lollygagging. After about an hour, midway across a Los Angeles River bridge linking downtown to East L.A., the caravan stopped. A beige carpool van backed up a few feet from the truck, and a heavily armed man and woman emerged.
Sister Ann blessed both newcomers with the sign of the cross and kissed them, her left hand still holding the shotgun upright.
“You cattle, get down now!” Goss ordered, effortlessly lifting the cattle nearest the rear. Poe turned off her Vespa and helped the disoriented, stiff-limbed humans down.
41
Rono/That Which Bites
“We could only bring one van today, but I see that won’t be a problem,” the built, bowlegged man by the name of Sam Morales laughed, amused at the amount of people crammed in the truck. As usual, his dark, perfectly barbered hair was gelled for a Saturday night excursion. He air-punched Goss, who was about seven inches taller than him, and he nodded at Poe, throwing her a smile that made her feel awkward. It was as if he knew she watched those kinds of movies. For ex-cattle, he was sure bursting with exuberance.
Poe had never really had a conversation with Morales, not because he was a terrible guy; it was just that he looked way too nice to be a breather, and he knew it. Dressed like a realtor replete with polished Italian shoes, Morales looked like he was off to a business lunch and not a cattle pick-up. His suggestive smile and confusing flirtatiousness intimidated her.
And truthfully, she didn’t want to appear the geek by stuttering a reply to his many questions. So she left the relationship with the dark charismatic man at a minimum, merely nodding and saying yes or no. Also, she had been warned by Goss and Sister Ann not to ask too many questions about cattle smuggling.
“H-hiya, Meg,” Poe greeted with a smile. Her friend was quite plucky in a quiet, steady way. She loved the serious redhead with bulging triceps to death.
She could always be relied upon to transfer refugees to safe havens all over the state.
“Hey, Poe,” Megan said with a grin as she hugged Poe. She looked tall and lean in her jean overalls. “Did you get a chance to watch Freaks and Geeks yet?”
“Yeah, funny stuff, but I forgot your DVDs.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have three sets at home,”
she winked, scratching her freckly nose. The woman tanned in freckles.
42
Rono/That Which Bites
Pico Rivera, a city southeast of downtown Los Angeles, was where Megan lived with five other smugglers. They turned the ramshackle and almost non-existent Pio Pico Mansion, the historic home of the first Mexican Governor of California, into a halfway house where rescued cattle stayed to recuperate for a few days. Afterwards they exported the breakouts to real country farms where they could shake off the vampires’ yearly bite and begin a new life in a closer-to-normal environment.
Even Poe, Goss, and Sister Ann weren’t told where those communities were located. As cattle rustlers and sometime vampire hunters, their jobs weren’t exactly the safest. They risked capture, torture, and mauling by vampires, leeches, or wild dogs alike.
And similarly, Sam and Megan remained blissfully ignorant of the three’s whereabouts downtown.
When the human cattle were safely squeezed inside the van and the leeches flat on the floor as footstools, Megan took out a tiny box from her pocket and handed it to Poe.
“Happy 22nd birthday tomorrow, Poe.”
“You remembered,” Poe muttered, reddening. She opened the little box containing tiny peridot earrings.
She thanked her friend with a hug, even though she wanted to throw the useless present on the ground and stomp on it.
“Figured it’ll match your moped there,” she said, indicating the avocado Vespa with her bright eyes, barely refraining from laughing.
Poe frowned, flinging her friend an affected smirk. “Now I’m dead certain that you’ll never get to p-pierce my ears in this lifetime.” The redhead had been on her case about poking holes in her virgin earlobes. That was one thing Poe was sure would never happen. She didn’t like unnecessary pain.
43
Rono/That Which Bites
“No one told me it was your birthday,” Morales complained, giving Megan a sharp look only intimate friends or lovers would engage in. “I suppose this sack of garlic will have to do until we meet again, Poe.”
Poe’s light-hearted demeanor changed to serious again. She mustered a ‘thanks’ and stuffed the sack of stinking bulbs in her basket. She had always wondered if Megan and Sam had a relationship that was more than a professional one.