“Be patient,” Vince said, and hung up on me.
I blinked at the phone.
Murphy looked at me for a second and then smiled. “I just love it when I don’t know part of the plan, and the guy who does is all smug and cryptic,” she said. “Don’t you?”
I glowered at her and put the phone down. “He’ll call back.”
“He who?”
“The PI who is following Binder,” I said. “Guy named Vince Graver.”
Murphy’s eyebrows went up. “You’re kidding.”
Rawlins began to chortle, still working on his puzzle.
“What?” I said, looking back and forth between them.
“He was a vice cop in Joliet a couple of years ago,” Murphy said. “He found out that someone was beating up some of the call girls down there. He looked into it. Word came down to tell him to back off, but he went and caught a Chicago city councilman who liked to pound on his women for foreplay. What’s-his-name.”
“Dornan,” Rawlins supplied.
“Right, Ricardo Dornan,” Murphy said.
“Huh,” I said. “Took some guts.”
“Hell, yeah,” Rawlins said. “And some stupid.”
“It’s a fine line,” Murphy said. “Anyway, he pissed off some people. Next thing he knows, he finds out he volunteered for a transfer to CPD.”
“Three guesses where,” Rawlins said.
“So he resigns,” Murphy said.
“Yeah,” Rawlins said. “Without even giving us a chance to meet him.”
Murphy shook her head. “Went into private practice. There’s a guy who is a glutton for punishment.”
Rawlins grinned.
“He drives a Mercedes,” I said. “Has his own house, too.”
Rawlins put his pencil down and they both looked up at me.
I shrugged. “I’m just saying. He must be doing all right for himself.”
“Hngh,” Rawlins said. Then he picked up his pencil and went back to the puzzle. “Ain’t no justice.”
Murphy grunted with nigh-masculine skill.
A couple of minutes later, the phone rang, and Murphy answered it. She passed it to me.
“Your guy’s a nut,” Vince said.
“I know that,” I told him. “What’s he doing?”
“Took a cab to a motel on the highway north of town,” Vince said. “Stopped at a convenience store on the way. Then he goes to his room, shaves himself bald, comes out in his skivvies, and jumps in the damn river. Goes back inside, takes a shower—”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I broke into his room while he was doing it,” Vince said. “Maybe you could save your questions until the end of the presentation.”
“Hard to imagine you not fitting in with the cops,” I said.
Vince ignored the comment. “He takes a shower and calls another cab.”
“Tell me you followed the cab,” I said.
“Tell me your check cleared.”
“I’m good for it.”
“Yeah, I’m following the cab right now,” Vince said. “But I don’t need to. He’s headed for the Hotel Sax.”
“Who are you, the Amazing Kreskin?”
“Listened in on the cabbie’s CB,” he said. “ETA, eighteen minutes.”
“Eighteen?” I asked.
“Usually found between seventeen and nineteen,” he said. “I can’t guarantee I can stay on him at the hotel, especially if he tumbles to the tail. Too many ways out.”
“I’ll take it from there. Do not get close to him, man. You get an instinct he’s looking in your direction, run for the hills. This guy’s dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Vince said. “Hell, I’m lucky I haven’t wet my pants already.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. It’s cute. Seventeen minutes.”
“I’ll be there.”
“With my check. I’ve got a two-day minimum. You know that, right?”
“Right, right,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
“What have we got?” Murphy asked as I put the phone down.
“Binder thinks he shook me,” I said. “He’s headed for a meeting at Hotel Sax.”
She stood up and grabbed her car keys. “How do you know it’s a meeting?”
“Because he’s been made. If he was here alone, he’d be on his way out of town right now.” I nodded. “He’s running back to whoever hired him.”
“Who is that?” Murphy asked.
“Let’s find out.”
Chapter Thirty-two
The Hotel Sax is a pretty good example of its kind in the beating heart of downtown Chicago. It’s located on Dearborn, just across the street from the House of Blues, and if you look up while standing outside of the place, it looks like someone slapped one of those fish-eye camera lenses on the sky. Buildings stretch up and up and up, at angles that seem geometrically impossible.
Many similar sections of Chicago have wider streets than you find in other metropolises, and it makes them feel slightly less claustrophobic, but outside of the Sax, the street was barely three narrow lanes across, curb to curb. As Murphy and I approached, looking up made me feel like an ant walking along the bottom of a crack in the sidewalk.
“It bugs you, doesn’t it?” Murphy said.
We walked under a streetlight, our shadows briefly equal in length. “What?”
“Those big things looming over you.”
“I wouldn’t say it bothers me,” I said. “I’m just . . . aware of them.”
She faced serenely ahead as we walked. “Welcome to my life.”
I glanced down at her and snorted quietly.
We entered the lobby of the hotel, a place with a lot of glass and white paint with rich red accents. Given how late it was, it was no surprise only one member of the staff was visible: a young woman who stood behind one of the glass-fronted check-in counters. One guest reading a magazine sat in a nearby chair, and even though he was the only guy in the room, it took me a second glance to realize that he was Vince.
Vince set the magazine aside and ambled over to us. His unremarkable brown eyes scanned over Murphy. He nodded to her and offered me his hand.
I shook it, and offered a check to him with my left as we did. He took it, glanced at it noncommittally, and put it away in a pocket. “He took an elevator to the twelfth floor,” Vince said. “He’s in room twelve thirty-three.”
I blinked at him. “How the hell did you get that? Ride up with him?”
“Good way for me to get hurt. I stayed down here.” He shrugged. “You said he was trouble.”
“He is. How’d you do it?”
He gave me a bland look. “I’m good at this. You need to know which chair he’s in, too?”
“No. That’s close enough,” I said.
Vince looked at Murphy again, frowned, and then frowned at me. “Jesus,” he said. “You two look pretty serious.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I told you, this guy’s dangerous. He have anyone with him?”
“One person,” he said. “A woman, I think.”
Murphy suddenly smiled.
“How the hell do you know that?” I asked him.
“Room service,” she said.
Vince smiled in faint approval at Murphy and nodded his head. “Could have been someone else on twelve who ordered champagne and two glasses two minutes after he got off the elevator. But this late at night, I doubt it.” Vince glanced at me. “I’ll take the bill I duked the steward out of my fee.”
“Appreciated,” I said.
He shrugged. “That it?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Vince.”
“As long as the check clears,” he said, “you’re welcome.” He nodded to me, to Murphy, and walked out of the hotel.
Murphy eyed me, after Vince left, and smiled. “The mighty Harry Dresden. Subcontracting detective work.”
“They’re expecting me to be all magicky and stuff,” I said. “And I gave them what they expected to see. Binder wouldn’t have been looking for someone like Vince.”
“You’re just annoyed because they pulled that trick on you,” Murphy said. “And you’re taking your vengeance.”
I sniffed. “I like to think of it as symmetry.”
“That does make it sound nobler,” she said. “We obviously can’t just go up there and haul them off somewhere for questioning. What’s the plan?”