Doctor Who - [New Adventure 29] - [Vampire Trilogy 2] - Blood Harvest

by Terrance Dicks

  "At least one important bone is missing from the skeleton. For all I know others may have been taken." The newcomer was silent for a moment, staring not so much at as through Bernice.

  Abruptly she said, "An archaeologist, you say? Off-planet, presumably? This world doesn't run to such luxuries."

  Luxury indeed! thought Bernice Summerfield.Supercilious bitch! "I'm on a grant from the Ellerycorp Foundation," she said, naming one of her old employers at random. "This is just a preliminary survey. We'll be mounting a full-scale expedition later."

  "Not if you've got any sense you won't. The political situation here is extremely unstable - and there are other problems too."

  "Such as?"

  "You wouldn't understand if I told you. Are you staying in the village?"

  Bernice nodded without speaking.

  "I advise you to get back there straight away. It will be dark soon, and this place isn't safe after dark. Get yourself off this planet and don't come back." Unexpectedly the woman smiled. "It's not always a good idea, you know, digging up the past."

  With a nod of dismissal she turned and strode away. Bernice noticed for the first time that a grey horse was waiting quietly, reins dangling, at the edge of the burial ground. The woman swung herself gracefully into the saddle and galloped away.

  "I hate horsy women," muttered Bernice. "One of the local aristos no doubt, thinks she owns the place and probably does."

  She looked up at the sky, realizing it had got suddenly darker.

  "Still, I think I'll take her advice about getting back to the village."

  Giving the blood-stained altar a wide berth, Bernice made her way back to the front of the Tower and set about retracing her route. It was in the woods that things got seriously nasty.

  It was really dark between the trees now and Bernice could see shapes gliding and swooping in the shadows. Bats! Suddenly she realized that there was a dark cloud of them above her head - and the cloud was getting thicker.

  The bats were making an odd high-pitched chittering sound.

  They started diving down at her, swirling about her head, and Bernice felt a sudden irrational fear that one of them would get caught in her hair. She started to run, pounding blindly along the forest path. The chittering rose higher. A bat flew at her cheek and she felt a stab of pain.

  Still running, she flapped wildly at it. She rubbed her hand to her cheek and it came away wet and sticky.

  "Blood!" she thought. "Maybe they can smell blood, like sharks."

  She ran faster, gasping for breath now, and suddenly she shot out of the woods and into open ground. She ran on, hoping desperately that the bats wouldn't follow. To her vast relief she heard the chittering sound dying away behind her.

  Still running she glanced over her shoulder at the darkening woods, and turned back to find a giant shape looming up in front of her. Before she could check her pace she ran straight into it - and bounced off the solidly reassuring form of Ivo. For a moment she could only look at him and gasp.

  "Lady Bernice," he said in astonishment.

  "In person," gasped Bernice. "Thanks for coming to look for me."

  "I am glad to have found you, my Lady," said Ivo solemnly. "But in truth it was Gerda I was searching for."

  "Gerda?"

  "My help-maid, she's been missing since last night."

  "Was she a tall girl with long fair hair?"

  "Indeed she was-" He broke off. "You said was, my Lady. I think you bring me ill news."

  Bernice couldn't reply. Ivo took her arm.

  "We had best return to the inn, you can tell me there."

  Ivo insisted on settling Bernice in a chair by the fire before he would let her speak. He gave her a cup of rough red wine and Bernice swigged it gratefully.

  Then he said, "If you are ready, my Lady"

  She told him everything that had happened. Her exploration of the Tower, finding Gerda's blood-drained body, the creature that had attacked her, the strange woman at the burial ground.

  As Ivo listened despair settled on his face. When she finished he said, "The one who attacked you, what did he look like?"

  "Tall, bearded, glittering eyes..." Suddenly Bernice remembered. "There was a portrait of him in the throne room in the Tower."

  "Lord Zargo!" said Ivo. "Perhaps the strange woman was Lady Camilla." He put his head in his hands and groaned. "It is true then - they cannot die."

  "Who can't?"

  "Lord Zargo, Lady Camilla, Aukon the High Priest. The Old Lords have returned to rule over us."

  "But you said they'd all been destroyed."

  "They cannot be killed," whispered Ivo. "They die only to rise again. They are vampires."

