Matthew stumbled groggily into the back shop of New Amstel Books and found David sitting by a table sipping from a mug. He had spent the night in the spare room in David’s house which formed the rear of the shop building.
“Help yourself to some coffee Mattie,” said David with a smile.
After Matthew had sat down with his hands wrapped around a steaming mug David threw a copy of De Telegraaf down in front of him. The headlines told of two gangsters killed in a flat in the Jordaan.
“What’s this? Two thugs killed one another!” said Matthew as he shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s the way it reads–yeah, but you notice there’s no photo. I emailed a friend about it and he says the bodies were found one part inside the other as if they were forced together.”
“Oh no! You reckon it’s Grondin!
“Maybe. There’s something I have to tell you about the Underworld here in Amsterdam!”
“Sounds like I’m not going to like it,” said Matthew as he leaned back into his chair.
“The vampires control the drugs and the prostitution; in fact, the city is a Mecca for these people of the shade.”
“But I thought the drugs and pros were legal?”
“They are, well at least some drugs. The police have been forced into turning a blind eye on the supply of dope and the protection of the pro’s.”
Matthew took a long sip from his mug. “Nothing surprises me anymore. So, what are you trying to tell me about the bodies?”
“Well, the reason I said maybe it was Grondin was because it could have been a vampire feud.
These people have great power!”
Matthew grimaced. “So, one vampire forces itself inside the body of another and they both end up dead!”
The small light above the handle of the hotel room door changed from red to green as Thomson pushed his key card into the slot. He then depressed the handle and pushed the door open and was surprised to see the wall lights sending cones of light onto the bed.
“Mr Thomson,” said a soft female voice as a figure stood up from beside a coffee table.
“My name is Jinni. I work for Mr Van Hooft, and I’m sorry if I startled you.”
She was tall and thin. Her long black hair fell onto a black jacket which sat on top of dark brown cords.
“How did you get in?” Thomson asked, closing the door.
“I’m well connected in this city. Please, Mr Thomson, this is not a social call. Mr Van Hooft asked me to invite you to meet with him here at eleven tomorrow morning,” she said as she passed him a white business card.
“What is this about?” he asked while reading the card.
“Please, you will want to meet Mr Van Hooft, she said as she passed him and then left the room.
The next morning, after a brisk walk, Thomson smiled as he approached the large circular desk that sat in the centre of the foyer of the Brecht Clinic where a blond-haired woman sat at a computer.
“Can I help you, sir?” She asked.
“Yes, I have an appointment with Mr Van Hooft. I’m Mr Thomson.”
“Please take the elevator to floor six, he’s expecting you.”
He crossed the well-polished marble floor and pressed the call button next to the stainless-steel doors. Turning round he gazed across the foyer as the digital lift numbers descended. People in the same type of lab coats as the receptionist walked back and forward, some with folders, others with small cases.
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A soft ping announced the opening of the lift doors. A nurse pushed a gaunt looking man in a wheelchair past Thomson, who entered and pressed button six.
The doors opened onto a huge open plan office where a thick-set man with a well-trimmed brown beard sat at a desk in front of a large window. He rose as Thomson entered the room and said: “Mr Thomson I’m Peter Van Hooft.”
Thomson walked across the carpeted floor and stood in front of the desk as Van Hooft continued:
“please, Mr Thomson-sit.”
Thomson sat in one of two leather seats.
“I’ll come straight to the point Mr Thomson. What is it you want?”
“Well, Mr Van Hooft, what I want… in fact what I will do is take over your ‘other' business.”
“Oh, and how do you propose to do that?”
Thomson’s eyes became red, and Van Hooft, including seat, rose into the air and his head spun spraying the immediate area with saliva.
After a moment Thomson stood up and Van Hooft slumped back onto the floor. He grabbed his head and screamed as thumps and shouts erupted from behind a suddenly locked door to the rear of his desk. Thomson then put his face next to the quivering Dutchman and hissed: “Now Mr Van Hooft you will do as I say. First, tell those stupid bats behind that door you’re okay!”
Van Hooft pressed a button on a box which sat on his desk and said: “I’m all right, get back to what you were doing before I alerted you.”
