Page 33 of Half Dead

Gun was first through the door, followed by Cam. She sniffed the air. “This place reeks of pot.”

“It reeks of quiet desperation,” Gun countered. “Tell me again why we’re here when there’s a perfectly good hot tub on the balcony of the Devil’s Playground.”

I didn’t want to tell him about last night’s incident, or he’d be even more eager to go. “I like it here,” I said. “There’s a jukebox.”

The cousins exchanged unimpressed glances. “I can play songs on my phone anytime I want. Who needs a jukebox in this century?” Gun asked.

“Your judgy attitude can wait outside.”

“That was my suggestion,” Cam said with a shrug.

Gun shimmied his shoulders to the beat. “Oh, I do like this song. Very well then. Consider me judgment free for the remainder of the evening.”

Camryn smirked. “Now this I have to see.”

I spotted Officer Leo at the far end of the bar and waved. His return wave was best described as sloppy.

“Someone’s deep in his cups,” Gun remarked with amusement.

We ventured over to talk to him.

“I’ve got a joke for you,” Leo said. “A goddess and two hot mages walk into a bar…”

Cam smiled at him. “Right, but which one of us is hotter?”

I took in Leo’s disheveled hair and ruddy cheeks. “How long have you been here, bud?”

“Dunno. Two hours?”

I patted his cheek. “And how many beers have you consumed within that timeframe?”

“What? I’m off duty.” He lowered his voice. “But I have been working. I’ve been watching everybody who comes in and trying to identify the supernaturals.”

I balked. “Phaedra gave you a potion?”

“Not yet. I wanted to see what I’m capable of on my own. Develop a baseline.” He made a horizontal slice through the air.

“You lack the Sight, genius,” Gun said. “You can’t identify any of us without magical assistance.”

Leo held up a finger. “Au contraire. As a trained police officer, I excel in picking up cues and clues that the average person might miss.”

“All right, Sherlock Homeboy.” Gunther scanned the room. “I spy with my little eye… a werewolf. Tell me which one it is.”

Leo didn’t hesitate. He pointed to a scruffy, lean man in a Metallica T-shirt standing near the jukebox.

“He’s right,” I said. “That’s Xander. He’s in the Arrowhead Pack.”

Leo pumped a fist in the air, nearly clocking Gun in the face as he did so.

“Walk us through your process,” the mage said. To his credit, he actually sounded curious.

“First, with hair like that, he looks like he’s got that extra burst of testosterone. He’s lean and toned, but he doesn’t seem like the type to work out.”

“Maybe his job involves manual labor,” Gun said.

“Both things can be true,” I pointed out. Many of the local werewolves worked as industrial artisans.

“Both can be true,” Leo agreed, “but this guy also downed five beers in about thirty minutes, and he’s still standing upright. His eyes aren’t even glazed.”

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