A brief history of Noimoire, by Chris Zinn: Thanks to its dark history, Noimoire became known as a cesspool. Because it was a massive transportation hub, with access to the Great Lakes, The Mississippi river, two oceans indirectly, and the steel heart of the train networks, and an immobile Arena it was never abandoned, nor was that ever seriously considered.

But those that could afford it did move out to where crime and property rates were lower. Noimoire became the heart of a massive network of asphalt roads as well, leading to over fifty places within fifty miles that you could call home and still easily work in the city.

Many of them are far ‘nicer’ than the city that spawned them.

Wolfe pulled his car onto the side of the road next to the relentlessly suburban house that his phone had directed him to. While it didn’t technically have a white picket fence, it should have had one. The house was medium-sized, with a neatly mowed lawn and a hedge of rose bushes around the front, a minivan in the driveway, and a kids tonka truck toy under said hedge. The house was painted eggshell white, and had a single large tree with a swing hanging down from it in the front.

“This is the place you want to go hang?” Wolfe asked, glancing over at Shel. “I mean, we hung out in the Ekron Eternal, in the VIP lounge, for crying out loud.”

“No, you did,” Shel said, smiling at him. “I hung around just outside the booth until someone decided to shoot at us, remember?”

“Ah, the good ol’ days,” Wolfe snarked, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

Shel rolled hers. “Did you ever actually have fun at the Ekron Eternal?”

Wolfe thought about it. “Well, not since anonymous sex lost its appeal, back when I was in my mid-twenties, give or take.”

“So give this place a chance, hmm?” Shel said, giving him another huge smile.

Wolfe snorted to himself. Is she constantly smiling at me to put me at ease and try and make me happy? If she’s been reading more of those psych mumbo-jumbo books, I’m gonna be annoyed.

Wolfe wouldn’t actually be annoyed, of course. At first, the idea that Shel was ‘manipulating’ him had upset him. Then he had figured out that Shel’s ‘manipulation’ was just her doing her best to find ways to make him happy, and to conduct herself in ways he found enjoyable all the time. That, in turn, made him want to be nice to her.

Every other girl he had ever been with did it the other way around—they wanted stuff from him, and were only nice if they got it.

If what Shel is doing is manipulation, sign me up to be manipulated.

“Wolfe, you there?” Shel asked, waving her hand in front of his face.

“Uh, sorry,” Wolfe said.

“What were you thinking about?” Shel asked.

Wolfe smiled at her. “Believe it or not, that you’re an amazing girlfriend.”

Shel practically glowed, and she leaned in and gave him a kiss.

Wolfe faced the house again. “Although, you pretty much need to be to justify me going to a cop barbecue. Let’s get this over with.”

Shel laughed. “Ah, Wolfy, I love that you can find the cloud to every silver lining.” Wolfe grimaced. “Don’t. That reminds me of Miriam, which makes it… awkward.”

Shel rolled her eyes. “Awkard? Why ever could that be? Because she hits on both of us constantly and brazenly whenever we see her? Because when she isn’t acting like she wants to jump in our bed she acts like she wants to jump into a corpse’s bed? Or because she’s technically a criminal mastermind?”

“Yeah, that.”

Shel smiled. “Well, I still like her. She’s fun.”

Wolfe snorted, but rather than continue the conversation, he pushed from the car, stretched once, and then walked up to the pristine house. Even the cement walkway was oddly pristine. He reached the off-white door and knocked three times.

Shel laughed and took a few double-steps to catch up, and by the time the door opened, Shel was standing next to him.

A man that appeared to be in his early thirties, powerfully muscled but with a gut and the standard issue ‘cop stache,’ stared out at them. “Shel! It’s so good you could make it!”

He glanced at Wolfe, and his eyes widened the tiniest bit, but he recovered quickly. “This your boyfriend, then? William?”

Shel broke out into a huge grin, then leaned up and kissed Wolfe on the cheek. “Thank you so much for inviting me over, Charles. I really appreciate it. And yup, this is my boyfriend, best guy in the whole world!”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Charles laughed, a belly laugh that invited everyone that heard it to join in. “You only say that because you haven’t tried my beans yet!”

Wolfe almost wanted to be mad—it felt like a vague challenge from his olden days—but he could pretty easily tell that Charles meant nothing by it. His eyes never even really ‘saw’ Shel—no looking at her body or anything, not even a flicker that Wolfe could see.

A moment later, it became clear why. A tall, thin lady with bright blue eyes and a baby bump came to the door. “Well, don’t stand there bragging all day, Charles, invite them in!”

Charles stared at the woman with loving eyes, and moved from the door. “When my wife is right, she’s right! Come in, come in! Everyone is out on the back deck, and Leon is tending to the meats.”

Wolfe strode inside. The house had a faint smell of roses to it—probably some fancy air freshener. Most of the furniture had faint wear-and-tear on it, but everything was clean and vacuumed. Wolfe went through the living room to the kitchen, past vegetable trays and a simmering pot, and then onto the back porch.

A brick porch was fronted by a small pool—also surrounded in brick—and a small but well-kept lawn and garden off to the side. About ten people—eight of whom had cop staches, causing Wolfe to snicker—were clustered around a barbecue and small table filled with uncooked meat. A thin man with tan skin was working the grill, and about half the people had beers in their hands that were mostly untouched.