  6 THE INVITATION

  It was the end of the night at Doc's Place, the air stale with cigarette and cigar smoke and the smell of spilled booze.

  The last customer had weaved his way into the night. Even the musicians had packed up their instruments and gone home. Only Sam the pianist was left, quietly playing the blues for his own pleasure, and Luigi, polishing glasses behind the bar.

  It had been a peaceful night on the whole. Only three fights, two with fists, a knife pulled on the third. Ace grabbed the fighters early and bustled them into the vestibule. From there, Happy gave them the bum's rush outside.

  The end of the night, thought Ace, with a jaw-cracking yawn - or the beginning of the morning. The Doctor always said sleep was for tortoises: it certainly wasn't for Chicago saloon-keepers. Alert as ever, immaculate in his white dinner-jacket, the Doctor sat in his alcove totting up the night's takings. A half-full glass of whisky stood at his elbow, a cigarette smouldered in the ashtray.

  Sam's blues rippled to a conclusion and he closed the lid of the piano. "Well, that's it, I guess," he said in his soft smoky voice. "Night Doc, night Miss Ace."

  "Good night, Sam," said Ace, and the Doctor raised a hand in farewell.

  Luigi placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Ace and carried another one over to the Doctor. Then he said goodnight and went home. Ace carried her coffee over to the Doctor's alcove.

  He looked up as she sat down. "We're doing well, Ace. Even with what we pay Luigi and Sam and the band and Happy and the relief barman and the waiters-"

  "Not to mention our contributions to the Mayor's campaign fund, and Captain Reilly's little envelope and a few extra bucks for the cop on the beat..."

  "All legitimate business expenses," agreed the Doctor. "Even with all that we're still well in profit."

  "Making our own booze in the TARDIS must be a big help."

  "It is. We don't have to run a fleet of booze trucks or pay armed guards to stop hijackings."

  "Meanwhile I can't have a swim because the TARDIS swimming pool's full of bootleg beer."

  "Swim in the beer, the customers won't complain. It'll give it added body."

  Ace winced. "I'm glad you're making a success of your new career, Doctor. How long is all this going on?"

  "Hard to say," said the Doctor evasively.

  "Only breaking up bar-room brawls is a bit of a comedown for someone with my training. There's bound to be a nice little war going on somewhere in the galaxy."

  "There's a nice little war going on right here," said the Doctor grimly. "Don't worry, Ace, something's bound to happen soon."

  As if in answer to the Doctor's words the door swung open and a tall figure appeared. Ace's hand was already inside her bag but the newcomer raised his hands shoulder high.

  "Don't shoot lady, it's only me!"

  "Dekker!" said Ace in mock disgust. "Who let you in here?"

  "Happy's an old friend of mine."

  "Well, if you want a drink, you're too late, we're closed. If you're after breakfast, there's a diner called Mom's just down the street."

  "I tried it, the food's terrible. Come on, you can manage a nightcap for an old friend. What do you say, Doc?"

  "My pleasure," said the Doctor. "But you'll have to help yourself, Luigi's gone home."

>   "Helping myself is what I'm best at." He went behind the bar, poured himself a large bourbon and carried it over to the alcove.

  Ace looked critically at him over her coffee cup. A big, tough, ugly man, far too sure of himself. Not her type at all. All the same, there was something curiously engaging about Dekker. Like a friendly gorilla.

  Dekker raised his glass in salute and took a swig of his bourbon. The Doctor studied him for a moment. "Well, Mr. Dekker, what's the word?"

  Dekker blinked. "You double as a mind-reader, Doc?"

  "I just thought it was time there was some reaction from Mr. Capone."

  "There is. Snorky wants you to have lunch with him."

  Ace raised her eyebrows. "Snorky?"

  "It's what his close friends call him - but not to his face. Means spiffy, neat, smart ... dapper! On account of Al's always so well dressed."

  "Is that so?" said Ace. "Well, you can just tell your friend Snorky -"

  The Doctor held up his hand: " - that we'd be delighted. Come on Ace, lunch with Snorky is something not to be missed."

  "Suppose it's a trap?"

  "You think I'd set you up?" said Dekker indignantly. "Capone just wants to meet you, that's all. If he wanted to shoot you he'd shoot you, he wouldn't make an appointment to do it."

  "Oh yeah?" said Ace sceptically. "Well, I'm coming along too, Dekker. And if there's any funny business, you'll be the first to go!"

