Elizabeth looked upon the now fully armed Huey gunship with an air of satisfaction. She single-handedly reattached the armament subsystems to the mounting brackets – a job which would have required a complete aircrew normally, unless there was a vampire available – and had gone on to calibrate the sighting systems. Although she certainly had the strength and stamina to complete the task, it was still a laborious and time consuming process, made more time consuming by the fact that Raton Ramirez failed to offer her a hand. In fact, he did less than offer her a hand.
"What do you think, Raton?" Elizabeth asked. "Not a bad job, if I say so my... wait. Is that another beer?"
Raton took a swig from the bottle of Negra Modelo. "Yep! It's a beer!"
"How many beers have you had?"
"Well, counting this one, and that six pack of Tecate, seven."
"Seven beers?"
"And a couple shots of tequila."
"A couple? And that margarita you were drinking when I arrived?"
"Oh, that was virgin."
"Oh, well, thank God for that! So that's what you've been doing all this time when I've been working my ass off? Drinking?"
"Hey, you gotta drink to get drunk!"
Elizabeth sniffed the air. "Oh my god. You are drunk!"
"Naw, just got a buzz goin' on."
"No, you're wasted!"
"I am serfectly pober. What? I fly better when I'm a little wasted!"
"Oh, you're not 'a little wasted', you're gone!"
"What's your point?"
"I needed to get to the lair of the Santa Muerte today!"
"Oh! You needed to do that today! Well, you weren't specific!"
Elizabeth palmed her face. "I can't fucking believe this. The only person who can get me to the Santa Muerte is not only a drunkard, he's drunk!"
"Now, lady, I will get you to the Santa Muerte, but you know what? I probably shouldn't fly right about now."
Raton then fell right into a mud puddle. He also began snoring quite loudly.
"I am so not dealing with that," Elizabeth said as she walked away from the sleeping drunk.
*
"Well," Scott said, "this is another fine mess I've gotten us into."
"It's not your fault," Dawn assured him from her cell across the hall. "If anything, it's Doug's fault."
"You know, you're right! I blame Doug!"
"Hey!" Doug cried from a few cells down the hall, "I can hear you!"
"Is anything I've said inaccurate?"
"Well, no, it's not. Ah, hell. This is all my fault, and now, you're gonna die for me. Scott, I'm not worth it."
"Oh, I agree," Dawn said.
"So do I," Scott agreed.
"Then why are you doing it, Scott?" Doug asked. "Why are you putting your ass on the line for me? You barely know me!"
"Why did you come to see us, Doug? Me and mom?"
"I told you the truth about wanting a fresh start and all that. It's all true."
"It's more than that."
"Yeah. A lot more. Did I tell you I got a couple kids, Scott?"
"I don't think you had time to tell me that."
"Yeah, well, they want nothing to do with me, and I don't blame them. I was always out hustling, making money, wasting my time on things that ultimately didn't matter, and in the process, I ignored them. Oh, I gave them things, every now and then, just to let them know I was alive. But that's it. The fact is, I'm a pretty shitty excuse for a father."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"And now, now I'm alone. I got nobody, Scott. I was hoping that maybe I'd found family. Maybe I found a place to belong. And I screwed that right up."
"I understand feeling alone. Believe me, I understand that. But Doug, you're not alone."
"I'm not?"
"No, Doug. You've got a brother right here."
"And a soon-to-be-sister-in-law," Dawn said.
"And a really dysfunctional extended family. You're not alone, Doug."
"Thanks, Scott, I owe you. Big time."
"You owe me nothing."
"Ah, that's good, 'cause I got nothing."
"That is correct," came the voice of the Santa Muerte as he walked down the hall toward Scott's cell, "because the American DEA seized the money you stole from Calderon, right?"
"Yeah, that's true, I suppose."
The Santa Muerte walked past Doug's cell and over to Scott's. "I wish to apologize," he said, "these accommodations are less than suitable. I would put you in more luxurious rooms, had I the chance, but I did not. And so, I apologize."
"I guess it's not your fault entirely," Scott said.
"Oh, I disagree," Dawn said. "You could have done something about it, Santa Muerte. You know you could. Why didn't you?"
"Miss Rhinebeck," the Santa Muerte said, "it is not so simple."
"It isn't? Why isn't it?"
"I am at Don Calderon's service. What he says must be."
"And that's it? You aren't capable of making decisions for yourself?"
"Again, it is not so simple as that. I am bound to the house of Calderon. I serve the house of Calderon. I have no choice."
"I think you do," Scott said.
"No. I do not have a choice! I am forced to serve this house! This house, which was once made of great and honorable men, now a shadow of its former glory, made cheaper by its involvement in the narcotics trade."
"You are ashamed of the house of Calderon."
"I am, with reason."
"Then how can you serve someone you are ashamed of?"
"Because I am ashamed of myself."
"Then free yourself."
"I am the Santa Muerte! I cannot be free!'
