Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [149]
‘Had to give that boy a lump on the head. He tried to stop me.’ The big man looked down at the Doctor and grinned. ‘It’s okay. He’s only unconscious. I didn’t hit him too hard.’
‘You could have killed him.’
‘Hell, no. He’s just going to have a serious headache on top of that life‐support tank hangover.’ The big Texan nudged Vincent with the toe of his cowboy boot. ‘That boy just has no luck at all does he?’ He glanced up at Creed. ‘I understand you’re taking his wife away from him, too.’ He looked over at Justine sitting in the corner.
‘Did you come here to talk about my love life?’ said Creed.
‘Happy to,’ said Harrigan. ‘Pour a whisky and talk away, son. But first I want to give the young lady this.’
He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out something. He flung it at Justine and it unfolded in mid air. A scrap of delicately fashioned black cloth. A piece of lingerie.
Justine caught it.
‘Your bra,’ said the old man, grinning. ‘Scotland Yard found it in a bedroom at Buckingham Palace.’
‘What exactly is this?’ said Ace. ‘Are you a cop? Are we under arrest?’
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ said the Doctor. He got up from the unconscious Vincent and went to the counter. ‘It’s been a long time since Mr Harrigan was an honest lawman.’
‘Well, I find that comment a little stinging, especially coming from an educated man like yourself, Doctor,’ said the Texan.
‘When was it?’ The Doctor frowned. He picked up his book from the counter and began leafing through the pages. ‘Over a lifetime ago, wasn’t it?’
‘You don’t miss much, do you?’ murmured the old Texan, looking at the book in the Doctor’s hands. The Doctor opened the book to a photograph. The black‐and‐white picture showed a young man in a cowboy hat squinting out of the window of a 1950s American automobile. The face was bland and innocent. Above the pale brow was a cowboy hat. The Doctor pointed at a corner of the photograph where the young man’s hand touched the brim of his hat.
‘He’s wearing the same ring as you.’
‘Well, if you just read the caption, Doctor.’
‘I have. It says Henry Harrigan. That’s your name.’
‘Correction. I’m Henry Harrigan Junior. That’s my daddy in that picture. He loved that ring. He used to say it reminded him he’d have to die one day. So it made him use his time usefully, the way we all should.’ He peered down at the savagely grinning skull. ‘I guess these days it does the same thing for me.’
The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. ‘That’s very interesting and colourful and quite touching. All the more interesting since Harrigan actually died without ever having any children.’
‘Damn.’ The old Texan smiled and shook his head in admiration. ‘Doctor, you must have got into some obscure databases I haven’t managed to alter. You’re a clever fellow, that’s for sure.’
‘So if the man in that photo isn’t your father, who is he?’
‘If you’re asking that question I reckon you must know the answer.’ The old Texan’s face wrinkled as he gave a sly wink. ‘That’s me in them pictures.’
‘But this man has been dead for decades.’
‘His body is dead. But Henry Harrigan lives on. That’s me.’ The old man gave a mock bow but his gun remained steady, pointing at Justine.
‘Transfer of consciousness,’ said the Doctor. He looked at Ace. ‘That’s a symptom we’re beginning to recognize.’
‘You mean he used warlock?’ said Creed.
‘That’s right, son. I was probably the first American to encounter this interesting chemical.’ The Texan reached into the watch pocket of his waistcoat and took out two fat white capsules. The smell of liquorice was immediately present in the room. ‘Which reminds me.’ He put the capsules down on the counter.
‘What is that?’
‘Warlock, mostly. Cut with some speed or something to make sure it’s absorbed and metabolized super quick.’ The old man smiled. ‘Fast acting, you might say.’ He swallowed one of the capsules and pushed the other one across the counter, nudging the fat