Money for sex was nothing new to Calida. Prostitution was a familiar occupation to her and one she had fallen back on countless times over the long centuries. Few other night jobs could offer to pay and feed her at the same time. And on those occasions when she participated in sexual acts she never had to worry about contracting any diseases from the Janes or Johns since she was immune to the afflictions that plagued mankind. All sex for Calida was safe, although sex with her was decidedly unsafe.
Manic’s Pleasure was a thirty four meter British made Sunseeker luxury cruiser with three decks. Calida observed that its engines were on idle as she walked up to the stern where two bodyguards stood in front of the gang way.
“So where’s the party?” Calida asked. This was the only yacht that didn’t seem to be having a big celebration.
“Tonight the man is having a private one,” the closest man said. “You go right up those stairs and walk inside through there.” The man pointed at two large black sliding glass doors at the rear of the yacht. “You can ask the servers for a drink when you see them.”
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Just over to Catalina . . . no big deal, Miss. It’s not even an hour away. Now are you getting onboard?”
Calida struggled with nineteen hundred years of survival reflex. Even though she didn’t sense any immediate threat she knew that stepping aboard the yacht exposed her to serious risks. But if she decided to just leave and go back to the motel would severe punishment be waiting for her, or even worse, would her head suddenly explode?
Calida made her choice and wondered if it would be the right one. “I hope your boss appreciates me,” she said, and walked up the stairs.
Chapter Thirteen
“I don’t want to fantasize, but if they can devise a method for the production of superheavy elements in large quantities, I am sure they can find some worthy application for these elements.”
—Yuri Oganessian, Russian Physicist
Calida paused just outside the black glass doors and extended her senses. Music played inside with a slow easy rhythm. There was only a single presence and his mind felt anxious to her, even nervous. She slid one of the large glass panels along its track and entered the cabin.
Manic sat on a long, cream leather couch built into the starboard side of the rear cabin. The interior glistened with the reflections of recessed lights and highly polished mahogany. All of the metal accents were chrome and polished nickel trim. A large bar curved along the cabin farther in, above which hung an impressive wood rack filled with an assortment of wine glasses and brandy snifters.
As she walked, the heels of her boots sank into the thick, dark red pile carpet on the floor. She glanced out the huge window to her right that looked like an elongated teardrop lying on its side with the pointed end toward the bow. People all but covered the yacht next to them. She turned her attention back into the cabin and noticed an off center spiral staircase that led to the spaces below and the open deck above. It was a vulgar display of wealth.
Manic wore a silk robe, but no hat or sunglasses tonight. He watched Calida walk into the rear cabin and asked, “You ready for a little boat ride?”
“If that’s what it takes,” Calida replied, and she stopped at the built-in couch across from him, sat down, and crossed her legs.
“As soon as my business associates get on board we’ll get going.”
“I don’t remember ever getting over to Catalina.”
“And you still ain’t,” he said and laughed. “We’re going to stop off Casino Point and conduct some business. When I’m done, my associates will leave on another boat waitin’ off the point.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Right now you get over here and sit with me for a few minutes,” he replied. “Don’t worry . . . we’ll have time to play after they leave.”
Calida slid out of her suede boots and sank her toes into the luxurious carpet. “Nice boat,” she said.
“Yeah, she’s a sweet ride. I’ll try and take you for a little tour after we get started.”
“And when do you want me to get started?”
“Whew . . . I’d swear you can read my mind.”
“Of course I can.” She smiled and fluidly stood up and came over to him. “What good would I be if I couldn’t tell what you’re thinking?”
At that moment one of his bodyguards who had been on the pier walked into the cabin. “Those two dudes are here. Should I send them in?”
“First tell that dawg upstairs to get us going,” Manic replied. Then he looked toward the rear of the cabin. “And they can just wait out there for now.”
The bodyguard went up the spiral stairs; not more than a minute passed when the ships engines powered up from idle. The yacht began to move out of her slip. Once the yacht cleared the marina’s speed restriction zone, the revolutions came up and she sped away out of the harbor and left the lights of Los Angeles in her foaming wake.
“So you’re going to make them stand out there?” Calida asked as she looked through the dark glass doors at the rear of the cabin. She could see two men talking to each other.
“I don’t want them standing in here, you understand.”
Calida reached into Manic’s thoughts and sensed what he wanted. She dropped to her knees in front of him and obliged his wishes as the low thrum of the engines softly resonated with the R&B mix inside cabin. When pleasuring a man this way, Calida had to withdraw her fangs as far as possible and be mindful not to bite down on the blood-engorged flesh filling her mouth. Of course sometimes the temptation was too great and unfortunate accidents did occasionally happen. Yet in a strange way Calida felt she needed to make sure Manic enjoyed himself given that he wouldn’t be seeing another sunrise. And in even a stranger way, it comforted her knowing that they shared something in common. Regardless of how twisted her current situation, she had to admit it was preferable to being trapped inside a cage.
Calida carefully finished him and moved aside so he could stand and close his robe. Manic looked toward the glass doors and motioned to his bodyguard who had been facing into the cabin the entire time.
