Dire Straits (Bo Blackman)

by Helen Harper

  The beeping is from his heart monitor. It’s not connected to anything other than the boy himself so removing it will do no damage. I fiddle with the back of it until I find the cable then I yank it out. It continues to beep for a few moments before falling silent. I check the boy is okay, while the alarm at the main desk begins to sound, then I dash out of the room and nip into the next one to avoid being spotted.

  A small girl is sitting up in bed and clutching a teddy bear. She gives me a solemn look. ‘You’re not a doctor.’

  I smile at her. ‘I’m a special doctor.’

  She juts her bottom lip out in an expression that’s remarkably similar to O’Shea’s. ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘I am. I’m a secret doctor. I only help people in dire straits.’

  She frowns. ‘What’s dire straits?’

  ‘When you’re in lots of trouble.’

  She tightens her grip on the teddy. ‘I’m not in dire straits. I’m in remish.’ She screws up her face to concentrate on getting the word out, ‘Remission’.

  ‘Oh! Then I’m in entirely the wrong room. Don’t tell anyone I was here. They’ll think I made a mistake.’

  ‘But you did make a mistake.’

  She has me there. ‘Yes, you’re right. I did. But I’ll get into trouble if anyone finds out.’

  ‘’Kay then.’ She looks at me shyly. ‘I like your hat.’

  Bugger. ‘Then it’s yours!’ I pull it off my head and carefully place it on hers.

  A huge smile spreads across face, making its loss suddenly worthwhile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ I place my finger to my lips and leave.

  I only have a few seconds. I head back to the lounge and find a discarded white coat on the back of the door. I pull it on, glad it’s large enough to fit over my jacket, then pull out several disposable surgical masks from a box on the coffee table and stuff them into the pocket. I duck out, just as the coffee-drinking nurse returns. I keep my head down, tie on one of the masks and take the lift back down to the third floor.

  There’s a different atmosphere here. Everyone speaks in hushed tones, as if by talking normally they might disturb the unconscious patients. I pray that Arzo isn’t one of the unconscious ones.

  The ward is bisected by a long corridor. I’ll give myself away if I have to check every single room. Fortunately I spot a group of doctors clustered by the nurses’ station. Students. Perfect.

  I join them, hanging around at the back. A few turn round and give me odd looks but no one says anything. I nod at them as if I’m equally engaged in the serious business of learning medicine. I hope they’re about to start their rounds and not just finishing them.

  I’m in luck. An older looking woman approaches holding a clipboard. ‘Come on then,’ she says briskly and turns on her heel.

  As one, we trot after her. She steers us into the first room, halting by a patient who is using breathing apparatus and is surrounded by an array of machines.

  ‘Admitted three days ago after collapsing from chest pains,’ she states, ‘later diagnosed as a myocardial infarction. Subsequent exploratory surgery revealed the disruption of an atherosclerotic plaque in an epicardial coronary artery. The biotelemetry indicates returning function, however he still has ventricular tachycardia.’

  It’s just as well I’m wearing the surgical mask because my jaw drops. I’ve not been this baffled by the English language since the last time I ventured into Starbucks.

  ‘You.’

  I realise with horror that she’s pointing at me. ‘What next steps should the trauma team take to ensure recovery?’

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. My mind races, alighting on a re-run of ER which I saw recently. ‘Er, pulmonary embolism.’

  ‘What about it?’ Her eyes bore into me.

  ‘We should be careful of it,’ I say, feeling and sounding like a total idiot. Going by the expression on her face, she feels exactly the same. I’m dismissed with a disgusted wave of her hand and she directs her question to someone else. I stick my head down and look at my feet. There must be an easier way to sneak into a hospital room.

  At least I was so rubbish at answering her first question that she doesn’t ask me anything else. We shuffle from bed to bed and room to room, discussing a range of patients who all seem to be at death’s door. Between the clinical hospital smell, the endless trail of misery and the emotionless Q&A, I feel like my soul is being sucked away. I had been nervous about seeing Arzo again but, by the time our little group comes across him, I’m so relieved I have to stop myself from leaping on him to give him a great big kiss.

