Nevernever

by Will Shetterly

  As we went back to the main room, I tapped my chest. Goldy said, “You’ll fill in?”

  I nodded.

  Goldy shook his head. “If there’s any more trouble, wait for me, hmm? You may look like Captain Fangs ‘n’ Fur, but you’re a pussycat in real life.”

  I growled at him, and everyone smiled a little.

  The crowd had stayed. The band was onstage, tuning up, though the singer wasn’t back yet.

  Tick-Tick met us by the door. “I’ll buy.”

  Goldy said, “Thank you, but no. I’m going to need every wit I have left. And as of this moment, all my breaks are canceled.” He signed, Thanks, Big Dog, gave us all a little salute, and left.

  I glanced at his back, then headed up front to get a shirt from Val so everyone would know I wasn’t just any pushy creep, but an official pushy creep.

  Jeff and King O’Beer met me while Val was finding a shirt. “How is he?” they asked, not quite in sync.

  I signed, He lives.

  The King said, “Good.” Jeff added, “Thank God.”

  I pulled a 3-by-5 card from my pocket and wrote, WHY DO KIDS THINK SCARS ARE ROMANTIC?

  The King whispered, “Oh.”

  Jeff said, “Too many pirate movies, I guess. Scars are a symbol of experience. Kids don’t know they’re a symbol of bad experience.”

  The King touched Jeff’s lips to quiet him; he knew my question had been rhetorical. I quickly signed, It’s okay; I knew they were each being considerate in their own ways. I wrote, IMPORTANT THING IS NO SERIOUS DAMAGE DONE.

  “Yeah,” said Jeff.

  “How’re Sai and Goldy taking it?” asked the King. For Jeff’s sake, he repeated my answer aloud, “Goldy, working. Sai, not working. Both, talking like mean dogs.”

  Jeff said, “Why’d that guy go after the band?”

  The King, as my lips, said, “After the singer. Lovers’ spat?”

  Jeff said, “I understand why people want to hurt other people. Who doesn’t? But when they know they’re going to lash out at whoever comes along, why don’t they—” He shook his head. “One of those questions, eh?”

  •

  Wild Hunt played a good, long set that lasted at least two hours. It’s easier working as a bouncer when there’s a great band; everyone’s concentrating on the music and no one’s looking for something to do.

  Wild Hunt did one encore, then had to come back for another even after Dancer turned the house lights on. They finally got people quiet and ready to go home by doing a ballad, “Jenny on the Hill.” The vocalist put down her bass and sang it, so simply that only afterward did you realize how much skill it takes to hide that much skill.

  Tick-Tick helped herd people out the door. Orient was lounging near the stage, probably hoping for another chance to see the singer. Valda called his name and held out a push broom. “So, you want to stay after closing like the employees?”

  “Oh, Lord.” He sighed and began sweeping. I joined him in stacking chairs, all except the one Goldy flopped into and refused to leave.

  “That bad?” Orient asked.

  “I doubted I’d live to see this moment. I don’t suppose you’d be so kind as to fetch me a beer?”

  “The dying bouncer’s last request.” Orient handed me the broom. I snarled at him.

  When he returned with a moist bottle, Goldy said, “Seen your little runaway lately?”

  I’d forgotten Caramel. Orient said, “No.”

  Goldy shook his head. “We may’ve lost her, then. I’m afraid the events of the evening scared her away.”

  “Can’t blame her for that.”

  I looked up. Wild Hunt’s singer was approaching us.

  She smiled. “May I sit?” I grabbed a chair and offered it with a bow. “Thank you,” she said, and I was in love again.

  “You—all of you—were wonderful,” Orient said. It was fun watching him try to be appreciative and aloof at the same time.

  She laughed. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  “And very true,” Goldy said.

  She smiled again. “We don’t often play in concert, and it’s difficult for me—I feel very shy in front of an audience. But everyone here was so excited, so kind to us...” She gestured helplessly. She wore three rings on her right hand, all of silver and sapphires, with only her middle finger and thumb bare. She wore none on her left hand; they’d have scratched the guitar neck.

  Goldy said, “There was a little too much excitement tonight, I’m afraid. For which I am heartily sorry.”

