Certain Dark Things(31)

“Just let me borrow him for two seconds,” Quinto said, winking at Atl and pulling Domingo away before he could protest.

“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” Domingo explained.

“You didn’t say you were busy busy. Who’s the chick? Oh, and don’t try to give me that bullshit about a cousin. I know she ain’t related to you.”

“She’s a friend, all right?” Domingo said, pulling his hands into his pockets and finding a piece of bubble gum, which he unwrapped.

“She’s a babe.”

Domingo grumbled a soft sound that was entirely noncommittal and wished Quinto would stop staring at Atl like she was a cut of choice meat. It made him feel very embarrassed. She was going to think humans in Mexico City were members of a race of troglodytes—which was a really fancy way of saying “caveman” that he’d picked up from a graphic novel. Domingo didn’t want to be a troglodyte. It just sounded nasty.

“How’d you meet her?”

“Just … walking around downtown,” Domingo said, popping the gum into his mouth and chewing loudly.

“Well, you should most definitely go to my next party, okay? Bring her along. I’m dying to get into her pants.”

“I don’t think you’re her type,” Domingo muttered. “See ya around.”

He walked toward Atl and they exited the café together. Outside an organillero was playing his musical instrument, turning a crank and making a metal cylinder spew an old melody.

“Sorry about that,” Domingo said. “I wasn’t planning on bumping into him.”

“He’s annoying,” Atl said.

Domingo chewed his bubble gum and gave her a sideways glance. “He’s all right. Most of the time. He’s lent me money when I needed it once, before I moved into the garbage business.”

She made a face, as though she’d just stepped on something nasty. He’d never felt ashamed of his work. Things were what they were and that was it. But the look on Atl’s face made him feel … small.

Domingo found an empty soda can and began kicking it down the street.

“How’d your family get into dealing drugs?” he asked.

“They started in the ’40s, cultivating opium. The Americans wanted it and Sinaloans harvested it. Then in the ’60s it was pot. Everyone in the hills was harvesting it. It was small stuff, though. It was the ’70s when it got real. Cocaine was hot. People were making a lot of money, trading their huaraches for fancy shoes. In the beginning it was mostly humans dealing cocaine, but families like mine got into it. Vampires control the drug trade now. I think the government tried to clean up Sinaloa in the ’70s, but then we figured out a way to survive, as we always do.”

Atl smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with her gloved hands.

“Of course, then just a few years later we had these European vampires inching into our territory. Motherf*ckers in snakeskin boots and stupid cowboy hats. Guys like Godoy. Fucking Necros.”

Necros. Big fangs. Pale and skinny. Hair on their palms. They sounded cool, since—if you believed TV and shit—they also tended to have fancy clothes and some type of sports car, which was kind of awesome.

“They’re supposed to be hot, no?”

“They’re also filthy,” Atl said. “They’ll make you sick if you come in contact with their blood. If they f*ck you, same deal, meet the worst STD ever. You get a literal mind f*ck.”

“Like, gonorrhea or what?”

“No. They make you do anything they want. Eventually you die, but not until you’ve done the bidding of a pasty * for a good long while. It doesn’t work on other vampires, but humans should really stay the hell away from them.”

“Oh,” Domingo said. That didn’t sound so cool. “Well, at least you can’t get it. Though what happens if you eat someone who was infected by a Necros?”

“I would reject the blood. It’s a very simple rule of thumb: tainted blood, vomit. It’s like trying to chug down expired milk.”

“Gross.”

They were now right behind the old Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, where unauthorized street vendors gathered to offer candles, images of the Virgin, and miracles—pieces of tin in the shape of an arm, heart, or foot that were supposed to heal the sick. In December the place was simply impossible to navigate, hundreds of Catholics swarming it to pay their respects to the Virgin. That evening it was not so busy and the vendors would be packing up soon.

“There was some writing on the Net,” Domingo said, “something about disease among vampires. It means you get sick, don’t you? Sick from stuff other than dirty blood, no?”

“Human diseases can’t kill us, but then the Necros aren’t human. In the times of the Aztecs, when the first Necros arrived upon our shores, they quickly spread disease among the local vampire populations. Many members of my family died simply due to coming in contact with the Necros, greatly reducing our capacity to fight against the invaders. Germs can be much more effective than swords. And then there is the issue of tainted human blood and the illnesses the European humans carried. What could we eat if the humans were sick and dying too?”

He kicked the can in her direction and she kicked it back.

“The Necros probably ate too many rats in the Middle Ages and that’s why they’re so filthy,” Atl said. “We were warriors.”