Grilled Cheese and Goblins

by Nicole Kimberling

  Gunther complied and took a few minutes to read through the details of Keith’s recent bust.

  “So although the meat that these people had been eating was goblin sourced, the diners were all human?” Gunther finally asked.

  “It surprised us too, but then after we reviewed their supper club, we realized that the same sort of people whose demand fueled the mermaid-flesh trade were branching out into this chic cannibalism. They were foodies gone very wrong.”

  “This is the case you were mentioning at the Flapjack Shack, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is. Bauer & Bullock is owned lock, stock and barrel by Cindy Bullock, now Trent’s ex-wife, since he went into Beaumont,” Keith said.

  “According to the file, Beaumont was just a stopover on his trip to the goblin high king’s summer solstice table.”

  “As the main course, yeah,” Keith said. “The wife was in Argentina researching sources for her new restaurant venture for the entire duration of my investigation. We had our South American counterparts monitor her movements while she was in their country, but her exploits were purely beef or beefcake related. We couldn’t nail her on anything.”

  “Okay, so Bullock’s widow is here slinging steaks. And?” Gunther asked.

  “And it occurred to me that there are a few things we don’t know about this case.”

  “Such as, everything?” Gunther gave a derisive snort.

  “Such as: Where does the butchering take place?”

  Gunther shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure anybody would risk the sentence for cannibalism if they actually knew the law, and I’m fairly certain that Cindy Bullock is familiar with it.”

  “I’d like to say that I agree with you, but when it comes to carnal pleasures like food, people will risk anything. Trust me on this. I want to question Cindy and take a look around the restaurant kitchen if I can. Even if she isn’t involved in these murders, I guarantee that she is still in contact with at least a few of her old cronies.” Keith drained his coffee and stood to get himself another cup.

  “All right, but apart from the Dallas connection, do we have any reason to question the Bullock woman?”

  “At least three ex-employees have called her a bloodsucker and a harpy,” Keith offered.

  “Do we have any hard evidence of either of those?”

  “No, and it’s pretty common for an ex-employee to call their boss a bloodsucker.”

  “That is a very tenuous connection. I don’t think any judge, even one who was in the NIAD loop, would issue a search warrant based on accusations of harpydom,” Gunther remarked.

  “I realize that, but I don’t see any reason not to see if we can shake something out of her,” Keith said. “We’ll hit her place on the way back from the vampires. Did the lab happen to know anything about what methotrexate is used for aside from arthritis?”

  “It’s a very strong antimetabolite with potentially fatal side effects taken by people to treat cancer, rheumatoid arthritis,psoriasis—things like that. It’s a human drug with no known magical applications.” Gunther paused, musing before he continued, “Maybe the victim was taking it. We could have a look at missing persons to see if any of them had a prescription for methotrexate. At least that way we might be able to identify one of the three unknown deceased, if nothing else.”

  “Can you do that in the car on the way to visit the vampires or would you like to stay back here?”

  “My phone is mighty,” Gunther said. “And I wouldn’t want to send you off to visit vampires on your own.”

  “I’m twice as likely to be eaten by a shark as a vampire.”

  “While that is true, I’ll just tag along anyway. After all, it only takes running across the right hungry individual and suddenly you find yourself contemplating lunch from the perspective of a hamburger.”

  “How do you know the vampire wouldn’t just gobble you up as well?”

  “I have it on the highest authority that vampires hate the taste of trans-goblin body fluids.”

  “Whose authority would that be?”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Gunther said simply.

  Keith gaped, unable to mask his sense of revulsion. Keith had once, like most teenagers, found vampires sexy. And why not? Films portrayed them, generally, as hot young people in leather. The true form of the vampire was more Nosferatu, less model-turned-actor. To Keith they resembled humanoid hagfish. Because of the necessity of hiding their extra-human nature from the population, all registered vampires wore glamours to disguise their pale, pointy faces and hide their bulbous eyes and round, jawless mouths.

