The less Harry knew about this, the better off Harry was. He’d done all right for a green kid, but they’d had craptons of luck on their side. The playboy would be no match even for one of The Suit’s underlings, much less whoever had been pulling The Suit’s strings. All the same, he’d come through for them. When Harry thought he was being sold out so that Jim and Fred could save their own hides, he was actually being taken to meet the still-alive-and-pissed-off Humph so that they could make a switch. Humph impersonating Harry would give him enough time to get back to his mother; with her seeing him alive and hearing the story straight from him, they figured that she could pull some strings and maybe get them out of the jam. Mrs. Somerfield had, and then some. Humph could only guess how. It could be that renegade lab massacring Furs wasn’t the only time the firm had done business with the government. Or it could be Mrs. Somerfield just happened to have some powerful pals. You never know when an old college friend is going to come in handy.
After Humph had given the hard goodbye to the lead goon, he had made his way back to the stage where the bulk of the fighting had taken place. By the time he got back, everything was just about said and done; Fred was back to Norm and wrapped in a blanket due to his clothes being shredded. Jim was doing his best deaf-mute impression next to Fred, pretending to only respond to Fred’s voice like a real bot would. None of the goons were alive; between Fred, Jim, and the late arrivals, not a single one of them had made it. Humph suspected that the “cops” had performed a few executions when no one was looking. He had taken a chance and talked to the one who seemed to be in charge. The Boggart had dealt with all sorts of law enforcement over the years, for various reasons. One thing he was sure of was that that guy was not a cop. On the other hand, Fred hadn’t been the only Fur on the ground in that crew, every one of those aircars had a moonspot and there had been at least four others in the wrecking crew besides Fred. So at least they were Para-friendly. When he hazarded asking the Norm who he worked for, the man only smiled sadly and said, “You wouldn’t have heard of us.”
After that, everything went as Humph had expected. Everyone was told to shut up, and forget ever being there. The warrant for Humph’s arrest was dropped, and everything was swept under the rug. Fred was not happy about it at all, and understandably so. Humph had been able to talk him out of going public with info of what went down. From what Jim had been able to piece together after the fact, once the office was back in working order, it was some sort of rogue chapter of government that was carrying out someone’s pet project. Mr. Bevins had brokered the deal, using his influence to set up the lab using Somerfield Botanicals as a front. He’d also been the one to discover that Harry was embezzling, and things had spiraled out of control from there. Bevins was still missing, so far as any of them knew; scooped up by the “good” government guys, on the run, or dead. None of them particularly cared at that point; they were too tired. Beyond that they knew nothing, and frankly they were fine with that. Digging any deeper would’ve probably brought the same sort of trouble back down on their heads, only this time they wouldn’t have as good of a chance of coming out alive. They’d been assured by the Norm in charge of the strike team that “those parties responsible will be dealt with,” and his tone left no room for interpreting how final it would be.
Harry had come by the office this last time to see how everything looked; at his insistence, he’d had his mother pay to help BB&B set up shop again. After all, it was the least she could do for saving her darling baby boy, and so on, yada yada yada. She wasn’t particularly enthused when she heard about the exploits that Humph had put her son through, but she had acquiesced in the end. Harry was looking like his old self, save for the fact that he wasn’t falling down drunk now. Something had changed in him during their time on the run; Humph definitely liked the new Harry. He was maybe half an idiot, but he wasn’t the stuck up and annoying rich boy he had been.
“Boggart…why in hell did you let a gorgeous gal like Lori walk out thinking you were dead?” he finally blurted, proving that he was at least still half an idiot. “She was crazy about you!”
Fred cleared his throat and Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat; both of them were looking intently into their drinks—Jim’s only being for show and politeness, of course—too embarrassed to correct Harry. Humph was quiet for a long while, finally sighing and finishing his drink before he spoke.
“I could cop out and say that I wanted to keep her safe. But that’d only be half the answer, Harry.” Humph held out his glass; dutifully, Harry refilled it, keeping his eyes on Humph, interested in what he was going to say. “The bottom line is, her and me, it’d never work. Guys like me are always stepping in the shit, riding the ragged edge and coming away bloody. Dames like her…they move up, and get what they want. Can’t have two ends of a rope pulling in different directions, Harry; the rope snaps, eventually.” Humph sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince the others.
“Well, that might be so.” Harry thought for a few moments. “But she wanted you.”
Humph laughed, mirthlessly. “Yeah, but I was never Mister Right. Only Mister Right Now. You live as long as I have, you finally figure that out.”
It was Harry’s turn to finish his drink; he set the glass down, hard, after he was done. “I think you’re wrong, Humph. Even the Boggart has to let himself be happy once in a while.”
Fred looked ostentatiously at his watch. “Harry, we gotta leave now if we’re gonna get you to that fancy soiree. Traffic around that art gallery is gonna be murder.”
Harry grumbled something about being forced into being respectable and the company face-man, but Humph could tell he wasn’t all that displeased. A word with Mummy Dear about how keeping the kid on a short leash with no responsibilities was ruining him seemed to have done some good.
“Go on, you two. Make sure you’re seen-but-not-seen. We can use more bodyguarding gigs.” Humph waved them off, and the three departed with relief on both sides of the conversation. Fred flicked the lights off, leaving only the single light that hung over Humph’s desk on.
Humph opened his desk drawer and pulled out one of the earrings Lori had worn onstage for her singing gig at Paulie’s club. It was just costume jewelry, not expensive. She’d lost it, hooked into his jacket during the brawl and their flight from the bar. He’d meant to return it.…
He stared at it for a very long time.
He still could.…
Then he jumped as the phone rang. “Boggart, Barkes, and Bot,” he answered, and listened for a moment. “Yeah, we can do that job.…”
He poured another scotch and lit up a stogie. The smoke curled around the room, a single shaft of light from the overhead lamp playing through the swirls. “…for the right price.”
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Reboots: Diabolical Streak Page 15