by AnonYMous
Benson followed Nurse Bird through a set of double doors and down a couple of corridors, staying a yard behind the whole time so that he could admire her neat little backside. If he’d needed to know the way back in an emergency he’d be in all kinds of trouble. He took little notice of where he was being led; keeping his eyes focused on the swivelling cheeks beneath the nurse’s white coat. She eventually led him down several flights of stairs to the basement, and by the time they arrived at a locked vault guarded by two bulky security men in blue uniforms, he still hadn’t been able to work out whether she was wearing any underwear.
The huge grey door to the vault in front of them had a sign above it which read ‘CRYOPRESERVATION CHAMBER’.
‘May we go in, please?’ Nurse Bird asked.
‘Sure thing, Jolene,’ said one of the guards. He turned and typed a six-digit code into a keypad on the wall behind him. Jolene then stepped forward and typed in a code of her own. Next, she looked into a retina-scanning device placed at head height just above the keypad. A white light flashed in the unit. The scanning software duly recognized the retina in front of it and the vault door hissed a little then automatically began to open outwards. It came open slowly, moving just a few inches before suddenly stopping. It was a thick steel door and the release of the locking mechanism was only powerful enough to nudge it open a little way. One of the two guards pulled it the rest of the way open and held it back, ushering the two visitors through it. Jolene Bird walked in first, followed by Benson.
‘Phew, it’s cold in here,’ the detective remarked. He wasn’t actually feeling the cold at all, but the bright white walls made the chamber look as though it should be cold. His own blood temperature was low enough for the cold not to bother him, but as he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt it seemed an appropriate comment to make in the circumstances.
‘Yes,’ smiled Nurse Bird. ‘We tend not to have the heating on down here.’ She reached into her pocket and withdrew the yellow paper.
Inside the cryopreservation chamber was a series of long aisles flanked by numbered deposit boxes from floor to ceiling. To the left of the door as they entered was a six-runged stepladder, in case anyone should need to reach one of the deposit boxes high up. There were about thirty aisles stretching the length of the room. Each aisle was long enough and tall enough to hold approximately a thousand of the small metal-fronted boxes.
Once again the nurse led the way and Benson followed, past about ten aisles before they eventually stopped by one with the code 9N86 in black letters on the near face of the aisle. Jolene checked the piece of paper in her hand and confirmed to herself she had the right area, then she turned into the aisle and followed it down for about sixty feet. She came to a stop at box number 8447, which was situated just below head height on the left-hand side of the aisle.
From a side pocket in her lab coat she produced the key that she had brought with her from reception. Despite the cold having numbed her fingers she managed to insert it cleanly into the lock on the box, which was set just below the number. Once she was satisfied that she had pushed it in far enough she turned it easily to the right and a clicking sound followed, much to her relief.
‘To be honest, I doubt we would ever have needed this one anyway,’ she said, pulling the small door open and beginning to slide out the box behind it. ‘It’s such a rare blood type. We’ve never seen its kind before.’
She reached into the box and pulled out a one-pint plastic package of frozen blood, which she handed to Benson. He took a look at it and smiled at her once more.
‘Well, Archibald Somers was no ordinary guy, was he?’ he replied.
Forty-Seven
Peto took a drag on his cigarette and surveyed the carnage around them. The Nightjar was a spectacular, bloodied mess. There were limbs and other body parts strewn across the floor and wedged between tables and chairs, detached from their owners’ bodies by the Kid’s heavy dum-dum rounds. By now, quite a few decaying remains of vampires were already little more than dust and ash. Smoke and steam was rising from so many of the chunks of flesh on the floor that the place was beginning to look like an indoor swamp. Reflecting on what had gone before, Peto blew the smoke out from his lungs and turned his attention back to the man at the bar with him, the Bourbon Kid.
‘I gotta know. Did you kill Kyle? Or was that someone else?’ he asked. The Kid was sitting to Peto’s left, but with Dante in between the two of them, although it was obvious that it was the Kid that Peto was speaking to. On the counter stood three bourbon glasses, two of them empty and one still half full. Beside them were two glasses of beer, still almost full.
