Irregulars

“It surprised us too, but then after we reviewed supper club, we realized that these same sort of people whose demand fueled the mermaid flesh trade were branching out into this chic cannibalism. They were foodies gone very wrong.”
“This is the case you were mentioning at the Flapjack Shack, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is. Bauer & Bullock is owned lock, stock, and barrel by Cindy Bullock, now Trent’s ex-wife, since he went into Beaumont,” Keith said.
“According to the file, Beaumont was just a stopover on his trip to the goblin high king’s summer solstice table.”
“As the main course, yeah,” Keith said. “The wife was in Argentina researching sources for her new restaurant venture for the entire duration of my investigation. We had our South American counterparts monitor her movements while she was in their country, but her exploits were purely beef or beefcake related. We couldn’t nail her on anything.”
“Okay, so Bullock’s widow is here slinging steaks. And?” Gunther asked.
“And it occurred to me that there are a few things we don’t know about this case.”
“Such as everything?” Gunther gave a derisive snort.
“Such as: where does the butchering take place?”
Gunther shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not sure anybody would risk the sentence for cannibalism if they actually knew the law and I’m fairly certain that Cindy Bullock is familiar with it.”
“I’d like to say that I agree with you, but when it comes to carnal pleasures like food, people will risk anything. Trust me on this. I want to question Cindy and take a look around the restaurant kitchen if I can. Even if she isn’t involved in these murders, I guarantee that she is still in contact with at least a few of her old cronies.” Keith drained his coffee and stood to get himself another cup.
“All right, but apart from the Dallas connection, do we have any reason to question the Bullock woman?”
“At least three ex-employees have called her a bloodsucker and a harpy,” Keith offered.
“Do we have any hard evidence of either of those?”
“No, and it’s pretty common for an ex-employee to call their boss a bloodsucker.”
 “That is a very tenuous connection. I don’t think any judge, even one who was in the Irregular loop, would issue a search warrant based on accusations of harpydom,” Gunther remarked.
“I realize that, but I don’t see any reason not to see if we can shake something out of her,” Keith said. “We’ll hit her place on the way back from the vampires. Did the lab happen to know anything about what methotrexate is used for aside from arthritis?”
“It’s a very strong antimetabolite with potentially fatal side effects taken only by people in the advanced stages of rheumatoid arthritis or psoriasis. It’s a human drug with no known magicial applications.” Gunther paused, musing before he continued, “Maybe the victim was taking it. We could have a look at missing persons to see if any of them had a prescription for methotrexate. At least that way we might be able to identify one of the three unknown deceased, if nothing else.”
“Can you do that in the car on the way to visit the vampires or would you like to stay back here?”
“My phone is mighty,” Gunther said. “And I wouldn’t want to send you off to visit vampires on your own.”
“I’m twice as likely to be eaten by a shark as a vampire.”
“While that is true, I’ll just tag along anyway. After all, it only takes running across the right hungry individual and suddenly you find yourself contemplating lunch from the perspective of a hamburger.”
“How do you know the vampire wouldn’t just gobble you up as well?”
“I have it on the highest authority that vampires hate the taste of trans-goblin body fluids.”
“Whose authority would that be?”
“Ex-boyfriend,” Gunther said simply.
Keith gaped, unable to mask his sense of revulsion. Like most teenagers, Keith had once found vampires sexy. And why not? Films portrayed them, generally, as hot young people in leather. The true form of the vampire was more Nosferatu, less model-turned-actor. To Keith they resembled humanoid hagfish. Because of the necessity of hiding their extra-human nature from the population, all registered vampires wore glamours to disguise their pale, pointy faces and hide their bulbous eyes and round, jawless mouths.
The idea that Gunther had managed to have sex with one both fascinated and revolted him. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure I’m liberal enough to have a romance like that.”
“You mean because of his true physical appearance?” Gunther asked.
“Right.” That, Keith thought, and the fact that you qualify as a main course to him. Aloud he said, “Did you ever see it?”
“Yes, of course. But not often. He was self-conscious about his appearance, but it would have been shallow of me to insist he always disguise himself.”
Shallow? Keith supposed so, but it might also be considered crucial by anyone who was made nervous by the prospect of sticking his dick into the mouth of a creature with more than a hundred and fifty razor-sharp teeth.
Gunther must have seen the skepticism on his face because he said, “I enjoy dating challenging men.”
“Why did you break up?”
“He insisted on polyamory,” Gunther answered. “That and he kept wanting me to call him ‘master’. Ultimately, I was not that interested in pursuing a vampire-style relationship. Too hierarchical for me.”
  Chapter Five  
The three registered vampires living in the Willamette Valley ran a business called Azalea Point Creamery. They produced goat-milk artisan cheeses sourced from their own, humanely pastured herd. As Keith’s rented sedan moved up the long, tree-lined drive, Keith’s proximity alert buzzed. Blinking green nine.
Keith shut it off. Gunther glanced up from his phone.
“These individuals have no priors,” he stated.
“I know. Procedure says I have to interview them, though, so here we are.”
“What’s your feeling?”
“My gut says they don’t have anything to do with it, but rules is rules and I’ve got to interview them anyway since evidence of exsanguination has been found.” Keith pulled up alongside a long, corrugated tin goat shed. Three farm hands were at work there, forking hay and soiled wood chips out of the shed. The goats seemed to be out back in an enclosure. He wondered if the farmhands knew about their employers’ true nature. Most likely not.
Keith put the car in park. “Do you ever wonder why these guys come here?”
“The vampires?” Gunther kept his voice low. “Probably the same reason as everybody else. They want the chance for a better life.”
“I suppose so. It just seems like a lot to have to put up with—concealing your physical form, having agents routinely hassle you.”
Gunther shrugged. “It depends on what they had to put up with in their own realm, I guess.”
Keith casually unsnapped the holster of his mage pistol and said, “Well, I guess we should go wake them up.”
The farm hands watched but did not intervene as the two of them walked to the front door and rang the bell. There came the slight whirring noise of the camera mounted above the door focusing and a groggy male voice on the intercom said, “Can I help you?”
“Joe Sounder?”
“Yes?”
“NIAD. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Keith held up his ID and the door popped open. They entered a small porch thickly hung with blackout curtains. Overhead lights switched on automatically. Gunther closed the door behind them. From a speaker somewhere above, Joe said, “Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right up.”
Keith walked into the living room, which, apart from the blackout curtains, looked perfectly normal. He took a seat on the overstuffed beige couch. Gunther remained standing, apparently performing a survey of the numerous photographs of goats hung on the walls.