Twenty minutes later the car arrived. “Uber car for Dave,” the driver said with an accent through the rolled-down window.
The guy seemed pleasant enough. He looked to be around thirty with dark wavy hair, dense black eyebrows and full lips, dressed in a half-unbuttoned silk shirt that revealed a dense forest of black, curly chest hair. The fact that he drove a Prius would have made me believe I was in for a safe, uneventful trip, if it hadn’t been for the busted taillight and a rear door that was partially bashed in. After a struggle I opened the door and was met with the odor of man-sweat and falafel. I threw the two duffel bags in, climbed in and rolled down the window. Jeong had given the driver an address a couple miles away from where Sasha and Vlad were staying.
“So Glendale, right?” he said.
“Yeah. How long will it take to get there?” He was fiddling with his laptop computer, which lay next to him on the passenger seat. “Hey!”
“What?”
“How long till we get there?”
“How do I know? I don’t control the traffic.”
I wanted to pimp-slap this asshat in the worst way. Instead I sat back and closed my eyes, pretending I was riding in Vlad’s town car. Because Jeong had paid for the service, I didn’t want to do anything that would reflect badly on him. As we made our way to the 110 freeway, the hyperactive moron seemed to be checking his rearview mirror a lot. I turned around to see what in hell he was staring at and noticed a tan Dodge Dart following closely. The driver looked middle-aged and angry and he was alone.
“Who’s tailing us?” I said.
“Don’t worry about him. Taxi inspector. Jerkoffs are always after me.”
“Why?”
“Because I look foreign.”
He opened the glove compartment and began rummaging around inside, causing him to drive even more erratically than usual. Among the debris I noticed a brightly colored hash pipe. Grabbing a box of orange Tic Tacs, he slammed the door shut and tipped back a bunch into his mouth. Without looking, he reached around and offered me some.
“No. Thanks.”
I had now gone from annoyed to worried. The way this idiot was driving, I might not make it to Glendale. I turned around. The Dodge Dart was still following us.
“Is that guy going to pull us over, or what?” I said.
“Relax, boss.”
He checked his rearview mirror and hit the gas, flying dangerously through a red light. I could hear the squeal of brakes, followed by a collision. When I turned around, the Dodge Dart was nowhere in sight. The driver hit the gas again and sped onto a freeway onramp, zooming past the other slower cars.
“Traffic’s not too bad,” he said.
I decided that once we stopped, I was going to shoot this guy in the neck. But for now I sat there and let it happen. Then his iPhone mounted on the windshield went off. Annoyed, he looked at it and answered, using the car’s microphone and speakers. A woman with a shrill voice began talking fast in a foreign language I didn’t recognize. Then he did likewise, screaming into the phone. After disconnecting, he glanced back and shot across three lanes of traffic and, barely avoiding a semi in the slow lane, got off near the LA Convention Center.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“I need to make a quick stop.”
“What? No!”
“It will only take a minute.”
Traffic was heavy and he was forced to weave his way slowly. I had decided that I would definitely mess this guy up. In a few minutes he screeched to a stop in front of Club Nokia, parking in a red zone and flicking on his hazard lights. Hundreds of people were lined up outside, waiting to get in.
A petite woman with long, dark hair, wearing a skimpy shimmery red top, black leather pants and black stilettos stood near the curb. Her arms were folded tight across her chest. She looked upset. The driver ran up to her and they got into it. I thought he was going to beat her right there. Everyone could hear them screaming at each other.
Someone walked up to my window, startling me. It was the taxi inspector. Where had he come from? “Excuse me,” he said. “If I were you, I would get out and walk.”
“What?”
“Mr. Ghorbani is a menace. It might be safer to leave now.”
As I exited the vehicle with my stuff, another man in a shiny black suit took the woman by the arm and led her inside. The driver screamed something at them and turned towards the street.
“What did he say to her?” I said.
“I don’t speak Persian.”
