Doctor Who: The Eight Doctors Page 3

  Foster brandished the plastic bag.

  'This bag contains drugs worth several thousand pounds. Is it likely that he'd simply leave it behind?' 'It was quite a vigorous altercation,' murmured the Doctor. 'This Baz you describe is already known to us as a local drug dealer,' said Ballard. 'Pills and pot, strictly small-time. We got an anonymous tip-off that he was moving into hard drugs.' The Doctor nodded.

  'From the girl, presumably.

  That's why he was so angry with her.'

  He looked from Ballard to Foster, his bright blue eyes sparkling with interest and intelligence. 'Surely, what you've just said tends to confirm my story?' The man might be a raving mad space cadet, thought Foster, but he certainly wasn't stupid.

  'Perhaps it does,' said Ballard. 'Or perhaps it's all part of a very different story. We know Baz was moving into hard drugs. What we don't know is, who was supplying him' The Doctor looked horrified. 'Surely you don't think

  - ' 'Why not?' said Ballard.

  'Even the name fits. Lots of dodgy doctors in the drug business!" 'I am not a dodgy doctor!'

  Foster gave the Doctor his most intimidating stare. 'I put it to you, Doctor, you were Baz's supplier. You came down to Foreman's Yard to make the deal, my officers turned up, the others, who all knew the neighbourhood, escaped, and you were left holding the bag!'

  'It's a very nice theory,' said the Doctor admiringly. 'It fits most of the facts -

  and I can see why you find it so attractive. So much nicer for you to have captured a big-time drug-dealer.'

  'Well, Doctor?' asked Foster. 'Isn't that

  what happened?'

  'Good grief no! As I said, it's a nice theory, but unfortunately it's utter balderdash.' The Doctor considered for a moment. 'Tell you what you do -

  talk to those two policemen and see if their recollection of the arrest fits your story or mine. And find the girl - Sam, the others called her. See if she confirms my account of what happened. Pick up this Baz'and see what he has to say.'

  'I'm in charge of this case, Doctor, not you!' snarled Foster. He leaned forwards menacingly. 'Now, let's go through this story of yours again...'

  ***

  In the staff room at Coal Hill School they'd been discussing Sam's predicament for some time but they were still no nearer to finding a solution.

  'What I can't understand is why you had to get involved,' said Trev Selby exasperatedly. 'If you'd minded your own business -'

  'It was her business,' said Vicky. 'It's everyone's business. How could she keep quiet if she knew drug-dealing was going on?'

  'Look, everyone knows about Baz. You know the most helpful advice you can give kids about drugs? Find a good dealer, one who doesn't sell dodgy gear or rip you off, and

  stick to him.' "That's terrible, Trev - and you know you don't mean it.'

  'He's right in a way' said Sam miserably. 'I did know all about Baz's pot and pills. I turned a blind eye, like everyone else.'

  'So what changed your mind?' asked Trev.

  'You know Marilyn Simms in Year Five?'

  'The one with the outstanding - personality?' said Trev. 'Who doesn't?'

  'Trev!' said Vicky warningly.

  Sam arched an eyebrow. Marilyn was well developed for her age - for any age really. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and did her best to emulate her film-star namesake.

  'Marilyn's a dedicated weekend raver,' said Sam. 'She told me that Baz has been dropping heavy hints that some really grown-up gear would be available soon. Marilyn wasn't interested, even she's not that dim. But plenty were.'

  'What do you reckon he was talking about?' asked Trev. 'Cocaine? Heroin?'

  'He had some stuff with him,' said Sam. 'In a plastic bag.'

  She shuddered. 'He was going to make me take some. '"Right away you're really high - and pretty soon you're really hooked" - that's what he said.'

  'What did it look like?'

  'Like pebbles. Little rocks.'

  'Crack,' said Trev grimly. 'I take it all back, Sam. You were right to call the cops. That stuffs evil.'

  'What is it?' asked Vicky.

  'A form of cocaine. Comes in little pieces called rocks that you smoke.

  Gives an incredible high, just for a few seconds, then you crash and start craving for more. One single rock is cheap enough. Some dealers even give the first one away. It's a good way to make new customers, especially young ones.' Vicky said, 'We've got to do something.'

  'I know what I'm going to do,' said Sam.

  'I'm going back to Foreman's Yard. That strange man helped me and I just left him. Perhaps he's still there.'

  'Perhaps Baz is still there,' saidTrev.

  'I'd better come too.'

  'Tell you what,' said Vicky. 'We'll all go - but not now.

  Trev and I have got classes to take, Samantha, and you've got your next lesson to go to. We'll meet up at the dinner break and all go together.'

  ***

  Baz was holding a council of war in what he liked to think of as his gangland HQ. It should have been a penthouse complete with swimming pool. In fact it was a wrecked, ruined and illegally squatted derelict flat on Coal Hill's biggest and most run down estate. He had other such flats on other, nearby estates. When the police raided one, he simply moved to another.

