“If he’s anything like he sounded on the phone…well, I don’t even want to wager a guess.” Sophia rolled her eyes.
“That good, huh?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
As everybody headed back to their desks, my thoughts were a million miles away, stuck between a vanishing accountant, and a demon lord.
Sophia made an appointment for Dante and me to meet with Wendy at her house at three. I was about to head back to my office when my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Benny.
“Hey, what’s up, dude?” I asked.
Benny was a goblin. I didn’t know why I liked him, but deep down, underneath the cringe, he wasn’t quite the worm he presented to the world. I didn’t want to admit it, but I felt protective of him. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp, and he was always looking for a quick buck, but he was a decent sort. Mostly, I felt sorry for him. He was trying to make a better life for himself, but his skills were few and far between. And truthfully, Seattle wasn’t kind to goblins, even when they tried to stick to the right side of the law.
“Legs, I needed to talk to you. It’s about Greg. Remember?”
I remembered, all right. We hadn’t been able to figure out what happened to one of Benny’s friends, though I strongly suspected that aliens had beamed away with him. Or however they abducted people. It sounded ridiculous on the surface, but everything we had uncovered pointed toward some sort of conspiracy in which the most vulnerable of society—the homeless, the forgotten ones who’d fallen through the cracks—were being picked off by the boys in gray. Of course, we could be way off base, but there was no real conclusive proof yet. We’d backburnered the situation for now, but we hadn’t closed the books on the case.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I met one of his friends. The guy was kidnapped by Give A Hand Up, and he managed to escape. I’m hiding him at my house, because he’s afraid to go back to the Soldiers of Misfortune encampment. You want to talk to him?”
Benny sounded nervous. That he was actually offering to hide someone in trouble showed some character growth. At the beginning, when we first met, Benny had been out for himself and only himself. Now, he actually gave a damn about others.
“What’s his name?”
“Dan-Dan. At least, that’s what he goes by.”
I thought about it for a moment, then said, “Yeah. You want me to come over to your place? Is he willing to come here to the office?”
“He’s terrified to step out the door,” Benny said. “Would you mind coming over?”
I skimmed over my schedule. I didn’t have much going on after the visit to Wendy’s house. “I can come over after I get done at the office. Six o’clock okay?”
That would let me stop for a burger or something first, in case it took more time to talk to Benny than I expected.
“Thanks, Legs. I guess I feel that I wasn’t able to help Greg, but maybe…” his voice trailed off.
“Maybe you can make up for it?” I understood, all too well. I had often thought that my choice of professions was based on feeling helpless over my mother’s death.
After a moment, Benny sighed. “Maybe, I guess. I’ll see you at six. You know my address, right?”
I laughed. “Benny, you think I’d know you this long without keeping your current address handy? You never know when I’m going to need to pay you a visit.”
“Right,” he said, then hung up.
So many of our days seemed uneventful, but then everything seemed to congregate and happen all at once. At promptly eleven-thirty, we gathered in the breakroom to meet our potential client. His name was Arthric Joales. Immediately, I could tell he wasn’t human. I wasn’t sure what he was, but human? No.
Whatever he was, he was annoying as hell. Dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a tie-dye shirt, he looked like a stoner, but there was something sharp about his movements and energy that told me the whole hippie-dippy thing was an act.
“Arthric, please, have a seat.” I motioned to a chair and he yanked out the chair and dropped into it.
I swear, the man flounced over to the chair and yanked it out from the table. While I wasn’t one for small talk, I observed the social niceties that made society run. He slumped into the chair and leaned back, legs stretched out, arms folded.
I waited for a moment, then when it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything, asked, “So, what can we do for you?”
“It’s more, what can I do for you,” he said, handing me a wrinkled piece of paper. It was stained.
I gingerly took it, spreading it flat. “This is your resume,” I said.