When the driver saw the taxi inspector, he bolted down the sidewalk, pushing through a clump of pedestrians, who gestured wildly and yelled at him. Incredulous, I watched him disappear around a corner. Then I heard a beep and looked at the iPhone inside the Prius. Someone had just requested his driving services.
“Come on,” the taxi inspector said. “I’ll give you a lift.”
We hiked back to his vehicle, which was parked on another block and he climbed in. I was nervous about going with this stranger, but I needed to get back to Sasha and Vlad and didn’t want to wait for a taxi. I opened the rear passenger door to toss in the duffel bags and saw a Costco-size package of Depends adult diapers. Then I got into the front seat. In minutes, we were on the road, keeping to surface streets.
“Where are you headed?” the taxi inspector said.
“I’m meeting a friend at the Americana mall.”
“Glendale?”
“Yeah. That’s a lot of diapers.”
“Ass cancer. It’s a bitch, let me tell you.”
“Sorry.”
“What’s going to happen to that Uber driver?”
“Nothing, probably. I’ll file a report. Again. That company is so lawyered up, they can get out of anything.”
“On the plus side, they do seem to conduct thorough background checks.”
The taxi inspector coughed up a hoarse laugh. “I’ve been tracking Mr. Ghorbani for weeks. Officially, he’s a full-time student at UCLA. Unofficially, he’s a low-life. That woman you saw? His sister.”
“And that other guy?”
“Boyfriend, probably. I don’t expect to put him out of business, but I have to try.”
The inspector told me a lot about himself. I think he was lonely. He said that he used to be a teacher. His wife died of breast cancer. Now he was sick. No kids. When he asked me what I was doing, I told him I had recently moved from Seattle. Divorced with a baby girl I’d probably never see again. He seemed to buy it. Eventually we pulled over to the mall entrance on Brand Boulevard.
“Thanks,” I said as I climbed out. “I hope everything works out, you know, with your condition.”
“If it doesn’t, I plan to shit myself to the grave.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Forget it. You’ve had enough trouble. See you.”
I watched the taxi inspector pull into traffic. I never did get his name. As I set out to find the address Vlad had given me, I noticed that the streets were packed. At first I didn’t know why, then I saw the holiday decorations and remembered that Christmas was approaching. As I made my way north through the crowds, a damp darkness followed me. I thought about my first Christmas with Holly. We hardly had any money back then. We’d managed to scrape together a few bucks for a scrawny tree and a few generic ornaments from Target.
There were only two presents under our tree. Instead of waiting till Christmas morning, we opened them around midnight. She had given me a book—Masterpieces by Khalil Gibran. I had bought her a spray perfume—Chloe something-or-other. Though it wasn’t the most expensive, it blended wonderfully with her natural scent.
The house was farther than I expected. It took me forty-five minutes to cross over the freeway and make my way into the residential neighborhood. When I arrived, the door flew open and Sasha fell into my arms. She was trembling, so I stroked her hair and whispered that I was fine. The dark circles under her eyes played against her pale skin. I thought I saw something flicker briefly
in her eyes. Seeing her this way, I knew she was getting worse. We didn’t have much time.
“Are you in pain?” I said.
“Not bad.”
“Who lives here?” I said to Vlad, dropping the bags in the foyer and shutting the door.
“Armenian friends. They are in Moscow on a job.”
Sasha took my hand and led me into the large living room. The décor looked like something out of the sixties with huge, round, colored-glass lamps and a popcorn ceiling. The place smelled of stale cooking. I took a seat on the sofa. She sat next to me, refusing to release my hand.
Vlad sat across from us. “Good thing your car was parked away from the house,” he said. “What did you find out?”
“The news station will no longer report on the murders. I’m sure it’s the same for the other media outlets. Looks like someone got to them.”
“America sounds more like Russia every day.”
“We need to get out of the city,” I said. “The grey-suits found you once. I’m convinced they can do it again.”
