Dire Straits (Bo Blackman) Read online

  When I turned round, I saw a scruffy little boy holding a skateboard and looking down at me.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered.

  ‘You won’t find her.’

  ‘I know.’ To this day I don’t know why I continued talking to him. I guess I just needed someone to be on my side, even if it was a kid. ‘But I need to find something that’ll prove she didn’t give herself up to one of the Families.’

  ‘The bloodguzzlers? That’s stupid. Everyone knows they don’t take kids.’

  Yeah, I thought sadly, everyone does know that. But it doesn’t matter.

  ‘You’re not police,’ he said, assessing me.

  ‘No. I work for an insurance company.’

  He sat down beside me, carefully propping up his board. He kept touching it as we talked, as if he needed to check it was still there.

  ‘They won’t pay, will they?’ he said, understanding more than I would have given him credit for.

  ‘No. No, they won’t.’

  A group of kids on bikes passed us. A few of them yelled obscenities at my new companion. He ignored them. ‘I can go speak to them if you want. Stop them from bothering you,’ I said.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘They don’t bother me. They’re just a bunch of losers.’

  I dug into my pockets, found a crumpled pack of chewing gum and held it out to him. ‘Want one?’

  He suddenly grinned at me. ‘Sure.’ He shoved the gum into his mouth and chewed furiously. ‘I can help you.’

  I’m not sure if it was because of his chewing or because I was surprised by his words, but I had to ask him to repeat what he’d said said.

  ‘I can help you. I can get you the evidence you need.’

  Of course I didn’t believe him. But rather than hurt his feelings, I tried a different tack. ‘Why would you do that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Cause you seem nice. And Alice was my friend. She came round sometimes when her mum was working.’

  He stood up, picked up his skateboard and started to walk away. When he was several feet in front of me, he turned. ‘Well, are you coming or not?’

  I came. I’m sure it was highly inappropriate, following a child back to his house and going into his garage alone with him, but it turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

  His garage didn’t contain a car or a lawnmower or half-dried-up tins of paint like most people’s. This kid’s garage was covered wall to ceiling in flashing state-of-the-art computers. I stared, open-mouthed.

  ‘I built most of this myself,’ the boy said proudly, closing the heavy door and plunging us into near darkness. ‘I started out with an old system of my dad’s then went from there.’

  This was a nice neighbourhood but it didn’t seem like the kind of place where the inhabitants had this kind of money to throw around. I felt as though I’d inadvertently walked into the Batcave.

  ‘How do you pay for all this?’ I asked suspiciously. If all this stuff turned out to belong to his father who worked for some government division, then I could get myself into a lot of trouble just by seeing it.

  He gave me a cheeky wink. ‘I’ve got skills. And don’t worry – my parents never come in here.’

  I wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured or nervous at that comment. He pointed at a dusty chair well away from the gleaming screens.

  ‘Sit there,’ he instructed.

  I did as I was told. He turned his back on me and began tapping furiously into one of several keyboards. He didn’t even bother to sit down. All I could see on the screens were lines of undulating green code.

  ‘How many Families are there?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got the Medicis, Montserrat, Stuart and Bancroft.’

  For a moment, I was so taken aback I couldn’t think. ‘Er…’ I stuttered. ‘There are five.’

  He snapped his fingers. ‘Gully!’ His hands flew over the keys and he started to mutter to himself. ‘Damn. The Montserrat system is well defended.’

  I blinked rapidly. ‘Are you hacking into the Families’ computers?’

  ‘Yeah. Cool, huh? Those bloodguzzlers should learn a bit more about the modern age and protect themselves. The Stuart firewall is a piece of shit.’

  ‘ Don’t swear,’ I said automatically, realising I still didn’t know his name, ‘I’m not sure this a good idea. If they find out…’

  ‘Relax, lady. I’ve covered my tracks.’

  I bristled slightly at being called ‘lady’ by a kid. ‘You shouldn’t mess with the vampires,’ I said sternly. ‘Even though you’re young, they’ll still be pissed off when they find you.’

