If you haven’t read Part 1… you should probably go do that.
Chapter Three – A Legacy of Horror
Truth be told, Oscar had started having children comparatively late in life. This was generally considered to be unusual, and even more so considering just how many children he had running around the town. But his early adulthood had been, to say the least, quite busy, what with all the murder, mayhem, and other illicit activities.
And so it was that now, a mere two weeks after he’d discovered his best friend’s vampirism, Oscar found himself staring down the barrel of his eldest son’s eighteenth birthday. Oscar Santiago — his mother had gotten to pick his second name — was perhaps two months away from being an official adult. Oh, his fifteenth birthday had been important in its own right, if not quite so fancy as the traditional quinceañera afforded to girls of the same age.
After all, Oscar Senior had himself been inducted into the family business around that age. But, he considered himself to be something of a modern man. The world was changing rapidly, and any cartel that didn’t change with it would soon find itself irrelevant, obsolete, and—not to put too fine a point on it—dead.
When his son came to work for him, he wanted the boy to be a little older and smarter than he’d been. His wife had readily agreed to this. She knew the dangers of her husband’s business all too well, and was no stranger to peril. If she had her way, the boy wouldn’t come to work until he’d gone to college, and perhaps done some post-graduate studies. Oscar Senior was inclined to agree.
However, this flew in the face of tradition, and he’d already heard very quiet grumblings and pushback from a few of his more stodgy subordinates. Rumblings about “spoiling the boy” and “lack of real experience” had just barely reached his ears, as his men weren’t quite stupid enough to say it to his face. All the better.
Grumbling was fine, even a human right as far as Oscar was concerned. But he would brook no public dissent, and he’d known most of his people for decades. It’d be a shame to put any of them in the ground over a few quiet doubts.
At the same time, you could only push tradition so far in any single generation, and if more of his people started to wonder if they’d be able to trust Oscar Junior when he took over, that could spell disaster. The kind that made the papers with bloody photos, rampant speculation, and some truly devastating puns in the headlines. Oh, those headline writers lived for puns.
But he intended to put all of that out of his mind, for the moment. After all, he was going out on the town with his best friend. In the two week’s since he’d discovered Artuditu’s vampirism, he’d hardly talked to the man. This hadn’t been on purpose in the slightest. In fact, it was incredible how quickly the idea had slipped into the back of his mind as the daily concerns of running a modest criminal empire took precedence. If his dreams hadn’t occasionally brought back that horrifying moment when he’d been sure of his impending death, he’d have forgotten it happened at all.
With the way he’d lived, it was probably best if he paid some of his inevitable penance while he still lived, even if it was only in dreams.
Shaking his head to clear out the morose thoughts, he stepped in front of his full length mirror to make sure he looked presentable. He wasn’t short, or overly tall, but he still had a decent head of graying hair. He wore black and white snakeskin boots, and a genuine Stetson hat (black), brought to him straight from Garland, Texas by a cousin of his. He had put on his favorite dark gray suit this time, but had forgone the tie.
Even with his slight paunch, he cut an impressive figure with his broad shoulders, and confident posture. Years of ranch work and violence kept a man in decent shape, after all, and his wife had made him moisturize. He’d never admit it to her face, but he knew that was a big reason he looked as put-together as he did.
Just as he was putting the last stray hairs back into place, his wife came into the room, and wolf-whistled at him.
“¿Qué comen los pajaritos?” she asked, smiling. 1
He smiled back. One might assume, with all of his philandering, that the romance was dead in his marriage. One would be wrong. This was the mother of his children after all. He owed her respect, he owed her love, and he owed her romance. In his own way, he’d kept his marriage alive by giving her all three. When he was with her, he was with her.
“Mi Vida,” he said, “how do I look?”
“Like you’re finally going out with Artuditu. Say hi to him for me, will you?” she replied.
“Of course.”
“Good. And you look wonderful. You’re going to be the best-looking old drunk at several bars, I’m sure.”
Oscar grinned, “That’s the idea, my Love! I have to remind the people just how handsome the local Boss is. It’s why they follow me.”
“Sure,” Judith said sardonically, “that’s why. Not the guns, not the money, not the suspicious amount of graves that belong to those who once opposed us. It’s your face.”
“Exactly.” Oscar replied solemnly, “This is my money-maker.”
“Have a good time. Tell me how Artuditu is doing with… all this.”
“I will.”
“And remember, if you don’t come home tonight…”
“Shower in the morning. I know.”
