Лорел Гамильтон - Incubus Dreams

I smiled sweetly and said, “That’s Marshal Blake to you, sheriff, and you are awfully interested in women’s clothing for a heterosexual man in a rural area.” It had gone downhill from there. I even admit that part of it was my fault. I shouldn’t have made the comment about women’s clothing, or questioned his sexual orientation, but, hey, his face got all the way to this awful maroon color before he started yelling at me. For a second, I thought I’d given him a stroke or something. Deputy Douglas had to separate us and take his boss for a little walk around the parking lot.

It gave me time to go check on Micah and Nathaniel. Micah was saying calmly, patiently, but in a tone that said it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, or the second, “I do not work at this club.”

The deputy who was questioning him was too tall for his body, as if his joints and hands and feet hadn’t had a chance to catch up yet.

He was either well under twenty-five, or needed to eat more. “What club do you work at, then?”

Micah looked at me. The look said, help me.

I tried. “Deputy,” I said.

He looked at me. His eyes flicked to the badge in my hand, but since his boss hadn’t been too impressed with the badge, it was hard for him to be impressed, either. The boss sets the tone. He had pale bluish eyes. They weren’t friendly, almost mean. “I’m questioning a witness here.”

I smiled and tried to push it all the way up into my eyes, but probably didn’t manage it. “I see that, but, Deputy,” and I read his name tag, “Patterson, the witness has answered your question several times.”

“He won’t tell me where he works.”

“You never asked where I worked,” Micah said.

Deputy Patterson looked back at him, pale eyes narrowed in what he probably thought was a hard look. It wasn’t. “I did ask where you worked, and you won’t answer.”

“You asked what club I work for, I do not work at a club of any kind. I do not strip for a living, is that clear enough?” Micah asked.

His voice had an edge of impatience. He was one of the most easygoing people I knew. What had Patterson been saying to put that tone in Micah’s voice?

Patterson’s face showed that he didn’t believe it. He was really going to have to work on the blank cop face, right now everything he thought spilled across his face. “Then what were you doing inside this place?” A look of near evil joy crossed his face. “Oh, I get it. You like to look at other people’s beans and wienies.”

“Beans and wienies,” I said, “what the fuck does that mean?”

“Dick and balls,” he said, with a tone that implied everyone knew that.

Micah looked at me, and even through the dark glasses, I could picture the look. I was beginning to see what had gotten on his nerves.

“Patterson, I allowed you to question my friends out of courtesy.

This is my crime scene, not yours, and if you can’t ask a single question that could help us solve this crime, then you need to go somewhere else.”

I don’t know what he would have said, but I felt Sheriff Christopher coming up behind me, even before I saw the look of satisfaction on the deputy’s face. His look said clearly that the sheriff would sort me out, and he’d enjoy a ringside seat.

Patterson said, “He won’t tell me where he works, Sheriff. Says he’s not a stripper. Says he just came to watch a little fag wag.”

I made a small sound in my throat. “I’m going to say this just one more time. We got a call from my friend Veronica Simms that the bartender at this club told her she was too drunk to drive and she needed a ride home. Micah came along so that he could help me with her.”

“And what about the other one?” Patterson asked. “He says he’s a stripper at Guilty Pleasures.”

“Nathaniel came along to keep us company,” I said.

Sheriff Christopher gave me a flat cop look. It was a real look.

He might be a prejudiced, woman-hating, good ol’ boy, but he was a cop, too. Underneath all the crap was someone who could be good at the job, when his personal agenda wasn’t getting in the way. It made me feel better, that look, but of course, his personal agenda was raining all over us.

“Why’d you need two friends,” and he stressed the friends, “to help pick up one drunk girlfriend?”

“Nathaniel had just gotten off work, and we hadn’t gotten to talk, so he came along, so we could visit.”

Sheriff Christopher frowned at me. “You said you were home.”

“I was.”

“I thought this one was your boyfriend.” He pointed at Micah.

“He is.”

“So what’s that one?” he asked, pointing a thumb in Nathaniel’s direction. Nathaniel was talking to the last deputy. He seemed to be having an easier time of it than Micah or me, maybe his deputy was smarter, or just less prejudiced.

“My boyfriend,” I said.

“They’re both your boyfriends?”

I took in air, let it out slow. “Yes.”

“Well, my, my,” he said.

I said a small prayer that Zerbrowski would get here soon. “We’ve got another victim, Sheriff, or don’t you care?”

“Yeah, that’s another thing,” he said, and he put those hard cop eyes on me. If he thought it was going to make me flinch, he was wrong, but it was still a good look. “You just accidentally found our serial killer’s next vic.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Bullshit, bullfuckingshit.”

“Believe what you want, Sheriff. I’ve told you and your people the absolute truth. I could make stuff up, if it would make you happier.”

He looked past me to Micah. “I like to see a man’s eyes when I talk to him, take off the glasses.”

Shit. Micah looked at me, and I looked at him. I shrugged.

“Patterson has never actually asked what Micah does for a living. He’s been too busy trying to get Micah to admit that he’s a stripper, or a homosexual, to worry much about the facts.”

“Fine, I’m askin’ what do you do for a living, Mr. Callahan?”

“I am the coordinator for the Coalition for Better Understanding between Lycanthrope and Human Communities.”

“You’re the what?” Patterson said.

“Shut up, Patterson,” Christopher said. “So you’re one of the bleeding heart liberals that think the animals deserve equal rights.”

“Something like that, Sheriff.”

Christopher was giving Micah all his attention suddenly. “Take off the glasses, Mr. Coordinator.”

Micah took off the glasses.

Patterson backed up, and his hand actually touched his gun butt.

Not good. The sheriff just stared into Micah’s kitty-cat eyes and shook his head. “Bestiality and coffin-bait, that is pretty damn low for a white woman.”

And the “white woman” comment took care of any worries I might have had about what other prejudices the sheriff happened to be carrying around. He was an equal opportunity bigot. He hated everybody that wasn’t male and white and straight. What a terribly stark and empty worldview.

“My mother was Hispanic, from Mexico, does that help?”

“Half spic,” he said.

I smiled, and it went all the way to my eyes. “Perfect,” I said, “just perfect.”

“You look awfully happy for someone who’s about to have a really bad night.”

“And how is this night supposed to get any worse, Sheriff?”

“You knew the body would be here, because your boyfriend and his people did it. That’s how you found it.”

“And why did I bring my boyfriends, and how did I arrange for my friend to be here getting drunk?”

“You were going to move the body, hide it. That’s why you needed this many people. There’s something about this one that will lead to your fag vampire friends.”