"Why double the fee?"
"The curse started with one of two brothers. He doesn't know which one."
"So I have to raise them both."
"If we're lucky, only one."
"But you keep the second fee anyway," I said.
Bert nodded vigorously, happy as a greedy clam. "It's even your job description, and besides, even you wouldn't let a fellow go through his life with feathers on his head if you could help him, now would you?"
"You smug bastard," I said, but my voice sounded tired even to me.
Bert just smiled. He knew he'd won.
"You'll clear clients with me that aren't zombie raisings or vampire slayings?" I said.
"If you have the time to read up on every client I see, then I certainly have time to write up a report."
"I don't need to read about every client, just the ones you're sending my way."
"But, Anita, you know it's just luck of the draw which of you is on duty on any given day."
"Damn you, Bert."
"You've kept Ms. Drew waiting long enough, don't you think?"
I stood up. It was no use. I was outmaneuvered. He knew it. I knew it. The only thing left was a graceful retreat.
"Your two o'clock canceled. I'll have Mary send Gunderson in."
"Is there anything you wouldn't schedule in as a client, Bert?"
He seemed to think about that for a minute, then shook his head. "If they could pay the fee, no."
"You are a greedy son of a bitch."
"I know."
It was no use. I wasn't winning this one. I went for the door.
"You're wearing a gun." He sounded outraged.
"Yeah, what of it?"
"I think you can meet clients in broad daylight at our offices without being armed."
"I don't think so."
"Just put the gun in the desk drawer like you used to."
"Nope." I opened the door.
"I don't want you meeting clients armed, Anita."
"Your problem, not mine."
"I could make it yours," he said. His face was flushed, voice tight with anger. Maybe we were going to get to fight after all.
I closed the door. "You mean fire me?"
"I am your boss."
"We can argue about clients, but the gun is not negotiable."
"The gun frightens clients."
"Send the squeamish ones to Jamison," I said.
"Anita" — he stood up like an angry storm—"I don't want you wearing the gun in the office."
I smiled sweetly. "Fuck you, Bert." So much for a graceful exit.
16
I closed the door and realized I had accomplished nothing but pissing Bert off. Not a bad hour's work, but not a great accomplishment. I was going to tell Ms. Drew that I might be able to help her. Bert was right about good press. I nodded at Gunderson as I passed him. He smiled back. Somehow I didn't think he really wanted me to raise the dead. I'd find out soon enough.
Ms. Drew was sitting legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. The picture of elegant patience.
"I may be able to help you, Ms. Drew. I'm not sure, but I may know someone who can help you."
She stood up, offering me a manicured hand. "That would be wonderful, Ms. Blake. I certainly appreciate your help."
"Does Mary have a number where I can reach you?"
"Yes." She smiled.
I smiled. I opened the door, and she walked past me in a cloud of expensive perfume. "Mr. Gunderson, I can see you now."
He stood, laying the magazine he'd been leafing through on the small table beside the Ficus benjium. He didn't move with that dancelike grace that the other shapeshifters had. But then swans weren't particularly graceful on land.
"Have a seat, Mr. Gunderson."
"Please, Kaspar."
I leaned on the edge of the desk, staring down at him. "What are you doing here, Kaspar?"
He smiled. "Marcus wants to apologize for last night."
"Then he should have come in person."
His smiled widened. "He thought that offering a sizable monetary reward might make up for our lack of hospitality last night."
"He was wrong."
"You aren't going to give an inch, are you?"
"Nope."
"Are you not going to help us?"
I sighed. "I'm working on it. But I'm not sure what I can do. What or who could take out eight shapeshifters without a struggle?"
"I have no idea. None of us do. That is why we have come to you."
Great. They knew less than I did. Not comforting. "Marcus gave me a list of people to question." I handed it to him. "Any thoughts, or additions?"
He frowned, eyebrows arching together. The white eyebrows were not hair. I blinked, trying to concentrate. The fact that he was feathery seemed to bother me a lot more than it should have.
"These are all rivals for Marcus's power. You met most of them at the cafe."
"Do you really think he suspects them, or is he just making trouble for his rivals?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"Marcus said you could answer my questions. Do you actually know anything that I don't?"
"I would say that I know a great deal more about the shapeshifting community than you do," he said. He sounded a trifle offended.
"Sorry, I think it's just wishful thinking on Marcus's part that his rivals are the bad guys. Not your fault he's playing games."
"Marcus often tries to manage things. You saw that last night."
"His management skills haven't impressed me so far."
"He believes that if there were one ruler for all shapeshifters, we would be a force to rival the vampires."
He might be right on that. "He wants to be that ruler," I said.
"Of course."
The intercom buzzed. "Excuse me a minute." I hit the button. "What is it, Mary?"
"Richard Zeeman on line two. He says he's returning your message."
I hesitated, then said, "I'll take it." I picked up the phone, very aware that Kaspar was sitting there listening. I could have asked him to step outside, but I was getting tired of playing musical clients.
"Hi, Richard."
"I got your message on my answering machine," he said. His voice was very careful, as if he were balancing a glass of water filled to the very brim.
"I think we need to talk," I said.
"I agree."
My, weren't we being cautious this afternoon. "I'm supposed to be the one that's mad. Why does your voice sound so funny?"
"I heard about last night."
I waited for him to say more, but the silence just stretched to infinity. I filled it. "Look, I have a client with me right now. You want to meet and talk?"
"Very much." He said it as though he weren't really looking forward to it.
"I have a dinner break around six. You want to meet at the Chinese place on Olive?"
"Doesn't sound very private."
"What did you have in mind?"
"My place."
"I only get an hour, Richard, I don't have time to drive that far."
"Your place, then."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Just no."
"What we need to say to each other isn't going to go over well in public. You know that."
I did. Dammit. "All right, we'll meet at my place a little after six. Do you want me to pick up something?"
"You're at work. It'll be easier for me to pick up something. You want mooshu pork and crab ragoon?"