I could use hypnosis but I wanted Phaedra to make the decision to trust me. “What do you know about the family business? Is it drugs?”
“Mostly. What they don’t handle directly, they collect a tax from anyone smuggling through this area.”
“Tax? Protection money?”
Phaedra’s eyes said: Of course. Don’t play stupid.
“Anyone who?” I asked.
“Mules. Mexicans. Some Russians. Mostly people from out of state going east-west, north and south. Oklahoma. Nebraska. Wyoming. Illinois. Of course California and Texas.” She paused to breathe. “But I wasn’t really paying attention when the subject came up.”
“Some of them might object to paying this ‘tax’?”
“Probably.”
“Who then?” I asked.
“I just gave you a list. Take your pick.”
“What kind of drugs?”
“Pretty much everything that’s illegal or stolen from a pharmacy.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Running hijacked merchandise. Farm machinery. Lot of cars.”
“So you know more than you let on?”
“I got ears.”
“And the family talks around you?”
“I’m invisible except when the men get all horny and want to take off my pants.” Phaedra said this too casually.
I remembered the bills that had fallen from her pocket. “Is that where the money comes from?”
Her face reddened like I’d squeezed her neck with giant pliers. “Is that what you think I am? A whore?”
“A few minutes ago you were all but bragging.”
Her right eye fluttered like the wings of a wounded moth. “Quit staring at my eye.”
She covered both her eyes. “Quit staring at me. Stop it. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
The shame washed from her to me. I put my arm on her shoulder. She rubbed her nose across the cuff of my coat. I slid my arm free and opened the center console. I took out a tissue and gave it to her.
She wiped her nose. “Let’s pretend we didn’t talk about that.”
“Sure.”
My fingertips and ears itched with a warning.
I checked the rearview. A red pickup truck gained on us. I looked to the front. On the right, a black pickup shot from behind the fence along the power relay station.
I didn’t need Phaedra to tell me who these trucks were after.
As a vampire I have supernatural powers. The Toyota doesn’t. The two vehicles ahead were closing the trap. If I whipped around, at this speed the Toyota would flip over. I’d survive, but I couldn’t risk injuring Phaedra.
I reached for the H&K.
Phaedra grabbed my arm. “Stay cool. Stay cool.”
The black pickup bore at us suicide-bomber style. I couldn’t swerve out of the way and slammed the brakes to keep from colliding. My Toyota skidded on the wet asphalt, the tires screeching when they burned through to dry pavement.
The front end of the red pickup following me dipped as the driver rode his brakes.
The two pickups boxed me in.
Each of the pickups had a driver and passenger. I didn’t need a program to know they intended to knock me around. Four of them, one of me. Even without the H&K, the odds were in my favor-if I fought as a vampire. Phaedra’s presence complicated the situation. If I revealed myself as a vampire to these goons, no problem, as I would kill them. But Phaedra, what if she was caught in the cross fire?
As soon as the vehicles stopped, we were all out in a flurry of opening doors and starting the showdown. The black mouths of three shotguns and a pistol gaped at me.
I fixed each shooter in my mind. I could snatch my pistol and drop each one with bullets to spare. Those I didn’t kill outright I would finish off with my fangs.
Phaedra bolted from her seat in the Toyota. She moved so fast I didn’t realize what she was doing. Phaedra grasped a wiper arm on the Toyota, set a boot against the front tire, and hoisted herself on the hood.
Phaedra stood erect between the guns and me. She balled her fists and screamed hysterically. “Stop it. Stop it.”
The men drew back and lowered their guns, acting unexpectedly concerned about shooting her. Vinny, Gino’s friend who I met yesterday, waited by the door of the red pickup.
One man didn’t lower his pistol. The driver of the black pickup. His eyes burned with venom. Like me, his Mexican roots were obvious in his indio face. He had the lean hungry physique of a Tijuana alleycat. His neck appeared withered like his body had been drained of everything good and decent. Go to a crowd of a thousand people, look for the psychopath, and this was the man you’d pick.
A third vehicle-a blue Chevy Blazer-came straight at us from the direction of the hospital. The Blazer fishtailed and straddled the road, its front tires rolling into the weeds along the shoulder. A kid with a ponytail hopped from the Blazer and shielded himself behind the opened driver’s door. He drew a bead on me with his pistol.
A man with a thick face like the front end of a battering ram came out the front passenger’s side. Loose striped shirttails flapped from under the bottom of his jacket.
“Phaedra,” he shouted. His big chest heaved from exertion. He hustled between my Toyota and the black pickup. He carried himself like the man in charge. Two of the men clustered around him, psycho at his left.
“Uncle Sal,” she yelled.
Sal? Had to be Sal Cavagnolo.
He waved his hands in a downward motion. Pistols disappeared under jackets. Shotguns fell across car seats.
Everyone relaxed a bit except for the psycho, who kept a snarl in his eyes.
Phaedra climbed down over the front bumper of the 4Runner. She kept repeating, “Gino’s dead.”
“How do you know?”
“We were at his place. There was blood everywhere.”
Cavagnolo glared at me like I was responsible for the bad news. “What were you doing there?”
She raised an arm in my direction. “We were looking…”
“I was talking to him.” He turned up the heat in his glare, thinking-wrongly, of course-that I’d wilt. “What’s your business here?”
“That’s between Gino and me.”
Cavagnolo’s eyes simmered with insult. He approached me. His men reached for their guns.
“Was he there?”
“No. Like Phaedra said…”
Cavagnolo cut me off. “I only asked if he was there. Otherwise keep your mouth shut.”
My fists balled up, ready to bash Cavagnolo’s meaty face.
“Uncle Sal”-Phaedra moved between him and me-“don’t be stupid.”
His lips screwed together in a way that told me she was one of the few-maybe the only one-who could speak to him like this.
“So you couldn’t find Gino. That doesn’t mean anything,” Cavagnolo said.
“Maybe he’s in Saguache visiting what’s her name,” Vinny chimed. “That chick Dirty Tina.”
I stepped from the 4Runner toward Cavagnolo. I kept my hands open and above my waist. Phaedra moved to stay in front of me.
Cavagnolo’s expression turned acid. “My nephew Gino had shit for brains for talking to you. Your name is Felix Gomez, right?”
“You got it.” Hearing my name coming out of his mouth made me feel unwashed.
“It’s a pretty name.” Cavagnolo paused to let the other men chuckle. “Goes with a sissy asshole who hides behind a girl.”
I was going to lance Cavagnolo’s head like a boil. I tried to nudge Phaedra aside, but she clamped onto my arm and stayed close.
“Gino’s truck is still at his place.” I pulled up beside Phaedra. “Lot of blood on his bed. Looks like someone cut him bad and hauled him off.”
The men tried to remain stone-faced but they shuffled like they felt razor blades under their feet.
Cavagnolo’s gaze focused to a point on the horizon. He kept quiet and his mouth curled into the makings of a scowl. His expression abruptly relaxed as if he’d made a decision. “That’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.” He motioned to Phaedra. “You, get home.”