  She looked down. “I’m sorry, too. The one who made the trouble...he was my fault, I think.”

  “Your fault?” Orient asked.

  “He...we were lovers, for a short time. He is not willing to leave it at that. How is the fellow he hurt?”

  “Healing,” Goldy said, with no enthusiasm.

  “None of us meant for things to occur as they did.”

  Goldy waved that away. “Tonight’s business fit our job description.”

  No one spoke until Dancer and Tick-Tick came up to us. Dancer told the singer, “Good show. Damn good show.” She was carrying the bag that held the night’s receipts: pay time. We all returned to work.

  Orient was by the door when the singer left. I’m sure that was a coincidence, uh huh. I was far enough away that a normal human wouldn’t have heard them. Maybe I should’ve given them some privacy, but I wasn’t in the mood to let the cleaning wait.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. You mustn’t worry about me.”

  “If he’s out there waiting for Strider, you could be in trouble.”

  “He won’t hurt me. But I’ll watch for him and be careful. You’re very kind. Perhaps I’ll see you again?”

  “I’d like that. People around here usually know where I am.”

  “But who would I ask them for?”

  “My name’s Orient.”

  “Orient. And mine is Linden.” She touched his hand again, then slipped into the night.

  He leaned against the door and watched her go. I grinned when he met my eyes. He walked over. “I was only asking if she’d be all right.”

  I gave him a blast of the coyote giggles, and he blushed.

  Valda called down the counter, “Guys? One more favor of you? Can you take the bottles back to the alley?”

  I spread my hands wide and bowed: But of course.

  She had loaded the empty bottles into the crates. The brewer would pick them up in the morning from the alley. Orient and I hoisted three crates each and headed for the back.

  As we passed the office door, I wondered if I should check on Strider.

  Orient slowed down. “Oh, hell, why not? If he objects, he’ll just break my face, right?” He knocked. No answer. He knocked again, then opened the door a crack, then stuck his head in.

  When he pulled it back, he said, “He must be all right. He’s gone.”

  I considered that, then shrugged. I hoped he’d gone to meet Sai. That’d have been the best thing for both of them.

  We went through the door at the end of the hall that opens into Danceland’s private garage, and through that to the alley, which is properly a small cul-de-sac rather than an alley. Danceland’s back door is at the closed end. When there’s no moon, you can’t see a thing back there. Tonight, there was a moon.

  I knew something was wrong—I smelled blood. I’m not as good as my rep; I didn’t know what kind of blood. I smelled a lot of things, most of them alley things, some of them things people do as they die. I attributed those to the alley at first. Maybe dogs had been fighting there.

  Something caught light from the back door. I recognized the stupid Faeriecloth coat, wondered why the Elflander had ditched it, then grinned, thinking someone had swiped it to teach him a lesson about Soho etiquette.

  I was still grinning when I saw that the Elflander was in his coat, lying like he was resting. His hands were folded over his stomach. His legs were straig
ht out before him.

  I was still grinning when I saw what had been done to him while he was in his coat. My grin withered on my face. I grunted and set down my load of empties, and wished for some way to warn Orient of what he was about to see.

  Chapter 8—Silver Suits and Copper Cards

  Orient turned. Then he saw what I was looking at, and we both stared for a little longer, then he went to the side and threw up. I wish I could say I was staring to see if the Elflander might still be breathing, but I wasn’t. There was no chance that he was living. I was staring to convince myself that a person I had seen alive was now a corpse in Danceland’s alley.

  The Elflander’s coat was in ribbons, like his skin, and the moonlight made him all shiny with blood, almost as if he’d been coated with varnish. His dueling toy was still in his hand. His long white braid had been stuffed into his mouth, and a part of my mind was saying that wasn’t very original while another part thought that was obscene. A distant part of my mind whispered, Goldy and Sai both threatened— but the thought was too weak to live. I don’t know why I didn’t vomit. Maybe dogs don’t vomit for emotional reasons.

  Orient and I went into the back room without having to suggest it to each other. Orient leaned against a stack of whiskey kegs and brought up both hands to push back his hair, or maybe just to massage his temples.

  We stood there, trying to breathe casually and trying to understand what had happened. At last, Orient said, “Strider’s in trouble.”

