The Law (The Dresden Files #17.4)(18)

“Thank you,” I said cautiously, and opened the gate. Half of the chickens immediately rushed toward me, but I’d lived on a farm before, and nudged them out of the way while making gentle clicking sounds and got in without escapees or stepping on any avian toes.

Max’s thunderous scowl lightened slightly. “Fine, fine,” he said. “Follow the footpath around to my office door and go in. I’ll meet you in a moment.”

I did as he said, following some old paving stones set into a comfortable, aged path around the side of the house, and found a sky-blue door bearing another wood-burned sign that read, “Maximillian Valerious, Esquire, Attorney at Law.” Underneath that, in smaller letters, it read, “Solicitors and Proselytizers Are Now Subject to Civil Suit.”

I opened the door and found myself looking in at a small office consisting of old wooden furniture, mostly a desk, some filing cabinets, and three walls of bookshelves, all scarred and comfortable with age, under a slowly whirling ceiling fan. A small wood-burning stove in the corner waited patiently for winter. There was a clicking sound and Pepper the basset hound came in through a doggie door in the door leading back into the house, padded over to a doggie bed in a wooden box next to the wood-burning stove and settled down. Burnt into the box was the word ‘Peppermint.’

A moment later, Max bustled in through the back door, bearing a tray with two glasses of iced purple liquid beaded with drops of condensation. He set the tray on his desk, took one of the glasses, and motioned for me to take the other one, before he sat down in the chair behind the desk.

“I hear your coat is bulletproof, Mister Dresden,” Max said. “You won’t need it here, and it’s a hot evening.”

I eyed the little man and the dog and did something I wouldn’t normally do.

I trusted him.

I took off my coat and hung it on a wooden coat rack in the corner. I had to take a moment to balance the thing so it wouldn’t fall over. It was an old rack, made when most people were a lot smaller. I’m large, and so is my clothing. I leaned my staff into the same corner, then took a seat and sipped at my glass of apparent Kool-aid.

It was Kool-aid.

“You seem to know more about me than most people,” I told Max.

He shrugged. “We’ve lived here a long time, Mister Dresden,” he said. “And I have eyes and a brain. It’s smart to know the players, so you can stay out of their way. Especially lately.”

“Huh,” I said. “Do you know an EMT named Lamar?”

“African-American man, late forties, plays an excellent game of chess,” Max said immediately. “He and I have similar attitudes toward your… line of work, I suppose.”

“And yet,” I said, “you whipped Talvi Inverno in open court.”

Max snorted. “I’d hardly say that. His client was in the wrong. The law was on our side. I merely proved it to the satisfaction of the judge.”

“Even though an expensive outfit lawyer was doing the same thing to you,” I said.

Max’s eyes glittered behind his spectacles. “He tried.” He sipped from his glass and studied me. “Now. What does Chicago’s resident wizard want with a simple old retired law professor?”

I swallowed some more Kool-aid to fight the heat and then I told him about Maya and her situation, and especially about Tripp Gregory.

“I’m going to assume that you tried to intimidate him away and found little success,” Max said.

“Well—”

“No, fool, don’t say anything, what I don’t know I can’t testify about.” He curled his moustache carefully, twisting it, an unconscious gesture. “It does seem like this fight is a little lopsided. The Chicago outfit versus a children’s tutor.”

“And me,” I said. “I think Gregory is desperate. And a little too thick to see that he’s trying to squeeze blood from a stone. I just want Maya and her business to get to keep helping kids.”

“That would be ideal,” Max admitted. He tilted his head and eyed me. “So why are you here?”

“I can’t get Gregory to back off,” I said. “And you’re the only one in town who has beaten Inverno in court before.”

“Indeed. Mister Winter-Winter,” Max sighed. “If I’d known his, ah, connections the first time, I might not have taken the case. But here we are.”

I sipped Kool-aid. “Here we are.”

“Max!” Heloise called, “get the money up front!”

Max glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. “She handles the money,” he explained to me.

“Yeah,” I said. “About that.”

Max sat back in his seat in exasperation. “You’re about to tell me that you have power, not money.”

“Well—”

“Christ save me from good fights,” he muttered darkly.

“I can pay you a little,” I offered. “And Maya can probably scrape together a little something over time.”

“Pay me,” he said sarcastically, “instead of you spending your money helping refugees whose homes were destroyed and children whose parents can’t afford supplemental education in that castle of yours.”

I was impressed. Max really did have more than the usual amount of clue as to what was going on in Chicago.