“All right, consider the bank robbed,” I said, pointing around at the lobby. “You proved you can do it. Now hand me the gun, and we can let these people go. Don’t you have a bouquet to hand out?”
He brightened. “Why, yes I do! It’s my trademark.”
I plucked the gun from Wheeler’s spectral hand, and he, didn’t even seem to notice. He was much more interested in passing out flowers to the tellers and, for good measure, he gave one to each of the hostages as well. Finally, he let out a miserable sigh and addressed his victims with a forlorn expression. “Sorry, everybody.”
Then I opened the bank’s front door and led him out to the waiting police.
CHAPTER 32
The Quarter has restless spirits, vengeful members of the undead, hormone-juiced and short-tempered werewolves, and vampire family feuds that have lasted for centuries. Even so, I sensed even more unrest than usual around here—it seemed there was something in the air.
I knew about the protest at the Goblin Tavern ahead of time, since Robin had cooked it up herself. Hard-bitten Francine was too proud and her feelings too hurt to beg for any intervention, but after I grumbled to Robin about how unfairly the Smile Syndicate was treating our favorite bartender, she took the crusade to heart. (Maybe subconsciously I had hoped she’d do exactly that.)
Since Francine was due to stop by the Tavern that night to pick up her last paycheck, her regular customers had gathered there to show our support. I found it heartwarming to see how many turned out. What a crowd!
Robin had arrived half an hour earlier to organize the protest. Following the incident at the bank, Sheyenne and Robin had spent the afternoon making picket signs to be passed out among the zombie, vampire, and werewolf customers who frequented the Goblin Tavern. Normally, the customers just came to the Tavern to rehydrate themselves and socialize, to grumble about their common problems, or to reminisce about old times. They weren’t a rabble-rousing bunch, but Robin had whipped them up with the slogans on her signs.
BOYCOTT THE GOBLIN TAVERN!
FRANCINE IS THE TAVERN’S ♥ AND SOUL!
Another said SHAME ON YOU, SMILE SYNDICATE with a frowny face drawn below the words.
McGoo arrived at the Tavern at the usual time, expecting to meet me for our usual beer, but when he saw the growing mob, he tipped back his cap and said, “What is all this, Shamble?”
“A lot of us want Francine back. Care to join the movement?”
McGoo didn’t hesitate. “Give me one of those signs.” Robin handed him one that said WE CAN DRINK SOMEWHERE ELSE.
Stu, the corpulent and too-good-natured new manager of the Tavern, came out, looking surprised and distraught. “What is this? Why are you all here? I don’t deserve this—what did I do?”
“You fired Francine,” a once-a-month werewolf growled.
“But you’ll have to take it up with Missy Goodfellow,” Stu said. “That was part of the corporate restructuring—a management decision.”
“You’re the Tavern’s manager,” I pointed out. “Bad decision.”
Stu was so flustered he looked as if he might burst into tears. “Please, let me make it up to you all—a gesture of good faith. Free pretzels for everyone!”
“Francine always put out free pretzels,” said a zombie. “And other snacks.”
“All right, other snacks, then. I want the Goblin Tavern to be a friendly place where you can all feel at home.”
“Most of us hang out at the Tavern because we don’t want to be reminded of home,” a vampire said, eliciting a chorus of snickers. “We want it to feel like the Goblin Tavern, and it isn’t the Tavern without Francine.”
“Bring back the real cobwebs while you’re at it,” said a ghoul, puffing on a long cigarette.
Stu turned to uniformed McGoo for help, but my BHF just gave him a stony expression and pumped his WE CAN DRINK SOMEWHERE ELSE sign up and down.
“I don’t know what the Smile Syndicate will do to me if sales go down,” Stu said. “If monsters don’t hang out here, the whole charm of the place is gone. Please, how about . . .” He reached deep within himself and dredged up a last resort. “How about a free round of drinks for everyone?”
The monsters muttered, looked at one another, growled and sniffed. Many were tempted. Two zombies began to shamble toward the door of the tavern, but Robin said in a sharp voice, “Stand firm, all of you! Hold the line!”
“Could you serve us drinks out here, so it doesn’t interrupt our protest?” asked