remember the last time I let you talk me into playing here. My customers have made it very clear that they would rather projectile vomit their own intestines rather than have to listen to you again, and I don't necessarily disagree. What's the band called... this week? I take it you are still changing the name on a regular basis, so you can still get bookings?'
'For the moment, we're Druid Chic,' Leo admitted. 'It does help to have the element of surprise on our side.'
'Leo, I wouldn't book you to play at a convention for the deaf.' Alex glared across at the werewolf on his blanket. 'And take your drummer with you. He is lowering the tone, which in this place is a real accomplishment.'
Leo ostentatiously looked around, then gestured for Alex to lean closer. 'You know,' he said conspiratorially, 'if you're looking for something new, something just that little bit special to pull in some new customers, I might be able to help you out. Would you be interested in... a pinch of Elvis?'
Alex looked at him suspiciously. 'Tell me this has nothing at all to do with fried banana sandwiches.'
'Only indirectly. Listen. A few years back, a certain group of depraved drug fiends of my acquaintance hatched a diabolical plan in search of the greatest possible high. They had tried absolutely everything, singly and in combination, and were desperate for something new. Something more potent, to scramble what few working brain cells they had left. So they went to Graceland. Elvis, as we all know, was so full of pills when he died they had to bury him in a coffin with a childproof lid. By the time he died, the man's system was saturated with every weird drug under the sun, including several he had made up specially. So my appalling friends sneaked into Grace-land under cover of a heavy-duty camouflage spell, dug up Elvis's body, and replaced it with a simulacrum. Then they scampered back home with their prize. You can see where this is going, can't you? They cremated Elvis's body, collected the ashes, and smoked them. The word is, there's no high like... a pinch of Elvis.'
Alex considered the matter for a moment. 'Congratulations,' he said finally. 'That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard, Leo. And there's been a lot of competition.
Leo Morn shrugged and grinned, finished his drink, and went to grab his drummer by the collar. His place at the bar was immediately taken by a new arrival, a fat middle-aged man in a crumpled suit. Slobby, sweaty, and furtive, he looked like he should have been standing in a police identification parade somewhere. He smiled widely at Alex, who didn't smile back.
'A splendid night, Alex! Indeed, a most fortunate night! You're looking well, sir, very well. A glass of your very finest, if you please!'
Alex folded his arms across his chest. 'Tate. Just when I think my day can't get any worse, you turn up. I don't suppose there's any chance of you paying your bar bill, is there?'
'You wound me, sir! You positively wound me!' Tate tried to look aggrieved. It didn't suit him. He switched to an ingratiating smile. 'My impecunious days are over, Alex! As of today, I am astonishingly solvent. I...'
At which point he was suddenly pushed aside by a tall, cadaverous individual, in a smart tuxedo and a billowing black opera cape. His face was deathly pale, his eyes were a savage crimson, and his mouth was full of sharp teeth. He smelled of grave dirt. He pounded a corpse-pale fist on the bar and glared at Alex.
'You! Giff me blut! Fresh blut!'
Alex calmly picked up a nearby soda syphon and let the newcomer have it full in the face. He shrieked loudly as his face dissolved under the jet of water, then he suddenly disappeared, his clothes and cloak slumping to the floor. A large black bat flapped around the bar. Everyone present took the opportunity to throw things at it, until finally it flapped away up the stairs. Alex put down the syphon.
'Holy soda water,' he explained, to the somewhat startled Tate. 'I keep it handy for certain cocktails.
Bloody vampires... that's the third we've had in this week. Must be a convention on again.'
'Put it from your thoughts, dear fellow,' Tate said grandly. 'Tonight is your lucky night. All your troubles are over. I will indeed be paying my bar bill, and more than that. Tonight, the drinks are on me!'
Everyone in the bar perked up their ears at that. They never had any trouble hearing the offer of a free drink, even with King Crimson going full blast. It wasn't something that happened very often. A crowd began to form around the grinning Tate, pleased but somewhat surprised. Frankenstein's creature pushed forward his can for a refill. Alex still hadn't uncrossed his arms.
