“I’ve always thought of it as a novelty,” Dox went on. “Due to its size. Never heard of someone actually carrying one. But I can see it suits you.”
Still Manus only looked at him.
“Anyway, I’ll look forward to handing it back as soon as we’ve gotten to know each other better and I’m less paranoid about you trying to fillet me with it. Does that seem reasonable?”
Manus said, “All right.”
It might not have been much, but they were talking at least. A little.
“Thank you,” Dox said. “And if I were to politely ask whether you might be carrying any other hardware, would you be truthful with me on short acquaintance?”
“Would you be with me?”
That was fair. “Probably not. Trust doesn’t come easily in our trade. You should have seen my partner and me back in the day. But look at us now. Holding hands and everything.”
He was hoping for some kind of reaction to that—maybe not an outright belly laugh, but something. But Manus just looked at him.
A woman in a jogging outfit turned the corner behind Manus and started running toward them. She saw the tableau and stopped short. For a second, Dox was afraid it was Diaz. But no, this woman was white, with short, sandy-colored hair.
“Police matter,” Dox called out to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ll have to ask you to take an alternate route this morning.”
Manus glanced back. Without a word, the woman did a 180 and was on her way. Manus looked at Dox again.
“Obviously that was for her benefit,” Dox said. “We’re not really police.”
“I’m deaf. Not stupid.”
Oops. “Of course. I apologize. I have it on reliable authority that when I’m nervous, I can talk too much. Anyway, I think we should go. And at the risk of being rude, could I first trouble you to lift that parka high and spin slowly around? You can see my friend is still tense, and I think you might put him at ease that way.”
Manus complied. Nothing under the parka.
“And those pants. Maybe just lift them up a few inches so I can see your ankles?”
Manus complied. Nothing but a pair of socks around ankles as thick as a normal man’s knee.
“Thank you,” Dox said. “And forgive me, but I’m about eighty percent sure that’s a push-dagger buckle on your belt. As it happens, I’m wearing one myself. I’m hoping your pants will stay up without it, and I can give it back to you along with the Espada when we’re done talking?”
Manus removed the belt and tossed it underhand to Dox. Dox caught it and took a look at the buckle.
“Don’t recognize this one,” Dox said. “You make it yourself?”
Manus nodded.
Dox shoved the belt in one of his parka pockets. “Looks like fine work. Maybe sometime you could show me how.”
No response to that. Well, rapport didn’t always come easy.
Dox knew there might be more hardware. In fact, if the man were anything like Dox, he’d have at least three other sharp and pointy things hidden on his person. But they’d been here too long already, and even with the foul weather it was lucky they’d had to deal with only a single civilian. There wasn’t time for a more careful search. The good news was, there was no reason to think Manus would favor another skirmish without first hearing what they had to say. And besides, Larison wasn’t likely to let the man close enough to offer the opportunity.
Dox glanced over at Larison. Larison nodded and holstered the Glock.
“Okay,” Dox said. “Time for us to scram. As it happens, I know a delightful coffee emporium, about five miles south of here—All City, it’s called. Maybe we can regroup there and talk?”