cruised past, driven by an Oriental in black leathers, and the man in the back in the green face mask and snap-brimmed hat nodded respectfully to me in passing. Liza turned and looked at me speechlessly, demanding an explanation.
“In the Nightside, the traffic comes and goes, but not everything that looks like a car is a car,” I explained patiently. “Here, ambulances run on distilled suffering, motorcycle couriers snort powdered virgin’s blood for that extra kick, and sometimes the bigger vehicles sneak up behind the smaller ones and eat them. Pretty much everything passes through the Nightside, at one time or another and sometimes simultaneously, and it’s always in a hurry. Foot down, everything forward and trust in the Lord, and Devil take the hindmost. That isn’t traffic out there; that’s evolution in action. Which is why we can’t get where we’re going by just hopping on the crosstown bus. We are waiting for Dead Boy, and his marvellous car of the future.”
“The sky, the traffic, creatures and demons walking openly in the street . . .” Liza shook her head just a bit dazedly. “Where is this place, John?”
“Good question,” I said. “Of this world, but not necessarily in it. Halfway between Heaven and Hell, but beholden to neither. A place of infinite jest and appalling possibilities. But don’t let it get to you. The Nightside is just a place where people go, in search of all the things they’re not supposed to want. Forbidden knowledge, forgotten secrets, and all the nastier kinds of sex. A place where the shadows are comfortably deep, and the sun never rises because some things can only be done in the dark.
“It’s the Nightside.”
Liza looked at me. “You do like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
“You asked,” I said.
Perhaps fortunately, Dead Boy arrived at that moment in his fabulous futuristic car, and Liza had something else to stare at. Dead Boy’s car is always worth a good look. It glided silently to a halt before us, hovering a few feet above the ground. A car from the future, so stylish it didn’t even bother with wheels anymore. It originally arrived in the Nightside through a Timeslip, from some future time line, and adopted Dead Boy as its driver. Bright gleaming silver, long and sleek and streamlined to within an inch of its life, the car hovered arrogantly before us, looking like it ran on distilled starlight. The long curving windows were polarised so no one could see in, and the mighty engines didn’t so much as deign to murmur.
The driver’s door swung open, to reveal Dead Boy lounging languidly behind the steering wheel. He had a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand.
“All aboard for the badlands, boys and girls! Feel free to admire my beautiful ride’s elegance and style. This is what every car would be, if they only had the ambition.”
“You’re late,” I said sternly.
“I’m always late. I’m the late Dead Boy.” He sniggered at his own joke, and took a healthy pull from his vodka bottle.
“I am not getting into that!” Liza said firmly. “It hasn’t got any wheels. It looks like something from a bad seventies sci-fi movie.”
“Hush, hush, my beauty!” Dead Boy said soothingly to his car. “She is an uneducated barbarian, and doesn’t mean it.” He appeared to listen for a moment. “All right, yes, she probably did mean it, but you mustn’t take it personally. She is a mere tourist, and knows nothing of cars. Please let her in. And please don’t activate the ejector seat, no matter how annoying she gets.”
There was a pause, and then the other doors opened, slowly enough to express a certain reluctance. Liza looked at me.
“Does he often have conversations with his car?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Only he can hear her, though.”
“I see. And does this car really have an ejector seat?”
“Oh, yes. More than powerful enough to blast you into a whole different dimension.”
“I’ll be more polite to
“In the Nightside, the traffic comes and goes, but not everything that looks like a car is a car,” I explained patiently. “Here, ambulances run on distilled suffering, motorcycle couriers snort powdered virgin’s blood for that extra kick, and sometimes the bigger vehicles sneak up behind the smaller ones and eat them. Pretty much everything passes through the Nightside, at one time or another and sometimes simultaneously, and it’s always in a hurry. Foot down, everything forward and trust in the Lord, and Devil take the hindmost. That isn’t traffic out there; that’s evolution in action. Which is why we can’t get where we’re going by just hopping on the crosstown bus. We are waiting for Dead Boy, and his marvellous car of the future.”
“The sky, the traffic, creatures and demons walking openly in the street . . .” Liza shook her head just a bit dazedly. “Where is this place, John?”
“Good question,” I said. “Of this world, but not necessarily in it. Halfway between Heaven and Hell, but beholden to neither. A place of infinite jest and appalling possibilities. But don’t let it get to you. The Nightside is just a place where people go, in search of all the things they’re not supposed to want. Forbidden knowledge, forgotten secrets, and all the nastier kinds of sex. A place where the shadows are comfortably deep, and the sun never rises because some things can only be done in the dark.
“It’s the Nightside.”
Liza looked at me. “You do like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
“You asked,” I said.
Perhaps fortunately, Dead Boy arrived at that moment in his fabulous futuristic car, and Liza had something else to stare at. Dead Boy’s car is always worth a good look. It glided silently to a halt before us, hovering a few feet above the ground. A car from the future, so stylish it didn’t even bother with wheels anymore. It originally arrived in the Nightside through a Timeslip, from some future time line, and adopted Dead Boy as its driver. Bright gleaming silver, long and sleek and streamlined to within an inch of its life, the car hovered arrogantly before us, looking like it ran on distilled starlight. The long curving windows were polarised so no one could see in, and the mighty engines didn’t so much as deign to murmur.
The driver’s door swung open, to reveal Dead Boy lounging languidly behind the steering wheel. He had a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand.
“All aboard for the badlands, boys and girls! Feel free to admire my beautiful ride’s elegance and style. This is what every car would be, if they only had the ambition.”
“You’re late,” I said sternly.
“I’m always late. I’m the late Dead Boy.” He sniggered at his own joke, and took a healthy pull from his vodka bottle.
“I am not getting into that!” Liza said firmly. “It hasn’t got any wheels. It looks like something from a bad seventies sci-fi movie.”
“Hush, hush, my beauty!” Dead Boy said soothingly to his car. “She is an uneducated barbarian, and doesn’t mean it.” He appeared to listen for a moment. “All right, yes, she probably did mean it, but you mustn’t take it personally. She is a mere tourist, and knows nothing of cars. Please let her in. And please don’t activate the ejector seat, no matter how annoying she gets.”
There was a pause, and then the other doors opened, slowly enough to express a certain reluctance. Liza looked at me.
“Does he often have conversations with his car?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Only he can hear her, though.”
“I see. And does this car really have an ejector seat?”
“Oh, yes. More than powerful enough to blast you into a whole different dimension.”
“I’ll be more polite to
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