The Dark Detective: Venator (5 page)

He scrutinised the papers for any unexplained disappearances or mysterious occurrences. Nothing out of the ordinary. Max sighed heavily.

It was the same on the internet: the demon message boards were quiet and nothing of note had been reported in the forums. Max was at a loss.

Without any leads to follow up and none of the demon population willing to talk to him, Max was out of answers – well, just about. There was one place he could go and know that he’d be welcome.

* * * *

The house was small and neat, located in a quiet street at the end of a long terrace. Old-fashioned net curtains hung at the window. Max watched them twitch as he knocked at the door.

“Better safe than sorry,” he muttered to himself.

The door opened and a little old lady with thin, white hair opened the door.

“Max, dear! What a lovely surprise,” she said. “Come in, come in!”

“Thanks, Gran,” said Max wearily.

She fussed around him, tutting over the state of his overcoat and pressing a mug of hot tea into his hands.

“Dear me!” she said. “That overcoat of yours has seen better days. I don’t think I can repair it anymore. Well, I was saving this until your birthday.”

She pulled a large carrier bag out from under the stairs.

“Twenty! I can hardly believe it. How did you get to be so grown up?”

“Gran!” Max ducked his head in embarrassment.

She smiled. “But I can see that you need this now.”

She handed him a soft, heavy parcel, wrapped in blue tissue paper that whispered against her lined hands.

Max ripped off the paper. Inside lay a bulky package of smooth, black leather. He shook it out to reveal a smart, full-length overcoat.

“Wow, Gran! This is fantastic! Thank you!”

He hugged her gently, towering over her, careful not to hurt her bird-like bones.

“Yes, well,” she said happily, “it should last a bit longer than the last one. Plus I put a few protection spells on it so that should help as well. There’s power in words.”

“How do you know about protection spells, Gran?” said Max curiously.

“Oh, really, Maximilian,” she said. “I wasn’t born yesterday!”

Max laughed.

“Now, tell me what’s bothering you?” she said.

Max frowned. “What makes you think there’s something bothering me?”

“Max, dear, I don’t need to have second sight to know that you’ve come all this way because you’ve got something on your mind. Not that I don’t enjoy a surprise visit...”

“I don’t like talking about work,” grumbled Max.

“Nonsense!” said his gran. “Who else are you going to talk to about it? Besides, I heard that some Level Threes are in town.”

Max was shocked.

“Who told you that? I mean, how do you know about Level Threes?”

She smiled thinly.

“Nobody told me, dear. I listen. I lurk. Who notices a little old lady on the streets? And if they did, they wouldn’t care. You young people are all alike – you think us oldies are useless just because we’re not as nippy on our pins as we used to be, but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing – or my brain.”

Max smiled. Even grown up detectives have grans who tell them off. And his gran seemed to know more than he could ever have guessed. She’d been holding out on him.

“So what have you heard, Gran?”

“The demons are frightened – and I don’t just mean of the Brood. Something’s got them all in a lather. Some of the lower Levels are leaving town. It would have to be a Big Evil to make them do that. Have the PTBs given you any information?”

Max couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with his gran!

“No,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Nothing – and they haven’t responded to my messages either.”

His gran shook her head. “You mustn’t rely on them too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“The PTBs have their own agenda – always have done. So far it’s been to keep the status quo on this side of the Gateway and keep the netherworldlings in order, but if their agenda changed, might they decide not to tell you?”

“If I can’t trust the PTBs then I’m really up the creek without a paddle,” said Max, feeling worried.

She patted his knee. “I wouldn’t worry too much: this world was born to have balance.”

“Yeah, I know – you’ve told me that before: good and evil; light and dark; ying and yang.”

That was true, but Max had never guessed at the knowledge hidden behind the wise words.

“But if you’re right about the PTBs, then the world is screw... seriously in trouble.”

She smiled.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Who do the PTBs answer to?”

Max shook his head. “I’ve no idea. What makes you think they answer to anyone? They’re the Powers That Be.”

His gran looked thoughtful.

“Possibly, but doesn’t it make you wonder? If the PTBs maintain the balance, where does good and evil come from? And if the PTBs keep a demon register, don’t you think maybe they keep checks on the other side, too?”

Max raised his eyebrows. “You mean... like angels and that stuff?”

His gran smiled again. “It’s a thought, isn’t it?”

Max shrugged. “It’s a nice thought, yes, but it doesn’t really help me at the moment – especially as the PTBs aren’t returning my messages.” He sighed. “Well, I’d better get back to it – keep the streets safe for decent folk and all that.”

“Don’t forget your new overcoat, dear.”

Feeling seriously cool, Max pulled on the coat. The soft leather with the silk interior felt comfortable on his skin. “It’s great,” he said. “Thanks, Gran.”

He hugged her, noticing how small and fragile she seemed to be these days.

As he turned and left the house, he saw her slight figure at the window, watching through the net curtains. He sketched a wave and mouthed the words he knew she was waiting for,

“Better safe than sorry!”

* * * *

When Max caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window, he wondered if the long, black, leather coat made him more like a drug dealer than a police officer. Whatever, he looked hard, so Max decided to go and shake down one of his informants. He didn’t really expect to learn much of use, but he didn’t have anything else to do, except paperwork: some demon passport renewals and registration documents – all that could wait.

Ralph was rare amongst Level One demons in that he actually managed to hold down a job in the human world. Max suspected that his father may have been a Level Two because Ralph was slightly smarter than your average Level One demon, and his skin had only a faint green hue. He could pass for a teenager who’d had a rough night out on the town and was now feeling – and looking – nauseous; not to mention his red-rimmed eyes – were it not for the faint, dirty green aura that clung to him.

Besides, Ralph worked for the same fast food chain that the Brood demons had visited. It might mean something. Or not.

