Something from the Nightside

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