Jim Butcher - Side Jobs

Murph and I had both been expecting that, evidently. We both rushed him. He slammed the door open, but I’d been waiting for that, too. I sent out a burst of my will, drawing my right hand in toward my chest as I shouted, “ Forzare! ”

Invisible force slammed the door shut as Caine began to go through it. It hit him hard enough to bounce him all the way back across the hall, into the wall opposite.

Murphy had better acceleration than I did. She caught up to Caine in time for him to swing one paw at her in a looping punch.

I almost felt sorry for the slob.

Murphy ducked the punch, then came up with all of her weight and the muscle of her legs and body behind her response. She struck the tip of his chin with the heel of her hand, snapping his face straight up.

Caine was brawny, big, and tough. He came back from the blow with a dazed snarl and swatted at Murphy again. Murph caught his arm, tugged him a little one way, a little the other, and using his own arm as a fulcrum, sent him flipping forward and down hard onto the floor. He landed hard enough to make the floorboards shake, and Murphy promptly shifted her grip, twisting one hand into a painful angle, holding his arm out straight, using her leg to pin it into position.

“That would be assault,” Murphy said in a sweet voice. “And on a police officer in the course of an investigation, no less.”

“Bitch,” Caine said. “I’m gonna break your—”

We didn’t get to find out what he was going to break, because Murphy shifted her body weight maybe a couple of inches, and he screamed instead.

“Whaddayou want?” Caine demanded. “Lemme go! I didn’t do nothin’!”

“Sure you did,” I said cheerfully. “You assaulted Sergeant Murphy, here. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You’re a two-time loser, Caine,” Murphy said. “This will make it number three. By the time you get out, the first thing you’ll need to buy will be a new set of teeth.”

Caine said a lot of impolite words.

“Wow,” I said, coming to stand over him. “That sucks. If only there were some way he could be of help to the community. You know, prove how he isn’t a waste of space some other person could be using.”

“Screw you,” Caine said. “I ain’t helping you with nothing.”

Murphy leaned into his arm a little again to shut him up. “What happened to the beer at McAnally’s?” she asked in a polite tone.

Caine said even more impolite words.

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it,” Murphy said. “I’m pretty sure you can do better.”

“Bite me, cop bitch,” Caine muttered.

“Sergeant Bitch,” Murphy said. “Have it your way, bonehead. Bet you’ve got all kinds of fans back at Stateville.” But she was frowning when she said it. Thugs like Caine rolled over when they were facing hard time. They didn’t risk losing the rest of their adult lives out of simple contrariness—unless they were terrified of the alternative.

Someone or, dare I say it, something had Caine scared.

Well, that table could seat more than one player.

The thug had a little blood coming from the corner of his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue when Murphy hit him.

I pulled a white handkerchief out of my pocket and, in a single swooping motion, stooped down and smeared some blood from Caine’s mouth onto it.

“What the hell?” he said, or something close to it. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it, Caine,” I told him. “It isn’t going to be a long-term problem for you.”

I took the cloth and walked a few feet away. Then I hunkered down and used a piece of chalk from another pocket to draw a circle around me on the floor.

Caine struggled feebly against Murphy, but she put him down again. “Sit still,” she snapped. “I’ll pull your shoulder right out of its socket.”

“Feel free,” I told Murphy. “He isn’t going to be around long enough to worry about it.” I squinted up at Caine and said, “Beefy, little bit of a gut. Bet you eat a lot of greasy food, huh, Caine?”

“Wh-what?” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Heart attack should look pretty natural,” I said. “Murph, get ready to back off once he starts thrashing.” I closed the circle and let it sparkle a little as I did. It was a waste of energy—special effects like that almost always are—but it made an impression on Caine.

“Jesus Christ!” Caine said. “Wait!”

“Can’t wait,” I told him. “Gotta make this go before the blood dries out. Quit being such a baby, Caine. She gave you a chance.” I raised my hand over the fresh blood on the cloth. “Let’s see now—”

“I can’t talk!” Caine yelped. “If I talk, she’ll know!”

Murphy gave his arm a little twist. “Who?” she demanded.

“I can’t! Jesus, I swear! Dresden, don’t—it isn’t my fault. They needed bloodstone, and I had the only stuff in town that was pure enough! I just wanted to wipe that smile off that bastard’s face!”

I looked up at Caine with a gimlet eye, my teeth bared. “You ain’t saying anything that makes me want you to keep on breathing.”

“I can’t ,” Caine wailed. “She’ll know !”

I fixed my stare on Caine and raised my hand in a slow, heavily overdramatized gesture. “ Intimidatus dorkus maximus! ” I intoned, making my voice intentionally hollow and harsh, and stressing the long vowels.

“Decker!” Caine screamed. “Decker, he set up the deal!”

I lowered my hand and let my head rock back. “Decker,” I said. “That twit.”

Murphy watched me and didn’t let go of Caine, though I could tell she didn’t want to keep holding him.

I shook my head at Murphy and said, “Let him scamper, Murph.”

She let him go, and Caine fled for the stairs on his hands and knees, sobbing. He staggered out, falling down the first flight, from the sound of it.

I wrinkled up my nose as the smell of urine hit me. “Ah. The aroma of truth.”

Murphy rubbed her hands on her jeans as if trying to wipe off something greasy. “Jesus, Harry.”

“What?” I said. “You didn’t want to break into his place.”

“I didn’t want you to put a gun to his head, either.” She shook her head. “You couldn’t really have . . .”

“Killed him?” I asked. I broke the circle and rose. “Yeah. With him right here in sight, yeah. I probably could have.”

She shivered. “Jesus Christ.”

“I wouldn’t,” I said. I went to her and put a hand on her arm. “I wouldn’t, Karrin. You know that.”

She looked up at me, her expression impossible to read. “You put on a really good act, Harry. It would have fooled a lot of people. It looked . . .”

“Natural on me,” I said. “Yeah.”

She touched my hand briefly with hers. “So, I guess we got something?”

I shook off dark thoughts and nodded. “We’ve got a name.”

BURT DECKER RAN what was arguably the sleaziest of the half-dozen establishments that catered to the magical crowd in Chicago. Left Hand Goods prided itself on providing props and ingredients to the black magic crowd.

Oh, that wasn’t so sinister as it sounded. Most of the trendy, self-appointed Death Eater wannabes in Chicago—or any other city, for that matter—didn’t have enough talent to strike two rocks together and make sparks, much less hurt anybody. The really dangerous black wizards don’t shop at places like Left Hand Goods. You could get everything you needed for most black magic at the freaking grocery store.

But, all the same, plenty of losers with bad intentions thought Left Hand Goods had everything you needed to create your own evil empire—and Burt Decker was happy to make them pay for their illusions.