  He spun on his heel and faced me, then reached behind without looking and pressed a single key, all the while grinning and sticking out his tongue. ‘Too late!’ he sang out.

  ‘What? What do you mean too late?’

  ‘The Families have each just emailed the police in order to help them with their enquiries. They’ve never recruited anyone under the age of twenty-one. They have nothing to do with the abduction of Alice Goldman. Anyone who suggests otherwise, even by implication, will meet their wrath.’

  My jaw dropped.

  His grin widened. ‘I like that word wrath. I used it in a story in school last week. The teacher almost wet her knickers in delight.’

  ‘The vampires don’t involve themselves in human matters. They’d never contact the police.’

  ‘Except they just did.’

  In a corner of the garage, a small red light began to flash and an alarm sounded. I leapt up out of my chair, half expecting a crew of vampires to burst in. The kid just scowled. ‘Mum and Dad are home. You’d better go.’

  ‘Um…’

  He threw me a tiny piece of card. It was shiny and gold with ROGU3 embossed on it. ‘These are my details. Like I said, Alice was my friend so this is a freebie. If you need me again, though, and you’re willing to pay, then I can help you out in the future.’ He looked wistfully at the now-darkened computer screens. ‘There’s a lot of more up-to-date equipment I’d like to get.’

  I stared down at the card then back at him.

  ‘Rogu3?’

  He looked at me as if as I had about three brain cells to rub together. ‘It’s not Rogu-three. It’s Rogue. Now, I really have to go. They don’t like it when I spend too much time in here.’

  Feeling as if I’d just been sneered at by a teacher, I watched as he pulled up the garage door. He shoved me out, leaving me on his driveway, blinking against the sunshine and wondering whether I’d imagined the whole thing. Had I just entered some strange eleven-year-old’s twilight zone? But Rogu3 was true to his word. Less than two hours later, I received a call from my boss telling me to stand down. They had, he informed me, received an unprecedented warning from all the Families and decided it would be safer to pay the Goldmans rather than risk angering the vampires.

  I quit the firm a couple of days later, but continued to keep in touch with Rogu3. It would probably be easy to find out his real name – after all I know exactly where he lives – but somehow I feel that would be a betrayal. He’s proven to be more than his weight in gold over the last few years, although he has a good enough grasp of just how much his services are worth. In fact, he’s become one of the top-grade hackers in the country. I think it helps that he has very little ego. He’s not interested in leaving his virtual calling card to let people know he’s been in and out of their private lives. He just takes what he needs. And no, the vampires never did catch up with him.

  That’s why I contacted him about a safe house. I know he always has a ready list of places to doss down in for both his mates and his clients. They’re usually temporary hidey-holes, where the real resident has gone off on holiday and left the place empty for a while. He has programmes which track flight and travel agency information. From there it’s easy to hack into email accounts and find out whether the hapless holidaymakers have anyone looking after their place and where they keep their spare key. I’ve never had to use this particular service before and I�
�m certain that the bill I receive from him once all this is over will be hefty. It’s worth it though. It’ll be even more worth it if he can also track down the mysterious Lucy.

  Chapter Eight: Room by the Hour

  Once O’Shea has finished speaking to Rogu3, he passes back the receiver. I lift it to my ear but the teenager has already hung up.

  ‘What did he say? Can he do it?’

  ‘He mentioned the words “park” and “walking”,’ the daemon said grumpily. ‘And he said to tell you that this week’s word is pettifoggery.’

  I smile.

  ‘What’s that?’ O’Shea asks. ‘Some kind of code?’

  ‘No,’ I answer. ‘He just likes words.’

  He rattles the cuffs against the bed frame again. ‘Now will you help me get out of this?’

  I regard him for a moment. ‘I suppose so. If you run off though, you should know that it’s probably more than just the vampires that are after you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I tell him about the armed police who arrived at the house on Wiltshore Avenue just as we were leaving. His face pales. ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ he babbles. ‘Why would the Families involve the human cops?’

