Minion (13 page)

Shabazz gave Marlene a look, and she stilled it. The silent communication between them grated Damali so badly she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from choking them. “The guys should be able to get tore the hell up, play poker . . . Mike should be able to spend the night with some sister and eat till fried chicken comes out of his ears, Shabazz should be able to go to a real jazz club at night, Jose should be able to fall in love, and I should be able to go party my ass off at a club of
my choice
—especially when I turn twenty-one. Demon or vamp, I'ma get lit. Tore up. I'ma dance, act crazy, and have a blast . . . might even get laid, okaaay.”

Her team looked stunned, and Rider seemed to instantly sober up.

“Thank you for trying to get us all a weekend pass, Sergeant.” Rider laughed tensely as Damali circled the weapons table. “But somehow I don't think the general is going for it. I can pass up Vegas.”

They all kept giving each other fishy glances, but for a moment, none of them spoke. Whateva. She was too serious. Fuck this living in prison with little outings to make it seem like they had real lives.

“This destiny is a hard sacrifice,” Shabazz finally murmured, his eyes holding Marlene's gaze as he spoke. “None of us have been able to totally do what we used to do. And as a seer, dropping your guard under the influence of alcohol or get-high won't be pretty. Think you've seen some scary shit before . . .”

“I know, I know, that's why I don't go there,” Damali snapped. “But all the other rules are draining the life out of the
team. And I, for one, am not going to live the rest of my life in a jail cell—techno pop as it is!” Her hands had found her hips and she glared at Shabazz, and then at Marlene. “Don't we have some damned barbeque chips, or some soda in this joint?”

They all stared at her.

“Oh, pullease, spare me with ‘the body is your temple' speech. If I'm gonna die, then whateva. At least I can have some fun before I buy it. I'm going out.”

“That's not advisable,” Marlene warned, her voice low and tense. “It's late.”

Damali turned her attention to J.L, ignoring Marlene. “Hook a sister up with some crazy-mad-shit to take out on the street. I am sick of this living scared, but acting like everything is cool. The damned vampires have us hiding, even in daylight now. Was a time when one or two chased us—then we flipped the script and went after a few of them. Now, apparently, it's on. L.A. is hot—crawling—and we don't have to look for them, they're finding us on the road now. And we've got demons? Sheeeiit.” Damali glanced at the clock and pointed toward it. “You call this late, Marlene? Little kids go out in the street later than this!”

Shabazz stood and retrieved the cast-off newspaper, and opened it. “Club Vengeance is smoking,” he murmured. “A body dropped there a little while ago, and now it appears that an old friend of yours just lost two compadres, with one in the hospital about to turn, too.”

Rider cocked his head to the side as Damali slowed her exit. “Thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Thinking that maybe Marlene might want to get us booked at Vengeance?”

Rider nodded at Shabazz. Damali kept her alarm in check. That was the last place she wanted to do a gig, for more than one reason.

Big Mike's fast entry to the room drew everyone's attention, and his eyes studied the floor as he walked. “Gotta get him to a hospital.”

Marlene was on her feet. “What's wrong?”

“He's gray, Marlene,” Mike murmured. “Looks like a drug addict going through the DTs. He's incoherent, breathing is irregular . . .” Mike paused and cast his gaze toward the sun beyond the window and then closed his eyes. “If he dies here, they'll sweep the place. Little brother ain't gonna make it through the night if we don't get him some type of medical attention.”

“That's just it,” Marlene whispered. “They can run tests, put an IV drip in his arm to rehydrate him . . . but in the end, what's killing him isn't in the medical books. Not theirs anyway.”

“Mike is right, though,” Damali said quietly. “We have to at least get him help while we look for this thing. Nobody in here is a doctor. We do soldier stuff, can do some healing, can pray, but this might be beyond the laying on of hands.”

“I agree with Damali,” J.L. commented, his voice a soft murmur. “Can't just wait this one out.”

“Might buy him a few days, or more, while we do our thing, and it will keep the authorities from going for a search warrant to come in here, maybe . . . but how are we going to secure him in the hospital? At night?”

Rider's question made the group simply stare at Big Mike.

“They already have one in there that's about to turn,” Shabazz reminded the group. “If DeJesus dies today, then in three days he'll wake up.”

“So, what do we do, just watch Jose die in here?” Damali began pacing again. Her mind shredded the options and she leaned her forehead against the wall in frustration. “Maybe that's our lead, and we should follow it when it wakes up and turns.
Let's take Jose over to the hospital while we still have some light. Just three of us—me, Mike, and Rider. We can post one man—Mike—by Jose until they run whatever battery they can on him there. Rider and me can see if we can find Carlos's boy and lay low until dusk. They always mark one about to turn, so something will come for DeJesus, and maybe me and Rider can track it.”

“Why do I always get involved in the—”

“Because you're a nose, Rider,” Damali argued. “Jose is down. That leaves you.” She blew out her breath hard. They were all getting on her nerves. “Two of you guys, J.L. and Shabazz, stay here and work on weapons and keep it tight here. Marlene, you work the phones and get us booked with Club Vengeance—and leave a message for Carlos that I want to have a word with him, one on one. He might talk to me.”

She pushed herself away from the wall and let her breath out fast again in disgust. “Don't even say it. I know. Me and Rivera go way back. Chill.”

 

 

 

 

 

“T
HE DOCTORS
said he was extremely dehydrated, like his fluid levels had been siphoned out of him. Plus, he had too many white blood cells in his system, same as if our boy was fighting off a virus.” Big Mike sat down heavily in the hospital waiting-room chair, leaning his huge forearms on his thighs, his head dropped and his massive hands clasped.

