“Where’d you get this intel?”
I shrugged. “I got a source.” I was willing to share intel, but I was too protective of my CIs to hand LM’s name over. If they wanted to use my sources, they needed to keep me around.
“How reliable is this source?” Gardner asked.
“Reliable enough to bring it up to you.”
“Morales, you have any leads?” she asked.
His jaw clenched. “No, sir.” A chill filled the space between him and me. Guess he didn’t like the new girl showing him up.
Gardner’s eyes narrowed as she considered her options. “All right. You two check it out. Let me know what you come up with.”
“Probably nothing,” Morales said under his breath. To me, he turned and snapped, “Well?”
I smiled sweetly. “After you.”
Chapter Ten
O n the dark side of Exposition Boulevard, a discreet green door sat in a red brick wall. Over that, a small, faded sign depicted a faerie with green wings. The Green Faerie—a whimsical name for an establishment that catered to some of the most dangerous magical criminals in all of Babylon.
The club used to be an old speakeasy dating back to the dark decade in the twenties when the US government tried to outlaw alcohol during Prohibition. Little had Uncle Sam known that magic would pose a far greater threat to the moral fabric of America than alcohol ever could. Unfortunately it took another four decades for that lesson to hit home and by then it was too late to close Pandora’s box.
You didn’t need a password or secret handshake to enter the club these days, but it was probably a good idea to have a gun or other weapon easily accessible.
As it stood, Morales and I weren’t planning on entering the club, since they’d smell the bacon on us the minute we crossed the threshold. Instead, our goal was to watch the perimeter for any of the usual suspects or signs of deals.
“Gardner seems like a real ballbuster.” My tone was conversational instead of accusatory. We’d been sitting in the car for more than an hour without much conversation and I was getting antsy.
Morales lowered his sunglasses, performed a leisurely once-over of my person, and smiled. “Takes one to know one, right, Prospero?”
“Suppose so.” I shrugged. “It’s a common enough act for most female cops.”
He pushed his glasses back up on his nose before answering. “Gardner’s not acting. I haven’t verified this, mind you, but I’d bet money she’s hiding an impressive pair of stones in those panty hose.”
I grimaced at the mental image this conjured. “What’s her story?”
“All you need to know about Gardner is she’s good, real good. Fair unless you cross her and she has a long memory. So don’t fuck up.” With that he seemed to dismiss me entirely in favor of reading the magazine in his lap.
“What are you reading?”
He sighed and held up the magazine.
Trigger Happy
was a rag that catered to men who enjoyed looking at pictures of well-endowed women holding guns.
“Nice,” I said, my tone arid.
He shrugged. “Read it for the articles.”
I rolled my eyes, but I wasn’t offended. The magazine was a regular fixture in the coed locker room at the station. If you overlooked the centerfolds of silicon-inflated bimbos licking AK-47s, they had some decent features on the latest trends in Mundane weaponry. However, I noticed Morales kept skipping the pages covered in text in favor of the ones filled with boobs and ballistics.
As I watched, I noticed for the first time that his left hand was badly scarred. The scars webbed across his wrist and knuckles like melted wax. I cringed inwardly as I imagined the pain he must have gone through. The urge to ask where they came from was strong, but I figured I’d save myself the time. Guys like Morales weren’t big on discussing anything that made them seem vulnerable. Plus, he didn’t seem real eager to bond with me anyway.
I dragged my gaze from the hand to look outside. The corner was quiet, but I had a
I shrugged. “I got a source.” I was willing to share intel, but I was too protective of my CIs to hand LM’s name over. If they wanted to use my sources, they needed to keep me around.
“How reliable is this source?” Gardner asked.
“Reliable enough to bring it up to you.”
“Morales, you have any leads?” she asked.
His jaw clenched. “No, sir.” A chill filled the space between him and me. Guess he didn’t like the new girl showing him up.
Gardner’s eyes narrowed as she considered her options. “All right. You two check it out. Let me know what you come up with.”
“Probably nothing,” Morales said under his breath. To me, he turned and snapped, “Well?”
I smiled sweetly. “After you.”
Chapter Ten
O n the dark side of Exposition Boulevard, a discreet green door sat in a red brick wall. Over that, a small, faded sign depicted a faerie with green wings. The Green Faerie—a whimsical name for an establishment that catered to some of the most dangerous magical criminals in all of Babylon.
The club used to be an old speakeasy dating back to the dark decade in the twenties when the US government tried to outlaw alcohol during Prohibition. Little had Uncle Sam known that magic would pose a far greater threat to the moral fabric of America than alcohol ever could. Unfortunately it took another four decades for that lesson to hit home and by then it was too late to close Pandora’s box.
You didn’t need a password or secret handshake to enter the club these days, but it was probably a good idea to have a gun or other weapon easily accessible.
As it stood, Morales and I weren’t planning on entering the club, since they’d smell the bacon on us the minute we crossed the threshold. Instead, our goal was to watch the perimeter for any of the usual suspects or signs of deals.
“Gardner seems like a real ballbuster.” My tone was conversational instead of accusatory. We’d been sitting in the car for more than an hour without much conversation and I was getting antsy.
Morales lowered his sunglasses, performed a leisurely once-over of my person, and smiled. “Takes one to know one, right, Prospero?”
“Suppose so.” I shrugged. “It’s a common enough act for most female cops.”
He pushed his glasses back up on his nose before answering. “Gardner’s not acting. I haven’t verified this, mind you, but I’d bet money she’s hiding an impressive pair of stones in those panty hose.”
I grimaced at the mental image this conjured. “What’s her story?”
“All you need to know about Gardner is she’s good, real good. Fair unless you cross her and she has a long memory. So don’t fuck up.” With that he seemed to dismiss me entirely in favor of reading the magazine in his lap.
“What are you reading?”
He sighed and held up the magazine.
Trigger Happy
was a rag that catered to men who enjoyed looking at pictures of well-endowed women holding guns.
“Nice,” I said, my tone arid.
He shrugged. “Read it for the articles.”
I rolled my eyes, but I wasn’t offended. The magazine was a regular fixture in the coed locker room at the station. If you overlooked the centerfolds of silicon-inflated bimbos licking AK-47s, they had some decent features on the latest trends in Mundane weaponry. However, I noticed Morales kept skipping the pages covered in text in favor of the ones filled with boobs and ballistics.
As I watched, I noticed for the first time that his left hand was badly scarred. The scars webbed across his wrist and knuckles like melted wax. I cringed inwardly as I imagined the pain he must have gone through. The urge to ask where they came from was strong, but I figured I’d save myself the time. Guys like Morales weren’t big on discussing anything that made them seem vulnerable. Plus, he didn’t seem real eager to bond with me anyway.
I dragged my gaze from the hand to look outside. The corner was quiet, but I had a
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