Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (7 page)

Keith put the car in park. “Do you ever wonder why these guys come here?”

“The vampires?” Gunther kept his voice low. “Probably the same reason as everybody else. They want the chance for a better life.”

“I suppose so. It just seems like a lot to have to put up with—concealing your physical form, having agents routinely hassle you.”

Gunther shrugged. “It depends on what they had to put up with in their own realm, I guess.”

Keith casually unsnapped the holster of his mage pistol and said, “Well, I guess we should go wake them up.”

The farm hands watched but did not intervene as the two of them walked to the front door and rang the bell. There came the slight whirring noise of the camera mounted above the door focusing and a groggy male voice on the intercom said, “Can I help you?”

“Joe Sounder?”

“Yes?”

“NIAD. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Keith held up his ID and the door popped open. They entered a small porch thickly hung with blackout curtains. Overhead lights switched on automatically. Gunther closed the door behind them. From a speaker somewhere above, Joe said, “Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right up.”

Keith walked into the living room, which, apart from the blackout curtains, looked perfectly normal. He took a seat on the overstuffed beige couch. Gunther remained standing, apparently performing a survey of the numerous photographs of goats hung on the walls.

Joe appeared shortly thereafter. For his glamour he’d chosen the form of a fit, if slightly weathered, middle-aged man. His soft brown hair was rumpled, but attractively so. He wore a blue bathrobe over a set of striped flannel pajamas.

Keith introduced himself and Gunther.

Joe nodded, stretched, and scratched his head. “I was wondering when you fellows would be coming around. You want to ask me if I know anything about the Cannibal Killings, right?”

“Just a routine inquiry,” Keith assured him. He glanced down at his black book. Joe was listed as having two concubines. “Are Julie and Janice also still residing at this address?”

“Janice is visiting one of her friends in Boise. Julie is still asleep downstairs, but I can wake her if you’d like.” Joe started back toward the hallway.

“I don’t think that will be necessary at the moment,” Keith said. “Have you heard anything about the killings?”

“Just what’s been on the news. We don’t get into town much.” As Joe sat down the cuff of his pajamas rose up to expose Joe’s ankle and reveal the plastic tracking device all registered vampires wore. Keith noted it. “I guess I just assumed it was goblins. They’ve been coming around here looking for meat for the summer solstice. I told them I don’t raise meat goats.”

“Do you know anything about this?” Keith displayed the Theater of Blood Carnival Circus flyer.

Joe shook his head and shrugged. “Looks like some kids playing monster to me.”

“Tell me a little more about the goblins who came looking for meat,” Gunther said. He stood with his hands in his coat pockets, looking genial and harmless. Clearly his interrogation technique was based on gaining trust rather than inspiring fear—just the opposite of Keith’s.

“Every year we get inquiries. Mostly over the phone, but sometimes guys will come out here to the dairy right before solstice hoping to make a last-minute deal,” Sounder said, chuckling. “They’re the same kind of guys who shop for all their gifts on Christmas Eve, you know?”

Gunther nodded. “Some things are universal constants.”

Keith scowled slightly. He was himself one of those eleventh-hour shoppers.

Sounder cocked his head to one side, thinking. “There were three of them who came around just recently though. Young guys. I thought it was strange, them being so young.”

Gunther nodded, then pulled out his phone and, after a few moments, turned the screen toward Sounder. “Is this one of the guys who came by?”

Keith didn’t know why he was surprised to see Lancelot’s face smiling out of Gunther’s phone. He had been just about to show Sounder a photo of Lancelot himself. He shouldn’t have supposed that Gunther would be a less thorough investigator than himself, but somehow he had.

He supposed he did still have some issues with goblins after all, if his unconscious assumption was that because of his race, Gunther wouldn’t pursue all avenues of inquiry impartially.

The thought sobered Keith. He hadn’t considered himself to contain the capacity for bigotry.

Sounder peered at Lancelot’s picture carefully, squinting slightly against the backlit screen.

“Yeah, he was one of them,” Sounder replied. “Seemed like a little bit of a kook.”

“Can you remember exactly what he said when he came?” Keith leaned slightly forward, keen to catch the inferences of Sounder’s delivery. Glamours made reading body language difficult, but the sound of a person’s voice often communicated information the glamour erased.

“Well, let’s see…They asked how much it would cost for two whole goats. I told them that we didn’t sell meat goats, like I told you. And then the kooky one wanted to know if I ever heard of any vampires who drank blood on stage.”

“On stage?” Gunther gave Keith a sidelong look.

Sounder nodded. “It was a really strange question. That’s why I remember it.”

“It does seem somewhat random,” Keith remarked. “Why do you think he wanted to know?”

“I have no idea,” Sounder said.

“What did you tell him?” Gunther asked.

“I told him that only an idiot would risk a run-in with NIAD over something like that, and I don’t associate with idiots.” Sounder shifted on the sofa and stifled a yawn. “Not if I can help it, anyway.”

“And then?” Keith prompted.

“Then they left,” Sounder said. He flashed a faint smile. “I think they might have been offended.”

***

During the drive back to Portland, neither he nor Gunther spoke too much. Keith was sunk in his own thoughts. Interviewing the vampires, which had seemed to him to be borderline harassment at first, had yielded a piece of information after all. Goblins had been there looking for meat. The arrows were all lining up and all confirming Keith’s original suspicions.

He supposed Gunther’s silence could also be attributed to this information.

They made good time and got into the city and to the Bauer & Bullock Steakhouse right in the thick of the dinner service.

Stepping into the dining room, Keith was struck by both the smell—searing flesh—and the décor—the predictable, yet still imposing combination of dark wooden paneling, leather, and massive proportions. The whole place looked like a supersized fantasy of an old-time gentlemen’s club. Even the silverware was slightly too large.

