Hell To Pay n-7

by Simon R. Green

  “You’d be surprised what I know,” I said, because you have to say something. “I’m still trying to get a handle on everyone in the Griffin family, so I can work up some theories about who might have kidnapped Melissa, and why.”

  Eleanor shrugged. “We’re really not all that complicated. Daddy has his business, Mummy lives to be Queen of High Society, William runs away and hides whenever Daddy isn’t looking, Melissa is a sanctimonious pain in the arse, and my dear little pride and joy Paul won’t come out of his bedroom. And there you have the Griffins in a nutshell.”

  “What about you?” I said. “Who are you, Eleanor Griffin?”

  Like her brother, once Eleanor started talking she couldn’t stop. It all came tumbling out. Perhaps because it had been such a long time since she could talk to anyone honestly, to someone she could trust to keep a secret and not pass it on…because they honestly didn’t give a damn.

  “Daddy never had much time for me,” she said, and though she was looking at me, her gaze was far away, in the past. “He’s very old-fashioned. His son could be an heir, and part of the family business, but not a daughter. So I was left much more to my own devices than William ever was. Mummy didn’t care, either. She only had me and William to be fashionable. So I was brought up by a succession of nannies, tutors, and paid companions, all of whom reported back to Daddy. I couldn’t trust any of them. I grew up to rely on no-one but myself, and to look out for myself first and foremost. Just like Daddy.

  “Down the years I’ve tried to interest myself in lots of things to pass the time…There’s so much time to fill when you’re immortal. I’ve tried politics, religion, shopping…but none of them ever satisfied for long. For the moment I have decided simply to enjoy my money and position and be a happy little lotus eater. Does that make me sound terribly shallow?”

  “Why toy boys?” I said, carefully avoiding a question that had no good answer. “Word is none of them ever seem to last long…”

  “As the years go by, and I get no older, I’m drawn more and more to youth,” said Eleanor. “Real youth, as opposed to this splendid body of mine that never ages. Despite all the things I’ve done to it. I dread growing old and crotchety, and stuck in my ways…Constant exposure to young thoughts and opinions and fashions helps to keep me young at heart. I’ll never be like Daddy; for all his years and experience he’s still really no different from the medieval trader he originally was. Business is business, no matter what century you’re in. He may have assumed aristocratic airs and graces, but he’s still stuck in his old ways. Inflexible in his values, even though they were formed centuries ago…I don’t ever want to be like that.”

  “What do you want?” I said.

  She smiled briefly. “Damned if I know, Mr. Taylor. I’d quite like to inherit Daddy’s money, but not his business. I’ll sell my share in a shot, first chance I get. And I don’t want to end up like William, lost in his own indulgences. He thinks I don’t know what he gets up to at the Caligula Club, but everyone knows…I want to do something that matters, be someone who matters. But no-one will ever see me as anything more than the Griffin’s daughter. You have no idea how limiting extreme wealth and power can be.”

  “Poor little rich girl,” I said solemnly. “Got everything but happiness and peace of mind.”

  She glared at me. “You’re mocking me, Mr. Taylor. And anyone here could tell you that’s a very dangerous thing to do.”

  I smiled. “Danger is my business.”

  “Oh please…What do you want, Mr. Taylor?”

  “Well, to start with, I want you to call me John. After that…I want to find Melissa. Make sure she’s safe.”

  “And take her home again? Back to Griffin Hall?”

  “If that’s what she wants,” I said carefully.

  Eleanor studied me for a moment. “You don’t think she was kidnapped, do you? You think she’s a runaway. I have to say, it wouldn’t surprise me. But, as and when you do find her, you won’t take her back against her will because that would be against your principles, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  She smiled at me dazzlingly. “I like you rather better for that, John. You’re actually ready to defy the Griffin himself, to his face? He’s had people killed for less. Perhaps you really are everything they say you are.”

  “No,” I said. “No-one could be everything they say I am.”

