Part I Part 7 (2/2)
”It isn't that simple, Mur-”
”Then make make it simple. How long before you can tell me? I need an estimate for the Commissioner's investigative committee in fifteen minutes or I might as well turn in my badge today.” it simple. How long before you can tell me? I need an estimate for the Commissioner's investigative committee in fifteen minutes or I might as well turn in my badge today.”
I grimaced. If I was able to get something out of Bianca, I might be able to help Murph on the investigation-but if it proved fruitless, I was going to have spent the entire evening doing nothing productive, and Murphy needed her answers now. Maybe I should have made a stay-awake potion. ”Does the committee work weekends?”
Murphy snorted. ”Are you kidding?”
”We'll have something by Monday, then.”
”You can have it figured out by then?” she asked.
”I don't know how much good it will do you, even if I can puzzle it out. I hope you've got more to go on than this.”
I heard her sigh into the phone and drink the fizzy drink. ”Don't let me down, Harry.”
Time to change the subject, before she pinned me down and smelled me lying. I had no intention of doing the forbidden research if I could find a way out of doing it. ”No luck with Bianca?”
Another swearword. ”That b.i.t.c.h won't talk to us. Just smiles and nods and blows smoke, makes small talk, and crosses her legs. You should have seen Carmichael drooling.”
”Well. Tough to blame him, maybe. I hear she's cute. Listen, Murph. What if I just-”
”No, Harry. Absolutely not. You will not go over to the Velvet Room, you will not not talk to that woman, and you will not get involved in this.” talk to that woman, and you will not get involved in this.”
”Lieutenant Murphy,” I drawled. ”A little jealous, are we?”
”Don't flatter yourself. You're a civilian, Dresden, even if you do have your investigator's license. If you get your a.s.s laid out in the hospital or the morgue, it'll be me that suffers for it.”
”Murph, I'm touched.”
”I'll touch your head to a brick wall a few times if you cross me on this, Harry.” Her voice was sharp, vehement.
”Hey, wind down, Murph. If you don't want me to go, no problem.” Whoops. A lie. She'd be all over that like a troll on a billy goat.
”You're a lousy liar, Harry. G.o.dammit, I ought to take you down to lockup just to keep you from-”
”What?” I said, loudly, into the receiver. ”Murph, you're breaking up. I can't hear you. d.a.m.n phone again. Call me back.” Then I hung up on her.
Mister padded over to me and batted at my leg. He watched me with serious green eyes as I leaned down and unplugged the phone as it started to ring again.
”Okay, Mister. You hungry?”
I got us breakfast. Leftover steak sandwich for him, SpaghettiOs heated up on the woodstove for me. I rationed out my last can of c.o.ke, which Mister craves at least as badly as I do, and by the time I was done eating and drinking and petting, I was awake and thinking again-and getting ready for sundown.
Daylight savings time hadn't cut in yet, and dark would fall around six. I had about two hours to get set to go.
You might think you know a thing or two about vampires. Maybe some of the stuff you've heard is accurate. Likely, it's not. Either way, I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of going into Bianca's lair to demand information from her. I was going to a.s.sume that things were going to get ugly before all was said and done, just to make sure I didn't get caught with my staff down.
Wizardry is all about thinking ahead, about being prepared. Wizards aren't really superhuman. We just have a leg up on seeing things more clearly than other people, and being able to use the extra information we have for our benefit. h.e.l.l, the word wizard wizard comes from the same root as comes from the same root as wise wise. We know things. We aren't any stronger or faster than anyone else. We don't even have all that much more going in the mental department. But we're G.o.d-awful sneaky, and if we get the chance to get set for something, we can do some impressive things.
