Conquer (The John Conquer Series Book 1) Page 3

  “Lead the way, Maceo,” said Lazzeroni, and fell in step behind Conquer.

  Shoes resounding off the granite floor, he glanced at the door to Body Storage, leading them towards what he presumed was the staff office when a gaunt, tired-looking white guy in yellow tinted glasses and a hospital smock leaned out of the open door of the receipt office to the left, a mouthful of bagel.

  “Hey can I help you guys?” he said loudly above the chatter from the radio on a binder-cluttered wall shelf. Marty Glickman was in the midst of a paroxysm over the Jets’ quarterback delivering a fifty five yard touchdown victory in the last minute of the game.

  “Turn that off, please,” Lazzeroni said, showing his badge.

  The guy in the smock frowned and switched off the radio.

  “Hey, m’man,” Conquer said, holding up his laminated ID. “Look here, I got me a brother from the L.A. coroner’s office and a couple of New York’s very finest. Just here to give ‘em the grand tour.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the man said, squinting at his ID as Conquer whisked it back in his pocket.

  “Come on, now! Maceo. I’m on the night shift.”

  “No you ain’t,” said the other. He needed a breath mint, bad.

  Conquer grinned and glanced back at the two frowning cops, shaking his head as if to say this guy, before addressing him again.

  “What’re you, new? My name’s on the schedule, ain’t it?”

  “Why don’t you let me see the schedule?” Lazzeroni said, shrugging past Conquer.

  The guy in the smock looked suddenly nervous, and blocked Lazzeroni’s entrance.

  “Uh, it ain’t in here. It’s on the wall in the staff room across the hall.”

  Lazzeroni put his hands on his belt, spreading his coat wide, where the gun rested.

  “Suppose you let me take a look around?”

  “What for?”

  Lazzeroni smiled broadly.

  “Like the man said, I want the grand tour.”

  The guy got squirrely. His tongue flicked back and forth behind his teeth. He shrugged and stepped aside.

  Lazzeroni went into the receipt office.

  Across the hall, Conquer heard a creak. The staff door swung open and a pot-bellied, unshaven white dude with a bad comb over and an ugly, high-waisted red plaid suit rushed into the hall, bloodshot eyes bugging out of his pale face. He threw his arms around Meadows, jerking him backwards off his feet and clamped his grimacing, sharp-toothed mouth over the cop’s long neck before anyone could so much as piss their pants.

  Immediately a gush of red spurted through the corner of the attacker’s mouth and cascaded across Thomas as he flung up his arm.

  “Holy hell!” Lazzeroni exclaimed whirling and drawing his sidearm. “Police, motherfucker! Let him go!”

  But the man in the ugly suit only stooped, sucking at Meadows’ neck as the cop sagged to his knees, shoes scuffling on the blood-splashed floor, eyes rolling up in his head, until finally the vampire let go and the weight of the man tore his own neck away. Meadows dropped to the floor.

  Lazzeroni unloaded his wheel, punching a tight spread of six in the center of the man’s chest. Conquer clapped his hands over his ringing ears. The man staggered back, but didn’t go down. He only glanced at the holes in him, trickling blood, and glared up at Lazzeroni, red lips curling back from those sharp fangs in annoyance, evidently pissed he was now losing the blood he’d just consumed and eager to replenish himself.

  The receiving clerk grabbed a hold of Lazzeroni’s gun arm, wrestling with him as the vampire advanced.

  Conquer laid his fist upside the dude’s ear. His head rebounded off the wall shelf, and he went crashing down under the tumbling radio and all the binders.

  Thomas’ crossbow twanged like the fat rubber band on a zip gun. The bolt slammed into the man in the bad suit’s side up to the feathers, and kicked him back as six .38’s had not, laying him out.

  “Jesus!” Lazzeroni gasped.

  “Conquer!” Thomas called, struggling to reload the crossbow as the man in the bad suit hissed like an angry cat and scrambled to his feet.

  Conquer ripped one of the broken broomsticks out of his coat and jammed it in the middle of the fat yellow tie, pinning it to the vampire’s chest. His dying screams echoed down the cavernous hall as he collapsed and scooted around the floor in a Curly Howard fit before kicking himself out feebly and falling still.

