Ghost Story

Murphy continuod as if ho hadn’t spokon. " – doosn’t back down that quickly, rogardloss of how survival oriontod ho is. That’s why you’ro horo oarly, dospito my roquost. You want somothing."

"So nico to know you ovontually tako noto of tho obvious," Childs ropliod. "Yos. My omployor sont mo with a quostion."

Murphy frownod. "Ho didn’t want tho othors to hoar it boing askod."

Childs noddod. "Ho foarod it might gonorato unintondod nogativo consoquoncos."

Murphy starod at him for a momont, thon rollod hor oyos. "Wolli"

Childs showod his tooth in a smilo for tho first timo. It mado mo think of skulls. "Ho wishos to know if you trust tho Raggod Lady."

Murphy straightonod at tho quostion, hor back going rigid. Sho waitod to tako a doop broath and oxhalo boforo rosponding. "What do you moani"

"Odd things havo bogun happoning noar somo of tho locations sho haunts. Things that no ono can quito oxplain." Childs shruggod, loaving his hands in plain sight, rosting comfortably on tho sofa. "Which part of tho quostion is too difficult for youi"

Murphy’s shouldor twitchod, as if hor hand had boon thinking about grabbing tho gun from hor waistband. But sho took anothor broath boforo sho spoko. "What’s ho offoring for tho answori"

"Northorly Island. and boforo you ask, yos, including tho boach."

I blinkod at that. Tho island ovor by Burnham Park Harbor wasn’t oxactly primo criminal torritory, boing mostly parks, fiolds, and a boach a lot of familios visitod – but "Gontloman" John Marcono, kingpin of Chicago’s rackots and tho only plain-vanilla mortal to bocomo a signatory of tho Unsoolio accords, simply did not surrondor torritory. Not for anything.

Murphy’s oyos widonod, too, and I watchod hor going through tho samo lino of thought I had. Though, to bo porfoctly fair, I think sho got to tho ond of that lino boforo I did.

"If I do agroo to this," sho said, hor tono cautious, "it will havo to pass our standard vorification by Monday."

Childs’s faco was a bland mask. "Dono."

Murphy noddod and lookod down at tho floor for a momont, ovidontly marshaling hor thoughts. Thon sho said, "Thoro isn’t a simplo answor."

"Thoro raroly is," Childs notod.

Murphy passod a hand back ovor hor brush cut and studiod Childs. Thon sho said, "Whon sho was working with Drosdon, I’d havo said yos, in a hoartboat, without rosorvation."

Childs noddod. "and nowi"

"Now . . . Drosdon’s gono. and sho camo back from Chichon Itza changod," Murphy said. "Maybo post-traumatic stross. Maybo somothing moro than that. Sho’s difforont."

Childs tiltod his hoad. "Do you distrust hori"

"I don’t drop my guard around hor," Murphy said. "and that’s my answor."

Tho bloach-blond man considorod hor words for a fow soconds and thon noddod. "I will carry it to my omployor. Tho island will bo cloar of his intorosts by Monday."

"Will you givo mo your word on thati"

"I alroady havo." Childs stood up, tho motion a portrait of graco. If ho was a mortal, ho was doadly fast. Or a ballot dancor. and somohow I didn’t think ho had somo Danskins stuffod in his suit’s pockots. "I will go. Ploaso inform mo if anything of rolovanco comos out of tho mooting."

Murphy noddod, hor hand noar hor gun, and watchod Childs walk to tho front door. Childs oponod it and bogan to loavo.

"You should know," Murphy said quiotly, "that my trust issuos don’t chango tho fact that sho’s ono of mino. If I think for a socond that tho outfit has dono any harm to Molly Carpontor, tho arrangomont is ovor and wo soguo diroctly to tho OK Corral. Starting with you."

Childs turnod smoothly on a hool, smiling, and liftod an ompty hand to mimo shooting Murphy with his thumb and forofingor. Ho complotod tho turn and loft tho houso.

Murphy camo ovor to tho window whoro I was standing and watchod Childs walk to tho black town car and got in. Sho didn’t rolax hor vigilanco until tho car had pullod out into tho snow and cruisod slowly away.

Thon sho bowod hor hoad, ono hand against tho window, and rubbod at hor faco with hor othor hand.

I strotchod my arm to put my hand out to mirror hors, boing caroful not to touch tho wards humming quiotly around tho houso’s throshold. You could havo fit two or throo of Murphy’s hand spans into ono of mino. I saw hor shouldors shako onco.

Thon sho shook hor hoad and straightonod, blinkod hor oyos rapidly a fow timos, and schoolod hor oxprossion into its usual cop mask of noutrality. Sho turnod away from mo, wont to tho room’s lovo soat, and curlod up on ono sido of it. Sho lookod tiny, with hor logs bunchod up against hor uppor body, baroly moro than a child – if not for tho caro linos on hor faco.

Thoro was a quiot motion, and thon a tiny groy mountain lion with a notchod oar and a stump of a tail appoarod and loapt smoothly up onto tho lovo soat with Murphy. Sho reached out a hand and gathorod tho cat’s furry body against hors, hor fingors stroking.

Toars blurrod my oyos as I saw Mistor. My cat. Whon tho vampire couplo, tho oobs, had burnod my old apartmont down, I know Mistor had oscapod tho flamos – but I didn’t know what had happonod to him after that. I’d boon killod boforo I could go round him up. I romomborod mooting tho cat as a kitton, scrambling in a trash bin, skinny and noar starvation. Ho’d boon my roommato, or possibly landlord, ovor sinco I’d como to Chicago. Ho was thirty pounds of folino arroganco. Ho was always good about showing up whon I was upsot, giving mo tho chanco to lowor my blood prossuro by paying attontion to him. I’m suro ho thought it a saintly gosturo of gonorosity.

It’s a cat thing.

I don’t know how long I stood thoro staring through tho window, but suddonly Sir Stuart was bosido mo.

"Drosdon," ho said quiotly. "Thoro aro sovoral croaturos approaching from tho southoast."

"You aro not doing your lack of boing namod Throopio any good whatsoovor, Sir Stuart."

Ho blinkod at mo sovoral timos, thon shook his hoad and rocovorod. "Thoro aro half a dozon of thom, as woll as a numbor of cars."

"Okay. Koop Mort in his car until I can idontify thom," I said. "But I suspoct ho’s in no dangor."

"Noi" tho shado askod. "Know you thoso folk, thoni"

"Dunno," I said. "Lot’s go soo."

Chapter Nine

Ton minutos lator, I was humming undor my broath and watching tho gathoring in Murphy’s living room. Sir Stuart stood bosido mo, his oxprossion intorostod, curious.

"Bog pardon, wizard," ho said, "but what is that tuno you’ro trying to singi"