The turkey waddled at full speed out into the street, and the gold bangles on its feet tripped it up—right as a delivery truck cruised by, well above the speed limit. The turkey looked up, caught the headlights. We all shouted in unison.
The truck honked its horn … then rolled right over the turkey. With a loud squawk and a spray of feathers, it turned into flattened roadkill, all its bones smashed flat—including, no doubt, the wishbone.
The delivery truck screeched to a halt, and the zombie driver swung out, indignant. We all rushed to the scene, crowding around the truck. I recognized the driver. “Steve!”
He pulled down his cap and looked at me, deeply upset. “Now that’s a fine Christmas Eve present! I wish you all would look both ways before crossing the street!”
Suddenly, the smashed wish turkey glowed, and as Robin, Sheyenne, and I stood together with McGoo, the two mummies, and Saffron the Medusa, we all felt the irresistible compulsion to look to our right, then to our left, assuring ourselves it was safe to enter the street.
Kashewpetl wailed. “That was my wish!”
Steve came up to me. “Sorry I snapped at you, dirt-buddy. I know I was going too fast, especially in a residential area.”
“What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“Residential delivery—and sweet overtime. Plenty of necromancers have moved out to the suburbs, thanks to the high rent in the Quarter.” He turned to look at the flattened mass of meat and feathers and bones. “Great, I gotta hose that off tonight. I hope that wasn’t someone’s Christmas turkey dinner.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said.
The Aztec mummy hunched over the flattened bird, trying to extricate the wishbone, which had already been broken into multiple pieces. “I wish I could have it back. I wish I could have my wish! I wish I could have my sled!”
The Medusa plucked another piece of the wishbone. “I wish I could cure all roadkill turkeys.”
But the wish turkey had already exhausted its power, and none of their wishes came true.
McGoo stepped to Eff-Tup, Kashewpetl, and Saffron. He looked angrier than I’d ever seen him. “I’m calling this in. I’ve only got one set of handcuffs, so don’t make me decide how to use them. Right now, you’re going to help us catalogue and free all of those magical creatures from those cages.”
“That unicorn really needs to be taken care of,” said Sheyenne.
Robin had already made a call. “The UQ Unhumane Society’s on the way. They’ll be taking charge of these creatures until we can assess them for care or treatment. I’m sure that gnome is going to press charges, and I’m here to help expedite that.”
I placed a commiserating arm around the hunched shoulders of the Aztec mummy. “I did find your missing turkey, Mr. Kashewpetl. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way we would have liked.”
“There’s always next Christmas,” he said. “I’ve waited this long. Someday I’ll get my sled back. I’ll raise another wish turkey. And next Christmas Eve …”
“If you have a wish turkey that grants whatever you want, why don’t you just ask for Suzitoq back?” I asked.
He looked startled. “Good idea! I’ll raise two wish turkeys, sacrifice them both, snap their wishbones so that I can have Suzitoq back—and our sled.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
Sheyenne drifted close to me. “I wish we could just have Christmas together, Beaux. You and me.”
“In that case, Spooky,” I said, “you don’t need a magic turkey. I promise I’ll make your wish come true.”
I
I
The Medusa was wearing a paper bag on her head when she entered Chambeaux & Deyer Investigations. Thank heavens for small miracles.
Sheyenne, our receptionist (and also my beautiful girlfriend) was the first to see her, but because Sheyenne is a ghost, she didn’t have to worry about being turned to stone by the monstrous serpent-coiffed female.
I was in my office behind the desk, studying a pending case where a client had hired me to find a stolen interdimensional outhouse he used to reduce his sewage bill by transporting waste elsewhere. When a jealous neighbor used the privy without properly adjusting the dimensional outflow ports, the shit had really hit the fan.
With my door partway open, I heard someone enter from the hall, and Sheyenne cheerfully greeted the potential new client. “Hello, how may I help—oh!”
Here in the Unnatural Quarter, a startled reaction is often the norm upon meeting someone, or something. I worked a calm smile on my undead face and stepped out of the office to make myself available. But Sheyenne yelped a warning. “Beaux! Be careful!”
