“Maritza—”
She kissed me. Hard. My instinct was to get away. I didn’t want to feel anything. Didn’t want to dampen the hatred burning bright like a coal fire in a moving locomotive. But she wouldn’t stop. I could feel myself falling. I closed my eyes and let her hold and caress my face.
“Don’t do this,” I said. “I’m broken.”
She shook her head and, getting up, led me by the hand to her bedroom. The pain deep inside screamed at me to leave, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to get involved with this woman—I wanted to . . . What? Something about a mission.
How to describe what was happening . . . Hypnotic? Now I was under the covers with her. Afternoon light streamed in through the blinds. We lay naked in bed and I could feel her warm body close as she stroked my face and kissed my eyes. Her fingers probed the scars from the violence I’d endured since July, and when she found my recent gunshot wound, she gently explored the bandage, afraid to expose what lay beneath.
Her body’s scent mixed with the lavender perfume made me dizzy. I realized that this wasn’t what I wanted—it was what she wanted. And I didn’t know why, but I needed to let it happen. I had to let myself feel something. Enough to satisfy her hunger. I was beyond hunger, beyond living. I was a ghost, unaware that I was dead. Going through the motions of doing the things I used to do in life. But I would do these things for Maritza. Just this once.
I would pretend.
“David.” Her voice was warm and breathy. Reaching over she opened a drawer on her nightstand and took out a condom. “For emergencies,” she said.
She was on top of me and the wall between us turned to dust. I felt hot, losing myself in her warm breasts and her fragrant hair. Letting her passion fill me up. I didn’t care. Not about anything. I was completely, hopelessly lost.
I lay in her arms, breathing steadily. Though I could feel the darkness closing in, I convinced myself that I could hold it off a little while longer.
“What will you do about Sasha?” she said, twirling the sparse hairs on my chest with her index finger.
“What do you mean?”
“You said she’s infected. Aren’t you trying to save her?”
“Yes.”
“Is she . . . You know, is she keeping the baby?”
“I think so.”
“I hope she does.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a baby—an innocent life. It might be all right. Aren’t there drugs that can . . .” I took her hand, sat up and smiled at her. “What?” she said.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that . . . it’s something Holly would have said. When they killed her, she was carrying our baby.” I hadn’t meant to tell her that. What the hell was happening to me?
Maritza hugged and kissed me. “Lo siento,” she said. “Lo siento mucho.”
I patted her hand. “Sasha told me that after she and the other girls had been impregnated, they would inject them every day. I assumed that they were giving her vitamins. But what if they were suppressing the virus with a drug to protect the fetuses?”
“Do you think that’s why she’s becoming ill? Because she hasn’t been getting the treatments?”
“It’s possible. But those other girls had the treatments and they still died.”
As Maritza climbed out of bed, I couldn’t take my eyes off her and I knew I wanted her. Again and again. It had happened so easily. Going from dead to alive. She noticed me looking at her and turned herself around en pointe.
“Three years of ballet lessons. It’s the only thing my parents ever splurged on.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“I discovered ice skating. Way more fun.”
“You should try hockey sometime.”
“I have to get over to the station,” she said, throwing on a robe. “I’m just going to shower and leave. You can stay here, if you want.”
“No, I have to go too. I need to figure out what to do. I’ll be out of here soon.”
She came over to the bed, leaned over and kissed me. “Your beard is scratchy.”
Then she got herself clean underwear and went into the bathroom. In a few minutes I could hear the shower. I got dressed, made the bed and went into the living room. I looked at the photos again and crossed over to the windows. A surge of adrenalin took my breath away.
A black Escalade was parked directly across the street. Silently I backed away from the windows and turned. Maritza was looking at me from across the room, wearing a black skirt and jacket and a royal blue top and black high-heel ankle boots. She looked amazing.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Take a breath. The grey-suits are here.”
She hurried over to the windows. I opened the curtain a crack for her to see. “I don’t understand,” she said.
The vehicle’s rear door opened. Instead of an agent, a short man with pale skin and blond wavy hair stepped out. He was wearing suit pants, white shirt and a tie. Trower got out after him.
“That’s Nate—my boss!” Maritza said. “Who he’s with? Ew!”
“That’s Trower.”
The news director looked nervous as they crossed the street and approached the steps leading to Maritza’s unit.
“They got to him,” I said. “Your boss is going to tell you to back off the story.”
“I know him—he would never do that. Hijo, he looks so scared.”
“I don’t think they know I’m here. Is there a back way out?”
“No. Just a glass door leading to a balcony.”
I quickly scanned the room and decided to hide in the bedroom. Taking her hand I walked her back there and stood in the doorway. “Listen to what they have to say. Put up a fight but agree to everything. If things go sideways, remember, I have a gun.”
“Dios . . .”
The doorbell rang once, nearly making Maritza come out of her skin. I took her hand and kissed it. “It’ll be okay. Try not to act nervous. Don’t stare at the scar. Or his eye.”
“Hey, no problemo.”
