measure of each other’s souls. It was why I knew precisely how dangerous the man sitting across the table from me could be, and why I insisted upon treating him in as cavalier a fashion as possible. One doesn’t show dangerous predators weakness or fear. It makes them hungry.
I savored a bite of the biscuit, which was only a reminder of how good a real homemade biscuit and sausage was, but for the sake of my audience, I made sounds of enjoyment as I chewed and swallowed. “You sure?” I slurped some more coffee. “You’re missing out on ambrosia, here.”
“Dresden,” Marcone said, “this is aggravating. Even for you.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling, and took another bite of sausage.
Hendricks made a growling sound.
I finished chewing and said, “You sure about that, big guy?”
“Hendricks,” Marcone said.
Hendricks subsided.
I nodded. Then I said, “You have information I want.”
“Undoubtedly,” Marcone said. “What information are you after, and what do you offer for it?”
“I’m not here to trade baseball cards with you, Marcone,” I said.
“And I am not a charity organization, Dresden,” he replied. “I take it this has something to do with your office building exploding.” He shook his head in a gesture of faint regret.
“Right,” I said. “You’re all broken up over the destruction.”
“I didn’t order it. I made no money on it. I failed to profit financially or politically from its destruction. And you survived. It was a complete waste.”
Hendricks made another growling sound that might have been gorilla for a laugh.
“Maybe it’s got something to do with the building. How much do you know about its owners?”
Marcone’s smile was a wintry thing. “That they are a part of the organization whose servitors have been attempting to intrude upon my business.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Someone’s muscling in on your territory?”
“Briefly,” Marcone said, “but incessantly.”
“Then we might have a common problem.”
Marcone looked at me as though I were a rather slow child. “Yes. Hence this meeting.”
I grunted and finished the biscuit. “The Red Court is on the move. Trouble is being stirred up between them and the Council. My interest in the matter is an eight-year-old girl. The Reds took her from her home. I believe that they’re holding her somewhere in Mexico. I need to know where.”
Marcone’s stare went on for several seconds before he said, “Somewhere. In Mexico. That’s as specific as you can be?”
“It’s as much as I know,” I said.
“For what purpose was she brought there?”
“Why does it matter?”
“If she was taken to be used as a sexual object, she would be in a different place than if she was going to be used as slave labor or harvested as an organ donor.”
I clenched my teeth and looked away briefly, treated to a number of delightful images by his words.
Marcone’s eyes narrowed. “Who is she to you, Dresden?”
“My client’s kid,” I said, struggling to keep my voice level and calm. “I think they’re going to use her in some sort of sacrificial ritual.”
“Then that narrows things considerably,” Marcone said. “As I understand the process, rituals such as the one you mention need to happen at a place of power.” He glanced up at Miss Gard, who nodded and immediately left the restaurant, heading for her car. “I suspect I can narrow it down even further for you, Dresden. Let’s talk price.”
“I’m going to use the information to put a major hurting on the people trying to take your territory away from you, Marcone,” I said. “That’s more than payment enough.”
“And if I do not agree?” Marcone asked.
“Then we throw down, right here, and after I toss your attack dogs over the top of the Sears building, I hurt you until you give me the information anyway.”
That cold smile returned. “Is that how you think it would happen?”
I shrugged a shoulder and kept my expression bland. “I think there’s only one way to find out.” I leaned forward a little and pitched my voice in a conspiratorial murmur. “But just between you and me, I don’t think the terrain favors you here.”
He stared across his steepled fingers at me for a time. Then he said, “It certainly doesn’t favor me in the manner I would prefer.” He laid his hands flat on the table and leaned back slightly. “There’s no sense in making a confrontation out of this. And I have never yet regretted it when I allowed you to rid me of an enemy.”
“I didn’t do it as a favor to you.”
He shrugged. “Your motivations are immaterial. The results are what