tat that may have been cut off while the wearer was still alive.” The room got quiet, and I continued. “He says he wants to keep that from happening to anybody else, and I believe him, and I want to help.” I looked around the room. “What about you guys?”
“Yeah,” Kring/L said. CJ and Tess also assented. Only Banner held out.
“All right,” he grumbled. “But if half our client list gets disappeared—”
“Look, look,” I said. “We do this in stages. We talk to them first privately, in person if you’re afraid to do it over the phone. Nobody gets forwarded to the Feds unless they want to talk to them. And if they don’t want to go through us, Phil gave me his number—”
“Oh, so he’s Phil now? Gave you his number!” Cinnamon said, bouncing back into my office. She’d swapped her clothes out almost completely for an outfit that was nearly identical— still short pants, crop top and vest, but now all new, the chunky vest orange to match her hair, the top a shimmering black with sparkling diagonal stripes, and the worn shorts swapped out for pale capris that matched the trim on the vest and looked surprisingly good on her tiger-striped skin. “But enough about your square boyfriend. Oh my God. There’s this store, called the Junkman’s Daughter, it’s so fabulously cool—”
“That’s great,” I said. “Thanks guys, Tess, Banner. Let’s get started.”
“—and this other one, Psycho Sisters, where I gots the coolest shirt and vest—”
“Good luck,” Kring/L said, raising his brows at Cinnamon as she bounced around my office like a pinball in a machine. “Can I get you guys anything—coffee, tea, a trank gun—”
Cinnamon hissed at him, baring her claws, and Kring/L hopped out, grinning.
“Hey, DaKOta,” she said, words tumbling out like a running stream. “There’s this oils shop, or something, round the corner, and so I was thinking when you’re on your break maybe you and me could go down there and checks some of it out?”
“Such lung capacity,” I said. “But what’s stopping you? Are you out of money?”
“No way,” she said, spinning around. She had a cute Tigger backpack, held by bungee cords, with some cloth from her old vest and top poking out of the flap. “Thrift stores are your friend. I got this, plus this change of, and still had some change.”
“So why do you need me?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, swaying back and forth. “You said you were going to take care of me and… I didn’t want to go out of eyeshot. In case anything happened.”
I looked out my window. Every store she had mentioned was within view, if just barely; the oil shop was round the bend. “All right. All right. But my breaks are at one and four today—”
“One!” she said. “That’s like over’n hour away. Why do you have to works today anyway? I thought squares got weekends off—”
“They do,” I said, grinning, “and that’s why I work on weekends. Half my business is either scheduled on the weekend or done on the spot by weekend walk-ins. So the shop has one artist here at all times on Saturdays and Sundays—and today’s my day.”
“Whatever,” she said, sitting down hard in my chair.
“Why not go up to Criminal Records and check out the books—”
“What for?” she said. “I can’t read for squat.”
I drew a breath. I was going to have words with the Bear King, jaws of death or no. Then an idea struck me. I hunted through my desk drawer and found my old CD walkman—I hadn’t used it since I got my iPod, but… “Then listen to an audiobook.”
“A what?” she asked, spinning the chair around, her tail following her in an arc.
“You know my friend Jinx?”
“The blind witch?” she said. “Yeah, the Marquis disses her all the time. Means really he thinks she’s sweet—”
“A lot of people do,” I said. “You know, she can’t read either.”
“Oh!” she said, suddenly interested in the CD player, reaching for it the way a cat bats at a ball of string. “So what’s this then? A stone-age MP3 player?”
“I have an iPod,” I said, “but her CDs will play on this.”
We stared at the selection Jinx’d given me, and then I realized how pointless that was and started reading them out. “Blink… The Golden Mean… This is Your Brain on Music…” I shrugged. “I haven’t had time to burn them to MP3 so I haven’t read any of them—”
“What’s this one?” she said, holding up one with a