The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (15 page)

She turned, giving him a glimpse of her pert ass. He almost slapped himself.
Man, control yourself, Dom!
But, a longing was growing inside him the more he stared. He wanted to just turn and grab her and have her there and then and—

She threw on a fresh tee and pulled a pair of shorts up over her legs, shattering the desire in half. Dom flicked his eyes away.

“Okay, I’m done,” she declared.

Dom slowly turned, a smile on his face. “See?” he said, his hands out to the sides. “I can be a gentleman.”

Trixie gave him an unsure look in return. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

She then grabbed her toothbrush and headed for the bathroom.

Once she left the room, Dom sighed to himself.
Man, she’s a tough cookie.

He rubbed his hot face, the last couple of minutes an exercise in frustration.
“Wish she wasn’t so damn uptight,”
he grumbled to himself as he began undressing and putting his nighttime clothes on.

Outside, the grasshoppers had the building encircled. The air inside was dense with heat. He went and opened some more windows. More hot air came gushing into the room, accompanied by grasshoppers chirping. “Man, this heat is something else,” he said to himself with a puff of his cheeks.
And those damn grasshoppers were enough to drive anyone crazy!

Give me the sound of Chicago’s busy streets any day of the week
.

He went and switched on the big fan in the corner of the room. It blasted a luscious gush of cool air that, to Dom, was like Heaven. He put his face in front of the fan and soaked it up. He positioned the fan at the head of the room so it blew constant air on the two beds.

Trixie then re-entered the room. “Bathroom’s all yours,” she said, putting away her toothbrush.

“Thanks.” Dom grabbed his toothbrush and went to the bathroom. It was a small stone room with an ancient looking shower and a dirty toilet. He went to the sink and turned on the faucet. A thin stream of gritty looking water began flowing out in spurts. Watching it cough and splutter, Dom realized how lucky he was to have Vincent’s mansion and all its mod-cons to live in.

He brushed his teeth, then got in the shower. The showerhead dribbled out that same gritty water in spasmodic bursts. He spotted a couple of cockroaches on the wall; he winced. Avoiding them, he showered, washing under his arms and crotch with his bare hand. He finished up and stepped out of the shower, hardly feeling any cleaner than before he stepped in. He dried off, put his nightclothes back on and then returned to their room. Trixie was lying down in her bed, her eyes closed. Dom went and turned off the light, dumping the room into darkness. He then went and lay down on his side. He got as comfortable as he could lying on a hard floor with just a few blankets as buffer. He stared into the darkness, his brain ticking over.

“I wonder how Troy is getting on in Tijuana,” he asked out loud.

“I’m sure he’ll be right at home,” Trixie replied from across the room.

“Yeah, I’ve heard rumors about that place.”

“Exactly the type of place to find any fangheads or even vamps who might know something about the Chaos Order.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t betray us.”

“Don’t worry, Dad upped his pay. Troy knows what’s best for him, and that’s money. Give him just enough and he’ll always come back looking for more. As long as he does that and Dad keeps paying, it won’t be in his interests to betray us.”

A brief moment of silence took over. Something then played on Dom’s mind. He sat up on his elbows. “Hey, you never did tell me how the daughter of a vampire hunter became a fanghead,” he said toward where Trixie lay.

“I told you before not to ask,” came her curt reply.

“Just interested, that’s all.”

“Well,
I’m
not. Interested in talking about it, that is,” she replied with a spiky tone.

“Okay, okay,” Dom said, patting his hands on the air. “I won’t mention it again.” Everything went silent, the sound of the grasshoppers outside becoming audible once more. Dom then remembered something. “How are your hands?” he asked her.

“They hurt. But, not as much as yesterday.”

“I never did say thanks for coming back to save us.”

“Well, you have now.”

“I mean it,” Dom said, trying to inject as much sincerity as possible into his voice. “Thanks.”

Trixie sighed. “It’s okay. It’s what I’m paid to do. Get some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“We sure do.” Dom rolled over onto his back and patted down his blankets. By the time he closed his eyes, the beer and the tiredness overcame him and he was asleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

T
he upstairs of Shanghai resembled a Victorian opium den. The décor was a red and white Chinese pastiche, dragons and lotus flowers stenciled all over the walls. The music was some angry Latin hip-hop that seemed totally out of whack for a drug den. Something more like Pink Floyd or The Doors would’ve been more apt. Dotted around the place were dirty futons and couches, some of which were occupied with loitering stoners and gangbangers, openly taking their drugs without fear of reprisal from the local cops.
Maybe they
are
the cops,
Troy thought to himself. He shivered at the thought.

Troy was already seated at a couch in the corner of the room on his own, pipe in hand. He scored some glass from Bandanna Guy before he went off looking for more customers. Troy took another hit of the meth and then slunk back on the dirty couch. It was decent stuff and already, the naked chicks on the stage downstairs were somewhere at the back of his now hazy mind. He closed his eyes and let the meth go to work on him.

A dreamy smile spread across his face. Maybe this vacation wasn’t turning out to be so bad. He could stay downtown for a few nights; get high, get some hookers, then go back to Trixie and that runt and tell them he couldn’t find anything for them. He tried, but no go. No vamps, no Chaos Order. They’d been chased outta town or something. He could even tell them he had a lead but needed to go back for a few more nights just to make sure. He’d need some more cash of course, and once Trixie coughed up, he could do it all over again. Hookers and blow. Man, why didn’t he come down here sooner? Mexico was all right, man.
Very all right.

“Hey,
amigo
,” a voice then said, snapping his contented train of thought.

