Berkfield rubbed his face as Carlos returned from the alley and kept walking.
"Hard to say. He doesn't look as rosy and on top of the world as he used to." He laughed as his partner rolled the car forward at a slow, creeping pace. "You know, Paul, now that you mention it, in the last twenty-four hours, his product has been drying up - like somebody turned off the tap... maybe that's what's got him ready to commit hari-kari. Either that or he snorted up his wholesale stash and wigged."
"He leads a stressful life. Will sometimes break a man. Especially a young, ambitious one on the move too fast."
"Yeah, but he said all he wants is his house, his car, the money, and the club - all the rest of the assets can be seized. Crazy bastard even put his warehouses on the disks he's dropping - giving us his drug locations, and his other illegal operations, as long as we attribute the find to the Dominican so his legit personal property won't be seized."
"That has to run through channels."
"Think about it, Paul. Fifty bodies from the wrong side of this war are going to go down because one Carlos Rivera is tired and wants out. You know how much we pay SOBs to do all sortsa shit, Paul. This guy has lost his marbles, because he told me - his mouth to my ear on the phone, and God as my witness - he just wants his mom and grandmom, and some chick named Juanita Dejesus, to be able to split up everything - and to bury him right. I'm startin' to feel sorry for this guy - can you believe that? Fifty top kingpins all across the country!"
"From what you're telling me, those disks and the names in that black book he's gonna leave us hold enough information to solve about twenty-seven homicides, and bust the inner core of the Dominican L.A. ring... months of police work."
Again both detectives glanced at each other with a smile, checked their weapons, and hopped out of the car to walk down the alley.
"Me, myself," Malloy said coolly, "I don't care if the bastard is having a nervous breakdown, has become a junkie, has a die-with-honor death wish, or if Jesus came down off the cross and baptized him for salvation. May he see the light. Whatever. Point is, we just hit the mother lode. So, keep the bird on the wire talking, and dropping regular presents. Did you mention this to anybody yet?"
Berkfield laughed. "What, and tell people that Santa Claus is a twenty-three-year-old millionaire? Are you crazy? Not yet. I wanted to savor the power of information for a bit before going in to haggle a deal to keep him on our side, and alive, if possible. He's no good to us dead."
Berkfield reached up with a grunt and fished around in the Dumpster, his hand connecting with garbage and greasy things he didn't want to consider as he made a face. "You get the next holiday package under the tree, Malloy."
"Gladly," Malloy chuckled, lighting another cigarette.
Carlos watched from a dark corner within the alley. Something wasn't right. Berkfield's partner had a different tint to his skin that created a thin, dark aura around him, but it wasn't vampire. If he was vampire, Carlos would have immediately been able to sense it, but he'd never seen this trace around a human before. Marked? The answer to his mental question was answered immediately. That was how his kind invisibly identified their helpers. Interesting. He'd learned something new. For a moment, he wondered what the seal around his mother and grandmother looked like. No matter, as long as they were off-limits.
This delivery had to go down smoothly, so he'd purposely drifted back to manifest unnoticed in order to watch it transpire without a hitch. Carlos inhaled, still appraising the detective with the strange aura. It wasn't a demon trace, either. Marked - and not Nuit's. Hmmm. So the Vampire Council had set him up in the news. Very interesting.
"Got it." Berkfield huffed from the mild exertion. "Paul, we just got ourselves a promotion right here, buddy, if this stuff checks out. Maybe we can work a deal with Rivera, you know... keep him on the street, feeding our team info, undercover-like as a source. We do it all the - "
Richard Berkfield stopped talking and looked at his partner, confused. For some odd reason, Malloy had the safety off his gun, it was in his hand, his trigger-finger was readied, and the weapon was pointing in his direction. What the...
"Hey, buddy, you wanna put away the nine? What's the matter with you?"
"You are about to f**k up a very nice lifestyle, Richard. Let's not be hasty. Hand me the package and let's go take a walk."
Materializing quickly in the shadows, Carlos moved silently toward the two officers, using Berkfield's stunned focus on the barrel of his partner's gun to roll up behind Malloy and catch him off guard.
Carlos tapped Malloy on the shoulder and Berkfield's eyes widened.
"Not a good idea."
"Where the hell did you come from?" Berkfield stepped back, glancing at Carlos and Malloy, as Malloy whirled around.
As expected, Malloy immediately fired, and Carlos felt the blow like a close-range punch, but not the burn of the bullet penetration. There was a hole in his shirt over his heart, but he watched his skin seal beneath it. He chuckled. This was so cool.
"I made a courier drop, and I intend for the delivery to be honored." Carlos held Malloy's gun. "Pull the trigger and you're a dead man."
He sighed when Malloy pulled the trigger again, and he watched the bullet discharge in the wrong direction, whir past Berkfield's shoulder, splattering the already stricken detective with his partner's guts. Carlos took a whiff of the remains as Malloy fell, a look of horror on his face. Carlos grimaced with disgust. Marked kill were tainted with a repulsive scent layer and not very appetizing. Now he further understood why they got passed over as dinner.
"You can see you've been infiltrated," Carlos said coolly. "Watch your back - you've been splattered, and an alley isn't a safe place for a man dripping blood."
"But, but, but he shot you point-blank range."
"Kevlar," Carlos said as he turned to walk away.
"Bullshit!" Berkfield yelled, but Carlos strolled ahead of him. "Since when do they make Kevlar T-shirts? The bullet went right through you and over my damned shoulder!"
"I gave you a gift, saved your life, now you owe me. My assets - you keep the drugs, and you might want to keep some of this to yourself... good career move, in my opinion. Tell them your boy had a f**king nervous breakdown from working too hard. Only his prints will be on the weapon. I assure you."