Blood of Gato

The aroma of coffee didn't quite drown out the heavy weight of the words spoken at the table. Shadows stretched long behind them, like foreign figures eavesdropping in silence.

They had set up a full-on brainstorming session, tossing ideas back and forth, yet every thought collapsed into a dead end. William could feel the pounding in his temples rising, and the entire mess could be described with one word: trap. Cain was a domino piece—knock him down, and the whole chain would topple, dragging them along whether they liked it or not. Protecting him, in truth, meant protecting themselves.

"Maybe I should just lay low for a while," Cain drawled lazily, taking a cautious sip of black coffee, as if for a second he actually meant it. "Let the cops chase their tails 'til they die of boredom. No new cases, no evidence. No mistakes, no conviction."

Leticia slammed the copper pot down on the stove, nearly spilling what coffee was left inside, and gave a dry, brittle laugh.

"Hah! Cain, darlin', that sound mighty fine… if ya hadn't gone an' marched the police straight to that damn construction site o' yours! You truly think they just popped by to sightsee? With all that cement an' concrete, and Lord knows what stains left behind? Baby, they ain't dumb. They'll join the dots, trust me. That trail ends right at ya front porch."

Cain clicked his tongue, leaning back in his chair.

"Of course. Everywhere else, cops are chomping donuts and snoozing in their cruisers, but in our city? Suddenly they're superheroes. Just like Hollywood."

"You'd better not underestimate them," William finally spoke, his spoon scraping absently at the foam in his cup. He lifted his gaze, eyes narrowing.

"You didn't… leave a couple of bodies there, did you?"

Cain shot him a look but said nothing—and that silence was answer enough. Leticia exhaled sharply, shaking her head slow.

"Mmm. Figures," she muttered.

The pause that followed was thick, stretched by the too-loud ticking of the wall clock. William traced a finger along the rim of his mug, brooding, when suddenly the cold edge of an idea struck him like a needle.

"Wait," he said carefully, weighing each word before it left his tongue. "The police aren't chasing one killer. They're after two."

Both Cain and Leticia looked up, their wary eyes locking, all pretense gone.

"Yes," they confirmed almost in unison.

"But what're you gettin' at?" Cain leaned forward, visibly hungry for clarity.

William's mouth curled into the faintest smile.

"What if… we give them exactly what they're looking for?"

A husky chuckle escaped Leticia then. She pursed her lips, peering at him with a mix of intrigue and disbelief.

"Now sugar, tell me you ain't talkin' 'bout handin' yaself over. You playin' saint on me?" she teased, her accent thick with mocking sweetness.

Cain shot both hands up as though pushing the very thought away.

"Hey, hey, hey! If you're feeling holy, by all means—confess yourself! Don't drag me into that nonsense."

William calmly set down his cup.

"Relax. Nobody's confessing. Nobody's giving themselves up. What I'm saying is… we let them close the case their way."

"Spit it out!" Cain snapped, leaning over the table, a greedy glimmer in his eyes.

"We'll find others," William said, his voice low and steady, each word sharp as glass. "Two monsters just like us. Not innocents—no. Men who already deserve a rope around their necks. We'll stage it so it looks like they were Gato and the Heart‑Eater. A clash, blood, bodies—the story closes with their deaths."

Leticia arched an eyebrow and fluttered her hand in the air like a schoolgirl in class.

"Oooh, now that's a notion, sugar. I'm all in. Matter fact, I'd love tha whole thought o' wrappin' this up in a pretty little endin' f'some poor bastards."

Cain went still. For a beat, his face carried an uncharacteristic seriousness.

"I'd never frame the innocent," he murmured almost to himself, then bared a wolfish grin. "But monsters… like those? Yeah. That's different."

In a sudden burst of energy, he grabbed William by the shoulder and shook him so hard the man nearly spilled his cup.

"Brother! Now that's an idea. You tried something like this before, but it fell apart. Now though… now you got me! We'll pull it off so clean the cops'll give us a standing ovation!"

He broke into laughter, a sound both joyful and edged with lunacy.

"Main thing is, we need the right actors to play our parts," William said, frowning, scratching the back of his neck. His tone was serious, though irony threaded through it, as if he couldn't decide whether the plan was genius or madness. "Especially someone to pass for me. Almost a twin. And the lenses—the cat‑eye kind. Without those, no one's buying it. You, Cain, you don't even got a description floating around; I'm the one who'll need a damn copy."

He lowered his head with a grimace, teeth clenched—the thought of hunting for his own "mirror‑killer" twisted his gut with disgust.

"Don't sweat it," Cain said with sudden ease, leaning back like the smaller details only amused him. "I'll find you a double. That's nothing. Lenses, though… no clue where to get those."

William let out a sigh of relief—at least he wouldn't need to scour the internet personally.

"I can help wit' them lenses," Leticia cut in, her eyes narrowed, absently rolling a silver ring across her finger. William swiveled toward her with childlike suspicion. She smirked, explaining, voice slick with that honey‑thick drawl:

"I got some folks I know. Bit… unorthodox, ya might say. Body‑mod crowd. If anybody's sittin' on a stash o' freaky lookin' eyes, sugar, it's them."

