I’m about six foot nine, I’m not as young as I used to be, and I’ve collected some scars. Between that and the big black leather duster, which I was wearing even on a hot summer morning, they gave me nervous looks and moved along quickly. I watched them get into their sporty little car carefully, just in case they produced assault rifles from somewhere, and because I am a trained observer of people. They left, and I walked up to the door and knocked.
“I pay you to fucking leave!” called a man’s voice from inside. “Jesus Christ, what do you want now?”
Footsteps sounded and a man in a cheap black cotton bathrobe opened the door. He was maybe fortyish, well built, with bleach blonde hair and dark eyes. He blinked and then scowled up at me.
“Who the hell are you, ugly?” he demanded.
“Hell’s bells, what a charmer,” I said. “I bet you make friends everywhere you go.”
“What?” he demanded. Again.
“And eloquent too,” I said. “Tripp Gregory?” He glowered. “Who the fuck are you?”
I looked over him, around his place. There wasn’t much in the way of furnishings or furniture, and what I could see was cheap. There were stacks of mail in a box on a futon. “My name is Harry Dresden,” I said.
“Supposed to mean something, asshole?”
My knuckles ached to meet his nose. I took a slow breath and exhaled before they started getting ideas. “I work for Maya.”
“That whore,” he scoffed.
One of the consequences of my life was that I bore a mantle of power from the Winter side of Faerie. Among other things, it made me feel more aggression than most people. I mostly keep it under control.
Mostly.
I stiff-armed the door with my left hand, hard enough to slam it into Tripp’s shoulder and chest and knock him sprawling on his ass. He went down with an expression of shock. He was a solid guy, but these days I was unreasonably strong. For my size.
“Mind if I come in and talk?” I asked, stepping over the threshold of his home. I left most of my magical capability behind as I did—along with much of the influence of the Winter mantle. I could tell because I felt a little ashamed for not waiting for an invitation. That was an interesting point, but I’d leave it for later.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he demanded. “Do you know who I fucking am?”
“You’re a pimp,” I said calmly. I stepped past him, over to the futon, and picked up a handful of mail. “You’re trying to extort money out of a tutoring service called Sunflower. You’re going to stop.”
Tripp’s eyes followed me, and I was reminded uncomfortably of a rattlesnake. This was a guy who would deliver a poisonous bite the moment I allowed it to happen. I eyed him, then checked the most obvious places for a gun and found it under the futon’s mattress in the second spot I looked.
“That’s mine,” he snarled.
“Keep talking and maybe you’ll get it,” I said.
He took that in silence. Then said, “Who sent you?”
“Wow. Add ‘listening’ to your already impressive set of talents, Tripp,” I said. The gun was a cheap revolver. I flicked it open and jiggled it empty, then closed it and tossed it back on the futon. I glanced at his mail, flicking through, tossing it mostly back into the box. There were a lot of bills with FINAL NOTICE printed in red ink. “Along with your financial skills.”
“Hey, the fucking mail is mine. That’s a federal crime.”
“Only if I took it from your mailbox,” I said brightly. “Knocking you on your ass and entering your house is a couple of crimes, though.” I shook my head and tossed the rest of the mail back into the box. “This is the friendly talk, Tripp. Drop the case against Sunflower.”