Two men of middle-eastern appearance entered the cabin each carrying a large briefcase. They made no attempt to introduce themselves and merely stood by the doors as if waiting to be addressed.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, welcome,” Manic said to them.
“Assalamu ala man ittaba’a al-huda,” one of them said.
“May peace be upon the guided ones,” the second man canted in English.
“Uh, yeah, same to you,” Manic replied and turned toward Calida. “Now you go up those stairs and wait on the top deck. I’ll have you sent down when we’re finished.”
“Why do you American’s show off your women like this?” the one man said as he disapprovingly stared at Calida’s revealing outfit.
“Cause we’re not afraid of them,” Manic replied. “And what’s the point of covering up a beautiful woman?”
Calida demurely smiled at Manic but remained silent.
“We do not fear our women . . . we are only more protective of them.”
“Yeah, well she don’t need no protecting on my boat.”
“Then you may introduce us.”
“Uh, awright, this . . . this is Cali. And these two are . . . he’s Husaam,” he pointed to the one speaking, “and he’s Masoud.”
Calida stepped closer to the two men, caught her foot on the carpet, and stumbled forward into Husaam’s arms. His face betrayed a sudden embarrassment as he steadied her and quickly let go of her hand.
“I’m not used to being on boats,” Calida offered. “But thanks for catching me, Husaam.”
Husaam locked eyes with Calida and appeared halfway between anger and confusion. “We cannot offer a proper greeting to you for the fear of fitnah is great . . . Praise be Allah!” And Masoud quickly repeated the verse.
“Sometimes we are tempted by things beyond our control,” Calida said.
&nb
sp; “Ah, yes, so you know of the Arabic speech? Maybe you are not merely an infidel.” Husaam outwardly appeared to relax. “Of course the flesh has many temptations.”
“It always tempts me,” Calida said.
“Ah, but women are a great mystery to me,” Husaam said. “Cali? I have not heard this name before.”
“Yeah, she’s told me it’s Indian,” Manic cut in, impatiently. “Now go on upstairs,” he told Calida. “We have business.”
Calida smiled at the two men and walked over to the stairs. Her foot prints in the carpet slowly disappeared as the pile rebounded. And as she went up the stairs to the top deck of the yacht she knew that three pairs of eyes followed her progress.
The upper deck was made entirely of teak, which felt warm on the soles of her feet. The area could accommodate at least a dozen people with room to spare. Just like below there were built-in seating areas along the sides of the deck with a bar and serving area about halfway down its length. A steward, who had watched her emerge from the stairs, came over to her.
“May I get you a drink?” he asked.
“No thanks. Is that where we are headed?” Calida asked, pointing at a string of far away lights that the yacht was aiming for.
“That is Catalina, Miss. We should arrive shortly. Is there anything else you require?”
“I’ll have something later.”
The steward placidly returned to a serving table situated toward the front of the upper deck and began to neatly arrange a row of glasses.
Calida sat down on one of the large built-in couches and stared down at the yacht’s wake. With her mind she reached into the cabin below and listened to the thoughts of the three men. She instantly recognized her host and moved on to the others. One of them was thinking only of how the motion of the boat disturbed him. The other’s mind was active with many thoughts.
Calida focused in on the reflection of Husaam’s mind and softly began to penetrate the noisy outer layers until she got deep enough to learn the information she required. He would return home in ten days for a meeting of great importance. His father, a Sardar, would speak on his behalf with the Leader of the Faithful. It was a great honor to be given an audience.
And it startled her to discover the animosity Husaam had for Manic, for everyone like him, for Americans. On the outside Husaam was the perfect model of Muslim politeness. But inside his mind hatred burned and now Calida sensed something else that felt like a threat not only to Manic, but extending outward. A hidden malice lurked behind Husaam’s thoughts, cloaked by incomprehensible notions of his Islamic faith. Her mind-lock with him began to weaken, but before it severed she sensed deception.
One of the briefcases the men brought onboard was passed to Manic who opened it. Heroin. Calida continued to wonder what form the deception would take.
Manic became agitated. His thoughts were drowned out by his rising voice. All three excitedly traded accusations making it difficult for Calida to find everything she sought within Husaam’s mind. She withdrew, extended her hearing instead.
“Look at this color,” Manic said. “What kind of shit did you bring?”
“The latest crop is small since we only just welcomed the oncoming spring,” Husaam said. “We shall have better yields with the warmer months.”
“This is shit,” Manic yelled. “I won’t be able to cut back as much and still have good product. If I start makin’ weak product the word will get out and I’ll be fucked.”
“You can just increase the other two components and who will notice?” Husaam asked.
“I got credibility on the street. I ain’t gonna risk that because you fools can’t supply a quality product.”
“What I shall offer,” Husaam responded, “is that you take one of the briefcases and I’ll cut the price by . . . .” He turned to Masoud and they briefly spoke to each other. “I will cut by twenty percent.”
“Twenty?” Manic laughed. “No, no, no . . . I need thirty-five off this crap.”
“That is too steep a discount I’m afraid.”
“Haven’t I always been up front with the cash? That’s right—I’ve always brought the cash to the table. So you going to work with me or not? You ain’t the only supply for this shit.”
