“Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” said Bettie.
“Yes,” I said. “I find his honesty and grasp of reality quite refreshing.” I gave Percival my own professional smile and was quietly pleased to see him wince a little. “Walker sent me. I need to talk to the Collector.”
“Oh, him. Yes…I’d never have let him in here, but Walker insisted. Part of the price tag for his help in acquiring the T. rex. Beware civil servants bearing gifts…I mean, giving the Collector free access to a museum is like letting a fox with a chain-saw into a hen-house. Thief! Grave-robber! Amateur! All the great historical treasures he’s supposed to have, kept locked away so he can gloat over them in private, when by rights they should be on open display in my Museum! It doesn’t bear thinking about. My doctor told me not to think about it; he said it was bad for my blood pressure. I have to take these little pink pills, and I’m always running out. I’d have the Collector thrown out…if I didn’t think he’d kill me and all my staff and burn down the Museum as he left…So go ahead, talk to him. See if I care. I’m just the Director of this Museum. I can feel one of my heads coming on…”
“Where is the Collector?” I said patiently.
For the first time, Percival gave me a real smile. It wasn’t at all a nice smile, but I had no doubt he meant it.
“Through there,” he said, pointing at the T. rex’s cage. “There’s a door, right in the middle of our artificial jungle. You’ll find the Collector in his lair, on the other side of the door.”
“Oh, joy,” I said.
“Deep joy,” said Bettie, staring in horrified fascination at the jungle in the cage. “The Collector really doesn’t want visitors, does he? Why couldn’t he have settled for a BEWARE OF THE DOG sign like anyone else?”
I looked at Percival. “I don’t suppose…”
“My position is purely administrative,” he said, still smiling his nasty smile. “You’re on your own, Mr. Taylor.”
He turned his back on us and strode away, snapping his fingers for the Neanderthal to follow him. I gave the cage my full attention. I wasn’t sure if I really needed to see the Collector that badly. I moved slowly forward, going right up to the bars of the cage for a better look. Bettie stuck really close beside me. With my face next to the bars, I could feel the savage heat of the jungle. My bare skin smarted just from the feel of it.
The T. rex surged forward, exploding out of its cover, throwing broken vegetation in all directions. It crossed the intervening space in a few seconds, driven forward by its massive legs, and its slavering mouth slammed against the other side of the bars while I was still reacting to its first movement. The bars held, and the T. rex smashed its great head against them again and again, determined to reach me. I stumbled back, Bettie clinging desperately to my arm. The T. rex howled, a deafening roar of hate and frustration. The smell of rotting meat from its mouth was almost overpowering. I backed away some more, and Bettie turned and buried her face in my chest. I put my arms around her and held her. Both of us were shaking.
The T. rex snorted once, threateningly, and then turned its great bulk around and stalked back into the jungle. The ground really did tremble when it moved.
I was still holding Bettie. We were both breathing hard. I could feel her heart beating fast, close to mine. She raised her face to look at me. Her eyes were very big. I could feel her breath on my face. Her scent filled my head. Our faces were very close. It had been a long time since I’d held a woman this close to me.
It felt good.
I pushed her away gently, and immediately we were both two professional people again. I looked at the jungle. I thought I could make out the silhouette of the T. rex, lurking silently, concealed amongst the tall trees.
“Big, isn’t it?” I said. “Fast, too.”
“It smells of meat and murder,” said Bettie. “It smells of death.”
“It’s a killer,” I said.
“How the hell are we going to get past it?”
I looked at her. “You sure you want to try?”
“Hell yes! No oversized iguana is going to intimidate me! Besides, never let anything distract you from following the story. First thing they teach you at the Unnatural Inquirer. Right after how to fill out an expenses claim and next-of-kin forms.” She looked at me consideringly. “You couldn’t just kill it, could you?”
“I think an awful lot of very well-connected people would be exceedingly upset.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“True. But a T. rex is too damned special to kill unless I absolutely have to.”
