"So," Rivera said, "problems with, uh, someone in the drain?"
Charlie grinned. "You can't hear that, can you?" The cursing was ongoing, but now in some language that sounded as if it required a lot of mucus to speak properly, Gaelic or German or something.
"I can hear a distinct ringing in my ears, Mr. Asher, from the report of your distinctly illegal fireworks, but beyond that, nothing, no."
"Rats," Charlie said, unconsciously raising an eyebrow in a so are you gonna buy that load of horseshit? way. "Hate the rats."
"Uh-huh," Rivera said flatly. "The rats, they used their beak on your arm and evidently you feel that they have a secret desire for cheap animal curios?"
"So that you heard?" Charlie asked.
"Yep."
"That's gotta make you wonder, then, huh?"
"Yep," said the cop. "Nice suit, though. Armani?"
"Canali, actually," Charlie said. "But thanks."
"Not what I'd pick for bombing storm drains, but to each his own." Rivera hadn't moved. He was standing just off the curb, about ten feet away from Charlie, his weapon still at his side. A jogger ran by them and used the opportunity to quicken his pace. Charlie and Rivera both nodded politely as he passed.
"So," Charlie said, "you're a professional, where would you go with this?"
Rivera shrugged. "Not on any prescriptions you might have taken too many of, are you?"
"I wish," Charlie said.
"Up all night drinking, thrown out by the wife, out of your mind with remorse?"
"My wife passed away."
"I'm sorry. How long?"
"Going on a year now."
"Well, that's not going to work," said Rivera. "Do you have any history of mental illness?"
"Nope."
"Well, you do now. Congratulations, Mr. Asher. You can use that next time."
"Do I have to do the perp walk?" Charlie asked, thinking about how he'd explain this to child services. Poor Sophie, her dad an ex con and Death, school was going to be tough. "This jacket is tailored, I don't think I can get it over my head for the perp walk. Am I going to jail?"
"Not with me, you're not. You think this would be any easier for me to explain? I'm an inspector, I don't arrest guys for throwing firecrackers and yelling into storm drains."
"Then why do you have your weapon drawn?"
"Makes me feel more secure."
"I can see that," Charlie said. "I probably appeared a little unstable."
"Ya think?"
"So where's that leave us?"
"That the rest of your stash?" Rivera nodded toward the paper bag of firecrackers under Charlie's arm.
Charlie nodded.
"How about you toss that down the storm drain and we'll call it a day."
"No way. I have no idea what they'll do if they get their hands on fireworks."
Now it was Rivera's turn to raise an eyebrow. "The rats?"
Charlie threw the bag in the storm sewer. He could hear whispering from below, but tried not to show Rivera that he was listening.
Rivera holstered his weapon and shot his lapels. "So, do you take suits like that into your shop very often?" he asked.
"More now than I used to. I've been doing a lot of estate work," Charlie said.
"You still have my card, give me a call if you get a forty long, anything Italian, medium-to lightweight wool, oh, or raw silk, too."
"Yeah, silk's perfect for our weather. Sure, I'll be happy to save you something. By the way, Inspector, how did you happen to be in a back alley, off a side street, in the middle of a Tuesday morning?"
"I don't have to tell you that," said Rivera with a smile.
"You don't?"
"No. You have a nice day, Mr. Asher."
"You, too," said Charlie. So now he was being followed both above and below the street? Why else would a homicide detective be here? Neither the Great Big Book nor Minty Fresh had said a word about the cops. How were you supposed to keep this whole death-dealing thing a secret when a cop was watching you? His elation at having taken the battle to the enemy, something that was deeply against his nature, evaporated. He wasn't sure why, but something was telling him that he had just fucked up.
Below the street the Morrigan looked at one another in amazement.
"He doesn't know," said Macha, examining her claws, which shone like brushed stainless steel in the dim light coming from above. Her body was beginning to show the gunmetal-blue relief of feathers, and her eyes were no longer just silver disks, but now had the full awareness of a predatory bird's. She had once flown over the battlefields of the North, landing on those soldiers who were dying of their wounds,