‘Who the fuck’s Kyle?’
‘He was my best friend. He got killed in the Tapioca during the last eclipse.’
Dante butted in.
‘I think Gene Simmons or Freddie Krueger shot Kyle. The cops just blamed our man here, probably because it was convenient.’
‘Yeah,’ said the Kid, shrugging as he took a drag of his own cigarette. ‘They’ve pinned hundreds of murders on me that I can’t really take credit for. If you believe all you hear, I’m responsible for shooting everyone from Liberty Valance to Nice Guy Eddie.’
‘Who?’ asked Peto.
‘Doesn’t matter.’
Dante decided to speak up on a small matter that was bothering him somewhat.
‘You did just kill the guys from the Shades, though, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Weren’t they friends of yours?’
‘I don’t have friends.’
‘I can’t think why,’ Peto chipped in.
‘Believe it or not, it’s my choice.’
‘Sure.’
‘Look, dumbass, if I get close to someone, then that person is gonna get hunted down by vampires and werewolves and all kinds of other scum. I’ve had to distance myself from anyone I ever cared about. Seems I didn’t distance myself enough, though, because now my kid brother is dead. They killed him to get to me. Count yourselves lucky I don’t consider either of you two as friends, or you’d both be dead within a week.’
‘Your brother’s dead?’ Dante blurted it out.
‘Yeah. Killed by that Hunter fucker and four of his friends. Two more of ’em still have to suffer yet before my work is done. So you ask me if I was friends with some of these vampires and my answer is no. I hated every fuckin’ one of them. I been waitin’ for fucknuts over here to show up with the Eye of the Moon so I could get rid of this vampire blood that’s contaminatin’ my veins. Maybe then I could lead a normal life. And then – and only then – will I consider having friends.’
‘So you didn’t even like the other members of the Shades?’ Dante persisted, unnecessarily.
The Kid looked at him, bemused. He chose to answer the question anyway, although not before he blew a lungful of smoke past the young man’s inquisitive face.
‘Those guys would have killed you in the blink of an eye if they’d spotted you for a fake. How d’you manage to fool ’em anyway? I clocked you right away, man. You stood out like a fuckin’ lighthouse.’
‘It’s a serum I’m taking. Some Secret Service guy gave it to me. Lowers my blood temperature, an’ helps me to pass myself off as a vampire. Though tonight it didn’t seem to be workin’ so well.’ He shuddered, remembering what Obedience had said about supper for him and Fritz.
‘You work for the Secret Service?’
‘Only while they’ve got my girlfriend hostage.’
‘Want me to kill ’em?’ asked the Kid casually.
‘Wouldn’t mind.’ Then he added hastily, ‘Not her, though.’
‘Sure thing. I got two more vampires to kill, then we can sort them out. What about you, Monk Boy? How’ve you managed to infiltrate so well? You even had me fooled.’
‘No shit?’ said Peto, scratching one of the now almost healed bullet wounds in his chest, just below his left shoulder. ‘I’ve learned a few things about how to use the Eye of the Moon. It’s a very powerful stone,
you know. Has more than just healing powers.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said the Kid, stubbing his cigarette out on the bartop and blowing the last lungful of smoke out through his nostrils. ‘When we’re done tonight I’m gonna borrow that stone and use it to cure a few ailments I’ve got. Not least of all the one that makes me turn into a fuckin’ vampire at random inconvenient times.’
‘I guess it’s a job to keep under control?’ Dante asked.
‘Well, along with a minor drink problem and some anger issues I got, it ain’t a fuckin bed o’ roses, y’know.’
The Kid finished off his last mouthful of bourbon and threw the glass over his shoulder to smash on the floor behind him. Then he placed another cigarette between his lips. Hearing the crashing noise of the glass on the floor, Dino, who’d been in the back room, reappeared behind the bar.
‘Is that really necessary?’ he asked.
‘What’s your favourite colour?’ the Kid asked him, reaching inside his robe.
‘Blue. Why?’
BANG!