I was transfixed—not because the Medusa was so hideous, but because the sight was just damned odd. The Medusa had a beautiful curvaceous body in a slinky sequined dress that reminded me of what Sheyenne had once worn as a lounge singer. I may be a zombie, but I’m still a male, so my attention was automatically drawn to the strange woman’s ample cleavage. Before the Medusa could say, “Hey, my eyes are up here!” I saw that she had a brown paper bag covering her entire head.
Two small holes had been cut in the front of the bag so she could see, and seven larger breathing holes had been chewed through various parts of the paper. Hissing and bobbing snakes emerged through those holes, vipers with flicking tongues and long fangs. As the Medusa stood in front of Sheyenne’s desk, the snakes weaved about, looking around. I was reminded of a dog sticking his head out of a car window and lolling his tongue into the breeze.
“I need an attorney,” said the Medusa. “I’m fighting for my rights.”
Words like that automatically attracted my lawyer partner Robin Deyer. As if summoned by a spell, she popped out of her office, trim and professional, ready to get down to business. She wore a fine business suit and carried a yellow legal pad and its accompanying magic pencil, ready to take notes. “We’re happy to help you,” Robin said, then froze next to me as she stared at the new arrival. To her credit, she looked at the Medusa’s bag-covered head first, then let her gaze drop down to the cleavage and the rest of the well-formed body.
“My name is Alexandra, and I’m a Medusa. You’ll have to take my word for it, because if I take this bag off my head, we won’t have much more business together.”
“Please don’t,” Sheyenne said quickly. “Company policy.”
Alexandra adjusted the paper bag, gave the serpents on the top of her head room to move. “Is there someplace we can talk? I need to explain my case.”
Robin and I led her into the conference room. Sheyenne floated after us with the proper intake paperwork. My girlfriend is an excellent receptionist and office manager, but I noticed that in this case she pointedly did not offer coffee, tea, or water for fear that Alexandra might lift up the bag in order to take a drink.
The Medusa was already fuming, having arrived in a pre-pissed-off state, and the snakes in her hair were similarly annoyed. “It’s discrimination, pure and simple,” she snapped, taking one of the conference room chairs, crossing one shapely leg over the other. “And I’m tired of it!” The serpents waved about and spat in agreement. “I’m a beautiful person, even though you can’t see it with your own eyes.”
If her head matched her body, then Alexandra was indeed gorgeous, but I didn’t want to find out for myself. If I turned to stone because I gawked at another woman, Sheyenne would tell me I got what I deserved.
The Medusa continued, “I applied to enter the Miss Unnatural beauty pageant, which is being held in just a few days at the Unnatural Quarter Community Center.” She drummed her exquisitely manicured fingernails on the table. “The contest says: ‘Beauty comes in all forms,’ yet the rules explicitly exclude Medusas from entering. My entire race is forbidden. How is that not discrimination?”
Robin was indignant, as I had known she would be. “It’s clearly not fair, but I’ve never actually been a fan of beauty pageants. They’re exploitative and emphasize the wrong attributes for a successful woman
.”
“The winners do get wonderful sponsorship packages and a scholarship,” Alexandra pointed out. “And I want the validation that I’m beautiful. There’s no reason I should be forbidden from entering.”
A detective’s first weapon is to state the obvious. “It does seem unfair. If they allow werewolves, vampires, zombies, and banshees to enter, why not a Medusa? Didn’t the Big Uneasy change the rules across the world when all the monsters came back? This is another set of rules that needs to be changed.”
Alexandra turned her paper bag toward me, and I quickly averted my eyes, just in case. “Thank you, Mr. Chambeaux.” The fact that she used my actual name rather than calling me “Shamble” earned her more brownie points in my book.
The Medusa leaned across the table, concentrating on Robin. “You don’t see many Medusas out and about, because we have to live in the shadows. We’re shunned. We need to stay hidden, even though we’re contributing members of society. But I’m tired of hiding!” She pounded the table with her fist. “I can’t get my hair done at a salon like everyone else, so I have to do home perms. Do you know how difficult that is, with these snakes in the way all the time?” She batted the top of her head, and the serpents playfully bit her hand but didn’t puncture the skin. “I can’t go out to a bar to find the love of my life. I can’t stop to pick up milk at the grocery store without getting a paper bag like this—and now they’re charging me a nickel a bag unless I bring one of my reusables with me.”