Before he left the house, he stopped by the children’s rooms. He said good night, kissed them on their foreheads, and tucked them in when necessary. Little Anita Judith had demanded a story, and two songs, but had fallen asleep halfway through the second.
At the end, he came to Oscar Junior’s room.
“How’s the homework going, Mijo?”
The boy looked up, and gave a slight smile, “Ehhhh, not bad. I’m almost done.”
Oscar looked at him with pride. His son was smart. No genius, but smart, and far more diligent about his studies than his father had been.
“Good. Nothing you need help with, then?”
“Nah, it’s all good. Actually, I think my English teacher might be going easy on me again. Sometimes I don’t mind but…”
Oscar Senior nodded, “You do actually need to learn that stuff.”
Oscar Junior nodded back and half shrugged, “Yeah, I guess. I just don’t want to mess up my exams.”
“I’ll have a word with him. How’s that girl you liked? Ummm…”
Oscar Junior winced, “Lucia?”
“That’s the one…”
“She left ages ago. She’s gone to study in Canada for a while.”
“Ahhhh. So you really want to learn English, then? I see, I see…”
Oscar Junior shrugged, trying to keep his embarrassment off his face.
“Relax. You two are still talking, right?”
His son nodded in the affirmative.
“Then take it one step at a time. You’re a Vela man. She’ll come back for more.”
“Ew, Dad… if you say so.” his son replied, shuddering slightly.
“I do say so!”
He turned, and was about to leave when his son said, “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“What’s it like to kill somebody?”
Oscar Senior stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly, made his way to the bed behind his son’s desk, and sat on it. He placed his palms on his knees, and looked his son straight in the eye. To the boy’s credit, Oscar Junior looked back calmly, and steadily. He was serious.
“Is there someone who needs killing?” Oscar Senior asked.
His son shook his head, “No, nothing like that. It’s just… I might go to college, right?”
“You might.”
“But whether I do or not, ummm… I’m supposed to join the family business.”
Oscar Senior nodded.
“I guess I… I dunno. I’ve never done it before and well… It’s not that I have a problem with it, if it’s absolutely necessary…”
Oscar kept his own face impassive, quietly enjoying his son’s shock when he said, “You should absolutely have a problem with it.”
The boy fell silent, and Oscar Senior continued, “I know it doesn’t look like it all the time, but the Families… the smart ones… they kill as a last resort. Hell, Mijo, there’s not a man in my employ who doesn’t wish he was somewhere else when it comes time to go out and shoot people.”
“Even Emiliano?”
“Well, no…” Oscar Senior conceded, “Emiliano is a psycho. We don’t count him.”
Oscar Junior looked to the side, awkwardly, and his father sighed.
“Look, it’s hard. It should be hard. The day it gets easy… that’s a dark day for a man’s soul. But you don’t have to worry about that yet. Focus on your studies, okay?”
Oscar Junior nodded.
“I will, Dad.”
“Good.”
Oscar left his son’s room, with all of his earlier concerns weighing on him more than they had before. His son shouldn’t have to worry about things like that, not ever. What was the point of it all? What was the point of working your ass off if your children couldn’t have a better life than you’d had? Oh sure, they’d have plenty more wealth than even he had started with, but…
What was the point of leaving your children a pile of money tainted by a legacy of blood and horror?
At that, he had to smirk to himself. He knew just the person to ask about all that, funnily enough.
Chapter Four – A Bloody Good Night on the Town
Not long after, Oscar strode casually into what was almost certainly only the first bar they’d drink at tonight. Artuditu was seated at a table, absent-mindedly nursing a beer, and not one of the better brands.
He looked almost the same. He was still a slightly smaller man than Oscar, with a thinner face. His skin didn’t look pale, and he still had his slightly thinning hair on top, and a full, bushy mustache on his face. Oscar reflected that he might have been the only vampire he’d ever seen with a mustache. Though to be fair, all the other vampires Oscar had ever seen were entirely fictional.
Oscar came up next to the table, hooked his thumbs into his belt, and eyed his friend critically.
“I thought you were supposed to be all fancy, now? Huh? Where’s the cape? Where’s the wine, red like blood?”
Artuditu took a long swig, and extended a middle finger towards Oscar as he did so. Oscar grinned and sat, signaling for a waiter to come over. Technically, this establishment didn’t have waiters. But for Oscar, the owner himself would play the role.
