Nightside 08 - The Unnatural Inquirer

Cardinal over this? Once the DVD is yours, he’ll be your problem.”
    “One hour,” said Kid Cthulhu. “And don’t bring Shotgun Suzie with you or the deal’s off.”
    “Such a fuss, over one little tentacle,” I said. “If she’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
    “Have you seen what’s on the DVD?” said Kid Cthulhu.
    “Of course not,” I said. “And yes; I guarantee there are no other copies. You’re buying exclusive rights to the Afterlife Recording.”
    “One hour,” said Kid Cthulhu.
    The line went dead. I put the phone away, smiling. These gang bosses all think they’re so smart.
    “Right,” I said to Bettie. “Let’s go meet Captain Sushi.”
    “It’s bound to be a trap,” said Bettie. She’d had her head right next to mine, so she could listen in on the call.
    “Of course it’s a trap,” I said. “Kid Cthulhu owns The Witch’s Tit. But since we know it’s a trap going in, we can be ready to take advantage of it. What matters is setting things up so everyone will believe Kid Cthulhu has the Afterlife Recording.”
    “Wait a minute,” said Bettie. “You can’t just give it to him, John. My paper…”
    “Relax,” I said. “At exactly the right moment, you will distract him, and I will swap this DVD for one I will happen to have hidden about my person. Something from Alex’s collection; he won’t even know it’s gone till it’s too late. Kid Cthulhu will be bound to make a fuss about getting the DVD from me, and the news will be all over the Nightside by the time he actually works up the nerve to watch what he’s bought. By which time we will have delivered the real thing to your paper’s offices, where it will be safe. Until you give it away with this Sunday’s edition. And Kid Cthulhu…will learn the cost of messing with me and mine.”
    “He’ll kill you,” said Bettie.
    “He can join the queue.”
    I took an unlabelled disc from Alex’s private collection of elf porn, slipped it into an inside pocket, and smiled again. The day I couldn’t work a simple bait and switch like this, I’d retire.
    There’s a lot more to being a private eye than most people realise.

    We went back down into the bar. I didn’t need Alex’s help to leave his apartment though I could still feel his defences, like so many spider’s webs, trailing lightly against my face as I went down the stairs. Pen Donavon was still sitting slumped on his bar-stool, staring into his brandy glass. Alex was behind the bar, scowling at Donavon as he opened yet another bottle of the good brandy. For a tired, scared, and totally out-of-his-mind man on the run, Donavon could really put it away. I suppose when you believe you’re going to Hell anyway, little things like hangovers and liver failure don’t bother you any more.
    Cathy was behind the bar with Alex, poking the meat pies with a stick to see if they needed replacing yet. Lucy and Betty Coltrane were still clearing up the general mess. Everyone turned to look as Bettie and I appeared from the back stairs.
    “Well?” said Alex. “How was it? What was it? I’ve got a first-rate exorcist on speed dial, if you need him.”
    “Everyone relax,” I said. “It’s a fake.”
    Pen Donavon’s head came up. “What?”
    I started to explain, as kindly as I could, about psychic imprinting and guilt, but I could tell he wasn’t listening. And I stopped as I realised the bar was getting darker. The light became suffused with red, as though stained with fresh blood, sinking into a deep crimson glow. Tables and chairs suddenly exploded into flames and burned fiercely, unconsumed. The Coltranes backed quickly away, and joined the rest of us at the bar. The walls slumped slowly inwards, swollen and inflamed, their fleshy texture studded with sweating tumours. A huge eye opened in the ceiling, staring down at us in cold judgement. The floor became soft and uncertain beneath my feet, heaving like the slow swell of the sea. Deep dark shadows were forming all around us, slowly closing in.
    “It’s him, isn’t it?” said Bettie, gripping my arm with both hands. “It’s Pen. He’s imprinting his vision of Hell right here, with us.”
    “Looks like it,” I said. “Only this doesn’t look or feel like any illusion. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s real, as such, but it could be real enough to kill us.”
    “How is he doing this?” said Alex. “This bar has defences and protections laid down by Merlin himself!”
    “Yes,” I