Doctor Who: Combat Rock (4 page)

‘Pan, he just a boy.’ This was from the girl clinging to the older man. Jamie glared at her indignantly.

‘I’m no boy, lass!’ he boomed with as much machismo as he could manage.

The man called Pan scratched his chin with a mocking smirk on his face. ‘You don’t want me to kill him?’ he asked the girl, never taking his eyes off Jamie.

The girl caressed his arm soothingly. ‘He only trying protect me, I think.’

‘All the more reason to strip him down to the bone, cheeky young cock.’

‘I’m no’ scared o’ you, ye bully!’ Jamie retorted, clenching his fists.

‘Please no fight. Jamie, come dance with me.’ He turned and Wina was beside him, mirroring Pan’s girlfriend by putting her hand on the young Scot’s arm. Jamie looked at her uncertainly.

‘Hey, whore!’ Pan growled at Wina. ‘You want to try out a real man and not just a kid in a dress?’

Jamie would have swung his fist, but Wina threw herself between the two. Pan was laughing again, and the laugh followed Jamie as he allowed himself to be dragged reluctantly to the far side of the nightclub.

‘I should have whacked the sassenach!’ he grumbled furiously. ‘He had no right to call you that.’ His anger abated slightly when Wina took his hand in hers. ‘Please no trouble with this man. Not good man. Always fighting, fighting.

Always with bad women.’

‘Aye, well, he’d just better watch himself,’ Jamie said,flexing his shoulders defensively and glancing back across the club as Wina led him to a table. He sat down with his new-found companion opposite. Just looking at her made him regain his good mood. She was a rare beauty and no mistake. He wondered again what Victoria would make of her, and if the two would get on. There was something ageless and mysteriously exotic about the dark-skinned girl, although she couldn’t be that much older than Jamie himself. Maybe in her early twenties. So natural and unselfconscious as opposed to the propriety and mannered behaviour of poor old Victoria.

Not that he held it against his travelling companion of course.

He loved her like a sister. She couldn’t help her strait-laced Victorian upbringing, and she’d certainly been through so much personal hardship and tragedy that he’d never in a million years begrudge her her slightly prim ways. But Wina was such a refreshing change...

Pan flung his companion’s arm away as if she was diseased and furiously strode over to the bar. He should have torn that little sprat apart. And then dragged the boy’s whore off to his own bed. Now he looked stupid, as if he’d let the younger man get one over on him. His girl followed him to the bar. He rounded on her.

‘What d’you
want
?’ he bellowed. ‘Always following me like a dog. Go find yourself someone else to worry, you hooker.’

The girl’s dark eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Santi no working girl!’ she spat. ‘Why you say like that?’

‘Get away from me before I do something you’ll regret.’

‘Big man! Always the big man! Santi knows you not so bad really. You love Santi.’ Her face was hard with her own anger now. She was only small, but a wildness flared in her features that made Pan hesitate from delivering the blow he was about to dole out.

‘Love? You stupid whore... listen to yourself! I’ve only known you a week. I love what you do in my bed and nothing more, and I can easily find plenty of that elsewhere.’ He spun away from her, and lo and behold, further along the bar to his right a cute Indoni girl with a short, stylish haircut was giving him the eye. He grinned back and raised his drink. Santi watched helplessly as he marched up to join the girl, fighting back her tears of shame and fury.

Jamie saw it all. He was trying not to look over at the older man, but Santi’s theatrical actions were hard to miss. Wina was watching too, and a slight smile played across her lips when she saw Pan approach the new girl.

‘Bad man,’ she said to Jamie pointedly.

‘Aye, an’ she’s better off without him, I’d say.’

Wina looked a little put out. ‘Why you care? You like this girl?’

‘Which girl?’ Jamie scratched his head in puzzlement, feeling as though he was missing something somewhere. ‘Och, no. I just don’t like bullies that’s all.’ She frowned at the word and Jamie laughed. He decided to buy them both another drink rather than get involved in a laborious explanation of the expression. As he got up he could see the rejected Indoni girl make her way desolately over to a seat at the far corner of the long bar from where she watched her former companion flirting with his new consort.

‘You Mafiaaaa...’

