The Demon Plagues by David VanDyke Page B

was comforted by the sight
of the truck, and particularly by the profile of Capitan Dionicio Vargas leaning against its fender as he lit a cigarette
for one of the cleaner, better-looking prostitutes. Denham shuffled
into the SS officer’s field of view, flashing a quick hand sign,
ending in a casual motion running his hands through his thin short
hair under an upraised hat.
    Plucking the cigarette out of the woman’s
mouth, he took a drag from it and then kissed her deeply, blowing
the smoke out into her lungs until she choked and coughed,
laughing. Turning away with it still in his fingers, he walked
around the corner nearest Denham.
    Skull caught the whiff of the potent
cannabis-and-tobacco blend favored here as he followed. A few
moments later the two men stood alone in a cul-de-sac formed by
battered industrial cargo containers. They stared at one another
for a moment, then both stepped forward and embraced, slapping
backs.
    “Skull, man, good to see you.” Vargas held
the slimmer man at arms length.
    “You too, Denny. Been a while. I see you’re el Capitan now.”
    “The higher I climb, the more I can see, you
know that.”
    “Just as long as you aren’t going
native.”
    Vargas laughed. “Could do worse than going
native here. I speak the language but they know I’m Puerto Rican.
To them that still means ‘rich American.’ Best of both worlds, and
the women, baby, they love me.”
    “You know what I mean. What did you want to
see me about?”
    Vargas took a long drag off the cigarette,
offered it to Skull.
    Denham shook his head. “No dope.”
    Denny shrugged. “I got some intel you
wanted.”
    “Okay, shoot.”
    “First I want a favor.”
    Skull’s eyes narrowed. “First? Denny, you have gone native. We’re bargaining now? You and me?”
    Vargas threw the butt to the ground to grind
it out, eyes down in embarrassment. “Sorry, man. You know I didn’t
mean it that way. New place, new habits.” He looked back up,
sheepish. “Okay, here’s what I got, from a source of a source, so I
don’t know how reliable it is. They say Portmanteaux is going to
meet with Markis in Geneva under cover of a visit to the Neutral
States Assembly next week.”
    “The Canadian Prime Minister?”
    “Yeah, they always send him for the nice-nice
diplomacy.”
    “So? This is big news? Why should I
care?”
    “Because I think they’re going to kill
him.”
    “Kill who? Portmanteaux? That makes no
sense.”
    “No, no. Markis.” Vargas stared at Skull,
pulled out a pack of real Marlboros, hard to get nowadays, offering
him one. He took it. Vargas drew one out for himself.
    “I can’t believe the Canadians would go along
with that.” Skull lit his smoke, then Vargas’. The familiar smell
wafted painful memories through his mind.
    “They aren’t. It’s an SS operation under
cover of the visit. A Psycho’s heading it up.”
    “Psychos.” Skull drenched the word with
contempt. “If there’s anything worse than a Sicko it’s a Psycho.
Any names?”
    “No, I got nothing. I’m lucky to have this.
It’s pretty close-hold.
    Skull took a long drag, savoring the wickedly
satisfying American processed tobacco blend. “And you’re okay with
me sticking my oar in?”
    “You know I am. The effing Psychos are
getting more power behind the scenes. I hate them. Better we all
end up as Edie Sicko pansies than Psychos. You ever look in one’s
eyes? They’re cold, they’re dead inside. They’re the real enemy,
not the Edies. Edies are just sheep. Psychos are freakin’
vampires.” Vargas spat on the ground. A trick of echoes briefly
threw the sounds of music from the cantina into their metal corner,
vanished just as abruptly.
    “Have you heard anything more about Tiny
Fortress?”
    “Not for the last year. I heard it got to be
political. The Psychos and their allies are terrified of it. If it
works, it could completely eliminate their usefulness. I think it’s
still being funded, but I have no idea what