Dark Blood

by James M. Thompson

  “You want me to go and talk to Carmilla now?” TJ asked.

  Shooter nodded. “Yes. We need to let her know what’s going on, and also let her know that her friends are attracting the attention of the local police. That should shake her up enough to do her best to put a stop to whatever’s going on in Liberty.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “We’ll meet you later at the apartment Nachtman’s arranged for us.”

  “How will you get there without that policeman following you?” TJ asked.

  Shooter smiled grimly. “Leave that to me, sweetheart.”

  “But won’t that piss Chief Boudreaux off if we lose his tail?” Matt asked.

  Shooter shrugged. “Better to be pissed off than pissed on, I always say.”

  A few minutes later, while they were still eating their lunch, TJ motioned to Sam and they stood up. “We’re going to the little girls’ room,” she said in a loud voice.

  As they made their way toward the rest rooms off the lobby, Shooter noticed the cop get to his feet and follow them. When he saw them go into the ladies’ room, he returned to his table and resumed his surveillance of the men.

  Shooter shook his head. “Boudreaux made a bad mistake sending only one man to try and follow four.”

  “He probably thinks the girls are less important to follow than you and me,” Matt observed, trying to keep his eyes off the officer.

  A few minutes later, when Sam returned to the table alone, Shooter saw the man get a worried look on his face and pull out a cell phone and begin to speak into it.

  “Uh-oh,” Shooter said, “he realizes something’s up.”

  “What do you think Boudreaux’s going to do now?” Sam asked.

  “He’ll probably tell porkpie to stay with Matt and me, and arrange to send more men or even a female cop to follow you and TJ,” Shooter said.

  “What are we going to do?” Matt asked.

  Shooter looked at Sam. “Did you and TJ finish packing up all our stuff in the rooms?”

  “Yes. We’re all ready to go.”

  “Good. Then, this is the plan. . . .”

  When they finished eating, the three got up. “Sam, go on up to the room and wait for us,” Matt said. “Shooter and I need to get some things from the gift shop.”

  Casually, Sam agreed and headed for the elevators while Shooter and Matt went directly to the gift shop in the lobby.

  The cop, unable to trail all of them, elected to stay with Matt and Shooter. Looking over her shoulder just before she entered the elevator, Sam saw the policeman follow the boys and take up station just outside the gift shop. When she saw that he couldn’t see her, she slipped out a side door and went around to the front of the hotel. She found the plain blue Ford sedan parked in a no-parking zone near the entrance to the hotel, just as Shooter had said she would.

  Trying to appear nonchalant, she stepped into the street and bent down near the front left tire. She took the small penknife Shooter had slipped her and stuck it in the front tire.

  As the tire began to go flat, she hailed a cab and got in, giving an address a couple of blocks from the apartment they were going to be staying in. Shooter told her not to take the taxi to the exact address because Boudreaux, when he found they’d gotten away, would almost certainly question the cabs that worked the hotel to try and find out where they’d been taken.

  * * *

  After buying some shaving cream and toothpaste in the gift shop, Shooter and Matt went up to their rooms, the cop not far behind.

  Once in their rooms, they used the television to do a fast checkout, making certain not to say anything out loud in case the rooms were bugged.

  Ten minutes later, they met in the corridor with their suitcases in hand and went down the back stairs. “The cop will probably be stationed where he can watch all the elevators,” Shooter said. “With any luck, he won’t see us leaving until it’s too late to stop us.”

  “Let’s just hope there’s a cab out front waiting,” Matt said.

  When they exited the stairway, the two men walked rapidly toward the front doors. Shooter saw the cop standing near a column across from the elevators smoking a cigarette and pretending to read a newspaper.

  By the time he saw them, they were out the front door and climbing into a taxi. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Shooter looked out the back window and saw the policeman jump into his car and start to follow them.

