‘Shit. For a minute there, I was kind of hoping—’
‘We’re vampires, Greg. It’s what we do. Get used to it.’ She sighed reproachfully. ‘Not feeding yet, then?’
‘Don’t bring that up again. Makes me sick even to think of it.’
‘Of course it does. That’s normal enough. But that feeling doesn’t last. Trust me.’
‘Wonderful. Looking forward to it.’
‘Taken your Solazal today?’
‘What are you, my mother?’
‘When I see a helpless little vampire baby, I get these irrepressible maternal urges. Plus I don’t want you frazzling up too close to me.’
‘Thank you so much,’ he muttered. ‘Helpless little baby. So what information does this Rudi guy have for us?’
‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’
The Last Bite Bar and Grill, open dusk till dawn, was one of central London’s most in and super-trendy hangouts for vampires, movie stars, rock musicians, other assorted celebrities and those wannabes that could afford to eat, drink and party there. Rudi Bertolino, its owner-manager, was a vampire with his ear to the ground. For a yacht-owning, Porsche-driving multi-millionaire restaurateur he moved in some pretty low places – maybe that was just him keeping in touch with his past selling fish in the street markets of old Napoli, back when he’d been human. In return for the information he passed Alex from time to time, she turned a blind eye to the fact that he occasionally violated Federation rules by knocking off a human and putting their blood in the food to appeal to the real vampires among his clientele.
‘On a strictly assholes-only basis,’ he always insisted in his gravelly bass rumble. ‘Who’s gonna lament the demise of a few pushers, pimps and paedos?’ And that was pretty much good enough for Alex.
Rudi’s establishment sprawled across three floors between a yacht broker’s and a private members’ club on St James’s. His gold 911 Turbo was parked outside, glinting in the lights from the windows. The music was thumping out into the street. Alex and Greg bypassed the chattering throngs of hopefuls gathered on the pavement and steps outside, who were waiting to get tables. Two doormen dressed in cloaks and fake fangs spotted Alex and ushered her and Greg inside, bowing stiffly as they walked in up the red carpet into the lights and noise.
The place was decked out like a gaudy gothic cathedral, lit by huge candelabras and chandeliers that looked like torture implements suspended on chains from the vaulted ceiling. Marble pillars gleamed in the swirling spotlights from the bar. Sumptuous red satin drapes billowed down from archways thirty feet high.
The joint was packed. About a hundred people were crowding the bar, yelling to get their drink orders in. Waitresses in leather basques with pointy teeth and heavy eyeshadow roller-skated round the tables, and the waiters had slicked-back hair and long black capes. Mock-Transylvanian tapestries and giant framed prints from vampire movies adorned the walls: Christopher Lee, Klaus Kinski and Bela Lugosi as Dracula through the ages; Wesley Snipes in Blade; Tom Cruise as Lestat; a larger-than-life cutout of Peter Cushing coming out at you from behind a curtain, wielding stake and mallet.
‘This place is incredible,’ Greg shouted over the hard rock beat. He pointed up at a black and white print that hung over the bar. ‘Hey, I saw that one. The old Nosferatu movie – scary guy with the ears and the fingernails. What was his name?’
‘Max Schreck,’ Alex told him.
‘Right.’ Greg froze. ‘Shit. Over there. At that table. That’s—’
‘Yes, it is. And no, she’s not one of us. She just likes people to think she is. And stop pointing or I’ll break your finger off. You’re embarrassing me.’
‘Alex! Baby! Great ta see ya!’ said a booming voice.
Rudi Bertolino stood no more than five feet tall. He was almost perfectly spherical in shape, balding on top with a ponytail that dangled down the back of his Hawaiian shirt, jinking with gold chains and medallions as he came stomping out of the crowd with a huge grin and slipped a chubby arm around her waist. ‘Great! Great! Hungry?’
‘Only for what you’ve got to tell me,’ she said.
Rudi grinned even wider. ‘Shame. You gotta taste the Brasato al Barolo tonight.’ He smacked his lips.
‘Maybe later.’
‘Hey, no problemo. Let’s step into my office.’ As he led them away through the noisy crowd he jerked his chin back at Greg. ‘Who’s the guy?’ he rasped out of the corner of his mouth. ‘New boyfriend?’
