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It seemed a damn shame to spend time indoors sifting through a ream of documents, but then again, Rivera got to fly to Hawaii on his boss’ dime so he didn’t really have any right to complain. It was only a few hours, and then he could get some beach time in before his flight home. And at least there was a window. Sometimes he felt claustrophobic in the Guild House with all its covered windows and flickering fluorescent light.
“How are you liking Maui?” Bob asked. Bob was a red-skinned white guy with a fringe of short white hair ringing the back of his head and wire-rimmed glasses. He was maybe in his sixties. The hair on his arms was also white, but he had a vibrancy that belied the hair color. He had that aura of a man who expected people to dote on his every word. Some kind of C-Suite executive, Rivera guessed, recently retired, who probably dropped in now and again to do “consulting” work that involved playing golf with people who owned companies.
“I can see why you guys live here,” Rivera said. He was trying to read the documents without making it look like he wasn’t paying attention to the small talk Bob and Vicky kept making. He glanced towards the large window overlooking the pristine lawn with towering hibiscus and plumeria. Someone had a door open and Rivera could smell the sea. “It’s amazing. I wish I could stay longer.”
“That’s why they call it paradise, right Vicky?”
“We don’t live here all the time,” Vicky said. She was about the same age as Bob, Rivera guessed, but a little better preserved. Her hair had an expensive cut and meticulous lightened chunks, and she flashed a diamond so big a baby could choke on it. She patted Bob’s leg. “We still spend some of the year in Chicago. But you know every year we wait longer and longer to return.”
“We joke that one of these days we just aren’t gonna go back,” Bob said with a laugh. “Course, you can’t get a good hot dog here.”
“Oh, Bob, that’s not true. What about the ones down at Big Mama’s?” Vicky said.
“The mustard’s not quite right. I know that’s not loyal; I like Jojo and he does good food, but it’s the truth. His mustard is just not up to snuff.” Bob turned back to Rivera. “What are you gonna do with the ranch?”
“My employer plans to live in it. He fell in love with the property, says it’s where he wants his family to live.”
“Yeah. We raised our boy there through high school,” Bob said. “Before that we were in Chicago, but Red Rock feels like home to him.”
“It just wasn’t safe in Chicago,” Vicky said.
“A boy needs open air to run around. I taught him to shoot. How to ride. I hoped that the great outdoors would make a man of him, but he’s soft. Maybe I should have sent him to the military academy, but Vicky has a soft spot.”
“What’s your son’s name?” Rivera asked. He scanned the next page of documents. Just thirty more to go, and then he could go to the beach.
“Rory. He’s going through a rough patch right now. He’s been a caretaker for the property until he gets back on his feet. Only he’s been off his feet for coming on two years now. That’s how come we’re giving it to you for a song. It’s got those tenants in there. We looked into what it would take to get rid of them, and we’ve had our lawyer working on it, but it’s frankly a hassle. It could drag on for years. We decided that if we find the right buyer, we’ll give him a damn good price just so we don’t have to deal with that nonsense. Did your boss read over the paperwork, the addendum? I had my lawyer draw that up. He says it’s not standard, but it’s legal.”
“My employer said he understood completely and that he would be more than willing to meet the terms of the rider,” Rivera said. His boss had, frankly, been delighted by the unconventional arrangement. He was essentially being given a steep discount to do something he wanted to do anyway. “He said he’ll contact you the day he takes possession of the property.”
“I worry about Rory,” Vicky said. “He was such a sweet little boy when he was young. Bob says I’m too soft on him, and maybe I am, but what’s a mother to do? If only we could get him away from those bad people he’s been hanging around with, I’m sure he’d straighten up and fly right.”
Rivera looked up. He didn’t care at all, but he could feign politeness long enough to get through this stack of documents. After all, they could still back out. He didn’t think they would, but El Patron would not be pleased if something went wrong. “Bad people? Drug users?”
“I think he’s a vampire,” Vicky said. “I saw him. He drinks blood.”
And this did get Rivera’s attention. He stopped signing mid-signature. “A vampire?”
Bob gave Rivera and embarrassed glance. “Oh, honey, the man doesn’t want to hear that. You know vampires aren’t real.”
“They are so, Bob. I saw them on that show the other day, you know the one? They had that guy on there, and he looked just like Rory does.” Vicky turned to Rivera as if he might help her convince Bob. “There’s something about him that’s not quite right. I think Rory’s a vampire.”
“Rory does need help,” Bob said. “He’s been drinking and smoking the Mary Jane. We gave him the place to stay because he needed a roof over his head, but it didn’t help him back on his feet. It’s been a few years now, and he still doesn’t have a job.”
“He has a job,” Vicky said. “He’s an entrepreneur.”
“He doesn’t have a real job,” Bob said.
“It’s not his fault. He’s ill. Vampirism is a disease. That’s what that man said on the show. Rory needs rehab. We found a place that will take people like him. They believe in vampires.”
“He’s been hanging out with a bad crowd,” Bob said. “She thinks he’s a vampire. I say he’s a layabout who needs an ass whupping.”
“You joke, but I’m convinced,” she said. She dug in her purse and a moment later came out with a brochure. “You can keep that one. I’ve got a second copy. We’re going to send him there. They can help him. Bob agreed if we could get him admitted there, we would.”
Bob nodded. “He may be a useless sack of shit—”
“Dear,” she said disapprovingly.
“—but he’s still our son.”
“They have excellent reviews,” she said.
Rivera looked at the brochure. Daylight Farm. Rivera flipped through it without reading the text. The photos showed a wan looking white man in a dark room, the same man being explained something on a chart by a silver-haired actor in a doctor’s coat, and then the man walking in the sunlight, squinting but hopeful, hand and hand with a younger white woman who gazed up at him with adoring eyes.
“If I got him admitted there, I won’t have to worry so much,” Vicky said. She took some lip balm out of her purse and applied it. It smelled like coconut, which just inspired Rivera to hurry up so he could get a few more hours of tropical vacation in.
Rivera concentrated on finishing the last of the documents. He shook Bob and Vicky’s hands, filed the rest of the papers with the title agency and ran out the door as soon as he could, already shucking his suit slacks in favor of his board shorts. Two more hours at the beach before he had to catch his flight home again.
Rivera had sand in his shoes and a smile on his face when he boarded the plane. A successful trip, and a sun tan as well. The glow lasted until he landed back home in Arizona and made the drive to Red Rock.
“Daylight Farms?” El Patron asked, when Rivera gave him a run-down of the trip. He was looking at the brochure Vicky had given him. “This place claims they can turn people from vampire to human again?”
“Looks like,” Rivera said. “Is it possible?”
“Daylight therapy.” El Patron shook his head. “Jesus, what will they think of next? I pity the poor bastards.”
“It doesn’t convert someone back to human?”
“A vampire of Steel Fang’s line might die in less than a minute. I hate Steel Fang enough to send him there,” El Patron said with a shudder. “But not enough to pay these prices.”