Poison City (16 page)

‘What?’ I say defensively.

‘Are you
really
going to a meeting, alone, with a vampire, at night, out in the middle of the ocean, when a vampire pack just tried to
kill
you?’

‘Well, when you put it like
that . . .’

‘Don’t be a smartarse.’

‘Sorry. But yeah, I am.’

‘Then enlighten me. You have Division backup hiding somewhere?’

‘Nope. But you’re coming with me, so it will be fine. Actually, you’re not leaving my side till this is over, OK?’

‘Lucky me.’

‘Speaking of which, where
were
you tonight? Couldn’t you . . . I don’t know . . . sense a disturbance in the Force or something when those vampires came after me?’

‘Doesn’t work that way. Besides I was watching my soaps. You know I don’t notice anything when I’m watching my soaps.’

‘It’s really great you have your priorities in order, dog. Come on. We’re going for a boat ride. And I really hope you get seasick.’

The BAT centre is only a couple of kays away along the beachfront so I grab my semi-charged phone and walk, hoping the exercise will clear my head. When we arrive we wait around the side of the building, standing next to an old graffiti piece spelling out the initials of the centre by someone called
Lyken
.

I got the dog to cast the protective ward on me before we left the house. I feel hyped up, filled with energy. Buzzing.

‘Keep still,’ mutters the dog. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

I ignore him, bouncing on the soles of my feet, listening to someone attempting to play Cat Stevens up in the cafe. I still can’t figure out what’s going on here. I’m supposed to be a detective, but don’t let that fool you. It’s nothing like it is on TV. No grand leaps of logic or anything like that. It usually comes down to joining the dots, following one aspect of the case to its eventual dead end, then following another, and another, until one of them connects to something interesting. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. But right now all I have is a dead ramanga, a dead friend, the fact that the murderer was involved in my daughter’s death, and that it looks like the vampires are somehow involved.

But then . . . Jengo was a ramanga. A vampire. Why would they kill one of their own?

‘Hey,’ says the dog. ‘Time to get into character.’

He’s staring out into the ocean. I follow his gaze and see a small speed boat bouncing over the waves towards us. It doesn’t have any lights on, but whoever’s driving seems to be handling it just fine. Not that it can be that difficult. Point it in the direction of the shitty music and put foot down.

The engine cuts out about twenty feet out and the boat coasts the rest of the way and slides part way onto the sand. There are two figures inside. I hop over the low wall onto the beach and approach them. They’re both vampires – male and female, but I can’t tell what caste.

‘You London?’ the girl asks.

‘Yeah. Kincaid told you I had guaranteed safe passage, right?’

‘You think we’re going to eat you? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.’

‘What’s your type?’

‘O negative.’

‘Har-de-fucking-har,’ I say. Just what I need. A vampire who thinks she’s a standup comedian.

I climb in the boat. The dude looks at the dog doubtfully. ‘Kincaid said only you.’

‘Come on, man. He’s my dog. He goes everywhere with me. He gets upset if I leave him in the flat. Don’t you, boy?’

-I’m going to piss in your bed-
says the dog in my mind.

‘Let’s just go,’ says the chick. She leans against the front of the boat (what is that? The prow? I’ve never been big on nautical terms), and effortlessly shoves the boat back along the sand until it’s bobbing in the water. She pushes it around so it’s pointing back out to sea and hops in to start the engine.

A couple of seconds later we’re heading out into the open waters, the cold sea spray soaking my face and doubts collecting in my mind.

After about twenty minutes, the boat shifts direction slightly and I realize we’re heading towards a cargo freighter, one of those flat container ships that carries goods in truck-sized metal boxes.

The freighter is huge, easily 150 metres long. Arc lights surrounded by haloes of mist light the deck, illuminating the red, yellow, and green containers, hundreds of them stacked one atop the other like massive Lego blocks.

‘Who owns that? Kincaid?’ I ask.

‘Kincaid has many business interests,’ says the girl. ‘What – you think we’re just bloodthirsty animals who wander round the streets looking for our next meal? This is the twenty-first century, man. We have corporations, business deals. You name it, we’ve got our finger in it.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Huntley,’ says the dude.

‘Christ, Jarvis. I’m just saying. The prick thinks we’re simple.’

‘Insecure much?’ I ask.

Huntley whirls around and bares her teeth at me. The moon glints rather dramatically on her fangs.

‘Diplomatic immunity,’ I say. ‘I don’t think Kincaid is going to be happy if you disobey his orders.’

‘Kincaid can suck my—’

‘Huntley!’ barks the other vampire. ‘Enough.’

She glares at him, but turns back to focus on the steering.

The sheer scale of the container ship becomes apparent as we draw closer. It dominates the ocean, rising high above us, a giant metal monstrosity. Huntley guides the tiny speedboat around to the rear, jouncing and skimming over the crosscurrents thrown up by the huge hull.

There’s a massive open space at the back, a black mouth that looks like it’s spitting out seawater as the container ship moves slowly forward. Huntley takes us inside, the light of the moon winking off as if a switch has been thrown. Orange lights bolted into the metal hull illuminate the interior. The speed boat slows, the engine dropping to a throaty growl as it bumps up against the side of the ship.

Huntley and Jarvis hop out onto a narrow deck. I start to pull myself up after them, am yanked the rest of the way by the inhuman strength of Huntley. She tosses me to the side and I stumble against the hull. Jarvis opens a rusted metal door. White light spills out, revealing a narrow corridor beyond.

‘Move,’ says Huntley.

‘Where to?’

Huntley growls and shoves me aside, taking the lead. The dog and I go next and Jarvis takes the rear. Bulbs bolted behind thick safety glass illuminate the way. The metal grating in the floor rings with our footsteps.