Pan lit his cigarette and looked at the girl. She wasn’t as pretty or as sleek as Santi, but what the hell. She would keep his bed warm tonight, and maybe without so much constant jabbering as his last woman. She had big eyes and big lips and a round face with a slightly flat nose. Cute, sexy, but no real prize. Not like that other one... the one with the boy. He dragged on his cigarette angrily and realized the girl he was with – what had she said her bloody name was? Oh yeah...

Kety, not that it made any difference to him, he would have forgotten her by tomorrow – was saying something to him.

‘You Mafiaaa...’

‘What?’

‘Mafia number one,’ she hissed, gazing up at him with something like awe.

‘Yeah, whatever. Why d’ya think I’m Mafia?’

‘My friend say you Mafiaaa. Maybe bad man.’

He grinned. ‘And you like bad men?’

‘Bad men pay well’ Her turn to grin.

He caressed her bottom. ‘Depends.’

She cocked her head on one side, and Pan could see Santi sitting dejectedly at the bar gazing at him. He chuckled and drew sensuously on his cigarette, just for her benefit.

‘I not understand.’ Kety helped herself to a cigarette from Pan’s pack. He considered cuffing her for her forwardness, then relaxed and grinned again. And hell, here he was actually
lighting
her cigarette. Perhaps he was more of a gentleman than he’d ever figured. Or perhaps he just liked whores.

Bless ’em.

‘Depends how much and what I get for it.’ He smirked at Santi and put his arm around the prostitute.

‘You Mafiaaa...’ she repeated, scrunching up her nose in an expression half cute, half ugly.

‘Yeah,’ he said and dragged her towards the door, feeling Santi’s gaze on him all the way across the club. ‘I’m a bad man all right.

Jayapul. The town that when it does sleep, always has bad dreams. Shanty town blues, and curfew misery. The Indoni army patrolled the filthy walkways and squares looking for sedition, or anything they didn’t like the look of. Power rifles slung on their backs, boots clacking demonstratively. Anyone with sense got out of their way.

The streets were dark, the stars buried. A child cried somewhere in the stacked hutches the local Papul used for houses. One of the soldiers flipped his gun down off his shoulder, swung it towards the origin of the sound, playfully wondering what might ensue if he let loose a pulse into the grubby iron shed where he knew a family was cowering at that very moment. He smirked and did a little trot forwards, swinging the weapon clownishly. His friends watched him impassively, bored of the nightly routine. He’d kill something, that was for sure.

Tonight it was a Hortog. Squealing red livestock belonging to some Papul farmer who’d probably brought it to the troubled island’s capital in the hope of trading it. The soldier saw it leashed up outside a shack that was tipping over into the river behind. He snorted with glee, sensing the animal’s fear. The creature was half the height of the soldier, covered with red fur. One long tusk reared up from its prominent snout. Its hooves clicked nervously as it strained against its leash, foretelling its own doom.

The owner emerged from the dark of the falling-down shack. A native Papul, wearing only filthy shorts imported from Batu. He was terrified, but knew he must make some effort to save his beast – and the potential source of food for his family back in the jungle for at least two, three weeks.

He said something in the Papul language, and placed his hands together in a universal gesture. The soldier turned to his companions as if silently conferring with them what he should do. They simply stood there looking bored. The soldier levelled his pulse rifle at the Hortog and sent a searing, lightning-coloured bolt between its eyes. It hit the dirt, kicking.

The Papul looked up at the soldier, face inscrutable.

Slowly he unclasped his hands. The soldier nodded at him slowly, as if moving his head to some silent music. Then he slung his weapon over his shoulder and ambled off, followed by the rest of the squad.

Dawn. The beasts that welcomed the coming of the sun, did so now, and did so noisily.

So noisily, they woke up Pan.

His eyes flicked open. For a moment he thought he was back in the tattoo parlour. Now why in Whore’s Hell would he be thinking about that? There were no garishly coloured artist examples on the walls. No sound of laser needles. Only drab hotel-room walls and the animals yodelling at the breaking of day.

He felt warm, naked skin next to his own, and turned around. There was a whore sleeping next to him, snoring slightly Then what had happened to Santi? He trawled through his drunken memories and the result tipped his mouth into a grin.

Oh yeah.

He fumbled at the side of the bed for his cigarettes, lit one and piled the pillow up behind his head while he smoked it.

