“Phil, I had hoped you would turn up.”
“May we come in?” Felipe asked, motioning toward the hall.
“We? That’s extra, you know.”
“We only want to talk to you.”
The grin fell from Joe’s lips as he shot up and pulled the shawl closer. “Shit. I should have known. You sold me out to the institute, didn’t you?”
“No! The opposite,” Felipe added hastily, hoping Joe didn’t have a pocket pistol stashed somewhere, “we’re with the Paranormal Society.”
Joe’s kohl-ringed eyes widened as a sharp hiss of air skinned Felipe’s cheek. Deflating with a sigh, Joe sank back to the lumpy mattress. “I should have expected this when you mentioned the society. What’s this about?”
“The institute. If you think this will cause problems, we can leave.”
“No, come in. Just close the door.”
At Felipe’s signal, Ansley strolled in, scrutinizing the peeling wallpaper and tacky furnishings with undisguised distaste as Oliver slunk in behind him and stood with his arms crossed, so he wouldn’t touch anything. Eyeing each man in turn, Joe inched closer to the parted window.
“I promise we aren’t here to start trouble, as little as that means to you right now. We only want information about your other employer, and we will pay you for your time,” Felipe said, fishing the wad of money out of his coat. Ansley patted his jacket with a scowl but said nothing. “The Paranormal Society has nothing against your current line of work as long as you’re here willingly.”
Snatching the money from Felipe’s hand, Joe stashed it out of sight and threw a silken robe over his clothes. “I’m not here against my will, but I didn’t plan to be back so soon.”
It was probably more than Joe would have charged for his services, but if what he knew about the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul was useful, it would be worth it to have him on their side. As he sat back down, Joe’s eyes narrowed as he gave Felipe a pointed onceover.
“I should have recognized you. Your name sounded familiar. You’re—” He snapped his fingers. “Philip. Philip Galvan.”
“FelipeGalvan.”
“I remember you from the Paranormal Society. Jesus, how are you still there?” Joe replied.
Felipe shrugged. That was something he had been asking himself a lot lately. “Let me introduce my associates, Dr. Barlow and Inspector Ansley. We’re working on a case that involves the Institute for the Betterment of the Soul. Nothing we say here can leave this room, and we promise your employer will never hear your name in relation to our work. Understood?”
“Sure, sure.” Grabbing a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand, he stuck one between his lips with shaking fingers. “Mind if I smoke? Y’all are making me nervous.”
“Go ahead,” Felipe said, ignoring Oliver’s dismayed expression as he opened the window wider. “Inspector Ansley is looking into the finances and inner workings of the institute while we are investigating another case we believe is related to them.”
“Have you heard any whispers about where the clinic gets its funding?” Ansley asked, encroaching on the foot of the bed.
Joe looked him over with a crooked frown and took a long drag. “How the hell should I know? I push bodies around and clean vomit all day. Ask the rich sod who runs it. His family’s well-off. I’m sure he has rich relatives and friends with deep pockets.”
“But the rich aren’t exactly benevolent, are they?” Ansley drawled.
“No, they certainly aren’t.” As Joe exhaled, the trail of smoke wended toward Ansley who drew back with a sneer and a cough. A satisfied smile crossed Joe’s lips. “If you’re asking what the benefactors get out of it? I have no idea. I’m sure they need something to brag about at their club while the rest of us get tortured.”
“Tortured? Is that what you were hinting at when we spoke yesterday?” Felipe asked, watching Joe’s expression harden.
Oliver’s gaze flickered from Joe to Felipe as he finished writing the last question. So he must have sensed the shift too.
“I don’t know what else to call electrocuting, browbeating, and drugging people into submission. They call them treatments, but that’s not what they are. The people who started coming when I got hired aren’t the same anymore.” Joe ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. “They aren’tnormalpeople, but they aren’t themselves either. They’re like— it’s like they bled the color out of them. They’re punchy or so subdued that it gives me chills. It feels wrong.”
“Are they coming to these treatments voluntarily?” Oliver replied softly.
“I don’t know. Even if you come willingly, is it really voluntary if someone is telling you everything about you is wrong? If that’s all you hear at home and you come there where they tell you exactly the same thing, would you know there’s any other way?”
“But you know.”
“Of course, I do. I wanted a job. I didn’t sign up for all this mumbo jumbo. I thought it would be like working in a church. You bless yourself, say the right thing, try not to be blasphemous in front of your boss or anyone who will rat on you, and go on with your life outside of work.”
