by Alan K Baker
Reprieve
The vampires approached slowly and steadily, their weapons still trained on Capone’s head.
‘Buncha numb-nuts,’ said Capone. ‘Whataya waitin’ for? Let’s go!’
‘You’re going to pay for what you did to Johnny Sanguine, garbage can,’ said one of the vampires.
‘Oh yeah? And who’s gonna make me pay? You?’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Fort, stepping forward suddenly. Four of the vampires immediately trained their weapons on him. ‘Capone had nothing to do with your boss’s murder.’
‘Shut it, Fort,’ said the vampire. ‘We’ll get to you next.’
‘It’s true,’ Fort persisted.
‘I said shut it!’ The vampire returned his attention to Capone. ‘Was the bird really worth that much to you? Was it really worth your life, you metal maggot?’
‘What the hell are you talkin’ about, nightwalker?’ said Capone.
‘Rusty Links, that shapeshifting bitch! We know she’s working for you. We know you paid her to stake Johnny and take the Falcon. Why? What’s it worth to you? Tell us, and we’ll make it quick and easy for you.’
Capone laughed. ‘The sunlight must be gettin’ to you. Like I said to my friend Charlie here, I don’t deal with shifters – they can’t be trusted. Guess old Johnny found that out for himself, didn’t he?’
Fort glanced back along the road. The traffic had come to a halt behind the wreckage of the truck and Capone’s limousine. The people in the cars were wisely staying put; no one was getting out. Fort saw ashen faces through windshields. Further back along the road, drivers who couldn’t see what had caused the wreck were honking their horns in frustration. The traffic was quickly backing up. In a few minutes, the cops would show up. Fort hoped that he and Lovecraft would still be alive when they did.
One of the vampires had the same thought. He stepped forward. ‘Carmine,’ he said to the lead vampire. ‘Let’s just do them and get out of here. Cops’ll be here soon.’
‘Shut it, Vinnie,’ said Carmine.
‘You should ask yourself why Sanguine stole the Falcon in the first place,’ said Fort, resisting the temptation to check his wristwatch. God damn it, he thought. Cops’ll show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night, but when you actually need them…
‘I told you to shut up, Fort,’ said Carmine.
‘Or what? You’ll shoot me? You’re going to do that anyway. What did Sanguine know about the Falcon?’
‘Nothing.’ Carmine turned his machine gun on Fort. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘We know it’s dangerous,’ Lovecraft piped up.
Carmine’s gun twitched in his direction, and Lovecraft took an instinctive step back. ‘Dangerous how?’
‘It’s entirely possible that it destroyed the Martian civilisation,’ Lovecraft replied.
Fort thought about telling him to shut up, but they still needed to play for time, and the way Carmine’s gun wavered a little told him that Lovecraft was doing a pretty good job.
‘What are you talking about?’ said the vampire.
‘Sanguine stole it thinkin’ he could put me in the frame for the heist, didn’t he?’ said Capone. ‘Only he didn’t figure on Rusty Links double crossing him. I thought Johnny was smarter than that…’
‘Shut up about that!’ said Carmine. ‘I don’t wanna hear about that. I’m talkin’ to slim over there. What do you mean it destroyed the Martians?’
‘I take it you didn’t read this morning’s newspapers,’ said Lovecraft.
‘I had other things on my mind,’ said Carmine.
The distant wail of police sirens drifted along the road.
‘Damn it, Carmine, come on!’ said Vinnie.
‘Vinnie, so help me…’
Another vampire stepped forward. ‘Vinnie’s right,’ he said. ‘We gotta get going. Let’s just do Capone and take these two with us. Then we can make them talk.’
‘Sir,’ said Lovecraft, ‘you don’t need to make us talk. We will quite happily tell you whatever you want to know, so please… put your typewriters down.’
Vinnie glanced at the other vampires. ‘Typewriters? Is this guy for real?’