  The idea that Gunther had managed to have sex with one both fascinated and revolted him. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure I’m liberal enough to have a romance like that.”

  “You mean because of his true physical appearance?” Gunther asked.

  “Right.” That, Keith thought, and the fact that you qualify as a main course to him. Aloud he said, “Did you ever see it?”

  “Yes, of course. But not often. He was self-conscious about his appearance, but it would have been shallow of me to insist he always disguise himself.”

  Shallow? Keith supposed so, but it might also be considered crucial by anyone who was made nervous by the prospect of sticking his dick into the mouth of a creature with more than a hundred and fifty razor-sharp teeth.

  Gunther must have seen the skepticism on his face because he said, “I enjoy dating challenging men.”

  “Why did you break up?”

  “He insisted on polyamory,” Gunther answered. “That and he kept wanting me to call him ‘master.’ Ultimately, I was not that interested in pursuing a vampire-style relationship. Too hierarchical for me.”

  Chapter Five

  The three registered vampires living in the Willamette Valley ran a business called Azalea Point Creamery. They produced goat-milk artisan cheeses sourced from their own humanely pastured herd. As Keith’s rented sedan moved up the long, tree-lined drive, Keith’s proximity alert buzzed. Blinking green nine.

  Keith shut it off. Gunther glanced up from his phone.

  “These individuals have no priors,” he stated.

  “I know. Procedure says I have to interview them, though, so here we are.”

  “What’s your feeling?”

  “My gut says they don’t have anything to do with it, but rules is rules, and I’ve got to interview them anyway since evidence of exsanguination has been found.” Keith pulled up alongside a long, corrugated tin goat shed. Three farmhands were at work there, forking hay and soiled wood chips out of the shed. The goats seemed to be out back in an enclosure. He wondered if the farmhands knew about their employers’ true nature. Most likely not.

  Keith put the car in park. “Do you ever wonder why these guys come here?”

  “The vampires?” Gunther kept his voice low. “Probably the same reason as everybody else. They want the chance for a better life.”

  “I suppose so. It just seems like a lot to have to put up with—concealing your physical form, having agents routinely hassle you.”

  Gunther shrugged. “It depends on what they had to put up with in their own realm, I guess.”

  Keith casually unsnapped the holster of his mage pistol and said, “Well, I guess we should go wake them up.”

  The farmhands watched but did not intervene as the two of them walked to the front door and rang the bell. There came the slight whirring noise of the camera mounted above the door focusing and a groggy male voice on the intercom said, “Can I help you?”

  “Joe Sounder?”

  “Yes?”

  “NIAD. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Keith held up his ID and the door popped open. They entered a small enclosed porch thickly hung with blackout curtains. Overhead lights switched on automatically. Gunther closed the door behind them. From a speaker somewhere above, Joe said, “Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right up.”

  Keith walked into the living room, which, apart from
the blackout curtains, looked perfectly normal. He took a seat on the overstuffed beige couch. Gunther remained standing, apparently performing a survey of the numerous photographs of goats hung on the walls.

  Joe appeared shortly thereafter. For his glamour he’d chosen the form of a fit, if slightly weathered, middle-aged man. His soft brown hair was rumpled, but attractively so. He wore a blue bathrobe over a set of striped flannel pajamas.

  Keith introduced himself and Gunther.

  Joe nodded, stretched and scratched his head. “I was wondering when you fellows would be coming around. You want to ask me if I know anything about the Cannibal Killings, right?”

  “Just a routine inquiry,” Keith assured him. He glanced down at his black book. Joe was listed as having two concubines. “Are Julie and Janice also still residing at this address?”

  “Janice is visiting one of her friends in Boise. Julie is still asleep downstairs, but I can wake her if you’d like.” Joe started back toward the hallway.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary at the moment,” Keith said. “Have you heard anything about the killings?”

