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                      SEX, LIES, AND NECROMANCY

                                  by

                    Daniel Parsons and Brandi Weed

          Do not condemn the judgment of another because it
            differs from your own.  You may both be wrong.
                             -- Dandemis

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"Hmmmm..."
     Grayson nodded sagely over the little copper dagger, which shone
dully from its green cushion. "Look for prints, o' course.  And get
tha metal analyzed by someone who knows antiques.  Looks more and more
like some cult, so we might wanna date this thing."
     Janie nodded. "We will want to tell them that big one in the
middle of the blade is the bank managers' thumb."
     "Yeah.  He picked it up to look at."
     "Brilliant.  Ardrin, how long 'till we get to tha Temple?"
     "Almost there.  You and Angel get anything out of Flash?"
     "No, we didn't," Angel said.  "She collapsed almost as soon as we
had her in the car.  She just sat there, and kept muttering "I'm dead"
over and over, all the way to the station."
     "Yeah, yeah, real pitiful.  Like I believe a bit of it.  We'll go
back again afterwards.  Maybe we can get something out of tha Shriners
that'll snap 'er out of it."
     Angel raised one eyebrow. "And what if we don't?"
     Grayson grinned as the headquarters for the Benevolent Temple of
B'nai B'rith appeared before them. "We'll just have ta see."
     The temple was an unassuming two-story building, except for the
large banner over the front entrance, reading "Semi-annual fund drive
to benefit the veterans of foreign wars".  Inside, they stepped into a
great entrance hall, festooned with awards and plaques from various
local charities, mostly reading "In gratitude..." and "Our thanks".
There were also a couple of tall candelabra, wired for electricity,
several banners, and a glass case with bowling and golf trophies.
     "I wonder," Janie mused, "if anybody's doing anything for the
veterans of local wars?"
     "Nah," Grayson guffawed. "The local wars are still bein' fought.
Now where's this idiot we're supposed ta meet?"
     "His name is Isaac MacIntree.  He said he'd meet us in the hall.
I presume this is the place." Angel looked around. "I don't suppose it
really looks like the sort of place cultists would come to."
     Ardrin wandered to the double doors at the back of the room, and
peeked through the crack in between them.  There was a long hallway
beyond, with more doors at the other end and stairways leading up to
the second floor.  Two men were standing on the stairs, frantically
whispering something to each other.
     "No, I guess not." Janie grinned. "I would have expected more
black velvet draperies and cabalistic symbols."
     "I imagine they lock those up in the back."
     Ardrin looked up. "Here he comes."
     Quickly, they gathered by the front entrance and looked up as a
man in a suit stepped in.  He looked fortyish, somewhat plump, and was
not wearing a fez.  "Hello, and welcome to the temple.  I'm Mr.
MacIntree, and I'll be glad to show you around, and answer any
questions you might have."
     Tom shook his hand. "Thank ya kindly, Mr. MacIntree.  We wanna
ask you a few questions about your membership, and finances.  It'll be
over before ya know it."
     "Oh, well in that case we really should go up to my office.  It's
right upstairs.  I must say, I've never had the police here before.
Oh, except on some of our annual fund raisers.  And, of course, a
large percentage of our members are police officers, and other fine,
upstanding citizens of our community.  We here at the Temple believe
in taking an active role in the community, and making a good, positive
difference through our..."
     MacIntree's voice droned on like a power drill all the way up the
stairs, through several hallways, and into a large office.  He
continued talking about the wonderful works of the temple, their noble
origins, the requirements of membership, some of the great figures in
the local community who could claim membership, as the agents filed in
and found some seats.  When he finally paused to take a breath, Tom
leaped into the silence with a question. "Now, about your membership."
     "Yes?  Anything I can do to help you."
