"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 McAnnally'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, bone-head. 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 of 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 that 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 hand and knee, 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 a 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.

Me and Murphy stepped in, between the display of socially maladjusted fungi on our right, a tank of newts (PLUCK YOUR OWN *#%$ING EYES, the sign said) on the left, and stepped around the big shelf of quasi-legal drug paraphernalia in front of us.

Decker was a shriveled little toad of a man. He wasn't overweight, but his skin looked too loose from a plump youth combined with a lifetime of too many naps in tanning beds. He was immaculately groomed, and his hair was gorgeous black streaked with dignified silver that was like a Rolls hood ornament on a VW Rabbit. He had beady black eyes with nothing warm behind them, and when he saw me, he licked his lips nervously.

"Hiya, Burt," I said.

There were a few shoppers, none of whom looked terribly appealing. Murphy held up her badge so that everyone could see it and said, "We have some questions."

She might as well have shouted, "Fire!" The store emptied.

Murphy swaggered past a rack of discount porn DVDs, her coat open just enough to reveal the shoulder holster she wore. She picked one up, gave it a look, and tossed it on the floor. "Christ, I hate scum vendors like this."

"Hey!" Burt said. "You break it, you bought it."

"Yeah, right," Murphy said.

I showed him my teeth as I walked up and leaned both my arms on the counter he stood behind. It crowded into his personal space. His cologne was thick enough to stop bullets.

"Burt," I said, "make this simple, okay? Tell me everything you know about Caine."

Decker's eyes went flat, and his entire body became perfectly still. It was reptilian. "Caine?"

I smiled wider. "Big guy, shaggy hair, kind of a slob, with piss running down his leg. He made a deal with a woman for some bloodstone, and you helped."

Murphy had paused at a display of what appeared to be small smoky quartz geodes. The crystals were nearly black, with purple veins running through them, and they were priced a couple of hundred dollars too high.

"I don't talk about my customers," Decker said. "It isn't good for business."

I glanced at Murphy. "Burt. We know you're connected."

She stared at me for a second, and sighed. Then she knocked a geode off the shelf. It shattered on the floor.

Decker winced and started to protest, but it died on his lips.

"You know what isn't good for business, Decker?" I asked. "Having a big guy in a gray cloak hang out in your little Bad Juju-Mart. Your customers start thinking that the Council is paying attention, how much business do you think you'll get?"