Dark Dragons (29 page)

He couldn’t remember his dad’s first name either.

*

It was around ten o’clock when Marcus Lutze walked out of
the dry ravine behind Darren’s place and inched closer to the house in the
shadows, away from the street lights.  The house had a few lights on, but
Marcus couldn’t see Darren through the windows.

Marcus walked around the pool and up on the deck. 
Where the hell were Greg and Tom?  He had specifically ordered them to be
here before ten o’clock.  Looking through the glass patio door into the
kitchen and the den beyond, Marcus pulled the switchblade from his backpack and
flicked the blade out, his heart pumping harder.  The other contents of
the backpack included a bottle of chloroform, a soldering iron and an electric
muscle stimulator.  He would blow his wad in Darren’s face to the screams
of agony before bringing the switchblade across the fucker’s throat.

Marcus had no doubt he could use the switchblade.  He
had practiced on the stray cat his mother had been feeding on the back
porch.  No problem.

“Here, kitty kitty,” he whispered against the glass patio
door.  Carefully caressing his broken cheekbone with a finger, he pushed
down hard with his palm to open the pain and remind him why he was here.

A whoosh of motion to his left turned his head quickly in
that direction.  Something round and metallic, levitating impossibly above
the ground ten feet away, lit him with a green flash.  Marcus took a step
to his right, then inhaled sharply to release a hot scream when five
huge
shadows floated down and landed on the deck around him.  He heard a
muffled growl under a helmet in front of him, saw a pair of yellow eyes to his
left, before an electric surge zapped the consciousness from him, and the world
went dark.

*

Take the human to the Invicid.  I will stay and
scout for the other three.

What of their fighters?

The Xrel machines are not the mission.  Now go.

The remaining group seized their prey and hovered upward
into the night toward the dropship waiting above the city.

*

Around ten-thirty, Darren slid into the bushes outside
Vanessa’s house, and saw Todd Lutze’s red Chevy pick-up in the drive way. 
Figures.  He couldn’t see Todd, but Vanessa was sitting at the kitchen
table doing what looked like homework.  Probably Todd’s.  They also
appeared to be the only people home, Vanessa’s parents and little brother
nowhere to be seen.

Not good, Darren thought.

Vanessa was a top-grade honor student, which fascinated
Darren even more.  He held a terrible resentment for hot-looking girls who
had the IQ of mustard——Tony’s and Nate’s usual preference——and intentionally
used their beauty as a weapon to make up for personality.  Big boobs and
ass were a high priority on many lists, but Darren had to admit without
dishonor to the Male Cause that he liked smart girls with an edge of sass
around the corners.  They were the only ones who seemed alive.

He sat there for another ten minutes, swatting at flies and
beginning to feel like an idiot.  This was stupid.  A stalker hiding
in the bushes was not a trait he wished to acquire——especially if he got
caught, being less than ten feet from the kitchen window and Vanessa’s roving
eye.

*

Vanessa thumbed through the math section of her SAT Practice
booklet when she heard Todd shout an expletive from the living room.  He
was playing a game on her little brother’s Xbox.  Apparently he just lost.

“Todd, get your ass out here and go over these test
questions with me,” she said.

“Give me another ten minutes.”

“You said that a half hour ago.”  Vanessa sighed,
rolled her eyes and looked at the clock.  Ten-thirty-five.  “I can’t
do your SAT for you, and it’s only three weeks away.”

Video game noises continued to boom from the surround
sound.  Then, “Yeah, I know.  Five minutes.  I’m almost done
with this level.”

Vanessa smiled and tossed the practice booklet on a pile of
unopened college acceptance letters that her dad refused to throw away. 
Keep
them and make a ceiling stringer out of them
, he had said.
 
Mementos of teenage brilliance.
 She had already committed to the
Edmond A. Walsh School of Foreign Service at Georgetown, but her proud papa
coveted each letter that arrived in the mailbox as if they were treasury bonds
and kept pulling them out of the trash.

