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He kept on staring out the windshield. "Why they after you?"
"I'm protecting a client."
"Old guy in the wheelchair."
"Yeah."
Graver squinted. "He looks like a hard case."
"You have no idea."
We sat in the air-conditioning for a moment. Then he glanced at me and shook his head.
"You seem like a reasonable guy," Graver said. "Hope you don't get dead. Conversation over."
I thought about pushing things, but I've been around long enough to recognize someone who was genuinely tough-minded when I see him. "You got a business card?"
He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a plain white business card with his name and a phone number. He passed it over to me. "Why?"
"Sometimes I need a subcontractor."
He lifted both eyebrows.
"One who knows how to keep his teeth together." I nodded to him and got out of the car. I leaned down and looked in the door before I left. "I know a mechanic. I'll give him a call and he'll come on out. He's got a compressor on his truck, and he can fill up your tires. I'll pay for it."
Graver studied me with calm, intelligent eyes and then smiled a little. "Thanks."
I closed the door and thumped on the roof with my fist. Then I walked back to my apartment. Mouse, who had waited patiently in the yard, came shambling up to greet me as I stepped out of the street, and he walked alongside me as I went back to the apartment.
Morgan was lying on my bed again when I came back in. Molly was just finishing up changing his bandages. Mister watched the entire process from the back of the couch, his ears tilted forward, evidently fascinated.
Morgan nodded to me and rasped, "Did you catch him?"
"Yeah," I said. "A local PI had been hired to keep track of me. But there was a problem."
"What's that?"
I shrugged. "He had integrity."
Morgan inhaled through his nose and nodded. "Pretty rare problem."
"Yeah. Impressive young man. What are the odds?"
Molly looked back and forth between us. "I don't understand."
"He's quitting the job, but he won't tell us what we want to know about his client, because he doesn't think it would be right," I said. "He's not willing to sell the information, either."
Molly frowned. "Then how are we going to find out who is behind all of this?"
I shrugged. "Not sure. But I told him I'd get someone to come by and put the air back in his tires. Excuse me."
"Wait. He's still out there?"
"Yeah," I said. "Blue Mercedes."
"And he's a young man."
"Sure," I said. "A little older than you. Name's Vince Graver."
Molly beamed. "Well, then, I'll go get him to tell me." She walked over to my icebox, opened it, pulled out a dark brown bottle of micro-brewery beer, and walked toward the door.
"How you gonna do that?" I asked her.
"Trust me, Harry. I'll change his mind."
"No," Morgan said fiercely. He coughed a couple of times. "No. I would rather be dead-do you hear me? Be dead than have you use black magic on my behalf."
Molly set the beer down on the shelf by the door and blinked at Morgan. "You're right," she said to me. "He is kind of a drama queen. Who said anything about magic?"
She pulled one arm into her T-shirt, and wriggled around a little. A few seconds later, she was tugging her bra out of the arm hole of her shirt. She dropped it on the shelf, picked up the bottle, and held it against each breast in turn. Then she turned to face me, took a deep breath, and arched her back a little. The tips of her breasts pressed quite noticeably against the rather strained fabric of her shirt.
"What do you think?" she asked, giving me a wicked smile.
I thought Vince was doomed.
"I think your mother would scream bloody murder," I said.
Molly smirked. "Call the mechanic. I'll just keep him company until the truck gets there." She turned with a little extra hip action and left the apartment.
Morgan made a low, appreciative sound as the door closed.
I eyed him.
Morgan looked from the door to me. "I'm not dead yet, Dresden." He closed his eyes. "Doesn't hurt to admire a woman's beauty once in a while."
"Maybe. But that was just... just wrong."
Morgan smiled, though it was strained with discomfort. "She's right, though. Especially with a young man. A woman can make a man see everything in a different light."
"Wrong," I muttered. "Just wrong."
I went to call Mike the mechanic.
Molly came back about forty-five minutes later, beaming.
Morgan had been forced to take more pain medication and was tossing in a restless sleep. I closed the door carefully so that we wouldn't wake him.
"Well?" I asked.
"His car has really good air-conditioning," Molly said smugly. "He never had a chance." Between two fingers, she held up a business card like the one I'd gotten.
I did the same thing with mine, mirroring her.
She flipped hers over, showing me a handwritten note on the other side. "I'm worried about my job as your assistant." She put the back of her hand against her forehead melodramatically. "If something happens to you, whatever will I do? Wherever shall I go?"
"And?"
She held out the card to me. "And Vince suggested that I might consider work as a paralegal. He even suggested a law firm. Smith Cohen Mackleroy."
"His job-hunting suggestion, eh?" I asked.
She smirked. "Well, obviously he couldn't just tell me who hired him. That would be wrong."
"You are a cruel and devious young woman." I took the card from her and read it. It said: Smith Cohen Mackleroy, listed a phone number, and had the name "Evelyn Derek" printed under that.
I looked up to meet Molly's smiling eyes. Her grin widened. "Damn, I'm good."
"No argument here," I told her. "Now we have a name, a lead. One might even call it a clue."
"Not only that," Molly said. "I have a date."
"Good work, grasshopper," I said, grinning as I rolled my eyes. "Way to take one for the team."
Chapter Twenty-two
Smith Cohen and Mackleroy, as it turned out, was an upscale law firm in downtown Chicago. The building their offices occupied stood in the shadow of the Sears Tower, and must have had a fantastic view of the lake. Having plucked out the enemy's eyes, so to speak, I thought that I might have bought us some breathing space. Without Vince on our tail, I hoped that Morgan could get a few hours of rest in relative safety.
