Rob Thurman - Moonshine

Caleb was disappointed, very much so, but tried to take it manfully. Or monsterfully, depending on your point of view. Already fair, he paled to a transparent white and his hand shook hard enough that the pen tumbled from his fingers. But he swallowed and said tightly, "I bow to your business protocol, of course. Please, call me when you've made your decision. Day or night. I'll make myself available."

From the looks of it, Cerberus would be even more disappointed, which obviously didn't bode well for our favorite accountant, but color me unsympathetic. When the door was shut behind us and we were making our way out of the building, I said with a grimace, "I'm thinking Cerberus is one big, bad puppy dog. Caleb is all but pissing his pants."

"Disgusting, but accurate," Promise agreed, her full lips twisting slightly. "Obsequious creature. I apologize, Caliban. He was much more socially acceptable at the first meeting. If I had known he would bring up your…" She hesitated and then finished, "I would never have considered him as a client."

I shook my head at the words. "Hey, don't worry. It's not the first time it happened and it won't be the last." It never would be the last, so I'd better suck it up and learn to deal. "So, Nik, what do you think?" I added ruefully, "About the job, not our piranha-toothed pal."

His lips thinned in distaste, but he allowed himself to be moved on to the more financially pertinent subject. "I think that the question would be, is Boaz worse than Cerberus?"

"That's what it comes down to, huh?" I snorted. "Bad against worse." I wasn't surprised. Life usually did end up on that particularly nasty seesaw. It was the way of the world. I gave a mental shrug and kept walking down the hall. I passed the bank of metal elevator doors without slowing. Promise, already familiar with my brother's ways, followed along with a gentle sigh.

Niko wasn't one for elevators. He always said if something was trying to kill you, a metal cage isn't the place to be. It made sense… assuming my brother wasn't just an ass who enjoyed watching me sweat and swear my way up and down twenty flights. He opened the door to the stairs to wave me ahead with a bow, and then offered Promise his arm. "As our client would be sure to tell you," he said dryly, "every dog has his day. We simply have to make sure it's the correct dog." I had a feeling that would be easier said than done.

And for once I wasn't wrong.

The next night, the stack of Niko's books was tumbling to the floor as I bumped the kitchen table in passing. I dodged the dusty avalanche and said in exasperation, "Cyrano, you have got to get out more often. Seriously. I mean it." Stepping over the pile, I promptly stuck my head in the refrigerator. "If financial planning's not your thing…" I continued slyly as I sniffed the colorful contents of a casserole dish. It was an attractive color; I just wasn't sure if that was the original color. "… then check out a bar. Go see a movie. Read something noneducational for once, like the Post ."

"I happen to like financial planning," he said, more amused by my sniping than anything else. Obviously, the Promise situation had been good for one cheap shot and no more. Pity. I did live to annoy. "Actually I have a session scheduled in a few more hours." He moved up behind me and peered over my shoulder into the depths of the icebox. "Over candlelight, wine, and dinner." Uh-oh. I slid a slightly panicked look his way. Don't say it, I thought. Do not say it. "Why don't you and Georgina participate in the brainstorming?" he finished, his mocking gray eyes fixed on mine.

Too late, I thought to myself morosely. It's out there now. The infamous double date. Determined to do what damage control I could, I carried the casserole to the microwave. "No, thanks," I declined casually. "All that restrained passion and lust in the air is bad for my sinuses. And George is just a kid. You'd scar her for life." I popped the glass container in and twisted the dial, relying on good old cancer-causing waves to zap the food fungus free. "Hey, here's a thought. Call me crazy, but why don't you tell Promise it's a date—a real live date for grown-up boys and girls who are so horny they can't stand it?" The microwave pinged and I finished with a shrug and a wave of my hand. "Like I said, just a thought." The fungus was still there, only now brown and singed. Joy.

"Georgina is two years younger than you, Cal. That hardly makes her a little girl in pigtails." He handed me a fork with a challenging quirk of his lips. "As for passion and lust, what makes you so sure it's that restrained?"

He had me there. I dumped the fork and the dish in the sink and then gave him a good once-over. I'd said at the carnival that he'd become unbearable since he'd been getting some, but I hadn't really believed it. Well, the unbearable part I believed, in spades. But the other? Furrowing my brow, I tilted my head, then shook it. "Nope. I stand by my original assessment. Restrained lust, all the way." I held my thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart. "You're almost there, which is why you're so goddamn happy all the time." I looked at him again, tsk ed under my breath, and moved my fingers a little bit farther apart. "Almost, but just not quite. Maybe Goodfellow could give you some lessons."

Now he was annoyed, which meant my work was done for the day. "Do you really wish to go there, little brother?"

I had a thousand and one sensitive spots, some reasonable… some not so much. Nik, however, had only a few. Robin's past jones for him being an extremely humorous one. Humorous for me at any rate. "Nah, that's okay." I returned to the fridge. "I'm too hungry to get my ass kicked right now. When you see Promise, bring her up to speed." A thought hitting me, I stood and draped myself over the top of the refrigerator door. "Oh, and tell her I suck at poker. So she better draw up some subcontractor fees, because Goodfellow isn't going to come cheap." I waggled my eyebrows. "Although you could maybe bargain him down. You know, with your studly body."

Hungry or not, I ended up with an ass kicking to my name anyway. It was all in good fun. Good black -and-blue fun, but more important, Niko had forgotten the entire George issue. At least I was hoping he had.

As a further diversion, I told him I'd put a call in to Robin and see if he was up for a little undercover work in case we decided to take the assignment. And as there were three or four reasons we shouldn't as opposed to fifty thousand why we should, I had a feeling how the decision was going to go. Cerberus might not be who I'd want carrying my slippers and bringing me the paper, but was he worse than any of the other Kin? There was only one way to find out. Take his money and check out this Boaz. The worst we would be out was a little time, and that we'd be well compensated for.

"How do you know that Goodfellow even plays poker?"

I commented in disbelief, "You're shitting me, right?"

"In retrospect, not the most astute question, I admit," Niko sighed. "Well, he is an excellent fighter… when he wants to be. Since you seem to be under the impression Georgina is still in diapers, why don't you and Robin meet Promise and I for dinner? We can discuss all of this then."

"And after?" I grinned.

"You and Robin go home, before dessert, politely minding your own business." And from the iron in his voice, I knew that was probably exactly the way it would be.

"Do I play poker? He really asked if I played poker? Hermes save me." Robin was on his seventh glass of wine and was still sober as a judge, the non-Southern variety. After thousands of years of good living, his tolerance was legendary, though the waiters at the dim sum place we'd stopped at in Chinatown were clearly taking bets on when he'd pass out. Of course everything about Goodfellow was legendary, as he would tell anyone who cared to listen. Repeatedly. "I invented poker. It was about two thousand b.c, and naturally it wasn't called poker then. What a crass name. I called it…"