'I need help, and I don't know who else to go to.' It was a little-boy gesture, an uncertain gesture. He was staring at his hands and only his eyes rose to look at me. Smitz, how may I help you today?' I asked.

As long as I didn't shoot him personally. Smitz, but he looked worried enough to not care. The Browning Hi-Power 9mm didn't look Christmasy at all, but since it was hidden under the jacket, that didn't seem to matter. The silver outline of an angel gleamed in my lapel. The skirt and matching jacket were a deep forest green. A high-collared blouse so perfectly red I'd had to wear makeup to keep from looking pale. He'd been very pleased with my outfit for the evening. My mug had a reindeer in a bathrobe and slippers with Christmas lights laced in its antlers, toasting the merry season with champagne and saying, 'Bingle Jells.'īert didn't really like my mug, but he let it go, probably afraid of what else I might bring in. A personalized holiday mug to add a personal touch to the office. I was drinking my coffee out of the Christmas mug that Bert, my boss, had insisted everyone bring in. The coffee that he'd accepted sat cooling on the edge of my desk. He sat in front of me, crushing his toboggan hat, kneading it in his big hands. He was shaped large and square with grime embedded under his fingernails that soap would not touch. Smitz was a construction worker, farmer, or something similar. The muscles you get from hard physical labor. Not the muscles you get from lifting weights and running around indoor tracks.

George Smitz was a tall man, well over six feet. My boss, Bert, took any job that would have us. Pre-Christmas was a dead time of year, no pun intended. Which probably meant whatever he wanted me to do was something I wouldn't, or couldn't, do. No note saying zombie raising or vampire slaying. My last client of the night sat across from me. A slow time of year for raising the dead.

The lunatic cafe by laurell k hamilton