by Preston, Ken
Satisfied he zipped it up and hefted it over his shoulder.
He walked out of the shop and down Lozells Road without a backward glance.
* * *
Emma prowled the kitchen. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, the air tasted stale, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in it. Once she would have relished time on her own in the house away from the buzz of the office. Times like that were when her articles began to form in her head, and when she sat down at the computer to type them out they arrived fully formed, with little in the way of editing needed.
But tonight wasn’t like that. Tonight she was going crazy.
With Mitch in the hospital and Louisa May at her mother’s house, Emma knew she should have been taking advantage of the quiet. Should have gone to bed, caught up with some much needed sleep.
Even if she hadn’t been too wired for sleep in the first place, all that coffee she had drunk would have kept her awake through the night. The conversation Emma had had with Barry kept running through her head.
Gilligan’s ties to the Jiangchi Corporation.
That night, at the club, the members of the Seven Ghosts, they had to have seen Gilligan, surely. He was supposed to be on their side and yet he had detonated that nail bomb.
Or maybe they had never met him, maybe they never even knew the name Gerry Gilligan. Just because the Real IRA faction Gilligan was a member of and the Jiangchi Corporation were doing deals for arms, that didn’t mean Gilligan had ever met any of them personally before.
And what was Gilligan doing here? Was he still a member of the Real IRA? Did he intend to use his connections with the Slaughterhouse Mob to plant Real IRA cells in Birmingham? Emma could never see Joe allowing anything like that.
At the thought of Joe, Emma had to bite back a scream of frustration. That man was driving her mad. Why the hell wouldn’t he take her calls? Surely he’d seen her calling enough now that he would realise something was up?
Emma picked up her mobile, looked at the screen as it bloomed into life.
No missed calls, nothing at all.
The big, ignorant gorilla. She needed to tell him about Gilligan, explain the situation.
She glanced around the kitchen. Yep, those walls were definitely closing in on her.
She needed to get out. Do something.
Anything.
Nick would want her to stay inside, keep out of trouble. So would Mitch.
Damn. It was hard enough having one fella looking out for her, trying to nanny her and keep her wrapped up in cotton wool, but two of them?
Forget that.
Slipping the mobile in her pocket and grabbing her keys off the kitchen table, Emma headed out. She took the car and drove into the city centre.
Angels, or was it Angellicit again, she couldn’t keep track. Whatever the hell it was called now, that was where the action was. Where it always was.
Emma parked up a couple of streets away. The city centre streets were quiet, the only sign that the city was alive the music pounding from the clubs, the shop windows ablaze with light. Everyone huddled indoors or clubbing and drinking the night away, believing they were safe.
Emma locked the car and hurried down Williams Street. Kept a look out as she ran. There was the club, a bouncer standing in the doorway, checking customers at the door. A second bouncer stood by him, looking bored.
Emma ran across the street and joined the tiny queue at the entrance. As she approached the door the bouncer checking everyone looked at her and shook his head.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Emma said.
‘You’re not coming in dressed like that,’ he said, his voice thick and deep.
‘Are you shitting me?’ Emma took a look over her shoulder at others joining the queue. The girls were in high heels, crop tops revealing skinny midriffs, shorts so tiny they exposed butt cheeks.
Emma was wearing jeans, trainers and a hooded top.
‘You can’t wear jeans in here,’ the bouncer said.
‘All right, I guess I’m not dressed for a night out—’
‘Or trainers.’
‘What about the top, does that pass?’
The bouncer gazed at her, his face dead.
Emma blew her cheeks out in frustration, resisting the urge to swear at him.
‘Will you let us in?’ a girl shouted from behind Emma. ‘We wanna get inside before we get bit.’
‘Bite me, baby!’ a male voice shouted and everybody laughed.
Nervously.
‘Look,’ Emma said, turning back to the bouncer. ‘I don’t even want to come into your scuzzy club, I’ve already spent more than enough time there.’ She leaned in close, dropped her voice a little. ‘I need to see Joe, that’s all.’
‘Joe who?’ the bouncer said.
‘You’re taking the piss, right?’ Emma said.
‘The only way you’re coming in this club is if you’re wearing the right outfit.’ His eyes scanned her from head to toe and back again. ‘You ain’t wearing the right outfit.’
Emma turned and stalked off.
‘Girl’s got no styleeee!’ someone shouted.
More laughter.
Emma’s face burned with frustration and embarrassment. All right, so she was old enough that she could have been their mother but seriously? To be mocked like that by a bunch of teens?
With a swift glance back to check if anyone was watching her (they weren’t, everyone was too intent on getting inside the club) Emma scooted around the side and into the club’s parking space. If the neanderthals on the front weren’t going to let her in, maybe she could sneak in the back.
As soon as she saw the fire escape door she knew that wasn’t happening. Blank, featureless, it was firmly shut.
‘Shit! Fuck! Bugger!’ she hissed.
There had to be a way of getting inside and seeing Joe. She had to tell him about the stuff she’d found out, about Gilligan.
Maybe then, when she’d done that for him, he would start talking to her again.