‘Okay, we’ll do it your way,’ said Carmine, taking aim once again at Capone’s head. ‘Kiss your diesel-powered ass goodbye, Capone…’
Lovecraft and Fort winced in anticipation of the coming hail of bullets, but instead of firing, Carmine hesitated and glanced up at the sky. The other vampires did the same and then looked at each other in apparent confusion.
‘What’s happening?’ whispered Lovecraft.
‘I’m not sure,’ Fort whispered back.
The vampires lowered their weapons and stood still, with their heads raised, as if they were listening to something.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ said Capone. ‘You got cold feet?’ He slammed his fists into his metal chest. ‘Come on!’
‘Shut up, shit bucket,’ said Carmine. He beckoned to the other vampires, and they huddled together, speaking quietly to each other.
Then, with a final glance at Capone, they returned to their cars and took off, skidding across the central divide with a grind of metal on concrete and hurtling back along the Expressway.
‘What the fuck?’ said Capone. ‘Why’d they take off like that?’
‘I have no idea,’ Fort replied. ‘But I think it may be worth our while to find out.’
‘Another time, maybe,’ said Capone, jerking his head at the oncoming traffic on the other side of the central divide, and the two police squad cars that were rapidly approaching. ‘See ya later, boys.’
With that, he ran to the edge of the elevated highway and leaped over. A couple of seconds later, Lovecraft and Fort heard the crunch of metal on asphalt and a sudden cacophony of honking horns and screeching tyres. They ran to the edge and looked over to see Capone racing off amongst the swerving traffic.
Fort sighed and shook his head, as the squad cars skidded to a halt and four cops piled out, guns drawn. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he said.
*
Twenty minutes later, Lovecraft and Fort were sitting on uncomfortable chairs in a small, drab room in the 7th Precinct stationhouse on the Lower East Side. Lovecraft had expected to make a statement and be politely thanked and allowed to leave, but Fort knew better.
Lovecraft glanced at Fort, who was leaning forward, face cradled in palms, his elbows planted on the cheap table in front of them. The table had once been white, but years of cigarette smoke had persuaded it to give up the pretence.
‘Not even coffee, eh?’ said Lovecraft.
‘Not even coffee,’ Fort replied, taking a hip flask from an inside pocket of his suit. He unscrewed it, took a lengthy sip and then offered it to Lovecraft.
‘No, thank you, Charles. I never indulge.’
Fort sighed. ‘Of course you don’t, Howard.’
‘We’ve given our statements. For how long do you think we’re going to be detained?’
At that moment, the door opened and John Carter and Dave Wiseman entered.
‘Well well,’ said Fort. ‘If it isn’t Tweedledum and Tweedle-dumber. How you doing, boys?’
Wiseman gave him a humourless grin. ‘From the look of things, a hell of a lot better than you, Fort.’
Carter and Wiseman took the two empty chairs across the table from Lovecraft and Fort.
‘So,’ said Fort. ‘You got me on the detain-on-sight list, huh?’
‘Not quite, Charlie,’ Carter replied. ‘Cops took statements from the witnesses on the Expressway. They saw what happened with you and Capone and the vampires; they also saw Capone leaving the scene.’
‘When they called it in,’ added Wiseman, ‘we decided to bring you in for further questioning.’
Fort smiled. ‘Thanks. Saved us having to walk back.
’
Carter smiled too, and then glanced at Lovecraft. ‘So… what’s your story, Mr. Lovecraft?’
‘Er… my story?’
‘How did you come to be mixed up in all this?’
‘He’s my new research assistant,’ Fort began, but Carter held up a hand.
‘I think the gentleman can speak for himself, don’t you, Charlie?’
Fort shrugged, folded his arms and sat back on his chair.
‘I am a writer, sir,’ said Lovecraft. ‘One who has, regrettably, been forced by parlous financial circumstances to seek regular employment. Mr. Fort was kind enough to offer me such employment…’
Wiseman grunted. ‘That was kind of him. Where do you live?’
Lovecraft told him.
‘And where are you from, originally? Boston?’
‘Providence, Rhode Island.’
‘What are you doing in New York?’
‘I was married, briefly. I moved here with my then-wife.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Cleveland.’
