A Tale of Two Harrys (Ghosts of London Book 4) by Nic Saint

Author:Nic Saint [Saint, Nic]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Puss in Print Publications
Published: 2017-07-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

The next morning, we made our way to South London to pay a visit to Royally Thine. More like Royally Screwed, as the company had allowed itself to be used by a group of homicidal maniacs and didn’t even know.

The company was located in a hangar, and Deshawn parked the Rolls a little ways away, deciding to stay with the car. In this dodgy neighborhood he didn’t feel comfortable leaving it behind.

Jarrett and I walked into the small office, and immediately asked to speak to the manager. The girl in charge of the bookings, a sparkly redhead, was chewing gum. Without a word, she turned to the door behind her and yelled, “Marty! Some clients want a word!” She jerked her thumb in the same direction, and said, “Go on, then. What are you waiting for?”

We went on, passing behind the counter and into the office indicated. It was a small, cramped space that had been decorated when Roger Moore had been James Bond. Cigarette smoke circled to the ceiling, completely illegally, and a large man who’d gone to seed greeted us with a flash of nicotine-stained teeth.

“Ma’am. Gent. What can I do you for?”

His voice was gravelly and his demeanor obsequious, though I had the impression the guy didn’t miss a trick. The bus rental probably wasn’t the only business he was running from this office, as I saw stacks of brochures for casinos, hotels and strip clubs piled high on his desk.

“It has come to our attention that you rented a minibus to a group of wizards a week ago,” Jarrett said, after removing a piece of lint and a cigarette butt from one of the chairs and taking a seat.

“So? What’s it to you?”

“These wizards were very naughty. They drove your bus to Pinewood Studios and proceeded to execute a man. They did the same thing in an apartment building not far from the studio and then, as they were seemingly on a roll, repeated the same procedure yesterday by murdering a woman.”

The man’s eyes were cautiously flitting between Jarrett and me, trying to get a read on who we were and how much trouble he was possibly in. “Are you cops?”

“No. Not cops,” Jarrett assured him. “We’re the Wraith Wranglers.”

The man barked a laugh, and visibly relaxed. “Those crackpots.”

“Yes, those crackpots. The production company filming the new Harry Potter movie has hired us to check into these heinous crimes, which has led us to your doorstep.”

“And which will lead you right out of here,” he growled. “I have nothing to say. I run an honest business and if a group of nutters hired one of my buses to do some nasty stuff that’s got nothing to do with me.”

“You might tell us about these nutters. It will help us find them.”

“I’ll talk to the fuzz, but only after I talk to my lawyer. Good day.”

Jarrett had taken a wad of cash out of his pocket and casually peeled off a hundred-pound note and let it flutter down on the desk.

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