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

by Terrance Dicks

  I fired up a Camel and looked at her through the smoke. "So you just couldn't resist me, hey kid? I knew you'd crack. This place ain't much but there's a Murphy bed in the wall there."

  She shook her head like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "If you really think I've come all the way out to this rat-hole in pursuit of your manly charms, Dekker -"

  "And I thought my luck had changed at last. Well, if it's not pleasure ..."

  "Business." She stood up. "Doc wants to see you. He sent me to bring you over."

  "Well, you're prettier than the guys Al sent. What's up?"

  "There've been some shootings."

  "Yeah, and the sun comes up in the morning. This is Chicago, sweetheart. How many?"

  "Three, I think."

  "So much for Al's truce. Mobsters?"

  "One of them. Doc said something about a journalist and a D.A."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Pretty much. Why?"

  "It's against all the rules. Mobsters killing mobsters, that's routine. But like Al says, they only kill each other."

  Ace shrugged. "Doc will tell you all about it. Will you come, Dekker? Doc said it was urgent."

  "Sure I'll come. Anything for you, doll." I finished my drink, stubbed out my Camel and put on my trenchcoat and hat. We went over to the door.

  I turned out the lights, then closed and locked the door behind me. "I locked this place up when I left town. How did you get in?"

  "It's a cheap lock, Dekker. Took me and a hairpin two minutes."

  I looked hard at her as we went on down the stairs. "You really have been around, haven't you kid?"

  "More than you could possibly imagine."

  Once we were on the street she put two fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Doc's big Cadillac rolled round the corner with Happy at the wheel.

  He stuck his head out of the window. "Hi Mr. Dekker!"

  We got in and the car drove away. It had just started to rain and it was late enough for traffic to be pretty light. The wet streets reflected the streetlights as the big Caddy moved between the skyscrapers, sliding smoothly through the silent city. We passed by the new Carbon and Carbide building on North Michigan. It was pretty spectacular. Black granite and marble trimmed with bronze, a green tower and a gold pinnacle.

  "It's a beautiful town," said Ace softly.

  "If you can stand the pace," I said. "I like it, but then I was born here."

  She nodded. "It must be nice to belong somewhere."

  Doc's Place was closed for the night by the time we arrived, but there was Doc in his white tuxedo, wide awake and crackling with energy. The murders seemed to have given him a boost, like something he'd been waiting for had turned up at last.

  Luigi was still behind the bar dispensing coffee, and we all settled down in Doc's alcove over cups of java and a bottle of Jim Beam.

  "Ace told you what's happened?" he asked.

  "Just the facts, Doc. I could use some details."

  Doc rattled them off. "Jake Lingle, crime reporter on the Chicago Tribune, shot down in the Illinois Central subway. Hymie Weiss, machine-gunned from a second-floor window outside Schofield's flower shop. District Attorney William McSwiggin, found dead inside a bullet-riddled Lincoln in Oak Park. The body of a police captain called Duffy was also in the car."

  My jaw dropped and I just sat there with my mouth open. I guess I must have looked kinda comical. Ace gave me a nudge. "Dekker? What is it?"

  I looked helplessly at Doc, and he smiled. "Tell her, Dekker."

  I poured a slug of bourbon into my coffee and swigged it down.

  "Jake Lingle was a reporter, and there's an unwritten law you don't shoot press guys. Newspapers don't like it, and it makes for bad publicity. Lingle was a Chicago Tribune reporter. The Trib's owned by a millionaire, a guy called Colonel Robert McCormack. He's already riled up about Chicago crime, and Lingle was his blue-eyed boy. McCormack has a hell of a lot of clout, and he's going to start using it.

  "Hymie Weiss was one of the bosses of the North-side gang, Al Capone's biggest rivals. They've never forgiven Al for knocking off their old boss, O'Bannion - and they're gonna be dead certain he killed Hymie Weiss as well.

  "Bill McSwiggin was a special investigator for our beloved Mayor, Big Bill Thompson. With a reporter, a D.A. and a police captain killed, Thompson's just gonna have to do something - even though all three of them were up to their necks in the rackets."