Oscar looked around at the moderately lit, fairly clean, and only somewhat run-down walls of the place, with its decor of old photos, and the incongruously colorful logos of a dozen different brands of alcohol on signs and posters littered about the place. If one was feeling particularly charitable, it could be described as “Old photos and advertising chic.”
Artuditu placed his empty bottle on the table, and nodded absent-mindedly as Oscar placed his order. Shortly, two bottles of dark, bitter, and comparatively expensive beer would find their way to the table.
After the owner left, Artuditu replied, “It’s not exactly a red wine sort of place, is it? Hardly a cold castle in the middle of Europe somewhere, anyway.”
Oscar nodded back, “That’s right, we’ll need to get you a castle.”
“Oh fuck you.”
“Hey, maybe you’re into that, but I’m still straight.”
It was Artuditu’s turn to grin, “How lucky for the men of this world. My condolences to the ladies.”
“Ah, you’re just jealous. I don’t just get women, I keep them! Lots of them!” Oscar bragged dismissively.
“And that’s the problem,” mused Artuditu, “when finally you die of poisoning, we’ll have far too many suspects.”
They chuckled darkly to each other.
“Seriously, man, how are you doing?” asked Oscar.
Artuditu scoffed, “I’m fine. I’ve had years to get used to this. How are you doing?”
“It’s weird. I got busy and… I dunno. I half forgot about it.”
Artuditu smiled at that.
“Yeah, it’s amazing what you can get used to.”
Oscar nodded, and continued, “Hey, I never asked, but, well I guess you can still eat normal food? I mean you’re drinking that beer.”
His friend smiled, “Hell yeah! It doesn’t do anything for me, stomach-wise, you know? But carne asada still tastes like motherfucking carne asada. Being sorta dead won’t stop me from loving tacos. I can even get drunk! It just takes longer, and I have to drink more.”
Oscar gave his friend an approving look, and said “Hell yeah! Then tonight, our mission is to get your properly wasted.” before taking another swig of his own beer.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere and emptying their beer bottles. Then, they began to catch each other up on their latest non-supernatural life events. More beers arrived, and Oscar told his friend about the latest shenanigans that some of his mistresses’ children had gotten up to. Artuditu told Oscar of his latest—and unusually age-appropriate—romantic conquests.
When the new stories ran out, they told old stories. More beer came and went, until Oscar began to feel somewhat reflective.
Artuditu sighed, “I know that look. You’re thinking, Oscar. Stop it.”
Oscar chuckled, “Yeah, I know. There’s something… ah I have something I need to discuss with you.”
Artuditu looked at him carefully, and said, “If it’s about, you know…”
He gestured towards his teeth.
Oscar smiled slyly.
“Not everything’s about you and your… big teeth, Compadre. No, it’s Oscarito. I need your advice, and for all my talk of getting you drunk, I’m not drunk enough for this yet.” he said.
Artuditu’s face was still concerned, but more open as he asked, “Is there anything wrong with my Godson?”
“No, no. He’s damn near perfect! And that’s… that’s why I’m drinking right now.”
Artuditu smirked, “Drinking because you have an amazing son. How I pity you.”
Oscar shook his head, “You’ll see what I mean later. For now, let’s see if your undead ass can keep up with my still-warm liver.”
“You shouldn’t have said that. Let’s do it.”
The two men paid their tab, and found their way to another, somewhat noisier establishment. The next few hours were filled with salsa music, and dancing with younger women. Then there was a grimy dive bar with a vague Ranchero theme, complete with the appropriate music. There, the two of them chatted with some of the other locals, flirted mercilessly with an octogenarian bartender who laughed them off and called them “youths” before shooing them out near closing time.
At some point, a few of the local civilians challenged them to a bottle shooting contest, which Artuditu intentionally lost, so as not to reveal his newfound abilities. Oscar knew exactly what he’d done, but mocked him endlessly because it was expected of him, and because it was fun.
After all, it was early Saturday morning after the quincena2, and everyone was partying hard.
Finally, it came to an end, and the two of them watched the sun rise at a cafe that had been coaxed to open early through a generous application of cold, hard cash. They sat at the one small outside table, and sipped on some coffee as the sun’s rays came over the horizon.
Artuditu had seemed unstoppable the whole night before, but now he visibly sagged.
“I have to confess,” he said, “that though I still think the sunrises here are better than anything I’ve seen in any painting, or movie, I’m really starting to hate this part of the day.”
