by Linda Wisdom
Irma sulked for a moment more then looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “That revolting smell is getting worse.”
Jazz had double-bagged the clothing and sprayed the exterior with an odor killing spray, but apparently it hadn’t helped if the stench threatened to overpower even her ghostly passenger. “Never mind, it’ll be gone shortly,” she said. At least she hoped, she amended; because the reek was rapidly endangering her own sense of smell.
The T-Bird shot forward. She vowed the first thing she’d do with her Foulshadow pay was to buy another leather bustier and coat to replace the ones she’d had to throw away. Her boobs had never looked better than in that sexy top and the coat was just plain sinful. She had thought that if she looked dark and dangerous Tyge would finally back off. She should have known better. The pervert had invited her up to his house for an early morning drink. She declined with no lack of regret.
Nick seemed to like it a lot, too, whispered the voice inside her head.
No wonder she got sick. Even that short time with Tyge would turn anyone into a plague victim.
Mindy didn’t even try to stop her as Jazz swept through the reception area to the back office. It might have had something to do with the bright orange Hazardous Waste bag exuding an odor that wouldn’t easily leave the reception area without some major magickal fumigation.
Dweezil looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk. “Well, look who the black cat dragged in. You were too sick to work last night, but I see you’re well enough to come in to pick up your pay.”
“The wonders of modern medicine, D. And this is for you.” Jazz deposited the bag on his desk and dropped into the chair opposite him.
“What the fuck?” He took one sniff and used his pen to push the bag off the desk. It thumped and rolled across the carpet. “Mindy, get this outta here!” He waited until the Elven-blonde walked in wearing a heavy leather glove. She used two fingers to pick up the bag and held it a far distance from her body. She carried it out the back door and then returned to the reception area. “What’re you trying to do? Asphyxiate me?”
“Wow, Dweezil, you’re using words that comprise more than four letters. I am so impressed.” She tossed a slip of paper on his desk. “Here is the receipt for everything I wore the night I drove Tyge. You can just add it to what you owe me.”
His eyes bulged as he stared at the total. “You bought all new shit? I figured you’d just wear something old and I’d depreciate it from the original cost.”
“I like the clothes in my closet. No way did I plan to ruin any of them. Better I buy something I haven’t had a chance to form an attachment to. And you know Foulshadow. He likes his drivers to look good. You told me to do what it takes.”
Mindy swept past again, pausing only to pick up the receipt. “I’ll have it ready in just a minute,” she said.
“I will not drive him anywhere, anymore,” Jazz told Dweezil once they were alone again.
“Hey, no witchy tantrums here. You’re the only one I can trust with him. He’s a valued client who spends a lot of money here. Besides, he likes you.” He leered at her, his gaze drifting down to her breasts.
“Eyes up, D. Eyes up. He is a total pervert.” She leaned forward. “Did your cleaning crew tell you what he did in the back of the car that night? His kind can have sex with himself and I don’t mean a hand job either. It’s sick, D.”
“Give me a break here, Jazz. You make good money driving for me. More than you’d ever make with your little curse eliminating business.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Maggots, D. Lots of them. Crawling in places you can’t even reach, much less imagine. It would take you months to get rid of them.”
He reared back.
Jazz smiled. The bullying creature always backed down when he was given a bit of his own medicine.
“You can’t go in there!” Mindy’s sounds of horror were their first warning. Dweezil’s door flying open was their second. It was what followed that had Jazz sitting up straight.
“Dweezil Quix…” The heavyset man wearing a dark suit with a gold detective’s shield secured to his jacket pocket frowned at the paperwork he held in one hand.
Jazz helped him out with the correct pronunciation including the clicks and whistles.
“This is a search warrant for your premises.” The man slapped the paper into Dweezil’s hand. A faint look of revulsion crossed his face as he stared at the two long green fingers that curled around the sheets.
“For what?” Dweezil fairly popped out of his chair, waving the paper around.
“Look, buddy, if you don’t cooperate with us you could find yourself shut down so fast you won’t know what hit you.” The man glanced at Jazz then took a second look. “Are you human?”
She issued a bright toothy smile. “Me, mom, and apple pie.”
She knew Dweezil wouldn’t give her away. Having a human in the office could save him a lot of aggravation if the cops decided they didn’t like Dweezil any more than she did. Plus, her plans for the day didn’t include spending time in a jail cell. Another bustier and leather coat were calling her name.
“May I ask what you’re looking for?” Jazz asked, continuing her friendly female façade.
“You an attorney?”
“Not in this lifetime.” Little did he know she spoke the truth with that statement. “It’s just that I’ve worked for Dweezil for some time now and he’s always been aboveboard with his dealings.” So she lied. She couldn’t receive more penalties for lying as long as she didn’t use magick. She had a sick feeling that Dweezil had been involved in something that was less than legal. She’d always sensed he had his fingers in a variety of slightly shady pies, but as long as it didn’t spill over into her life she didn’t worry about it. A tickle of worry creased her forehead. What the Fates could he have done to bring the cops down on him?
