Nightlife (Cal Leandros #1)(61)

Wonderful. Now I had a human, a puck, and a vampire sticking their noses in my business. Everyone was invariably out to ruin my good time. It never failed. Not only was Promise joining forces with Niko and Goodfellow, but I still didn't have any damn money. Still, the day wasn't over and there were other ways to finance my love of luxury. Boggle was looking more and more like my best option. I left the closet behind and went to hit him up.

I'd known Boggle back when he was an ankle-biting pollywog. Years had passed and times had changed, but there was one thing I could depend on to stay the same: Bog's bottomless pit of an appetite. It defined consistency back when consistency was barely a concept, much less a word. So when I came calling, it was with a present in hand. I released my grip on it, letting it slump to the ground, and raised my other hand for a bite of hot dog. Chili cheese with onions.

"Boggy," I said indistinctly around a mouthful of sheer heaven. "Up and at 'em, tiger. I brought you breakfast. You want yours sunny-side up or over easy?"

The mud stirred, giving a sluggish ripple, and then Boggle raised his head above the surface just enough to show his jack-o'-lantern orange eyes like a bizarrely prehistoric frog. "You again." The words bubbled up through the mud with annoyed resignation. The resignation quickly melted as the eyes focused more sharply on me and widened. "You." This time the tone was different and certainly less complacent.

"It's me." I flashed a grin as I pulled off the sunglasses I'd lifted earlier from a street vendor and revealed my gorgeous silver peepers. "But are you sure which me it is, Bog? Because I'm more than willing to take the time to talk it over, to really hash it out with you. For old times' sake."

Ignoring the invitation, he rose slowly from his mudhole, eyes fixed on me as his face peeled back to reveal his teeth. "You merged with it. A human. Disgusting. Perverse." If he'd had lips, he would've pursed them and spit to show his distaste.

"Aren't you the delicate lady?" I snorted. "And he was only half human. Now we're a whole lot less." I put my foot on the motionless body in front of me and gave it a shove. It rolled down the incline into the thick mud with a splat. Beefy frame, fairly young—he'd make a good meal for Boggle. He'd followed me with dogged determination into the depths of the park, never quite as surreptitious as he'd hoped. He'd had a knife, handcuffs, a homemade wire garrote, and a burning look of hunger in his eyes. I didn't know if he wanted money or something much less mundane, but it didn't matter to me and I knew it wouldn't to Boggle either. Robbers or rapists, they all taste the same, he'd say.

Like chicken.

Either way it was a stroke of fortune I'd been all too happy to take advantage of. It saved me the trouble of dragging a kicking and screaming jogger into the woods. "Eat up, big guy, and we'll get down to business," I prompted, taking a seat on the grassy bank to finish up my own breakfast hot dog. I'd never been a big fan of poultry myself.

Giving in, Boggle grumbled, "It's always bidness with you. Been a thousand years easy and first thing you want is a favor. Least this time you brought me takeout."

As my old buddy made his way through the most important meal of the day, I filled him in on my plan and what precisely it was that I needed from him. He wasn't too happy. I didn't take it personally. Boggles are never especially happy; it simply isn't in their makeup. But that was all right. I had enough good cheer for the both of us and then some.

"Quit your bitching," I ordered, wiping the mustard from my hands on the withered grass. "So what if you have to move. You're looking flaky anyway. A change of scenery will do you good."

"It's the pollution," he said glumly, tongue swiping over his bloody teeth. "Plays hell with my scales. I lose a bucketful every morning. Ain't no combing that over, ya know?"

"Yeah, it's a crying shame." Balancing my arms on my knees, I let my hands dangle and gave Boggle a narrow-eyed glance. "It's been a while for you, eh, Bog? Holed up in this all-you-can-eat buffet? Hell, the muggers fall in your playpen and you barely have to lift a claw. I have to wonder, big guy, if you're up for some genuine action." Leaning back, I replaced my sunglasses and repeated flatly, "I really have to wonder."

The orange eyes turned sullen. "You think I've gone soft. That what you're saying?"

"Doesn't matter what I say, Boggle." My tone was as soft as the flash of my teeth was hard. "What matters is what you do. I'm a good guy. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"What a pal," he said sourly. "And what am I getting out of this, huh? You want I should move. You want my souvenirs. You want me to risk my muddy ass. And for what? I'm helping you, but what the hell are you doing for me?"

"Besides the snack? Besides all the nostalgia?" I rose to my feet. "I'm not skinning you alive, Boggy. I'm not turning you into a throw rug for my swinging bachelor pad. How 'bout that? Is that good enough for you?"

Turned out, it was.

I got nearly eight thousand dollars and a pocketful of gold jewelry from Boggle. The jewelry, mainly thick chains and clunky rings, was tacky in a way only Mr. T could truly appreciate, but it should be worth a fair chunk of change. The clothes and empty wallets I let him keep. When I left he was sifting mournfully through his reduced pile of mementos with a jackknife claw and exhaling a bubbling sigh of regret. Boggles liked their toys. It was a fairly dull existence, just eating, cracking bones, and stewing in the slime. A few baubles livened up the ole mudhole. He'd turned the majority of them over to me all the same. Why? Maybe for old times' sake? For our long-enduring friendship? Or could it be he wasn't the first of his kind I'd peeled like a grape?