“Sounds it,” I said. “Okay, meet you there in an hour.”
“Why the rush?”
“Because the Removal Man is on my trail, and I want to be rid of the damned DVD before he catches up with me. You know he’s already taken out the 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 said. “Where is the power coming from to let him do something like this?”
I fired up my gift, and looked at Pen Donavon through my third eye, my private eye. And I found the hidden source of his unnatural power. I could See the thing, inside his body, tucked away under the sternum and over the heart. It must have come to his little shop as just another piece of interdimensional flotsam and jetsam; and he probably hadn’t realised how powerful it was until he accidentally activated it. Probably hadn’t even realised it was alive until it forced its way inside him. Now it was attached to him, a part of him, with long tendrils reaching into his heart and gut and brain. A mystical parasite, living off him while feeding him power in return.
I couldn’t tear it out of him without killing him in the process. And I didn’t want to kill Pen Donavon, even after all the trouble he’d caused. None of this was really his fault. I doubt he’d had a free and uninfluenced thought of his own since the parasite took up residence inside him.
Demons emerged from the shadows around us. Hunched and horned, with scarlet skin; medieval devils all with distorted versions of Donavon’s face. They smiled to show their jagged teeth and flexed their clawed hands hungrily. Alex had his cricket bat out again. Cathy had the shotgun. Betty and Lucy Coltrane stood back-to-back, ready to take on all comers. Bettie looked at me. I looked at Pen Donavon.
“Why Hell?” I said bluntly. “Why are you so convinced of your own damnation? What could a small and insignificant little man like you have possibly done that could be so bad that all you ever think about is Hell?”
For a long moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer me. The demons were getting very close. And then he sighed deeply, staring into his glass.
“I had a dog,” he said. “Called him Prince. He was a good dog. Had him for years. Then I got married. She never took to Prince. Just wasn’t a dog person. We all got along well enough…until the marriage hit problems. We started arguing over small things and worked our way up. She said she was going to leave me. I still loved her. Begged her to stay; said I’d do anything. She said I had to prove my love for her. Get rid of the dog. I loved my dog, but she was my wife. So I said I’d give Prince up. Find him a good home somewhere else. But no, that wasn’t good enough. She said I had to prove she was more important to me than the dog, by killing him.
“Have Prince put down. Or she’d leave me. My choice, she said.
“I killed my dog. Took him to the vet’s, said good-bye, held his paw while the vet gave him the injection. Took my dog home. Buried him.
“And she left me anyway. Prince was my dog. He was the best dog in the world. And I killed him.” He looked slowly round the bar, at the Hell he’d made. Slow tears were running down his cheeks. “I deserve this. All of it.”
The fires blazed up all around us. My bare skin smarted painfully from the heat. The air was thick with the stench of blood and brimstone. The demons were almost within reach. In his need to be punished, to make atonement for his sin, Pen Donavon had brought Hell to Earth; or something close enough to do the job. He could burn up the whole bar and everyone in it…but the parasite inside him would make sure he survived. To go on suffering. Suddenly I knew what the parasite fed on.
I got angry then. I could kill Donavon, rip the parasite right out of him. But he didn’t deserve that. Not when there was a better way. I’m John Taylor, and I find things. Things, and people, and just sometimes, a way out of Hell for those who need it.