  “What the fuck is goin’ on here?” Lazzeroni said in a trembling voice as he let his empty cartridges spill musically on the floor and pushed a speedloader into his pistol cylinder.

  Conquer ignored the rattled cop. He went over and put a shoe to the vampire’s cheek, jostled his head to make sure he wasn’t going to get back up.

  “Peace! Don’t touch him!” Lazzeroni warned.

  “It ain’t Peace,” said Conquer, straightening. “It’s John Conquer. You can put that away, Detective. It won’t do any good. Here. You wops are all Catholics ain’t you?”

  He tossed him the crucifix from his pocket.

  Lazzeroni caught it, bemused.

  “What the fuck is happening?” Lazzeroni shouted now.

  “Cool it, man!” Thomas barked, looking across the hall into the staff area. “There’s probably more of them.”

  “More what?” Lazzeroni whispered.

  “We got Draculas, baby,” Conquer said, pulling another of the sharpened broomsticks out from under his coat. “Can you dig it?”

  “I gotta call….for backup,” Lazzeroni said, shaking his head.

  “Hell no! Man, the more pigs you call down here the more bodies you’re gonna have. Now can you get down with this or not?”

  Lazzeroni blinked for a few seconds, then slowly nodded.

  “Yeah. Yeah. I can get down with this.”

  Conquer took out another sharpened stake and held it out to him.

  “Then get down with this.”

  Lazzeroni holstered his piece and took the stake.

  Meadows began to stir.

  “We better get him upstairs,” Lazzeroni said. “He might make it.”

  Conquer shared a look with Thomas.

  “There’s no helping him now, Sergeant,” Thomas said. “Do you understand?”

  Lazzeroni looked down at Meadows, open-mouthed.

  “Do it, man,” said Conquer. “Or I will.”

  Lazzeroni stooped over the cop and rolled him on his back.

  “Just like on Chiller, baby,” Conquer urged.

  Lazzeroni lifted the stake.

  Meadows’ eyes fluttered and popped open; the pupils dilated, animalistic. His lips drew back into a ravenous snarl, canines tapered like arctic stalactites.

  “Sorry, kid,” Lazzeroni muttered, and rammed the makeshift stake through his chest.

  Meadows’ head eased back to the floor, accompanied by a diminishing hiss, like air escaping a flat. His feral eyes went flat as doll glass.

  Lazzeroni looked up at Conquer, lips trembling.

  Conquer lit him a cigarette and held it out.

  “Just like on Chiller,” Lazzeroni said.

  The cop dragged on the cigarette until his shaking subsided. He looked at the unconscious dude in the smock at his feet.

  “What about this one?”

  “Cuff him,” Conquer directed.

  “I mean, should we stake him too?”

  “He’s not a vampire,” Thomas said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Check what’s on his bagel,” said Conquer, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

  Lazzeroni lifted the top half of the sliced bagel and saw half of a big gutter cockroach gummed up in the cream cheese where the guy had taken a bite. He gagged.

  “Sometimes these things recruit regular humans to keep watch during the day.”

  “What’s the appeal?” Lazzeroni wondered.

  “Vampire blood,” said Conquer. “It’s like heroin and cocaine in a shot glass of tequila, except it leaves you feeling great all da
y. Really addictive.”

  “So, he’s like a blood junkie?”

  “A little dab’ll do ya,” Conquer said. “Check the mini-fridge under the desk.”

  “Ugh,” said the cop. “Do I haveta?”

  Lazzeroni stepped over the unconscious man and pulled open the door of the little beer fridge under the office desk. There was a yellow smiley face mug half full of blood inside.

  Lazzeroni grimaced and shut it, unhooked his bracelets and cuffed the man to the desk.

  “Somehow, it’s better than the roach,” he said. “Why didn’t he turn to dust or something?” He said, turning his attention to the thing that had attacked Meadows. “Does that only happen in sunlight?”

  “Sunlight burns ‘em up, but they only turn to dust if they’ve been infected for a while,” Thomas explained. “Vampirism halts the progressive decay of all the body systems, even suspends the development of parasites present in the corpse. Upon death it all catches up with ‘em. I’ve seen maggots hatch and wriggle out of ‘em when they go. If I had to guess, I’d say this one’s only a couple nights old.”

