Chapter Two
We went to O'Hare. I met Brother Wang in the chapel at the international concourse. He was a short, wiry Asian man in sweeping robes the color of sunset. His bald head gleamed, making his age tough to guess, though his features were wrinkled with the marks of someone who smiles often.
"Miss sir Dresden," he said, breaking into a wide smile as I came in with the box of sleeping puppies. "Our little one dogs you have given to us!"
Brother Wang's English was worse than my Latin, and that's saying something, but his body language was unmistakable. I returned his smile, and offered him the box with a bow of my head. "It was my pleasure."
Wang took the box and set it down carefully, then started gently sorting through its contents. I waited, looking around the little chapel, a plain room built to be a quiet space for meditation, so that those who believed in something would have a place to pay honor to their faith. The airport had redecorated the room with a blue carpet instead of a beige one. They'd repainted the walls. There was a new podium at the front of the room, and half a dozen replacement padded pews.
I guess that much blood leaves a permanent stain, no matter how much cleaner you dump on it.
I put my foot on the spot where a gentle old man had given up his life to save mine. It made me feel sad, but not bitter. If we had it to do again, he and I would make the same choices. I just wished I'd been able to know him longer than I had. It's not everyone who can teach you something about faith without saying a word to do it.
Brother Wang frowned at the white powder all over the puppies, and held up one dust-coated hand with an inquisitive expression.
"Oops," I said.
"Ah," Wang said, nodding. "Oops. Okay, oops." He frowned at the box.
"Something wrong?"
"Is it that all the little one dogs are boxed in?"
I shrugged. "I got all of them that were in the building. I don't know if anyone moved some of them before I did."
"Okay," Brother Wang said. "Less is more better than nothing." He straightened and offered me his hand. "Much thanks from my brothers."
I shook it. "Welcome."
"Plane leaving now for home." Wang reached into his robe and pulled out an envelope. He passed it to me, bowed once more, then took the box of puppies and swept out of the room.
I counted the priest's money, which probably says something about my level of cynicism. I'd racked up a fairly hefty fee on this one, first picking up the trail of the sorcerer who had stolen the pups, then tracking him down and snooping around long enough to know when he went out to get some dinner. It had taken me nearly a week of sixteen-hour days to find the concealed location of the room where the pups were held. They asked me to go get them, too, so I had to identify the demons guarding them, and work out a spell that would neutralize them without, for example, burning down the building. Oops.
All in all, my pay amounted to a couple of nice, solid stacks of Ben Franklins. I'd logged a ton of hours in tracking them down, and then added on a surcharge for playing repo. Of course, if I'd known about the flaming poo, I'd have added more. Some things demand overtime.
I went back to the car. Thomas was sitting on the hood of the Beetle. He hadn't bothered moving it to the actual parking lot, instead taking up a section of curb at the loading zone outside the concourse. A patrol cop had evidently come over to tell him to move it, but she was a fairly attractive woman, and Thomas was Thomas. He had taken off her hat and had it perched on his head at a rakish angle, and the cop looked relaxed and was laughing as I came walking up.
"Hey," I said. "Let's get moving. Things to do."
"Alas," he said, taking off the hat and offering it back to the officer with a little bow. "Unless you're about to arrest me, Elizabeth?"
"Not this time, I suppose," the cop said.
"Damn the luck," Thomas said.
She smiled at him, then frowned at me. "Aren't you Harry Dresden?"
"Yeah."
The cop nodded, putting on her hat. "Thought I recognized you. Lieutenant Murphy says you're good people."
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment. A lot of people don't like Murphy."
"Aw, shucks," I said. "I blush when I feel all flattered like that."
The cop wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"
I kept a straight face. "Burned monkey poo."
She eyed me warily for a second to see if I was teasing her, then rolled her eyes. The cop stepped up onto the sidewalk and began moving on down it. Thomas swung his legs off the car and pitched my keys at me. I caught them and got in on the driver's side.
"Okay," I said when Thomas got in. "Where do I meet this guy?"
"He's holding a little soiree for his filming crew tonight in a condo on the Gold Coast. Drinks, deejay, snacks, that kind of thing."
"Snacks," I said. "I'm in."
"Just promise me you won't fill up your pockets with peanuts and cookies." Thomas gave me directions to a posh apartment building a few miles north of the Loop, and I got moving. Thomas was silent during the drive.
"Up here on the right," he said finally, then handed me a white envelope. "Give this to the security guys."