  I grunted.

  “Can we cover it up?” That was phrased as a question mostly out of habit, I think, of being considerate of me. He answered it himself. “No way. Might get Dancer in trouble with the coppers if we wait. Might get Strider in more trouble. Hell.” He looked at me then, with his face pale and controlled. “I’ll tell Dancer. It’s her alley, after all.”

  I nodded. It was nice to be able to pass on the decision.

  I can guess what thoughts were going through Orient’s head as we went to find Dancer:

  Strider did it. No, Strider’d meet the Elflander near the river or in a bombed-out house or in a deserted theater, and they’d fight until honor was satisfied or Strider was dead. Strider wouldn’t kill someone he’d defeated. He’d forgive him. That’s how Strider thinks, the simple git.

  Sai did it to protect Strider from the stranger who had cut up her lover for fun. No, Sai wouldn’t jump someone in an alley, and Sai wouldn’t go after him until she knew Strider was fine. Then she’d arrange for the stranger to be without his little dueling toy—have some of her friends surround him, or something. And she’d show him why she had been Soho’s middleweight champion for a season and a half, until she decided she was too pretty to stay a boxer. Sai wouldn’t kill, either. Not deliberately, like this, anyway.

  That meant Goldy did it, because he was frustrated that he couldn’t do anything else to show he cared for Strider, because he felt he should have stopped the stranger sooner somehow, because he stepped outside to grab some fresh air and saw the Elflander waiting for Strider—

  That didn’t work either. Goldy’s not like that, no more than the rest of us are. More likely, Goldy would take a certain delight in tossing the Elflander to the coppers for a night in the B-town jail. Wouldn’t do that with a local, but with a Faerie lord in a silly coat...

  And that left Orient with one last suspect, Wild Hunt’s lead singer. He wouldn’t like that, ‘cause he had a mad crush on Linden. But Orient’s smart. He’d weigh the possibility, and it wouldn’t work any better than any of the rest. You don’t carve up a crazy boyfriend. You just wait patiently until he finds someone else to pester. And it couldn’t’ve been self-defense, not considering what had been done to the body.

  We stepped into the main room and Orient said, “The elf that made trouble tonight...” I was the only one who knew why he stopped, but everyone could tell something was wrong.

  Val came over and put her arm around his back. Just ‘cause she’s twice our age, she thinks she’s everyone’s grandmother, sometimes. Sometimes we all appreciate it. “What?”

  “He’s dead. In the back alley. He’s all...” Orient winced. “...cut up.”

  “Shit,” Goldy said. Goldy never swears.

  Dancer and Tick-Tick went back to look while Orient tried to describe it to Goldy and Val. His words didn’t do much to tell it, but his tone did. I was glad I couldn’t talk, myself.

  “We call the coppers,” Dancer said when she returned.

  “No,” Goldy whispered, and I thought there was going to be worse trouble.

  Dancer didn’t hear, or maybe she’s wise enough to know when to pretend she didn’t. “Val, tell Strider and Sai what happened. Tick-Tick will tell the coppers.” She glanced at the Ticker. “Better take the avenues to the cop shop, ‘cause the shortcuts might not be safe this time of night. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even leave for another five minutes or so. Bikes can be so hard to start, sometimes.”

  Tick-Tick smiled a tiny bit, more in recognition than in humor. Goldy nodded, said, “Yes. That’s right.”

  Dancer brewed a pot of coffee while we sat around, not really talking about anything important. Orient said, “Good band,” then quoted Tick-Tick so softly that I may have been the only one who heard him, “Oh, shards and splinters.”

  Goldy said, “Bastard deserved it.”

  Orient whispered, as if testing the sound, “To dine on iron needles.”

  Goldy said, “If anyone deserves what they get, that bastard did.”

  Orient said, “Damn it to hell.”

  Goldy nodded. “Yeah.”

  Dancer poured coffee for us all, and I realized that was another first. Not the freebies, ‘cause Dancer can be so generous I sometimes wonder how she stays in business. But she never worked behind the counter. Val made decent coffee, and Goldy brewed great coffee. Dancer’s tasted like she was the one who taught Goldy, but even Orient’s “Good coffee” sounded perfunctory.