  The car lurched to the side and stalled as the flat front tire came completely off the rim. Shooter turned back around, laughing. “I’d sure hate to be that poor son of a bitch when Boudreaux finishes chewing his ass off.”

  “What do you think the chief will do?” Matt asked.

  “Probably put out a BOL for us,” Shooter said.

  “A BOL?”

  “Be on the lookout for,” Shooter replied. “If we’re spotted, he’ll have us picked up.”

  “That’s not good,” Matt said.

  “Well, I’m gonna try not to let it get that far,” Shooter said. “As soon as we find out what that Carmilla dame says to TJ, I’m gonna call Boudreaux and give him whatever we can.”

  “How are you going to explain losing the tail he put on us?” Matt asked.

  Shooter shrugged. “I’m going to act innocent and tell him we didn’t know there was a tail on us, and if he sent some dumb son of a bitch who couldn’t follow a couple of tourists, then it was his fault the guy lost us.”

  “Do you think he’ll buy it?”

  Shooter shook his head. “Not for a minute, but hopefully we’ll have something to give him to take the heat off by then.”

  Thirty-two

  TJ arrived at Carmilla’s antique shop and found a sign on the door: CLOSED FOR LUNCH. She cupped her hands around her face and leaned close to the glass door, peering inside. The lights were on in a back room, so she knocked on the door loudly several times, hoping Carmilla was still there.

  After a few moments, she saw a dark figure move from the back room toward the door. Carmilla looked out the window, saw it was TJ, and unlocked the door.

  “I’m just having some tea and biscuits in the kitchen. Would you like some?”

  “Yes, I could use some, thank you,” TJ replied, and followed Carmilla as she wound her way through the antiques and into the room where they’d talked before.

  While Carmilla poured a cup of tea for TJ, she spoke over her shoulder. “I was just thinking of calling you, dear.” She handed the cup to TJ. “Sugar and lemon, right?”

  TJ nodded and took a sip of the delicious brew.

  Carmilla sat down at the table across from TJ so they could talk face to face. “I’ve spoken with my friends on the Council. They agree with me that Roger is in town, as you suspect. He probably is the creature known locally as the Ripper, and they have agreed to keep a sharp lookout for him and to let me know if they locate him.”

  Carmilla paused, as if thinking about how to say something. Finally, she looked up, a frown on her face. “I must tell you, however, there is some disagreement among my colleagues about the wisdom of going ahead with your research on finding a way to reverse the process of Transformation.”

  “And have you changed your mind?” TJ asked, wondering if Carmilla was still an ally, or had she switched sides since their last meeting.

  “Oh, my dear, I couldn’t agree with you more. In fact, if such a treatment is discovered, I will be one of the first to avail myself of it, as will many of my friends.” She hesitated again. “However, there are a few—how shall I put it—traditionalists on the Council who are against it, and we might have a difficult job convincing them it is in everyone’s best interests to proceed.”

  TJ ran her finger around the rim of her cup, trying to decide how to tell Carmilla what Chief Boudreaux had discovered. “Carmilla, you told me before that you and your friends on the Council all practice nonlethal feedings. Are you sure of that?”

  Carmilla looked surprised at the question. “Of course. Why do you ask?” />
  “When my friends and I first came to town, two of us approached chief of detectives, William Boudreaux, and explained how we suspected a serial killer from Houston, named Roger Niemann, was in town and could be responsible for the Ripper killings.

  “Well, Chief Boudreaux called us yesterday and told us some very disturbing news.”

  “About the Ripper?” Carmilla asked.

  “No. He said he had information that there have been more murders, as many as fifteen or so, that have occurred in a small town east of here named Liberty. Young men and women have been disappearing at an alarming rate over there, and the chief is convinced they’ve all been killed.”

  “Has he found any bodies?” Carmilla asked, a worried frown on her face.

  “No,” TJ answered, “and that’s why he doesn’t think they’re being done by the Ripper, who leaves his bodies in plain sight when he’s done with them.”