  "Tell me something, Mr. Dekker," said Doc in that old-fashioned way of his. "If you had to pick three men whose murders would be certain to stir up bloody hell here in Chicago, could you have made a better choice?"

  "It wouldn't be easy. What's your interest in all this, Doc?"

  "I believe all three murders were carried out by the same man, just to cause trouble for his own purposes. I want to hire you to help me find that man. I need your local knowledge."

  I thought for a moment. "Well, I do happen to be at liberty for the moment. My daily rate is -"

  "I'll double it," said Doc. "Unlimited expenses as well, naturally. Here's a couple of grand to be going on with." He took a roll of notes out of his pocket and handed it over.

  "It's a deal," I said. "When do we start?"

  "We've started. We begin by going to see Mr. Capone."

  "Right now?"

  "Right now."

  I checked my watch. "It's late, but with all that's been going on, I doubt if Al's having an early night. Okay, let's go."

  I started to stand up, but Ace said, "Hang on a minute." She was giving Doc what the guys who write books call a meaningful look.

  "What is it, Ace?"

  "I don't really know what's going on here, Doctor, though I expect you'll tell me when you're ready. But if it's the kind of thing you usually get mixed up in, is it fair to involve Dekker like this?"

  "No, it isn't," said Doc straight out. "It's not fair to involve you and it probably isn't fair to involve me either. This thing's too important to worry about fairness." He swung round to me. "What Ace means, Mr. Dekker, is that this job I'm offering you could turn out to be hideously dangerous - it could land you in the kind of danger you can't possibly understand."

  "Danger is my business, Doc. I'm hired, so I guess I'll stay hired."

  "Thank you, Mr. Dekker. Now, if you'll excuse me while I slip into something more suitable..." Doc got up and disappeared upstairs.

  I turned to Ace and found her glaring at me.

  "Danger is my business! Of all the macho posturing.. "

  "I read it in a dime novel somewhere. I always wanted to say it."

  Ace leaned forward. "Go home, Dekker. Go and look for missing daughters and cheating wives and small-time bank robbers. You don't want to get mixed up with Doc. It's too dangerous. He's got some very nasty enemies."

  "He's got some pretty nice friends, though."

  Ace gave an impatient snort, but I could see she was pleased all the same.

  Doc came down in his sharp suit and snap-brimmed fedora. "We're off for a while, Luigi. Lock up and keep watch. Don't let anyone back in but us."

  Luigi reached under the bar and came up with a double-barreled shotgun that would've stopped an elephant. "Don't worry none, Doc. Anyone tries anything, I spread them all over the walls."

  Doc shuddered. "Not unless you absolutely have to - think of the decorating bills. Come on, you two. Happy's outside with the car."

  We were on our way.

  After the Hawthorne got shot up, Al had shifted his HQ to the Lexington Hotel on Michigan Avenue and East Twenty-Second Street. It was a once-posh hotel in a rundown part of town, and as usual Al had pretty well taken it over. He had a suite on the sixth floor and the rest of the place was packed with his boys.

  As the car drew up outside, I said, "Everyone get out real slow and keep your hands in plain sight. Al's boys will be expecting trouble, and that means they'll be nervous. There's nothing more dangerous than a nervous gunman."

  We got
out of the car and went into the hotel lobby. Just like the Hawthorne, it was crowded with hard-eyed men in high-priced suits. The desk clerk, a skinny guy with big glasses and slicked-back hair, didn't seem to have heard of Al Capone, Al Brown or anyone else come to that.

  I jogged his memory by grabbing his shirt-front and hauling him half-way across his own counter. "Listen, sonny, just get on the horn to Frankie Rio or whoever else is body-guarding Al and tell him that the Doc, Miss Ace and Dekker need to see the Big Fellow urgently."

  I let him drop and he scurried to a phone.

  We stood waiting by the desk with a dozen hard guys watching our every move. I wanted a smoke but I knew that if I reached for a pocket I'd end up looking like a colander.

  After a few minutes of this the doors to the lift opened and Frank Rio appeared. He beckoned us over.

  "This better be good, Dekker," he said as we all got into the lift. "The Big Fellow's in a bad mood."

  We rode up in the lift, got out in the sixth floor lobby, handed over our guns. I had my .45, Ace had a nineshot nine millimetre Browning in her purse. Doc wasn't carrying.