I pulled in where Thomas told me to and leaned out of my car to offer the envelope to the guard in the little kiosk at the entrance of the parking lot.
A squeaky, bubbling growl erupted from directly below my seat. I flinched.
"What the hell is that?" Thomas said.
I pulled up to the guard kiosk and stopped. I reached for my magical senses and extended them toward the source of the continuing growl. "Crap. I think it's one of the-"
A sort of greasy, nauseating cold flooded over my perceptions, stealing my breath. A ghostly charnel-house scent came with it, the smell of old blood and rotting meat. I froze, looking up at the source of the sensation.
The person I'd taken to be a security guard was a vampire of the Black Court.
It had been a young man. Its features looked familiar, but desiccation had left its face too gaunt for me to be sure. The vampire wasn't tall. Death had withered it into an emaciated caricature of a human being. Its eyes were covered with a white, rheumy film, and flakes of dead flesh fell from its decay-drawn lips and clung to its yellowed teeth. Hair like brittle, dead grass stood out from its head, and there was some kind of moss or mold growing in it.
It snatched at me with inhuman speed, but my wizard's senses had given me enough warning to keep its skeletal fingers from closing on my wrist-just barely. The vampire caught a bit of my duster's leather sleeve with the tips of its fingers. I jerked my arm back, but the vampire had as much strength in its fingertips as I did in my whole upper body. I had to pull hard, twisting with my shoulders to break free. I choked out a shout, and the sudden rush of fear made it high and thready.
The vampire rushed me, slithering out through the guardhouse window like a freeze-dried snake. I had a panicked instant to realize that if the vampire closed to wrestling range with me inside the car, they'd be harvesting my organs out of a mound of scrap metal and spare parts.
And I wasn't strong enough to stop it from happening.
Chapter Three
Thomas's senses evidently didn't compete with mine, because the Black Court vampire was up to its shoulders in the Beetle before he choked out a startled, "Holy crap!"
I threw my left elbow at the vampire's face. I couldn't hurt the creature, but it might buy me a second to act. I connected, snapping its head to one side, and with my other hand I reached into a box on the floor between the seats, right by the stick, and withdrew the weapon that might keep me from getting torn to shreds. The vampire tore at me with its near-skeletal hands, its nails digging like claws. If I hadn't laid those spells on my duster, it would have shoved its hand into my chest and torn out my heart, but the heavy, spell-reinforced leather held out for a second or two, buying me enough time to counterattack.
The vampires of the Black Court had been around since the dawn of human memory. They had acres of funky vampire powers, right out of Stoker's book. They had the weaknesses too-garlic, tokens of faith, sunlight, running water, fire, decapitation. Bram Stoker's book told everyone how to kill them, and the Blacks had been all but exterminated in the early twentieth century. The vampires who survived were the most intelligent, the swiftest, the most ruthless of their kind, with centuries of experience in matters of life and death. Mostly death.
But even with centuries of experience, I doubted any of them had ever been hit with a water balloon.
Or with a holy-water balloon, either.
I kept three of them in the box in my car, in easy reach. I snatched one up, palmed it, and slammed it hard against the vampire's face. The balloon broke, and the blessed water splattered over its head. Wherever it struck the vampire, there was a flash of silver light and the dead flesh burst into white, heatless flame as bright as a magnesium flare.
The vampire let out a dusty, rasping scream and convulsed in instant agony. It began thrashing around like a half-squashed bug. It slammed a flailing arm into my steering wheel and the metal bent with a groan.
"Thomas!" I snarled. "Help me!"
He was already moving. He tore his seat belt off, drew up his knees, and spun to his left. Thomas let out a shout and drove both feet hard into the vampire's face. Thomas couldn't have matched the Black Court vampire's physical power, but he was still damned strong. The double kick threw the vampire out of the car and through the flimsy wooden wall of the guard kiosk outside.
The squeaky growling turned into ferocious little barks while the vampire struggled weakly. It tried to rise, its white-filmed eyes wide. I could see the damage the holy water had inflicted. Maybe a quarter of its head was simply gone, starting above its left ear and running down to the corner of its mouth. The edges of the holy-water burns glowed with faint golden fire. Viscous globs of gelatinous black fluid oozed forth from the wounds.
I picked up another water balloon and lifted my arm to throw it.
The vampire let out a hissing shriek of rage and terror. Then it turned and darted away, smashing through the back wall of the kiosk without slowing down. It fled down the street.
