Nightside 07 - Hell to Pay

like a dog has fleas, and that’s not even including the Beings on the Street of the Gods. There must be someone or something still around who was there when the Griffin first appeared on the scene.”
    “Well, there’s Shock-Headed Peter, the Lord of Thorns, Kid Cthulhu, and of course Old Father Time himself. But again, if they know anything, they’ve gone to great pains to keep quiet about it. The Griffin is a powerful man, and he has a very long reach.”
    “All right,” I said. “Tell me about his business. I mean, I know he’s rich and owns everything that isn’t nailed down, but how, precisely?”
    “The man is very very rich,” said Harry. “Centuries of continued effort and the wonders of accumulated compound interest will do that. Whoever does eventually take over the Griffin family business will own a substantial part of the Nightside and a controlling interest in a majority of the businesses that operate here. It’s no secret that the Griffin has been manoeuvring to take over the position left vacant by the recently deceased Authorities. So whoever inherits his power base could end up running the Nightside. Inasmuch as anyone does, or can. Would the Griffin really have put so much time and effort into becoming King of the Heap, just so he could die and hand it over to an inexperienced eighteen-year-old girl?”
    “It doesn’t sound too likely, when you put it like that,” I said. “But I have to wonder what Walker will have to say. Last time I looked he was still running things, and I can’t see him stepping down for anyone he considered unworthy.”
    “Walker?” Harry sniffed dismissively. “He’s only running the day-to-day stuff because he always has, and most people still respect him. But everyone knows that’s only temporary, until someone with real power comes along. Without the Authorities to back him up, Walker’s on borrowed time, and he must know it. The Griffin isn’t the only person working behind the scenes to take control, and any one of them could have kidnapped Melissa to put pressure on the Griffin to step aside or step down.”
    “Names,” I said. “I need names.”
    “They’re not the kind of names you say out loud,” said Harry, meaningfully. “Don’t worry, though, you keep digging, and they’ll find you. What is this I’m eating, exactly?”
    “Eat up,” I said. “It’s full of protein. Now, give me the latest gossip on what the Griffin family likes to get up to when no-one’s looking. All the tasty stuff.”
    “Now you’re talking,” said Harry, grinning nastily. “Word is that William takes his pleasure very seriously, and he takes it to the extreme. An explorer on the outer edges of sensation, and all that crap. You might want to check out the Caligula Club. His wife Gloria could shop for the Olympics, but of late she’s turned away from bulk buying in favour of tracking down rare collectibles. She’s the kind that would buy the Maltese Falcon or the Holy Grail, just so no-one else could have it. The only reason she hasn’t been conned more often is because most of the people who operate in that area are quite sensibly afraid of what the Griffin would do to them if he found out. Last I heard, Gloria was negotiating to buy a Phoenix’s Egg from the Collector himself. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
    “Not really,” I said. “More a friend of my father’s.”
    Harry waited hopefully, then shrugged easily as it became clear I wasn’t going to say anything more. “Eleanor Griffin likes toy boys. She’s got through a dozen to my certain knowledge, and she’s always on the lookout for the latest model. Word is she slept with every member of a certain famous boy band, and they were never the same afterwards. Their fan club put out a fatwah on her. Eleanor’s husband Marcel gambles. Badly. Most of the reputable houses won’t let him through the door because he has a habit of running up his debts, then telling them to collect from the Griffin. Which, of course, they would have more sense than to try. As a result of this unpleasant practice, poor old Marcel has to gamble in the kind of places most of us wouldn’t enter even if we had a gun pressed to our heads. How am I doing?”
    “Very nicely,” I said. “Tell me about the grand-children, Paul and Melissa.”
    Harry frowned. “Very quiet, by comparison. They each have their own small circle of friends, and they keep to themselves. No big public appearances or scandals.