I guided her towards the front door and entered the bedroom, leaving the door open a crack. I found the top she had worn earlier and laid it on the floor next to the door in plain sight. Then I stood behind the door, holding my gun.
The doorbell rang again and Maritza answered it. “Nate! What are you doing here? I was about to head over to the station.”
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “I didn’t want to do it there. This is Mr. Trower.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Trower said.
“Come in. Is something wrong?” Footsteps, followed by the sound of the front door closing. “Does anyone want something to drink?”
“No thanks,” Nate said.
“Let’s go into the living room.”
More footsteps. Though it was hard to hear, I managed to piece together the conversation.
“I wanted to talk to you about the Skeleton Murders,” Fleischman said.
“Did a new lead come in?”
“No. I’ve been advised by our attorneys that we shouldn’t report on it any longer.”
“What?”
“I know. Look, you’re an awesome reporter—the best. And—”
Trower cut him off. “You see, Ms. Lopez, there are other considerations. There’s an important police investigation going on, for example. Also, the FBI is looking into the matter. We can’t really go into everything here. Just know that we have the city’s best interests at heart and we don’t want to cause undue . . . panic. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. Well, this sucks. Nate, have you seen the ratings?”
“Yeah, I have. But this is coming from the top. I was in a meeting this morning with the General Counsel. They’re serious, Maritza.”
“You do realize we were on our way to winning an Emmy,” she said.
I could hear footsteps approaching the bedroom. It was Trower checking the place out. I hoped he would see the clothing on the floor and guess that the bedroom wa
s a mess, which would explain why the door was partially closed.
“There’ll be other stories,” he said, his voice very close to me.
“Excuse me,” Maritza said from the living room. “I don’t believe I was talking to you.”
Trower moved away from the door and returned to the living room.
“Maritza, come on,” Fleischman said. His voice had practically risen an octave.
“No, you come on, Nate. This is messed up and you know it.”
“Maritza, I’m ordering you not to pursue this.”
“Fine,” she said, after a long pause.
“Great. There’s one other thing. The police want you to give them a statement.”
“What? Why?”
“They wouldn’t say. I’m guessing it’s because you received those anonymous tips about the murders. You scooped everybody in town and Chief Hughes wants to know why.”
“You know I can’t reveal my sources.”
“I know—I told him. He still wants the statement. There are a couple of detectives waiting for you at the station.”
“Do I have to do this? I mean, legally?”
“The General Counsel has promised the chief that we will provide our full cooperation, so yes. Don’t worry, I’m going with you.” Fleischman’s voice got very soft. “I’m really sorry about this, Maritza. I know how important this story is to you.”
“Not your fault. I’ll see you over there in a few.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
A moment later, I heard the front door open and close. Maritza returned to the bedroom and pushed the door open, looking very serious. We crossed to the foyer, peeked through the white curtain covering the narrow window next to the front door and watched as Trower and Fleischman got back into the Escalade and drove off.
“What do you think?” I said.
“I’ve never seen Nate like that. He’s scared shitless.”
“You’d better get over to the police station. What will you tell them?”
“The same thing I told Nate. I’m not revealing my sources.”
I checked the window again and opened the front door. Before I could leave, though, Maritza fell into my arms and held me. I could feel her trembling.
“David, I’m scared,” she said.
“So am I.”
“When will I see you?”
I shook my head. “I have to get back.” Then I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a brand new burner I’d bought for myself. Opening her hand, I placed it on her palm. “From now on, only use this phone to communicate with me. You can use your normal cell phone for everything else. I will call you on that phone when I can. I’ve already memorized the number.”
“Got it.”
We kissed. Something told me to hang onto this moment for as long as I could. But it was impossible to hold off the darkness. I could feel its cold, spiky fingers enclosing my throat like dead brambles. Soon I would be ripped apart. I stood back and looked into her eyes.
“Pray for me,” I said.
Though we hadn’t known each other long, somehow I felt a deep connection. And I was sure she felt it too. I turned and trotted down the steps.
“David,” she said. I turned. “Don’t die, okay?”
Holly had said something similar once. I tried a smile, but it felt wrong. Then I looked into her eyes. Vlad was right—you can tell what a person is most afraid of.
In a few minutes I was driving away to my fate, leaving Maritza to hers. I turned on the radio. Norteño music blasted and I quickly hit the scanner, looking for alternative rock. “Creep” by Radiohead poured out from the speakers. God couldn’t have scored this moment any better. In my head I was home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Uber Alles
Everything looked wrong the second I got out of the car. The street was deserted. Huge, dark clouds laden with cold rain scudded across the oppressive sky. I hadn’t yet purchased a replacement burner and had been unable to call ahead to say I was returning. As I approached the house, a feeling of dread held me in its frozen grip.
The front door was unlocked. I glanced left and right and pulled out my Glock. Using my left hand I slowly turned the knob and entered. I held the weapon in both hands and swept the foyer with it. The house was silent. My instinct was to run, but I remained there, waiting for a sign.