"He's getting away," Thomas said, and started getting out of the car.
"Don't," I snapped over all the barking. "It's a setup."
Thomas hesitated. "How do you know?"
"I recognize that guy," I said. "He was at Bianca's masquerade. Only he was alive back then."
Thomas somehow grew even paler. "One of the people that creepy Black Court bitch turned? The one dressed like Hamlet's shrink?"
"Her name is Mavra. And yeah."
"Crap," he muttered. "You're right. It's a lure. She's probably hiding out there watching us right now, waiting for us to go running down a dark alley."
I tried the steering wheel. It felt a little stiff, but it still functioned. Hail the mighty Blue Beetle. I found a parking space and pulled into it. The puppy's barks became ferocious growls again. "Mavra wouldn't need a dark alley. She's got some serious talent for veils. She could be sitting on the hood and we might not see her."
Thomas licked his lips, keeping his eyes on the parking lot. "You think she's come to town for you?"
"Sure, why not. I cheated her out of destroying the sword Amoracchius, and she was an ally of Bianca's up until I killed her. Plus we're at war. I'm surprised she hasn't shown up before now."
"Christ on a crutch. She spooks the hell out of me."
"Me too." I bent over and reached beneath the driver's seat. I felt a fuzzy tail, grabbed it, and drew the puppy out as gently as I could. It was the insane little notched-eared pup. He ignored me, still growling, and started shaking his head back and forth violently. "Good thing we had a stowaway. Vamp might have gotten us both."
"What's that he's got in his mouth?" Thomas asked.
The puppy lost hold of whatever he was savaging, and it landed on the floor of the Beetle.
"Ugh," I said. "It's that vamp's ear. Holy water must have burned it right off."
Thomas glanced down at the ear and turned a bit green. "It's moving."
The puppy snarled and batted at the wriggling bit of rotted ear. I picked it up as lightly as I could and tossed it out. The grey-and-black puppy was evidently satisfied with that course of action. He sat down and opened his mouth in a doggie grin.
"Nice reflexes, Harry," Thomas said. "When that vamp came at you. Real nice. Faster than mine. How the hell did you manage that?"
"I didn't. I was trying to feel out this little nuisance after he started growling. I felt the vamp coming a couple seconds before it jumped me."
"Wow," Thomas said. "Talk about strokes of luck."
"Yeah. It's sort of a first for me."
The pup abruptly spun, facing the direction the vampire had fled. He growled again.
Thomas went rigid. "Hey, Harry, you know what?"
"No, what?"
"I'm thinking we should get indoors."
I picked up the puppy and scanned the darkness, but saw nothing. "Discretion is the better part of not getting exsanguinated," I said. "Let's go."
Chapter Four
Thomas and I went into the apartment building, and found the guard who should have been in the booth outside drinking a cup of coffee with a second man behind a desk. We took the elevator to the top floor. There were only two doors in the hall, and Thomas knocked on the nearest. Music rolled and thumped inside while we waited, and the spotless carpet had been cleaned with something that smelled like snapdragons. Thomas had to knock twice more before the door finally opened.
A pretty woman somewhere around her mid-forties answered Thomas's knock, and a tide of loud music came with her. She was maybe five-foot-six and had her dark brown hair held up with a couple of chopsticks. She held a pile of discarded paper plates in one hand and a couple of empty plastic cups in the other and wore an emerald knee-length knit dress that showed off the curves of a WWII pinup girl.
Her face lit with an immediate smile. "Thomas, how wonderful to see you. Justine said you'd be coming by."
Thomas stepped forward with his own brilliant smile and kissed the woman on either cheek. "Madge," he said. "You look great. What are you doing here?"
"It's my apartment," Madge replied, her tone dry.
Thomas laughed. "You're kidding me. Why?"
"The old fool talked me into investing in his company. I need to make sure he doesn't throw the money away. I'm keeping an eye on him."
"I see," Thomas said.
"Did he finally talk you into acting?"
Thomas put a hand on his chest. "A modest schoolboy like me? I blush to think."
Madge laughed, a touch of wickedness to it, resting her hand lightly on Thomas's biceps as she did. Either she liked speaking with Thomas or the hallway was colder than I thought. "Who is your friend?"
"Madge Shelly, this is Harry Dresden. I brought him by to talk business with Arturo. Harry's a friend of mine."
