Chapter 9 The Dead at Night
THE DEAD AT NIGHT
Cesar
Elena said her goodbyes after we had descended into the bar, citing something about a date with a voluptuous blonde she hadn’t mentioned until that moment. I still hadn’t had my food, so Artur and I grabbed the table we had been sitting at, ordered another round of cerveza, and asked for a menu.
After the drinks were delivered, and Tom had made his way back to his table, our waiter showed up, and I placed my order.
“Chiles en nogada, por favor.” I licked my lips.
The dish wasn’t offered very often; it was more typically available in late September with the celebrations associated with Mexican Independence.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I said, leaning in toward Artur to let him know. “Aren’t you having anything?”
Artur had pushed his menu away, but as I questioned him, his sheepish demeanor told me exactly what the issue was. I turned to the waiter.
“We’ll have two.” I winked at Artur, who turned a lovely shade of crimson.
“Please don’t do that,” he said as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.
“Do what?”
“Order for me. I can’t afford the meal. I have just enough money for my drinks.” Artur’s voice diminished to a near whisper. Good thing it was my memory in decline, not my hearing.
I reached over and placed my hand on Artur’s knee.
“No. Please. Allow me to repay your kindness, loyalty, and assistance for all you’ve done over the last day. It’s the least I can do.”
Artur glanced away.
“Artur, look at me.”
His eyes met mine, but only briefly.
“Hey.” I squeezed his knee. Artur’s gaze continued to look anywhere but at me. “Please, stop.”
“I’m embarrassed,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You have no need to be, Artur.” I shifted my chair over so we sat closer. “I know we’ve only just really met, but I’d like us to be friends—maybe even good friends. Besides, we’ll be naked together later; we should at least agree on being amicable with each other.”
Artur’s lips disappeared as he pulled them in and glared at me.
“People will hear!”
“Good. Dude, this community has done you a horrible disservice. Everything you’ve shown of yourself to me has been nothing short of qualities I’d want to have in a friend or a lover.
I want to see you be proud of yourself. I don’t ever want to see that look of shame.
You have nothing to be ashamed of.” I pointed to the other patrons in the room. “They do.”
“Cesar, please.”
“No. Artur, I like you. A lot. You are good people. And they will all know that soon. I promise. Now, not another word about me paying the bill.”
Artur started to argue, but I leaned over and kissed him.
He pulled away, eyes wide.
“I don’t care.” I leaned in closer and kissed him again.
His lips were chapped, but it didn’t matter. He tasted like innocence, tequila, and beer; it was more intoxicating than Tom’s shots.
Under the table, I had both hands-on Artur’s thigh. Remembering he still had his tunic on, I slipped one hand beneath the short robe and let my fingers find his skimpy underwear.
As I fondled him, my kiss deepened, my tongue exploring. I didn’t relent until I felt Artur give in. His muscles relaxed and his mouth opened, granting me better access; his legs parted ever so slightly.
I gripped his hard excitement, giving it a playful squeeze, then pulled away.
“This is what I want to see of Artur Beaulieu. A man confident enough to let me manhandle him in public and not care what anyone else thinks.”
“Cesar, I don’t deserve your friendship.”
“No. You deserve so much more.”
Our dinners arrived, so I shuffled over just a bit so our elbows wouldn’t clash while attempting to eat, but I made sure my knee stayed in contact with Artur’s.
I wanted this man so badly.
Unfortunately, we had some grizzly work to do later. My need to find pleasure was going to have to wait.
After our plates had been cleared away, we got down to business.
“How are we going to pull this off?” Artur asked.
It was a good enough question. I had never banished a wight before, and the thought of adding that to my list of skills on a résumé didn’t seem like a high priority. Still, it was what we had to get done.
Tom shuffled over to us. “Boys, it’s getting late. I’m heading upstairs for the night. I know everything will go well for you. I can feel it in my bones.” Tom winked and then departed.
“Well, I believe that’s as good of a blessing as we’re going to get.” I eyed Tom carefully as he disappeared into the back of the bar. “That old man is crafty. I get the sense he knows more than he’s letting on.”
“Good thoughts aren’t going to send a malicious undead creature packing.
I’m a little scared, terrified, actually.
Besides, you had your head knocked about, and other than a quick trip to the healer’s, we’ve done nothing to make sure you’re resting and getting better. Instead, we’ve been out carousing.”