Robin’s rich brown eyes hardened. Once she goes on a crusade for justice, you don’t want to get in her way. “You can’t be discriminated against because of who you are. This problem is much more pervasive than a beauty pageant, but suing the pageant can be a springboard for a larger societal change.”
Alexandra held out her well-manicured hands. “We have to start somewhere. I want to sue the contest officials, force them to change the rules so I can enter. I’m smart and witty and talented. I am beautiful, and I want the world to know it.” Her raspy voice faltered as the emotions welled up inside her. “Can you help me, Ms. Deyer? Please?”
“Absolutely,” Robin said. “This case could generate a lot of negative publicity, and the pageant committee wouldn’t like that. Their sponsors sure wouldn’t. Maybe we can knuckle them under with some strong language and a well-worded threat.”
A sense of pride seemed to flow through her entire body, Alexandra seemed energized and confident. “Thank you! You’ll change my life, and the lives of Medusas everywhere.”
Robin looked down at the words written on her yellow legal pad. “I’ll get on this right away, Alexandra. The pageant is coming up in a few days.”
II
Since the case of the dangerously beautiful Medusa didn’t require the services of a zombie detective, I was free to go out to lunch. Ready for a break, Sheyenne accompanied me to the Ghoul’s Diner. She called it a date.
As a ghost, she doesn’t need to eat and rarely breaks for lunch. Zombies don’t need to eat much either, but I saw lunch as a business opportunity, a place to rub elbows with other monsters and chat up potential clients. When I sat at the diner counter with Sheyenne, I considered it a worthwhile outing, even though the food was always terrible.
Because many monsters are nocturnal, and others have little sense of time (being immortal), there’s no such thing as a lunch rush. Instead, you can always find a random assortment of creatures who come in for their first disappointing experience or, for whatever incomprehensible reason, keep coming back.
Werewolves with trucker hats, zombies who smelled even worse than the food they were eating, and a handful of daring or befuddled humans sat at tables or along the stained counter. On the end stool, an old troll diligently worked on the newspaper’s crossword puzzle, stymied because he wrote in runes rather than a normal alphabet. Esther, the harpy waitress, shrieked at the customers and pointedly demanded they leave at least a twenty percent tip, if they knew what was good for them.
A group of unnatural women in fancy dresses, stiletto heels, and too much makeup sat chatting around two pushed-together tables. I recognized the ladies of the night from the Full Moon brothel having a business lunch. At the head of the table, sitting like a piece of bandage-wrapped driftwood was Neffi, the ancient Egyptian madam who ran the semi-legal brothel with an iron-hard and sinewy hand as well as a real heart of stone. I had been there many times, though not as a customer (Sheyenne made sure of that); Neffi had once hired me as a P.I. and outside security when fighting off some unsavory racketeers who were trying to move in to the Quarter.
As Sheyenne and I pondered the disappointing menu selections, Esther came up from behind the counter with a face that looked as pinched as a finger caught in a doorjamb. She slammed down a bitter cup of coffee, turned around to the shelf under the heat lamps, grabbed whatever plate happened to be available, and clattered it in front of me.
“I know what you’re going to order, Dan Shamble.” She spun to Sheyenne with a vain attempt at a smile. “And what do you need, hon?”
“Just a cup of hot water.” When she smiled, her translucent glow lit up the place. “I like to inhale the vapors.”
“Hot water costs as much as real tea,” Esther warned. “Because of my time and effort.”
I interrupted what was sure to become a contentious lecture. “That’s fine, Esther.”
“You always know how to be a good customer, Shamble.” The waitress flounced off to annoy other customers.
