The Bride Wore Black Leather

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    This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
    Copyright © 2012 by Simon R. Green.
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    FIRST EDITION : January 2012
    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
    Green, Simon R., 1955–
    The bride wore black leather / Simon R. Green.—1st ed.
    p. cm.
    ISBN 978-1-101-55403-6
    1. Taylor, John (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—England—London—Fiction. 3. Women bounty hunters—Fiction. 4. Weddings—Fiction. I. Title.
    PR6107.R44B75 2012
    823'.92—dc23
    2011041163

 
    There is a night that never ends. Hidden deep in the dark and dangerous heart of London lies the Nightside; an empire on which the sun has never set and never will. A business empire of sin and corruption, wonders and marvels, and every kind of dream come true, all of them at very reasonable prices. The thrills and chills of the hidden world, laid out before you in all their sleazy glory . . . but none of it for the faint of heart or those of a nervous disposition. In the Nightside, where it’s always three o’clock in the morning, the hour that tries men’s souls and finds them wanting, the dawn never comes . . . You can find the baddest clubs and the maddest music, parties that will never end as long as someone’s got cash in their pocket or credit on their cards, and the fun goes on forever. Put on the red shoes, of your own free will, and dance till you bleed. And don’t ever complain that no-one warned you.
    In the night that never ends you can find heroes and villains, gods and monsters, angels and demons . . . and you can be sure that somewhere, someone is always singing the blues. Hot neon burns like warning signs in Hell, while men and women with bad pasts and uncertain futures swarm up and down the rain-slick streets, in pursuit of pleasures that might not have a name, but most certainly have a price. Temptation winks from every street-corner, and there’s always a quiet back room where you can sell your soul. Yours, or someone else’s. Dance in the streets, run wild in the night, bet your soul on a roll of the dice . . . and then grin at the dealer and ask if you can go double or quits. You can chase every dream you ever had in the Nightside if it doesn’t end up chasing you.
    There is a night that never ends. Or at least, that’s the smart way to bet.

ONE
    One Last Case
    I went walking up and down the packed streets of the Nightside, making my way through all the desperate conversations and dodgy deals, through all the damned and the disgraced, and all the lost souls searching for something they could buy, then call love; and everywhere I went, people nodded quickly and politely to me, out of respect. I still wasn’t used to that. John Taylor has always been a