Wiseman leaned forward. ‘And what were you and Mr. Fort here doing in Al Capone’s limousine?’
Lovecraft hesitated, shrugged and said: ‘Being chased by vampires.’
‘Don’t get smart, Mr. Lovecraft,’ Wiseman rumbled. ‘You’re in a heap of trouble.’
Lovecraft swallowed audibly.
‘Don’t listen to him, Howard,’ said Fort. ‘He doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.’
Wiseman cackled like a witch and shot a glance at Carter. ‘Get this guy, John! I don’t know what I’m talking about. Well, Mr. Fort, why don’t you set me straight? Let’s start with what you said last night. The case is closed, you said. No more reason to have anything to do with Capone, you said. And yet, here you are the next day, running around with him in his limo. What’s the deal, Charlie boy?’
‘You still think I was involved in the Falcon heist,’ said Fort. ‘Me and Capone.’
Wiseman gave an elaborate shrug. ‘Like I said last night: tell me why I’m wrong.’
Fort shook his head sadly. ‘Such two-dimensional thinking.’
Wiseman frowned. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Mr. Lovecraft and I swung by the Medical Examiner’s office this morning and took a peek at the autopsy report on the three deadwalkers who were found in back of the Algonquin. They didn’t belong to Capone…’ Fort glanced from Wiseman to Carter. ‘But of course, you already knew that, didn’t you? No traces of Enochian Magick, which is the method Capone uses for reanimation.’
‘So Sanguine stole the Falcon after all?’ said Carter.
Fort snapped his fingers. ‘Bingo! Yeah, Sanguine stole the Falcon, and got staked for his trouble.’
‘Do you know who by?’
‘According to Sanguine’s boys, it was Rusty Links…’
‘What?’ said Wiseman with an incredulous snort. ‘You’re telling us a girl took out the most powerful vampire in New York?’
Fort smiled, his gaze remaining on Carter.
‘She’s a… shapeshifter?’ Carter said.
‘The penny drops,’ said Fort. ‘Hallelujah.’
Carter nodded contemplatively. ‘She could have taken the form of something so dangerous and powerful not even Sanguine would have stood a chance.’
‘You’re actually buying this bullshit?’ said Wiseman.
‘Hold on, Dave,’ said Carter, leaning forward. ‘All right, Charlie, let’s just say that you’re right…’
‘Not me,’ said Fort. ‘Sanguine’s boys – and they were there.’
‘Okay, fine,’ said Carter. ‘But why?’
‘Because she wanted the Falcon, and she took it. Sanguine’s boys think she stole it on Capone’s orders, but I don’t think so. I think she stole it for someone else.’
‘Who?’
‘I have no idea, but I need to find out. We all need to find out, and quickly.’
Carter hesitated. ‘Because of Tesla…’
‘Tesla?’ said Wiseman. ‘What the hell has he got to do with this?’
‘You know, Dave, you should try reading the front pages once in a while instead of just the funnies,’ said Fort.
Wiseman ground his jaw but said nothing.
His gaze still fixed on Carter, Fort continued: ‘There’s something more going on here than two wiseguys knocking the shit out of each other – something much more. You know it, Howard and I know it, and given time, even Einstein here’ll figure it out. The Martian Falcon is more than just a statue, a relic from a dead civilisation. The question is: what is it?’
‘And why does… someone want it?’ added Carter.
‘Yeah, that too.’
‘You don’t think it’s Links?’
Fort shook his head. ‘I’d be surprised if she were acting alone. This seems too ambitious. I think there’s someone pulling her strings, someone who knows – or suspects – what the Falcon really is. That’s the person you should be looking for.’
Carter nodded. ‘We’ll issue an arrest warrant for Links…’
Fort chuckled. ‘Good luck with that.’
Carter shook his head miserably. ‘Yeah, I know. How do you bring in a shapeshifter? She could look like anyone or anything.’
‘That’s your problem, boys,’ said Fort, trying not to look too smug.
‘It’s your problem too, Fort,’ said Wiseman. ‘You and your pal here aren’t off the hook yet.’
