The Unnatural Inquirer Part 12

"Not in my bar," said Alex. He produced a pump-action shotgun from under the bar, and when Ace turned to look, Alex shot him in the face. Ace was thrown backwards, blasted right off his feet, crashing into the cowboys behind him, who made shocked, startled noises. Alex worked the pump action, and all the combat sorcerers stood very still.

"Wow," I said. "Hard core, Alex."

He shrugged modestly. "Suzie left this behind, one night. Always thought it would come in handy one day. I loaded it with silver bullets, dipped in holy water, and blessed by a wandering G.o.d. I could shoot the head off a golem with this. And if golems had other things, I could shoot them off, too."

"You know," said Bettie, "I think I'd be rather more impressed if Trevor wasn't getting up again."

We looked round. Ace was already back on his feet, apparently entirely unaffected. Apart from the really p.i.s.sed-off look on his face.

"Oh, s.h.i.t," said Alex, putting down the shotgun. "Guys, you're on your own. If you want me, I'll be hiding behind the bar, whimpering and wetting myself."

"Really?" said Bettie, not bothering to hide her disappointment in him.

"h.e.l.l no," said Alex. "This is my bar! It's bad enough that the whole world conspires against me, messes with my beer and puts my vulture up the duff, without having a bunch of refugees from an S&M march walking in here like they own the place. And Thalla.s.sa hadn't even paid for his drinks yet, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! You owe me money!" He vaulted over the bar, holding a glowing cricket bat. "Merlin made this for me, sometime back. For when you really, absolutely have to take out the trash."

"Alex," I said. "This isn't like you. It's an improvement, but it isn't like you."

"My new girl-friend's upstairs," said Alex. "Probably watching on the monitors. You know how it is when you've got a new girl. You end up doing all kinds of stupid things."

"Yes," I said. "I know how it is."

"Is that it?" said Ace, smiling. "A glow-in-the-dark cricket bat?"

"No," said Alex. "Oh, girls!"

And Alex's two large, muscular, body-building bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, came charging in from the back of the bar and threw themselves at the startled combat sorcerers. They ploughed right into the group before the cowboys even had time to react, knocking them a.r.s.e over t.i.t and kicking them while they were down, in the fine old tradition of bouncers everywhere. Alex hit the group a moment later, swinging his cricket bat with both hands as though it were a long sword. He smashed faces and broke bones, and the cowboys fell back, crying out in shock and distress. None of them had prepared for an irate bartender armed with a weapon enchanted by Merlin Satansp.a.w.n. The glowing cricket bat smashed through their magical defences like they weren't even there. Tougher magical shields flared up here and there, as some of the combat sorcerers got their act together enough to ward off the Coltranes, but the girls just dodged around the shields to get at those cowboys who weren't protected. Shrill cries of pain and anguish filled the air.

I said Ace's name, and when he turned to look at me I threw a handful of pepper into his face. An attack so basic and physical his magical shields couldn't do a thing to prevent it. He howled piteously, scrabbling at his tearing eyes with both hands. I kicked him in the nuts, and he folded up and fell to the floor. Top-rank combat sorcerer, my a.r.s.e. Try having a.s.sa.s.sins at your throat and at your back ever since you were a small child and see what that does to your survival skills.

Some of the combat sorcerers got past their shock and surprise and charged up their amulets and charms. They fired spells in all directions, and everyone ducked for cover. I looked around for Pen Donavon, just in time to see him diving behind the bar. Best place for him. Then I had to throw myself to one side as an energy bolt seared through the air where I'd been a moment before. It hit the long wooden bar and cracked it from end to end. I winced. I knew I was going to end up paying for that. Betty and Lucy Coltrane were ducking and dodging, avoiding fireb.a.l.l.s and transformation spells and conceptual bullets from all directions at once. They were fast on their feet for their size, but they couldn't protect themselves and press the fight at the same time.