The Kid pulled out a heavy, nickel-plated revolver, pointed it at Dino and blasted a hole through the bar owner’s head. Blood sprayed all over Dante and Peto, who recoiled in horror. The body remained upright for a second or two longer than the laws of physics properly allowed, mainly because Dino had very large feet and he had been standing up straight. But then, after a few moments of staring blankly ahead into the barroom sporting a huge hole in the middle of his forehead, his knees buckled and he slumped backwards, crashing into a shelf of glasses he had only just reset a few minutes earlier.
‘Jesus!’ Peto shrieked. ‘What’s so wrong with blue?’
‘Nothin’. I just wanted to distract him while I pulled out the gun.’ The Kid took a drag on his cigarette. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’
Peto paused for a moment.
‘Can I tell you later?’
‘Sure.’ The Kid concealed the revolver about his person again. ‘Now I reckon it’s time we got outta here. You two look like you could use a trip to Domino’s.’
‘Great,’ said Dante, getting up from his stool. ‘I could murder a pizza.’ Carnage and mayhem always made him hungry. (So did sex.)
‘Not the fuckin’ pizza place. The fancy-dress store. Change of clothes.’
He had a point. Both his companions were covered in blood. None of it really their fault. All his, in fact. Still, it probably didn’t need to be said.
The Kid led the way out of the bar, Peto and Dante following. He paused only momentarily to draw his revolver again. This time he drew down on the jukebox and blew a massive hole through the middle of it. The damage was enough to stop the old Würlitzer from playing any more of the song ‘I fought the Law’ by The Clash.
Once outside, he walked over to a sleek black sports car parked by the opposite kerb. The streets were unlit, so with the night sky now at its darkest it was initially hard to tell what sort of car it was, although the bulge on the hood suggested that the engine was more than a little powerful. The only light came from the clear blue moon, but that was partially hidden behind a dark grey rain cloud. Eventually, as the Kid opened the driver’s door, Dante made the car.
‘Is this a V8 Interceptor?’ he asked.
‘Sure is. Cool, huh?’
‘Fuck, yeah. I had a DeLorean once, y’know?’ Christ! Dante thought. Me and the Kid bondin’ … Who’d evera thunk it?
‘Good for you.’
‘Crashed it into a tree, though. Totalled it.’
‘Doin’ eighty-eight?’
‘Fuck, yeah. How’d you guess?’
‘Long shot. Now shut up and get in.’
Dante called ‘shotgun’, so winning the front passenger seat, meaning that Peto had to squeeze into the confined space provided by the narrow back seat. The monk had learnt a lot in his time since he’d left Hubal, but there were still a few customs that caught him unawares. Some of the time he was convinced people invented new customs like shotgunning when it suited them, just so they could take advantage of him. Seething a little, he took his place in the cramped area in the back of the vehicle, positioning himself in between the two front seats to get the maximum out of the limited leg room available.
As the car powered off down the deserted street towards Domino’s he heard a tapping noise behind him. It sounded like it was coming from within the trunk. It was followed by a muffled voice.
‘You got someone in the trunk?’ Peto asked the Kid.
‘Yep.’
‘Can I ask who?’
‘Nope.’
Forty-Eight
Officer Bloem had become as concerned as Captain De La Cruz at the complete lack of police officers available to them, so he was greatly relieved when he saw two guys in standard blue uniforms arrive at the glass doors at the front of the headquarters. The wind was blowing hard outside and both of them were looking a little ragged as a result. No sense in keeping the poor bastards waiting, so he rushed out from behind his desk in the reception area and pressed a security button on the wall by the doors to allow them to enter. The nearest of the two officers pushed the glass door open and Bloem was quick to pull it from his own side so that he could hold it open for them.
‘You’re Goose and Kenny, I assume?’ he asked.
‘That’s right. I’m Goose, this is Kenny,’ said the first officer, a young fellow with windswept dark hair. He stepped through the open door and pulled his nightstick from its loop on his belt. ‘Where’s everyone gone?’
