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Part 2: Daddy�s Swinging Palace
The next thing I know we�re in his car, passing Forty-Ninth and Long. Damn kid wants to play driver, too. I guess I don�t mind so much. He�s got a nice profile. Better than watching the scenery. He�s got a Silver Wraith. An honest to God Rolls. Mint condition, too. I�ve never gotten close enough to spit on one before, let alone take a ride. Makes me kind of nervous. This kid�s got that kind of green, he can afford the big time. What�s he want my services for?
I figure I should be upfront; just come out and ask him. So I do. �Why me?� I say watching him from the corner of my eye.
�I like you,� he retorts. �What�ve you got to complain about? Besides, it had to be somebody, didn�t it? Why not you? Sure, there are a lot of men out there, but...you might as well be the one.� He�s flirting again.
�Uh-huh. You sure know how to make a fellow feel special.� I go over the facts in my head again, but there practically aren�t any, so I start asking him questions. He seems nervous at first, but loosens up as he starts talking about his godfather.
�He was a wonderful man�you would have loved him.� I hate him already. �He was right about you�re age, I think. How old are you? Early forties?�
�Bad manners,� I chastise him. �Keep it up and you�ll get a ruler across your knuckles.�
�Just my knuckles? Ah, well. At any rate, his family had a habit of collecting things�any old thing, really. You should have seen that house when we went start cleaning it out�Dear God, there was a stuffed lion in the attic corner. I took down a box and came face to face with it. I just about died. I wondered what my obituary would say�I thought I was about to get eaten alive.�
�You still might.�
He grins at this. �I�m always open to new experiences. At any rate, he�d bragged about this text before�mostly because everyone envied it so much.�
�Sounds like a swell fellow,� I tell him dryly.
�He wasn�t like that, really,� the boy protests. �His family was a tree full of snobs, but he was actually a decent man. He loved his collection mostly because it frustrated all the other upper crusts out there. His so-called �peers��who hated him. It was a beautiful text, supposedly about the true passage to Shambhala. Of course, it was never translated. He wouldn�t hear of it. He couldn�t bear the thought of one of those �beady-eyed academics� getting their filthy hands on it, even for a moment.�
�Sounds like a well-educated man. Wait a minute, Shambhala?� Where have I heard that word before? Suddenly it hits me; the little Asian panhandler that hangs out near my building. I start to laugh. �Your godfather�s prized possession was a map to Shangri-la,� I chuckle. �That�s priceless.�
�It is, actually,� he tells me a little stiffly. His pretty hands are gripping the wheel tightly. �It could be worth quite a bit to the right buyer. So what if Shambhala isn�t real? The text is, and the text is valuable. If you can�t appreciate its spiritual merits, you ought to be impressed with its estimated cost on the black market.�
�Which is?�
�I wouldn�t know. I only know they�d kill to get their hands on it.� He sounds angry, at me or the crooks, I can�t guess. �Is it too silly a thing for you to waste your time on?� he asks me. �Will I have to raise your pay?� he adds, and it�s my turn to get hot.
�Look,� I say to him, �I�m not exactly rolling in scratch, but I do all right. If all I cared about was money, don�t you think I�d be a little better off than I am now? I got standards, you understand? You want your text back, I�ll get your text back, whatever baloney it�s about.�
He looks only partly mollified, and I suggest he start naming some names to take his mind away from the argument. �Who do you think did it?�
�Voldemort,� he replies.
�Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.� Voldemort is like a newer version of Capone, only much, much worse. Capone just drove the cops crazy, ran bootlegging and gambling businesses, and murdered people. He never tortured anyone, and the �Big Fellow,� doesn�t sound nearly as ominous as the �Dark Lord.� The Dark Lord enjoys torturing people. He�s also my ex-boss. Yeah, I ran with the wrong crowd, way back when. I�m still trying to live that down. �Why would he go and do something like that?� I ask cautiously. Now I�m wondering if I shouldn�t have asked for more money. Well, hell; I KNOW I should have asked for more money, but those big green eyes had me knocked for a loop. And now look what I�m into.
�I�d ask him, only most people who ask Voldemort questions have this way of ending up dead. That�s one of the reasons I need you. You CAN handle this, can�t you?� He sneaks a sideways glance at me, and I can see the edge of a smile on that rosy mouth.
�Me, I can handle pretty much anything.�
�Cocky, aren�t we?� Now he�s smiling outright, and it�s one of those mischievous numbers that makes my pulse race.
�You better believe it,� I tell him, and wonder why I can�t seem to shut my yap. I do sound kind of cocky, and that�s the sort of thing that can get you noticed by the wrong people in this town.
He�s quiet for a few moments, like he�s thinking. Suddenly he asks me, �So, what should I call you?�
I shrug. �We have a business relationship, so you can call me Mister Spade,� I suggest, knowing that he�s not going to bite.
He snorts. �I�d rather call you Severus. I don�t give a damn about business.� People usually don�t, when business is good. �We have two business relationships, one where I�m paying you, one where I�m working for you. It�d be about as appropriate to call you Boss.� I glare at him, and he smiles slowly. �You don�t like that, big boy? I like that. I like that a lot.�
There isn�t any more time for his come-ons because we�ve reached his godfather�s house. If I were a copper, I�d want to start there because it was the scene of the crime. But I�m not, and I know better so I don�t. But I don�t have any better ideas at the moment, not except for a chat with old Voldie, and if I was to go right up and ask him, �Hey, glom any rare Tibetan texts lately?� I�d be willing to bet I�d swallow a few teeth for my troubles. If I was lucky.
