Something From The Nightside (5 page)

your arse. Anyone else would have derived a useful moral lesson from these events. Alex, I'm surprised you let this little swine back in here."

Alex shrugged, leaning his elbows on the bar. "What can I tell you? His father's something big in the city. Both of them."

The music in the bar broke off suddenly, and the general babble of voices quickly died away as people realised what was happening. There was interest from all sides now, and not a little money changing hands. Everyone wanted to see if John Taylor still had it. I was kind of curious myself.

"You can't talk to me like that," said Ffinch- Thomas , his voice so strained it was practically breaking.

"Of course I can. I just did. Weren't you paying attention?"

He drew a slender golden scythe from inside his jacket, a nasty little instrument expertly crafted to fit his hand. The blade gleamed brightly, and I just knew the edges would be razor-sharp. The other two yuppies drew similar weapons. Must be the latest thing. Druid chic.

"We're going to do it to you," said Ffinch- Thomas , grinning widely. His voice was light and breathy, and his eyes were bright with excitement. "We're going to do it and do it and do it. Make you scream, Taylor. Spread your blood and skin all over the bar, until you beg to be allowed to die. I never be-

lieved those stories about you. You just caught me by surprise last time. And after we've made you cry and squeal, we'll stop for a while, so you can watch us do it to your woman. And we'll. . . we'll. .."

His voice trailed away to nothing as I locked on to his eyes with mine. I'd heard enough. More than enough. Some insects just beg to be stepped on. He stood very still, trying to look away, but he couldn't. I had him. Beads of sweat popped out all over his suddenly grey face, as he tried to turn and run and found he couldn't. He whimpered, and wet himself, a large dark stain spreading across the front of his very expensive trousers. His hand opened, against his will, and the golden scythe tumbled from his nerveless fingers, clattering loudly on the floor in the hushed quiet. He was scared now, really scared. I smiled at him, and blood ran down his cheeks from his staring eyes. He was whining, a thin, trapped, animal sound, and then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed unconscious on the floor. His two yuppie friends stood gaping down at him, and then they looked at me. They held up their golden scythes with shaking hands, nerving themselves to attack, and Alex raised his voice.

"Lucy! Betty! Trouble!"

Lucy and Betty Coltrane were suddenly right there, behind the yuppies. The Coltranes have been Alex's bouncers for years. Tall and formidable bodybuilders, the girls never wore anything more than T-

shirt and shorts, the better to show off their impressive muscles. One is blonde and one is brunette, but otherwise there's not much to choose between them. They have a somewhat threatening glamour, and crack nuts by coughing loudly. They fell on the two yuppies, slapped the scythes out of their hands, slammed them back against the bar, kneed them briskly in the privates, and then frog-marched them out. The watching crowd cheered and applauded. A few wolf-whistled. I looked reproachfully at Alex.

"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 pom 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 across 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.