"You sound disappointed."
A soft laugh. He motioned me closer to the open window. As he handed me a flashlight, I noticed he was wearing gloves.
"Only brought one pair, I'm afraid," he whispered. "Not very well prepared."
"You bought gloves and a flashlight. I showed up in a skirt and heels. Who's not prepared?"
"Breaking and entering was hardly on our minds when I picked you up at the house."
"Maybe so, but next time, I'm packing a bag."
He helped me through. With the moonlight blocked by the trash bin, the room was pitch black. Even the flashlight only illuminated a basketball-size circle. I cast it around as he crawled in behind me.
It looked like a storage closet. In front of me, a shelf held mail-order supplies--stacks of folded boxes and bags of packing material. To my left, there was a narrow shelf tower with floor cleaner, bleach, rags, drain opener, rat poison and cat food. On first seeing the cat food, the optimist in me wanted to say, "See, the guy may run a hard-core sex cult, but he still feeds the neighborhood strays." Seeing the food next to the rat poison, though, I had to suspect it was more a lure than a handout. You can't run a decent black-magic cult without sacrificing a cat now and then.
Jeremy was leaning out the window, pulling the trash bin back into place. As I turned, I saw that the storage closet also doubled as the shop bathroom. No sign of a sink. Very sanitary.
There was a stack of reading material by the toilet. Magazines. The top one showed a woman bound and gagged, her eyes rolling in helpless terror. Judging by the size of her breasts, though, she wasn't completely helpless--swing one of those at the right angle and you could knock a guy out.
Jeremy stepped up beside me. His gaze followed the flashlight beam.
I whispered, "Something tells me the Disciples get more inspiration from those than from Asmodai."
He shook his head and looked away, distaste on every feature.
I reached for the door handle, then stopped and waved Jeremy forward. He opened it, then took off one glove and passed it to me. When I started to refuse, he pushed it into my hand.
"You can't search if you can't touch anything."
I pulled the glove on. "Is there anything else? Security cameras maybe?"
He shook his head. That made sense. A place like this, the clientele wouldn't want to be caught on camera.
We stepped inside.
HARD CORE
THE DOOR OPENED BEHIND A SALES COUNTER. My gaze went to the gray safe under it.
"Even you can't break that open," I whispered.
"I shouldn't need to. Imagine you're Botnick--"
"Rather not."
He smiled. "For the sake of argument only. If this store is robbed, where's the first place a serious thief will go, after the cash register?"
I pointed to the safe.
"So, while you may keep files, checks and valuable merchandise in there, it's not the place for anything not easily replaced, including items you can't report to an insurance company."
"Like a spellbook, a ritual journal or a list of contacts. Is that the kind of thing we're looking for?"
He nodded. "Documents, primarily. Books, journals, correspondence, contact lists, anything related to magic or his cult. I'm going to search his office. Could you take the shop floor?"
"Will do."
THE MAIN area displayed a mix of occult and S & M paraphernalia, everything from magic fetishes to toys for fetishists. Pretty mild stuff on both counts. A wall display of handcuffs, from metal to rubber to candy. A bookshelf of titles--Occult Mysteries Revealed and Rituals for Beginners--the type of texts you'd find in a regular bookstore. A rack of whips that looked more like props than torture devices. Candles, amulets, chalices, even a display of organic herbal teas made by a local Wiccan.