Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,47

picked up the order, Beaux. We thought you’d like to deliver it to the Straight Edgers yourself.”

I gave them an impressed nod. “I was going to scare them regardless, but it’s nice to be packing some extra legal ammunition.”

I paused to jot down basics about the Chaney & Son warehouse on a scrap of paper from Sheyenne’s desk. “While I’m gone, pull the county records and see what you can find out about this building—who owns it, how long it’s been empty, anything unusual about recent permits. Harvey Jekyll’s involved in some suspicious activities there.” I patted the envelope from Judge Hawkins. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a restraining order to deliver.”

Normally, I wouldn’t have given a second glance to the Straight Edge headquarters—an unmarked, run-down storefront whose windows bore the remnants of painted letters from a now-defunct political campaign. It was the sort of place used by accountants for a few months during tax season, after which it would remain empty but hopeful for the rest of the year.

The only sign in the window, designed to look like a No Trespassing sign, said, HUMANS ONLY, and below that, UNNATURAL = UNDESIRABLE. What a witty bunch.

I yanked open the door without knocking—what good was a knock going to do me?—and startled four people who were stuffing flyers into envelopes and painting large placards. The panicky group leaped to their feet and whirled around. One scrawny, mean-looking young woman, who clearly needed a boyfriend, and three equally scrawny and awkward young men, who clearly needed girlfriends, stared at me. I recognized the beanpole redheaded kid I had rescued from the troll landlord’s dinner tub and the two punks who had vandalized Sheldon’s brownstone. They all wore red T-shirts with the line down the chest. None of them looked to be older than twenty-one. I wondered if these punks comprised the whole organization, or if they just worked the day shift.

“Is this the zombie massage parlor?” I asked in a bright voice, feeling quite chipper. “My muscles are stiff.”

“I’ll turn you into a stiff,” the beanpole snarled, trying to sound tough. He had red marks around his mouth from where I’d torn off the duct tape.

“Already been there,” I said. “You forgot to thank me for saving you from the deep-fryer hot tub. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

The Jane Fonda wannabe spoke. “Get out! You’re not welcome here. Can’t you read the sign? Humans only.”

“The legal definition of ‘human’ is being challenged in the courts. My partner has set some remarkable precedents already. In the meantime, why not be inclusive? Embrace diversity.”

The young man who had sprayed graffiti outside of Sheldon’s home now puffed up his chest. “You can rot in hell!”

“I’d rather not rot anywhere.” I strolled into the main room, and the four Straight Edgers cringed, as if afraid I intended to eat their brains. The posters they were making each had a straight unadorned line on a field of red; not much of a logo design.

With my cell phone I took a quick group shot of the four young activists. “Got your faces, just to verify you were here in the office. Now I need your names.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to enter you into a sweepstakes.”

Graffiti-boy looked ready to blurt out the information, but the scrawny woman snapped, “Don’t tell him anything, Scott.”

“Jeez, Priscilla, I wasn’t going to!”

Then I glanced at the remaining two Straight Edgers and did my best bluff. “You others don’t need to give me your names. We can bring charges against Scott and Priscilla, here.”

The bitter young woman paled, while Scott looked tangled in knots. “It’s Todd and Patrick!” he blurted.

“You bastard!” Todd, the beanpole, snarled at Scott.

“We all stick together,” Priscilla said. “We’re Straight Edge.”

“What do you want?” demanded Patrick, the young man who had planted stakes at Sheldon’s front door.

“You’ve been harassing a client of mine,” I said. “A vampire.”

“And? You unnaturals are all the same to us,” sneered Priscilla. “You should just go . . . away.”

“Go away—or else!” Patrick picked up one of the placards and held it like a shield, as if the sharpened wooden end would scare a zombie. He needed to do better research.

“I’m also here on behalf of the Hope and Salvation Mission, which was recently vandalized—I suspect you had something to do with that as well.”

“You can’t prove it,” said Scott.

“Monster lover!” Todd said.

The young woman made a scoffing sound. “If we wanted to scare that goody-two-shoes old lady out of town, we’d take care of it ourselves,