Something from the Nightside n-1 Page 5

  "I could have handled them."

  He sniffed loudly. "I've seen what happens when you handle things, and it takes ages to mop up the blood afterwards. Here; have one on the house, and for God's sake leave the rest of my customers alone."

  I accepted the offered brandy with good grace. It was the nearest Alex could come to an apology. The Coltranes came back and carried off the still-twitching Ffinch-Thomas.

  "He'll tell his daddy on you," observed Alex. "And Daddy will not be pleased. He might even be just a bit peeved with you."

  "Tell him to take a number," I said, because you have to say things like that in public. God knows I've got enough enemies without making more, but the young Ffinch-Thomas and his type deserve a good slapping now and again. Just on general principles. Joanna had been watching the Coltranes.

  "Who… what are they?"

  "My pride and glory," Alex said fondly. "Betty and Lucy Coltrane. Best damned bouncers in the business. Though of course I'd never tell them that. Fiercer than pit bulls and cheaper to run. Married to each other. They had a dog once, but they ate it."

  Joanna was looking just a little dazed. "I think we need to go talk with Eddie," I said kindly. "Talk to you later, Alex."

  "If you must. I'd bar you, if I thought you'd listen. You're trouble, John, and you always will be."

  Heavy rock started up again, loud and driving, and all the various conversations resumed, having decided regretfully that the show was over. Still, they had plenty to talk about now. John Taylor was definitely back, and as sharp as ever. I couldn't have planned it better. A good dramatic scene helps to keep the flies off. Though it can also attract the wrong kind of attention. I headed for the far corner of the pit, Joanna at my side. She was looking at me just a little oddly.

  "Don't mind Alex," I said calmly. "He's the only man I know who suffers from permanent PMT."

  "Did those women really eat their own dog?"

  I shrugged. "Times were hard."

  "And just what did you do to that poor bastard?"

  "I stared him down."

  Joanna gave me a hard look, and then clearly decided not to pursue that any further. Wise of her.

  "Who's this Eddie we're going to see? And how can he help us find my daughter?"

  "Razor Eddie," I said. "Punk God of the Straight Razor. Supposedly. Got his name quite a few years back, in a street war over territory between neighbouring gangs. Eddie was just fourteen at the time, and already a slick and vicious killer. Expert with a pearl-handled razor, and nasty with it. Already more than a little crazy. In the years that followed, he'd kill for anyone who had the price, or just for a little attention."

  "You know the most charming people," murmured Joanna. "How is someone like that going to help us?"

  "Wait. It gets better. Eddie went missing. Something happened to him on the Street of the Gods, something he still won't talk about, and when he came back it was as something both more and less than human. Now he sleeps in doorways, lives on handouts and eats leftovers, and wanders where he will, living a life of violent penance for his earlier sins. His chosen victims tend to be the bad guys no-one else can touch. The ones who think they're protected from the consequences of their actions by money or power. They tend to end up being found dead in mysterious, upsetting ways. And that's Razor Eddie; an extremely disturbing agent for the good. The good didn't get a say in the matter."

  "You're lecturing me again." For the first time since I'd led her into the Nightside, Joanna looked a little unsettled. "All that matters… is whether he can help me find my Cathy. Will he want paying?"

  "No. Eddie doesn't have any use for money, any more. But he does still owe me a favour."

  "I'd hate to think what for."

  "Best not to," I agreed.

  We finally came to a halt before a table in a particularly dark and shadowy corner of the stonewalled pit. And behind that table, Razor Eddie, a painfully thin presence in an oversized grey coat apparently held together by accumulated filth and grease. Just looking at it was enough to make you itch, and the smell was appalling. Rats have been known to jump back into open sewers, just to get away from the smell of an approaching Razor Eddie. He hadn't changed at all in five years. The same hollowed face and fever-bright eyes, the same disturbing presence. Being around Eddie was as close as most people get to death before the real thing comes looking for them. He likes to drink at Strangefellows, somewhere at the back, away from bright lights. No-one judges him, and no-one bothers him. His drinks are on the house, and in return Eddie never kills anyone actually on the premises.

