"What then are the rules that govern a vampire? The vampire must feast else he or she will sicken and die. But a vampire can choose how he feasts. A small amount of blood may be sufficient if the vampire feasts often enough. But it is said that the most pleasurable sensation for vampire and victim alike is when he drinks deeper for that is thought to be better than the act of love. But how would they know, those who tell of it? For who speaks of vampires who has been their victim or who has even met one?
For emphasis, the old woman paused and spat tobacco juice on the floor as she watched for the girl for some response. The girl said nothing although she could have repeated everything the woman said word for word because she had heard them so many times before. But to do so would be a sign of disrespect so she kept silent.
"I shall tell you," the old woman continued. "Everything has a foundation. There are vampires believe it. The vampire is strong, stronger than other men - except by daylight when his force is weakened but always his eyes have the power to capture the minds of men and the hearts of women. If you meet a vampire do not look into those eyes my child for you may wake up with two fresh pinpricks. Or you may never wake up again for if he or she so chooses, a vampire can drain your blood until you die. But there are worse things for it is said that if the vampire mingles his blood with yours you too will become a vampire and be condemned to feast for all eternity.
How then to kill the vampire? A cross? Garlic? Holy water? Of these I cannot say for the vampire is of the old religion. I know of only two sure ways. A wooden stake through the heart or beheading. These are sure methods. So then, now you have heard something of the vampire. Walk with care my daughter and avoid the shadows of night."
The old woman shifted in her chair. She had been beautiful once and despite the generous folds of flesh that softened and shaped her figure there was a quickness and an urgency in her speech and gesture.
."Do you understand," she hissed, what I am telling you? This is importante - important."
The girl nodded.
"Yes grandma I do."
The old woman shook her head sadly. Of what use was it to tell anything to the young? She shrugged. They will learn or they will not. As she looked at the girl, only child of her daughter, now long dead, she smiled. Useless to tell them but still the old must try.
"I was once like you. Yes I was. There is no need to look so.."
The girl sighed. She was anxious to be gone but knew that she must stay and listen to her grandmother who she loved. Knew she must indulge this old woman with her old ways and superstitions for that is how it is. The young must always defer to the old in matters of wisdom and knowledge.
"I remember a time much like this when I was young and beautiful with little thought for the words of my parents. I was out walking one day as it grew towards dusk. That, as you know, is the worst time for vampires because it is the time you least expect them. During the daytime the power and the influence of the vampire is weak and at night you are most afraid but at dusk the vampire's strength grows whereas your guard is down. Remember that my child. Anyway, I was walking along singing to myself, because I was young and beautiful and had admirers by the score, when suddenly I saw the stranger."
In spite of having heard the story before the girl could not resist asking the same question she always asked, so eager was she for the answer.
"What did he look like grandmother?"
Her grandmother rolled her eyes and smiled at the memory.
"Like the devil incarnate child. Tall, with hair that hung down over his shoulders so black and lustrous. He had great powerful shoulders with arms attached that threatened to gather you up and crush you as if you were a flower."
"Adonde vas senorita, " he called - where are you going? It was a voice that rolled and thundered out of his heavy chest like sweet syrup. There was such seduction in it. It sounded tender and lost, young and yet filled with the sorrow of the ancients. And when he smiled - oh I had such an urge to kiss those lips."
"And then what?"
"He came towards me and as he approached he grew in stature until he towered above me and I became so in awe that I felt like falling at his feet and embracing those sturdy legs."
"Grandma," cried the girl, shocked.
"Ah I was young as you are. He was a creature of dreams. And I was foolish as you are. Admit to me now that if you saw such a man that you would not feel as I did?"
The girl blushed.
"Yes I thought so. I am not so old that my memory is gone. Nor do I forget what it was like to be young. And I tell you in truth. When the time comes for my memories to fade this one will be the last to die.
I felt weak. I was unable to resist the honey of his words as he bent forward and whispered of love in my ear causing my body to tingle and my head to spin. It was like the first time I saw your grandfather, may the lord rest his soul. The stranger continued to charm me with words. He said I was the most beautiful flower he had ever seen, that he longed to stroke my hair and hold me close to him. Part of me was scandalised by this but also I was captivated. No one had ever praised me thus before and I longed to hear more. And it seemed also that his body exuded sweetness as he talked, a scent I could not place.
"Senorita you must not be shy. One who has so much beauty should not hide it. See look down at your feet and the perfectly formed ankles which support your strong slender legs. And the hips. What man can resist them? What child would scorn to issue from them? As to the matter of your breasts. They are firm, like ripe sweet melons which form the base of your beautiful and slender neck."
"Grandma!"
"It's true child," replied her grandmother indignantly, "almost every word of it. But as I stood there my breasts were like a swollen river waiting to burst its banks. My thighs were a deep ocean - a mystery waiting to be investigated. You must remember that this was a creature of evil, despite his appearance. Such creatures will say anything to get their way, much like mortal men. Can I help it if some of it happened to be true," she smiled. "And for such a creature, whatever he was, I was willing to face all the torments of hell. Ah to be young and in love.
"But I can see that you are bored. Perhaps the tale is too familiar - no? Perhaps your grandmother is losing her mind? Well perhaps I am. But to save you time, I will not describe the manner in which he talked of the fairness of my face. It would take to long to relate anyhow and soon you must be abroad and about your business. What I will relate to you touches upon the vampire's greatest power - as I told you earlier. During all this time I had been careful not to look directly at the stranger, partly from fear and partly from shyness. The creature was mindful of this, not wishing to scare me away until he had me within his grasp. The vampire can be strong when he wants but prefers subtler ways.
"Senorita," he said, softly, in a voice which crumbled my will as a cannon assaults a fortress wall. Senorita let me see your eyes. Let me gaze into those dark pools so that I may see them once and go hence from here and never forget them. Senorita look at me."
"I started to look up and instantly his eyes fixed on mine. For an instant I felt as if he were inside me - inside the whole of me. I could feel the blood in my temples pounding as his spirit poured through my veins. His gaze left me feeling naked and yet proud of my nakedness, unafraid and unconcerned of what others might think were I to walk down the streets as such. Then he gazed deeper and I was overwhelmed by the smell of him, a smell that began to cling to my own body as I felt him grow closer. I closed my eyes yet I could still see him and in that moment I knew that we would always be as one person - that we would never be parted but joined for all eternity. I was prepared to give him everything, even my immortal soul. He bent down and started to caress me, to kiss me and then suddenly I heard a scream."
"Your mother," said the girl rushing her to the familiar ending.
The old woman nodded.
"Yes, God keep her. For she saved both my life and my soul that day. And God must have been watching over me too for he caused her to go searching for me, fearful because I was late. When she came upon me the creature was leading me into the forest, intending to make me one of his own. Her scream broke his spell. In that instant I saw his face as it truly was. Beautiful yes, but a mask which hid the skull - the calavera - beneath. And the sweetness that surrounded him was the stench of the grave and the rotting of flesh, mingled with the scent of the cempasuchil marigold. In that instant I pushed myself from him and ran to my mother's arms. She shielded me and called upon god to curse the creature. But all he did was smile before disappearing into the forest from which he came."
Her grandmother stood up and adjusted her skirts now that the tale was over.
"Muy bien! - very good. Well then it is time for you to go and prepare. But first you must go and get a blessing from the priest. It is good to be blessed when you remember those that are gone. The dead get lonely. Without such protection they may try and force you to go and live with them before it is your time. And today is when the spirits are strongest - Todos Santos - All Saints. So go and hurry back."
The girl left the hut. Every year it had been the same. Her grandmother insisted that she both venerate her dead parents and seek protection from them. The priest was understanding. At this very moment he would be expecting her.
"Your grandmother is old and a good soul," he would tell her. "But she follows the old ways in many things my child. She both fears and loves the spirits."
The girl did not know what to think. She had heard so many tales since she had come to live with her grandmother as a child and each year these tales had become more embellished. The stranger had become more handsome, her grandmother more beautiful. And all this talk of ghosts and vampires - espectros and vampiros. Who in the village had actually seen them?
Naturally she did not disbelieve everything her grandmother told her. Everybody knew that at Todos Santos the spirits of the dead walked among the living. And they were deserving of honour. That was why they had set an altar table for the dead, in order to welcome them back for a brief time each year and to give them something to take with them on their return. The preparation for this time took many weeks and now the table, in reality no more than a wooden board held horizontally by two ropes attached to a roof beam, was ready. The altar was decorated with cempasuchil - the orange flowers of the dead. Hanging from the ropes were palm fronds from the coya, which had been woven into the shapes of suns. An embroidered cloth had been placed on the altar table. This hung down the front but placed on top of this, also hanging down were home made paper cut-outs. As a child the girl had loved doing these.
On top of the cloth had been placed candles and votive statues of our lady of Guadeloupe. For days her grandmother had been preparing food - spice filled tamales and tortillas, sweet smelling hojaldra bread. There was an array of meat and fruit dishes and boiled chayote. These were intended for the dead although after they had eaten the food would be passed among the numerous visitors and relatives who would come to see them over the next few days. There were also other items laid out - items that were favourites of her parents. There was her mother's embroidered shawl which she had loved so much when she was alive. And for her father there was fiery mescal and pulque as well as tobacco.
The girl no longer had time for the tales of los vampiros but the dead were a different matter. The vampire, Él no es muerto. Él es undead - He is not dead. He is undead - she laughed to herself. Only the dead count. The feast of Todos Santos is for them. For us to venerate and remember them. Was it not true what people always said about what happens when the dead are forgotten? She had heard the tale of Juan Fiera from her grandmother and unlike the stories of vampires, she believed this one implicitly. It happened that a neighbour was returning home and saw a procession of people coming towards him. As they came closer he recognised some of the faces and knew that these were the dead. As they passed they smiled and talked and laughed pleased with the gifts that had been laid out for them by the living. At the end of the procession were a couple who were crying.
Now this neighbour also recognised this couple as the parents of Juan Fiera. How could he not? Had he not known them since he was a small child? He watched in horror as they cursed their son's name as he had cursed their memory. The neighbour ran back to the village as fast as he could and hurriedly knocked on his friend's door. But there was no answer so he went back to his own hut and did his best to try and get some sleep. The next day Juan Fiera's body was discovered. The doctor who examined him said that he had died during the night which was strange because he was as strong as an ox and could do the work of ten, no twenty men. But then life is full of the unexplainable. The neighbour listened and said nothing for he knew that Juan Fiera had been cursed by his own parents. And so let that be a lesson to all.
