Practical Demonkeeping

Travis. “And the process should begin as soon as Rachel starts reading the words I translate, or Catch will know something is up. I can’t bluff on the translation at my end.”
    “You don’t have to,” Brine said. “You simply have to be slower than Howard, which doesn’t sound like a problem.”
    “Wait a second,” Robert said. He was out of his seat and across the bar to where Mavis was standing. “Mavis, give me your recorder.”
    “What recorder?” she said coyly.
    “Don’t bullshit me, Mavis. You’ve got a microcassette recorder under the bar so you can listen to people’s conversations.”
    Mavis pulled the recorder out from under the bar and reluctantly handed it over to Robert. “This is the solution to the time problem,” Robert said. “We read the invocation into this before the genie comes out of the woods. When and if we get the candlesticks, we play it back. This thing has a high speed for secretaries to use when typing dictation.”
    Brine looked at Travis. “Will it work?”
    “It’s not any more risky than anything else we’re doing.”
    “ Who’s voice do we use?” Robert asked. “Who gets the responsibility?”
    The Djinn answered, “It must be Augustus Brine. He has been chosen.”
    Robert checked his watch. “We’ve got a half hour and I still have to pick up my cameras at The Breeze’s trailer. Let’s meet at the U-PICK-EM sign in fifteen minutes.”
    “Wait—we need to go over this again,” Travis said.
    “Later,” Brine said. He threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and headed toward the door. “Robert, use Howard’s car. I don’t want this whole thing depending on your old truck starting. Travis, Gian Hen Gian , you ride with me.”

33
RIVERA
    During the drive to Pine Cove, Rivera was nagged by the idea that he had forgotten something. It wasn’t that he hadn’t reported where he was going; he had planned that. Until he had physical evidence that there was a serial killer in the area, he wasn’t saying a word. But when he knocked on the Elliotts ’ front door and it swung open, he suddenly remembered that his bullet-proof vest was hanging in his locker back at the station.
    He called into the house and waited for an answer. None came.
    Only cops and vampires have to have an invitation to enter, he thought. But there is probable cause. The part of his mind that functioned like a district attorney kicked in.
    “ So, Sergeant Rivera,” the lawyer said, “you entered a private residence based on a computer data base that could have been no more than a mailing list ?”
    “ I believed that Effrom Elliott’s name on the list represented a clear and present danger to a private citizen, so I entered the residence .”
    Rivera drew his revolver and held it in his right hand while he held his badge out in his left.
    “Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, this is Sergeant Rivera from the Sheriff’s Department. I’m coming in the house.”
    He moved from room to room announcing his presence before he entered. The bedroom door was closed. He saw the splintered bullet hole in the door and felt his adrenaline surge.
    Should he call for backup?
    The D.A. said: “And so you entered the house on what basis ?”
    Rivera came through the door low and rolled. He lay for a moment on the floor of the empty room, feeling stupid.
    What now? He couldn’t call in and report a bullet hole in a residence that he had probably entered illegally, especially when he hadn’t reported that he was in Pine Cove in the first place.
    One step at a time, he told himself.
    Rivera returned to his unmarked car and reported that he was in Pine Cove.
    “Sergeant Rivera,” the dispatcher said, “ there is a message for you from Technical Sergeant Nailsworth . He said to tell you that Robert Masterson is married to the granddaughter of Effrom Elliott. He said he doesn’t know what it means, but he thought you should know.”
    It meant that he had to find Robert Masterson. He acknowledged the message and signed off.
    Fifteen minutes later he was at The Breeze’s trailer. The old pickup was gone and no one answered the door. He radioed the station and requested a direct patch to the Spider.
    “ Nailgun , can you get me Masterson’s wife’s home address? He gave the trailer as residence when we brought him in. And give me the place where she works.”
    “Hold on, it’ll be just a second for her address.” Rivera lit a cigarette while he waited. Before he took the second drag, Nailsworth