  This flat was one of the best. It even had furniture, including a beat-up sofa with gaping upholstery and projecting springs. Watched by his gang, Baz was stretched out on it now, talking into his mobile phone.

  'You're sure - the gear's still there? OK, good. Yeah, don't worry, I'll see you right.'

  Baz stowed away the phone and sat up. 'According to my source, the stuffs still at Coal Hill nick - sitting on a table in the interview room.'

  Baz's 'source' was one of the station's civilian clerks, a mild-looking little man with a serious tranquilliser habit. In return for free supplies he kept Baz posted on police moves. He was the one who had told Baz about Sam's tip-off, and had warned him about the coming police raid. Little Mikey, Pete and Mo looked at each other despairingly. 'So what do we do now?' asked Pete.

  'Go and get it back of course. It's our property, innit?'

  Mo expressed everyone's thoughts when he said, 'We can't do that. We'll get nicked if we do.'

  'We'll get murdered if we don't,' said Baz. 'You know where I got that gear?

  Machete Charlie's mob, up West. I convinced him there was a market down here. I persuaded him to let me have the stuff - on credit! I was to sell it on, keep a percentage. My percentage is worth thousands, so you can imagine what the gear itself is worth.' Baz looked around his little gang. 'Charlie won't be pleased if he doesn't get his money. You remember why they call him Machete Charlie? I'd finish up in bits, scattered all over Coal Hill.'

  This time it was Little Mikey who expressed the gang's loyal thoughts.

  'Yeah, well, I mean, that's tough, Baz, really tough. But, I mean, that's down to you, innit?'

  Baz had expected this reaction and he had his answer ready. 'Don't you believe it! Charlie's boys are very thorough. They'd start with me, but they'd finish with you lot - just to make an example of us.'

  'So what do we do?' asked Pete again. Baz grinned. 'Don't worry, I've got a cunning plan.'

  ***

  'What do you think then, Guv?' asked DC Bollard.

  Foster took a swig of tea. 'About what?'

  'About our friend in there. I mean, we'll have to charge him eventually or let him go.'

  Foster bolted the last of his chips, and said indistinctly, 'I am aware of police regulations, thank you very much.'

  They were in the station's tiny canteen, a little room filled with tin-topped tables and rickety chairs, with a serving counter at one end. They'd broken off the interrogation, such at it was, for lunch - egg, chips and beans and strong tea. They weren't really getting anywhere.

  The Doctor had listened to all their accusations and theories with friendly interest, and had refused to change or add to his story in any way. Now he w
as sitting in the interview room, under the watchful eye of a constable, enjoying a nice cup of strong sweet tea and a thick bacon sandwich. Foster didn't want any accusations of police brutality ruining his case - if he had a case. 'He's too cool,' he muttered. 'Treats it all like some game.' 'We've got him on possession, surely, Guv?' 'I wouldn't swear to it. Suppose the court believes that daft story of his? You say there's no form?'

  Ballard shook his head. 'Plenty of Docs' and 'Doctors' on the computer, but none of them matches the description. And there seems to be something weird about his fingerprints as well...'

  Foster wasn't paying attention. He was cocking his head, listening to a confused roar coming from outside the room. It had been going on for some time and it was getting steadily louder. By now there were shouts, angry voices ... 'Sounds like trouble,' said Foster, jumping up and hurrying out, Ballard at his heels.

  When they emerged from the canteen they found the reception area filled with an angry mob. The crowd spilled out on to the station steps, with people pushing and shoving to get inside. The air was filled with angry complaints about harassment, discrimination, police brutality...

  The desk sergeant, an older policeman close to retirement, was yelling,

  'Ladies and gentlemen, please...If you'll tell me the problem maybe I can help.' Nobody took any notice. The shouting and shoving went on.

  Foster surveyed the crowd with a professional eye. 'Looks like every low-life in the neighbourhood's turned out. Wonder what's got 'em stirred up this time.'

  The little station had been besieged by an angry mob once before when a local villain had inconsiderately collapsed and died in his cell. The fact that he'd actually died from a lethal mixture of drink and drugs, after first going berserk and wrecking the local pub, meant little to his friends and neighbours. When the news got out, they turned out in force to accuse the police of murder.

  Raising his voice above the din, Foster yelled to the harried desk sergeant,

  'What's going on? Has there been some kind of incident?'

  'Not that I know of. They all turned up at once and started shouting.'

  In fact, the angry crowd was a rent-a-mob - all part of Baz's cunning plan.

  He'd sent his boys out recruiting, each with a wad of twenty-pound notes.

  To earn the money, all you had to do was turn up at Coal Hill nick at lunch-time and complain about something - anything - as loudly and angrily as possible. Anyone who managed to get arrested would get their fines paid and an extra twenty quid.

  They'd found plenty of takers.

  Baz and his boys were hovering at the back now, watching the mini-riot build up. Fights had broken out among the crowd and the outnumbered police were desperately struggling to calm things down.