"You are Cristobal Castillo."
The Santa Muerte's eyes widened at the mention of that name. "Cristobal... Castillo? I have not gone by that name for... for many, many years."
"The monster that turned you made you take on the name "Santa Muerte", didn't she?"
"Yes... yes, she did. I became the embodiment of the Santa Muerte herself."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes? How would you know?"
"When Jack sired me, he thought he had me, and I thought I had no choice but to give in to the darkness. Well, it turned out that I wasn't exactly a good candidate for being a hideous creature of pure evil. I struggled against that darkness. I still struggle against it, but it has not beaten me."
"Nor could it. You are the 'Redeemed One'. The prophecies speak of a dark warrior for the light. This has to be you."
"Maybe it is. I don't know. Who knows, really? Maybe this 'Redeemed One' thing is just a legend. Or maybe it's not just a single vampire. Think about this: what if all of those who wanted change stood up for it and fought against the darkness in themselves and others?"
"This is an impossibility."
"Granted, it's an awful big dream, but it's not impossible."
"I knew that you would bring me hope, Scott Campbell. Your words are a comfort to me."
"I try."
"Whether you are the Redeemed One or not, you are a good man, Scott Campbell."
"Well, I don't know about that, but thank you, Cristobal Castillo."
"I shall see you tomorrow on the field of honor. I hope I do not kill you. That would be tragic."
"Oh, I agree with that. But you don't need to kill me, and I don't need to kill you."
"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps."
"I know I'm right."
"We shall see. Goodnight, Scott Campbell, and Dawn Rhinebeck."
"Goodnight, Cristobal Castillo."
*
Don Calderon sat at the dining room table, drinking beer from a crystal mug. Gibson stood behind him.
"You didn't entertain Jack's proposition, did you?" Gibson asked.
"Not only did I," Calderon replied, "but I accepted it."
"You what? Are you mad?"
"I thought it sounded most reasonable, actually."
"You trade one vampire for another? How does this work?"
"Jack is more amenable to doing my will, and I have control over him."
"Really? How?"
Calderon pulled the remote from his jacket pocket. "With this."
"That? Seriously?"
"This controls a couple shock collars that Scott Campbell put on Jack in order to maintain his compliance. Apparently, it has been most effective."
"Apparently?"
"Why, yes."
"And what happens when the batteries run out of juice? What then?"
"That is why I have you around! If he misbehaves, you use your particular set of skills to prevent Jack from doing much damage."
"So, I'm to be the nursemaid to a vampire?"
"Not at all! You are the safety plan."
"I'll not play second string to a monster."
"You will. And you will like it."
Gibson sighed. "Very well, Don Calderon." One of Calderon's bodyguards flashed a hand signal to Gibson. "In any case, Don Calderon," Gibson said, "change of subject. Your Santa Muerte is here."
The Santa Muerte came into the dining room and began pacing.
"You know," Don Calderon said, "I find pacing around to be annoying."
The Santa Muerte stopped. "I apologize."
"What troubles you?"
"I would like you to release Douglas Campbell from his debt."
"Come again? I don't believe I heard you."
"Release Doug Campbell from the debt he owes you. Do not insist on vengeance."
Gibson looked at Calderon. If one could see through his mirrored sunglasses, they would see the rolling of eyes. "He's gone mad. Everyone has gone mad!"
"Why would you ask me to do this?" Calderon asked.
"Because it is right."
"Because it is what?"
"Because it is right."
"Right. Right."
"You have no need to kill this man. Offer him mercy."
"And I would do this, why?"
"I have no desire to meet Scott Campbell on the field of honor."
"And this is my problem, how?"
"It sounds like your 'Holy Death' has a case of the 'Holy Shits'," Gibson laughed.
The Santa Muerte glared at the Australian. "That is not true."
"Oh, are you calling me a liar?"
"I could call you much worse."
"You could try."
"Gentlemen, please!" Calderon pled. "Please, Santa Muerte, help me understand why you think either Campbell should live."
"Doug Campbell is a criminal, and I am not excusing that. But Scott Campbell is no criminal."
"Ah, now he's going on this 'Redeemed One' nonsense again," Gibson said.
"Scott Campbell is a good man."
Calderon rubbed his forehead. "So, you do not want me to kill Doug because Scott is a 'good man'. This makes no sense to me."
"I am begging you, release Doug from his obligation."
"No."
"Why did I not expect that answer? I know you, Don Calderon. You are a hard and cruel man and you enjoy it. You kill without compunction or mercy. You sell a product that harms and kills many young people, but you do not care, so long as you stand to profit. You are completely without decency or honor."
"Do you hear that, Calderon?" Gibson said. "A vampire stands in judgment of you!"
"I may be a vampire, Gibson, but I wonder if it is I who is truly a monster."
The Santa Muerte turned and left the dining room, then headed for his personal chambers.
"Just give me the word, Calderon," Gibson said.
"Patience, Gibson. The word will come, make no mistake."