  He had a bottle of designer water on the table in front of him, with flies crawling all over it. More flies buzzed around Eddie, except for the ones that got too close, and fell dead out of the air. I smiled at Eddie, and he nodded gravely back. I pulled up a chair opposite him. The smell was every bit as bad as I'd remembered it, but I like to think it didn't show in my face. Joanna pulled up a chair beside me, trying hard to breathe only through her mouth. When Eddie spoke, his voice was low, controlled, almost ghostly.

  "Hello, John. Welcome home. You're looking well. Why is it you only ever come to see me when you want something?"

  "You're not always the easiest man to find, Eddie. And, you're a spooky bastard. So, how are things? Killed anyone interesting recently?"

  The ghost of a smile moved across his pale lips. "No-one you'd know. I hear you're looking for a runaway."

  Joanna started. "How did you know that?"

  "Word gets around, in the Nightside," said Eddie. He turned his disturbingly bright eyes on me. "Try the Fortress."

  I nodded. I should have thought of that one myself. "Thanks, Eddie."

  "You'll find Suzie there."

  "Oh good," I said, trying to sound pleased. Suzie and I have a history. I was about to push back my chair when Eddie turned suddenly to look at Joanna, who started again under the impact of his gaze.

  "You be careful around this man, miss. John isn't the safest of people to keep company with."

  "Anything specific in mind, Eddie?" I said carefully.

  "There are people looking for you, John."

  "There are always people looking for me."

  Eddie smiled gently. "These are bad people."

  I waited, but he had nothing more to say. I nodded my thanks and rose to my feet. Joanna scrambled quickly to hers. I took her back to the bar. She breathed deeply all the way, and then shuddered suddenly.

  "Awful little man. And what was that stench? I swear, he smelled like something that had died and then been dug up again."

  "There are things about Razor Eddie it's best not to ask," I said wisely. "For our own peace of mind."

  We were back at the bar again. Alex glowered at me in greeting. I looked at Joanna.

  "You wait here, while I get word to the Fortress that we're coming. It's best not to surprise people with that many guns."

  I moved off down the bar to use the courtesy phone. But even as I hit the numbers, listened to a recorded voice from the Fortress and left a brief message, I was still listening carefully to Joanna as she talked with Alex. Keep a close eye on your enemies, but a closer one on your friends. And clients. You tend to live longer that way, in my business. Alex gave Joanna what he thinks is his ingratiating smile. She didn't smile back.

  "I'll have a large whiskey. Single malt. No ice."

  "At last," said Alex. "A civilised drinker. You wouldn't believe what I get asked for some nights. Designer beers and flavoured spirits and bloody cocktails with soft porn names. One guy actually wanted a piledriver, vodka with prune juice. Animal."

  He poured Joanna a generous measure in a reasonably clean glass. She looked at him thoughtfully. "You know John Taylor."

  "For my sins, yes."

  "How well do you know him?"

  "As well as he'll let me," said Alex, unusually serious. He has a weakness for blondes, especially ones that don't take any shit from him. That's why I left them alone together. Alex leaned ac
ross the bar to Joanna. "John doesn't believe in letting people in. And it has been five years… Still, I knew he'd be back someday. This place has its claws in him. Born in the Nightside, he'll die in the Nightside, and it won't be of old age. Always has to be the white knight, riding in to rescue some poor bastard caught between a rock and a hard place. The ones with no-one else to turn to. John's always been a sucker for a hard luck story, and it would appear he's still arrogant enough to believe he knows what's best for everyone."

  "Why did he become a private detective?"

  "He has a gift for finding things. Only decent thing he got from his parents. You know the story? Everyone here does. How John's father killed himself by inches after finding out the woman he married wasn't… entirely human. I feel much the same about my ex-wife. May she rest in peace."

  "I'm sorry," said Joanna. "When did she die?"

  "She didn't," said Alex. "It's just wishful thinking on my part."

  "Can I trust Taylor?" said Joanna forcefully.

  "You can trust him to do what he feels is best. Which may or may not be what you want. So watch yourself."