Vanessa put on her iPod and dialed up some Journey, her
mom’s favorite band from her old high school days.  Mom had hooked Vanessa
onto a lot of 70’s and 80’s music.  She laid her head down in her arms and
waited for Todd to finish his video game.  Before she could close her eyes
and get lost in Steve Perry’s soaring voice, she noticed in the short stack of
textbooks to her left a yellow bookmark barely sticking out of
Introduction
to American Government.
  She remembered what it was and pulled it out,
not having seen it for months.  It was Darren Seymour’s secret admirer
note she had spotted him slipping into her locker last semester.  Well, it
wasn’t exactly a secret admirer letter, which she had feared before opening it
in the hallway.  There were no creepy words of hopeless love contained in
the letter, no sappy, sugary images of future bliss and promises of
foot-kissing devotion either.  Just a few short, nonthreatening sentences
of praise and reinforcement:

Despite
Mr. Andrews’ crap assessment of your presentation, you have incredible poise
and confidence when you talk.  Your points were well rendered.  Too
bad Andrews didn’t see that.  Loved the Joe Smith crack.  Nothing
wrong with being a smart ass during the point/counterpoint.  Defiant words
can change the world, and you definitely have them.

Darren Seymour was the first boy, other than her dad, to
ever praise her.  Her first feeling had not been a depreciative
“Oh-that’s-so-cute” kind of response.  In fact, her first reaction was
shock, and it had taken a few days for her eighteen year-old brain to process
his confident words.  It was so——mature.  Darren had intrigued her
for a few weeks after that.  There had been times that she wanted to say
“hi” or at least acknowledge him with a smile in the hallway, but feminine
intuition held her back.  She didn’t want to send the wrong
impression.  After a while, though, her intense curiosity in Darren would
wane to mild interest and occasional “What-if’s.”  Her heart had swayed
toward Todd over the last three months anyway, and their slowly progressing
relationship had, until recently, become serious.  She had scattered other
boys off her radar.

Still . . . Vanessa held a slight suspicion that maybe
someone else had written the note and just gave Darren five bucks to stuff it
in her locker.  She could never match those endearing words in the note to
the ungainly, ambivalent person that was Darren Seymour.  Their first ever
meeting yesterday afternoon offered Vanessa, after all of these months, the
chance to know him a little more, hear his voice, see the person behind the
words.

But it was a letdown.  All he did was act weird around
her.

She had even temporarily cancelled her self-enforced decree
of No Makeup or Hot Outfits——which she usually imposed at school in hoping to
restrain the tiresome flirtations by the entire male population——and decked
herself out to the nines, even wearing her expensive perfume.  But Darren
hardly looked at her, only uttering a few short sentences and goofy
grins.  The better nature of her being knew not to let her
Miss-Teen-California good looks inflate her self-importance like the haughty
bitches at school who thought they were
Maxim
magazine cover models . .
. but for crying out loud,
What’s a girl gotta do to catch a guy’s eye?
 
If her overwhelming presence had been too much for Darren to handle, then the
boy behind the note had never existed.  Or maybe she had placed too much
importance on that note anyway.  Maybe Vanessa’s mind had created the
image of Her Ideal Guy born from a note filled with suave words and praises.

She twirled the paper in her hand for a little longer . . .
and finally crumped it up and tossed it in the garbage can.  Maybe someone
other than Darren did write it.

Final assessment of Darren Seymour: cute, smart, friendly,
if not a bit odd; an innocuous friendship and cursory “Hi’s” in the school
hallways possible.  But nothing more.

A warm, wet kiss landed on the back of her neck and she
opened her eyes, smiled.

“I’m ready to study for my SAT, Miss Vasquez,” Todd said.

Vanessa took out her iPod’s earbuds and draped them over her
shoulder.  She stretched her arms across the table and laid her head on
them while Todd slid his lithe, muscular frame slowly into the chair.  She
could smell his freshly laundered clothes and just a hint of Armani on his
skin, and she was suddenly adrift.

He opened the practice book.  “So where are we
at?  You want to tackle math first?”

She didn’t answer.  
Dad’s not here. 
Mom’s not here.  Sammy’s not here.

“Vanessa?” he whispered with a grin, the one which always
gave her naughty thoughts.  “You’re staring funny.”

