Golem in My Glovebox

by R. L. Naquin

  I’d gone in earlier and bought a souvenir book in the gift shop so I’d have a bag with the name of the museum on it. We sat on a bench out front eating ice cream and swinging our legs, oohing over pictures of the Dog-faced Boy and the city of Venice recreated out of toothpicks. We were tourists interested in the strange and unusual.

  We’d baited the trap. Now all we could do was wait.

  It didn’t take long.

  A woman in a spangled cowgirl outfit and the reddest, most sparkling lips I’d ever seen sat on the bench next to us. Her rhinestone hat was tall, but when she took it off and laid it across her lap, I could see her black, shiny hair was teased even taller.

  She let out a deep, dramatic sigh and leaned against the bench.

  “You folks don’t mind if I take up a teeny piece of your bench for a minute, do you?”

  “Not at all,” Riley said. “You look like you need a break.”

  She fanned herself with the hat, though I didn’t think it was that hot outside. Mind you, that could have been because I was eating ice cream at eleven in the morning.

  The woman sat up straighter and smoothed the tassels on her jacket. “Did you just come out of there?” She tipped her head toward the museum.

  I held up the book clutched in one hand. “It was amazing.”

  She nodded, and her tall hair bobbled on her head. “Branson’s got a lot of unbelievable things to offer.”

  Riley grinned. “We’re hitting the wax museum next.”

  The woman’s painted brows dipped. “I suppose that’s fun. It’s not real, of course. Just a bunch of wax figures. But the tourists like it.”

  I shrugged. “What would you suggest?”

  Careful, Zoey. Don’t scare her off.

  “Well, I do have a good friend who has some gorgeous vacation homes right on the path of...” She stopped and looked around, then gave us each a long, hard look. “You probably wouldn’t be interested.”

  Good Lord. How hard is it to get scammed in this town? Do I have to come right out and beg for it?

  Riley pretended to give a nervous glance at a man walking by, then spoke in a hushed voice. “We might be interested.”

  The woman drew closer to us, and from out of nowhere, handed us a business card from between her shiny red talons. “Here. What are your names?”

  Riley didn’t hesitate. “Riley and Zoey McGillicutty.” He took the card.

  I tried not to give him the side-eye. Riley’s last name was Banks. I had no idea where he got McGillicutty.

  “I’m Rosie,” she said, and pulled out her phone. “I’ll just give my friend a call and let him know you’re on your way. Oh, you’re going to love these houses. They’re so pretty. And we need gorgeous, happy couples like you in the neighborhood. You’ll fit right in! But that’s not all. I can’t tell you what the secret surprise is, but since I know you two are such fans of the unusual and different, I know you’re going to love it.”

  Chocolate dripped down the side of my cone and over my knuckles. I’d been paying more attention to the show she was giving us than to the melting ice cream in my hand. I was sure her sparkling lipstick had hypnotic qualities. I couldn’t look away. Her lips were identical to Dorothy’s ruby slippers. That much glitter before lunchtime should have been against the law.

  Glitter Cowgirl Barbie tapped the display on her phone and put it against her ear. “Hey, sugar. It’s Rosie. I’ve got some new friends who would love to come over and chat with you about the opportunities you have to offer.”

  I didn’t recall either of us agreeing to such a thing, but it was what we were there for, so I offered a nervous smile when she grinned at me, and I didn’t object. Riley, having his own trouble with drippy ice cream, took both our cones to a nearby trashcan and dumped them.

  When she smiled, Rosie’s teeth were all the whiter for being nestled between ruby lips that flashed in the sunlight. “No, no, I didn’t tell them. I thought you’d want to share the surprise, Brian. Absolutely. All right, hun. I’ll send them right over.”

  She ended the call and beamed at us. “He can’t wait to meet you! You’re going to love this. Now, where’s your car parked? I want to make sure I give you good directions. You’ll want to get right out there while he’s got a spot for you between appointments.”

  Had we been typical tourists, completely unaware of what was going on, I suspect we still would have landed in the vacation ownership office ten minutes later. She didn’t give us time to think. One minute, we were enjoying our vacation, the next, we were off to see a man about a mysterious something—clueless, disoriented, and feeling foolish.

  Except that we weren’t typical tourists. We were playing a part in order to get into the office. We were playing the player. Scamming the scammer. Getting ready to drop the hammer on some asshole exploiting the Hidden. Or humans. That much we didn’t know for sure, yet. I felt like we were Boris and Natasha.

  In the car, I got excited by the whole espionage thing. “I wish I had Kam’s cool leather outfit. Can we talk in Russian accents?” I licked the back of my hand to get some of the sticky off of it.

  “You need to get out more.” Riley rolled his eyes and looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Is that our turn coming up?”

  I checked the notes Rosie had written down. “Yes. On the right.”

  We pulled into the parking lot of a large building and walked in through the entrance. The room was tastefully decorated with leather chairs, teak end tables, and a big-screen television hanging on the wall running a loop of commercials for various shows in town. A receptionist greeted us, took our names, and asked us to have a seat.

  Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. People came and went. Every few minutes, the receptionist caught me looking at the clock behind her head and apologized for the wait.

  At the thirty-minute mark, Riley stood up. “It’s been a half hour.” He directed his words at me, but in a loud enough voice to catch the receptionist’s attention. “I think we should just go.”

  “Oh, wait!” She rose, flapping her arm at us, at the same time pressing the phone to her ear and mumbling into the handset. Thirty seconds later, a door opened, and a short man with red hair and freckles introduced himself with the unlikely name of Boudreaux O’Brian.

  Judging by his height of approximately five feet, his red hair, obviously Irish surname and, most of all, the familiar gold shamrock pinned to the lapel of his jacket, I had no doubt whatsoever that we had our scam artist.

  “Sonofabitch,” I said under my breath.

  Boudreaux O’Brian was a leprechaun.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’d dealt with leprechauns before. Nasty little thugs who preyed on people they thought were weak and vulnerable. They’d thought I fell into that category, and I made them sorry. I also took all their magical gold shamrocks and kicked their greedy asses out of my town.

  I hated the idea that I was using racial profiling on Boudreaux O’Brian, but we already knew he was up to something. The fact that he was a leprechaun reinforced the stereotype.

  Maybe someday I’d meet a leprechaun who wasn’t a total dick.

  “Mr. and Mrs. McGillicutty!” he said, grinning like a shark. “Have you been waiting long? How long are you in town? Are you enjoying your stay here? Seen any shows yet? Why don’t you follow me?”

  He gave us no time to answer any of his questions, and we followed down a long hallway like a pair of docile dairy cows off to be milked.

  The quiet waiting room and hallway gave us no warning for what awaited us. The hall dumped into an enormous room filled with tables and chairs, more than half of which had people like us held spellbound by salesmen like Boudreaux.

  I’d been under the impression that the problem was one guy making extra cash on the side at the expense of the Hidden communit
y. This was not the case.

  Not a single salesman in the room was over five feet tall. They had a wide variety of hair and eye colors, and their features were all different. Fat, thin, old, young, glasses, beards, even one with an eye patch—their short stature was the only thing they had in common.

  That and the expensive suits and gold shamrock pins.

  Oh, come on. Who did I piss off to get these guys again?

  I rubbed my forehead with the tips of my fingers to ease the growing tension. Riley gave me a sideways glance. He wasn’t happy either. We had to continue to play the part of regular, unaware humans until we could find out what the scam was here, then get the O.G.R.E. squad back together to take down the leprechaun ring.

  Simple, right?

  What followed was the most mind-numbing experience of my life.

  Pretty pictures of pretty places and pretty people. Graphs. Charts. Enthusiastic gestures.

  At one point, to my utter confusion, Boudreaux—call me “Bud”—went off on a tangent about what monsters his two kids were in public. Maybe he intended to make himself more accessible. More like us. But he’d already asked us if we had kids, and we’d said no. So, this tactic was either part of the script, or a slip in character.

  Had someone asked, I’d have said very few people, if any, fell for this spiel. Unless a person was specifically in the market for a vacation timeshare, what were the odds they could be convinced to sign after being scooped up from the street, made to wait, then forced to listen to an overenthusiastic speech on how this timeshare was different. This timeshare was vacation ownership. This opportunity was once in a lifetime and would enrich our entire existence forever.

  And yet, every few minutes a cork popped from a champagne bottle and the room erupted in applause. Several wine refrigerators stood waiting, fully stocked with more champagne in expectation of the hundreds of people a day who would say yes.

  I was appalled.

  I was also aware that the success rate of the salesmen was suspiciously lucky and, more than once, I caught sight of a leprechaun stroking a finger across his magical gold shamrock shortly before the sound of a popping cork.

  After two hours—which included a private showing of a video featuring more pretty people in pretty places—I thought we had to be about done. And yet, there was no word of Bigfoot or any other illegal mention of the Hidden. We’d received nothing but the standard salesman douchebaggery.

  My ass hurt from the hard chairs, I had to pee, and we had nothing on this guy or his operation. I considered bitch slapping him, just because.

  “I know you’re getting tired,” he said, as we came out of the media room blinking in the sudden overhead lights. “We’re almost done, I swear. Now comes the best part!”

  A cork popped and, weary and worn down, I automatically clapped my hands.

  We followed Bud back to our table, but instead of sitting down, he grabbed his briefcase. “Now I get to show you the property. You’re going to love it! The neighborhood I have in mind for you has loads of special features you have to see to believe.”

  Oh, please let the special features be Bigfoot. If this turns out to be a regular, garden-variety scam, I’m going to be so pissed.

  Bud drove us a few miles from the sales center to a pleasant, clean neighborhood of small two-story houses, all identical except for the exterior paint.

  “Every house is the same, with all the same furniture and decorations,” he said. “That way, whenever you come stay, it won’t matter which house you get. It’ll always be familiar and feel like home.”

  There was some logic to that. And the houses were pretty little things. I shook my head to clear it. Before long, I’d be writing this guy a check if I wasn’t careful.

