by Ian Rogers
Chapter 10
Some parts of the lakeshore are nice. This was one of the other parts.
Dominated entirely by warehouses, this area of the city was currently experiencing an urban renewal, with some of the properties being converted into high-rent lofts, while the rest were left to rust and decay. It was the kind of development I could get behind. Much better than all the condos they were putting up, or the historic brownstones that were being torn down and replaced with garish modernstrosities.
I trailed Donovan at a discreet distance, and when I saw him pull up in front of a dark building, I turned down a side street and cut the engine. I closed the car door gently, then approached the corner and peered around it. Donovan’s silver Mercedes sat gleaming in the dark. It was so quiet I could hear the engine ticking. There was no sign of Donovan.
I approached slowly, staying in the shadows. That wasn’t difficult; it was all shadows down here. Between two of the warehouses I could see the lights of McLeary Park, where I used to play baseball as a kid. A few years back, the public works department wanted to plow it under and put up a recycling transfer station. Public outcry had put a stop to that, but I had a feeling that what was going on inside Donovan’s lakeshore digs was much worse.
I reached the front door. Faint yellow stencilled letters identified it as 818 Commissioners Street. I debated going around back, the way they always do in the movies, but it wasn’t my style. Donovan was here, and I had a feeling he was alone. I had given him the forward approach at his club. I didn’t see any reason to deviate now.
The door was locked. I took out my Swiss Army knife – a friend of mine in the RCMP had modified it to include picks and pressure wrenches and other handy gadgets – and played with the lock until I got it open. I slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind me.
The inside of the warehouse was almost completely empty. I made out a few dark shapes at the far side of the cavernous room and made my way over to them.
I stood before two strange machines that looked vaguely like old-fashioned printing presses. A conveyor belt extended out of the back of each one, ending at a pair of large industrial bins, like the kind used to cart trash or laundry.
The bins were filled with square cardboard sheets. I reached in and picked one up. Each sheet had ten black tablets encased in blister packs. They were further divided into two rows of five, with perforations between each for the distribution of single doses. Etched on the tiny tablets was the word VAMP. I picked up a sheet from the other bin. These were brown and had the word – or rather the prefix – WERE stamped on them.
Beyond the bins, standing against the back wall, were a pair of tall metallic contraptions that looked like heavily-armoured phone booths. One was painted black, the other brown. A heavy steel door was set in the middle of each, both of them secured with oversized locking bolts. Masses of wires and rubber tubes connected the chambers to a bank of complicated, expensive-looking electronic equipment in the corner.
“I’m so glad you could come, Felix.”
I turned around, expecting to see Donovan pointing a gun at me. The fact that he wasn’t bothered me more. He was bouncy and radiant, like a kid showing off his roomful of toys to a new friend.
“We’re completely alone here. I wanted us to have a private chat. There’s a little matter we need to clear up.”
“Nice setup,” I said.
“It’s just a little experiment, really.”
“Is that what you call it? Four people are dead.”
Donovan shrugged.
“You gave it to them, didn’t you? This... drug, or whatever it is. You gave it to Jimmy Logan and Eve Sutter.”
“You can’t have a pilot project without test subjects. But I can assure you, Felix, they were both willing volunteers.”
“They volunteered to be murdered?”
“Well, no.” He grinned. “Not that part.”
“You killed them.”
“Killed them?” Donovan looked wounded. “I did no such thing. I gave them exactly what they wanted. Logan wanted an edge on his new role. He didn’t just want to act like a vampire, he wanted to be a vampire. I believe it was you who killed them, Felix.”
Donovan’s words hit me low. He could see it and took a step forward.
“You did,” he whispered. “You killed them.”
“If I didn’t, somebody else would have. The police or a STAR team.”
“Don’t feel bad, Felix. You don’t have to take all of the blame. You’re only partly responsible.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I offered them the drug, yes, but I didn’t make them take it. It was the other one who encouraged them to give it a try. The rest of the blame belongs solely to her.” Donovan raised a calming hand. “But you needn’t worry. I visited her earlier this evening, before you showed up at my club. I gave her a little something to help absolve her guilt.” His grin spread and spread until I thought the top of his head would fall off.
“I have something for you, too, Felix.”
He took out a small black device. He held it up so I could see it. There were two red buttons on it. He pressed one of them and there was a loud ratcheting click. I turned and saw the metal doors of the black and brown chambers swinging slowly open.
Inside the black chamber was a thin, pallid man. He was strapped to the back of the enclosure with metal bands that crossed at his chest, arms and legs. Next to him, in the brown chamber, a werewolf with silver-grey fur was confined in the same manner.
Donovan pressed the other button on the remote, and the metal bands snapped open. I didn’t know how long those two had spent in their containment chambers, but they didn’t look happy. The pallid man – a vampire, no doubt – fell out of his chamber and landed on his hands and knees. He rose slowly and smoothly to his feet. It was like watching a curtain rise. I felt like it was curtains for me, too.
The werewolf leaped out of its chamber and landed on its crooked back legs. It raised its shaggy head and sniffed the air. The side of its mouth pulled back in a preview of glimmering white fangs. It made a low growling sound deep in the back of its throat.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Donovan ambling toward a door that led deeper into the warehouse.
I turned back and reached under my coat for my gun. Then something strange happened.
The werewolf whirled around and attacked the vampire.
In my research I had neglected to read up on the relationships between the various creatures of the Black Lands. I had just assumed they all got along, and that when weaker prey presented itself, they tag-teamed up on it together. Not so, apparently.
The werewolf landed on the vampire’s back, in much the same way Eve Sutter had landed on her bodyguard. The creature’s weight would have driven an ordinary man to the ground, but the vampire barely moved. When he did, it was so fast it was almost a blur.
The vampire’s arms bent up and around in a way that ordinary arms weren’t meant to bend. Instead of trying to pull the werewolf off his back, he raked his razor-like fingernails down the length of the werewolf’s arms. The werewolf let out a howl of pain that hurt my ears. Its head came down and its jaws snapped around the vamp’s throat with a horrible mashing sound. Getting your leg caught in a bear trap probably sounded a lot like that.
The vampire let out a cry of his own, but it didn’t last long. The werewolf tore off the vampire’s head with a powerful yank and flung it to the floor. It also tore off one of the vamp’s arms for good measure, bit a chunk out of it, then tossed it in the opposite direction. When it was done ravaging the bloodsucker it leaned back on its hind legs and howled in triumph.
Fortunately I had come prepared this time. I took out my .38, opened the cylinder and dumped the bullets into my coat pocket. Then I took out the silver rounds I had picked up earlier. I didn’t know if I would need them, but getting attacked by a vampire one day, and a werewolf the next, had taught me that it was better to have them and not need them, tha
n to need them and not have them.
The werewolf advanced on me. I didn’t want to kill it, but I didn’t have any choice. Logan and Sutter had been temporary monsters. This was the real deal. I raised the pistol with both hands, spread my legs in the classic shooter’s stance, and opened fire. All six shots hit the werewolf in its broad, furry chest. It slumped to the ground, let out a single, bubbling moan, and died.
I didn’t feel even a little bit good about it.