‘New partner, Rudi. I mean professional partner.’
‘Since when did you ever—’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘He looks like a dork,’ Rudi muttered.
‘Leave him alone, okay?’
Rudi led them along a passage and through a door that said ‘manager’, into an enormous room done out in purple velvet and leopardskin upholstery. ‘Come in, come in. Take a seat.’ He motioned at a couple of armchairs.
‘I see you’ve been doing some filing,’ Alex said. The chairs were covered in heaps of documents. Rudi strutted over and swiped them away, creating a blizzard of paper. ‘Fuckin’ bills. Fuck ‘em anyway.’ He threw himself onto a giant red sofa shaped like a pair of lips and put his silver toe-capped boots up on the coffee table in front of him. ‘Jeez, it’s good ta see you again, Alex. What’ll ya have?’
‘Something with a bit of body to it,’ she said, settling into one of the leopardskin armchairs. Greg did the same.
‘How ‘bout you, soldier boy?’
Greg looked stunned. ‘That obvious?’
‘Like anyone would actually want their hair cut like a fuckin’ shoe brush.’ Rudi laughed as he reached behind him and jabbed an intercom on the wall. ‘Daisy, three Red Juice Specials, right now.’
‘Red Juice Specials?’ Greg asked uneasily.
‘Speciality of the maison,’ Rudi said. He winked at Alex. ‘From the guy’s neck to your sweet lips, darlin’.’
Daisy came wobbling into the office in fishnet stockings and high heels, carrying a tray with three tall glasses of thick frothy red juice, iced, with cocktail umbrellas in. Greg stared at them and turned pale.
‘Fucksamatter with him?’ Rudi said.
‘Greg’s new to our ways,’ Alex said.
Rudi beamed. ‘Knew it. Not juicin’ yet, huh, boy? Whaddaya, squeamish?’
‘Shooting the enemy from a distance, even using a knife in close quarter battle, isn’t quite the same as sinking your teeth in and drinking their blood,’ Greg muttered, still gazing uneasily at the drinks.
‘Relax, you ain’t gonna kill anyone, tough guy,’ Rudi rasped. ‘You get yourself a juicy piece of ass – ‘scuse my French, Alex – you bite her right here in the neck, you use the Vambloc after. Kills the infection, she don’t remember a thing and the holes heal up so fast, by the time she wakes up you can’t even see ‘em.’ He roared with laughter. ‘You’re gonna love it, being a vampire. Man, once you get the taste for it, the buzz, the feel of the juice, still warm, flowin’ down your throat…ain’t a fuckin’ feeling in the world like it.’
Alex sipped her Red Juice Special. The blood was fresh. ‘Anyway, Rudi, we didn’t come here to discuss the ethics of vampire nutrition. You said you had something for me.’
Rudi nodded. ‘Yeah, well, there’s something goin’ on, sure as shit. I been hearing stuff. You remember Paulie Lomax, big guy, looks like a turkey?’
‘Four-finger Paulie.’
‘That’s the guy. Know the rathouse pub down at the docks where he likes to drink?’
Alex nodded. ‘Makes the Slaughtered Lamb look like Maxim’s.’
‘Well, Paulie Lomax told me that he and this buddy of his called Vinnie were down there one night last week when they got talking to these sailors. Guys couldn’t speak hardly a word of English, but Paulie and Vinnie get the feeling they’re seriously fuckin’ freaked out about something. After a while they get it out of them that they were on a ship that came in from Eastern Europe someplace. Hardly
any cargo on board, just these crates. You wanna know the weirdest? No paperwork. Customs let ‘em right through. Could have been fuckin’ cocaine, guns, plutonium. But it wasn’t. Whatever it was, it put the shits up ‘em. Half the crew got sick.’
‘Sick how?’
‘Some kinda fever. But this was no ordinary fever. Guys were getting nightmares, talking about getting visited in the night in their bunks. And getting sicker every night. Had these puncture wounds on their necks. Right here. Ship’s doc said it was mosquito bites. I mean, mosquitoes in fuckin’ fur coats?’
‘Go on,’ Alex said, frowning.