“And eating good food, and spending time with good people. Sounds like a great cure to me.” I raised my hand signaling Emiliano to bring us another round.
“I’m fine, Artur. Really, I promise. I can’t explain it.
The mind is a wild and unpredictable thing.
This disease is sneaky. I can rest for days, and after a nap I’ll get up and have no idea what day it is, or my mood will change suddenly, and I’ll have no reason why.
It’s shit. I hated watching what my Tio went through, and I’ll be honest, I’m also scared. But not of an undead beast.
“Okay, maybe a little about that. Seriously though, the fact that I’m slowly losing my mental capacity—that, to me, is frightening.
“I’m also angry. I’ve spent a lifetime building memories and experiences, talents and skills, and now my body wants to rip them away from me. This isn’t fair.” It was Artur’s turn to touch me. His palm found my thigh under the table and squeezed.
“No, it’s not fair.” Artur’s eyes stared at me; there was great sorrow in them.
“None of that. I don’t want pity. I want to be celebrated. I want to be included. I want to be fucked. Hard. And repeatedly.” I winked at him. “I’m making fun of it all, but for good reason. I don’t want to curl up into a ball and let this disease take over. I won’t let it.
“So, let’s enjoy ourselves for another hour, and then we’re going to go down to your stall, lure Efraim the wight to your table, and then bathe him in this powder. Hopefully, that is all we have to do.”
“Don’t we have to chant, or say a prayer, or… well, something else? Dousing the beast in chalky ashes doesn’t seem like too hard of a solution to banish this monster. If it were that easy, everyone would have this on hand.” Artur pulled the bag out of his tunic and flopped it onto the table.
“Well, the ingredients in that little bag cost about a year’s wages for me, so it’s definitely not a magical cure everyone would have on hand.
Secondly, I may have brought a couple of bones from home that will help us out, and thirdly, not everyone has a chaos witch on hand who can make sure our outcome is banishment.
” I slid my hand across the table and covered Artur’s fist, which was clasped around his beer bottle a little too tightly.
His other hand still rested on my thigh.
It was warm and comforting, and more than a little erotic.
“And then there’s the reward which comes later if this all goes well. ” I smiled.
“You’re incorrigible!” Artur snickered. “But I love it, and I can’t wait for the party after the danger, which is still making me want to piss my pants.” Artur stared at me intently. “Cesar, I’m scared.”
“Wait. What is making you wet yourself? The wight, or the fact we’ve got a date later? I mean, it could be both. But if you’re gonna piss all over yourself, at least wait until I’m with you and we’re in the shower.” I chortled and bumped his shoulder with mine.
“Cesar!”
I laughed out loud, and then took a big swig of my beer. “If we’re going to get into that kind of play, then I need to drink more of this.”
Artur stared at me slack jawed. “I’m terrified about the undead,” he said, clarifying.
“Okay, good. We should be. Unlike Tom and his staff, the resurrected are usually unpredictable and dangerous. After all, there’s a reason we cremate bodies or bury them deep.
But like I said, I brought some additional help.
” I reached into my robes and pulled out a bag I had snagged earlier.
I pulled the drawstrings open and poured the contents onto the tabletop. ”
Teeth of all sizes scattered across the surface as Artur looked at them, puzzled and astonished.
“What the hell are these?” He poked at them.
“Dog teeth,” I said. “More specifically, the molars of a German Shepherd, a couple of canines from a Doberman Pinscher, and a few other assorted bits from a Rottweiler. All good guard dogs. Protectors. I scatter these around us in a circle before the fiend shows up, and we’ll be in good hands. I promise.”
Artur fingered a particularly small tooth. Then found a few more.
“Those are not from a big dog. What the hell are these?”
I laughed. “Chihuahua. Nothing more fierce or loyal than a Chihuahua. We should be well protected. I have a good feeling about this. We’ll be okay.”
Artur chuckled and then nodded.
“It’s dark already. Let’s settle the bill and head out.”
The night market never really got busy until after dark. Because nightlife in Puerto Vallarta tended to last until the wee hours of the morning, by the time we got to Artur’s table, and set up the minimal number of wares, the other sellers were only just arriving for the evening.
Artur pulled out an extra chair and we both sat, watching people come and go, perusing the tables all around us.
Rarely did anyone stop at Artur’s table.
“Is it always like this?”
He nodded.
“How can you possibly make a living?”
He shrugged.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’m going to help fix this. You’ve been shunned and for no good reason. It’s not fair, Artur.”