The Love-Haight Case Files (32 page)

Nika gave a guttural chuckle which showed her fangs. Like the rest of her family, she, too, was a vampire. “Looking forward is my business, Mr. Brock. Mind you heed that when I call.”

***

Case #4 Dogged Determination

Chapter 4.1

Gretchen stopped short, reflexively gripping her cane tighter, as she caught sight of the confrontation in the alley behind the building housing The Law Offices of Thomas Brock, where she worked as a paralegal and receptionist. Even though she considered herself quick-witted and energetic for her age, a seventy-three year old widow needed to keep an eye out for trouble before it got too close.

“Ain’t nothin’ in the Constitution says I have to have an address.” Sad Sadie, the homeless woman who lived in a Sub-Zero refrigerator box in the alleyway, squinted her dark brown eyes—almost as dark as her weathered, dirt-encrusted skin—and pointed a grimy finger at a patrolman. “And I don’t have to pay taxes if I don’t make any income. Cash money from collecting and returning cans is a refund of the deposit, not income. That’s a fact.”

Gretchen recognized the young patrolman as Phillip Lane, an honest and earnest young fellow who Thomas had helped with some free legal advice from time to time. Because of that, and because he was one of San Francisco’s finest, he had taken a special interest in protecting the building, along with Gretchen and Evelyn. Phillip looked warily at Sadie’s waggling finger, then down with more genuine concern as a low growl emanated from ground level, where the white snout of what looked to be a small American Bull Terrier poked out from the tattered hem of Sadie’s full skirt. The brightly colored, flowery print of the skirt was faded and stained. Thank heavens it covered Sadie’s legs, which were bound to be at least as grimy as her grizzled face and gnarly fingers and had probably not been shaved since the first Gulf War.

“I’m not here to collect taxes … or to get your address, ma’am.”

Sadie shook her head abruptly to one side, looking askance at the polite, determined young man. “Then why’d you say you were taking my dog? Barney ain’t done nothing to nobody. Government can’t take nothin’ without due process ’cept taxes. And I don’t owe no taxes.”

The dog’s low growl grew deeper with his mistress’ level of aggravation.

The patrolman glanced down at the dog, whose full head and shoulders had now poked out of Sadie’s skirt. “I didn’t say I was taking your dog.…”

“Barney. His name is Barney. Use people’s names when you refer to them.”

Lane rolled his eyes as his shoulders slumped. “Barney. Sure, Barney. But, of course, he’s not a person.…”

Gretchen flinched as Sadie’s brow furrowed and she stomped her combat-boot-laden foot hard, then used her grimy finger to poke Patrolman Lane in the chest, punctuating each word with another poke.

“Dogs ARE people! They love you and protect you and comfort you. They have SOULS. Not like those damn OTs running around the city, scaring most folk out of their wits and eatin’ the rest. San Fran ain’t been right since them freaky-mean Other-Than-Humans started takin’ over the place. Barney protects me from those OT types. He barks when they come in my alley. Scares ’em away, he does. Watches over me twenty four-seven, which is more than you coppers do by a long shot.”

Lane backpedalled out of the alley as the fierce bag lady pressed her finger-jabbing assault. “I didn’t say I was taking your dog … Barney. I was just trying to warn you about the new ordinance and Animal Control.”

Sadie gave a wicked grin, all yellow-teeth and decay. “I’m controlling my inner animal, right now, bucko, but if you want me to let loose—”

Gretchen decided to intervene. She liked Sadie. She liked Phillip Lane. Heck, she liked dogs, having had a Pomeranian named “Floofy” for sixteen years before he had passed and she finally had no excuse not to move into a retirement home. Today, like many mornings, she had grabbed an extra apple and a couple of granola bars from the cafeteria at her retirement home to help Sadie. Gretchen recognized that Sadie was a prime example of what could have happened to her, had she not had a husband who worked himself to death to provide for her, and grown children successful enough to assuage their guilt by chipping in for her apartment at the retirement home. Gretchen hadn’t seen … or met … Barney before, but she had been off the past several days on her quarterly round of visits to doctors, dentists, and manicurists.

“Can I be of any assistance, Patrolman Lane?” She waved cheerily and moved to interject herself between Phillip and Sadie, holding out a granola bar in offering with her left hand as she used the cane in her right hand to assist her quick movement.

Lane turned, retreating a step farther as he did so. Sadie remained stationary, her eyes fixed on the granola bar.

