Something from the Nightside

the back of his head, to hide the bald spot that appeared when he was still a teenager. Proof if proof were needed, he always said, that God hated him personally. He shaved when he remembered, which wasn't often, and didn't wash the bar's glasses anywhere near often enough. His spiky black hair stuck out in tufts, because he tugged at it a lot, and his personal hygiene bordered on distressing.

He still had a large glamour calendar behind the bar, showing Elvira Mistress of the Dark, in a series of photographic poses that would probably upset her greatly if she ever found out about them, and the designs on the bar coasters were cheerfully pornographic. On the whole, Alex is very bad with women, most of whom don't live down to his expectations. He was married once, and still won't talk about it. And that... is Alex Morrisey for you. Pissed off at the entire world and proud of it, and mixer of the worst martinis in the Nightside.

I suppose we're friends. We both put up with a lot of things from each other that we wouldn't tolerate for a second from anyone else.

He finally gave up pretending I wasn't there and slouched along the bar to glare at me.

"I knew it was going to be a bad day when I woke up to find my rabbit's foot had grown itself a new rabbit," he said resentfully. "If I'd known it was a warning you were coming back into my life, I would

have locked all the doors and windows and melted down the keys. What do you want?"

"Good to see you again, Alex. How's business?"

He sniffed, loudly. 'Takings have dropped so low you'd need an excavator to find any profits, a poltergeist has moved into my cellar and is haunting my beer barrels, turning the taps on and off, and Pale Michael is claiming that since he is now a zombie and officially dead, with a coroner's certificate to prove it, he doesn't have to pay his not inconsiderable bar bill. And now you're here. It's nights like this that make me dream of bloody insurrection, and planting bombs in public places. What are you doing back here, John? You said you were never coming back, and it was the only sensible thing I ever heard you say."

"The lady at my side is Joanna Barrett. Her daughter's gone missing, in the Nightside. And I've drawn a blank."

Alex looked at me over his sunglasses. "I thought you could find anything?"

"So did I. But my gift could only show me so much before I got locked out. Someone's hiding this runaway. I won't be able to pick up her trail again till I can get a lot closer to her. Which means I need a lead. Is Eddie around?"

"Yes, and I do wish he wasn't. He's at his usual table in the corner, scaring off the reputable trade."

And that was when the three yuppies appeared out

of nowhere to surround me. I turned around unhurriedly as I spotted their reflections in the long mirror behind the bar, and looked them over curiously. They seemed fairly generic; all young, all dressed in the very best-cut suits, with razor-trimmed hair, a single ear-ring, and perfectly manicured hands. Old school ties, of course. They all looked very unhappy with me, but the one glaring right into my face seemed vaguely familiar. Joanna, I noticed, was making a point of being distinctly unimpressed with them. Good for her. I leaned back against the bar, and raised a single eyebrow with just the right amount of insolence. The big bad businessman before me pushed his face even closer to mine and breathed spearmint into my face. I hate spearmint.

"John Taylor!" the yuppie said loudly, trying his very best to sound fierce and hard and menacing, in a high-pitched voice that really wasn't suited to it. "John bloody Taylor! Oh, God is good, isn't he? Sending you back to me. I always knew you'd come crawling back here someday, Taylor, so I could personally ensure you got what was coming to you!"

"I get the impression you know me," I said calmly. "Can't say the same, I'm afraid. Do I owe you money, by any chance?"

"Don't you dare pretend you don't remember! I told you never to come back here, Taylor. I told you never to show your face here again. You made me look bad."

"It wasn't difficult," observed Alex from behind the bar. He was watching interestedly and making absolutely no move to intervene.

The yuppie pretended he hadn't heard that. Mad as he was, he wasn't stupid enough to upset Alex. He turned the full force of his glare on me, his slightly bulging eyes all but protruding from their sockets, while his two friends did their best to lurk dangerously in the background, being supportive.

"I said I'd do for you, Taylor, if I ever saw you again. Interfering little turd, meddling in the affairs of your betters!"