     "We'd like to see a list of your members."
     "Oh, I'm sorry, but we really cannot divulge that, not our entire
membership list.  Tell you what: I can look up a name for you, and see
if they are a member.  How does that sound?"
     "Foine.  John Finger."
     MacIntree picked a thick file out of a nearby drawer, and rifled
through it. "No... no, I'm afraid not.  Fresh out of fingers." He
laughed, a high-pitched giggling vaguely reminiscent of a balloon
deflating. "Anyone else?"
     "Jillian Flash," Angel said.
     "Jillian Flash... nope, sorry."
     "Natalie Ash?"
     "No, not here.  My, we're not doing very well today."
     Janie looked pensive for a moment. "How about Percival
Merryweather?"
     "Merryweather?  Oh, we have a few Merryweathers, a Jane, a Nigel,
and a Clerand.  Perhaps he might be related to one of them?"
     "Hmmm... dunno."
     "Roight." Grayson looked around at his charges a bit dubiously.
"Now, your financial records.  We were wondering, in particular, about
some of your sources of income."
     "Oh, dear, that really is proprietary information.  I'd have to
insist on seeing a court order to divulge such things.  I will tell
you, as I am trying to be as much help as I can, that most of our
funds come from the dues of our members, with occasional assistance
from the main chapter house in Albany, during rough times.  We are a
relatively new branch of the temple, and not as well established as
others are.  And all of our income goes out to our charities."
     Grayson scratched his ear and adjusted his hat. "Yea, I actually
was on the receiving end of some of your charity work a long time ago,
when I was just a lad." He smiled beatifically. "It was the action of
your temple that helped steer me clear of the life of dissipation and
thievery all around me."
     All the young agents blinked, and stared in shock. "Sir?"
     "Yes.  I grew up in one of the poorer parts of London, and we
were very hungry in those days.  If it weren't for the temple, I don't
know where I'd be right now.  But I know I would not have risen to the
position of esteem and respect in which I am held now."
     The aura of sincerity radiating off of Grayson was almost
sickeningly cloying.  Gratitude swelled off of his smile and washed
over Mr. MacIntree like a wave of warm treacle.
     "Why... yes, thank you.  I... had often thought we were fighting
the good fight, just like you officers, though we... well... Actually,
I didn't know the temple was in England that long ago..."
     "Oh, it was.  The first one was in London, built almost the same
time I was born.  Tell me... what kind of charities are you involved
in right now?"
     MacIntree thought about it for a moment, then began to tell them
all about the charitable work of the temple.  After a particularly
fascinating description of a festival they held last St. Beauregard's
Day, Grayson accidentally knocked a large vase over onto his foot.  He
leaped into the air with a yelp of pain, and Grayson neatly caught him
on the way down, accidentally stepping on his foot again.
     "Oh, God kill me for a buggerer, how tha 'ell did that happen?
Here, girls, help him out to the hall and find a doctor!  I think his
foot might be broken!"
     They did as they were told, hustling the screeching man out into
the hall to a bench.  As they left, Grayson collared Ardrin. "Stand in
front of the door."
     So, Ardrin leaned on the door and watched Grayson rifle through
MacIntree's desk.  Several papers vanished into his pockets, and a few
into his hat, with surprising speed.  In mere seconds, Grayson ripped
through all the files and slammed them shut again, and Ardrin calmly
held the door for him as he stepped out into the hall. "I'm so sorry,
Mr. MacIntree.  Here, let me rub your foot there."
     After MacIntree yelped "Here stop that, you bloody clumsy fool!"
Tom stopped and stood there, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.
Ardrin suppressed a grin.  Angel stared at Grayson with undisguised
loathing.  Janie excused herself to get a drink of water, shoulders
trembling.
     "Oh..." MacIntree held his foot and glowered up at Tom. "I must
say, this is... how on earth did a man like you get into Her Majesty's
service, I wonder?  This is absolutely inexcusable!"
     Angel grimaced. "More than you know, Mr. MacIntree."
