The Unnatural Inquirer

“They’ll always be coming after me, won’t they?” he said sadly. “It’s never going to be over. I’m never going to get my life back. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and it was safe.”

“You’ll be safe again once we get you and the Afterlife Recording back to the U

“And once you’ve handed over the DVD, no-one will have any reason to go after you,” I said.

“They might expect me to intercept another broadcast,” said Donavon.

“We’ve seen your television,” I said. “Smash it. End of problem.”

“We’ll never make it to the paper’s offices,” said Donavon. “They’ll be lining up to get at me, all along the way.”

“John will find a way,” Alex said firmly. “It’s what he does. When he isn’t busy trashing my bar.”

“He doesn’t have his gift any more,” said Bettie. “He’s been neutered.”

“Actually, no,” I said. “I’ve got it back, now I’ve caught up with Donavon. Tell me, Pen, what made you think to come here, looking for me?”

“I got a phone call,” said Donavon. “It said I’d be safe at Strangefellows. That John Taylor could protect me. I knew your name, of course. And the bar’s reputation.”

“Who called you?” I said.

“Don’t know. Identity withheld. I didn’t recognise the voice. But I was desperate, so…”

Alex looked at me. “Kid Cthulhu?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe there’s another player in this game. Someone powerful enough to shut down my gift until it didn’t matter any more. And just maybe, someone who wanted me to find Donavon, eventually…The rules of this game seem to be changing. I wonder why.”

“I’d better track down Suzie,” said Alex.

“She might have her phone turned off if she’s busy. You know Suzie’s only really happy when she’s working. If you can find her, tell her I need her the moment she’s free. I’ve got a feeling this case is going to get seriously ugly.”

“Got it,” said Alex. He turned away to root through the mess at the back of the bar, searching through the debris for his phone.

Bettie was looking at me now, her expression hard to read. I looked patiently back, waiting for her to make the first move.

“Is that what you and Suzie have in common?” she said finally. “The thing that holds you together? That you’re both killers?”

“It’s not that simple,” I said.

“I’ve never understood what you see in Shotgun Suzie. She’s a monster. She lives to kill. How can you stay with someone like that?”

“No-one else has shared what we’ve shared,” I said. “Seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve had to do. There’s no-one else we could talk to, no-one else who’d understand.”

“I want to understand,” said Bettie. She moved slowly forward, almost in spite of herself, then suddenly she was in my arms again, her face pressed against my shoulder. I held her lightly, not wanting to scare her off. She buried her face in my shoulder, so she wouldn’t have to look me in the eye. “Oh, John…You killed to protect me. I know that. I know it was necessary. But…you don’t have to be like this. So…cold. I could warm you.” She finally looked up at me. Our eyes met, and she didn’t flinch. She put her face up, and I kissed her. Because I wanted to. After a while, she stepped back, and I quickly let her go. She managed a small smile.

“Let me take you away from all this, John. Living in an insane world is bound to make you crazy. And living with a crazy woman…”

“She’s not crazy,” I said. “Just troubled.”

“Of course, John.”

“Suzie and I need each other.”

“No you don’t! Sweetie, you really don’t. You need a normal, healthy relationship. I could make you happy, John, in all the ways that matter.”

“How can I trust you?” I said. “You’re a lust demon’s daughter.”

“Well,” said Bettie, “no-one’s perfect.”

We both laughed. Sometimes…it’s the little moments, the shared moments, that matter the most.

Alex came back, scowling as he looked from me to Bettie, and back again. “Suzie isn’t answering her phone. But I’ve put the word out. Someone will bump into her. What do we do now?”

“I think it’s way past time we sat down and watched this bloody DVD and see what’s on it,” I said. “You’ve got a player upstairs, haven’t you, Alex?”

“Well, yes, but like I said I’ve got my new girl-friend up there…”

“If you think it’s going to be too much for her, send her home,” I said. “I’m not going one step further with this case without knowing exactly what it is I’m risking life and limb for.”

“Do you really think we should?” said Bettie. “I mean, look what watching it did to poor Pen.”

We all looked at Pen Donavon, back on his stool again, drinking brandy like mother’s milk. He felt our gaze on him and looked round. He sighed and handed me an unlabelled DVD in a jewel case.

“Watch it, if you must,” he said. “I think…it’s supposed to be seen. But I couldn’t bear to see it again.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “Stay here. The Coltranes will look after you.”

But even as Alex and Bettie and I headed for the back stairs that led up to Alex’s private apartment, I had to wonder what seeing the Afterlife Recording would do to us. And whether I really wanted to know the truth.

EIGHT - One Man’s Hell

Getting into Alex Morrisey’s private apartment is never easy. He guards his privacy like a dragon with his hoard, and there are many pitfalls waiting for the unwary. I think a very specialised burglar got in once; and something ate him. First, you have to go up a set of back stairs that aren’t even there unless Alex wants them to be. Then you have to pass through a series of major league protections and defences, not unlike air-locks; you can feel them opening ahead of you, then closing behind you. Any one of these traps-in-waiting would quite cheerfully kill you if given the chance, in swift, nasty, and often downright appalling ways, if Alex happened to change his mind about you at any point. I have known gang lords’ crime dens that were easier to get into; and they often have their own pet demons under contract. I wouldn’t even try getting into Alex’s apartment without his permission unless I was armed with a tactical nuke wrapped in rabbit’s feet.

But it wasn’t until Alex let us into his apartment that I was really shocked. The living-room was so clean and tidy I barely recognised it. All his old junk was gone, including the charity shop furniture and his collection of frankly disturbing porcelain statuettes in pornographic poses. Replaced by comfortable furnishings and pleasant decorative touches. His books, CDs, and DVDs no longer lay scattered across all available surfaces or stacked in tottering piles against the walls; now they were all set out neatly on brand-new designer shelving. Probably in alphabetical order, too. It was actually possible now to walk across Alex’s living-room without having to kick things out of the way, and his carpet didn’t crunch when you trod on it.

In the end, it was the cushions on the sofa that gave it away. Men who live on their own don’t have cushions. They just don’t. It’s a guy thing.

I looked accusingly at Alex. “You’ve let a woman move in with you, haven’t you? Don’t you ever learn?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Alex said haughtily, “because I knew you wouldn’t approve. Besides, you’re in no position to throw stones. You live with a psychopathic gun nut.”

There was a noise from the next room. A small tic appeared briefly in Alex’s face. I looked at him sternly. “What was that?”

“Just the vulture,” Alex said quickly. “Morning sickness.”

A sudden horrible thought struck me. “You haven’t let your ex-wife move back in, have you?”

“I would rather projectile vomit my own intestines,” said Alex, with great dignity.