  “Hey,” said Conquer, gesturing to the dead vampire. “That sucker didn’t look like hospital personnel did he?”

  “No,” said Thomas.

  “Hey Laser Weenie,” said Conquer, as the detective, sweating profusely, joined them. “That look like the kinda dude that’d pay to get down with a stiff?”

  “Huh?” Lazzeroni said.

  “You’re Vice, man. Does he look the type?”

  Lazzeroni shrugged, blowing smoke.

  “They’re surprisingly hard to pick out.”

  “I think the bloodsucker in charge probably let out that you could get busy with corpses to attract fresh meat,” Conquer said.

  “Bloodsucker in charge?” Lazzeroni prompted.

  “There’s always a Boss Tick,” Conquer said.

  “Morgue’s the perfect spot,” Thomas agreed. “Basement, no sun, quiet.”

  “Why not just creep upstairs and suck on the patients in the hospital?” Lazzeroni said.

  “Too much attention too soon?” Conquer said to Thomas.

  Thomas shrugged.

  “Maybe that’s the plan for later,” he agreed.

  “Well let’s drop an Amen on that shit,” Conquer said.

  “Amen,” Thomas said.

  “A-fuckin’ men,” said Lazzeroni, grinding out his butt.

  They didn’t find anybody else lurking in the staff area, though they checked every corner, locker, and cot. That left the Body Storage cooler, which sat between them and the elevator.

  When they regained the corridor, the dude in the receipt office was sitting there watching them, blood leaking from his ear and a large bruise rising on the side of his face where Conquer had bounced it off the wall.

  “OK Renfield,” said Conquer. “Tell us about the Big Tick.”

  “He’s more powerful than you can imagine,” the man answered. “He’s building an army.”

  “Sure,” said Thomas. “And you’re the bug-eatin’ buck ass private. How long’s he been recruiting?”

  “Long enough,” the ghoul answered. But Maceo had been so brand new he hadn’t even known what he was, so Conquer knew that was bullshit.

  “What’s he look like?” Conquer asked, getting bored with the guy.

  “You’ll know him when he kills you, pig,” the man muttered.

  “Man, forget this chump,” Conquer said, waving him off.

  They walked away.

  “Hey!” he called after them. “Don’t leave me here!”

  “Chew your way out,” Lazzeroni suggested.

  The morgue wasn’t as quiet as it was supposed to be. Little sounds came to them; maybe the slap of bare feet, or the click of a door. The walk down to Body Storage was like a dead man’s last mile. Conquer could feel the blood churning like a washing machine on spin in his ears.

  “Hey,” Lazzeroni whispered, as they went. “This really work?” he said, holding up the cross.

  “If they’re Christian,” Conquer said. Faith was like magical knowledge in that way, good for them, bad for vampires. He had a broken broomstick in each hand in case they were atheists.

  Thomas had donned a string of garlic like an Italian lei, and he had his crossbow, another bolt ready in his teeth.

  They flanked the door to Body Storage.

  Lazzeroni kicked it in and they rushed in like gangbusters.

  The cooler was empty. There were nine refrigerated cabinets in all against the wall of the storage area, arranged three by three. The stainless steel slabs were bare. No shadows for anything to hide in beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.

  “You smell that?” Lazzeroni said, covering his face. “Like the coolers are off.”

  There was a faint bad smell in the air, like off-meat.

  Metal pinged off metal behind a door in the back marked Lab.

  Conquer signaled and they moved toward it. He tried the door. It was locked.

  “Give me a hand,” said Conquer, and Thomas pulled out the Hand of Glory and lit it.

  “What…?” Lazzeroni began, but then shook his head. Evidently vampires were enough for him to deal with right this minute.

  The door clicked and swung open. Something in the dark laboratory scrambled and sent an empty metal viscera bucket rolling across the floor on its wheels.

  Thomas flicked on the light, and it glinted off an assortment of microscopes, fixtures, and tools, a couple trolleys, and a stainless steel examining table.

  “Police!” Lazzeroni shouted.

  A dark skinned man in a lab coat had pushed himself into a corner behind a washing station. He raised his shaky hands over his face in fright.

