“Dresden said that to the supernatural world, bringing in mortal authorities was equated with nuclear exchanges. No one wants to be the one to trigger a new Inquisition of some kind. So any group with a sense of reason will cut their losses rather than tangle with the cops.”
“The way they didn’t tangle with FBI headquarters?” Will asked.
I had sort of hoped no one would notice that flaw in my reasoning. “That was an act of war. This is some kind of profit-gaining scheme.”
“Come on, Karrin,” Will said. “You’ve got to know better than that.”
“This is a professional operation,” I said. “Whoever is behind it is depending on distraction and speed to enable them to get away with it. They’ll already have their escape plan ready to go. If a bunch of cars and lights come at them, I think their first instinct will be to run rather than fight.”
“Yeah,” Marcy said, nodding. “That makes sense. You’ve always said supernatural predators don’t want a fight if they can avoid one, Will.”
“Lone predators don’t,” Will said, “but this is an organization. And you might have noticed how a lot of supernatural types are a couple of french fries short of a Happy Meal. And I’m talking about more than here, tonight. More than Georgia and Andi. More than just Chicago.”
I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “I mean that if Dresden just blew up the Red Court . . . that means the status quo is gone. There’s a power vacuum, and every spook out there is going to try to fill it. The rules have changed. We don’t know how these people are going to react.”
A sobering silence fell over us.
I hadn’t followed the line of reasoning, like Will had. Or rather, I hadn’t followed it far enough. I’d only been thinking of Dresden’s cataclysm in terms of its effect on my city, upon people who were part of my life.
But he was right. Dear God, he was right. The sudden demise of the Red Court, with consequences that would reach around the whole world, would make the fall of the Soviet Union look like a minor organizational crisis.
“So, what?” I asked. “We back out?”
“Are you kidding?” Will said. “They took my wife. We go get her and anyone else they’ve taken.”
“Right,” Marcy said firmly, from where she lay on the bed of the vehicle.
I felt a smile bare my teeth. “And if they fight?”
Will’s face hardened. “Then we kick their fucking ass.”
“Ass,” said Marcy, nodding.
I finished wrapping Will in the duct tape. He exhaled slowly and relaxed. He took a few experimental breaths and then nodded. “Okay. Good.”
“Lie down, both of you. I’ll be back with the buyer.”
“Be careful,” Will said. “If you aren’t back in twenty minutes, I’ll come looking.”
“If I’m not back in twenty minutes, there won’t be much point in finding me,” I said.
Then I shut them into the SUV and headed for the park.
BUTTERCUP PARK WASN’T exactly overwhelming. There were grass, playground equipment, and a tree or two on an island bordered by four city streets. That was pretty much it. It was the sort of place my low-life persona would choose. It was out in the open, and there was not much to break up the line of sight. It was a good location for criminals with mutual trust issues to meet up. Each could be sure the other was alone. Each could be reasonably sure the other wouldn’t start shooting, right out there in front of God and everybody.
The park, as it should have been, was empty. The surrounding streetlights left little hidden on the green grass, but the playground equipment cast long, asymmetric shadows.
A man sat on one of the swings. He was huge—the biggest individual I’d ever seen. He was heavy with muscle, though it was an athlete’s balanced build—made for action, not for display. His hips strained the heavy flexible plastic seat of the swing to the horizontal. He must have been better than seven feet tall.
He was quietly sitting there, completely still, watching and waiting. His head was shaved and his skin was dark. He wore a simple outfit—black chinos and a thin turtleneck sweater. If the October chill was bothering him, it didn’t show. I stomped over toward him in my Munster boots. When I was about thirty feet away, he turned his head toward me. His gaze was startling. His eyes were