“He
is
fighting a virus,” Rider sighed, leaning his head against the wall while in his seat and rubbing his palms over his face. “How long's he got?”

“Damn, Rider,” Damali whispered. She stood and walked in a short back-and-forth pace before her team members. “Don't go there. Okay? If we have to bring him to the hospital every few days to get him dosed up, then that's what we do. But don't ever talk about one of our own in the past tense.”

Rider cast his line of vision to the bank of elevators and offered no further comment.

“They're gonna put him on IV fluids and heavy doses of antibiotics for a few days, then, if he responds, he can come home.” Big Mike glanced up at Damali. “When he responds. My bad.”

“A few days,” Rider said, his tone far-off and quiet. “That
kid is like a little brother to me. Guess I'm just trying to brace myself . . . seen the inevitable too many times not to go there. I hate surprises.”

“Okay,” Damali murmured, her voice more gentle as she went to Rider to place a hand on his shoulder. “I hear you. I'm sorry. This situation is messing with all of us. It's too close to our core.”

Rider nodded and covered her hand with his and closed his eyes.

“Did you find out anything about DeJesus?”

Damali's question made Rider look at her.

“He bought it, first light at dawn this morning, before we got here.”

“Takes three days, usually, for one of them to fully turn.” Big Mike stood, making Rider stand with him. “That means we have a few days before he climbs off a morgue slab.”

Damali and Rider nodded a quiet acknowledgment of what had been learned the hard way. It was going down just like she'd thought.

“Then he's gonna try to go find Poppa—or Momma. Whatever bit him.”

“Rider's right.” Damali leaned against the wall. “All we can do is hope that Jose comes around before this one starts going back over old ground.” She let her breath out hard. “They always track back to where they'd last been before turning.”

“Just like bloodhounds, trying to pick up the scent to find their maker—to find and identify their pack, their own particular vampire family line,” Rider said in a weary tone.

“Yeah,” Mike whispered. “Then that group marks off it's own territory. But that's what's been so weird about the recent activity. At first, it seemed random . . . like no order to it. Just a vamp here or there that would pop up, find us, and then we'd dust it.
Or, we'd find a small nest and get to them first. Now, there's a pattern, almost—”

“That's because it's concentrating, like nests are forming alliances or something . . .” Damali said thoughtfully. “And the dangerous part is, we don't know why. They might all be vamps, but vamps are very clear on feeding grounds, and whose turf is whose, right? Like the drug dealers.”

“Okay,” Rider said. “What's the plan—or dare I ask?”

“Big Mike, you stay with Jose, like we talked about. I'm not going to lose him . . . or you, Mike. So stay sharp. Promise.” She waited until Mike nodded and he pounded her fist. “Rider. You do the morgue detail with me later.”

She laughed when Rider started shaking his head.

“I know, I know, Rider. Not your favorite place to be—but we need to keep a tail on DeJesus. That's why we took the four-by-four and the Hummer. We'll take the Jeep, and leave the Hum for Mike. Cool?”

“Aw'right. Shit.”

Damali smiled. “Rider, hang here and try to chill. I'll come back and get you, and then we'll do the Coroner's Office together—but you keep tabs on the hospital morgue, see if they moved DeJesus downtown yet for an autopsy. Turn on the monitor and your transmitter if you leave here for any reason, so J.L. and the team can stay with you. We don't want to lose you either, Jake Rider. You're a perpetual pain in the ass, but we still love you.”

“Now I have to be LoJacked like a car? Aw, man, gimme a break.” Rider let out a resigned sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.

“And where are you going, lil' sis?”

Mike's question made Rider stop complaining, as both guardians looked at her hard with concern.

“You know where I'm going,” she said.

“Be back at Rider's side, or mine, before dark,” Mike said, his tone telling her that he'd brook no argument. “We're not trying to lose you, either.”

 

Damali shrugged off the security frisk as the bodyguard completed it. Bastard didn't need to feel her up, just check for a weapon. She didn't have a gun, so what the hell?

“You can follow me,” he told her, smiling too much for her liking.

She let the irritation pass and steadied her line of vision to focus on Carlos's office door, looking beyond the guard's too-tight black T-shirt, which strained against the muscular bulk that made up his stocky frame. When she entered the room and saw Carlos, his silent appraisal both grated her and worked on a section of her emotions that she'd turned off. She didn't even want to name the conflicting sensations in her head right now. This was business.

He rose briefly, sitting after she had. “Long time no see,” he said in a quiet voice. “It's cool,” he told the bodyguard who had ushered Damali in. “Practically family.”

Damali watched the man leave them with a nod, and returned her attention to Carlos. He looked healthy. Color was good. It was still daytime. All good signs. She glimpsed the reflective surfaces in the room. He gave off an image. But the question was, could he have become one of the vampire helpers—human traitors that sold off his friends and family for power? He'd risen awfully fast.

She studied the lines of tension in his face; he still wore his silver cross. And, Lord help her, the man was still fine . . . had
the body of life, showing every rock-solid definition in it through his turquoise silk shirt . . . the color looked good on his bronzed skin. Leather pants. She would try her best not to remember those black leather pants.

“You look good, too,” Carlos said after a moment of surveying her again with a knowing smile. “Life seems to be treating you well.”

“This isn't a social call, Carlos.” She kept her voice even like her gaze. Arrogant bastard. He got on her nerves.

“I knew it wouldn't be,” he replied, leaning forward on his desk, but still seeming relaxed enough to be amused. “Your people called and wanted to book a gig here. I figured that with Blood Music blowing up large, and doing this worldwide simultaneous concert, maybe you'd finally changed your mind about never performing in the hottest club network in L.A.?”