  Somebody threw a chair, smashing a glass partition. 'Right,' said Baz. 'In we go. Try the interview room first, then Foster's office. If it's in the safe, we'll have to jump the desk sergeant and get his keys.'

  They'd been in and out of the local nicks since childhood, and they all knew the layout of the little station.

  Melting into the angry, shouting crowd, they shoved their way into the police station

  ***

  In the interview room, the Doctor finished the last of his tea and looked inquiringly at the nervous young constable.

  'There seems to be some kind of trouble outside.'

  The noise had been growing louder for some time. They could hear angry yells and the sounds of breaking glass.

  Torn between his desire to help and Foster's orders not to take his eyes off the Doctor, the constable hovered indecisively.

  Suddenly the door was flung open and a group of young men strode into the room. The constable jumped up and immediately went down under the combined onslaught of Mo and Pete.

  Ignoring the Doctor, Baz's eyes scanned the room like radar before fastening on to the plastic bag on the corner table, next to the tape recorder.

  Lunging across the room he grabbed the bag and headed for the door. He was almost there when a long arm reached out and a hand grabbed his collar, yanking him back.

  The Doctor had no use for the drugs, but he didn't want Baz to have them to sell to the local kids either.

  Snatching the bag from Baz's hand, he threw the drug dealer casually across the room, and made for the door.

  The Doctor was intending to surrender himself and the drugs to the authorities, but instead he found himself faced with a shouting, seething mob. Suddenly something struck him on the forehead and a blinding flash seared across his brain.

  Little Mikey had been waiting by the door with his cosh.

  The Doctor reeled, but to Mikey's amazement he didn't fall. He staggered out of the room, turned away from the crowd and stumbled down the corridor.

  Back in the interview room Baz got to his feet and hauled Mo and Pete off the semi-conscious constable.

  'That weird bloke's got away with the gear,' he screamed. 'We've got to get after him!'

  Trapped by the crowd, Foster saw the Doctor staggering off with the plastic bag, closely followed by Baz and the gang.

  'I was right,' he yelled. 'The Doctor was in it all along.

  Baz and his gang set up all this to rescue him and now they've got away with their boss and the drugs as well.'

  Foster and Bollard started fighting their way through the crowd.

  ***

  The Doctor stumbled out into a little yard. The blow on the head had set him back, temporarily at least, to the moment that the Master's trap had been sprung.

  Dazed and sick, he knew only that he didn't belong here... and that something was drawing him away. The yard gate stood open, and the Doctor set off at a stumbling run...

  ***

  Baz and his boys spilled out into the yard. The Doctor was nowhere to be seen.

  'He's got away,' said Mo, never one to avoid the obvious.

  'He won't get far,' said Little Mikey eagerly. 'I caught him a good one with the cosh.'

  Baz nodded. 'We know where he'll be making for.' He slid a hand inside his jacket. "This time I'm ready for him. Come on!'

  ***

  It was some little time later that Foster and Ballard, both battered and bruised, managed to stagger down the front steps of the station - just as Constable Bates and Constable Sanders, were pulling up in the area car.

  Sanders, as usual was at the wheel. He looked in amazement at the howling mob inside the station.

  'What's going on, sir?'

  Foster jumped into the back of the police car and Ballard got in the other side.

  'Just a bit of a riot,' said Foster.

  'Shouldn't we go in and help, sir?'

  'No. Ignore it. Get moving!'

  'Where to sir?'

  Foster told him.

  ***

  'Well, there's the police box,' said Sam. 'But there's no sign of the man.'

  Sam, Trev and Vicky stood in a loose group around the old police box in Foreman's Yard. Sam put her hand flat against the door.

  'The odd thing is, it feels - alive...'

  Trev looked around the deserted yard. 'No point in hanging around here.'

  'Maybe the poor man got arrested,' suggested Vicky. 'You said he was a bit strange. If the police found him here, they might have thought he was involved.'

  'Then I'd better go and tell them he wasn't,' said Sam.

  She turned away from the police box just as the Doctor, still clutching the plastic bag, staggered into the yard.

  'There he is,' Sam whispered.

  Ignoring them, the Doctor made his way to the door of the police box and leaned against it for a moment. Somehow the action seemed to give him strength. He fished a key from his pocket and opened the door.

  'Doctor?' said Sam. 'Are you all right?'

  He turned and stared at her, the blue eyes wide and unseeing. There was a livid bruise across one side of his forehead.

  'You've been hurt,' said Sam. 'What happened?'

  'Sorry,' said the Doctor. 'Mu
st get away...wrong time... wrong place...'

  'Oi, you!' screamed a voice from the gate.

  Baz stood in the doorway, with Pete, Little Mikey and Mo behind him.

  'Where d'you think you're going with my gear, Doc?'

  Ignoring him, the Doctor turned to Sam.

  'Goodbye.'

  He stepped inside the police box, closing the door behind him. Baz rushed forward and hammered on the door.

  There was a strange wheezing, groaning sound, and suddenly he was hammering on nothingness.