Nightside 10 - The Good the Bad and the Uncanny

very well.”
    “You used to frequent the Dragon’s Mouth, boss?” said Cathy, somehow managing to sound scandalized and delighted at the same time. “But it’s...”
    “The Nightside’s premiere drug den,” I said. “You never knew me in my dog days, Cathy; when I was down-and-out and on the run from everyone, including myself. I swore I’d never go back... but if that’s where the elf is, then that’s where I’m going. If only because I can’t have our crafty and underhanded elf lord thinking he has an advantage over me. No-one tells me there’s somewhere I can’t go, not even me.”
    “You’re weird, boss.”
    I shut down the phone and put it away. I’d gone out into the night looking for changes, and it seemed I’d found some. I’d been thinking about my future, but it seemed my past wasn’t finished with me yet. I thrust both hands deep into the pockets of my trench coat, took a deep breath, and headed for the Dragon’s Mouth, and the deepest, darkest part of the night.
    Never trust elves. They always have their own agenda.
    There are places you just don’t go in the Nightside. Either because they’re so dangerous you know you’re going to have to fight your way in, and probably out, or because they’re so extreme, so shameful, and so damned sickening that no-one with any sense would have anything to do with them. There are bad places, dangerous places, and unhealthy places; and then there’s the Dragon’s Mouth.
    Tucked away casually in a shadowy side street not far from the old main drag, the club’s exterior really is a huge dragon’s head, some thirty feet tall and twenty wide, its huge gaping jaws forming the entrance. Rumour had it the dragon had been petrified centuries ago by the gorgon Medusa herself. In which case, I hated to think what they were using for the back door. The wide stone head was a smooth dull grey, untouched by time or weather. The eyes were deep, dark hollows. Great jagged teeth pointed up and down, like stalagmites and stalactites. There were no exterior guards; just walk in, whenever you please. All are welcome, for as long as their money or credit holds out. Anything goes, any need satisfied, enter at your own risk, and abandon hope all ye ... Well, I’m sure you know the rest.
    I strolled unhurriedly between the two long rows of teeth and descended the winding stone stairs into the belly of the beast, the huge stone chamber spread out beneath the street. It was years since I’d last been here, a lifetime. It was yesterday. Sometimes you do things to yourself so bad that the memories have barbs and never let you go. I’d known what the place was, all those years ago, and what it could do to me, but I’d descended into hell anyway. I had come here because what it offered ... was what I wanted. The slow, sweet suicide of addiction.
    I was so much younger then, and beset on all sides by threats and questions and destinies I couldn’t face any more. So I ran away, from friends and enemies alike, buried myself in the delightful depths of the Dragon’s Mouth, and gave myself to a very harsh and demanding mistress. I’d still be there, if Razor Eddie hadn’t come and got me out. No-one says no to the Punk God of the Straight Razor. I stayed with him a while, with all the other homeless who washed up in Rats’ Alley. I’d thought I couldn’t fall any further. Until Suzie Shooter came looking for me, for the price on my head; and I ran headlong from the Nightside and everything in it, with Suzie’s bullet burning in my back.
    I thought I was done with the Nightside forever, but destiny called me home, where I belonged, with all the other monsters.
    I descended the smooth stone steps into the great cavern below, and it all looked just as I remembered. As though I’d merely stepped out for a moment, and all the last years of my life had been only another smoke dream. I stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked about me, fighting to keep my face calm and unconcerned. The stone chamber was packed with people, standing and sitting and lying down, but the whole buzz of conversation was little more than a susurrus of whispers. You didn’t come to the Dragon’s Mouth to talk.
    The air was thick with a hundred kinds of narcotic smoke, and already my lips and nostrils were going numb. You could experience a dozen different highs just strolling round the room, and long-buried parts of me stirred slowly, awakening, remembering. I took a deep breath. The