Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [93]
“Yes.”
“So what are you looking for now?” he asked.
“Well, for one thing, I want to track down the creatures I fought with that night. Biko wants to find them, too. He wants to stop them before they kill any more pets—or do worse than that. And I think that’s a good ide—”
“Stop them?” he repeated. “Esther, whoever killed his dog and stole your purse needs to be locked up, not run through with a sword by a kid who thinks he’s the Count of Monte Cristo.”
“They weren’t people.”
“They sure as hell weren’t gargoyles.”
“Actually—”
“Even if your purse was taken and Biko’s dog was killed by . . . Let’s say, by a couple of very strange animals , okay?”
I nodded, since Lopez was making an effort to meet me halfway.
He continued, “It’s dangerous for everyone to have a teenage boy wandering around with a weapon, looking for someone to attack.”
I decided it wouldn’t relieve Lopez’s concerns if I told him that Biko was accompanied by Max and Nelli.
After studying me for a moment, he said, “Oh, God. Please tell me you’re not out prowling the streets by night with that kid?”
“Of course not,” I said virtuously. “I wait tables at night.”
“Oh. Right. Good.” He let out his breath. “Suddenly, for the very first time, I’m glad you work in a restaurant where wiseguys keep getting whacked. At least I know where you are then.”
Hoping to get him off this subject, I asked, “What do you think is being done with the missing bodies?”
“There are a lot of possibilities, and they’re all pretty disgusting.” He returned to an earlier question. “Why have you taken a job at the foundation?”
“I wanted the work. Waiting tables isn’t as fulfilling as you might think, officer.” I added, “And I like the kids.”
He nodded, accepting that. Then he said, “Look, the bottom line is . . . I’m not thrilled about you being at the foundation.”
“Thanks to my sensitivity to your every subtle inflection, I guessed something of the sort.”
“No, seriously. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be there.”
I looked at him again. “Oh?”
He gazed out across the park with a troubled frown on his face. “Something’s not right there. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s like . . . like hearing a melody slightly out of tune.” He stared into the distance for a moment longer, bothered by something he couldn’t identify or pinpoint. Then he shook off his pensive mood and said again, more matter-of-factly, “Something’s not right. And until I know what it is, I’m worried about you spending time there—even apart from whatever crazy scheme Max may be dragging you into.”
“I kind of dragged him into this,” I said.
“No wonder Dr. Livingston doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t think she likes anyone,” I grumbled. “But I do agree with you that something’s not right around here.” I thought of Shondolyn and added, “And I’m a little worried about the kids who hang out at the foundation.”
“With a boa constrictor on the loose there, I’m worried about them, too.”
“I want to keep an eye on them. At least until we know what’s going on and . . . and I’m sure they’re not in danger.”
He looked at me. “Well, I know by now I can’t talk you out of that. But if you’re going to keeping going there, then I want you to promise me you’ll be careful and keep your eyes open, and call me if you need help.”
“Agreed.” I appreciated that he’d decided not to press me about certain subjects. Even though that was only because he was hot, tired, distracted, and in no mood to deal with the sort of answers he was probably afraid I’d give, if pushed. Which reminded me . . . “I need to ask another favor.”
“Go ahead.” He smiled wryly. “If you put on your hooker outfit again, I’ll probably do anything you want.”
The memory of wearing Lycra and vinyl in this heat prevented that comment from being as tempting as it might otherwise have