Certain Dark Things(30)

“That was easy,” Atl said as they navigated a narrow hallway, looking for an empty booth.

“It’s no big deal. There’s this talk about how biometric IDs are super necessary and cops can stop you to look at your papers for no reason, but it’s not a problem. Most of the time no one asks me for papers. I know the places where they never even bother thinking about asking, anyway.”

“Why don’t they?”

“’Cause I’m not important,” he said with a shrug. “If I was a superhero my power would be invisibility.”

“What about sanitation?”

“Sanitation is looking for Cronengs. They don’t care about me.”

Domingo didn’t even know why they bothered harassing the Cronengs. It’s not like they were going to get proper medical treatment; all they did was ship them to that old convent in Coyoacán they had turned into a crappy sanatorium, and if that was full they were off to Iztapalapa. The Cronengs died quick, anyway. They shuffled around the city, with their sores and their tired faces, begging for coins, and nobody really gave a shit as long as they weren’t loitering in the nice areas.

“They do care about vampires,” Atl said.

He found a booth for two and opened the door. It was narrow and it smelled of cheap air freshener, but they squeezed in. Atl pulled out the keyboard and began typing.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“The telephone directory. Shit.”

“What?”

“There’s like a hundred Elisa Carreras.”

Atl brushed away the screen. She began typing again.

“That’s better,” she muttered. “There’s only one Elisa Carrera who does translation work.”

Domingo leaned down next to her, mouthing the address.

“How’d you know she’s a translator?” he asked.

“Verónica Montealban was a translator.”

The monitor flickered, cheap thing that it was. Atl gave it a whack with the palm of her hand and the image steadied itself.

“You think she changed her name?”

“Yes. You have a pen?”

Domingo looked in his many pockets and handed her a pencil and a scrap of paper. Atl noted the address on-screen, then flicked the terminal off. She pushed away the keyboard and opened the door, motioning for Domingo to follow her. She walked ahead of him. They were about to reach the exit when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Domingo turned around.

“What’s up, man?” Quinto asked. “You missed my party.”

He was an okay dude, Quinto. A few years older than Domingo, but still pretty cool. He even had a cool haircut, tapered sides and longer at the top, and wore a neat gold earring.

“Hey. Yeah, I know,” Domingo said. “I was kind of short on cash. And I’ve been busy.”

“Too bad. Belén was there.”

Which meant the Jackal had been there. Which in turn meant it was probably a good thing he had missed the whole thing, since the Jackal had it in for him. Nevertheless, it might have been nice to see Belén.

Eh. He wasn’t sure.

“Domingo.”

Domingo turned around. Atl was standing near the exit, in the shadows. She stepped forward with that liquid way of moving she possessed, terribly elegant, her face coming into the light.

“I’m leaving,” she said, hands in her pockets.

“This is my friend Quinto,” Domingo said. “This is … um … my cousin.”

“Hey,” Quinto said, smiling broadly, showing his teeth. “How you doing? Quinto Navarro. And you are?”

“His cousin,” Atl replied, her face serious.

Quinto chuckled. “You’re funny! I dig that. Totally dig that.”

Quinto grinned at her. Domingo recognized that smile. Quinto never missed an opportunity to pick up girls. He worked at a pharmacy and could easily score a variety of pills, which meant he was pretty popular around his neighborhood. He’d also gone to veterinary school for two years and operated on the Jackal’s dogs when they got injured, which gave an extra luster. The Jackal made most of his money by collecting “fees” from the street kids who washed windows at certain intersections. You worked for him and you paid your dues. If you didn’t pay your fee, the Jackal would beat you to a bloody pulp—and since he was a big gorilla of a guy, often with three or four gorillas on the side, it could get real bloody. So you paid. But the Jackal, priding himself on his business sense and his ability to diversify, had happily expanded into the world of dog fighting, ’cause he was such a big fan of that crap.

“You’ve got some eyes,” Quinto told Atl, and Domingo felt as though he were slowly blending into the shadows, disappearing as Quinto focused utterly and completely on Atl.

“Why, thanks,” she said, but her voice was indifferent.

Atl leaned against the wall and Quinto leaned a bit toward her. He was trying to look suave, making eyes at her, the kind of stuff that worked with the girls they knew. Domingo had asked Quinto how he did it and Quinto had told him it was natural charm, at which point Domingo gave up on the idea of hotties pining for him.

Atl shifted away, her expression turning from cool to flat-out frosty.

“Domingo, are we heading out?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Domingo said.