“He won’t press charges. In fact, I expect him to leave the Quarter before long.” There really was nothing left for Travis here; he had said goodbye to his sister’s ghost and immediately squandered what meager inheritance Sheyenne had left. No good could come of him hanging around. I’d make sure he understood that.
A ghost in a checkered jacket and stylish hat flitted through the closed front door, tipped his hat, and turned around to open the door from inside. He returned to the porch so he could snatch up the bouquet of daisies he had left there. “Hello, ladies!” Alphonse Wheeler was certainly cheery.
“At least this time you’re not bothering any paying customers, Mr. Wheeler,” said Neffi. “No competition today.”
The bank robber looked around the parlor, surprised. “And these adorable and ravishing women have no company whatsoever? Lucky me.” He noticed me standing there. “Apologies, Mr. Chambeaux. You obviously have first pick.”
Aubrey the zombie girl clumsily shuffled the deck, spilling cards all over the table, then scooped them back into a pile. Nightshade and Hemlock each drew cards.
“Mr. Wheeler is a frequent visitor, but never a paying customer,” Neffi said.
Wheeler grinned. “Not through lack of trying. I used to be quite a ladies’ man—I was rather randy in my life. I had frequent-guest cards with three different escort services from Nevada to Rhode Island. But now, being a ghost”—he spread his hands, looking forlorn—“I can look, but not touch. Admittedly, looking upon such beauty is its own reward, but I do find it discouraging.” He let out a long sigh. “It’s depressing to be a horny ghost. The spirit is willing . . .”
“I know how you feel, Mr. Wheeler,” I said. Sheyenne and I faced similar challenges in our love life.
“At least I’m out of prison—for all the good that does me,” Wheeler said. “For two decades I dreamed about being back on the outside, but this afterlife business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
I spotted Ruth standing shyly in the hall. Her large emerald eyes were shadowed; she had been crying. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “It’s all my fault.”
“It is your fault.” Neffi’s voice was always harsh since her vocal cords were dried and sinewy. “But it’s that dimwit customer’s fault just as much.” She turned to me. “He did sign a waiver. I can prove we warned him about the succubus. We explained the dangers and the safety procedures. All conjugal relations are at your own risk. Generally, we don’t recommend humans spend time with Ruth. I tell them again and again.” She cocked her head, put her hand on her hip, and put on a performance, speaking in a nasal, bad Jack Nicholson imitation. “ ‘You want Ruth? You can’t handle Ruth!’ But they don’t listen, that man in particular. He filled out a new-client card and everything, and I can tell you this—I filed it right in the blacklist folder. Travis Carey is no longer welcome at the Full Moon.”
Ruth sniffled. “But I’m not going to get any more customers, not after this. What am I going to do? How do I make a living?” The girl was quite sweet.
I took a few steps closer to her. “It’ll be all right. Look at me—I’m dead, and I’m still optimistic that things will turn out for the best.”
“We don’t run a charity operation here,” Neffi said to Ruth. “Your take was always smaller than the other girls’. We kept you on because of the novelty, but this is the last straw. If you don’t earn money for the establishment, then I can’t keep you around. I have to cut you loose. Sorry. It’s business.”
Ruth began trembling and sniffing. Tears ran down her cheeks to her pointed chin and dangled there like little diamonds in the parlor lights. She slid down the wall, folding her knees until she sat on the floor.
“Give her another chance, Neffi,” I said. “Hold off for just a little while. See if things turn around.”
“They won’t turn around,” Ruth said. “I never wanted to work in a brothel—I just wanted to be loved, but I’m poison to anyone who loves me. Even for daredevils, the thrill wears off after a while. Then where am I?” She spread her hands. “And now even the brothel won’t have me! This really sucks.”
“That’s supposed to be my joke.” Nightshade threw down her hand of cards and raked in the money from the pot.
“I’ll still spend time with you,” said Alphonse Wheeler. “It’s not as if I can do anything else with the girls.”
Neffi said in a hard voice, “We charge clients to spend time with the girls, Mr. Wheeler, whether or not they can get it up. Can you pay for the privilege?”
“If only you had asked me a few days ago, but I don’t have my stash anymore.”
“Thanks for trying, Mr. Wheeler,” Ruth said with a sniff.
I turned back to the mummy madam, very much wanting to help the poor succubus. “Give me a few days to figure out something for her.”
“All right, Mr. Chambeaux—I owe you a favor,” Neffi said. “A small one.”
I retrieved my fedora from Mike the golem hat rack, and left, already putting my detective skills to good use.
Chapter 28
Irwyn Goodfellow never seemed to tire of doing good deeds, and I couldn’t keep track of all his charitable projects. Fortunately, Chambeaux & Deyer received a high-end engraved invitation for his gala ribbon-cutting ceremony at his new zombie rehab clinic, Fresh Corpses. Sheyenne and I attended, although Robin stayed in the office, swamped with casework for the Pattersons.
The plastic-and-leather surgery facility specialized in restorative operations for zombies who had lost body parts, articulated joints, or large sections of musculature or skin. A team of skilled surgeons, morticians, seamstresses, and upholsterers offered community service work for the free clinic. Zombies could shamble in with no questions asked. Skilled wood-carvers and animatronics specialists who were laid off from Hollywood (when studios could simply hire a real monster, why spend a large budget on special effects?) provided prosthetic limbs and replacements for the less fortunate undead.
In front of the whitewashed clinic, an engraved granite block read: ALL WELCOME. Irwyn Goodfellow stood behind a podium at the entry. “It brings me such great joy to do this. Zombies need no longer be afraid to come out in the daylight. Fresh Corpses has fifty beds and a complete staff to take care of your needs.”
“Cute nurses, too?” yelled one of the zombies in the audience.