  ‘I don’t know, mate. But whatever you do next, you’d better keep your head down.’ I find my lock pick and free him from the handcuffs. He springs up then winces; clearly his wounds and blood loss are affecting him more than he realises.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I enquire.

  ‘Do you care?’

  I consider his question. I have nothing against him, even if his near-death experience almost resulted in my incarceration. I’m not sure he’s done anything yet to warrant my care, however.

  ‘The fact that you have to think about the answer tells me what it’ll be,’ he gripes.

  I shrug. What can I say?

  He sniffs. ‘Maybe I’ll stick around here for a few days.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  I’m surprised, but he’ll come in handy if I think of any more questions. ‘No, I don’t mind.’

  He looks at me curiously. ‘Why are you so invested in this?’

  ‘I was going to be framed for your murder.’

  For a second or two he doesn’t respond then he says quietly, ‘They were trying to put you away. But they were trying to kill me. Anything I can do to help, I will.’

  This time I believe him. ‘Then I’ve got a job for you while we wait for Rogu3 to get back.’

  I toss him one of the burner phones. I don’t want anyone to trace the landline to this flat, even if Rogu3 trusts it. Besides which, it wouldn’t be fair to run up the owners’ phone bill. It’s expensive enough living in London without my temporary break-in adding to the bills. I glance down at the headboard that is now lying in the middle of the living-room floor. I’m going to have to fix that before I leave, too.

  O’Shea waves the phone in the air. ‘What do you want me to do with this?’

  ‘A,’ I pause and search for the right word, ‘colleague of mine was recently taken into hospital. It’s related to this. See if you can find which hospital and whether he’s still alive or not.’

  ‘There are hundreds of hospitals in London!’

  ‘You’d better get a move on then. And O’Shea?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t tell them your name.’

  Irritation flickers in his eyes . ‘I’m not an idiot.’

  ‘Good. You’re looking for a man called Arzo.’

  ‘That’s it? Arzo? Is that his first name or last name?’

  I consider. ‘Huh. I have no idea.’

  ‘Great,’ he mutters, ‘just great.’

  ***

  While O’Shea starts on the phone, I ponder my next move. The most useful information at this point would probably be which Family the attacks originated from. Not that I have any hope of penetrating any of the Families, but at least I could narrow my focus and find someone connected to them who could provide more leads. I could go back and scour Wiltshore Avenue and Tam’s office but they’ll be sealed-off crime scenes by now and I can’t risk bumping into the police. The veil of secrecy surrounding all five Families is annoying.

  I chew the inside of my cheek. I may not be able to work out which Family is involved but perhaps I can work out which ones aren’t. None of this could happen without the sanction of a Family Head. From what little I know, the Heads keep their vampires on extraordinarily short leashes; any vampire who killed or attempted to kill a human without getting the okay first would sign their own death warrant. It would be suicide to march up to one of the Heads and ask whether they were involved but I know at exactly what times the attacks went down. O’Shea’s had to be in the window between 9 and 9.50am, just before I entered the house. The office assault happened at about 3.20pm. Whoever carried out the attacks would have contacted their Head immediately afterwards to inform them of their respective failure and success. If the Heads happened to be out in public, then maybe someone noticed whether they received any calls or not. It’s a long shot, but worth pursuing.

  I check my watch. It’s still early in the morning but I reckon today’s papers will already have been delivered to the newsagents. It’s of little consequence that the shops themselves won’t be open yet.

  I leave the flat, taking the time to check whether I’m being watched. I don’t think it’s likely; if anyone knew where I was, I’d probably already be in handcuffs or dead. Fortunately I can’t see anyone lurking in the shadows, but I walk slowly and double back once to be sure. It seems, however, that I’m still in the clear.

