Nightside 08 - The Unnatural Inquirer

glass of brandy before him. He gulped half of it down in one go, and Alex winced visibly. Must have been the really good stuff, then. I looked at Bettie.
    “Could someone in your offices have put the word out on Donavon coming in with the DVD?”
    “For a percentage? Wouldn’t surprise me. None of us are exactly overpaid at the Inquirer. And our Reception phones are always being tapped. We debug them at the start of every working day, but there’s always someone listening in, hoping for an advantage. After all, we hear everything first. We’re noted for it.”
    “I should never have recorded the broadcast,” said Donavon. He was sitting hunched over his brandy glass, as though afraid someone would snatch it away. “It was all a ghastly mistake. I was trying to contact the other side, yes, but I never thought…My life hasn’t been my own since. And I’d certainly never have tried to sell the Recording if I’d known it would destroy my whole life.”
    “You saw the broadcast,” said Bettie, leaning in close with her best engaging smile. “What did you see?”
    Donavon started shaking again. He tried to speak, and couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tears ran down his trembling cheeks. Alex sighed heavily and topped up the brandy glass again. He smiled nastily at me.
    “All these drinks are going on your tab, Taylor.”
    I smiled right back at him. “Do your worst. Expenses, remember?”
    “Well,” said Bettie. “You will get expenses if we deliver the DVD.”
    I looked at her. “What? What do you mean if? Nothing was ever said about my expenses being conditional!”
    “This is the newspaper game, sweetie. Everything’s conditional.”
    I scowled, and then had to stop because it was upsetting Donavon even more. I moved away down the bar and gestured for Alex to lean in close. “You can bet some of your recent customers will be out on the streets now, spilling the beans about who and what can be found in Strangefellows. Which means we can expect unfriendly visitors at any moment. Better lock the doors and slam down the shutters. Where are the Coltranes?”
    “Out the back, doing exactly that,” said Alex. “I can think for myself, thank you. My defences will keep out all but the most determined; but if anyone does get in, the resulting damage will also be going on your tab. I’d insure against you, but apparently you’re classed along with Acts of Gods and other unavoidable nuisances.”
    “Call Suzie,” I said. “I think we’re going to need her help on this one.”
    “Damn,” said Alex. “And I just had the place redecorated.”
    Bettie slipped her arm through mine and turned me round to face her. “I hate to sound disappointed,” she said, “but I am, maybe a bit. I mean, darling, this isn’t at all what I expected. It all looks so…ordinary. Well, ordinary for the Nightside. I was hoping for something more…extreme.”
    I refrained from pointing out the disembodied hand scuttling up and down the bar top. (Alex accepted it in payment for a bad debt.) The hand was busy polishing the bar top and refilling the snack bowls. Yet another good reason not to eat them, as far as I was concerned. Alex objected on principle to giving away anything, and it showed in his choice of snacks. Does anyone actually eat honeyed locusts any more? The vulture’s perch was empty, of course, but there were other things to look at. Lightning, crackling inside a bottle. Bit hard on the ship, I thought. A small featureless furry thing, that sat on the bar top purring happily to itself, and occasionally farting. Until the hand grabbed it up and used it as a rag to polish the bar top. A small cuspidor of tanna leaves, with the brand-name Mummy’s favourite. All nice homey touches.
    “I want a drink,” Bettie announced loudly. “I want one of those special drinkies you can only get here. Do you have a Maiden’s Bloody Ruin? Dragons’ Breath? Angel’s Tears?”
    “The first two aren’t cocktails,” I said. “And that last one is actually called Angel’s Urine.”
    “Which was selling quite well,” said Alex. “Until word got around it wasn’t so much a trade name as an accurate description.”
    Bettie laughed and snuggled cosily up against me. “You choose, darling.”
    “Give the lady a wormwood brandy,” I said.
    Alex gave me a look, and then fished about under the bar for the really good stuff he keeps set aside for special customers.
    “I do like this place, after all,”