I thought about it. Several things in his story had struck me forcefully. There were an awful lot of elves in the Nightside recently. Far more than usual. And then there were the Arthurian elements; did Polly Perkins pick them at random to lure Larry in? Or could they be linked to Puck's warning about Excalibur? Something was going on. But then, this is the Nightside. Something's always going on.
To unravel a mess, pull on any strand. So Tommy it was.
"I'll help you find out what happened to Tommy," I said. "But all I can offer is the truth. Don't blame me if you don't like what I find."
"That's what I always say to my clients," said Larry. "Only I usually put it a little more tactfully."
We managed a small smile for each other. We were never going to be close; but we could work together.
Then the whole bar went quiet. Conversations ceased, laughter and tears died away, and the piped music stopped so fast it briefly went into reverse. Heads turned and craned, and not a few lowered themselves and hoped not to be noticed. The whole bar seemed to be holding its breath because Walker had arrived.
He hadn't bothered with his usual slow descent of the metal steps, to let everyone know he was coming and make a grand entrance. He simply appeared suddenly out of nowhere, standing right there in the middle of the bar, leaning casually on his furled umbrella, smiling easily about him. Most of the clientele avoided meeting his eyes, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Because if Walker was on the scene, it meant someone was in trouble; and given that Walker moves in more mysterious ways than half the Beings on the Street of the Gods, it might just be you. Walker was infamous for knowing things he shouldn't and doing something horribly punitive about it-pour discourager les autres.
And whatever he does, no-one ever protests. Because he's Walker.
But there's always one, isn't there? Someone always has to learn the hard way. In this case, it was one of Black Betty's overmuscled goons. She always had half a dozen or so on a leash in case she met a customer. This particular goon decided he was going to impress his mistress, so he stepped forward to face Walker, flexing his steroid-abused muscles in what he clearly thought was a threatening way. Walker considered him thoughtfully. A wise man would have taken the hint and run, but not the goon.
"You're upsetting my mistress, little man," said the goon. "Disappear."
Walker smiled, just a little. "Shit yourself."
He used the Voice, which commands everyone who hears it, and the goon made a sudden low sound of distress. Quickly accompanied by other, less pleasant sounds. Black Betty pulled a face and dropped his leash. The goon turned away from Walker, slowly and carefully, and trudged miserably off to the toilets. People he passed by wished he hadn't. The bar as a whole decided the safest thing to do was act as if Walker wasn't there. Heads turned away, conversations resumed, and the piped music returned. I noticed the bar's muscular bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, lurking in the background, ready to give their all at a moment's notice; but Alex had more sense. He gave Walker his best glare, then busied himself polishing some glasses that didn't need polishing.
Walker looked unhurriedly about him, taking his time. No-one was fooled by his calm exterior. Walker was always dangerous, even when he was being polite. Perhaps especially then. And, of course, in the end he spotted me, walked over to my booth, and smiled charmingly.
"Hello, John. Can I have a word? It is rather urgent."
"You've got a nerve," I said. "Just a few hours ago you were doing your best to have me killed."
"It's what I do," said Walker. "Nothing personal, John. You should know that by now."
"I've already taken a case," I said. "Find someone else to do your dirty work."
"This isn't about work. This is personal."
I sighed. Clearly I wasn't going to get rid of Walker until I'd listened to what he had to say. I looked at Larry, spreading my hands in a What can you do? gesture.
"You go on ahead. I'll join up with you outside the Cheyne Walk Underground Station, as soon as I can. That's the last place I saw Tommy alive."
Larry nodded and rose to his feet, then looked at Walker challengingly. "I'm Larry Oblivion. Do you have anything to say to me?"
Walker looked at him thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. Not for the moment."
"Don't think you can intimidate me, Walker. I'm dead."
Walker smiled. "You, of all people, should know that death isn't the worst thing that can happen. When I want you, I'll come for you."
Larry turned his back on Walker and strode out of the bar, his back straight and his head held high. And perhaps only Walker and I knew he was running away. Which is often the best way to deal with Walker. Just head for the nearest horizon the moment you spot him. I gestured resignedly to the empty seat, and Walker sat down opposite me, his every movement elegance and grace personified. He stood his umbrella on end beside his chair, took off his bowler hat and placed it carefully on the table before him, and casually adjusted his old-school tie. In anyone else these would have been mere habitual gestures; but Walker was quietly reminding me where his authority came from. Walker wasn't part of the System; he was the System.
"Would you care for a drink?" I said, gesturing at the Valhalla Venom with malice aforethought.
Walker studied the bottle without touching it and raised an eyebrow briefly. "Ah, yes… I wondered what had become of that. The steward at my club tried to persuade me to try some, but I had more sense. That stuff could eat holes in your kirlian aura. But you go right ahead, John. Don't let me put you off."
I pushed the bottle and glass to one side. "What do you want, Walker?"
He sighed slightly, as though disappointed by my lack of subtlety. "I understand you've learned my little secret, John. Yes; it's true. I'm dying. And no, there's nothing that can be done. We all die of something. All that's left to me is to make arrangements for what will happen afterwards."
"You want me to arrange your funeral?" I said. "Or just try to keep people from pissing on your grave?"
"I want you to take over my position when I'm gone," said Walker. "I want you to be the new representative of the new Authorities. Because there's no-one else I can trust to do the job properly."
You think you've heard everything, then the universe rears up and slaps you round the head.
"What?"
"I said…"
"I know what you said! Are you crazy? I don't want the job!"
"Best kind of person for a job like this," said Walker. "And who more fitting than the son of my oldest friend?"
"Oh please," I said. "Emotional blackmail will get you nowhere."
"Always worth a try," said Walker. "Look, we just went head to head over the elf, while a whole bunch of your people did their very best to terminate me with extreme prejudice. When you're not trying to have me arrested or stepped on, you're hiring me to investigate cases that will almost certainly get me killed. Now, call me paranoid if you like, but I'm starting to detect a pattern here. So why would you want someone like me, someone you've tried to run out of the Nightside on more than one occasion, to take over your job?"
"I need a man with strong convictions," said Walker. "A man who won't fold when the game gets serious. A man who won't take any shit from the bad guys. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger."
"Now you're just being nasty," I said.
"I have some time left," said Walker. "Enough to teach you the things you need to know. Including how to avoid my mistakes."
"You mean how to avoid becoming you?" I shook my head firmly. "I don't want anything to do with this. You know I've always had problems with authority figures. Why would I want to be one? Why pick on me?"
"Doesn't every father want his son to follow in his footsteps; only do it better?"
"I am not your son!"
"Who has shaped your life more than I? Who helped make you what you are? I am responsible for you, John, in every way that matters."