  "Razor Eddie said we should go to the Fortress."

  Alex winced at the name, but nodded. "Sounds about right."

  "What is it? Another bar?"

  "Hardly. The Fortress is a heavily fortified refuge for people who've been abducted by aliens. A whole lot of them got together, bought a whole lot of guns, and made it clear to all and sundry that they weren't being taken again without one hell of a fight. There's a television camera in every room, so they can be watched over even while they sleep. Some of them even have explosive devices taped to their bodies, ready to be triggered at a moment's notice. Word is there's enough ammo and bombs in that place to fight a fairly major war."

  "Does it work?" said Joanna.

  Alex shrugged. "They're not the kind of people you ask personal questions of. They're always on the lookout for Men in Black. Anyway, over the years the Fortress has become something of a haven for anyone who needs help or protection, or just somewhere safe and secure to crash for a few days. A lot of runaways pass through the Fortress."

  "Are they good people?"

  "Oh sure. Paranoid, violent and crazy as a cat on crack, but…"

  I decided I'd heard enough. I put the phone down and went back to join them. Alex might or might not have known I was listening. It didn't matter. I nodded to Joanna.

  "All I can get is the answerphone. We'll have to go round there and ask in person."

  "Can't wait," said Joanna. She downed the last of her drink in one. Alex blinked respectfully a few times. Joanna slammed the glass down on the bar. "Put it on Taylor's tab."

  "You're learning," said Alex.

  I headed for the metal stairs, Joanna at my side. No-one looked around as we passed. Joanna looked at me suddenly.

  "John?"

  "Yes?"

  "Did they really eat their dog?"

  FIVE — The Harrowing

  We left Strangefellows, stepping out into the sullen gloom of the back alley, and the solid steel door shut itself firmly behind us. On the whole, things hadn't gone too badly. Eddie had come up with a solid lead, no-one serious had tried to kill me, and Alex hadn't even mentioned my long-standing bar bill. Presumably because he knew a rich client when he saw one. I'd hate to think he was getting soft. Joanna looked vaguely about her, frowned, and hugged herself tightly, shivering suddenly. Understandable. The alley was freezing cold, with thick whorls of hoarfrost on the walls and cobbled ground. The night had turned distinctly wintry in the short time we'd been inside. Joanna looked at me accusingly, her breath steaming thickly on the still air.

  "All right, what happened to the weather? It was a nice balmy summer night when we went through that door."

  "We don't really have weather, as such, in the Nightside," I explained patiently. "Or seasons, either. Here, the night never ends. Think of temperature changes here less as weather, and more as moods. Just the city, expressing itself. If you don't like the current conditions, wait a minute, and something new but equally distressing will come along. Sometimes, I think we get the weather we deserve here. Which is probably why it rains a lot."

  I started off down the alley, and Joanna strode along beside me, her heels clacking loudly on the cobbles. She was working her way up to asking me something intrusive. I could tell.

  "Eddie said bad people were looking for you," she said finally.

  "Don't worry. The Nightside is a big place to get lost in. We'll have found your daughter and be long gone before anyone can catch up to us."

  "If people are always looking for you here… why don't you just stay out of the Nightside?"

  I did her the courtesy of considering the matter for a few moments. It was a serious question, and deserved a serious answer. "I tried, for five long years. But the Nightside is seductive. There's nothing in everyday London to match it. It's like living in colour, instead of black and white. Everything's more intense here, more primal. Things matter more, here. Beliefs, actions, lives… can have more significance, in the great scheme of things. But in the end, it all comes down to the fact that I can make a much better living here, than I can in London. My gift only works in the Nightside. I'm somebody, here, even if I don't always like who that person is. Besides, you can't let anyone tell you where you can and can't go. It's bad for business."

  "Alex said this was your home. Where you belong."

  "Home is where the heart is," I said. "And most people don't dare reveal their heart here. Someone would eat it."

  "Eddie said they were bad people," Joanna said stubbornly. "And he looked like the kind who would know bad. Be honest with me. Are we in any immediate danger?"

