Barquero’s eyes glowed with fire as blood pooled around his feet in the narrow alley. Wiping his curved blade off on the man’s shirt, he pulled out the man’s wallet. Taking the money, he tossed the wallet on the dead man’s chest. The man was on the Padre’s payroll, or at least he used to be.
Barquero had been looking for information. He didn’t get it. The man didn’t know anything, but it didn’t matter to Barquero. The man had seen his face. That was too much.
“Oye papi,” said a curvaceous woman with her hands on her hips, looking down the alley. Suddenly, she noticed the man on the ground. His throat was cut. His legs were still twitching. Barquero glared at the woman. His menacing eyes glimmered. The prostitute screamed and ran back the way she had come. Barquero turned and retreated deeper into the alley.
That morning, in the big, white house in Austin, Kip followed the smell of bacon down the stairs and into the kitchen. Bennett looked as if he’d been up for awhile. He was reading the paper while he sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee with a half-eaten biscuit drowned in honey sitting in front of him. The rest of the biscuits sat with a pile of bacon on a white platter in the middle of the table. Max sat in the corner of the kitchen by his water bowl. The dog cocked his head in curiosity as Kip entered the room
“Morning, boy,” Bennett said, looking up from the paper. “Coffee is over there.”
“Thanks,” Kip replied as he reached into the cupboard for a coffee mug. Filling the mug to the rim from the pot, he turned and pulled out a chair opposite Bennett.
“Get some grub in you. I don’t cook much, but I do like breakfast,” Bennett said, pushing the platter toward Kip.
“Thanks, maybe in a minute,” Kip replied as he sipped the scalding-hot coffee.
“Sleep okay?”
“Yeah, not bad. Avery only woke me a couple of times.”
“He sure is one strange critter. Bangs away on that keyboard all night sometimes.” At that very moment, Avery, wearing his yellow tracksuit and looking even more haggard than usual, stumbled into the kitchen, banging his toe on the door as he entered. “Morning, sunshine,” said Bennett as he smiled at Avery.
Avery grunted in reply as he retrieved a Mountain Dew from the refrigerator and cracked it open. He placed a plastic straw from beside the sink into the can.
“Stay up late?” asked Kip.
“Most of the night. Bad dreams,” Avery replied as he leaned against the sink and slurped heavily from the straw. “Plus, that infernal CIA mainframe is really pissing me off.”
“CIA mainframe?” Kip inquired as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Bennett.
“I’ve been trying to gain access for the last week,” Avery replied. “I keep running into redundant firewalls.”
“I’m pretty sure hacking the CIA is frowned upon,” said Kip.
“Of course it is,” replied Avery as he sucked down the last of the soda. “However, it’s imperative I discover everything they know about me. The only way to do that is to access their files.”
“Avery,” Bennett growled menacingly, “I put up with a lot of horse crap from you. If the Feds come knocking on my door because of your little games, I’m positively going to let them shoot you. I’ll even loan them a damn gun.”
“Doctor, don’t worry yourself,” Avery said nonchalantly. “My clandestine efforts are completely untraceable. At least, they should be. Besides, if they do come, I doubt they’ll simply knock on the front door. More likely they’ll utilize black ops commandos rappelling from helicopters. Probably use flash-bang grenades to disorient us. Going forward, I’d suggest you both wear earplugs to bed as a precaution.”
“Got your tracksuit on,” said Bennett. “You heading out?”
“Later,” Avery replied as he cracked the pull-tab on another can of Mountain Dew.
“Where you headed?” asked Bennett. “I’ll be sure to avoid it.”
“Well, first I’ll need to cross town and double back a few times to avoid being tailed, then I need to stop at Magic Man’s bookstore,” Avery said, then drained the second can of soda.
“Bookstore?” said Bennett. “That place ain’t nothing but a head shop for dopers. You bring any of that junk into my house, first I’ll break your neck, then I’ll throw you out on the street!”
“Pshaw, old man,” Avery replied, setting down the empty can. “My reality is so compellingly fascinating, I couldn’t ever imagine needing to escape from it.”
“Avery?” asked Kip. “If you’re worried about being spotted, why the yellow tracksuit? Doesn’t it seem just a little conspicuous?”
“On the contrary,” Avery replied condescendingly. “It’s an ultra-effective form of urban camouflage that enables me to remain anonymous in a crowd. Besides, it allows for excellent freedom of movement.”
“You don’t think it makes you stick out a bit?” asked Kip.
“Not in Austin,” Avery explained. “The conflagration of weirdoes, creeps, punks, goths, bikers, hippies, and eccentrics who reside in this town is what makes Austin such a unique environment to slip through unnoticed. The odd duck doesn’t stand out here. We’re the white noise that most people pass by. Normal people—and by normal I only mean conventional—if not intentionally ignoring us because they fear confrontation, assault, or, even worse, a request for spare change, will simply not see us. It’s a subconscious avoidance mechanism that prevents confrontation.”
“Really?”
“Indubitably. A bare-chested man with nipple rings wearing a pink tutu and riding a unicycle could rob a crowded bank in broad daylight in this town and get away free and clear without a single witness being able to describe the perpetrator. They’d have been so uncomfortable they wouldn’t even have made eye contact.”
“I see,” said Kip, chuckling slightly. “I guess you should be the invisible man, then. What’re you picking up at the bookstore?”
“Reference materials on the chupacabra, if you must know,” Avery replied.
“Chupa what?” asked Kip looking rather puzzled.
“Chupacabra. It means the ‘goat sucker.’ I firmly believe that climatic changes spawned by global warming are pushing their territorial Mexican feeding grounds north. If I’m correct, we may soon find ourselves surrounded by the vampire-like beasts.”
“You buying this, Bennett?” Kip asked.
“Hell, no,” Bennett snorted as he filled his pipe. “Just an old Mexican wives’ tale to keep little kids from running off into the sticks at night. Every once in a while a rancher will come across a dead, mangy dog or a decomposing coyote and call it a chupacabra. Next thing you know, everyone gets worked up about why they’re finding dead livestock. Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s an idiot.”
Avery shot the doctor the “stink eye” as he stormed out of the kitchen. Muttering a barrage of expletives as he pounded up the stairs, he slammed shut the door to his room with a tremendous bang. Startled, Max jumped to his feet and barked at the sudden noise before sheepishly looking at his master as if to apologize for the outburst.
“Sorry,” Bennett said to Kip as he returned to reading his newspaper. “He was ruining my breakfast.”
The mid-morning eastbound traffic slowed to a standstill in front of El Barquero’s car. Ahead, a jackknifed semi had closed the highway down to only one lane. Impatient motorists took out their frustrations on their horns as the backed-up mass of cars and trucks fought their way over to the far right-hand lane. Half a dozen police and emergency vehicles and numerous burning road flares added to the confusion of the gridlocked road.