  She laughed briefly again. “You have no idea how refreshing it is to talk to someone…real. You don’t give a damn that I’m a Griffin, do you?”

  “No,” I said honestly. “I’ve fought worse, in my time.”

  “Yes…you probably have. You didn’t take this case for the money, either, did you? You actually do want to find Melissa.”

  “Well,” I said honestly, “the money helped.”

  And then we both looked round as Ramon appeared at the entrance to our private booth. He was tall and well built inside his expensive suit, and he held himself like he might have been a fighter at some time. He glared at me coldly, ignoring Eleanor.

  “Who do you think you are, Taylor? Walking in here like you have a right to be here and ordering your betters about? Eleanor, you don’t have to say anything to him. I know his kind—all bluff and reputation.”

  “Like you want to be?” I said. “Before you realised how much hard work was involved and how much easier it was to use your pretty face and manners to trade up for a better life? Go and sit at your table again, like a good boy. Eleanor will come and collect you when she’s ready.”

  “That’s right, Ramon,” said Eleanor. “No-one’s forcing me to do anything. It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but…”

  “Shut up,” said Ramon, and Eleanor stared blankly at him as though he’d just slapped her. Ramon turned his glare on her. “This isn’t about you, for once. It’s about me. How do you think it makes me look when you ignore me to smile and simper with street scum like him?”

  “Ramon,” I said, and something in my voice jerked his attention back to me. “I understand the need to make a good showing in front of your woman and your…peers, but really, don’t push your luck.”

  He snarled at me, and suddenly a long stiletto blade shone brightly in his hand. It had the look of a professional weapon, probably hidden in a forearm sheath. He held the blade like he knew what to do with it, and I sat very still. Eleanor stared at Ramon as though she’d never seen him before.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Ramon? Don’t be stupid! Put that thing away immediately!”

  He ignored her, caught up in his anger and the drama of the moment. The whole Tea Room had gone quiet, everyone looking at us, at him, and he knew it and loved it. He sniggered loudly.

  “They say you have werewolf blood in you, Taylor. Let’s see how well you do against a silver blade. My guess is you’ll bleed just like anyone else when I cut your nuts off and make you eat them.”

  I stood up, and he fell back in spite of himself. I fixed him with my gaze, holding his eyes with mine, despite everything he could do to look away. I stepped out of the booth, and he stumbled backwards, still unable to wrench his gaze away. He was whimpering now, as slow bloody tears began to ooze out from under his eyelids. The silver stiletto slipped from his numbing fingers as I stared him down. And then one of the bodyguards appeared out of nowhere from my blind side and threw his cup of coffee right into my face. I cried out as the scalding liquid burned my face and temporarily blinded me. I scrabbled frantically at my face with my hands, trying to clear my sight. I could hear other footsteps approaching.

  Eleanor brushed past me as she launched herself out of the booth and put herself between me and Ramon. I heard her yelling at him and at others I couldn’t see yet. The accustomed authority in her voice was holding them back, but I didn’t know for how long. I knuckled savagely at my tearing eyes, and finally my sight returned. My face still stung painfully, but I ignored it. All the bodyguards had left their tables to form a pack behind Ramon. They sce
nted blood in the water and a chance to bring down the infamous John Taylor. And, of course, a chance to look like real men in front of their women. If they could take down John Taylor, they could name their own prices in the future.

  They were jostling each other uneasily for position, all eager for the chance to get a crack at me, but not that eager to be the first. They had no weapons, but they all looked happy at the chance of a little excitement, of handing out a vicious beating to an upstart who didn’t know his place. I straightened up and glared at them, and a few actually fell back rather than face my gaze. Ramon flinched, bloody tear marks still drying on his face. Then he quickly got his confidence back as he realised I couldn’t stare him down again. Eleanor was still standing between me and the pack, hands on hips and head held high as she berated them all impartially.

  “This man is my guest! He has my protection and my father’s! And I will talk with whoever I damn well feel like, Ramon!”