  Carmilla stared at TJ for a moment, and then she got up to fuss with the teapot, fixing herself another cup of tea. She asked over her shoulder, “Are you telling me this because you feel either I or one of my council members is responsible for these murders?”

  TJ shook her head as Carmilla returned to sit at the table. “Not one of your members, Carmilla. Several.”

  “What?”

  “There are simply too many people missing for it to be the work of just one person. I know from my association with Roger that you—that is, we—only need to feed once every week or so. These people have all disappeared over the course of just a couple of weeks. That is far too many to be the work of just one Vampyre. There must be more involved.”

  Carmilla had a stricken look on her face.

  TJ put out her hand and touched Carmilla’s. “Of course, it could be the work of Vampyres not associated with your Council. Perhaps there are some living here who aren’t known to you and your friends.”

  Carmilla considered this for a moment, and then she slowly shook her head. “No . . . no, that’s not possible. There might be one, or even two wild ones in the area, but I doubt even that many could be here and be actively hunting without one of us on the Council knowing about it.”

  “Wild ones?” TJ asked, not being familiar with the term.

  “That’s what we call renegades, Vampyres who are not associated with our organizations across the country,” Carmilla explained. “They do occur, but invariably, because of our mental connections with one another, they are known about. That is how my aunt’s Council in Houston found Roger, who was a renegade there.”

  “Then, if several Vampyres are hunting and killing people in the area, they must be from your Council?” TJ asked.

  Carmilla remembered the strange looks that passed between Michael Morpheus and some others on her Council and slowly nodded. “I’m afraid so.” She looked up at TJ. “I might even have an idea who it could be.”

  “The police have a description of a man who was seen in the area of the missing people,” TJ said, watching Carmilla’s eyes closely as she spoke. “He is tall and thin, with black hair he wears back in a ponytail, and he has a gold stud in his left ear.”

  Carmilla’s lips turned white and TJ knew she recognized the description. “You know who this is, don’t you?” TJ asked.

  “Yes, I do,” Carmilla answered in a tight voice. “And I think I know who his accomplices are.”

  “You must stop them, Carmilla,” TJ said.

  “Oh, I will, TJ. But if the one I suspect is behind this, I must be very careful. He is immensely powerful and must have the support of some of my Council members to be acting so openly in defiance of my orders concerning nonlethal feedings.”

  Carmilla got to her feet, a distracted look on her face. “Now I must get to work. I’ve got to think about this and decide how best to handle it. Can you show yourself out, my dear?” Her mind was clearly elsewhere.

  “Of course,” TJ said. She walked to the front door and looked back as she opened it. Carmilla was sitting once more at the table, staring off as if deep in thought.

  TJ left the antique shop and walked along the street, looking for a taxi to take her to the apartment Roger had arranged for them.

  Across and down the street, Sarah Kenyon and Adeline Ducayne were sitting by the window of a small café. Sarah touched Adeline’s arm to get her attention and pointed. “There’s the half-breed bitch now,” she said, indicating TJ as she exited Carmilla’s shop.

  Adeline put some money on the table and they hurriedly left the café. They got into Sarah’s car parked outside.

  “But she’s not the one Michael wants,” Adeline said.

  “No, but we’ll follow her and perhaps she’ll lead us to where they’re staying,” Sarah said grimly. “Once we know that, it’ll be a simple matter to watch and wait until the other one shows up.”

  TJ finally hailed a cab and got in. As it took off, Sarah pulled out into the street behind it.

  Adeline looked over at her, excitement in her eyes. “Do you think Michael will let us perform the Rite of Transformation?”

  “Does the thought of sinking your fangs into her friend excite you so much, darling?” Sarah asked, an edge of jealousy in her voice.

  “Only if you’re there to share her with me, my angel,” Adeline answered, reaching across to run her hand along Sarah’s leg.

  Sarah smiled and moved her thigh under Adeline’s touch. “Then I’ll be sure and ask Michael when the time comes.”

