He drank off his Scotch, and stood up. “I’ll have to get his permission before I tell you. A friend.” Wolfe looked at her. “Nice new look. Have to get you some loafers to go with it.”
She smiled and sipped her drink.
He said, evenly, “You were pretty cool headed today. Glad I had you on my side.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you patronizing me?”
“No. I meant it.”
Seline raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. “Okay. Thanks.” She grimaced. “But… tell you the truth, I felt kind of weird on the roof when I…”
“When you shot that guy? I don’t think it was a killing wound.”
“I never shot anyone before.”
“I wouldn’t feel bad about it where those shit-dicks are concerned. They were ready to shoot us dead.”
“I don’t feel bad about it exactly. Just… a weird feeling. I could have gone my whole life without shooting anybody and been fine with that.”
“I hear you. Only two ways to feel about it. Feel nothing—or the way you do. Me—I think it’s better to give a damn if you have to do it.”
She nodded, just slightly.
Wolfe kept looking at her. No special way. Just looking.
She glanced up at him—then quickly away. She opened her mouth as if to say something…
Then she gave her head a small shake and raised her glass to him. “See you in the morning.”
He nodded, and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
A dull thumping sound woke Wolfe up the next morning. He grabbed his .45 from under the pillow and jumped out of the bed…
And then realized it was only the sound of something thumping in the clothes dryer.
He put on his pants, stuck the gun in his waist band, and opened the door into the other room a little, peering through. He didn’t want to rush out and startle Seline.
Especially now that he knew she had a .44 in her purse. He knocked on the door.
“It’s your place, come on out,” she said.
“It’s not really my place,” Wolfe said, coming out into the living room.
Seline was hunkered down next to the small dryer, taking her clothes from it. She was still wearing the oversized pants and shirt.
“Get all the pond scum off your clothing?” he asked.
“Most of the pond scum’s out there in Chicago,” she said.
She straightened up and looked at him. He thought her eyes lingered on him—and he realized he was bare-chested.
She looked away. “If this is not your place, whose place is it?”
“You go on and change your clothes, and I’ll see if I’m allowed to say whose place it is.”
She shrugged and carried her clothes into the bathroom to change.
He sat down at the desk, and looked up the file he’d organized on Tranter. He copied and pasted select parts of it, making a summary, that he uploaded to the PearcePhone. He had a feeling it could be useful in the search for allies.
Then he picked up the phone and called Pearce. It took a while for the system to bounce the call around securely enough. The heard Pearce’s voice crackling gruffly through. “Wolfe?”
“Yeah. So—you know about Seline Garnera.”
“Yeah. Got your message. So—you crashed a chopper together? Good first date. She’s there with you now?”
“Yeah. She’s taking a shower. Doesn’t know you could be watching her get undressed and stuff.”
“I could even watch her in the shower if I wanted to. But I don’t have those cameras turned on. Never have been.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“You never had to worry I was going to check out your naked ass, Wolfe. You know what to do about the uploading?”
“Yeah. I got the address. Doesn’t look easy.”
“Best way to do it right now.”
“Uh—look. You want to meet Seline? I mean—onscreen? We’re already tangled up with her. And she’s already here. And it’s not like you haven’t been all over the news about three hundred times in your life.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Pearce hung up.
Seline came out of the bathroom, dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday. “Only problem is my shoes. They’re still kinda stiff. Wasn’t easy getting the mud and stuff off ’em.”
Aiden Pearce suddenly appeared on the television screen. “Hello, Ms. Garnera.”
Seline gasped, spinning toward the television. “What the fuck.”
Pearce smiled crookedly at her from the TV screen. “Wolfe said you might want to meet me. Here I am. Aiden Pearce! You’re staying in one of my safehouses. Which means I saved your ass. And so did the software I gave Wolfe there. Just keep it in mind—and in return keep your mouth shut about anything you find out about me.”
“Uh… sure.”
“I’ll let Wolfe explain the rest. There’s some instant coffee in the cabinet to your right.”
Pearce’s image flicked off the TV screen.
The windshield wipers chugged with metronomic regularity, wiping off sleety rain, as a man’s deep voice said,
“Wild action in downtown Chicago last night where a helicopter was stolen from the helipad atop the Armstrong Arms, a high-priced apartment building just a block south of Union Station. The helicopter pilot, David Hendle, had been waiting to take a client to Las Vegas when apparent gunfire broke out on the roof. Escaping the gunfire, Hendle climbed down from the rooftop using an emergency ladder. Unidentified persons, reportedly a man and woman, hijacked the helicopter and flew it a few miles south only to crash it into Wolf Lake, possibly as a result of bullet damage to the helicopter’s fuel line. ctOS security camera footage is inconclusive… The thieves were not found at the scene of the crash. The lake is being dragged for their bodies.
“Blood was found on the rooftop along with shell casings but none of the wounded or the other gunmen. This is CKNW, Chicago’s News Radio… Now let me tell you something I bet you didn’t know about car insurance. For a fantastic deal…”
Wolfe switched off the radio of the stolen Ford Explorer. “I’ve gotta stop stealing cars and helicopters and things. One of these days I’m going to be arrested.”
Seline, who was driving, just smiled. “At least you don’t keep them or sell them for parts.” She glanced at him. “Do you?”
“Nope. They get back to their owners eventually. I’m not sure the police would accept the ‘I just borrowed it from a complete stranger’ concept though. And the truck I took from Verrick got special treatment—I let it roll into Lake Michigan.”
“Ha. Good.”
He glanced down at the small backpack on the floor of the Exporer. In it was the laptop with the file for SystemLeaks.
“Wolfe—’look!”
Up ahead the road was blocked by orange cones and blinking temporary traffic barricades—stolen from some roadwork, somewhere, probably. Standing behind the barricade were half a dozen African Americans in hoodies with day-glow orange trim. Two of them carried AR15 semi-auto rifles. The tall one in the middle had a Desert Eagle pistol stuck in his waist band, the grip showing over the bottom of his sweatshirt. He grinned at Wolfe, and waggled his fingers in a joking wave.
Wolfe snorted. “It’s okay—those are friends of mine. Black Viceroys. The one in the middle’s the boss of his own little chapter of the Viceroys—Shuggie’s his name. Just pull up and let me talk to them.”
“I’m getting out too. If you’re their ally I want them to be clear that I’m here with you.”
“Okay but keep the car running in case we gotta get out of here quick.”
She stopped the car and put it in park. “I thought you said they were friends of yours?”
“They’re not the reason we might have to get out of here. Come on.”