The Good,the Bad and the Uncanny n-10 Read online

  "Typical of you," I said. "That all your influence and power should be derived from the suffering of others."

  "They suffer because they deserve to," said Walker. "And through their penance they serve and protect the people they preyed on." He smiled briefly. "One day, all of this could be yours. Or would you shut the system down and become blind to what threatens us? Let the bad guys go unpunished and let everyone else suffer? What would you replace this with? See? Not as simple as you thought, is it, John? I only do what is necessary for the common good. And so could you, John. All this could be yours to command. All the secret lines of influence, control, and power… Tell me you're not tempted."

  "Get thee behind me, Walker," I said.

  He laughed.

  Next he took me to the Londinium Club, that most private and select of clubs, where the elite of the Nightside come together to dine and do business, and discuss the destruction of their enemies. You aren't anyone in the Nightside unless you've been invited to become a member of the oldest club in the world. I am not a member. They wouldn't accept the likes of me on a bet. Though I have been known to barge, trick, and intimidate my way in when I need answers I can't find anywhere else. This has not made me popular with members of the club, but I've learned to live with that. The current Doorman saw me approaching and looked like he wanted to pull up the drawbridge and set fire to the moat; but I was with Walker, and no-one says no to Walker. The Doorman bowed stiffly as we passed, his face utterly impassive; but his body language suggested terrible things were happening inside him.

  "You see what it is to have power?" said Walker, as we strolled into the elegant embrace of the club lobby. "You can go anywhere, and they have to smile and bow and let you in. No door is ever closed, and no-one is ever unreachable."

  "And you do so enjoy having the world by the throat, don't you, Walker?" I said, and he surprised me by considering the question seriously.

  "I try not to," he said finally. "It gets in the way of getting the job done."

  Various liveried servants appeared to take Walker's coat. They tried to take mine, but I just looked at them, and they gave up on the idea. The servants concentrated on Walker, smiling and bowing and asking if there was anything at all they could do for him; and as I watched them fawn over him, with their fake smiles and subservient gestures, I had to wonder if this was anything I wanted. Most people refrained from upsetting me because they were afraid of my reputation. They did what I told them because they were afraid of what I might do if they didn't. Was that really any different?

  Walker and I moved on into the dining room, where the great and the good, the movers and shakers and Major Players of the Nightside all sat down together, like so many predators sharing the same watering hole. A general truce prevailed because the place was so useful. Walker moved easily amongst the various members, greeting them all by name, charming and intimidating and persuading all the right people. All in the same calm, quiet, and utterly assured manner, never once raising his voice. Everywhere he went, good men and bad smiled just a bit nervously and agreed with whatever he said. They took it on the chin as the price of doing business.

  Eventually, Walker and I ended up standing before a table set far too near the kitchens, an indication that the people sitting there might be members in good standing but were still very much at the bottom of the Londinium Club's pecking order. Surprisingly, the old man and his wife not only didn't look pleased to see us but made no effort to hide it. Walker tipped his bowler hat to both of them.

  "John Taylor, allow me to introduce Dash Oblivion, the Confidential Op, and his wife, Shirley den Adel, once the costumed adventurer known as the Lady Phantasm."

  "Oh please," said the grey-haired lady in the pearls and twin set. "Do call me Shirley."

  Dash just grunted something, concentrating on his meal. It was a curry, steaming hot, and the smell of it made my stomach rumble. Dash was a whip-thin figure in a smart blue blazer and white slacks. Bald-headed, his face was dominated by an eagle nose and bushy white eyebrows. He had to be in his eighties, but his cold blue eyes were still sharp and piercing. He sat bolt upright in his chair, and his blue-veined, liver-spotted hands didn't tremble once as he shovelled food into his mouth.

  Shirley gave her husband a look that was half-exasperated and half-amused. "Don't mind him, Mr. Taylor. He hates being interrupted at his dinner. He's always believed conversation should follow food, not interrupt it. Won't change your ways for anyone, will you, darling?"