“Mrs. Cain, ma’am,” said Lane. “Good to see you. Missed you the past couple days when I stopped by the office to check in on things.”

Gretchen flashed him a warm smile as she simultaneously handed Sadie the granola bar. “I had some business to take care of and was away. Apparently, Miss Sadie has found a new friend while I was gone.” She leaned heavily on her cane as she bent down. “Did I hear his name is Barney?” She reached toward the dog, whose mood had softened.

Barney wriggled out completely from Sadie’s skirt and sniffed at Gretchen’s hand, then rolled over to present his belly. Though concerned about fleas—more from Sadie’s skirt, than from the dog—Gretchen stretched her hand down and gave the wiggling dog a good belly rub.

“Seems like a friendly little fellow,” said Gretchen, as she straightened back up with care. Who knew that bending down to pet a dog could be so strenuous when you got older?

Sadie stopped munching her way through the honey-nut granola bar long enough to agree. “Friendly as they come. Found him rootin’ around for food two nights ago, during the rain. Poked his nose past the plastic bags keepin’ the water off my house, here.” She shrugged toward the refrigerator box, which was decorated with dried flowers and haphazardly covered with plastic garbage bags and broken umbrellas in an effort to keep it from disintegrating into mush in the rain. “Even though I was workin’ on a tin of cat food I found, Barney, he saw somebody lived there and just reversed course right back out into the rain … real polite.” She bent to give Barney the last gooey bit of her granola bar. The dog sat, eagerly watching her fingers. She pointed down and the dog immediately stretched out on the pavement. Sadie moved her finger in a small circle and the dog rolled over, and then sat back up. Sadie grinned and gave the dog his treat.

Impressed with the dog’s performance, Gretchen couldn’t help but coo “Good dog.” She noticed that Patrolman Lane’s eyes were twinkling in admiration, too.

Sadie straightened back up. “Barney’s a good feller, he is. Keeps himself clean, better than me at least, and does tricks when I’m panhandling …” Sadie’s eyes darted to the patrolman. “Uh … doing street performances … for the tourists, you know. Barks something fierce, too, when an OT tries to come into my alley. He’s a good dog.” Her bushy eyebrows turned inward. “And you and Animal Control ain’t takin’ him away.”

Gretchen spoke up. “I’ll tell you what, Sadie, Officer, I’m a dog-lover myself. Why don’t we just agree right now that I’ll take care of making sure Sadie and Barney can remain friends? How’s that sound?” She had no doubt a license or a tag was required to have a dog in the city. Probably would need to have rabies shots or something, too. Might mean a trip to the vet with Sadie in tow, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Barney was cute and Gretchen did worry about Sadie living and sleeping in that dingy alley.

“Mighty obliged,” crooned Sadie. “What with the times being what they are, folks be recycling their own cans more often. Besides, don’t think I should have to pay no taxes, especially dog taxes.”

Patrolman Lane looked at Gretchen with a grimace. “It’s more than just a license, Mrs. Cain.”

Ahh, no doubt someone with an address had to take responsibility for the dog. “Don’t you worry, Officer. I’ll speak to Evey. The Law Office of Thomas Brock will handle everything.” She fluttered her free hand in dismissal. “Go on, now. Don’t you have real criminals to catch?”

Lane opened his mouth as if to protest, but then closed it. “Alright, Mrs. Cain. I’ll stop by the office later and go through the details.”

Gretchen watched him leave, then turned back to Sadie. “Don’t you worry, darling,” Gretchen said as she reached into her oversized purse and handed Sadie the rest of her morning haul of fruit and fiber. “Evey and I will take care of everything.”

“You won’t let anyone take my dog?”

“No, dear. I guarantee it.”

Chapter 4.2

“I’ll stop by City Hall on my morning run tomorrow and take care of it,” said Evelyn Love after Gretchen explained Sadie’s and Barney’s situation. “You did good, making sure she wouldn’t worry about them taking Barney.” Truth be told, Evelyn wished the legal problems she dealt with more regularly could be so easily handled. Practicing in Thomas Brock’s fledgling law offices in Haight-Ashbury, catering to OTs, was difficult, even before her boss got murdered and turned into a ghost.