  Dekker grinned. "Funny business with you, lady? Nothing could be further from my thoughts."

  In the smoke-filled back room of a North Side speakeasy, a late-night meeting was going on. Those taking past were all men of a similar type, thick- set, blue-jowled, expensively dressed. They wore diamond rings and jewelled tiepins and smoked fat cigars. They carried guns under their arms and thick rolls of notes in their hip-pockets.

  Their names were Pete Gusenberg, Bugs Moran and Hymie Weiss. They were the chiefs of the old O'Bannion mob. O'Bannion himself had been killed by order of Johnny Torrio, then Capone's boss. Now, with Torrio back in Italy, Capone had taken over. If Capone was the king of Chicago, these were the robber barons. No one of them dared stand against Capone alone. But together ...

  They were gathered round a big circular table, cards in front of them, money in the middle of the table, drinks within easy reach. They were talking about a man called Doc.

  "I say we take him out," screamed Bugs Moran. "Who does he think he is, anyway?" Nicknamed "Bugs" because of his maniacal temper, Moran always favoured the simple and violent solution.

  "That's what we gotta find out," said Pete Gusenberg. "If this Doc's just an independent muscling in, we can deal with him. But if he's tied in with Al ... well, maybe we should watch our step."

  "If he's tied in with Al," said Weiss deliberately, "Al's using him as a front to move in on territory that oughtta be ours."

  "So he goes either way," said Gusenberg. "I'll see to it myself. The guy knocks off Morelli, smacks my boys around ... Nobody treats Pete Gusenberg like that!"

  The telephone rang.

  A tall thin man in a chair by the door got up to answer it. He listened for a moment then said, "Yeah, he's here. It's for you, Mr. Gusenberg." Pete Gusenberg got up and went to the phone. He listened for a moment and said, "Okay, thanks. And keep me posted, I'll make it worth your while." He hung up the phone and went back to the table, a wolfish grin on his face. "I gotta contact inside Al's mob. This guy Doc's having lunch with Al. Tomorrow morning in the restaurant at the Hawthorne Hotel."

  The thin man leaned forwards, staring hard at the little group. Just for a moment there seemed to be a red spark in his deep-set eyes. All at once, the atmosphere around the table was charged with bloodthirsty excitement.

  "The restaurant at the Hawthorne's on the corner of the block, ground floor," said Moran. "Windows face right onto the street."

  Even the normally stolid Weiss was caught up in the blood-lust. "If we could get them both, Al and Doc together ..."

  Pete Gusenberg jumped up and went to a walk-in closet in the corner. "Fritz just delivered a consignment of these babies. Cost me two hundred and fifty bucks apiece. Seems like a good opportunity to try them out."

  He emerged from the closet holding a gleaming new Thompson sub-machine-gun.

  Doc was already waiting when I turned up around noon the way we'd arranged. He'd swapped the white tux for a snazzy suit, dark blue with pin-stripes, and he was carrying a pearl-grey fedora.

  "Ace will be down in a minute, Mr. Dekker," he said. "She's on her fourth or fifth costume change already, it can't take much longer."

  "You look pretty neat yourself, Doc," I said.

  "A guy's gotta keep up a good front," said Doc solemnly.

  At this point Ace came down the stairs, and however many outfits she'd tried on she'd ended up with the right one. She was wearing a black tailored skirt and jacket, with black stockings and a pillbox hat. There was a big handbag over her shoulder so I guessed she was heeled. The bag was big enough to hold a howitzer.

  "Well, we're a classy outfit all right," I said. "I can see we're going to impress the hell out of old Snorky."

  As we came out of the house a big black Cadillac saloon, as big as a bus, was pulling up outside. Behind the wheel was Happy Harrigan, grinning like an idiot, a chauffeur's hat jammed onto his bullet head.

  Doc opened the door for Ace and she got in. Doc followed and I went round the other side. We sank into the leather upholstery and leant back, the three of us in a row with Ace in the middle.

  "How come I don't get a window seat?" she asked.

  I gave her a fatherly pat on the knee.

  "Window seats can be dangerous here in Chicago."

  "So can wandering hands. Get your hand off my knee, Dekker, before I shoot it off."

  I folded my arms just in case she meant it, and the car glided away. We crossed Chicago in record time, mostly because Happy drove as though nobody else had any right to be on the road.