  Dash grunted again, and she laughed quietly. Shirley den Adel was a well-preserved woman in her seventies, with a faint European accent I couldn't quite place. Her gaze and her voice were both quite firm, and her easy manner did nothing to hide a sense of accustomed power and authority.

  "Good to meet you at last, Mr. Taylor," she said, with what sounded very like genuine warmth. "Tommy always spoke very well of you."

  "Tommy didn't know his ass from his elbow," said Dash, his voice still dominated by a sharp Chicago twang. He pushed back his empty plate and fixed me with a hard stare. "He should never have been a private eye. It's not for everyone." He glared at Walker. "And stay clear of that one. He's bad news."

  "You wound me, Dash," murmured Walker. "After all, it was your son Hadleigh who taught me everything I know. Before he… stepped down."

  "Before he went crazy and ran off to the Deep School," growled Dash. "The job broke him like it breaks everyone."

  "He left to save his soul," Shirley said firmly.

  "Or what was left of it," said Dash.

  "The job's not for everyone," said Walker. "It's always suited me just fine."

  He looked at them both challengingly, and they looked away rather than meet his gaze. Walker glanced at me, to make sure I'd seen them defer to his authority.

  "So," Walker said easily. "What are you doing these days, Dash?"

  Dash growled at him, apparently deeply immersed in the dessert menu, so Shirley answered for him. I got the feeling that happened a lot.

  "Dash is retired now. We both are. He gardens, and I work on our memoirs. Oh, the stories we have to tell! Not to be published until we're both safely dead, of course. It's not everyone who were legendary heroes back in the thirties and forties, then made an even more successful comeback in the seventies and eighties! We could have gone on… but we both felt we'd done our best. So now we just consult, on occasion, and let younger bodies do all the hard lifting. Isn't that right, Dash?"

  "Even done some work for you, Walker, on the quiet," said Dash, grinning nastily. "I can still show these youngsters how it's done."

  "But not too often," said Shirley. "We've earned our retirement."

  "Don't you ever miss the old days?" I said.

  "Sometimes," said Shirley, a bit wistfully. "We had a good war, really, chasing saboteurs and fifth columnists all over America… And the villains were all so colourful in those days. They had style. The Vril Power Gang, the Nazi Skull…"

  "And Wu Fang," said Dash. "Put him away a dozen times, but he always got out. We should never have let him drink that Dragon's Blood, back in 'forty-one."

  "Oh, hush, dear," said Shirley. "He was dying. And he wasn't a bad sort. For a Chinaman."

  "Things were different when the Timeslip kicked us out here, back in the seventies," said Dash. "Appalling place, then and now. So we rolled up our sleeves and got to work. There was a lot to do."

  "Never much cared for the seventies," said Shirley. "Terribly cynical times. Though the eighties turned out to be even worse… I was glad to retire. We stayed involved, though, helping train our successors. I worked with Ms. Fate, you know, when she started out. She's done very well for herself."

  "What do you want with us, Walker?" said Dash. "You never show up unless you want something."

  "I'm looking into Tommy's disappearance," I said carefully. "Working with his brother Larry, not Walker. And it would appear that your eldest, Hadleigh, is also involved in some way. I was hoping you could tell me somet
hing about him."

  Dash and Shirley looked at each other, and they suddenly seemed older and more frail. Dash's hands closed together on the table before him, and Shirley put her hand over them.

  "Can't say I approve of what Hadleigh's made of himself," Dash said finally. "Detective Inspectre for God's sake… We should never have left him alone, all those years. Not our fault, of course, but…"

  "He fell in with bad company," said Shirley, glaring at Walker. "We'd hardly been back a year, before he disappeared. And when he came back… We don't talk any more. We never see him. He does write us the occasional letter, now and again. But it's not the same."

  "He was our first-born," said Dash. "He meant so much to us. We had such hopes for him…"

  "Larry and Tommy came later," said Shirley. "Good boys, both of them. Nothing like their elder brother. We had hopes for them, too… but Larry was murdered by his own partner, and we lost Tommy to the Lilith War."

