“So, what are you hoping to get out of him if you’re not asking any questions about Circe or Hecate?”
“Nothing,” Xander said.
I glared at him. “Nothing? He’s are only fucking lead. We can’t just let him”—I meant to say walk, but the metaphor was too easy,—“off the hook.”
“If we start revealing what we know and he tells Circe or Hecate, or if he decides to take it into his own hands—remember, he is still a Demi—what are we going to do about that? We have to play this slow, Joey. We can’t keep rushing into scenarios blind.”
Before I had the chance to respond, Gladas knocked on the door. Xander called him in, and the Demi returned to the chair Xander had offered him.
“Sorry about that,” Gladas said, glancing at me and curling his nose. “That was a colleague. I told him I was meeting with you today, and he wanted to know how it went. After I told him what we’ve discussed so far, he said we should inquire your services.”
Xander cocked his head at that unexpected wrinkle. Gladas was volunteering information and cooperation. How could Xander say no to that? Unless Xander meant to follow through with what he’d just told me and dismiss Gladas out of mistrust.
“Gladas, we dedicate a lot of time and resources to our work. We’re not a criminal justice enterprise. We’re a private investigative agency and a business. With that said, you need to know two things before inquiring our services.”
“Ha! That’s what your mom told me the other night. Thing one, she has herpes. Thing two… well, I don’t think you, as her son, need to hear about her accomplishments.”
“If I suspect criminal activity,” Xander said to Gladas, “not rooted in the supernatural, or otherwise as something that law enforcement is more equipped to handle through the criminal justice system, I will uphold my civic duty and hand over the case. Your name will never be revealed as an MIS client to the public, though.”
After a second of consideration, Gladas said, “I’m okay with that. I guess I have to be.”
Xander turned his mouth into his shoulder and coughed, then he cleared his throat and said, “Secondly, taxpayers don’t fund this agency. If you inquire our services, than you pay for our time. We’re priced steeply for a reason. Each detective at MIS is provided one case at a time, and they’re not allowed another case until their current one is resolved. That’s why we’re the best at what we do—better than the Seekers, and better than the Collectors. That’s why our clearance rate is so high. We dedicate 100 percent of our time and resources into providing answers to your questions.” Xander cleared his throat again. “Not only will you finance every resource we consume—including meals and travel—but you’ll pay our wages for all the time spent on the case.”
The Demi nodded and licked his lips, rubbing his palms on his slacks. “I understand.”
“Very good,” Xander said, smiling in a feeble attempt to ease the tension. He slapped his thighs.
“Gladas,” I said, “can you riddle me an answer?” I covered my mouth with a hand and thought for a second—I was in a professional office, after all. I had to practice thinking before speaking. “Why would you and your friend want to finance an investigation that has next to nothing to do with you. I mean, it’s safe to assume your only connection to this”—I used air quotes for emphasis—“river monster is a shadow you may or may not have seen. So, why—and now it’s my turn—fork over the expenses? What’s in it for you?”
Gladas looked at Xander, though he answered my question. “I have the money to help, as does my friend. And we want to help, if it means making this city a better and safer place to live. If no one else is willing to acknowledge the dark truth, that doesn’t give us the right to keep our heads turned. Besides, I’ve acquired a certain fortune throughout my life, but I’ve failed to create a family. I can’t think of a better way to spend that money.”
“I’m technically homeless right now,” I said. “I’m not begging or anything, but if you needed to get rid of cash, I can help you.”
Gladas had taken one too many cues from Xander. Ignoring my comment, he said, “The possibility of saving a few lives far outweighs a new truck or a trip to Maui, don’t you think?”
Xander glanced at me, as if he expected me to respond.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, shrugging. “You’ve ignored every other comment I’ve made. Actually, scratch that. You know what? Gladas has me drowning in tears over here. I’d advise pro bono on this one. I mean, what would Jesus do? That’s what I always ask myself.”
After a long silence, Xander stood from the edge of his desk and walked around to the back. He grabbed a pen and a pad from a drawer. “Gladas,” he said. “I’ll contact a few people to make a little more sense of this case. I’ll also check for any theories of a single human killer on the shores of the American River over the past decade.”
“The American River Killer,” I said. “It has a solid ring to it.”
“Once I’ve ironed out a few wrinkles, I’ll give you a call. We’ll proceed from there.”
“How long until I hear from you?” Gladas asked, standing from the chair and buttoning his jacket.
“This afternoon at the earliest. Monday morning at the latest.”
“Thank you,” Gladas said to Xander, reaching across the desk and shaking his hand.
“I would get up,” I said, “but I just don’t care to.”
Gladas nodded at me, as if thanking me for some reason, then turned and exited the office.
I reassembled Bambico after
