Bobby raised her hand. “We might want to stall on that, though, since Gilmore mainly deals with Taylor and she’d start asking questions about where she is. I don’t think she’d react well if we said we didn’t even know.”
“Yes, good point.” He tapped his lips thoughtfully. “We’ll give it, say, forty-eight hours. I’ll stall Russel with a text or two, and that’ll give us time to think of something else, perhaps.”
He went on to point out to all of them that there might be more hits on any of them ready to be executed by brainwashed minions, but they had no real way to know until they made progress on their current leads.
“And so, in conclusion,” he announced and felt rather like a respected Cambridge professor presenting a thesis on the mating habits of katydids, “we really fucking need a new plan of some kind. Something that ties all this together, that keeps us from getting out heads bitten off, but also allows us to act and move things forward, at least until Taylor gets back. Whenever that might be.”
Uncomfortable silence reigned for a moment, the only sound being the high-pitched sound effects that emanated from Conrad’s phone as Volz plunked away at it, engrossed in a game or video.
Again, the receptionist raised her hand. “Honestly, Mr Remington, I can’t really think of much else we can do at this point, besides maybe have someone shadow Representative Dusek. I can keep working on assembling a list of his contacts and associates, and we can trace some of them and follow them in the hope that they’ll bring something new to light.”
Pursing his lips, Remy gave an appreciative nod. “Yes, that’s better than nothing, at least while we wait for things to develop with Kendra and the colonel. And, hopefully, for the good vampire to return and help us in dealing with the bad vampire. All things considered, though, I’d say we’re doing fairly well even without her.”
Riley, her enthusiasm for helping the agency seemingly bolstered by her resolution to stay away from the shopping district, applauded. The sound of her tiny hands striking each other resembled someone trying to light a gas stove on the other side of the building.
“Thanks.” He pointed to her and grinned. “After Boobs—uh Bobby—finishes our list of contacts for Dusek, I’ll probably take Riley and handle that myself. In which case, Conrad, you’ll be on guard duty again. Also, we really need to do something about Volz.”
The dwarf looked up. “Whuh? Leave me alone.” He returned his focus to the screen.
Conrad reached for his cell gently. “Okay, Volzy, you had a nice long time to play…whatever that is. Uncle Conrad needs his phone back.”
“No!” the dwarf protested. “Mine. You can have after I sleep. When’s lunch?”
Remy looked at everyone in turn. “Any other comments, questions, or concerns?”
There were none.
“Right.” He pushed the murder board back against the side and facing the wall, and tossed the sheet over it for good measure. “So, uh, you can all return to your posts or whatever. I’ll make some fresh coffee…”
For a moment, it looked like Boobs was about to offer but she shrugged and returned to her desk. She had more important tasks to do, so Remy didn’t complain.
He needed a minute to think things over, anyway. They were stuck in limbo. Although closer than ever to cracking Moswen’s foul operation, there was, for the moment, almost nothing they could do except wait. He hated simply waiting for things to happen.
“Well,” he muttered quietly, “there’s always the other cases. What’s-His-Name with the Baphomet-phobia and so forth.”
When he reached the break area, he stared at the greasy rings on opened boxes where donuts had been and realized that he’d been slack in working out lately. And he’d had to miss another martial arts class. They might try an intervention with him soon.
Shaking these minor concerns from his head, he approached the coffee machine.
Another insight struck him. Until yesterday, he’d never really thought of Bobby as a serious player and a true member of the team. Granted, she’d never been filled in on what was really going on but had the deception been necessary? Given her interest in the goddamn Inquirer, she probably would have believed everything and been happy to help. Even with a less-generous loadout of IQ points.
And now, there she was, grasping implications and repercussions and doing important research. So much so that he didn’t want to distract her from her work and now performed mundane tasks like coffee preparation himself.
Well, someone has to do it. There is no way in hell we could run this operation without a steady supply of perfectly legal stimulants.
Coffee-making had the advantage of being a task that almost anyone could do competently. He considered this and weighed it in light of the fact that, as vice-president of the company, he was officially in charge during Taylor’s absence. He now had real, actual leadership responsibilities.
It was kind of terrifying, but he liked to think he was doing okay at it.
Still, the example of Bobby makes me wonder. It’s kind of a conundrum, isn’t it? Other people have intrinsic value and all that, yet different people are better suited for particular tasks than others. Being head honcho, for the time being, I need to keep that in mind along with corny stuff like treating everyone with respect. Which I suppose I never really thought about much until now. But it’s also knowing how to allocate the labor.
And if all-out war with Moswen broke out before Taylor returned—which was possible—his margin of permissible error would shrink to almost nil. Not only everyone’s self-esteem and career satisfaction, but their very lives would be in his hands.
The coffee pot burbled as he stared blankly at its lighted button. Suddenly, and for the first time ever, he missed the days when Taylor merely used him as bait.
Chapter Fourteen
Moonlight Detective Agency Offices, Bushwick, Brooklyn, New York
The office’s front reception area would soon close for the evening, and Remy was no closer to finding a solution than he had been hours before. He was in the break area again, seeking refuge while he guzzled more coffee—a three-to-one ratio of decaf to regular, at this hour—when two things happened.