“So what do we do? Call in some of your more dangerous friends and allies for backup? Shotgun Suzie? Razor Eddie? The Grey Eidolon?”
“No,” I said. “I solve my own problems.”
I studied the artificial jungle, hot and sweaty and stinking under its artificial sun. Flies buzzed hungrily, along with foot-long dragonflies and other less familiar insects. The jungle on its own would be hard enough to take, even without the T. rex. I could see it more clearly now, shifting its weight slowly from one great leg to the other, its long tail twitching restlessly. It stood there, huge and menacing, waiting for me to try something. Waiting for its chance. There was no sign of the Collector’s door; but it couldn’t be far. The cage wasn’t that big…I smiled slowly. The T. rex would know where the door was. It would know it was important. So it would put itself between me and the door. Which meant…My smile widened as I looked at the T. rex’s massive legs, and then at the space between them.
“That is a really unpleasant smile,” said Bettie. “Whatever you’re thinking, please stop it.”
“I have a plan,” I said.
“I’m really not going to like it, am I?”
“How fast can you run?” I said.
“Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not suggesting…”
“Oh, yes I am,” I said.
I marched back to the cage bars, Bettie moving unhappily along with me. The T. rex stepped out into the open, grinning at me with its terrible jaws. The feeding arms high up on the barrel chest clutched spasmodically at the air. I reached into my coat-pocket and took out a flashbang. I gestured for Bettie to cover her eyes and ears, then tossed the flashbang into the cage. The T. rex started forward. I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and turned my head away, and the flashbang exploded, filling the world with a fierce incandescent glare. I could still see it through my clenched-shut eyes. The T. rex screamed like a steam whistle. I turned back, grabbed Bettie’s hand, and we squeezed quickly between the steel bars. Designed to keep the T. rex in, not people out. The T. rex stamped its great feet up and down, swinging its wedge-shaped head back and forth, trying to shake off the pain in its dazzled eyes. And I ran straight at the creature, with Bettie pounding gamely along at my side.
The heat hit me like a blast furnace, and the stench was almost unbearable. The T. rex knew we were coming, but it was too confused to place us. It snapped at the empty air, the heavy jaws slamming together like a man-trap. I headed for the gap between its legs. I think it sensed how close we were, because the great head came sweeping down. Bettie and I ran straight between its wide-set legs and out the other side, hardly having to duck at all. The T. rex’s head smashed into the ground as it missed us.
By the time the T. rex had shaken off its daze and its new headache, and got itself turned around, I’d already found the Collector’s door and got it open. It wasn’t even locked, the smug bastard. I pushed Bettie through and followed her in. I turned to shut the door, and there was the T. rex, shrieking with rage as it lurched towards the door. I blew a raspberry at it, and shut the door in its face.
* * * *
Inside the Collector’s lair, it was blessedly cool. I took a moment to get my breath back. I wasn’t worried about the door. Any door the Collector trusted to guard his treasures could take care of itself. I looked around, while Bettie got her breathing back under control and cursed me with a whole series of baby swear-words. The Collec
tor’s new domain looked a lot like his old one. It stretched away in all directions, for as far as the eye could follow, and most of it was pretty damned hard on the eye. Walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted in bright primary Technicolor, with gaudy hanging silks to separate one area from another. The Collector’s tastes had been formed in the psychedelic sixties, and he never really got over it.
But whereas his old collection up on the Moon had all been stored away in rows and rows of wooden crates, here they were all set out in the open, presented carefully on rows and rows of glass shelving. Jewels and weapons, books and documents, machines and artifacts from all of recorded history. I recognised a few of the bigger items, like the wooden horse of Troy, and a half-burned giant Wicker Man with a dead policeman inside it, under carefully arranged spotlights; but I didn’t have to know what the rest were to know they were important. They all but radiated glamour.