Carter ignored him and said: ‘What’s next for you, Charlie? From what you’ve been saying, you’re not going to walk away from this.’
‘Damn right I’m not. As soon as you cut us loose, Mr. Lovecraft and I are heading out to Colorado to have a talk with Dr. Tesla about the transmission he intercepted from Mars…’
‘The hell you are!’ said Wiseman. ‘You’re not skipping town until this investigation is put to bed.’
Fort slammed his fist onto the table. ‘Damn it, Wiseman, why can’t you get it through your thick skull that this isn’t about gangsters? It never was! It’s about all of us – the entire human race. Tesla has detected a transmission coming from Mars, a transmission that only began after the departure of the X-M expedition from the planet – a transmission that shows the destruction of the Martian civilisation.’
‘And you think the Falcon has something to do with it?’ said Wiseman.
‘That’s what we need to find out,’ said Fort. ‘Because if the transmission was triggered by the removal of the Falcon from that temple on Mars – and I’d put money on that being the case – then it stands a chance that the Falcon is somehow connected with the catastrophe that wiped out the Martians five million years ago.’
Carter and Wiseman glanced at each other. Wiseman shook his head slowly.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Lovecraft, ‘let’s not forget that the crew of Rocketship X-M have not been the same since they returned to Earth, and that the Martian Falcon was displayed at the museum in a lead-lined case. There is something very strange about that object – and not just that it’s from Mars.’
Carter considered this and then sighed. ‘All right, Charlie. Get out of here. Go to Colorado, but do me a favour and don’t stay there too long, huh? Capone and the vampires are getting ready to go head to head – an all-out war on the streets of New York. There’s going to be a bloodbath unless we can crack this case, understood?’
Fort stood up. ‘Understood.’
CHAPTER 15
Cabo Cañaveral
Rusty Links hated Florida.
She hated the flatness of the landscape, the incessant, cloying heat that fastened itself on the skin like an unwanted lover, the humidity that hung upon the air, as if the air itself were sweating. She hated the Spanish moss that clung like rotting hair to the branches of the Souther
n Live Oaks and Gulf-cypress, and the tough, broad-bladed St. Augustine grass that covered the ground like a carpet of tiny green knives. She reserved a special loathing for the Atlantic coast in particular, due to its proximity to the Devil’s Triangle, the area of ocean bounded by the three points of Miami, Bermuda and Puerto Rico, and the horrors it contained.
Florida, she thought as she flew on her vast, membranous wings high above the East Coast Highway, casting nervous glances at the ocean on her left. A dangling haemorrhoid on the ass of America.
As she flew over Titusville, she noted the position of the sun in the sky and calculated that the time was around a quarter past seven. Down there in that steaming little town, at an address mentioned in the dossier Crystalman had given her along with her ten thousand, her target would be finishing breakfast with his family and preparing to leave for the day. He would then drive south along the East Coast Highway to his office at Cabo Cañaveral, where he worked as Chief Archivist for the X-M Program. His name was Aldous Bradlee.
Rusty peered down at the buildings lining Main Street. They seemed exhausted by the heat that, even at this early hour, was gathering its strength for another of its daily onslaughts. The buildings held no interest for her. Titusville was just another pointless smudge on a useless landscape. With a contemptuous flap of her wings, she accelerated away from the town.
She flew for a few more miles before descending and alighting on the side of the road. There was one advantage to this place, at least: out here, people were few and far between. There wasn’t a car in sight, nor were there any houses. There was just the road, the sea to the left and the flat, sweating land to the right.
She reassumed her human form and walked behind one of the low dunes lining the road. She waited, feeling the steadily-rising heat of the morning sun on her naked back, and listening to the whispering sea…
A few minutes later, a glint of chrome appeared in the distance. Another half minute, and the glint became an automobile drifting at a leisurely pace along the highway.
‘Red Packard Sport Roadster,’ Rusty said, and smiled.
She clambered up and over the dune, waving her arms frantically and screaming: ‘Help me! Oh God, please help me!’