  "Never did like Larry's partner," said Dash. "That Mag gie Boniface… stuck-up little piece. Just because her family was big in voodoo…"

  "I never knew what he saw in her," said Shirley.

  Dash grinned suddenly. "I could make a good guess. She had a balcony you could do Shakespeare from…"

  "Oh, hush, you nasty old man," said Shirley. And they smiled at each other.

  "Larry hasn't been the same, since he came back from the dead," said Shirley. "We try to look after him, as best we can, but he keeps us at a distance. As though we might be bothered because he's dead. The very idea. He's our son."

  "Seen a lot worse than the walking dead," said Dash, nodding. "Lot worse."

  "We spent a lot of time and money looking for Tommy," said Shirley. "After the War was over. But it was chaos everywhere, everything in such a mess… and there were so many people missing. No-one knew anything. Dash wore himself out, walking up and down the streets, looking for something, some sign… until finally I made him stop. We did think about hiring you, Mr. Taylor; but we heard you'd already tried your gift, to no effect, so what was the point? So we got used to the idea that our poor Tommy was gone, another victim of that damned War."

  "Larry never gave up on his brother," said Dash. "Always was stubborn as a mule, that boy."

  "They were both good boys," said Shirley.

  "Good boys," said Dash.

  They sat close together, holding hands, their heads bowed.

  "We didn't do so well with our children," said Shirley. "Larry's dead, Tommy's gone, and Hadleigh… God alone knows what Hadleigh is. Three sons, but no grandchildren, and never likely to have any now. Was all that we did for nothing? We saved the world, on at least three occasions. President gave us medals. In private. And all for what? To grow old and see our children lost to us. Don't we deserve something for all we did?"

  "We didn't do it for the rewards," said Dash, squeezing her hand. "We did it because it needed doing."

  "Duty and responsibility," said Walker, nodding. "The only things that matter."

  "Oh, fuck off, Walker," said Shirley.

  I felt like applauding.

  After the Londinium Club, Walker and I paid a visit to the Uptown Board of Unnatural Commerce. A big stately building right in the heart of the Nightside business sector. All very solemn, very dignified and businesslike; you could practically smell fresh bank-notes on the rarefied lobby air. Walker took me in and out of various offices, where no expense had been spared, and comfort and ostentatious luxury came as standard. He made a point of introducing me to a whole series of powerful and influential people, who all pretended to be glad to see me. Because if I was with Walker, then I must be a personage worth knowing. They offered me thick, murky sherry, which I declined, and listened to my every casual remark as though each contained the secrets of the world. I smiled and nodded and avoided answering any of their subtly probing questions as to what I was doing with Walker. Let them wonder and worry.

  It didn't take me long to work out why Walker wanted me to meet these high city types. These were the people who supplied Walker with private and confidential business information, from the inside. Such as who was on the way up, who was on the way down, and who could be pressured or blackmailed… All so Walker could keep on top of things and apply corrections when necessary. More than one top business man with a pale and sweaty face eased me to one side to whisper how Walker had destroyed this person or that, or even made them disappear… because they put their personal financial interests ahead of the Nightside's.

  No-one was allowed to threaten the status quo, not while Walker was on the job. No matter how rich and powerful they might think they were.

  The Street of the Gods came next. Walker's portable Timeslip was working overtime now, slamming us from one place to another. Walker and I strode down the Street, side by side, and a whole bunch of Beings, Powers, and Other-Dimensional Deities decided to retire to their various churches, lock the doors, and hide under their altars until we were gone. Other Beings and their congregations made a point of coming out into the Street, just to be seen conversing amiably with Walker and me and demonstrate to everyone else that they were on good terms with us. And not in any way afraid of either of us. Walker was very polite, as always, and even allowed a few of the gods to bless him.

  "Doesn't any of this ever go to your head?" I asked him, as we left our admirers behind.

  "It's pleasant enough, in its way," said Walker. "One of the perks of the job. But it's not real. There isn't one of them that really likes or even respects me. It's the position, and the power that comes with it. They'd bow down to you as quickly if you were in my position."