Sasha grabbed her abdomen and, groaning, lay back on the sofa. Shaking his head, Vlad got to his feet. “She’s sick, Dave.”
“No, I—”
He spoke to her sternly in Russian, then came back to me. “I’m worried. Whatever they give her to control this, we need more. She might die like others.”
“Vlad, take it easy. Don’t forget, those other girls died with the treatment. So, it’s not a guarantee.”
Grabbing my arm, Sasha got to her feet. “Hello? I’m here. Stop talking about death.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But your brother has a point. We have to find a way to keep you safe and healthy. I think we should see Dr. Fernandes first thing in the morning. I tried calling him earlier, but he was out. In the meantime, you need to rest.” Then to Vlad, “You and I are on guard duty. I’ll take the first watch. We’ll each do four hours.”
“You have done this before,” he said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dreams That Kill
Standing naked in the middle of the LA River, I looked at the moon through slanting rain. Though a torrent of water rushed over my feet, I stayed anchored to the wet concrete like a pillar. In front of me stood the massive support holding up the 6th Street Bridge. I could hear the metallic, rhythmical clicking of a balisong knife echoing all around me.
As I gazed at the bridge, a lone figure stared down at me with glowing eyes, far away yet close. Nimbly it leapt up over the railing, performed a perfect somersault and slid down the support silently like oil down a steel string, landing on its feet in the water. Then it came towards me.
It was Sasha.
She was wearing the white hospital gown I had found her in—the one adorned with a lilac field—only now a blood spray obscured the flowers. As she picked up speed her eyes glowed an iridescent purple. In her right hand she held a butterfly knife, flicking it as she came closer.
I couldn’t move.
The first cut sheared the skin from my arm, exposing pulsing red muscle. The blood that flowed was warm and mixed with the rain. I couldn’t speak as she continued to skin me alive. I was cold. I wanted to beg her to stop, but she’d already cut out my tongue. As I looked down at myself I couldn’t see anything except muscle, bone and blood vessels.
She was next to me now, gazing into my eyes like a lover. “I will eat your heart,” she said. “Then I will truly know what you are feeling.”
Something moved under the hem of her short gown. Looking down she smiled lovingly as a small grey hand with razorlike fingernails appeared. The skin was slimy. Another hand inched its way out. A gush of birth blood exploded into the rushing water and a crablike thing with no eyes and too many appendages stood in front of me on wobbly legs, its body pulsing with its first breaths. Slowly it crawled over my feet and, hooking its claws deep into my exposed flesh, climbed me like a rock face. When it reached my beating heart it stopped. A horrific squeal ripped apart my eardrums. And I could feel its teeth tearing at my heart.
Roy Batty joined Sasha and they held hands. His blond hair was slick in the rain, his eyes iridescent purple. They seemed like a couple as they gazed at the hellish thing they had made together.
“There, there,” Sasha said. “There, there.”
When I opened my eyes, Vlad was standing over me. I shook myself awake, the morning light burning away the remnants of the nightmare. “What time is it?” I said.
“After five.”
I decided to make coffee while Vlad showered. I had gotten barely four hours sleep and the exhaustion I was feeling reminded me of my Black Dragon days. The Russian girl had slept peacefully through the night. We had decided to wait till six to wake her. Vlad had found some clothes that fit more or less. He walked into the kitchen wearing a bright orange shirt, tan pants and a plaid sports jacket.
“Stylish,” I said.
“Shower is free.” Grinning with embarrassment at his choice of clothes, he took a seat at the kitchen table.
“Let me swallow this coffee and I’ll go.”
“Dave . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I am worried about Sasha. Will she . . . become like those cutters?”
“They may have infected her with a new strain, so it’s anybody’s guess.”
“And the baby?”
“Vlad, I wish I had answers but I don’t!” My head was pounding. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well. Look, Sasha survived longer than any of those other girls. That’s why they want her back. I’m hoping she has some kind of immunity.”