Max detected the smell of old chip fat before he saw the familiar red and yellow sign above the filthy glass window. It was the second of Ralph’s jobs; the first was one was as a night security guard in one of the big houses over in Westminster – Max wasn’t sure where.

The café was also a useful exchange and mart for Ralph’s demon customers. Max suspected that Ralph did good business in under-the-counter entrails: provided they weren’t human – Max turned a blind eye in exchange for any useful information Ralph came across. If the information was good, or if he was in a hurry, Max sometimes passed Ralph a couple of used five pound notes as a bonus.

The place was quiet – just one elderly lady making her cold tea last a bit longer before she had to find somewhere else to spend the long hours of her featureless day. The only other customer was a bored-looking woman who kept glancing impatiently at her watch. She flicked her eyes up and down Max as she waited.

Ralph saw Max straight away. The demon’s pink eyes widened in surprise and he licked his lips with his forked tongue. Max was surprised, too. A visit from him didn’t usually make Ralph that nervous, merely eager to earn some extra cash. Maybe it was the coat.

“I’ll have a regular tea, please,” said Max pleasantly.

Ralph nodded, his head jerking like a puppet on a string. “T-t-two pounds, ten,” he stuttered.

Max sighed. “Now, Ralph, I said a
regular
tea and that’s one pound eighty-nine. A
large
tea is two pounds ten.”

Ralph threw him a filthy look and slammed the watery-looking tea down in front of him.

“I’ve got nothing to tell you,” he hissed. “Go away.”

“Don’t be so anti-social, Ralph,” said Max conversationally. “Tell me about the Brood. What’s the word on the street?”

“Murderer!” whispered Ralph. “You terminated Sophie. I liked her. She was hot. We had a thing.”

“I seriously doubt that,” said Max. “Sophie had better taste than to go out with you.”

“I’m not telling you nothing about the amulet, human!” said Ralph furiously. His lips drew back so Max could see his fangs.

Max’s ears pricked up, but his face betrayed none of his interest.

“Come on, Ralph,” said Max calmly. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He laid a crisp ten pound note on the table. “There’s more where that came from if you’ve got anything worth hearing... like where the rest of the Brood are hanging out.”

Ralph licked his lips, his eyes flickering nervously between the door and the increasing pile of notes that Max was laying out on the counter.

Then he stuck out his chin stubbornly.

“I want more than money, Mr Darke,” he said. “This time I want my Demon Passport – a permanent one, not just a work visa.”

Max was intrigued. It wasn’t like Ralph to make such high demands – he must know something.

“Okay, Ralphie,” said Max thoughtfully, “if what you’ve got is that good, you could be in business. What do you know?”

“Not in here,” said Ralph nervously. “I can’t talk here. Meet me out the back. Give me a minute then follow me.”

“Okay,” said Max. He didn’t trust Ralph but he didn’t think he’d try and leg it either – Ralph was too fond of crisp ten pound notes.

Ralph disappeared into the kitchen and Max gathered up the money still lying on the counter. He sipped at his foul tea while he counted to forty and decided that was long enough to give Ralph time to pull himself together.

The kitchen was appallingly dirty and covered in a film of grey-green grease. His stomach gave an unhappy heave and Max made a mental note never to eat or drink in that place again. Like most Level Ones, Ralph wasn’t too hot on the home-making qualities like washing or cleaning. Not that it was entirely his fault: Level Ones tended to sweat grey-green grease when they were feeling stressed. Work definitely constituted as something that would stress out Ralph.

The door from the kitchen led outside to a small delivery area – and a nightmare waiting to happen for the environmental health inspector. Max figured that Ralph must have been using some low grade charm spell to stay in business this long. The yard was filled with black rubbish sacks that oozed rotting food. Max guessed that the stench would be pretty powerful during a hot summer. At least the place wasn’t rat infested: rats wouldn’t go near a Level One. A big, juicy rat was a favourite snack-attack for a creature such as Ralph.

Max glanced around. He couldn’t see Ralph anywhere.

“Come on, Ralph. I’m not in the mood to play games.”

There was no answer. Max was annoyed. Perhaps he was wrong and Ralph was halfway to Stepney by now.

“Come on, Ralphie! Talk to me! If what you’ve got is good, it’s worth another twenty – I’m feeling generous today.”

Max took a step forward and felt something squish under his shoe.

“Oh, what?!”

It was a tongue. A forked tongue. More particularly, it was Ralph’s tongue.

Messages

Max stared at the slightly flattened remains of Ralph.

“Someone’s trying to send me a message,” thought Max. “I wish they’d just text me.”

He felt sorry for Ralph. As there weren’t any other body parts around, Max assumed that whoever had ripped out Ralph’s tongue had decided to take the rest of him for other similarly painful dismemberments – in a more private setting.

One by one, Max’s connections to the demon world were being severed – in Ralph’s case, literally.

Max tried to figure it out.

“If someone, or some
thing
, wanted to get me off the case, why take it out on poor Ralphie? What does – did – he know? What was that about an amulet? And why are the demons in London so twitchy? Could be Gran was right about this Big Evil.”

The thought didn’t cheer him.

He’d just decided to head back to his office when sunshine glinting off metal caught his eye. Max knelt down, carefully avoiding the filth that surrounded him. It was a single link from a gold chain – a broken gold chain. It was cold to the touch – often the sign of a mystical object.

It looked like Ralph really
had
had information for Max – and maybe the amulet he’d mentioned was part of it. Someone – probably another demon – had decided that Ralph should be kept quiet. Permanently.

Max wandered back to Scotland Yard. He felt depressed. Ralph had been a snitch since Kennet’s days and certainly as long as Max had been on the job. He’d been harmless most of the time. It was strange to think he wouldn’t see him again.