“Cuco? Sasha? Vlad?”
Slowly I moved towards the living room. Everything was normal, except that the television was on and tuned to Cartoon Network. That seemed odd. I listened again. Nothing but the sound of the TV.
“Hello?”
I switched off the TV and moved silently towards the kitchen. When I reached the entrance I stopped cold. Blood sprays adorned the walls and the floor. My heart racing, I hesitated, then entered gun first. I noticed a leg near the table. Looking at the shoe, I knew it was Cuco. Inching closer I took in the rest. He’d been shot multiple times in the face and chest, lying face-up and outlined in a dark pool of blood. In his right hand was a knife.
The grey-suits had been here.
I knelt down and felt his neck for a pulse. He was dead cold. I went through his pockets, looking for his phone. Nothing. A hiss! I whipped around—gun pointed—and saw the coffee maker on the counter. The ready light was on. I unplugged it. Carefully I checked the rest of the kitchen, expecting to find the others in a similar condition. But Cuco had died alone.
I started down the hallway. When I got to the bathroom I hesitated. The door was closed. I tried the knob. Unlocked. Wiping away the sweat I turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The pale linoleum floor was slick with blood. Huddled in the corner like a frightened animal, the body of the boy from next door—Ernie. He’d been shot twice in the chest and had bled out. Stepping around the shiny pool I crossed the bathroom, knelt down and pressed his carotid artery. The boy’s glassy eyes stared back at me. Like Cuco, he had died alone.
Since the beginning of the plague in Tres Marias, I had seen more violence than most human beings. And for the most part I had become inured to it. But the sight of this small, bloodied boy brought stinging tears to my eyes. He was collateral damage. The agents had been looking for Sasha. When they saw the boy, they didn’t hesitate to kill him. One less witness. Who would tell his mother?
Looking up, I saw the medicine cabinet door open. I grabbed my medication and stared at it. It had been prescribed to a Dave Wales and listed the name of the prescribing doctor. As I slipped it into my pocket, something nagged at me. What if the grey-suits had found it? I needed to warn the doctor. Cuco’s land line was most likely tapped. I would call him when I was able to.
When I got to Cuco’s room I went through his things, looking for an address book. I discovered one in his dresser and flipped through it. A number of people were listed, some bearing the same last name. I slipped the book into my pocket and finished searching the house, including the garage. I didn’t find any more bodies and I prayed that Sasha and her brother were holed up somewhere safe. They had left in a hurry, leaving her things behind. I decided to pack them up—as well as my stuff—and take them with me.
I tried to sort out in my head what to do next. All I could think about was Cuco’s family in Mexico. If I hadn’t come back, they might never learn what had happened to him. And there was no way for me to bury him. If I survived this nightmare, I vowed to write to them, plus send whatever money I could. What I couldn’t understand is how the grey-suits could have tracked us down. However they had done it, it meant that we were vulnerable to more attacks, no matter where we went.
I didn’t find the Tahoe at the private garage where I’d left it and I assumed that Vlad and Sasha had driven it to safety. After a quick stop at an electronics store, I returned to my car and called Vlad. I expected him not to answer an unknown number but he did.
“Hello?”
“It’s Dave.”
“Wait a moment.” I could hear his muffled voice speaking to someone. Then I heard Sa
sha telling him something in Russian. “Where are you?”
“I just left Cuco’s house. Where are you?”
“At a friend’s house.”
“How’s Sasha?”
“Feeling sick but okay. We almost didn’t make it out of there.”
“How did you manage it?”
“Cuco knew about those black Escalades. When he saw one outside, he send us out the back door with your car keys. We climb fence and run through the streets to your car. Is Cuco . . .”
“Dead. And so is the boy.”
“I am sorry. Better get over here.”
“Are you sure it’s safe where you are?”
“Yes.”
He told me the address in Glendale. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours,” I said. “Don’t go anywhere. Get takeout, if you want but stay where you are. And get rid of your phone. Someone may be tracking it.”
“Okay,” he said and hung up.
I called Dr. Fernandes to warn him about the grey-suits and got his answering service. They didn’t know where he was and said they would take a message. That’s not the kind of message you can leave. Disconnecting, I prayed that I was wrong.
Traffic was maddening and it took me over an hour to get across town to East LA. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining. When I got to Jeong’s, he was inside the yard, inspecting a vintage Coupe de Ville. As soon as I got out of the car, the dogs went at it. This time, Jeong gave them a look and they retreated to the back of the building.
He spoke to me through the gate. “How’s the Tahoe?”
“Fine. I need to get rid of this.”
“I don’t need this kind of vehicle.”
“No, see. I don’t want any money. I just need to make it go away.”
He opened the gate and came out to inspect Cuco’s car. After a few minutes he came back over. “You want it destroyed, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Here are the keys. I need a ride.”
“Wait.” He pulled out his smart phone and opened the Uber app. After a few key taps he turned to me. “Driver will be here in five minutes.”
Even The Dead Will Bleed Page 11