.She walked on past the nearby cantina where the lustful eyes of mescal drinkers followed her. The blue smoke and odour of copal incense hung on the air. Everywhere was in preparation for the arrival of the dead. She noted that it was getting near dusk, just as it had been when her grandmother had seen the vampire. She hurried along intent on seeing the priest quickly so that she could be done and return home before night came. The memories of her grandmother's stories came flooding back. As she entered the churchyard she became again that little girl who had cowered behind the chair at her tales. Oddly the graves were comforting, decorated as they were by bright flowers. No vampires here. No undead. She sat by a grave and composed herself. It would not do to appear so distraught in front of the priest. The odour of incense made her drowsy. She felt her eyelids grow heavy and fought against the pleasure of sleep but lost the battle as she slipped into a world of dreams where the undead walked the earth seeking victims and she was the object of their desires. Hordes of vampires clustered around her throat, drinking their fill. She writhed in ecstasy touching herself.
She awoke with a start. Bending over her was the priest, or at least a priest. This was not Father Diego. He was new.
"Senorita, are you all right? Did I startle you? Forgive me but I was worried."
"Oh father. How long have I been asleep?"
It was now dark and there was a chill in the air. She shivered beneath her dress, aware that her nipples were erect and that a man of the cloth was looking at them.
"Not long my child. Would you like to come inside the church? It is warm in there and we can be alone."
The girl looked puzzled.
"Where is Father Diego."
The stranger smiled.
"Sleeping."
She began to draw away from the priest. There was something familiar about him. Something she could not place. She tried to rise but the priest laid a restraining hand on her shoulder."
"Senorita, stay a while."
"But I must go home. My grandmother will be expecting me."
"Ah yes your grandmother. How is she now?"
"Well father. You must come and visit her," she said, mindful of her manners despite her fear.
The priest laughed.
"Not now I fear. But she was beautiful once?"
The girl nodded mutely.
"But not perhaps as beautiful as you I think. Do you realise that you are beautiful?"
Again the girl nodded.
"Bueno. It is good that you realise that you have such beauty, such power over men."
The priest bent further, his odour was sweet, unlike the old musty sweat of Father Diego. She inhaled deeply and drank in the smell of him. Her head swam and she longed to pull the priest towards her and kiss him but something, guilt perhaps, stopped her.
"You spoke of my Grandmother," she said weakly.
"Did I," he replied, taking her in his arms.
"I must be going."
"No, you will stay," he urged, squeezing her till it hurt.
She screamed.
The priest leaped on her to smother her cries. His strength was ferocious as he tore at her dress he tried to stop her struggles.
She looked in his eyes and then she knew that the priest was the stranger her grandmother had met as a young girl and that he was indeed a vampire. And she mourned for what she was about to lose and grieved for the loss of her mother who would, had she lived, have cursed the vampire to drive him away.
Then she became as one in a dream and saw herself entwined in the arms of her demon lover as he tasted her blood and she in turn tasted his. Then a coldness began to steal upon her and it seemed to her that she saw herself looking upon the land of the dead but as she prepared to enter it something drew her back to a land of eternal twilight where she was neither living nor dead. Then she knew no more.
Zal Moscoso and Su were laying up in a hotel room. He was watching one of his favourite movies - "Martin the Vampire". Su lay on the bed intently picking the dirt from her toenails.
"You wouldn't think you'd pick up so much crud drivin' around would you? Must be the open toed sandals."
Zal nodded absently, absorbed in the movie, which he had seen four times before.
"Why don't you pat attention to the movie."
"What's it about Zal?"
"It's about this kid called Martin who is obsessed with draining the blood of his victims."
"He some sort of vampire?"
"No dummy that's the point."
"God I hate vampire movies."
Zal squeezed her hard until she winced.
"Listen will you. He's not a vampire like Count Dracula or nothing. He drugs his victims then makes an incision with a knife and drains them."
"Ugh, sounds like a real creep."
"Creepy maybe baby but what makes it interesting is that Martin has an uncle who seems to have brought him up with tales of vampires. And get this, the uncle suspects that Martin is a real vampire and sets all kinds of traps for him - crosses, garlic and all that shit. This Martin is one crazy mixed up kid. In fact his uncle is probably the reason that he starts killing all these people in the first place. But h knows he's not a real vampire so every time the uncle puts a cross his way he says "There isn't any magic. It's not real".
"And you like that stuff huh?"
"I like this stuff. See I watch old vampire movies. You know, the ones with Christopher Lee and Bela Lugosi?"
Su nodded, not knowing but unwilling to risk another pinch.
"Well," continued Zal, "everybody knows they're a load of shit. Only ignorant people believe in vampires. It's like Martin says - it's not real. See?"
Su looked at Zal. Men could talk a load of shit sometimes. Most of the time if the truth be told. I mean who cares. It's just a movie. She was no expert but it didn't look like a very good one either. It was too dark and some of the scenes didn't even have proper colour. They were all brown and washed out. Still it didn't do to tell men too often that they were talking shit. Especially Zal, who was apt to take criticism a little personally. No, best to keep your head down.
Zal watched as Su nodded agreement and moved from her toes to manicuring her nails. The girl was dumb. There was no more to be said on the subject and he should get rid of her at the next town. As he watched her he grew horny, grabbing hold of her and pulling her down on the bed. Then he bit her on the neck.
"Ouch you bastard."
Zal laughed.
"You crazy freak, with your freaky vampire movies. What do you think you're doing?"
"Take it easy baby," Zal smiled. " There isn't any magic. It's not real. This is though," he said, pointing at his cock.
They made love on and off all day till the evening came. Then Zal got dressed and went out to get them cigarettes and something to eat. They watched T.V. as they ate, then made love again. As they fucked, Zal thought about the vampire movies he had seen. An old Bela Lugosi quote escaped from his lips.
"Listen to the children of the night, what music they make."
It was not entirely inappropriate.
At the first scream, the men in the cantina crossed themselves and finished their mescal, absorbing its fire as if it was a talisman. Then they picked up their machetes and headed towards the walled churchyard. They made their way towards the church. There in the confessional they found the drained body of Father Diego, his crucifix obscenely rammed down his throat. Then they were afraid for if a priest could not guard and protect himself then who could?
They went outside into the churchyard. There they saw the vampire hunched over the girl.
"Él es undead," said one of them.
The vampire looked up, snarled and sprang towards them. They tried to surround him but the vampire broke loose. One man hurled his machete but it missed and clattered against a gravestone. The vampire grabbed him, tearing his throat out in one bite. The man staggered away trying to hold in the remains of his voicebox pleading with his comrades for help. But the men who had known him since childhood steeled their hearts and did what must be done. One of them raised his own machete and struck the man's head off.
The vampire turned and made his way towards the girl but the men rushed forward to protect her. One held the cross in front of him but the vampire only laughed and spat on it.
The death of their friend made them cautious but they knew that they must destroy the monster before them - and possibly the girl. If not he would return as before and there would be other victims. Each one had the same thought. "The vampire he is fast but we are four. He cannot watch us all. One of us will be lucky. But then each considered the danger to his immortal soul and held back, waiting for the other to make the first move.
The vampire saw what lay in the depths of their hearts and sensed victory. He grasped one of the men's arms twisting it as if it was a twig until it snapped. The man screamed causing the others to freeze in terror. A machete cut through the air and another man fell. Before the other two could react the blade had cut down one of them. The last man lunged forward and cut deep into the vampire's arm. The blade held fast and the man fell over trying to pull it out. The vampire stared at his arm which was almost cut in two and nodded at the man in approval. Then he bent down and bit deep into the man's neck.
For the next hour the vampire fed on his victims until he was so gorged that all he could do was lie there in the graveyard like a bloated slug. Had there been another farmer with a machete he could have killed the creature then and there.
Only with the coming of dawn did he begin to move, as one in a dream. To his left the girl stirred. He crouched down and scooped her into his arm, the arm that had previously been severed but was now healed. Then, as if she was no heavier than a piece of rag he threw her over his shoulder and ran into the forest.
Zal sucked on his Marlborough as they sped along the road.
"I still think we should have stopped another day," complained Su, as she tried to fix her make up in the rear view mirror.
"Yeah well thinking's not your strong point babe," he said opening up the Camaro. The last owner had assured him that "this baby can really move" and Zal was doing his best to prove him right.
"We don't need no hick town when we got the open road honey. You should let Kerouac wash over you."
"I told you before I don't go in for no freaky stuff."
Zal gave her a pitying look.
"It's a book dummy. Feller I knew at the work farm gave it me to read."
"So, what's it about?"
"A coupla guys who like to drive around just like us."
"We ain't two guys, or haven't you noticed?" she replied, fumbling in the glove compartment for gum. She unwrapped a piece, stuck it in her mouth and chewed vigorously. She found the taste refreshing after oral sex. "And I still say that we should have stayed in that last town and looked for work."
"Yeah and what kind of work can you do?"
She ignored him.
"How much money we got?"
"Enough."
"Enough for what?"
To tell the truth, part of Zal wished he had left her behind. Her conversation was killing him. She was dumber than a Polish cabbage. He forced a grin.
"Enough to last us till something else turns up. 'Sides we got to keep on the road. We're like hunters after prey. Can't stick around in on place too long or the pickings get scarce. Like Bonnie and Clyde."
"Who?"
"Didn't that school of yours teach you anything about American history?"
"History sucks. It's full of dead people, or old people - which is worse. Anyhow, you gonna tell me or not?"
"They were a couple of stone killers, that's what they was. And they robbed banks. That's why they had to keep on the move. That's what we're like."
"Yeah..'cept for the killing and the banks part."
"What's the matter? Wouldn't you like to rob a bank? Wouldn't it be great to be like them old time outlaws?"
"You gotta be crazy. When do we eat?" Su's gum was beginning to taste sour.
"Maybe you're right," he said, ignoring her question. "Maybe we ain't exactly outlaws. Maybe we're like that couple in the movie "Badlands"."
"Oh? And what's that about?"
"It's a true story about this guy thinks he's James Dean and this girl who falls in love with him, even though he kills her father. Maybe especially 'cause he kills her father - I don't know. Leastways they drive across country killing all kinds of people. But it's sort of beautiful in a way. Kind of sad."
Su was tired and her jaw ached.
"So what happened to this guy what'sisname?"
"Starkweather. His name was Charley Starkweather. He got the chair.!
"And those other two - the gangsters?"
"Bonnie and Clyde. Died in a hail of gunfire. Stared at each other for a freeze framed moment then were blasted to eternity."
"See what I mean about history. It's full of dead people. We-ell thanks for the lesson Zal. Can we eat soon?"
Zal's expression hardened. He leaned forward, listening.
"There's something knocking under the engine."
"I don't hear nothing."
"Lissen."
"I still don't hear nothing."
"Well I'd better take a look."
