The Love-Haight Case Files (38 page)

The door Dagger had gone through was closed by the time Thomas arrived and floated back down to floor level. “Private. Were Haus Members ONLY.” The placard gave him a moment’s pause. Not just the odd, Germanic misspelling, but also the word “Private.” He respected privacy, but Dagger had made a deliberate decision to bring him here, when he could have stayed behind to watch the comings and goings at the fight location in the Tenderloin. Dagger wanted him to go through the door, though he couldn’t imagine why. Thomas was a skilled orator, but he didn’t think for a moment that he would be better able than Dagger to convince anyone at this kind of establishment to come help bust a dog-fighting operation.

Still, he wasn’t about to let Dagger down … or Sadie, his client in all this.

He phased through the door.

To his surprise, the deafening music from the main room was obviously piped in here, too. The ambient light was even less, though, lit primarily by a full moon projected high on the far wall. The dance crowd was thick here, too … and almost entirely furry. He had entered the private party den of a pack of werewolves. A very large pack of very large werewolves, almost all of them fully wolfed-out. As Thomas froze for a moment to consider the circumstances, Dagger jumped up atop the bar and yanked a fistful of cables out of the amplifiers, provoking a static fritz as the music died, the dancing ground to an awkward halt, and more than a hundred wolfish heads turned toward Dagger, their lips curled up in a chorus of snarls. A guttural growl rose behind the toothy, slavering jaws of the pissed-off werewolves as they stared at Dagger. The faces of those nearby whose yellow eyes flicked to Thomas looked even angrier.

Dagger faced the crowd from atop the bar. “I need to talk to you,” he shouted, his voice booming across the large room.

A deep, snarling voice from the back of the crowd answered. “We came to party!”

“While you’re partying,” continued Dagger, “there’s a dog-fight about to start in the Tenderloin.”

Murmurs of concern flittered across the crowd, interspersed with a few shouts of “Who cares?” and “Not my problem.”

“But it is your problem,” answered Dagger. “Even if you don’t give a damn about our innocent canine companions, dog-fighting isn’t the worst of it. That’s just the opening act.”

A different voice cried out from the crowd. “For what?”

Dagger stared at the crowd, his eyes seeming to Thomas to grow yellow and fierce, as he barked out his reply. “For caged fights of captured OTs … to the death. They’re forcing werewolves, vamps, dog-faces, fey, and more to fight each other to the death for sport, for entertainment.”

A wave of howls, growls, and shouts erupted from the crowd.

“I’ll show ’em a fight to the death!”

“Just give me a scent to follow, and I’m with you.”

“Lead the pack!”

Dagger whipped the crowd into a snarling frenzy, when suddenly someone interrupted with a snarl. “I’m with you, but what’s the apparition doing here? It’s not his battle. Besides, everybody knows ghosts can’t fight worth a damn, anyhow.”

“This is his fight,” answered Dagger. “He’s an OT, too. Besides, he’s my lawyer.”

The last drew a number of ragged guffaws, snarls, and shouts. “This ain’t gonna be no court battle, counselor.”

Dagger slammed his foot hard on the bar, causing glasses to vibrate and tumble over along its entire length. “Think about it. We can’t travel there in wolf-form. And he’ll be there. His case. He discovered this, thank you very much. He’ll see all of us transform …”

Thomas’ mind whirled at Dagger’s words.
“We
can’t …” “all of
us …”
Dagger wasn’t gay … well, maybe he was. But, what he was for sure was a werewolf. His private detective was a werewolf and Thomas had never known.

“But he’s my lawyer. And if he’s your lawyer, he can’t tell anyone anything about who you are or what you are. Attorney/client privilege. Right, Thomas?”

That’s why Dagger had brought him here. Thomas not only had the toughest, most street savvy, private detective in town, he had the smartest one, too. Of course, he didn’t even know his new “clients’” names, he hadn’t met them personally, he hadn’t run a conflicts check, or collected a retainer … still, some bar cases had found an attorney/client relationship to exist from no more than a question about legal advice at a cocktail party. And, it was
great
marketing. Why go to anyone else for your OT legal problems, when you already had an attorney?

“Absolutely,” answered Thomas. “You are all clients of the Thomas Brock Law Office. Your transformation from human to wolf form is completely privileged information.”

“Do we have to give you a retainer?” a voice asked.

