The Night Beat

as you can take a ghost’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.” He didn’t sound like he meant it all that much. He also looked slightly grossed out. Touching ectoplasm could do that until you were used to it.
    Jack cleared his throat. “We’re here on an investigation, and we’d like your cooperation. This involves Prosaic City Police as well as Necropolis Enforcement. I trust we can rely on your assistance?” He didn’t take Cotton’s hand or offer his. Instead he pulled his notebook and pen out of his jacket pocket, flipped the notebook open, clicked the pen, and gave every impression of being about to take a statement.
    Cotton gaped for a moment, then slammed his mouth shut. “Of course. I have always served the laws of man and Gods my entire life and unlife.”
    I managed not to make the gagging sound, but only because Sexy Cindy was doing it for me, albeit quietly.
    “Yeah, he was so dedicated to the cause that he turned ghost for no reason other than to keep on hunting witches. What a pity that none of the people he helped condemn to death actually were witches or warlocks. Nor has he ever once apologized to any of them for the torment and horror he helped put them through.”
    Cotton gave a supercilious sigh. “They were convicted of their crimes on the human plane. Their guilt was proven there. I have no need to apologize for doing God’s work.”
    “You weren’t doing Yahweh’s work during the trials. You were doing the Prince’s.”
    “So you love to insist. I note that I dwell in Necropolis Proper, not in the Levels. Clearly those in power agree with my eternal life’s work.”
    I wanted to argue this misconception of his, but I’d learned a century and a half ago that it was useless. His mind was firmly closed -- to new ideas, to the truth of what he’d done, to the concept of his true place in both human and undead history. And yet, as much as I hated him, Cotton managed to fly under the radar, just like Ishtrallum. He wasn’t on the Watch List like Nero. He was just an unpleasant being who had no idea that he actually was unpleasant. Amanda suggested pity when dealing with Cotton. Maurice suggested banishment. I always sided with Maurice on this one.
    Jack, thankfully, continued to take the police lead. “We’re looking for a variety of beings. Let’s start with Nero. Have you seen him recently?”
    Cotton shrugged. “Well, recently, no. He came in a few months ago, looking for a book. Took me a tremendous amount of effort to find it, but, unlike some, he was grateful for the effort.”
    I clamped my jaw shut as Jack asked, “Name of the book?”
    “Bringing it On , by Timothy Leery…and that’s with two e’s, not the same as the hippie from a few decades ago.”
    I resisted the urge to call H.P. or Edgar. The base of my tail told me that what this book was teaching wasn’t either how to get high, get your cheer squad to nationals, or get happy. It was going to end up the how-to book for Armageddon.
    “What year was it written, do you know?” I managed to get out in a fairly civil tone.
    “Oh, sixteen-sixty-six, I believe.” Cotton smiled benevolently. “I was only three, but I recall it as being a good year.”
    “No connection made to the number of the beast and all that?” Freddy asked. I was impressed. He really had been a professor of some kind.
    “I doubt it.” Cotton waved his hand as if to dismiss the idea. If he’d taken it as merchandise and sold it, in his mind, it was on the side of good.
    “Seen Nero since?” Jack asked, reclaiming the lead.
    “No. We’re not close.”
    “How about two, ah, fallen angels, Abaddon or Apollyon?” Jack was still all business. He almost sounded bored. I knew he wasn’t, but he’d clearly read Cotton right -- sound like it was important and he’d spend his time lecturing and avoiding. Sound uninterested and you’d get what you wanted.
    “Hardly. And, despite the insinuations of some, I do know to alert the authorities should I spot high minions of the Prince.”
    “What about a human, named Anthony Tomio?” Jack was just managing not to yawn. I was impressed down to my claws.
    “Young man?” Cotton seemed to be thinking.
    “Yeah, late twenties, early thirties. Spent a lot of time down in this area.”
    “His profession?”
    “Drug dealer mostly.” Jack looked at Freddy and Sexy Cindy. “Right?” They both nodded.
    Cotton still seemed to be in thought. “He might not have used his real name,” I