  “He shouldn’t be here,” said Ramon, his voice thick with the anticipation of violence. “He doesn’t belong here.”

  “Neither do you,” Eleanor said coldly. “But I brought you in anyway. Though God knows what I ever thought I saw in you. Get out, Ramon. It’s over. And don’t you dare make a fuss, or I won’t write you a reference.”

  “Just like that?” said Ramon. “Just like all the others? No…I don’t think so. I think I’ll leave you a little something to remember me by.” He slapped her hard across the face. Eleanor stumbled backwards, one hand pressed to her reddened cheek. Ramon smiled. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Now stay out of my way. You don’t want to get blood on your new dress.” He turned his cold gaze back to me. “Come on, boys, it’s fun time.”

  While he was still talking, I stepped forward and kneed him in the groin. He made a sick, breathless sound and folded over, so I rabbit-punched him on the back of the neck to help him on his way to the floor. The pack of bodyguards surged forward, shouting angrily, and they were all over me. Punches came at me from every direction at once, and I all I could do was get my head down and my shoulders up and take it, riding out the blows as best I could and concentrating on staying on my feet. If I went down, they’d all take turns putting the boot in, and I wouldn’t get up from that. I didn’t think they’d deliberately kill me, for fear of incurring the Griffin’s anger, but accidents have been known to happen when the blood’s up.

  Luckily they weren’t used to fighting in a group. Body-guarding is more about protecting the client, and one-on-one intimidation. They got in each other’s way in their eagerness to get at me, and they were too eager to get their own blows in to think of co-operating. I concentrated on getting my hands into my coat-pockets. I keep all kinds of useful things there. The bodyguards hit and kicked me, but I didn’t go down. People (and others) have been trying to kill me ever since I was a child, and I’m still here.

  I pulled a whizz-bang out of my left pocket and threw it onto the floor. It exploded in a burst of brilliant light, and the bodyguards fell back, cursing and blinking furiously. Which gave me all the time I needed to draw a small brown human bone out of my right pocket and show it to the bodyguards. They all stood very still, and I grinned nastily.

  “That’s right, boys. This is a pointing bone. All I have to do is point and say the Word, and whoever I’m pointing it at will be going home in a coffin. So pick up what’s left of Ramon, and get the hell out of my sight.”

  “You’re bluffing,” said one of the bodyguards, but he didn’t sound as though he meant it.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” said the man beside him. “That’s John bloody Taylor. He doesn’t need to bluff.”

  They picked up Ramon and hauled him out of the Tea Room. All the ladies watched in silence, then looked back at me. A few looked like they would have liked to applaud. I turned my back on the room, and Eleanor helped me sit down in the private booth again. I sat down hard, breathing heavily. I hurt pretty much everywhere. Taking a beating gets harder as you get older. At least I hadn’t lost any teeth this time. I hate that. I put the bone away and looked at Eleanor.

  “Thanks for standing up for me.”

  “I absolutely hate and loathe machismo,” she said.

  “But you were pretty impressive there. Was that a genuine aboriginal pointing bone? I always understood the real thing is pretty hard to find.”

  “They are,” I said.

  “Then you were bluffing?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I’ll never tell.”

  “Your face was badly burned,” she said, studying me closely. “I saw it. But now all the burns are gone. And anyone else would have needed an ambulance after a beating like that. But not you. Do you really have werewolf blood in you, Mr. Taylor?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “And it’s John, remember? Now, where were we…Ah yes, Melissa. Tell me about Melissa, Eleanor.”

  I’ll never know what she might have said then, because we were interrupted again. This time by an oversized goon squeezed into a bright red messenger’s outfit, complete with gold braid. He didn’t look at all comfortable in it and squirmed surreptitiously as he bowed jerkily to Eleanor, ignoring me. He then made a big deal of presenting her with a sealed envelope on a silver platter. There was no name on the envelope. Eleanor picked it up and looked at the messenger.