"I wouldn't go that far." I smiled a bit and offered my hand.
She fumbled with plates and cups for a moment, and then laughed. "I'll have to give you a rain check. Are you an actor?" Madge asked, her expression speculative.
"To be or not to be," I said. "How now brown cow."
She smiled and nodded at the puppy, who was riding in the curl of my left arm. "And who is your friend?"
"He's the dog with no name. Like Clint Eastwood, but fuzzier."
She laughed again, and said to Thomas, "I see why you like him."
"He's mildly amusing," Thomas agreed.
"He's up past his bedtime," I said. "Don't mean to be rude, but I need to talk to Arturo before I fall asleep on my feet."
"I understand," Madge said. "The music's a little loud in the living room. Thomas, why don't I show you both to the study, and I'll bring Arturo to you."
"Is Justine here?" Thomas asked. His voice held a note of quiet tension to it that I doubted Madge noticed.
"Somewhere," she said vaguely. "I'll tell her you've arrived."
"Thank you."
We followed Madge inside the apartment suite. The living room was fairly dim, but I saw maybe twenty people there, men and women, some of them dancing, others standing and drinking or laughing or talking, like most parties. There was a haze of smoke, and only some of it was from cigarettes. Colored lights shifted and changed in time with the music.
I watched Thomas as we walked through the room. His manner changed subtly, something I could sense without being able to define. He didn't move any more quickly, but his steps became more fluid somehow. He looked around the room as we went through, his eyelids a little heavy, and he started drawing the eyes of every woman we walked past.
I drew no such looks, even with the grey puppy sleeping in the crook of my arm. It's not like I'm Quasimodo or anything, but with Thomas walking through the room like a predator angel, it was tough to compete.
Madge led us past the party room and into a small room with bookshelves and a desk with a computer. "Have a seat and I'll go find him," she said.
"Thank you," I said, and settled down onto the chair at the desk. She left, her eyes lingering on Thomas for a moment before she did. He perched on a corner of the desk, his expression pensive. "You look thoughtful," I said, "which seems wrong somehow. What is it?"
"I'm hungry," Thomas said. "And thinking. Madge is Arturo's first ex-wife."
"And she's hosting a party for him?" I asked.
"Yeah. I never thought she liked the guy much."
"What did she mean about investing?"
Thomas shrugged. "Arturo broke off from a larger studio on the West Coast to found his own. Madge is real practical. She's the kind of person who could despise someone while still being professional and working with him. Acknowledging his talents. If she thought it was a winning bet, she wouldn't be worried that she didn't like the person in charge. It wouldn't be out of character for her to have invested money in Arturo's new company."
"What kind of money are we talking about?"
"Not sure," Thomas said. "Seven figures, maybe more. I'd have to get someone to look."
I whistled. "Lot of money."
"I guess," Thomas said. Thomas was rich enough that he probably didn't have much perspective on the value of a buck.
I started to ask him more questions, but the door opened, and a tall and vigorous man in his fifties entered, wearing dark slacks and a grey silk shirt rolled up over his forearms. He had a head of magnificent silver locks framing a strong face with a dark, short beard. He had a boater's tan, pale smile lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, and large, intelligent dark eyes.
"Tommy!" the man boomed, and strode to Thomas. "Hey, I was hoping I would see you tonight." His voice had a thick accent, definitely Greek. He clapped both hands on Thomas's shoulders and kissed him on either cheek. "You're looking good, Tommy boy, real good. You should come work with me, huh?"
"I don't look good on camera," Thomas said. "But it's good to see you, too. Arturo Genosa, this is Harry Dresden, the man I told you about."
Arturo looked me up and down. "Tall son of a bitch, huh?"
"I ate my Wheaties," I said.
"Hey, pooch," Arturo said. He scratched the grey puppy behind the ear. The little dog yawned, licked Arturo's hand once, and promptly went back to sleep. "Your dog?"
"Temporarily," I said. "Recovered him for a client."
Arturo nodded, his expression calculating. "You know what a strega is, Mr. Dresden?"
"Practitioner of Italian folk magic," I responded. "Divinations, love potions, fertility blessings, and protections. They also can manage a pretty vicious set of curses with a technique they call the malocchio. The Evil Eye."
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Guess you know a thing or two, huh."
"Just enough to get me into trouble," I said.
"But do you believe in it?"
"In the Evil Eye?"
"Yes."
"I've seen stranger things."