  Despite the fact there are eleven of us in the group, his eyes immediately fall on me. His expression doesn’t change but I get the feeling he’s been waiting for me to arrive. I praise the gods that he’s conscious and alert. He doesn’t actually seem that sick.

  ‘Um, doctor?’ One of the students puts up a nervous hand. ‘Why is this patient in ICU?’

  She chuckles. I’m surprised by the sudden show of humour. ‘He presented yesterday with severe trauma after an attack. As you can see he is recovering swiftly, however, and is about to transferred to another ward.’

  The students are murmuring to each other. If he were a triber, he wouldn’t be in this ward; he wouldn’t even be in this wing. But his bright-eyed awareness and rapid recovery time are causing a bit of anxiety. I’m feeling somewhat anxious myself. I’m convinced there’s something odd going on here. After all, I could have sworn he was bloody well dead yesterday.

  I hover behind when the group leaves, hoping they won’t notice my absence. I close the door quietly and turn to face him.

  ‘Hey darlin’.’

  I give him a half smile. ‘Hey Arzo.’ I don’t have time to beat around the bush. ‘Did Tam try to have me framed for murder?’

  ‘What? No grapes or flowers?’

  I pull off the mask and glare at him. ‘Answer the sodding question.’

  There’s a spark of answering anger in his face. ‘Tam’s dead.’

  ‘I know. I was there.’

  ‘Hiding in the ceiling like a goddamn rat.’

  I guess we’re past the ‘hey darling’ stage now. ‘I had good reason.’ I lean forward. ‘Whether Tam’s dead or not doesn’t answer my question.’

  ‘You’ve worked at Dire Straits for two years, Bo. Why would he do something like that?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Tam wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Then how do you explain the fact that the target I was supposed to serve with a summons yesterday was about to bleed out? And about thirty seconds after I was supposed to enter the property the freaking police showed up? And not just the normal police either – these guys had guns! Since when do armed police make house calls at a place like Wiltshore Avenue?’ My voice is getting higher and I can feel myself shaking. But I don’t care. I need some answers.

  ‘If Tam was trying to set you up, why was he attacked a couple of hours later?’

  ‘How in the hell do I know? Maybe they were pissed off that it didn’t work so they came after him instead.’

  ‘What do you mean “it didn’t work”? All I know is you had a summons for the Agathos court against some half-breed called O’Shee.’

  ‘O’Shea,’ I correct, suspicious of his pleas of ignorance.

  ‘I don’t know what happened to you yesterday, Bo. Talk me through it.’

  I circle his bed like a caged cat. ‘Put your hands where I can see them first.’

  He looks at me, exasperated, but does as I ask, placing them on top of the sheet. ‘I’m in ICU, Bo. I’m hardly in a position to attack you.’

  ‘You look pretty damn healthy to me.’

  ‘Check my chart,’ he says quietly.

  I retrieve his chart and scan it. My face pales.

  ‘That vampire severed my spinal cord.’

  I stare at him.

  ‘I’m never going to walk again.’

  I swallow hard. ‘I’m
sorry,’ I whisper. ‘But that doesn’t mean you didn’t betray me.’

  ‘There was no betrayal, Bo. Not from me and not from Tam.’

  I sit on a chair by the bed. ‘So talk to me, Arzo. Tell me what happened and how it went down.’

  A muscle jerks in his cheek. ‘All I know is that we received a request from a barrister over at the Agathos court. It was nothing out of the ordinary. They just needed someone to deliver a summons to a daemon dealing in under-the-counter magic. We’ve had hundreds of cases like it. You know that.’

  ‘What’s the lawyer’s name?’

  ‘Something French. D’Argneau, perhaps.’

  ‘Has he used us before?’

  ‘Once or twice.’

  I’m not going to give him an inch. ‘Was it once or was it twice?’

  He gives an odd, humourless laugh. ‘You know, when Tam hired you I had a lot of misgivings. Now I’m starting to understand what he saw in you.’

  I don’t blink. Arzo sighs. ‘It was twice. Both were summons. I think Boris took them.’

  ‘Why didn’t Boris take this one?’

