the Show Will Go On
Lindsey was dreading three o'clock. An appointment with Kermit Frogg for who knew what... How was he supposed to prepare himself when all he knew about this upcoming appointment was that it would be at three with Kermit and whoever or whatever the frog chose to bring?
Maybe some sort of sedative before the meeting would be helpful? For a few moments, he considered the idea. With more than a little regret, Lindsey decided that he would need a clear head for this more than he would need the artificial calm from a sedative. He could always take something stronger later.
With no idea what the appointment would be about, Lindsey couldn't make the specific preparations that he preferred. He couldn't have the necessary forms ready, with someone ready to bring in the relevant documentation and legal precedents. He disliked feeling so unprepared. Not only did it leave him feeling awkward, unprepared and inefficient, it wouldn’t reflect well if any of the senior partners decided to look in on his performance. There were a great many things that were preferable to giving the senior partners a poor impression of his abilities.
Eventually, three o’clock rolled around. His intercom buzzed, with the receptionist’s sweet and lightly accented voice made metallic by the transmissions, “Mr. MacDonald, your three o’clock is here. Shall I have them sent up?”
“Yes, Delores, send them up right away,” he responded, gritting his teeth at the way her too-sweet voice grated on his nerves.
He just hoped that this wouldn’t turn into a disaster.
Kate Lockley walked along the sidewalk, approaching the large building where Angel and his people worked. The sunglasses helped, since working nights kept her out of the sun most of the time, but the sunlight helped her nerves. That poor lawyer…
Part of her wished that she could be a slacker with this case. Just let enough be enough and not pursue any hunches or tangents. However, she was certain that this connected with the murder of Kent Lanomer somehow, and she suspected that the people here would have an idea how.
Opening the door, she walked inside, glad that the daytime hours and the sunlight pouring through the windows would prevent her from talking to Angel. He unsettled her at the best of times, and having been considering such a gruesome case… No. No vampires if she could avoid them.
Cordelia Chase was sitting behind the desk, with a stack of leather-bound books beside her. She wasn’t filing her nails, or talking on a phone, or doing any of the various non-work things that television loved to show secretaries doing with their time.
Raising her voice slightly, Kate called, “Afternoon, Miss Chase. I wanted to ask a few questions about a case, and I suspect you and your colleagues may know some useful information.”
“Are you allowed to go into details?” Cordelia asked, one eyebrow arching.
“Not too many, but I think we’ll both be happier that way,” Kate leaned against the desk, unsurprised to see a few small vials of a clear liquid – probably Holy water – and a wooden stake. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was another weapon tucked out of casual sight. “I’m bending the rules a little just by being here.”
“Right,” Cordelia looked doubtful, and shook her head. “Should I get Wesley for this?”
“If I say that there is a connection to the trial of Scooter Dee, does that give you an answer?”
Cordelia winced, and mumbled something that contained the words wait, Wesley and gross. Kate suspected that Cordelia had a few ideas already as the brunette left the room.
It was only a few moments before Cordelia returned, Wesley in tow. “Kate said that she has a few questions, and mentioned the trial. Remember, that one?”
“I was attempting to forget,” Wesley sighed and produced a small bottle of greenish grey pellets from one pocket. They looked like some sort of dried herb compacted into a pill. “Before you begin, let me recommend these to you.”
“What are they?” Kate took the bottle, using the least bit of pressure and grip that she could to hold it as she looked at the pills. “And why would I want them?”
“If you take one about an hour before you go to bed, it will prevent you from dreaming for the next twelve hours. It isn’t recommended to take more than three within a ten day period, generally twice a week works. It also leaves you less likely to dream the next day, or night, and your dreams tend to be less coherent and harder to remember.”
“What is it made from, and what sort of side effects are there?” the greenish grey pellets suddenly seemed far more interesting.
“Suffice it to say that they are all natural ingredients, and as long as you aren’t allergic to citrus, tomatoes, or chamomile you should be fine. The ingredients are not addictive separately or together, though the effect can be quite appealing for some individuals,” Wesley shook his head, and admitted, “I’ve been using them myself off and on.”
“Were you at the trial of Scooter Dee?” Kate asked. “Can you tell me if there was anything unusual that happened?”
“Let me tell you what I know about the death of Kent Lanomer, what we suspect, and what happened at the trial…” Wesley paused, and then pointed at the small bottle again. “I’ve found that a glass of water helps. It’s best to swallow it whole if you can, the taste is rather unpleasant. Others suggest that if you chew the pills, it strengthens the effect. I leave that choice to you.”
Kate produced a tablet to take notes, and as Wesley started to talk, she wrote. The more he explained, the better those greenish grey pills sounded.
Lindsey MacDonald blinked as the door opened. The trio of beings standing outside his office was quite memorable, and not one of the three would pass as human. The first one was a bipedal frog in a trenchcoat. The second was another one of the mango hued googly eyed whatever Scooter Dee was, though this one had long reddish hair instead of a short tuft, and was garbed in a pressed suit in a dark orange. The last was a shaggy brown ogre with a thick eyebrow and jutting fangs.
Lindsey assumed that they were, in order, Kermit Frogg, Skeeter Dee, and that the ogre was some sort of bodyguard, or perhaps the looming threat of pain and woe. Trying to look professional and calm, he gestured at the chairs, and asked, “Will you have a seat? How may I help you this afternoon?”
“Skeeter and I had a few papers that we wanted filed, and we figured that it would be best to make it official, and get a bit of warning for any potential issues,” the frog spoke.
“My brother wanted to reopen the Muppet Theater,” the yellow woman spoke, her words confirming that she was Skeeter Dee. “While I think that’s a great idea, I don’t know anything about running a theater, so I wanted to sign it over to Kermit.”
The frog placed a folder on the edge of the table, “Skeeter and I came up with a deal that we were both willing to sign, and had a friend of ours put it into legalese, but that friend isn’t a professional lawyer. We also hoped that you could take care of all the necessary filing for this, and the permits for the theater.”
“This was your brother’s dream? Are you certain that you want to do this with him… confined?” Lindsey asked.
“We’re certain that a part of Scooter will always be with us at the theater,” Kermit answered.
“He went to so much trouble to make the theater happen again, how could I put a stop to that now?” Skeeter Dee asked, her big eyes wide and teary.
Lindsey nodded, hoping that Kermit’s words were just metaphorical. “I’ll get those papers started then.”
In the back of his mind, he desperately hoped that the Muppet Theater wouldn’t become a client for Wolfram & Hart. He suspected that they would be bad for his sanity if he dealt with them very often.
End Muppet Contracts 7: the Show Will Go On.