There were two other young people there—people about Shel’s age. One was a chubby blonde girl with bottle glasses, and the other was an athletic young man with umber skin and a shaved head. They waved, and Shel walked over, calling out, “Hey Lisa, Hey Warren.”

Wolfe walked up as well. Almost immediately, the groups reorganized around ages—the younger three in one group, and then two groups of four and five around the grill. Wolfe found himself getting a quick series of introductions—Leon was the tan guy working the grill, Carlos was a short, stocky guy with thinning hair despite being in his young thirties, Jack was so nondescript but for his mustache that his name should have been John Doe. A very elderly man, pale as snow with hair to match and a scar across his face, was named Bart, and Charles was there as well.

“What’re you having?” Leon asked. “I’ve got some hamburgers almost ready, and we’ll be putting some hotdogs on in a moment if you’d prefer—all beef. I can also do the burgers as cheeseburgers or—and hear me out here—bacon cheeseburgers.”

At the same time, Carlos passed him a beer. “Try this. My cousin makes it—it’s pretty good.”

“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger,” Wolfe said. “No veggies.”

“Me too,” Bart said. “Might as well die happy.”

There were a few perfunctory chuckles around the table

Leon nodded and slapped a couple more patties on the grill. Wolfe knocked the top off the beer on the side of the grill and took a sip. He’d had plenty of better alcohol at the Ekron Eternal, but he admitted he was an expensive whisky guy. For beer it was pretty good, or at least flavorful for people that liked strong beer.

“Not bad,” he said to Carlos’ unspoken question.

Carlos nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“So, how did Shel convince you to come to a party?” Bart asked.

Wolfe shrugged, not sure of the correct response. “She asked.”

Bart smiled. “Wanted to see your daughter’s friends, huh?”

Wolfe frowned, gripping his beer. Leon abandoned the burgers for a moment to lean over and whisper in Bart’s ear.

"You’re shitting me? Really? Divine be damned, maybe there’s hope for me yet,” the guy said, just loud enough for Wolfe to hear.

“Ha ha,” Leon said. “Bart’s just playing around, William. It’s great that you’re here supporting your girlfriend and all. How’d you guys end up together, exactly? she said it was because you saved her life and always protected her. She wouldn’t tell me the details. Wanna tell me about that?”

Wolfe shrugged, doubly uncomfortable because the story touched on personal details he really didn’t want the cops to know and because he never looked at that story quite the way Shel did—he’d needed to kill Frankie the Frog regardless.

“Rather not, apologies.”

“Well, your story, man,” Charles said.

“So you guys are her instructors?” Wolfe asked.

“Just me and Rhett,” Charles replied. “Everyone else here works the streets—‘cept Bart, who earned his desk job with forty years and two gunshot wounds.”

“Even if he sticks his foot in his mouth regularly,” Leon said, nudging the older man. “Huh? Huh?”

Bart rolled his eyes.

“So, what do you do?” Leon asked.

“Nothing at the moment,” Wolfe said. “But I’m working with a private investigator, Emmett Dunn, and trying to become a P.I. myself.”

“How do you even take care of Shel?” Carlos asked. “That sounds like it pays squat.”

Wolfe hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to reveal, but… “Well, I’m a deckbearer… and I found some cards a few days after drop night, and sold them. Now, I’ve got a house without a mortgage—"

“So jealous,” Charles interjected.

“—that isn’t even as nice as this one—”

“Thanks,” Charles interjected again with a smile.

“—And I’ve got a medium decent car and a small amount in the bank. But I’m trying to become a P.I. to make sure there’s money in a few years. Independently wealthy I ain’t.”

Leon laughed and placed two burgers with cheese onto a thick paper plate. At the same time, Charles wife came out and placed a heaping helping of beans in sauce, with tiny bits of meat, along one side.

“Try the beans,” Charles said.

“I’m not really a beans guy,” Wolfe replied.

“Try ‘im.”

Wolfe sighed, picked the plate and a plastic fork up, and shoveled some beans into his mouth. He was prepared to make a noncommittal platitude to get the cop off his back about beans, but stopped and really chewed.

He still wasn’t sure he was a beans guy, but these were damn good. Slightly meaty sauce with a hint of honey over perfectly cooked beans. It was… wholesome, Wolfe supposed. He’d had a ton of steaks and gallons of whiskey, as well as a ridiculous amount of fast food, when he worked for Big Man Grimm. But nothing that tasted… wholesome.

Charles grinned at Wolfe’s expression. “See? See? I told you.”

Wolfe couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Damn good.”

“Well, until you get the job, maybe you should stop by these events more often, stock up on good food.”

Wolfe laughed. Every cop he’d interacted with had seemed like a dick—but maybe it was because he’d been a jackass himself. These guys seemed… not bad. Even Bart.

“Maybe I will. I could use a few free meals.”

Charles laughed and clinked his bottle of beer against Wolfe’s. “Yeah, it can seem like a lot of money in your bank till you think about the long term, huh?”

Wolfe nodded.

“Well, it shouldn’t be long now, right?” A masculine voice asked from behind Wolfe.

He turned to see Rhett standing there is all his six-foot-two muscular glory.

“What?” Wolfe asked.

“I talked to Emmett again, and he said you’ve been working with him almost three years. But the other day you told me you didn’t know anything about the case and he’d picked you up to work on it recently. Care to explain?”

Well, shit.