  He shrugs. ‘He was on another case.’

  My body tenses in anticipation of my next question. ‘I need to know this, Arzo. Did this lawyer ask specifically for me?’

  ‘No.’ His gaze is frank and honest.

  ‘Why did Tam assign me?’

  ‘Because your name was at the top of the fucking list, that’s all. You were the next person due out.’

  I absorb this information. As far as I can tell, he’s speaking the truth.

  ‘So why was Dire Straits attacked?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says helplessly. ‘I have no goddamn idea.’

  ‘It has to be connected to O’Shea. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be. Which Family was the vampire from? From where I was hiding, I could only see his head.’

  ‘There was nothing. No colours or badges that I saw.’

  I give him a hard look. ‘Are you sure?’

  He nods.

  ‘It’s possible that all the Families are involved.’ I tell him about the different cards that have been left with Rebecca. Oddly, he doesn’t seem too surprised. In fact, he shifts somewhat uncomfortably.

  ‘Ah,’ he says, ‘yes, they’re all taking an interest.’

  I’m immediately on my guard. After all, he’s been in hospital for the better part of the last day. ‘How do you know?’

  A shadow falls across the bed and a deep voice interrupts us. ‘Because I told him.’

  I look up and immediately recognise the Montserrat Family Head.

  Chapter Ten: The Offer

  It takes me less than three seconds to leap to my feet, pick up the chair and lift it in the air. I fling it with all my might at the vampire but he neatly sidesteps, moving faster than I’d have thought possible, and the chair splinters against the opposite wall.

  ‘You work with some interesting people, Arzo,’ the vampire comments in oddly accented English.

  I growl and back away. There’s a window to my left but we’re on the third floor. Even if I could open it and jump out, it’s unlikely that I’d escape without breaking several limbs. The vampire is blocking the only other exit. Flight is out; I’m going to have to fight.

  I fumble inside my jacket to pull out the pepper spray which I returned to its usual pocket before leaving The Steam Team. Due to the stupid doctor’s coat I’m still wearing, it’s hard to extricate although I finally manage it.

  ‘Bo,’ Arzo begins.

  ‘Shut up,’ I hiss. I can’t believe I fell for his freaking lies.

  ‘It’s not what you think, Bo,’ he continues.

  I ignore him and keep my eyes trained on the vampire. He’s larger in person than he looks in the photos. His frame fits the entire doorway although it’s clear there’s not an ounce of fat on his body – if vampires can get fat, that is. No, this guy’s all muscle. He’s wearing a well-tailored suit in the Montserrat colour of midnight blue, but it defines the strength in his body rather than disguising it. Trust me to get on the wrong side of the one Family Head who’s capable of doing his own dirty work. It’ll be a miracle if I get out of this alive.

  He inclines his head. His hair is dark and close-cropped. He’s not the bloodguzzler who attacked Dire Straits but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of his minions. In fact, it’s looking increasingly likely. No wonder Arzo survived when everyone else was slaughtered – he must be working for them. I bet he’s pissed off about having to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair as a result. I wonder for a moment if that was part of the plan to make his own story more believable. It’s a hell of a sacrifice if it’s true.

  ‘I’ve met your grandfather a few times, Ms Blackman. He’s an’ – the vampire licks his lips for a moment, displaying white, even teeth – ‘interesting person.’ At least he’s keeping his fangs hidden.

  ‘He’ll be an even more interesting person to know when he discovers you’ve murdered me,’ I snarl.

  He looks surprised then smiles. ‘Oh, I’m not here to hurt you.’

  ‘Bo,’ interrupts Arzo, ‘listen to him. He’s telling the truth.’

  ‘I thought I told you to shut up.’

  The vampire raises his eyebrows at Arzo. ‘She’s feisty.’

  I grip the pepper spray. Maybe if I can get a small dose in his eyes, then leap over the bed and kick him in the side to get out of the door…

  ‘Ms Blackman,’ he holds his palms up towards me, ‘please put that silly spray down.’

  I raise it an inch higher. If I’m going down, it’s not without a fight.