  We were shown into Al's suite and found him in a huddle round a table with half a dozen other guys. There was Jake "Greasy-Thumb" Guzick, the money man. The bags under his eyes made him look like a tired old bloodhound. There was Machine-Gun Jack McGurn, Al's favourite, with his round, boyish face. There was Frank Nitti, greased-back hair parted dead-centre, stroking his new moustache, grown as a disguise when he was temporarily on the lam from the tax guys. Al was having a council of war.

  In a couple of chairs in the corner of the room, two guys were sitting. One was young and handsome with curly hair swept back in oily waves. The other, stocky and balding, looked like a banker or a businessman.

  We'd never met but I'd seen their faces on mug-shots down at Headquarters: John Scalise and Albert Anselmi. They weren't part of the meeting. They were just waiting patiently to be told who to go out and kill. It made no difference to them. These guys were specialists.

  Al looked up impatiently as we all trooped in.

  "Doc, this isn't a good time."

  "Then let's not make it any worse. I need to ask you something, Mr. Capone." There was a crackle of authority in Doc's voice that made everyone look up. I could see even Al felt it.

  "Okay Doc, ask away."

  "Did you have anything to do with the recent wave of murders?" I saw Scalise and Anselmi's heads turn towards Doc like they were worked by the same wire. I reckon they thought they'd found their next customer. I could feel Ace tense beside me.

  Al got up and lumbered towards Doc like a grouchy gorilla. He loomed over Doc, giving him the Look, that bulging-eyed glare that could terrify every mobster in Chicago.

  Doc, looking undersized against Al's bulk, returned the look with an expression of polite interest.

  In a menacing whisper Al said, "Suppose I tell you I didn't?"

  "Then I'll believe you, of course. I just needed to hear you say it. I never thought you killed them in the first place."

  Al gave a bellow of laughter, then threw his arm around Doc's shoulders, leading him towards the drinks cabinet.

  "Then you're just about the only guy in Chicago outside this room who don't think I whacked them." He fixed drinks for himself and Doc, and waved to us to help ourselves. I poured a healthy slug of rye each for me and Ace. I didn't know about her but I needed one.

  "Listen, Doc," said Al seriously. "I never laid a pinkie on any of them guys. Why would I? McSwiggin and Lingle were on the take. I paid 'em and they delivered. We didn't have any beef. I didn't hardly know Red Duffy existed -strictly small-time."

  "And Hymie Weiss?"

  "Okay, so Hymie and I weren't exactly buddies. But if I was moving in on the Northside mob I'd take the lot of them out. If I knocked off just Hymie I know I'd have Gusenberg, Moran and all the rest of those guys out for my blood - which, incidentally, is exactly what is gonna happen now."

  Doc looked round the room.

  "I take it you're planning to get your retaliation in first?"

  "Sure. Now I gotta get them before they get me."

  "Not necessarily"

  "What else can I do?"

  "Nothing."

  Al looked amazed and Doc went on, "You're an innocent man, Mr. Capone, falsely accused! How does it feel?"

  Al broke out into a broad grin. "Hey, that's right. I didn't do it!" The grin faded. "Suppose the cops try to pin it on me anyway?"

  "Since you really are innocent, any evidence against you will have to be fake and can easily be discredited. Just stand fast and tell the world what you've just told me."

  "Hey, maybe that is the way to play it," said Al thoughtfully. "What's your angle in this, Doc?"

  Doc fed Al the idea he'd fed us earlier, that someone had knocked off these four guys just to stir up trouble.

  AL got right to the point. "Yeah? Why?"

  I decided to put in my two cents worth. "Think about it, Mr. Capone. If you and all the other mobs in Chicago are busy blasting each other, and the cops shoot down or lock up whoever's left..."

  "There's a clear field for someone to move in when the shooting stops," said Capone. "Who is this sonuvabitch?"

  "That's what I intend to find out," said Doc. "With the help of my friends here."

  "Let me do it, Doc. I'll find this guy and tear his head off."

  Doc shook his head. "If you start asking questions, Mr. Capone, people will either start running or start shooting. We may have more luck. I'm here to ask you to let us try."

