Blood Rites (The Dresden Files #6) - Jim Butcher Page 0,81

someone doesn't want Arturo's new company to succeed," I replied. "Among other things."

Jake frowned. "You think Silverlight Studios is behind it?"

"Possible," I said. "But things have been pretty nasty for someone with a money motivation."

"Materialism is not good for the soul," Jake said. "Those are the folks who can do the worst, when they're after money."

"Money's new," I answered. "Power's old. Power is the real deal. Money, voters, oil, SUVs—they're just stand-ins for power."

"For a feng shui artist, you're sort of intense, man."

I shrugged. "That's the first time anyone's ever told me that."

"You got a woman?"

I rolled up the chalk line. "Had one. Didn't work out."

"That could explain it," Jake said. "Arturo gets like you between wives. Thank God that's over."

I blinked and looked Jake. "Over?"

"Yeah," Jake said. "I mean, he hasn't sent out invitations or anything, but I know the guy. He's had hearts floating around his head for a couple of months, and he's in his days-before-wedding phase now."

That was important. That was really freaking important. "Are you sure?" I asked.

Jake shrugged, his expression puzzled. "I'm not gonna testify to it in federal court or anything, man. I mean, city court, sure."

Footsteps came around the corner, and Bully Bobby appeared, wearing shorts and a T-shirt and carrying a little notebook with a golf pencil. "Jake," he said. "Finally, man. Arturo says I have to tell him today. What do you think of Rocko Stone? Or maybe Rack McGranite?"

"Rocko is way overdone already," Jake said. "And racks are more of a girl thing."

"Oh, right."

"Go with something nonstandard, man. How about Gowan?"

"Gowan?" Bobby asked.

"Sure, he was a knight."

"Like those Round Table guys?"

"Yeah, like that," Jake said.

"Sounds kinda… soft, don't you think?"

"Maybe," Jake said. "Stiffen it up with a heavier last name. Like Commando."

Bobby frowned. "Gowan Commando," he said, and from his tone the kid just didn't get it. "I guess that might work. Thanks, man." He paused and noticed me for the first time. "Oh, hey. Uh, Harry, right?"

"Like yesterday," I said. I didn't use my happy voice. "Morning."

"Yeah, morning." Bobby coughed and glanced at Jake, who clenched a fist in an encouraging be-strong sort of gesture. "Harry," Bobby said, "I was kind of an asshole to you yesterday, man. Sorry."

It probably says something about me that I didn't even consider the possibility that he might be sincere until he coughed and shuffled over to offer me his hand. "We okay?" he asked.

I blinked at him. People didn't apologize to me much, as a rule, but I'd seen enough after-school specials to understand the theory. "What the hell." I traded grips with the kid and said, "It's nothing. Forget it."

He smiled a little and said, "Cool. So what are you guys doing?"

"Feng shui," Jake said.

"You know martial arts?" Bobby asked me.

Now that he wasn't threatening violence, I could see that this kid was a jewel. He could potentially provide some lucky wiseass with straight lines for the rest of his natural life, and you can't put a price on that. "A little."

"Cool."

Jake shook his head, and managed to keep from smiling. "Need anything else then, Harry?"

"Not right now."

He nodded. "Come on, Gowan. Let's go see if Joan needs help with anything."

"Hey," I said. "Jake."

"Yeah?"

"Is Lara here today?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why?"

"No reason," I said. "I'll catch up to you later."

They left, and I sat down in my dim, magically booby-trapped corner to think.

It was important that Arturo was in love. My gut told me it was important, but I couldn't kick my tired brain into telling me why. I rubbed at my eyes. I needed more sleep to do any thinking, so I went looking for the next best thing—coffee and a backup brain.

Murphy answered the phone and I greeted her through the coffee and most of a doughnut.

"You're mumbling, Harry," Murphy said. "Speak up."

I slurped coffee, scalded my mouth on the stuff, and set it aside to cool off a little. "Sorry, burned my tongue. Did you get any more information about Arturo Genosa?" I asked.

"Some," Murphy said. "I got in touch with a guy I know in LA. He came up with municipal records and even some files from Genosa's lawyer, but there's not much in the way of admissible."

"That's okay. Just trying to get a picture."

I heard her digging out a file and opening it. "Okay. He's got a will on file, leaves everything to a couple of charities and his next of kin, looks like his mother in Greece—but she died a couple of years