Chapter Eight
Chicagoland was well on its way to healing, and traffic had been steadily increasing month by month to the levels it had known before the battle, along with the inevitable soundscape—loud engines, broken mufflers, chugging diesels, howling motorcycles, horns, and emergency sirens cut up the pastoral landscape uncannily.
Bear had handled the details of the meeting.
Broad daylight seemed a fine idea, all things considered, and a public place suited me just fine.
Both the typical and the supernatural varieties of the underworld didn’t mind using the presence of a lot of potential witnesses as a measure to keep the peace during fraught negotiations.
Bear took me to a shady copse of trees around a stream maybe seven or eight feet wide.
Stone shelves framed the stream, leading down to it in brief tiers like natural stairways.
The trees were magnificent early-autumn colors, just beginning to turn fiery oranges and yellows, and a mild breeze made them rustle enough to mask most of the highway sounds.
As we came down one set of the stairs, Estevez and his bodyguard came down the other until we faced one another across the running stream.
That clued me in that he knew exactly who I was.
Running water was a natural impediment to magic.
The stream wouldn’t stop me from chucking a lightning bolt across it if I really needed to, but it would make it slower and harder to do, like running uphill.
Estevez had picked a place with advantage of ground.
Estevez stepped up to the edge of the creek, leaving his man a few feet behind him, and I mirrored him.
He looked more Native American than Hispanic, bronze-skinned, dark-haired, severe features.
He was a few inches over six feet, maybe in his late thirties, wearing a leather jacket and khaki pants.
His jacket bulged at one shoulder where he carried a gun under his coat.
He looked like the sort of man who could run you down and kill you with a knife.
His bodyguard wasn’t nearly as impressive.
He was skinny, almost emaciated, wearing an old army jacket that would have fit if he’d gained thirty pounds—except for around his potbelly, which pushed at the fabric.
The bodyguard’s face was pinched, sallow, his features ambiguous enough to have come from anywhere south of New York.
His long hair was pulled into a narrow braid in back.
He had one eye that was almost black. The other was so light brown as to be nearly gold. His gaze creeped me out.
“You are Dresden,” Estevez said.
“That’s me.”
“I know of you.” He gestured with one hand. “Speak.”
“I represent Tripp Gregory,” I said. “He placed a large bet with your organization on a fight four days ago and won. I’d like to talk to you about collecting on it.”
Estevez took about as much interest in me as he would a passing ant and showed approximately the same enthusiasm to be looking at me. “Tripp Gregory is an insufferable asshole.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to argue with you on that one,” I said.
He might have almost moved the corners of his mouth up.
“But a bet is a bet,” I said. “You know that.”
Estevez considered me for a quiet moment. “An amount that large takes time to arrange.”
“Understandable,” I said. “But typically, one doesn’t make use of the time required to bury the payee.”
This time, he smiled humorlessly. “I am not that kind of businessman. Perhaps there are many people who think the world would be worth more without Tripp Gregory in it.”
“About ten million bucks more?” I asked. “I’m here to talk because it’s a better option for everyone. If your organization gets a reputation for not paying out to winners, you won’t have an organization for very long.”
The little guy at the back snarled, “Is that a threat?”
“Emilio,” Estevez chided gently.
I spread my hands without raising them. “Just stating an unfortunate fact.”
Estevez nodded. “You’re going to badmouth me. That’s your threat.”
“It’s best if we resolve it peacefully,” I said. “I can do the other way too.”
“Sir,” Emilio said. His voice was strangled with something like passion or maybe too many stimulants. He was practically shaking with rage or eagerness or hatred. Or all three.
I focused on the little guy a little more.
It wasn’t his gaze that was unsettling me, I realized.
The supernatural energy had been mostly dispersed by the running stream between us, but once I paid sharp attention, I could sense it again—that same ugly, nauseating sense of supernatural danger.
Of, for lack of a word that could possibly be more appropriate, evil.
He had a piece of the Lurker inside him.
“If you have heard of me, you know enough to find out more,” I said to Estevez. “You’ll be able to find out that I tend to be good to my word. You’ll be able to find out I make a pretty good friend. And a pretty bad enemy.”
“Oh,” Estevez said, raising a restraining hand for Emilio. “I am well aware of both, Dresden. I know exactly who you are and what you have done.”
“I’m protecting Tripp,” I said. “Your pet monster isn’t going to be able to get to him. I’ll give you three days to come up with the money.”
“What happens then?” Estevez asked, his mellow voice calm.
“I take your weapon away. Spread the word that you’re a cheat. And then I eat popcorn and watch your world fall apart.”
Estevez’s smile actually got to his eyes this time.
“Did you hear that, Emilio?” he asked gently. “The wizard has given us three days.”
“Thank you,” Emilio said. “Thank you, sir.”
“Three days,” Estevez mused. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Then he turned his back on me and walked calmly away. Emilio kind of vibrated in place, his mismatched gaze flicking from me to Bear and back, and once Estevez was gone, he shoved his hand into his pocket, put on a pair of very dark sunglasses, and hurried out of the copse after his boss.
I stood there quietly until I was sure they were gone. Then I glanced back at Bear and said, “Well, that was fun. What do you think?”
“I think you’d better start being very careful at night,” she said. “Emilio is dangerous.”
“That’s why you get paid the big bucks, isn’t it?
” I felt a little shiver go down my spine and took a little more care than usual to observe my surroundings as I turned to leave the way we’d come.
“I’m not sure how ugly this might get,” I said.
“I don’t know what these guys can do, and if I can avoid a fight, that’s probably best. Come on. ”
“Where we going?” Bear asked amiably.
“Need to call Max Valerious,” I said. “I’m thinking I’d rather solve this one from the civilized end.”