I looked round sharply as the Collector’s security staff arrived, pattering across the bright blue floor towards us. Gleaming humanoid robots from some future Chinese civilisation, graceful and deadly with steel-clawed hands, and stylised cat faces complete with jutting metal whiskers. Their slit-pupilled eyes glowed green. A dozen of the robots moved swiftly to surround us, and I gestured quickly for Bettie to stand still. The robots hadn’t been sent to kill us, or I’d never have heard them coming. Bettie stood firm, glaring about her.
“Call them off, Collector,” I said, in a loud and carrying voice. “Or I’ll turn them into scrap metal.”
“You never did have any respect for other people’s property, Taylor.”
The cat robots fell back silently, to allow the Collector to approach. A pudgy, middle-aged man with a flushed face and beady little eyes, wearing a wraparound Roman toga, white with purple trimmings. There were knife holes and old blood stains on the toga’s front. Lots of them.
“Do you like it?” he said, stopping a respectful distance away. “A new acquisition. The robe the Emperor Caligula was wearing when he was assassinated by his own security people. Partly because he was a monster, but mostly because he embarrassed the hell out of them.” He looked at me, then at Bettie, who I now noticed was wearing a deep burgundy evening gown, with her long dark hair tumbling in ringlets to her shoulders. Her curved horns gleamed dully under the bright lights. The Collector smiled suddenly. “They’ve been feeding that T. rex too much; he’s getting slow and sloppy. I shall have to have words with that little snot Percival. What do you want here, Taylor?”
I looked around, evading the subject for the moment. Some things you need to sneak up on, and ease into. Especially when you’ve known the Collector as long as I have.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said. “Up on the Moon, you had everything packed away in boxes. You thinking of opening up to the public?”
“They wish,” said the Collector. “What’s mine is mine, and not for other eyes. But I had something of an epiphany during the Lilith War; it reminded me of how short life can be, and the necessity for enjoying things while you still can. It’s not enough just to own things, any more; I need to be able to walk amongst them, enjoy them, savour them. And I do. What do you want, Taylor?”
“I need a favour,” I said. “And you do owe me, Mark.”
He looked at me for a long moment, but in the end he looked away first. He seemed suddenly older, and tired.
“How much am I expected to pay for my sins against you?”
I could sense Bettie’s ears pricking up, as she realised we were talking about secret, important things, but I didn’t feel like enlightening her.
“Only you can answer that,” I said. “Just tell me what I need to know, and I’ll leave.”
“I should kill you,” he said, almost casually.
“You could try,” I said, easily.
“This is about the Afterlife Recording, isn’t it? I haven’t got it. Heard about it, of course. The whole damned Nightside is buzzing with news of it, mostly inaccurate, and all the little collectors and speculators are driving themselves crazy running in circles, chasing down every rumour…”
“But not you?” I said.
“I want it. And when I’m good and ready, I’ll go and get it. But right now I’m busy with something…something important. I have yet to be convinced that the Recording is the genuine article. But whether it’s the real deal or not, I will have it, because it’s a unique item, and it belongs here with me, as someone who will appreciate it…What is that woman doing?”
I looked around. Bettie had a small camera in her hands. I reached out and took it away from her.
“Give that back!” she said hotly. “It belongs to the paper! I had to sign for it!”
“Restrain yourself,” I said. “We’re guests here.”
“Oh, but look at all the lovely things he’s got,” said Bettie, pouting in a very winning way. “The world deserves to know what’s here!”
“No they don’t,” said the Collector. He gave me a thoughtful look. “Is she your latest?”
“No,” I said. “I’m still with Suzie.”
“Oh. Nice horns.” He gave me a hard look. “You always were more trouble than you were worth, Taylor. You know how long it took me to regrow my leg after those insects gnawed it off? All because of you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my lovely cat robots kill you, stuff you, and put you on display?”
“Because I’m my father’s son.”
“You always did fight dirty, John.” He smiled briefly. “The sins of the father…”
“And the mother,” I said. “And the man who put them together.”
