“My liver,” the old man replied, patting his swollen belly. “I’ll be dead next year. It doesn’t matter. High time, I say. Sit down.”
They sat around the table. Its surface was covered with a yellow-and-white piece of plastic instead of a tablecloth. A statue of San Judas Tadeo sat next to the salt and pepper. On the wall, dirty with age and spotted with humidity, there was a green cross, Jesus resting on it. Several dolls had been nailed to the wall, like butterflies in glass cases.
“You got yourself new Renfields?”
“No. They are friends. Of a sort. Manuel, meet Atl and Domingo.”
“Hello, young folks,” Manuel said. “Do you want coffee? I drink it with a smidgen of mezcal, myself.”
Domingo looked at the man’s dirty shirt, his greasy hair, and shook his head, though it was not his hygiene that held him back. He’d already had booze and did not want to attempt more, never having been the best at alcohol.
“No, thank you,” Atl said.
“Suit yourself.” Manuel dabbled in the kitchen, opening a cupboard and pulling out a cup, a box with sugar, a spoon.
“I need you to do something for me. A delivery.”
“Didn’t think you were still in that business,” Manuel said, setting down his cup and sitting down. “What do you need to get across?”
“The kids.”
“People? That’s a bit of a pickle, isn’t it?”
“As if you never trafficked people,” Bernardino scoffed.
“Usually I was trying to get them into Mexico. You’re talking the other way around. There’s a difference.”
“Not impossible.”
“No,” Manuel said. “I’m a bit out of the loop, you know?”
“I’ve noticed.”
Manuel took out a pair of round-rimmed glasses from his back trouser pocket and put them on, examining Domingo and Atl. “Can I look at your hands, dear?” he asked.
Atl complied, pressing her one good, gloved hand on the table.
Manuel chuckled. “I know what that means. She’s a vampire, ain’t she? You’re from the Aztec tribe.”
Manuel took off his glasses, using them to point at Bernardino. “Shit ain’t like it used to be. They’re real paranoid down at the border nowadays. Next thing you know, they’ll be having thermal scanners there, too.”
“I doubt it.”
“Doubt it all you want.”
“It doesn’t matter. I want you to employ the trails, like you used to. Elisa wouldn’t take the gig. I thought you had more balls,” Bernardino said.
“Elisa,” Manuel said. “That chit. Good for nothing. She never could make a run across without messing something up. I’m not surprised.”
“And then?”
“I told you, my liver is killing me,” the old man said, rubbing his belly for emphasis. “I want to stay here and watch TV, not run around a dusty road into Guatemala. What would that get me? Me? Money? A bit pointless, now.”
“You owe me a favor.”
“I know.” Manuel sipped his coffee.
Domingo noticed that there were more toys on the refrigerator. They were everywhere, sad and broken, much like the old man. Was this a former Renfield? He didn’t seem like much. Domingo had a hard time picturing him next to Bernardino; the old vampire was aristocratic looking, not the type who would associate with a bum. Domingo realized that he himself didn’t look like much either. Was he like this guy, only younger? That was a nasty thought.
“We can’t have the pickup in Mexico City. They’re looking for her. Outside, not far from a landfill,” Bernardino said.
“Bordo Blanco,” Domingo said. “We’ll be at Tenayuca and Catedra.”
“How soon?” Manuel asked.
“Tomorrow,” Bernardino said. “One a.m.”
“Tomorrow’s no good, buddy. I got to make sure the car’s working right and pack supplies.”
“Then the night after that.”
“I’ll need a bit of money, Bernardino. For business expenses.”
Bernardino placed several bills on the table. Manuel grabbed them quickly, crumpling and placing them in his pockets.
“We should celebrate. You sure you don’t want a drink?”
“Where’s your bathroom?” Atl asked.
“Right there,” Manuel said, pointing at the curtain.
Atl stood up. Domingo rose at once, to offer his assistance, but Atl placed her hand on Bernardino’s shoulder instead. The vampire stood up and they walked side by side, pulling the curtain away. They stepped into the bathroom together. Domingo heard the click of a lock. He stared at the bathroom door, nervously tapping his fingers against the table.
“Relax. He won’t hurt her,” Manuel said.
“I know.”
“He ain’t having sex with her either, in case that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Domingo said.
What kind of perverted comment was that? Despite his impressive voice Bernardino was a hunched man of possibly seventy? Eighty? At least, judging by his face. Probably much older. Domingo very much doubted Atl would ever want anything to do with him.
“Well, he might have, once upon a time. Had lovers of all sorts, had a thing for black hair. Not humans, though. They,” Manuel said, making a sweeping gesture, “well, they’re the same species. They like to fuck each other more than us. We’re not that fun.”