Immortality Is the Suck (17 page)

“
Mi dios. Me maldicen al infierno
.” He rubbed at his mouth and spat. “You

took advantage of me,
maldita puta
, Goddamn you.”

“No I didn't.”

“It's a fucking sin. Swear you didn't fuck me,” he said. “Swear, Adam.”

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111

This from a man who I knew for a fact had killed at least one man in cold

blood. “I'd rather fuck a pig,” I informed him curtly.

“You
kissed
me.”

“Trust me, 'mano. I did
not
kiss you.”

He sighed miserably and, after a time, pulled himself up to standing

again. “I'm fucking naked. Stop looking at me.”

“I wish I could. There's clothes in the next room.”

We found what we needed and suited him up.

“
Parezco un grifo
.”

“They probably came off a drug addict.” I shrugged. I handed him a pair of

sneakers. “Here.”

The hollow sound of steps in the hallway; Freeway and I both froze.

Someone outside tried the handle of the room we were in, and Freeway and I

both dived for cover.

The door opened a crack. “I can't look at him.” I'd swear that whisper was

Betsy's.

“Go on.” A man's voice. Also whispering.

Some hissed arguing and then the silhouettes of three figures entering the

room. I glanced over at Freeway. I'd been able to get behind a heavy tall

refrigerated unit, but he huddled under a table. If anyone came around the

counters, they'd clearly see him. I held up both of my hands and pointed my

thumbs in two opposite directions.
East and west
. He nodded and readied

himself.

I found a glass beaker and threw it to my left, away from Freeway's hiding

spot.

Betsy, Caballo, and a man I didn't recognize converged on the sound of

the crash. Freeway ran to the right, around the counter from the other side and

was at the doorway before they'd seen him.

“Hey!” Caballo pointed.

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A. M. Riley

They ran back toward the door and gave chase, Betsy wailing

“Freeeeeewayyy…” loud enough to wake the dead, or any bored security guards

lounging about waiting for something living to chase.

Dammit.

I made it to the door and was three feet out when somebody tripped me. I

literally flew through the air and crashed into the wall opposite. I kept my feet

moving and came up from the fall, running full tilt. I didn't even take the time

to look behind and see who might be chasing me, but reached the fire stairs in

three long strides and almost knocked the door off its hinges bursting through

it.

Up the stairs, hand over hand and then leaping the corners. Feet barely

touching the steps as I went, I kept going to the third floor, then came out a

door onto the roof and ran for the northernmost corner. On the ground below I

saw a black-and-white uni, its lights on and cycling. Damn, somebody must

have heard something and tripped an alarm. I backpedaled and saw Caballo's

head emerge through the roof door. So I ran for the opposite corner of the roof.

Twenty yards away, across a six-foot-wide expanse of space dropping to sheer

concrete, another building with fire escape stairs zigzagging down its sides. I

barely considered the consequences of my instinct, but hit the asphalt harder,

coiled all of my muscles, and sprang off the lip of the roof.

I landed on a stair with such momentum I smashed into the brick surface

of the building itself. Apparently my jump had contained an element of overkill.

I'd barely regained my senses and started ascending the stairs, when Caballo

landed nimbly on the stairs below as well. He was in full “monster” face. Green

eyes like a wolf's. Pointed teeth and everything. He hissed.

He pursued me the six stories to the roof, which I ran across, thinking I

could reach the Children's Hospital parking garage, where Albert waited, from

the roof. Unfortunately, that was when I heard his bike below. He'd pulled into

the coroner's parking lot. His round bald head tipped back to gape at Caballo

and me chasing across the rooftops.

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113

Fuck. I couldn't get back to the stairs, so when I reached the edge, I

jumped for the nearest safe surface and landed on a building four stories lower.

At one point in my descent I actually had the eerie sense of floating. Then my

feet hit the tar paper roof and I rolled hard, only stopping when my body hit the

concrete lip of the roof.

Alarms were going off all around us now. A black-and-white and what

looked like a white coroner's vehicle circled Albert who, as I watched, crashed

his bike down a narrow sidewalk, hung a left, and went screaming past

everyone, losing himself behind the thrift store in front of the main building

and into the scant traffic on Mission Boulevard.

Now that my ride was gone, I needed to find cover.

Hanging from the lip of the building, I kicked and bashed window glass

with a booted foot, then pitched myself in through the opening and ran across

a dark office at full tilt. Running smack into a closed and locked door.

A closed and locked
metal
door, as it happened, and I reeled back. I'd

barely registered what was happening when a hard knee landed in my back

and I did a belly flop onto linoleum. Unbelievably strong hands held my head

by both ears. I grabbed the wrists attached to those hands and tried to break

free. I bucked. I kicked with both feet. The man was immobile on top of me.

Like a boulder.

“Why shouldn't I kill you, cop?” Caballo's voice said.

“Those bastards you're running with would sooner kill you than not. I

know people. I can help you.”

His hands tightened on my jaw. “Why would you do that?”

“I need blood,” I said. “I think you know where I can get it.”

I could hear us both, breathing hard from exertion, and maybe something

else. His erection pushed into my vertebrae. I'd not noticed before, but I was

hard too.

“And you're kinda hot,” I said.

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A shaky laugh. Caballo's hands slid around to my face, his callused

fingers touching my lips.

I licked a finger.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can think of a couple reasons.”

Caballo let go of my head and jumped up, grabbing one of my hands and

bringing me with him. We swayed there for a minute, staring at each other.