  “Just what’s been on the news. We don’t get into town much.” As Joe sat down, the cuff of his pajamas rose up to expose Joe’s ankle and reveal the plastic tracking device all registered vampires wore. Keith noted it. “I guess I just assumed it was goblins. They’ve been coming around here looking for meat for the summer solstice. I told them I don’t raise meat goats.”

  “Do you know anything about this?” Keith displayed the Theater of Blood Carnival Circus flyer.

  Joe shook his head and shrugged. “Looks like some kids playing monster to me.”

  “Tell me a little more about the goblins who came looking for meat,” Gunther said. He stood with his hands in his coat pockets, looking genial and harmless. Clearly his interrogation technique was based on gaining trust rather than inspiring fear—just the opposite of Keith’s.

  “Every year we get inquiries. Mostly over the phone, but sometimes guys will come out here to the dairy right before solstice hoping to make a last-minute deal,” Sounder said, chuckling. “They’re the same kind of guys who shop for all their gifts on Christmas Eve, you know?”

  Gunther nodded. “Some things are universal constants.”

  Keith scowled slightly. He was himself one of those eleventh-hour shoppers.

  Sounder cocked his head to one side, thinking. “There were three of them who came around just recently though. Young guys. I thought it was strange, them being so young.”

  Gunther nodded, then pulled out his phone and, after a few moments, turned the screen toward Sounder. “Is this one of the guys who came by?”

  Keith didn’t know why he was surprised to see Lancelot’s face smiling out of Gunther’s phone. He had been just about to show Sounder a photo of Lancelot himself. He shouldn’t have supposed that Gunther would be a less thorough investigator than himself, but somehow he had.

  He supposed he did still have some issues with goblins after all, if his unconscious assumption was that because of his race, Gunther wouldn’t pursue all avenues of inquiry impartially.

  The thought sobered Keith. He hadn’t considered himself to contain the capacity for bigotry.

  Sounder peered at Lancelot’s picture carefully, squinting slightly against the backlit screen.

  “Yeah, he was one of them,” Sounder replied. “Seemed like a little bit of a kook.”

  “Can you remember exactly what he said when he came?” Keith leaned slightly forward, keen to catch the inferences of Sounder’s delivery. Glamours made reading body language difficult, but the sound of a person’s voice often communicated information the glamour erased.

  “Well, let’s see . . . They asked how much it would cost for two whole goats. I told them that we didn’t sell meat goats, like I told you. And then the kooky one wanted to know if I ever heard of any vampires who drank blood on stage.”

  “On stage?” Gunther gave Keith a sidelong look.

  Sounder nodded. “It was a really strange question. That’s why I remember it.”

  “It does seem somewhat random,” Keith remarked. “Why do you think he wanted to know?”

  “I have no idea,” Sounder said.

  “What did you tell him?” Gunther asked.

  “I told him that only an idiot would risk a run-in with NIAD over something like that, and I don’t associate with idiots.” Sounder shifted on the sofa and stifled a yawn. “Not if I can help it, anyway.”

  “And then?” Keith prompted.

  “Then they left,” Sounder said. He flashed a faint smile. “I think they might have been offended.”

  During the drive back to Portland, neither he nor Gunther spoke too much. Keith was sunk in his own thoughts. Interviewing the vampires, which had seemed to him to be borderline harassment at first, had yielded a piece of information after all. Goblins had been there looking for meat. The arrows were all lining up and all confirming Keith’s original suspicions.

  He supposed Gunther’s silence could also be attributed to this information.

  They made good time and got into the city and to the Bauer & Bullock Steakhouse right in the thick of the dinner service.

  Stepping into the dining room, Keith was struck by both the smell—searing flesh—and the decor—the predictable, yet still imposing combination of dark wooden paneling, leather and massive proportions. The whole place looked like a supersized fantasy of an old-time gentlemen’s club. Even the silverware was slightly too large.

  Keith made his way to the host station, where he very discreetly flashed his badge at a fragile-looking young host and asked to see the manager. It would do no good to antagonize the staff, especially if this turned out to be a dead end.