"Suit yourself. You will anyways. Men can't leave nothing alone. Always got to be fiddlin' with somethin'."
He slowed down and eased the Camaro over to the side of the highway, stopped, then got out leaving the engine running.
Su watched him through the rear view mirror then lost interest as he lifted the boot. She rooted around for a cigarette in the glove compartment. It'd be just like that bastard to have smoked the last one, she thought. By the time Zal appeared on her side of the car, she had made up her mind that she was going to "dump the creep" in the next town. That was just before he shot her behind the ear.
She awoke alone in the forest, her dress now torn to shreds. It was daylight and she felt weak but already the hunger was upon her. The words of her grandmother rang in her head...
"...if the vampire mingles his blood with yours you too will become a vampire and be condemned to feast for all eternity...."
She began to cry and cursed her fate which was now bound up with that of the handsome stranger who had killed her and left her as undead. She vowed that one day she would have her revenge. Her scream rent the forest but the forest remained untouched. It was as if the whole world was indifferent. The whole world except, of course, for her grandmother who at this very moment would be heartsick.
She considered returning to the village and pondered on the best way to get home, but she feared to go back there. Feared the men with machetes, people she had grown up with who would now be her enemies. She began to walk deeper into the forest. Strangely this did not make her afraid. It hid her nakedness and shielded her from the light of the sun which now seemed to make her listless and drained her strength. She felt at home there.
The hunger in her belly grew like a fire. But she resisted the urge to hunt, fearful for her immortal soul. She tried to eat berries and other fruits she found along the way but each one made her retch violently so that the hunger redoubled. The sun beat through the trees catching her naked skin here and there, causing it to prickle uncomfortably. It seemed to her that she would die there in that forest with no one to know or care or mourn. So she lay down, determined to bow to the inevitable and trusting in the God who seemed to have abandoned her from the moment she set foot in that churchyard.
Night came and with it a growing strength. Her body surged with a new strength. Her senses seemed sharper than she had ever known them. The smells and sounds of the forest threatened to intoxicate her and her eyes were as keen as if she was looking in daylight. The hunger pains were still there but they were less intense. But she knew that she must feed.
A sound in the undergrowth caused her to freeze. It was an animal - not a large one. It was no threat. She realised that it was she who was the hunter. Instinctively - instincts that she had newly acquired - she crept forward steering by touch to avoid stray trigs and branches that would give her away. She edged closer. The animal, whatever it was, had now detected her and was undecided whether to run or hide. It stood there frozen. With a growing excitement she realised that she could hear its heartbeat. An electric odour of fear assailed her nostrils. She saw the creature now - just a small rat - but instead of being revolted she became all the more eager to taste its warm blood. She sprang at the rat. The creature was too terrified to move as she plucked it up and sank her fangs into its body. It uttered a single shriek, then was silent. Unsatisfied she tossed the drained corpse to one side and went in search of other victims.
Ten times she fed that night until she was sated. And so it went on for weeks. Each night she hunted and each day she lay and rested, waiting for the coming of night. Each time the routine was the same. She caught small creatures - a rat or a bird - but one was always insufficient so she had to hunt more. She grew more adept and began to stalk larger prey. She experimented. She tried lizards and snakes but their blood was as cold and lifeless as their eyes and turned her stomach. Once she caught a vampire bat and savoured within its blood the taste of all the animals that had been its victim. And all the time she drifted deeper into the forest realising sooner or later that she would need more than animals to satisfy her need.
The Lacandona forest was situated on the extreme eastern edge of the southern state of Chiapas region. At that time it was a large forest with a population of about 2,000 people, scratching a living in the logging trade. Settlements were few and far between but it was only a matter of time before she came upon one.
The first person she saw was the girl. She was singing an old Nahuatl song that she remembered being sung by her grandmother.
Worms are swarming in the streets and plazas.
And the walls are splattered with gore.
The water has turned red, as if it were dyed,
And when we drink it has the taste of brine
As she listened it seemed to her that the girl was singing it for her, about her life. And she was torn between regret at the need to feed on one so young and the sense that she had been sent by the gods as an offering to her. She stepped in front of the girl who stopped singing and gasped at the sight of a strange half naked madwoman with wild eyes. But the eyes proved her undoing for having looked at them she could not look anywhere else and she stood there as the vampire fed from her neck and breast until she too dreamed the dark dreams that spoke of the underworld of Mictlan. For the dream told her that she was dead and must prepare for the long journey to the underworld crossing through mountains that threatened to crash around you, winds that could cut you and finally across the burning heat of eight deserts until you reached the great river.
For the first time the vampire felt as if she had truly fed and knew then how much she had departed from the world of men. Men are as animals - dos animales - she thought, put on this earth for me to hunt. The girl lay next to her like a rag doll. She began to undress her and put the clothes on herself. She felt no pity for the girl. She was free from the troubles of this earth.
Further on she came to a village but the barking dogs alerted the village women to the presence of a stranger. One of the women cried out at the sight of her, recognizing the clothes she was wearing. She cried to the others to fetch the men and the girl realised that wherever she went there would always be men with machetes and so she ran, fearful of the men with their sharp knives and barking dogs. But no one pursued her.
Deeper into the forest she came upon a logging camp. She took more care this time, singling out one of the loggers when he was alone and susceptible to a pretty girl. Before she fed, they made love. The girl was surprised how much she needed this. Almost as much as she needed to feed. She fed but little on the man. Enough to bring him under her power and to persuade him to bring others. Soon word got around that the camp had a new puta who offered her charms for nothing and the men came heedless of the warnings of others that nothing is for free in this world and that there is always a price to pay. For a month she fed on these men. None of them were killed although their comrades joked about their lack of strength and inability to work. Eventually there was angry talk. The bosses and the foreman wanted rid of this strange woman - this whore who takes no payment but who drains our workers as if they were milked cattle. They resolved to kill the woman, to be rid of her forever and bury her in an unmarked grave.
But by the time they decided to act the woman had gone in search of other camps.
Zal had to ditch the Camaro about thirty seconds after he shot Su. The bullet had ploughed its way into her skull and emerged out through her teeth. It then deflected through the dashboard until it had come to rest somewhere in the engine block. Zal was no mechanic but the amount of black smoke issuing from under the hood told him that something was not quite right. To make matters worse there was blood everywhere.
Fortunately fate intervened when he saw a T-Bird making its way towards him. Su was already lying on the passenger side floor and Zal just had time to throw a blanket over her before he leaped out of the Camaro to flag the T-Bird down.
The woman behind the wheel looked him over with an appraising eye and then, apparently satisfied, opened the passenger door for him to get in.
"Car trouble huh?"
Zal nodded.
"So what's the gun for," she said, nodding at the revolver tucked in his waistband," you fixin' to rob me?"
If the woman thought so she seemed unconcerned. Zal looked around the car that was a mess of old Styrofoam cups, burger containers, unwashed clothes, panties, make up and tissues.
"I guess it's not much to look at but I call it home," she said, offering him an unfiltered Camel. "Leastways it has been since the last week when that goddamn landlady threw me out for owing six months back rent. All that's changed now of course. Names Lula Belle by the way, Lula Belle Jenkins-Wilson and I am currently residing at Priscilla's Pink Pussy Parlour, the finest whorehouse in San Antone."
"Pink pussy?"
"Yup, you got it. Strictly white gals only. Very high class. Not that I'm prejudiced myself you understand but we catered to a lot of good ol' boys with big Stetsons and small dicks. What's your name - or don't you have one?"
"Zal Moscoso - out of Oklahoma City."
"Moscoso. That a Jewish name?"
Zal shook his head. "Not that I know of mam."
"Lula Belle will do sonny. I ain't old enough to be your mammy. Not yet anyway. Oklahoma City - ain't that the place where that feller planted that bomb?"
"It was."
"I hope that boy burns in hell I sincerely do. It ain't right that folks make war on children no matter what their beliefs. Pass me a Hi-Brite gum will you. It helps get rid of the taste of them fruit flavoured condoms. A girl can't be too careful nowadays. You never know what you're gonna pick up at those conventions there's so many strains about."
Zal reached over and passed her one of the sticks that were lying on the dashboard.
"Say how old are you?"
"Twenty six," Zal replied.
"And you with your cute baby face an' all. You don't mind me calling you baby face do you?"
"No ma-am, Lula Belle. I kind of like it. Baby Faced Nelson was one of my heroes."
"Who?"
"Baby Faced Nelson. He was an old time gangster. Didn't you ever see the movie "Dillinger"?"
"Uh-huh. In my line of work you don't get out much. And if you do go to a movie you don't end up seeing much of it if you get my meaning. So this Baby Face, what was he like?"
"He was a crazy killer. Said that the best way to carry out a robbery was to ride into a bank, shoot everybody in sight, take the money and then ride right out again."
"Sounds a might extreme."
"Yeah I know but it cuts down on witnesses that way."
"You got a point there. Most of the bank robbers I've known - and there have been a few - were caught because they were identified. 'course nowadays it's because evrawhere got those video cameras. Feller doesn't have a chance to make a living as a bank robber before he goes inside."
"Well back then they didn't have video so killing everyone seemed like a good policy. Mind you Dillinger didn't agree when Baby Face teamed up with him. Said he was more intent on killing than he was on getting the money."
"Well honey, he was right. That's just plain stupid."
"Maybe but ol' Baby Face was a runty little guy who growed up hard. Any chance he had in life he had to make for hisself. "
"Well in that case boy he should have picked up the money instead goin' around leaving corpses all over the place. After all it what makes the world go round. And if it isn't it's what oils the wheels. Leastways it helps to oil my wheels."
"Yeah I know it does Lula Belle but you had to admit the guy had courage - crazy courage but courage all the same. One time two FBI agents had spotted his car in Illinois and chased him."
"Never been to Illinois, " said Lula Belle.
"Will you just listen?"
Lula Belle stopped the car with a jaw-grinding swerve.
"Any more orders from you sonny and you're out."
Zal considered plugging her then and there but he had a feeling that the bullets would just bounce off her tough hide and she would beat him to death with the grip end of his own gun. She looked at him for a second, then started the car up again.
"That's better. A few manners never come amiss. Well..go on..don't sit there sulkin'. Tell me what this killer did next."
"You don't want to know."
"Honey it's a long road and if we're goin' to travel it together we oughta be friends or else part as enemies. Now tell your goddamn story."
"Ok. Well Baby Face was with his wife and another gang member. The Feds chased them for miles trading lead back and forth along the country road then suddenly Baby Face stopped the car and they all got out and hid in a nearby cornfield. The Feds stopped, jumped behind their vehicle and started trading shots with them.