  "Okay, Doc, you got it. Mind, if I'm attacked I gotta defend myself. Apart from that, I'm just an innocent bystander."

  Outside the suite Ace and I recovered our guns and we all three took the elevator down to the lobby.

  "Well, so far so good, Doc," I said.

  Doc nodded. "I think Al will hold on for a while, but others won't be so patient."

  "How long have we got?" Ace asked him.

  "It's a matter of days at most, maybe even hours. We've got to find our unknown before he triggers off the biggest blood-bath Chicago's ever seen."

  15 THE ARREST

  "I always wondered how I'd stand up under torture," said Bernice. "Now I know. Scream the place down and tell 'em everything."

  "I thought you were doing rather well, actually," said Romana with her usual calm. "Not too many interrogations end with the victim beating up the interrogator."

  "That Tarak's a maniac! And that old fool Kalmar's another."

  "They're fanatics, certainly," agreed Romana. "But you have to remember that Kalmar survived years of persecution."

  "What about Tarak? What's his excuse?"

  "Boyish enthusiasm mostly - and a need to be as big a hero as his dead father."

  They were walking back through the woods towards Ivo's inn. Romana's grey mare trotted docilely along behind them like a well trained dog.

  Romana's arrival and Bernice's mention of the Doctor had changed the situation drastically at the rebel headquarters. Kalmar had apologized over and over again, although Bernice suspected he was really far more concerned with the damage to his precious machine. Even Tarak, more humiliated than hurt, had muttered a sulky apology and given Bernice back her blaster.

  When the mess and the combatants had been cleaned up, Kalmar had produced a stone jug of some local brew and they'd all drunk a toast to friendship and understanding. Well, several toasts actually. Pretty soon Bernice was feeling no pain.

  During the toasts Romana had whispered, "I came here for a meeting with these people - it's pretty important, actually. We can talk afterwards."

  The toasts over, the meeting had begun. Tarak, Ivo and the other resistance leaders gathered round in a circle to listen to Romana. It was astonishing, thought Bernice, how easily the small fair-haired woman dominated the group of tough, hard-bitten men. There was something about Romana that reminded Bernice very strongly of the Doctor.

  "I've come to tell you t
hat everything has been arranged," said Romana. "The delegation will arrive at Ivo's inn by tonight. The meetings will begin tomorrow morning. I expect your delegates to be there - unarmed."

  There had been immediate objections.

  "Forget it," growled one small angry-looking man. "I'm not talking to any Lords without a sword in my hand."

  "It is most unlikely that the Lords will be travelling unarmed," pointed out Kalmar.

  "Exactly!" said Tarak. "They'll be carrying weapons and they'll have the Black Guard with them as well. Remember, if they can wipe out the people in this room they'll crush resistance for miles around."

  "This is supposed to be a peace conference, Tarak," said Romana wearily. "Lord Veran has given his word that there will be no violence."

  "I agree with Zeron. I'd sooner trust my sword than the word of any Lord."

  After what seemed to Bernice like an endless amount of argy-bargy it had been agreed that the resistance delegates could bear arms to the meeting but that they would leave them outside the actual conference room -provided the Lords did the same.

  After that there'd been the seemingly endless process of choosing the delegates who would actually attend. Tarak and Kalmar were elected unanimously, and after a complicated series of votes a third delegate was chosen, who turned out to be Lothar, the young farmer from Ivo's village. At last everything was settled and the meeting broke up.

  All this had taken so long that it was already beginning to get dark by the time Bernice and Romana were going home through the woods. The bats were already chittering in the trees. Romana looked up and shuddered.

  "I've never cared for bats - not since the first time I was here."

  "You came here with the Doctor?"

  Romana nodded. "Quite some time ago. We arrived by accident."

  "Sounds familiar," said Bernice. "That's how the Doctor arrives at most places."

  Romana looked curiously at her. "I take it you've been travelling with the Doctor. You're the latest of his human companions?"

  She makes it sound, thought Bernice, as if we were an interesting but faintly eccentric kind of pet. Like cocker spaniels - or newts ...

  "One of them," said Bernice. "There's a girl called Ace - you'd just love her. But you're not, are you?" she added challengingly.