Blood Harvest Terrance Dicks

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

"Making our own booze in the TARDIS must be a big help."
"It is. We don't have to run a fleet of booze trucks or pay armed guards to stop hijackings."
"Meanwhile I can't have a swim because the TARDIS swimming pool's full of bootleg beer."
"Swim in the beer, the customers won't complain. It'll give it added body."
Ace winced. "I'm glad you're making a success of your new career, Doctor. How long is all this going on?"
"Hard to say," said the Doctor evasively.
"Only breaking up bar-room brawls is a bit of a comedown for someone with my training. There's bound to be
a nice little war going on somewhere in the galaxy."
"There's a nice little war going on right here," said the Doctor grimly. "Don't worry, Ace, something's bound to
happen soon."
As if in answer to the Doctor's words the door swung open and a tall figure appeared. Ace's hand was already
inside her bag but the newcomer raised his hands shoulder high.
"Don't shoot lady, it's only me!"
"Dekker!" said Ace in mock disgust. "Who let you in here?"
"Happy's an old friend of mine."
"Well, if you want a drink, you're too late, we're closed. If you're after breakfast, there's a diner called Mom's
just down the street."
"I tried it, the food's terrible. Come on, you can manage a nightcap for an old friend. What do you say, Doc?"
"My pleasure," said the Doctor. "But you'll have to help yourself, Luigi's gone home."
"Helping myself is what I'm best at." He went behind the bar, poured himself a large bourbon and carried it
over to the alcove.
Ace looked critically at him over her coffee cup. A big, tough, ugly man, far too sure of himself. Not her type
at all. All the same, there was something curiously engaging about Dekker. Like a friendly gorilla.
Dekker raised his glass in salute and took a swig of his bourbon. The Doctor studied him for a moment.
"Well, Mr. Dekker, what's the word?"
Dekker blinked. "You double as a mind-reader, Doc?"
"I just thought it was time there was some reaction from Mr. Capone."
"There is. Snorky wants you to have lunch with him."
Ace raised her eyebrows. "Snorky?"
"It's what his close friends call him - but not to his face. Means spiffy, neat, smart . . . dapper! On account of
Al's always so well dressed."
"Is that so?" said Ace. "Well, you can just tell your friend Snorky -"
The Doctor held up his hand: " - that we'd be delighted. Come on Ace, lunch with Snorky is something not to
be missed."
"Suppose it's a trap?"
"You think I'd set you up?" said Dekker indignantly. "Capone just wants to meet you, that's all. If he wanted
to shoot you he'd shoot you, he wouldn't make an appointment to do it."
"Oh yeah?" said Ace sceptically. "Well, I'm coming along too, Dekker. And if there's any funny business,
you'll be the first to go!"
Dekker grinned. "Funny business with you, lady? Nothing could be further from my thoughts."
In the smoke-filled back room of a North Side speakeasy, a late-night meeting was going on. Those taking
past were all men of a similar type, thick- set, blue-jowled, expensively dressed. They wore diamond rings
and jewelled tiepins and smoked fat cigars. They carried guns under their arms and thick rolls of notes in
their hip-pockets.
Their names were Pete Gusenberg, Bugs Moran and Hymie Weiss. They were the chiefs of the old
O'Bannion mob. O'Bannion himself had been killed by order of Johnny Torrio, then Capone's boss. Now, with
Torrio back in Italy, Capone had taken over. If Capone was the king of Chicago, these were the robber barons.
No one of them dared stand against Capone alone. But together . . .
They were gathered round a big circular table, cards in front of them, money in the middle of the table, drinks
within easy reach. They were talking about a man called Doc.
"I say we take him out," screamed Bugs Moran. "Who does he think he is, anyway?" Nicknamed "Bugs"
because of his maniacal temper, Moran always favoured the simple and violent solution.
"That's what we gotta find out," said Pete Gusenberg. "If this Doc's just an independent muscling in, we can
deal with him. But if he's tied in with Al . . . well, maybe we should watch our step."
"If he's tied in with Al," said Weiss deliberately, "Al's using him as a front to move in on territory that oughtta
be ours."
"So he goes either way," said Gusenberg. "I'll see to it myself. The guy knocks off Morelli, smacks my boys
around . . . Nobody treats Pete Gusenberg like that!"
The telephone rang.
A tall thin man in a chair by the door got up to answer it. He listened for a moment then said, "Yeah, he's
here. It's for you, Mr. Gusenberg." Pete Gusenberg got up and went to the phone. He listened for a moment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Pokrewne