  “Bearer waits,” he said, in a rough and distinctly unmessenger-like tone. “There’s a car outside.”

  Eleanor ripped open the envelope and studied the single sheet of paper within. I leaned forward, but all I could make out was a handwritten message by someone who had clearly never even heard of penmanship.

  “Oh how dreary,” she said, dropping the message onto the table like a dead fish. “It seems my dear Marcel has got himself in trouble again. You know he gambles? Of course you do. Everybody knows. I don’t know why he’s so keen on it; he’s never been any good. All the reputable houses won’t let him through their doors these days, not since Daddy made it very clear that he wouldn’t underwrite Marcel’s debts anymore. I really thought that might knock some sense into him, but I should have known better. It seems Marcel has been sneaking off to some of the nastier little clubs, where they’ll let absolutely anybody in, and running up his debts there. And while these…people are smart enough to realise they can’t dun my father for Marcel’s losses, they do seem to think they can pressure me.”

  “What do they want?” I said, ignoring the messenger goon.

  “Apparently, if I don’t go with the messenger right now, in his no-doubt-pokey little car, to discuss the repayment of Marcel’s debts, they’ll send my husband back to me one small piece at a time until I do. He won’t die. He’s immortal now, like me, but that just means his suffering could be infinitely extended…It’s such a bother, but I’d better go.”

  “That might not be entirely wise,” I said carefully.

  “Then they’d have two hostages with which to extort money from your father. And while he wouldn’t pay up for Marcel, he would for you.”

  “They wouldn’t dare threaten me! Would they?”

  “Look at the state of the thing they sent as a messenger,” I said. “These people don’t impress me as being a particularly up-market operation.”

  “I have to go,” said Eleanor. “He’s my husband.”

  “Then I’d better go with you,” I said. “I have some experience in dealing with these sorts of people.”

  “Of course,” said Eleanor. “They’re from your world, aren’t they? Very well. Stick around and look menacing, and try not to get in my way while I negotiate.”

  “Perish the thought,” I said. I turned my gaze on the messenger, and he shuffled his feet uneasily. “Talk to me,” I said. “Who do you work for?”

  “I’m not supposed to answer questions,” the goon said unhappily. “Bearer waits. Car outside. That’s all I’m supposed to say.”

  “But I’m John Taylor, and I want to know. So tell me, or I’ll turn you into something sma
ll and squishy and jump up and down on you.”

  The messenger swallowed hard and didn’t know what to do with his hands. “I work for Herbert Libby,” he said hoarsely. “At the Roll a Dice club, casino, and bar. It’s a high-class place. Real cuisine and no spitting on the floor.”

  “Never heard of it,” I said to Eleanor. “And I’ve heard of everywhere that matters. So, let’s go and talk with Mr. Libby and explain to him what a really bad idea this was.” I glared at the messenger. “Lead the way. And don’t try anything funny. We won’t laugh.”

  We left Hecate’s Tea Room, accompanied by many gossiping voices. The bodyguards were back at their tables and sulking quietly, but the Ladies Who Lunched were ecstatic. They hadn’t known this much excitement in their lives in years. There was indeed a car waiting outside. Small, black, and anonymous, it stood out awkwardly among the shimmering stretch limousines waiting patiently for the ladies inside. The uniformed chauffeurs stopped talking together over a passed round hand-rolled, and looked down their noses at the goon in the messenger suit. Eleanor’s chauffeur actually stepped forward and raised an eyebrow inquiringly, but Eleanor told him to take the limousine back to Griffin Hall. She’d find her own way home. The chauffeur looked at the messenger, then at me, and I could see he didn’t like it, but, as always, he did what he was told. Eleanor stalked over to the small black car, stood by the back door, and glared at the messenger until he hurried forward to open it for her. She slipped elegantly into the back of the car, and I got in after her. The messenger eased his feelings by slamming the door shut behind me, and clambered in behind the wheel.