a moment of nostalgic normalcy nevertheless.
She seemed more emotionally clingy lately. The traumatic experience with Travis had shaken her, I think, and she was also concerned (though she wouldn’t admit it) that I’d been spending so much time at the Full Moon. I couldn’t deny that I remained preoccupied by the plight of the forlorn succubus Ruth, but if I went out of my way to insist that Sheyenne had nothing to worry about, my very earnestness would only make her worry more. It was a no-win situation for me, so I left the issue alone.
As the squad cars squealed up to the front of the Trove National Bank, the commotion drew us—and everyone else in the Quarter, it seemed—like a magnet. It’s not smart to rush toward what is obviously a dangerous situation, but it’s instinctive. Besides, since I was a private investigator, a bank robbery could well be business-related.
The Trove National Bank is the primary financial institution in the Unnatural Quarter, locally owned and unnaturally operated. Many of the old-guard unnaturals had large stashes, as well as valuable antiques and gold-plated magical items that they kept in safe-deposit boxes.
The name of the Trove National Bank sounded like a witty play on words, implying vaults filled with sparkling treasure, but in actuality the name came from the founder, Bernard Trove, a human businessman with long-out-of-style mutton-chop whiskers and very good investment sense.
With guns drawn, cops had surrounded the building and blocked the exits. I could hear a loud schoolbell-type alarm that made the windows rattle. I saw McGoo standing there, his sidearm drawn and aimed at the bank’s main entrance. We worked our way toward him. “What’s going on?” I asked, the most obvious question I could think of.
“Robbery in progress. Hostage situation, too. It’s Alphonse Wheeler, back to his old habits. He came into the bank wearing the same old jacket and hat—even brought the bouquet of flowers. At first the tellers thought the robbery was a joke, but then he fired a few shots into the ceiling. A couple of vampires had rented the floor above for a coupon-clipping service, and they weren’t thrilled about the gunfire. They phoned it in.”
“There’s got to be some mistake,” Sheyenne said. “Mr. Wheeler’s a nice man—he wouldn’t rob a bank.” Then she caught herself. “Oh, of course he would.”
“Bigger question is why,” I said. “He has no use for the money. He just gave his entire stash to the MLDW Society.”
“We can ask him after we arrest him,” McGoo said.
News vans arrived. Reporters turned their cameras toward the stymied police, the silent front door of the bank, the continually ringing alarm.
The back doors of the Special Response Unit van flew open, and two hard-looking human cops worked their way out and unloaded boxy equipment that looked like stereo speakers, which they set up with the flat panels facing the entrance of the bank. The second man erected a tripod, then unfolded mesh butterfly petals of something akin to a satellite antenna.
The police chief yelled, “All right, get everyone back, especially the ghosts. Let us do our work.”
“You better leave, Sheyenne,” McGoo said with an expression of concern on his face. “There could be a ripple effect.”
I didn’t recognize the equipment, was surprised the department had a budget to buy large high-tech gadgets. Sheyenne beat me to the question. “What is all that?”
“A new acquisition—high-powered ectoplasmic defibrillator designed for emergency situations like this.”
“One of Jekyll’s zappers?” I asked.
“He’s got the patent,” McGoo said, “and these things are supposed to be effective against violent ghosts. Senator Balfour presented it as a gift to the department, and the chief accepted it.”
The very idea sent a chill down my back. Sheyenne was even more upset. “No, you can’t just use that on Mr. Wheeler!”
“Not my call,” McGoo said. “But Wheeler won’t talk, and he won’t come out. He’s got hostages. We’ve already verified that he’s the only ghost inside, so there won’t be any innocents harmed.”
Sheyenne got that determined look on her face—I think she’d been learning it from Robin. Before we could stop her (not that we could if we’d tried), she flitted forward, ignoring the shouts of the policemen, and drifted straight through the front door of the bank.
“You can’t turn that zapper on now,” I said to McGoo.
His face had gone pale. “Shamble, get her out of there! This is a crisis situation.”
“You think Spooky listens to me?”
The police chief was clearly flustered. He was eager to test the department’s new