Blood Crimes: Book One (5 page)

      “I was in a good mood before she started her shit,”
M
etcalf complained peevishly.

      “She was out of line,”
M
aritza agreed under her breath.

      The bitch was humoring him. He stood silently tracing the outline of his scar before deciding to let it slide. The morning had been eventful enough.

      “The next time I see you I want you to be a brunette again,” he told her. “You tell her she better damn well be a blonde. And I want to see makeup on both of you. For both your sakes I’d better start seeing some effort.”

      She nodded, stone-faced.

      “And for Chrissakes, just give her some blood,” he said, not bothering to hide his disgust. He left her and headed to the research lab that was located past the housing quarters. A corridor had been built that ran past the kitchen to the lab so he didn’t have to cut through the housing quarters, which was just as well. He wasn’t up to any more bullshit.

      He stopped outside the lab, collected himself, and when he felt like he could breathe normally again, entered. The scientists that he had cherry picked over the past two years were all at work, either bent over research equipment or studying simulation results on their computer screens. These included several of the leading AIDS researchers in the country, along with top immunologists and experts in bioengineering and computer modeling.
M
etcalf had bought them all of the equipment they’d asked for. All of it state of the art, all of it damn expensive. After two years of them working sixteen-hour days they were still no closer to understanding the vampire virus than when they started—which was a source of constant irritation to
M
etcalf. He damn well wanted results, and if not an outright cure for the virus at least a way to mutate it so that an infected person could eat normal food and not be affected so severely by sunlight. Was that so fucking much to ask for?

      Dr. George Chabot led the team. In his previous life he had been a Nobel Prize-winning immunologist. Before becoming infected he was a good-natured roly-poly man in his early fifties who wore thick soda bottle-type glasses and had long sideburns that blended into an old-fashioned style of whiskers—almost as if he were a playing a doctor in a 1950’s Three Stooges short. Like all other vampires he had since lost his body fat. He was now a stick figure compared to what he had been. Also, consistent with the virus his facial hair had fallen out and his skin was now smooth, although in his case his complexion had a waxy unnatural quality to it. The infection did nothing to improve his eyesight and he still wore the same soda bottle glasses as before. With his changed appearance he gave the impression of a turtle that had been removed from its shell.

      
M
etcalf walked behind Dr. Chabot, who continued to sit hunched over a computer screen, trying hard to pretend he didn’t notice his visitor. Tremors shook through Chabot’s body, and after a minute of this he gave an act of looking startled.

      “Oh, it’s you,” Chabot said.

      
M
etcalf didn’t bother responding. His eyes narrowed as he squinted at the scientific data Chabot had been studying.

      “I thought I heard a commotion earlier?” Chabot asked.

      Again,
M
etcalf didn’t bother to answer his lead scientist. Chabot and the other scientists, as well as the rest of his staff, probably already knew about his incident with Juliet. They were like old women the way they spread gossip. Chabot in particular had to be nervous. For months he’d been dropping hints how he’d like to spend a few hours on the outside so he could visit his wife and children.

      “Any progress yet?”
M
etcalf asked dryly.

      “It’s only been three days since you asked me that last.”

      “I’m asking again.”

      Chabot shrugged. “This virus…it’s unlike anything ever seen before. It defies scientific explanation.”

      “That’s not good enough.”

      Chabot shrugged again, his neck disappearing. “We’re working as diligently as we can.”

      “Again, not good enough.”

      “What can I tell you. This virus…the effect it has on the skeletal structure and muscle tissue…its regenerative properties…this is a whole new area for us. At the moment we’re only children groping stupidly in the dark.”

      “I want results.”

      “We all do, sir. We all do.”

      
M
etcalf stopped for a moment to run his thumb along the full length of his scar.

      “
M
aybe I’ve been working you too hard,” he said. “
M
aybe all of you need a break. Some rest and relaxation.”

      “That would be helpful,” Dr. Chabot conceded cautiously.

      “It would give all of you a chance to clear your heads.”

      “Sometimes that is what is most important in solving this type of problem,” Dr. Chabot agreed, nodding. “Yes, a chance to take a step back, to catch one’s breath.
M
any times that leads to fresh, innovative thinking.”

      “In your case why don’t we arrange a visit with your family.”

      Dr. Chabot licked his lips, his head involuntarily nodding up and down as if he were a bobble-head doll.

      “Then it’s settled,”
M
etcalf said. “I’ll bring them here for you. Their accommodations will be up front. There should be several openings in the cattle pens soon.”

      Dr. Chabot’s mouth dropped.

      “Please no…”

      “Isn’t this what you’ve been asking for?”

      “Please not that. Please, no…”

      “I thought this is what you’ve been sniveling about for the last six months.”

      “Please, I beg of you. Not that. Not my family.”

      “But you keep asking for it…”

      “Not another word from me. I promise.”

      A shadow fell over
M
etcalf’s eyes leaving them deader than they were.

      “I’ve given you and your team everything you’ve asked for.”

      “You have,” Dr. Chabot agreed.

      “Computers, centrifuges, fluorescent microscopes—”

      “True, true.”

      “Incubators, cell harvesters… I can’t even pronounce the names of half the shit you’ve had me buy. But everything you’ve asked for I bought.”

      “That is all true. Although…”

      “What?”

