“From what we saw of Mr. Gedeon this morning,” Ian continued, “he either hadn’t taken the hint, or his killers wanted to make an example of him to those who wanted to make a similar business arrangement—or perhaps both.” He paused significantly. “SPI wants to stop all of this. I’m sure you want the same. Your clients may have information that could help, either a sample of the drug, or names of the people who they attempted to negotiate with. Either would help us locate these individuals and stop the killings. We would greatly appreciate their cooperation and assistance.”
Alastor Malvolia had steepled his fingers and was regarding Ian with calm, calculating eyes. Now, we were seeing some Mr. Burns. “And what would be in it for my clients?”
“They might get to live longer,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Such charming honesty.” The goblin smiled, but it didn’t make it to his eyes. “I have spoken with several of my clients who have been affected by recent events. They consider themselves qualified to protect themselves, their families, and their employees.”
They’ve done a crappy job so far. I thought it, but this time I didn’t say it.
“If I decide to relay SPI’s offer to them, they would want to know what they would receive in return for their cooperation. Where is the value for my clients?”
“Have you heard how Sar Gedeon died?” Ian asked.
Any pretense of polite vanished. “Your agency has been unwilling to release that information—or the body of my client. I have sent a request for access to the body and the murder scene, and that request has been stalled. Mr. Gedeon’s widow has been denied permission to claim her husband’s body.”
“Our investigation is not complete. Mr. Gedeon is more than a victim; he is our only source of clues to the identity of his killer. I would think Mrs. Gedeon would want us to find who murdered her husband and why. As to how he was killed, I have been authorized by Vivienne Sagadraco to share that with you.”
Ian shared—and he included the details Bert had seen.
Al developed a twitch in his left eyelid.
Looked like Al now had a newfound appreciation for the severity of the situation.
Hearing that a demon lord—and someone unknown, but even worse—was hunting down and butchering your client base would do that.
“I will contact my clients, and then get back to you.”
“When?”
Al’s eyelid twitched again.
“Eight o’clock tonight. A few of my clients prefer to sleep during the day. Will that be acceptable to Ms. Sagadraco?”
Ian smiled, and now it was genuine. “Perfectly.”
13
“I’LL be interested to hear what Al comes up with by tonight,” Ian said as Yasha stopped in front of the Park Avenue office building to pick us up.
I settled in the middle of the second row of seats and buckled in. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
Ian got in the front passenger seat. He always rode shotgun. “Just because a person knows the law does not mean that they respect it. No one has less respect for the laws of our dimension than Alastor Malvolia. So yes, I enjoyed rattling his cage.”
“I don’t think we’re going to get as friendly of a greeting next time.”
“I would be surprised—and wary—if we did. However, the next time SPI needs to twist Malvolia’s arm, it’ll be Moreau’s turn.”
“You guys take turns?”
“Mostly. This meeting should have been Moreau’s, but the boss thought that since I’d seen Sar Gedeon at the murder scene, I was better qualified to describe it to Malvolia, if he needed persuading to cooperate with us.”
“And the fun was just a nice fringe benefit.”
Ian grinned. “I’m not opposed to enjoying my work.” He glanced at his watch. “Want to grab some lunch?”
“Sure. If you can find us a restaurant that’s not likely to get set on fire.”
* * *
We hit the Full Moon.
It was close enough to headquarters if we needed to get back quickly, but far enough for a little peace and quiet.
We were all greeted with hugs by the owners, Bill and Nancy Garrison. Bill was the king of the barbeque pit, and Nancy had the brains for the business, and the Southern charm and hospitality to keep the place full of happy customers.
They were also werewolves.
Best of all, they were from my home state of North Carolina.
I came here to get a literal taste of home.
The barbeque was slow cooked, the burgers were rare, the steaks were tartar, and the regulars were furry. There was always a booth reserved for hungry SPI agents, and Yasha’s Suburban was always welcome in the alley/delivery area behind the restaurant. Needless to say, it was Yasha’s all-time favorite place to eat.
Part of Nancy’s business savvy involved billing the Full Moon as “New York’s Official Werewolf Bar.” She even turned a section of the front of the restaurant into a gift shop selling T-shirts, mugs, shot glasses, and if you wanted to build your Pomeranian’s street cred at the dog park, there was werewolf gear for the small, but fierce, canine in your life. The restaurant and bar were decorated with dark wood, dim lights, and every werewolf cliché that existed. Werewolf movie posters and props were on display, and everything on the food and drink menus had a werewolf- or movie-monster-inspired name.
Fun place, good people, great food.
As soon as Bill set that plate of pulled pork barbeque in front of me, I forgot all about finding Sar Gedeon nearly twenty-four hours ago, and nearly coming face-to-face with his killer soon after. Good food that was much needed would do that. I didn’t think I was all that hungry until I started eating. I was glad I ordered the large platter. I was small, but I could put away some groceries.