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Mr. Blood shook his horned head firmly. He sat on one corner of his desk, and it groaned loudly under his weight. "We don't know, and we don't want to know. We've put a lot of effort into finding our niche and not being returned. If the dark chalice, Iscariot's Bane, really has come here, then you can bet good money that all the real movers and shakers will be out after it, like sharks tasting blood in the water."
"There are angels in the Nightside," said Mr. Bones, grimacing as though he'd tasted something bitter. "Ranks and degrees far greater than us. They are death and destruction; the will of the Highest and the Lowest made manifest in the mortal world. Nothing material can hope to stand against them."
"So we are keeping our heads down and staying very quiet on the sidelines," said Mr. Blood. "Until the Elect and the Damned have finished their business here and departed. We have no intention of being found out, and dragged back Below. Not when there are still so many subtle pleasures to be enjoyed here."
"Life is sweet," said Mr. Bones. "In this tastiest of worlds."
"The Unholy Grail is a major prize," I suggested. "You could use it to bargain for power and wealth and protection."
"You don't use the Judas Cup," said Mr. Blood. "I uses you. It is temptation and corruption, and the seduction of fools. It gives nothing that it does not take away, and damnation follows in its wake. Even such as we are frightened of the Unholy Grail."
The Demonz stirred uneasily, as though even the mention of the dark chalice was enough to call it.
"However," said Mr. Bones, "there is a prize that we could present to the movers and shakers of the Nightside that might well win us power and wealth and protection."
"Oh yes?" I said politely. "And what might that be?"
"The heads of John Taylor and Suzie Shooter," said Mr. Bones, smiling unpleasantly. "Separated from your a
"Hold everything," said Mr. Blood urgently. "Can I have a word with you? Have you lost your mind? This is John Taylor and Shotgun Suzie we're talking about!"
"So?"
"So I like having my internal organs where they are, and not splattered all over the surroundings! It's rather difficult to enjoy the subtler pleasures when your passionate parts have been ripped off and stuffed where the sun don't shine! These are dangerous people!"
"We outnumber them!"
"So?"
"Sweet Lucifer, you're a wimp!" said Mr. Bones. "Don't know how you got to be a demon in the first place. Kill the mortals! Rend their bodies and eat their flesh, but make sure the heads are intact!"
"Oh shut the hell up," said Suzie Shooter.
She lifted her shotgun and shot Mr. Bones point-blank. The blessed and sanctified bullets tore his crimson face right off, revealing a dirty yellow skull. He fell backwards, screaming piteously. Mr. Blood got up off his desk in a hurry and glared at his partner, writhing in agony on the floor.
"See!"
"He'll repair himself in a minute or two," I said quietly to Suzie, as she pumped fresh ammunition into place. The Demonz were circling us slowly now, nerving themselves up to attack. "No earthly weapon can defeat a demon."
"In which case," said Suzie, tracking the nearest Demonz with her gun, "this would be a really good time for the cavalry to make an appearance. Or failing that, for you to produce one of your last-minute miracle saves."
I considered the matter thoughtfully. The Demonz were closing in. Mr. Bones sat up, holding his tattered face together with his hands, as the crimson features slowly knit themselves back together. Even Mr. Blood came out from behind his desk.
"Taylor!" said Suzie. "Anytime now would be good!"
I held up a hand and smiled. Everyone stopped moving.
"In the Begi
For a long moment, nobody said anything. Mr. Bones stood up, glaring out of his ravaged face.
"You don't have that kind of power!"
"Don't I?" I said.
The Demonz looked at each other, remembering things I'd done and other things I was supposed to have done. I smiled at them easily.
"Just. . . get out of here," said Mr. Bones. "Get out, and leave us alone. We don't have your bloody Grail."
"Then point me at someone who might."
"Try the Fourth Reich," Mr. Blood said quietly. "They've been throwing around some serious money for information on the dark chalice. If nothing else, they'll have better information than we do."
"See how easy it can be, when everyone acts reasonable?" I said. "There's a lesson for us all in that, I feel. Time we were leaving. Don't bother to show us out."
We left The Pit behind us and strolled off into the night. If anything, the streets were even emptier. I knew where the Fourth Reich had their quarters. Everyone did. They publicized it hard enough, with everything from leaflets handed out in the street to prime-time advertising. The New Nazi Crusade, or the panzerpoofters, as everyone else called them, weren't short of money. Just followers. They met regularly in an old assembly room right on the edge of uptown. Monied or not, no-one wanted them any closer than that. Last I heard, they were down to a hundred members or so, and they'd given up holding uniformed parades after a dozen golems turned up at the last one to kick their nasty asss up one side of the street and down the other. But they did still have serious financial backers. They might not have the Unholy Grail themselves, but they might well have been able to buy information on who did.
Suzie looked at me suddenly. "Could you really have summoned up the light of Creation?"
I smiled. "What do you think?"
"I never know when you're bluffing."
"Neither does anyone else. That's the point."
"I notice you're not answering the question."
"Ah, Suzie, don't you want a little mystery in your life?"
She sniffed. "The only mystery in my life is why I continue to put up with you."
And that was when a figure stepped imperiously out of the shadows ahead, blocking our way. A city gent in a smart suit, complete with bowler hat and rolled umbrella, stood smiling before us. Late forties, cold eyes and colder smile, charming and sophisticated and every bit as dangerous as a coiled cobra. Suzie drew her shotgun and aimed it at him in one smooth motion.
"Relax, Suzie," said Walker. "It's only me."
"I know it's you," said Suzie.
She kept her shotgun trained on him as he approached unhurriedly. Walker, to do him credit, didn't seem in the least perturbed. It was part of his style that nothing ever touched him, despite the many fateful decisions he had to make every day. Walker represented the Authorities, the people in the background who really run things in the Nightside. Inasmuch as anybody does. Don't ask me who these shadowy people might be. I've no idea. No-one has. Sometimes I wonder if even Walker knows for sure. Still, he spoke on their behalf, and his word was law, with any amount of force available to back him up. People lived and died at Walker's word, and he'd never been known to give a damn. He came to a halt before us, leaned casually upon his umbrella and raised his bowler politely to Suzie.
"I hear you're looking for the Unholy Grail," he said. "Along with practically everyone else in the Nightside who considers himself or herself a power or a player. I, on the other hand, have been instructed by my superiors to withdraw all my people from the Nightside. The word is that I am to let the angels from Above and Below fight it out among themselves. And if anyone here gets hurt, well, if they're in the Nightside, they deserve everything that comes to them. I have the feeling the Authorities see the coming of the angels as an opportunity for a little spring cleaning. Take out the trash, so to speak. The Authorities don't care about individuals, you see. They only care about the long view, and the big picture."