     With a small, subdued expression, Grayson glanced around the hall
in embarrassment. "I think we should be going now.  We, ah, really
haven't any more questions."
     "I certainly hope not!  Good day to you!"
     Grayson bowed his head, and left, Ardrin and Angel following.  As
soon as they got around the corner, his back straightened, and he
chuckled to himself. "Works every time."
     "Mr. Grayson, you went through his office, didn't you?"
     "Sure.  Why waste an opportunity?"
     "That was devious, deceitful, underhanded... Oh, never mind, I'd
forgotten that you don't choose to worry yourself about little things
like that.  And you stop grinning!"
     Ardrin grinned. "Who's grinning?  Hey, where's Janie?"
     They found her at the water fountain.  She had the water going on
full and was trying to submerge her face in it, sloshily giggling.
"Here, now" Grayson said, "you giggling again?"
     She looked up, took a few deep breaths, and promptly lost it.
"Oh, God!  You are a complete and utter momser!  I thought I was going
to *die*!"
     Tom looked confused. "What's a momser?"
     "Oh, it's a bastard.  A clever bastard, sort of.  It's Yiddish."
     Grayson nodded. "All right, not a bad word, then.  Let's get back
to the car.  I didn't know you were Jewish."
     Janie laughed. "Mum's Jewish. A nice Jewish girl from Chicago,
doncha know."
     All three of them looked at her funny for a moment. Finally, Tom
spoke. "Right. Back to the station we go."
     While they were driving back, Grayson got out the papers he'd
filched. "Knew he was lying when he said Finger wasn't a member.  I
learned to read upside-down years ago.  Now, what have we got here?"
     Janie looked over his shoulder. "That looks like invoices."
     "Yep... but nothing we can use here.  Shit.  One of tha problems
of bein' rushed for time.  We're going to have ta have a second look
later."
     Angel sniffed. "And perhaps it might behoove us to get a warrant,
so we don't have to employ a clumsy and embarrassing subterfuge."
     "Oh, if we have to." Grayson laughed. "It'll depend on what Flash
says.  Get her ta admit membership, and we got ourselves a warrant."
Grayson hummed happily to himself. "This is gettin' almost too easy."
     "Oh, I'm glad you're feeling to confident, sir." Angel sat back
and stared ahead as they drove into the station lot. "I do hope your
confidence is warranted."
     Grayson grinned. "O' course.  I always get my man.  Especially if
it's a woman.  Now, let's go pay her another visit.  We got lots ta
talk about, and besides, I'd like to get this over with by teatime."
     Into the halls of the station they walked, Grayson leading, with
genuine bounce in his cocky stride.  He strode up to the desk. "'ello.
Bring out Jill Flash, there's a bloke."
     The desk officer looked up. "Sorry, can't.  She's escaped."
     "WHAT!?"
     "Don't worry, we got men looking for her all over.  She was
missed just a few minutes ago, and can't have gotten far."
     "Oh, bloody damn it all to hot flamin' damn pieces damn devil the
cunt of a... how'd you lose track of 'er?!"
     "Mr. Grayson, let's try to stay calm." Angel stepped up to the
desk. "Where was she last?"
     "In the ready room.  We were about to get her prints and
pictures, when they had a phone call.  And, for some reason, nobody
kept an eye on her, and she gave us the slip." The officer sighed.
"Sorry, just a fluke, and a damn inconvenient one."
     "INCONVENIENT?!"
     "Mr. Grayson, sir, I humbly request that you try to control your
temper."
     "I am surrounded by incompetents!  How the 'ell does somebody
escape from the middle of a police station?!"
     Ardrin had buried his head in his hands, while Janie rolled her
eyes. "You know Ardrin, this sounds like the sort of thing we do."
     "I don't think we ever made this big a boner."
     "Well, maybe not.  Let's stuff a sock in Mr. Grayson and go try
to find her, ok?"
     Ardrin watched Grayson stomp up and down the station, bellowing
like a drill sergeant with a migraine. "You try it first."
     "Uh, no thanks.  You try it."
     "I'm not going to try it."


Daniel Parsons                                             Brandi Weed
                          Questions or comments to dparsons@netcom.com
        Available for ftp from ftp.cs.pdx.edu, in /pub/frp/stories/SLN