Whether ghouls, ghasts, vampires, zombies, imps, witches, or whatnot, San Francisco had more than its share of weird and undead creatures. The town seemed to be some kind of magnet for everything and everyone magical, mystical, or just plain mist. And OTs tended to do a lot more than go bump in the night. They got into legal trouble all the time, particularly because they had next to no rights under the law. Thomas and she were trying to change that, though. Unfortunately, the big firms of the city were lined up against them, including Brock, Davis & Davis, where Thomas’ father, Reginald, and his cohorts used all their considerable resources to persecute OTs and protect those who would do them harm.

Of course, if all legal problems were as easy as purchasing a dog license, their clients wouldn’t need to hire them, and paying clients were hard enough to come by. As it was, The Thomas Brock Law Offices were barely making enough to pay rent on the space and to provide meager salaries for her and for Gretchen. Thomas no longer had many personal expenses—being incorporeal, he couldn’t even
handle
currency. Instead, he was dependent on her or Gretchen or Pete, the gargoyle who lived on the roof and protected the building as it protected him, to do so much as use a phone or turn a page.

“So how much does a license cost?” asked Gretchen.

“C’mon, Gretchen. You know better than that. Just because I passed the bar exam—”

“With flying colors!”

“—in February and was sworn in by Judge Knott, doesn’t mean I have every statute, regulation, and ordinance memorized.”

“But, it’s local law. Wasn’t it on the exam?”

Evelyn laughed. “The exam doesn’t ask about practical things. It asks about things like ‘treasure trove.’”

“Treasure trove? What’s that?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “The law that governs who gets to keep treasure found on someone’s property. The outcome depends, for example, on whether the treasure is buried or not. Plus, the rules distinguish between gold bullion and gold coins.”

Gretchen scrunched up her face in apparent consternation. “Not in my book. If I find gold of any type anywhere, it’s going straight to the safe deposit box. The law is pretty stupid sometimes.”

“You should take admiralty. If you fall off a boat, jurisdiction and liability may depend on whether you fell onto land rather than water, and then whether you hit the ship or the dock or both on the way down.” Evelyn shook her head.

“I don’t care about that,” Gretchen pressed. “I just want to know what a dog license costs.”

Evelyn shrugged. “Lawyers don’t actually know the law; they just know how to find the answers they want. I can find it on the city’s webpage.”

“Well, whatever it is, just dock my salary for it, okay, dear?”

Evelyn thought for a moment. Thomas didn’t pay Gretchen very much. “Why don’t we go halfsies?”

A shadow darkened the open door to the office.

“I’d split it three ways with you, ladies. But, I’m afraid that won’t solve the problem.” Patrolman Phillip Lane stood at the doorway, his hat in hand.

An almost unnoticeable shimmer near the photocopy machine darkened, substantiating into the form of Thomas Brock. As always, Thomas wore the suit and tie he had died in, the same clothes he would wear for eternity. For the millionth time, Evelyn vowed never to die naked, even though only a small percentage of people who died came back as ghosts.

Most ghosts had unfinished business, like Thomas. When he was murdered, he had a case to finish, the OT cause to champion, some unsettled family issues, and a start-up law practice to run. Oh, and a murder to solve. His. Someday all those tasks might be completed and Thomas might be able to move on, if he wasn’t busted, banished, dispersed, or exorcised first. But some nights, as Evelyn lay in bed in her apartment, just upstairs from the law office, she liked to think that maybe she and Thomas were unfinished business. Certainly there was affection there, but, in his current form, she couldn’t see how their relationship could ever truly move forward.

Evelyn, Gretchen, and Phillip halted their conversation a moment for Thomas to materialize fully. Even though he had probably heard everything while a nearly invisible mist, pausing was only polite. Besides, maybe he had been flitting around town gathering information on a case. Unlike Val, the hippie-dippie ghost from the 1960s who hung around their block trying to ride the highs of anyone at the bars or elsewhere he could find who was intoxicated by drugs or alcohol, Thomas was not bound to a particular location.

“Why not?” asked Thomas. “A dog license has got to be easier to get than a law license. Ask Evelyn,” he said with a wink.

“And a lot cheaper,” she said with a smile. She wanted to wink back at him, but not in front of other people, even friends like Gretchen and Phillip.

Phillip turned the hat he was holding, his manner nervous. “Sure, Barney’s supposed to have a tag. But I wouldn’t bust her for that. I mean, Sad Sadie’s not supposed to be living in a refrigerator box in the alley, but I’m not going to roust her, neither. An officer has a reasonable amount of discretion on misdemeanors, at least if no one has lodged a formal complaint, you know.”

“Well put,” said Thomas.