  He led us inside, and Riley took off for the upstairs bathroom, while I made a beeline for the one in the downstairs master bedroom. We didn’t even ask first, so I hoped this wasn’t a model house with no real plumbing.

  The house was nice. And fully stocked with everything we could possibly need at a home away from home. Nothing spectacular, mind you, but it did have toilet paper, so I was pleased.

  Riley and I made it back to the high-ceilinged living room, welcomed by Bud’s wide grin.

  “Well? What do you think?” He seemed to expect us to jump up and down, clap our hands in excitement, and beg to be allowed our 1/50th ownership in such a spectacular piece of property.

  Riley shrugged. “It’s not bad. Sort of small.”

  Bud’s smile wavered.

  I moved to the window. “The view’s not as impressive as I thought it would be.”

  Bud’s renewed grin reflected in the window in front of me. “Of course, there are lots of homes to choose from, and when you make your reservations, you can request a certain area.” He paused, and I turned to face him. He lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I haven’t shown you the best part yet.”

  Riley and I exchanged a look. “There’s more?” I asked. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to look bored.

  He nodded. “Only for a few special owners. Come with me.”

  We piled back in his car and drove to the other side of the neighborhood where the houses butted against an overgrown wilderness of trees, vines and scrubby bushes.

  Without a word, Bud led us into a house and up the stairs. He handed us each a pair of binoculars and pointed our view to a specific area.

  I had to scan the area for a minute, but then I caught it. Over the trees and into a clearing, a Bigfoot family went about their day. Two hairy adults moved logs, leaves and rocks, as if tidying up. Three small children played in the center. The entire family seemed oblivious to their visibility.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “Ah, so you see them,” Bud said. “That right there is a feature you won’t find in any other vacation ownership opportunity.”

  “Is that Bigfoot?” Riley asked.

  “Indeed it is.” Bud patted us both on the shoulder. “Of course, the price goes up a notch for the privilege of being this close to something so remarkable, but I think you’ll agree, it’s well worth it.”

  And there it was. Three hours of bullshit later and we finally had what we came for. Timeshare salesmen in general were shady. Leprechauns, especially lately, were worse. A leprechaun timeshare operation that preyed on humans and exposed a family of Hidden was the bottom of the scumbucket.

  “I think we’re ready to go back,” Riley said.

  I nodded. “We’ve seen enough to proceed.”

  Bud beamed with excitement. “Wonderful! We’ll go back and get you all signed up!”

  I almost felt bad for him. He really thought he’d made a sale.

  When we settled back into the sales center at the same table we’d had before, Bud pulled out the paperwork and started to go over pricing with us.

  “Bud, my friend,” Riley said, his gray eyes serious. “I know how this works, so we’re going to fast forward through the bullshit. If I tell you no, you’ll call your boss over to make us a better offer, am I right?”

  Bud shuffled the papers in his hands and nodded. “Well, yes. But I think we can—”

  Riley shook his head. “No, Bud, I don’t think we can. Why don’t you call him over.”

  He sighed. “Carlos!” he yelled. “Hey, Carlos! Come on over for a minute.”

  Another leprechaun, a few inches shorter than Bud and with blond hair strode over. “How can I help?” He took the paperwork and eyed it while running a stubby finger over the gold shamrock pinned to his lapel. “I think I can make this an easy decision for you. I’m prepared to knock down the price—”

  Riley brushed his fingers over the dark gem in his ring to summon power, then leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a soft but terrifying voice. “I think we’d better go to your o
ffice, Carlos.”

  Both leprechauns sucked in their breaths. “Reaper,” Bud whispered. “I didn’t know.” He looked at me and gave me a once-over, I suppose to see if I was a reaper, too. He started to dismiss me and look away when his face went pale and he froze. “You said your name is Zoey.”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  “The last name isn’t McGillicutty, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re with a reaper.”

  “Yep.”

  By this time, Carlos had drawn the same conclusion that Bud had. “Holy Mother of All, you’re the Aegis. The one that chased off the Sacramento branch of the family.”

  I smiled even brighter. “Shall we go to your office, Carlos?”

  Finally this whole celebrity thing is paying off. Go me! Maybe they’ll want an autograph, too. Probably not.

  The poor man shook through most of our short discussion. As if a reaper and—apparently—a scary Aegis weren’t enough, the knowledge that the local O.G.R.E. squad would be back on the job in the next day or two sent them all running.

  For such a large operation, they packed it up with astonishing speed and efficiency once we came out of Carlos’s office.

  I had no idea how many people lost money on the scam, and frankly, I had far too much on my plate to try to sort through it all and get the money back for everyone involved.

  We’d kept the Covenant safe for today.

  Let the Board deal with the rest.

  We went back to the hotel, exhausted, pissed off, and starving. Maurice hadn’t come back, so we were on our own for dinner. Room service sounded divine. I’d had enough of the whirring colors and bright lights of Branson.

  A knock on the door came as I was hanging up the phone. Too soon to be room service. I raised an eyebrow at Riley, and he went to answer it.

  I was ashamed to admit it, but I hadn’t noticed Gris wasn’t around when we came back.