Only just dawn, and it was already stifling in the small room, which stank of sweat and sex. The puny fan turned desultorily on the ceiling. The whore – what was her name? (did it matter?) – stretched out a sleepy foot to rub his leg. He moved his leg away, irritated. Wasn’t it time she took off? He always hated the morning after. He tried to remember the lines of an old song he’d always loved. ‘Stay with me, stay with me, tonight you better stay with me. Just don’t be here in the mornin’ when I wake up. Or something like that.

His head ached. He was hot. He was bothered. The whore smelt slightly, and she wasn’t as sexy as Santi. Still, she’d amused him last night. When he’d got her in bed and demanded how much she wanted, she’d blinked up at him with those big eyes of hers and told him, ‘You Mafiaaa... I like your face. I do for free.’

Yeah, that had been amusing. Last night, anyway.

She was stretching. Blinking sleepily at him, rolling over to face him. He could smell drink on her breath and cigarette smoke. Santi didn’t drink or smoke. But that didn’t make her much of a better prospect.

Why was he always plagued with whores?

She stretched out a hand to touch his. He shook it off, as it was the one holding the cigarette. He inhaled deeply. Just don’t speak, bitch.

‘You Mafiaaa...’ she croaked, smiling in what she obviously thought was a seductive manner.

Pan turned to her. Looked her in the eyes for a moment.

‘You said that once too often,’ he said, and reaching down to his jacket slung on the floor beside the bed, pulled a Pulse Luger from its pocket holster and blew a neat hole through her forehead.

He stepped into the shower, which spat intermittent gobs of cold water at him. The tattoos on his arms ran with grime from the jet. He cursed and left the stall dirtier than he’d been before he entered it. He climbed into his combats, laced up his boots and stuffed his Luger back into his jacket. Sweat was already shifting in his hair as he climbed down the stone steps to the hotel reception.

Santi was waiting for him there. She fixed him with a baleful stare.

‘So,’ she said as he dropped his keys off at the counter.

‘You go with other girl?’

He frowned at her, as if trying to work out what she was saying, or why she was bothering him with such stupid talk at this time of the morning. Did he need this shit? The sun was already up and blasting the exotic, palm-bedecked courtyard of the hotel. He pulled his sunglasses from a pocket, fitted them gratefully over his eyes.

He patted her cheek and snorted derisively. ‘I like your face,’ he said in a cruel imitation of Kety’s pidgin English, ‘I do for free.’ Santi cracked a hand across his cheek with instant fury. His sunglasses flew across the pavestones.

Pan’s face reddened. His hand snuck inside his jacket.

Santi stood her ground, obviously realizing she’d gone too far but refusing to back down. He forced himself to regain his composure. After all, the Hotel Manager was watching timidly from behind the counter. He turned round to scan the courtyard, checking whether anyone had seen the incident, then bent to retrieve his shades. He smirked, winked at his former girlfriend and strode out of the foyer into the street.

‘I think we really should go and look for him, Doctor. He’s been gone for hours.’

The Doctor sipped some imported tea and blinked up at the early morning sun. ‘Only a few actually, Victoria. They seem to have very short nights here. But even so, you’re absolutely right. As soon as we’ve finished our breakfast we’ll go and find him, although if I know Jamie, he won’t appreciate being hunted down when he’s enjoying himself.’

He smiled apologetically when Victoria gave him an affronted look. ‘I’m sure he’s capable of looking after himself, especially when there are young ladies around.’

Victoria huffed and drank some of her tea.

‘Morning already is it?’

She looked up, startled. Jamie was standing just behind her, looking a little bleary and more than a little drunk. A dark-skinned local girl was next to him, returning Victoria’s incredulous gaze with proud stoicism.

‘Ah, Jamie, there you are!’ the Doctor greeted him happily. ‘Victoria was worrying about you.’

‘Och, well she’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of looking after meself.’

‘Yes,’ the Victorian girl said icily. ‘I can see that. Well, are you going to introduce us to your... friend?’

Jamie grinned at Wina bashfully, a grin which became rather more sheepish under Victoria’s indignant stare. ‘Er, this is Wina. I met her upstairs in the dance bar. Wina, these are my friends: Victoria and the Doctor.’

‘Hello my dear!’ the Doctor said warmly, rising from his chair and giving her a dazzling smile. He looked so comical with his disarming grin and childlike, impish eyes under the ruffled mop of hair that Wina couldn’t resist giggling as he shook her hand.