“What’s your arrangement with the vampires?”
Van Hooft stared at Thomson. “I supply them with blood of all types. This is the only clinic of its kind in Europe.”
“What’s stopping them from just taking what they need?”
“I’m a respected Haematologist. I can have any blood delivered from anywhere in the world–no questions asked, and no biting! Anyway, they prefer to stay in the shadows.”
“Okay, I’ll be in touch. I will have need of you and your vampires,” said Thomson as he turned and walked toward the elevator.
“Oh, and one more thing: no attacks. I can destroy an army. And I’ll know who to look for if there’s one waiting somewhere for me,” he said as he entered the elevator and faced Van Hooft.
As Thomson left the building and walked toward Dam Square, a shadow peeled off the darkness of a doorway and merged with the crowded pavement behind him.
In New Amstel Books Aada was pricing books when the front door opened. The shop was empty as it was early on a Monday morning so she hummed as she worked. After a moment she looked up, and then dropped the book she was holding, for before her stood Thomson with eyes a deep shade of red. She made to pick up the phone, but her hand wasn’t working in fact her whole body wasn’t working.
Thomson strolled about the shop grinning before pulling a security camera round toward his face.
“Hello de Longford,” he said in a calm, teasing voice. “I know you’re there with that brat from Scotland. I bet you're wondering what I’m up to... yes?”
He pushed the camera round 360 degrees and then said: “I suppose the Key is well hidden. Well, you can stick it up your arse as far as I’m concerned!”
Aada watched him stroll out of the shop as she found she could move again. She ran out of the front door and looked along either direction of the street, but it was empty save for some window-shoppers.
20
Chapter Eight A white frost glinted in the early morning sun as it clung to the two-and-a-half metre high steel fence topped with curled razor wire. The clear blue sky which hovered over Niew Vosseveld Prison in southern Holland promised another dry, but cold day as Thomson turned off the engine of his metallic green BMW. He was waiting beside a field of stubble which stretched toward the perimeter fence. Flocks of geese flew overhead in V formations.
Suddenly, he gripped the black steering wheel and closed his crimson eyes. He felt five dark souls merge with his as he shouted: “bliss!”
The poisoned heroin he had the vampire helpers of Van Hooft administer to various supplies was working–delivering the souls of the worst prisoners to him. The only trouble was that he had to be in the vicinity to collect the demonic power, which meant driving to these wretched places.
Thomson started the engine and then accelerated past the front gate of the prison. He was on his way to Belgium and another high security prison. He was going to maximum security prisons in the countries through which he passed on his way back to the United Kingdom collecting bad souls released through the deadly drugs delivered by the vampires.
Days later in a room of the hospital wing of Holloway Prison murderer Susan Heyworth lay strapped to the bed in the darkness; the silence broken only by the bleep of the life-support monitor above her head.
“He’s here!” she shouted as the straps split and she rose into the air.
“Jesus!” shouted the night watch nurse as she watched Heyworth levitate upright through the corridor toward the doors.
The nurse shook herself from a daze and ran into her office to raise the alarm. Then she watched Heyworth smash through the locked doors and disappear into the gloom.
Thomson sat in his car outside the prison in the London borough of Islington. He was absorbing souls from the demise of prisoners when two metal doors flew open banging into the side of the building. Heyworth in her night dress came levitating through; her eyes blazing red.
Thomson watched as the murderess floated in front of his car.
“Take me!” She screamed as guards and police came running out of the open doors.
“Very well,” said Thomson watching the lifeless body of the woman fall to the ground and roll into the gutter.
He then gunned the car and shot away.
“I don’t know? Women breaking out of prison to be with me… must be my magnetic personality!” He said to himself laughing as he sped into central London.
He parked the car and walked out into the night. Then, sitting by the Thames, Thomson looked up into the cold, star-lit night. He gazed out into the universe; out, through the dimensions of time and space.
“Now I’m ready,” he growled, “now I know who I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to do!”
He lowered his vision to the Houses of Parliament dominated by the huge tower of Big Ben and said mockingly: “And they think they’ve got power!”
He then emitted a loud cackle as the seat rocked back and forth.
21