Husaam closed the brief case and spoke to Masoud in an Arabic dialect. Calida understood most of what they said but a word that sounded like ‘core-bin’ eluded her and she was unable to place it into context. “We will do this for you,” he finally agreed. “Thirty-five percent and you take one case. Do you accept?”
Manic was silent for a tense moment and then started a low chuckle. “Awright, I’ll take one case for thirty-five off.”
“Taswiyyah halun wasat,” Husaam said followed by, “and Praise be to Allah,” which Masoud again repeated. “May this compromise bring good fortune to us all.” Husaam turned toward Manic and said, “I shall address the quality issue with . . . with those whom I follow.”
“Yeah? You do that,” Manic said. “I’m gonna have to see if my lab can bleach this crap. Nobody’s going to buy brown pills. Junkies ain’t too bright, but when it comes to their drugs their fuckin’ geniuses.”
The two men spoke to one another in Arabic once again. But they only discussed the money this time.
The yacht’s engines noticeably began to wind down. “I see we have arrived,” Husaam observed. “Our boat will come up for us since it is so much smaller. Please tell Cali that we hope to meet her again, but Allah may have other plans.”
“Yeah, right,” Manic said, and he followed them out of the cabin.
Calida looked down as they emerged onto the deck. The drone of another boat became louder. She could see its outline against the night; its running lights were dimmed. She looked down at Husaam and Masoud as they continued a conversation. Twice she heard the word qadhah being directed at Manic. She understood the word also meant compromise like the previously used taswiyyah, but as something very negative, that could be interpreted as disgrace.
Their boat pulled up along the rear of the yacht. They hurried down the deck stairs to the stern platform and stepped off. As soon as they were on board, the other boat gunned its engines and sped away into the darkness.
“Why don’t you get down here?” Manic asked as he looked up at Calida leaning on the rail above him. “We’ll take a nice easy ride back to the dock.”
Calida felt the displaced malice fade away with the other boat. She had learned long ago that the minds of religious fanatics weren’t always an easy read. There was just so much symbolic clutter to wade through. One thing she clearly understood about Husaam: he was a true believer.
She stayed on the top deck for a moment as the yacht made an easy turn back toward Los Angeles. The city, which was just over the night horizon, cast a huge glow that ran north to south. She deeply inhaled the ocean air. Its slightly salty taste had always reminded her of blood. Given the present circumstances, Calida decided that she’d wait until the yacht was back at the dock for the right opportunity with her host. So she went back down the stairs, walked through the open sliding doors, and joined Manic on the rear deck.
“Come here,” he said as she walked out of the rear cabin. “Those fools got me all tensed up.”
“I can help with that,” Calida said, and she pressed up against him. “You want to take me back inside? Or stay out here?”
“Maybe it’s a little crisp tonight,” he said.
“It feels good.”
A bodyguard appeared at the opening to the cabin and said, “Boss, I thought they only left one.”
Calida looked at the two briefcases the man was holding up, but before she formed her next thought there was a brilliant flash. She was blasted away from the boat and plunged into the cool dark waters of the Pacific where everything turned black.
Ryan glanced at the time display on his workstation. It was 6:05 AM on Sunday morning and Ryan noticed that Professor Balken looked like he had slept in his clothes. Already the old physicist had interr
upted him twice about the stone. Siri had messaged before he left his quarters that she would be over at his lab to discuss matters. Calida had been gone three days now and the Director wouldn’t provide any more information even to Siri, concerning her whereabouts.
Ryan sat at his workstation as the twelve sets of blood and tissue samples from Calida were analyzed by the sequencing equipment once again. He wondered if the results would match the previous run or, and it wouldn’t surprise him, provide yet another fork in the road of his research. Although he concentrated on his work, he could hear quiet footsteps drawing closer.
“Yes Professor?”
“Doctor Ryan,” Professor Balken began. “Why do you think Miss Calida was unaffected by the radiation from this stone while these other poor souls were not as fortunate?”
“I can’t offer any explanations, Professor.”
“Yet since these others never had any direct contact with it one would expect their exposure to be far less than Miss Calida’s.”
“She even drank water from the pool that the stone was resting in,” Ryan said. “Not only did she receive a higher exposure, it should have been lethal.”
“Have you considered, Doctor Ryan, that maybe it was?”
“What?”
“She must have received a lethal dose while the others received less.”
“Except for the fact that she didn’t die.”
“I have been giving this puzzle considerable thought,” Professor Balken said. “Not all particles that are the product of radioactive decay behave the same over a given distance.”
“All right, but we don’t even know what kind of particles this stone produced,” Ryan said. “Were they alphas, betas—maybe even gammas. There’s no way of knowing.”
Professor Balken cleared his throat then asked, “Are you aware that Miss Calida is hot?”
Ryan turned around and gave Professor Balken a disbelieving look. “That image she shared with us was something, and it’s still vivid in my mind, but Professor Balken . . . at your age?”
“I am referring to the fact that she is producing energetic particles, laddie.”
American Blood: A Vampire's Story Page 18