Troy’s heavy eyelids came halfway open. He found himself staring at Bandanna Guy again; he was standing ahead of Troy’s couch. With him were two other tattooed guys, much bigger than Bandanna Guy. “How you enjoying Tijuana?” Bandanna Guy asked, but there was an aggressiveness about him that wasn’t there before.

An alarm sounded somewhere deep inside Troy’s head, but the meth was clouding it in a haze of synthetic pleasure.

“Whu—?” was all could manage before one of the big guys stepped forward, reached down, grabbed handfuls of his shirt and dragged him to his feet.

Troy’s drugged up eyes finally snapped fully open. He looked around the three mean faces sweating him, fear now overriding the drugs. Troy immediately tried icing them, but for some reason it wasn’t working.

The drugs, Troy
,
you idiot,
a voice inside him spoke up.
The drugs have messed up your eyes.

He looked down in disappointment.
Oh...

The big guy pulled him in toward him. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” Troy stammered. “What’s the—”

“Where you from?” Bandanna Guy asked him in a hostile tone, stepping up close to him.

Troy looked around to meet his stare. “Chicago,” he retorted in a slur. “Where
you
from?”

Bandanna Guy leaned into him. “I’m gonna ask you one time,
pendejo
. What order you from?”

“None,” Troy replied.

Bandanna Guy nodded his head in irony. “None.” He looked up at the two other guys with him. Grins broke out on their scarred faces.

“
Puto
,” one of them said, spit flying out of his mouth and into Troy’s face.

Troy lifted his hand and wiped the spittle from his cheek. “That’s right,” he said. “None.”

Bandanna Guy shook his head. “I don’t believe you,
amigo
. Now, someone wants to speak to you.”

Troy frowned. “Who? I don’t wanna speak to anyone.”

Bandanna Guy glanced at his buddies and cocked his head to the side. “
Vamos!
” he said before turning and marching away.

In the next instant, Troy was dragged across the floor. “Hey! Hey!” he protested. The big guy holding him covered Troy’s mouth with his hand and continued to drag him across the room. Bandanna Guy looked around the room with concerned eyes as they dragged Troy away. Most of the others in the room were too stoned to even notice anything was happening. Troy tried his best to fight back, but the two gorillas were too strong for him. He was bundled down a quiet corridor and into a back room where a mustachioed guy with slicked back hair was sitting behind a desk counting out mountains of cash. The moment they burst into his office, he threw off his glasses and scrambled for the gun on his desk.

On seeing Bandanna Guy, he lowered his gun and squinted his eyes. “Chichi?
Que pasa?
” he asked.

The guys dragged Troy in front of the desk and let him go. Troy stood upright and straightened his Hawaiian shirt.

“Sorry, Lobo,” he said throwing the door shut behind him. “We caught this
puto
downstairs, looking at the ladies.”

Lobo looked Troy up and down in confusion. “So? Why you brought him here?”

Chichi stepped up to Troy, grabbed his cheeks and forced his mouth to pop open. His fangs came on display.

Lobo began nodding. “Ah,
comprender
.
Okay, let him go.”

Chichi let go and Troy smoothed down his hair. “Don’t touch me again,” he warned.

“Hey,
amigo
,” Lobo said, making Troy look his way. Lobo now had his arms crossed over his chest. He leaned back in his chair; it creaked under the pressure. Troy noticed the puncture marks on his neck. He guessed this guy was much higher up the food chain than the other grunts.

“Who sent you?” Lobo then asked.

“No one,” Troy answered in an annoyed voice. He was getting sick of these guys and their questions.

“No one?” Lobo echoed, his face contorted in disbelief. “What order are you from?” he then asked, his expression turning suspicious.

“I don’t belong to any order,” Troy said, straightening his shirt. “I’m an independent.”

“
Independiente?
” Lobo asked. “What you doing down here?”

“I’m on vacation.”

Lobo leaned forward, his face becoming shadowed. “Vacation?”

“That’s right. I’m checking out the nightlife. I
am
a creature of the night after all,” Troy said with a grin.

A smile spread across Lobo’s face. “Ha ha!” He slapped his desk. “I like it.” He turned to the other guys. “
Comediante
, eh?” he said to them, pointing at Troy. They all cackled.

Troy grinned back at Lobo, giving him a double eyebrow raise.

Lobo then cut his laughter short. He slapped the desk, making them all flinch. “But, you’re trespassing,
amigo
,” he said with a shrug.

Troy’s grin melted.

“And you’ll have to answer to El Víbora.”

Troy shook his head. “What’s that?”

“El Víbora,” Lobo repeated. “The Viper. He’s the leader of Los Verdugos.
El Padre
. The Father. My boss. We control Tijuana. He’ll decide if you’re allowed to be here.”

Troy met his stare full on. “And if he doesn’t?”

Lobo shrugged. “If he doesn’t. Then, it’s...” He picked up his gun and pointed it at Troy’s chest.

Troy’s eyes widened.

“Bang!” Lobo said and pretended to fire.

Troy gulped.

Lobo sat back in his chair and let out a hearty laugh.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
hey escorted Troy out the back entrance and threw him into the back of a waiting car. Before Troy even had a chance to think of escape, he was crammed in between the two thugs from the upstairs of Shanghai. Chichi started up the engine, the stereo blasting out that obligatory Latino rap, which was like rusty nails on Troy’s ears. Car doors slammed and they hit the streets.

Troy crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. He knew he shouldn’t have come down to Mexico. He knew the dancing
chicas
were just an illusion. They always were. He was sold short, every time. Suddenly, the drugs were wearing off too, and he was left with a nasty comedown, and an unhealthy dose of paranoia to boot.
Thanks a bunch, Trixie,
he thought to himself, his top lip curling up
.