First, Riley fluttered through and waved to him as she approached, probably wanting to talk about something.
Second, Bobby pressed the intercom and made a brief announcement. “There’s a taxi pulling up out front and officially, we’re still open for another nine minutes.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “Couldn’t they have gone to a restaurant and ordered a well-done steak three minutes before closing time? That way, they’d be annoying someone other than us and they’d still end up with a steak.”
As if anticipating his reaction, Bobby added, “So I’ll let them come in and state their pitch. I’ll be clear that we’re almost closed, though, and won’t let them take too long.”
That’s better, he reasoned. He finished his pseudo-coffee and motioned for the fairy to join him. She complied with a small smile.
She put her hands on her hips while she floated in front of his face. “Remy, are you okay? I feel a little better, so it makes it easier to see things, even if I still don’t understand all human behavior. I can tell you’re having a rough time. I think you’re doing good, though. Like the way you handled things yesterday and the way you summed things up today.”
He gave a kind of sour half-smile. “Thanks, Riley, it’s nice to hear you say that. Having to take over our whole operation, though…it’s not easy. There’s much more to leadership than the stuff in action movies, where it’s all barking orders and looking cool. I have to…take care of you guys in addition to making everyone pull together and get things done.”
“Aww,” the fairy replied. She came closer and patted him on the earlobe. “Well, I don’t think you’re doing badly at it. Not at all.”
Before he could reply to this, the front door opened and footsteps strode in—quick, purposeful, and surprisingly silent. To his surprise, they did n
ot stop at the reception desk but continued through the lobby and toward the main office floor.
“Oh! Hi,” Bobby’s voice exclaimed. “We—ah, wondered—”
Remy brought the fingertips of both hands to his temples before he hurried out of the break room. “You have to be kidding me. Not even an ‘I’m on my way’ text.”
Taylor walked into the office. She was dressed in a black jacket, black gloves, and black shades, and carefully removed a small, oblong object bundled in blue cloth from her handbag. Something about her skin looked unwell, as though she’d recently been exposed to the sun and was only now recovering.
As usual, her face showed no identifiable expression or feeling.
By now, everyone else had scuttled over to offer their greetings—or at least to confirm that the agency’s undead proprietor was well and truly back.
Conrad reached her first and his handsome face revealed a mixture of concern and relief. He had strongly discouraged anyone from going home early this evening, mostly out of fear for their safety.
“Miss Steele,” he said, the words hurried, polite, and a tad awkward, “we were all worried. Is everything all right? I’ve kept a close eye on the crew this whole time.”
About the same time that he opened his mouth, Alex appeared from somewhere out of the office’s depths and looked at her askew with his usual undercurrent of embittered trepidation. He stood a few feet to Conrad’s right.
“So you’re finally back, are you?” he stated gruffly. “I didn’t get much from the Australian ex-pat community here aside from continual bitching about the weather. What was the actual purpose of that little errand, anyway?”
Midway into his ramble, Bobby hurried over, leaving her desk but remaining where she could see the reception area. Her face was drawn with anxiety, probably over how Taylor would react to the news of the magical IQ bomb.
“Miss Taylor, we have a few things we need to talk about,” she interjected.
As the words left her mouth, Volz trudged up, pushed into the space between Remy and Alex, and stared at the vampire with a vague and curious recognition. His mouth hung slack.
“Hey,” he drawled, “it’s…you. You’re a…friend.” His face split into a large, dopey grin.
Taylor was now completely surrounded. She stopped and the twist of her mouth registered subtle displeasure. Calmly, she removed her glasses, folded them, and slid them into a pocket. Her dark eyes were calm but clear.
“It would seem,” she stated in a low voice, “that there have been developments in my absence.”
While all this was happening, Remy felt as though he were slowly regurgitating a tangled ball of frustration, confusion, wounded ego, and self-righteous indignation. His hands formed into weird grasping claw shapes and they trembled.
His gaze locked on hers. “Where the fuck have you been?” he sputtered, his voice almost cracking. “You slipped away without even the slightest indication of where you were going or when you’d be back. And this at a time when we’re in the midst of one hell of a serious investigation that’s on the verge of turning back into all-out war!”
He threw his arms up, allowed himself to sway in a melodramatic fashion, and gestured at her with his right hand.
“I’ve barely held things together all this time. And developments is putting it goddamn mildly. Jesus Christ. Normally, I don’t go around making demands, I think, but I am very sure that you owe us an explanation. Like, right now.”
The barely perceptible expression of her mouth moved another notch in the direction of sourness.
“I was in Israel,” she stated flatly. “I had to go there post-haste in order to acquire something that we’ll need in order to defeat Moswen.”
Remy calmed, at least a little, and his gaze wandered down to the curious azure-wrapped bundle in the vampire’s hand. “Oh. Well, you could have—”
She cut him off by holding her hand up, the palm outward, probably abetted by some preternatural ability of hers. He simply stopped talking as quickly as if someone had pressed STOP on the audio file in his brain.