Now this could have gone on all day only Baby Face says "I'm tired of all this messin' around" and stood up, Tommy Gun blazing and walked towards the FBI car. The two of them opened up on him. One had a machine gun and the other had a shotgun and in no time they had made a nice red mess of Nelson's shirt. But he just laughed and kept coming ignoring the bullets like he was Jimmy Cagney strolling in the spring rain. One Fed dived into a ditch for cover but that didn't save him. Baby Face near cut him in two with one burst. Then he went after the other who blasted his legs with his shotgun. Still he kept coming. The agent emptied the shotgun into him then ran and hid behind a telegraph pole where he took out a pistol and continued firing. But there was no way Nelson was goin' to quit now. He walked right up and killed him dead. Then he walked back to the car, got in and told his wife to drive."
"He must have been hit bad. What happened to him? They patch him up?"
"Uh-huh. Found in a ditch the next day. Saw a photograph of him lying on the slab. Had a moustache. Didn't suit him though."
"Never took to 'em myself Zal."
Lula Belle sighed.
"Well that's a sad story and no mistake."
They drove on in silence, contemplating the death of Baby Faced Nelson and his ill suited moustache. An hour later they arrived at the outskirts of San Antonio. Lula Belle pulled the T-Bird over and parked it.
"Well Zal, this is the end of the line. I want you to know that it's been an education."
She rummaged in her bag.
"Here take this," she said as she pulled away, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. "You never know when you might need it."
He looked down at the business card. It said "If you're feeling lonely in the Lone Star State ring Priscilla's Pink Pussy Parlour and you got yourself a date - check out our three for the price of two deal". Zal tucked the card in the back pocket of his jeans and walked off in search of a hotel. It had been a long day.
She grew tired of the endless forests and the isolated communities. Word spread faster than she travelled that a vampire walked among them. She longed to go home, to see her grandmother once more. But what was home? She knew if she was discovered they too would kill her like a dog.
She drifted back and forth across the countryside feeding at random until her notoriety forced her to find fresh feeding grounds. Leaving the highlands she stuck to the coastal regions moving through the isolated towns - Alverado, Veracruz, Jalapa - each one as dreary as the last. But finally she drifted to the place where she thought she belonged - Mexico City - where life was cheaper and the men she met were silver tongued and smooth with fine clothes and gold watches to match. All of them willing to flatter and shower gifts on one so beautiful. She learned refinement and the art of dressing well, when to flaunt her gifts and when to exercise discretion. And the men, both young and old lapped up her performance. To her, this lifestyle was amusing, a change from the dullards of the logging camps with their dreamless eyes and unimaginative tastes.
So she stayed in Mexico City and fed.discretely. People did not notice and if they did they were too polite to comment if a young man seemed a little tired, a little too dissolute. Young men who make assignations are bound to fall prey to the diseases of love sooner or later, people said.
Her life was ordered with a measure of contentment until that is, she fell in love. She remembered that she saw him across the room and there was something about his eyes that drew her to him. That and the way that his black curls fell across his forehead so that he was forced to keep brushing them away. It was only a matter of time before they became lovers. She demurred to him in all things save his requests that they go riding out in the daylight sun for this weakened her dangerously. He did not press the point. After all, he confessed, it was the fact that her complxion was the whitest he had ever seen in a Mexican woman that had first attracted him. The sun would ruin it.
The trouble was that he served another mistress. Not a woman. Something far worse. This man believed he could change the world. She could have told him otherwise. How nothing ever changes. But out of love she listened to his ranting. He had such passion.
"Believe me," he told her. "Things will change."
"Why do you say this?"
"Because I do. All men who love freedom believe it."
"And such men die."
They cannot kill us all and if they do, still we will go on. Take Miguel Costilla, a simple parish priest who tried to end Spanish rule. They killed him and his followers but that did not stop others from trying."
"Oh my love they will kill you. They killed a priest, a man of God. If they will kill such a man then your grave is already dug."
But he only looked at her with that beautiful fire in his eyes and she loved him all the more. That night they made love passionately as if tomorrow he would be dead. Secretly she prepared herself for this moment knowing that, for her, all things must die. Through the night he told her of his dreams and the history of Mexico. He talked passionately of the failure of Juarez and the dictatorship of Diaz and the hope that Madero would bring about the necessary reforms. She listened and smiled sadly, knowing that soon they would be parted.
She knew that his passion for revolution was part of the reason she loved him. She treated him rather as a flower that blooms in the desert for a brief time before withering away. After each public meeting, each inflammatory speech she waited for that bloom to die. The end came one night when they were out walking arm in arm. Two shots rang out. She felt a dull thud as the first one hit her in the shoulder. The second tore through his neck. She sat down beside him and watched helplessly as he died, her eyes mesmerised by the arterial blood flowing into the gutter. A crowd began to gather but she broke away and ran into the night. As she ran through the streets people crossed themselves at the sight of this crazy woman.
For months she hid herself away but eventually she was seized with the urge to see her homeland once more. So she left the city and travelled by night until she came to the outskirts of her village. A distant roll of thunder pierced the sultry evening as she stood under a tree outside her grandmother's house undecided about what to do next. Her grandmother was roused from a disturbed sleep by an overpowering sweet scent. The air hung heavy as she limped to the doorway and cried out into the darkness.
"Quien es?"
She watched her grandmother in silence contemplating the decay that had been wrought upon her. How many years had it been? She could not say but she noted with disgust how the old woman had neglected herself. Her clothes were shabby and dirty and she could smell her from where she stood. But then she could smell the meat smell of all humans.
"Quien es?" the old woman called again. A few strands of grey beard hung from the old woman's chin. "Quien es?" she called though deep down she knew who it was.
She watched as a figure emerged from the shadows and came towards her. The girl watched as the old woman crossed herself and gave a small cry of fear.
" Well old woman. It has been a long time. See what I have become. Look at my fine clothes. Am I not beautiful?"
Her grandmother nodded, a trickle of wetness ran down her leg.
"And look what you have become. A shrivelled husk. Not like when you were young and the vampire came to you. How many times did he come really."
"But I told you child..I"
"No more lies old woman. I understand now. He came and he kept coming until you lost your looks."
"No you do not understand. You may be undead yourself but you have much to learn. The vampire, he come to our village many times. Many girls he visit but he does no harm. Then he fall for one but it was not me - I was long married. This love was his downfall. It is a terrible thing for a vampire. He and the girl met each night and were shameless. The whole village knew but long ago they agreed to keep silent for the girl bore him a child."
"A child?"
"Yes."
"And where is this child."
The old woman seemed to ignore her, lost in her own thoughts.
"I can remember the baby as if it were yesterday. So beautiful. But the mother. The baby had taken all her strength and there was no doctor that we could call. So.."
"She died," said the girl.
"Yes."
"That woman."
"She was your mother. The vampire found out when he next returned and left the village that night. How was I to know that he was waiting for you to come of age. How was I to know that he wanted to make you one of his own. Who can know the mind of a vampire?"
"So I am seeking my father?"
"No," urged the old woman. "you must not seek him. I see murder in your eyes. It is forbidden by all the natural laws that a vampire should kill another."
"More old wives tales. And is it natural that he should make me what I am? Is a vampire natural."
"Often I have thought this myself but when you were taken from me and I knew what you had become I began to think again. What walks the earth must be natural for it is of the earth."
"No little mother I am of the grave."
The girl turned to her grandmother and tried to remember her former life but it was as if a mist was over her eyes. She looked into the old woman's eyes and smiled a tender sweet smile.
"Muy bien. It is time to sleep old one."
Zal checked into a hotel then instantly regretted it. Actually he felt good about changing his mind. It showed, he thought, that he was alive to all possibilities. If something felt bad change it, that was the rule. Change your outlook change your life. Stagnate and you die. Speaking of which, if they hadn't found it already, it was only a matter of time before the Camaro was discovered. Then the "federales" would start nosing around for anyone who had been handing out lifts to hitchhikers recently. And when they asked Lula Belle, then the shit would hit the fan. He looked at the business card and considered asking for her at the Pink Pussy Parlour in order to book her for her final performance before she went into permanent retirement. There were two things wrong with this idea. One, she might have already gone to the police and two, she was a big woman. There was half a chance that Lula Belle might permanently retire him.
He needed to clear his head so he could think straight. If you didn't think straight you got caught. A bar was noisy but it was also anonymous. It also had potentially rich pickings if the drunks were drunk enough. He searched around until he found one - Al's Sunset Lounge. Inside "Four in the Morning" by Faron Young was playing at four in the afternoon. Nobody seemed to be listening to it. Zal ordered a beer and stayed close to the bar.
A bunch of office workers were there celebrating one of the girl's birthdays. From the look of them they had been there since lunchtime. The girl in question was being given two drinks for every one the others drank. Zal could see some of the men sizing her up and wondering if any of them were able to give her a special birthday gift that evening. So far she was resisting all the pawing and the half kisses but, from the look of her glassy eyes, Zal guessed it was just a matter of time.
Someone put on "Mystery Train" by Elvis Presley. That got a reaction. The Tupelo boy was popular in Texas. Zal guessed that they didn't have "Strange Fruit2 by Billy Holiday on the jukebox. With the next number - "Brown Sugar" by the Rolling Stones - things began to happen. Some of the local began to complain about "this faggot shit" when the birthday girl began to get up and dance. She was drunker than Zal realised. She began to gyrate wildly and considering the state she was in quite sexily. One of the guys immediately got up and tried to dance with her but the others pulled him away. Another one got up and began feeding money into the jukebox. It was at that point, to bursts of encouragement, that the girl began to unbutton her top. One of her girlfriends fought a losing battle to stop her.
Zal watched with a detached interest.
"That girl will regret it in the morning when she wakes up in the morning with a headache and a sore pussy no?"
Zal turned. Standing there was what appeared to be a tall drunk and dishevelled Mexican who was holding out his hand.
"Jaime Nuncio."
"Dean. Jimmy Dean."
"Like the movie star. Maybe your mother have a crush on him eh?" he said, nudging Zal. Zal made up his mind to kill him at the first opportunity.
"Maybe," he said, downing his glass, getting ready to go.
"Please, you must have a drink. I insist."
"Thanks but I gotta be going."
"But my friend I must buy you a drink. It is my birthday like the striptease girl over there."
"Then ask her."
Zal looked at the girl once more. All she had on now was a bra and a short skirt but it seemed that finally her friend had succeeded in rescuing her.
"But I ask you. A man cannot drink alone."
Zal was about to walk out right then but when the man turned to order drinks he noticed a curious mark behind his ear. It was in exactly the same position that Zal had shot Su.
"Where'd you get that?" he said, pointing at the mark.
"I am disappeared."
"What?"
"Disappeared."
