by Gini Koch
“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 i
dea 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.
“Oh, sixteen-sixty-six, I believe.” Cotton smiled benevolently. “I was only three, but I recall it as being a good year.”
“No connection made to the number of the beast and all that?” Freddy asked. I was impressed. He really had been a professor of some kind.
“I doubt it.” Cotton waved his hand as if to dismiss the idea. If he’d taken it as merchandise and sold it, in his mind, it was on the side of good.
“Seen Nero since?” Jack asked, reclaiming the lead.
“No. We’re not close.”
“How about two, ah, fallen angels, Abaddon or Apollyon?” Jack was still all business. He almost sounded bored. I knew he wasn’t, but he’d clearly read Cotton right -- sound like it was important and he’d spend his time lecturing and avoiding. Sound uninterested and you’d get what you wanted.
“Hardly. And, despite the insinuations of some, I do know to alert the authorities should I spot high minions of the Prince.”
“What about a human, named Anthony Tomio?” Jack was just managing not to yawn. I was impressed down to my claws.
“Young man?” Cotton seemed to be thinking.
“Yeah, late twenties, early thirties. Spent a lot of time down in this area.”
“His profession?”
“Drug dealer mostly.” Jack looked at Freddy and Sexy Cindy. “Right?” They both nodded.
Cotton still seemed to be in thought. “He might not have used his real name,” I suggested. “Might have been afraid to let you know he was a bad guy.”
Cotton nodded. “Yes, you may be correct. I never dealt with anyone identifying as Anthony Tomio, but in recent months, there was a Tony, called himself Tony T. He was also looking for the book that Nero wanted, but Nero had claimed it first. However, he was satisfied with an ancient scroll.”
“Sounds like our man,” Jack said. “Title on that scroll?”
“The Calling of the Many. Quite old, Sumerian, I believe.”
“I see.” Jack nodded. “Mind if we take a look around?”
“I’m not harboring criminals, young man.”
“Oh, nothing of the sort insinuated.” Jack gave Cotton his “humoring the unknowing witness” smile. It was a good one, and worked nine times out of ten. “You just have some fascinating merchandise. I’d like to take a fast look.”
Cotton seemed about to argue. I knew what to do. “Oh, come on, Jack. We need to find Tomio and Nero. We don’t have time to lollygag.”
Cotton shot me a look of pure disdain. “Young man, by all means, feel free to look at anything and everything. Take your time. Call me if you spot anything you want to take a closer look at or even purchase. I offer a ten percent discount for all Necropolis Enforcement personnel, and I’d be happy to extend the same to the Prosaic City Police as well.”
“Speaking of which, did any human uniforms ever come in here?” I did my best to keep my tone reasonably uninterested. It was a shot in the dark, but most of this investigation was based so far on wild guesses that were turning out horribly right.
Cotton nodded. “They came in, to check on things.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but, how in the world didn’t they notice you were a ghost?” I’d known this being for my entire undead existence and he’d never once not looked like a ghost to me.
Cotton didn’t look like he wanted to answer, but Jack backed me. “Honestly, Mister Mather, that’s a good question. And it could be important to our investigation.”
Cotton sighed. “Well, it’s a simple thing, really.” He pulled a small device out of his pocket. It looked like a cigarette lighter, one of the nicer kind. He flicked it, and suddenly he looked human and solid.
“That’s how he always looked to me,” Sexy Cindy said quietly. “Didn’t know he was a ghost until tonight.”
I managed to hold on to my temper. I also managed to speak calmly. “So, Cotton, you’re using an Enhancer, right?”
“Of course.” He said it like it was of no consequence.
“You realize that a powerful witch or warlock created that, right?”
He shrugged. “Yes, again, of course.”
“And you have no problem using it?”
“None whatsoever. Victoria, do you have a point?”
