Nightside 09 - Just Another Judgement Day

two hard-working professionals, getting by in the Nightside. Penny Dreadful was an old-school enchantress. She could make you do anything. She could make you do awful things, to yourself, or to your friends or loved ones. She never killed anyone. Mostly, after she’d finished with them, they killed themselves.
    Penny was the most amoral woman I have ever met, and I’ve met a few. She would work for anyone, good or bad, as long as she was paid in advance. Penny genuinely did not care. She was only ever in it for the money. The complete professional. She worked with me on a case once. After I paid her to do it. We got along okay.
    “Hello, Penny,” I said. “Keeping busy?”
    “You know how it is, John darling. A girl has to eat.”
    She had a little girl’s voice, with a charming French accent. Word had it she’d danced at the Crazy Horse, in her younger days. She twirled her beads at me artlessly.
    “Still,” I said. “The Boys Club? As a body-guard? A bit below you, isn’t it, Penny? You used to work for a much better class of scumbag.”
    She shrugged. “The money’s good. Needs must, when your creditors bay at your heels. Please don’t start anything, John. I’d hate to have to stop you. Really I would.”
    “If you’ve quite finished chatting up the staff,” said the Walking Man. “I have death and destruction to be about.”
    “John Taylor,” said a slow, growling voice, and we all looked round. We’d ended up in front of Big Jake Rackham’s table. He sat sprawling in a vast overstuffed chair as though it were a throne, surrounded by the pinched, unfriendly faces of his court. He was large, rather than fat, with brute, powerful features and eyes that didn’t give a damn about anything. Big Jake Rackham ran the sex trade in the Nightside, taking his cut from every business that operated. No-one indulged in the sins of the flesh in the Nightside without putting money in Rackham’s pocket. He was middle-aged but looked older, the awful experiences of his life etched deep into his face. His hair was receding, so he wore it in a long, greasy ponytail down his back. It had been a long time since he’d beaten enemies and rivals to death with his bare hands, but no-one doubted he was still capable of it.
    I knew him. He knew me. He leaned forward abruptly, fixing me with eyes as cold and dark as any shark’s.
    “How did you get in here, Taylor? You’re banned. You killed Kid Cthulhu, and handed Max Maxwell over to Walker. You have interfered in my business and cost me money. You must be mad to force your way in here. You must know I’ll have you killed for such an affront.”
    I looked at him, holding his gaze, and he couldn’t look away. He stiffened as he realised he wasn’t in control any more. I looked at him, and his whole body began to tremble. He cried out, as bloody tears trickled down his cheeks from his bulging eyes, and still he couldn’t move a muscle. When he started to whimper, his body-guards trained their guns on me, but didn’t dare open fire without a direct order from Rackham. In the end, Penny Dreadful stepped forward and put herself between Rackham and me, blocking my gaze. I smiled at her, and nodded slightly. Behind her, Big Jake Rackham had collapsed in his chair, struggling for breath.
    “What did you just do, John?” murmured Chandra.
    “I stared him down,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice. “Scumbags should know their place.”
    I looked around, and several people winced, or tried to hide behind each other. A few actually made warding signs against the evil eye. The whole of the Club had gone quiet, like animals around a watering hole sensing the arrival of a lion. Someone had shut off the music, all the games had been stopped, and everyone’s attention was fixed on me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many unhappy faces, or had so many guns trained on me at one time. It made me feel rather better, after being ignored by the lobby’s security men. I smiled condescendingly on one and all, ostentatiously taking all the ill will and threats in my stride. Never let them see you sweat. It helped that I really had done many of the awful things they thought I’d done. Nobody wanted to be the first to start anything, because none of them were entirely sure of what I might do . . .
    More of the body-guards were moving forward, putting their bodies between us and their masters. The Boys paid extremely well to be protected. I looked thoughtfully about