  The busboy disappeared upstairs, only to return a few seconds later, Cindy Bullock in tow.

  Bullock was a skinny, stylish woman with kinky blond hair and long, bony arms on which she wore a multitude of designer bangles. She took one look at Keith, crossed her arms, and said, “Agent Curry,” by way of greeting.

  “Hello, Ms. Bullock,” Keith returned, undeterred. “This is my associate, Gunther Heartman. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About?”

  “About your meat supplier,” Keith said. “Who might that be?”

  Cindy’s expression darkened. “We serve grass-fed organic beef sourced from USDA-certified local ranchers. You can read all about them on our menu. Additional information can be found on the website.”

  Keith jotted down the address of the website in his black book, though he already had it. He wrote slowly and precisely. He wanted Cindy to squirm a little. She clenched her hands. The large rings on her fingers glittered.

  “You have a really impressive selection of whiskeys,” Gunther commented.

  Cindy’s initial bright response at being complimented dimmed with suspicion. “Yes, we have a discerning clientele.”

  “Do you do much catering?” Keith swept in with another question.

  “A fair amount,” Cindy replied.

  “So you’ve got, what? Three jobs a week?” Keith asked.

  “I’d have to look at my calendar. It’s upstairs in the office if you’d like to follow me.”

  “Actually, what I’d really like to take a look at is your kitchen.” Keith started for the kitchen door. Cindy rushed ahead of him.

  “I’d really rather you didn’t go back right now, Agent Curry. You know we’re right in the middle of dinner service. If you could just wait—”

  “Oh, I won’t get underfoot,” Keith said. “I’ve been a chef. I know how to keep out of the way.”

  Cindy placed herself between him and the kitchen door. She flung her arms out, bracelets jangling, ringed fingers flashing. “I must insist, Agent Curry. You have no right to go back there. This is my place. You have no right!”

  A dishwasher who had been rounding the corner carrying a rack of clean plates stopped, reflexively backtracking at the si
ght of Cindy in what looked like full rage.

  Keith’s lip curled in disgust. Why was it that the completely insane gravitated so heavily into the hospitality industry? “Listen, ma’am, I can go get a warrant if you want, but I assume you that you don’t want me coming in here during dinner service with a bunch of uniformed officers, right?”

  “Are you threatening me?” Cindy lunged forward, skinny body flexing like a viper preparing to strike. “I know why you are harassing me.”

  “Neither Agent Heartman nor myself is attempting to harass you. All we’d like to do is have a look at where you do your butchering. That’s all.” Keith kept his tone calm, businesslike. “We can go get a warrant if you like, but all I need to do is look at your product.”

  “Well, you can’t.” Cindy crossed her arms, raising her chin triumphantly. “I won’t let you because I don’t have to and you know it.”

  Keith shrugged. “If that’s the way you want to play it, ma’am, then we will. I’ll be back with a warrant, a health inspector and a representative from the state liquor board. I might bring an auditor just to get it all over with at once.” He turned and started toward the door. He needed to get out of this joint anyway. The smell of chargrilled meat was beginning to seriously nauseate him. He saw a slight motion out of the corner of his eye.

  “Son of a bitch!” With a jangle of expensive bangles, Bullock smashed her fist directly into his jaw. He staggered back a step, pain exploding through the side of his face. In a moment, Gunther had caught her right arm, but she still lashed out with her left, raking her nails across his neck.

  “That is really uncalled for, ma’am,” Gunther said, tightly twisting her arm around her back and slapping one handcuff on. He caught hold of her left hand and managed to get it in the other cuff, but Bullock bolted. Keith stuck out a foot and hooked her ankle. She went down, screaming and cursing, on the damp tiled floor. Gunther wasted no time; he cuffed her ankles, then brought them up and hogtied her.

  The kitchen had gone silent as the whole crew gaped at the scene. The dishwasher seemed to be working hard to suppress a smile.