Oscar looked at him drunkenly, the coffee having hardly made a dent in the fog that now permeated his mind, “Oh shit, that’s right. The sun sucks even more for you now.”
Artuditu nodded, “True. Anyway, what’s going on with Oscarito? Why has your near-perfect son got you drinking as if you were his age? You need to tell me before you pass out.”
Oscar took a sip of his coffee, and smiled lazily.
“I might not be the first one to pass out, Compa.”3
“Then you better talk faster.”
Oscar sat quietly a moment longer, then asked, “You ever have any regrets about some of the things we’ve done?”
Artuditu took a sip of his own coffee before replying, “It’s gonna be one of those conversations, huh? Alright. Sure, I mean, there were some situations we could have handled better, especially when we were younger.”
Oscar chuckled, “That’s an understatement.”
“Yeah. But look around, man. This village is beautiful. These people are beautiful. And thanks to us, they have better water pipes, with no lead this time. They have normal jobs, and hobbies, and free time, and nice things. We weren’t the first people to make that happen, but we helped.”
Oscar nodded along in agreement.
“That’s true,” he said, “but we killed a whole lot of people to do it.”
Artuditu shrugged and replied, “Most of them were trying to do the same thing to us. The rest of them would have tried eventually, probably.”
“True. Problem is, there’s no end to them, and they’re going to keep trying. Now that’s no problem for me. I knew what I was signing up for. I’m either going to prison, or I’m gonna die from the other kind of lead poisoning.” said Oscar.
“And?”
“And I don’t know if I can impose that same life on my children, man. And what if I die before Oscarito is ready? You know the other families and organizations out there. They’ll come swooping in like extra ugly vultures.” said Oscar.
Artuditu thought for a moment before replying, with a wry smile, “I wouldn’t let that happen.”
Oscar perked up at this, “Right, true! Long as they come at night, no?”
Artuditu gave him a thumbs up, “Or I can go to them. You know me, I’m happy not being in charge, but I can make sure your family is okay. Hell, I can do that indefinitely, now.”
Oscar believed him. Through all the years they’d been friends and colleagues, Artuditu had never once shown the slightest shred of envy over Oscar’s position as the boss. In his drunkest hours, he’d confessed to Oscar that even being second in command scared the crap out of him sometimes, and he was glad he wasn’t making the decisions. Oscar had called him a lucky bastard at the time.
“Thank you. Seriously.”
“No hay de qué.”4
“But,” Oscar continued, “it’s more than that. Oscarito fucking asked me what it’s like to kill people.”
“What did you say?” asked Artuditu, looking curious.
“Not much. Told him it’s a bad sign when it gets too easy, that it’s a last resort. The usual bullshit.” sighed Oscar.
“You worried he won’t be able to handle it?”
“I’m worried he’ll be fucking amazing at it. Artu, I don’t want him to be like me. Maybe that’s the weirdest thing a father has ever said…”
Artuditu snorted, “Oh you are not the first man to say that, and it’s not that weird.”
Oscar said, “Whatever. My point is, I look at that boy, and I don’t think to myself, ‘I can’t wait for him to run my business.’ I look at everything I’ve done and, well I’m proud, in a way. I’ve lived the best life that I know how. But I just know that he, and all of my kids, could live a better one.”
Artuditu’s voice was not unkind as he asked, “But then who’s going to take care of all these people? Let’s say your kids get out. Who’s going to lead our little band of merry cutthroats and bastards?”
“Well, every vampire needs minions…”
Artuditu glared at Oscar, “Don’t even joke about that.”
Oscar, his composure slipping due to drink and exhaustion, let out a giggle that was entirely unbecoming of a cartel boss.
“Ah, I don’t know, Artu. I don’t fucking know. I just want to know if I’m crazy for thinking this way, I guess.”
At that, Artuditu scoffed.
“If you didn’t constantly try to give your family a better life than you had, you and I could not be friends. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Oscar slumped in relief.
“Thanks, Artu.”
“You’ll be fine. Oscarito will be more than fine. Let’s get your old ass home.”
Oscar straightened, then stood.
“Not yet. We should stop by Rosalita’s house first. I need a shower.”
They ambled off in the direction of Rosalita’s house. Artuditu was almost sure that Rosalita was Oscar’s mistress number four, but his memories of the time period when Mistresses
Four and Five came into the picture were… hazy.
Oscar, for his part, was mostly focused on putting one foot in front of the other. It got easier as they moved on, with the coffee and the fresh morning air beginning to take effect.