Jack nudged me as he turned and started wandering the shop. I shook my head. “Nope, no point. Just mentioning it for Cindy and Freddy’s sake. They’re new. Learning and all.” I figured mentioning his massive hypocrisy wouldn’t do anything other than earn some choice comments from Cotton and make me even angrier. He was supposedly just fine with “good” witches and warlocks now, and somehow, that was supposed to make what he’d done as a human all okay. Maybe it did for some beings, but not for me.
Cotton looked pleased. “Excellent. Good to see you focused on helping others for a change. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to attend to. Call if you need any assistance with the merchandise.” He turned and floated away.
Once he was out of sight, Sexy Cindy let go of the back of my pants. “Girl, I hate him, too, but I don’t think you killing him would help us find Tomio.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thanks. But, I thought I was pretty restrained.”
“I figured I was gonna have to tackle you if Cindy couldn’t hold you back,” Freddy said. “Not that I can blame you.”
“Yeah. Well, let’s figure out why Jack wants to look around.”
“Rather hang here than go to the Salvation Center,” Sexy Cindy said.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I never been in there before, but after this place and The Pleasure Palace, I’m figuring whoever runs it’s gonna be the worst kind of bad news.”
While we wandered off to find Jack, I wondered if Sexy Cindy was going to prove prophetic. I hoped not, but the base of my tail said it was going to be a bumpy ride and we should all fasten our seatbelts.
Chapter 32
Jack was working his way through the pawnshop quickly. We caught up to him. “What are you looking for?”
He shook his head. “No idea. But Mather clearly doesn’t pay attention to what he gets or who he gets it from. I don’t buy that Abaddon or Apollyon didn’t come in here. If they were able to disguise themselves even a little bit, they probably fooled him.”
“That I could believe,” Sexy Cindy said. “He always called me ‘like unto the Whore of Babylon’ even if I was in here with folks who were really doing bad things. And it’s not like hooking hurts anyone.”
“Other than the hooker.” Those words were out of my mouth before my mind could stop them.
She didn’t seem upset or offended. “Yeah, well, there are worse things, okay? He never gave the rapists or murderers or drug dealers in here any crap. Besides, no one cares about the hookers, just the johns.”
“Now isn’t the time for a discussion of questionable vice practices,” Freddy said. “Jack, I echo Victoria. What are you looking for? If we know, we could split up and perhaps spot it faste
r.”
I noted that, in here, both Freddy and Sexy Cindy were starting to sound more like I’d assumed they had before they’d hit the streets. Interesting. Much as I despised him, Cotton was running what could be considered a legitimate business, not a den of evil. Pity. I would have loved a good reason to force him out of business.
A thought occurred. “You guys search for whatever it is we’re searching for. I need to talk to Cotton again.”
“I’m looking for anything that gives off an evil feeling or seems like it could relate to Armageddon,” Jack said quickly. “Look when you’re with him. For all we know, he keeps that stuff in his office under the idea they’re interesting bits of history.”
“Wow, you got him down in one short interview?”
Jack shrugged. “Studied the Salem Witch Trials in school. You get an idea of someone when you’ve learned what they did as a human and why.”
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I just nodded and trotted off to find Cotton. His office was buried in the back of the pawnshop but ectoplasm has a distinct odor -- like old, wet socks -- so it was easy to find him.
He was humming while doing some filing. He was clearly happy here. Which made no sense. “Hey, Cotton, sorry, but I thought of some questions I wanted to ask. In private.”
He looked over from his filing. “Oh? Something insulting, as usual?”
“I don’t think so, though, as always, you’ll be the judge, jury and executioner. I’m wondering a couple of things. First off, how long have you owned this place? This is part of my beat for Prosaic City P.D. and no one told me you were here.” Or that The Pleasure Palace was here, or the Salvation Center. Which was odd. I could understand the Count expecting me to notice -- not that I had -- but not for over a year with no mention.
“I’ve owned this business for several years. It was human-owned and run for decades. However, the last owner wanted to leave town, so was selling on the cheap. I saw an opportunity to run this for both Prosaic City and Necropolis citizens. After all, even the best people can fall on hard times.”
