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"It's a hell of a wake-up call, isn't it? It's certainly given me a lot of food for thought."
"That isn't answering the question."
"I know. Look, I hadn't even intended to stay here, in the Nightside, once this case was over and done with. I left this madhouse five years ago for good reasons, and none of them have changed. But.. . more and more, this dangerous and appalling place feels like home to me. Like I belong here. Your safe and sane everyday world didn't seem to have any place for me. At least here I get the feeling I could do some real good for my clients. That I could ... make a difference."
"Oh yes," said Joa
I met Joa
"But that could change."
"Yes. It could. Anything can happen, in the Night-side. Drink your nice Coke, Joa
The Crazy World of Arthur Brown was belting out "Fire," by the time Joa
"I need you to be straight with me, John. Do you think Cathy is still alive?"
"I have no reason to believe she's not," I said honestly. "We know she was alive very recently. The last image my gift picked up was only a few days old. We know Someone or Something called her into the Nightside, but there's no direct evidence that individual means Cathy any harm. There's no evidence that he doesn't, either, but when you're groping in the dark it's best to be optimistic. As yet, no clear threat or danger has manifested. We have to proceed on the assumption that she's still alive. We have ... to have hope."
"Hope? Even here?" said Joa
"Especially here," I said. This time I put my hand
on hers. Our hands felt good together, natural. "I'll do everything I can for you, Joa
"I know," said Joa
We looked into each other's eyes for a long time, and both of us were smiling. We believed in each other, even if we weren't too sure about ourselves. I knew this wasn't a good idea. Never get personally involved with a client. It's written in large capital letters on page one of How to Be a Private Detective. Right next to Get as much cash as you can up front, just in case the cheque bounces, and Don't go looking for the Maltese Falcon because it'll all end in tears. I'm not stupid. I've read Raymond Chandler. But right then, I just didn't care. I did make one last effort, for the good of my soul.
"It's not too late for you to back out," I said. "You've been through enough. Stay here, and let me handle Blaiston Street. You'll be safe here."
"No," Joa
"Yes," I said, quietly proud of her. "You have."
"John Taylor, as I live and breathe," said a cold, cheerful voice. "I really couldn't believe it when they
told me you'd showed up again. I thought you had more sense, Taylor."
I knew the voice, and took my time turning around. There aren't many people who can sneak up on me. Sure enough, standing behind me was Walker, large as life and twice as official. Every inch the City Gent, sharp and stylish and sophisticated. Handsome, if a little on the heavy side, with cold eyes and smile and an even colder heart. Had to be in his late forties by now, but you still wouldn't bet on the other guy. People like Walker don't slow down; they just get sneakier. His perfect city suit was expertly cut, and he tipped his bowler hat to Joa
"How did you know where to find me, Walker? I didn't know I was coming here till a few minutes ago."
"I know where everyone is, Taylor. You'd do well to remember that."
"John, who is this ... person?" asked Joa
"Perhaps you should introduce me to your client," said Walker. "I would so hate for us to start off on the wrong foot."
"Your tie's crooked," said Joa
"This is Walker," I said. "If he has a first name, no-one knows it. Probably not even his wife. Ex-
Eton and ex-Guards, because his sort always is. Mentioned in dispatches for being underhanded, treacherous and more dangerous than a shark in a swimming pool. Walker represents the Authorities, here in the Nightside. Don't ask what Authorities, because he doesn't answer questions like that. All that matters is he could have you or me or anyone else dragged off without warning, with no guarantee we'd ever be seen again. Unless he had a use for us. He plays games with people's lives, all in the name of preserving his precious status quo."
"I preserve the balance," Walker said easily, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his impeccable sleeve. "Because someone has to."
"No-one knows who or what Walker reports to, or where his orders come from," I continued, "Government or Church or Army. But in an emergency he has been known to call for backup from any damned force he wants; and they come ru
"He has a gift for getting answers. There aren't many who can say no to him. They say he once made
a corpse sit up on an autopsy table and talk with him."
"You flatter me," said Walker.
"You'll notice he's not denying it. Walker can call on powers and dominations, and make them answer to him. He has power, but no accountability. And damn all conscience, either. In a place where the Light and the Dark are more than just aphorisms, Walker remains determinedly grey. Like any good civil servant."
"It's all about duty and responsibility, Taylor," said Walker. "You wouldn't understand."
"Walker disapproves of people like me," I said, smiling coldly. "Rogue agents, individuals who insist on being in charge of their own destinies, and their own souls. He thinks we muddy the waters. It's not often you'll see him out in the open, like this. He much prefers to stay in the shadows, so people can't see him pulling strings. Anyone at all could be working for him, knowingly or unknowingly, doing his bidding, so Walker doesn't have to get his own hands dirty. And of course, if one of his unofficial agents should get killed in the process, well, there are always more where they came from. For Walker the end always justifies the means, because the end is keeping the Nightside and its occupants strictly separate from the everyday world that surrounds it."
Walker bowed his head slightly, as though anticipating applause. "I do so love it when you introduce
me, Taylor. You do it so much better than I ever could."
"He's been known to fit up people," I said. The words were coming faster now, as my anger rose. "When he finds it necessary, to throw someone to the wolves. He is much feared, occasionally admired, and practically everyone in the Nightside has tried to kill him, at one time or another. At the end of the day, he goes home to his wife and his family, in the everyday world, and forgets all about the Nightside. We're just a job to him. Personally, I think he sees this whole damned place as nothing more than a hideously dangerous freak show, full of things that bite. He'd nuke the Nightside and wipe us all out, if he thought he could get away with it. Except he can't, because his mysterious masters won't let him. Because they, and those like them, need somewhere to come and play the games they can't play anywhere else, to wallow in the awful pleasures they can't even admit to in the everyday world.