The pawnbroker beside me had obviously been strangled; I could tell from the crushed fur around his throat, the cocked angle of his head. Judging by the scattered objects on the counter and around the body, there had been a struggle—not surprising, since victims tend to struggle when they’re being strangled.
The third and perhaps most important thing that goes through your mind is the sensation that can only be characterized as “Oh shit, I’m in trouble now!” I had broken into the pawnshop. I was trespassing. Someone might have seen me slipping down the alley. I’d probably left fingerprints. It was no secret I had told Mrs. Saldana that I intended to get information out of Snazz, one way or another.
I could have run, done my best to wipe off the fingerprints, and hoped that I left no mark. When someone eventually found the gremlin’s body, no one would think to interrogate me—at least not right away.
I didn’t like those odds, though. Instead, I pulled out my phone. My best bet would be to stay where I was, report the crime, and come clean. I slanted things in my favor, though. I called McGoo directly.
Shortly after I called, I realized I’d miscalculated. Blame it on panic, which makes a person do stupid things, or maybe residual effects of the bullet hole through my brain. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have worked open the combination lock in the gremlin’s credenza, found the ledger, gotten the information I needed, and then called in the crime.
Too late now.
Hurrying, not sure how much time I’d have before the cops arrived, I bent over the credenza lock, spun the dial back and forth, pretending to be a safecracker, but the gremlin had kept this as well oiled and polished as everything else in the pawnshop. I kept trying to get the drawer open, realizing this was a big risk to take for a pro bono case.
On the fifth try, I still couldn’t get the lock open. I turned to Snazz’s glassy eyes. “You aren’t going to offer any help, are you?”
Then I heard the sirens coming, and I knew I wouldn’t get the drawer open in time. I made a halfhearted final attempt, then wiped my prints off the lock and stood up, trying to make myself look as harmless and innocent as possible.
McGoo arrived with the first batch of police. He must have been halfway home, but he had rushed back to the Quarter when he received my call, radioing for backup as he came. The cops entered Timeworn Treasures with guns drawn.
“Hands up! Stay where you are!” one of the cops growled—a rookie, I imagined.
McGoo walked in beside him. “Calm down. He’s the one who called it in.”
“He’s still under arrest! This is a murder scene.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I said.
“That remains to be proved!”
“Oh, don’t go overboard,” McGoo said to the rookie. “He’s already been a murder victim. I very much doubt he’s a murderer.” I wasn’t convinced that logic would hold up in court.
“If I killed Snazz, why would I have stayed here and reported the crime?” I asked.
“To remove suspicion,” said the rookie.
“And did it work?” I turned to McGoo.
“Scout’s honor, Shamble, you’re a real honorable guy. On the other hand, an honorable guy wouldn’t have broken into the pawnshop in the first place.”
“I’ll make it up to you by solving the crime,” I promised.
“That should about do it,” McGoo said.
Chapter 23
In one of those “saved by the bell” moments, my phone rang. The rookie cop pointed his revolver at me, as if my cell phone were a concealed weapon. I ignored him and answered the call.
The urgency in Sheyenne’s voice was palpable. “Beaux, get to the Full Moon right away! There’s an emergency—it’s Travis! He’s in bad shape. An ambulance is on its way, and I’m going now.”
“Travis at the Full Moon? Spooky, what happened?” But she had already hung up. I turned to McGoo. “I’ve got to go to the brothel.” That wasn’t what he’d expected me to say.
The rookie cop kept his gun pointed at me. “You can’t just leave, mister. You’re a murder suspect! What if you skip town?”
“Officer McGoohan will keep an eye on me. Come on, McGoo, I might need your help. I think somebody’s hurt. No time to lose.” What are BHFs for?
McGoo decided that sounded preferable to a gremlin homicide. “I had a car cruise by there a few times today, as you requested, but I’ve been meaning to check out the Full Moon in person—strictly for professional reasons, of course.”
“Of course,” I said.
He barked at the rookie cop. “Lock down the scene and call in the evidence techs. Meanwhile, I’ll keep interrogating the suspect. He’s got a lot of explaining to do.”
By the time we got to the brothel, the ambulance had arrived with flashing lights and full siren, Code 3. Crowds of onlookers gathered in the streets, and the scantily clad vampire princesses struck poses; they didn’t look overly concerned, nor did the sleek-furred werewolf Cinnamon. The Full Moon’s new golem security guards stood like statues. So this wasn’t a security issue.
Neffi stood outside on the sidewalk, her face even more withered and pinched than usual, annoyed rather than frightened by the ruckus. “Can we take care of this as quickly as possible?” she asked the emergency medical technicians. “These are my peak business hours.”
The EMTs hauled a gurney through the large front doors and down the porch steps. A weak-looking gray-skinned man lay on the stretcher, his cheeks sunken, his eyelids fluttering. He seemed drained and shriveled. At first, I thought it was an old mummy customer who had overextended his abilities with one of the vigorous ladies. Then I realized it was Sheyenne’s brother.
I rushed forward. “Neffi, what the hell happened here?” McGoo did his best to keep up.
The madam clenched her sticklike fingers into a gnarled fist. “Damned fool got in over his head. We warned him. Ruth isn’t for just anybody.”
Sheyenne’s ghost appeared over the crowd and swooped toward the stretcher as the EMTs loaded it into the back of the ambulance. “Travis! What have you done now?”
He couldn’t respond. He looked utterly and completely spent, but thankfully still alive.
That was when I saw the emerald-eyed, waifish succubus sitting on the porch, her back against the rail. Her shoulders were racked with sobs. “I didn’t mean to!” She began weeping. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think I was getting carried away. Why does this always happen to me?”
“I told you,” Neffi said to her in a stern voice, “never overestimate human customers. They’re fragile.”
Ruth moaned. She looked absolutely miserable.
The back doors of the ambulance slammed shut. The EMTs hopped inside and fired up the lights and siren again—I think they liked to draw attention to themselves—and roared off toward the hospital. The golem security guards waved goodbye to them.
Keeping poor Ruth back and out of sight, Neffi hustled the other girls out onto the street. “Go talk to the onlookers—there’s a whole crowd of potential customers. See if you can make new friends.”