The Bride Wore Black Leather Read Free Page B

smoothly upwards. It then immediately got on my bad side by playing Muzak versions of 1970s prog rock: ELO, ELP, PFM. There really ought to be an off switch for elevator Muzak. And then, as if this wasn’t annoying enough, the elevator started trying to sell me things, in a very posh voice.
    “Have you ever considered the advantages offered by really up-to-date life-insurance?”
    “I’ve never really seen the point in someone else having a vested interest in my being dead,” I said. “Don’t encourage people, that’s what I say.”
    “I could get you a really good premium . . .”
    “I’m John Taylor.”
    There was a pause. “Ah, yes. I see. Right; forget it. Would you like to change your provider for your mobile-phone service? And no, I don’t know where the satellites are, so don’t ask. Oh do say yes; I get a really nice bonus for every person I get to sign up.”
    “What use is a bonus to an elevator?” I said. “What use do you have for money?”
    “I’m saving up to have my conscious downloaded into something a little more upwardly mobile. Socially speaking . . . Preferably something with legs and hands. You can do a lot if you’ve got legs and hands. Could I perhaps interest you in taking out a new credit card, from those wonderfully friendly people, EnGulf & DeVour?”
    “Do you have an off switch?”
    “Do you?”
    “Look,” I said, “it’s up to you . . . Either you stop trying to sell me things, or I’ll push all your buttons before I get out and send you up and down the building for ages.”
    “Beast!” muttered the elevator. “It’s not my fault. Never wanted to be an elevator anyway.”
    “If you are about to tell me that you really wanted to be a lumberjack, you and I are about to have a serious falling out.”
    Perhaps fortunately, just then the elevator stopped at the third floor and opened its doors. I stepped out, and the doors slammed shut behind me so quickly they nearly trapped the tail of my trench coat.
    “Have a good day!” it shouted after me, defiantly.
    Chance would be a fine thing, I thought wistfully, and strode down the long corridor before me. My office was exactly where I remembered it. The door was a huge slab of solid silver, deeply scored with protective signs and sigils, and an extremely rude curse in Enochian. Once again, there was no bell or knocker or voicebox, so I announced myself loudly. The door swung slowly open, smoothly and silently, despite its obvious great weight, and I walked in like I owned the place. Which, for once, I actually did.
    My secretary Cathy rose up out of her chair like a jack-in-the-box, vaulted over the huge mahogany desk, and raced across the office to throw herself at me. I braced myself for the impact and suffered myself to be greeted with great enthusiasm. Cathy was a tall, blonde, and very healthy young woman, a long way from the ratty-haired teenager I’d first encountered all those years ago. I hugged her back even though I’m not normally a touchy-feely type, and we stood close together for a long moment. She finally let go of me, stepped back, and grinned happily.
    Cathy; big eyes, bigger smile, and a pretty face so heavily made-up it was practically a mask, under a heavy bob of expensively styled hair. She was wearing a long white dress of the kind made famous by Marilyn Monroe, and filled it out nicely. She also wore very high stilettos, on the grounds they made for handy weapons in close combat during bar fights. Cathy was bright and crafty and very smart, and ran my office and my business far more efficiently than I ever could. Bangles clattered noisily around her wrists with every movement, and she wore a long set of beads with artless charm. Heavy diamond pendants hung from her ears. She did try to tell me about her other more intimate piercings once, but I declined with all the politeness at my command. Cathy was my secretary, my side-kick, and my good friend; but I have never let it go any further