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Infusion
1946
“Antonio.” Dominic walked to the table and plunked down a bottle of cheap champagne. “I’ve
decided to name him Antonio.”
Malcolm sipped his beer as a chorus of “good choice” rose up from the others. Wally and
Raymond Santos glanced Malcolm’s way, as if seeking permission to congratulate Dominic, but
Malcolm just kept drinking, and let them make up their own minds. After a moment, Wally
joined in with a raised glass to the new father, while sixteen-year-old Raymond busied himself
cleaning out a thumbnail.
Dominic paused behind the head chair. Billy Koenig scrambled out of it, making a quick
joke about keeping it warm for him. Dominic thudded into the chair and dropped his burly arms
onto the table so hard Malcolm’s beer sloshed. Typical Dominic—always throwing his weight
around, letting no one forget that he was Pack Alpha heir apparent.
“A drink for Antonio,” Dominic thundered, his voice reverberating through the dingy bar.
He turned to the owner, across the room, counting bottles. “Vinnie! Glasses!”
Waiting tables certainly wasn’t Vincent’s job, but he hopped to it. As Vincent approached,
Malcolm held up his empty mug. Vincent paused, but only for a second, then took Malcolm’s
glass. Dominic allowed himself only a split-second scowl, but it was enough for Malcolm. It
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was easy to establish dominance when you were bigger than everyone else. Doing it without
that advantage was the real accomplishment.
Once the glasses were filled and distributed, Dominic lifted his. “To fatherhood.”
Everyone clinked glasses, even Malcolm. He knew how far he could push the future Alpha,
straddling the border of insolence, but never dropping over into insult.
“Now, how about a wager?” Dominic boomed. “Take bets on who’ll be the new father
sitting here next. I’ll pick Malcolm.” A quick grin. “God knows, he’s been trying hard enough.”
Malcolm gritted his teeth as the others laughed and called out good-natured jabs. It was his
own damned fault. Malcolm had meant to keep his hopes secret until he could show off the
goods, but two years ago, sitting around this very table listening to Dominic brag about his boys,
he’d announced a pending arrival of his own . . . only to discover six months later, when the
child was born, that it wasn’t his. Since then, everyone had known he’d been trying, and hadn’t
even sired a daughter. That was his father’s fault—the one blood blight Malcolm couldn’t
overcome through sheer strength of will.
As they drank the champagne, the cleaning girl stopped by to wipe off their table. She
murmured something that was probably meant to be “excuse me,” but her thick accent and
whispered voice rendered the words unintelligible.
The girl didn’t speak more than a dozen words of English. Malcolm figured the only reason
Vincent had hired her was because he could pay her half what he’d pay anyone else, her being a
Jap and all. Still, it had to be bad for business. How many ex-GI’s came in here, saw a Jap,
turned around and left? Malcolm wasn’t sure whether the girl really was Japanese, but it didn’t
matter—people saw slant-eyes and they saw Pearl Harbor, and five years wasn’t enough to make
anyone forget.
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The girl paused at Malcolm’s side, and lowered her head. Wally grinned and kicked him
under the chair. Malcolm leaned back to let the girl wipe his place. Unlike the quick swipe
she’d given the others, she made sure to get every spot, including a few that’d probably been
there for weeks.
When the girl finished, she scurried off and intercepted Vincent as he headed over with
Malcolm’s fresh beer. She took the tray and returned to the table. First, she wiped a spot for the
mug, then she wiped off the mug itself and finally laid it before him like a ceremonial chalice.
As Malcolm grunted his thanks, snickers raced up and down the table.
The girl pointed to the half-filled tray of peanuts nearest him.
“Sure,” he said. “Fill it up.”
When she scampered off with the bowl, Wally hooted. “That girl has it bad, Mal. Gets
worse every time we come here.”
Malcolm only gulped his beer.
“Hey, come on, Mal. Think about it. She waits on you like that in public, imagine what
she’d do for you in private.”
Another chorus of snickers.
“Not my type,” Malcolm muttered.
Dominic leaned forward. “Because she’s a Jap? Nothing wrong with that. From what I
hear, they’re damned eager to please, if you know what I mean.”
Billy nodded. “Buddy of mine at work has a Jap girlfriend, on the side of course, and you
wouldn’t believe the stories he tells. Ever heard of geishas? All Jap girls learn some of that shit,
and they’ll do anything to make a guy happy. Nothing’s too kinky—”
Dominic cut him short as the girl approached.
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“What?” Billy hissed. “She doesn’t understand English anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dominic murmured.
When she was gone, they started up again, regaling Malcolm with tales of Asian women.
“And,” Dominic said as they finished. “Unless my nose is wrong, there might be a bonus.”
“Just what I need,” Malcolm said. “A slant-eyed brat.”
Dominic shook his head. “It’s only the mother, Mal. Doesn’t count. Look at Ross Werner.
His momma was black and you can hardly tell. With us, it’s the male blood that counts. Women
. . .” He shrugged. “Just the vehicle. At most you might get a kid with dark hair and dark eyes,
but yours are dark enough anyway. Wouldn’t matter. And . . .” He leaned closer. “You never
know. A little foreign matter in the mix might be just what your boys need to get the job done.”
Malcolm gritted his teeth. Dominic always sounded so sincere, like a big brother who really
wanted to help, but Malcolm knew he’d like nothing better than to see Malcolm humiliate
himself by presenting a half-breed baby to the Pack.
As the night wore on, though, and Malcolm drank more beer, he couldn’t stop thinking
about what Dominic had said. Maybe mixing up the bloodline would help. He’d never tried
that. And Ross’s case did suggest the foreign blood wouldn’t show, which is all that mattered.
The girl was in the fertile stage of her cycle, and she obviously wanted him. An easy
conquest. Plus, if Asian women were as submissive as the others said . . . Malcolm smiled.
Submissive was good. Especially if it came from a girl who was in no position to complain if
things got out of hand.

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