beside her. She patted me on the arm.
“That was very sweet, dear. Though a bit harsh on poor Bozie.”
“Hell,” I said. “I saved his life. Suzie would have shot him on sight. She doesn’t have my innate courtesy and restraint.”
There was a certain amount of coughing around the table, and then everyone went back to their discussion on what the Afterlife Recording might actually contain. The suggestions were many and varied, but eventually boiled down to the following:
1. There was a new rebel angel in Heaven, rebelling against the long silence of millennia to finally broadcast the truth about Humanity. Why we were created, what our true purpose is, and why we are born to suffer.
2. It was a transmission from Hell, saying that God is dead and they can prove it. Satan runs our world, tormenting us for his pleasure. Which would explain a lot.
3. An exact date for the final war between Heaven and Hell. Broadcast now because…it’s all about to kick off.
4. There is a Heaven, but it’s only for the innocent animals. People just die.
5. There is a Heaven, but no Hell.
6. There is a Hell, but no Heaven.
7. It’s all bullshit.
There was a lot of nodding and raising of glasses at that last one. Once the subject of the DVD’s contents had been thoroughly exhausted, I took it upon myself to raise the possibility of the Removal Man’s involvement. Everyone perked up immediately and tumbled over each other to provide anecdotes and stories they’d come across but had been unable to get printed. Because no-one could prove anything.
“Remember Jonnie Reggae?” said Rick Aday. “Used to headline at the old Shell Beach Club? Rumour has it he vanished right in the middle of his set because the Removal Man was in the audience and decided his material was offensive. Management was livid. They’d booked Jonnie for the whole season.”
“He’s supposed to have made a house disappear, on Blaiston Street,” said Lovett, from the Nightside Observer.
“Actually, no,” I said. “That was me.”
There was some more awkward coughing before Bettie determinedly got the conversation back on course.
“Remember Bully Boy Bates?” she said brightly. “Used to run a protection racket in the sweat-shop districts? Julien Advent was just getting ready to run an exposé on him in the Times, then suddenly didn’t need to because Bates and all his cronies had gone missing. Or how about that alien predator, that disguised itself as an ambulance so it could eat the people put into it? That was the Removal Man. Supposedly. He has done some good.”
“Yes,” said Aday, drawing the word out till it sounded more like no, “but on the other hand, look what he did to the first incarnation of the Caligula Club. You know, that place that caters to all the more extreme forms of sexuality. Lots of people having a good time, according to their lights, all of it adult and consensual…but too much for the Removal Man’s puritan tastes. He made the whole Club disappear, along with everyone in it. Just like that! Which is why the current version of the Club has such heavy-duty protections, and it’s so hard to get in. Or so they tell me…”
And then the whole place fell suddenly silent as the door crashed open and General Condor entered, along with a dozen heavily armed and armoured body-guards. They made sure the place was secure and only then put their guns away. The General strode forward and looked the place over. He didn’t appear especially impressed—by the bar or its customers. He was still wearing his Space Fleet uniform, complete with golden bars on his shoulders and rows of medal ribbons on his chest. He had the look of the old soldier, the calm steady look that said he’d seen a lot of men die, and your death wouldn’t bother him in the least.
“John Taylor,” he said, his heavy deliberate voice crashing into the hush. “I want him.”
I stood up. “Get in line,” I said. “I’m busy.”
He looked me over, then surprised me by smiling briefly. If anything, it made him look even more dangerous. “I need to talk to you, Taylor. And you need to listen.”
I looked at him, then at the body-guards, and then at the reporters, all staring at us with wide eyes, impressed out of their minds. That settled it. I couldn’t let them down. I nodded to the General, who gestured stiffly at a corner booth. The young man and woman sitting in it got the message, and vacated immediately, leaving their drinks behind. The General sat down stiffly in the booth, and I went over to join him. Bettie wanted to come with me, but I was firm. She pouted and stamped her little foot, but she did stay put. I sat down facing the General, and his body-guards moved quickly to form a defensive barrier between the booth and the rest of the bar, their hands resting on the butts of their guns. The reporters turned up their noses at them and ostentatiously went back to their own conversations.
I looked thoughtfully at the General. “I’m not sure I want to hear anything you have to say, General. I’m not the military type, I have problems with authority figures, and I don’t play well with others.”
“A lot of people don’t want to hear what’s good for them. The order of things in the Nightside is changing. The Authorities are gone, and someone has to replace them before this whole place tears itself apart fighting over the spoils. I can put the Nightside on the right course, John. Make it a place to be proud of. I have support from many fine and influential people, but I could use you on my side.”
“Why me?” I said, genuinely curious.
“Don’t be disingenuous.” General Condor sighed tiredly and leaned forward across the table. “You’ve been a force for good in the Nightside. You help people. You’ve even been known to dispense your own kind of justice when necessary. Help me to save the Nightside from its own excesses.”
“You can’t force change in the Nightside,” I said. Something in me warmed to the General’s blunt honesty, if not his cause, so I gave him the truth, and not what he wanted to hear. “The Nightside is what it wants to be. It’s fought wars with Heaven and Hell for the right to go its own way. The best you can do, the best any of us can do, is encourage change for the better, one small step at a time.”
“The Nightside has had thousands of years to grow up,” said the General. “If it was capable of saving itself, it would have done so by now. It needs a firm hand on the tiller, it needs control and discipline imposed from above, like any military unit that’s gone bad. Walker tried, but he was only ever the Authorities’ puppy. He can’t run things on his own. He must be replaced.”
“Good luck with that,” I said.
He smiled again. “If I thought it would be easy, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”
“He has the Voice,” I said.
“It doesn’t work on you,” said the General.
I raised an eyebrow. “You want me to kiss him on the cheek while I’m there?”
“I want you to do what’s right. What’s best for everyone.”
“Even I don’t know what that is,” I said. “And I’ve been looking for it a lot longer than you have.”
“If you’re not with me, you’re against me,” General Condor said flatly. “And if you don’t choose a side soon, one may be chosen for you.”
I smiled. “Good luck with that, too.”
He laughed briefly, quietly. “I could have used a man like you on my flagship, John. You won’t bend or yield for anyone, will you?”
“Why is this so important to you?” I said, seriously. “You haven’t been here long. Why this need to save the Nightside from itself?”
“I have to do something,” said the General. “I couldn’t save my Fleet. I couldn’t save my men. I have to do something…”
He got up from the table, and I stood up with him. He offered me his hand, and I shook it. The General left the Printer’s Devil with his body-guards, and I went back to join Bettie Divine.
“Well?” she said, almost bouncing up and down in her seat. “What was that all about?”
“Just politics,” I said. “Nightside style. Anything new or useful come up, while I was gone?”
“But John…!”
“Move along,” I said.