  "There was a time when people did that," I said. "Back when some quarters saw me as a potential King in waiting. Can't say I ever liked it much. They weren't talking to me, just who they thought I might be."

  "You've made people respect you," said Walker. "You've put a lot of effort into building your reputation. And unlike many in the Nightside, you really have done most of the awful things you're supposed to have done."

  "A reputation helps keep the flies off," I said. "But it's there to protect me, not feed my ego."

  "And it is a useful tool, to make people do what you want them to do."

  "Yes," I said. "But…"

  And then I stopped, because I didn't know what came next. Walker just smiled. And so we carried on quietly together, for a while.

  "Normally, I'd take you to the Exiles Club next," said Walker. "Introduce you to all the otherworldly and other-dimensional royalty in exile; thrown up here on the Nightside's shores through Timeslips or dimensional doors, or some other unfortunate celestial accident. All the lost Kings and Queens, Emperors and Divinities… If only to show you that royalty can be a real pain in the arse, just like everyone else. Still, nothing like having a King or Queen bow their head to you to cheer up a dull day. Unfortunately, the Exiles are currently a bit mad at me, ever since I found it necessary to have some of them killed to maintain public order. You remember, John."

  I nodded. I remembered their severed heads set on iron spikes outside the Londinium Club. Queen Helena, Monarch of the Evening in a future twilight Earth. Uptown Taffy Lewis, crime boss, and the scumbag's scumbag. And General Condor, a great leader of men from some future Spacefleet; who made some unfortunate alliances in his quest to do the right thing. Walker never hesitated to deal firmly with anyone who might challenge his authority.

  Was he trying to tell me something in his own subtle way? Did he have an iron spike ready for my head if I turned him down?

  That was Walker's main strength; he always kept you guessing.

  Somewhat to my surprise, our next stop turned out to be Rats' Alley; where the homeless scrabble for thrown-out food or a place to lay their heads. Rats' Alley is a wide, cobbled square and a few narrow tributaries, set behind some of the finest and most upscale restaurants in the Nightside. Here, out of sight of the fine clientele who swan in through the front door, exists a small community of those who have f
allen off the edge and can't find their way back. The homeless, the beggars, the lost and the ragged, the damaged and the damned, living in cardboard boxes, lean-to shelters, plastic sheeting, or only layers of clothing and the occasional blanket. Refugees from the world the rest of us take for granted.

  I spent some time here, once.

  Rats' Alley was a rougher, more dangerous place these days, with the loss of their saint and guardian angel, Sister Morphine. Razor Eddie still slept there as often as not, keeping the vultures at bay, and, of course, they still had Jacqueline Hyde. She came lurching out of the shadows to block our way, wrapped in the grimy tatters of what had once been an expensive coat. Walker and I stopped, to show respect for her territory. Everyone knew Jacqueline's story. This grim, bedraggled figure had once been a debutante and a high flyer, until she made the mistake of experimenting with her grandfather's formula. Now she's one of the Nightside's sadder love stories. Jacqueline is in love with Hyde, and he with her, but they can only ever meet briefly, in the moment of the change.

  She snarled at Walker and me, and her body exploded suddenly into muscle and bulk. Hyde stood swaying and growling before us, his huge hands clutching at the air, eager to rend and tear, break bones, and feast on their marrow. He towered over us, his brute face flushed with the hatred he felt for all Mankind. Jacqueline Hyde: two souls in one body, together and separated at the same time.

  "Easy," said Walker. "Slow and easy, that's the way. You don't want to hurt us, Hyde. It's Walker. You remember Walker."

  If anyone else had tried the calm and reasonable routine, Hyde would have turned him into roadkill. But Walker was using the Voice, in a calm and soothing way, rather than his usual abrupt commands. Hyde's great head swayed slowly back and forth, deep-set eyes blinking confusedly under heavy eye-brow ridges, then he turned away suddenly and was gone, back into the shadows.

  "I didn't know you could use your Voice like that," I said.