Jim Cogan - The Dirty City

She held out a small, rectangular device, smaller than a transistor radio.

“Is it a weapon? It looks a little, uh, underwhelming.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr Jerome,” she said with a slight hint of flirtatious innuendo. “Walter is something of a genius when it comes to microelectronics, it’s all his handy work, really.”

“But what does it actually do?”

Smitts didn’t need to be asked twice, “We managed to get some samples from the local police department of what we believed to be vampire blood and matter. We didn’t have much to work with, but we had enough to experiment on. We discovered that vampire blood reacts violently to sonic oscillations between a particular range of frequencies.”

“Sonic what?”

In the reflection of the rear view mirror I could see him roll his eyes in disdain at my ignorance. “Okay, and I’m seriously dumbing this down for you. There is a certain sound that literally makes their blood boil. right?”

“Okay, and this device reproduces that sound? That’s pretty neat.”

“Indeed. And it’s small enough to fit in your pocket.”

“You’ve invented a portable sonic vampire exploder?”

“Not exactly the name I’d choose for it, but essentially, yes. Impressed?”

“You know what, I honestly had you down as a bit of a dick, but you’re definitely going up in my estimation, you know that?”

“Thanks, Mr Jerome, I’m truly honoured.”

“Well done, boys, now we’re all buddies we have to level with each other. Mr Jerome, we’ve just saved you from certain death, the least you can do for us is tell us everything you know about the vampires – it’s pretty evident that you now know a lot more about them than you did the last time we met. You can start by telling us all about the blonde with the glowing green eyes and a penchant for clambering up and down buildings?”

So we drove and we talked. Del-Ray and Smitts knew part of what was going on, so I essentially filled in one or two gaps. I wouldn’t normally have been so open with anyone, but when people save your life it kind of changes your attitude a little.

Again, with hindsight I think I’d have possibly asked them a few more questions myself – most notably, exactly who was funding them in their research and investigations in vampirism? I should have asked, but I didn’t. A near death experience can really play havoc with your judgement.

The Santa Justina Institute for Advanced Studies was something of a double bluff. It was housed in an extremely ordinary looking office block, not unlike the one that housed my own office. Yet the reception area was something akin to a science fiction movie – dazzling in its clinical, bright white plastic decor. However, the lab that Del-Ray and Smitts were working from left a massive amount to be desired and destroyed illusion – evidently the reception was just for impressing the public.

The lab was sizable, about 100 square feet, but the equipment looked aged and worn, the lab tables were battered – the whole place looked tired. Del-Ray picked up on my reaction.

“Not as glamorous as you were expecting, eh?”

“I don’t know what I was expecting to be honest. The reception area prepped me for something a bit more, I dunno’ – modern? This reminds me of the chemistry lab at my old high school.”

“It’s the work that counts,” sneered Smitts, “not the splendour of the surroundings.”

“Indeed,” I glanced at my watch, I had somewhat lost track of time. It was just after 10pm, “Say, can I use your phone, I really ought to contact my PA, she’ll be worried.”

“It’s right over there,” indicated Del-Ray, donning a white lab coat.

I dialled Lydia’s home number. It rang a few times then her mother answered.

“Good evening, Mrs Stokes, it’s Johnny here. Can I speak with Lydia, please?”

“Hi Johnny, I’m actually slightly worried. She said she had to pop into the office, just to collect some papers, you know how she is? She wanted to get some work done from home.”

“Oh Christ! When did she go?”

“Well now, about 8pm. I was expecting her back within an hour-.”

“Shit!” And without regard for the fact that I’d probably deeply offended Lydia’s poor mother, I hung up the phone and then frantically dialled my office. It rang twice then a male voice I certainly didn’t recognise answered.

“Yeah?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Is that you, Jerome?”

“Listen, punk, you’re in my God damn office, talking on my telephone – I think that warrants some explanation, so I’ll ask you again – who the hell are you?”

“Okay, if you’re gonna’ be rude then I guess I’ll just cut to the chase. You don’t need to know who the hell I am, all you need to know is that I got that I’ve got that little bitch of yours right here, and unless you do as I say I’m going to rip her throat out, are we clear?”

“Now you listen to me, if you hurt Lydia so help me I’ll-.”

“You’ll do what, Jerome? You got lucky earlier, you know that? Well your luck has run out. We have someone here who is important to you, and her life depends on you ceasing to be a giant pain in the ass and playing ball. Now, you are going to haul your worthless butt down to the Old Docklands, and you are to bring your friends and their fancy vampire slaying gizmo with. Got it?”

“And if I do that, you’ll let Lydia go?”

“Screw you, Jerome, you’ll do it regardless or you’ll hear the bitch die right now – listen.”

I heard the muffled sound of an obscenity and then the sharp, percussive sound which I perceived to be a hand slapping across someone’s face. Then I heard a scream, followed by a muted, pitiful sob. I couldn’t be sure it was Lydia but I couldn’t take the chance – he had me by the balls.

“Okay, okay, please, stop. I’ll be there.”

The phone line went dead.

I stood for a moment. Smitts and Del-Ray had been following my side of the conversation and now they looked at me with enquiring eyes. I slowly put the telephone receiver back onto the hook, then reached inside my jacket and rested my hand on the handle of my gun. They weren’t going to like the proposal I was about to make to them.

To the casual observer it will have looked like Dr Del-Ray simply exited the front door of the institute, she walked a couple of steps in front, myself just trailing behind slightly. The keener observer will have noted that, although expertly concealed, the barrel of my gun was trained on the Doctor’s back.

When we reached her car I unlocked the passenger door then ushered her in, then I climbed into the driver side and quickly pulled away.

She said nothing during our journey. We were both apprehensive and the tension was palpable.

When we were a couple of miles away from the Old Docklands I deliberately slowed the car to a crawl. I checked my watch, it was 11.35pm. Timing was critical – if I arrived ahead of schedule it would be potentially disastrous.

We crossed the Old Portland Bridge at 11.50pm, I glanced down towards the banks of the river below, I couldn’t make out any of the people, sleeping rough down there, but I could see the familiar glows of improvised campfires. I couldn’t help thinking that what I was about to do was for their benefit as well – for their missing friends.

I glanced over at Del-Ray, “Okay, Doctor, it’s time to roll. He’d better not screw this up.”

She allowed the briefest of smiles to creep onto her face, just for a moment, then it was gone and she turned her head away and gazed out of the passenger window as I depressed the gas pedal and got us moving at a decent speed again. As the road stretched away in front of us, heading in a gentle incline, I could see the ominous looking steel gates of the Old Docklands getting ever closer.