Part 34 (2/2)

Ramirez gave me an affable leer. ”I'll bet.”

”Don't even joke about that, man,” I told him, without any heat in the words. ”I've known her since she was in pigtails.”

Ramirez opened his mouth, paused, then shrugged and said, ”Sorry.”

”No problem,” I said.

”But since I'm not not an old man whose s.e.x drive has withered from lack of use-” an old man whose s.e.x drive has withered from lack of use-”

(Don't get me wrong. I like Carlos. But there are times, when his mouth is running, that I want to punch him in the head until all his teeth fall out.) ”-I'll be the first to admit that I'd sure as h.e.l.l find some uses for her. That girl is fine.” He frowned and glanced around-a little nervously, I thought. ”Um. Molly's not here, here, is she?” is she?”

”Nope,” I said. ”I didn't ask her on this operation.”

”Oh,” he said. His voice seemed to hold something of both approval and disappointment. ”Good. Hey, there, Mouse.”

My dog came over to greet Ramirez with a gravely shaken paw and a wagging tail. Ramirez produced a little cloth sack and tossed it up to Mister, where he lay in his favored spot atop one of my bookcases. Mister immediately went ecstatic, pinning the sack down with one paw and rubbing his whiskers all over it.

”I disapprove of recreational drug use,” I told Ramirez sternly.

He rolled his eyes. ”Okay, Dad. But since we all know who really runs this house”-Ramirez reached up to rub a finger behind one of Mister's ears-”I'll just keep on paying tribute lest I incur His Nibs's imperial displeasure.”

I reached up to rub Mister's ears when Ramirez was done. ”So, any questions?”

”We're going to stomp into the middle of a big meeting of the White Court, call a couple of them murderers, challenge them to a duel, and kill them right in front of all of their friends and relatives, right?”

”Right,” I said.

”It has the advantage of simplicity,” Ramirez said, his tone dry. He put his bag on my coffee table and opened it, drawing out a freaking Desert Eagle, one of the most powerful semiautomatic sidearms in the world. ”Call them names and kill them. What could possibly go wrong with that that?”

”We're officially in a cease-fire,” I said. ”And as we've announced ourselves as parties arriving to deliver challenge, they'd be in violation of the Accords to kill us.”

Ramirez grunted, checked the slide on the big handgun, and slapped a magazine into it. ”Or we show up, they kill us, and then play like we left in good shape and vanished, and oh, dear, what a shame and loss to all those hot young women that that madman Harry Dresden dragged good-looking young Ramirez down with him when he went.”

I snorted. ”No. In the first place, the Council would find out what happened one way or another.”

”If any of them looked,” looked,” Ramirez drawled. Ramirez drawled.

”Ebenezar would,” I stated with perfect confidence.

”How do you know?” Ramirez asked.

I knew because my old mentor was the Blackstaff of the Council, their completely illegal, immoral, unethical, and secret a.s.sa.s.sin, free to break the Laws of Magic whenever he deemed it fit-such as the First Law, ”Thou shalt not kill.” When Duke Ortega of the Red Court had challenged me to a formal duel and cheated, Ebenezar had taken it personally. He'd pulled an old Soviet satellite down onto the vamps' heads, killing Ortega and his whole crew. But I couldn't tell Carlos that.

”I know the old man,” I said. ”He would.”

”You know that,” Ramirez said. ”What if the Whites don't?”

”We count on our second safety net. King Raith doesn't want to get his finely accoutred a.s.s deposed. Our challenge is going to remove get his finely accoutred a.s.s deposed. Our challenge is going to remove a couple of potential deposers. He'll want us to succeed. After that, I figure quid pro quo should be enough to get us out in one piece.” a couple of potential deposers. He'll want us to succeed. After that, I figure quid pro quo should be enough to get us out in one piece.”

Ramirez shook his head. ”We're doing the White King, our enemy, with whom we are at war, a favor by stabilizing his grasp on the throne.”

”Yeah.”

”Why are we doing that again?”

”Because it might give the Council a chance to catch its breath, at least, if we can recover while Raith hosts peace talks.” I narrowed my eyes. ”And because those murdering sons of b.i.t.c.hes have to pay for killing a lot of innocent people, and this is the only way to get to them.”

Ramirez pulled three round-sided grenades from the pack and put them down next to the Desert Eagle. ”I like that second one better. It's a fight I can get behind. Do we have any backup?”

”Maybe,” I said.

He paused and blinked up at me. ”Maybe?”

”Most of the Wardens are in India,” I told him. ”A bunch of old bad guys under some big daddy rakshasa started attacking some monasteries friendly to us while we were distracted with the vamps. I checked, and Morgan and Ebenezar have been hammering them for two days. You, me, your guys, and Luccio's trainees are the only Wardens in North America right now.”

”No trainees.” Ramirez grunted. ”And my guys haven't had their cloaks for a year yet. They... are not up for something like this yet. Half a dozen vamps in an alley, sure, but there's only the three of them.”

I nodded. ”Keep this simple. Swagger in, look confident, kick a.s.s. You dealt with White Court before?”

”Not much. They stay clear of our people on the coast.”

”They're predators like the rest of them,” I said. ”They react well to body language that tells them that you are not food. They've got some major mental influence skills, so keep focused and make sure your head is clear.”

Ramirez produced a well-worn web belt of black nylon. He clipped a holster to it and then fixed the grenades in place. ”What's going to stop them from smas.h.i.+ng us the second we win this duel?”

That's one of the things I love about working with Ramirez. The possibility of losing losing the duel simply didn't enter into his calculations. ”Their nature,” I said. ”They like to play civilized, and do their wet work through cat's-paws. They are not fond of direct methods and direct confrontation.” the duel simply didn't enter into his calculations. ”Their nature,” I said. ”They like to play civilized, and do their wet work through cat's-paws. They are not fond of direct methods and direct confrontation.”

Ramirez lifted his eyebrows, drew a slender, straight, double-edged blade of a type he called a willow sword from the bag, and laid it on the table, too. The ta.s.sel on the hilt had been torn off by a zombie the night we'd first fought together. He had replaced it, over the last few years, with a little chain strung with fangs taken from Red Court vampires he'd killed with it. They rattled against one another and the steel and leather of the hilt. ”I get it. We're We're the White King's cat's-paws.” the White King's cat's-paws.”

I walked to the icebox. ”Bingo. And we can't hang around as potential threats to his rebellious courtiers if he kills us outright after we help him out. It would damage his credibility with his allies, too.”

”Ah,” Ramirez said. ”Politicians.”

I returned with two opened beers. I gave one to him, clinked my bottle against his, and we said, in unison, ”f.u.c.k 'em,” and drank.

Ramirez lowered the bottle, squinted at it, and said, ”Can we do this?”

I snorted. ”Can't be any harder than Halloween.”

”We had a dinosaur then,” Ramirez said. Then he turned and pulled fatigue pants and a black Offspring T-s.h.i.+rt out of his bag. He gave me an up-and-down look. ”Of course, we still do.”

I kicked the coffee table into his s.h.i.+ns. He let out a yelp and hobbled off to change clothes in my bedroom, snickering under his breath the whole way.

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