The Holy Death

Chapter 38

Elizabeth looked upon the now fully armed Huey gunship with an air of satisfaction. She single-handedly reattached the armament subsystems to the mounting brackets – a job which would have required a complete aircrew normally, unless there was a vampire available – and had gone on to calibrate the sighting systems. Although she certainly had the strength and stamina to complete the task, it was still a laborious and time consuming process, made more time consuming by the fact that Raton Ramirez failed to offer her a hand. In fact, he did less than offer her a hand.

"What do you think, Raton?" Elizabeth asked. "Not a bad job, if I say so my... wait. Is that another beer?"

Raton took a swig from the bottle of Negra Modelo. "Yep! It's a beer!"

"How many beers have you had?"

"Well, counting this one, and that six pack of Tecate, seven."

"Seven beers?"

"And a couple shots of tequila."

"A couple? And that margarita you were drinking when I arrived?"

"Oh, that was virgin."

"Oh, well, thank God for that! So that's what you've been doing all this time when I've been working my ass off? Drinking?"

"Hey, you gotta drink to get drunk!"

Elizabeth sniffed the air. "Oh my god. You are drunk!"

"Naw, just got a buzz goin' on."

"No, you're wasted!"

"I am serfectly pober. What? I fly better when I'm a little wasted!"

"Oh, you're not 'a little wasted', you're gone!"

"What's your point?"

"I needed to get to the lair of the Santa Muerte today!"

"Oh! You needed to do that today! Well, you weren't specific!"

Elizabeth palmed her face. "I can't fucking believe this. The only person who can get me to the Santa Muerte is not only a drunkard, he's drunk!"

"Now, lady, I will get you to the Santa Muerte, but you know what? I probably shouldn't fly right about now."

Raton then fell right into a mud puddle. He also began snoring quite loudly.

"I am so not dealing with that," Elizabeth said as she walked away from the sleeping drunk.

*

"Well," Scott said, "this is another fine mess I've gotten us into."

"It's not your fault," Dawn assured him from her cell across the hall. "If anything, it's Doug's fault."

"You know, you're right! I blame Doug!"

"Hey!" Doug cried from a few cells down the hall, "I can hear you!"

"Is anything I've said inaccurate?"

"Well, no, it's not. Ah, hell. This is all my fault, and now, you're gonna die for me. Scott, I'm not worth it."

"Oh, I agree," Dawn said.

"So do I," Scott agreed.

"Then why are you doing it, Scott?" Doug asked. "Why are you putting your ass on the line for me? You barely know me!"