Page 171 of Drama Queen

Yeah, that sounded exactly like how it would play out. Zeke was one of the guys, with enough plausible deniability he’d be able to get away with something like that. This guy, Roly, if that was even his name, would be singled out for what was truly an altruistic act of kindness.

“And his name is Roly?”

“Roland,” Zeke told her, hope in his gaze. “Roland Fitzgerald.”

“What kind of shifter is he?”

“Lynx,” he replied, holding up a hand to forestall the protest he could see coming. “One, he’s straight, like not even sharing a girl with a buddy straight. Two, he’s not a big cat. Yeah, they’re bigger, but not the big cat type. The president has no effect on him whatsoever. So that thing you just had with the lioness? Not gonna to happen,”

Well, that removed her last concern. “Fine, get me a meeting with him as soon as you can. Where’s he currently working?”

“He’s an intern in finance. They’ve got him running the fucking copying machine, like he doesn’t have a degree in politics and a masters in communication.”

“On paper he sounds perfect,” Charlotte told him. “I’m still going to need to meet him. I don’t give a fuck what his eyes are like, or if he occasionally knocks stuff over. If he can do the job and make things easier for me, then I’m happy. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Zeke beamed at her. “Man did me a solid, you know? I just wanna pay him back. Not the job,” he hastened to add, when she frowned at him. “Just putting his name forward, getting him noticed by the right people.”

“And you think I’m the right person?” Charlotte asked drily.

The man looked her up and down twice, licking his lips before answering. “Yes, Ma’am. I think you’re exactly the right kind of person.”

Charlotte

Finally,finally, Charlotte entered the conference room. While dominated by a large central table, the walls were chequered with doors leading into smaller meeting spaces, several of them occupied by groups of people working on one thing or another. There was an intensity in the room that spoke of people focussed on their tasks and getting stuff done.

“Here she is!” James said, waving her over.

His caramel coloured hair now had distinct orange overtones, showing how stressed he was. It took her a moment to remember what his task had been — researching the background of the family.

“Bad news?” she asked, already dreading what he was going to say.

“No, not at all. They’re squeaky clean. Mom’s a childcare worker, dad’s a mechanic, and the daughter is in her second year of school.” He winced and cleared his throat. “Was in her second year of school. They moved to the neighbourhood because it was a shorter commute for the mom, and their daughter was enrolled at the school too. Just three blocks from the house.”

“What about his commute?” Charlotte asked, unable to help it. Her owl wanted to know more about these people.

“They asked him that too, apparently it made no difference to him. Six one way, half dozen the other.”

“They asked? Who arethey, sir?”

“James,” he told her. “For today at least, call me James. You’re right, this isn’t the time for games.”

She nodded, waiting for him to answer the question.

“They are the police who interviewed the family,” he told her. “Don’t fret, it was all by the book, they had a counsellor and legal representation with them, even family members present. They weren’t being harassed, it was just an honest attempt to find out where the fuck it all went wrong.”

“Okay, so no justified cause for the neighbour’s prejudice then,” she concluded.

“None at all. The neighbours were canvassed, it’s a medium sized apartment building, quite a few families with kids, mixed species place too. The daughter was popular and well accepted by the human children there, the families did what they could to form a neighbourhood, walking school buses and weekend cookouts when they could. It was a great little community, aside from the curmudgeon who lived next door to them. She hated kids. Hated shifters more, but she was always yelling at the kids, no matter what species they claimed.”

“Has she had an eval?” Charlotte asked.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “She failed. Moderate dementia, she should be in a home. Isn’t able to cook, clean or wash herself. She’s been kept in the geriatric ward at the hospital while they try to find her next of kin. She won’t be returning to her apartment, there was melted plastic on the stovetop, all the food was off, and she was still eating it. The place was a dump, full of roaches and stuff nobody should be exposed to.”

“Mosquitos, cockroaches, and batshit old women,” Charlotte muttered to herself.

“What?”

She looked at James, confusion clear on his face, and wanted to laugh. “You know that saying, after a nuclear holocaust, the only thing left will be roaches?”

---