  “Oh Jesus,” he whimpered. “Oh Jesus. Please.”

  Conquer moved closer and looked at his ID tag.

  “Doctor Weems,” he read aloud. He pushed aside the doctor’s head, checking his neck for bites. He looked back at Lazzeroni and gestured for him to come over.

  Lazzeroni walked up carefully, holding out the cross.

  Weems blinked up at it, but didn’t recoil, even when Lazzeroni pressed it to his forehead.

  “What the fuck is this?” Weems mumbled.

  “Easy,” said Thomas, lowering his crossbow. “Watch the door.”

  Lazzeroni nodded and went back to cover the entrance.

  “What’s going on around here, Dr. Weems?” Conquer asked Weems.

  “Two days ago there was a chemical fire at a funeral home on 125th,” said Weems. “The firefighters found a casket in the basement with a body inside. They brought it in here. We thought maybe somebody had crawled in to escape the smoke, suffocated. Night before last. I….don’t know. It….it busted out of the cooler. Bit the attendant. I was so scared I….I locked myself in here.”

  “We’ll get you out of here, Doctor,” said Thomas.

  “Careful. They’re all….,” Weems moaned, gesturing with one drooping finger.

  All of the heavy steel doors out in the Body Storage room banged open in unison, the drawers rattled out, and a variety of pallid figures sprang from their dark containers, landing cat-like on the floor. There was a fat man in a raincoat, a Hasid in his vest and tzitzit fringes, one with clean cut hair and the telltale bow tie of a Black Muslim, askew, more white-clad morgue staff, an ambulance driver, a nurse. As diverse a bunch of characters as you’d find on a Times Square bus stop; they all had fangs in common.

  Conquer ran to the doorway and jabbed the fastest one, the nurse, with one of his stakes, but she swatted his arm down and he wound up getting her in the stomach. She knocked the broken broomstick into a corner, where it clattered harmlessly. Groping hands pulled the other stake from his fist.

  Lazzeroni held up the cross and made like Peter Cushing, backing into the lab. A few of them faltered and averted their eyes, but the Hasid and the Muslim advanced together.

  Conquer pulled out a fistful of religious objects and scattered them across the floor. T
he Hasid and the Muslim stopped, holding their hands over their bulging eyes, crying out. He flipped the top off the powdered garlic tin and flung a cloud of the stuff in their faces. They recoiled, coughing and retching. Lazzeroni dropped the cross in one of the wheeled viscera buckets and kicked it spinning out the door. Once Conquer was in, the detective pulled it shut and locked it.

  Thomas set his crossbow and Hand of Glory on the autopsy table and came over to help brace the door.

  “That’s not gonna keep them forever,” Thomas said. “All they gotta do is close their eyes.”

  “What the fuck, I tried!” Lazzeroni half-laughed.

  Almost immediately the door began to shudder, a multitude of fists hammering outside.

  Conquer turned back to the doctor huddled in the corner of the room. He was getting slowly to his feet.

  “Hey man, is there another way out or….?”

  The question trailed off.

  Conquer left the door, dove at a parked morgue trolley, and went coasting past Weems on his stomach. He reached out as he passed the autopsy table, snatched up Thomas’ crossbow, aimed, and launched one into Weems’ back as the trolley bumped against the sink.

  Weems snarled and arched backwards, reaching feebly between his shoulder blades for the bolt, long canines bared.

  He fell to his knees, hissing. Thomas looked back from the door, eyes wide.

  He left Lazzeroni, picked a broad-bladed saw off the table. Straddling the twitching Weems, he went to work on his neck.

  When it was over, the cat-like cries and the pounding on the other side of the door stopped.

  “Jesus Christ,” Lazzeroni said, finally looking down at Weems, as Thomas kicked his smoldering head into a corner. It burst apart like a rotten pumpkin, spilling maggots and crumbling bits of brown bone.

  “You can ease off that door, Sergeant,” Thomas said. “Once the Big Tick goes down, the fresh ones go with him. Lucky we caught them so early.”

  Conquer laid his head back on the trolley. It wasn’t built for comfort, obviously. He hoped he wouldn’t have the opportunity to ride one again anytime in the near future. He took out his cigarettes and lit one up.