Turning, I saw that we were now in a long statuary vestibule, lined with effigies in a variety of poses. And, across the hallway, standing next to one larger-than-life figure, was a gaunt, almost fleshless man, aiming a strange weapon at my midriff.

“Dr. Katske,” I acknowledged with a nod. “Forgive me… for not being surprised. I figured we might meet again.”

“Never mind that,” the old man said. “This is a semi-public gallery. Someone may come through at any moment. Quickly, pull this finger.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He gestured at the sculpture next to him – evidently an early-type vampire with a visionary look in his eyes, pointing at a dim tomorrow. “The finger,” Katske urged, brandishing his gun. “Pull it now!”

“Pull it yourself!” I growled back at him, then snapped at the fellow behind me. “And the next time you poke me with that thing, I will take it from you and cram it where you’ll need a sonogram to find it!”

Both of them seemed surprised and nonplussed for a moment. Then Katske shrugged. Reaching up to tug the mannequin’s digit. I cringed a little, breathing shallowly. But there was only a soft, blatting hiss… and another wall panel slid open, revealing another hidden chamber. Surprise, surprise.

“Move,” urged the purported cop. But I noticed, this time, there was no shove as we hurried through and the panel slid closed…

…and I found myself in a secret laboratory of some sort, lined with all the requisite items, from clean-air hoods to heater flames and glassware that frothed with bubbling mixtures.

“Well, he’s a cool one, I’ll give him that,” commented the man in the trenchcoat, who came around to fully face me at last, plopping onto a stool and dropping his fedora onto a nearby table. The face was very humanoid, like most of the “Standard” denizens of this world – those who weren’t undead in one manner or another. After several days in the city of Squid, I knew what signs to look for – like tusks, or pointy canines, or the aroma of gradual decomposition. This fellow had a scent of living sweat and tension.

“Did you say you’re a policeman?” I asked.

“Inspector Coalshack, of the Cal’mari Cops,” he said, with a shallow nod.

“Coal shack?” I gave the side of my head a rap, to inform the pesky nanomite translators that I was onto their game. As if that would do any good. “I thought there wasn’t much civil authority left, around these parts.”

“There isn’t. We are a commercial enterprise,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Police work has been left to the free market, ever since most governments collapsed, a century ago.”