Scott said and unplugged his guitar. Of course, I was stifling laughter.

  “Guess the party’s over?” I winked at his wife. She huffed and stomped back into the house. I smacked Scott on the shoulder.

  “Didn’t mean to get you in trouble with your mom.”

  Scott snorted into his beer. “She’s just getting old, man. Twenty years ago, she’d been out here with us.”

  “Probably drunker too.”

  “Oh, definitely more drunk.”

  I leaned down to lay Sasha back in her case and set it by my backpack. “I better get gone then. Where’s the keys?”

  Scott motioned f
or me to wait, set down his beer and went inside. I could hear him getting the riot act read to him. Liz was on the warpath. Either that or maybe it was just early menopause. Scott came back out into the garage looking like a beaten dog.

  “Man, she’s like really annoyed.”

  “At the music?”

  “The smoking, the music and the beer.”

  “Are you serious? Does she forget that you’re still alive? Jesus.”

  Scott smirked. “You know it’s always worse when you’re around. And I still think I can keep up with you. Of course, you’re going to drive off, go back home, drink a fifth and play guitar all night and not feel a thing. On the other hand, I’ll be up thirteen times to take a piss before five AM, have a hella case of acid reflux and sore fingers from shredding guitar strings.”

  “Sounds like a bunch of whining to me.”

  “Ass.” He threw the keys at me. “The RS has a full tank. I kept her that way in case you needed to take off in a hurry.”

  “Cool, man. I’ll need to leave the bike here then.”

  “This isn’t Xan’s auto storage, you know.”

  “You’re welcome to ride it.”

  “Yeah, and when Chelsea sees it she’ll want to try it too. At this point I’m just hoping she doesn’t put the Volvo through the garage door.”

  “Fine, pick me up sometime at Pale Rider and I’ll come back and get it.”

  Scott pushed the garage door opener button. His words were cut off by the hellacious screeching as the segmented door scooted up, inch by inch. I loaded my bag and guitar case behind the driver’s seat.

  “What was that?” I dropped into the seat and started the ignition. It did smell pretty nice in there.

  “I said, I was just kidding. You can keep your motorcycle here as long as you want. Just in case.” Scott shrugged. “You always have those just-in-case cases.”

  I laughed and backed the RS out of his garage. Scott gave me a wave as I reached the street and pulled the car around to point in the direction for home.

  The roads were busy, but traffic soon thinned out as I left the Denver city limits and drove back to Pinecliffe. When I started down the shell driveway of Pale Rider, it was half past two. Darrell’s old Pinto was there, and so was Charlie’s truck. Under the overhang, the garage was shut. I nosed the Camaro up to the roll down door, and got out. I could smell the fresh lumber used in the rebuild and when I looked up, the entire building had been repainted. It was an improvement. My key still worked in the lock–a good sign, I guess. The smell of recent and ongoing construction greeted me as I walked back into what I considered home more than anyplace else. They’d done a great job of rebuilding the place. The bathrooms under the stairs were still in partial build and there was only two neon beer lights behind the bar but it looked almost the same.