“We don’t have time for this bull—” growled Dagger.

“This one’s
pro bono,”
answered Thomas. “It’s on the
Haus.”
Thomas smiled at his pun, even though as a spoken pun, no one would get it. He was glad ghosts still had a sense of humor.

“Great,” replied Dagger. “But time’s wasting. Transform and get in your cars. Follow me. And if you can’t keep up, meet the pack at Polk and Ellis. We’ll go from there.” He turned back toward the electronics equipment and searched for a moment before de-coupling another cable. Use the fire exits. No point scaring the mundanes with a mass exodus through the main room. Now MOVE.” He stared straight at Thomas. “You, follow me.”

Chapter 4.9

“So, now you know,” snarled Dagger as he maneuvered the Dodge Charger with his massive left hand, his right hand working the gears with rapid precision, never letting the car lose speed as it jolted out of the parking lot and rocketed back toward the Tenderloin, leading a convoy of other vehicles striving to keep up. He would have preferred if Thomas never knew, if none of his employers ever knew, his true nature. He wanted to be regarded as a street smart detective with skills and training, not a bloodhound on steroids. Still, a wolf had to do what a wolf had to do to protect the pack.

He looked over at Thomas, whose eyes were wide, and tried to assess whether it was because of his driving or the fact that the lawyer realized he was sitting next to a werewolf. Neither should matter; the guy was a ghost. Dagger literally couldn’t touch him and neither could a head-on into the delivery van backing out of the alleyway ahead, blocking their path.

Dagger took his foot off the accelerator, depressed the clutch so the tires would spin from inertia without being engaged by the drive train, then cut hard left, letting the heavy muscle car drift until perpendicular to their direction of travel. Then he popped the clutch and smashed down with his right foot, powering the vehicle down a side street short of the alleyway. His eyes flicked to the mirror and he slowed a bit to let the less proficient—or less reckless—drivers behind catch up, after having to slow for the turn.

He glanced over at Thomas, still white-knuckling the ride, even though the ghost couldn’t actually hold onto anything. “You’re not afraid of me now, are you?”

A fleeting grin passed over his passenger’s face, morphing into a tight grimace. “No, at least not any more than I was before. I was roommates with a vampire in school, you know. OTs don’t bother me.”

“Not even since you were killed by one?”

Thomas did not reply.

Dagger pressed. “Nothing to say? About this? About me?”

The lawyer swallowed hard. “No,” he replied. “Nothing to say, to anyone, ever. You have my word. You have my bond, as a member of the bar.”

Dagger gave the guy a curt nod. “Then, why so nervous? You look white as a … sheet.”

“I’m not that fond of fast cars, I guess.”

Dagger laughed. “Then you better float out when I stop for a moment a block away from the target to let my brothers and sisters catch up.”

“Why?” replied Thomas. “The ride’s practically over by then.”

Dagger laughed even harder. “Not by a long shot.” He patted the dash. “Sad to say, but Peggy, here. She’s leading the charge. I’ll be crashing through the warehouse door into the back room—the one with the OTs—at speed. We need a quick way in to keep the element of surprise. There’s no telling what those bastards holding and fighting us might do to cover their asses if they have any time to react.” He stroked the steering wheel with his fingers as he continued to maneuver through the mean streets of the Tenderloin. “Peggy’s tough. She’s hit and been hit before. And she’s powerful enough to break through an overhead door like tinfoil. But she doesn’t have any airbags.” He smirked. “She’s all natural.”

“Why not just go in the front door, like customers?”

“Too slow. Too suspicious. These bastards might go pretty far to cover up or retaliate if they get the chance.” He took his foot off the gas and let the car decelerate naturally as he approached a four-way stop a block from the target. “You phase through and watch what’s going on in the arena and dog pen areas. Come find me if there’s anything I need to know. I’ll give you a shout when it’s okay to let Evey know to send the cops and Animal Control.” He fished out the spare cell phone, flipped it open, his thumb hovering over the speed-dial for The Thomas Brock Law Offices. “Any last questions?”

“Yes,” replied Thomas, his voice a bit cracked and pitched higher than usual. The lawyer bent to look out the window, high into the sky. “The moon’s not full … and there’s no big moon projection like at the club. How do you … I mean … how can you?”