  ‘It’s not going to help you.’ The tone is his voice is slightly patronising. It’s amazing how often people speak to me like that because of my height. Normally it doesn’t bother me; right now I feel intensely annoyed.

  ‘Just tell me one thing, Arzo,’ I say, deciding to piss off the vampire by ignoring him. ‘How long have you been working for the fucking bloodguzzlers?’

  ‘I don’t work for them, Bo,’ Arzo begins.

  Before he can finish, I take advantage of the fact that the looming vampire flicks his eyes towards Arzo and press down on the canister, letting loose a jet of stinging spray. Then I bounce up, using one toe on the edge of the hospital bed to launch up and over. I’m not even back on the ground when I realise my attempt is futile. The spray hasn’t affected Montserrat and, even though I attempt to kick out and connect with his ribs to knock him to the side, he grabs me by the waist. Pulling me down, he twists my body round until he’s holding me against him but facing Arzo.

  ‘Dumb move,’ he whispers in my ear. He smells of dark masculine spice.

  I draw my elbow back to ram it into his stomach but his arm tightens until I can’t move. In fact, I can barely breathe.

  Arzo looks exasperated. ‘You’re good, Bo, but you’re not that good.’

  ‘It was worth a try,’ I mutter.

  ‘As I was saying,’ he says, ‘I don’t work for the vampires.’

  ‘That’s not what it looks like from here.’

  ‘I work with the vampires,’ he continues.

  I sneer. ‘Nobody works with the vampires, Arzo. They stick to their own. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.’

  Montserrat chuckles. ‘Oh, but he is our own, Ms Blackman.’

  I stop trying to resist his hold. ‘He’s no bloodguzzler.’

  ‘No,’ says Arzo. ‘I’m Sanguine.’

  I frown at him. That was Rogu3’s word of the week a couple of years ago so I know exactly what it means. ‘Optimistic and buoyant in the face of adversity?’ I ask sarcastically.

  ‘He was recruited,’ says Montserrat. ‘But it didn’t take.’

  ‘What in hell do you mean?’

  Arzo sighs. ‘What do you know about the Families’ recruitment?’

  I try to shrug but my movement is limited thanks to my captor. ‘Every ten years or so they recruit enough new members to keep their numbers stead
y at around five hundred. The process is kept secret but not everyone makes it. That’s it, that’s all I know.’

  ‘In order to turn you,’ Montserrat says silkily into my ear, ‘I would inject you with blood from of one of our higher-order vampires. It takes a full moon cycle to change completely.’

  ‘So? So what?’

  ‘Your body only accepts the change when you drink.’

  ‘When I guzzle blood, you mean.’

  His grip tightens until it’s painful. ‘We don’t like the term bloodguzzler, Ms Blackman. And as I was saying, you need to drink blood to fully turn. It’s a show of strength to last the full term. Most only hold out a couple of days but some make it right up to the end.’

  ‘And some,’ Arzo adds, ‘never drink.’

  I look at him. ‘You were turned? But you didn’t drink blood?’

  He nods.

  ‘So are you a vampire or not?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m Sanguine. I have traces of vampire blood in my system so I heal quickly and I’m stronger than most.’ He glances up at Montserrat. ‘I’m also loyal to my Family. But I’m still human.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘The Families aren’t evil, Bo.’

  ‘Try telling Tam that.’

  ‘He wasn’t a sanctioned hit,’ Montserrat says.

  ‘Bullshit. No vampire makes a move unless the Head says so. Even I know that.’

  ‘That used to be the case. But there have been several unexplained deaths and disappearances across all five Families. And in each case, we’ve tracked their movements. They’ve all met with the daemon.’

  ‘O’Shea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you ordered someone to take him down and sent me to take the fall?’

  ‘We don’t want him dead, Ms Blackman. We want to talk to him. We had nothing to do with what happened to him.’

  ‘It was a vampire. There and at Dire Straits.’

  ‘We know. That’s why we need to find the culprits and deal with them before this becomes a bloodbath.’

  ‘It’s already a bloodbath,’ I retort. ‘Besides, I don’t know where O’Shea is. I’ve not seen him since yesterday.’