After a few turns we arrive in a wider corridor. A set of stairs leads up to what I assume is the bridge. Huntley ignores it, heads through another door into a brightly lit hold.

Our footsteps echo as we step inside. The hold is easily the size of a school gymnasium, the curved metal walls painted white. There are more metal containers in here, towering high above us to either side.

Thirty metres in and we arrive at a separator wall. We duck through the door into a second, identical hold.

‘What’s in the containers?’ I ask.

‘Clothes. Food,’ says Jarvis promptly. ‘Shipping them to Cape Town.’

‘What, for charity?’

‘Don’t be stupid. Kincaid is a wholesaler. He supplies the big chain stores.’

I burst out laughing. ‘The King of the East Coast vampires is a clothing supplier? Are you shitting me?’

‘
Manufacturer,
actually. He has textile companies in Nigeria. He’s a millionaire.’

‘Good for him. You think he’ll lend me any money?’

‘Doubt it,’ says Huntley. ‘He doesn’t invest in lost causes.’

We enter a third hold, and this one is different. There are still metal containers piled up around the hull, but the room is carpeted. Immaculate Persian rugs, hundreds of them, laid one atop the other.

Sound is muffled as we walk across the hold. Against the far wall is a small round table. One of those nasty things from the seventies. Hollow aluminium and red Formica, peeling and pitted with cigarette burns.

Kincaid is waiting. A metal bar has been wedged between the two sides of the hull, and he’s hanging from it by two curved iron hooks that sprout from his knees.

Kincaid is an
Asanbosam
. A huge vampire that basically looks like an extra from
The Lord of the Rings
orc army, except his teeth and claws are made from iron. His kind usually spend their time hanging from tree branches, waiting for their prey to walk past below. Kincaid decided that wasn’t his thing and trekked here from North Africa in the fifties. He’s been building his empire and consolidating his power ever since.

Huntley shoves me and I stagger forward, catch myself before tripping. The dog trots forward to keep pace with me. He’s looking around us with interest, sniffing the air.

-Anything?-

-Something odd. Not sure what.-

-Jesus, what good are you?-

‘Come forward, my friend,’ says Kincaid.

I walk across the soft carpets. Kincaid drops from the bar and summersaults, landing elegantly on his feet. He pulls out a chair and sits down, folding his hands on the Formica. He looks ridiculous. A giant sitting at a doll’s table.

I pull out the chair opposite and sit down, playing it cool, ignoring the presence of Huntley and Jarvis hovering behind me.

‘You can go,’ says Kincaid, glancing over my shoulder.

I get the feeling there’s some kind of protest going on behind me so I turn quickly in my chair. Huntley quickly brings her hands down from whatever gestures she was making.

‘Yeah, you can go,’ I say. ‘I’ll call you when I need a ride back.’

I turn around again and make myself comfortable. I wait till I hear the metal door slam shut in the hold before I finally relax, though.

Kincaid wags a massive finger at me. ‘You are a very naughty man,’ he says. ‘My people do not like you.’

‘I’m not really crushing on them myself.’

-And they stink,
- mutters the dog.
-Like week-old carrion.-

I didn’t notice that myself, but I’ll take his word for it.

‘Now, my friend, what did you want to speak to me about?’

Call me suspicious, but when people call me ‘my friend’ twice in the space of thirty seconds, I get a bit uneasy.

‘Here’s the thing,’ I say. ‘Yesterday, one of yours was murdered. A ramanga.’

Kincaid makes a sour face. ‘I do not like ramanga.’

‘OK. But they’re still classed as vampires, right?’

‘I suppose. For official purposes only, though.’

‘Right. Then my boss, a member of Delphic Division, was also murdered. In the same way as the ramanga.’

‘What way is this?’

‘Their hearts were gouged out, and in the case of the ramanga, his head was ripped off.’

‘I see. Carry on.’

I stare at him for a moment. ‘Do you know anything about these deaths, Kincaid?’

He looks surprised. ‘Me? Why would you think I would know anything?’

‘Because not two hours ago I was attacked by a Matchstick Man and five
Aigamucha
.’

Kincaid’s eyes widen. He leans forward. ‘That cannot be. The Covenant forbids any attacks on a peacekeeper.’

‘Yeah, I was pretty surprised myself.’

‘But you survived! You are strong, yes?’ He frowns. ‘
How
did you survive? One against six – these odds are not good.’

I shrug. ‘You don’t fuck with Delphic Division, Kincaid. That’s what we always tell you guys. What I want to know is, why was I attacked?’

‘You are asking me?’

‘You see anyone else in here?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Come on, Kincaid. You’re the King of the East Coast. If you don’t know then you’re losing your grip on your people. Either way, you’re in trouble here.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. If you can’t control your subjects, we’ll have to find someone who can.’

Too much? Kincaid’s eyes flash angrily. He struggles to keep himself under control.

‘You think . . .’ he clears his throat, ‘. . . you think you have the authority to depose me?’

‘Maybe not depose. But if you went missing, someone would have to take your place.’

‘My friend,’ Kincaid says softly, regretfully. ‘Are you threatening me? In my own territory?’

I clench my fists. ‘You want to talk about territory?’ I shout. ‘Armitage was killed in her
home
. I was killed
–
attacked –
half a kay from my flat. Cut the self-righteous bullshit, Kincaid. I’m not in the mood for it.’ I force myself to calm down. ‘We had a deal. I’m not even talking you and the Division. I’m talking you and me. I thought we were mates.’

‘We were.’

I freeze. ‘
Were
?’