Oscar never blamed himself for what happened next. There was no way he could have known. It did, however, really piss him off. Artuditu did blame himself, but in truth, he likely couldn’t have noticed the danger in time. After all, any decent vampire hunter knew that early morning, just after sunrise, was the best time to catch a sun-weakened vampire unawares.
Artuditu had overtaken Oscar, and was leading his boss and friend to Rosalita’s house. This gave Oscar the chance to see something incredible. A furry sort of blur descended from above, landing on Artuditu’s back, forcing him to the ground. There was a brief tearing sound, and blood spurted across the alley.
If Oscar hadn’t been tired, and quickly heading toward an impressive hangover, he’d have been faster by a few split seconds. Even so, he managed an impressive turn of speed as he reached for his holster, freed his pistol, and fired all before he’d even realized what he was doing.
The shot went wide, but not by much. The bullet entered the furry thing in what would later turn out to be its right shoulder.
It flinched, seemingly frozen for a split second. That was all Artuditu needed to sink his fangs into the thing’s arm, and it howled and struggled to get away.
Oscar heard a shout from the rooftop behind him, and to his left. To his immense surprise, it was in English.
[“Get clear, I don’t have a shot!”]
He whirled, brought his pistol up, and fired at the shape on the roof. This bullet went wide as well, without hitting anything. But it was enough to make the gunman on the roof duck for cover.
Behind him, he heard Artuditu yelling in a primal rage. He’d heard that before, in desperate situations. But now, that familiar shout had a new edge to it. Something darker, more dangerous. He kept his gun aimed up at the roof, and hoped that his friend would be able to hold his own, even in the morning light.
The gunman on the roof shouted down, in broken Spanish, “Help you… monster… bad person…”
Oscar didn’t hesitate.
He yelled back, “Dolores!”
The word meant two things. Firstly, it was a reference to the most famous speech in Mexican history, the Grito de Dolores. Secondly, it was a code word, and the reason that the name “Dolores” was never used in the town of San Nicolás and the surrounding countryside.
That wasn’t a rule. People just felt it was best to avoid any accidents.
Soon, the cry was coming from every house in the neighborhood. phone calls were being made, texts were being sent. Every one of his men would be converging on his position, as well as some of the braver and more bloody-minded civilian townsmen. “Dolores” wasn’t just a cry for help, or a demand to protect the boss. It meant there was a threat to the town and its people, and it would not be taken lightly.
Hearing the commotion gather volume, the gunman on the roof made a split-second decision. He shouted, [“Abort! Abort!”] and made for the other side of the building he was on.
Oscar turned back to the fight behind him. Artuditu and the gray-brown furry thing, its face worryingly wolf-like, circled each other. It tried to snarl something in English in Oscar’s direction, but its speech was mangled by its canine mouth.
Oscar decided to communicate his displeasure. The adrenaline had driven all sluggishness from him, and he swiftly, almost casually, aimed his pistol and shot the thing straight in the chest.
It howled, and Artuditu took the opportunity to come in low, landing rib-crunching blows on its torso. It yelped, dodged back on two legs that did not look like they were designed for bipedal movement. At this moment, it seemed to decide that it was outmatched. It dropped onto all fours, and ran down the alley.
Oscar squeezed off another shot, grazing its hind-left leg. It almost tripped, but recovered and kept going.
Shouts came from nearby streets as Oscar’s men mobilized, and they’d arrive soon. Oscar went to check on his friend.
“You alive? Well, less dead than you should be?”
Artuditu leaned against a wall, and lowered himself into a sitting position on a small bench.
“Yeah.” he said, “Gonna need blood soon, though.”
Oscar nodded.
“We’ll get you sorted. God. I think that might have been the fucking Chupacabras.”
TO BE CONTINUED
- This is a traditional Mexican catcall. Yes, there are traditional catcalls. It translates to “What do the birds eat?” In this case, the answer would be “‘Pacito!” which can be translated as a diminutive form of “pan” (bread), but also “Papacito”, which I hope I don’t have to translate. ↩︎
- Many Mexican employers pay their employees twice a month, or roughly every fifteen days. The word “quincena” is derived from “quince”, the number fifteen, and is a colloquial term for payday. ↩︎
- Short for “Compadre.” ↩︎
- Rough translation, “There’s no need.” Typically used as an alternative to “de nada” or “you’re welcome.” ↩︎