The fire in her heart was suddenly roaring out of
control.  They had both been patient.  Todd especially.  Even
though he had told her that he craved her, he always had the good character to
never force himself on her, or turn immature and nasty when she softly resisted. 
They had both been very patient.

“You still have Mr. Binky?” Vanessa asked, tingling all
over.

Todd bit his bottom lip.  “Still in my wallet.”

Stupid hormones.

Vanessa got out of her chair and slid her leg across Todd’s
lap and straddled him.  She felt his heart jump against her chest when she
folded her arms around his head and quickly brought her open mouth to his.

She could still hear Journey playing through the
earbuds——“Girl Can’t Help It.”

*

Darren watched Todd stand up with Vanessa’s legs still wrapped
around him, both pretending to be toilet plungers, and swat at the light switch
three times with his left hand before the kitchen went dark.  The entire
Vasquez home was now pitch black.

Every sad song ever sung in the world suddenly came out of
the speakers in Darren’s mind.  “All Out Of Love” from Air Supply. 
He tried to stand up, but his legs were weak.  He wanted to burst through
the back door.  He wanted to just suck up the hurt and go home.  He
wanted . . . he did nothing but stay on his knees and weep, his guts heaving,
teeth clenched to restrain any cry that might come out, afraid someone would
hear his torment.  “Tired Of Being Alone” from Al Green.
 Keep it
coming.
 “She’s Gone” by Hall & Oats.  “Dreaming With A
Broken Heart” by John Mayer.  The tears were absolutely pouring out. 
He hated her.  He wanted her. 
Should have stayed home, asshole
. 
What about “All By Myself” from Eric Carmen. 
Yeah, somebody pass the
razor blades to that one.
  He wrapped his arms tight around his
heaving stomach, still trying to keep quiet.

Then something incredibly lucid jumped out between the
spasms of self-pity and anger coursing through his body.  “Lonesome
Looser” from the Little River Band.  Darren pulled his cell phone out of
his front pocket and did a quick Google search for a phone number.  It
took only a few seconds to find the number and dial it.

Please be there.
  The phone rang three times
until a man’s voice said, “Vasquez Pharmacy and Market, open twenty-four hours,
how can I help you?”

Darren inhaled sharply to control the sobs before
speaking.  “Can I speak to Juan Vasquez.”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Vasquez, this is Officer O’Ryan of the LAPD.  We
received an anonymous phone call from a neighbor stating that a teenage girl
and boy are currently committing a lewd act through an open window at your
residence.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sir, do you have a teenage daughter or son currently at
this residence?”

“I have a daughter who’s home alone,” came the suddenly dark
voice.

“Apparently, she’s not.”  Darren paused for about three
seconds for effect before continuing.  “Sir, I’m about two miles away on
Foothill and if you want, I can . . . ah . . . go to your residence and . . .
intervene, but it would take me a few minutes.”

“Forget it.  My work is only two blocks away, and I’ll
get there faster.”

“Very well.  Good luck, Mr. Vasquez.”  Darren hung
up.

It would be easier to accept if Todd Lutze was a sick jerk
like his little brother.  Yet Todd was a good guy, Darren having been
recipient of Todd’s good graces in the past . . . like the time when he taught
Darren how to climb ropes in gym class, or when he loaned him twenty bucks to
pay for school pictures after Darren lost his money to Geils Woodbury on a
bet.  Rich, good-looking, six-pack abs, not the sharpest knife in the
drawer but great personality.  Hell, if Darren was a chick, he’d want to
fuck Todd, too.

Four minutes hadn’t passed when the headbeams of a Toyota
truck pulled into the driveway and lit up the dark house like police
floodlights on a gang hideout. 
Come out with your dick in the air
where we can see it!

Mr. Vasquez, dressed in a neatly pressed, white pharmacist’s
smock, appeared in the headlights and bounded up the drive, keys jingling in
his hands.  The living room lights came on, but Darren could not see
inside from his vantage point in the bushes.  But he could hear just fine.

Juan: “Vanessa!”

Vanessa: “Dad, what are you——?”

Juan: “I live here, that’s what I’m doing,” with a
constrained voice.  “Vanessa, put your  bra back on . . . now!”

Just a bra?  Damn, that was close.  Second
base.