She toyed with the idea of calling him, or maybe texting him. At the very least he should see her text on his home screen. But even if he knew she was standing outside Angels, would he even think about letting her inside?
Depending on how pissed with her he was, he might even send those two gorillas on the front door to see her off.
Two pairs of headlight beams cut through the shadows, illuminating the side wall. Two cars pulling into the parking area.
Emma shrank into a corner, hiding in the shadows.
The cars pulled to a halt side by side.
Coffin got out followed by a big, fat man she didn’t recognise.
‘Bloody hell, Joe, but that were fun, weren’t it?’ the man said.
Coffin walked around the back of the car. More men were getting out of the cars. The Stig, Shaw, Stut and someone else she didn’t recognise. A woman, no that was wrong, a man dressed in women’s clothes, all made up like a drag queen.
Emma clenched her teeth when she saw the midget appear as he walked around the front of the car.
What the hell was going on?
They started pulling holdalls out of the cars and dropping them on the floor. The holdalls bulged and looked like they were heavy. One of the holdalls rolled on its side when it hit the ground and something fluttered from the partly open zip.
It was money.
The man dressed as a woman shrieked and ran after it and the others laughed at him.
Had Joe robbed a bank?
That didn’t make any sense. The Slaughterhouse Mob had never taken such a high risk venture before. It just wasn’t their style. Maybe Joe was doing things differently now that Craggs was gone.
Somebody opened up the fire escape door from inside and they carried the bags in. Coffin paused at the door, the last one to enter the building, and turned and took a long look around the car park.
Emma shrank back into the shadows, willing herself invisible.
Coffin entered th
e building and pulled the fire escape door shut.
Emma started breathing again.
She walked over to the two cars, their engines ticking as they cooled down.
Bending down she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the passenger window. The interior was spotless, the car looked as though it had just rolled off the forecourt.
‘Hey, girl, you lost somethin?’
Emma jumped and turned around. A tall, thin man in a long overcoat and a stove-pipe hat stood and grinned at her. Emma had never met him before, never even seen a photograph, but she knew him immediately.
‘You’re the Priest, aren’t you?’ she said.
The Priest grinned, showing off his black teeth. ‘Now girl, I’m impressed. How’d you know that?’
‘Leola told me all about you.’
bats
Archer ignored the stares as he walked through the station. Amrit would ask him what had happened, but nobody else would. Seemed like he was invisible these days, he was ignored so steadfastly by everyone. Sure, no one made it obvious they were ignoring him. No one outright refused to talk to him, or listen to what he had to say. But he didn’t have that same respect anymore that he once held. No one reported to him much anymore, or sought his advice.
The station was buzzing. Extra manpower had been drafted in to cope with the escape of the vampires. Of course most of their time was spent fielding telephone calls about vampire sightings that turned out to be nothing of the sort.
And the tension between the Birmingham coppers and those from out of town was thick in the air. That old us and them mentality. Everyone thinking they knew better than the other guy.
The police drafted in from other stations had no idea what they were up against. They hadn’t been here last time. Most of them were still having trouble believing that vampires were real.
They would find out soon enough, Archer was sure of that.
‘Hey, Boss, what happened to you?’ Choudhry said.
Archer flopped down in the chair next to Choudhry. ‘Walked into a lamppost.’
Choudhry grinned. ‘You had an argument with Emma, didn’t you? And she hit you.’
Archer grunted.
‘That why you stayed away all day? I was wondering where you were.’
‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’ Archer said.
‘Hey, you should see this,’ Choudhry said, turning back to his computer and hitting the space bar on the keyboard. The monitor sprang into life, revealing a photograph, a selfie of two young women. They looked excited, happy. From what Archer could see of the background it looked like they were in a nightclub or a bar.
‘Who are these two?’ he said.
‘Chelsea Orme and Madison Hughes,’ Choudhry said. ‘These are the two girls murdered on Broad Street.’
‘And you took these photos off their phones and uploaded them onto your computer?’ Archer said. ‘You’re a sick puppy, Amrit, getting your jollies off like this.’
‘Takes one to know one,’ Choudhry said. ‘This is evidence.’
‘We’re thinking a vampire attack, right?’
‘Wrong. We know it was a vampire attack. Look at this.’
Choudhry clicked on to the next photograph. It was blurry, the mobile obviously hadn’t been held still, and the flash had left streaks of light across the image.
‘Oh shit,’ Archer whispered. ‘Steffanie Coffin.’
She had been caught in mid lunge, mid pounce. Even through the blur, Archer could see her, could see the open mouth, the teeth, the look of crazed hunger on her face.
‘We always knew she was out there somewhere,’ Choudhry said.
‘I know, but I was hoping she might have died, or found God or something.’
‘What about the boy, Michael Coffin?’ Choudhry said. ‘You think he’s out there still, too?’
A wave of exhaustion washed over Archer and he rubbed a hand over his face and flinched as he touched the bruised area.
‘What did Emma hit you with, a rolling pin?’ Choudhry said. ‘I thought Parvit had a temper on her, but your lady is a tigress.’