"You mean you're some sort of magician."
"You don't know what disappeared is? Like the movie, "Missing" with Jack Lemmon and Sissy Spacek."
"The girl who was in "Badlands"?"
"What is this "Badlands"? I am talking about being disappeared."
"Well go ahead and disappear feller. No one's stopping you."
"You don't understan'. I am from El Salvador before I came to America. This was many years ago when I was a student. I used to organise political meetings."
"This country has too much goddamn politics if you ask me."
"Ah my friend. You should have been with the security services in El Salvador. That is what they thought."
Zal considered this for a moment. He liked the idea.
"So what did they do?" he asked.
"I was arrested and tortured. Then they put a bag over my head and loaded me and some others onto a truck and drove us into the countryside."
"This supposed to be a one way trip?"
Jaime nodded.
"You could smell the fear in the back of that truck. The journey was terrifying but of course none of us wanted it to end because when it did, so would our lives. But it did stop and we were pulled off and forced to kneel in the long grass. Then someone placed a pistol to the back of each person's head and shot them. Can you imagine how long it took waiting for my turn as the gun went off closer and closer to me? And then sometimes the person firing had to stop to reload. But suddenly the gun was put against the back of my head. The last thing I remember was great pain and then I woke up, the only man alive amongst all those corpses."
Zal looked at the mark once more. He thought the story was bullshit but you never could tell with bullets. Maybe it took a deflection.
"So what happened next?"
"What happened next. Why I got my hands free and got the hell out of the country. That's what happened."
Zal took the drink that had been brought for him and raised it.
"Salud," he said.
Jaime smiled.
"Salud Senor Jimmy Dean," said Jaime. And then he burst out laughing.
Zal joined in. Even if the man was a prick you had to laugh. Why pick a name like Jimmy Dean?
They had another drink, and another. Then Jaime offered to take him to another bar so Zal followed. The birthday girl had now passed out. The two men stepped over her. Hank William's "Kaw Liga" played on the jukebox.
"Is it any wonder
that his face is red
Kaw Liga that poor old wooden head"
The bar was downtown and more Tex Mex. There was conjunto music on the jukebox and dynamite in the drinks. They spent the rest of the evening there amongst the heat, the sweat and the noise. In the early morning Jaime suggested Zal come and crash at his place. Too drunk to argue, Zal nodded and they took a taxi to his apartment. When it turned out that neither of them had the cash to pay for the ride, Jaime had to stagger inside and wake up his girlfriend and her kids for some cash.
She shuffled out in her night-dress and swore at the cabdriver for overcharging a pair of drunken morons before finally consenting to give him the money. Then she and Jaime helped Zal out of the back of the cab. As he was dragged out he stumbled, his head buried deep into the woman's breast.
"This is Consuela, my girl."
"Lo Consuela." Zal replied and then threw up on the sidewalk, falling down next to the puke. As he tried to get up he caught a golden vision of Consuela's dark pant-less pussy inside the night-dress. Then he blacked out.
Zal sat watching the television in Jaime's apartment. It had taken him about thirty seconds to realise that thing were not going well in the marriage department between Jaime and Consuela and it had taken the opportunity of Jaime going on an errand before they consummated their mutual desire. Now that it had been satisfied both sat there on the bed, naked and listless. Zal sucked on a Camel. Consuela shot him a glare but Zal just concentrated on the movie, which he had seen before. A baby, one of the children screamed in the next room, which was the only other one apart from the bathroom. The first night Zal had slept there amongst a pile of infants and baby crap. His nose wrinkled up at the memory of it.
"Sometimes it's a sin to bring kids into this world" he thought absently.
Consuela got up to see to the child. Zal continued to glumly stare at the television. He had seen the movie before. It was an old one - "Young Mr Lincoln". Zal thought that although it creaked in parts, he liked some of it. He especially liked the scene where Abe prevents a lynching first by brute strength, kicking their battering ram aside and then by telling jokes and shaming the mob. Fellah could so with a guy like that when he was on death row, he joked to himself, especially him being a lawyer and all.
Consuela returned and lay down beside him. He began to stroke her hair but the movie was more interesting. It had got to the courtroom scene where Abe was interviewing one of the murderers, except at that point nobody but honest Abe had any idea he was a murderer. The man's name was J. Palmer Cass.
"What's the J stand for?" asks Abe.
"John," says the man.
"Or Jack?" offers Abe.
"Sometimes," says the man.
Abe keeps asking questions then out of the blue he says.
"I guess I'll call you Jack Cass (Jackass) from here on."
The court explodes and the judge orders them all to be silent. There's more questioning then the judge explodes, having finally got the joke, whereupon the rest of the court erupts again. All except J Palmer Cass that is. Yes old Abe had style all right.
"You like this?" said Zal to Consuela.
She shrugged.
"You know who that is?"
"Some dumb actor in some dumb movie. They're on all the time. My kids prefer cartoons."
Zal wondered if Jaime had a spare gun lying around.
"That's Abe Lincoln," he persevered.
"Who? The Actor?"
"No dummy. The president."
"The president is an actor?"
"No the actor is the president."
Consuela shook her head and smiled at him as if he was retarded.
"No Zal you are wrong. I know these things because I have a good memory. The actor did not look like that. He was bigger, broader. His name was Ronald Reagan. That's not him."
Silently Zal wished for a machine gun.
"Never mind baby. We'd better get dressed before Jaime comes back."
Consuela spat.
"He will not be home for hours. He is doing one of his deals."
"Deals baby. What sort of deals?"
"Who knows. He does many different things. Drugs, a little smuggling. Guns people, he does not care. He has no morals and he is not a fit father for my children."
"I guess you're right there sugar. Kids need a firm hand and a stable relationship. Otherwise they'll just drift around until it's time for them to be sent to reform school. Pretty soon they're drifting into robbery or worse. All for the lack of a decent father."
Consuela looked at him in wonder.
"You think so?"
"I know so. You see I had good parents and I always follow their example. Just like honest Abe."
"Tell me Zal," she asked, "do you like children?"
"Grilled or fried?"
"I am serious."
"Course I do. Who wouldn't?"
"How would you like to be father to my children?"
Zal scratched his head.
"Well I never gave the matter any thought. Truth is Consuela, right now I don't have so much as a pot to piss in and kids have needs which cost money."
"I have money."
"Yeah, how much?"
"Two thousand dollars."
"That's a fair amount but it won't go far."
"But I know where you can get more."
"Where I can get more. And where's that Hon?"
"Jaime deals with a man who helps to smuggle illegals over the border. It is good business. Sometimes he also deals in guns. Big guns, automatics, rocket launchers."
"Sounds heavy. Who he sell 'em to?"
"Zapatistas."
"Zapatistas?"
"Si, they fight in the hill areas in the south of Mexico. They are called Zapatistas after Emiliano Zapata. One of our great Mexican revolutionary leaders. He fought for the peasants who had nothing. 'Tierra y libertad' - land and freedom - that was his cry."
"Sorta like "Remember the Alamo."
Consuela nodded uncertainly then continued.
"Many years he fought them but they could not catch him. Finally they say he was betrayed and killed in an ambush. But others say he escaped and waits in the hills to this very day waiting to help Mexico in its hour of need."
"Seems like he's needed now, far as I can tell. That's one fucked up country."
"I only said that's what people say. People say a lot of things."
She began to play with Zal's cock.
"So Zal, do we go see this man?"
"I don't rightly see the point. I got no guns to sell."
"You don't understand. Jaime, he say that this man always pay with cash. That he keeps it around the house because he does not wish the banks to know his business."
She began to rub his cock harder.
"So what do you say?"
"Thinking on it Hon, thinking on it."
After he came they talked some more and it was decided that they would drive down in Consuela's ancient Nissan and show this man one more gun - Zal's. Then he had the choice of either handing over the cash and staying alive or them taking it over his bullet-ridden corpse. Either way it was the same to Zal.
"One more thing Hon. What about Jaime?"
"Que?"
"What about Jaime?"
"For me Zal there is no Jaime. He is a bastard and a bad father. To me he no longer exists."
Zal smiled.
"Kinda like he disappeared."
She nodded.
"At least he was telling the truth about that."
Jaime spent the day killing time before his big meeting. He had killed some of the morning by ordering ham, eggs and a side order of pancakes from Uncle Joe's Eat In Or Take Away Drive-Thru diner. From the moment he finished it and drove away he was crippled by gas. So he pulled over beside a drugstore and bought a packet of Arbergast's Antacid tablets. When he emerged from the drugstore into the early morning sun he discovered a ticket on his windscreen. The Arbergast's failed to do the trick and the throbbing pain scythed through his gut.
Then he drove around for about half an hour before giving in to his urge for a cigarette, whereupon he lit the first of many Cools. After he had sucked down about half a pack he decided he needed a drink. So he pulled into Lou's Tex Mex Arcana and ordered a Lone Star beer with a whisky chaser followed by another and another. The gas fought it out with the burning alcohol and gradually gave up the battle. Jaime began to feel mellow.
He went over to the payphone and dialled Rosa, a girl he had met in a bar a couple of weeks ago and with whom he had spent an evening of wild drunken sex. Rosa however, didn't seem to remember things that way.
"Hey you bastard. Where's the money you borrowed."
"That's what I was calling you for baby. I want to come round and pay you it back."
"Sure. I know what you want. You think I'm stupid. What you think I am, some kind of whore?"
"No baby. I would never think that."
"No, NO?"
"No baby."
"You fuckin' liar"
"No baby you got it all wrong."
"Jaime do me a favour Ok?"
"Sure baby."
"You promise/"
"Anything baby. Just name it."
"Anything?"
"You know me."
"Oh yes I know you."
"What do you want me to do?"
"DROP FUCKING DEAD YOU BASTARD!!!" she said, slamming down the phone.
"What you say you fuckin' bitch. You bitch whore, puta. If I come round to you I fuck you inside out. Your own mother will not recognise you. You whore."
The rest of the bar turned to watch what seemed to them some crazy Mexican screaming down the phone. Someone put "Distant Drums" by Jim Reeves on the jukebox.
The conversation left him angry and horny in equal measure. He fumbled in his pocket for the business card. He looked at the lurid photograph and smiled. The card was an advertisement for Priscilla's Pink Pussy Parlour. It had accidentally fallen out of Zal Moscoso's pocket when Jaime Nuncio had searched him for cash whilst he had passed out.
He dialled the number. A forced genteel voice with a southern drawl answered the phone.
"Hello, Priscilla's Pink Pussy Parlour. How may I help you?"
"I am looking for some of Priscilla's pink pussy."
"Excuse me sir but where did you get this number?"
"From a friend."
"Well I believe you have been misinformed sir."
