Certain Dark Things(53)

“He said you’re in Mexico City and have lost the girl.”

Damn it. That was not the way he wanted the conversation to begin. Rodrigo sat down behind his desk and modulated his voice so he sounded perfectly calm. “That’s not exactly accurate,” Rodrigo said.

“She was not supposed to get that far.”

“We had trouble in Guadalajara.”

“You did not mention that when we last spoke. You also did not say anything about visiting Mexico City.”

Rodrigo did not want to say anything because he knew exactly how it would sound: like he’d f*cked up. The truth of the matter was, yes, it had all gone south, but it had been in great part thanks to Nick. Godoy thought a great deal of his son, but the boy was raw, impulsive, and stupid, an explosive combination. “We know she’s here.”

“Where?” Godoy asked.

“I’m working on finding her.”

“Nick said you lost Justiniano.”

“Yes,” Rodrigo said. Justiniano had been the kid’s personal escort, not a fellow Rodrigo had especially liked, but at least he was able to keep Nick under control. Well, so much for that.

There was an unpleasant silence. “I almost feel like pulling you out, Rodrigo. Let someone else clean up this mess.”

Rodrigo recalled the vampire’s idea of cleaning. It involved chopped bodies dumped in a vat of acid. Rodrigo was not about to let his career end in shame with his tail between his legs, or worse, as an unidentified corpse dumped next to a highway.

“I can do it. It’s been a bit more complicated than I’d anticipated,” he said, thinking about Nick’s murder feast the other day. He hoped Nick hadn’t told his dad about that, though the boy probably had enough common sense to keep those details to himself.

“Complicated, yes,” Godoy said. “Overly. She’s a girl.”

Well, she’s got some balls, Rodrigo thought.

“She’s Centehua’s daughter. She’s got money and enough contacts to hide for a bit. But not forever. Sooner or later someone’s going to turn her in. I’m working old contacts as best I can. Street level, even cops. I’ve put the word out and her photograph. Someone will spot her.”

Before she leaves the country, he thought. If Atl had any brains she was already trying to find a ticket out of Mexico, though it was going to be tough. He had spread her image wide and far. Every Necros remotely near the northern border was expecting her. She couldn’t fly out of Mexico City, and if she stepped foot in the outskirts of the city, she’d be toast. No, Atl was still in Mexico City because it was the only place left to hide. For now.

“Solve this. Do it quick.”

“Yes, sir. She’ll be dead in a week’s time.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?” Rodrigo said.

“Nick feels like playing with her. I agree. A quick death is too good for the girl.”

Rodrigo mouthed an angry “motherf*cker” to the phone but he kept his voice level. “It’s going to be difficult to abduct her and drag her out of Mexico City and back home,” Rodrigo said.

“I don’t care if you have to break her limbs in order to do it, make sure she’s alive.”

This was his punishment. There was no point in rejecting it.

“Yes, sir,” he said. Rodrigo hung up, moving back toward the bookcase and running a hand through his thinning hair. He glanced at the photo of himself and thought of the days when his only concern had been getting his hands on nice cars and racing them.





CHAPTER

21

She dreamt of her sister, and when they were little. Izel was holding her hand and they were running down the stairs to hide from her cousins. Atl must have been four and Izel nine. Giggling, happy girls. Then the dream changed and Izel was a charred corpse, unrecognizable, a dark lump left upon the ground. The corpse writhed, opened its mouth. “Our hearts want nothing but a war death,” it said, the same line Atl had once recited.

When Atl woke up, there was one thought ringing through her head: I should have been with her. She’d been such a petulant child, too busy picking fights with Izel to help the family. She had not wanted to help out with anything because that would spoil her easy life, would burden her with responsibilities.

There’s trouble brewing, her mother had said, but Atl dismissed it. And when trouble came Atl was stupid and afraid.

Her head still foggy with sleep, Atl stumbled into the kitchen, managing to fill herself a glass of water.

“Hey,” Domingo said. “How you doing?”

“Fine,” she muttered.

Cualli walked into the kitchen as well. Domingo patted the dog’s head.

“He must like you,” she said, looking at them and trying to remember if there had been any time when Cualli liked anyone but her.

“He’s awesome. I never had any pets, you know? I would have loved a dog. Cats are just so—”

“Aloof?” Atl ventured.

“I was going to say smelly. Bernardino’s house reeks of cat piss, you wouldn’t believe it. If Dracula’s castle had smelled of cat piss I swear he wouldn’t be in that many films.”

Domingo grinned at her and Atl chuckled. He was too honest, by far, and too silly, and still she enjoyed his company. For a moment things felt okay. Like the unbalanced mess of her life was now tipping in the other direction, balancing itself out. “Let’s go get a bite. For you, I mean,” she said.