Arturo nodded. "Tommy boy tell you what I need?"
"He said you were worried about a curse. Said some people close to you died."
Arturo's expression flickered for a second, and I saw grief undermine his confidence. "Yes. Two women. Good souls, both."
"Uh- huh," I said. "Assuming there is a curse involved, what makes you think it was meant for you?"
"They had no other contact with each other," Arturo said. "Far as I know, I was the only thing they had in common." He opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a couple of manila file folders. "Reports," he said. "Information about their deaths. Tommy says maybe you can help."
"Maybe," I agreed. "Why would someone curse you?"
"The studio," Arturo said. "Someone wants to stop the company from getting off the ground. Kill it before the first picture gets made."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Protection," Arturo said. "I want you to protect the people on my crew during the shoot. Don't want anything else to happen to anyone."
I frowned. "Can be a tough job. Do you know who would want to stop production?"
Arturo scowled at me and stalked across the room to a cabinet. He opened it and withdrew an already opened bottle of wine. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and took a swig. "If I knew that, I wouldn't need to hire an investigator."
I shrugged. "I'm a wizard, not a fortune-teller. Got any guesses? Anyone who might want to see you fail?"
"Lucille," Thomas said.
Arturo glanced at Thomas, scowling.
"Who is Lucille?" I asked.
"My second ex-wife," Arturo answered. "Lucille Delarossa. But she is not involved."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"She would not," he said. "I am certain."
"Why?"
He shook his head and stared down at his wine bottle. "Lucille... well. Let us say that I did not marry her for her mind."
"You don't have to be smart to be hostile," I said, though I couldn't really think of the last time someone stupid had pulled off powerful magic. "Anyone else? Is there another ex-wife around?"
Arturo waved a hand. "Tricia would not try to stop the picture."
"Why not?" I asked.
"She is the star."
Thomas made a choking sound. "Christ, Arturo."
The silver-maned man grimaced. "No choice. She had a standing contract. Could have killed me in court if I did not cast her."
"Is there an ex-wife number four?" I asked. "I can keep track of three. If there's four, I have to start writing things down."
"Not yet," Arturo muttered. "I am single. So far just the three."
"Well, that's something," I said. "Look, unless whoever is bringing this curse onto you does something right in front of me, there's not a lot I can do. We call a spell like the Evil Eye an entropy curse, and it's damned near impossible to trace any other way."
"My people must be protected from the malocchio," Arturo said. "Can you do that?"
"If I'm there when it goes down, yes."
"How much does that cost?" he asked.
"Seventy- five an hour, plus expenses. A thousand up-front."
Arturo didn't hesitate. "Done. We start shooting in the morning, nine o'clock."
"I'll have to be close. Within sight, if possible," I said. "And the less anyone knows about it, the better."
"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "He'll need a cover story. If he stands around in the open, the bad guy will just wait until he leaves or goes to the bathroom or something."
Arturo nodded. "He can boom for me."
"Boom?" I asked.
"Boom microphone," Thomas supplied.
"Oh. That isn't such a hot idea," I said. "My magic doesn't get on so well with machines and such."
Arturo's face clouded with annoyance. "Fine. Production assistant." Something in his pants made a chirping sound, and he drew a cell phone from his pocket. He held up a hand to me and stepped over to the other side of the room, speaking in low tones.
"Production assistant. What's that?" I asked.
"Gofer," Thomas said, "Errand boy." He stood up, his movements restless.
There was a knock at the door, and it opened to admit a girl who may not have reached drinking age. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and was a little taller than average. She wore a white sweater with a short black skirt that showed off a lot of leg, and even compared to the pretty people outside, she was a knockout. Of course, the last time I'd seen her she'd been naked except for a red, Christmas-present-type bow, so it was possible that I was biased.
"Justine," Thomas said, and there was the kind of relief in his voice that I would usually have associated with historical sailors shouting, "Land ho." He took a step over to the girl and pulled her to him in a kiss.
Justine's cheeks colored and she let out a breathless little laugh before her lips touched his, and then melted into the kiss like there wasn't anything else in the whole world.
The puppy in the curl of my arm vibrated, and I glanced down to see him staring at Thomas, an inaudible, disapproving growl shaking his fuzzy chest.
They didn't kiss for a long time, really, but when Thomas finally lifted his mouth from hers, she was flushed and I could see the pulse beating in her throat. Nothing remotely like thought or restraint touched her face. The heat in her eyes could have scorched me if I'd been a little closer, and for a second I thought she was about to drag Thomas to the carpet right there in front of me.
