The Night Beat, From the Necropolis Enforcement Files (20 page)

“Nero?” Jack asked. “As in ‘fiddled while Rome burned’ Emperor Nero?”

“One and the same,” Ishtrallum hissed, with heavy emphasis on the hissing. Either he was a great actor or he was seriously pissed. I hated to vote that way, but I went with the seriously pissed option. I got a lot of things from him, but not lying.

“He around for us to talk to?” I asked without much hope of hearing a yes.

“No. Said he had family stuff to take care of. Took the rest of the week off.” Ishtrallum looked around. “You want to tell me what’s going on that I’ve been set up to take the fall for?”

“Can’t say if you’re set to take the fall. However, in addition to Abaddon and Apollyon, we probably have some doppelgängers wandering around.”

“Does it get any better than this?” he asked of nobody in particular.

“Probably, but we don’t know yet. Where does Nero go, in his off hours?”

“He wanders. Has a place in the high-rise district, usual pit in the Levels. No idea if he goes into Necropolis Proper, however.”

He didn’t. Nero was on our Watch List. There were certain beings who it always paid to keep several eyes on, and he was one of them. However, we’d failed, big time, since we were supposed to be keeping eyes peeled for him in Prosaic City, too. “Is he using some sort of disguise?”

Ishtrallum shook his head. “Not that I know of. But he’s good buddies with the warlock who spelled this place. Why?”

“I work this beat and had no idea he was around.” Hey, I could admit when I screwed up or didn’t know something.

“You didn’t know I was around, either,” Ishtrallum mentioned.

“Yeah, but you keep your nose clean from all you’ve said. Nero? Let’s be real.”

“True.” He swiveled around slowly, looking at his patrons. “You know, not that I’m desperate to get you out of my business, but you might want to talk to the folks next door and down the street.”

“At the pawnshop and the Salvation Center?”

“Yeah. They may have something for you.” Ishtrallum gave me the wide, snake-smile. “Might make you feel better about missing all this, too. Then again, maybe not.”

Jack gave Ishtrallum his card. “If you remember anything, spot anything, or Nero shows up, call.”

“Oh, will do. I live to stay on the side of right and justice.”

“Sarcasm is such a lovely trait in a lesser snake-demon.” I motioned to Sexy Cindy and Freddy that it was time to go. They got up quickly and sidled next to Jack.

“Just one of the many services we offer here. Don’t let the door hit you and all that. However, should you want a relaxing time when you’re not on a case or trying to stop the end of all the worlds, feel free to come back. Free drinks and reduced price food for our fine folks in uniform.” With that, Ishtrallum slithered off.

“Interesting, ah, being,” Jack said.

“Yeah. Well, I don’t smell or see Nero here, so we might as well try the pawnshop.”

“You sure we’d see him?” Jack asked. “If he has a spell on him, maybe we wouldn’t.”

“Good point. In which case, this place reeks, I’m fighting to stay in human form and not go into ‘eat them all and let Yahweh sort it out’ mode, and we have a lead, however weak, from our beloved proprietor.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Sexy Cindy said. “I wanna toss my cookies and I ain’t got no cookies to toss.”

I noted her vocabulary was shifting back into street-hooker. Association was powerful, and she was too newly undead to fight it without help. I didn’t wait for consensus. I strode to the exit and onto the street. Happily, the others were right behind me.

This part of town was dingy and dirty and so was everyone in it, but I took a deep breath once I was on the sidewalk. It stank, yeah, but not like The Pleasure Palace stank. I didn’t doubt Ishtrallum was raking it in -- I just didn’t want to have to go back there, for any reason. Sadly, I figured my luck wasn’t going to run that well, so settled for not going back in right now.

I took a quick look up and down the block. A whole lot of nothing going on. A couple of cars pulled into the parking lot, one cruddy, one in good shape. Their drivers and passengers got out and wandered into The Pleasure Palace. They didn’t act like they knew each other and they also didn’t act furtive going in.

“I want to crack down on this place so badly I can taste it,” Jack said. “You know, I’ll bet there’s some spell on the doorway, though. Because when we left, I wanted to go right back in. But now that we’re a few feet away? Nothing. Well, revulsion, but nothing you wouldn’t expect.”

“Once we get this settled, we can see about making it a little harder for The Pleasure Palace. But if we don’t find out what the real plan is and stop it, Ishtrallum’s little hot spot’s going to look extremely appealing, at least by comparison to what the rest of the planes will be going through.”

“That snake-man said Armageddon,” Freddy said. “Was he serious?”

“And accurate, yeah. And he’s not a man. He’s a lesser snake-demon, so, a being.”

“She’s touchy about that, remember?” Jack muttered to the other two.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not the only one. Now, come on, we have a pawnshop to shake down.”

I strode off the whole five feet or so it took to reach Killjoy’s doorway. It didn’t look unusual for a pawnshop, though the windows were smaller than most. But they were as heavily barred as any other I’d seen. I sniffed. Nothing other than the standard street stench.

“Any odd feelings from the three of you?”

“Nope,” Jack said.

“Me, either,” Freddy added.

“I don’t wanna go in,” Sexy Cindy said.

“Any real reason or you just being a pain in the tail?”

“I don’t like the guy who runs it,” she muttered. Apparently Sexy Cindy had gotten around.

“Because he’s evil?”

“Because he’s a jerk.”

