to help you solve this case, Mr. Chambeaux, I’ll do it. A fiend who would commit such a heinous crime must be punished.”
“If I think of anything, I’ll let you know, Mr. Ho-Tep. Thanks for the background information.”
The mummy seemed rattled, but not so much that he forgot to give me two free passes to Saturday’s show. I thanked him and left.
CHAPTER 17
As a man who devoted his wealth to charitable causes, Irwyn Goodfellow did not scrimp when it came to his grand openings. To launch his program to help the rescued golems, Goodfellow hosted a lavish reception and job fair in the Unnatural Quarter community center.
Gratified that the pieces had fallen so smoothly into place, Robin and I wouldn’t have missed it. I intended to do my part by contracting four or five of the burliest golems for security work at the Full Moon.
Mrs. Saldana busied herself at various tables where the golems could meet prospective employers. At the reception desk she set out clipboards so that any interested inhuman-resources staff could request golems with specific skill sets (to the best of my knowledge, golems started out as blank clay slates, but they were easily trained).
The homeless golems milled about, fully hydrated now, so that they shed no dust on the furnishings. They gathered the courage to walk up to likely patrons or employers, introduced themselves, struck up conversations. Each golem had his name etched at the base of his neck, and by now Irwyn Goodfellow’s volunteer staff had told them who they really were.
Some wore elegant tuxedoes and carried trays of drinks or hors d’oeuvres to audition for jobs in the service industry; some wore chauffeur’s uniforms, while others offered to be rented out for straightforward manual labor. Golems weren’t picky and tended to be model employees.
Tiffany was there in a clean work shirt and jeans, standing next to Bill, who rarely left her side. His face flexed into a smile when he saw us. “Isn’t this wonderful? My people have a chance now for worthwhile lives, an opportunity to be productive in a meaningful way. And we don’t have to work for an employer who treats us like dirt!”
I didn’t point out that golems, by definition, were made out of dirt.
Tiffany said, “We’re here to offer moral support. Bill’s going to stay with me for a while, and he’s been . . . generally useful.” She smiled at him, showing her fangs; if a golem could have blushed, Bill would have been scarlet.
I said, “With a recommendation from you, Tiffany, I’m sure Bill will find an employer who’d be happy to have him. And we’ll get all of the other golems taken care of. In fact, I’m hiring some golems for the brothel security job I told you about.”
Bill said, “Security would be a good profession for me, and I can heartily recommend any of my friends.”
The job fair had a happy buzz of optimism, and I was sure that by the end of the event, many of the downtrodden golems would have decent jobs. Golems continued to talk to potential employers, extolling their skills and interests, but soon heads turned and conversation stopped. An uncomfortable hush rippled through the room.
At first, I saw Larry the werewolf bodyguard. He entered with shoulders squared, his hirsute chest puffed up, and walked with an awkwardly feigned “I’m tough, I’m bad, and don’t mess with me” attitude. In his wake came Harvey Jekyll, completely bald, with simian features and a scowl indelibly stamped on his face, which made him look as if he ate too much mustard.
I looked at him, and he looked at me and Robin. There was no love lost between us. I muttered, “What the hell is he doing here?”
Robin does occasionally hold a grudge—despite the way I paint her, she isn’t a complete saint—but she also has a pragmatic streak that goes over my head. “He’s probably trying to hire some household staff. I doubt anyone else would work for him.”
“Larry does,” I said, “and he’s none too happy about it.”
Jekyll was a maniacal, murderous madman, and even in the Unnatural Quarter that wasn’t always a good thing. As a human, he had concocted a nefarious scheme to exterminate unnaturals with a line of deadly hygiene items, but we had foiled him. Jekyll was sentenced to death by electric chair, and then, in an irony appreciated by no one (least of all Harvey Jekyll), he came back as an unnatural himself and hated every minute of