The Bride Wore Black Leather

cold, cold gaze.
    “It seems a lot of people have heard about this prophecy of yours, Eddie,” I said. “ How accurate is it likely to be?”
    “You said it yourself, John,” murmured Razor Eddie. “There are any number of possible futures. And people will always talk.”
    “They’re not only talking; they’re laying bets!”
    “Well, of course they are.” The ghost of a smile passed briefly across his pale lips. “Do you want to know the latest odds?”
    I sat back in my chair and looked at him thoughtfully. “Would you really kill me, after everything we’ve been through together?”
    “Oh, I think so,” said Razor Eddie. “Perhaps because of all the things we’ve been through together. I will say this—it would have to be for a very good reason.” He considered me for a long moment. “You always were too soft-hearted for your own good. They should have made me Walker. I would have brought real justice to the Nightside.”
    “Well, yes, possibly,” I said. “But I have to wonder how many would still be left alive after you’d finished. Besides, you’ve seen where that kind of single-minded self-righteousness leads. You remember the Walking Man.”
    “Yes,” said Razor Eddie. “I remember the Walking Man. The Wrath of God in the world of Men, he said. And you faced him down when I couldn’t. I haven’t forgotten that, John.”
    “Do you want to end up like him?” I said steadily.
    Razor Eddie actually took some time to think about that one. “I admired his arrogance,” he said finally. “His cold certainty. But he turned out to be soft, too, in the end. I suppose I am . . . fond of you, John, in my way. But it would be a relief to know you wouldn’t be around any more. To get in my way, to stop me doing things that need doing. So be careful, John. Never give me a reason to go up against you. You know it makes sense, Walker.”
    “Well,” I said, getting to my feet, “I’m glad we had this little chat. We really should do this less.”
    On my way back to the bar, I nodded to Springheel Jack and the Bride. Even being dead, again, wasn’t enough to keep the Bride from a party. Jack was sitting on the Bride’s lap as they fed each other pieces of bread soaked in gooey stringy cheese, using the fondue set that had arrived as an early wedding present. From someone who didn’t really know Suzie and me all that well. I’d donated it to the party, in the hope someone would break it or steal it. Back at the bar, Alex had a large wormwood brandy waiting for me.
    “Who did give you that fondue set, anyway?”
    “Julien Advent,” I said. “He never really got over the seventies. I suppose we should be grateful he didn’t give us a Soda Stream.”
    Alex winced. “Can you still get those things?”
    “This is the Nightside,” I said. “You can get all kinds of abominations in the Nightside.”
    “I haven’t seen the Lord of Thorns yet,” said Alex. “Imagine my relief.”
    “I did ask him,” I said. “Because you sort of have to when he’s performing your wedding; but luckily, he’s busy preparing for the ceremony at St. Jude’s. Just as well. He didn’t strike me as a party animal.”
    “I’ll tell you who is here, large as life and twice as stuck-up,” said Alex, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Two-thirds of everyone’s favourite disturbing brothers: Tommy and Larry Oblivion. At least Hadleigh isn’t with them. I don’t know if this place could stand being pushed that far up-market.”
    I looked where he indicated. I’d sent invitations to all the Oblivion Brothers but never actually expected them to turn up. Larry was sitting perfectly upright at his table, a tall pale sight with flat yellow hair, dressed in the very best Armani. Larry was dead and looked it, but he had made a concession to the party atmosphere by loosening the knot on his tie. He wasn’t drinking or eating anything, (because he was very firm about being dead, and having no illusions about the state), but he did seem to be picking up something of a contact high from his surroundings.
    Tommy Oblivion slumped bonelessly in his seat, grinning happily in all directions, a tall and terribly effete person in brightly coloured New Romantics silks. Unlike most of us, the existential private eye had enjoyed a pretty good eighties. No doubt being so utterly existential helped. I could hear him loudly boasting to one and all that he was so existential he couldn’t even be sure of