White Night (The Dresden Files #9) - Jim Butcher Page 0,89

a deal on track lighting from Malone's brother-in-law."

"Don't you people have lives?" I said. At her continued smile, I asked warily, "What are you getting me?"

She grinned, blue eyes sparkling. "Stallings and I found an autographed picture of Julie Newmar on eBay."

"You guys are never going to let go of this one, are you?" I sighed.

"We're cops," Murphy said. "Of course not."

We shared a smile that faded a moment later. Both of us turned to watch the street, alert for any unwanted company. We were silent for a while. Cars went by. City sounds of engine and horn. A car alarm a block over. Dark shadows where the streetlights didn't touch. Distant sirens. Rotating, attention-getting spotlights lancing up to the dark summer night from the front of a theater.

"Hell's bells," I said, after a time. "Marcone."

"Yeah," Murphy said. "It changes things."

Marcone was involved.

Matters had just become a great deal more dangerous.

* * *

CHAPTER

Twenty-Eight

T he new Velvet Room looked nothing like the old Velvet Room. "A health club?" I asked Murphy. "You've got to be kidding me."

Murphy goosed her Harley right up next to the Beetle. There had been only one parking space open, but there was room for both of our rides in it, more or less. It wasn't like I was worried about collecting a few more dents and dings in addition to the dozens already there.

"It's progressive," Murphy said. "You can get in shape, generate testosterone, and find an outlet for it all under one roof."

I shook my head. A modest sign on the second floor over a row of smaller shops proclaimed, EXECUTIVE PRIORITY HEALTH. It lacked the wide-open, well-lit windows of most health clubs, and apparently occupied the whole of the second floor.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Isn't that the hotel where Tommy Tomm got murdered?"

"Mmmm," Murphy said, nodding. "The Madison. A corporation that has absolutely no visible connection to John Marcone recently bought it and is renovating it."

"You have to admit it was a little… overdone," I said.

"It looked like the set of a burlesque show about an opium lord's harem," Murphy said.

"And now… it is one," I said.

"But it won't look like it," Murphy said.

"They call that progress," I said. "Think this bunch will give us any trouble?"

"They'll be polite."

"Marcone is the kind of guy who apologizes for the necessity just before his minions put a bullet in you."

Murphy nodded. She'd rearranged her gun rig and put on a Kevlar vest before we left. The baggy man's shirt was now buttoned up over it. "Like I said. Polite."

"Seriously," I said. "Think anything will start up?"

"Depends how big a beehive we're about to kick," she replied.

I blew out a breath. "Right. Let's find out."

We went inside. The doors opened onto a foyer, which was closed away from what had been the hotel's lobby by a security door and a panel of buzzers. The buzzers on the lowest row were labeled with the names of the shops on the first floor. None of the others were marked.

Murphy flipped open her notepad, checked a page, and then punched a button in the middle of the top row. She held it down for a moment, then released it.

"Executive Priority," said a young woman's voice through a speaker beside the panel. "This is Bonnie. How may I help you?"

"I'd like to speak with your manager, please," Murphy said.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," came the reply. "The management is only in the office during normal business hours, but I would be happy to leave a message for you."

"No," Murphy replied calmly. "I know that Ms. Demeter is in. I will speak to her, please."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," came Bonnie's rather prim reply. "But you are not a member of the club, and you are on private property. I must ask you to leave immediately or I will inform building security of the problem and call the authorities."

"Well, that should be fun," I said. "Go ahead and call the cops."

Murphy snorted. "I'm sure they'd love to have an excuse to come stomping around."

"I…" Bonnie said, floundering. Clearly, she hadn't been trained to deal with this kind of response. Or maybe she just wasn't all that bright to begin with.

I made a kind of do-you-mind gesture at Murphy. She shook her head and leaned to one side, so I could get closer to the intercom.

"Look, Bonnie," I said. "We aren't here for trouble. We just need to talk to your boss. If she likes, she can come talk over the intercom. Otherwise, I