Vlad looked at his hands. “I thought . . . for her to survive she must get rid of baby. I am not religious, but this makes me . . . uncomfortable.”
I looked at my Russian friend and saw the frustration in his eyes. “My wife was religious,” I said. “And I know where she would stand on the issue. She would want to protect the child at all costs.”
“But it’s killing Sasha—we could save her!”
“Vlad, she’s already infected. Even if she did get an abortion there’s no guarantee she would survive.”
“This is my fault.”
“You were angry.”
He looked away ashamedly. “Muzhestvennost’,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Russian machismo. I am too proud, that’s it. If I wasn’t, Sasha would be okay.”
“Have some coffee,” I said. “I’m going to shower. Then we’ll wake your sister and call Dr. Fernandes.
When I returned to the kitchen showered and dressed, Sasha was sitting at the table wearing a pair of men’s pajamas. Her hair fell gently around her face as she held a steaming cup of tea in front of her and took little sips.
I could hear the news on TV in the background and assumed that Vlad was watching. I thought about the conversation I’d had with the Russian and wondered if his sister would ever recover. In my mind I saw her as the cutter from my dream, meat-ravenous and deadly. Putting the thought out of my mind I smiled and joined her.
“Feeling better?” I said.
“Same.” She brushed the hair from her face and looked at me, her eyes deep with Russian secrets. “Do you want to be rid of me now?”
“No. I told you I want to help you.”
“Even when you don’t know what I am . . . become?”
“No one knows, Sasha.”
She looked down. “This . . . creature I am carrying. What about that? Should I keep or . . .”
“You have to choose.”
She got to her feet and rummaged through drawers till she found the knives. Grabbing the largest one, she looked at me and held it to her abdomen. Instead of flinching I looked at her steadily.
“I can save myself,” she said.
Ignoring her I grabbed a cup and poured myself some coffee. I could feel her eyes on me. Then I heard the knife clatter on the counter and I turned to her.
“I’m so scared, Dave,” she said and clung to me. “Why don’t you lo
ve me? I want you so much, but you—” She pulled away and glared at me accusingly.
“I care about you, Sasha,” I said.
“But you don’t love me.”
“I can’t feel love anymore. I’m sorry.”
She looked deeply into my eyes and, using her fingernail, cut my cheek. “You are lying.”
Her brother walked into the room and observed the two of us. Though I wasn’t positive he knew what was going on, he seemed suspicious as I wiped the blood off my face.
“Come see,” he said.
We followed him into the living room. The morning news was on and Maritza was reporting from a spot that looked familiar. When I realized where she was, my blood turned cold. Behind her a building was in flames as firefighters fought to gain control of the situation.
“All we know at this point is, the fire started in the early morning hours. Firefighters were able to get inside to look for survivors and made a grisly discovery. Two dead—Dr. Tomás Fernandes and his assistant, Michelle Rios.”
“Sasha’s doctor?” Vlad said to me.
“Yes.”
“We won’t know for sure,” Maritza said, glancing back at the building, “but preliminary evidence suggests that they were murdered, their bodies left inside the building to burn. Mari Lopez reporting for EyeWitness7 News.”
Vlad switched off the TV. The three of us stood there silent.
“We need to get out of here,” I said. “It’s only a matter of time till they find Sasha and take her.”
Sasha continued staring at the black TV screen. “Why did they kill them?”
“Because they’re thorough,” I said.
I crossed to the windows and peeked out through a curtain. Three dark objects were hovering far off in the grey, misty sky. I looked harder and realized what they were.
“This just got worse.” I turned to the others. “They’re using drones.”
There was no time to see the Korean about another vehicle. I was worried that the grey-suits had made the Tahoe and would be on the lookout for it. Cuco had managed to get my front bumper repaired, so at least there was no longer any evidence of Sasha having run over the grey-suit back at the apartment building.
Even The Dead Will Bleed Page 12