‘From what Paulie and Vinnie could make out, a chopper came and took the cargo away before they even got to port. Now the ship’s still in the docks. Captain wants to head home, but two of the crew are missing and the rest won’t get back on board ‘cause they say the ship’s cursed.’
‘Missing?’ Greg said.
‘Gone. And you know which crew members it was? The ones who were sickest from the bites. One minute they’re lying raving in bed, next they’ve upped and walked. Sounds like you know what.’
Alex said, ‘I think I need to talk to these sailors.’
Rudi smiled. ‘Beat you to it. Paulie told Vinnie to tell ‘em that there’s this woman who deals with this kind of shit, a real expert. They wanna meet you, tonight, at the dock. Said they found something.’
‘Found what?’
Rudi shrugged. ‘Whatever it is, sounds like a heavy deal.’ He plucked a slip of paper out of his shirt and handed it to her. ‘RV’s all set up. Details are on here.’
Alex studied the paper. There was just the ship’s name, the number of the dock, and the time. ‘Midnight tonight,’ she read out loud.
‘I think it’s gonna be worth your while,’ Rudi said. ‘Now let’s go eat. My Brasato al Barolo don’t wait for nobody.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lavender Close, Wallingford
Joel’s grandfather had always told him that even though vampires could theoretically come out of their lairs any time after dark, they preferred to wait until later in the evening when the humans were quiet and restful. And when they didn’t kill their victims outright, they always returned for more.
‘You must have totally lost it, Solomon,’ Joel muttered to himself. For an instant it hit him how completely mad this was. Here he was, lurking behind the garden shed in the back of a nice middle-class suburban property at half past ten at night. Spaced out from lack of sleep, pins and needles crippling his legs after almost an hour of crouching there, and his nose beginning to run from the chill, damp air.
Thinking about vampires.
Suddenly, the whole thing seemed so absurd to him that he wanted to leave. What if somebody caught him here? A Detective Inspector, hanging about like a pervert in the dark, peering up at a seventeen-year-old girl’s bedroom window. Not the best PR for the Thames Valley force, and certainly not an ideal career prospect for him.
But still he lingered there, fighting back the doubts, willing himself to endure the cramps and the cold.
He wished his grandfather were here with him. Joel had been thinking about him a lot recently. And here he was, following in his footsteps after all these years. Or trying to. The old man might have known what to do. Joel wasn’t sure he had the first idea.
By quarter to eleven, the downstairs lights in the neighbouring houses were beginning to go off, and the upstairs lights were coming on. Curtains were being drawn, blurred figures were moving about behind the frosted glass of bathroom windows. Showers showering, teeth being brushed, the respectable middle-class inhabitants of Lavender Close pulling on their cosy pyjamas and perfume-scented nighties and getting into their warm beds, blissfully unaware of the night creeper in their midst.
And perhaps unaware of other things too. Things too strange and terrible to contemplate in this nice, safe, cosseted middle-class world.
By five past eleven, Joel was feeling desperately uncomfortable. This was plain ridiculous.
No it’s not, said the voice in his mind. She has bites on her neck. She can’t stand the sunlight. She’s lying about the party. Something’s happened to her.
She’s theirs.
And they’ll be back for her.
The houses became dark. Joel had to blow into his hands and rub them together to keep them from going numb with cold. He settled into a position that was as close to comfortable as he could make it, sitting in the dirt with his legs wedged up against the shed wall and his back to the fence. More time passed. His mind wandered. His eyelids were heavy. He felt them close, jerked them open. Felt them falling inexorably shut again…and then he was drifting through the void of sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘You can trust Rudi Bertolino,’ Alex was saying to Rumble on her phone. She was standing on the kerbside a few yards from The Last Bite, watching the St James’s Street traffic roar by. ‘He’s always come through for me, you know that.’
‘It’s not that I don’t trust your informant,’ Rumble said. ‘I just don’t like mysteries. And with all the rogue activity that’s been going on I don’t want you going in there alone with a rookie agent.’
‘I’m on the clock here, Harry. Who’ve you got in the area?’
A pause, and she could hear Rumble clicking laptop keys in his quiet office. ‘Okay. I’m sending Mundhra and Becker. They’ll meet you at the RV point.’