“Well, sister….” Sister? Did he just call her sister? What Raymond Chandler book did this guy step out of? “Seems your boss here has been dealing some illegal drugs to his customers. Plus we’ve got a good idea he might have something to do with vampires disappearing.” He did not look all that unhappy about fewer vampires in the city. Jazz had heard that tax-paying vampires owned many of the underground clubs. The mayor wasn’t about to lose those additional city funds plus it made him look good to placate the preternatural community. “He cooperates with us and we’ll get out of here as soon as we can. He doesn’t …,” his voice trailed off, but the threat hung in the air.
“Dweezil dealing drugs?” she laughed. “You have so got the wrong guy. He gets the hives just looking at an aspirin.”
“Yeah, says you.” The cop squinted at her as if he was trying to figure out if she really was human or not.
“Dweezil! They’re taking all our files!” Mindy ran to the doorway. Her blue eyes glowed with fear and a golden unearthly sheen now covered her skin. Even the tips of her ears looked more prominent.
The detective stared at her as if he was unsure just what she was and at the same time didn’t want to know. He took a few steps back.
Jazz learned forward and plucked the paperwork out of Dweezil’s hand. She quickly perused the contents. “It says here they have the right to take all your business records.”
“How the fuck can I do business without my records?” Dweezil jumped up and down like a demented elf.
“You keep that up and we’ll shut you down for good.” The detective’s warning wasn’t an idle threat.
Jazz stood up. Something about this situation didn’t smell right to her. Although after spending time around Tyge, her sense of smell might not be back to normal yet.
“So which is it? Missing vampires or drugs?”
The detective scowled at her. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”
She rolled her eyes. “I just had a question about the procedure. I am only here to pick up my pay.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, you won’t be seeing any paychecks for awhile.”
Now Jazz was mad. Both at his calling her sweet-heart and his announcing she wouldn’t get her money. That bustier and coat were expensive, damn it! She only chose them because she knew she’d be reimbursed. “You said records. You didn’t say anything about freezing his funds,” she argued.
“You can’t freeze my fuckin’ funds!” Dweezil shrieked, his face now a combination of its normal olive-green shade mottled with red. Jazz stared at the detective who looked as if he wouldn’t mind pulling out his gun and shooting Dweezil. Sure, D was a jerk, but this raid smelled like some kind of set-up to her and even D didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. She feared she was going to end up in the middle of a situation she had no desire getting involved with. Suspicion flared up big time. She silently vowed if she discovered a certain undead person—correction, creature—had something to do with this she was marching over to his boardwalk office so she could drive a stake through his non-beating heart.
“Detective Larkin, we found this out back in one of the Dumpsters.” A uniformed officer walked in carrying the orange hazardous waste bag.
“Open it up,” he ordered. He glared at Dweezil and Jazz. “A pretty clever way of hiding drugs. Hell, the smell alone would probably drive off any drug-sniffing dog.”
“No!” Jazz sprang out of her chair but not in time. She dreaded to think what it was like in there since she’d secured the clothing in the bag the minute she got home and undressed.
The officer opened the bag and an ugly grayish-green vapor floated upward. The man’s eyes rolled backward and he dropped to the floor.
“Oh shit,” Jazz muttered, managing a sickly smile at the detective who didn’t look too pleased at seeing his officer stretched out cold on the floor.
“Maybe we need to have a talk down at the station.”
Eight
I told you not to open the bag,” Jazz reminded Detective Larkin. The man turned out to have absolutely no sense of humor. After his announcement back at Dweezil’s office, she had no choice but to be escorted down to the police station. She now sat in an interrogation room whose décor and stench she dubbed Early Gross. She didn’t know who or what had been in here before her, but whatever it was it needed a serious amount of deodorant, soap, and water. “And may I remind you I was able to revive the officer? He won’t have any ill-effects from the gas other than a bad headache for a week or three. And since you didn’t read me my rights I gather I’m not under arrest for getting rid of a bag of totally disgusting trash.”
He shot her a shut the hell up glare and she obliged by doing just that. He set a foam cup of coffee in front of her and took the seat across the table, flipping through the contents of the thin file folder set in front of him.
“For a smartass you sure manage to stay out of trouble.”
“I do my best.” She wondered what his reaction would be if he saw her actual police files, plural. She estimated they would fill more than a few moving vans. But first they’d have to track down her past identities.
He stared at her. “I asked you if you were human and you said yes.”
She waved off the accusation. “No, I only said me, mom, and apple pie. Besides, I am human.” She thought she’d forgo the explanation that she was much older than the totally ugly tie he wore loosely looped around his thick neck.
“And a witch.”
Jazz ignored the scowl on his face. “Yes, well, that type of accusation died down centuries ago in Salem. Look, we both know you dragged me down here because of the bag, which I can explain.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “So explain.”
“One of Dweezil’s clients has a…,” she searched for the right description and settled for, “hygiene problem.”