From a distance we could hear Betsy screaming and a man's voice yelling.

Then, unmistakably and deafening, an alarm.

“Get the fuck out of here,” said Caballo.

“What do you want with Freeway?” I asked him. “Where do you get your

blood?”

He grinned, shaking his head and covering his lips with one long finger.

“You stay and they'll dust you,” he said.

“Dust?”

Caballo slid across the floor and kicked the knob on the metal door, hard.

The knob flew off and across the floor like it had been shot, the door reverbed

then, slowly, swung open.

“Look it up, man,” said Caballo. And he ran. I don't know which way he

went after that because in the two seconds it took me to get to the door, he had

completely disappeared. The elevator door pinged, which meant this building's

alarms were probably part of the din I was hearing, so I ran opposite their

direction. At the end of the hall, though, instead of the stairs I saw that I was

only two stories up and on a level with the parking garage in which I'd left

Albert. So I kicked out the window and, a running jump and a leap, I was

rolling across the cement garage. I leaped to my feet, running, coming around a

corner in time to see someone beating the hell out of Albert. His Harley lay on

its side and he was screaming.

I ran up and grabbed the man who was attacking him, who, of course,

was the unknown vampire that I'd seen with Caballo and Betsy. I pulled him

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115

back by the shoulder. He turned on me as fast as an animal might, but I was

souped up and in the zone and fast also. I put my fist right in the middle of

that ugly, evil dead visage and felt his teeth tear my knuckles as he went down.

“C'mon.” Bloodied and terrified, Albert tried to lift his chopper. I helped

him before the vamp had regained his feet. We sped down a level and through

the “out” area, once again skirting the metal spikes, just in time to hear the

squeal of wheels traveling at high speed and coming toward us.

A black Hummer lurched and pitched and sped up onto the sidewalk on

which we stood. Albert gunned his engine and I leaped aboard as he took off,

wheels skating crazily on the pavement before he regained control. I looked

back and saw them pick up their fallen comrade.

“Albert, we have to follow them!” I screamed in his ear.

He spewed forth a string of words in return. Luckily, all I could hear was

“…
loca
…” but he made the wide arc in the middle of the four-lane road and

headed back toward the Hummer, which had also turned and was heading

straight toward the on-ramp.

This would be easy, I figured. The maximum speed a Hummer can reach

is around ninety mph. Albert could get his old chopper over a hundred easily.

“Stay with them!” I yelled in his ear as he followed them onto the 110.

It wasn't hard. Whoever was driving the Hummer decided to take it into

the diamond lane, barely reaching speeds that would keep it ahead of the

Mercedes Sportsters bearing down on it. I memorized the license plate number

while Albert cruised in a spot near the rear fender where we could clearly see

Betsy's face in the extended mirrors on the passenger side, watching us.

And then the damned CHP's got us in their sights.

Albert hunched over and went for it, and I grabbed him around the waist

as we leaned into each long curve, leaving the Hummer far behind us. At the

101 interchange, Albert darted across sparse oncoming traffic, rode the

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A. M. Riley

shoulder for fifty feet, went down the on-ramp, crossed traffic illegally again,

and lost us in the herd of empty buses in the immense Metro bus yard.

We heard the sirens screaming as they passed our corner and went on.

We'd lost the cops, but also the Hummer. Albert slid his bike in a space

between two buses and killed the engine.

“They got the blood,” I wailed.

“Blood?” Albert kicked the stand down and pushed me off his bike.

Searching his pockets with shaking hands and bringing out a fat splif. “Did you

say blood?”

“Fuck. Never mind.” I staggered a few feet and sat on the fat bumper of a

double-deck bus.

“No, 'mano, I think you need to explain.” Albert's hand was shaking too

much to light his joint. He flipped the lighter closed and pocketed it. “I saw you

jumping buildings, man. I saw your face and that other asshole like a

monster's. I didn't even know you.”

“Shit's been happening,” I said. “I don't know myself. But I thought

Freeway could explain a few things.”

“And which one was he?”

“The dead guy.” I waved my hand. All I could think about was the lost

blood. The cravings were already starting to burn. Like an incipient ulcer in the

pit of my belly. Albert's expression was noteworthy, though, and I reconsidered

my last statement. “The guy I was going to meet at the morgue,” I said. “Those

bastards kidnapped him. Did you see anything?”

“No, 'mano. I just saw you flying through the air like a squirrel. You looked

like Rocky and Bullwinkle, man.”

Not the most macho image I could think of. “I still need to find them,” I

said. The craving in my belly was spreading through my body. It felt like low

blood sugar, with a testosterone kick to it. Like, you ever feel willing to kill for

chocolate? Like that. I held out my hand toward Albert. “Gimme your phone.”

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117

With a dark look, Albert dug out his cell phone and passed it over. I

punched in the number for Peter's office line.

“What?” Peter hasn't the most gracious phone manner. Comes from

spending your life talking to shitbags.

“I need you to run a set of plates for me,” I said.

A pause. “Where'd you see these plates?”

“On a fucking rerun of
Miami Vice
, Peter. Just take down the number?” I

rattled it off.

“Adam, you
are
still at the condo, right?”

“I'll call you,” I said. And disconnected, tossed the phone back to Albert.

“You'd better block that last number,” I told him.

“Was that a cop? You asshole, did you just call a cop on my Blackberry?”

“I'll buy you a new one,” I said. “Albert, had you heard what happened to