Sheyenne snuggled closer, though I couldn’t feel her ghostly presence. She looked around the crowded diner, listening to the buzz of conversation, the clatter of plates. Back in the kitchen, Albert the ghoul proprietor stumbled around, dripping and leaking bodily fluids into dishes in the sink and pots on the stove. Whatever emerged from the pots ended up on the plates, and the customers knew not to complain. Fortunately, my senses of smell and taste were permanently dulled.
Sheyenne said, “Since our caseload is light, I’ll use the time to catch up on paperwork. A good filing system makes me happy.”
I was glad that I didn’t have to do the filing myself. “It’s one of the many things I love about you, Spooky.”
When I’d first met her, Sheyenne worked as a cocktail waitress and singer at the Basilisk nightclub, until she’d been poisoned to death, and when I tried to investigate the murder, I’d gotten myself killed, too. Fortunately, thanks to all of the changes the Big Uneasy had made in the world, death didn’t mean that our relationship had to end. A zombie and ghost were a bit of an odd couple, I admit, but we made it work.
Sheyenne slowly inhaled the steam that wafted up from her cup of hot water. The lunch special squirmed and burbled on my plate, but I hadn’t dared to touch it yet.
The girls from the Full Moon brothel let out a round of laughter. Considering their good mood, I guessed that Neffi was picking up the lunch tab. They discussed interesting new techniques for various species of customers while Neffi scribbled down suggested price changes. I saw sleek-looking werewolf women, classy vampire ladies, even a cold and well-preserved female zombie who was apparently quite popular during Necrophilia Night. Neffi, though withered and ancient, had been quite a dish in her day, and now she drank large glasses of special herb infusions to rehydrate her desiccated flesh.
The madam made eye contact with me and flashed her exposed teeth. She waved a stick-like hand at me, then rose to amble up to the counter. “Dan Shamble, what a delight to see you! Why haven’t you come to visit us at the Full Moon? We miss you there.” Neffi leaned closer and said seductively, “All the ladies miss you.”
Sheyenne’s aura turned a brighter blue. “He doesn’t need your services. I give him everything he wants.”
“Of course you do, dear.” Neffi patted the beautiful ghost on the stool next to me, but her hand passed right through the intangible form. “Your sweetheart made it perfectly clear that our relationship is strictly business, nothing romantic or sexual.” She cackled. “I keep tellin
g him what he’s missing, but he doesn’t believe me.”
At the table, the other unnatural ladies waved and made flirtatious smiles. Cinnamon, the ginger-furred werewolf blew me a kiss with her muzzle. Fortunately, the embalming fluid keeps my skin at a monotone so Sheyenne didn’t see me flush in embarrassment.
“We’re at a business lunch to discuss our caseload,” I said.
Neffi clucked her wood-dry tongue against her ivory teeth. “I wanted to drop some business your way.” She leaned closer. “It’s about the competition, and I don’t like it one bit.”
I was surprised to hear about another brothel in the Quarter. “The Full Moon has competition?”
“Oh, not another brothel.” Neffi rattled out a sound of disgust. “The Internet. A new unnaturals-only dating service just launched, and it’s extremely successful. You may have heard of it: Monster Match.”
I remembered their jingles from the radio. Monster Match was a special service for Very Lonely Hearts, where unnaturals of all kinds could connect with compatible personalities and biological types. “Sounds perfectly legitimate. It’s just a dating service.”
“Just a dating service!” Neffi repeated with a huff. Her bones rattled and creaked within her dried wrappings. “The Full Moon is the obvious and legitimate place for horny unnaturals. Why do they need to sign up for a dating service?”
“Maybe they’re actually lonely and looking for a soulmate?” Sheyenne suggested.
“That’s what we offer! Soulmates by the hour. What could be more economical?”
Before the conversation could escalate, I raised a hand. “I can look into them, Neffi, but there’s probably nothing I can do if Monster Match is a legal business.”
The mummy madam sulked. “You’re sure there’s no way you can go break some kneecaps?”
“I’m pretty sure broken kneecaps are out of the question.”
Neffi sighed. “Do what you can. We’ll pay your regular rate … or we can work out a trade if you stop off at the Full Moon.” She cackled, and the girls at the table all waved at me again.
Services Rendered: The Cases of Dan Shamble, Zombie Page 16