That swept aside one obstacle. Their insane plan was starting to sketch its first workable outline. Now it just needed detail work—and that's exactly what they dove into.

Cain had been listening, but suddenly he lurched forward and slapped his palm on the table, rattling the cups.

"Hold up! Something's bigger than lenses. The evidence!" His voice rang hard, stripped of his usual sarcasm. "Those damn baggies with cement dust and rubble scraps… if they make it to the lab, we're finished."

William raised an eyebrow, twirling his cup in thought.

"So what—you're saying we intercept them? Swap them out for something else?"

Cain dragged his fingers down his face, as if rubbing away the weariness.

"No. We're not in some movie. To pull a stunt like that, we'd need a perfect replica of the bag."

The clock read a few minutes before eleven. Time wasn't dripping anymore—it was spilling out, faster than sand through a shattered hourglass.

"Damn it…" William cursed, shooting to his feet and kicking the floor hard enough to rattle the dishes. "I forgot—we've only got one night! By tomorrow morning that evidence is on its way to the lab. After that, it's over."

Leticia had been quietly biting into an apple, calm as ever. She sliced off a neat piece with a small knife and held it out to William as though soothing a tantrum‑struck child.

"Oh, my poor boys… Without me, y'all'd already be twenty years deep behind bars," she said softly, almost kindly.

William snatched the slice, his glare still burning. Cain narrowed his eyes, waiting for the catch.

"What are you planning?" he asked flatly.

"You'll see soon enough. Auntie Les still knows how to save a couple o' asses." A sly grin curved her mouth. She wiped her hands on her jeans and slipped into the next room. When she returned, a small black phone gleamed in her hand.

Cain straightened instantly, recognition lighting him up.

"The hell—that's a… a Motorola MicroTAC?! Holy—" He actually sprang up, clutching his head, eyes wide with raw delight. "Do you know what a gem that is? People would trade a gold tooth for one of those! How the hell did you get it?!"

Leticia shrugged with infuriating calm.

"Grandma's inheritance." She hopped onto the edge of the table, rolling the phone once in her palm before holding out the other hand. "Now then—let's see that detective's card. If they were polite enough to give you one, of course…"

Still grinning like a boy at Christmas, Cain hurriedly tossed her a crumpled business card. Leticia's eyes glinted with something feral as she skimmed it, then began dialing in slow, deliberate strokes.

"What… what are you doing?" William's chest tightened with icy dread. He stepped closer, hands flexing and clenching. The panic in his voice was razor‑clear.

In response, Leticia simply placed a finger against her lips, a soft shhh.

William's jaw ground hard. His teeth nearly clicked together from the tension, but he forced himself back a step, pacing like a caged animal. Cain, in contrast, leaned so close he seemed ready to breathe in every word.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Then a rough, sleepy voice—dragged out of shallow dreams—rasped through:

"Detective Carl speaking… Who is this?"

The room seemed to shrink instantly. Silence swallowed them whole, all three straining to catch every syllable. Leticia's lips curled faintly as she pressed the receiver tight and slipped into her performance.

Her voice came out trembling, hacked with breath, almost broken—completely unrecognizable. The honeyed Southern lilt bled away, replaced by something pale, fragile, even foreign.

"D‑Detective Carl… I… I know something about the Heart‑Eater… I—I have information. I can tell you everything. But only to you. Only face to face… Please, you have to come quick. Corner of Ross and Smoke… I don't have much time…"

On the other end: a rustle of movement, then Carl's voice again—alert now, scraping rough with sudden fear.

"Wait! Who are you? Stay on the line, ma'am, just give me a name—"

But Leticia flipped the phone shut before he could finish. The snap of plastic on plastic landed like a gunshot against the walls.

"You… you didn't even give him a chance to agree!" William nearly shouted, spinning on her, fury carving through the panic on his face. He lurched closer, disbelief and rage twisting his features. "Now how the hell are we supposed to know if he's even going to show?!"

"Oh, is that so?" Leticia tilted her head, a sly half‑smile curling across her lips. "Mmm. Funny thing, sugar—'cause I reckon we already got our answer."

She lifted the phone with both hands… and with casual ease snapped the antenna and casing in two, like breaking the bone of a roasted hen. Metal squealed, plastic cracked, and in a heartbeat the glorious phone was nothing but a heap of useless junk.

"Hey!" Cain immediately yelped. His eyes widened as he lunged forward, but it was too late. "What the hell, why?! If you didn't need it, you could've at least given it to me!"

"Mm‑hmm. And maybe let 'em track us like fools, real quick?" she shot back, her tone cool but laced with that honey‑drawl, every syllable slow and intentional. Tossing the dead phone into a thick garbage sack, she hefted it against her hip like it weighed nothing at all. Her grin was quicksilver, sharp and wicked.

"Now hush up, bébé. Time's tickin'. We movin'—now—'fore our good Detective Carl winds up beatin' us to tha corner."