Armstrong’s chuckle was completely patronizing. “I didn’t recognize you with that beard. You look like Barry White. Staying busy, I hope,” he said as he scanned over the rest of us. He paused when he got to me. I was pretty sure I’d never met him before, but I am rather distinctive-looking and had developed a bit of a reputation in professional Monster Hunting circles, some of which was even factual. So it wasn’t surprising to be recognized. “You’re Owen Zastava Pitt, aren’t you?”

“In the flesh.”

“I’m Rick Armstrong.” He said that like it should mean something. Rick Armstrong. Now that was a proper superhero secret-identity name. “I’m CEO of PT Consulting.” I stared at him blankly. I looked to Trip, but my friend shrugged. “PT Consulting…”

“Potato Tasting?” I guessed helpfully.

“No. It’s—”

“Platypus Tossing?”

“Paranormal Tactical,” he corrected before I could come up with another.

“Nope.” I shrugged. Armstrong seemed let down, but tried not to let it show. What did he expect? I was too busy battling the forces of evil to pay attention to every new competitor on the block. Julie took care of the marketing, I was the accountant. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

“Oh, it will.” He smiled that fake little smile again. “I’m sure we’ll have some teaming opportunities in the future.”

I didn’t know this Armstrong character, but something about him simply rubbed me the wrong way. Plus, VanZant’s opinion was trusted, and if one of our team leads said that they were assholes, that was good enough for me. “You should leave me your card, you know, in case we’re too busy doing something big and important and a little case pops up that we don’t have time to pay attention to.” I can be a fairly rude person when I just don’t give a crap.

“Well, MHI is established…” Armstrong said, meaning old. So that was how it was going to be. “But we’re the fastest growing Hunting company in the world. We’ve got experienced men, a solid business plan, financial backing, the best equipment, and top leadership.”

“Nifty. I should buy some stock.”

“Speaking of leadership, there’s a rumor going around about MHI’s.” The way he said that sounded particularly snide.

“Oh?” I raised a single eyebrow. This conversation was cutting into my precious shrimp time. “What about our leadership?”

“Word is that Earl Harbinger’s been off his game lately. I heard he disappeared for a few months, came back depressed and missing a finger. Rumor is that he had something to do with that incident up in Michigan. You know, that mine fire”—he made quote marks with his fingers—“that killed half a town in their sleep, or so the MCB said. I’d hate to think that was one of his cases that went bad.”