‘Benson’s done a runner, and De La Cruz is hidin’ down in the basement. But he’ll be glad to know you two are here. I guess the initial idea was that you would each act as a personal bodyguard for one of them, but bein’ as De La Cruz is the only one here right now, you can both do a job watching his back for now. If Benson comes back then one of you will be reassigned to him.’
‘Great,’ said Goose. ‘We head straight down to the basement, right?’
‘Knock yourselves out.’
The two officers made their way past Bloem and into the main reception area. As Bloem went to double check that the glass doors were closed and locked securely, Goose turned back and swung his nightstick viciously.
THWACK!
The nightstick crashed into the back of Bloem’s skull.
‘Ow! Fuck! What the fuck didja do that for?’ Bloem asked holding his head, where a large lump was already beginning to appear. Goose raised his arm back over his shoulder and then swung it back down forcefully to hit him with the nightstick again, this time catching him on the shoulder and a part of the neck. ‘Ow! Cut that out, will ya?’ He fumbled at his belt for his pistol.
The other officer, Kenny, stepped in and chopped Bloem on the back of the neck, knocking him out cold.
‘Thanks,’ said Dante, who had been pretending to be Goose. ‘I can’t understand how this didn’t knock him out,’ he said sourly, looking at the nightstick. It had come with the cheap imitation police uniforms they’d bought at Domino’s.
‘Well,’ said his colleague Kenny (whose role Peto had taken). ‘It helps if you hit him with it, rather than tickle him.’
‘I fuckin’ did.’
‘You didn’t. You totally wimped out on it.’
‘I did not.’
‘Did, too.’
‘Did not.’
There was a tap on the glass doors. The hooded figure of the Bourbon Kid stood outside, impatiently watching the bickering going on inside. Their argument was going nowhere and there was no sense in continuing it if it was going to darken the Kid’s mood further. He had been parking the car and stocking up on ammunition, and would probably be disappointed that he had missed the action. Peto made the smart decision not to keep him waiting any longer than necessary. He quickly stepped over the unconscious body of Francis Bloem to press the button on the wall to open the glass doors for his new partner in crime.
The hooded killer pushed the doors open and stepped inside the building. The place had not change
d much since the last time he’d popped in and slaughtered all the on-duty officers. And Somers.
‘This guy seems to be on his own,’ Peto said, pointing at the body on the floor. The Kid looked down at the unconscious red-haired lawman and pulled out his sawn-off double-barelled shotgun (something of a favourite of his). ‘Hey, wait,’ said Peto, reaching out and grabbing the other’s arm. ‘This guy’s unconscious. There’s no need to kill him. Jesus, not everyone has to die, okay? Sometimes, when a guy isn’t a threat any more, you can just let him be. He could have a family, y’know? Wife, kids, pet terrapins, the whole ball of wax. Take a deep breath and let’s go find this De La Cruz guy. According to this fellow on the floor he’s down in the basement. See? I acquired the information we need, which was easier to do because I didn’t kill him first and ask questions afterwards.’
‘You finished?’ the Kid asked, eyeing the hand Peto was using to grip his arm.
Peto wisely removed his hand. ‘Yeah. Now listen, the other guy, Benson, has done a runner, so we’ve only got the De La Cruz fella to deal with right now. So just be cool, okay?’
‘Okay.’ The voice was pure gravel.
The monk turned and led the way into the main reception area. Dante followed, with the Kid bringing up the rear. The hooded mass murderer, however, was still caught in two minds about the whole killing-Officer-Francis-Bloem issue, so he let the others walk a few steps ahead then turned back.
BANG!
The Kid fired a round into the prostrate police officer’s head.
Peto spun around instantly. ‘Jeesus! Fuckin’ stop that, will you? Did you not listen to what I just said? I said be cool!’
‘That was cool.’
‘No it fuckin’ wasn’t.’
‘Look, man, the gun just went off,’ said the Kid coldly. ‘Lucky I wasn’t pointin’ it at you. Got a mind of its own, this thing.’
Peto paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the bloodied mess of the body on the floor, and the hooded figure with the shotgun standing between it and him.