‘Copy that. You’re a star, Harry.’ Alex flipped her phone shut. ‘Rumble’s sending the troops in,’ she said to Greg. ‘Let’s get back to the car.’
The Jaguar was parked up a sidestreet, less than two minutes’ walk away. They headed up past Davidoff cigars and the Beretta boutique, a quiet stretch of street between the crowds around Rudi’s place and the hustle of Piccadilly. What seemed to be a pile of rags was lying on a doorstep. As they walked by, Alex saw it was a young homeless woman. The coat draped over her sleeping form was full of holes, and all her possessions were stuffed into a Tesco shopping bag next to her. Her hands and face looked emaciated, already prematurely aged from the life on the streets. Alex halted and gazed down at her.
‘You’re not going to…’ Greg said.
‘Feed from her?’ Alex shook her head. ‘They’re easy, but most of them are too messed up with alcohol and drugs. Bad blood.’ She sighed. ‘No, I was just thinking how I almost feel sad for humans sometimes. Look at her.’
They walked on, and turned into the sidestreet where the Jag was parked. They were within twenty yards of it when three youths stepped out of a shadowy doorway and came right up to them, blocking the pavement.
Alex sized them up. They weren’t asking for directions. The leader was the gangly white kid in the middle. He was grinning at her through a straggly moustache, and the matted dreadlocks plastered over his ears made him look like a spaniel. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie. Alex followed the movement and saw the cheap kitchen knife flash in his hand.
‘Evening, folks. Let’s have your money.’ He ran his eye appreciatively up and down Alex’s figure. His gaze settled on the Tag Heuer watch on her wrist. His grin widened. ‘That’s a grand’s worth of watch the rich bitch is wearing,’ he said to his cronies.
Alex turned to Greg. ‘Now these specimens, on the other hand, I don’t have too much sympathy for.’
‘Shut the fuck up and give me your fucking money!’
Alex looked at him levelly. ‘I don’t think so, Dog Boy.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘You’re going to look really funny with that knife sticking out of your arse.’
Dog Boy wagged the knife in Alex’s face. ‘I’ll fucking kill you, bitch.’
‘Too late,’ she said, looking impassively at the blade. ‘I’m already dead.’
‘Wha—’
Before he could say any more, Alex had whipped the knife out of his hand and sent him flying over the bonnet of a parked Range Rover. As he scrambled desperately to his feet, his two frien
ds turned and took to their heels.
‘Not so fast, Dog Boy.’ Alex grabbed him by his dreadlocks, picked him clear off the ground with one hand and held him there so that his feet flailed in mid-air. Ignoring his frantic struggles, she turned to Greg. ‘Here’s your opportunity.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I mean? It’s time.’
Greg looked pained. ‘What, here?’
‘This is how it works, Greg. We’ve been doing it this way for thousands of years. Just watch me, okay?’ She could feel her fangs fully extended, pressing against her lips as she moved in close to the mugger’s neck. He smelled unwashed, but all her senses were tuned into the blood pulsing just under his skin, in the canals of his veins. Throbbing. Luscious. Life-giving.
He squirmed and squealed like a trapped rat as her bite punctured his flesh. A few moments of delicious, gasping, teasing anticipation, more than erotic in its intensity, before the blood began to flow. Then she sucked and the warm juice was running over her tongue, trickling down her throat. She held him tight and sucked harder. It had been a long time since her last proper feed. Already she could feel her strength returning as she drank in the human’s life energy.
She drank until she felt the mugger’s body going limp in her grip, then pulled away with an effort. She wiped the blood off her lips, shoved him into Greg’s hands. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to. Do what I did. It’s easy.’
‘It’s pretty horrible.’
‘It’s as natural as swimming is to a shark, Greg. You need to learn, or you’re not going to make it.’
‘I know. But some other time, okay?’
Alex sighed. ‘Fine. Prop him up against the wall there.’ She dropped down on her haunches, took the syringe of Vambloc from its case and jabbed it into the human’s neck. He twitched, then slumped sideways and his head hit the pavement.
‘Now we’re good to go,’ she said.
Uprising Page 9
