gewgaws on offer.
“This next one’s ours,” said Stan, referring to a grubby programme he’d picked up. He pointed to a photo of what looked like a guitar, although it was pretty damn weird—vary narrow, elongated base and a stretched neck. My guess was it was one of those hybrid things from the Orient, and it would make twisted sounds, gimmicky and off the wall. Yeah, that would attract Henry’s interest.
The bidding started low like no one was that interested. Henry waited for a while, then slipped in a bid of his own. It was countered by a thick-set guy across the hall from us. He looked like the double of the big trench coat who was now pressed up behind Henry, like a leech about to attach itself. Two big uglies in trench coats. I wasn’t liking this.
Henry and the guy across the room exchanged bids, lifting the price up to a sum that surprised me and got the crowd buzzing. Then I saw the guy behind Henry say something to him, into his ear. It must have been a threat. Drop out of the bidding, something like that. I saw Henry stiffen, but Stan had squeezed ahead of me.
The guy across the room had upped the bidding and held the initiative. Stan had almost got himself into a brawl, but he pressed up behind the trench coat. The guy stiffened and slumped. Stan started to indicate to those around him that some guy had fainted. Pretty soon a space had cleared and the guy was stretched out on the deck, dead to the world. Henry must have slipped a needle into him, a needle loaded with enough dope to knock out a horse.
Henry immediately upped his bid for the guitar and I looked across at trench coat two. His face was a picture. Not a pretty one, at that. He snarled a higher bid, but there had to be a ceiling on what he was allowed to offer. Henry bettered it. He sure wanted that guitar.
Now, I knew Henry was an eccentric, to put it mildly, but there was something going on here that was somehow important in the grand scheme of things. I could taste the atmosphere, and I’m not talking about the cigarette fug. The trench coats were the type of guys I’d had more than a few brushes with—my gut feeling was that they worked for someone, or something, very out of step with the run of the mill Mob in this town. If they got hold of that guitar, it was going to be bad news for the rest of us. Serious bad news.
Trench coat two upped his bid by a big heap of dollars. I knew Henry was beaten. I waited to see if he would raise the bid. Stan turned and looked at me, his face grim. I was getting the feeling that he and Henry would end up doing something stupid to get that guitar. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to start trading bullets with the trench coats, wherever that might take place. Likely they’d have a bunch of reinforcements outside.
I put in a bid that was way over what the trench coat had offered. I could see him looking across at me, his eyes narrowed like he was focusing some kind of insane energy through them that would excoriate me and melt my bones down into glue. My bid had done the trick, though. It was one big pile of dough, but it had won me the guitar. Henry and Stan fought their way to me, both their faces beaming.
“That’s a lot of money, Nick,” said Henry.
I don’t make a big thing of it, but I have a lot of money tucked away in a very private bank. How I got it is a long story, and this isn’t the place to go into all that (maybe some other time) but let’s just say it was no problem for me to scoop the guitar without denting my private hoard.
By the time I’d got the guitar and had it wrapped up, the two trench coats were gone, though I didn’t expect it to be the last we saw of them.
* * * *
Sten-Gun Stan, Henry and I found a quiet little dive not far from the waterfront where we could chew over the events of the day. As far as we knew, we hadn’t been followed.
“So what gives with this weird guitar I’ve just spent an arm and a leg buying?” I asked them over a round of iced beers. “My guess is, it’s one of those artifacts of power I keep stumbling over.”
“Exactly!” said Henry, glancing around into the gloom of the bar. Nothing much stirred. It would be like that until round about midnight when a scuffle or two might break out.
“Well, I don’t want the damned thing,” I growled. “I know you were keen to get hold of it, so you’re welcome to it, Henry. Where did it come from?”
“It’s been lost for a while. I’m not sure, but it was used by a rock band who bought it off some old freak who was supposed to be guarding it for—well, even freakier guys. The thing has power and must have spooked him so he took the money. It was a bad omen for the band. They ended up on skid row and the guitar disappeared until now.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a dual purpose mechanism,” he said, leaning forward and injecting as much mystery and unease into his voice as he could. “If you play it one way, gently, it can open certain—doors. It’s also a weapon. If you play the Entropic Chord, it can be very dangerous. Destructive. You can imagine what it would be like in the wrong hands. Like the forces of darkness. Those thugs we bumped into at the auction were their hired hands.”
“So what are you aiming to do with it?”
He looked embarrassed. “Well, it’s a kind of a rescue mission. Tricky and it could be a bit of a mess, but I have to take it on.”
“Rescue?” I said, sipping my beer. “Who’s in a jam? Anyone I know?”
Stan was grinning. “No need to go all shy on us, Henry. Tell the man!”
“It’s a friend of mine—”
“A girl,” said Stan, enjoying Henry’s discomfort.
“How’s she different from all your other surfing girlfriends?” I asked.
“Apart from being exquisitely beautiful,” Stan said on Henry’s behalf, “she has the sweetest voice you’ve ever heard. Supernatural if you ask me.”
“She’s missing,” said Henry. “I’ve heard nothing from her for almost a week. It’s not like her.”
“She’s not run out on you?”
Henry shook his head. “No, no. She wouldn’t. I think she’s been abducted.”
Those remote alarm bells that ring at the back of your mind sometimes were starting to ring louder in mine. A singer, abducted? This sounded familiar.
“I think I know where she is,” Henry went on. “She’s not here, in our world. Nor the Pulpworld. She’s in a place that’s kind of in between. A secret place held together by dark magic. The guitar can open a door to it. I’m going in after her.”
“In your submarine?”
Both Henry and Stan were shaking their heads. “Not possible,” said Henry. “This realm is protected. Can’t get anything in, other than flesh and blood, or something strongly tainted with magic. The guitar is neutral—whoever uses it suffuses it with power. It’s the one thing I can take with me. So I owe you, big time, Nick. Now at least I have a chance of finding Suki.”
I didn’t quite drop my drink, but I did set it down unsteadily on the table. “Suki? Would that be Suki Yosimoto?”
Henry’s face lit up. “You know her?”
“She has a friend, another singer,