Dagger roared with laughter. “The projection at the club is just for atmosphere. Privilege still applies, right?”

“Sure.”

“The truth is, we can wolf out anytime we want, day or night. We just
have
to wolf out during the full moon.” He continued talking while the call connected and rang. “Anything else?”

Evelyn’s voice came over the speaker. She sounded tense, nervous. “Hello? Where have you been?”

“Recruiting volunteers,” replied Dagger. “You stay on the line. Thomas will tell you when to send your friends to collect the bad guys and take care of the doggies.” Dagger jerked the car to a halt at the four-way stop, idling for a moment.

“I do have one last question,” said Thomas, still in the passenger seat.

Dagger gave a hard stare at the phone. Evey didn’t need to know, even if she worked for his lawyer. “Party line, dude.”

Thomas nodded. He seemed to understand. “What happens if the phone gets lost or disconnected in the crash?”

“The what?” shouted Evelyn.

Dagger reached over, his beefy paw passing through Thomas’ incorporeal side and butt to jam the phone in the crack between the seat cushion and the back of the bucket seats, wedging it tight

“I wish you wouldn’t do that!” muttered Thomas as he quickly began to phase through the door, out onto the street.

Dagger roared in both laughter and pain as he began his transformation.

Questions streamed from the cell phone in rapid succession. “What crash? What’s the plan? Should I call an ambulance?”

“Just hang on Evey. Don’t call the cops until we tell you. They can get pretty trigger-happy with OTs, especially when they don’t understand what’s going on. So just wait, no matter what. You’re going to hear a lot of loud noises, but pay them no attention. I can take it. Peggy can take it. And Tommy here, well he can take anything, except maybe a joke.”

“Peggy? Who’s Peggy?”

The rest of the pack had caught up. Dagger pressed Peggy’s accelerator until she roared even louder than him, then popped the clutch and worked the gearshift with a clawed paw. Peggy bolted forward into the Tenderloin night, leaping into the warehouse and into the unknown.

Chapter 4.10

Cars, pickups, and vans streamed past Thomas like he was the starter for a thirty car street race. He leaped out the way of one muscle car, only to pass through a passenger van of eight transforming werewolves. Was that City Supervisor Braddock just beginning to turn? He swiveled to get a look at the three-term official, but the van finished passing through him, the rear door popping into view, blocking his sight of what was inside it and expanding his peripheral vision past the side walls of the van to the stream of vehicles racing toward the warehouse. Just then, a thunderous clang rang out above the roar of the engines as Peggy’s sleek lines met the metal panels comprising the warehouse bay door. A cacophony of high-pitched, metallic rending and screeching noises punctuated the commotion for a few mercifully brief moments before a second, louder clang rang out as Thomas saw the door give way and fall before the assault of Dagger’s Dodge Charger. Peggy raced into the gloom of the warehouse beyond, quickly moving out of sight, as three or four chase cars rushed in behind. Then, it was all squealing tires and slamming doors and shouts and screams and howls and—was that a gun shot?—worse as the assault began beyond the initial shock and awe and moved into close quarters fighting.

Hand to hand.

Claw to claw.

Tooth to tooth.

Cage by cage.

Thomas shook his head to clear it from trying to imagine what was going on inside the foul warehouse. He couldn’t do anything there to help and, truth be told, there were probably many things about the battle he didn’t want to know as an officer of the court and didn’t want to see as a mild-mannered member of the human race … even as a departed member.

Besides, he had a task to perform. He turned away from the tumultuous tangle of were-creatures storming the warehouse and floated with all deliberate haste toward the entrance to the arena section of the warehouse. He phased in through the wall short of the door, which had already been flung open and was disgorging a steady stream of lowlife toughs and wannabes clutching betting slips and cash and yelling expletives and B-movie dialogue like “It’s a raid!” as they fled from the scene of their crimes. Thomas knew that most of them were customers, not ringleaders of the dog-fighting conspiracy—pathetic losers and poseurs, not criminal masterminds—but he hated them just the same. Without pathetic losers who regarded the vicious cruelty of butchering animals … and OTs … a sport, the purveyors of blood porn behind the arena of death would have no customers, no income, no incentive to cater fresh meat to a ravening crowd. Nobody could force a crowd to cheer as one animal tore flesh from the body of another. Nobody. You were either depraved or vomiting on the floor as you averted your eyes.