Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(100)

Danny froze, as if considering a response, then turned on his heel and stormed out the door.

McKinney pulled a stick of gum from his pocket, removed the paper and foil wrappers, and folded it into his mouth, letting the rush of saliva soften it as he chewed. Looking around at the startled faces in the room, he raised his voice.

“Show’s over. Back to work.”

Then he walked out through the door Danny had just slammed.





103


The lights on this section of Maury Avenue had seen better days. Now, well past midnight, more gangbangers than pedestrians prowled the streets of Oxon Hill. Southeast D.C. had a reputation, sometimes deserved, sometimes not. Here tonight, a block southeast of Southern Avenue, danger filled the air. It was this atmosphere that called El Chupacabra. Tomorrow he would be on a private jet back to Bogotá, but tonight was his.

He strolled down the dark street, occasionally detouring into alleyways, drinking in the fear that seeped from the windows of the houses, from the occasional passing car on the streets. Having grown up in the barrios of Lima, Peru, this felt a little like home, a bit more upscale, but death was out there, waiting to claim the unwary.

Since Eduardo had been old enough to remember, the fear demon had been a constant companion. His mother had been the first to introduce him. Now, in ways so profound that it recalled the spirits of the Incas, it had become his one true lover.

Several times he was tempted to walk right up to one of the groups of young black men in his three thousand dollar Armani suit and use a line from one of his favorite Jacky Chan movies, “Hey, my niggas!” just to see them go wild, to bathe in their blood as they flailed their guns at him. But their hate would not satisfy his hunger. What he wanted was fear.

A car turned into a driveway on the north side of the street, three houses down from the alley in which Eduardo stood watching, its engine coughing and sputtering in protest as it switched off. The door opened, silhouetting a long black woman against the cab lights, her clingy dress and spiked heel shoes making a statement about her profession. Not a hooker, whose work for the night would be far from over. More likely she was an exotic dancer at one of the clubs that nuzzled up against the nearby military bases.

The woman leaned back into the car, bending down to reach across the seat for her purse, a posture that heated Eduardo’s blood. She would serve his purpose nicely.

The woman slammed the car door, pressed the lock and alarm button on her key ring twice, the second time producing a short squawk from the car horn. Then she strode rapidly to the door, glancing around quickly before sliding her key into the lock, opening the door, and stepping inside. As the lights inside the entryway went on, Eduardo remained in place, watching the shadow of her movements in front of the windows.

The next light to come on was on the second floor, the position of the room marking it as a child’s bedroom across from the master. Just a quick on and off, mama checking in on the kiddies. Was there a mister stripper? Not likely. Neighborhoods like this were the reason for the sky-high American statistics on single mothers. No sign of a second car. Eduardo very much doubted he’d meet the man of the house. But if he did, so much the better.

Moving across the street, Eduardo slid into the shadows, moving right up against the houses as he made his way toward his target. The building was a two-story brick structure, divided into two bedroom units, each with its own driveway and yard, often separated by chain-link fences. Pausing only briefly to survey the front, he moved around the side of the building and into the tree-lined space, which gave the houses some separation from the busy Southern Avenue.

Looking at the large trees that spread their branches right up against the building, Eduardo smiled. How inviting. Climbing was one of his specialties, and a climb like this wouldn’t even wrinkle his suit.

The light in the kitchen sputtered and then blossomed in all its fluorescent brilliance, allowing him to glimpse the face of his target as she moved in front of the window to reach up into a cupboard to grab a plate. With a face like that and a body to go with it, the stripper had to be pulling down some good money.

The woman moved to the refrigerator, and Eduardo turned back to the tree, effortlessly moving up along its branches until he reached the master bedroom window. He pulled two small, oddly shaped tools from his pocket, cut away the screen, and then slipped one through the crack where the first of twin latches held the window in place, wiggling it back and forth until he could feel the latch lift.

Repeating the process with the second tool, he popped the other latch free and slid the window fully open, pausing just long enough to secure his equipment before slipping into the dark bedroom.

Eduardo, more at home in the partial darkness than he was in full daylight, surveyed the room. It wasn’t much. A queen-size bed, a single nightstand, a four-drawer dresser, a closet, an open door into a small bathroom and another leading out into the hall.

No hesitation. Eduardo moved silently out the door, ears attuned to the movements in the kitchen below, his footsteps taking him to the other doorway, the one leading into the second bedroom. He turned the knob, pushing the door open just a crack. Then, hearing no squeak of hinges, he opened it a full twelve inches, just far enough to allow him to slide through. A nightlight plugged into the near wall revealed a twin bed, its headboard decorated with Power Ranger cutouts, a pattern that was repeated on the blue-and-orange comforter that was tucked in tight around the sleeping little boy’s neck.