The air conditioner blasted cold air into the car. Manny drove through the residential streets. Most of the driveways were empty. People off to work. Small children playing in the yards. A few moms out on the front steps. I didn't see any daddies at home with the kids. Things change, but not that much. The silence stretched out between us. It was not a comfortable silence.

Manny glanced at me furtively out of the corner of his eye.

I slumped in the passenger seat, the seat belt digging across my gun. "So," I said, "you used to perform human sacrifice."

I think he flinched. "Do you want me to lie?"

"No, I want to not know. I want to live in blessed ignorance."

"It doesn't work that way, Anita," he said.

"I guess it doesn't," I said. I adjusted the lap strap so it didn't press over my gun. Ah, comfort. If only everything else were that easy to fix. "What are we going to do about it?"

"About you knowing?" he asked. He glanced at me as he asked. I nodded.

"You aren't going to rant and rave? Tell me what an evil bastard I am?"

"Doesn't seem much point in it," I said.

He looked at me a little longer this time. "Thanks."

"I didn't say it was alright, Manny. I'm just not going to yell at you. Not yet, anyway."

He passed a large white car full of dark-skinned teenagers. Their car stereo was up so loud, my teeth rattled. The driver had one of those high-boned, flat faces, straight off of an Aztec carving. Our eyes met as we moved by them. He made kissing motions with his mouth. The others laughed uproariously.

I resisted the urge to flip them off. Mustn't encourage the little tykes.

They turned right. We went straight. Relief.

Manny stopped two cars back from a light. Just beyond the light was the turnoff 40 West. We'd take 270 up to Olive and then a short jaunt to my apartment. We had forty-five minutes to an hour of travel time. Not a problem normally. Today I wanted away from Manny. I wanted some time to digest. To decide how to feel.

"Talk to me, Anita, please."

"Honest to God, Manny, I don't know what to say." Truth, try to stick to the truth between friends. Yeah.

"I've known you for four years, Manny. You are a good man. You love your wife, your kids. You've saved my life. I've saved yours. I thought I knew you."

"I haven't changed."

"Yes," I looked at him as I said it, "you have. Manny Rodriguez would never under any circumstance take part in human sacrifice."

"It's been twenty years."

"There's no statute of limitations on murder."

"You going to the cops?" His voice was very quiet.

The light changed. We waited our turn and merged into the morning traffic. It was as heavy as it ever got in St. Louis. It's not the gridlock of L.A., but stop and jerk is still pretty darn annoying. Especially this morning.

"I don't have any proof. Just Dominga Salvador's word. I wouldn't exactly call her a reliable witness."

"If you had proof?"

"Don't push me on this, Manny." I stared out the window. There was a silver Miada with the top down. The driver was white-haired, male, and wore a jaunty little cap, plus racing gloves. Middle-age crisis.

"Does Rosita know?" I asked.

"She suspects, but she doesn't know for sure."

"Doesn't want to know," I said.

"Probably not." He turned and stared at me then.

A red Ford truck was nearly in front of us. I yelled, "Manny!"

He slammed on the brakes, and only the seat belt kept me from kissing the dashboard.

"Jesus, Manny, watch your driving!"

He concentrated on traffic for a few seconds, then without looking at me this time, "Are you going to tell Rosita?"

I thought about that for about a second. I shook my head, realized he couldn't see it, and said, "I don't think so. Ignorance is bliss on this one, Manny. I don't think your wife could deal with it."

"She'd leave me and take the kids."

I believed she would. Rosita was a very religious person. She took all the commandments very seriously.

"She already thinks I'm risking my eternal soul by raising the dead," Manny said.

"She didn't have a problem until the pope threatened to excommunicate all animators unless they stopped raising the dead."

"The Church is very important to Rosita."

"Me, too, but I'm a happy little Episcopalian now. Switch churches."

"It's not that easy," he said.

It wasn't. I knew that. But, hey, you do what you can, or what you have to. "Can you explain why you would do human sacrifice? I mean, something that will make sense to me?"

"No," he said. He pulled into the far lane. It seemed to be going a little faster. It slowed down as soon as we pulled in. Murphy's law of traffic.

"You won't even try to explain?"

"It's indefensible, Anita. I live with what I did. I can't do anything else."

He had a point. "This has to change the way I think about you, Manny."

"In what way?"

"I don't know yet." Honesty. If we were very careful, we could still be honest with each other. "Is there anything else you think I should know? Anything that Dominga might spill later on?"

He shook his head. "Nothing worse."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," he said. "That's it, no interrogation?"

"Not now, maybe not ever." I was tired all at once. It was 9:23 in the morning, and I needed a nap. Emotionally drained. "I don't know how to feel about this, Manny. I don't know how it changes our friendship, or our working relationship, or even if it does. I think it does. Oh, hell, I don't know."

"Fair enough," he said. "Let's move on to something we aren't confused about."

"And what would that be?" I asked.

"The Seсora will send something bad to your window, just like she said she would."

"I figured that."

"Why did you threaten her?"

"I didn't like her."

"Oh, great, just great," he said. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"I am going to stop her, Manny. I figured she should know."

"Never give the bad guys a head start, Anita. I taught you that."

"You also taught me that human sacrifice is murder."

"That hurt," he said.

"Yes," I said, "it did."

"You need to be prepared, Anita. She will send something after you. Just to scare you, I think, not to really harm."

"Because you made me fess up to not killing her," I said.

"No, because she doesn't really believe you'll kill her. She's intrigued with your powers. I think she'd rather convert you than kill you."

"Have me as part of her zombie-making factory."

"Yes."

"Not in this lifetime."

"The Seсora is not used to people saying no, Anita."

"Her problem, not mine."

He glanced at me, then back to the traffic. "She'll make it your problem."

"I'll deal with it"

"You can't be that confident."

"I'm not, but what do you want me to do, break down and cry. I'll deal with it when, and if, something noisome drags itself through my window."

"You can't deal with the Seсora, Anita. She is powerful, more powerful than you can ever imagine."

"She scared me, Manny. I am suitably impressed. If she sends something I can't handle, I'll run. Okay?"

"Not okay. You don't know, you just don't know."

"I heard the thing in the hallway. I smelled it. I'm scared, but she's just human, Manny. All the mumbo jumbo won't keep her safe from a bullet."

"A bullet may take her out, but not down."

"What does that mean?"

"If she were shot, say in the head or heart, and seemed dead, I'd treat her like a vampire. Head and heart taken out. Body burned." He glanced at me sort of sideways.

I didn't say anything. We were talking about killing Dominga Salvador. She was capturing souls and putting them into corpses. It was an abomination. She would probably attack me first. Some supernatural goodie come creeping into my home. She was evil and would attack me first. Would it be murder to ambush her? Yeah. Would I do it anyway? I let the thought take shape in my head. Rolled it over like a piece of candy, tasting the idea. Yeah, I could do it.

I should have felt bad that I could plan a murder, for any reason, and not flinch. I didn't feel bad. It was sort of comforting to know if she pushed me, I could push back. Who was I to cast stones at Manny for twenty-year-old crimes? Yeah, who indeed.