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Chapter 47

When Mindenhall got back with the pizza, Glibspet was poring over more old insurance records. Craig set the box down on the table in the outer office. "Here," he said, "you open it." He stood well back while Glibspet got up and lifted the lid. The aroma rolled over him like a fog bank, and he inhaled deeply, savoring it.

"My car is going to smell like anchovy for a week. How can you eat that stuff, Dom?"

Glibspet considered answering because I'm a fiend from Hell, but thought better of it. He'd only been living with Craig for about a week now. The man wasn't dependent enough on him yet to make breaking cover truly worthwhile. Besides, the sex was pretty good.

"I'm doing my part for the environment," he responded readily.

Mindenhall approached the pizza warily, like a dog circling a spoofing possum. The initial odor blast had dissipated, and he was able to get close enough to snag one of the normal slices. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "How's that?" he asked from around the mouthful.

Glibspet took one of his own slices and tasted it. Not bad, especially considering that he couldn't have the toppings he really wanted. Not while Craig was around. "Well," he said, "have you ever tried anchovies?"

Mindenhall nodded.

"And you found them completely disgusting, and a potential threat to the continuance of life on Earth, right?"

Mindenhall nodded again.

"Well then," Glibspet concluded, "you can hardly oppose anything that removes this many anchovies from the environment, can you now?"

"I suppose not," Mindenhall said, "but I think you should have to get an EPA permit."

"No problem," Glibspet said. "I have a set of nice of eight-by-ten glossies that let me get anything I need from the EPA. The local EPA chief and her young nephew have such a charming close relationship. It's always nice to see a family getting along."

Mindenhall frowned. "Don't joke about that, Dom," he said. "You know how often we get accused of that pedo crap. It's sick and it's not funny."

Glibspet shrugged. "Hey, hold your fire," he laughed. "they can't all be gems." He resolved to have another look at the pictures later in the evening. It was always fun to go through his photo files: People behind closed doors did the most interesting things for a teleporter's camera. . . . He rummaged through the clutter on his desk. "Here," he said, handing Mindenhall a much scribbled on printout. "These are ten names from old insurance reports. These people are dead, supposedly, and their claims have been paid, but aside from that, I can't find out anything about them anywhere."

Craig took the paper. "Meaning?" he asked.

"Don't know," Glibspet replied. "Could be just completely obscure people who never left the house, never borrowed any money, never subscribed to anything and never had an obituary, could be insurance fraud, or maybe they're people who never quite finished the formalities of dying by virtue of not being dead."

 

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Framed