Seven Crows by Vornholt John

Author:Vornholt, John [Vornholt, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2003-04-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Angel held on tightly to Sam’s trim body, thinking that she was either a great actress or was enjoying this romantic interlude. It didn’t really matter, because reality was about to rear its ugly head, in the form of two tough-looking hombres who weren’t really men. Raul and Machete finally broke off from their admirers on the dance floor of the Club Monterey and walked unhurriedly toward the pool tables in the corner. Angel held his ground, while Sam closed her eyes and dreamily ignored their approach; but the young people around them were suddenly alert. The pool players worked quickly to finish their game, and the girls sitting on the second table jumped down and slipped away, with sidelong glances at the ominous pair of vampires. By the time Raul and Machete reached the remote corner of the dance hall, only Angel and Sam remained to greet them.

“Hola,” Angel said in a low-key but friendly manner.

Raul looked directly at Sam, while Machete picked up a discarded pool cue. From the way he handled the long wooden stick, it was clear that he knew it could be used as a stake to kill a vampire. To Angel’s relief, he began to plink at the balls left on the table, leaving his shorter compadre to do the talking.

“I hear you’ve been looking for us,” Raul said in a raspy voice. “You persist, even though we told you we cannot help you.”

“Who am I to trust?” asked Angel. “Strangers?” He gave Sam a very familiar caress. “This is a precious package, and I want it delivered safely to the other side.”

“¿No es gringa?” Raul asked, reaching out to lift Sam’s delicate chin with his long, manicured fingers.

Like someone drugged, the girl took his hand and kissed it. “I’m German, from Argentina,” Sam said in perfect Spanish. “Please help me enter U.S.A.” The name of the country to the north she pronounced “Ooosa.”

Raul smiled with appreciation and looked at Angel with a newfound respect. “I would like to help you, but the border is very tight now. Stupid terrorists. We are not making any more crossings.”

“Why not?” Angel asked, trying to sound patient and nonconfrontational. “Everyone says you are the best.”

With that, Machete snorted a laugh as he sank a difficult bank shot. “Our canaries are never captured by la migra,” he claimed. “They either make it to Tucson . . . or disappear.”

Angel realized he needed an edge in this negotiation, so he gambled with a mild threat. “It sounds as if you are leaving a good business unattended. Perhaps I should step in.”

Anger flashed in Raul’s dark eyes, and Machete snapped to attention, holding the pool stick like a lance. “That would not be advisable,” said the lean, hawk-faced man.

“I don’t want to do it, but you leave me no choice,” Angel said, holding Sam protectively. “If I have to make the crossing myself, then I might as well make some money from it.”

Raul stepped toward Machete, and the two of them conversed in low whispers for a moment.

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