Our door swung open, and the bristle-furred Larry the werewolf stepped inside, scanned our offices with slitted eyes as if assessing threat potential, then gestured with a clawed hand. “Clear, Mr. Jekyll. You can come inside.”
Harvey Jekyll sauntered in, a gnomish man that no gnome would ever claim as a relative. He had a wrinkly scalp, large owlish eyes, fidgety fingers, and black burn spots around the back of his head and across his brow, permanent reminders of his ride on Sparky, Jr.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that Harvard Stanford Jekyll was one of the men I loathed most in the entire world.
The moment he set foot through the door, Jekyll acted as if he owned our offices, but since his financial ruin and subsequent death sentence, he wasn’t in a position to buy much of anything. Nevertheless, it took a while for ingrained attitudes to change.
“Unimpressive.” Jekyll frowned in disapproval. “I expected Chambeaux and Deyer to have more elaborate offices.”
Robin stood next to me, coiled and furious. “We don’t have extravagant tastes.”
I put a hand on her arm, and she jumped. “Breathe, Robin,” I said quietly, then raised my voice. “What do you want here, Jekyll? I hoped we’d never have the displeasure of your company again.”
Larry prowled our offices, circling the perimeter with his biceps bunched, fangs bared, claws exposed, trying to look like a tough guy. That was what he got paid for, I suppose.
“I’d prefer not to be here myself, Chambeaux. How’s the arm, by the way?”
“Reattached and perfectly functional.” I made a fist. “Care to see for yourself?”
Jekyll ignored this. “Good, because we might need your services, although my current problem falls more under Ms. Deyer’s purview.”
“I’m not interested in taking your case,” Robin said.
“Really? That’s ironic. Now who’s practicing discrimination?” The comment startled her, and Jekyll talked quickly. “I saw your recent filing on behalf of the Pattersons, and I wish to file an identical one for my own circumstances.”
“What could you possibly have in common with that nice couple?” I said.
“I have encountered exactly the same problem. I wish to move away from the Unnatural Quarter to a pleasant residence out of town. I don’t feel welcome here anymore.”
“That’s an understatement,” Larry growled under his breath.
“I, too, applied for a mortgage to buy a small home in the suburbs, and I, too, was turned down. I’ve been shunned.”
“Not used to that, are you?” I smirked. “How are you going to make the down payment or afford our fees? I thought Miranda took every cent in your divorce.”
“She did,” Jekyll said. “But I’ve made other investments since. Now, from a legal perspective, wouldn’t you say I have as much right to a home in any neighborhood I choose as the Pattersons do?”
Robin said in a flat, emotionless voice, “All of my efforts are taken up with the Pattersons. I really have no interest in your case, and since I represented Miranda in her divorce, it would be a conflict of interest.”
Jekyll snorted. “So the law only applies to people you like? For shame! There are few enough lawyers willing to represent monsters in the Quarter that you have to bend a few rules in the name of justice. I’ve heard your crusades and passionate speeches about equality—I guess as an attorney you’re as believable as a politician when you make promises. And I’ve had problems with politicians letting me down as well.”
“I hope that was your peculiar way of saying goodbye,” I said to Jekyll. Robin was more furious and confused than I’d ever seen her.
“Very well. I’ve presented my case. Think about it, Ms. Deyer—and think about who you are. It wouldn’t look good for your cause in the press if I were to point out that you practice discrimination yourself, despite all your talk. Come on, Larry. I’d like to stop for a coffee on the way back home.”
The werewolf bodyguard bristled. “A to-go coffee, boss. It’s the only way I can keep you safe.”
Jekyll sighed. “Very well, it’s probably best. I’ll wait in the car.”
Larry followed him out the door, but the werewolf turned back to me and spoke in a quick, low voice. “That private security job you talked to me about, Shamble—is it still open?”
“Sorry,” I said, “it’s already been filled by a few rent-a-golems.”
“Damn! Missed my chance.” Larry loped down the hall after his boss.
Chapter 27
The five new golems working security at the Full Moon loved their new jobs. One pair stood in front of the porch steps; two others patrolled the perimeter, walking like windup clay soldiers to prevent Senator Balfour’s minions from tacking up derogatory flyers; I didn’t see the last one.
The golems wore smiles on their crudely fashioned faces and recognized me as I approached. “Mr. Chambeaux, good to see you!”
“We can’t thank you enough,” said another.
One got carried away in his excitement and disarmingly, but ill-advisedly, clapped me on the shoulder. I felt as if I’d been hit by a linebacker, but I managed to keep my feet. Golems are strong.
“Any more trouble since last night, boys?” I asked.
“Been quiet since the ambulance left—too quiet, in fact. Most of the Full Moon clientele slipped out the back door or ducked through windows as soon as they heard the sirens.”
“People can’t tell the difference between an ambulance and a police siren,” I said.
I plodded up the steps, walked across the creaking porch, and opened the ornate Victorian front door. The fifth golem stood like a statue inside the reception parlor, doubling as a hat rack, if necessary; his name, etched on the back of his neck, was Mike.
Cinnamon was brushing her fur at the reception desk again. The zombie ladies and vampire princesses sat around a table playing cards and looking bored. Neffi paced back and forth in the customer-less lobby, but the girls seemed deaf to her grumbles.
I decided to take an unusual approach and called out with as much cheer as I could manage, “Good news!”
The mummy madam turned her coal-black eyes in my direction. “What’s good about it? We haven’t had a single client, not even after I announced my special discounts last night. I’m going to have to take out radio ads, offer two-for-one specials . . . hmm, but that’ll only attract the kinky customers.”
“They’re just spooked—they’ll come around. The good news is, Travis Carey is recovering in the hospital. I arranged to have a couple of witch friends perform a restorative spell.”
Neffi still wasn’t overjoyed. “Good, he’ll bounce back full of energy and ready to lawyer up. What are we going to do, Mr. Chambeaux?”