Sparks flew from Alex's cricket bat as he clubbed his way through the cowboys before him. They blasted him with destructive spells at point-blank range, but the magic Merlin had built into the bat reflected the spells right back at their source. As a result, lightning bolts flashed back and forth across the bar, bouncing off magical shields and doing extensive damage to the bar's fixtures and fittings. Magical bullets ricocheted, punching holes in the walls and ceiling. And two rather surprised-looking toads blinked at each other from piles of cowboy clothes before reappearing as themselves again.

Meanwhile, I had my own problem. Ace was getting up again. I picked up a handy chair and hit him over the head with it. I'm a great one for tradition. But the chair didn't break, and Ace didn't go down. So much for Hollywood. I dropped the chair and looked around for something else to hit him with. Preferably something with big jaggedy edges. I saw one of the combat sorcerers grab Bettie by the arm and pull her to him. I think he intended to use her as a human shield, or as a way to get to me. He really should have known better. He pointed his shimmering gun at her, and she smiled dazzlingly at him. He hesitated, and was lost. He stood where he was, unmoving, fascinated. Bettie's mother was a l.u.s.t demon, and had pa.s.sed on some of her deadly glamour to her daughter. Bettie held the cowboy's eyes with hers, fished in her bag, brought out her Mace, and let him have it. He fell to the floor, writhing and howling, and clawing at his eyes with both hands.

And to think I'd been a bit worried that she might not fit in with my friends.

While I was distracted, Ace hit me with a transformation spell. I cried out in shock as the spell crawled all over me, cramping my muscles and coursing through my neural system. Pain bent me in two, and sweat dripped from my face. I could feel my skin stretching and distorting, trying to find a new shape. Discharging energies spat and crackled around me, but for all its power, the spell couldn't find a foothold in me. Slowly, I straightened up again, fighting back the effects of the spell, throwing it off through sheer force of will. I smiled slowly at Ace, a cold and nasty death's-head grin, and he fell back a pace as the last of his spell fell away from me, defeated.

"So," he said harshly. "It's true. You're not human. That spell would have worked on any man."

"A man might have shown you mercy," I said. "But we're beyond that now."

He thrust his conceptual gun in my face. I grabbed his pointing finger and broke it. And while he was distracted by the pain, I reached automatically for my gift, to find some weakness in his defences...and it was there, just waiting to be used. I didn't waste any time wondering why. I simply fired up my gift, reached out with my mind, and found the operating spells controlling the combat sorcerers' magical items. And then it was the easiest thing in the world to tear away all the items' controls and restraints and let the amulets and charms and fetishes release all their power at once.

I could have fixed it so they would discharge harmlessly, but I didn't feel like being merciful.

The magical items exploded like grenades, blowing their owners apart. Thirteen cowboys cried out in shock and pain and horror as their power sources punched holes through their chests, tore off their arms, or blew their heads apart. It was all over in a few moments, and then there were thirteen dead combat sorcerers lying on the bar-room floor, in slowly spreading pools of blood and gore. Alex lowered his glowing cricket bat, breathing hard. Betty and Lucy Coltrane looked around, kicked the bodies nearest them just in case, and then high-fived each other.

Bettie Divine looked at me, shock and horror in her face.

"John; what have you done?"

"He said Kill them all."

"That doesn't mean you had to kill all of them!"

"Yes it did," I said. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"What?"

"They threatened me, and my friends, and they killed a poor drunk sorcerer. They broke my first rule. Thou shalt not mess with me and mine. I just sent a message to Kid Cthulhu and all his kind."

"You killed thirteen men to make a point?" Bettie was staring at me as though she'd never seen me before, and perhaps she hadn't. Not this me.

"They would have killed you," I said.

"Yes. They would have. But you're supposed to be better than that."

"I am," I said. "Sometimes."

She wasn't even looking at me any more. She knelt beside what was left of the man called Ace. He'd carried three magical charms, and they'd torn him apart as they detonated. The amulet had blown his hand right off his wrist. His head was still pretty much intact. He looked more surprised than anything. Bettie cupped his face with one hand.

"We were close, once. When we were both a lot younger. He wasn't always like this. We had dreams, of all the wonderful things we were going to do. And I became a reporter for a tabloid, and he ended up as a cowboy. He wasn't bad, not when I knew him. He liked silly comedies, and happy endings, and he held me on bad days and told me he believed in me. And yes, I know, he would have killed me if you hadn't stopped me. That doesn't change anything."