Keith made his way to the host station, where he very discretely flashed his badge at a fragile-looking young host and asked to see the manager. It would do no good to antagonize the staff, especially if this turned out to be a dead end.

The busboy disappeared upstairs, only to return a few seconds later, Cindy Bullock in tow.

Bullock was a skinny, stylish woman with kinky blond hair and long, bony arms on which she wore a multitude of designer bangles. She took one look at Keith, crossed her arms, and said, “Agent Curry,” by way of greeting.

“Hello, Ms. Bullock,” Keith went on, undeterred. “This is my associate, Gunther Heartman. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About?”

“About your meat supplier,” Keith said. “Who might that be?”

Cindy’s expression darkened. “We serve grass-fed organic beef sourced from USDA certified local ranchers. You can read all about them on our menu. Additional information can be found on the website.”

Keith jotted down the address of the website in his black book, though he already had it. He wrote slowly and precisely. He wanted Cindy to squirm a little. She clenched her hands. The large rings on her fingers glittered.

“You have a really impressive selection of whiskies,” Gunther commented.

Cindy’s initial bright response at being complimented dimmed with suspicion. “Yes, we have a discerning clientele.”

“Do you do much catering?” Keith swept in with another question.

“A fair amount,” Cindy replied.

“So you’ve got, what? Three jobs a week?” Keith asked.

“I’d have to look at my calendar. It’s upstairs in the office if you’d like to follow me.”

“Actually, what I’d really like to take a look at is your kitchen.” Keith started for the kitchen door. Cindy rushed ahead of him.

“I’d really rather you didn’t go back right now, Agent Curry. You know we’re right in the middle of dinner service. If you could just wait—”

“Oh, I won’t be in the way,” Keith said. “I’ve been a chef. I know how to keep out of the way.”

Cindy placed herself between him and the kitchen door. She flung her arms out, bracelets jangling, ringed fingers flashing. “I must insist, Agent Curry. You have no right to go back there. This is my place. You have no right!”

A dishwasher who had been rounding the corner carrying a rack of clean plates stopped, reflexively backtracking at the sight of Cindy in what looked like full rage.

Keith’s lip curled in disgust. Why was it that the completely insane gravitated so heavily into the hospitality industry? “Listen, ma’am, I can go get a warrant if you want, but I assure you that you don’t want me coming in here during dinner service with a bunch of uniformed officers, right?”

“Are you threatening me?” Cindy lunged forward, skinny body flexing like a viper preparing to strike. “I know why you are harassing me.”

“Neither Agent Heartman nor myself is attempting to harass you. All we’d like to do is have a look at where you do your butchering. That’s all.” Keith kept his tone calm, businesslike. “We can go get a warrant if you like, but all I need to do is look at your product.”

“Well, you can’t.” Cindy crossed her arms, raising her chin triumphantly. “I won’t let you because I don’t have to and you know it.”

Keith shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to play it, ma’am, then we will. I’ll be back with a warrant, a health inspector, and a representative from the state liquor board. I might bring an auditor just to get it all over with at once.” He turned and started toward the door. He needed to get out of this joint anyway. The smell of char-grilled meat was beginning to seriously nauseate him. He saw a slight motion out of the corner of his eye.

“Son of a bitch!” With a jangle of expensive bangles Bullock smashed her fist directly into his jaw. He staggered back a step, pain exploding through the side of his face. In a moment, Gunther had caught her right arm, but she still lashed out with her left, raking her nails across his neck.

“That is really uncalled for, ma’am,” Gunther said, tightly twisting her arm around her back and slapping one handcuff on. He caught hold of her left hand and managed to get it in the cuff, but Bullock bolted. Keith stuck out a foot and hooked her ankle. She went down, screaming and cursing, on the damp tiled floor. Gunther wasted no time; he cuffed her ankles, then brought them up and hogtied her.

The kitchen had gone silent as the whole kitchen crew gaped at the scene. The dishwasher seemed to be working hard to suppress a smile.

Gunther leaned down and said very loudly and very close to her ear, “You are under arrest for assaulting a federal officer.” Then, to Keith, he said, “You want to go have that look around now or wait till the police get here?”

“Yeah, sure.” His jaw throbbed. He glanced at the dishwasher. “Show me to the meat locker, kid.”

The dishwasher led the way back into the kitchen. They passed a busy line of grills. Flames and smoke leaped and billowed around the cooks as they tended the orders. Then they entered the back kitchen—a small, clean space whose walls were lined with steel prep tables and banks of shelves holding dry goods.

“The big one’s right there.” Tentatively the dishwasher pointed back toward a heavy door. “But there’s another smaller one for the really expensive steaks that’s padlocked.”

“Who’s got the key?”

“It’s a combo lock.” This came from a burly Black guy who had followed them from the line. Keith thought he might be the head grill man. “Ms. Bullock is the only one who knows it.”

“Of course it is.”

After a wait of approximately ten minutes, Portland Police Bureau arrived with a car to transport Ms. Bullock and a pair of bolt cutters for the padlock. Being a member of the strike force, Gunther could have probably performed a spell to open it, but there were far too many bystanders and it was just easy to use a human tool. By the time PPB carried Bullock away, the deep bruise on Keith’s jaw had begun to darken, but he refused to show any pain in front of the restaurant’s staff. There was still no way to tell where any of their allegiances lay.

Keith entered the meat locker. He already felt ill. Very quickly he found himself fighting to avoid retching. Two naked bodies hung suspended upside down from chains, throats cut, blood collecting in buckets on the floor.

To the left, on a stainless steel rack, were more remains. This one had been skinned, cut apart at the joints, and separated into several metal hotel pans, but Keith recognized the anatomy immediately.