  Twenty-Second Street was as busy as ever and the kerb outside the Hawthorne was lined with cars. Happy double-parked outside the Hawthorne Smoke Shop - one of Capone's gambling joints - and we all got out and headed for the restaurant.

  It was a classy joint for Cicero, marble-topped tables, waiters, the lot, and it was packed with the lunch-time crowd. There was a big table in the window, the best in the place. It held one big, bulky figure and one slender one - Capone and his top bodyguard, Frank Rio.

  Rio stood up and stepped back as we headed for the table. Capone didn't move.

  "This is Doc, Mr. Capone," I said. "And this is-"

  "I kinda had the idea this was a business meeting," said Capone. "Dames and business don't mix."

  Al was trying to grab the initiative, giving Doc the Look, the angry bulging- eyed stare that turned most guys to mush.

  It had no effect on Doc whatsoever. He gave Al look for look and said quietly, "Ace is a full partner in all my enterprises. She's a very skilled negotiator. You could ask Mr. Morelli - if he was still available for comment."

  Al turned the Look onto Ace. "You're the dame that chilled Morelli?"

  "If that was his name. He pulled a gun on me, so he wasn't around long enough for us to get acquainted."

  And so help me, she gave Capone back the Look, just like Doc.

  Capone laughed. "You hear that Frankie? This is the dame took out Morelli. You better keep your eye on her."

  "It'll be a pleasure, Mr. Capone," said Rio. He stood there, calm and relaxed, one hand plunged deep in his jacket pocket.

  "You can look all you like," said Ace. "But keep your hands where I can see them while you're doing it."

  It was Frank's turn to glare now. But he took his hand out of his pocket - empty - and folded his arms.

  Al decided to turn on the charm. "Hey, what kind of hospitality is this? Siddown, all of you."

  We took seats around the big table.

  Capone snapped his fingers. "Where's that goddam champagne?"

&
nbsp; A waiter appeared with a bottle in an ice bucket. He popped the cork and started pouring the wine. When all the glasses were full Al said, "A toast, hey? Peace and prosperity!" He raised his glass. "Drink up, Doc. This stuff ain't made in no bathtub, it's my own personal stock, imported."

  Doc took a sip of the champagne. "Krug 21, if I'm not mistaken. An excellent choice, Mr. Capone."

  "Hell, what do I know? I started out as a barkeep in the Bowery. But a guy can learn, hey Doc?"

  "That's right, Mr. Capone. A guy can always learn - if he lives."

  That crack brought the Look back onto Capone's face, and Doc returned it coolly. They sat there staring each other out. Meanwhile Ace and Frankie Rio were eyeing each other as well, wondering who was quicker on the draw. And there I was in the middle. It was about as restful as having a drink in a cage full of tigers.

  "Meaning?" said Al at last.

  "I think you're in danger, Mr. Capone," said Doc.

  The Big Fellow laughed. "I ain't never been in anything else. Am I in danger from you, Doc?"

  I saw Doc smile. "I'm strictly neutral. All I want is to run a quiet place and have a quiet life."

  "Me too," said Capone, and he meant it. "There's enough for all of us in the booze racket. Why spend time knocking each other off when we could all be making dough?"

  Doc leaned forward. "Then why so many deaths? Why all the shootings, stabbings, stranglings, disappearances?"

  Al threw out his hands. "Doc, I wish I knew. I get the bosses together for a sit-down, we agree territories, we make deals - and for a week or two everything runs smooth."

  "And then?"

  "Then someone hijacks a booze shipment. Or starts muscling in on some other guy's territory. Or two guys from different mobs fight over some dame and one of them gets rubbed out and the pals of the dead guy take the winner for a ride. And it's getting worse. Just recently guys seem to be rubbing out other guys just the hell of it."

  Doc leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Killing for the sake of killing?"

  Al shrugged. "Pretty much."

  Something kinda funny struck me. Right from the start this had been a meeting of equals. Which was ridiculous when you came to think about it. Here was Doc, new in town, running one small joint with just Ace and Happy for back-up. No, Ace and Happy and me, I realized. Somehow I'd already chosen sides. And there was Al Capone, the Big Fellow who controlled speakeasies and gambling joints and cat-houses all over Chicago. Capone who owned politicians and cops, who could put an army of killers on the streets.