“For now,” she interjected, “we need to discuss what’s going on here and all that has occurred lately. It’s clear to me that there is some situation with you all that requires further management.”
He bristled inwardly. She assumed that he had not been able to handle things without her when in fact, Riley had complimented him on how well he’d done.
Still, he didn’t intend to argue with the main gist of her words.
“Kind of.” He sighed.
And, for a moment, he was on the verge of breaking down and blathering about how he’d missed her, he needed her, he wasn’t sure what to do without her—and how none of them felt like they could handle things without her there as a backup, a secret weapon, or an insurance policy. Taylor was everyone’s ace in the hole.
Thankfully, he stopped himself because that wasn’t true. It was good to have her back, but they’d held things together. The point of absolutely needing her had not yet come.
“Well,” he began, steeled himself, and regained his dignity and composure, “we’re all still alive and the agency is still functioning. We’re not at the point of catastrophe.”
The vampire almost smirked. “Well, then, you must have done something right. My compliments.”
“Thanks. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself, saying that. Still, it’s good to have you back because some serious shit has gone down, yeah,” he confirmed.
She nodded. “Let’s sit and discuss it, then. Do not omit anything or color the facts.” She glanced around at the other employees. “That goes for all of you. Feel free to contribute in any way you think might be useful. The more accurate my information is, the better I can help.”
Remy scratched his nose. “Fine.”
He spoke first and kept his account both as detailed and as objective as possible. A few times during the story, Bobby or Conrad raised their hands to inject commentary of their own—or to politely correct him on his exact interpretation of events, much to his annoyance.
While he talked, he noticed also that Taylor looked at both Bobby and Volz in a strange way. Clearly, she’d picked up on the fact that something was different about them. Of course, as the revelations continued, they reached the part with the enchantment via mail bomb, and her face settled into calm, if stern, realization.
Of course, he glossed over things a tad with regard to that particular incident. He didn’t want to insult either Bobby or Volz. Especially since the former was probably now well aware of how much less intelligent she used to be, while the latter now lacked the brainpower to deal with hurt feelings in any kind of mature way.
Toward the end of the powwow—at the moment when Remy had reached the murder board conference they’d held this morning—someone else came into the office through the front, having apparently walked in off the street.
Bobby departed the instant she heard the door open and positioned herself behind the desk in time to greet the new arrival.
He glanced into the lobby in mid-sentence. Their guest appeared to be an average fortyish man with an air of uncertain hesitancy.
“Excuse me,” he said to the receptionist in a phlegmy voice, “are you still open? Judging by the sign, I wasn’t sure.”
“Yes,” Bobby answered, “although we’re about to close. If you’re here about a case, we wouldn’t have time for a full interview. But if you’d like to ask a question or two or schedule an interview for tomorrow, we can definitely take care of that.”
Even as he spoke to Taylor, Remy nodded his head, pleased with her appropriate response.
The man went on with his pitch in the background and partway into it, everyone around the corner in the main office area tensed and, in the next moment, froze.
“Well,” he began, “I…uh, I’d heard that this place deals with…paranormal investigations. I’m inclined to be the skeptical type, but—this is embarrassing—I think I might have a problem with exactly
that kind of thing.”
He cleared his throat in the sudden, tomb-like silence and continued. “I think I may have a problem with a…werewolf killing animals of mine around the time of the full moon. This is the third month in a row. It sounds crazy, I know.”
Even Taylor looked prepared to rush the man, kidnap him, clamp a chloroform-soaked rag over his mouth, and give him a good mindwipe, hoping that no one on the street would see what transpired through the windows.
But Bobby, playing her usual dumb blonde persona, defused the situation almost immediately.
“Oh, ha…um, it’s okay,” she replied and managed to sound perplexed but sympathetic. “While…uh, we don’t exactly believe in the supernatural, we’re willing to investigate weird occurrences with no judgment.”
A brief pause followed broken only by the sound of her pen scribbling notes onto a piece of paper as she always did with new clients. A moment later, she resumed speaking.
“What I mean is that werewolves aren’t real, but there are people who act like them—or unusually large animals with rare diseases, things like that. Give me your name and contact information and I’ll put that, along with your problem into our system. They’ll review it first thing in the morning and get back to you.”
The man breathed a sigh of relief. “That would be great. I feel like I’m losing my mind here. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if it is a werewolf or a rabid dog or even a neighborhood kid off his rocker. I simply want to know what’s going on and put a stop to it.”
Taylor smiled gently as they listened and the tension in her shoulders melted away. She was impressed at how well Bobby had handled a potentially delicate matter. She exchanged a brief look with Remy.
We’re in agreement, finally, he surmised. My decision to hire her, to begin with, is even more correct than it already was, now that she’s one hundred percent a valuable member of the team.
A moment later, the customer was on his way and Bobby locked the front door after him, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and turned the front lights off. She joined the others where they sat in the center of the floor spanning the main office suite.
Under Pressure (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 4) Page 13