So that leaves Daddy Warbucks and his swinging palace. Of course, Daddy Warbucks is dead, but the palace is still a palace. A mansion, the real McCoy, and I�m telling you, it SPRAWLS. We walk across the grounds, and I�m still asking every question that pops into my pretty little head.
�What did Pops do for a living?�
He shrugs. �Inherited, mostly.�
Figures. Now I REALLY hate the bastard. �How did he die?�
He hesitates. �Heart stopped. Must not have been living right; you know? A guy his age, he ought to have gotten out and exercised, instead of being trapped in this old monstrosity. Do you get enough exercise, Severus?�
Out comes Mister Wise-Guy again. I ignore him. The place really is a monstrosity, dark and dirty and overgrown with ivy. The black windows peer out at us like soulless eyes. The yard�s a mess, and the whole outfit could do with a lick or two of paint. �Why�s it such a dump?� I enquire tactfully. Well, diplomacy never was my strong suit. That�s why I didn�t make it on the force. Didn�t kiss enough ass. Or maybe, didn�t kiss the RIGHT asses. Or maybe it was because I did kiss the WRONG ones. Or I suppose it coulda been the hooch. It doesn�t matter; it�s all the same, now. �Don�t tell me he couldn�t afford to keep the place up?�
He looks at me, kind of excited, like. �That�s the thing! He never even let people on the grounds. He didn�t trust anyone�outside of me, that is. And one or two others; Lupin, his cousin Tonks. And he was friends with the Chief, of course, but I don�t suspect HIM. Do you?�
�Not of stealing your godfather�s text,� I tell him, trying to sound noncommittal. We�re greeted at the door by a wrinkled old geezer�I swear, one puff of air could send him skittering along like a dead leaf. He�s just a tiny, shriveled up old man, and he gives us a glare that rivals my own. I�m almost impressed.
�Little hoodlum Potter, come home to steal more of our precious family treasures?� he sneers at the boy, mocking him snidely.
�Shut your trap, Kreacher,� the boy responds sternly. The old man wanders away into the house, muttering under his breath. �I apologize about him,� he gives me an awkward smile. �He came with the house; family will says so long as he lives, he lives here. Sirius didn�t much like him either.�
The man would have made a good suspect�if he could even lift the text. I doubt he could, even if it was as ancient and dried up as him. We walk around the house, and I ask some more questions. The joint is mostly cleared up, but there�s still flotsam and jetsam here and there. He shows me where they kept the item�on a real, live pedestal. There just isn�t anything to be gained here�it may look like the wreck of the Old 97, but the place is actually about as secure as Fort Knox. There are locks everywhere. Harry tells me there was also a big damn guard dog, but that went when the master died. I just don�t get it. This place is practically airtight. So where did this famous Tibetan literature go?
We hear the front door open, and Harry leads me into the front hall, where a gray-haired man is hanging up his hat. He�s got a face like a newspaper that got wadded up before someone decided to try smoothing it out to read it, and big dark pits under his eyes. He don�t look like he�s been sleeping well�hell, if it wasn�t for the digs, the look on his face would make me think he�s got more creditors than I do. Maybe he does. Just because he�s livin� in a nice place don�t mean anything.
�Lupin,� Harry says, and actually goes to hug the guy. I bite my lip to keep from snarling at the sap. Easy tiger. �How�re you doing?�
The man gives a tired smile. �I�m just fine, thanks.� We all know he�s lying. I don�t know what he�s in, but he�s in it deep. He reaches out to shake my hand, and he has a grip like a gorilla. For a scrawny fellow, he sure can crush knuckles. �Remus Lupin,� he tells me, and I nod.
�Severus Spade,� I reply. He�s looking me over, seeing where I don�t fit. Considering the location, everywhere pretty much covers it.
�Friend of Harry�s?�
�Actually, he�s a private dick. He�s going to see if he can help track down the relic, and help us find the thief, � Harry reveals, and I curse the kid, even though we haven�t covered any of that.
I watch the man warily, and realize his eyes are as yellow as daisies, and nowhere near as friendly. If this man has a mouth that opens at the wrong time, the Dark Lord will put me six feet under by the end of the week. I give him as hard a look as he�s giving me.
�Harry�� is all he says, but I can hear the question. �Why the hell are you hanging around with this slimeball? Why don�t we find ourselves a real professional?�
�Don�t, Remus. Dumbledore recommended him.� The man�s shoulders sink a little at that, admitting defeat. I�ve been there. Have I ever.
�Well�do be careful, Harry. Look; last night was a long one, I need to get some sleep. You let me know if you need any help, any at all,� he tells him. Harry smiles and waves him off to bed.
As we�re walking back to the car, Harry confides in me; �He was my godfather�s best friend. Ever since they were kids. He�s taking it pretty hard.�
He might be, or he might just have taken it; I haven�t made up my mind yet. �Can you think of anywhere else we might want to have a look around?�
�Nah.�
�Then let�s head back downtown. I wanna put my ear to the ground, see what the word on the street is.� He looks eager to try this, and I wipe the smile away that�s trying to take root on my face. �Don�t get sweet on this kid,� I tell myself as we drive away. He�s a looker, all right, but the lookers are always heartbreakers.
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As always, I love a review! Tell me you love me, or that I�m fabulous, or give me good ideas, or just ramble, I�m easy to please. Fairly easy to please. Right now, sleep would please me best, so that�s where I�m headed. Kisses and Moonshine! Starry