  "Always, in the Nightside. All kinds of people end up here, drawn and driven by passions and needs that can't properly be expressed or satisfied anywhere else. And a lot of them like to play rough. But most of them know better than to mess with me."

  She looked at me, amused. "Hard man."

  "Only when I have to be."

  "Are you armed?"

  "I don't carry a gun," I said. "I've never felt the need."

  "I can look after myself too," she said suddenly.

  "I don't doubt it," I assured her. "Or I would never have let you come with me."

  "So, who's this Suzie, that Eddie said we'd meet at the Fortress?"

  I looked straight ahead. "Ask a lot of questions, don't you?"

  "I believe in getting my money's worth. Who is she? An old flame? An old enemy?"

  "Yes."

  "Is she going to be a problem?"

  "Perhaps. We have a history."

  Joanna was smiling. Women like to know things like that. "Does she owe you a favour too?"

  I sighed, reluctantly realising that Joanna wasn't going to be put off by curt, monosyllabic answers. Some women just have to know everything, even when it's patently none of their business.

  "Not so much a favour; more like a bullet in the back of the head. So… Suzie Shooter. Also known as Shotgun Suzie, also known as Oh God, it's her, run! The only woman ever thrown out of the SAS for unacceptable brutality. Works as a bounty hunter, in and around the Nightside. Probably got paper on someone hiding out in the Fortress."

  Joanna was looking at me closely, but I kept on looking straight ahead, my face carefully calm. "All right," she said finally. "Would she be willing to help us?"

  "She might. If you can afford her."

  "Money is no object, where my daughter is concerned."

  I looked at her. "If I'd known that, I'd have charged you more."

  She started to laugh, and then it turned into a cough, as she hugged herself hard again. "Damn, it's cold! I can hardly feel my fingers. I'll be glad to get back into the light again. Maybe it'll be warmer, out on the street."

  I stopped abruptly, and she stopped with me. She was right. It was cold. Unnaturally cold. And we'd been walking for far too long still to be in the alley. We should have reached the str
eet long before this. I looked behind me, and Strangefellow's small neon sign was just a glowing coal in the dark, far away. I looked back at the alley exit, and it was no nearer now than when we'd started. The alley had grown while I was distracted by Joanna's questions. Someone had been playing with the structure of space, stretching the alley… the energy drain manifesting as the sudden cold… I could feel the trap closing in around me. Now I was looking for it, I could sense magic in the air, crackling like static, stirring the hair on my arms. Everything seemed far away, and what sounds there were came slow and dull, as though we were underwater. Someone had taken control of the space around us, like closing the lid on a box.

  And as I looked, six dark silhouettes appeared, blocking the exit to the alley. Dark men in dark suits, waiting for me to come to them.

  "Next time you want to pick a fight," Joanna said quietly, "do it on your own time. It would appear Ffinch-Thomas' daddy has sent reinforcements."

  I nodded, trying hard not to let my relief show in my face. Of course; Ffinch-Thomas and his threats. Druid magic and city honour. No problem. I could handle half a dozen yuppie Druid wannabes, and send them home crying to their mothers. The alley spell would collapse soon enough, once I shattered their concentrated will with a little practiced brutality. And then a pale ruddy light filled the alley, leaking out of nowhere, illuminating the scene in shades of blood so Someone else could enjoy the show, and for the first time I saw clearly what was waiting for me at the end of the alley. And I was so scared I nearly vomited right there and then.

  They stood together, six of them, things that looked like men but were not men. Human in shape, but not in nature, they wore plain black suits, with neat string ties and highly polished shoes, and slouch hats with the brims pulled low, but that was just part of the disguise. Something to help them blend in, so they could walk the streets without people screaming. It worked, until you looked under the brims of their hats, to where their faces should have been. They had no faces. Just utterly blank expanses of skin, from chin to brow. They had no eyes, but they could still see. No ears, but they could hear. No mouths or noses, but then, they didn't need to breathe. There was something uniquely horrid about the sight, an offence against nature and common sense, foul enough to sicken any sane man.