"Look lady. It says on this card that every taste is catered for."
"Why don't you try a restaurant sir."
"Don't get funny with me lady. Where you going to get pink pussy on a fuckin' restaurant menu?"
There was a pause on the other end before the voice replied.
"I'm afraid I am going to have to hang up sir. I do not intend listening to any of your insinuations."
"Lady from what I'm reading on this card it don't seem like I need to make any insinuations. Seems like the card doing all the insinuating. Now can I get pink pussy or not?"
The woman sighed, defeated.
"Well I'm afraid it's a case of yes and no."
"What do you mean yes and no?"
"Yes we offer it and no you can't have any."
"Que?"
"Let me put this as tactfully as I can. You ever heard of the Alamo?"
"You think I'm a fucking tourist or something?"
"Well you see sir we here at the Pink Pussy Parlour look upon the spirit of the Alamo as our guiding philosophy. Those poor boys who died in that old adobe church did so to make Texas part of the United States and free us all from Mexican tyranny."
"Lady I don't understand one fucking word you've been saying."
"Look buster. Do I have to draw you a picture?" she said fiercely. We cater to fat men in big hats with guns bigger than their peckers. You show your wetback face in this place and you're liable to get it shot to pieces. Comprende?"
For the second time the phone went dead.
After that Jaime was angrier, hornier and more gassed up than ever. He left the bar and got in his car, throwing aside his second ticket of the day. He cruised the streets for an hour searching for a good twenty-dollar Mexican whore. Eventually he found a girl who looked about fifteen, high heels and hotpants riding up to her crack. She got inside the car and they drove to a condom and syringe-strewn alley that she used on a regular basis. Jaime's pride was restored somewhat by the expert hand job she gave him. After he had cleaned up and deposited the girl back on the street corner he drove to another deserted alley and decided to sleep off his combined hangover and indigestion.
The evening saw him awake, dry mouthed and with an aching head. He looked at his watch. Time for his meet. Gabriel was a business colleague of long standing. His speciality was guns. He could get his hands on practically anything. Some of them still had the barely scrubbed out US army markings on them. Jaime lusted after Gabriel's contacts but he was philosophical about things. Business was good and besides he would have to take a blowtorch to Gabriel before he would reveal his source.
The meeting place varied but today it was an old ice cream warehouse, closed down by the IRS in the nineties when it was discovered to be a front for the mafia. Them Texas old boys never did like outsiders muscling in on their business. He waited in the car until the appointed time and then, on cue the warehouse entrance was raised. Keeping his lights off, he started the car and drove forward, stopping as soon as he was inside. The steel shutters came down, lowered by unseen hands and not for the first time Jaime was scared. He waited in the darkness for about ten seconds and then blinked as he was dazzled by a set of headlights that flashed twice. Jaime did the same, leaving his own lights on afterwards. Two men came towards the car. One of them was Gabriel, smiling as usual. The other Jaime did not know but that was nothing unusual. Gabriel knew lots of guys. Maybe, just maybe this guy was his contact for the guns. Jaime got out of the car to greet the men, giving Gabriel the obligatory hug. As the two parted, Gabriel indicated the other man.
"Hey man. Here's an old frien' to see you."
Jaime was puzzled.
"Oh, who that man?"
The man stepped forward. Jaime just had enough time to register surprise before a bullet hit him in the groin. He lay there on the ground, silent with shock. The man bent forward to speak to him, his face lit by the car headlight.
"Is your old friend Manolo. Remember?"
Then he shot him in the knee. This time Jaime screamed and Gabriel became nervous.
"The noise. It'll bring the cops."
But Manolo wasn't listening.
"I been waiting a long time for this bro," he said, shooting him in the other knee. He had to raise his voice to talk over the rising screams but his words still retained an eerie, gentle quality.
"Yeah a long time. "You know what this bastard did?" he said to Gabriel. "Back home he was a drug dealer - not big, small time. He also sold information to the police. He told them about my brother, didn't you? You bastard."
He shot him again.
"My brother was a good kid man but he had some crazy ideas. Thought he could change the world. So this rat told the cops and they arrested him. I heard all about it. They tortured him man but he didn't break so they arrested his wife and kids. What they do is bring his wife in, strip her naked and rape her in front of him. They even train a dog to do it. Then they threaten to do the same to his kids and so he talks. Afterwards they kill him."
"It's a sad story man," said Gabriel.
"Well it's almost over. Ain't that right Jaime?"
If Jaime was listening he didn't answer. He was in his own world of pain and right now all he wanted it to do was stop. Manolo wasn't going to let him off that lightly. The noise of the gun reverberated throughout the ice cream factory. Each sound brought pain to another part of his body. Jaime screamed his heart out in the darkness until there was no more screams left and no pain either, just a numbness. He was dying.
Manolo sensed that he had lost the power to inflict any more torment and Gabriel wanted them to get out before the cops arrived. He fired one last shot into his face. Jaime quivered once and lay still.
As they left the building Gabriel looked at the man next to him with a mixture of respect and awe.
"Hey man," he said,"You OK?"
Manolo nodded, then grinned.
"Never felt better man. Never better."
Lula Belle Jenkins-Wilson was five parts English, ten parts Welsh, eighty four parts Texican and about one part pure blood Ogalalla as her father never failed to tell her on the occasions that he was drunk - which was most of the time. She never was able to ask her mother since she ran off with Red Neeskins, a small time petty crook with an overinflated local reputation when Lula was six years old. The two of them had tried to outrun a roadblock near Spokane whilst attempting to escape to Canada. The car had tumbled off the road in a twisted heap and when they pulled Red out of the car they found he had more bullet holes in him than Baby Faced Nelson. Lula's mother didn't have a mark on her. Trouble was her head was facing the wrong way. Lula Belle never had seen the grave though she planned to visit it one day.
In her spare moments at Priscilla's Pink Pussy Parlour she liked to read. Wherever she went she took out a subscription to "Variety", on account of her being in the business herself she said. This was partly true. Her father, trading on his Indian heritage had managed to eke out a living playing an Indian in one of the many Wild West shows staged for tourists. Lula's earliest memories were of standing in a mock up of a Wild West frontier town, dressed in Indian costume with her long hair dyed black. In between getting shot by assorted cowboys, cavalry and cameras daddy Jenkins-Wilson got to give a speech - a sort of noble savage number about the Battle of Little Big Horn whilst the folks digested their hotdogs.
Lula could still remember most of it. It went like this..
"Tatanka Yotanka, Chief Sitting Bull saw a vision of many pony soldiers who would come to attack the lodges of our tribes. And so it came to pass that Big Chief Yellow Hair Custer came to kill us. Many tribes were camped by the Big Horn River where stories of fresh antelope had led us. There we were - the Uncapapas, the Minneconjou, the Brule, the Ogalallas, the Sans Arcs and the Blackfoot. With women and children maybe 10,000. Of braves maybe 2,000.
The first warning came from the South East where paleface Reno led his bluecoats against the Blackfeet. Many of our women and children were caught in the charge and were swept away to be no more. Chief Gall's family all died and his heart turned to stone. From then he killed all his enemies with a tomahawk so that he could see their eyes and feel their death. Gall turned Reno's men like cattle then chased them from our camp.
Then Custer attacked the north of our camp but he was foolish and we were too many. His men ran like thieves but we ate them up as they tried to escape. I saw yellow hair Custer. His hair was not so long as before. I did not see him die though many claimed to have killed him. All I know is he died. And his men - all save one horse. Two men tried to escape and one almost succeeded but he blew his brains out for fear of capture.
Our braves were well led that day - by Gall and Crazy Horse. Crazy Horse was wise. He knew that this world was but a reflection of the real one. In dreams he saw the real one and it made his horse crazy. But through his visions he learned a great thing - how to defeat the pony soldiers. Never was he beaten and never were we beaten when we fought with him. He was killed by treachery. Only by treachery could they kill him. Now he is dead and we are dead also."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
When she wasn't reading "Variety" she read the local papers. But mostly she was so busy that she was too tired to do anything except sleep. So she held onto back issues for when she got a rest from bein' on her back. About a week after she had picked up Zal she happened to look at one of these papers over coffee and noticed the following article.
"Savage Roadside Slaying of Young Woman.
A passing highway patrolman made a grim discovery yesterday when he pulled over to question the owner of a pale green Camaro. Deputy Dale Karnooshtie, late of the LA traffic division approached the vehicle ready as always for the possibility of trouble but declared that nothing prepared him for the sight which met his eyes. "It was like a scene from hell," he said, for amidst a cluster of bloated flies lay the corpse of pretty high school runaway Susan Anne Reynolds, formerly a resident of Austin, Texas. Miss Reynolds, known as Su Anne by her friends and family had been travelling in the company of one Zalman Moscoso, who hails from Waco.
Miss Reynolds appeared to have been shot in the back of the head by person or persons unknown. Robbery does not appear to be the motive as her purse, containing five dollars, was found next to her. Police are investigating the possibility that the killer was disturbed, possibly by a passing car. They are also anxious to speak to Moscoso to "eliminate him from the enquiry". They would like anyone who was travelling between Houston and San Antonio who picked up a hitchhiker or saw anything unusual to come forward immediately."
Lula Belle put down the paper. So that's why the little prick had a gun. Baby Faced Nelson indeed. Although it was normally against her better judgement, she decided "for the poor little girl's sake and for the sake of her poor little parents too." to tell the police. Unfortunately just at that time a whole bunch of conventioneers hit Priscilla's Pink Pussy Parlour so that for the next two days she was so preoccupied that "my mouth and just about everything else was too full to so much as spit let alone talk to the police". The result of this was that, once they had been informed, the police launched a belated statewide search including roadblocks, infrared heat seeking helicopters and the arrest of several suspects. But it seemed to be all in vain "Hopes of catching the assailant are fading," as one grizzled uniformed veteran declared. "The little bastard gave us the slip. Probably over the border by now."
"Guillermo Seguine and Andreas Nunez sat by the campfire arguing as usual, paying little heed to their guard duties. In the morning they, together with 600 others, would ride with Pancho Villa across the Mexican border and raid the American town of Columbus. It was about this that they argued.
"This is a bad thing, that we attack the Americanos," Andreas said. Nothing good will come of it. We will all be killed and our bodies hung up for the people to mock and the crows to peck."
"No my friend, you are mistaken. Pancho Villa is a great leader, a true revolutionary. The Americans will not catch us. We will strike like the wind and be gone before they have time to rub their eyes."
Andreas spat in the fire.
"Villa is a bandit and we will all die. Didn't I see my own death in a dream?"
"You have too much Indian blood in you. It clouds your judgement. I know the Americans believe me. A long time ago, when California belonged to Mexico, a distant uncle of mine was one of the Tejanos who fought with the Texicans in the Alamo."
