Simon Green: The Bride Wore Black Leather

“I have enjoyed being your secretary,” said Cathy. “Going out drinking and dancing in all the best clubs and bars, to keep up with the latest gossip and useful information. And getting paid for it. Best job ever! I might keep that part going . . .”

“Are you still in contact with your mother?” I asked.

“We have regular little chats, on the phone,” said Cathy. “We get on much better, now there’s a distance between us.”

“Any chance of your going back, to visit her?”

“Best not,” said Cathy, very firmly. She flashed me a bright smile. “So it’s definite, then. No more John Taylor, PI. No more faithful girl secretary. The end of an era.”

“What are you going to do once this place is shut down?” I said.

“Oh, that’s already been decided, boss. I’m going to help Alex run Strangefellows. I love organising things. And people.”

“Will you be sad, to see the back of this place, after so long?”

“Nostalgia is for old folks, boss. I always look forward, never back.”

I sat up a little straighter in my chair, so I wouldn’t look like old folks, and concentrated on the papers before me while she ran through the e-mails. And soon enough, we both started coming up with interesting cases. Luckily, none that involved looking for that notorious black bird, the Maltese Falcon. Which is a very real object, in case you were wondering. Not that I’d touch it with an enchanted barge-pole.

“I’ve got an intriguing little e-mail here, from last week,” said Cathy. “Katherine Karnstein wants you to find her lost innocence.”

I sniffed loudly. “I don’t think so. I know the lady in question, and she didn’t lose her innocence; she threw it away with both hands, first chance she got.”

“All right; how about this one? A Mr. William Everett wants you to find lost Atlantis.”

“It isn’t lost,” I said. “It’s hidden. There’s a difference. Move on.”

“The SAS are offering a seriously large amount, for you to find the Holy Grail for them.”

“The Salvation Army Sisterhood should have known better than to ask,” I said. “They’re probably trying to get me in trouble again. They’ve never approved of me. I had enough problems tracking down the Unholy Grail. What else have you got?”

“A Reverend Lionel wants you to find the last of the Merovingian line.”

“Forget it,” I said. “That line’s been broken so many times down the centuries that properly speaking it isn’t a line, any more. Far too many pretenders to the throne, so to speak.”

“All right then, Mr. Fussy Pants, what have you got?”

I looked dubiously at the paper before me. “Someone who prefers to remain anonymous wants me to find out why the Moon in the Nightside sky is so much bigger than it should be. Which is actually a fair question. And I am tempted; I always wanted to know the answer to that one. I think it implies that the Nightside isn’t actually when we think it is . . . But no. This would be a long-term case, with lots of footwork and asking questions, and I don’t have the time.”

“Hmmm. Odd little e-mail here, boss. Says, Let the sun shine in.”

I looked up at that. I’d seen that same sentiment graffitied on a wall in the underpass. It felt like it meant . . . something. I shrugged mentally. No doubt I’d find out, eventually. And then I sat up sharply as I discovered something genuinely interesting. A letter from someone signing himself, An Anonymous Gentleman, on good-quality paper, in that old-fashioned copperplate hand writing that no-one teaches any more. I put the other papers aside. I held the sheet of paper up to the light and made out a watermark from the Londinium Club. That revered and very private club for the real movers and shakers of the Nightside. I tossed it across the desk to Cathy.

“By any chance, is this one of those missives that appeared on your desk out of nowhere?”

“Got it in one, boss. It was here when I turned up this morning. It does look like the real thing, doesn’t it?”

She tossed it back to me, and I read the communication out loud. It seemed the Anonymous Gentleman wanted me to find the secret of immortality. And not just for him, but for everyone. Apparently, a serum existed that could make anyone who took it live forever. He created it, and brought it to the Nightside, looking for someone to mass-produce and distribute it; and, of course, someone stole it. The main suspects were the existing immortal beings of the Nightside, who didn’t want any more competition. The Gentleman claimed that the thief would be presenting the serum to the annual meeting of the Nightside Immortals, at the Ball of Forever. Where they would ceremoniously destroy it. The Gentleman wanted me to attend the Ball, find the thief, and recover the serum, for the good of all.

“It does sound like a good case to go out on,” I said.

“Can you use your gift to find the Ball of Forever?” said Cathy.

I looked at her. “I don’t need to, child,” I said patiently. “I know where the Ball of Forever is held. Everyone does. They hold it in the same place every year. It gets major coverage in the society pages of the Night Times .”

“Will you be taking Suzie with you?” Cathy said artlessly.

“Not this time,” I said. “She’s far too busy arranging everything for tomorrow’s ceremony, and I’m not going to be the one to interrupt her. In fact, one of the reasons I came here looking for one last case was to get out of her way.”

“Whipped,” said Cathy. “Utterly whipped. I’m going to be her maid of honour, you know! Even though technically speaking, I’m not qualified. And haven’t been for a long time . . .”

“Too much information,” I said firmly. I looked at Cathy for a moment. “Would you like to join me, on this case? Be my companion, one last time?”

“No,” said Cathy. “It’s time to cut the cord and cut it clean. You run off and have fun, and I’ll make all the necessary arrangements to shut this place down.” She looked at the filing cabinets. “What do you want me to do with all the old case records? There are a lot of secrets in there that a lot of people would probably rather prefer remained secret.”

“Burn it all, then put the ashes through the shredder,” I said. “And then scatter the ashes in the cellars under Strangefellows. That should do it.”

Cathy looked me square in the eye. “Any idea of who this Anonymous Gentleman might be?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” I said. “But it doesn’t really matter. The case is the thing.”

“Sure. Right. Do you really believe there’s a serum that can make us all immortal?”

“Well, this is the Nightside . . . but no, I doubt it. What matters is whether other people believe it, and what they might be prepared to do, to get their hands on it.”

“Including kill each other?”

“Of course. This is the Nightside . . .”

Cathy frowned thoughtfully. “How do you kill an immortal?”

I grinned. “Very thoroughly.”

“Get out of here,” said Cathy. “Some of us have got work to do.”

“Oh,” I said. “I sort of promised this building’s front door that it could come to the wedding. Make the necessary arrangements, would you?”

“Soft, soppy, sentimental,” said Cathy. “Tell me you didn’t invite that bloody elevator as well . . .”

“If that bloody thing comes anywhere near the church, you have my permission to shoot it,” I said. “Will you be at Suzie’s hen night, tonight?”

“Of course!” said Cathy. “I’ve already booked the male strippers!”

“Just get her to the church on time,” I said.