      “I could use a confocal microscope. And I’d like to upgrade our flow cytometer.”

      
M
etcalf lowered his head into his hand so he could rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He shook his head. “How much is this going to cost?” he asked in a soft whisper.

      “What?”

      “How much!”

      “Oh. Not much. No more than two hundred thousand dollars.”

      “Two hundred thousand…”

      “If we buy it used.”

      
M
etcalf stood rigid for a long moment before removing his hand from his face. His eyes pale blue ice as he looked at his lead scientist.

      “Alright,” he said. “Fine. Write me down the model numbers, I’ll order it. But I need results.”

      “You will get them. Eventually we will crack this.”

      “You’re not listening to me. I need results. Now.”

      “We’re doing everything we can.”

      
M
etcalf waved Dr. Chabot closer with his index finger. When the immunologist got off his chair,
M
etcalf took hold of the doctor by his skull and pulled him towards him so he could talk with his mouth inches from the doctor’s ear.

      “You need to listen carefully to what I’m saying. When I tell you I want results now that is exactly what I mean. In one month I want to be able to enjoy a steak dinner.”

      “B-But it’s not that simple. We can’t solve these digestive issues until we better understand the virus. It’s all tied together, you see. The virus—somehow it feeds on the digested blood. No other virus acts this way. And just as it does that, it similarly prohibits the generation of any digestive enzymes.
M
ore than just that it actively attacks and destroys any artificial enzymes that may be entered into the digestive system. It is as if it doesn’t want any competition for the digested blood. It’s quite amazing, really. We will solve this, but only after we successfully model and understand this virus better. Patience is of utmost importance.”

      
M
etcalf let go of the doctor, who fell back into his chair and nearly toppled over before righting himself. Rubbing his eyes and then staring bug-eyed at Dr. Chabot,
M
etcalf asked him what else he needed.

      “Nothing else right now, no.”

      “How about more test subjects?”

      “Not now, no.” Dr. Chabot rubbed a hand across his lips, his expression turning queasy. “When we do I’ll let you know.”

      
M
etcalf continued to stare bug-eyed at his lead scientist. “I’m losing confidence in you and your team,” he said finally.

      Dr. Chabot shrugged, showing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, what more can I say?”

      “You’d better say something because if I don’t have confidence in you and your team, then I might as well start over and build a new one from scratch.”

      “What do you want me to say?” Dr. Chabot asked, an urgency creeping into his voice. The other scientists in the room were looking over at them and paying attention to their conversation.

      “All I know is you need to say something to help rebuild my confidence.
M
aybe there’s someone out there who could make a difference?”

      Dr. Chabot squeezed his eyes shut. A pained expression screwed up his turtle-like face. His complexion changed from waxy to an ashen gray.

      “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said.

      “How about Dr. Ravi Panjubar,” one of the other scientists volunteered.

      
M
etcalf stared hard at his lead scientist. A vein had started to beat along his right eye.

      “Well?” he asked.

      Dr. Chabot nodded, his face now a mask of pure agony.

      “Dr. Ravi Panjubar could be of help,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “He is doing exciting work in the use of nanotechnology to alter the DNA structure in mice. Yes, he could be of help to the team.”

      “Significant help?”

      Dr. Chabot nodded.

      “Where is he?”

      “Stanford.”

      “No one closer?
M
aybe someone at USC or UCLA doing similar work?”

      Dr. Chabot looked away. “Just him.”

      
M
etcalf clapped the scientist on the shoulder and nearly knocked him out of his chair.

      “Alright then,”
M
etcalf said with a cheerful smile. “If it’s just him then it’s him you’re going to get. And for Chrissakes quit fretting. Think of it this way, you’re giving him the opportunity of a lifetime. Isn’t that what you scientists are all about? Challenges? None bigger than this one. Someday he’ll be thanking you.”

      Dr. Chabot nodded dismally and turned back to his computer screen. 
 

Chapter 3
 
 

      Don Hayes was glad he was packing some serious firepower. He’d never been to Kansas City before and didn’t know what to expect, but the neighborhood he ended up in was as bad as any back home in Brooklyn. Half the store fronts were boarded up, and the ones still in operation were either bars, tattoo parlors or pawnshops. Scattered along the sidewalks were an equal mix of the homeless, derelicts, drug addicts and street toughs. One of the derelicts he drove past was too busy shooing away imaginary flies to bother looking at him, but the other people he passed made sure to give him a long predatory-type stare—especially the street toughs as they sized him up and tried to decide whether he was worth the risk to carjack. Fortunately, so far none of them decided he was. Also, fortunately, as a licensed PI from the state of New York, he had a permit to carry a concealed weapon, and weighing down the inside of his sports jacket was a Smith & Wesson 9mm pistol. He patted the bulge lining his jacket and breathed a little easier. He also had under his seat a police blackjack from his days on the force—an eleven inch piece of weighted spring steel covered in leather. If anyone tried reaching into his car he was prepared, but still, he didn’t want trouble. Around this neighborhood that was all he could smell.

      At the next street corner he slowed down enough to read the street sign, then pulled over and parked next to a vacant store front. After getting out of the car, he gave a quick look around. A couple of street toughs were eyeing him from a few storefronts down but stayed where they were. Either they sensed he was armed or simply decided to wait for easier prey.