Neffi followed me. “We had so many customers we could barely log them in. Fortunately, we got good images from our lobby security cameras. In another week, I would have had a lot more footage. I’m setting up secret cameras for our subscription-only video service, Monsters Gone Wild.”
I was surprised. “You film your customers and your girls?” Good thing I was not, nor did I intend to be, a Full Moon customer.
“They sign a waiver,” Neffi said. “It’s not illegal.”
“Do the clients understand what they’re signing?”
The old mummy shrugged. “Probably not. It’s written in hieroglyphics.”
Robin would have something to say about that, but I had a different purpose right now. The two vampire princesses and Cinnamon offered to help me go through the file. They used their sultry seductive voices; I doubted they knew how to talk in a normal manner.
“Please, ladies—I don’t need the distraction right now.”
“When you do need a distraction, be sure to call,” said Cinnamon. “And ask for me.”
“Or me,” Nightshade and Hemlock chimed in.
Neffi leaned over the sofa, all business. “I’ve been through the photos myself, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No customers stood out more than usual.”
“I’d think everything’s out of the ordinary in a brothel in the Unnatural Quarter.”
“Clients are clients.”
I began to flip through the photos, a handful of humans and a wide assortment of monsters. “You didn’t notice anyone . . . nervous?”
Neffi’s chuckle was a dry sound like wind rattling through reeds. “A lot of our customers are nervous. It doesn’t mean they planted a bomb.”
Balfour’s minions would be human, so I started there, hoping to connect a face with someone I had seen holding a GOD HATES UNATURALS sign or tacking up posters or marching in the demonstrations. But none of the faces looked familiar.
Quite a few customers were visiting the Quarter for a sporting-goods convention (judging by the name tags they had forgotten to remove). More tourism. I went through the entire file and began to lose hope that I’d find any clue connecting Senator Balfour with the bomb. Travis had insisted the senator was not responsible, but Sheyenne’s brother wasn’t the most reliable judge of character.
I flipped through the other files, monster after monster. Most didn’t look familiar; I recognized some unnaturals I had met on the street. I was shocked by a few I did readily identify, but I won’t mention their identities here; that’s their private business, and it has nothing to do with this case.
When I opened the next two folders, though, I recognized the culprit immediately—and I knew for certain that Balfour wasn’t involved after all.
Two of the brothel’s customers on the night of the bomb were the fiery-eyed demons who had roughed me up only a few hours earlier. Big scaly thugs, hired by Missy Goodfellow for intimidation and muscle. I tapped the photos. “These two.”
Neffi leaned over. “They like it rough. Don’t tip,” she said, as if that were enough of an accusation.
“They work for Missy Goodfellow and the Smile Syndicate.”
The mummy madam recoiled. “The Smile Syndicate? Those bastards!”
If I’d been able to bottle the venom in her voice, I could have sold it to the Defense Department.
She continued, “I told you the mob has been trying to drive me out of business. I guess threats weren’t enough. They wanted to blow up my brothel!”
“When you talked about organized crime moving into the Quarter, I should have realized the Smile Syndicate was involved,” I said. “I’ve already got a beef with those two demons. They owe me a new hat and jacket—and the price of a restorative spell.” That reminded me I had to see Mavis Wannovich soon; she was becoming increasingly anxious to talk with me—she had called again that afternoon.
The phone in my pocket rang, and I answered it. Sheyenne said, “Hi, Beaux. Not having fun at the brothel, I hope?”
“You might call it fun. We just discovered who planted the bomb.”
She sounded hopeful. “The senator?”
“No—looks like Missy Goodfellow.”
“Hmm,” Sheyenne said without any apparent surprise. “Speaking of which, Robin and I have been digging through municipal records. We located all those hearts and souls that Angela Drake bought from the pawnshop. Go collect them if you want to make Mrs. Saldana and Jerry happy.”
I brightened. “Where are they?”
“At the Final Repose Storage Complex.”
I grinned. “This has been a much better day than yesterday. I’ll head right over there.”
CHAPTER 48
Seeing me enter the front office, Maximilian Grubb rocked backward in