  Val came back and said Sai and Strider weren’t home. I didn’t like that. Then Strider came in. I liked that less. He was pocketing his key to the place and saying, “Anybody seen Sai?” He stopped, stared at us staring at him. “What’d I say?” When no one answered immediately, he added, “Hey, if my part’s crooked, I’m sorry, I lost my comb.” His hair, as usual, was a perfect white mane.

  Goldy shook his head.

  “That’s a joke,” Strider said, moving toward the bar where we had gathered. Then he stopped and said quietly, “Something happened to Sai.”

  “No, Strider,” Goldy said. “Not that we know of.”

  “It’s that elf,” Dancer said. “He’s dead back by the empties. Cut up bad, like someone hated him.” That was obviously a warning, not an accusation. “Tick-Tick’s gone for the coppers. I told her to. If I didn’t, they’d shut me down.”

  Strider’s pale face went paler, which is some trick. The new scar was like a lightning flash on his cheek. He sat on a stool and whispered, “Oh, to sail a sunless sea.” It took me a minute to realize that was a Faerie oath, and before I did, Strider sounded more like himself. “’S all right, Dancer.”

  “I told her to stall. You could get out—”

  He shook his head. “And go where? This is Bordertown. I’m Strider. I don’t want anything else.”

  “Don’t be a bigger fool!” Goldy hit the table with the flat of his hand, and our cups danced.

  Strider smiled slightly. “Hey, Goldy, don’t give me that. You know.”

  “Yeah, you bastard.” Goldy turned his back. His shoulders shook, and no one spoke for a minute or two.

  “He’s dead,” Strider said, not quite asking.

  “Yes,” Orient said.

  “Fine. Then I don’t have to see him.” He glanced at Dancer. “Coffee, please?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She slid him a cup.

  “Goldy?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.

  Goldy grunted, sounding like me, I suppose. He didn’t turn around.


  “Tell Sai I love her. Tell her not to do anything stupid. And don’t you do anything stupid, either.”

  Goldy’s bright head bobbed in a nod.

  “Got any poems for me, Wolfboy?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t written anything in three weeks, but I knew I’d write something soon.

  “You’re innocent,” Orient said, and his voice was accusing and angry.

  “Maybe.”

  Orient looked upwards in exasperation. “You could say so, then.”

  Goldy said, “He doesn’t have to.”

  “No,” said Orient. “I guess not.”

  •

  Tick-Tick came back with the coppers soon after that. I didn’t recognize them as coppers, not immediately. There’s not a lot of law in B-town, and you almost never see the Silver Suits in uniform in Soho. Law only comes in for important things, like an ugly killing that too many people will hear of.

  The woman was about Dancer’s age. Her hair was a sun-bleached brown with flecks of white, combed straight back from her forehead. Her skin was lighter than Goldy’s and darker than Tick-Tick’s. She wore a loose cotton jacket cut from a pattern of tropical flowers, black slacks, and black loafers. Her eyes were hidden behind silver glasses, probably Night Peepers. She kept one hand in her slacks pocket, maybe ‘cause there was a weapon there, maybe ‘cause it made her jacket hang better. The elf was less conspicuous in a sea green suit with his white hair cut close to his skull.

  “Name’s Rico,” the human said, not smiling. “My partner’s Lieutenant Linn. Anyone want to see a copper card?” I’ve always wondered about that name, ‘cause the only c-card I ever saw was brass.

  “It’s all right, Sunny,” Dancer said, and Goldy snickered.

  “Good,” Rico replied, looking at Dancer. “Sorry you’re in this.” Her head didn’t move at all as she asked Goldy, “Something amusing?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sunny.” Once we had a talk about why coppers were called coppers. Goldy had said that was because you could buy them cheap.

  “Named for my cheerful disposition,” Rico said. So far her face hadn’t been any more expressive than her silver glasses. “Think it’s funny, Walter?” Goldy didn’t answer. At another time, the whole exchange would’ve been hilarious, but it wasn’t now. I think Rico agreed. She said, “Everyone stick around, okay? You—” She pointed at me. “—show me the body while Linn takes statements.”