“The way things are going, that’s an improvement.” I opened the door and walked in. There was a cheerful, jangling bell that rang every time the door opened wide enough to let a normal-sized being through. As I entered, it was cheerful, I mean. By the time all four of us were inside, I was ready to rip the bell off the wall.

The pawnshop wasn’t as large as The Pleasure Palace by half, but it was still good-sized, all things considered. It bore more of a resemblance to an antique shop, though, at least if the dust and randomness of the displays were anything to go by.

“From the stink of depravity to the stink of the ancient and discarded.” Jack chuckled without a lot of mirth. “We hit the best places.”

“What kind of pawnshop has old
National Geographic
magazines?” Freddy asked. “I mean, I suppose they’re worth something to collectors, but who collects from a place like this?”

“Jerk-face probably took ‘em ‘cause someone was late on a payment,” Sexy Cindy said under her breath.

“You dealt with the proprietor frequently?”

“Yeah. For some reason, my life wasn’t going in that up direction.” Sexy Cindy was trying to give Ishtrallum a run for the sarcasm money.

“That,” a man’s deep voice boomed from the back, “is because you gave yourself over to sin instead of to goodness.”

My ears pricked up. I knew that voice. I
hated
that voice. “Uh, Cindy, don’t tell me, let me guess. The proprietor’s a self-righteous, hypocritical, hyper-judgmental type, looks middle sixties in human age terms, and loves, just
loves
to preach.”

She nodded as he came around a corner. There he was, in all his so-called glory. Most ghosts were subdued, but not him. He glowed -- with ectoplasmic smugness.

He gave me and Sexy Cindy condescending smiles and bowed to the men. “Welcome to my establishment.”

“And, boy, is it aptly named.”

“I assume your manners are as atrocious as ever, Victoria?” he asked me in that way of his where it didn’t matter what you said or did, he’d already passed judgment and you’d failed.

“Oh, heavens no.” I ensured I was in a dead heat with Sexy Cindy and Ishtrallum in the Sarcasm Olympics. “Detective Jack Wagner, human, and Freddy, brand new zombie, please enjoy the rare thrill of meeting the Right Reverend and all around swell guy -- as long as you’re not a female, anyone considered inferior at any time in the history of the world, or, all the Gods and Monsters help you, a
witch
-- and my personal favorite undead of all time…Cotton Mather.”

Chapter 31

Cotton put his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. Please excuse Victoria -- she’s never pleasant this time of the moon cycle.”

It took all my self-control not to go into wolf form and try to rip his throat out. Of course, as a ghost, there really wasn’t any throat, or any other substance, to rip. But that hadn’t stopped me when I was a younger undead and it wasn’t stopping me now.

Jack standing there was stopping me. I didn’t want to do anything that would make him think that Cotton had a real line on me or how I thought or acted.

Freddy took Cotton’s hand, insomuch as you can take a ghost’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He didn’t sound like he meant it all that much. He also looked slightly grossed out. Touching ectoplasm could do that until you were used to it.

Jack cleared his throat. “We’re here on an investigation, and we’d like your cooperation. This involves Prosaic City Police as well as Necropolis Enforcement. I trust we can rely on your assistance?” He didn’t take Cotton’s hand or offer his. Instead he pulled his notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket, flipped the notebook open, clicked the pen, and gave every impression of being about to take a statement.

Cotton gaped for a moment, then slammed his mouth shut. “Of course. I have always served the laws of man and Gods my entire life and unlife.”

I managed not to make the gagging sound, but only because Sexy Cindy was doing it for me, albeit quietly.

“Yeah, he was so dedicated to the cause that he turned ghost for no reason other than to keep on hunting witches. What a
pity
that none of the people he helped condemn to death actually
were
witches or warlocks. Nor has he ever once apologized to any of them for the torment and horror he helped put them through.”

Cotton gave a supercilious sigh. “They were convicted of their crimes on the human plane. Their guilt was proven there. I have no need to apologize for doing God’s work.”

“You weren’t doing Yahweh’s work during the trials. You were doing the Prince’s.”

“So you love to insist. I note that I dwell in Necropolis Proper, not in the Levels. Clearly those in power agree with my eternal life’s work.”

I wanted to argue this misconception of his, but I’d learned a century and a half ago that it was useless. His mind was firmly closed -- to new ideas, to the truth of what he’d done, to the concept of his true place in both human and undead history. And yet, as much as I hated him, Cotton managed to fly under the radar, just like Ishtrallum. He wasn’t on the Watch List like Nero. He was just an unpleasant being who had no idea that he actually
was
unpleasant. Amanda suggested pity when dealing with Cotton. Maurice suggested banishment. I always sided with Maurice on this one.

Jack, thankfully, continued to take the police lead. “We’re looking for a variety of beings. Let’s start with Nero. Have you seen him recently?”

Cotton shrugged. “Well, recently, no. He came in a few months ago, looking for a book. Took me a tremendous amount of effort to find it, but, unlike some, he was grateful for the effort.”

I clamped my jaw shut as Jack asked, “Name of the book?”

“Bringing it On
, by Timothy Leery…and that’s with two e’s, not the same as the hippie from a few decades ago.”

I resisted the urge to call H.P. or Edgar. The base of my tail told me that what this book was teaching wasn’t either how to get high, get your cheer squad to nationals, or get happy. It was going to end up the how-to book for Armageddon.

“What year was it written, do you know?” I managed to get out in a fairly civil tone.