'Absolutely no more credit for you, Tate. Let's see the color of your money first.'
Tate looked around him, taking his time, making sure he had everyone's full attention, and produced from inside his jacket a substantial wad of cash. The crowd murmured, impressed. Tate turned back to Alex.
'I have inherited a fortune, my dear boy. Taylor finally found the missing will, and I have been legally proclaimed the one and only true heir; and I am now so rich I could spit on a Rockefeller.'
'Good,' said Alex. He neatly plucked the wad of cash out of Tate's hand, peeled off half of it and gave the rest back. 'That should just about cover your tab.
Hopefully once you've paid Taylor, he'll be able to settle up his bill too.'
'Taylor?' Tate said disdainfully. He gestured grandly with what remained of his wad of cash. 'I have creditors of long-standing and exhausted patience waiting to be paid. They come first. Taylor is just hired help. He can take a number, and wait.'
He laughed loudly, inviting everyone else to join him. Instead, everyone went very quiet. Some actually began to back away from him. Alex leaned forward over the bar and gave Tate a hard look.
'You're planning on stiffing Taylor? Are you tired of living, Tate?'
The fat man pulled himself up to his full height, but unfortunately he didn't have far to go. He glared at Alex, his mouth pulled into a vicious pout. 'Taylor doesn't scare me!'
Alex smiled coldly. 'He would, if you had the sense God gave a boll weevil.'
He looked past Tate, and nodded a hello. After a moment, everyone else looked round too. And that was when Tate finally turned around, and saw me standing at the foot of the stairs, from where I'd been watching and listening. I started towards the bar, and people who weren't even in my way hurried to get out of it. The crowd around Tate quickly melted away, falling back to what they hoped was a safe distance. Tate stood his ground, chin held high, trying to look unconcerned and failing miserably. I finally came to a halt right in front of him. He was sweating hard. I smiled at him, and he swallowed audibly.
'Hello, Tate,' I said calmly. 'Good to see you. You're looking your usual appalling self. I'm pleased to hear the inheritance is everything you thought it would be. I do so love it when a case has a happy ending. Now, you owe me money, Tate. And I really don't feel like waiting.'
'You can't bully me,' Tate said hoassly. 'I'm rich now. I can afford protection.'
His podgy left hand went to a golden charm bracelet around his right wrist. He grabbed two of the bulky, ugly-looking charms, pulled them free, and threw them onto the floor between us. There was a brief lurch in the bar as a dimensional gateway opened between the worlds and the two charms were replaced by the two creatures they'd summoned. They stood glowering between me and Tate, two huge reptiloid figures with muscles on their muscles and great wedge-shaped heads absolutely bristling with serrated teeth. The reptiloids looked at me, and I looked at them, and then they both turned to look at Tate.
'Right,' said the one on the right. 'We don't do lost causes.'
And with that, they disappeared back to where they'd come from. Tate tried all the other charms on his bracelet, in increasing desperation, but none of them would budge. I just stood there, looking calm and relaxed and not at all bothered, while my heart slowly returned to its usual rate. Those reptiloids really had been worryingly large ... Sometimes it helps to have a reputation as a dangerous and extremely ruthless bastard. Tate finally gave up on the bracelet and looked, very reluctantly, back at me. I smiled at him, and he seemed very, very upset.
In the end, he gave me every piece of cash, all his credit cards, all his jewelry, including the charm bracelet, and basically everything else he had on his person. And I let him walk out of the bar alive. He was lucky I let him keep his clothes. I settled down to chat with Alex, and everyone else went back to what they were doing before, vaguely disappointed because there hadn't been any blood.
Alex poured me a large brandy. 'So, John, where are you living these days?'
'In the real world,' I said, deliberately vague. 'I commute into the Nightside to work. It's safer.'
