"Trust me, it's the sort of magical help you wouldn't want. It amounts to slavery."
"Oh, well, that they can keep." He grimaced and drank some more coffee. "The address listed for both the Mack and Marks identities is Railway Crescent, Broadmeadows, but I couldn't find them listed as tenants in the apartments there."
"Probably because he actually lives in Dawson Street, Brunswick West." If what Uncle Quinn had pulled from his mind was to be believed, anyway. "Any chance of you checking to see if there's a traffic camera nearby, and monitoring it?"
"I can check. Can't promise results."
"Thanks."
He grinned. "You know, a crate or two of Bollinger wouldn't go astray. I'm almost out of the last lot."
I choked down a laugh. "Done deal. And cheap at half the price."
"Then I shall double the price next time."
He could triple the price and it would still be cheap. The information he kept getting for us was invaluable.
I scooped up the last of the egg yolk with a piece of bacon, then pushed the plate away with a contented sigh. "That was delish. Thanks."
"You're lucky. I normally only stock frozen meals, but Mom insisted on having real stuff while she was here."
I grinned. "Mothers are funny like that."
"Tell me about it." His voice was gloomy, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "She's even insisting I meet the daughter of one of her friends before she leaves."
"The daughter might be hot, you know."
He snorted. "It's not the hotness that matters, it's the nerd factor. Most women these days have absolutely no appreciation of either the fine art of hacking or black marketeering. And they always want to dust."