Instead Thomas turned her so that she stood with her back to his chest, and drew her against him, pinning her there with his arms. He looked paler, and his eyes had become an even fainter shade of grey. He rested his cheek on her hair for a moment, and then said, "You've met Harry."
Justine regarded me with heavy, sultry eyes and nodded. "Hello, Mister Dresden." She inhaled through her nose, and made a visible effort to draw her thoughts together. "You're cold," she said to Thomas. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Thomas said, his tone light.
Justine tilted her head and then took a tiny step away from him. Thomas blinked at her, but didn't try to keep her there. "Not nothing," she said. She touched his cheek with her fingers. "You're freezing."
"I don't want you to worry about it," Thomas told her.
Justine looked over her shoulder at me.
I checked on Arturo, who was still in his conversation on the phone, then said in a low voice, "Black Court. I think it was one of Mavra's goons."
Justine's eyes widened. "Oh, God. Was anyone hurt?"
"Only the vampire," I said. I gave the puppy, now silent, a vague wave. "The pup saw him coming."
"Thomas," Justine said, looking back at him. "You told me you didn't have to worry about Mavra."
"In the first place, we don't know it's Mavra," Thomas said. He gave me a look over Justine's head that warned me to shut the hell up. "And in the second place, they were after Dresden. He's here under my invitation, so I helped him out a little."
"Boot to the head," I agreed. "Ran him off."
"My God. I'm glad you are all right, Mister Dresden, but this shouldn't have happened. Thomas, we shouldn't even be in town. If you don't-"
Thomas put a finger under Justine's chin and drew her eyes up to his.
Justine shuddered, her lips faltering to a halt, her mouth partly open. Her pupils dilated until there was practically no color showing around them. She swayed a little on her feet.
"Relax," Thomas said. "I'll take care of things."
Her brow furrowed with a tiny line, and she stammered, "But... I don't want you to... get hurt."
Thomas's eyes glittered. Deliberately he raised one pale hand and touched a fingertip to the pulse in Justine's throat. Then he drew it down in a slow, lazy spiral that stopped half an inch under her collarbone. She shuddered again, and her eyes slipped entirely out of focus. Whatever thought had been in her head, it died a silent little death, and left her swaying on her feet making soft, mindless sounds between quick breaths.
And she loved it. From the looks of things she didn't have a choice.
The puppy's silent growl buzzed against the skin of my arm. Anger flashed through me in a wave of silent outrage.
"Stop it," I said in a quiet voice. "Get out of her head."
"This doesn't concern you," Thomas replied.
"Like hell it doesn't. Back off on the mind-mojo. Right now. Or you and I are going to have words."
Thomas's gaze moved to me. Something vicious in his eyes flashed with a cold fury and one of his hands closed into a fist. Then he shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He spoke before they opened.
"The less she knows about the details," he said in a rough, strained voice, "the safer she's going to be."
"From who?" I demanded.
"From anyone who might not like me or my House," Thomas said. The words were laced with a hint of a feral snarl. "If she doesn't know any more than any other doe, there's no reason to target her. It's one of the only things I can do to protect her. Back off, wizard, or I'll be happy to start the conversation myself."
Just then Arturo finished his call and turned back to us. He blinked and stopped short of conversation distance. "I'm sorry. Did I miss something?"
Thomas arched an eyebrow at me.
I took a deep breath and said, "No. We just stumbled onto an uncomfortable topic. But we can put a lid on it until later."
"Good," Arturo said. "Now where were we?"
"I need to take Justine home," Thomas said. "She's had a little too much tonight. Best of luck, Arturo."
Arturo nodded to him and managed to smile. "Thank you, Tommy boy, for your help."
"It's nothing." He slipped an arm around Justine, drawing her with him, and nodded to me as he left the room. "Later, Harry."
I rose too, and asked Arturo, "Where do you want me tomorrow?"
He sat down his bottle of wine, grabbed a memo pad off the desk, and scribbled down an address. Then he withdrew a roll of money, peeled off ten bills and slapped a thousand dollars cash down on top of the address. I collected all of it.
"I do not know if I believe in your sincerity, Mr. Dresden," Arturo said.
I waved the bills. "As long as you're paying, I don't really need you to believe in me. See you in the morning, Mr. Genosa."