"Did you love him?" I said.

"Of course I loved him. The man he was then. But I don't think he'd been that man for some time." She stared down at the dead face, into his staring eyes. She tried to close the eyelids, but they wouldn't stay closed. Bettie made a sound, and sat back on her heels. "I thought I'd be stronger than this. Harder, more cynical. The things I've seen, and done...the death of someone who used to be a friend, long ago, shouldn't affect me like this. I didn't think I could still hurt like this."

"You get used to it," I said. And immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. "Bettie, you've got nothing to feel bad about. This is all down to me."

"Yes," she said. "It is."

She got up, all calm and composed again, and walked straight past me to the bar. She picked up her drink and took a dainty sip. She didn't look at me once. And I knew she'd never look at me the same way again, after seeing what I could do, what I would do, when pushed to the wall.

I will always do whatever is necessary, to protect my friends, whether they approve or not.

Alex helped Betty and Lucy Coltrane loot the bodies of anything worth the having, and then directed them to haul the bodies out back and dump them in the alley outside. Where the Nightside's various scavengers would quickly dispose of them. There's not a lot of room for sentiment in the Nightside. I would have helped, but I was busy thinking. Why had control of my gift been returned to me, after being blocked twice already? Presumably, whoever had been interfering with my gift just didn't need to any more. Because they were watching over me and knew I'd located Pen Donavon.

Still musing, I wandered back to the bar. Alex had finally persuaded Donavon to come out from behind it, and he was emerging slowly, bit by bit, staring with horrified eyes at all the carnage and destruction.

"They'll always be coming after me, won't they?" he said sadly. "It's never going to be over. I'm never going to get my life back. It wasn't much, but it was mine, and it was safe."

"You'll be safe again once we get you and the Afterlife Recording back to the Unnatural Inquirer's offices," Bettie said briskly. "You'll have the paper's full resources behind you. No-one will dare touch you."

"And once you've handed over the DVD, no-one will have any reason to go after you," I said.

"They might expect me to intercept another broadcast," said Donavon.

"We've seen your television," I said. "Smash it. End of problem."

"We'll never make it to the paper's offices," said Donavon. "They'll be lining up to get at me, all along the way."

"John will find a way," Alex said firmly. "It's what he does. When he isn't busy trashing my bar."

"He doesn't have his gift any more," said Bettie. "He's been neutered."

"Actually, no," I said. "I've got it back, now I've caught up with Donavon. Tell me, Pen, what made you think to come here, looking for me?"

"I got a phone call," said Donavon. "It said I'd be safe at Strangefellows. That John Taylor could protect me. I knew your name, of course. And the bar's reputation."

"Who called you?" I said.

"Don't know. Ident.i.ty withheld. I didn't recognise the voice. But I was desperate, so..."

Alex looked at me. "Kid Cthulhu?"

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe there's another player in this game. Someone powerful enough to shut down my gift until it didn't matter any more. And just maybe, someone who wanted me to find Donavon, eventually...The rules of this game seem to be changing. I wonder why."

"I'd better track down Suzie," said Alex.

"She might have her phone turned off if she's busy. You know Suzie's only really happy when she's working. If you can find her, tell her I need her the moment she's free. I've got a feeling this case is going to get seriously ugly."

"Got it," said Alex. He turned away to root through the mess at the back of the bar, searching through the debris for his phone.

Bettie was looking at me now, her expression hard to read. I looked patiently back, waiting for her to make the first move.

"Is that what you and Suzie have in common?" she said finally. "The thing that holds you together? That you're both killers?"

"It's not that simple," I said.

"I've never understood what you see in Shotgun Suzie. She's a monster. She lives to kill. How can you stay with someone like that?"

"No-one else has shared what we've shared," I said. "Seen the things we've seen, done the things we've had to do. There's no-one else we could talk to, no-one else who'd understand."