  Thirty-three

  When TJ got to the apartment, she found Albert and her friends already at work. Albert was just hanging up the phone, and the others had pleased looks on their faces.

  “What’s going on?” TJ asked as she entered, shutting the door behind her.

  Shooter came over and put his arms around her. “Good news, babe,” he said, looking into her eyes.

  “Albert just finished talking with the professor at McGill University.”

  She glanced from Shooter to Albert, who was busily arranging some papers and fitting them into a fax machine.

  “Oh?”

  Albert looked up after dialing a number on the machine and pressing the transmit button. “Last week,” he said, “I finally made a breakthrough in my research. I used a DNA sequencer to identify the family of plasmids that cause the infection leading to Vampyrism. They belong to a group called the F-like plasmids. I believe, and Dr. Wingate agrees with me, that they’re related to the prototypic fertility factor, F.”

  TJ shook her head. “You’re losing me, Albert. I know a little about plasmids, but this is all way over my head.”

  He grinned. “That’s understandable. Probably not more than five or six men in the world understand exactly how plasmids replicate, and even less than that are working on plasmid infections in humans. The important thing to know is Dr. Wingate has worked with the F-like plasmids before. He has on hand a supply of a compound he calls Fin-P, which when he combines it with a protein called FinO, he believes will repress the plasmids’ ability to conjugate, or reproduce themselves.”

  “And if the plasmids can no longer reproduce themselves,” Sam added excitedly, “sooner or later the ones causing your infection will die off, leaving you cured.”

  Albert held up his hand. “Wait a minute, Sam. Don’t get her hopes up too much.” He looked over at TJ, still in Shooter’s arms. “We, that is Dr. Wingate and myself, think that’s what will happen. But, since infections in humans are so rare, we don’t know for certain.”

  TJ took Shooter by the arm and led him over to where Albert and Sam were standing. “So what’s the next step?” she asked, her face flushed with excitement.

  “I’ve just faxed the professor copies of my work, including the exact DNA sequence I worked out last week. If it is the same family as the ones he’s been working with, he already has on hand enough conjugation-repressing serum for us to get started. Once he makes sure it’s the same plasmids, he said he’d overnight us the serum he’s got and get to work making some more.”

>   “When does he think he’ll know?” TJ asked.

  “By tomorrow,” Sam said, a wide grin on her face.

  “So if it is the same, we could have the serum by day after tomorrow?”

  Albert nodded. “As soon as we get it, along with the instructions from Wingate about appropriate dosages, we can begin injecting you with it.”

  “How long until I’m cured?” TJ asked, cutting right to the bottom line.

  Albert glanced at Matt and Sam. “We don’t know exactly, but Wingate says the plasmids normally live only about thirty to forty days in the bloodstream. He seems to feel once you start the injections, you should be free of symptoms within six or eight weeks.”

  “Oh, thank God,” TJ said, sitting in a chair and putting her hands over her face.

  Shooter caressed her hair. “It looks like it won’t be long now, sweetheart.”

  Albert, watching them, noticed the twin scabs on Shooter’s neck. He cleared his throat. “Uh, TJ, there’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?” she asked, glancing up at him.

  “In order to weaken the plasmids in your system as much as possible, you should refrain from . . . uh—”

  “Go on, Albert. What?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well, you shouldn’t drink any more blood . . . from any source,” he finished, looking significantly at Shooter. “The plasmids already in your system feed on, and are aided in their conjugation and replication, by sources of extraneous blood.”

  TJ took Shooter’s hand in hers. “Don’t worry, Albert. Those days are behind me forever.”

  Matt clapped his hands together. “Well, since all we can do now is wait, I have a suggestion,” he said, smiling broadly.

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  “Let’s go celebrate. I feel a need for some champagne and some real New Orleans cuisine.”

  Albert got to his feet. “That’s a great idea. I know a place that makes a mean shrimp Creole, and it’s not too far from here.”