“Walker had sons,” said the Collector. “Charles had you. And I…have my collection. Funny how things turn out. Get out of here, Taylor. I don’t have the Afterlife Recording, and I don’t know who has. Leave. And don’t come looking for me again. I won’t be here.”
He turned and walked away, followed by his cat robots. Bettie looked at me.
“What was that all about?”
“The past,” I said. “And how it always ends up haunting the present. Let’s go.”
“You’re sure he doesn’t have it, hidden away somewhere?”
“He wouldn’t lie to me,” I said.
We headed back to the door. Bettie was still frowning thoughtfully.
“Once we’re back in the artificial jungle, we’ve still got to face one very pissed-off Tyrannosaurus rex. How are we going to get past it this time?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll think of something.”
And I did.
FIVE
The Devil’s
in the Details
Back out on the Nightside streets again, we still carried the smell of the jungle with us. A harsh and murky mixture of sweat, rotting vegetation, and T. rex musk. It could have been my imagination, but people on the street seemed to be giving me even more room than usual. I felt like buying half a dozen air fresheners and hanging them round my neck. I did my best to rise above the situation, while debating what to do next with the delightful Bettie Divine.
“I still don’t get it,” she said, a bit pettishly. She was holding my arm again. “Why isn’t the Collector out chasing round the Nightside, trying to grab the Afterlife Recording for himself? He said he wanted it.”
“He also said he was busy with something,” I said. “Odd, that; he didn’t say what with. He’s never been bashful with me before; usually can’t wait to boast about what he’s up to…Still, he’s the Collector. Which means he’s always busy with something.”
“Unless…he’s scared of someone else who’s after the Recording,” said Bettie. “You, perhaps?”
“I’d like to think so, but no. It would have to be someone really bad, and really powerful. The Collector is a Major Player in his own right, and he doesn’t scare easily.”
“Walker?”
“You have a point there,” I admitted. I was getting used to walking arm in arm with Bettie. It felt good, natural.
“Could Walker have been lying to us, to hide the fact he already had the DVD? No, I don’t think so. He would have told me if he’d had it, if only to put me in my place. And his reasons for wanting me to find it before anyone else sounded pretty good to me.”
“You mean the angels?” said Bettie.
“Please,” I said. “Let us not use the a-word in public.”
“All right, if it isn’t Walker, then who? Razor Eddie?”
I shook my head. “He might be the Punk God of the Straight Razor, but Eddie’s never been very interested in religion. In fact, he’s pretty much the only god all the other Beings on the Street of the Gods are afraid of.”
“How about the Lord of Thorns, then?”
“You have been doing your homework, haven’t you? No, he’s still recovering from the Lilith War and the trauma of finding out he’s not who he thought he was.”
“You know everyone, don’t you?” Bettie said admiringly. “Who did he think he was?”
“Overseer of the Nightside.”
Bettie thought about that. “If the Lord of Thorns isn’t watching over us, who is?”
“Good question,” I said. “Lot of people are still arguing about that.”
She gave me a sly, sideways look. “Lot of people say you could have been King of the Nightside, if you’d wanted.”
I smiled. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.”
“Don’t be silly, darling! That’s my job!”
“Damn,” I said, as a thought occurred to me.
“You’re frowning, John, and I do wish you wouldn’t. It usually means you’ve suddenly thought of something unpleasant, spooky, and probably downright dangerous.”
“Right on all three counts,” I said. “There is one man the Collector is afraid of, and quite rightly, too. Anyone with any sense is afraid of the Removal Man.”
Bettie pulled her arm out of mine and stopped dead in the street. I stopped with her. She gave me a hard look.
“Hold everything, reverse gear, go previous. Are you having fun with me, John? Thinking I’ll believe anything simply because it’s you saying it? The Removal Man is just an urban legend. Isn’t he?”
The Unnatural Inquirer Page 10