A cold chill went through me. Marcone had tentacles everywhere in the city. If he wanted to get to someone, he’d get them gotten. There were an unlimited number of ways, within the law as well as outside of it, that he could make trouble for the average citizen. Or even the not-so-average citizen.
“That little pub you like so much is in violation of a number of city health codes, for example,” Marcone said. “Someone like Tripp Gregory is hardly the purview of a former Wizard of the White Council. Going after him, yourself, Titan-slayer? It simply isn’t… balanced. I will do you the courtesy of assuming that you believe that I am more than willing to balance the scales for one of my people.”
“Your guy started it,” I snarled.
“And your client signed, and is now trying to escape, the contract in question,” Marcone replied.
I stared hard at him for a second, thinking. Then I said, “I heard you have a rule for your soldiers. No kids.”
Something flickered in his eyes, then. Not much. But a spark. Maybe whatever was left of his humanity.
“And?” he asked.
“Tripp Gregory is irrational. He can’t possibly achieve his supposed goals in doing this. But he’s going to hurt kids,” I said. “Indirectly, long-term, but he’ll hurt them all the same.” I wanted to spit, but I bet that Marcone was thinking long term these days and added, “Kids who won’t grow up to be affluent customers of the various vices you control.”
Marcone narrowed his eyes, and his fingers returned to their steepled position. “That is an argument that perhaps carries more weight. I dislike inefficiency.” He shook his head. “But I cannot refuse to support a loyal soldier, any more than you could give one of yours to me.” He mused for a moment. Then he said, deliberately, “You took my castle from me.”
“Yes, I did,” I said.
He nodded his head to me. “Well played.”
I blinked.
It hadn’t occurred to me that by doing so, I’d earn respect from Marcone, too.
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“I cannot give you one of my people,” Marcone continued. “What I can give you is a word of advice with regards to Mister Gregory. One I feel I should not need to offer to a person of your alleged profession.”
I frowned at him. “What advice?”
He gave me a shark’s smile. “Follow the money.”
“Huh,” I said.
He picked up his pen and clipboard again.
“Gregory’s cellmate,” I said. “I’d like to talk to him. Like any old regular PI without wizard powers.”
Marcone narrowed his eyes, studying his checklist. He lifted his eyes and gave me the same unreadable look I’d have gotten from a mildly interested tiger.
“Very well. He will be made available.”
I got up, nodded to him, and left. Gard was waiting for me, and I told her, “I need a land line.”
The Valkyrie took me to another trailer without a word and nodded at a phone. I got on it and called Will.
“Get in touch with Bob and Paranoid Gary,” I told him over the staticky line. “I need some more information.” I told him what. “I’ll call back for it in a couple hours. Cancel this afternoon’s appointments, too,” I said. “I’m going to Pontiac.”
Chapter Nine
Prison visiting rooms aren’t all like the ones you see on TV, with the walls of cubicles and the phones to talk through.
Pontiac didn’t have the phones, just some holes in the plexiglass.