"Perhaps you should be on the other side of the border."
"No, once they defeated General Santa Anna the attitude of the Americans changed towards the Mexicans. They were not wanted except as servants and labourers. They do not like hard work these Americans. They have soft underbellies like that of a sow. We will defeat them my friend and it is they who will die."
The two men relapsed into silence and stared at the fire. A sudden movement made both men start. It appeared to be the horses so they relaxed a little.
"I still do not like this night. It is a bad night," Andreas said.
"What do you mean a bad night?"
Andreas pointed upwards.
"See for yourself. Look up at the moon. Is that not a bad moon?"
"It is just the moon. The same as always."
"That is because you are a mestizo. You have eyes to see but do not use them. On such a night as this the creatures of the night walk among us."
"What creatures of the night?"
"Witches vampires and werewolves. The undead and the unspeakable."
Guillermo laughed.
"There are no such things."
"You would not say that if you had seen what I have seen."
"If I saw one of your vampires approach the camp I would shoot it dead."
"That would not work with a vampire."
"It works with all men."
"Ah but the vampire is not a man. He is undead and must feast on human blood else he will sicken and die. A vampire can be destroyed but not as you would a man, though there are weapons that you can use. The cross he fears. Garlic too will halt him. Holy water will burn him as if he is in the fires of hell but to kill a vampire you must either drive a wooden stake through his heart or else cut off his head."
He picked up his own knife and ran his finger along the edge for emphasis.
"I have not seen these vampires," argued Guillermo. "Where do they come from?"
Andreas shrugged.
"Who can say for certain. Many believe they are descended from Lilith, who was created with Adam out of the earth to be his wife."
"I have not heard this tale," said Guillermo intrigued.
"Everyone in my village knows it."
"Everyone in your village."
"And others too. Ask around the camp if you do not believe me."
Guillermo decided that this would take too long.
"So what of this Lilith?" he asked.
"She was a bad wife, unwilling to obey Adam who was her master. He commanded her to lie with him but she would not lie under him, preferring to ride on top."
"I know of such a woman. She is a tigress."
"And would you marry such a one?"
"Aye, she would kill me as I slept."
"Adam felt the same and so Lilith fled and although God sent his angels to bring her back she escaped. From that time it is said that she kills children and seduces men in their sleep, forcing them into sex so that she has the seed to give birth to more demons. Worse, after she seduces them she sucks their blood causing them too to become vampires."
Guillermo smiled.
"Truly they have powerful imaginations in your village and they are as silly as goats. But enough of this, let us eat and banish all thought of vampires and ghosts and such creatures."
On the subject of food they were both in agreement. There was never enough in Villa's army. They made do with a few frijole beans and tortillas so coarse that they could taste the grit. To drink all they had was coffee, made from reheated grounds. But afterward they were satisfied and Andreas took his guitar and began to strum it quietly. That was when they heard the noise again. It sounded like the snap of a twig.
"Quien es?" they both called.
There was no reply so each grabbed his rifle and peered into the darkness in the direction of where they thought they heard the sound. The woman stepped into the firelight from the opposite direction and startled them both. Both the manner of her arrival and her great beauty rendered them speechless. The woman said nothing but sat down by the fire and proceeded to warm her hands. Slowly, the men sat down beside her.
"Forgive me but I am cold. I have been cold a long time," said the woman to the men as they stared at her full lips and her heaving breast. As she spoke her breath seemed to give off a sweetness. She said no more, offering no explanation as to how she had arrived at this lonely camp fire out in the wilds. Suddenly she took hold of Andreas' guitar and began to strum it, testing to see if it was in tune. Then she began to sing. The words puzzled them for she sang in the ancient Nahuatl language of the Aztecs, but it seemed to them that each understood the meaning of the terrible and haunting song which she sang so sweetly.
Broken spears lie in the roads;
We have torn our hair in our grief.
The houses are roofless now, and their walls
are red with blood.
Worms are swarming in the streets and plazas.
And the walls are splattered with gore.
The water has turned red, as if it were dyed,
And when we drink it has the taste of brine.
We have pounded our hands in despair against the adobe walls,
For our inheritance, our city is lost and dead.
The shields of our warriors were its defence,
but they could not save it.
We have chewed dry twigs and salt grasses;
We have filled our mouths with dust and
bits of adobe;
we have eaten lizards, rats and worms...
The song touched their hearts and they remembered the battles they had fought, the men who had died and the misery they had seen. As they sat there, listening to this beautiful woman sing of such sorrow each fell in love with her and would have killed the other to possess her. But then the song ended and all they could do was sit there drained by the bitterness of it.
"What is that song senorita? I have never heard it before?" asked Guillermo.
"It is an old song that tells of the coming of Cortez and of the old Aztec Empire."
"It is a song of death," he replied.
"We all die, do we not?" said the woman, fixing each with a stare that bored into his heart.
"Yes that is certain," said Andreas sadly, suddenly mindful of the fact that he must die and would one day no longer wander the earth.
"You know," said the woman, "that this was not meant to be. In the time of the old gods, after the destruction of the Fourth Sun, Quetzalcoatl descended into the land of Mictlan - the underworld - to retrieve the bones and ashes of the previous dead humans in order to make a new race. It was intended that this new race of men and women would be immortal so that they would never die again. He took these bones with him to get the blood of the gods that would bring this immortality but on the way he dropped them and the birds came and pecked at them. Quetzalcoatl drove the birds away, picked up the bones and took them to the Gods who performed their ceremonies and brought the humans back to life. But because the bones had been damaged by the birds they were too imperfect and so the humans remained mortal."
"Yes it's true," agreed Guillermo. "Man is imperfect.
"Have you no happy stories," sighed Andreas.
"Do you think it sad that you are mortal?" smiled the woman.
"Every man would like to live for ever," Andreas replied.
"If you lived for ever you would spend every day pining for death but lacking the courage to end your life."
"And what do you know of it woman - O singer of sad stories. You are younger than we are."
The woman leaned forward and looked at each of the men in turn, her teeth glinting in the campfire.
"And which one of you would like to taste immortality?" she said and began to sing again.
Each man saw a vision of himself in the grave whilst this woman wandered above in the arms of the other. Each saw the other two make love, naked and warmed by the sun and in the end neither man could allow the other to live so they sprang at each other clawing and biting like two beasts. The woman continued to sing as they reached for their knives and grappled in the dirt. Together they rolled out of the light of the campfire until she heard a gasp as one man died. Then she ceased her singing and waited for the other to return. Andreas stepped into the firelight and sat next to her, his mind reeling from what he had just done. The woman began her song once more and looked deeply into his eyes so that he felt a stirring in his loins. She leaned over and kissed him.
The next morning Villa was told of the death of two of his guards. Everywhere there was rumour and consternation for surely this was a bad omen for the raid to come. Villa rode out to inspect the bodies. One had been stabbed through the heart but the other lay pale, with scarcely a mark on him.
"Bury them, but first cut stakes and drive them through their hearts," said Villa curtly.
The men who were with them knew the importance of this.
"Both men?" said one.
Villa smiled.
"God will know his own," he said, and rode away.
As soon as she walked into the bar heads turned. Perhaps it was her clothes. The sight of so much leather amongst all those cowboy hats. Perhaps it was the dark glasses which hid her beautiful eyes and emphasised her white skin and blood red lips. Or perhaps it was simply that the moment they set eyes on her every man in the room ached to possess her.
She studied the faces then, after a pause, made her choice.
"You! I am looking for a man called Pete Drago. Does he come here?"
The man shrugged, grateful for the attention and secretly sorry that he could be of no help. She looked around the faces once more but each had the same helpless expression. Finally a voice spoke behind her.
"The man who smiles."
She turned to face the man. He was the wrong side of fifty and looked the wrong side of seventy but she could tell from his eyes that he was not a man to trifle with.
"Que?"
"The man who smiles. That's what Pete's known as around these parts."
"Why is he called this?"
"On account of two hombres tried to rough him up once and he broke both their arms. He smiled all the time, cool as you like. Folks is impressed by behaviour like that darlin'. You ever smile?"
"Where can I find him?"
"Now why should I tell you that? Sides it's more a case of him finding you. You're about his type. Though truth to tell most of the women he hangs out with don't have your style nor looks neither. "
"Where is he?"
"No I don't think I need to tell you nothing little lady. You just head on down that road there and I reckon you'll find each other. Kind of a marriage made in heaven I reckon."
The woman looked at him, debating whether to kill this insolent gringo but the midday heat made her feel weak. She made a promise to return at nightfall and seek out this man. In the meantime she took his advice and left the bar and headed down the road. The afternoon sun burned into her skin. Hunger burned in her stomach but what she most needed was shade. She considered finding a motel so that she could book a room and wait out the day but she was too close. She could not afford to lose him again.
Inside the bar, the man watched her walk down the road. Across the street some children were playing. He called across to one.
"Yo Davey."
A tall tousled haired eleven year old looked across.
"Come over here?"
"But Uncle Mike."
"Don't be direspectin' your elders. Come on over. It's worth five dollars."
The boy ran over and the man gave an emphysemic laugh.
"Thought that'ud bring you. Now listen carefully. What I want you to do is run on over to Pete Drago's place. Run mind you. I want you to tell him that a young girl been lookin' for him. She's about medium height, Mexican, pale skin, black hair, good looker. Think you can remember that?"
The boy nodded.
"Well what're you waiting for. Scoot."
The boy did not move.
"What's up now?"
"What about my five dollars?"
"Cash on delivery sonny. Think I'm stupid? You report back here after you delivered the message. Now get out of my sight. It's against the law for minors to be in a bar."
The boy ran off into the street but within a few paces he had ducked into a side alley. Uncle Mike had few doubts that the boy would make it before the girl.
"That kid sure is fast," he muttered. "One day he's going to run himself into a heap of trouble.
* * *
Pete Drago sat in a cane chair oblivious to the heat. Flies buzzed around the room looking for something to feed upon but for reason's best known to themselves they declined to settle on him. Drago had not moved for some time as he sat there watching the video. It was an old black and white movie and not for the first time he smiled as the be-caped hammy Hungarian drug addict actor intoned "To be dead, to be really dead, that must be glorious".
Outside, the girl, who looked like a girl yet was no longer a girl, sat in her car and watched him. There was something animal in the way he sat there impassively. Like a creature waiting to catch its prey. She knew that look because she had it herself. She remembered his features. They had not changed since that day she had met him in the churchyard. Perhaps his eyes were different. They too were like hers - as old as the world. That was another reason for wearing dark glasses, apart from the sunlight, which was at this very moment burning into her, despite the protection of the car, leaving her feeling as weak as a kitten. That was a slight problem. He was indoors, in the shade, which meant he would not be so weak as her.
