Page 74 of Hoofin’ It

“My, my. I’d pick up my phone and call someone, but it seems my elbows are out of commission. Do be a dear boy and lend me a hand, would you?”

I nodded in the direction of the cameras. “No. Ask one of them. They like it when you boss them around.”

“But you’re more entertaining to boss around.”

“For fuck’s sake.” I got up, went to his desk, snatched the phone from its cradle, and activated the speaker phone. “Who am I calling?”

He gave me a number, which I dialed for him before returning to my cozy seat on the couch. On the third ring, a gravelly voice answered, “It is early for you to be calling me, Saven.”

“Pierce, you owe me a favor.”

Oh great. Ernesto had called his brother, a vampire living in Georgia who really enjoyed being kneecapped.

“I hate when you say that.”

“Stop asking me for favors then. A ring in New York City has overstepped its boundaries. I’m going to make them disappear. You’re going to help me do it.”

Marian’s mouth opened, and I clapped my hand to her lips so she wouldn’t say anything. The glare she shot me promised retribution later, but until she learned the rules of Ernesto’s games, I couldn’t let her interfere, especially when her job would become a lot easier.

“This sounds interesting. What’s going on?”

“My darling boy has two dimes on his shoulder, given to him by Mark O’Conners.”

“That idiot shot a cop?”

“Pierce.”

“Let me correct myself. That idiot shot your cop?”

“Better. Yes.”

Vampires. Whenever they found someone interesting, they forgot slavery had been outlawed decades ago. Instead of correcting him, I sighed and shook my head, lowering my hand from Marian’s mouth and signaling for her to remain quiet. She nodded.

“How did you find out who shot him?”

Ernesto faked a sniffle. “He took out my kneecaps and my elbows and my shoulders. I’m so happy.”

“He’s there, isn’t he?”

“He finally came home to visit me, Pierce.”

“Gibson, do I need to rescue you?”

I laughed. “I think I’m all right for now. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“I changed my phone number. I’ll text you my new one. You still using that decrepit piece of shit you claim is a cell?”

“My number hasn’t changed. Also, stop hacking into the police databases to steal phone numbers.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Gibson. Rumor mill says you retired?”

“Forced out.”

“Morons. How’d they do it? I was convinced you’d never come to the dark side.”

Ernesto shot me a look I translated to mean ‘shut up.’ I obeyed, holding my hands up in surrender. “You heard about the accident, yes?”

“Of course. You called me, wailing your cop had gotten hurt in the line of duty. What about it?”