As a wizard, if you're ready to address a problem, then it's likely that you'll be able to come up with something that will let you deal with it. So, I got together all the things I thought I might need: I made sure my cane was polished and ready. I put my silver knife in a sheath that hung just under my left arm. I put the escape potion in its plastic squeeze-bottle into my duster's pocket. I put on my favorite talisman, a silver pentacle on a silver chain-it had been my mother's. My father had pa.s.sed it down to me. And I put a small, folded piece of white cloth into my pocket.
I had several enchanted items around-or half-enchanted items, anyway. Carrying out a full enchantment is expensive and time-consuming, and I just couldn't afford to do it very much. We blue-collar wizards just have to sling a few spells out where we can and hope they don't go stale at the wrong time. I would have been a lot more comfortable if I had been carrying my blasting rod or my staff, but that would be like showing up at Bianca's door in a tank, walking in carrying a machine gun and a flamethrower, while announcing my intention to fight.
I had to maintain a fine balance between going in ready for trouble and going in asking for trouble.
Not that I was afraid, mind you. I didn't think Bianca would be willing to cause problems for a mortal wizard. Bianca wouldn't want to p.i.s.s off the White Council by messing with me.
On the other hand, I wasn't exactly the White Council's favorite guy. They might even look the other way if Bianca decided to take me quietly out of the picture.
Careful, Harry, I warned myself. Don't get entirely paranoid. If you get like that, you'll be building your little apartment into a Bas.e.m.e.nt of Solitude.
”What do you think?” I asked Mister, once I was decked out in what paraphernalia I was willing to carry.
Mister went to the door and batted at it insistently.
”Everyone's a critic. Fine, fine.” I sighed. I let him out, then I went out, got into my car and drove down to the Velvet Room in its expensive lakeside location.
Bianca runs her business out of a huge old mansion from the early days of the Roaring Twenties. Rumor has it that the infamous Al Capone had it built for one of his mistresses.
There was a gate with an iron fence and a security guard. I pulled the Beetle up into the little swath of driveway that began at the street and ended at the fence. There was a hiccoughing rattle from back in the engine as I brought the machine to a halt. I rolled down the window and stuck my head out, peering back. Something went whoomph whoomph, and then black smoke poured out from the bottom of the car and scuttled down the slope of the drive and into the street.
I winced. The engine gave an almost apologetic rattle and shuddered to its death. Great. Now I had no ride home. I got out of the Beetle, and stood mourning it for a moment.
The security guard on the other side of the gate was a blocky man, not overly tall but overly muscled and hiding it under an expensive suit. He studied me with attack-dog eyes, and then said, through the gate, ”Do you have an appointment?”
”No,” I told him. ”But I think Bianca will want to see me.”
He looked unimpressed. ”I'm sorry,” he said. ”Bianca is out for the evening.”
Things are never simple anymore. I shrugged at him, folded my arms, and leaned on the hood of the Beetle. ”Suit yourself. I'll just stay until a tow truck comes by, then, until I can get this thing out of the drive for you.”
He stared at me, his eyes narrowed down to tiny slits with the effort of thinking. Eventually, the thoughts got to his brain, got processed, and were sent back out with a message to ”pa.s.s the buck.” ”I'll call your name in,” he said.
”Good man,” I approved. ”You won't be sorry.”
”Name,” he growled.
”Harry Dresden.”
If he recognized my name, it didn't show on his face. He glared at me and the Beetle, then walked a few paces off, lifting a cellular phone from his pocket and to his ear.
I listened. Listening isn't hard to do. No one has practice at it, nowadays, but you can train yourself to pay attention to your senses if you work at it long enough.
”I've got a guy down here says that Bianca will want to talk to him,” the guard said. ”Says his name is Harry Dresden.” He was silent for a moment. I couldn't quite make out the buzz of the other voice, other than that it was female. ”Uh-huh,” he said. He glanced back at me. ”Uh-huh,” he said again. ”Sure. Sure, I will. Of course, ma'am.”
I reached in through the window of the Beetle and got out my cane. I rested it on the concrete beside my boots and tapped it a few times, as though impatient.
<script>