It was now midday and the sun was at it's highest. Bueno, she thought. The ideal time for sacrifice to the old gods. Despite what her grandmother had said, it was no sin to kill a vampire. He is an immortal who walks this earth after all. The gods will welcome his return. She began to gather up the objects she had prepared for this moment. On the seat, in a rucksack was a knife, together with some food and wine. These were intended for his journey through the underworld to the land of Mictlan. She knew that it would be a hard journey. Four years so they said. He would need the knife for protection since he would no longer be a vampire but a mortal soul once more. Because of this he would also need the food for sustenance. Next to these was a crossbow, already primed with a wooden arrow.
She got out of the car and made her way to the porch. If he saw her he did not acknowledge her presence. She made as if to knock on the door but then noticed that it was open. She went inside. Gently, she placed the rucksack on the ground and raised the crossbow. He sat there with his back towards her. A shiver of recognition ran through her as he spoke.
"It has been a long time little one."
The girl who was no longer a girl said nothing.
"What, no words after all this time?"
"Just one question," she said. "Why do you deal in guns? You have no need. People are just food to you."
"No, my child, not just that. They are souls carrying a corpse and it amuses me to play with them. They are pathetic. They live for the moment. They are not immortal yet they think their lives are important."
"That is because they do not believe they will die," said the girl, thinking of the lover she had lost. "Death is something that happens in the future. We are the same. Each of us is condemned to live in the present whether we live ten years or ten thousand."
He turned to face her and nodded in admiration.
"You have learned much. Muy bien."
Then she fired the crossbow.
* * *
For the fifth time it seemed that they had turned down the same street. Consuela had forgotten where the house was.
"I ought to kick your sorry ass out onto the dirt road and drive on down to Mexico," he barked.
"If you do, be careful where you sleep at night for I will find you and cut out your heart."
He was about to stop the car and hit her when she gripped his shoulder.
"That is it."
"What, where?"
"There," she said pointing.
"You sure Hon?"
She nodded.
"Fine. Look, here's what we do. You get out of the car all nice and cool and go over to the house and sweet talk him. Tell him that Jaime couldn't make it but that you've got a customer who wants to sell him some guns. Then when he's good and interested you call me."
"What then?"
"Why honey. Then I blast him to kingdom come and we search for the money."
"But I thought we were going to try to get him to tell us where the money is hidden in exchange for his life."
Zal considered this, then shook his head.
"Naw, it wouldn't work. Guys like that would rather spit in your eye than lose face. They're not afraid of death. They think they're immortal. Up to us to prove him wrong."
He gave her a kiss on the forehead.
"You go on up there honey. I'll be along soon. Trust me," he said squeezing her breast.
She shot him a dubious glance, then got out of the car. He watched her walk towards the door, which appeared to be open.
"That's good Hon," he said to himself softly. Leave the door open and I'll follow. He settled down to wait out the five minutes, cursing the noonday heat. Five minutes went by and there was no signal from Consuela. Then ten minutes and still nothing. "Maybe he's dickin' her," he considered. Maybe they've planned to get rid of him. Zal got out of the car and glanced all around to see if anyone was watching, then pulled the shotgun out of the car and walked towards the house.
The first thing he noticed when he reached the porch was the smell. It was as if something long dead lived there. He shrugged. What the hell. Gun runners were probably crazy unwashed speed freaks. Zal considered himself tough enough to live with that. He opened the door and stepped into the hall. There was no sound. Gently he pushed open the door into the living room. There was Pete Drago, a wooden crossbow shaft sticking through his chest and out through the wicker seat. Flies were all over the body, feeding on the congealing blood.
There was no sign of Consuela? Something told him to get out of there but then he thought of the money. Supposing Consuela had already got to it. He began cautiously to search the flat. There weren't many rooms. Apart from the living room there was a bathroom, kitchen, bedroom and a storeroom. He searched them all except for the bedroom. Then he heard the noises and kicked the bedroom door open ready to fire at whoever was in there. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. There on the bed were two women. One of them was Consuela. She was covered in blood and the other woman was eating her. The woman turned to look at him. In spite of the danger, Zal couldn't help noticing her beauty. Then she sprang at him.
There was a roar as the shotgun went off, ripping at the woman's shoulder but that didn't stop her from leaping on him and tearing at his neck. He tried to struggle free but she kept her grip. He reached for the gun but she knocked it out of his hand. He tried to stand up but her weight forced him down again. He could feel himself blacking out. Why didn't the bitch keel over from loss of blood, he thought. Must be on PCP. Then there was another roar and the woman was hurled clear with part of Zal's neck between her teeth. Zal looked up. There was Consuela with the shotgun in her hand. She dropped the gun and staggered over to help him up.
Thanks Hon," he said weakly.
Both of them were so bloodstained they looked like this was their last day on earth. In the corner the other woman lay in a heap, her head blown clean off.
"We should look for the money," said Zal.
"Fuck the money baby," she replied.
"Yeah you're right. We'd better get out of here. You need medical attention"
"What about you? Anyhow, not all this blood is mine. I got a bite of that bitch."
"You're some piece of work you know that? You make me horny just thinking about you," Zal said admiringly.
"Later baby. Let's go now before the cops came."
So they got in the battered old Nissan and left two dead vampires for the authorities to pick over.
* * *
The bodies were found about two hours later. By that time Davey had already run back to claim his reward from his Uncle Mike. Uncle Mike turned and faced the youngster.
"So you told him?"
Davey nodded.
"What did he do?"
"Do?"
"Yeah you numbskull. When you told him. What did he say? What did he do?"
Davey shrugged.
"Nothing."
"Nothing! What do you mean nothing?"
"Well I warned him like you said and he sorta nodded like he was expectin' it."
"So what did you do then," said Mike," stand there with your mouth open and your flies undone, just like now?"
The boy looked at his fly and the rest of the bar roared with laughter.
"Well no Uncle Mike. I stood there waiting to see if he had a message for you."
"Good boy Davey. So what did he say?"
"Like I said nothing. He just gave me ten dollars and told me to go."
"What," exploded Mike. "That's all? The ungrateful bastard. Well serves me right that's all I can say. My mammy, God rest her soul, always said that people never want advice so don't give it. And if you do give it and they don't take it you've only yourself to blame.."
"Uncle Mike. What about my five dollars?"
"Take it outta the ten that Pete gave you."
"But Uncle Mike."
Mike cuffed the boy round the ear.
"Don't cheek your elders boy."
Davey left the bar crying. Uncle Mike gave him a contemptuous look.
"Never could stand crybabies. Gimme a bourbon. I gotta get my heart started."
He downed the drink in one but then felt gas pains in his stomach and so decided to raise his not inconsiderable frame off the bar stool and saunter over to Henry's Lunchroom for a plate of roast pork tenderloin with apple sauce and mashed potatoes.
They had been driving for about half an hour when Consuela began to take sick.
"Hang on honey," said Zal. "You'll be fine once we cross the border.
Consuela groaned. Then she threw up. Zal recoiled at the stench.
"Jeez babe, what you been eating lately?"
Consuela continued to groan.
In spite of their situation Zal was happy.
"You know what this reminds me of?"
He dug her in the ribs until she shook her head.
"The movie "Bonnie and Clyde". See you looked after my ass back there and now I'm going to look after yours. That's what Bonnie and Clyde did for each other. There was this time when the Barrows gang - that's what they were called - were ambushed and the two of them were shot to pieces but they looked out for each other and made it."
Consuela coughed and was sick again.
"So they all lived happily ever after?" she gasped.
Zal grimaced, partly at the smell and partly at having to mention an inconvenient fact.
"Well no hon. As a matter of fact."
Just then they hit the roadblock. There was an instant when each looked into the other's eyes before the deputies opened up with their guns. The Nissan careered out of control as the bullets tore into the both of them. Their bodies continued to jerk from the impact of the bullets as the automobile plunged down the hillside and burst into flames.
Welcome to the Working Week
Lula Belle Jenkins-Wilson sat in an easy chair reading the newspaper article.
"Roadside Killer Meets His End
In a dramatic police shootout, Zalman Moscoso was killed whilst attempting to escape the clutches of the law. Moscoso, already wanted for the murder of Su Anne Reynolds, had recently been implicated in the murders of Pete Drago and an unnamed woman. Police also suspect his involvement with the brutal slaying of one Jaime Nuncio, former political activist and common law husband of Consuela Martinez.
Martinez, mother of three, had been kidnapped by Moscoso, and was in the car with him as he attempted to break through a roadblock close to the Mexican border. Police had no choice but to open fire and at some point Moscoso was fatally wounded and lost control of the vehicle which crashed and burst into flames. Fortunately Martinez was thrown clear and was miraculously unhurt.
Relatives of Su Anne Reynolds were said to be relieved that their ordeal was over but expressed remorse that the killer did not face a legal trial and execution. "It don't seem right him cheating justice like that after all he's done" said Su Anne's mother, Marybeth Jolene Reynolds."
Lula Belle put down the article. Well that's that, she thought. Sheriff Dan Petrucio had entered at that very moment, coming as he had for his weekly freebie, courtesy of Priscilla's Pink Pussy parlour. He glanced at the newspaper article and remembered his part in the aforementioned shootout. The truth was that they had managed to pull Moscoso clear of the wreckage.
"Am I dying?" the boy had asked.
"Yes you are son," he had said.
"But I don't want to."
"Nobody wants to and that's a fact," the sheriff replied, spitting on the ground. "What do you want us to do about it? Die right along with you? The world turns boy and the best you can do is go with a good grace."
The boy never heard the last part.
Lula Belle showed the Sheriff to a tall blonde, known for her patience with the older customers. She then went to speak to the new girl who had just started. She was impressed by her looks although it was obvious she was Mexican. Still she was the lightest skinned Mexican she had ever seen and the punters here would usually be too drunk to notice.
"What's your name honey?"
"Consuela."
"No kidding. Just like the girl in the paper. Quelle coincidence. But look here honey. We can't call you Consuela. The patrons of the Pussy Parlour are kinda particular about names. How's Connie sound?"
Consuela nodded.
"Good girl," said Lula Belle. "First time I'll bet. Well just remember it's not your fault. If men didn't treat women like whores from the day they reach puberty there wouldn't be no whores. Keep that in mind and don't swallow nothing and you'll get along fine cause men ain't good for nothing honey. Not even what they think they're good for."
Lula Belle gave Connie a peck on the cheek. Meanwhile, the sun rose high over the adobe walls of the Alamo and the Lone Star State of Texas. Another working day had begun.