The Law (The Dresden Files #17.4)(12)

…lips turning blue…

I shook it off with a quiver of my shoulders and spine and followed her through the site to a trailer with a door in the middle of one side. I stepped up to it, and at a nod from her opened the door and went inside, into a spartan, functional office space with a steel desk. Behind the desk sat John Marcone.

He was wearing his usual impeccable suit, though his jacket was hung up on a hook, and sweat marks on his underarms and slightly mussed hair showed that he’d been outside for a good part of the morning with a hardhat on. He was studying a sheaf of papers on a clipboard, evidently going down a checklist with a pen, pausing now and then to dash off initials.

“Dresden,” he said, without looking up. “I’m busy. I hope this won’t take long.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed a bitter taste out of my mouth and said, “Thanks for seeing me immediately.”

He set down his pen abruptly and looked up at me.

“Oh,” he said. “Please.”

I sneered at him. “It doesn’t sit right with me, either.”

He showed his teeth for a second. “You’re familiar with the Stoics?”

“Some.”

“The obstacle is the way,” he said. “Especially when you, in particular, are the obstacle. I prefer to get you out of the way as soon as feasible. State your business.”

“Talvi Inverno is your lawyer. He’s representing a small time pimp named Tripp Gregory. I want you to tell him to drop the case.”

Marcone’s eyes went distant, as if consulting a mental note card. “Tripp Gregory is one of my soldiers.”

“He’s a despicable, stupid little pimp,” I said. “He’s persecuting a woman who runs a tutoring service, and he’s going to put her out of business.”

Marcone considered that for a moment, and then gave an elegant shrug of his shoulders. “Your assessment is as accurate as it is na?ve. How many decent, highly intelligent pimps do you suppose enter the field, Dresden?”

“I don’t care about your personnel problems,” I said. “I just want the case dropped.”

“Unfortunately for your tender sensibilities, Tripp Gregory is possessed of the one virtue I do demand of my personnel: loyalty. He was just released from eight years of prison, a term he served because he refused to turn state’s evidence against me.”

“Still not caring,” I said.

“In my business,” Marcone said, “loyalty is a coinage far more valuable than money. Such loyalty must be respected. Surely you can understand that.”

I did. But I glowered at him as if I didn’t.

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Tripp Gregory did as he was commanded,” Marcone said. “He proved himself to be one of mine. I will therefor aid and assist him in legal matters, because to do otherwise would be to jeopardize the loyalty of other members of my organization.”

I scowled and said, “That sounds like a John Marcone problem, not a Harry Dresden problem. Find a way around it.”

He blinked slowly, once and said mildly, “Or?”

I showed him my teeth. “How big a headache do you want?”

Marcone set his pen down and steepled his fingers—a gesture I realized that Talvi Inverno had copied from him. It made him look balanced and thoughtful and resolute. All of which was probably true.

“Dresden,” he said, “when you take issue with me and my actions, that is one matter. You and I have come into contention several times over exactly that.” He suddenly flattened his palms down on his desk. I didn’t quite jump up out of my chair, but I flinched. “But you are now interfering with one of my people. Be assured that if you continue to do so, I will begin similarly interfering with yours.”

A cold chill went through me. Marcone had tentacles everywhere in the city. If he wanted to get to someone, he’d get them gotten. There were an unlimited number of ways, within the law as well as outside of it, that he could make trouble for the average citizen. Or even the not-so-average citizen.

“That little pub you like so much is in violation of a number of city health codes, for example,” Marcone said. “Someone like Tripp Gregory is hardly the purview of a former Wizard of the White Council. Going after him, yourself, Titan-slayer? It simply isn’t… balanced. I will do you the courtesy of assuming that you believe that I am more than willing to balance the scales for one of my people.”

“Your guy started it,” I snarled.

“And your client signed, and is now trying to escape, the contract in question,” Marcone replied.

I stared hard at him for a second, thinking. Then I said, “I heard you have a rule for your soldiers. No kids.”

Something flickered in his eyes, then. Not much. But a spark. Maybe whatever was left of his humanity.

“And?” he asked.

“Tripp Gregory is irrational. He can’t possibly achieve his supposed goals in doing this. But he’s going to hurt kids,” I said. “Indirectly, long-term, but he’ll hurt them all the same.” I wanted to spit, but I bet that Marcone was thinking long term these days and added, “Kids who won’t grow up to be affluent customers of the various vices you control.”

Marcone narrowed his eyes, and his fingers returned to their steepled position. “That is an argument that perhaps carries more weight. I dislike inefficiency.” He shook his head. “But I cannot refuse to support a loyal soldier, any more than you could give one of yours to me.” He mused for a moment. Then he said, deliberately, “You took my castle from me.”