‘Emma didn’t hit me,’ Archer said. ‘It was her boyfriend, Mitch.’
‘You want me to go and arrest him, Boss?’ Choudhry said. ‘We can’t let him get away with punching a policeman.’
‘How come you didn’t suggest that when you thought it was Emma who had hit me?’
‘That’s different. I couldn’t arrest Emma, I like her too much.’
Archer sighed and turned to look at the busy station. ‘You think there’s much chance of anything constructive happening here?’
‘You’re joking, right? Talk about the right hand not knowing what the left hand is doing.’
‘All right, then. Download that photograph of Steffanie Coffin onto my phone, and then how about you come with me and we pay your friend and mine Joe Coffin a visit?’
‘I’m in,’ Choudhry said, hitting the computer keys. ‘Anything to get out of this place.’
When the download onto Archer’s mobile was complete, the two men stood up. Choudhry grabbed his jacket. As they were walking through the station they were halted by a shout.
‘Archer! Choudhry!’
Archer groaned quietly.
Superintendent Nielsen waved them over to his office. Normally he didn’t work in the Birmingham station house, but with the case being such an important one, and multiple forces needing to cooperate and pool resources, he had been tasked with working on site and supervising.
‘There’s a disturbance down on the Hagley Road, near Fiveways,’ Nielsen said, pulling the office door shut behind Choudhry. ‘I need you two to go and find out what’s happening.’
‘Sir, we were just about to go out—’
‘This takes priority,’ Nielsen said.
‘Is it vampires?’ Choudhry said.
‘It might be,’ Nielsen said. ‘We’re not sure yet, that’s why I need you two down there, scout out the situation before we commit men we can’t spare to it.’
‘Sounds more like a job for a PC,’ Choudhry said.
‘No, I want you two on it.’
‘Sir, what’s happening?’ Archer said.
Nielsen sighed. ‘The problem is, Detective Archer, bats. A whole hell of a lot of them, by all accounts.’
‘Bats,’ Archer said, and looked at Choudhry.
* * *
The bats were massing, swirling around in tight, seemingly random little movements until, at an unspoken command, they dispersed before regrouping only a few seconds later. Spectators had gathered on the streets despite the risk of a vampire attack to watch the spectacle. Cars had stopped on the usually busy Broad Street. People stood in silence or sat in their cars, eyes following the bats as they swooped and dived and tumbled through the night. The silence was broken only by the blaring of horns from further down Broad Street as drivers, unable to see what was going on, grew impatient to get moving.
No one paid any attention.
No one moved.
That is, until the bats began swooping at the groups of men and women. The crowds broke, screams shattering the silence that had accompanied the spectacle. The bats dived between people, nipping at faces and necks before flapping away again. The dark shapes flitted here and there, darting away before they could be grabbed or swatted at.
Leola watched the commotion from her hidden spot on the canal, clinging to the side of a bridge over the dark water. Her fingers were laced through the iron latticework, holding her in place as she watched the bats.
All day she had been prowling the city, creeping through its shadows and dark corners, watching, listening.
Waiting.
She had left the Priest asleep on his bed, his tattooed body lying prostrate and naked on top of the covers. He would’ve slept through most of the day, only stirring when the sun had begun to set. Even though he was ‘cured’ of his vampirism he seemed unable to shake off the last of the traits of being a vampire. Sunlight work
ed no harm on him, but still he preferred to sleep during the day. The night invigorated him, sharpened his senses and his intelligence.
Leola had no real preference. Day or night it was all the same for her. And she could easily go a week without sleeping.
So she had left the Priest alone in his rented room. At first she had thought of returning to Angellicit. Maybe Joe would ask her where she had been, or maybe he would not have even noticed her absence. Either way, they needed to talk. Leola had decided she was returning to Haiti, but the news that Chitrita was alive now had placed a seed of doubt over that decision.
And now the Priest was here.
Although he was keeping quiet about why, and maybe he didn’t even fully understand why himself, she could see that he was worried.
Frightened even.
Today, exploring the city’s hidden places, the nooks and crannies where evil lurked just beneath the surface, she had shared in the Priest’s fear.
As the sun had begun to set, the sky growing darker and lights springing on in the office buildings, Leola saw the first of the bats.
At first it had been the odd, small groupings flying aimlessly between the tower blocks. As the sky grew darker and darker more bats joined them and they began to mass. That’s when people on the streets had begun to notice them.
Leola had followed the bats as they started moving with a much more distinct sense of purpose. This was something she had never seen before.
Finally they had settled here, on Broad Street. Leola had studied them from her hiding place clinging to the bridge over the canal.
Now the bats were growing ever more frantic. What were they doing? Why were they acting like this? Something was happening, something very bad. Were they simply agitated about something? Or were they acting under the influence of something outside of their control?
Beneath her, on the towpath, people were running past. Cafes and bars, already crowded with onlookers, opened up their doors and let the men and women fleeing from the bats inside, to safety. Faces and hands were pressed against the glass doors of the International Convention Centre, eyes and mouths open wide in awe and fear.