“Bad hygiene doesn’t cause fumes like that to come out of a bag of clothing. And just where did you get a biohazard bag?”
“It does if it has to do with Tyge Foulshadow. Dweezil keeps the bags on hand because of Foul-shadow.” She ignored his skepticism and reached for the coffee cup. She sipped the lukewarm liquid and found its only saving grace was the knowledge that caffeine lurked somewhere in the murky depths. She ignored Larkin’s snort of laughter. “He emits really nasty odors that can make people sick and sometimes, much worse. Your officer passing out is proof of that. Witches are immune to the gases, which is why I drive him. The clothes in the bag were the ones I wore two nights ago when I drove Master Foulshadow. As you can see, there’s no way I can wear them again after I’ve been around him, so I have to secure the clothing in a biohazard bag. Who knew you guys would show up at Dweezil’s and you’d order your officer to open it.”
“Man, what you witches do for money,” he muttered. “Any more of you work for him?”
She shook her head, taking another sip of the liquid they passed off as coffee. She silently vowed if she had to come down here again, she’d make them stop at Starbucks first.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
He glanced at his notes again and then looked up. “So what kind of witch are you?”
“You mean am I a good witch or a bad witch?” She could see flippancy wasn’t working with him. “I’m a curse eliminator.”
“Meaning?”
“Some people will curse an object and the curse sticks with it. They hire me to come in and take off the curse.”
“Are you saying people really believe that shit and pay you money to boot?”
“This is L.A., Detective Larkin. Anything goes.”
“Like some creature that farts gross gas and a guy that looks like a stretched-out olive?”
She nodded. “What? You think all witches have warts and long chin hairs and cackle when they laugh? Honestly, Detective, I haven’t stirred eye of newt, toe of frog, and bat wings in a bubbling cauldron for years.” Not since Potions 101.
He shifted uncomfortably.
“Okay, I’ve explained the origin of the fumes from the bag and we have discussed my job, so are we through here?” she asked.
He looked as if he was settling in for the duration. “Just trying to get a little background. So let’s talk about your boss now.”
“You’re out of luck if you’re hoping I can tell you anything about Dweezil’s illegal activities. There aren’t any. That’s the funny thing about him. He likes to make his money the legal way. That way he doesn’t worry about losing it. As I said before, drugs aren’t his thing.”
“What is?”
She placed her hands flat on the table and leaned forward. “Did you get a look at his bookcases?”
His face remained as impassive and noncommittal as possible. “The warrant only covered his paperwork.”
“Yeah, like you didn’t look all around anyway. I refuse to believe you didn’t notice that Dweezil collects vintage erotica and antique sex toys.”
He uttered a disgusted sound as if she had waved one of Dweezil’s prize antique vibrators or penis pumps in his face.
“What exactly is he?”
“We’ve never discussed politics or religions.”
Larkin growled a few words under his breath. “No, I mean what is he?”
She started to touch her moonstone ring for comfort then held back. She doubted he would appreciate the stone responding with a soft glow even if it soothed her. “I don’t know.”
“You’re a witch.”
“That doesn’t mean I know everyone’s family background. For all I know, Dweezil is the last of his kind.” One could only hope.
The detective sat back, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Jazz thought about telling him it was annoying. Except she was positive he already knew that.
“Your boss is in big trouble.”
“I figured that out when you stormed into his business and carried off all his files. But I can’t see why you think he deals in drugs or has anything to do with missing vampires.” Or how you found out about the missing vampires.
“How often do you drive vamps?”
“Not very often.”
“How often?”
Jazz shrugged. “Vampires don’t like witches and the dislike is pretty much reciprocated. So I only drive them if there isn’t another driver available and the vampire is willing to put up with a witch for a driver.”
“That doesn’t tell me why they don’t like witches.” He narrowed his eyes. “Or is it just you they don’t like?”
“Are you kidding? Everyone loves me! Okay, except for vampires. They don’t like any witch. We have sort of a truce. They don’t bite us and end up sick from our blood. We don’t zap them with flesh-eating spells.”
He winced. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Are you truly interested in learning more or just hoping I’ll say something stupid that you think you can use against Dweezil?”
“Both,” he said it unwillingly then looked half bemused to find he’d admitted the fact.
“Witches’ blood is poisonous to vampires. At the very least, it can give them a nasty case of heartburn, and at the worst it can kill them.”
Disgust crossed his face. “I thought vampires went to clubs for their blood now.”
“They do, but sometimes one will have partied too much and be a little too eager, so things might get out of hand. That’s why they prefer to stay away from us.” Except for one.
“Do you know Clive Reeves Jr.?”
She didn’t bat an eye at his question even if her stomach twisted itself into a million knots. Obviously her shudder and gag reflex was getting used to hearing the name again—however disturbing it was to her. “I watch his father’s movies every Halloween.”
“So you don’t attend his parties up at his old man’s mansion?”
“No.” That was one destination she preferred to avoid at all cost.