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“Chief Garcia is up to her eyeballs in cases right now, so you probably made a wise decision.”
“You know who didn’t make a wise decision?”
“The person who stole your car?”
He showed me a set of perfect teeth that only money or magic could procure. “Exactly, although I doubt a regular human would’ve been able to bypass the ward. It had to be someone supernatural, like your special friend…”
I shot him a warning glance. “Don’t you dare say his name.”
His brow furrowed. “Otto Visconti? Why, did you two have a fight?”
Oh, right. Otto. “No, but Otto has a fleet of cars. He’d never steal one.”
“Interesting choice of collectibles for a blind vampire,” Gun said.
“When you’re as rich as Otto, you do as you please.”
Gun scowled. “Same can be said for our mutual friend Magnarella. You haven’t had any horse heads left on your welcome mat, have you?”
“My mat doesn’t welcome anybody.”
He chuckled. “Yet people keep turning up anyway. Why don’t they get the hint?”
I watched the coffee percolate. “Seriously, though. Why don’t they?”
“Because it’s too subtle. That’s the midwestern version of go away. You need one that’s more New York City.”
“A giant fist that punches them back outside the gate?”
He nodded. “That would send a strong message. Might be a problem when the chief pays you a visit, though.”
My mind kept turning. “Is there any chance Magnarella could be responsible for the crime wave?”
“He threatened you specifically. I’m not sure how wreaking havoc in the town is a problem for you.” Gun pursed his full lips, pondering the issue. “Then again, he knows you stepped in for my sister. Maybe he assumes you’ll do the same for the town. Still, it doesn’t seem to hurt you, and my impression is that he wants you to suffer.”
“The crime wave could benefit him. Maybe he sent someone to steal your car.”
His penciled eyebrows drew together. “That would violate the Gentleman’s Agreement.”
Magnarella and Kane had a Gentleman’s Agreement in place to stay out of each other’s respective businesses. Stealing the car of a guild assassin would definitely fall on the side of don’t-do-that-or-else.
Gun gestured to the coffeepot. “Are you going to do the honors or shall I?”
He wasn’t kidding about his desperation for coffee. I withdrew a mug from the shelf.
“Oh, not that one,” Gun said.
I glanced at the mug. “What’s wrong with this one?”
“It has a weird stain in the bottom. Makes it look dirty.”
“That’s what tea and coffee do, Gun. They stain things.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to wash it in a little vinegar mix,” he said meekly.
Mutely, I held my index finger close to my thumb again.
He swapped the mug for a different one. “This one is acceptable.”