"I want to understand," said Bettie. She moved slowly forward, almost in spite of herself, then suddenly she was in my arms again, her face pressed against my shoulder. I held her lightly, not wanting to scare her off. She buried her face in my shoulder, so she wouldn't have to look me in the eye. "Oh, John...You killed to protect me. I know that. I know it was necessary. But...you don't have to be like this. So...cold. I could warm you." She finally looked up at me. Our eyes met, and she didn't flinch. She put her face up, and I kissed her. Because I wanted to. After a while, she stepped back, and I quickly let her go. She managed a small smile.

"Let me take you away from all this, John. Living in an insane world is bound to make you crazy. And living with a crazy woman..."

"She's not crazy," I said. "Just troubled."

"Of course, John."

"Suzie and I need each other."

"No you don't! Sweetie, you really don't. You need a normal, healthy relationship. I could make you happy, John, in all the ways that matter."

"How can I trust you?" I said. "You're a l.u.s.t demon's daughter."

"Well," said Bettie, "no-one's perfect."

We both laughed. Sometimes...it's the little moments, the shared moments, that matter the most.

Alex came back, scowling as he looked from me to Bettie, and back again. "Suzie isn't answering her phone. But I've put the word out. Someone will b.u.mp into her. What do we do now?"

"I think it's way past time we sat down and watched this b.l.o.o.d.y DVD and see what's on it," I said. "You've got a player upstairs, haven't you, Alex?"

"Well, yes, but like I said I've got my new girl-friend up there..."

"If you think it's going to be too much for her, send her home," I said. "I'm not going one step further with this case without knowing exactly what it is I'm risking life and limb for."

"Do you really think we should?" said Bettie. "I mean, look what watching it did to poor Pen."

We all looked at Pen Donavon, back on his stool again, drinking brandy like mother's milk. He felt our gaze on him and looked round. He sighed and handed me an unlabelled DVD in a jewel case.

"Watch it, if you must," he said. "I think...it's supposed to be seen. But I couldn't bear to see it again."

"You don't have to," I said. "Stay here. The Coltranes will look after you."

But even as Alex and Bettie and I headed for the back stairs that led up to Alex's private apartment, I had to wonder what seeing the Afterlife Recording would do to us. And whether I really wanted to know the truth.

EIGHT.

One Man's h.e.l.l

Getting into Alex Morrisey's private apartment is never easy. He guards his privacy like a dragon with his h.o.a.rd, and there are many pitfalls waiting for the unwary. I think a very specialised burglar got in once; and something ate him. First, you have to go up a set of back stairs that aren't even there unless Alex wants them to be. Then you have to pa.s.s through a series of major league protections and defences, not unlike air-locks; you can feel them opening ahead of you, then closing behind you. Any one of these traps-in-waiting would quite cheerfully kill you if given the chance, in swift, nasty, and often downright appalling ways, if Alex happened to change his mind about you at any point. I have known gang lords' crime dens that were easier to get into; and they often have their own pet demons under contract. I wouldn't even try getting into Alex's apartment without his permission unless I was armed with a tactical nuke wrapped in rabbit's feet.

But it wasn't until Alex let us into his apartment that I was really shocked. The living-room was so clean and tidy I barely recognised it. All his old junk was gone, including the charity shop furniture and his collection of frankly disturbing porcelain statuettes in p.o.r.nographic poses. Replaced by comfortable furnishings and pleasant decorative touches. His books, CDs, and DVDs no longer lay scattered across all available surfaces or stacked in tottering piles against the walls; now they were all set out neatly on brand-new designer shelving. Probably in alphabetical order, too. It was actually possible now to walk across Alex's living-room without having to kick things out of the way, and his carpet didn't crunch when you trod on it.

In the end, it was the cushions on the sofa that gave it away. Men who live on their own don't have cushions. They just don't. It's a guy thing.

I looked accusingly at Alex. "You've let a woman move in with you, haven't you? Don't you ever learn?"

"I didn't say anything," Alex said haughtily, "because I knew you wouldn't approve. Besides, you're in no position to throw stones. You live with a psychopathic gun nut."

There was a noise from the next room. A small tic appeared briefly in Alex's face. I looked at him sternly. "What was that?"

"Just the vulture," Alex said quickly. "Morning sickness."