  I locate a newsagent’s on the corner of the next street. It’s small and grubby, with several handwritten cards posted in the window offering things like discreet massages (any time day or night!) and mixed-breed puppies. As I’d hoped, there’s a range of freshly delivered newspapers in neatly tied piles in front of the shop.

  I ignore the broadsheets and head for the tabloids. The front pages turn my stomach. Each one details the massacre at Dire Straits in lurid colour. One of them, even more nauseatingly, includes a terrible photo of me with the headline ‘Is this a killer?’. That’s really not good. I realise how foolish I was to go to that nightclub earlier; Mr Tortoiseshell is unlikely to forget my face. One glimpse of this paper and he’ll be on the phone to some hack, selling his story. This entire area is compromised. So much for another three days at 14A Markmore Close.

  With no one but myself to blame, I pull out my last crumpled five pound note from my bodice and throw it down onto the nearest pile of papers. I sigh heavily. At least it’s still dark.

  As soon as I get back to the flat, O’Shea glares at me. ‘Where have you been?’

  I don’t bother answering; instead I start tidying up the debris around him. ‘We need to leave.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  I pick up the corner of the bed frame and release it from the chair leg. ‘Help me put this back.’

  He glances at me scornfully but he does as I say. The pair of us take it back to the bedroom and slot it back into place.

  ‘Have you found Arzo yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has Rogu3 called back?’

  ‘No.’

  Damn it. I didn’t think it would take him this long. ‘Lucy’ must have covered her tracks well. I debate whether to call him myself and decide against it. It’s more important to get away from Markmore Close while the streets are still quiet.

  I hand O’Shea the pile of newspapers. He stares down at the first headline. ‘Wow. Did you see what happened to this firm?’ He scans the story. ‘It’s a bunch of private dicks who’ve been slaughtered.’ There’s an element of awe in his voice that makes me want to punch him in the face. ‘Damn silly name for a company if you ask me.’

  ‘I saw it,’ I say shortly.

  ‘You’re a PI, aren’t you? Did you know these guys?’

  I don’t respond but something in my face must have g
iven me away because his eyes widen. ‘Oh.’

  ‘This whole thing is about more than just you and me, O’Shea.’

  He takes several rapid breaths. ‘It was just a fucking enhancement spell,’ he whispers.

  I pick up my plastic bag and give the flat one last sweep, trying hard not to snap at him that clearly it’s a hell of a lot more than just an enhancement spell.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I mutter.

  He grabs my arm on the way out. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve caused you a lot of problems and I still don’t even know your name.’

  ‘It’s Bo.’ I have to look away from the sympathy in his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bo,’ he says quietly.

  ‘Yeah,’ I sigh, ‘me too.’

  ***

  We walk quickly to the car. There’s still no sign of anyone following, although a few early risers drive past us. ‘Where are we going to go?’ he asks.

  ‘I’ve got a lock-up garage. It’s safe.’

  His nose wrinkles. ‘A garage?’

  ‘Do you have any better ideas?’ I snap.

  He roots around in his back pocket, pulls out a wallet and grins when he looks inside. He waves a shiny credit card in my face. ‘Yes, I do.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘I thought you said you weren’t an idiot. We can’t use a credit card, it’ll lead the police straight to us.’

  ‘Duh, it’s not my card.’ He points to the name on it: Robert Thomson.

  ‘Who is Robert Thomson?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘O’Shea?’ I say, warningly.

  ‘I found it.’

  ‘You found it.’

  ‘Right before I went to Wiltshore. It might not have been reported yet.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! Of course, it’ll have been reported. We can’t use it. I can’t believe you just nicked somebody’s bloody credit card! Is that even your wallet?’

  He looks hurt. ‘Yes. And I only took it from someone who won’t be needing it. The chances of it being reported are miniscule.’

  My suspicion deepens. ‘Explain.’

  He glances out the window. ‘Sometimes I help out a mate who works at a morgue.’

  ‘Jesus! You robbed a dead guy?’

  ‘Like I said, he won’t be needing it.’